#-how funny!) and are a large part of what inspired me to make the map in the way that I did and have multiple clans in my story so go give-

[kirisclangen]

Cicadashine

She/her, 132 moons, cis molly

[ph1l5eyelash]

i think there was something weird about Gangle’s mask in episode 4 and people are not talking about it enough.

im just kinda throwing out ideas here, I have no concrete theory, just things I noticed and thought were interesting.

AND IF YOU HAVE OTHER THEORIES REGARDING ANY OF THIS, TELL ME PLEASE IM SO CURIOUS

OKAY SO, first of all, I think we can all agree Gangle was acting weird in this episode— like, uncharacteristically weird. that could’ve easily (and obviously at least partially) been the fact that she was literally at her breaking point, on the verge of abstraction, but between the creepy vision Ragatha saw and the weird analog horror training video, I feel like it has to be more than that.

Talking about the vision Ragatha saw… what the fuck was that guys and why is nobody talking about it????? gooseworx did say “i just thought it would be funni.” when asked about it, but she has also said she often misleads us with her answers to the point that its “borderline gaslighting”. this is clearly an example of that, something so incredibly ominous and seemingly unrelated to the rest of the episode would not just be thrown in for no reason… it has to mean something. not to mention the creepy face when she turned around looks weirdly— intentionally— similar to Pomni’s face while she was possessed in episode 3.

I have a theory that whatever was possessing Pomni had something to do with Gangle’s mask in episode 4.

Speaking of this part of episode 3, I don’t think Pomni’s possession was apart of the adventure, or at least, not how it was intended to go. Whatever was possessing Pomni was hurting her in a way we have not seen in other adventures— this was not unintentional trauma like her and Gummigoo glitching beneath the map in episode 2, that was obviously not supposed to happen. This was intentional. As Jax said, Caine would not do something malicious to the humans, it’s not in his nature (which he said in a “i know that for a fact” sorta way, which is a whole other conversation). Not to mention, he said this DIRECTLY after Ragatha’s vision of Gangle looking eerily similar to whatever was possessing Pomni. So what was that?

And not only did it hurt Pomni— “how’s your wife, Kinger”??? are you kidding??? and this was not said nicely, it was clearly mocking him. how could mocking someone’s dead (or abstracted i guess) wife be any LESS intentionally malicious????

also, Caine is forgetful. This is shown by him forgetting they have a suggestion box, and more interestingly, through Zooble’s therapy session showing that Caine forgets their trauma. With such a large emphasis on Caine forgetting Zooble’s trauma, it would not be completely unreasonable to assume that he forgets the others’ trauma as well. Kinger’s wife abstracting, for example.

So with this moment being outright malicious towards both Kinger and Pomni, and with Caine’s forgetfulness being focused on in the same episode, I feel strongly that this was not Caine’s doing. Or at the very least, “how’s your wife, Kinger” was NOT Caine’s doing.

That raises the question, if Caine didnt do this, what did? And how does it know about Kinger’s wife abstracting— how would an NPC in an adventure know anything about the characters outside of the adventure?

I don’t have an answer to that question, but I have a looser theory that could possibly be related??? this one might be a little far fetched, but hear me out:

During Gangle’s weird (WEIRD) analog horror training video, Jax asks “when did you make this?” Sure, this could be meant to be a funny line that doesn’t mean anything… but he has a good point. When DID she make that? And why does it get so meta and scary? Malicious… one could say— I mean, Jax was terrified.

In the video, she was clearly projecting her failed dream of being a manga inspired comic artist, but if whatever was possessing Pomni knew about Kinger’s trauma, and with the theory that it has something to do with Gangle’s mask, I don’t think its impossible that it could know about Gangle’s trauma as well.

Assuming that whatever was possessing Pomni is actually intentionally connected to Gangle or her new mask, maybe that’s what made the video, not actually Gangle.

That would answer Jax’s question of when she made it— she didn’t.

That would explain Ragatha’s weird vision.

While the video doesn’t have any direct ties to the possession or the face, it definitely has pretty significant indication that she’s not herself— whether thats literally or figuratively. and idk man it was creepy and weird. as I said, im not set on this theory at all, i dont have any concrete idea what was going on here, but i know it has to be something.

this scene and Pomni’s possession were the only moments in the show that felt like the characters were being intentionally harmed— the only instances where they were intentionally made to feel real fear. The characters know that they will not actually be hurt during the adventures, they know that Caine wouldn’t put them in that situation. Sure, Pomni got jumpscared and her eyes popped out, they were panicked when trying to escape the angel head, they were panicked during the whole truck-chase scene in episode 2, but they knew it was all just apart of the adventure and they were gonna be fine in the end.

This fear was different. This was real fear— and they were intentionally made to feel that way. These instances were the only time the characters were genuinely afraid that they were in real danger (aside from the abstraction and backrooms-void situations in episode 1, but obviously those were not intentional).

I think whatever this is is trying to intentionally harm the members of the circus.

side note:

Zooble just found a mask that specifically looks like its for Gangle in their box of parts? why??? obviously it was for Gangle, so why was it in Zooble’s box of extra parts? did Caine put it in there? I guess that would make sense cuz Caine gave them the parts, but again, why give them a mask obviously for Gangle?

Which could mean nothing…? But it is weird that Zooble just randomly happened to stumble across a comedy mask… or maybe i’m just looking too deep into that.

Im gonna definitely post more about whats going on with jax in this episode (“nobody is seeing this, right”, “caine wouldnt do anything malicious its not in his nature”) because that feels important, but thats a theory for another day. this episode had so so much good information and my theory brain is absolutely spinning.

anyways yeah, i dont know. I feel pretty strongly that Ragatha’s vision and Pomni’s possesion are connected and that whatever that face is is important, but again, these are just ideas and the second theory is kinda just spitballing. i dont know if any of this makes sense. either way, all the theories make my brain happy and gooseworx’s storytelling is so amazing to me, whether any of this is right or if im completely missing the mark, its so interesting and i cannot wait to find out what the fuck is actually going on in this show. gooseworx, you talented storytelling genuis you, mwah!

if you have any theories on any of this, please share!! i would love to hear your ideas.

[sorcerous-caress]

Worldbuilding and human kink? Is it my birthday /lh. This has me googling “halfling sex” and being a little surprise someone has thought about it enough to write a generously large paragraph.

Apparently it’s not uncommon for them to have more casual sex with close neighbors and friends indulging in it together. I genuinely think it would be hilarious for a halfling with a human, elf, drow, orc, dwarf, etc (the more uptight races) friend/neighbor to ‘seduce’ and then being very friendly and kind, but not exclusive or even inherently romantic.

Halflings 🤝 Humans

Being horny on main.

Oh my god imagine a poly relationship that's a human who thinks this is a casual friends with benfits deal, a halfing who thinks everyone here is just friends, and one high elf who acts as if they're robbing a bank whenever they watch the human go down on the halfing.

Add a dragonborn who is sweating over which one of those people is gonna end up as their mate for life, who isn't phased by the sex but it's the romance part that's considered a big taboo in their culture to even date someone for love, so imagine seeing more tha one person?

High elves being sex repressed 🤝 Dragonborns being romance repressed

Also I really love world building AAAAA i wanna invent shit and make shit up and shake it around like a snow globe. I believe elves went to the moon much sooner than humans with just magic, dwarves have found fallen space rocks and meteors and used them to forge their weapons, winged elves or any species who can fly already mapped the world and drew all the know maps before humans even learned how to tame horses.

Also the horses is funny, elves has seen them all their lives but never bothered to tame it because it feels weird yk? Why would they ride on an animal, plus their cousin is a centaur so it feels even more weird.

Then they see the humans coaxing the horses with carrots while holding a saddle behind their back, skip a few years and suddenly the horse population skyrockects as humans steal this one animal to their side.

Imagine being a wood elf and in harmony with all of nature, then glancing over at the human city and feeling very confused on what these weird wolves are and why do the humans call them dogs, also why are they obeying the humans and holy shit that one is wearing bowtie.

Occasionally humans just wander into the forest, spot an animal that seems semi useful then kidnap it back to their city, suddenly their population spikes and they're the new best friends of humanity.

It happened the other way with cats tho, the wood elves remember overhearing two cats talking about the hairless apes wandering around and how one was betting the other that they can get them to share their food by just screaming at them.

Humans probably inspired their cuisine based on halflings' recipes since they didn't add soul consuming spices for fun like elves and didn't sprinkle in literal gem and gold dust like dragonborns.

A human with a Halfling neighbour who comes over every other day to share their stew because "they accidentally made too much and can't possibly finish it all themselves so how about you grab a bowl or two, human?"

One day the human makes a joke about how they're a simp or going to horny jail, whatever modern shitposting meme is trending, and the halfling takes it seriously and offers to sleep with them.

I mean, that is basic neighbourly hospitality to them. Of course they will fuck their friend who is in need, you don't even have to ask twice, come here and lay down and they'll take care of you until satisfied.

Now their trips over to your house are twice as frequent, half to feed you their cooking, other half to sate your lust appetite.

[veebs-hates-video-games]

It really is nice finally having a genuinely good Mana game for the first time in over 20 years, not counting remakes. Even counting them I only really thought the Trials one was particularly noteworthy because of how much stuff they improved, especially compared to playing the original with the extremely iffy fan translation when the patch first came out over 20 years ago. The others have been fine but haven't really offered much over the originals aside from looking a little nicer and not needing a console from the 90s to play them legit.

Anyway, as someone who got started with the series as a kid in the 90s, Visions of Mana is a lot of fun.

The people who worked on it really did their homework figuring out what makes the series work and made something that feels like it belongs right next to all the others. It's very much a 90s action JRPG with modern sensibilities and quality of life features, and an actually good translation (which is mostly worth mentioning with how questionable most of them were back then, even from big companies like Squaresoft).

They really captured the visual style of the series and somehow made it work in real time in 3D, full of bright colors and lush landscapes and all the silly little quirks of the Mana games like turning into a snowman when you get frozen. The music's pretty good too and calls back to a bunch of themes from previous games while introducing some new ones too. I don't think most of them will stick in my head for decades like some of the originals, but it's still pretty enjoyable.

Also enjoyable? All of the characters. The story isn't super deep, but it's got the kinds of themes the series likes to go for, and it gives lots of opportunities for the main cast to play off each other in fun ways. I liked them all, but I think Palamena (the squirrel queen who just wants to pretend to be normal but doesn't know how) and Morley (the sad catboy who blames himself for the loss of everyone he knew) ended up being my favorites.

It's kind of funny that the previous game in the series I played was the Trials remake, where the main character I played was the glass cannon magic user who's a princess and the biggest brat the series has ever seen. Then I came here and mostly played the glass cannon magic user who's instead a queen and just wants to be friends with and help everyone. Good contrast.

One of the devs mentioned in an interview that one of the things that inspired the world design was Xenoblade, and it shows (in a good way). Large areas, but not open world, fantastical landscapes with plenty of verticality, running around collecting glowing dots that give you minor resources along the way to wherever you're going, usually something or other in every random corner of the map you poke your way into, and specifically like XC1 a lot of kind of uninspired side quests to go kill or collect however many of whatever. I still did most of them, but most of them are really not the highlight of the game.

Combat's fun though, which is good because there's plenty of it along the way. Could be a little better and a little tighter, and I'd love better feedback on stuff like whether I time dodges right or not, but there's enough variety and customization that you can probably figure out something fun that works for you.

Really the only part that I didn't really like was in the post-game stuff. I liked that they used it to tie together and wrap up a few random side things from the main story, and it was good enough most of the way through, but the final boss of that side quest storyline was probably the single least fun thing in the entire series for me so far. It's not even that hard, just incredibly tedious and designed to counter any of the ways I like to actually play the game. Kind of wish I'd just stopped after the credits and ending, because having that as the last thing I did instead made me like the game very slightly less.

Anyway, it was nice to have something that starts with a vaguely similar premise to the pilgrimage in FFX but then turns out to actually be something I like instead of just getting progressively worse as it goes on like FFX did for me. It kinda sucks that the reward for the people who made it was getting their entire company shut down at the same time the game launched. Hopefully they all find work somewhere doing something interesting, because they're clearly good at what they do, and hopefully Squenix keeps making stuff like this for people like me who've been sick of what they're doing with stuff like FF for years at this point.

[iamheretoyell]

good MORNING

well, early afternoon

I'm exhausted and freezing. I need to be rescued from nyc. Fucking hate it here. Way too cold.

Also, I'm working on Revelations as I procrastinate homework and wait for more work stuff to happen<#

Chapter 7 of Revelations is DONE!!!!

Fun 4:13 update,

I will likely be crashing out over this for the next 3-6 business days.

Because what do YOU MEANNNNNN

5:37: I started writing it before I have to go on a quest and I'm actually not alright LMFAOOOOOO

11:07, I just got back from my quest, up one extra large bag of shaqalicious xl gummies (this is the one thing I fucking love about America ngl) and am ready to write. The only problem is I read one fucking sentence on my way to post this and it just forced me back into my k2 kick. And considering I am MID kenny/clyde arc on Revelations I just do not see me finishing chapter eight tonight. So now I'm about to go through a folder of like 6,000 (realistically, I think it's like 25) wips and look at all the ones that have k2 and build on one of those.

(no one jinx me I might write a bound chapter. I haven't gotten back on it because actually writing a chapter for bound is so much gd work. Like, I gotta draw a whole fucking map, run them through the map, write them getting through the rooms without it being boring, WRITE NEW DIALOGUE THAT HASNT HAPPENED YET, WRITE THE BOSS FIGHT WITHOUT IT BEING TOO EASY OR TOO BORING, and yk. Make it fucking readable??? and like, within a good amount of words??????? Like, I really fucked myself deciding to do the delirium fight, but that might actually be my favorite part of the entire fic so I don't regret writing it. Also I used my one get out of floor free card (and I am very happy with how it turned out so I'm not complaining). I know it sounds like I'm talking myself out of this but lowk I just closed all my docs and opened it up bc now I have to reread the whole thing. Oh also, I don't really give a shit if my one cushion chapter gets posted atp. Expect another bound chapter next week and if I don't post it, someone scream at me. THANKS!)

11:33, I lied, I just wrote a very important conversation between Kenny and Clyde bc idiot inspiration truck hit stupid little idiot brain. NOW BACK TO K2 NONSENSE

(I genuinely wish one of my diehard void readers was a k2 girlie LIKE WHY DO Y'ALL HATE THEM SO MUCH LMFAOOOOO)

11:48, I'm actually giggling over their intro dialogue in Bound like idk what the fuck I was on about writing this but Kenny is so funny in this I'm fucking dead

[roadstoriesattheruralarthub]

WALKING STORIES

Yesterday, I was joined by 7 local writers at Whitchurch Heritage Centre for Walking Stories, a writing workshop inspired by artefacts in the museum’s collection. 

Road Stories started its life on the A495, a busy major road, so most of the stories we collected over the first few months were about cars, motorbikes, trucks, and other things on wheels! This is because its really difficult to walk along that road outside of residential areas. I have done quite a few walks up and down the A495 over the course of the last few months and I get some funny/cross/alarmed looks from motorists! There are hardly any footpaths outside the villages, so you have to have your wits about you, hopping into the hedge to avoid the speeding cars. But the A495 is criss-crossed with footpaths. Looking at a walker’s map of the area, we see a spider’s web of red dotted lines, leading off in every direction. And these are a reminder that most roads started their lives as footpaths, or in rural areas as farm tracks for the transport of animals. And our vehicles for walking, the machines that we use, are our shoes. 

Whitchurch Heritage Centre has a small but fascinating collection of shoes, reflecting the town’s relationship to leather and shoe-making. In the 1850s, there were as many as 17 shoemakers in Whitchurch, mostly located on Yardington. There were tanneries even in the centre of the town, and the suburb of Chemistry gets its name from the manufacture of acids used in leather-curing. The first object that caught my eye in the museum, and the inspiration for the workshop, is the very large shoe of Thomas Dutton, known as the ‘Shropshire Giant’. Thomas, who was born in Stoke on Tern in 1852, , travelled widely as a performer in Bostock and Wombwell’s Travelling Circus in the late 1800s. But he always returned to Whitchurch to get his shoes made, because he found it so difficult to buy shoes in the right size. The shoe in the Heritage Centre is the ‘pattern’ that the cobbler kept for Thomas’ foot but he must have worn it once, as it carries the outline of his foot, the bumps and creases that his toes made in the leather.

The museum also has a collection of clogs, which were made with local alder wood and worn by agricultural and manufacturing workers. I was struck by the shape of clog irons - this is the part that you walk on, on the bottom of the shoe - and its similarity to a horseshoe. 

Shoes play an important part in the folklore and stories of North Shropshire too. Perhaps most well known is the story of the making of the Wrekin. In this story, a cobbler plays a clever trick on a marauding Welsh giant with a bag of worn-out shoes. You can read a version of this story on the Mythstories website here:

I wanted to adapt a shoe story to tell the writers at the Heritage Centre, and I found one that appealed to me in Charlotte Burne’s 1883 book, ‘A Sheaf of Gleanings’. In the story of the Bagley squire, a wicked landowner turns into a dangerous black bull. Eventually, the local people band together with a priest and chase the bull across the countryside praying all the way. Their prayers have the effect of shrinking the bull down to a tiny size, and eventually he is imprisoned in a shoe and buried underneath a church! I have taken some liberties with this story, done away with the priest and the church, and kept the whole thing closer to home. My version of the story was also influenced by the custom of ‘paying your footing’. Charlotte Burnes writesof “at the harvest supper, one of the men takes the lads foot between his knees, blacksmith fashion, and hammers away at the sole of his shoe. Of course, the ‘colt’ kicks freely. Often he had to stand eightpence, the price of the ‘shoe’ in ale for the benefit of the company”. This story appealed to me as a starting point for a writing exercise, because of the questions it poses about what we do with ‘dangerous’  ideas/moments/feelings and how we stop them from walking around in our everyday life. 

What would you bury in a shoe where nobody could find it? And what would the shoe look like that contained this thing? What can a shoe tell us about the person who wears it?

You can listen to my telling of ‘Bull’ here on the website. 

And look out for finished work from our workshop writers appearing here soon! 

As well, one participant in the workshop wrote,

“I felt energy and inspiration rising while you told us stories relating to the boots. And was completely astonished at what emerged in the writing time. I felt on top of the world driving home, thinking about everyone’s differing pieces of writing.”

[mypoisonedvine]

𝖙𝖜𝖎𝖈𝖊 I || professor!helmut zemo x reader

𝖘𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞 : history is so much more interesting when he’s teaching it.  you’d better be careful before the two of you end up with a history of your own.

𝖜𝖔𝖗𝖉 𝖈𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖙 : 6k

𝖜𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘 : smut (incl. semi-public sex in an office and oral f receiving), significant age gap (reader is 20, zemo is 39; it isn’t actually mentioned though but it comes up in the next part), the slightest bit of angst?, nearly pwp at this point lol

                                    You wouldn’t know it by the way you were enraptured with his lecture, but you weren’t even a history major.  

Quite far from it, really, well outside of the college of liberal arts, and yet here you were in the front row, watching him gesture over a large map of Western Europe while he explained the sociocultural impacts of the Treaty of Versailles.

It was probably pretty obvious why you took such interest in all this, though.  After all, you were the only one who dressed as well as he did, your blazers and skirts and loafers standing out amongst a sea of hoodies and sweats and flip-flops; and, you were the only one who paid close attention and yet never seemed to be taking any notes…

Why would you, after all?  Looking away to write in your notebook would mean missing out on all the fun, and unfortunately you had found that when you copied down the words he spoke, his accent was not retained in writing.

Some kid in the back of the class had asked about his accent the first day; you thought it was kind of a rude question, if you were being honest, but he didn’t seem to mind too much (if perhaps a bit surprised that anyone cared).  He explained he was from a small country called Sokovia, but that his accent was a bit unique since he spoke Russian, German, Spanish, and Italian as well.

Because of course he did.  Like he was specifically designed to target all your weaknesses.

“Well, I could talk about that for the rest of the evening but I’ll spare you all and let you out a bit early today, how does that sound?” Professor Zemo offered.  The other students weakly cheered, a few claps here and there as you heard binders shutting and backpacks being zipped, but you were disappointed.  You didn’t want to go back to your dorm, all you were going to do there was think about him anyways.

Damn, I’ve really got it bad, you thought to yourself, shaking your head as you stood up and gathering your things, slinging your bag over your shoulder.  You glanced up at the podium where another student was chatting with Professor Zemo, and either he said something really funny or she was trying way too hard to flirt with him.  You rolled your eyes, irritated by the display and yet envious of her audacity to just go up there and talk to him.  Imagine having a crush and actually being able to look them in the eye and hold a conversation; you could barely do that with people you didn’t happen to find attractive.

Just as you were about to make it out the door, you heard your name and spun around.  You were shocked to realize it was the Professor trying to get your attention.  If only you’d thought to pretend you hadn’t heard him.

“Could I speak with you for a moment?” he requested, motioning you over with two curled fingers.  With a swallow and a nod, you stepped out of the flow of students exiting into the hallway and approached the desk at the front of the room.

“What is it?” you asked.

“I just wanted to discuss your most recent paper, if you have some time,” he explained, and your heart sunk.  Of course it was garbage, you’d written the whole thing last minute during a near-all-nighter.  “I still have the copy you turned in here in my bag.”

“Right, of course— sure,” you nodded.  By now the classroom was empty spare for the two of you, your words echoing slightly; presumably that was intentional, since these places were built for acoustics, but it made you worry you’d have to hear whatever criticism he had for you multiple times.

He pulled out the slightly-wrinkled paper and took his glasses off of his vest to wear (fuck, did he have to wear the glasses, just to personally attack you?) as he glanced over the top page before folding it over the staple.

“This essay,” he continued, “it’s—”

Ridiculous.  Idiotic.  A blight on humanity and a waste of printer ink.

“Fascinating,” he finished, surprising you.  “After I read it, I searched your student profile on my office computer—”

You gulped, trying not to take that as a compliment.

“I’m looking at your information and I’m seeing you aren’t even a history major— is this a mistake, when it says your major is computer science?”

“No, that’s my major,” you nodded.

“Well, that’s a shame,” he decided, “because you have some really interesting ideas in here, clearly you must have studied history before.”

“I mean, not really,” you shrugged.  “I didn’t even care that much about history until, you know, you...r class,” you finished quickly, realizing it sounded too odd otherwise.

And that smile, the way he looked down at the floor suddenly, was he blushing?  “Thank you.  I’m always… glad to inspire.”

If only you knew everything you’d inspired in me, Professor.

“If you didn’t care about history, what would motivate you to register for an honors history seminar?” he asked suddenly.  

“Well…” you trailed off, reaching up to scratch the back of your neck as you dodged his gaze.

“It couldn’t possibly be because I’m teaching it,” he realized.

“I came to your talk last year, the one you did about the Sokovian civil war,” you finally admitted, letting out a lungful of air as you said it and looking up at him sheepishly.

“Ah,” he nodded, “yes, that might make a bit more sense.  But we still haven’t found the real reason, have we?”  His eyebrow raised slightly and you felt like he was toying with you— but you liked it, the shiver that ran up your spine made that obvious.  “Because the question remains of what would possess a computer science student to take time out of her busy schedule on a Friday night— if I recall the night correctly— to listen to some stuffy visiting scholar talk about a bloody war in a country she may not have even heard of before.”

“My friend brought me,” you defended.

“Under what guise?” he pressed.

“She… may have mentioned something about… a cute professor with a sexy accent…” you stammered, cringing slightly as you spared a glance back up at him.  He was staring back at you with the most bewildering expression.  His eyes said ‘you thought I was cute?’, and yet his smile said ‘I knew it.’

“You must’ve been horribly disappointed when I took the stage,” he finally replied, voice a bit lower, softer, not echoing around the room anymore.  

“Not at all,” you returned, almost below your breath now, and suddenly you became very aware that you were standing too close to him, but you couldn’t move away, you couldn’t even look away anymore.  “I’m here, aren’t I?  Taking your class?”

“And you make it nearly impossible to focus, did you know that?  I swear your eyes never leave me, I can feel them on me.  It’s quite unfair, because I can’t stare back at you no matter how much I want to.”

Just as you looked down at his lips and back up to his eyes, which seemed to be following a similar pattern on your own face, just when you thought this might be it and you were about to do something you really shouldn’t (but really wanted to), you heard the door open behind you and you spun around so fast you nearly hurt your neck.

“Oh,” the man in the doorway mumbled, apparently surprised to see you enough to nearly drop the papers tucked under his arm.  “I’m teaching the next class in here— Honors History of Islam?”

“Professor Waters, yes, my apologies,” Zemo nodded, “we were just… our discussion ran a bit long, we’ll get out of your way.”

You and Zemo awkwardly gathered your things and made a dash for the door as the older professor took his place at the podium.  Once the two of you were out in the hall, you let out a sigh and gave each other a glance, like you were each waiting for the other to either acknowledge or ignore what had just (almost) happened.

“I have my next class across campus in a half hour,” he remembered suddenly, lifting his arm and pulling back the brown sleeve of his coat to look at his watch.  

“Right, you should… get to that,” you nodded.

“Walk with me?” he proposed, and you hoped your smile wasn’t as beaming as it felt.  

“I’d love to.”

So maybe you ended up skipping your evening class to sit in the back of his History of England course.  And, perhaps, he ended that one early, too, this time to buy you coffee at the student center; and your discussion ended up going on so long that the coffee shop closed and you had to go to his office to finish the conversation.

But, in a certain sense, it could be argued that you never really got a chance to finish that conversation after all… because a few moments after he shut the door to his office, you, for lack of a better term, jumped his bones.

“Fuck,” he mumbled against your lips as you pulled him closer by his jacket, “we can’t do this.”

You nodded, reaching up to wrap your arms around his neck.  “Mhm, yeah, you’re right,” you agreed breathlessly.

His hands took their place at your waist as you both stepped back, the back of your legs bumping into his desk which you jumped up slightly to sit on.

“I mean, we really can’t do this,” he continued, kissing your neck instead now while your legs wrapped around his hips, your skirt riding up slightly, your fingers fumbling with the buttons on his collar.  “I want to, overwhelmingly so, but we can’t.”

“I know,” you sighed; your head fell back when his teeth grazed over your pulse, and his hand was right there to catch it and hold it up, gripping the back of your neck.

“This absolutely cannot happen,” he groaned when your legs pulled him closer, something hard and hot pressing up against your thigh through his trousers and you were really hoping it wasn’t just his cell phone.

Then he rocked his hips, just barely, and you felt the outline of the ridge of his head and it was definitely not his phone unless he had the most suggestively-shaped phone case of all time.  You gasped and grabbed his face to kiss him again, shamelessly desperate now, weaving your fingers into the hair just above the back of his neck.

By now you had managed to get a few of his buttons open so when you slid your fingers down from time to time, they ran over his chest and the patch of dark blonde hair there.  Funny enough, you couldn’t remember having any strong opinions on chest hair before this afternoon, but now you felt your walls fluttering around nothing.  

He helped you shed your blazer just before tossing his own coat aside, never breaking the kiss, holding your face gently while he pushed you down to lay on his desk— he reached behind you to clear a few stray papers out of the way first.  

Your back hit the glossy wood and his weight pinned you down, rough hands sliding up your legs and under your skirt as you tried to push your hips up for more friction where you needed him most.

He pushed your hips back down, not too roughly but definitely enough to get your attention, before sliding his hands up your skirt again where he toyed with the hem of your panties.

You wanted to say something, more specifically you wanted to beg him to touch you, but you had this fear that if you spoke now it would all become real and he would stop because, as he had so poignantly noted, this can’t happen.  And both of you knew that… so maybe it would be easier to let it happen if neither of you really acknowledged it.

Luckily, he didn’t tease you too long, reaching under the fabric and swiping the rough pads of his fingers over your slickened folds.  You choked on your gasp, accidentally digging your nails into his shoulders when he drew delicate circles around your clit.  All at once, he suddenly pushed those fingers right inside you and your back arched; you needed so much more than just his fingers but the way they twisted and curled against your walls was nearly perfect as well.  

They didn’t stay long, quickly pulling back as you watched him quickly open his trousers just before you felt the head of him pushing up to your entrance.

His eyes met yours, dark with need, yet somehow clearly asking you for permission, making sure this was what you wanted: and fuck, you wanted it more than anything.  The moment that you nodded, he began to push forward— slow and deliberate, but unyielding.  

Perhaps as a perfect healthy college student in a male-dominated major, you had no real excuse for it to have been so long since you’d had sex.  As you liked to put it: dating as a woman in computer science means the odds are good but the goods are odd.  Truth be told, you weren’t sure at this point if having had sex any time in the past year would’ve prepared you for him anyway.  It felt like he was forging a new path inside you— certainly a wider one than anyone else ever had since he was so thick.  

With his hips fully seated against yours, the tip of his cock just reached the end of you, just barely brushed over those sensitive spots you didn’t even know you had before.

It stung a bit to be filled this thoroughly, so it was no wonder you were biting down on your lip hard enough to bruise it, your fingers clutching at his shirt tightly.

“Am I hurting you?” he whispered, finally breaking the silence, voice strained like he was struggling just as much as you were (though in an entirely different way).

“A little,” you admitted.  “Please don’t stop.”

He groaned a few curses as he started to move back, and forth, and so slow you could hardly stand it.  

“Fuck,” you breathed, “oh my god, harder, please…”

A little smile crossed his face, a sharp exhale almost like a laugh, and it made your cheeks burn even hotter than they already were.  But, he obeyed, regardless, more aggressive in his movements yet not any faster as he held your hips to keep you from sliding across the desk’s glossy wood surface.

Your moans were starting to echo around the office’s beige walls at this point, and he snarled as he bit down on your neck.  “You need to stay quiet,” he hissed in your ear.  “Can you do that for me?  Can you stay quiet even when I’m making you feel so good?”

“I-I’m trying,” you whimpered, “your cock is… so deep…”

“Oh, I know,” he cooed, voice heavy with faux pity, “poor thing, you can’t take it?”

“No!” you yelped.  “I can take it!  Please, please don’t stop.”

“I won’t have to if you stay quiet, darling, we can’t have somebody hearing you now can we?” he chuckled, licking and sucking at your pulse point as your eyes rolled back in your head.  “We can’t have somebody hearing you cry for me, and coming in here, and seeing you laying on my desk getting fucked by your professor, right?”

What the hell was wrong with you that that idea actually turned you on?  Why did it actually make you want to moan louder until everyone could hear you?

And when his cock speared right against that spongy spot inside you, you did exactly that and he had to suddenly clamp his hand down over your mouth.

“Fuck,” he growled, “you’re going to get us both in trouble.”

Your attempts at apologies were totally incomprehensible with his hand over your mouth, not that they were likely to have made much sense either way.

Blinking your eyes shut, your legs began to quiver slightly as he rutted into you, your toes curling inside your loafers.  You felt so full you could hardly stand it, stretched so wide that you were forced to feel every detail of his cock as it filled you.  Already your walls were bearing down on him; you couldn’t help it, it was like your body was just his instrument now and instinct had taken control of your movements.  

His accent was definitely stronger now as he whispered in your ear, praising you gruffly.  You knew from the beginning that you loved high marks and encouragement from your teachers, but this… this was different, and you hadn't known how much it would affect you.

"Good girl," he breathed, "you're taking me so well, draga, you feel so perfect around me."

You whined from behind his hand and he chuckled at your obvious neediness.

"You like making me feel good, darling?" he presumed, his smile pressing against your neck between nipping kisses to your pulse point.  "You like knowing that I can barely take this tight cunt gripping me so well, that I'm already addicted to your precious body and want to fill it with my seed?"

With your eyes rolling back in your head you nodded feverishly, heavy in your state of total delirium as he pumped his cock deep into you over and over.

You reached up to try to pull his hand away from your mouth, and he met your gaze with fire in his eyes.

“If I take my hand away, will you be good?” he challenged, and you nodded feverishly.  He was a bit hesitant but slowly moved his hand down, and though you did have to keep biting your lip, you managed to restrain yourself.

Every drag of the ridge of his head inside you was somehow more intense than the last, somehow hitting right at your spot and it was like each rough thrust knocked his name out of your mind and onto your lips until you were chanting it like a prayer, or a plea.

And each time you said it, he fucked you harder, snarling and whispering your name back to you a few times, in between little praises; "Beautiful," he mumbled, "such a sweet little girl… such a perfect cunt."

“I— fuck, I’m gonna—” you stammered your warning.  

“Will you come for me?” he finished for you, and you nodded quickly.

“Fuck, I’m so close,” you hissed.

It was obvious just by the build-up that you were going to come hard, pleasure tightening in your core until you were sure that it would spill over but it just kept going, making you wonder if it would ever reach the breaking point.

And oh boy did it, it slammed into you in fact, and your legs quivered as you struggled for air.  He growled in your ear, fucking you harder through it all, stroking every place that had only become even more sensitive.  The moment you could form words again, you were wasting the ability on a string of swears and promises you couldn’t keep.

“Yours, fuck, it’s yours,” you sobbed.  He chuckled a little, pulling back to examine your face which must have given away how fucked-out and cockdrunk you were already.

“Say it again,” he demanded darkly, holding you tighter, fucking you a bit more deliberately though not any less aggressively.

“Yours,” you gasped, cut off by a rough and dominating kiss.  Your moans were lost to his tongue but he didn’t need them to know you were coming, the way your body gripped him tighter than ever was sign enough.

“So good,” he whispered against your lips, “you’re doing so good for me…”

His words washed over your skin and soothed you like a salve, bringing some relief from the overwhelming feelings his body was assaulting yours with.

All things considered, he was still moving rather slowly, each of his thrusts measured and patient, and never really changing speed even as you were coming around him.  Weak little cries fell from your throat each time his hips met yours and the tip of his cock kissed the deepest parts of you.

Your body went limp in his arms and you hadn't noticed before how good it felt for him to hold you, for his strong hands to support you like it was nothing.  His thumb gently stroked your back through your shirt and you mewled weakly into his shoulder.

"So good, draga, so fucking good," he mumbled, holding you closer.

"Please… faster," you whimpered, "I want you to come."

"Is that what you want?" he taunted, ignoring the way you nodded immediately.  "You want to make me come, darling?"

"Yes, please, want it so much," you gasped.

He finally sped up, though it was still nothing like the lightning-speed jackhammering you were used to from guys your age: it was better, certainly, especially when he lifted your leg onto his shoulder and pushed so deep you saw stars.

The second one seemed to hit you all at once, almost out of nowhere, and you heard yourself mumble, “Professor, I’m coming.”  It sounded a bit pitiful, the way you said it, but he apparently didn’t mind as you felt him nod encouragingly in the crook of your neck.

You felt totally drained by now, exhausted even though all you’d been doing was lying there and taking it, but you knew he wasn’t done with you yet.  But, if the way his thrusts were becoming more desperate and erratic were anything to go by, he might be done with you soon.

"I'm going to come inside you," he groaned against your ear.  You were, like, 99.9% sure that if you told him not to, he would pull out, but the way that he phrased it, like a demand, like you didn't have a choice and he would do it either way… it had an effect on you, one he noticed when your channel tightened around him instantly.  "Oh, you like that idea, hm?  You want to be full of my come?  Your sweet little cunt is already trying to milk every drop from me."

"Yes," you breathed, "fuck, I want your come in me, please!"

He sped up quite a bit then, each slam of his hips into yours making you choke on a whine, your arms weakly clinging onto him for dear life.

You could feel his cock swelling, flexing, pushing your body to its limits as he moaned lowly through his teeth, streams of come making you feel warm and full.

He didn't stop until every drop was in you, thrusting in time with each pump of his release until he slowed to a stop.

Strands of hair fell into his face as he hung his head, panting hard and fast.  You melted back onto the desk, realizing this might be the first time in a solid half hour your back wasn’t arched.

It was a bit of a struggle to keep your eyes open against the heavy fog of afterglow that filled your mind; you couldn’t remember the last time you felt so… satiated.  As a college student, you were always thinking about the next assignment, mentally re-evaluating your calendar, or preparing for something— and usually all on less than six hours of sleep.

But now your mind was as close to a blank slate as it had been in at least a decade.  Even though you probably should’ve been, you weren’t even thinking about the potential consequences of this, the implications, the risks.  No, you were just staring up at him, thinking about kissing him again.

He would have to lean down for that, though; there was no way you were going to sit up now.

You hadn't even noticed that you had closed your eyes, almost falling asleep right there on his desk, until you felt his hand cradle your face softly, a calloused thumb rubbing over your cheek.

In unison, the both of you sighed deeply.

As much as it felt like a real effort, you blinked open your eyes and looked up at him, watching him comb his fingers through his hair.  It only messed up the style even further yet he looked better than ever.

He slowly moved his hips back, leaving you annoyingly empty, and readjusted himself until he almost looked put together again… but his collar was still uneven and his lips still looked bitten and there was still that precious pinkish hue on his cheeks.  If anyone else saw him in this state, they’d either know what happened between you two or think he’d just run across campus or something.

If anyone else saw him in this state, you’d be a little jealous, to be totally honest.

You got back to work trying to right your appearance as well, though you knew the best you could hope for was only mildly presentable; he looked at you like you’d never looked better, though.

“Well, this was fun,” you chuckled breathlessly, “but it’s getting pretty late and I have an eight a.m. tomorrow…”

“Yeah, so do I,” he nodded, glancing away.  

You picked up your bag from where you’d dropped it by the door, lifting the strap over your shoulder and starting to turn to leave.

"I… I should walk you back to your dorm," he announced, making you smile.

"That's sweet, but save your chivalry.  I can take care of myself just fine."

"But—"

"I think it's safer if we're not seen together walking together by my dorm," you interjected, "especially when I'm walking a little funny…"

"I hope I didn't hurt you," he winced sympathetically.

"No, trust me, that was… exactly what I needed," you breathed.  He smiled a little, looking down at the floor.

"Then I'll see you in class," he nodded, watching you closely as you stepped back and picked up your bag, starting to leave his office with one last small wave goodbye.  “Wait, wait!” he whispered harshly just before you could let go of his door, and you giggled as he leaned out into the hall and glanced around to make sure no one was nearby.  

When he confirmed the coast was clear, he smiled and grabbed your face with one hand, pulling you into a sudden kiss.  And you smiled too— you couldn’t help it— as you kissed him back, almost ready for him to drag you back into that office and start this all over again.  He did let you go, though, with one more whispered ‘goodnight’ and a look that made your heart do little somersaults.

As you finally did make your way back to your dorm, you tried to figure out if that was a goodbye kiss or a ‘see you soon’ kiss.  Or maybe a ‘thanks for the one-time office quickie’ kiss?  But you didn’t know enough about this sort of thing to know if that was even an option.

All you did know was that you really hoped it wasn’t the last kiss you’d have with him.

Can I speak to you in my office today after class?  Thank you.

-Z

You may ask yourself: can one simple email, in only thirteen words, strike fear into the hearts of those who read it?  And the answer is yes, assuming that email is from Professor Helmut Zemo and read by the lovestruck student who slept with him two days ago and hasn't stopped thinking about it since.

Only one of a few things could happen in his office after class, and there was a massive gap between the best and worst case scenarios.  You dressed for the best but prepared yourself psychologically for the worst.

You caught him staring as you walked past the teaching podium to your seat in the front; you just hoped nobody else caught him.  And if you'd thought paying attention in class was tough before, boy oh boy was it a challenge now.  The nerves of what he wanted to discuss with you were bad enough alone, but that combined with memories from two days earlier randomly assaulting your psyche was just overwhelming.

When he pointed at the map with two fingers, you could remember exactly how those fingers had felt inside you, twisting and curling and getting you ready for his cock.

When he spoke, you could hear the difference in his voice compared to how he groaned out his praises while he was fucking you within a damn inch of your life.

And every once in a while, when he couldn’t help but glance at you for a moment, his gaze burned right through you; you were helpless to those brown eyes, completely paralyzed by them, and it must’ve been hours of that before class finally ended.

For the first time, you were the first person out the door when he released the class.  As much as it was going to be a little bit weird to beat him to his office, it was certainly better than any of your other options.  There was a chair in the hall beside the door, and you took a seat and pretended to read a book just to look busy (there was no way you could actually turn symbols on a page into readable language right now, not when you knew he’d be here any minute to talk about… something).

Your peripheral caught him coming down the hall, but you pretended to be deeply immersed in your book until he was right beside you, unlocking his door and opening it for you and himself.  Tucking your book away and following him inside, you found him already staring at you, expression completely unreadable.  Your gut sank in anticipation of whatever conversation this was going to become, and a moment passed in heavy silence.

"Hi," you greeted plainly, letting out a quick breath.

"Hi," he returned.  "Close the door behind you."

You nodded and did as you were told, quietly pushing the wood back until the door latched before approaching where he had come to stand beside his desk.  Though you didn't originally intend to, you found yourself standing a bit too close.

"I'm not quite sure where to start," he admitted, chuckling breathlessly as he reached up to rub the back of his neck.  He looked cute flustered, which was a shame because his tone seemed to imply you needed to not be thinking about how cute he was.  “Listen, you should know that what happened before… it was a mistake,” he sighed.  “It can’t happen again.”

“Do you regret it?” you asked point-blank.

“It can’t happen again,” he repeated in lieu of a real answer, and you looked closely at his face; you didn’t find as much confidence there as you were looking for, it wasn’t the face of a man who knew he was making the right choice.  You certainly didn’t think he was making the right choice.

“Why did you want to have this conversation alone in your office, then?” you challenged.

He cleared his throat slightly.  “So no one would hear us.”

“Hear us talk?” you pressed.  “Is that all?”

“That’s… definitely the plan,” he nodded, swallowing dryly.  "Like I said, it was a mistake— my fault, not yours.  And I just hope we can put it behind us respectfully."

“All the best mistakes are made at least twice,” you whispered, reaching up to trail your finger down his lapel.  “Don’t you think?”

“Don’t do that,” he requested tensely.

"Do what?"

"That," he hissed.  "Stop being… irresistible," he clarified, eyes darting from your lips to your finger to your eyes and back again.  "A man can only take so much.  I'm trying to do right by you."

"You already did when you fucked me that good," you smirked.  "Nothing else could be as right as that."

Your fingers were just barely brushing over his belt when he grabbed you by the wrist.  Jaw tight and eyes solemn, he shook his head.

You wrenched out of his grasp with a nod.  It was worth a shot, but you didn't want to be that person who couldn't take no for an answer— so, you gave him a little smile and readjusted the strap of your bag.  “Well, if it was just the once, then you should know that I’m still glad it happened.  Even if it shouldn’t have.”

He nodded, strategically not speaking— but you knew he would agree, if he could.

“And if it’s any consolation to you now, you were the best I ever had.”

You reached for the doorknob, just starting to turn it and open your way out when he suddenly slammed it shut with a hand right above your head, making you gasp and spin around to look up at his dark gaze.

“Professor…” you whispered.

“The best you ever had?” he repeated, grinning proudly when you nodded.  “Oh, sweetheart, I wasn’t even trying.”  He leaned down to brush his lips against your ear as he whispered to you: “You don’t even know yet how good I can make you feel.”

A shiver ran up your spine; your tongue darted out to lick your lips.  “Are you going to get on with it and show me?”

He didn’t even let you step away from the door, dropping to his knees right there and pushing up your skirt to kiss and bite your thighs.  “Only if you ask very nicely,” he taunted with a brow raised in challenge.

“Please,” you breathed, “fuck, please, want you to taste me.”

His hands slid up your legs, grabbing the hem of your panties before sliding back down.

It wasn’t like you’d never been eaten out before, but this still felt like a first considering your skirt was pushed up to your waist, your panties were pulled down to your ankles, and even just one slow lick over your folds made it obvious he knew exactly what he was doing.

“F-fuck,” you choked, reaching down to weave your fingers into his hair.  He grinned against your skin and kept going, exploring you carefully before finally sucking on your swollen clit.  Your knees threatened to buckle, your head fell back against the door so hard it almost hurt, but all you could really feel was his mouth on you, moving like he knew your body better than you did.

So it was no wonder, then, that you already began to spiral towards your release, legs shaking around his head as he devoured you mercilessly.

"Oh my god, I—" you tried to warn him, but he already knew, and he pulled back to wipe his mouth with his sleeve and stand up.  He grabbed your jaw and kissed you roughly, stopping to whisper to you so close that his lips brushed against yours.

"I'm sorry, draga, but you've spoiled me… now that I've felt you come around my cock, I can't imagine making you come any other way.  I need to feel your cunt grip me so fucking tight… it's all I've been thinking about since I last saw you," he admitted.

"I thought about it, too," you sighed.  "I was up all night trying to make myself come as good as you did but I couldn't… your come was still leaking out of me."

He growled and leaned in to nip at your ear.  "Oh, poor thing… I can imagine it so easily, you laying in your bed with your legs spread, fingers getting exhausted from playing with your little pussy too much, these perfect lips whining for me because you need me to take care of you."

"H-Helmut, please," you whimpered.  

"Yeah, something like that," he smirked.

"I can't wait any more, just fuck me.  Need you inside me," you breathed.

"Then bend over my desk."

{part 2}

[alatismeni-theitsa]

This whole making of ancient Greek mythology series in books and movies Hollywood does goes waaaay back to the Renaissance period when the Italians longed for the glory days of ancient Greece and Rome. So they taught about the great philosophers and made art based on that, our plays and teachings were an inspiration for Europe. And that same inspiration was in US as well with all the immigrants going there.

Yes there was the Asian also culture that influenced, but the core was Ancient Greece so it remained on top even to this day. Especially nowadays with the popularity of our mythology it will not calm down, but I at least hope we Greeks can create our own pieces of media instead of hoping from foreigners to do it for us.

I mean, it wasn't just the Italians...But back then, if it was someone who had the closest connection to the Roman empire, this is the Italians. So I find it a bit natural they remembered those ideals and eras again and used them as they pleased. I think the Italians have our backs more than anyone else in Europe when it comes to how our myths are used because they are seeing the same shit from the New world countries and northwest Europe.

And the funny thing is that these western European countries tried to fight off the Romans at every chance xD It is great to get influenced by other cultures, don't get me wrong. But they went into such a large degree of fetishization that they consider themselves inheritors of the Greek culture even though they are not in the Greek culture.

Large parts of philosophy and medicine they also took from the Arabs and Persians, but they very conveniently forget them. Ancient Greece was an ideal they wanted to build their ethnic identities around, much more in the US, which needed a shared ground. That's why, at the same decades the Greeks in the US were segregated, suffering from police brutality, and called dirty rats, buildings inspired by ancient Greece and Rome were built all over the country.

There is a lot of appreciation in the beginning, but it has come to the point of misappropriation, and the Greek people never asked to be seen as "the representatives of the white culture" (or other racist bs). If I decorate my house in traditional Hindustani style and I don't give a shit about North Indians and their culture, am I really inspired by their culture, or do I just keep the elements that suit me and disregard what doesn't look "pretty" to me?

"We owe it all to ancient Greeks" my ass. They can't pronounce a Greek surname, name a Greek dish, or show Greece on the map to save their lives. They don't give a shit about Greece's history and its people after it became Christian. Because it doesn't suit their Catholic/Protestant-Evangelical propaganda and aesthetics. (If you ask them about Byzantium they are like "eeh what is that??")

As I say in a popular post of mine, if you see “Greek mythology” and your mind goes to North Americans and Northwestern Europeans, you haven’t decolonized your mind yet. (link)

[ilovefandoms102]

The Worst Vacation

Pairing: Drew Starkey x Plus Size Reader

Summary: Your boyfriend surprises you on your vacation with your work friends...

Note: Inspired by my trip to AZ which was terrible so this is kind of based off real events that happened to me but dramatized for the story, and of course inserting my baby daddy Drew😛.

Click here to be apart of my taglist

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Life works in funny ways…

I never expected to find the love of my life a little over a year ago. Drew came unexpectedly into my life and we instantly had a connection. I know, I know...sounds extremely cliche, but it’s the truth.

Although our relationship was mostly long distance, we made it work. Sure it was really hard sometimes not having him around, but once I graduated from college we planned on moving in together. It might seem a bit fast since we have only been together a year, but I’m ready and I know Drew’s the one I want to spend forever with.

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I go on vacation with a girl I work with every year, Sally, since I started working with her two years ago. This year, we chose to go to Arizona. I was super excited because we had also planned on going to Las Vegas and Los Angeles.

Drew was extremely supportive and was happy that I was getting the opportunity to travel. I was hesitant with wanting to go at first because I had wanted to save up enough money to visit Drew while he was filming.

However, we both agreed his schedule was too hectic at the time and that we wouldn’t be able to properly spend time with each other. We were both disappointed, but still I was excited to go with my friend.

Or so I thought…

The trip was slowly turning into a disaster, everything that could have gone wrong did. My friend had brought along her niece, Caroline, which I didn’t mind despite not knowing her very well. It felt like the trip was mainly focused on them and I was just there to be the chauffeur.

I called Drew the first three nights of my stay crying because they were so awful to me. Drew being the sweet man he is offered to pay for a flight home, but I declined. I already had spent too much money to not finish out the trip.

“But sweetheart, if you’re not having a good time there’s no point in being there.” Drew pressed, his handsome face lighting up my phone screen.

“I know honey, but I’ve already spent a thousand dollars for this trip. I can’t just come home and leave them here.” I sighed, snuggling further into what would be my bed for another 10 dreadful days.

“I’ll give you the money back angel, I just don’t want you to be miserable when this is supposed to be a relaxing trip.” Drew insisted.

“I’m not taking your money Drew you spoil me enough.” I smiled, wishing more than anything he was lying here with me so I could kiss his cute face.

“I always want to spoil you baby, you mean the world to me.” he professed, grinning widely afterwards.

“I miss you so much,” I whispered, my heart aching to feel his strong arms around me.

“I miss you more,” he whispered back, pouting his lips slightly.

We talked until one of us fell asleep only to call back the next morning. My friends even had the nerve to comment on how much I talked to him.

“It’s a little obsessive...I mean you guys have been together for what a year?” Sally condescended, narrowing her eyes at me.

“Yeah? So what?” I questioned, the annoyance clear in my tone.

“I’m just saying it’s weird.” she scoffed, crossing her arms behind her head as we laid out in the sun by our pool.

“It’s weird for me to talk to my boyfriend?” I asked, making sure I was extra sarcastic.

“Every second of the day...yeah.” she chuckled, making my blood boil even higher.

I chose to be the bigger person however, and just kept to myself.

=====================================

The 5th day of my vacation, I hadn’t heard from Drew the whole day. It worried me, but I was also thinking about what Sally said. Maybe I was being clingy…

A knock on the door startled me from my thoughts. I thought maybe one of the girls had ordered food or something, so I opened the door and my mouth dropped open.

“Hi baby,” Drew greeted, my eyes watering from pure joy.

“Drew! What are you doing here?!” I asked excitedly, throwing myself in his arms.

“I came to see my baby,” he mumbled into my cheek, placing a gentle kiss on the red skin from being in the sun.

“Are you actually fucking kidding me?!” Sally exclaimed from behind us.

“Well nice to meet you too.” Drew mumbled sarcastically while letting go of me but not completely.

“Chill Sally, he’s just here a few days.” I huffed, rolling my eyes as I turned to face her.

“This is supposed to be OUR vacation!” She reiterated, throwing her arms out.

“It still is our vacation,” I emphasized.

“Not when you’ll be all over your boyfriend!” she shouted.

“I barely get to see him as it is Sal, you know that.” I said softly, trying to gain an empathy pass so she would just leave me alone.

“Whatever,” she sighed, clearly irritated as she stomped off.

I paid her no mind since she threw fits all the time like this. I pulled Drew to the room I was staying in, slamming the door shut. Drew threw his stuff by mine, then smirked at me and tackled me on the bed. I let out a little squeal, beaming up at the handsome man that I got to call mine.

“I’m so happy now,” I confessed, biting down on my lip to try and keep my tears in.

“Me too my love,” Drew whispered, sealing our lips for the first real kiss we had shared in a long time.

=====================================

Today was the day we were taking a drive to Las Vegas, which I was very very excited for. It was a nice change to wake up to soft kisses instead of Sally barging in here and demanding I wake up.

“Good morning beautiful,” Drew murmured in his deep morning voice, his kisses continuing their loving assault.

“This is a very nice wake up,” I giggled, snuggling further into him.

Drew hummed in agreement against the skin of my neck, his slight stubble tickling the delicate area. His large hands felt up the curve of my hips, taking my(his) shirt with them.

Drew had always claimed since we started dating that he was obsessed with the wide curves that I hated more than anything. He even said he loved how thick my thighs were, which I never thought in a million years I’d hear come from a man’s mouth.

“I love you, my girl. ” he whispered, my heart fluttering in my chest.

“I love you, my man.” I whispered back.

Our moment was rudely interrupted when Sally banged on the door saying we needed to hurry up. I couldn’t control my eyes from rolling in annoyance as Drew and I untangled from each other. We got ready quickly before making our way to the car to start the four hour trip.

=====================================

The drive was smooth sailing, Drew and I taking turns driving while Sally pouted about having to sit in the back. My hand clenched Drew’s tightly at her sly comments. Luckily, Drew wasn’t having it with her since he knew I wouldn't say anything.

“So this is the guy you’ve been obsessing over for the past year?” she asked snootily, knowing it would irritate me.

“I think it’s more like I’m obsessed with her.” Drew spoke up, squeezing my hand before smiling at me.

“Really? She never shuts up about you.” Sally retorted, raising a challenging brow at him.

“Well, I’m glad because I’m the same way with my friends, they love her.” Drew chuckled, but I could tell he was just as irritated as I was.

We stopped to get gas thankfully or otherwise I would have exploded. I stomped inside to the restrooms, slamming the stall door shut.

I got in the drivers side after I came out, Drew waiting by the door to open it for me. I smiled small at him, getting on my tipey toes to kiss him quickly before getting in.

We finally had made it, but things were not looking good. I had accidentally ended up in the old part of Vegas instead of the main strip, and Sally blew up on me.

“How can you be so fucking stupid is it really that hard to type shit in on a map?!” she screeched.

“It’s not that big of a deal, we're not far,” Caroline commented, annoyed with her aunt's attitude.

“God this is a fucking disaster I don’t even want to be here anymore!” she shouted, my hands gripped the steering wheel tightly. Drew sat in silence, not sure what to do to diffuse the tension.

“God will you just shut up! I don’t know where every fucking place is in the world! This is my first time here just as it is yours, now just shut the hell up and let me concentrate!” I finally snapped, angrily typing on my phone to figure out where we needed to be.

I found where Caesar’s Palace was located, and they just so happened to have free parking as well. I slammed the gas and took us there. Drew and I got out of the car, but Sally and Caroline didn’t budge.

A few minutes later, Caroline storms out of the car slamming the door as hard as she could. She rushed past Drew and I, heading towards the exit.

“I’m sorry y/n, I hate that she treats you like that.” Caroline spoke up once we exited the parking garage.

“I’m used to it, she talks to me like that at work too.” I confessed, Drew whipping his head towards me.

“Y-You never told me that…” he murmured, looking down at me with an almost hurt expression.

I shook my head at him, signaling now was not the time.

=====================================

Sally threw her tantrum, then met us in the Bellagio. We sort of made up, but I did it merely so the rest of the day wasn’t awkward. Drew was quiet, probably still a bit upset with me.

We toured the hotel, the decorative flowers and artistry truly breathtaking. We ended up in front of Hell’s Kitchen where we would be eating later tonight. Drew and I took some pictures together to post on our stories while Sally and Caroline walked towards Caesar’s Palace.

“I wish you’d let me say something,” Drew blurted, sitting on one of the steps with me standing between his legs.

“No Drew, it will just make things worse.” I sighed, leaning into him.

“She’s so mean to you my love, I don’t like it.” he stated, his arms coming around me.

“I’ll be ok baby,” I mumbled, playing with his hair while smiling down at him.

“How about...you and I sneak away.” Drew suggested, tapping his fingers on my hips.

“Then they’d really be pissed,” I chuckled.

“We can just say we got lost.” he shrugged.

“Why do I feel like you’re up to something Starkey?” I questioned, raising my brow at him.

“I may or may not have booked us a room for today.” he grinned slyly, suddenly pulling me tight against him.

“To cuddle?” I teased, smirking as I ran my hands up his chest to the hairs at the back of his neck.

“Well yes...but also to fuck.” Drew said bluntly, smiling as I gasped at him.

“Joseph Starkey!” I exclaimed, giggling as my cheeks turned a deep shade of red.

“Baby come on it’s been sooooo long, my balls are aching.” he whined, cupping his hand over his manhood.

“Awwww are they? My poor baby boy.” I pouted, rubbing his cheeks with my thumbs.

He nodded, his lips pouting out as well. I couldn’t help the smile widening on my face, his cute pout making my insides melt.

“Let’s go then Drewbear,” I giggled, pulling his arms to stand up.

=====================================

We quickly checked in, rushing up to the room. I didn’t have time to appreciate the beauty of the room, Drew immediately spinning me around and lifting me into his arms. Drew laid us down on the bed, my phone rang out, no doubt one of the girls calling.

“Drew, I-I should get that.” I panted, his kisses moving down my neck. I felt his hand snake down my body, reaching into my pocket to take out my phone.

“They’ll be fine without us,” Drew smirked, lifting up and silencing my phone.

“Drew I should at least text the-” I started, but stopped talking when Drew took his shirt off.

“Sorry baby, were you saying something?” he asked rhetorically, smirking at my staring eyes. I shook my head, my eyes traveling down his toned form.

Drew stared down at me, his gaze sending chills down my spine. His hands traveled from my knees, down my thighs, up until they reached the bottom of my shirt. His eyes flickered to mine, and I nodded my head. Drew’s hands went under my shirt, my breath hitching in my throat.

I lifted my hands, sitting up a little so Drew could take my shirt off. He tossed it to the ground with his, while he did that, I unhooked my bra and threw it in the same direction before laying back down. Drew’s hands ventured towards my breasts as his lips explored the skin of my collarbones, lightly nipping at the area. I couldn’t contain the moan that escaped when Drew lightly rolled my nipples between his fingers,

“Fuck,” I whispered, my nails lightly digging into his scalp as I tugged on his hair.

Drew wasted no time in getting to where he really wants. He shoved off both our pants and underwear, situating me just how he likes before he buried his face in me. His tongue worked wonders, licking and sucking on each spot that made me tick.

“Oh my, baby please don’t stop.” I begged, my back arching slightly off the bed as my legs started enclosing towards his head. Drew lifted his head momentarily to stick two of his fingers in gently, my eyes rolled to the back of my head.

“My girl has such a pretty pussy.” he commented, his breath ghosting over where his tongue had just been.

I moaned loudly at his praise, gripping the sheets between my fingers as I felt my orgasm just in reach. Drew smiled as his mouth went back to work, his fingers increasing their pace as well. I could feel the band about to snap, my legs shaking the closer I got. With just the slight curl of his fingers, the flick of his tongue, and I was done for.

“I’m-” I gasped, not finishing my sentence as my orgasm hit me like a freight train.

“Mmmmm fuck yes baby,” Drew groaned, working me through it as he watched the cum drip from his fingers and onto the bed sheets.

Drew took his fingers from me, sliding them in his mouth to suck them clean. My stomach fluttered watching him, it was the hottest thing I had ever seen him do. He then grabbed my hips and flipped us over so I was on top, my head spinning a bit from the quickness of his movements.

“My turn princess,” Drew smiled, kissing my lips hotly before lying back down.

I smirked down at him, kissing my way down his body. I got to his vline, leaving my mark down it until I got to his dick. I licked from his balls to the tip, squealing lightly when his hand was suddenly in my hair. His chest was moving at a rapid pace, his eyes burning into mine as I took him in my mouth.

“I missed your mouth so much my love, fuck it’s so good.” he moaned, throwing his head back.

I moved my head up and down, using my hands to meet my mouth with what I couldn’t fit in my mouth. His grip on my hair tightened, pushing my head slightly. I gagged once I got to the base, taking a deep breath as my eyes watered.

“I’m gonna cum,” Drew panted, thrusting his hips into my mouth as I sucked harder. I pulled all the way up, sucking on his tip and flicking my tongue as fast as I could. He moaned as he came, spurting his seed into my mouth.

“Let me see, did you swallow it all my good girl?” Drew asked, pulling my hair so my mouth was removed from him.

“Mhm,” I hummed as I showed him my tongue that was clean.

Drew smiled at me, moving his hold to either side of my face and smashing my mouth to his. I held his wrists, moaning softly into his mouth as I shuffled closer.

“Come on beautiful, I want to see you on top.” Drew whispered, helping me straddle his waist and inserting himself inside me.

“Oh my god, Drew.” I groaned, digging my nails into his shoulders.

“Fuck baby, you feel so good.” Drew grinned, helping me move on top of him.

I rolled my hips into his, the tip of his cock hitting my gspot which had me a moaning mess. Drew slid a hand down so his thumb rubbed against my clit, a high pitched whine flying from my lips as I moved faster.

“I could live in your pussy,” Drew moaned, his thumb pressing harder.

“Drew,” I pleaded, throwing my head back before coming back to stare into his beautiful blue eyes.

“Would you like that baby? To sit on my cock all day?” he growled, thrusting his hips upwards to meet mine as I came down.

“Yes, I would love it.” I whimpered.

“I can feel how close you are my love, cum with me.” he demanded, but I was already there before he finished his sentence.

“F-uck baby,” I squeaked, my body going to cloud nine as I shook on top of him.

Drew came seconds later, burying himself inside of me. I laid my head on his shoulder, ran out of energy to keep myself upwards.Drew held me to him, laying back on the bed as we calmed down.

“Ok?” he asked.

“Amazing,” I answered.

=====================================

After we met up with Sally and Caroline, explaining how ‘lost’ we were, we ate dinner at Hell’s Kitchen. It was amazing, but definitely not worth the price. We walked around a few more shops in Caesar’s Palace, actually getting lost and taking a while to find the way out.

Once we did, we came across a group of men walking by…

“Damn she thicc,” one commented.

“Ooooh she got a nice one, hello!” another yelled.

Drew turned around to say something, but I yanked his hand to keep walking.

“Do not,” I hissed.

Drew instead to make it clear I was taken, placed his hand directly on my ass.

“Drew! We’re in public!” I whisper yelled, but he made no move to remove his hand.

“I don’t give a fuck,” he shrugged.

“Hey baby! Why don’t you leave your pretty boy to be with a man for a night!” someone else called, Drew’s eyes narrowing.

I was suddenly airborne, Drew bending down and lifting me into his arms. I wrapped my legs around his waist, surprised to say the least.

“Drew! Put me down!” I yelped, holding on to his shoulders.

“Apparently, these boys need to know you’re taken.” Drew snapped, tightening his grip on me.

“Seriously babe, you’re gonna hurt your back.” I mumbled.

“Didn’t you say your feet were hurting babydoll?” he questioned.

“Yes, but Drew-” I started.

“You’re light as a feather my love, I could carry you all day.” he spoke softly, kissing my nose before coming to a stop in front of the water show between Caesar’s Palace and the Bellagio. He sat me on the railing, standing between my legs with his hands placed on my hips. I kissed his cheek, smiling at how sweet and protective this man of mine was.

“I love you,” I whispered.

“I love you baby,” he whispered back, sealing the deal with a soft kiss as the water show ended.

=====================================

Taglist:

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[ahsokadrabbles]

𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥'𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞  [the mandalorian x reader]

the mandalorian and the reader travel to the ghost town of mos pelgo in search of someone to lead the child to others of its kind. (part one of an ongoing series.)

this fic was born after listening to the song devil’s back bone by the civil wars perhaps a few times too many. if you haven’t heard it, i highly encourage you to check it out here because it’s a great song. i was inspired by the idea of loving a man who has committed many wrongs, but for the right cause, and then immediately thought of din. anyways, i’ve had this one on my mind for a while so i really hope you enjoy it. happy reading!

word count: 5k

warnings: angst, alcohol, your usual run of the mill rowdiness

The Mandalorian and you had a simple relationship. You were to care for and watch over his son when he couldn't, which happened to be quite often due to his demanding lifestyle. In return he housed you, fed you, and provided you with protection when necessary. Nothing more, nothing less, right? That was the way the rugged bounty hunter saw things, but you on the other hand felt differently. Something about his stone-cold demeanor drew you in. He was strong and brave, intimidating, and feared, and all of those characteristics stirred something deep within you. 

But to him, you were only the Child's caretaker. Nothing more, nothing less.

You rolled over on your cot to face the wall, your eyes still blurred from sleep. Groggily you felt around the folds of your sheets until you grasped a small rock with one pointy end that you had collected from a planet you had long since left. You and the bounty hunter traveled so often that all the planets and systems had begun to blur together. You never paid much attention to where you were anyway. You could be on the most beautiful planet, covered with white sands and clear seas, yet you would still be more entranced by the mysterious Mandalorian. 

You scratched another line into the wall and counted how many were there. You had been traveling with the Mandalorian for 124 days, give or take a cycle as you had only started keeping track a few weeks after you boarded the Razorcrest. It looked as if you were a prisoner counting the days they spent locked away, but really you were tracking how long it was taking for the Mandalorian to finally see you. Not just with his eyes, but deeper than that. To you, it seemed like your infatuation was painfully obvious, but maybe the warrior was oblivious, or just completely ignoring you. It was probably the latter.

You sat upright in bed as your vision cleared the rest of the way and caught a glimpse of the Mandalorian putting on his chest plate.

"Sorry," You muttered, immediately placing your hand over your eyes.

Seeing Mando without his armor might as well have been seeing him naked. And seeing him without his helmet would probably end in your untimely demise. 

You liked to think he wouldn't kill you, but sometimes you really weren't sure. 

"It's okay," His deep and muffled voice replied, watching as you sheepishly removed your hands from your eyes.

You could hear the child cooing over in Din's half of the room so you climbed out of bed to go fetch him. You hummed a soft and sweet good morning to the baby before sweeping him up into your arms and planting a kiss on his wrinkled forehead.

"Where are we headed?" You asked as you bounced the child in your arms, earning you a fit of soft giggles from him.

"Tatooine." Mando bluntly answered.

As usual, he wasn't much for words.

"And we'll arrive today?" You guessed, pointing the baby in the direction of its father who he was making grabby hands at.

"We should land in an hour or so. We're meeting a friend of mine at her hangar."

Your brain got stuck on the word 'her'. You didn't even think the Mandalorian had friends, especially not lady friends. You swallowed your jealousy and handed the baby to the man.

"Spend some time with him while I get dressed. I'll be up to make breakfast in a second." You told him, watching as he took the baby with a gentleness that did not match his hardened exterior.

When you finished getting dressed, you climbed up the ladder into the upper quarters. You were immediately blinded by the light of the bright suns of Tatooine as you exited the darkness of the lower bunks.

"That was quick." You muttered, squinting as your eyes adjusted to the light.

You strapped in for the landing, clutching the child close to your chest as the turbulence rattled the ship's interior. You and the Mandalorian both let out your usual sigh of relief when you thankfully made another safe landing.

"Alright, she's waiting," Din said, referring to his lady friend that you were painfully jealous of.

"Maybe the baby and I should just stay here, you know how Tatooine is." You said, looking into the Mandalorian's expressionless visor.

You didn't know if your heart could handle being around Mando and the mystery woman.

"Nothing will happen if I'm with you two." He replied lowly, motioning with his arm for you to follow.

You unwilling trailed behind the man, the small green child clung to your hip. The rear door of the ship opened with a great hiss, a pool of hot golden light following in its wake. The Child gurgled and shielded its large dark eyes with a small three-fingered hand, taken aback by the sudden rush of sunlight. 

"I thought that hunk of junk looked familiar," A raspy female voice greeted, her body merely a black silhouette against the scorching desert suns.

"Hello, Peli." The Mandalorian replied. 

Mando may have appeared stoic to most, but you'd been around him enough to been to notice the slight queues in his voice. When he found something funny, there was a certain waver to his gravelly tone, and it was present in this moment.

When your eyes finally adjusted to the light you were met with the sight of a short woman who was more hair than height. She had a head of wild, curly hair and was clad in a tattered jumpsuit. She wasn't at all what you were expecting, but the mischievous glint in her eyes was strangely comforting. You felt as if she were an old friend to you.

"Did you finally get hitched, Mando?" She asked, looking you up and down as if she were examining your worth. 

Your face grew hotter than what it already was in the blistering Tatooine heat as the man beside you cleared his throat.

Suddenly, you felt uncomfortable in your tattered, olive-colored overalls. You sure didn't look like a worthy bride.

"She is the Child's caretaker." He answered, his gaze still locked on Peli.

Your chest panged at his words and you held onto the Child tighter, tucking his small green head beneath your chin.

"Well, that's your loss. She's one fine specimen." The woman with the unruly hair replied as she flashed you a lopsided grin.

"May I see him?" She beamed at the baby clutched in your arms and the blush that was rapidly spreading across your face went unnoticed to her. 

You looked down at the Child and watched as he gazed at Peli with admiration, the two had seemingly met before.

"Of course," You hummed, descending the ramp so you could safely hand the Child over.

You watched as she hummed and fawned over the baby while you felt the Mandalorian's unnerving presence looming over your shoulder. His broad shadow that was cast across the dusty ground showed his arms folded over his armored chest.

"We stopped by hoping you could provide us some information-" 

"You never just want to come to visit me, there always has to be something in it for you." Peli huffed.

You quietly analyzed the relationship between the two. Lucky for you they weren't old flames, but they were close with one another. Why didn't Mando and you joke like this? How much longer were you going to have to sit next to him in the co-pilot's seat in deafening silence? You decided that if you got a moment alone with Peli, you'd ask how the two of them got so close. Maybe she'd be able to help you.

"What do you know about Mos Pelgo?" The bounty hunter asked, earning a puzzled expression from the older woman.

"Destroyed in battle." She bluntly replied, bouncing the baby up and down in her arms. 

"No, that's not right." The Mandalorian mumbled.

"Koresh said Mos Pelgo, right?" He turned toward you for support.

"If I recall correctly, yes." You said, now equally puzzled.

Now you worried that your run-in with the gangster Gor Koresh had been for nothing. What if the three of you almost died all for a dead end?

"R5," Peli called, summoning forth a rusted red and white droid.

"Pull up a map of Tatooine for me, will you?"

The droid hummed and whirred as it went to work at an achingly slow pace. 

"Can you go any faster you useless pile of bolts?" She groaned. 

Before the four of you appeared a flickering hologram of a map of Tatooine. 

"Now, can you find me Mos Pelgo?"

The droid let out another series of beeps before getting to work again, slightly faster this time.

"I don't see it." Mando frustrated announced as you stared at the blank spot on the map.

"Mos Pelgo was turned to dust, I'm not sure if you'll find what you're looking for there," Peli explained before looking skeptically towards you and the Mandalorian.

"We still have to try." You said, looking down at the baby in Peli's arms.

"For him."

"What sort of trouble are you two looking for anyway?" 

"A source told me I could find another Mandalorian there. Hopefully, they can lead me to others like the Child."

"And by a source he means gangster." You said under your breath, earning a hearty chuckle from the mechanic.

"At least he has someone with at least a lick of sense around now. I don't know what he thinks he's doing running and being in cahoots with gangsters. He has a responsibility now!" She waved the baby around in Mando's line of sight.

You smiled to yourself, happy to finally have some recognition for all the help you gave to The Mandalorian. If it weren't for you he probably wouldn't be able to keep his head on his shoulders.

"I have a land speeder you two can borrow, but if anything happens to it this time I swear, Mando I will have your-"

"I will bring it back in one piece." The man silenced, already walking towards the speeder.

You looked at the lone bike with dismay. It was going to be awkward to have to share one, especially for that long of a trip.

"I hate to ask for too much, Peli, but do you happen to have a second speeder?" You shyly requested with your hands clasped together in front of you.

"Nope, not since Mando here wrecked the last one." 

"You should be fine, I don't think he bites unless you tick him off." She teased with a wink.

You let out and nervous laugh and took hold of the Child as she handed him over to you. You tenderly put him into his pouch before tying it to the back of the speeder.

The Mandalorian had already boarded the bike and started the engine, it purred and sputtered like a sickly loth cat. Despite the worrying amount of noise the speeder made, you sat down on the back end of the vehicle, making sure to keep your distance from the bounty hunter in front of you.

"You're going to want to get closer than that, sweetheart. Don't need anyone flying off now do we?" Peli joked.

You hesitantly inched forward, wrapping your arms around Mando's waist for extra support. His beskar armor was cool against your skin, a stark contrast to the desert suns that had been beating down on you.

"Are you alright?" He asked, peering over his shoulder at you.

You nodded and forced a smile in reply. When the Mandalorian finally looked away, you caught a glimpse of Peli's smug expression.

"If you two make it back by dinner, we're having bantha!" She shouted over the deafening hum of the speeder.

Your stomach was too knotted to even think of eating.

It was a long and uncomfortable ride to Mos Pelgo. Though you and the Mandalorian weren't having the greatest time, the Child seemed thrilled. He grinned into the wind as his long green ears fluttered behind him. At least someone was content. 

While the child babbled beside you, you spent the trip hoping Mos Pelgo had what you were looking for. You wanted a win for Mando, he'd been trying so hard to find anyone who could help get the Child home, but he was only coming up with loose ends.

"Do you see that?" You shouted, pointing off into the distance at an outline of a town.

Din applied a heavier push to the gas pedal and sent you flying straight for the small village of Mos Pelgo. When he finally got closer he slowed down, noticing that the loud rumble of the engine was attracting unwanted attention. Every resident of the town was stood outside their small hut glaring and covered in soot and ash. That sight was enough to tell you that Mos Pelgo was a mining colony, but what would a Mandalorian want with a mining colony?

"Stop here," You instructed, tapping Din's shoulder as you neared an abandoned-looking cantina.

The speeder came to a steady halt and Din cut the engine, engulfing the three of you in silence. 

"I guess this is a good place to start?" You shrugged as you slipped off the seat and dusted the sand off the front of your overalls.

"We'll find out." The Mandalorian said, a hint of doubt in his steely voice.

You retrieved the Child from the speeder and wore the sack he was stored in across your front. He babbled nonsense at you and then proceeded to point at his mouth, letting you know he was hungry. 

"We'll see if they have anything for you here, okay?" You cooed, scratching the baby's wrinkled head.

The Mandalorian led the way into the cantina, up three creaking wooden steps, and through a set of swinging doors that hadn't had their hinges oiled in far too long. The interior of the bar looked just as dead as the rest of Mos Pelgo. Everything was covered in a thick layer of dust and sand and the furniture was tattered and worn. Not to mention that the floorboards moaned beneath you as if they would give out at any moment.

"Hello? Is anyone here?" You called out, keeping close to Mando.

A door in one of the far back and dark corners of the bar swung open and a large and burly creature sauntered out.

"Can I help you, folks?" He asked as he saddled up behind the bar.

"We have a few questions for you actually, but first, do you have any bone broth for the little one?" You questioned, giving the man a hopeful smile.

"I do, now what questions do you have for me?"

You looked to the Mandalorian while the bartender prepared the broth for the baby, causing the armored man to clear his throat.

"Do you know of any Mandalorians who live here? Anyone who looks like me?"

The man eyed Din as he slid you the broth for the Child. Both you and your partner held your breath and hoped for an even slightly helpful answer.

"You must be thinking of the Marshal." The bartender replied as you shifted through your sack looking for credits.

"You've got a little mouth to feed, it's on the house." He added with a dismissing wave of his hand.

Before you could thank him for his kindness, Din shot another question.

"Your marshal wears Mandalorian armor?" 

You resisted the urge to smack Din on the arm. He never slowed down to just be thankful, he never really thought. This is normally where trouble began.

The creaking cantina doors that you had entered through earlier groaned open once again as a great beam of sunlight filled the room and illuminated the dust that floated through the hot, thick air.

"Well speak of the devil," The barman spoke before raising his hand to give a blunt salute.

You and Din both pivoted around to face the man who had sauntered into the bar, clad head to toe in battered Mandalorian armor. He sat down in a wooden chair, back slouched and knees spread like he owned the place. He radiated the energy of someone important and for a moment you thought that maybe the ghost town of Mos Pelgo wasn't a dead end after all. That was until the Marshal did something shocking. You watched out of the corner of your eye as Din's hand settled upon the blaster holstered to his thigh, but you used your free hand to push it away.

The Marshal had removed his helmet and it was sat on the table, tinted visor glinting in the sunlight. 

"Take it off," The bounty hunter said bluntly, still grasping his weapon even after you attempted to push him away.

"Or I will." 

With your eyes wide as saucers, you quickly sat the Child down out of harm's way and stood yourself between the two men. You wouldn't let Din be this reckless and kill off your only lead. The two of you had been searching far and wide for another Mandalorian for far too long. Yes, this man wasn't exactly a Mandalorian, but for now, he was all you had.

"Mando, don't." You ordered, looking into the darkness of his helmet and estimating where his eyes might lay.

You hated having to do this, to restrain him from protecting his culture. It was unfair that this Marshal could walk around as he did without facing the persecution Din faced and without devoting his life to Mandalorian culture. 

As you stood between the two men who now had their weapons drawn you thought of all the things you'd seen the bounty hunter go through, all because of his faith. The endless names and taunting, the rowdy bar fights that ended in dented beskar and bloodied knuckles. You wanted him to be able to let it all out, but you couldn't sacrifice this.

"Please don't fight." You said shakily, looking to your left at the Marshal.

The man's eyes were narrowed and strands of silver hair hung over his forehead. He was brazen and handsome as he awaited the Mandalorian's next move. The Marshal bit his cheek and followed your orders, lowering his blaster to his side.

"Drop it," You said, pointing your eyes down to the dirty floor below you.

"Please."

The Marshal raised his hands in defeat as he crouched down to the ground and carefully sat down his weapon. You kept your eyes locked on him as he rose back up with a cocky, lopsided grin.

"You aren't excluded from this, Mando." You huffed, not even having to look over your shoulder to know that Din still had his weapon raised.

Even through his modulator, you heard his quiet grunt of annoyance as he discarded his blaster.

"We don't want any trouble, sir-" You began before the Marshal outstretched his hand to you. 

"It's no problem at all, young lady." He said before taking your hand into a firm grip.

You meekly shook back and blushed furiously when he lifted your hand to his mouth and planted a kiss. Before you could get too stuck on wondering where the hell you were, the Marshal provided a formal introduction.

"I'm Cobb Vanth, the Marshal of this little town you've found yourselves at."

You gave him a nervous smile and gestured towards yourself.

"I'm Y/N and that's Mando." You said, remembering not giving away the bounty hunter's real name.

"And who's that little fella?" Vanth questioned, pointing towards the Child who was peering at him from his carrier.

"He doesn't have a name," Din answered, moving forward to stand beside you like an overprotective shadow.

"He's actually why we're here." You added before giving a kind wave to the baby to let him know you hadn't forgotten about him. He was getting to the age where he required lots of attention and would get quite fussy if you didn't play with him or hold him often.

"Well, I hate to interrupt you darlin', but I have to ask your friend here what all the fuss is with my armor?" The Marshal asked, his arms now inquisitively folded across his chest.

"The armor your wearing is Mandalorian. You're not supposed to wear it if you're not part of the creed." Mando explained.

You could tell he was trying his best to remain calm.

"How do you know I'm not part of the creed?" Vanth prodded, quirking a dark brow.

"Mandalorians never remove their helmets in front of anyone."

The cantina was covered in the blanket of a heavy and uncomfortable hush. You could tell that beneath the Marshal's tough exterior, he truly did feel guilty.

Before he could reply to Din, a faint rumble sounded off in the distance. You and the Mandalorian exchanged puzzled glances before the entire room began to shake. Bottles behind the bar began to fall off the shelf and shatter as you ran to fetch the Child who was cowering in the corner.

"What the hell is that?" You shouted, looking to the Marshal for an answer.

He motioned for you and Din to follow him outside and wearily you did so. The residents of Mos Pelgo were rushing to get inside and salvage whatever they could as a massive lump beneath the sand came rushing toward the village. You held the baby closer to your chest as the mass beneath the ground burst out and reared it's scaly head before it swallowed an unsuspecting bantha whole.

All fell quiet once the creature burrowed deeper into the ground and sped away, leaving destruction in its wake.

"Care to tell us what that was?" Mando said, not a hint of fear in his voice.

"Krayt dragon," Vanth replied nonchalantly, obviously this wasn't a once in a lifetime occurrence.

"And I tell you what, Mando; if you can help me get rid of that damn thing, I'll give you my armor."

The Marshal stood with one hand on his hip and the other outstretched, waiting for the Mandalorian's grasp.

"Do we have a deal?" 

"Deal," Din said, firmly shaking the other man's hand.

It seemed now that asking Vanth about the Child had become an afterthought and you did not agree to fight a massive monster who could swallow farm animals whole.

The Marshal offered you and the Mandalorian a place to stay for the night, but first, the three of you would devise a plan on how to deal with the dragon. 

You were back in the Cantina which now brimmed with customers. Though you were squared away in a booth in the back corner, you could still feel the wary stares of the locals burning into the nape of your neck. You just kept feeding the baby and minding your own business, hoping they'd all just leave you alone.

"Are you alright?" Din asked, noticing your anxious demeanor.

"I'm fine. I can just tell not everyone is as welcoming as the Marshal." You replied as you spooned more broth into the Child's mouth.

"I'm sure a few stories of how you pulled a blaster on their leader have already gotten around."

"I'm sorry, I wasn't thinking." He apologized, quietly watching you care for the baby.

"You rarely ever do." You teased, nudging his leg beneath the table.

"Sorry you two, duty called." Vanth huffed as he settled into the booth beside you.

You tensed up as your bare shoulder brushed against his own and his knee pushed into your thigh. 

"Are we ready to talk business, or are we thinking drinks first? I could really use something to take the edge off."

"We don't really do that sort of thing." You explained, trying your best to kindly decline.

"I have a backroom Mando can use," The Marshal continued to offer.

Din declined and the Marshal knew better than to push him any further. Now you were the only one left to persuade.

"Come on, live a little Miss Y/N!"

You looked to Din for reassurance to which he outstretched his arms to take the baby.

"Alright, I guess," You said before following an enthusiastic Vanth over to the bar.

The Marshal signaled to the bartender for two drinks as the two of you saddled up onto your stools. You looked nervously down at the tabled below you, counting every scratch in the wood.

"I hate to pry, but what exactly is the relationship between you and the Mandalorian?" Vanth asked.

"I help take care of the Child and in return, he gives me a place to stay. He got me out of a pretty nasty situation." You said in reply, choosing to keep some parts of your story a secret.

"I guess you could say he saved me, but it's nothing more than a business relationship if that's what you're asking."

The Marshal chuckled at your answer as he slid you your drink.

"It sounds like you're quite fond of him if you ask me." He teased, a handsome smile plastered on his bearded face.

"No, it's not like that." 

Instead of you sounding carefree, your voice was solemn and soft. It was a weak try at trying to convince the Marshal that you weren't in love with your partner, but it would have to do.

You sheepishly looked down at the short glass of electric blue liquid before you and hoped it wouldn't hit you like a sack of bricks.

"On the count of three-" He began before you stopped him.

"Wait!" You laughed, a nervous blush spreading across your face. 

"We don't have all night, darlin'." Vanth hummed, grinning when you finally got past your nerves and picked up your glass.

On three you tipped back your head and swallowed the bitter liquid. You held back a gag and wrinkled your nose as Vanth stared back at you unfazed.

"Good girl," He praised, giving an unexpected but not unwanted squeeze to your thigh.

Everyone was really staring at you now. You weren't just a stranger who wandered into town anymore, you were the girl on the Marshal's hip.

One shot soon turned into one too many and Vanth brought you back to the booth with you clinging onto his arm like a giggly mess.

"Alright, let's get to work, shall we?" Vanth said once he got you settled into the booth.

"Hi, Din." You giggled, smiling at him while the Marshal spread his plan across the table.

"How much did you drink, Y/N?" The bounty hunter asked, his voice oozing a disapproving tone.

"I have no idea," You slurred, jerking your head in the direction of the silver-haired man beside you.

"However much he gave me."

The heavily armored man let out a sigh, but the baby in his arms had the entire opposite reaction to your state. The Child found how drunk you were to be amusing.

"Sorry, I didn't expect her to react like this." Vanth sincerely replied as he fixed your disheveled hair.

"Are you gonna be okay, sweetheart?" He asked, brushing your disheveled hair away from your face.

You simply nodded in reply, not a care in the world. You hadn't felt this stress-free in a while and you were going to enjoy it while it lasted.

The crowd inside the cantina began to dwindle as it grew later in the night. The clientele within it would have to wake up with the sun, so staying out all night was not something the people of Mos Pelgo did often.

The Child had begun to drift off in your arms as you looked down at him contently despite your drunken stupor. Your blurred vision made him look more like a painting on a canvas rather than a real-life child.

"Well, I think we're about done here." Vanth said, looking down at the scroll of paper on the table with an expression of satisfaction.

"I should get these two to bed. We'll meet back up tomorrow." Din replied before inching his way out of the booth.

"Come on, Y/N."

The Marshal assisted you out of the booth in his usual gentlemanly manner.

"Thank you for the drinks," You slurred, pouting as the Mandalorian removed the baby from your grasp.

"I-I'll see you tomorrow?" 

Din now had a firm but gentle grasp on your wrist as he tugged you towards the exit.

"Yes ma'am, I'll have a hangover cure waiting," Cobb replied with a lopsided grin.

"Hangover?" You worriedly muttered as the Mandalorian tugged you out the swinging cantina doors.

You followed an arm's length behind Din as he led you back to your shelter for the night. If you were sober you would have easily kept up, but it felt as if you had weights strapped to your boots and the sands of Tatooine weren't aiding you in any way.

"Keep up, it's dark out. I don't want to be out here if that dragon comes back." The Mandalorian muttered, his voice a humming metallic whir in the quiet desert air.

When you finally made it to the small hut, you staggered through the door and fell heavily down onto your cot. You laid in the dark and stared up at the ceiling as Din put the Child to bed and lit a few candles to light up the darkness of the room.

"You weren't like yourself tonight." He said quietly, his broad back turned to you as he fussed with lighting another candle.

"What?" You grunted, holding yourself upright in bed by your elbows. 

"The way you acted today was unlike you. Honestly, it was irresponsible."

The gears in your brain turned as you strung together every word of his sentence into something coherent to your drunken mind. 

"What do you mean unlike me?" You scoffed, now sitting upright with your legs folded beneath you.

"You're acting like you know me."

"Of course I know you, Y/N. I've been carting you across the galaxy for months now." The Mandalorian replied, turning to face you now that he had finished his battle with the lamp.

"Exactly! We've been stuck in your hunk of junk traveling through space for so long and you haven't even tried to get to know me." You shot back, your voice raising itself an octave. 

The combination of the alcohol and your now unbottled emotions made you feel hot and sickly. It was the kind of discomfort where out of the blue your clothes felt like they were going to swallow you whole or your boots felt like they were laced too tight. You were a ticking time bomb and everything was bound to set you off.

"So what? You think the Marshal knows you better?" 

"That's what this is about? You're jealous?" You snapped, your jaw practically hanging to the floor out of shock. 

The tension in the room was thick enough to cut with a knife as the bounty hunter hovered above your cot. You could feel his glare, even if it was obscured by his helmet. The liquid courage that was coursing through you urged you to challenge him further, but deep down you knew that you might as well be playing with fire. 

"Go to bed. It's late and I don't want you waking the Child." He said flatly before extinguishing the lamps he had put on just minutes earlier.

You dramatically fell back onto the bed, the force of your body causing the springs in the mattress to creak beneath you. Scowling up at the ceiling, you counted the wood panels above your head and listened to the quiet thud of the Mandalorian stripping off his boots before crawling into bed. 

If there hadn't already been a rift between you two before, there was now.

You awoke to bright sunlight leaking in through the narrow windows of the hut. In the pool of honeyed sunlight, the Child babbled from within his cradle. To your left, Mando laid in bed, the slow rise and fall of his chest suggesting that he was still asleep. You pondered over how he managed to sleep with all his armor on before remembering the argument the two of you had gotten into the night before. The events leading up to it were foggy, but sadly that had managed to stick with you. This is why you never drank, you weren't fond of having to piece your life back together the next morning. You forced yourself out of bed, trying to ignore the pounding in your head, and walked over to where the baby was.

"Good morning, little one." You hummed.

The Child beamed back up at you with wide, dark eyes and your heart fluttered at his admiring gaze. He was only a baby of course, but his kindness was enough to mend your wounds from the night before.

Behind you, the Mandalorian stirred in his bed. 

"Hello," You heard him mutter sleepily.

"Did the Child wake you?"

"No, it was that damn sun." You replied, squinting into the light.

You were much more used to the darkness of your quarters in the Razorcrest. Some curtains in the hut would've been favorable. It probably would've made the space a little more welcoming too. You hadn't noticed it in the pitch dark of the night before, but the room itself was quite sad. You were stood upon dirt floors and surrounded by blank, beige walls.

"Listen, I'm sorry about-"

You didn't know if now was the right time to apologize, but maybe there would never be a 'right time'. 

"Don't apologize. I shouldn't have acted the way I did. You were drunk and all I did was provoke you. I should be the sorry one." Mando cut you off, now stood behind you with a gloved hand awkwardly placed on your shoulder as the two of you hovered over the Child.

"I guess we should go find the Marshal. He's probably waiting for us." You said, looking over your shoulder at the masked man behind you.

You had placed a band-aid on the situation, now it was time to carry on. More important things hung in the balance than you having butterflies for the faceless bounty hunter you shadowed behind.

You had a dragon to kill.

let me know what you think of this first part! also let me know if you would like to be tagged in the second part so you are alerted when it comes out. thank you so much for reading! <3

[craftypeaceturtle]

Bewitching

Summary: Roman and his trusted friend, Logan, embark on a journey to visit their local witch. 

Note: I was inspired by a post that described this like exact concept. This is just a small fic that struck me! I have no idea why I am only capable of writing rare pair fics but hey ho! At least I’m writing. Analogical and Royality. 

.

“Do you even understand where we’re supposed to be going?” Logan muttered as he tried to massage away his upcoming headache. Unfortunately his headache bounded into his side with a wide smirk. 

“Of course! It’s only a simple path through Sanders Woods,” Roman announced as he continued marching through the castle with proud wide steps.

“Do I even need to deconstruct how vague those directions truly are?” 

“Pfft! I’m not an idiot Logan. I do have a map. You just follow through the main path through Sanders Woods but then at some specific stump or something stupid, you turn and then boom! Witches!” Roman wiggled the paper in his face but even that movement didn’t hide that it was just some rushed notes on a napkin from his father. It looked like just simple lines and labels. There wasn’t even an compass pointing north! 

“Ah I stand corrected then, your majesty. Truly you must be a true scholar in the geologies,” Logan sighed and Roman checked his shoulder.  

They were being sent on the incredibly (vague, according to Logan) journey to go track down the kingdom’s local witch to re-establish their trade. A journey that sounded very important and essential so when Logan first heard it, of course he immediately offered his service. The warning sign should have been that Roman was conducting the journey. Another warning sign (as there were many), was the fact that to re-establish their trade, they were trading a kitten and were expecting to get cookies in return. It all painted the very obvious picture that the king wanted his son to do his chores and so asked his friend to ensure the task got done. But then again, Logan prided himself as a man of honour and he wouldn’t refuse to conduct on this journey. He was nobler than this pettiness. He was more serious than any one of the royal family members. He would take great pride in this stupid task.

“Logan!” Roman shouted, Logan whipped round to face him, “Do you mind leaving the kitten alone for at least one second and help me pick out an outfit?”

“Pick an outfit?” Logan squealed indignantly, ignoring his own burning blush as he followed Roman into his room, leaving the poor mewing kitten to sprawl around its basket, “What’s wrong with what you’re wearing?”

He was wearing his typical outfit which was his full princely attire. A pristine white tunic with gold embellishments that all highlighted the strong red of the emblem on his sleeves. He would usually wear a bright red sash across his chest but instead he was flinging it about like a child first trying to learn ballet. But now he blushed bright enough to match the emblem. “We’re meeting new people. Of course a prince should always present their best foot forward.”

“Oh all princes?”

“Okay, don’t pretend that’s fair! We all know that Remus is an octopus dressed as a prince. He shouldn’t be considered along with all other princes!” 

“An octopus?” Logan chuckled.

“Dad got at me for constantly calling him a rat so I’m calling him an octopus. Just as ugly but this time dad thinks it’s just some weird nickname,” Roman said way too proudly for someone who was in his twenties and definitely above sibling squabbles. Then again this was indeed Roman. 

“Ah, you are just so charming and intelligent, your majesty,” Logan smirked before he also bumped their shoulders, “But don’t think that will distract me. Please promise me that you will not flirt with the witch.”

“It’s not flirting! It’s called being friendly, not that you would know that Intronerd!” 

“It’s definitely flirting. And it definitely taints any and all official communication. Do I even need to retell the event with Janus?”

“Right! I’m all ready to go, are you?” Roman bellowed, rushing past him with a satchel of bare essentials. Logan simply sighed and carefully cradled the basket with the kitten. 

It was just after midday and they were finally on their way, the guards around the castle grounds waved with barely hidden laughs. Roman frowned at them and clutched Logan to his side. He was well aware of his reputation around the castle. Foolish and way too optimistic. It stung each time but then Roman knew himself better than any guard could. Plus he could always sick Remus on them! But he also knew Logan was quickly getting mixed in with that reputation. A truly genuine travesty to this world. Logan was a bold, determined and so quietly compassionate but he was only regarded as dumb and easily flustered. And Roman could get it! Like yeah, seeing this emotionless guy walk out of the grounds cradling a kitten was funny, but he knew Logan well enough to laugh at how lovey he was really. They just laughed at the ditzy dumb consort who pretended to be cold and collected. Yet Logan always remained oblivious and Roman would risk his life to ensure it would remain that way. 

He wished he could say it was a beautiful summer’s morn with the birds chirping their victory as they headed into the deep mysterious forest. But instead the sky was a striking grey with a wind that was just the wrong side of cold. Reports stated it would rain in the afternoon and he was unfortunately momentarily defeated by the allure of sleeping in so he couldn’t leave early enough. Meh, he was pretty sure Logan appreciated the extra hours to sit around doing nothing! He waved the famous royal wave to a bunch of children who scattered at their approach with amazed giggles while Logan did his usual Logan thing of keeping his eyes forward and walking away before they could talk. Perhaps it was for the best, they had to focus. 

Well... ‘focus’. The journey was important and all but also this tiny little ginger kitten snuggling into Logan’s muscly bulky arms was very distracting. 

The path into the woods was very simple. It was a worn away path in the grass that become wider and wider each time he saw it. It was pretty much a very wonky lane straight through the forest and the map clearly presented an equally wonky line to a blackened tree stump that “they could not miss”. Then turn left and, as he eloquently put it, boom! Witch. In all honesty, the journey was the very last thing on his mind currently. Sanders Woods was big but it was so close to the kingdom that there was never anything too dangerous in there- people travelled through it every day. But, Roman prided himself on his studies into the kingdom’s history and all the fables and stories that it inspired. It didn’t take a genius to know that witches meant trouble. Witches cursed and violently lashed out at any hero that came their way. 

He stared up at Logan out of the corner of his eye. Logan looked the part certainly with his official royal uniform and he was fairly built. But Roman also knew Logan. While he could look intimidating, he was anything but. At the first sign of conflict he would freeze, and even if he didn’t, he was in no way trained for battle. He looked built but his muscle purely came from grabbing heavy books from high shelves. He wouldn’t last a second against a witch in a physical battle.

“How have your studies been going?” Roman innocently asked innocently.

“As expected, why?”

“What do you mean why! I can be interested in your studies! What are you learning about now? It was magic right?” Roman kept his focus on his light marching steps. Logan huffed a chuckle.

“Magic is such a broad term I don’t even know how to go about correcting you. Yes, I have largely been studying magic. It is...” Logan scrunched his face up, “going, to put realistically. I’m struggling to fully grip the module I am currently on. But overall, my study of magic is going better than I first thought. How are your studies? Are you studying anything right now?” Logan raised an eyebrow.

“Not really. I finished the whole economics junk and I have a bit of a break before I launch back into studies. Trying to make the most of it,” Roman answered honestly but he kept his gaze straight ahead, “Anyway, what kind of magic are you doing? Like any... cool spells?” 

“Cool... spells...” Logan said, stopping completely in his path, “Why are you so interested?”

“As I said! I can be interested in what my friend is doing!” 

“You haven’t ever before taken interest in my, how did you put it, ‘nerdy junk’!” 

“Well!” Roman snarked back but he could feel Logan looking right through him, “It’s just important to know what kind of magic you can do. Just in case we ever n-”

“You think this is dangerous don’t you!” Logan gasped, feeling panic slam into his chest. 

“What?” Roman nervously laughed off, “No...”

“You do!” Logan dramatically pointed at him, “Oh we don’t have nearly the right supplies for any kind of conflict! We’re carrying around a cat!” 

“It won’t be dangerous!” Roman tried to soothe while panickily pacing. 

“I asked you! I asked you! I asked and you said that it was a simple trade. That we are practically just acting as postmen!” Logan threw his head back. 

“I’m sorry!” Roman gasped.

“You’ve got your sword. Plus, I really don’t think your dad would send us on some dangerous journey without at least some back up. I think you just got into your head with worry. There’s lots of rumours about witches despite those spreading them having never met a witch, we should be fine,” Logan answered softly. There was no use having them both panicking when they were already significantly through the woods. But then again maybe they could turn back now before they truly prove themselves to be idiots. 

“Yeah!” Roman lit up and snapped up straight with an obnoxious smile, “C’mon, we’ll be fine!”

Logan simply ran through his warning signs he listed earlier about how this task was a stupid chore. His hand found the kitten’s fuzzy little forehead and he gave some scritches before following in Roman’s footsteps. 

It was another hour where each minute felt more and more uncomfortable. They were a decent way through the woods but they had yet to see anything resembling a tree stump. Even Roman was now flicking his gaze behind him, checking to see if they had perhaps passed it without realising. Logan was practically chanting about how King Thomas wouldn’t send his idiot of a son on a difficult journey without a proper map. But then again both of his sons were idiots so maybe he just chose Roman as the lesser of two evils? Maybe the wobbly scrawled line on the map was just longer than expected. This was why people added scales and a compass! Eventually they paused at a blackened tree. They didn’t even talk or notice the other had paused as well. 

“Maybe by stump they more meant a stumpy tree?” Roman cautiously looked around. 

“Did your father not describe it any more than that?” Logan asked, still not convinced.

“I mean he even drew it in black!” Roman yelled out in what was supposed to be confidence. Logan winced as Roman marched slowly forward into the treeline.

“That cannot be where the line is. That map should never be considered as accurate or, or- just slow down Roman. We have no idea if this is the right direction!”

“Yeah well, we literally just go left into the trees. If it turns out to be wrong then we know which direction we went and just go back.”

Logan sighed at the legitimate logic the illogical prince presented, “It’s going to rain soon.”

“Well hurry up then!” Roman had already started running into the woods and Logan grumbled out some swears before reluctantly trudging after him. 

Now underneath the thick canopy of the woods, it was quite dark and moody. Roman tried to lighten the mood by pointing out every single squirrel that skittered away when they passed but even that didn’t fix the tension. The ideas of danger were swirling uncomfortably through them. The kitten was now restless and was mewing very pathetically. Logan winced at each quiet mew and Roman knew that it was a matter of seconds before Logan demand they go back and get the kitten to safety. And he was about to agree until he saw a tiny mushroom on a tree.

It softly glowed, and if that wasn’t a strong enough indicator of magic and witches, it was illuminous purple. It almost seemed transparent as black smoke billowed underneath it’s surface but it still somehow glowed brightly. 

“Logan, I think we’re almost there,” Roman muttered and tugged him forward.

“Roman.” Logan stopped them dead in the path. He was shifting and looking away but his back was straight and his posture screamed listen. Roman, of course, stopped in his tracks. “What if they use the cat... like... what if they kill the cat?”

Roman paused. That... would be very in character for witches. The kitten was frumpily stomping around and of course released an adorable mew as if it very well knew they were talking about it. “We’ve got to establish trade routes... Maybe we could be the ones to persuade them to see the light and understand cuteness and love for all living things!”

“Hmm.” Logan took the lead and stepped forward. 

They had walked for another ten minutes but yet the woods felt unrecognisable. The woods went from very stereotypical brown and green woods that seemed to stretch onwards forever. Now the mushrooms were everywhere and they couldn’t see the trunks of the trees anymore. The forest was filled with an overwhelming nauseating swirls of colours. Now they were seeing flashes of deer and groans from toads under their feet. The sun was completely blocked from the trees and it was almost like walking inside a building. 

It wasn’t long until they stumbled finally into a cottage looking house. A thatched roof and everything. It almost blended in, blackened charred wood with no windows or even sign of anyone living there. Dead leaves were still swamped up again its sides like it was still autumn. Logan cradled the kitten tighter and Roman couldn’t exactly blame him. 

It seemed straight out of a storybook. 

When the main characters stumble into the villain’s lair. 

Roman gulped and latched on arm on to Logan’s shoulder, which Logan happily sank into. They approached the door in timid steps. The wind harshly ripped through the forest, whipping around the wet clumps of leaves around the sunken door. The rain finally arrived and a few drops pattered on the ceiling of leaves. Logan stuttered in his steps but Roman winced and guided him forward. 

As they were a few metres from the door, it slammed open. 

“AAAH!” They both shrieked. 

A witch stood there... kinda proudly. He had a wide stance and the hood hid his face. But also his arms were crossed and he was hunched over to look extra small. He probably reached Roman’s shoulder standing straight... he looked like the wind around his house would knock him over. But also the billowing black cloak and clenched fists also spoke for themselves. “What are you doing here!” A whiny voice broke through their panic. 

Logan was clearly frozen and his mind only screaming about the kitten in his arms. It took a few moments for Roman to realise he wasn’t going to snap out and talk. He stuttered out, “Oh ah... hello there. We are fr- We come from the kingdom of Sanders to present a trading opportunity. I understand you have been in discussion with our king to re-establish our long ancient trading with you, Witch.”

The witch frowned, “Oh I’m not a witch. That’s Patton you’re looking for.”

He pointed over his shoulder to a cottage past his house. Now this looked like the idyllic cottage countryside house. Thatched roof, pristine pastel pink house and a beautiful neat line of wild bluebells. Roman found himself drawing near it without realising. It looked beautiful and the house straight out of his dreams. “Oh sorry sir! C’mon Logan, we’ll sort this out!” Roman tugged his arm but Logan remained statue still. “Uh, Logan?”

Logan was completely trapped under the gaze of the random civilian that stumbled into.  His chest glowed along with his bright red face. The man had very strong features and was clearly much more awkward than anything dangerous. It took a minute before he realised that words were needed if he was just going to stare, “Oh H-hi, I’m Lo...” He winced but tried to battle through, “Y-you’re not a witch?”

“Nah, I’m... I guess you’d call it emo and just hate people,” The guy awkwardly chuckled as he stepped out from his doorway. Logan allowed himself to smile and only just remembered Roman’s advice to puff out his chest and show himself off. Right, time to sweep this handsome man off his feet. 

“Ah I understand that sentiment. People can be so frustrating and exhausting.” The man walked forward before he awkwardly looked away.

“Uh can I?” The man asked with his hand out stretched towards his chest. Logan burst into a childish smile. Maybe Roman was right and he is handsome! All that heavy book lifting did pay off if cute emos then wanted to feel up his chest! Maybe he can sweep someone off their feet. Maybe he should work out more!

“Sure!” He squeaked.

The man smiled in thanks before grabbing the kitten from his arms and pressing loud sappy kissies to his fuzzy little forehead. His croaky foreboding voice snapped to a squealing happy coo. 

Roman laughed at how ridiculous he was and went down to the next house. He’s never seen Logan so useless! He was never going to let me live this down- after all that teasing he’s been putting up with for flirting with Janus. Now he had some fuel to fight back. 

He knocked on the door with a new found confidence as the rain finally started to slip through the leaves and actually start to slowly soak him. Humming to himself, he looked back at Logan still failing to flirt with the random scary guy. He’d never be that useless. The door opened, “Hello there. Are you the witch that lives in these wooooo-”

A young man opened the door with a cheery smile, ginger curls flying about his head with wire frame glasses. Freckles absolutely everywhere. He was a little taller than even him! He was of course wearing a pink frilly apron with a blue soft chunky knit jumper. Everything about him looked soft. “Oh hello there. What’s your name!” 

“Uhhhhhhh... Ro?” Roman awkwardly drawled out while trying to pick his jaw off the floor. He looked back at Logan who was now walking over with the other man. 

“Hey Pat. We need a talk.” He growled out while Patton awkwardly laughed. Instinctually, Roman stepped forward to protect this marshmallow from this emo. 

“Y-yeah Virge?”

“Did you really organise for the king to sneak you a kitten?”

“Maaaybe!” Patton squeaked before launching forward and spinning him in tight excited circles. Logan was now carrying the kitten, he looked very confused and flustered as he kept his gaze firmly on the kitten. 

“Don’t distract me! You’re allergic!”

“Well are you going to make these nice young men walk all the way back with the heavy basket and wiggly little itty bitty kitty!” 

The man, Virgil, frowned with a look. “Okay. I will take the kitten and you can have visiting rights. But! Those visiting rights can be revoked at any time!” 

“Yippee!” Patton laughed with all of himself. His arms flailing into a hug for himself, his belly bursting and moving with the genuine happy laughter. Roman was thoroughly star struck. 

“Can’t believe you’re the witch of us...” Virgil groaned with his own fond smile, to which Logan was also star struck. 

They both paused as a fat raindrop slapped against Patton’s forehead. The rain must have been truly heavy if it was still dripping through the thick canopy. They turned and faced the two men and only now noticed that they were fairly wet with their hair plastered against their foreheads. They did look pretty pathetic.

Patton smiled, “Hey, Ro was it? Would you like to come in? Just to wait for the rain. Sorry, uhh,”

“Logan,” Logan introduced.

“Logan, the house is fairly small but I’m sure Virgil would love to show you around his little place!” Patton smirked innocently. 

All three of them gulped with bright blushes... but of course they all nodded along to that plan.

[sinceileftyoublog]

Philippe Cohen Solal & Mike Lindsay: A Pop Tribute to Outsider Art

From Left: Mike Linsday, Hannah Peel, Philippe Cohen Solal, Adam Glover; Artwork by Gabriel Jacquel

BY JORDAN MAINZER

Outsider visual artist and writer Henry Darger’s fame was essentially happenstance, so it’s fitting that Philippe Cohen Solal’s decades-long obsession with Darger is chock full of coincidence. In 2003, the member of longtime neotango group Gotan Project found himself with a day off on tour in New York City and decided to venture over to the American Folk Art Museum, a choice that would change his life and culminate in Outsider (¡Ya Basta!), April’s collaborative album with Tunng’s Mike Linsday, the first adaptation of Darger’s words in music. 

At the museum, Solal, unaware not only of Darger but of outsider art in general, saw a Darger work, and, as he told me over the phone earlier this year, “fell in love.” Looking closer at the details of the work, he saw something he recognized: the name Kiyoko Lerner, who had lent the work to the museum. The very same name of a woman he was set to meet the next day in Chicago as recommended by a mutual friend back in Paris. The friend suggested they meet due to their love of tango. “We met and talked a bit about tango,” he said, “but quickly, I asked her about Henry Darger.” She began to tell him exactly who she was, the story that’s become increasingly well-known in the annals of Chicago cultural history.

Lerner and her late husband Nathan (himself a prominent Chicago photographer) were Darger’s landlords; Nathan discovered Darger’s work in his “very messy room” shortly before Darger’s death in 1973, most notably his 15,000+ page novel In The Realms of the Unreal as well as his magazine-traced illustrations and watercolors accompanying the book. (The book, a fantastical epic about child slave rebellions, would go on to inspire visual artists and musicians for decades; indie rock band Vivian Girls took their name from characters in the book, and Darger would even be referenced in The Venture Bros.) Nathan immediately knew he had something special, and he and his wife took control of Darger’s estate. Darger would start to become formally recognized by the art world, his work prominently featured in museums and documentaries. Nathan died in 1997, and Kiyoko would continue to operate as head of the estate and donate her collection to various museums across the world.

In 2006, Kiyoko flew to Paris and met up with Solal at the first Darger exhibition in the city, at La Maison Rouge. It was immediately when he left the show that Solal had the idea to make music inspired by Darger’s art. “At the time, I didn’t [even] know that [Darger] wrote lyrics,” Solal said. “I had no clue.” In reference to Darger’s war between children and adults, Solal had the idea to write “adult music for children,” or vice versa, and wrote a track that wouldn’t even end up 15 years later on Outsider. He visited Kiyoko at her Chicago apartment. “I spent a few days immersed in his art. I didn’t know precisely what I wanted to do, and then I discovered he wrote lyrics. It very much changed the project.” Nobody had thought to put Darger’s lyrics to music, and Solal wanted to put his stamp on the increasingly large pool of reinterpretations of or references to Darger in the arts and culture world at large. Kiyoko put him in touch with art historian Michael Bonesteel, who led Solal to more lyrics.

Not wanting to go at it alone, Solal got the idea to do a collective project adapting Darger’s lyrics to music with various friends. He reached out to the likes of Calexico’s Joey Burns and Lambchop’s Kurt Wagner, but Lindsay was the one who really stuck. Solal and Lindsay were fans of each other’s bands, and the latter visited the American Folk Art Museum while on tour at Solal’s recommendation, he himself rediscovering Darger’s work. In 2015, there was another Darger retrospective at the Paris Museum of Modern Art, and Kiyoko, who attended, suggested to Solal that he reveal his song adaptations of Darger. “I didn’t tell her I only had one song at the time,” he laughed. That was his inspiration to reach out to Lindsay. “I thought maybe I’d do a 5-track EP. I called Mike and reminded him of my project and asked him, ‘Are you ready to work on that with me?’”

Solal and Lindsay separately wrote the melodies and basic arrangements of the songs that would end up on Outsider, and they recorded and produced the record together. Lindsay introduced Solal to Northern Irish musician/singer/multi-instrumentalist Hannah Peel, who would voice the Vivian Girls. Solal asked Adam Glover, a singer he knew through his manager, to be the voice of Darger himself. (“He was very young...but he can sing like Sinatra or Dean Martin,” Solal said.) The four created an album with Darger’s words using traditional pop instrumentation and song structures but also children’s instruments; Peel even created her own music box to play some of the melodies. Sometimes, the words were spoken, as on “Hark Hark, My Friend, Cannon Thunders Are Swelling”, while other times the vocals are isolated in harmony, as on “We Sigh For The Child Slaves”. “We know more about Darger as a painter and visual artist, so it was important to have Darger as a storyteller,” Solal said. Furthermore, the group wanted to capture the raw spirit of Darger’s art by rendering the voices distorted, shifting their pitch to make them sound almost out of tune. The instrumentation, meanwhile, ranges from slinky electric guitars to strings, and even barroom-style piano on the penultimate “We’ll Never Say Goodby” [sic]. “With our small team, it was lean and simple to do this music,” said Solal. While most of the titles and words were taken directly from Darger, down to the spelling of “Goodby”, the album touches on Solal’s story, too. Instrumental interlude “851 Webster Avenue” is named after the address of Lerner’s apartment Solal visited for the first time, when his fascination with Darger really took off.

Solal can’t exactly pinpoint what ever fascinated him about Darger, both in general and as the world changes, but he has some clues. “At the time, what was interesting to me was it was clear [Darger] was a self-taught artist, and maybe I felt a bit moved by that because I’m a self-taught musician,” Solal said. “I never went to music school, but I understood that without any specific art education or practice at an art school, you can create something...Henry Darger is an amazing example of someone who created his own world.” Darger’s style of illustration, his drawings traced from magazines, made up for the fact that he wasn’t a technically great drawer, and it complemented his heightened sense of color. Moreover, Solal feels kinship with some aspects of Darger’s childhood. Part of the inspiration for In The Realms of the Unreal was that Darger himself was sent to an asylum that put children to work. “When he was a kid, everybody called him crazy,” said Solal, “But I’m sure he didn’t think he was crazy. I remember when I was 9 or 10, I thought I was crazy. Nobody called me crazy, but I thought I was.” He found commonalities in, simply, being misunderstood.

Solal also questions what it means to be an “outsider” artist; in reality, Darger spent most of his time inside, confined in a room creating fictional worlds. Funny enough, according to his diaries, he was fascinated with the weather, tracking the accuracy of the predicted versus actual weather, but that’s about all for the outside world. On the day JFK was killed, for instance, Darger had nothing about it in his diary entry. He chose to interact with the world through the magazines he would trace, and through collections of items like Pepto Bismol bottles, National Geographic issues, and broken glasses. He wasn’t much for interpersonal relationships. Not only was Nathan Lerner unaware of Darger’s artistic enterprises, but neither were the young artist couple with whom Darger actually shared his apartment. Solal thinks that Darger’s resistance to presenting himself as an artist was as a result of his childhood experiences. “If the outside world was not so mean to him, maybe he’d be less scared to show who he was to the rest of the world, even just to his neighbors,” he said. “It’s funny that we call him an outsider. He was more an insider but was protecting himself from the outside world.”

Perhaps, subconsciously, the more that creative folks learn to look through Darger’s eyes, the less likely his, or any genius goes unnoticed. Solal remarked that many of the folks involved in Outsider almost had to “unlearn” their craft. Andrew Scheps, who mixed the album, at first didn’t know the context and gave Solal and Lindsay a product that was “too clean;” Lindsay explained Darger’s story and the importance of having strange-sounding narrative effects in the records. “When he worked [after that] on the mix, we found Henry was back in our songs,” said Solal. The individuals involved in coming up with animated videos for each of these songs, French animator Gabriel Jacquel with art direction by Pascal Gary (aka Phormazero), also had to abandon their fundamentals and learn to draw like Darger. Overall, exploring his work provides admirers like Solal the opportunity to dig deeper, from figuring out how to bring Outsider on stage to “finding new ways to tell the story,” like podcasts, interactive maps, short films, and Spotify playlists of Darger’s favorite music. “This man is full of mysteries,” he said. “I hope my future is Outsider for a while.”

[stardancerluv]

Gotham Lockdown 2020

Part 17a

Summary: You finally see Roman’s inner sanctum

Warning: towards the end...implied and promises of future smut (daddy/dommy Roman) Gotham Lockdown Chapter 11a referenced here when reader almost dies & here is the last chapter

As Roman stood in the elevator with you, he couldn’t believe he was doing this. Years ago this would have never happened. This would always be his inner sanctum.

A struggle in him raged. He wanted to go on a rampage for what had almost happened to you. Sure those directly responsible paid but he was still angry. If this had been years ago. They’d still be downstairs begging for relief. Not that he softened because of you but he worked smarter. He did not like the idea that you so easily could have been snatched away from.

As the elevator dinged and as he led you over to the door. He could remember how this was where Victor and him would take people who wronged him. Victor would even keep his trophies there.

Deep down, he had grasp onto how grateful he was that, whoever or whatever was looking over had not called you to death’s icy embrace. He was not ready or did he even want to contemplate what life without you would be like.

So he took you here, to his inner sanctum ever since he had acquired the building. At first, it had been just Victor and him. When Doll-Face’s showed where her loyalties lied, she went in.

You were the woman he loved. He would have never planned on this. He knew he’d never be able to keep everything mum, about what he did from you. Damn reporters and the stories they publish. He had always wanted you to not have this side of him clouding your mind or heart. You already were his beauty or his darker, beast like nature. The beast you showed love.

*****

He paused before putting in the code. “Y/N,” It almost felt funny calling you by your name but this was serious. “I am showing you this because of your nightmare,” He inhaled. “And because I almost lost you.” He swallowed.

“Roman, I will never leave you.”

“You didn’t see...”

You placed a finger on his lips and he stopped talking. Knots formed in the pit of his stomach, he was realizing more and more these days how much he changed.

“I know.” You whispered. “I fought to live, I fought to be with you. And if anything, “ he saw you look away before looking back at him. “would ever happen to you, I’ll be there and fight for you.”

To be honest, things had been going fairly well despite being shot by a couple of hoodlums that he honestly could not even imagine anything worse happening. Not many wanted to mess with him any more.

He drew close and took your hand, and put it over his heart. “I will always fight. I will till my dying breath.”

*******

He brushed aside your tears that came from his words. “Baby. No tears. We’re so close to Christmas.” He whispered and you nodded.

You shivered in your tank top and shorts. You were dressed for the cozy, warmth of upstairs. Not this dank parking garage. Though, he held you close brushing aside the tears that had blossomed in your eyes at the words he spoke.

When you heard him speak like this it shook you to your core. You thanked your lucky stars, that he was the man who had your heart.

He punched in a code and opening the heavy door, “Come on in.” He welcomed you.

It was considerably warmer and the entire atmosphere was words different from dark and shadow filled garage with its concrete walls.

The room opened up, and was far bigger then you could have guessed. It had wonderful wood paneling and wooden floors with some elegant tiled floor in other places. You smiled as you took it all in.

Tucked into the wall before you there were more suits, long coats, and an entirely different array gloves. You turned and raised an eyebrow. “More suits? Clothes?”

He smirked, “These are bulletproof.”

“Oh..oh...well that makes a lot of sense.” You nodded. You were surprised you had not thought of it.

Turning, you saw what looked like a small arsenal of guns and their respective ammo. Along with rows of knives that came in all sorts of shapes an sizes.

Continuing further in you gasped as you saw an entire wall of masks. “There are so many.” You remarked.

He came up along side you. “One, has to be ready for any occurrence.” He shrugged.

You smiled at him. “I can only imagine.”

Seeing a large table you went over and just marveled at all the maps that were there.

“I thought you had a lot upstairs.”

He smirked. “One can never have enough maps. Especially, with my ever growing territory.”

Tears that had subsided blossomed once again. “You have a photo of us on your desk down here?”

Picking up and glanced at the old photo of the two of you. He came around and wrapped his arms around you. Turning, you did the same.

You smiled up at him. “Do you remember that first Halloween?”

He smiled, “You were so lovely.”

“You had a magnificent dress made for me.”

A smug smile spread across his face. “You were a fantastic inspiration.”

*****

As the two of you watched, A Muppet Christmas Carol with Roman, you began to get a hankering for the sugar cookies you made earlier. “I’ll be right back?” You whispered and kissed Roman’s cheek.

“Want me to pause?” He held up the remote.

You shook your head. “I won’t be gone that long.”

Once in the kitchen, you put some cookies on a plate. You also made a point of grabbing some of the baby tubes of frosting. You had not frosted all the cookies since you knew that Roman sometimes liked them plain or sometimes he enjoyed putting on his own frosting on them.

You stopped as you watched him chuckled over the dialogue between Rizzo the Rat and Gonzo. Sometimes, he could be really cute.

You came back and easily tucked back under Roman’s arm. He smiled and took the plate from you. “We’ll keep them here.” He placed the plate in his lap. Looking, up at him you raised an eyebrow. “You better not gobble them all up, Mr. Sionis.”

He smirked, “No promises.” And he grabbed one.

Grabbing a cookie you added the extra frosting then happily enjoyed it. A few moments later you did again but not before giving him another sidelong glance. He glanced down at you before he took one himself.

When you did, you got a playful idea. Glancing, one final time you grabbed one of the tubes of frosting. You opening it, you squeezed a small spot on his hand as it rested on you. You licked it away.

Roman’s elegant profile was still illuminated by the twinkling lights from the tree and the tv.

You honestly couldn’t believe you had done that. Rolling your eyes, he could inspire the most wicked thoughts. So you put the tube down, and turned your attention back to the movie.

Feeling something you glanced down. A spot of frosting landed on your own hand, while he frosted his own cookie.

“Oh? Did I get some on you?” You brought your hand up before and but his hand took yours and his warm lips that took the frosting away.

“You didn’t think I noticed what you did?” His voice had grown deeper, his fingers idly traced the hem of your shorts. He put what was left of the plate of cookies on the end table.

Your heart picked up speed. “No, no of course not.” You stumbled a little.

He smiled, he turned off the movie. “Come here baby.” Easily, he pulled you onto his lap.

You watched as he left squeezed a little of the frosting where his throat met his chest. He gave you a wordless challenging look. You moved, so your lips and tongue moved together. You felt as his dipped back into the cushions of the sofa.

Once you pulled back he looked at you with hooded eyes. You took the frosting tube from his hand, “Roman” you breathed and drew a small sugary line up your throat.

He shifted but then you let him pull you close. His hands held you just so then his mouth and lips were on you. A soft moan came from you. “Yes.” Was all you say.

Yet, he didn’t stop when the frosting was gone. He continued to lick and nibble on you. You trembled.

“Daddy, always makes you feel good doesn’t he?” His words rasped in your ear.

You licked your lips. “Yes.”

A dark chuckle came from him. “Shall, I continue or should I keep you in my lap where you belong as we continue to watch the movie?”

@darling-i-read-it @spn-obsessed-dean @vintagemichelle91 @xxxeatyourh3artoutxxx @ewanfuckingmcgregor @zodiyack @angel98624 @frenchgirlinlondon @nebulastarr @emyliabernstein @thepeachreads @itsknife2meetu @omghappilyuniquebouquetlove @nomnomnomnamja @poe-kadot26 @top-rumbelle-fan @babydoll97 @hazel-nuss @vcat55 @feelthemadnessinside @rosionis @queenofgotham800 @brookisbi @peachthatdrinkslemonade @johallzy @foreverhockeytrash @frostypenguinoz @starwarsslytherin @proffesionalclown @chogisss @dance-like-russia-isnt-watching @shantellorraine @xxinvisiblexx @pooshnulooshnu @speedypartyducksuitcase @blondekel77 @corey-clown @drarrylov3r @i-cant-hear-you16

[jaybug-jabbers]

Review: Pokemon Gold and Silver 97: Reforged

The Review

What a fantastic game. I went looking for a hack that fully realized the sort of pokemon game we glimpsed in the Spaceworld ‘97 demo, and I was not disappointed. 

This alternative version of Gold and Silver takes that Spaceworld demo and builds on it with loving care and attention to detail. All the beta pokemon sprites were freshly made from scratch or edited to update them for the final, polished Gameboy Color look. The pokemon movesets and stats were crafted so that they were balanced and didn’t contain placeholders, and the pokemon were populated throughout the world in a logical fashion. Dex entries were written and the pokes were integrated smoothly into the world. There are even different sprites and different encounter rates for Gold and Silver-- although you can ‘catch them all’ in either version, an excellent choice.

Meanwhile, the world map was colored, tweaked and polished, allowing us to explore that beta world that was stunningly different from the final Gold and Silver. It’s a place that in many ways seems even more vibrant and varied than final Gold and Silver, and is truly exciting to explore.

Along with this fully realized map, this hack’s creators also gave us a fresh new plot for Gold and Silver. This one was inspired by the differences glimpsed in the demo, including Oak’s increased involvement in the story, Silver’s different personality and role, and the inclusion of an Imposter Oak. The plot stays true to the style of pokemon games and doesn’t seem out of place. 

All of the exciting little beta details were included too-- including the original Type alignments, the original Gym Leader designs, beta pokemon moves, new hold items, access to the Skateboard, being able to name your Mom, and even the minigame on the game start screen. The attention to detail and the polish on this hack is truly impressive.

Essentially, I feel like this hack can be considered the definitive edition of the beta Gold/Silver that we never knew. It gives us a chance to experience this alternative world, and breathes life into these wonderful pokemon that never were. Giving us a chance to know and love these beta creations is truly a gift for pokemon fans.

Perhaps the only downside is the sadness that this is not the official version of Gold and Silver. I experienced Pokemon a little bit differently then my peers. As a child, I adored Red and Blue, but once I’d finished with those games, I moved on from pokemon. I have no nostalgic memories of Gold and Silver to hold onto. I only returned to pokemon years later as a teenager. At that point I played several generations, one after another, at the same time, as a sort of “pokemon binge.” While most would call it blasphemy, I was never too terribly fond of Gold and Silver. I think it was largely because I didn’t happen to like a lot of the pokemon designs in those games. In many ways, this ROM hack presents a Gold and Silver that I adore and can love even more than the originals. 

That’s not to say the official Gold/Silver games are all terrible, of course. There are still definitely some beta pokemon that I feel were axed or altered for good reason. Not all of them are better then the final cuts. And there are other elements that are an improvement, too; for example, I actually really like Silver’s storyline in the official games and the fact we dealt with a character who actually stole pokemon and treated them poorly. 

That said, there is an awful lot to love in this ROM hack, and I’m grateful that we have it. Pangshi, Bellrun, Warwolf, Madame, Volbear and others may not be officially recognized by the Pokemon franchise . . . but they will always be very real in my heart.

The Team

Cinnamon (Flame Wheel/Crunch/Scary Face/Earthquake - Charcoal)

Selecting the starter was difficult, because both Honooguma’s line and Kurusu’s line appealed to me. Ultimately I think I went with my old Fire bias. Cinnamon was everything you’d expect a Fire starter to be-- powerful, intimidating, and very reliable. My only real complaint would be that I happened to strongly dislike the sprite the team had created for Dynabear. This isn’t really anyone’s fault, because the team did an excellent job with spriting-- for example, their sprite for the mid-evolution, Volbear, was incredibly good and I adored it to bits. I think it was just a matter of personal taste; I just didn’t like the final evolution’s face. (I’ve actually replaced the sprite in this picture with the original sprite, because I don’t want it to dampen my love for this species) Other than that, seriously, they did this evolution family justice. It was a joy to have on my team.

Doomsday (Curse/Confuse Ray/Body Slam/Shadow Ball - Power Wings)

The second member of my team was found in Brass Tower, to my great excitement: Kurstraw. This was possibly my favorite evolution line to come out of the beta discoveries. This pokemon’s stats were not exactly breaking any records; he went down pretty easily if I wasn’t careful. However, that never really mattered. Doomsday still did his job anyway-- pulling his weight just fine, relying on Confuse Ray and Curse a fair bit to take care of foes. He often was an excellent team player, messing with especially troubling pokemon before passing them over to an ally to finish off. His Normal Immunity also was a strong advantage at times, which I made sure to make use of. Basically, he was a fantastic companion, who helped me all the way through to the Elites and Champion fights.

Rumtum (Slash/Thunder Wave/Thunderbolt/Crunch - Leftovers)

Along with a Rinrin, this round good boy was added to the team next. I was slightly wary of Kotora because it seemed to be one of the most popular beta pokemon among fans. But, the pokemon does seem to be worthy of praise, as it turns out. It is an excellent, cute, cheery little creature and seems to do Pikachu’s job just as nicely as Pikachu, both in fighting and in charisma. Where Pikachu is focused more on speed, though, Kotora and its evolution focus a little more on bulk. The tanky tiger was able to take hits long enough to outlast the competition, even when working with relatively low basepower moves. When he *finally* learned Thunderbolt, though, man, look out -- he was quite a force to reckon with.

It’s funny, actually. When I first saw this tubby tiger, I assumed it was a fire type. Electric was somewhat surprising, but I quickly grew to like it as that typing. Most electric type pokemon are rodent-focused, as Pikachu clones, or Magnemite’s kin. Having a big, bulky tiger is unexpected for the archtype of electric pokemon, but it’s a very refreshing change.

Poprocks (Fire Blast/Surf/Body Slam/Flame Wheel - Mystic Water)

Next on the team was this awesome fellow. Well . . . sort of. Technically, next on the team was TRICKY the Bomsheal, which I traded a Rinrin for with an NPC. Later on, I felt like being able to name the pokemon myself, so I bred Tricky with Cinnamon and trained Poprocks up from scratch. This seal was the cause of some angst for me. I loved Manboo’s evolutionary line a lot, but I also loved the fire seal. They both vyed for the position of the water type on my team. For a while, I used Manboo (and Anchorage) . . . intent on keeping it. But I missed the seal so much, eventually I went back for it to retrieve it from the PC. Yes, it only added to my team’s Rock/Ground weakness, but I didn’t care. I loved this guy too much.

I’m not sure what it is. The freaking amazing typing of Fire/Water? That was definitely a big part of it. But there’s also just something so appealing in its design, simple as it may be. He’s just a cool seal with a fireball. And boy . . . I sure learned how INTENSE its stats were. This seal was RIPPING through the competition. Using it was basically pushing the win button. Honestly it might need to be nerfed a little, it was nuts. But yeah, Bomsheal is a badass and doesn’t need any evolutions to be cool. Best surfer ever!

Darkwing (Slash/Fly/Swords Dance/Faint Attack - Stick)

Right around when I was handed the TM for Fly, I ran into an area that had two types of birds available, depending on the time of day: Hoothoot at night, Farfetch’d at day. As cool as beta Noctowl looks, I eventually decided I needed to have a Madame. I just had to. Like many others, I always, always felt Farfetch’d deserved an evolution and was kind of screwed over. Learning it used to have one was a revelation.

Madame on this team was kind of funny, though. Next to all of these exotic beta pokemon, Madame seemed so . . . normal. She had moves and performed pretty much the way you’d expect a Normal/Flying type to act. It was much like using a Pidgeotto or Fearow. She couldn’t take many hits but usually could take out one pokemon. Her typing had her as an ideal Generalist pokemon-- something that could be used in various situations, not to any amazing effect but usually to a passable one.

That may sound a little underwhelming to you, but honestly, it’s what you’d expect of this cool-looking swan; it’s a Normal/Flying type. It fills that archtype as a familiar, dependable generalist. And I am someone who can really appreciate a generalist pokemon. I think the pokemon world’s richer for having Madame in it, even if only in our dreams.

Alpha (Strength/Blizzard/Screech/Ice Punch - Nevermeltice)

The final member of our illustrious team. You have to wait until fairly late into the game, when you reach the snowy towns, to get a hold of one of these fellows.But the wait is well worth it. What a beautiful pokemon design these two are-- mysterious little creatures hiding inside their wolf pelts, a perfect mix of cute and creepy. Wolfman/Warwolf actually struggled for quite some time on my team, unfortunately, just because of its movepool. I was left with the very weak Icy Wind for a long time. To compensate, I taught Strength, which worked somewhat, but I could still tell Warwolf wasn’t reaching its full potential. I taught it Blizzard, but the poor pokemon had a rough time ever landing its hits. What I SHOULD have done from the start is buy and teach it Ice Punch for a reliable STAB move with decent base power. I FINALLY decided to do that around the time I reached the Elite 4. I kind of had to-- its learnset wasn’t providing it with reliable, decent Ice moves, for some reason. Once Warwolf was properly equipped, he did great work. Admittedly, a pure Ice type pokemon isn’t the best, defensively. They have four weaknesses to some very common move types-- Rock, Fighting, Fire. (Steel moves weren’t really implemented in this game). That said, when used wisely, a pure Ice type can still be a valuable team member.

There was one hitch, though. Warwolf was mainly a physical fighter. This makes sense if you look at him. Of course he’d be a physical fighter. Thing is, in gen 2, Ice moves were all special. So I suppose technically Warwolf still isn’t hitting at his full potential-- not until the special/physical split in gen 4 so he can take true advantage of physical-type Ice moves. Still, despite that fact, he did a great job anyway. He landed the final blow that defeated Lance and won the game, after all.

I think my only real regret is how relatively little time I spent with him when compared to the others. This is, of course, just the nature of the game; you find some pokemon later on when you’re nearing the end of the game. If there’s any sort of post-game, perhaps I can spend more time with him.

And the Ones Who Didn’t Make the Cut . . .(This Time)

There were so many beta pokemon that it was impossible to have them all on the team, of course. I was especially sad about leaving my Bellrun, Tibbs, behind. I adore Rinrin and Bellrun’s line, as yet another set of pokemon that should have been included in the final cut of the official games. Alas, ultimately I removed Tibbs from my team, though. The reason was simple enough. With the beta Type alignments, Dark type was heavily disadvantaged. It was weak to Normal-type and Dark-type moves (as well as Bug), which was extremely significant. Pokemon’s movepools were positively saturated with Normal and Dark type moves, and it was impossible to avoid. With her already weak stats, and her lack of any decent basepower moves for so long, there was just too much stacked against her. It’s my hope that Rinrin/Bellrun get a bit of a buff in future updates, because they really seem to struggle. 

In any case, there were also plenty of others not on my team: Aquarius, Noctowl, Belmitt, Jumpluff, Turban, Plux, Grotess, Girafarig, Leafeon . . . and so many more. Honestly, that’s fantastic. It gives such replayability to the game. I have no doubt I will return to do more runs and get the chance to try out other pokes.

And, who knows? Maybe in the future they’ll even update this hack to include even more beta pokemon that were uncovered last year. If they don’t, I’m sure someone else will.  

(This hack is largely the work of lvl_3, who created ‘Pokemon Super Gold 97.’ Then, the hack was further changed and refined by a team into ‘Pokemon Gold and Silver 97: Reforged.’ Both can be found at the PokeCommunity as patches.)

[endlessdoom]

Master Levels for Doom II.

By various authors.

1995.

https://doomwiki.org/wiki/Master_Levels_for_Doom_II

MAP01: Attack

This is our first introduction to the iconic maps of the Master Levels. Created by Tim Willits and his sister, Teresa Chasar. This is a medium sized map with a boxed design that manages to establish a good sense of progress with a bit of dynamism and balanced combat. Taking into account that it's 1995, this is a decent/solid map that, if we play it in the order I'm using (Xaser's order) works as a good start to this classic collection. Interesting to know that Tim Willits' story is one of, uh, quite the polemic stuff, but it is also good to know that he did not do this as a lonely map, on the contrary, he made these maps with his sister. Quite an interesting story and an equally fascinating map.

MAP02: Canyon

Canyon, second map in the order of Xaser, is also the second map made by Tim Willits and Theresa Chasar. We start with an abstract arena of combat with a few pillars and multiple directions to advance. The use of items is favorable enough to compensate the instantaneous combat. Surprisingly, although not so visually appealing, this map has certain areas that have their own unique appeal, such as a catwalk with a small acid pool and a beautiful green waterfall. What stands out the most in this solid map is the unique and well designed progression, being simple but always maintaining a constant rhythm that makes us move without major stops. What can you expect from one of Id's lead designers?

MAP03: The Catwalk

Christen Klie is the author of the third map of the Master Levels. An author with a fairly prolific track record during the 1990's that would capture the attention of Id Software and then other companies like LucasArts, The Catwalk is a mid-sized map that encapsulates the early art of mapping during the 1990's. An amalgamation of different designs that tries to recreate together under the same progress, along with interesting quirks that give it a certain flavor of adventure and a little bit of discomfort. This is a simple map that stands out more for its layout than for its simplified and tight gameplay. The one titled Catwalk is actually only part of the end of the level, but leaving that aside, this is a pretty interesting attempt to create something distinctive but still relevant. Did it succeed? I'll leave it to you.

MAP4: The Fistula

Another map by Christen Klie. This one appears also on the PS website, being the sixth map of the first episode. This is a medium size map with a claustrophobic design and a somewhat forgettable layout. Confusing at times and with a somewhat mediocre gameplay, it's a map that fortunately ends quickly so we shouldn't hate it too much.

MAP05: The Combine

Christen Klie certainly designed a lot of maps, with at least a quarter of the Master Levels being made by him, sharing the honor with the legendary Dr. Sleep. The Combine is a medium sized map with a rather abstract design that actually reveals without any problem the year and the design philosophy it has. With a large number of doors, meaningless roads, alignment errors and a few hesitant design decisions, this is a map that is at best mediocre. Only about 65 enemies in UV but it can take us more than 8 minutes to find the exit despite being a relatively small-medium map. Interestingly, Chris' maps seem to drop in quality as we go forward, this is probably the one I like the least.

MAP06: Subspace

Oh boy. What we have here is an interesting and classic attempt at prog mapping in the 90s by Chris. Tricks, uh, interesting, plus a somewhat strange progression and a confusing layout. Visually we don't have to wait for anything, they are 100% stock textures without any creativity. After that we have nothing more interesting than a floating switch that until today I wonder: What was the idealization process to create such a thing? This is a map that seems to stand out only because of the innocent charm it has, but stripped to the bone, it is rather mediocre.

MAP07: Paradox

Now we have more interesting things. The first and only map by Tom Mustaine (not related to the famous guitarist and singer) and an interesting example of good design, layout and not-so-raw gameplay, but totally uninspired and with very bland visuals and ultimately, a very lost layout. Trying to find that red key is a pain in the ass or just a walk-in-the-park, 50 / 50, and that really lowers the overall fun of this map.

MAP08: Subterra

Christen Klie is back with another map that starts quite hot brings an interesting gameplay curve all around. A design that for to point I consider typical of Chris: varied rooms connected to a central path as well as a bizarre search for keys. He seems to focus more on finding an avant-garde design. This is a map, like his previous ones, doesn't stand out at all for its visuals but at least it defends itself a bit with a somewhat rough but challenging gameplay. Some acid softlocks and pit with no exit may slow down progress, and the confusing path system goes into some unnecessary roads that bog down progression. Not a good map, to be honest.

MAP09: The Garrison

More square than ever and with a somewhat gothic visual style. At least it's not completely brown. What we have here is another classic example of Christen's maps. They are not funny. They are pretty rough to look at and play with, with a cryptic and unfair progression system. There's not much I can say, maybe just defend it with the fact that it's 1995, but still, other mappers do a much better job. This is not a good map but luckily it is the author's last one in the Master Levels.

MAP10: Black Tower

Here we have something quite interesting. A massive level created by Sverre André Kvernmo (Cranium), an author who would remain active for almost 2 decades (although a little sporadically and with a few hiatuses). This is the first truly massive map in the Master Levels, and also one of the most creative thanks to its interesting progression system that, despite being quite lost, feels like a real exploration adventure of the 90s. A big black tower in the middle of the map where we will have to search and find all the keys through teleports, rooms, traps, etc. This is a pretty decent map that manages to entertain for the 20 to 30 minutes it lasts. It is big, no doubt, but in its well-made creativity and quality of the 90s, it is one that manages to be successful.

MAP11: Virgil’s Lead

Created by the legendary Dr. Sleep. Virgil's Lead is the first map of Dr. Sleep in the Xaser Master Levels order, continuing with our adventure we now have a mapper who acquired a legendary status for his incredible vision and fantastic mapping skills. This map is a testament to his ability to create even during 1995. A medium size map with a very characteristic style that reminds me of the visual theme of Thy Flesh Consumend. With a good progression, an entertaining breakthrough and a well balanced challenge as well as well defined examples of architecture, this is a great map that is part of the famous Inferno series.

MAP12: Mino’s Judgement

Dr. Sleep established a legacy thanks to his fantastic contributions to the community and his great signature style that would later inspire a multitude of new mappers. This style can be well appreciated in this series, part of the Master Levels. Minos' Judgement follows the same remissive style of E4 (marble and tight architecture) with a nice unique touch that gives it a very appreciable atmosphere. This is a bigger map but with a much more complicated style that in spite of having a multitude of interconnected roads, we always manage to know where to go and how to go. Progress is key and the gameplay feels incredibly satisfying because of that. Apart from some fantastic visuals for the 90s, this is a good map in every aspect.

MAP13: Nessus

Dr. Sleep continues to pamper us with his fantastic maps. This is a simpler, more modest one with a simple and easy to understand layout without any unnecessary complexity. The progression is designed to make you go through the whole map twice but offering different paths and a dynamic combat with varied enemies, as well as different encounters and solid visuals.

MAP14: Geryon

Geryon: 6th Canto of Inferno by Dr. Sleep, part of his classic Inferno series. This time around we have a more simplistec yet fun medium-size map and a more palpable modesty. With a style that encourages adventure/exploration, this is a map that shouldn't be too difficult but fun enough to finish without problems. It highlights the final area where we have a good battlefield, creating a palpable and appreciable style.

MAP15: Vesperas

The last entry of Dr. Sleep's Inferno series in the Master Levels. It is a medium sized map with a box design that promotes constant combat under different tight and open areas, making use of plenty of teleporters and monster closets. Challenging but surmountable! Ammunition can be a problem. Unfortunately, this map is a bit lost and it can be slightly annoying to try to find the keys, which do not seem to be very visible. Starting with the fact that if we don't know that there is a small invisible ledge that leads to the yellow key, we will probably have a good time wondering what to do. In spite of that, this map rewards us with a good and exciting gameplay.

MAP16: Titan Manor

Here we have the first map by Jim Flynn. Titan Manor is one big boxed manor set in the moon of Saturn, Titan. What appears to be quite simple on the outside reveals an intricate layout on the inside, with good attention to detail (for 1995) and several routes to take as well as secrets to reveal. In spite of having an interesting design and promoting exploration, this map has a rather cryptic and difficult to understand progression system; designed based on hidden switches, tiny platforms and other things. Expect to spend a lot of time trying to find your way out if you don't have a guide.

MAP17: Trapped On Titan

This map feels like a direct sequel to the previous Titan Manor, but now we are stuck in Titan. Or something like that. It's a map that combines elements of abstract design with areas that try to look like cities or urban settings, all with a good dose of weird but understandable progression. This is a difficult map, you have to say that. The beginning and the middle are quite tight and the items are usually hidden in unofficial secrets or other areas. The end is also a hot one but if we were careful we should have enough HP, armor and ammo to survive. In general, this is a pretty solid map that has a particularly hot design that makes it attractive for those looking for challenges. It is not as lost as the previous one so that is an extra point.

MAP18: The Express Elevator To Hell

I had been warned a little about this map... I see why. What we have here is a clear example of an original and fun idea but executed in a wrong way and too much of a novice. The essence of it is to cross a map with an elevator that takes us to different paths that we need to travel to complete it. The problem is that such an elevator is a bit annoying to use, the enemies are too many and in places with 0 maneuverability and by the way the items are very short, resulting in a map of very high difficulty that does not feel satisfactory. Especially the final area, ugh. I have mixed opinions about this adventure, but it's not all bad.

MAP19: Bloodsea Keep

Another map by Sverre André Kvernmo who seems to have a little creativity in mind. I had high hopes for this map, since I like the idea of castles and fortresses, however, this is a classic example of a beautiful design ruined by a terrible gameplay. The positioning of enemies is terrible and it is made with the purpose of delaying you as much as possible while offering you the minimum of ammunition to survive. There is no SSG in sight, only in the secrets that will not be so easy to find. Unfortunately, I can't give a positive opinion about this map since it cost me half a soul to finish it, at least I can say that its layout and design is attractive enough, although it doesn't manage to make synergy with the clearly outdated gameplay.

MAP20: Mephisto's Maosoleum

This one feels like the previous one. An interesting (though clearly outdated) map that is on the theme of castles. It has a slightly more interesting gameplay and offers more interesting alternatives. I'm not a fan of the fact that the vast majority of enemies are Revenants, which are not easy to balance on open levels. On the other hand, the middle of the map is interesting enough to be worthwhile, but the end is disastrous. This is a IoS fight but with only one window of opportunity to attack Romero. Such window is located in a super narrow corridor right next to the spawn point of the cubes. Totally absurd and unfair, but oh well, that's the end of it!

MAP21: Bad Dream

This is probably the most mediocre map of all, but at the same time, an interesting proposal. The last level in the Xasers order of the Master Levels and one of those levels that we would find with 1 of 5 or 5 of 5 stars in /idgames. A simple enormous circular level with dozens of Cyberdemons and a single Spidermastermind that blocks our way. The trick is simple: make the Cyberdemons attack the Spidermastermind and then run for our lives while we pick up the keys one by one. The roof will start to crush us slowly so it's a matter of repeating the process until victory is achieved. What else can we expect from a secret level of the 90s?

End textscreen.

Overall:

Master Levels for Doom II (1995)

By various authors

 Let's travel in time. Let's go precisely to the year 1995, on the date of December 26th. It is practically a post-celebration day for many and some are even still resting and recovering from Christmas hangovers. It is a time of celebration and joy for many, and for others it is just another day. But... for some people, somewhere in the world, it is a unique day of premiere in which they will see things they never imagined before. For some Doomers in whatever part of the world they were, possibly the US, it's the day the legendary Master Levels for Doom II was released. Iconic, dear, mixed, hated, infamous, etc. There are many opinions about this particular collection of 21 maps for this fantastic game. Some talk about it with positive voices and memories of nostalgia mixed with a hint of longing; others despise it and consider it as a mediocre point in the life of Id Software where they only collected a bunch of levels and called it a day. Well, that is true, indeed. Master Levels for Doom II is pretty much that: a collection of 21 maps from different authors that range in quality and quantity, sometimes going from the very best that 1995 had to offer, to also the very worst that we can find, all in vanilla, lovely vanilla flavor. Well, then, what makes it so special? We could start with the simple fact that this is an official release from Id Software, which in theory could be considered a curated list of maps that the boys considered worthy of release during 1995. Something we would never see again with this style. Of course, there are many collections of shovelware with different styles and certain legends behind them, Maximum Doom is a good example (which is included alongside the Master Levels but that's another beast for another day) but probably the only underground collection with true legendary status is this one. The Master Levels are a distant memory of past times, of creative nostalgia and stages of immaturity. This is vanilla beauty and also inept ugliness. Mediocrity and fantasy come together to give us a bag full of gold and dirt. Here we have a piece of history, and like any story, it can be as ugly as it is beautiful. This is a relic of the days of yore, and one that I’m about to give my honest opinion and also some words of exterior retrospective. So, shall we?

 The Master Levels for Doom II is a collection of 21 maps by different authors, ranging from some well-known community legends like Dr. Sleep, to even some authors that would later become official Id members, like Tim Willits. Created with the purpose of making direct competition to the rest of the creators of collections/compilations of shovelware, according to the words of the Johns: to "give the D!ZONE guys a run for their money." In that I think we can agree on that they did achieved it. While other collections are not as well known to this day, much less played, the Master Levels even have a certain cult category that gives them relevant popularity among Doom fans. Surprisingly, Maximum Doom probably has a more representative but equally interesting cult next to the Master Levels.

 Most of the maps that we find here are from already existing WADs released previously by their creators, such as the Inferno series by Dr. Sleep.  According to Sverre Kvernmo, one of the authors, most of the stuff was hunted by Id Software looking for some skilled mappers who might have some unreleased material, hence why this is more considered of collection than a properly made WAD. Some maps have special touches to give them some quality value, while others are in their pure and raw state no matter what. Inside you go and inside you play. In spite of that, the Master Levels have a certain air of born quality that we can detect without the need to make further extensive analysis within the range of levels that we will find. Of course, these are not the best maps of 1995, but they certainly have a certain touch of quality. Taking into account that this is 1995, a stage in which the level editors were not yet as convenient as they are now. Primitive tools, primitive maps. But don't let that fool you, the primordial state always has appreciable qualities even if hundreds of years go by. After all, it was called the Master Levels for something. The levels here were published with the idea that they would be of the highest quality, almost elite, making an allegory to the fact that their authors were masters of such creations. We only have to look at the ad of the Australian magazine version to read: ''Dust of Doom II, because now the master creators bring you...'' So, yeah, this was going in with quite the spiciness.

But in the end, does it manage to meet these high expectations? Well, that is quite hard to say. How can we compare it in current years? That would be unfair taking into account that even the best of the Master Levels looks pretty dull and boring compared to some recent stuff that has come out. Yet, how was the game for 1995? Well, things get interesting if we start to look at it from a more... antique perspective. Sure, playing the Master Levels in 2020 or 2021 probably isn't the most rewarding experience in the world, but I still have to admit it was fun. But what about going to 1995? Remember, this is before Final Doom and other projects that would revolutionize map design philosophy and change the world of WADs. This is 1995, Thy Flesh Consumed had just come out a few months ago so there wasn't much competition between official Id products. But competition between PWADs? Well, Memento Mori came out just a few days ago, the closest I can think of to compare between a community-made WAD but, of course, not Id released. Both are pretty iconic now a days, with Memento Mori probably being more played now a days. On the other hand, Memento Mori does suffer a bit from being outdated for today standards, and well, so does the Master Levels, yet, for 1995? Oh boy, I’m pretty sure these things were like gold bars for a Doom enthusiast.

I can’t say much about relating to that kind of experience, but I can try to, at least, lower my perception and look through a different kind of mirror into the past.

For 1995, the Master Levels are pretty solid in much of their levels. Heck, even the bad ones could be acceptable in 1995. As a matter of fact, I’m actually willing to say that most of the levels found here are superior in their overall quality to Doom II. Quite the fascinating subject of study but looking it in a more closely way, we begin to appreciate the kind of work that this collection offers, but to do so in a fair a just way, we have to look at each single of the authors in the Master Levels.

Going in with just the general order that the Doomwiki has, we start with:

Dr. Sleep: Legendary mapper and one of the earliest WAD masters that actually deserve the title. A great artist who stood out for his great ability to create levels that were as aesthetically appealing as they were fantastic to play; a stylized progression that combines gameplay elements as well as a classic example of early synergy with level design and enemy placement. Creator of the iconic Inferno series, five maps from this series are present in the Master Levels. Each of his maps stands out for having a fantastic presentation that makes great use of geometry and innovative attention to detail. From Virgil’s Lead to Vesperas, these are classic levels that are really worth playing and manage to stay relevant after all these years thanks to having good progression and a solid gameplay that will offer us good minutes of fun. Even if some of the areas of some maps can be seen as a bit old-fashioned for current years, his maps still manage to hold their own thanks to the simple fact that they are fun to play, even in today’s date.

Jim Flynn: An interesting case study of a mapper who seems to have ambitious ideas and even a bit of narrative. Creator of two maps, Titan Manor and Trapped in Titan. Flynn has an interesting style where he embraces more to the great and big, than to the modest or simplistic, straying from the traditional style of small levels with tight interiors. Its maps have a mood of adventure and exploration that seems to be clearly designed with the purpose of giving the player a few minutes of thought. Unfortunately, this is why his maps are the tardiest of all the Master Levels, with some very hard-to-understand progression, which can be somewhat detrimental to some players.

Christen Klie: Klie did six total levels for the Master Levels (curiously enough all his work was published in 1995, and then he just stopped doing Doom WADs) making him the most prolific mapper in the group. Unfortunately, as the saying goes, number does not equal quality and Klie offers several maps of very questionable quality. His maps, for 2020 or 2021, are horrible, but even for 1995 I think they are rather mixed examples of level design. They tend to be simple in presentation and their size is usually around medium to small, but it is in progression and gameplay where I really think he fails. his maps are lost, cryptic and with a style that makes us scratch our heads numerous times, which damages a lot the general quality. Interestingly enough, he would then make a multitude of other maps to release for free to the community, including a megawad and some maps for Heretic. So at least for that, thanks for the content, I guess.

Sverre André Kvernmo: Oh boy, this is the guy most people point at when talking about the hard levels of the Master Levels, cause let me tell you, his levels are tough as nails. Sverre aka Cranium, gives us a total of five levels for the Master Levels, ranging from interesting concepts to living nightmares in terms of design and difficulty. His best map is probably Black Tower, a concept map that stands out for offering an interesting adventure through different areas connected by teleporters. The map suffers a little bit of bad progression, but it is good enough. On the other hand, the rest of his maps are rather challenging to play with in every sense of the word. A bit lost, but always offering interesting original concepts although somewhat poorly executed. I can't say much about Sverre, their levels are solid for 1995 and have the charm of being challenging, except for Bad Dream which is a joke practically. After that, it's an interesting mapper that reminds me of Jim Flynn style. Sverre is also the only mapper that still contributes to the community in modern times, albeit quite sporadically. His last map was in released in 2016, after all.

Tom Mustaine: Not related to the famous metal guitarist and singer. Mustaine only contributed one level to the Master Levels, so there's not much to say about his overall legacy here, but he did have a special legacy elsewhere. Concentrating here, his only level, Paradox, is a square map with a simple design and too brown, but making use of an interesting and dynamic layout that allows a good fight and feels fun, even if a bit raw. After that, Mustaine, unfortunately, didn't contribute with more levels to the Master Levels. On the other hand, his legacy extends to multiple commercial projects, contributing with several maps to projects such as TNT: Evilution, Perdition's Gate and Hell To Pay. Also, he did other contributions to community projects like Memento Mori and even made music for Icarus and TNT: Evilution. A prolific author for the 90s, no doubt. A pity he didn't continue with the contributions. I think he would have achieved an admirable style among the community.

Tim Willits: The last ‘’Master Creator’’ of this article and probably the most infamous of them all. Willits is well known within the Doom community for becoming the studio director and co-owner of Id Software for over a decade, eventually leaving the company during 2019. Not well liked for his hot-takes and somewhat ass attitude, which has given him a bad reputation even among the gaming community in general, but now we will focus on another point that is often obscured by his previous bullshit. Willits is practically the dream of many mappers and designers in the community. He was recruited by Id Software after impressing them with his Raven and Empire WAD series. His levels were no doubt at Id's level to get him to join the team, since, we can see with his contributions to the Master Levels. We can quickly see that he had a special flair for level creation. Attack and Canyon are his two contributions to this collection. Maps made with the help of his sister, Theresa Chasar, of whom there is not much information other than that she co-authored many of the Willits' maps. Its two maps are solid and of a good quality, enough to offer a good entertainment thanks to a somewhat adventurous progression but always maintaining a constant rhythm that does not stop in terms of flow or combat. Making use of a little bit of abstract or surrealistic designs, Willits delivers two solid maps that are fun to play with. I wish he would have refrained to that alone.

As we can see more easily, this collection of maps brings 6 (or 7) authors of different ranges to give us 21 maps of different quality. Each author has, in one way or another, a certain style or set of characteristics that give them a distinguishable touch, either for good or for bad. Much can be said after so many years, but we always have to take into account that this is a work that was made almost 3 decades ago. Almost! That is quite a long time and a great testament to the fantastic work of conservation, perseverance and constant classical appreciation that this community possesses. We can see that these maps are, for lack of a more sensual word, ancient for modern times, and they show it in all honesty. Misuse of textures, confusing layouts, abstract themes, original but poorly executed concepts, boring and simple visuals, etc. But just as we can see the mistakes at first sight, we also have to be able to change our perspective and see what they did well with effort and a certain charisma. Original, creative maps, extravagant layouts, palpable design philosophies, different themes for each author, adventure designs, exploration capabilities, etc.

The Master Levels are, in one way or another, a master creation of different maps by different authors that all manage to have a distinguishable trademark.  Launched on December 26, 1995, it is a creation as fantastic as it is terrible. Constantly changing levels of quality and style that show us different ways to play as well as paths to take that can lead us to rewarding exploration or to get lost in the pools of frustration while we are constantly struggling: Where the fuck do I go from here? That's what the Master Levels are all about. They may be a mixed box for these times, but I can't repeat again that what we have here is a piece of history that deserves all the attention it can get. This is just a glimpse of what the future holds. We have mappers who showed us the capabilities that our community would reveal over the years to come. We have mappers who would also show us the ugly and mixed face of many of the maps that would plague us for eternity. But, most of all, we have a collection of chocolates of different flavors ala Forest Gump. You don't know what you'll get, but you know you'll eat it and you know damn well… it is a chocolate. A tiny fraction of taste, of flavor. Just a small piece of candy for you to enjoy.

Personally, I had a lot of fun going through this historic delivery. Perhaps it is because I consider myself a historian and archivist of any piece of knowledge or content that exists. I like the idea of numbers, I have to admit, but I am also a lover of quality like everyone else, but, above all, I am an admirer of variation. The Master Levels present us with both factors, a trifecta of a fascinating odyssey: There is number, there is quality (in part) and there is a lot of variation. All this together and we have a piece of history that can never be erased from this world. They may not be as well-known as Final Doom or other installments, but the Master Levels are still a milestone that everyone should play, if only for the simple retrospective value it offers. After all, the true taste is found in tasting everything, until finally understanding each flavor. The Master flavors.

Fun fact: The Doom Master Wadazine name is inspired by, yes, indeed, the Master Levels.

Fun fact 2: And pretty much anything I’d do is going to carry Master as part of their name/title. Sorry not sorry.

[ohmightydevviepuu]

hello love (a silent kiss from a wish) / CS January Joy

part one of two for the @csjanuaryjoy AO3

When Elsa admitted that she had no control over the ice swirling around and seeping into Emma’s bloodstream, Emma knew fear unlike any she’d experienced yet.

She just--she wanted to believe that everything was going to be okay. And that they would all live, happily ever after.

--

thanks to @thisonesatellite, @profdanglaisstuff and @optomisticgirl for encouragement and love.

special birthday shoutout to @distant-rose <3 <3 <3

(i would like to note that @optomisticgirl’s epic “Days of Future’s Past” inspired part of this story) (you should read it) 

@shireness-says @shardminds @mariakov81 @stahlop @kmomof4 @carpedzem​ @jonirobinson64​ @spartanguard (for science)

part two will post on 24 january!

--

the time-slip is a classic and i would be remiss if i did not point other other gems (that i am aware of) in this fandom: a seed of hope by @unfolded73​ in time by @justanotherwannabeclassic​ i jumped across from you (oh what a thing to do) by @bemusedbicycle​

--

this story was inspired by an old sailor moon fic called quirks by vievre (on FF dot net)

one. 

Emma Swan was freezing.

She had never, in her entire life, known it was possible to be this cold.  She thought she’d understood cold--had endured cold, had survived cold, living on the streets in Minnesota in the winter, camping out in the backseat of her unheated Beetle in Boston, shivering in a jail cell in Phoenix.

She’d been wrong.

“If I could just--lay down for a minute,” she panted, letting Elsa help her to the ground.

“Emma,” Elsa said.  “Emma--talk to me. Tell me more.”

Emma wasn’t sure if she was going to survive this.  She heard her father’s voice on the other side of the ice wall and knew that he would be disappointed in her.  She tried to imagine him saying something supportive and ridiculous and cheerful and exhorting her to have hope, but she--she couldn’t.  Hope had vanished at least 20 degrees ago.

Emma was too damn cold for hope. 

“Parents don’t always help,” Elsa murmured, but Emma was having difficulty following the conversation from one end to the other.  She could hear the static squelching on the walkie from the other side of the ice wall and knew that David Nolan was doing everything in his power to get her out of here.  And Hook--

“That has to be very lonely,” Emma said, but the movement of her lips did little to help her stay warm.

Emma wasn’t going to think about Hook, about how she’d refused to let him break down her walls--metaphorically speaking--and how she was now trapped behind a literal wall, made of ice, and wasn’t that one hell of a metaphor?

But she knew that he was probably trying just as hard to break that one down, too.  She tried to imagine the pair of them, the prince and the pirate, just to make herself laugh, to move her muscles, but it was cold--too cold for anything to be funny.

“Were you born with magic, or cursed?”

She’d seen some weird shit in her life, and even weirder shit in the year and change she’d lived in Storybrooke.  She’d eaten chimera and killed a dragon and led a mutiny of Lost Boys. She’d seen a flying monkey in New York City.  But when Elsa admitted that she had no control over the ice swirling around and seeping into Emma’s bloodstream, Emma knew fear unlike any she’d experienced yet.

Fear of loss--because, for the first time in her life, she had something to lose.

Her parents, her family.  Henry. Hook.

“I’m very sorry I trapped us here,” Elsa said.  “I didn’t mean it.”

Emma knew that, she did--she just wished that she knew everything was going to turn out all right.

That they were all going to live, happily ever after.

She was barely conscious and did not see the glow of the wishing star in the ice underneath her.

two.

  He came awake all at once.

Two hundred years shipboard made a man a very light sleeper, and in the years since, Killian Jones had been content to be awakened most mornings by the movements of his still-drowsing wife.  She would breathe against his skin, tickling him. He would feel her lips against his back in light butterfly kisses along his spine or her fingers as she traced the designs inked into his arm.  He would feel the gentle pressure of her body as she pulled herself closer to him, and hear her whisper: “For heat.” And then he would nod, allowing her the simple fiction and enjoying the way she fit perfectly against him as he watched the sun rise through the filmy curtains of their east-facing bedroom.

He was unaccustomed to the sight that greeted him on this morning, however.  He was cold and stiff--”Getting old, babe,” she would say, giggling--and when he opened his eyes the first thing he saw was a portable heating device on the floor of the Charmings’ old loft.

The loft that no one in their family had occupied for years.

It came to him in phases:  the awkwardness of sitting on the floor; the pain in his shoulder and neck; his arm, oddly positioned behind him and over his shoulder.  He tried to move, but couldn’t. Something-- someone --was holding his arm in place.

Instinctively, Killian twisted--he needed to check, he needed--

When he tried to pull his hand from her grasp, she turned, though she didn’t wake.  Emma Swan was curled up on the old too-small couch in the old too-small family loft, his old greatcoat pulled up to her chin and his hand wrapped tightly in hers.  

He wasn’t wearing his wedding ring.  Neither was she.

three.

  Killian examined himself in the mirror.

He was wearing one of his linen blouses and a pair of leather trousers, his waistcoat discarded on the wash basin.  The boots lined up next to the couch had pointed toes instead of rounded and buckles instead of zippers. Though he always protested to his wife that he still ‘retained his youthful glow’, the reflection that greeted him was younger, and harder, and Killian suddenly missed the laugh lines and crow’s feet he had begun to accumulate.

With a sigh, Killian pulled his shirt up by the hem, already suspecting what he was going to see.  His skin was largely unblemished, except for his tattoos; the scar he carried from Excalibur was missing.  He had not yet been wounded. Killed.

He had not yet asked--begged, pleaded--she had not yet--

Killian closed his eyes and for an instant, he could feel his wife’s fingers tracing the pale silver line in the dark, the way she did on the nights where it still, sometimes, all felt like too much, when one or both of them was restless, when the only thing that kept the darkness at bay was the light they created together.  He exhaled, scrubbing his hand down his face.

The sliding door separating the washroom from the living area still stuck--of course it did, he reminded himself, no one had ever bothered to fix it--but he maneuvered it gently, hoping not to wake anyone, least of all the baby.  The cot was in its old spot by the alcove and if he had to postulate, his brother-in-law was--at most--three or four weeks old and still well into his screaming phase.  

Killian would bet gold doubloons on unloaded dice that there was sleeping Arendellian royalty in the bed at the top of the ladder.

Which meant that the Emma Swan curled up on the couch, under his coat, was not his wife.

He examined her, taking in the gold of her hair in the early morning sunlight, and saw that the strands of silver that had begun to twine around the gold were missing.  She appeared to be relaxed--he doubted anyone else would notice--but his Emma slept with complete abandon, and Killian could see that even in repose, in her family’s loft, this Emma was on her guard. 

He wanted to touch her.  His fingers practically itched.  He wanted to smooth away the worry line on her forehead, to run his palm across her cheek, to wind his fingers into her hair.  But this Emma still had walls that were miles high, and would not welcome his touch or his breaching of her carefully-constructed boundaries, no matter that he had, once upon a time, literally attempted to tear down a wall between them.  He had bruised his shoulders, had blunted his hook on the solid ice and been rewarded with the feeling of the weight of her in his arms for the first time.

And when he’d carried her back to the loft, wrapped in his coat, she’d pulled his hand into both of hers and didn’t let go, clasping and unclasping their fingers, tracing the metal of his rings.  He remembered it, they way her hand had felt, small and cold; the way her eyes had softened when she wouldn’t let him leave.

That was last night, unless he missed his guess, and just as he had the realization, she opened her eyes.

Emma startled very slightly--another thing that his Emma had not done in years--and relaxed infinitesimally as she saw him.  “Hook,” she said, and smiled. Her eyes were sleepy but crinkled at the corners as she met his gaze; she laughed at him every time, but Killian always swore that the morning sun made them glitter a particularly vibrant shade of green.

And that’s when his breath caught, in that moment, when all he saw was the woman he had married.  His True Love. (“Capital ‘T’, capital ‘L’,” she always said, as if he could possibly forget.)  

“Good morning, Swan,” he said, kneeling to put their eyes at a level.  He tried, and failed, to hold back, restricting himself to brushing a lock of hair out of her face.  “Have you warmed up at all?”

four.

  The shower at Granny’s was worse than he remembered.

Killian wasn’t sure if it was the pressure of the water, or the fact that he missed Emma’s open shampoo bottles and the scent of her around him while he bathed.  Maybe it was that the shower in their home was big enough for both of them, a circumstance they frequently took advantage of. Killian reached for his old black dressing gown that was still brand new in this time, and had not been appropriated by his wife.  He stepped out of the bathroom, thumbing the scar on his abdomen that wasn’t there, and took in the room: the corners of the sheet tucked in with military precision, the hand-drawn map of Storybrooke tacked to the wall, his books stacked precisely on the wooden desk in the corner.

It was clean.  None of the photographs Snow had started gifting them, which multiplied on what felt like a weekly basis, cluttering every surface. None of the detritus his Emma left in her wake wherever she went.   When he’d walked through the door and didn’t immediately trip over Emma’s boots, which she would leave wherever she happened to take them off, it felt wrong.

She’d sent him “home”, and that felt wrong, too, but Killian knew there would be no changing her mind and no reason for her to think any other way.  Especially not when she’d allowed his touch and then immediately pulled back into herself. Emma had merely thanked him for spending the night, shooing him out the door, and he had gone.

“I’ve slept in far worse places for less worthy reasons, love,” he’d said, conscious of Snow--of Mary Margaret--and David trying not to watch them from their alcove.  They were destined to be forever watched, always interrupted, and they’d long ago given up changing the locks. “Far be it for me to deny a beautiful woman such a simple request.”

He’d been there for her, and she’d allowed it, and he had never forgotten how that felt.

But now, in the Spartan room he’d once maintained as his own, there was much else to consider.  This wasn’t time travel, nor was it another reality--two things he, unfortunately, had practical experience with.  He had not gone through a portal, or been transported by other magical means. It did not match Emma’s and Regina’s descriptions of waking up in the Wish world, or being sent through the looking-glass.

To his best approximation, he had merely woken up in the body of his younger self, on a day that he had already lived. 

That left him with two questions:  why?

And--perhaps more importantly--where was the Killian Jones that had been meant to live this day?

five.

  The bed was warm, and it was that as much as anything that alerted his senses and pulled him fully and completely awake.  The bed was warm, and strange, and there was filtered sunlight coming in through flimsy window coverings. He was wearing neither hook nor brace--nor shirt--and he wasn’t alone.

Hook lay sprawled on his stomach, and there was on his back the weight of another person, their arm draped across his neck and a cheek against his shoulder.  He tried to remember the last time he had woken up with someone in his bed in the daylight, and when he lost count of the years, he rolled over onto his back.

Emma Swan followed his movement, mumbling to herself as she re-settled her head on his chest, and Hook froze.

Bad joke, that, he thought to himself, when he had just last evening been surrounded by literal miles of ice--when Swan had nearly frozen to death in a spell gone awry.

She was anything but cold at the moment, her breath tickling his skin.  Her hair was tied up at the top of her head in some kind of knot, and he had a delicious view of the skin at the back of her neck and the silver chain she wore.  They were tangled together in a web of soft sheets and he could feel, from where she pressed against him, that she wore little or nothing beneath her sleeping shirt.

He didn’t belong here.

Though he had often fantasized about what he and Emma Swan could do, should they ever find themselves in bed together, her present reaction to this manner of company would likely end poorly.  Emma Swan had carefully constructed boundaries, and this was a violation of all of them.

He didn’t belong here, and Hook knew this couldn’t be a dream.  It was too real; he could feel the weight of her against him, and the softness of the mattress under him, and the warmth of the sunlight against his skin.  There had been no portal that he was aware of, no other means of magical transport. He did not know what else it could be, other than a curse, and though he would happily kiss her--

Hook exhaled a laugh through his nostrils.

His previous attempts at curse-breaking had not been successful.  He would rather enjoy this feeling for a few minutes longer than endure another knee in the groin for his efforts.

But.

He had thought of her, every day of the year that they had been apart, and dreamed of her every night, and this was--

He remembered carrying Emma back into her parents’ loft last night, under the worried and watchful eyes of her family, and of Elsa.  He had been easily persuaded to stay, just by the look in her eyes that told him she needed him. Hook knew she couldn’t verbalize it, not yet, but she needed him, and he could be there for her.

And now, Hook found himself in an unfamiliar bed in an unfamiliar place, with a very familiar yet unfamiliar woman pulling him closer with every breath she took.

Her hand moved, and he saw it:  the slender silver band around the fourth finger of her right hand as she absent-mindedly traced the tattoo along his collarbone.  Hook watched her, mesmerized by her obvious familiarity with the intricate design, the way the light reflected on the ring, and he noticed something else.

He wore one, too.

six.

  Killian stood in his rented room, letting the weight of his greatcoat settle on his shoulders, and realized there was another question he needed to account for.

What now?

Zelena was clearly not an option in this time.  Regina was still avoiding as much of the Charming clan as she could as often as she could rationalize it.  The crocodile was, for obvious reasons, out of the question. Mary Margaret and David would undoubtedly panic, and then work to convince him that his discarded solutions were viable possibilities, and all of these years later he still stayed away from the convent and its inhabitants whenever possible.

They had forgiven him, but he still had not.  Killian felt a pang as he thought of all of the ways he could attempt to change what was about to happen, and the chain of events that would follow. Few knew better than Killian Jones the cost of meddling with the past, however.  And there was too much that would be put at risk if he even tried.

But--in the meantime--what if he just enjoyed this quiet moment, and spent a day with Emma Swan?  He was turning the key in the lock and on his way down to the diner before he even completed the thought.

“Good morning, Captain.” Granny Lucas greeted him with an appreciative grin, and Killian could not help but smile back as he ordered his coffee.

“Coffee?” Granny’s eyebrows quirked upward.  “Finally starting to rub off on you, are we?”

“You know that you can...rub…wherever you wish, Mrs. Lucas,” he said, waggling his eyebrows in the way that she liked.

She flicked her towel at him.  “You watch yourself, boy,” she said, the way that she always did, before turning to pour out a cup of coffee.  “How do you take it?” she said.

“Ah,” he said, caught off-guard.  Emma drank coffee, Emma and Dave, who made a pot every day at the station, and he had first gotten into the habit of bringing her a morning fix in the weeks after she had restored his heart to his body.  “Black,” he said.

Before that, he had drunk tea.

He checked his phone for the time while he waited for Granny to hand the cup over, and looked up to see her watching him.  “Sheriff won’t be here for a few minutes yet,” she said.

“Aye,” he agreed.

“You doing okay with that thing?” she asked, gesturing at the device.

Killian ran his finger over the keypad, hovering over the ‘Emma’ button.  He shrugged. “Needs must, and all of that,” he said. “Have a hot chocolate ready?”

Granny smiled.  “Sure,” she agreed, watching him take a sip.  “You know I’m rooting for you two.”

Killian nearly spat out his coffee before turning to face her, one eyebrow raised.

The bell over the door rang and Granny gave him a wink.  He put his mug down. “Faint heart never won fair lady,” she said, handing him a cup of cocoa doused in whipped cream.

He turned back toward the door.  When Emma spotted him, their eyes met for a moment before she relaxed into a small smile and gave him a little wave, pointing to a booth.  Their booth. The one where they ate breakfast every weekend, had family dinner at least once per week, afternoon coffee breaks after quickies in the restroom and the time he had persuaded Ruby and Dorothy to close early, commandeering the old jukebox and dancing with her in the middle of the diner.

Killian waited for her to sit before handing her the mug, careful not to spill, and mindful of the way her hands immediately encircled it and how she touched her pulse points against the heat of the beverage for warmth.  “Still cold, love?” he said, wishing he could pull her hands into his, rub his own thumb across her wrist, trace the five-petaled flower tattoo with his finger. 

“I’ll be fine,” she said.  She gave him another small smile and a shrug.  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Only mostly dead, then?”  Killian smiled at her, affecting a calm he knew his other self had not felt.  

Emma paused mid-sip and looked out the window.  “Yeah,” she said slowly. “I guess I should be glad you didn’t go through my clothes, looking for loose change.”

Killian chuckled.  He understood that reference--

--and he shouldn’t.

Emma noticed.  Of course she noticed.  Half a dozen emotions flashed across her face before she settled on the easiest one, and Killian would swear she was wishing for another dagger to hold against his neck--bad joke, that--as she asked:  “Who the fuck are you?”

seven.

  It was a wedding band.

It was a wedding band .

He--

She--??

Hook sat up, dislodging both the dozing woman and the sheets.  She muttered a curse under her breath and grumbled as she rolled over to the other side of the mattress, and he saw the ornament on the chain he had just been admiring, and he swore. 

Colorfully, describing anatomically impossible acts in several languages and ending with an emphatic “bloody hell .”

She--Emma Swan--his wife --sat up immediately, her expression brimming with concern.  “Killian?” She held her hand out, her right hand, putting her palm against his chest and spreading her fingers.  She inhaled and exhaled, deeply, and “breathe, Killian,” she whispered. “It’s okay.” He felt himself falling into her rhythm, the metal cool against his skin, his eyes drawn to the ring between her breasts against the thin fabric of her sleeping shirt.  They looked--she looked--different. Rounder?

Hook averted his eyes, embarrassed.  She looked down at herself, her hand brushing her abdomen, and back up, guiding her face with his palm until he was looking at her again.

He couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop himself leaning into the pressure of her hand against his cheek.  

Shaking his head, Hook found he wasn’t quite capable of speech.

His eyes closed.  “Killian,” she said, her voice gentle.  “Killian, look at me. Did you dream about Excalibur?” 

He shook his head again, still uncomprehending.  “I don’t--Swan--I’m not--”

“Come back to me, Killian,” she said, and it was a command.  “Here and now, babe, look at me.” Her hand was back on his chest, her breathing rhythmic and soothing.  “Tell me something you know is true.”

He looked at her.  Finally, he said, “I think we’re going to have a bit of a problem there, love,” and laughed.  

The sound was more than somewhat unhinged, and Emma’s hand fell away.  “Okay,” she said. Her expression had changed into something he was more intimately familiar with:  suspicion. “Tell me the last thing you remember, then.”

Hook caught her hand in his, finding himself suddenly unwilling to let her pull away.  She surprised him by immediately lacing their fingers together. “It’s okay,” she said.  “You can tell me.”

“The ice wall,” he said.  “Last night, you were trapped in a wall of ice and you nearly froze to death.  We took you home, to your family’s loft, with a woman called Elsa. I didn’t want you to be alone, so I stayed.  When I woke up--” he shook his head “--I was here.”

Emma’s mouth was open.  For a minute, she said absolutely nothing, until the confusion on her face cleared.  “Oh,” she said. “ Oh, oh, shit--”

She took a few deep breaths of her own, closing her eyes before she looked at him again.  “Hook?”

He nodded, and her fingers tightened around his.

“Our second date,” she said, and smiled.

Hook laughed; this time, there was a trace of humor in the sound.

“Aye,” he said, rubbing his finger against the silver ring she wore.  “I don’t suppose you ever found the champagne?”

eight.

  Hook bathed--showered--letting the hot water steam up around him as he chased his own thoughts in circles.  The shower smelled like her.

It was distracting.

Though it was far less distracting than the ring he couldn’t bring himself to take off.

“Swan, we should talk,” he’d said, and Emma laughed.

“I find,” she said with a smirk, “that when my husband says that to me, I’m rarely in for a pleasant conversation.”

He glared at her.  “Poor form, Swan,” he said.  “Using a man’s words against him.”

She’d called him ‘Hook’ as if there was a distinction.  Perhaps there was; perhaps that’s what happened when a man woke up years into his own future.  That’s what she’d said: “Oh, shit,” in her typical state of eloquence. “That was real--you really--”  She’d laughed until she was nearly in tears, until he’d needed to steady her with his arm and she’d smiled at him, as though she expected nothing else.  “You’re in our house,” she’d said finally. “In the future.”

Perhaps, in that instance, he was no longer the same man he once was.  Hook wanted to know, and yet he didn’t. He rubbed the ring again--”It’s real,” she’d said, “I promise”--and thought maybe that was all he needed to know.  That, and the way she’d smiled, as though it was nothing out of the ordinary.

“I’ll make breakfast.  We’ll talk after,” she’d said, his wife said, and smiled a smile that lit up the entire room.  “You can use the shower. Pretty sure you’ll find everything you need.”

But he didn’t belong here.

Hook kept repeating that to himself, like a touchstone, but everywhere he turned, he was contradicted.  There was his soap in the shower next to the open, flowery-scented bottles that were Emma’s. A razor on the wash basin, a straight-edge with a shaving brush, stood solitary amidst the cosmetics.  Everything he needed, indeed. The soap was the same kind he’d gotten into the habit of using since the curse, from the washroom at the inn, with its clean scent of citrus and hint of spice.  

It mingled well with the open bottles that smelled like Emma.

He wrapped himself in a towel, a luxurious sheet of soft fabric that covered him past his knees, and dragged his thumb against a six-inch scar bisecting his abdomen.  The closet held boots and jackets and waistcoats; his brace and hook were on the table next to the bed. On the shelf was the chest he had carried with him on the Jolly Roger across the centuries.

And Emma Swan wore his brother’s ring on a chain around her neck.

There were pictures dotted on every surface, small miniatures depicting him or Swan or Henry or some combination of all three.  Pictures of himself and Charming, of Snow White and Emma, of the four of them together, of the wedding-- his wedding.  To Emma Swan.

Hook had never given much thought to the future.  He had lived the majority of his unnaturally long life with only one goal and a single-minded focus on its achievement.

He had never seen a sunset so perfect.

Hook dressed himself, buckling his brace and selecting a blue shirt and a black waistcoat and, after a moment of hesitation, a jacket.  Clothing was armor. It was the facade he chose to show to the world. He had never been less certain of what a day might bring in his entire life and he did not intend to face it in nothing more than the low-slung trousers of soft fabric in which he had awoken.

And a gentleman would never parade himself about in a state of undress.

“Hey, sailor!”  Emma’s voice easily carried up to where he stood.  In their bedroom.  “Breakfast is ready!”

nine.

  She was angry.

That was an emotion with which Killian was intimately familiar.  Hers, and his--because the Darkness had left its mark upon each of them.  Killian’s already-short fuse was, occasionally, shorter than it ever had been.  Emma sometimes retreated behind walls that were taller than ever. They fought it as they had everything else--together--and kept the same rules, always:  always talk to each other. If that didn’t work, then talk to someone else.  

And when all else failed, there was Archie, who called it “post-traumatic stress disorder”.

“Fucking post-traumatic savior disorder, more like,” Emma always said, her body brimming with frustration.  But her hand didn’t shake anymore and that was, itself, a victory.

Somehow, they got through it.  Together.

But all of that was to come much later.

For now, Emma Swan was angry, and she repeated her question.

“Who the fuck are you?”

Killian watched her, calculating the best way to answer her question.  Honestly, for a start.

“My name is Killian Jones,” he said, and her eyes narrowed, assessing him, until she nodded.

“Killian Jones who suddenly learned what Netflix is?” she asked.

It was her favorite movie.  He could practically recite it as well as she could at this point.

“Killian Jones who has had more opportunity to familiarize himself with Netflix, yes.”  He smirked. “And all of the pleasures of ‘Netflix and chill’.”

Emma rolled her eyes.

“I’m not the Killian Jones with whom you are currently acquainted,” he admitted.

Emma’s hand went to her forehead.  “What the actual fuck?” 

He wanted to reach for her hand.  He wanted to, but he didn’t. “I can’t properly say, but I woke up this morning in our--in your family’s loft.  That is not where I went to sleep last night. I fell asleep in my own bed, in my own home.” With his wife, whom he missed more and more.  It wasn’t--

She didn’t--

It wasn’t Emma , he realized.  She was exactly as he remembered, and he loved her now just as he had done then  It was the way his fingers itched, and his sudden understanding of why.

“Holy shit,” Emma muttered.  “You’re--”

“From the future,” he finished.  “Aye.” He rubbed his finger against his ring--the wrong ring--to stop himself reaching for her hand.

“When?” Emma said.

“I really shouldn’t say,” Killian hedged.  “Several years from now.”

“You’re still in Storybrooke?  You--you stayed, in Storybrooke?”

It was the Darkness again, or rather the magic that had come with it.  Though he had no aptitude and even less interest, he retained just enough of it that he could feel her, his Emma, because of the bonds they shared.  Like a warm sunlight against his skin, nothing more, but he had gotten so used to it that he felt chilly in the shade.  The feeling was enhanced by physical contact.

Only this body had not yet been subject to the Darkness.  

And this Emma did not--yet--love him.  Not the way she would; not the way she did .

“Aye,” he said, looking directly at her.  “I’m still in Storybrooke. My entire life is here.”

His Emma loved to touch; she needed it almost as much as he did.  Their fingers intertwined, her body flush against him as they walked, her hand splayed against his chest as they lay on the couch or in their bed, against his heart.  As though she needed to remind herself--to remind both of them--that it was still there, and still beating.

Her eyes widened for an instant before she looked away.  She seemed suddenly uncomfortable.

He cleared his throat.  “Listen to me, love,” Killian said.  “You and I, we’ve done this part before.  Just answer me: Am I telling you a lie? Because I’d rather not have to do the whole bit with the flying monkey and the brig to prove to you I am who I say I am.”

“David doesn’t have bologna,” Emma said, and Killian could hear acceptance in her words, perhaps with a hint of a smile.

“A fact for which I remain eternally grateful,” Killian said.

She smirked.

He smiled.

“So,” she said.  “If you’re here, then my Hook--”  She blushed and cleared her throat and started again.  “The Hook from this time is--where?  There? Where you came from?”

He shrugged.  It was the most likely explanation.

“And you’re not, like, I don’t know,”  Emma said, “worried? Upset?”

He shrugged again.  “Why should I be?”

“And that’s it?”  She was incredulous.  “You’re just going to, what, stay here?”

“I could give you a ‘hope’ speech, if you want.  I’ve got a fair few memorized by now.” He laughed.  “Let’s just say, darling, that you and I always get back to each other in the end.”

In New York, in Camelot, in the Underworld, in Neverland.

Always.

That’s what it meant to be True Love--capital ‘T’, capital ‘L’--to not give up, to never stop looking.  To always make the choice, and choose each other.

“You’re wrong, you know,” Killian said.  “He is yours. If you believe nothing else, believe that.”

She bit her lip and looked out the window.  “I believe you,” she whispered.