#so today started out horrible. an old trip down memory lane.

[megidoreyn]

Heyyy it's about the art questions

I would like to know your answer in 18 (the purpose) and 22 (artspiration).

I would also ask 3 but I'd completely understand if you prefer not to answer

The rest are already answered

Hope you have a great month. ;D

Hey there! Thanks for the questions!

⭐️3. Show us your oldest piece of art you have on hand

→ It was a real trip down memory lane to look back on some of these, but here's a sample of some old things from 2021-early 2022! (Prior to posting on social media in Aug 2022) Back then, I didn't have any real incentive to improve my art outside of drawing quick sketches like the pictures above. I had issues being cleanly (due to lack of motivation), committing to learning character details, and more LOL. →Fun fact, I drew on a very tiny 11 inch screen 4GB RAM laptop with horrible color calibration for about 3 years until finally getting something better in early 2022 too LOL. It might be noticeable in some of the above pictures with the color choices being a little too light or too saturated, LOL.

→As also seen at the bottom of this post, It might come as a surprise that I also draw fanart for my favorite assorted fandoms outside of megaten too, LOL. I just never post it in public since they're meant as warm-up doodles!

To be honest, 2020 thru late 2022 was a very low point in my life. I had given up on all creative endeavors at the time due to: My career, being diagnosed with a bodily issue of which the effects I still deal with even today, and other personal issues.

It truly wasn't until late 2022 (when I started posting online) that I truly felt confident picking up my tablet pen again and view art in a more positive light…!

NGL I had written out my entire life story here but ended up deleting it--it would have made this post terribly long regardless LOL💦 Perhaps it'll be a story for another time, though!!🙏 And it absolutely has to do with why the Samurai husbands mean lot to me!

⭐️18. What is your purpose for drawing?

→ That's a good question! For me, (especially due to my visual agnosia) it'd have to be the ability to draw whatever comes to mind with skill and precision. To not hold back and draw whatever comes into your mind's eye without fear or hesitation from others (or your own critical inner voice)… And to be able to properly convey the meaningful themes of your work as clearly as they come into your mind... That, to me, is true freedom.

➡️As for BL content: Despite not posting much of it in public (yet), my purpose in drawing BL (or OTP content in general) is to transmit feelings of love + warmth in my art! To depict tenderness, warmth, and love with affectionate, natural-looking body language to make it as believable + realistic as possible...That's always been my goal! →The world is a scary place out there. Though, if my OTP content can make someone feel a slight glimmer of peace, tranquility, or even hope to keep moving forward...then I'll be incredibly happy!🙏💕 It's always my intention to convey nothing but sweet wholesome vibes and warmth with my pictures, and I truly hope that feeling comes across too. ➡️I'll be super candid and say I actually really enjoy angst and raunchy content as much as everyone else! But drawing wholesome + sweet characters in love just comes much sooo much easier and naturally as breathing to me, LOL. Just because I don't post angst or raunchy things, doesn't mean I dislike it! ☝️

⭐️22. List at least one of your “artspirations.”

→ I tend to gravitate towards professional artists with thick painting (厚塗り) coloring styles, dynamic illustrations, and artists that have a strong grasp of anatomy, character design and storytelling! It's hard to pick just one, so here's a brief selection of ones that come up at the top of my head right now!

Thanks again for the questions! Have a wonderful January and rest of your 2024 as well!✨🌟

[mollybecameanengineer]

Immunidad

word count: 9437 | Teen | MSR | @today-in-fic

Summary: A rewrite of Vienen. When Mulder and Scully suspect the black oil is on a drilling platform in the Gulf of Mexico, they realize they are the only ones who can stop it. Too bad he doesn’t work for the FBI and she’s thirty-three weeks pregnant.

This is the third part in my A Second Chance series, which is AU from DeadAlive, in a universe where Mulder never leaves. The series is episodic, like the X-Files, so each piece can stand alone.  

Part 1: Reentry -- Mulder tries to get used to being back from the dead.

Part 2: Lots and Lots of Boxes --  Mulder takes a trip down memory lane while cleaning out his storage unit.

Read Immunidad on AO3, or check out the prologue below the break. 

April 2001

“Are you still planning to come to work with me tomorrow?” 

She and Mulder were in the living room, folding laundry. The TV was on, a Yankees game playing with the sound turned low. It was all horribly domestic. 

“Yup, my appointment with HR is at 8:30, and then Skinner at 10,” Mulder replied.

He was being reinstated. Finally. After the weeks it took to get his identity sorted out, he’d turned his attention to getting things in order at the FBI. He thought it would be easy, as Scully had no trouble after her abduction. But she hadn’t been declared dead. So, rather than coming back to a job, he had to be hired again. Which meant applying for his old job and interviewing. 

Some days he wondered why he was trying so hard to return to the FBI. 

“What are you going to do for the rest of the day?”

Mulder shrugged, folding one of Scully’s bras. “I figured I'd hang out in the office.”

“You remember it’s not just us anymore.”

“Well, I have to meet the new people at some point.”

Scully bit her lip. She seemed to have no confidence in his ability to behave himself. 

“If I get bored, I’ll get a cab home. Or you can knock off early and we can spend the afternoon fooling around.”

She rolled her eyes as she sorted socks. “Oh, before I forget, my mom is coming for dinner Friday.”

“Oh?” Mulder picked up a pair of pajama pants. “Does she know I’m living here?”

Scully looked pensive for a moment. “She helped me clean out your place, so she knows you didn’t have an apartment to go back to.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

Scully sighed, throwing a matched pair of socks into his pile. “She probably assumes you’re living here, but I haven’t said anything.”

“And does she know I’m the father?” Mulder dug one of Scully’s shirts out of the pile. Despite being eight months pregnant, the shirt seemed impossibly small. 

“I think she assumes.”

“But you never told her.”

“She never asked.”

Mulder groaned, placing the folded top on Scully’s pile before digging a new article out to fold. “Well, I guess I should be comforted that I’m not the only person you’re not always forthcoming with.”

Scully threw a paired sock ball at him. It hit his forehead and dropped to the floor. He picked it up and put it in the correct pile.

“Does she know we’re ‘an item’?” he asked, drawing out the last two words in a playful tone.

She rolled her eyes. “I actually don’t know. I think she assumed we were together long before we were.”

“Good lord, Scully. You talk to your mom every week. How has none of this come up?”

Scully shrugged. “I mostly listen.”

Mulder grabbed the last item of the pile, his jeans, folded them, and then started transporting the stacks of clothes to the bedroom. Scully followed with the socks. “Well, do you want me here Friday night?” he asked, plopping the clothes on the bed.

“Of course.” Scully was putting her socks away. Her sock drawer was impossibly neat. Mulder had no idea how she managed that.

“Well, then how should I act?”

“Normal?” She was done with socks and headed out to the living room for the next batch.

“Should I act like your boyfriend?”

Scully returned with the underwear, her face scrunched in disgust. “Boyfriend?”

He shrugged. “What else would you call me? Once and future co-worker?”

“I think of you as my partner,” she said, putting his boxers away.

“Well, that’s wonderfully ambiguous.” He put the last of her pajamas away and went to get the rest of the clothes from the couch. The Sox had scored another run while they’d been arguing. Nothing was going his way.

Back in the bedroom, he said, “Look, I don’t really care what we call each other. The thing is I don’t want to get my foot stuck so far in my mouth it will take a surgical team to remove it. Can I say I’m living here?” He looked down at her stomach. Though he questioned if the baby was made the old fashioned way, Scully didn’t. And no matter what, it would be his child too. “Can I say ��my son’?”

“Oh, she doesn’t know the sex.”

“Good to know, but not actually the part I was focused on. Are you being purposefully obtuse?”

Scully threw the last of her underwear into her drawer and slammed it shut. “What the fuck do you want, Mulder? For me to call her up and say, oh, by the way, Mulder and I started fucking on New Years Day last year. In fact, he fucked me so good, it popped and egg out of my defunct ovary, and now he’s my baby daddy! Oh, and we are shacked up, too!”

They glared at each other, silent except for Scully’s huffing. She cracked first. “Sorry. Sorry.” She walked over to him, wrapping her arms around him as much as her stomach would allow. He returned her hug. “I’ll call and tell her. Before Friday.”

He kissed the top of her head. “While you can do whatever you want, may I suggest you clean up your language a bit? For instance, I’d change ‘fucking’ to ‘making loooove’.”

She pulled back and slugged him. Granted, he did deserve it. 

Keep reading on AO3

[thebuttsmcgee]

Sweet Goku am I tired. I was thinkin that the day I'd get chips an milk woulda been an alright day but here we are

[thecirculararchive]

A Farewell For Now

Hello All! I've been working on this final post for a little bit, and well. I think I'm ready today. It's why I cleared out my inbox so much, and why I have been so distant (which was a really good, healthy experience for me actually).

But I'm not ready to leave syscourse fully. I still have a lot to say about it. So, here it is - my big, final post.

For those not interested in my big long post, but wondering what's next for me, I'll be making a short post soon mentioning everything. I just want to get this out of the way.

This post started as a retelling of my experiences leaving radically inclusive pro-endogenic spaces. However, as I was writing it, it became more just… a trip down memory lane (lol, puns). It’s opened my eyes a lot to who I used to be, who I recently was, and who I want to be soon. 

While this is tagged as syscourse, I would appreciate it if you left debates off this post. You’re welcome to reblog and interact, but I want to remind everyone that this is my personal experience. Any general statements about behavior are directed at people I had interaction with. 

TW ahead for... yikes. Everything? Yeah. Just a generalized TW here for all of the content on my blog for the past 5 years.

I think it’s most important to start with context here. I joined the DID/OSDD Tumblr community around 2017. I was 19 years old, and WOEFULLY undereducated. I had a DSM-iii from the school library (the one that still had MPD as a diagnosis) and the internet at my disposal, along with overprotective parents that regularly spied on me and who I am certain checked my browsing history. At the time, Rice was a host of the system. She came out of hiding, stuck around for longer… but genuinely, I don’t think it was super healthy for her. 

Link to Post

This was her first ever post on our DID blog. Mind you, we were not influenced by any other sources yet. This was from our own understanding. Rice didn’t switch out of the front anymore consciously, and the others rarely fronted. This, to her, based on our ignorant research, meant everyone was integrated (which she used to mean the word “fused” - and both words were inaccurate for what we were actually experiencing) and that she somehow didn’t have DID anymore because of it. 

SO… we entered the DID community with a LOT of stupid preconceptions. That’s the point of that screenshot. 

I started out by just reblogging pictures, memes, etc. Just barely starting to dip my toes into the DID/OSDD community. I gave advice when it was applicable to my own life, but given that I was so misinformed on other topics, people were… understandably wary. 

Around this time, I also created a sideblog of mine, probablydidrpgideas. I was just trying to find fun in a life that was quickly spiraling out of my control - I was terrified of having a mental disorder, likely because of internalized ableism. It just sounded so horrible. So I tried to make light of it, and tried to enjoy myself. I don’t regret that part, but then I tried my hand at “spreading information.” Yeah. THAT went great. I’d include a post here, but it was deleted after a system came after me for it. 

The first time I consciously started stepping into syscourse, the first time I participated was… well. 

Here. Link.

I was in denial. I didn’t realize that what I had been through (what little I remember of it) even counted. I knew high school was hard for me, but that was AFTER the cut off age. So this was me, trying to question, genuinely, when that “cut off” was. They responded genuinely and with good information, and kindly too. And my response was…

Link

Up until this point, I had only seen hate. I had seen endos - who claimed to be similar to me - who were being harassed. I saw systems - who, like me, claimed to not have trauma before a specific age - being harassed by people like this person, who claimed DID only happened before a certain age. They suggested I seek therapy, and that if I wasn’t traumatized, I may be experiencing something else. I reacted VERY poorly, like the uneducated (terrified) teenager I was. 

Because of this, and a few other factors, I moved into endogenic spaces. OSDD/DID spaces didn’t accept me, particularly because there were a lot of things about my system that made people doubt my existence. I was a supposed DID system who had “completely fused” in one year without any therapy, but still had alters fronting, who claimed to have formed without trauma (denial is a hell of a drug) and who had genuinely no idea what they were talking about. 

Proof of not knowing what I was talking about: my description of what it meant to be “integrated” 😥

I continued to interact with those who disagreed with endogenic plurality, primarily because I wanted to understand where they were coming from. If I WAS a traumagenic system, then surely I should understand???

Link (tw sh mention)

This was the first time I was fully fakeclaimed. Fair warning, it’s a loooong post and goes into a lot of back and forth. But this was what, ultimately, cemented me as a radically inclusive system. At this point, I was at least OPEN to the idea of being traumatized. So having someone tell me I was just RPing… It hurt. And it all started cause, looking back, I was immature and uninformed - as are the majority of new systems. This person - this JACKASS - looked at me, a clearly fucked up individual, and continued to believe the worst of me. 

I applied that belief to all anti-endos. And I ran to endogenic spaces to feel… safe. 

Endo spaces felt safe. I felt accepted, because, well, they accepted everyone! This was also at the same time I was exploring my gender and sexuality, and when I started falling in love with my nonbinary partner. Endogenic spaces kept comparing the trauma debate to LGBT+ debates. “They say trauma ALWAYS causes systems, just because they’ve never heard of it happening elsewhere!! That’s the same argument as Nonbinary people not existing because you’ve never heard of it!!” (Note: it’s not the same argument.)

It was so easy to become a pro-endo. I could talk for hours about why, but it boils down to feeling accepted and wanted. When I first started looking into things (uneducated, as the post said), I could not comprehend why people were excluding others. “Surely, if so many people say they have a disorder but don’t have trauma, that’s valid, because *I* have this disorder without trauma.” Again. Denial. 

It’s funny because, looking back, I remember things much clearer. I didn’t reblog much from Endogenics at first - largely because I didn’t want harassment. I was more fragile then than I am now, which is clearly saying something. It’s funny too, because I had very similar stances. Just… in an immature way. 

Link

Even by 2019, I wasn’t really certain where I stood. I knew I accepted all the identities I was coming across, but I also had my doubts about how healthy this all was. I didn’t strongly participate in syscourse, even then, but I scrolled it a LOT. I spent way too much of my life on tumblr. Also by this point, I was as stressed out as I had ever been - I was a senior in college, just turning 21 by now, fully realizing I’m traumagenic by this point (even if I didn’t fully accept it), and going through the most stressful goddamn year of my life. My symptoms were getting worse, and… I was always so angry. 

I scrolled major pro endo blogs. I scrolled major anti endo blogs. I was disgusted by what I saw, daily, because here the Evil Traumagenics were - supposedly MY people - bashing endos - who to me, were just existing. “Words change - why can’t they use those words?” I was so frustrated. I just wanted people to leave each other alone. 

Link

As you can see - I actually subscribed to some anti-endo beliefs by now. I acknowledged that some Endogenics have trauma. I just wasn’t outspoken at all, because I knew the harassment my friends in the pro-endo community got. I still considered myself strongly pro-endo, mostly because everyone else did, and partly because… I support endos. I always had. 

It wasn’t until November/December of 2019 that I really fell deeply into tumblr and started drowning in syscourse. Notably, that’s during thanksgiving/winter break - when I was home with my abusers. I started reblogging more from anti-endos (at least, the ones who I agreed with) and started separating DID/OSDD from Endogenics. 

Link

It was also at this time that I began to hate the community. 

Link

I was constantly angry by now. Syscourse was on my dash daily. And of course, quarantine didn’t help. I kept diving further and further into things I didn’t understand. 

Link

2020, November, was where I finally, finally started looking into other arguments. What did people mean when they advocated for non-shared spaces? What were they fighting for? I began reblogging from anti-endos. 

Link (Long post, no screenshot here)

But I slipped back into this. Angry place. I couldn’t shake that anger. And then… the INSTANT 2021 hit… I started turning that anger towards others, very very heavily. 

Link

I started to shift more neutral (slowly, very slowly), but still considered myself pro-endo because I supported them. But I reacted so negatively anytime anyone said ANYTHING negative about Endogenics. I genuinely couldn’t understand what harm they did. Mind you, this was already after I had crashed my car due to their beliefs, had Endogenics tell me I was a mixed-origin system at best, etc etc. i just couldn’t understand how people could be upset at a group of people just trying to exist and get support. 

I held onto my anger for too long. 

[I would post more screenshots, but it won't let me at this point. I'll be providing links from hereon out).

Link: (what even was the point of this? All to hold a grudge? Is that it?)

May was where things started to shift. I was so angry all the time that it was exhausting me. I spent hours of my day on tumblr, scrolled my entire dashboard at least 4 times a day, and scrolled through syscourse tags with obsessive focus. I was stuck now stuck at home, every day, all day, with my abusers. It was a crutch. 

I was so tired. And I started shifting to neutrality: not giving a shit anymore, because giving a shit was… god. It was exhausting. 

Link: This is where I started identifying as "plural" rather than the other terms, as I was so annoyed and frustrated by syscourse.

That didn’t stop me from being a disgusting, hate filled person to defend the people I have been with for so long, however. 

https://memoriesofthecircularroom.tumblr.com/post/650492132308746240/cant-reply-so-doing-it-this-way-this-here  (This entire post was just... So sickening. I just made comparisons to being gay as a way to defend how the DSM changes and isn’t correct and just. Ugh.) 

I hate scrolled anti-endo blogs (that I sometimes reblogged from, because. I agree with the things I reblogged.) I tried to do positivity to cheer myself up - which didn’t last.  I made positivity posts for Endogenics that got shat on by people, which just increased my anger. Everything just. Need more anger. I knew I wanted to stop, but I COULDN’T because god, everything was making me so angry, and here I was, with nowhere to put it - but in syscourse. 

Link: https://memoriesofthecircularroom.tumblr.com/post/655709219852615680/honey-im-blocking-people-thats-it-im-not 

It just kept getting worse. And worse. And worse. I kept fluctuating between a very aggressive pro-endo and a very dead inside “neutral.” 

And then I changed. 

Link: https://memoriesofthecircularroom.tumblr.com/post/672094051347070976/thanks-so-much-for-explaining-it-that-way-that 

@justanothersyscourse. You… heard my anger, and frustration, and you replied kindly. And while it itched inside, burned, to be talking to someone I had frequently complained about in private, you offered safety on the other side. Safety for me to research, to understand, to see. All I ever wanted, originally, was to understand. You have us that chance. 

The rest of tumblr never saw it - but Dude (the owner of that blog) sat with me for a half hour or so in DMs while I bawled my eyes out in a Covid testing line and as I tried to work out where I stood on the “disordered / dysfunctional” debate. He made me feel like someone understood for once; agreed that BOTH sides are toxic, and that BOTH sides have such majors flaws. I felt at the time that everybody hated me, because every post I made for backlash. Every post I made got people upset. I never got “good anons.” I never got asks at all. Just… people reblogging and telling me I was fake. 

Dude opened me up to actually breathing again. 

That was in December, 2021. About 6 months ago. Half a year. And it was the first time I felt less angry. 

Dude being kind made me look at other anti-endo blogs. I found kind people, through dude - and unkind people too. But I agreed with all of them, at first, and considered myself anti-endo in January. I started tagging posts as anti-endo infrequently. That lasted a little bit (though I oscillated the entire month between pro and anti). 

Jan 10: https://memoriesofthecircularroom.tumblr.com/post/673028376279302144/genuinely-not-sure-how-i-feel-about-endo-systems 

Also Jan 10, in response to that post: https://memoriesofthecircularroom.tumblr.com/post/673035335340539904/if-your-support-for-a-whole-demographic-changes 

I voiced my struggles regularly with this oscillation. Another thank you has to go to Agony - I sent so many anonymous asks to the Agony Auncles during this time in hope of some guidance, and I received it. 

Link: https://memoriesofthecircularroom.tumblr.com/post/674571799196041217/you-can-feel-free-to-delete-this-if-youd-like 

I started feeling a little better, but I’ve realized now why: I felt better because I could RECOGNIZE my anger now. Before, I didn’t even recognize my anger. Now, I did - but I wasn’t sure how to solve it. 

In February, I tried to step back, just like I did very recently.

Link: https://memoriesofthecircularroom.tumblr.com/post/676399663864266752/hey-message-from-mod-curtis-here-were-going-to 

I couldn’t though. I couldn’t stop scrolling syscourse; especially when I still had to be home. It was so much harder now, I was building up to coming out, so I hid in my phone and tried to ignore everything. I used syscourse to hide. 

I started trying to generalize my posts more - maybe if I wasn’t directly supporting either side, that anger (conscious or not) would die down. 

This… this, I think, is where hell broke loose. 

I started calling myself “neutral” - I didn’t fit cleanly into either of the boxes people appeared to have made. I started arguing “both sides are bad and here are their flaws” - and a very small group of people agree with me!! It’s been lovely having that group. 

The tumblr community, however…

Ugh. I don’t think I want to even dig anymore. Anyone who’s been reading this far likely already knows how these past few months went for me. I posted a lot of takes, got both support and heinous amounts of harassment. I was lightly threatened with Doxxing from the pro-endo doxxer, was told to kill myself numerous times, and went toe-to-toe with major pro-endo players. 

Nothing I did these past few months feels productive. Not anymore, at least. During the moment, it felt good - but I suppose self harm usually does, in the moment. It’s funny; I frequently make sure to remind people to step away from syscourse when it’s hurting them. So why is it so hard for me to do the same? 

I realized, when writing this post, just how damaging it’s all been for me. I started writing this post from a place of, what I’ll call it here, “boiling anger education.” I’ve frequently said that you cannot educate when you are just angry, and I still hold to that - but I wasn’t doing better myself. I didn’t realize I was so angry, so hateful, until I finally, finally managed to fully step away and see the bigger picture. 

I took a walk outside for the first time in months on Thursday. It was incredible. I started drawing again - granted, for system related things, but it’s been so refreshing. I started writing again, because I wasn’t busy refreshing my notifications to make sure nobody had misinterpreted what I said now, to make sure I didn’t need to respond to someone to clarify my point. 

It’s been about a week (I think - time is so hard for me to keep track of. It feels simultaneously like yesterday, and like years ago) since I wrote the post that made me step back. Genuinely, I don’t know how to feel about the take I made there. I don’t think it’s beneficial to even address it here; I’m not healthy enough for that yet. I think it would be a disservice, to myself and to others, to address it here. I always say “if you aren’t educated on the topic, you can share your thoughts and personal feelings, but you can’t give information.” I want to stand by that here, especially since I haven't been lately.

Looking back, Memories of the Circular Room has changed. That’s a good thing, in a lot of ways. It started as a way to me to learn more, to post about my experiences, and to become comfortable with my system. I believe I’ve done those things. I also believe it’s changed me for the worse - the syscourse, the hate, the anger I’ve held onto. 

I think MotCR served me well. But I also think I’m not that person anymore. I don’t need to remember anymore. I don’t need to be stuck in who I was, or who I was becoming. I can change, and grow, and hopefully, I can be kind. That’s all I wanted, back then: someone to be kind to me, to educate me. That’s who I want to be. 

This is my funeral pyre for Memories of the Circular Room. One last, final post - one last final memory of everything. A chronicle of all of the things that have happened, a quick summary, one that certainly doesn’t contain everything, but shows the changes I went through. I think I’m finally ready to move on. 

MotCR will remain “active” in the sense that you can scroll this blog to see any post made here. I’m not going to private it, because I think there are good things that were said here, and I want myself and others to be able to access those things. But I will no longer reblog things here, make original posts, or answer asks. I’m moving on, and away, and changing how I tackle syscourse. 

I’ll be making one last post when I fully am ready to share my new plans (which include a new blog). But for now? This is it. 

Thank you for reading ❤️💙💜💗🖤💛💚❣️🧡💟🤍❤️

[writingletterstothefire]

valentine’s day

A/N: Hi guys. This is just a little modern Steve x reader drabble. It’s honestly just a self-service fic because I was feeling really lonely and started daydreaming about Steve Rogers coming to watch movies and cuddle with me. I might make another part?? not sure atm

Word Count: 1,086

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader

Warnings: loneliness?? brief mention of cheating but not really, not proofread

Valentine’s day is not for everyone. Not everyone is going to get that coveted confession of love in the pouring rain, followed by passionate kisses and a fairytale ending. Not everyone is going to find that one person who loves them above all else and ride off into the sunset together.

Some people get a box of chocolate from their parents on Valentine’s day. Some people throw on a face mask and a hair mask and curl up on the couch under a big, fluffy blanket and spend the day watching corny romcoms and crying a little. Or crying a lot.

You are one of those people.

It was hard, being in your twenties and spending every Valentine’s day alone. It was hard every day, but especially on Valentine’s day. You couldn’t explain it, that hollowness in your chest. It made itself known whenever you watched a romantic movie, or saw a couple kissing, or thought too hard about how lonely you truly were.

And so, you spent the day, which should have been spent in the arms of someone you love, sitting at home. You’d just finished up watching Pride & Prejudice again, and you were wiping the last of your face mask off with a wet towel, when suddenly there was a knock on your door.

Your brow furrowed. You weren’t expecting anyone today. Anyone who really knew you well enough to drop by unannounced was probably spending the day with someone special. You slowly made your way to the door, looking out the peephole. Oh. You swung the door open.

“Steve? What are you doing here?”

“That’s one hell of a welcome, doll,” he scoffed playfully, leaning in to hug you. “I knew you’d be spending the day holed up in your apartment. Never were a fan of today, were you?”

“Hard to be a fan of Valentine’s day when you don’t have a Valentine, Steve,” you rolled your eyes, letting him in. It was then that you noticed he was carrying a grocery bag, as well an overnight bag. “What’s all this?”

Steve grinned at you. “Provisions. I figured you would’ve already made your way through all of your ice cream and chocolate by now, so I brought more of that, some popcorn, and some of those giant strawberries you like. And, if you’re up for it, the entire Harry Potter disc set, complete with scratches on every single disc. It’ll be just like the mid-2000s, rewinding every 15 minutes in your parents basement.”

Steve was your best friend since you were in diapers. Well, you’d been in diapers, he’d been two years old and toddling around with your brother Bucky. Of course he’d know exactly what you would need on a day like today. But, something was still nagging at the back of your mind.

“Steve, this is awesome, but… What about Peggy? Shouldn’t you be with her?” Peggy was Steve’s girlfriend of five years. Honestly, everyone was just waiting in Steve to pop the question, and tonight would be the perfect night for it.

But Steve’s face darkened as he set his bags down.

“Peggy is with Daniel. We broke up a few weeks ago after I found messages between them.” He dropped with a thud to the couch.

“Peggy cheated on you?!” There was no way. Peggy was… Peggy! She’d never—

“No, god no. She wouldn’t do that, but… In those messages, it was clear that they both cared for each other. If he’s what she wanted, I couldn’t hold her back. I loved Peggy, I really did, but… I couldn’t see a life with her. She’s perfect for someone, but not for me. I couldn’t trap her into a marriage knowing it wouldn’t be what was best for either of us.” Steve ran his hands through his hair.

You slowly sunk down onto the couch next to him. “I’m sorry, Steve.”

What else were you supposed to say? None of this was making sense. Steve and Peggy were the all-American dream couple. Perfect and beautiful, and set up to have an extraordinarily bright future together. It didn’t make sense that they’d be so unhappy with each other, and it especially didn’t make sense that Steve would break up with her after all that time he spent pursuing her.

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine. I’ve known for a long time that Peggy wasn’t who I wanted, I should’ve acted sooner.” With that said, he forced a smile onto his face and got up to set the first movie up. “Go throw some of that popcorn in the fridge while I try to get this rusty DVD player to work.”

You slowly got up and did as he said. You were still confused, and sad for Steve, but you couldn’t help but feel… happy?

You were a horrible person, and an even worse friend, but you honestly were feeling more hopeful than you had in a long time. You’d harbored an on-and-off crush on Steve since you guys were kids. He’d been your older brother’s best friend, and subsequently yours too, and it was such a cliche, but you were happy to just be around him. He’d never looked down on you for being the tag-a-long when he and Bucky went out, if anything, when Bucky complained, Steve would wrap his arm around you and ask you about your day. You knew it was mostly him trying to irritate Bucky even more, but you’d appreciated it. You knew Steve really did care about you. Just not nearly as much as you wanted him to.

The microwave beeping at you startled you out of your trip down memory lane, and you quickly dumped the now popped popcorn into a bowl and plopped down on the couch with it. When Steve finally got the DVD set up, he dropped next to you and slung his arm around you, stealing the bowl off of your lap.

“Hey!”

“Is for horses. I brought this popcorn!” He smirked, shoving a handful into his mouth before settling the bowl between you. Well, it was teetering on the joining of your legs, because Steve had pressed his thigh right into yours. You said nothing, just enjoyed the contact that you could get.

And when his arm tightened around you, you said nothing, you just enjoyed it.

And when his head dropped onto your shoulder, and his other arm wrapped around your middle as he drifted off during your third movie, you said nothing. You just enjoyed it.

[haru-sen]

Imperial Forces

I’ve written...a lot of words for a fanfic no one asked for, and only one person has confirmed knowing what the hell I am even talking about.  My god. This is a preview of the IAL anniversary gift and may be changed down the road.  Certain people instigated this, you know who you are, and I’m still salty at you.

TW:  This is a darker piece of work compliant with some of the unpleasantness that one expects the Sith Empire.  Includes: dubcon, mentions of previous sexual assaults, attempted sexual assault, bad boundaries, bondage, and improper use of the Force.  Edited: Posted some minor corrections. Part 1/?

You sat at the table, ramrod straight, focusing on the silverware, and your glass of wine. The cut of the crystal was exquisite, and the wine was a Dathomirian Fury Red, if you recalled correctly, which you might not, because the entire day had been an absolute disaster, and you would be so very lucky if you made it to the dessert course. Surviving this situation was highly unlikely. You’d known for awhile that your time was extremely limited. But having dessert before you were murdered by a Sith lord, would be kind of nice.

You glanced up at the masked Sith, and then the bored moff across from you: dinner, dessert, death. At least the dining room was luxuriously decorated. You’d always expected to die in a dark, gross alley. This was an upgrade, really.

But for some reason, all these high-end pre-murder amenities were not making you feel any better.

**

They called you Cipher 13, because your real name was classified, and because the previous Cipher 13 took a one-way trip down a sarlacc pit the night before your spontaneous promotion. In all fairness, the name was probably cursed. You were the “unluckiest” of the Cipher agents, often getting the worst assignments or having your missions interrupted by the most unbelievable accidents.

It was an old joke by now, but you still got regular comments about your unenviable misfortune. Like today, when you’d gone to the quartermaster to stock up on the special blend of stimpacks Ciphers used. Fixer 3 had made an awkward joke about how your formula had “unpredictable results” and looked uncharacteristically scared when you took one right in front of him. Fixer 3 was normally a sensible guy and you liked him. You weren’t sure what he had been thinking today.

But it had been a long week, and you had not been given the regular rest break between assignments. Something “urgent” had come up. Watcher 5 had briefed you of your next mission, which was something convoluted and political. You were working for a Dark Council member. Watcher 5 had slipped in a snide remark along the lines of, “try not to let your personal chaos spill into this operation. Sith Lords have little tolerance for surprises.”

He said this, like you had control over these things. Ridiculous.

For example, how could you anticipate that a rancor would get loose at a diplomatic banquet and eat the person you were supposed to interrogate (along with half a dozen or so other very important people)? Not your fault, and certainly not within your control, and despite slicing the needed information from his personal terminal, the mission had been judged (unfairly!) to be a failure. Then there was that pazaak tournament on Nar Shaddaa where you had been burned by another Cipher, who outed you to the Hutts. It didn’t matter, in the sense that you won the game, shot her in the face, and received the boon you had entered the tournament to acquire. (The Hutts didn’t care who you worked for, as long as you weren’t crossing them.) You received demerits for having your cover blown by another agent’s blatant betrayal. (But she didn’t get any, because she was dead, and Minder 2 was pissy with you after that forever.) Then, there was that time you’d walked right into a Jedi strike team ambush meant for Darth Baras on Corellia… You were lucky to only lose a hand that day. Coincidentally, the officer who had given you the bad intel had also been fatally unlucky. He had a rare and deadly allergic reaction to the nuts in his ryshcate pastries, served at a diplomatic fete that weekend. How tragic it is when one can’t even enjoy their pastries.

But it wasn’t just misfortune. The current Keeper did not like you, had never liked you, and was growing more and more frustrated by the fact that you kept coming back alive, when many others did not. (You knew for a fact that the Minders had a betting pool regarding your survival. Minder 12 had been very helpful in providing you the behind the scenes information. You missed her.) As Keeper effectively ran the ops division of Imperial Intelligence, this was a definite problem.

Watcher 4 had been instrumental in keeping you alive. But now that he was gone, you were on your own with very few allies within your organization. That was why you had been given this newest assignment. (You missed Watcher 4 as well, and while you could not and would not try to prove it, you thought he and Minder 12 might have faked their deaths and run off together. It was a purely fanciful notion, but you could dream, right?) Imperial Intelligence agents didn’t get happy endings. And Ciphers usually didn’t make it to five years.

You had seven.

By all rights, you should have been able to transfer to a Watcher position a long time ago. But that never happened. It was probably because Keeper hated you. You did not know exactly why. You suspected it was because you were not born into the upper echelons of Imperial high society. You had started out a slave, earned some freedom, and trained as a Cipher; but on the Imperial capital planet of Dromund Kaas, that wasn’t enough. Your continual survival offended him, a constant reminder of his own failure to erase you.

And so here you were, assigned to the whims of Darth Thanaton, a member of the Dark Council, a crusty overpowered madman, and worse, an absolutely unmitigated boor. He was urbane enough in his public appearances, but behind closed doors? An absolute drama queen.

You stood in his foyer, Thanaton was shouting now, and you got the impression that he did this a lot, having an audience present was optional. The man himself was older, fit enough to show his face (no mask or rebreather), and had been quite the assassin in his day. The room was black marble, filled with ugly stone antiques, and it felt like a mausoleum, only louder and more oppressive. Your head was pounding and your stomach churning as you struggled to pay attention to his spiel. You were professional enough that you could maintain a mask of respectfulness, despite your growing physical discomfort. You had powered through worse.

Like that time on Tatooine when you’d broken a leg in melee combat with Tusken Raiders…That had been a bad day. Or that time you’d gone undercover as a Hutt’s dancing slave on Nar Shaddaa. Or even when…

Focus. Thanaton was bad enough. You did not need to take a trip down traumatic memory lane in the middle of a Darth’s monologue.

Thanaton spent a good quarter of an hour railing against the failing morals and falling standards of the Sith academy on Korriban. And then another quarter of an hour complaining about the bureaucratic delay in assigning a “suitable” Imperial Intelligence agent to his cause. He went into great detail about how much the Council needed this work done, and how important it was, and how Lord Messor’s habits were unseemly, and Moff Kiljack needed to know his place, and...and...and… It went on much longer. He sprayed spittle when he spoke. It was painfully distracting.

You nodded along, like a good Cipher, even though you could feel the nastiness of his aura crawling along your skin. It worsened your nausea. You were no saint, but being near powerful Sith made you queasy. There was something fundamentally wrong with most of them, and your body knew it. But you stood at attention, masking your disgust, because to cross a Darth was a clear-cut and uncomfortable death, usually with choking, sometimes lightning. You’d seen it up close many times and experienced lighter versions of those punishments yourself. Best avoided if possible.

Keeper knew what he was doing. There was a fifty percent chance that you wouldn’t even make it to the mission. Snotty old Darth Thanaton would take offense at you for simply existing and smite you before you had a chance to get to work.

But you were not unaware of the situation. Lord Messor was an unconventional dark lord, taking more than his share of apprentices from Korriban (and doing who knows what with them? Sith Lords didn’t usually keep more than one alive at a time). Moff Kiljack had been one of those apprentices, and had shown an extreme aptitude for military strategy. He had then been put on a different career track, promoted to head of Messor’s security forces, and given free reign. Eventually however, things between the men soured, and the former security chief had managed to wrangle a promotion from the Imperial army, instead of just wasting away as Messor’s lackey. He gained some powerful allies and rose quickly to the rank of moff. To no one’s surprise, Messor hadn’t taken the change of allegiances well, and now things were awkward, to say the least.

Thanaton claimed that he found the entire situation offensive. You didn’t think it seemed any different from any other horrible day on Dromund Kaas. There were so many betrayals, atrocities, and political cliques, you just tried to keep your head down, and your heart beating. It was more likely that Thanaton feared Messor’s growing power and wanted to eliminate a rival.

If only you had gotten another off-world assignment. You’d already disabled the kill-chip implanted in the base of your skull. You could just fake your death, move to some peaceful, secluded farming planet, and not worry about being flayed alive for accidentally making eye contact with a power-mad sorcerer.

You’d always suspected your cause of death would be “someone else’s ego” or at least “collateral damage,” but you didn’t expect it to play out so literally. By the time Thanaton actually got to the point, you had been standing in his foyer for an hour, watching him froth and rant. Lord Messor or Moff Kiljack had just been assigned to deal with a situation on Hoth or Voss (you couldn’t tell because Thanaton had been going at it for so long that he kept switching the names and not giving you any kriffing context…) But you were to sabotage those efforts, make Messor and the moff lose credibility, fall from grace, and be tossed into the bone pile in the waste dumps outside the city.

That’s it. Ruin them on the basis of his disapproval and use his tenuously plotted scheme to do it. Failure would be met by death.

Success would also probably be treason, and that too was punishable by death.

Hell, if you did succeed, Thanaton would have to kill you to tie up loose ends.

Death, death, or more death, with no obvious way out. Normal mission parameters, really.

Nodding, you told him, “I understand, my lord. It will be done, my lord,” while preparing to take a shuttle off-world and commit very public suicide on Nar Shaddaa. Hell, you could just go throw yourself at the mercy of Theron Shan. He probably would only torture you a little, as a formality, before taking pity on you, and ending your misery himself.

OK, clearly you had been in Darth Thanaton’s dark energy radius for too long, because his madness and depressive thoughts were now rubbing off on you. Plus you still wanted to throw up. And Thanaton might have sensed your urge to flee, because he sent you back to the Imperial High Command with an escort: one of his security advisors, a pompous man of “good breeding” named Captain Prince, and a dozen heavily armed guards.

Druk.

The soldiers weren’t really there for you, you realized once you were already seated in the convoy listening to Prince further explain Thanaton’s “plan.” Lord Messor was taking on a greater role in the war effort against the Republic, and Imperial High Command was providing more men for his military gambits. Prince and his men were being overtly assigned by Imperial High Command, though they were actually loyal to Thanaton. Prince would be reporting to Messor tonight. Your cover was as Prince’s assistant. Your job would be reconnaissance and sabotage, and you would be reporting your progress to both Prince and Thanaton. You also would be expected to produce reports for Keeper, not that Prince understood the workings within Imperial Intelligence.

...It was shit plan. You knew it even before you heard it, though Prince seemed confident that his background would pass muster. That was a little more reassuring than Thanaton’s mad ramblings, but still amateur. Prince was a decorated military man, and had seen some very vicious combat, committed atrocities, and been rewarded for his service. He was not the man you would have put in charge of any operation that required subtlety. If Keeper had wanted this job done right, he would have assigned it to you himself, and given you free reign. There was a lot of subtext to unravel, but right now you had to nod along to Captain Prince’s blathering. He wasn’t nice, he stared at your chest longer than was polite, and he put a hand on your knee. You lightly brushed it off, reminding yourself that you could not kill Thanaton’s representative on the first day.

Like any highborn noble, Lord Messor had an estate outside the city. The route was straight forward, and you were taking a regular speeder to get there. Contrary to your expectations, the ride actually helped clear your head. You were still a little shaky, but less nauseated. Getting away from Thanaton helped. Wind lashed at your skin as you watched the jungle pass by, and you wondered how much of a lead you would have if you left for Nar Shaddaa tonight. With any luck, it would be hours before anyone noticed you were gone.

You waited, hands steady, even as you and Prince exited the vehicle. It was raining, as usual, and the air stunk of ozone. Three more men followed from another transport, and Prince did not offer any introduction, though you could feel them watching you with predatory eyes.

The Messor estate had several outbuildings, and the gates were high. A large fortress had been partially carved out of the cliff, the jungle providing more strategic cover. Though solid, it had the columned facade of an ancient Sith temple. You studied it, not quite sure what Thanaton had been complaining about. Lord Messor seemed to have traditional Sith tastes (gothic and imposing), at least when it came to architecture.

“Come on, kitten,” Prince said with a leer. “If you want to marvel about size, I have something to show you.”

The men behind you laughed.

You just smiled politely, and decided that maybe Prince would lean too far out a window tonight. The jungle provided a lot of ambient noise to cover any screaming. The winds were dangerous. Accidents happened, especially around you. Hell, if Prince was defenestrated, they’d probably be too busy mopping up the meat confetti to look for you…

Prince led the way to the fortress, frowning as an HK droid met you at the bottom of the steps.

“Greetings, Captain. Lord Messor is expecting you. Please come this way.” The droid pointed to a more discrete entrance: a small path leading to a recessed door. With the foliage and the angle of entry, it was well-concealed.

Prince’s upper lip curled in aggravation, but he adjusted course. You followed, noting the placement of the turrets, the thickness of the walls, and the fact that the droid that met you was a high-end assassination model. It spoke like a protocol droid, it had those functions as well, but you were very familiar with the HK series.

You followed Prince through the heavy durasteel door and to a narrow set of stone steps. The lights were low, and the stairwell was mostly in shadow. Then the door slammed shut behind you, leaving the HK droid and the other three men outside.

Prince stopped, he glanced at you questioningly.

“I didn’t shut it,” you said.

Prince pushed past you and tried the handle. The door did not budge. He frowned and drew his blaster pistol.

“Let’s go,” he told you, gesturing with the pistol for you to go first.

“Of course, Captain,” you said, maybe a little sarcastically, as you marched up the stairs, keeping an eye out for trip wires, pressure plates, or any of the other nasty surprises that Sith lords liked to keep around their homes.

...Druk. Sometimes there were creatures. The local fauna was bad enough, but the Sith liked to import nasty things as well as craft their own monsters. You’d seen plenty and you had no desire to face Sithspawn again any time soon.

You stepped lightly. The stairs went up for at least three stories, and then there was another door. You glanced back at Prince.

“Hurry up,” he growled.

You opened the large metal door, and stepped into a cavernous room big enough to serve as a huttball field. Dim lights shone in wall sconces, and two rows of black pillars lined a path to a massive carved throne. All these features seemed to be cut from the same mountain stone.

There was a figure on a throne, black and red robes under a heavy breastplate, a black hood and stylized skull mask covering his face. He wore heavy metal gauntlets, tipped with dangerously sharp talons.

“Captain Prince,” Lord Messor spoke quietly, his voice smoother than you expected, a lot calmer than some other dark lord whom you had met earlier today. The acoustics of the room were amazing, his voice carried through the hall.

“Ah, my lord,” Prince stepped past you, his blaster already holstered. “I am honored to finally- be in your presence.” He gestured for you to follow as he led the way toward the throne.

“I did not give you orders to approach.” He sounded almost bored.

Prince stopped. “My apologies, my lord. I did not-”

“You don’t need to explain,” Lord Messor said, resting his chin in one palm. “And I don’t have patience for your excuses.”

Prince cocked his head to the side and looked almost comically confused.

And then Moff Kiljack – you recognized that striking blonde hair and those icy blue eyes - stepped out from behind a pillar, and pressed his blaster to the back of Prince’s skull. There was no hesitation. He blew the captain’s brains out right there in Lord Messor’s throne room. Prince dropped with a thud.

You barely had time to avoid the splatter, let alone wonder what Moff Kiljack, Lord Messor’s sworn rival, was doing in his throne room. You glanced between the Sith lord and the moff, wondering if you had time to dive for cover while they battled.

Instead, Lord Messor just sighed. “Ensign De Veo,” he said, using your cover name, and giving you hope that he didn’t know exactly what was going on. “Also known as Cipher 13,” he added, crushing that hope. “I’m sorry for the mess. Kiljack can be so...uncivilized.” He stood and began descending from the dais.

You glanced over at Moff Kiljack, not at all surprised to find the blaster pistol aimed at your head.

“That’s unnecessary, Kiljack. I’m sure our dear Cipher understands her position.” Messor swept down the stairs from his throne, red and black fabric swirling behind him. He circled you like a hungry sleen. “Now, I realize this isn’t what you expected. But I’d be delighted to explain everything. So why don’t you join us for dinner, and we can discuss what you’re doing here, why you’re still alive, and what you need to do to stay that way. This should be easy enough for a woman of your caliber.” He chuckled.

There was no room for panic. You survived because you could think on your feet. Because you didn’t get caught up in “what should have happened.” You kept your mouth shut and most of your insubordinate comments in your head.

You gave a stiff bow from the waist. “I would be honored, my lord,” you said, already tasting lightning in the back of your throat. It was very unlikely that you would get through the night without a demonstration of Sith might.

Lord Messor laughed, like he found you genuinely amusing, and headed toward the eastern doors.

“Cipher,” Moff Kiljack was at your side, offering you his right arm. He was a tall man, very fit in his officer grays. There was blood on his cuffs and glove. He stood like he was carved from ice.

You swallowed and tentatively placed your metal hand on his bicep, wondering if you could scratch him with one of your poisoned needles without him noticing.

“I wouldn’t,” Kiljack said, not even turning his head to look at you. “Be a good girl, and you’ll make it out of this alive.”

You shivered, suddenly very cold in your officer’s tunic. The fear crept down your spine, threatening to freeze you in place. But that would not do. You forced yourself to breathe. You had forgotten that the moff had once been a Sith apprentice. Force-users could pick up surface thoughts. Normally though, you were better at shielding. You steered your mind back to nav-charts and the asteroid belts of the Outer Rim. Head held high, you walked with Moff Kiljack to Lord Messor’s banquet hall.

**

And so here you were now, seated to the left of Lord Messor, a very bored Moff Kiljack sitting across from you, watching you with cold eyes.

The table was long, almost the length of the room, and also carved from the same obsidian stone as the chamber. The same with the high-backed chairs, though they were not attached to the floor, and had plush cushions on them.

Your brain was working almost too fast, panic welling in each heart beat. You tried to calm yourself, as you stared at the vividly colored salad in front of you. You turned some of your hyperfocus on that. It was very aesthetically pleasing, and would not be out of place at a restaurant on Alderaan or Coruscant. Perhaps it would pair well with-

-So what the hell was going on? Moff Kiljack and Lord Messor shared a well-known enmity. But now they were working together, likely because they had learned of Darth Thanaton’s intent to bring them both down. Prince’s men were definitely dead. HKs were ruthlessly efficient like that. You were a loose end, but one they could bargain with. They would want to use you against Thanaton, of course, but you were an experienced Cipher. You still had some resources-

-a Starblossom spritzer or a Coruscant blush wine. You weren’t sure what the next course was, but traditionally there would be a protein and a starch, and-

-This wasn’t a con you could pull off alone. Not that it had much of a chance before. The original plan was half-baked garbage and you didn’t really want to-

Wait.

You willed yourself still, taking a moment to breathe. Your mind was moving too fast. There was something wrong. Had been wrong all day, your focus slowly sliding into the abyss. But trying to figure out what was exactly was wrong, was like grasping at fog. And with both a moff and a Sith lord watching your every move, now was not the time to buckle.

Your memory coaxed up a tiny epiphany. This started around the time you met Thanaton. Was it him?

Kiljack took a bite of his salad, his flat expression not changing, even as he chewed.

Lord Messor was not eating though. He raised his mask to sip his wine, but given the kinds of damage Sith lords did to their bodies, it was possible that he did not have a normal digestive tract.

“Is the food not to your liking, Cipher?” Messor asked, curling those metal talons against his palm with a rhythmic tap tap tap.

“It is exquisite, my lord,” you said, picking up your fork, and taking a bite. The vegetables were crisp, fresh, and lightly vinegared. There were sweet berries mixed in with crumbles of salty cheese. If this was your last meal, you could have really done worse. “Are these Alderaanian fickleberries? They’re a wonderful addition to the dish, just the right amount of sweetness.”

“Indeed,” Messor practically purred. “You have a sophisticated palate. I understand that you are well-traveled.”

“Or she’s used them before,” Kiljack said, still eating his salad. “Likely when she mixed them with the nuts in that Corellian ryshcate to poison Ambassador Morrow. Clever move: I understand the symptoms mimic an allergic reaction. Never thought to mix fickleberries with vweilu nuts and a decoction of grillig-juice. All are harmless on their own, but when combined together, the enzyme produced causes catastrophic organ failure in most humanoids.”

You froze.

“Do you think that would work on Darth Thanaton?” Kiljack asked, tilting his chin up “No, that’s far too radical for him. Mixing foreign nuts and berries, he’d never go for that.” He flashed you a predatory smile. “You might have better luck with a rancor.”

They knew.

This wasn’t just about Thanaton. No one in Imperial Intelligence decisively knew everything that you had done, or how: just that you got results. But Moff Kiljack and Lord Messor, two mortal enemies had just sat you down to dinner and they karking knew. And if these two knew what Imperial Intelligence did not, that meant they were far more driven and dangerous than you initially expected and how did they know? Why did they go through all that effort-?

Terror, still fresh from your encounter in the throne room, blossomed in your chest once more. Dozens of scenarios played out in your mind: the consequences of your exposure. There was no need to go into graphic detail, though you kept getting distracted with colorful visions of your own evisceration. No matter what you thought of, it all ended very badly for you.

In that moment, you cursed your premature deactivation of your kill-chip. They knew. And if it was you versus a Sith lord and his moff ex-apprentice, you would not win. They had already done the hard part, already figured out what you did and how. And then you had just walked into Messor’s home, a gift-wrapped sacrifice. They wanted something from you, and judging by what they already knew, what it took to find that information out, they had the will and means to break you. You’d seen the inquisitors work, seen the aftermath too, the piles of mewling meat begging for death. Being on the wrong side of Sith and moff persuasion wasn’t any kinder. Electrocution or a snapped neck were far better.

You were on your feet in seconds, already turning to run, hoping Moff Kiljack would take you out in one shot.

“No!” Lord Messor raised his hand, and you slammed back down into the chair. Something in your body cracked as you struck the stone, and the world went black for half a second before you snapped back into your body.

You tried to move, but the force held you in your seat, pressing tightly against your chest, your arms pinned down on the armrests. You could barely breathe, let alone move your limbs. Shuddering, you could only watch as Moff Kiljack leaned against the edge of the table in front of you. He reached out, one gloved hand tilting your chin up.

“You hit her too hard, Messor,” his voice was calm. “She’s bleeding and her pupils are uneven.”

“Couldn’t help it. She moved too fast, and she was planning to self-destruct.” Messor’s voice came from behind gritted teeth.

“That, or hoping to get one of us to do it for her.” Kiljack shook his head.

Cold sweat dripped down your neck. Your breaths came in short bursts. You were trapped, back flat against the stone chair. You couldn’t move. And you were at the mercy of men who didn’t know the meaning of the word. A strangled sob died in your chest as you vainly tried to move your limbs.

“Shhhhh, don’t struggle,” Kiljack reached for your napkin and then gently blotted your nose. “Messor, she’s having trouble breathing.”

“I know,” Messor shuddered, and took a deep breath. “She’s very scared.” There was a note of something like hunger in his voice, but he raised his hand again, and suddenly you could draw in a little more air.

“Mmm,” Kiljack nodded, those blue eyes studying your face. “That’s it, stop fighting us. This doesn’t have to hurt.” He set the napkin down, watching you intently, like a puzzle he wanted to dissect. He smiled then. “You are very loud, Cipher.”

You gritted your teeth and tried to stifle your breathing. You must be badly injured if you were making too much noise. Ciphers didn’t make a habit of being loud. For obvious reasons.

“That’s not what I meant,” Kiljack said. He leaned in, nearly nose to nose with you. “Quiet your mind.”

You stared at him, trying to swallow, but your throat was dry and your vision blurred. You dropped your head, too dizzy to stay upright.

Kiljack lifted your water glass to your lips. “Here. Take small sips. We don’t want you to choke. On the water.”

You flinched, waiting for one of them to follow up with a traditional Sith demonstration of force choking.

“Just drink your water,” Kiljack ordered.

You opened your mouth, closing your eyes as the glass touched your lips. The cool water tasted better than you hoped and the light steady stream cleared your throat.

“That’s it, good girl.” He stroked your cheek, his black glove soft against your skin. “Is that better?”

You managed a nod, feeling queasy from the motion alone.

“Now, are you going to behave?” Kiljack asked coolly. “Or do we have to keep you restrained? Another stunt like that, and I won’t be so nice, do you understand?”

“I’ll be good, sir,” you said, voice weak, and you had to grit your teeth, because speaking hurt. That force blow had done some damage to you. You couldn’t pinpoint the exact location, because your whole body ached. You still couldn’t move. And to make things worse, Moff Kiljack, of all people, was trying to gentle you like a wild tauntaun.

“Does it hurt?” He asked.

You closed your eyes, focusing on the different routes off of Nar Shaddaa instead of your current location. And you waited for the next threat of more pain, or the lightning, or whatever Kiljack wanted to use.

“Now, she’s gone silent,” Kiljack muttered.

“She’s in pain,” Messor said, his voice still low. “And while I find nav-charts far less tedious than endless streams of pazaak, someone really needs to teach you how to shield your mind better. I don’t know how you’ve survived this long with such loud and irreverent thoughts.”

Normally, you were better at it. But Kiljack had said your pupils were uneven...OK, concussion. That made sense. You took an inventory of your injuries: bad concussion, something fractured in your chest or abdomen, and you still were trapped here with a dark lord and a moff who wanted you for nothing good. Druk. It would have been so much easier if one of them had just killed you outright. They were supposed to be good at that kind of thing. Hell, you could still bite your tongue off and-

Kiljack gripped your chin, prying your jaw open. “I thought you were going to be a good girl, Cipher.”

You whimpered.

“I will get the bit and the slave collar,” he said glaring at you.

You relaxed your jaw. You weren’t trying to upset him. You were concussed. And you didn’t have complete control of your faculties right now.

Kiljack narrowed his eyes at you. “Is that so? Do I need to get the bit for your own safety? Or would you prefer I make you a cloth gag? Messor, can we borrow your sash?”

“Sah-ee, sir,” you said. It was not the first time you’d given a disingenuous apology with another man’s fingers in your mouth at the dinner table, and quite frankly you were a little embarrassed to be in that situation again.

Then came the spasm of pain that would have bent you in two, if you could move that far. Instead, you twitched, teeth clamping down on the moff’s fingers as you struggled to breathe. You tasted blood in your mouth, though you weren’t sure whose it was.

Kiljack’s eyes widened, but he didn’t move, and the slap you expected did not come. He waited for you to unclench before withdrawing his fingers. He examined his torn glove with a sigh. “We’re going to need kolto, Messor.”

A kolto pack floated over the table to Kiljack.

Nimble fingers began unbuttoning your collar. You opened your eyes to see Kiljack unfastening your tunic, a kolto pack in hand. His gaze lingered on your thin undershirt for a moment, and then he applied the cool healing gel onto your stomach, along your sides, and around to your back.

“I don’t think we’ll be finishing dinner out here any time soon,” Messor said.

“Messor, I’m not making do with just a salad, no matter what kind of fancy berries you put in it,” Kiljack said, wiping his hands off and checking his fingers. There were teeth marks, and some broken skin, but nothing severe. After the kolto application, the wounds started closing up as you watched.

Messor laughed. “We can take our meals in our rooms. Why don’t we call the medical droid and put our guest to bed first?”

The pressure on your body suddenly lifted, but before you could regain your bearings, Kiljack scooped you out of the chair.

“Is this causing you more pain?” He asked, one arm supporting your back, the other under your knees.

“No,” you said, though breathing was still uncomfortable. Rib damage, likely. You didn’t struggle, too woozy to make good decisions right now. On the bright side, it looked like they weren’t going to kill you just yet, but also, you hadn’t made it to dessert, and you were a little sad at the prospect of missing whatever Lord Messor’s chef had concocted. Even if it was fickleberries mixed with vweilu nuts and a decoction of grillig-juice.

Despite the danger, you could not keep your eyes open. The world faded away.

You dreamt.

**

You were back in that dining room, candlelight casting eerie shadows on the walls. You saw yourself bent over that banquet table, Lord Messor’s hand on your back, your face pressed against the stone, your wine glass rolling on its side, the red liquid dribbling onto the floor. You felt a spark and flinched, that light crackle of electricity as those metal talons trailed down your spine.

“Scared?” Messor murmured, his breath hot on the back of your neck.

“Yes, my lord,” you panted, squirming under him, feeling his cock pressed against you through his robes.

“Good.”

**

You were on your knees, staring up at Kiljack, the tip of a riding crop under your chin. You didn’t recognize the room. There was a small fountain flowing in the corner. It was an office, probably aboard a starcruiser from the shape of the window. You did not recognize the orbit. But Kiljack was in full moff regalia, gray tunic coat and jodphurs, black boots and gloves, and a heavy belt. Was this his battleship?

“I told you to open your mouth,” Kiljack said coldly.

You hesitantly parted your lips, noticing that your hands were unbound. You could-

Kiljack pushed a piece of silicone into your mouth, the ring shape holding your teeth apart. He fastened the strap snugly around your head.

“That’s better,” he said, an edge in his smile as he cupped your cheek. “This wouldn’t be necessary if you were more careful with those teeth. Now be a good girl and stick out your tongue.”

**

The bedroom was large and dimly lit.

The bed was enormous, draped in scarlet silks and pillows. It was comfortable, but you could not actually move very far. You poked at the gold collar latched around your neck. You wore matching bracelets and anklets, but there was a chain attached to the collar and secured to the headboard. You rolled your eyes at the outfit: the dancer’s garb with the red and gold harness top, chain belt and lashaa silk loincloth, and knee high boots.

You had worn these before – what spy hadn’t? But you didn’t remember getting here, or where here even was.

There was someone else in the room, somewhere in the shadows, just watching you. You looped a length of chain – your best bet for a weapon, and began examining where it connected to the headboard.

“I thought you were going to behave today.” Messor’s voice came from somewhere in the darkness.

“But if this is how she wants to play, why should we deny her?” Kiljack laughed.

The lights went out. And suddenly you weren’t alone on the bed.

**

“So do you like the view?” Kiljack whispered. “You’ll have to be quiet, or everyone will hear us.” He tightened his grip around your waist. “Or maybe that’s what you want.”

You sat on his lap, looking around the throne room, in all its sinister glory. Crimson imperial banners hung from the walls and pillars, the firelight casting harsh shadows. There was a second story balcony overlooking the throne room. It was too dark to see if anyone else was up there. But the rest of the cavern was a vast expanse, easily surveyed from the throne where Kiljack sat: Lord Messer’s throne.

He was right. If you made any noise, it would echo.

You swallowed roughly, eyes drifting to the spot where the moff had executed Prince. There was no body or blood.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Kiljack growled in your ear.

You opened your mouth to speak.

“You’re in my seat,” Messor said, the words echoing off the walls as he materialized from the shadows. His tone was dangerously mild. He stalked up the stairs toward you.

You started to move, but Kiljack held you tightly against him. “About time you got here,” the moff said. “I was getting bored giving the tour. Maybe we can move on to something more exciting.”

**

You sat up with a strangled gasp, your head pounding. Another unfamiliar bed, but when you looked down, you were covered in blankets. You peeked underneath, finding yourself still dressed in your thin tanktop and uniform pants. You ached, like you’d been in a fight. But there wasn’t pain between your legs, a small, but important reassurance. The inside of your mouth felt like a stable floor and you winced as you looked around, the dim lights still aggravating your eyes.

It was a large elegant bedroom, the furniture silver with red trim. It was neat, but it felt lived in, not a guest room. You started to look around, but your vision swam. Holding your head, you gave yourself a moment before trying to focus.

Yesterday was an absolute sarlaac snarl. You’d been sent off on a poorly-planned suicide mission, and your reactions were...wrong. Judging by how awful you felt right now, you’d been drugged. You gritted your teeth, forcing yourself to analyze each location step by step. You started feeling ill in Darth Thanaton’s presence, but you neither ate nor drank there. Maybe he did have some secret force brainwashing powers, but that was unlikely. That ability was too subtle for a bombastic coot like him.

...The stims. Something had been wrong with the stims. Fixer 3 wasn’t being a smart ass. Fixer 3 had been trying to warn you. Echuta! It had been right there in front of your face and you were too distracted and arrogant to notice.

You growled, throwing the blankets off. You tried to stand, but found you were still too dizzy.

“Well, I’m glad to see that you’re feeling better.”

You blinked.

Just off to the side, nestled between a wardrobe and a table, sat Moff Kiljack. There was a blanket on his lap and a blaster pistol on the table. He yawned, stretching his arms above his head, before he stood, fully dressed, though his jacket was unbuttoned. A faint dusting of stubble shadowed his jaw. He looked you over. “That’s better.” He tapped his left temple. “You’re not so loud any more.” He gave a sigh that sounded a lot like relief. “I know that wasn’t entirely your fault. You were out of your head. The medical droid analyzed what was in your system, if you’re curious.”

“Someone sabotaged my stims,” you said, resting your head on your knees. “Someone in Imperial Intelligence.”

Moff Kiljack nodded. “Makes sense. You also had a bad concussion, cracked ribs, and some bruising. The kolto pack helped a little, but a localized injection sped it up.”

“Thank you,” you said, even if you were not so sure that you were grateful to be saved. Because you still had a lot of questions about what was going on, why these two “enemies” had put so much research into your accomplishments, and how much they knew about Darth Thanaton’s intentions.

You closed your eyes, knowing a few things already:

Moff Kiljack and Lord Messor had a complex relationship; this was likely Kiljack’s room and Messor would not keep it for him if they were really enemies. You needed to figure out the exact nature of their alliance and how much of that infamous enmity was a smokescreen. They worked too well in tandem for all of that showboating to be real.

Keeper was now actively trying to kill you. It would be very difficult to tamper with the stims otherwise. Thanaton was probably meant to be the instrument of your death. He was old, powerful, and no one would bat an eye over a Darth executing a Cipher.

The sensitivity was getting worse. Once it had been an asset, just enough insight to give you an advantage. Now it was opening you up to too many other things. And you lived in the capital city of the Empire, where so many hungry Sith congregated. No, this was bad for you. Kiljack was right, you needed to shore up those shields, and hide yourself better. Anything less would get you shipped off to Korriban.

“Can you hold down food?” Kiljack asked, suddenly standing beside the bed. He set a glass of water on the night stand.

“Not sure. Thank you.” You eyed it for a moment, knowing that he could have slipped any manner of drug in there, but at this point, what choice did you have? They needed you for something, and that meant they probably needed you alive and functional. You took the water, sipping it slowly.

The moff watched you like a hawk, probably worried that you were going to choke or throw up.

You studied him, noting his bare hands. There were scars on them, but it looked like the bite marks had healed. “Sorry about biting you last night,” you said. Apologizing seemed like a good idea. It would be wisest if they thought you were docile and amenable to them. You still weren’t certain that you were going to thank him for sparing your life. But you were a little more confident that they weren’t planning on torturing you to death. Not immediately, anyway.

“You need to be more careful with those teeth,” he said, without a hint of inflection, that handsome scarred face stoic once more.

You stared at him for a second, a moment of deja vu. You shrugged. “I need to be more careful, period.” You dropped back onto the pillows, another wave of dizziness skewing your balance.

The moff picked up a personal comm. “Echo, let Messor know that our guest is awake, and have something mild brought up from the kitchens for her.” He glanced over at you. “I can send for the medical droid.”

“You already had me checked out, right?” You asked, staring up at the stone tiled ceiling.

“Yes. There was a small amount of bleeding in your skull. We took care of it. It can provide some painkillers and anti-nausea meds if you want.”

We took care of it.

That was an interesting way to phrase it. The medical droid might have accomplished it on its own, though the procedure would be more invasive.

“I think I should go for the anti-nausea meds,” you said, one hand over your eyes. “But if you give me a minute, I can try to get upright and-”

“Just stay there,” Kiljack said. “Messor will be along shortly. Finish your water.”

You sighed and downed the rest of the glass, spilling a little down your chin, and not really caring because your head hurt.

**

The comm unit chimed and Kiljack stepped out of the bedroom. When he returned, he was carrying a large platter of flatbread, grilled fish, and some fruit. There was a small glass of anti-nausea medication too. He set it all on the nightstand and poured you another glass of water from the carafe.

Your stomach rumbled, so you took a few berries and ate them slowly, letting the sweetness roll down your throat. You downed the medication in one shot.

When everything stayed down, you took a few more berries, and then a piece of bread, passing on the sauce, just in case.

Kiljack settled back down in his chair, watching your every move.

You had taken a break from trying to eat, when there was a knock. It was distant, and you realized this bedroom was probably part of a suite. Kiljack got up, giving you a stern look.

You pretended not to see. You were still too messed up to make a run for it, and even if you did manage to escape, where would you go? Keeper was trying to kill you. Thanaton was not going to be happy about Prince. And Nar Shaddaa with its flashing lights and cacophony of sounds, would give you a migraine bad enough to make your head explode. You could stay here in the comfortable bed for a moment. You needed a more accurate picture of the situation, before you did anything rash. You did not need a repeat of last night.

“No, it’s fine, I don’t have to get back to the fleet, I’ll just stay here and babysit your new pet spy,” Kiljack said sharply as he returned and practically threw himself into his chair.

Lord Messor followed, still in those sweeping red and black Sith robes, that stylized skull mask in place. The Sith had several skull motifs, though to be honest, his reminded you a little of the Mandalorian mythosaur skull symbol, without the horns.

“I’m glad to see that you’re feeling better,” Lord Messor stood in the doorway. There was a slight mechanical quality to his voice that you had not noticed last night. The mask had a built-in vocoder then. Interesting.

“My lord,” you said, attempting a bow at the waist and feeling your head swoop dangerously close to your knees.

“Don’t-” He sighed. “We can do this informally, Cipher. You’re still recovering from your ordeal.”

You nodded, wincing as you leaned back into the pillows. “I appreciate that, my lord.”

“We’re in private, Cipher. You can forego the title as well.”

Thankfully, you were already lying down, because otherwise you would have fallen over in shock. You had never actually expected to hear a Sith lord say that. After Thanaton, it was a pleasant reversal. But you did not trust that magnanimity.

If Messor and Kiljack knew about the “extra” missions you did, then they had to have a fairly accurate psychological profile of you. They had to know that people who forced you into bad situations ended up having freak accidents. Being polite was just a good way to manage you. You had no illusions about the altruistic natures of moffs and Sith lords. But you could appreciate the effort and you would work with good manners. This was certainly better than spending an hour being shouted at by Darth Thanaton.

You waited for one of the men to speak. They were the ones who wanted you here, after all.

“You were recently tasked by Darth Thanaton to sabotage our strategic efforts on Hoth and Voss. You were assigned to Darth Thanaton by Imperial Intelligence, but that does not mean Imperial Intelligence condones his actions. However, as Thanaton is a member of the Dark Council, politics must come into play.” Messor’s hands twitched. He wasn’t wearing the gauntlets today. He had large hands, dark skin, and thick callouses, probably from handling weapons.

“So someone in Imperial Intelligence tipped you off?”

“Your...Keeper saw fit to warn me,” Kiljack said, fingers steepled.

You frowned. “But not Lord Messor.”

“I think you’ve already figured out that Messor and I are...exaggerating our feud.” Kiljack gave a wry smile. “But that is very guarded knowledge.”

“Yes,” you nodded, and then winced, because you did not need to be bobbing your injured head like an idiot bird. Your brain had taken enough of a blending.

A secret political alliance gave them an interesting cover and access to a wider range of intelligence. But Moff Kiljack did not have the wealth and prestige that Lord Messor did. He would be at a fundamental disadvantage. A Sith lord was not likely to trust anyone outside their control. There were a lot of disadvantages to this tactic and you could not see a clear payoff. You sat with that for a moment. There was an important reason for their ruse, though you doubted they would tell you anything but a plausible cover story today. But the layout of the game started to form. You looked at the empty spaces, trying to find the details that didn’t make sense.

...There it was. There was a third party in play, aiding and abetting this ruse. Someone with enough clout to help Kiljack get his promotion. Someone that even Keeper did not want to cross...

Another Dark Council member then. And given Kiljack and Messor’s military interests and mostly low-key behavior, you had a good idea whom that Council Member was, though again, not why they were using this exact ruse. But if Kiljack’s patron was who you thought it was, you did not blame Keeper for wanting to stay on his good side.

But you were also pretty sure that you were not supposed to survive that meeting with Thanaton yesterday. The exchange would go something like this:

“Send me another minion, peon!”

“I’m so sorry, your Decrepit-ness, you killed my only available agent and we’re very shorthanded! There’s no one else to send. You’ll have to wait.”

Keeper would be off the hook with Thanaton and Kiljack’s patron. You would be dead. Three problems solved.

Except you were alive, and no problems were solved. You looked up to see Kiljack studying your face.

“Do you suspect that Keeper knows the feud is fabricated?”

“No. That’s very exclusive knowledge,” Messor said without a trace of doubt.

You wondered how he could be so confident – not because he wasn’t ruthless – but because your business was secrets: keeping them, stealing them, rooting them out. If people wanted information badly enough, they would find a way to get it. No matter how well you thought you covered your tracks. Your stomach soured a little at that thought. They’d figured out some of your secrets. You’d have to return the favor, if only for your own pride. And maybe some leverage.

“So you want to recruit me as a double agent against Thanaton,” you said.

“Partially,” Messor admitted. “But I had a more permanent offer in mind for you.” He cleared his throat. “My current intelligence chief will be retiring soon. You were recommended to us.”

You blinked. “I can’t just quit Imperial Intelligence, believe me, I’ve tried,” you blurted out.

“You can if you have the right patronage,” Kiljack said. And he had some experience there, having gone from Sith apprentice to moff.

“You want me to help you bring down Thanaton, get you onto the Dark Council, and then you’ll hire me?” Your lips twitched at that tall order. Sith expectations.

“I will hire you now as a house intelligence agent, at double your current pay with all the usual amenities one expects from the well-to-do estate of a Sith lord,” Messor said. “Promotion to intelligence chief pending results.”

That would have been extremely generous, except Imperial Intelligence was criminally cheap. Sure you had some good benefits, but they didn’t have to be competitive when their employees literally weren’t allowed to quit. Still, it was not a bad offer. Better than a lot of the alternatives.

Messor continued. “Handling Thanaton and the Council are longer term problems. If we succeed on Hoth and Voss, I will have enough clout to extract you intact from the employ of Imperial Intelligence. And it will be easier since you’re already assigned to me: possession is nine tenths of the law.”

You sat with that for a few seconds. You could play the long game, letting Thanaton think you had wormed your way into Messor’s confidence. That would sit well with Keeper – it kept him out of the hotseat. You could go back to Keeper and see which way he wanted you to go – for intel purposes only - and then do whatever you wanted anyway. You could say no outright, and get shot in the head by Kiljack…

“You have questions,” Messor said, still keeping his distance.

“How long have you been tracking me? And what brought me to your attention?”

“A man once called “Sparrow” recommended you to us a year ago. He is around here if you want to catch up later.”

You sighed, of course Sparrow was still alive. That explained a lot. He knew you well enough to guess which missions you had purposefully altered. He knew your expertise well enough to conjecture methodology. That he shared this information with a strange Sith lord should not have surprised you entirely. The former Cipher 7 was a skilled assassin; he’d been declared KIA with his brother two years ago. But it seemed he had found a safe haven here.

“His brother?”

“Didn’t want to work with us. No one was going to force him. He took a shuttle to Yavin 4. Sparrow visits him occasionally,” Kiljack said.

“Why me?” You asked, not because you doubted your abilities, but because you still did not quite understand how this coalition worked.

Messor was silent for a moment. “You are a reasonable woman. And looking at your track record, we thought your methods would align with ours.”

“And why do you think that?” You asked.

“The Rancor Incident,” Kiljack said with a smirk.

You kept your face neutral.

“Lord Vilhus was there, a very nasty individual. But the casualty list also included Ieyak the Butcher, Margrene the Bloody, General Arus, Enso Chain-Maker, and Lord Casten. Coincidentally, none of the slaves, servers, or civilian bystanders were hurt. And everyone thought it was just a terrible accident. That took planning, skill, and finesse.”

You stared at your lap, trying to remember if any of those people had good or bad ties to House Messor. Vilhus wasn’t anyone’s friend and Arus wasn’t related. Casten might have attended the Academy at the same time as Messor. You pondered that connection.

Because once you’d had a close...friend, a lower ranking analyst in Imperial Intelligence. A smart and pretty Twi’lek who didn’t deserve the things Lord Vilhus did to her. Lord Vilhus was a Sith lord and could do as he pleased to those weaker than him. So when you saw him there and that rancor… It was just an opportunity.

You looked up to see Kiljack studying you intently. “None of them were allies to House Messor or myself,” he told you.

“Am I...broadcasting?” You asked, trying to make sure your mind was quiet.

“No, it’s just the next logical question,” Kiljack said. He cleared his throat. “But there’s something else we need to address.”

“You’re a Sensitive,” Messor said.

You winced. Of course they’d picked that up yesterday. “A little. Nothing kinetic level, just intuitive boosts every now and again. Came along later in life.” Though it still might be enough to get you sent to Korriban. And now they knew. Which was a manageable thing. You knew about their fake feud, they knew about your force sensitivity. Mutually-assured destruction ensured that the balance of power remained less complicated.

Messor nodded. “Kiljack is very good at shielding. You should consult him about how to better protect your mind.”

Kiljack gave Messor a side-eyed squint, but did not protest.

Accept the offer, take a hard job, and maybe get out from under Keeper’s thumb. Or decline and end up dead. It wasn’t much of a choice.

“What do I have to do to sign on?” You asked.

**

Different Sith lords had their ways of ensuring loyalty, or at least compliance. You had undergone years of conditioning to be kept under the authority of Imperial Intelligence. A lot of that conditioning had come undone in your term as an active operative. You had worked hard to slough the restraints that would have otherwise hobbled your thinking. They might have had your service, but your mind was your own. Ciphers had a lot of leeway to run operations as they saw fit, because an obedient drone could not do their job. But there were still ticks, involuntary habits ingrained in your mind, pathways worn in by years of unpleasant reinforcement. Oh, you weren’t loyal to Imperial Intelligence, but you knew to instantly bow your head to a “superior,” to mask your emotions with a lie, and that the mission came first at the expense of all else... You knew these things in your bones, because of the conditioning. And you understood intimately how those rituals did psychological damage.

So when Lord Messor stepped into the room and drew closer, you prepared yourself for something unpleasant.

“Give me your hand, the flesh one.”

Permanently, or just to hold? You wanted to ask, but you kept your mouth shut and extended your right hand. He took it gently between his palms. His skin was warm and rough. You swallowed, preparing to be overwhelmed by your reaction to the Sith.

The world turned black.

Then heat and light poured into your skull, a waterfall rushing through you, and you screamed under the torrent. It cut through your perception, and tethered something in your head, to that little spot of intuition that always knew when a weapon was being drawn or when someone was lying to you. That metaphysical aperture expanded, wedged open by the hooks of Messor’s connection. He was in your head, and for a moment, you were face down on the dining room table, those claws tracing along your spine while he pinned you there, while you squeezed your thighs together, squirming at his touch…

Then you felt the weight on your left arm, felt Messor squeeze your right hand, and you forced your eyes open.

Kiljack held you to the bed, your left hand pinned over your head.

You could feel Messor through the force. He was in your mind, had his own private backdoor in, a new sort of violation. And that realization enraged you. Snarling, you thrashed, “You bastard! Get the hell out of my head!”

“If you shield well, I can’t see what’s in your head,” he said calmly. “And I won’t go looking.”

Cursing, you lunged at him, but Kiljack held you down, his full weight on your body.

“It’s not mind control, it’s a minor force bond,” Messor said, tone even.

So this was how he kept Kiljack in line. And you had just willingly submitted yourself to the same treatment. Maybe death was preferable. Fury overtook you and you tried to throw Kiljack off you. When he didn’t budge, you sunk your teeth into Kiljack’s shoulder.

He jerked, then braced himself, hand tightening on your throat. “I thought I told you to be more careful with those teeth,” he rasped, pupils huge.

You waited for the leash or the neural bolt.

It’s not a leash. It goes both ways. And it fades with time. Messor said quietly in your head. Also, if you keep biting Kiljack, he’s going to choke you out.

Groaning, you released the moff, feeling his fingers begin to loosen around your neck. You kriffing piece of sarlaac scum! I’m going to feed you your teeth!

“I hope you’re talking to Messor, because you’re not in any position to threaten me,” Kiljack said gruffly, running his thumb over your throat, before letting go of your neck.

“You’re on the list too, don’t worry,” you hissed.

Messor released your hand, a hint of amusement in his aura. “Get some rest, Thirteen. We can talk more later.”

I know so many annoying drinking songs from dozens of planets. I will be screaming them into your skull all night!

“Charming,” Kiljack said, rubbing his temple. He glanced down at his ripped jacket and glared at you. “If you’re going to be a nuisance, you can go crawl into someone else’s bed, because-”

There was the ghost of a memory, a shirtless Kiljack laughing as he lay in the bed, another man pinned under him, like you had been, a flash of heat pulsed between your thighs-

Messor inhaled sharply.

Kiljack pinched the bridge of his nose. “I told you-” He pushed his hair back, suddenly very tired. “Just go. Your proximity is probably making things more difficult.”

“Your shoulder,” Messor said softly, he stepped out of the room and returned with a medkit.

You watched silently as Messor carefully cleaned Kiljack’s wound, and treated it with kolto.

Kiljack leaned into Messor’s hands, his head resting against Messor’s shoulder, and it clicked.

There was more than one reason why Kiljack did not betray Messor, one you had not anticipated. You gave a dry laugh, how utterly ridiculous. These stories never ended well for the Sith or their lovers. Suddenly very drained, you dropped back into the pillows.

Rest.

I hope you get eaten by a gorryl slug, you bastard. You pictured the giant carnivorous slugs of Kashyyyk, arboreal hunters that dropped onto their prey and were nearly impossible to pry off. They would exude digestive juices and slowly digest their victims. An unlucky person could take a very long time to die.

What are those- oh that is awful. I’ll have to remember that one. A low laugh in the back of your skull. Kiljack is very good at shielding. He will help you if you ask, nicely.

I’m going to gut you like a ghest.

Get some rest, Thirteen. You’ll have plenty of time to threaten me later.

[factoffictionwriter]

Tiva Fic Amnesty #5

Another piece of the multichapter fic. What you need to know: Ziva returned weeks after ppf. Now she and Tony are in a relationship and preparing to birth/raise a child together. This is their first ultrasound.

I remember learning so much about pregnancy while trying to research this chapter, but it’s still probably inaccurate. All the more reason to include it in amnesty. 

Remember: these are old. Be nice. 

Tony winced as a nurse in blue stuck a needle into his girlfriend’s arm and drew blood into a series of small vials. Ziva was totally calm and at ease throughout the entire process, and he found himself asking her how the hell she did that after the mean blood-stealing nurse had walked out of their small exam room.

“Not everyone is afraid of needles, Tony.” 

He made a face, “Well they would be if they ever had the plague.” 

She shrugged and turned to listen to another nurse who was holding up a small cup and giving her directions to the nearest bathroom. She slid off the table effortlessly and shot him a wink as she moved past him and out the door. 

“Did you say you had the plague?” Yet another nurse was holding up a clipboard and addressing him.

“Uh, yeah. White pestis.” 

She looked at him incredulously, “How the hell did you get pneumonic plague in the 21st century?” 

He grimaced, “Occupational hazard, I suppose.” 

She just stared at him for another second before glancing down at the clipboard, “Well, that isn’t one of the diseases on my list, and I don’t think it would have any effect on your potential offspring, but I’ll mention it to the doctor just to be safe. Any other medical conditions we should know about? Anything that runs in the family?” 

He swallowed, finding this miniature interrogation to be much less tolerable without Ziva in the room, sending him reassuring looks every time the nurse made any sort of concerned comment.

“Just dangerous charm and good looks,” he smiled awkwardly, finding that his normal jokes were much harder to pull when confronted with the possibility of passing on some horrible genetic disorder to his kid. 

The nurse didn’t roll her eyes, thankfully, and she went on to make several marks on the paper in front of her. Once she seemed to be done, she stood back a bit and gave him a once-over.

“Why did you wait so long?” She asked. 

His eyes widened, “Excuse me?” 

“To have kids. Why did you wait?” 

He looked around desperately, sending telepathic pleas to Ziva, wherever she was, to return quickly, “Uh, that feels like a pretty weighted question.”

She shrugged, “Not really. It’s just- you’re considerably older than most of the men we have come through here.” 

He stared at her, mouth open, completely unsure of how to respond.

“Am I older than most of the women you see here?” Ziva’s voice was in the doorway as she placed the now full cup on a table just outside where she had been told the nurse would grab it. 

The nurse seemed surprised, “Uh, no, actually. You fit the age range quite well, Miss David.” 

Ziva made her way back across the room to the table, purposely walking between him and the nosy nurse on her way, forcing the woman to take another step away from him, “That’s good, considering my age is likely to have a much more profound impact on the health of our child.” 

Her words seemed to draw the nurse out of whatever unprofessional daze she was in, and she quickly dismissed herself from the exam room saying she would talk to the doctor and they would return shortly. 

Once she was gone, Tony let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, “Thank you.” 

She smirked, “What? You cannot handle the interrogation when it’s you in the hot spot?” 

“Hot seat. And no, I can handle an interrogation just fine. That- “he gestured in front of him, referencing the awkward conversation for more emphasis, “That was a full on ambush.” 

“She is one small woman. How could she have ambushed you?” 

He stood from what had been referenced to him as the “daddy chair” and joined her at the exam table, “She’s good, that’s how. She starts with the simple, innocent questions. Then she starts digging around, asking if you’ve been exposed to this and if you’ve ever contracted that. And then, when she has you right where she wants you: BAM! She attacks a man’s age. I have a feeling that wasn’t the first time she did that dance. I’m almost impressed by her strategy.” 

Ziva rolled her eyes, “She was only asking questions to gauge the health risks of the child, Tony. She was doing her job.” 

“That’s easy for you to say. How come you didn’t have to go through your own trip down memory lane? Doesn’t your medical history matter, too?” 

She shrugged, “I have been a patient here for years. Dr. Brown already has my medical history.”

“You’ve been going to a pregnancy doctor for years?” 

“She is an OBGYN,” she watched as his face contorted at the word and knew she would have to explain more, “That means she-” 

“Takes care of mommies and not yet mommies all the same,” A woman with auburn hair and a comically small pair of glasses on a chain around her neck entered the room gracefully, moving immediately to Ziva’s side, leaving her flanked by her boyfriend and her doctor.

“Oh, Ziva. It is always a pleasure. It has been too long,” she glanced down towards her stomach at that comment, “And I suppose that is why we are here today. You know that 99% effective promise only holds true if you show up to receive your shots, right?” 

Ziva looked down, embarrassed for blowing off her health in the midst of all the chaos of the last year.

The doctor took that opportunity to address the other half of the couple, “And you must be the father,” she held out her hand, “My name is Dr. Cynthia Brown, and I will be taking care of your baby, and the mama.” 

“Tony,” he responded, shaking her hand automatically. 

“I wish I could say that I’ve heard great things about you, Tony, but I can’t say that Ziva has ever mentioned you. Have you two been together long?” 

Ziva’s eyes wandered around the room awkwardly, clearly uneasy about the situation. 

He took it upon himself to reply, “We haven’t been officially together for very long, but it’s complicated.” 

Dr. Brown looked fondly at the two of them, “It always is with baby daddies. Now, I want to be transparent with both of you. Based on Ziva’s medical history, I am labeling this as a high risk pregnancy without even examining the fetus. It is just a precaution on my side, and nothing to worry about for now. However, I do want to see you every 6 weeks to check in and make sure things are progressing the way they should,” She took a step closer to Ziva and gently took her hand, “I am not saying you are going to have complications, sweetheart. I am just being careful.”

Ziva nodded, only letting her eyes flutter toward Tony’s concerned expression for a second, “Thank you, Cynthia.”

The Doc turned around and retrieved a cart from behind a curtain, rolling it toward the table so they could all see it, “Most parents are the most excited - and nervous - about the ultrasound, so I say we get that out of the way first. When did you say your last menstrual period was?” 

“September 25. But I know we conceived around October 4th,” she sent Tony a heavy look, and he had to fight back a cheeky smile at the thought of those few days when they locked themselves in her parent’s farm house and did nothing but revel in their new found and quickly fleeting intimacy. 

“Right. So that should put you around the 7 or 8 week mark, so there is a good chance we will be able to hear the heartbeat today,” the doctor started fumbling with the machinery and the screen on the top turned on. 

“Okay, Mommy, I’m going to ask you to change into this gown really quick. You can step behind that curtain if you would like,” she gestured towards the back corner and Ziva obediently hopped off the table and went to change. 

“I thought ultrasounds were just done on the stomach. Why does she need to be in a gown?” 

“You must watch a lot of movies, Tony?” 

Ziva let out a hearty laugh from behind the curtain.

“I guess you could say that,” he answered.

“Well, then you must know that in movies they often sacrifice accuracy to make a situation seem less awkward. In the real world, the first ultrasound is normally done transvaginally since the fetus is too small to see in a typical one,” Dr. Brown reached underneath the exam table and lifted two metal bars with tube like attachments on top. 

Tony wasn’t sure he liked where this was going. 

Ziva returned in her hospital robe and hopped up on the table, unphased by the appearance of the metal contraptions. She laid back on the table and reached for his hand, pulling him closer toward her head as the doc lifted each of her legs and guided them into the waiting stirrups. 

“Don’t make this weird, Tony.” 

He looked pointedly at her lower half as the doc pulled out a long tubular instrument and approached the table, “Everything about this is weird. I’m the least weird part of this right now.” 

She rolled her eyes for what must have been the hundredth time that day and nodded toward Dr. Brown, giving her the okay to start the exam.

[ravennawritesfanfiction]

Vaako Redo Chapter 2- Memories of Old

You had a head start on him; there was no denying that you could be anywhere in the palace by then, but his feet carried him through corridors he had no known memory of as if it had been just yesterday that he had roamed them by your side. He paused outside what looked like a banquet hall, but the tables had been pushed aside. He could hear music playing and felt a weight in his arms and a feather’s touch on his shoulder. He saw the ghosts of two figures twirling and gliding through the room.

He continued on and found himself outside of a bedchamber. Echos of two bickering over water and wrestling came from behind the closed door. He scarcely recognized the voice as his own. Slightly further down the hall, another set of closed doors offered the sounds of harsh whispers. Again the voice was his own, but this time he heard the other voice, it was yours.

A heaviness settled over him as memories trickled in and formed a puzzle of his life. Some pieces clicked together while others were jumbled and made no sense to him. He was overcome by an emotion that the Necromongers beat out of you from early on; love. Pure, untainted love. Images of dance lessons that turned into stolen moments away from prying eyes and petty arguments became a movie in his mind.

His feet carried him further. He didn’t want to see anymore. The only thing he felt, more prominently than love, was loss. This part of the palace was uninhabited, but he knew it like he lived here. It was the armory. Rows and rows of weapons in precisely the right spot. Each meticulously maintained. In the far corner, a work table with plans of the cities; made for the sole purpose, that in the event of an emergency, the soldiers could defend the civilians. Old plans were piled on the floor and fresh plans covered the countertop.

As he compared the maps, memories of the Necro attack returned in force. The differences in these maps were areas that had been destroyed and not rebuilt. His head was pounding and he was acutely aware of sniffling coming from the opposite corner. He knew he had found you without turning to look.

“Did you love me?” He barely heard himself, but you heard it loud and clear. He didn’t turn to you for your answer, because he was all too aware of his own tears.

“More than anything in all of the worlds.” You punctuated the sentence with an obnoxious sniff.

“Did I love you?” He knew the answer. He felt it outside each room he had seen.

“Why does it matter? You are the Necromonger Commander General and a Lord. I am a peasant born Commander General of a ‘horrid land’. I am the would-be princess that the King loathes entirely. He was relieved when you went away for the sole fact that I wouldn’t muddy up the bloodline. You said you loved me, but I don’t know why. I cannot answer your questions.”

You stood up and wiped your face. Your moment of self-pity was over. You went to the weapons rack for an impromptu inspection.

“You do that when your upset. You always have. You have to keep your hands busy.” He was watching you now. Answering him seemed pointless and seeing that everything was pristine, you walked over to your desk. It was neat and organized. Everything was cataloged and easy to read. The desk next to it had papers thrown about and a knife that had long since rusted stuck into the surface. “Well, that looks horribly out of place.” He raised an eyebrow.

“You left it like that. You never did bother keeping a neat desk.” Why bother looking his way. “Why the trip down memory lane? Do you enjoy causing pain? Years. I spent years wishing you would come back, and here you are and you aren’t you! You don’t know me, so stop asking questions and opening old wounds.” You were on your feet looking at him. He didn’t look like himself. That made it easier to remind yourself that he was the enemy.

“Fine. Answer me one last question and I’ll leave you alone.” He threw his hands up in surrender. “If I loved you so much, why would I leave you here? I image the King had always hated you, so why would I leave you alone?” He was practically touching you; he had gotten so close. You hadn’t even seen him move.

“It was our only chance. They made a deal and you took it to save the world. I wasn’t a part of that deal. And it wasn’t so bad when the Queen was around. She loved me and she loved us.” You pushed past him.

“You’re right. I don’t know you. But you don’t know me either. Here are a few things about me. I have been trapped in a loveless marriage for years. Hate sex only goes so far. My second in command has tried to kill me twice. The only thing I remembered from before my conversion was fear. When you left the Court today, I was angry at the King for what he said to you. Walking over here, I remembered teaching you to dance and bickering over who drank the glass of water. For the first time in my Necromonger life, I felt the sensation of love. I don’t know you, but I would love to get to know you again because I lost you once and I never want to feel that again.” You didn’t make eye contact.

“I remember that day as if it was yesterday. I see it every time I close my eyes. I woke up, in pain and you were gone. I don’t ever want to feel that way again. I don’t know you anymore, but you are one of them now, and I don’t want to know you.” You walked out of the armory and off towards the stables. Siberius felt like he had been stabbed by your words. His gut twisted and he felt lost all over again.

You were balling your eyes out before you made it into the barn. The horses looked up at you as you entered. Siberius’ horse looked at you with a knowing expression.

Taglist: @cuddlememerrick @schatzi-89

[ladyofpurple]

Feather, nymph, and roses

😭🥰 i spent way too long trying to answer these

feather; which mythical creature would you transform into if you could?

hmm. probably a mermaid. very basic bitch white girl answer, but it'd be nice to be able to submerge yourself for hours without drowning, yknow? being underwater is so calming, and i used to love swimming, even though the most i can do now is maybe keep myself from drowning, and i can't hold my breath for shit anymore.

either that, or some fae/nymph/wild nature spirit of some kind. the power! the mystique! sometimes you just gotta melt into a 1,500 year old bog and strike duplicitous bargains with foolish mortals and that's valid.

nymph; name 3 films that have changed your life and have shaped you into the person you are today.

this is a horrible question. how dare you assume i remember literally anything at all. anyway, to the best of my immediate recollection:

nightmare before christmas — i literally don't remember the first time i watched it. understandable, i guess, since it came out the year before i was born, but for years, i had the image of jack skellington on top of the spiral hill in the pumpkin patch in front of the moon seared into my brain. i had no idea where it came from, i had no idea why, but it bothered me from the time i was old enough to be consciously aware of it until i was literally a teenager. i thought i'd made it up or something, because i could swear i'd asked my mom about it before and she had no idea what i was talking about. and then one day i mentioned it again and she was just like "oh, you mean nightmare before christmas?" i got the movie as a present after that, and since then i've lost count how many times i've watched it. probably not as many times as i've watched beetlejuice, but close. i'm pretty sure that image of jack on the spiral hill and all the repressed memories of the character design and music influenced my fondness for dark, gothic aesthetics even before i knew what they were. i've also always loved animation, and stop-motion animation in particular. pretty sure "tim burton" (henry selick, you absolute icon) had something to do with it.

jurassic park — 1 and 2 specifically. i liked the third one too, but i didn't see that until i was 15 or something. don't talk to me about jurassic world. but i saw the first two when i was waaaaay too fucking young (thanks brenda) and they somehow didn't scar me for life. on the contrary, they became my favorite movies for most of my childhood. i've never had a problem with gory deaths in movies, i wonder if that's why. jurassic park also sparked my years-long obsession with dinosaurs, my (often subtle nowadays) interest in history and science, and for a long time one of my dream jobs was to be a paleontologist. movie velociraptors (deinonychus, fucking FIGHT ME) have also always been in my top 5 list of dinosaurs. i will neither confirm nor deny severe disappointment when the confirmation that dinosaurs had feathers was announced.

grease — the #aesthetic. the songs. the high school drama. 70s era john travolta in a leather jacket. when i started smoking, i literally remembered rizzo's "oh if it's your first time you're not supposed to inhale" line from the sleepover scene and that alone saved me from nicotine addiction for 6 months. i know every song, continue to quote it on a daily basis, and i can 100% attribute my love of vintage style dresses and rockabilly to that movie being one of my first and most frequent exposures to 50s fashion. iconic.

roses; dream destination?

honestly, probably the states. the pacific northwest in particular, but the west coast in general. there are lots of places i want to see, or see again, but i just... miss it. so much. i can't describe it as homesickness, exactly. i've lived in norway all of my adult life and the majority of my childhood, and it's not like i keep in close contact with my family or childhood friends anymore, aside from the occasional interactions on social media or passing updates from my mom in conversation.

but there's a part of me that just feels... lost. i miss seattle. i miss long, winding drives down the oregon coast. i miss stupid billboards and shitty roadside diners and obnoxiously large cars on five lane highways. i miss marionberry pies and redwood trees. i miss driftwood on the beach, i miss graham crackers and lucky charms, i miss malls so big you can literally get lost if you're not careful. i miss shitty rubbery lunchables, and gimmicky "mexican" restaurants, and late night commercials for psychic hotlines, i miss pike place market. i miss the space needle. i miss the science center. i miss the freemont troll and too many pancakes at the salmon bay café with my grandma. i miss roller derby and imax theaters and powell's books. i miss greenlake. i miss bellevue. i miss camping in my great-grandma's backyard for 4th of july, or going to my aunt's house for the annual family reunion barbecue.

i'm probably idealizing it in my head. i can't imagine me as an adult making the conscious decision to move back there for good, not the way it seems to be escalating very obviously and very rapidly into a captialist dystopia with a dash of facism and police brutality thrown in just for flavor. i haven't even been in the states for any notable amount of time since 2012. but i've bullied my friends into a hypothetical road trip from san francisco to seattle someday, just to see it again. show them where i grew up. maybe it'll help them understand me better as a person, to finally see and feel all the things i can't describe, but cling to anyway. it's probably a pipe dream, but it helps to plan it when i'm feeling sad.

[ask-aurouradragonia]

To whom it may concern.

People are people. Not things you can pester for your enjoyment. I swear, some people don't understand this. Let me tell y'all about the time in this diner in Firga.

So, it was about four or five days since I had arrived in Figra and the old man I was working for had paid me well for my heavy lifting that day. So I decided for Moon to come join me to get something to eat that wasn't fish. Don't get me wrong, I like fish, but not everyday fish.

So, I walked towards the middle of town, that's where most of the shops and restaurants were. The road beneath my feet had small ecthings of the waves and some fish in a bright blue color. The townspeople seemed content with everything. The only bickering I heard was customers trying to negotiate prices with the clerk. Most of the people who lived here had sun kissed skin and dark hair colors. The sea breeze was wafting into town and the salty air was calling somehow. It's peaceful.

So, I'm walking into the this medium sized dinner and looked at the interior. The wood was a deep rich brown and on the walls were pictures of the sea and there was a whole wall for kid's drawings. It was really cute. As I walked into the tabled area, I noticed there was a bar at the far left side of the building. Surprisingly, there were already three men sitting at the bar. I paid no mind to it though, sometimes you just have to wallow in your our sorrows.

I found a booth near the middle, facing towards the bar. The booth was cushioned and was comfy. I set Moon on the floor, leaning against my left leg. I started looking over the menu that was on the slightly sticky table. I skipped the seafood section of the menu and looked over the burger selections. I heard footsteps coming towards me, I assumed that it was the waitress/waiter to come and take my order.

"Can I have a couple more minutes to look over the menu?"

"Sweetheart, you can have all my time." A gruff voice replied.

Well, that's not what I expected. I finally look up from my menu and see one of the men from the bar sitting on the of side of the booth. His dark brown hair was ruffled and he had the startings of a beard. His shirt was stained of beer and reeked of it as well. As if he bathed in alcohol. His bright hazel eyes were tired looking and looking me up and down. The man looked like he was in his late 30's.

"Can I help you?" I asked, eyeing the man in front of me.

"Yeah, you can keep me company all night later." He smiled as his eyes slowly eating up my image.

"No. Now, go away. I'm trying to enjoy my lunch." I went back to looking at my menu, trying to ignore the unwanted company at my booth.

"Hey, now. Don't be like that. I'm real good company." I could hear him shift in the booth and feel his arm trying to grab my hand.

I pulled my body away, shooting him a glare. "I told you no. Now go away." My voice was much harsher then it was before. I was seriously getting annoyed with this man's persistence. I watched him as he got up and stood over me, blocking me in the booth. I turned to face him. The stench of alcohol burned my nose as he leaned in close to me. I felt something sharp poking my stomach. I glanced down and saw what looked like a small knife or something like that.

"Come on, darling. We don't want this to end badly. Hell, I'll even buy you your food." His free hand went to touch my cheek. I slapped him hand away and looked at him viciously, before speaking.

"I said. Go away. Now move before I make you." My words hung in the air. While the man began to chuckle to himself, he didn't realize I was reaching for Moon. Now that I think about, I am surprised that Moon has stayed quiet all this time.

"Oh yeah? And what's a pretty doll like you gonna do? Scream?" He laughed in my face.

I snapped. I've had it. I head butted the drunker, causing him to step back and holding his face. I quickly got up from the booth and I swiftly kicked him in the groin with no mercy. A man like this should never have children anyway. He yelped in pain and fell to the floor, clutching his crotch. By now, all the customers and waiters and waitresses had stopped and was looking over toward my direction. I exhaled and sit back down at the booth. This man was not going to ruin my meal.

Finally everyone turns back to their meals or jobs, ignoring the man. The man, after a few minutes on the floor got up and quickly fled the diner. I heard some chuckling from beside me, as I bring Moon up above the table, letting her lean against the wall.

"What are you laughing about?" I whisper to Moon.

"This reminds me of what your mother once said."

I thought back to that time when my dad was warning me of boys who wouldn't listen. Then Mama coming out with some drinks and calmly stating that I should kick them in the balls and continue on until they left me alone. I began to chuckle softly to myself.

"Excuse me, ma'am are you ready to order? What would you like to drink?" A soft and gentle male voice took me out of memory lane.

"Oh, sorry. Yes, I'll take a lemonade and I think I'll have a double bacon burger, with no onions." I smiled up at the young waiter.

"No problem, I'll get the put in for ya. And thank you for taking care of that guy. Most everyone else in this diner don't have the guts like you. He's been harassing anyone who looks pretty to him. Man or woman. Most of the time we'd have the police come in, but I don't think he'll come back anytime soon." The waiter joked and smiled. "If you want, dessert is on the house. My treat."

I blinked, astounded upon hearing this teenager telling me about this disgusting man.

"I'm glad I could help, but someone needs to really put him in his place. Sure, I drove him off today, but what if he starts harassing someone else and I'm not here? I don't intend on being in this town very longer. Maybe you can hire a security guy to just watch over the customers." I suggested as I handed the waiter my menu.

"Well, maybe. But that's up to the manager."

"Have people sign a petition stating they won't return until this is a safer place, free of creeps like that guy." I quickly added.

"Yeah, that would help a lot. Thanks for the ideas, Ms..?"

"Call me Aurora."

So, that is my story, but I know not everyone has that same outcome. So to those who have suffered injustices as such this, please spread your stories. Make your voices heard and someone or something will come and hopefully relieve some of this pain.

And to those who are the harassers, 'nice guys', or anyone else who thinks pestering people to coming with you, having a date, or anything else. You are horrible people and you seriously need to either seek help, or look back on your life. That's not healthy. It's not right. We are all people. Not your possessions, play things, or just something to pass your time. We have feelings and rights to be happy and reject your advances.

Thank you for reading this far and I truly wish everyone happiness and good lives. Man this story was heavy. I'll make sure that the next trip in memory lane is a happy tale. 🌈

[elastigirl72]

Day 2: Marlborough - Sevenoaks: a ride of two halves

You would think given the mileage I’m going to be putting in over the next 3 1/2 weeks, I’d be continuously ravenous. But I had to force myself to eat chicken and chips last night, and here I sit at breakfast at the Bear hotel with a plate of egg and mushrooms in front of me, and I’m thinking this is hard work.

The prospect of riding inside the M25 today fills me with horror. I trusted Google and Strava when planning my route to the continent and believed as it suggested that Calais was the best way forward. Why didn’t I question this? I could have gone to Poole and Cherbourg but alas, I gave this no thought. Only a few days ago, I realised that not only would Poole be closer, it also avoids London and gets me further south in France quicker. Hindsight...all that said, I think today is going to be the most Urbanlely ride until I get to Athens. The sun is up, and I’m properly fed...

Sevenoaks, UK

On a day that I couldn’t have felt more skanky if I’d followed Nyla into a stagnant pond, this happened.

Reeling from the cost of a shandy x 2 (£7 each) and my budget blown for the day, I headed to Waitrose for some Houmous and breakfast. As I walked past a parked van with a 6 year old boy hanging off the side:

Him: “Hi! Can you come over here?”

Me: “ah thanks for the invitation, but I have to get some food before the shops shut”

Him: “That’s sad, because my dad says he wants to kiss you!”

😂😂😂

Although I’d had a bath, and treated myself to some of my rationed shampoo and conditioner, I still looked like Waynetta Slob...and this in discerning Sevenoaks! Before my bath and unbeknown to me until I’d looked in the mirror after my shandies, my face was covered in grime - from where? Greater London? I looked like I’d just finished Flanders in the rain. I’d say there was no chance of catching the sun with a baselayer of sun cream and coating of dirt, but I am a little pink! It was almost worth taking a selfie!

Today’s journey took in a no need to navigate until you get beyond Windsor route, down the A4 then head for Windsor. If you know the Great West Road that heads past the Fulham Brewery ans becomes the M4 or if you continue on the A4, takes you through delightful Slough, you will be surprised to hear that between Marlborough and Newbury, it is positively dreamy; rolling countryside, not many cars, even at rush hour, and wide, resurfaced carriageways. I know it from my first trip in 1991, though I was going the other way. It is the road that triggered something in my head for that first two wheeled exploration. At an even younger age I remember asking my dad, “Dad, you know the Bath Road?”, Yes, of course, he answered. “Does it go all the way to Bath?”. Lessons in life! A Roman road. I love that it’s still there and still goes to Bath, and perhaps now more than then, I appreciate the beautiful towns, burial grounds, the huge chalk white horse, inns and fields it passes through and still imagine all the journeys made over around 2,000 years and the various means of transport. I could almost forget I passed through Reading, as it wasn’t long that I continued down Memory Lane, reminiscing that at such a young age of 10/11, I’d take my pushbike and cycle as far afield as Twyford, and at 13 to Reading. I’m not sure my parents ever knew then but Dad will now if he reads this 😆.

Arriving in Windsor, I’d shed my arm and leg warmers. I never get bored of returning home, and it dawned on me as I nearly rode through without stopping, for once, I’m in no hurry; go back, sit down and enjoy. Someone asked me if I still know anyone there...most people if I knew them and they are still there will have changed beyond recognition. But I sat there people-watching and wondering: I would love to just recognise one person...it didn’t happen and I guess everyone has moved on.

Trusting my instinct rather than google or strava, I managed to avoid central London and some of the busier suburbs, and although horrible, smelly, polluted, the Greater London phase passed much quicker than I had anticipated. Start/stop x 150, riding on the outside of stationary traffic, I soon reached Purley (disappointingly I didn’t see the Purley King and Queen) and found with strong encouragement from a man at the side of the road, the biggest climb of the day. At this point, the inside of my right knee started to cry out it had had enough, and that leg sat in whilst my left leg largely took over for the last 20 miles. I have ridden in this area before when I lived in London for a while about 5 years ago. However, I must have been riding with my eyes shut. Inside the M25 and less than 10 miles from central London, and I’d returned to the countryside and rode alongside the North Downs Way. WHAT a surprise. Maybe it was just the perfect weather that made everything so stunning.

The last 10 miles to Sevenoaks was largely downhill. The headwind and traffic were the only negatives from the day, but 100 miles in and I arrived in Sevenoaks, another fantastic town. There’s a real cafe culture and if you can look past my rookie error of extortion for two shandies, it’s a place I’d consider living like Marlborough. Am I going to think like this for every stop I make over the next few weeks? 😊

So, it looks like I’ll make Dover, and therefore Calais. 10% of the journey complete...my first milestone hopefully awaits! Good night...France awaits...

[monkees-on-the-line]

Soda Pop & Incense

Summary: Peter & Davy were a ‘thing’ for six months before Peter decides to take a year off of college for a soul-searching 1 year trip. That’s when things get messy. 

Fearing commitment, Davy wrecks the entire thing. But when Peter comes back, will they mend things?

Words: 5,455

Ships: Jork & Dolenzmith 

Davy had been feeling nostalgic lately. And not in the good way, no, this made him feel sick. His throat would close up and it would be impossible for him to catch his breath. Part of him wished that he could just forget everything that happened the year before. But the part of him that was still in bed laying next to him, would put up a good fight to stop that. 

God, being in bed with him. He just had to start falling down that wormhole of memories, didn’t he? Curling up in those pile of thin blankets because it never occurred to either of them to buy a thicker one. Though, he did have that old ratty Scooby Doo blanket that must have been from when he was a kid, curled up & hidden under his bed. Davy had found it one over night visit and never mentioned it, just thinking about how cute it was...how cute he was. 

He smelled like soda pop and incense. Davy couldn’t get enough of it. Until he did...or at least he thought he did. 

“I don’t want this to be some sort of fling you forget about in a year, I actually have feelings for you.”

The words popped back into Davy’s head like magic, recalling the tone & the insecurity just the same as he’d heard it that night. 

He blinked, squeezing his eyes shut for a second or two as he continued walking down the sidewalk. He pressed his thumb against the side of his nose. He was getting that feeling you get when you drink too much soda and the fizz sort of creeps uncomfortably at your nose, giving you a weird half-headache. An echo of what he’d felt that night. 

Committing to someone was never Davy’s speed, let alone to a guy who was asking Davy to wait for him while he took a year off of college to go on some sort of trip. So anxiety got to him, so he ruined the only relationship he’d ever had that meant anything to him? Who cared? it’s the past. What’s done is done. 

They’d only been ‘dating’ or ‘hooking up’, as Davy had mistakenly referred to it that night he’d left, for six months. Giving him just enough time to work his way into the group, to worm his way into Micky & Mike’s lives too. He was too damn likable. 

Davy was over it...he had to be. He had a lot of time without him to think about it. 

But yet, Davy was still aimlessly walking around with it all on his mind like some angst ridden teenager. 

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

-”No, no. Micky, you don’t wanna come over today, trust me. I’m-I’m really ill, man.” Davy faded his chuckle into a cough with ease, fingers curled over the phone. His friend hummed on the other end, the way he did when he was suspicious and Davy fought the urge to huff in frustration. “Mick, if you don’t let me go right now...I  might vomit onto my phone.” He pursed his lips, nose twitching in the cold. He hoped the slight anger in his tone might give Micky the hint.

But his friend was restless as ever. Just like when they were little tykes living in matching tan houses on a street called Beachwood Lane. The green grass of their lawns was waiting for them, Micky would say as he begged Davy to go out and play with him. Davy would act like he wasn’t going to say yes for at least five minutes before going out and maybe watching Micky fall off his scooter a couple times, whatever it was they used to do. 

“Are you sure I can’t come over? I was gonna tell you-”

“Micky, I’m sick. I’m not in the mood.” Davy spoke the lie confidently and felt a jab in his stomach as he looked out at the open outside air. He shook his legs back and forth as they hung over the concrete wall he was currently sat on. 

“But Davy, It’s important-” Micky tried once again to get through to his stubborn friend but Davy just came up with another excuse. Knowing he didn’t have much time left, Micky went with the last option. 

“Bye, Micky-” 

“Mike is picking Peter up from the airport, ok? Byeeeee” Micky spoke quickly to make sure he could squeeze it all in before Davy hung up. 

It barely registered to Davy what Micky had said until a few seconds after he’d hung up. It had been a little over a year, hadn’t it? Peter had said he’d be gone for just a year but Davy had kind of been selfishly hoping that since they fought, Peter might not come back at all. 

Davy groaned and immediately re-dialed Micky’s number, who picked up instantly. “Hey, already on my way-”

“I’m not at home, I’m by the beach.” Davy looked at the water in front of him, just past the warm sand, he shook his legs again. 

“Fun! It’s a little cold for that. Should I bring the shovel so you can bury your feelings in the sand?” Though Davy couldn’t see him, it was easy to tell his curly haired friend was smirking. 

“Funny, Micky.” Davy scowled while Micky laughed in his ear.  He took in a deep breath just as small waves of blue crashed onto the shore and hung up the phone. 

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

“Why is Mike picking him up? Can’t one of his old pals get him?” Davy asked with narrowed eyes just as Micky started walking up to him, sneakers skidding in the grass that ended just where the little concrete wall began. Micky plopped down next to him, picking his right leg up to rest on the wall while his left hung loosely over.  

“Well, Peter called to say he was coming back-”

“Hold on. He called you guys?” Davy held out his hand to tell Micky to ‘hold it’, who looked annoyed. 

“Yeah, you call your friends when you’re gonna be back in town.” Micky shook his head and Davy scowled. “Davy, you haven’t spoken to the guy in a year. Did you really think he was gonna call you...and what? Warn you?” Micky rolled his eyes and Davy clamped his mouth shut. 

“Anyway, Mike offered to pick him up. He likes the long drives.” Micky shrugged. “I get the fun job, Davy damage control.” Micky reached over to pat Davy’s shoulder who just smacked his hand away. Micky didn’t seem that bothered. 

Davy looked back towards the water and leaned back on his palms, Micky stared at the side of his face for a second before copying the action. “So you guys are gonna pal around him again?” 

“I dunno about ‘pal around’, maybe ‘hang out’? Or if we’re crazy maybe a ‘get together’ here and there or perhaps a-” Micky’s sarcastic voice was cut off when Davy looked back again with heat in his eyes. 

“What do I say here, Davy? Yeah, he’s our friend. You don’t have to be around when he is, if you don’t want.” Micky pursed his lips and Davy gave a bitter laugh. 

“That’s great. I don’t have to be around if I don’t want to.” He shook his head. “I expected Mike would keep in touch. But c’mon Micky you’re my best mate and you’re gonna hang around my ex?” Davy’s voice was thick with hurt and Micky frowned. 

“Don’t make it sound like that.” Micky picked at his shoelace, feeling guilt in his chest. “The guy was so into you, he followed wherever you went with actual hearts in his eyes. And you-you just lead him on? When it was over, you told me that you two were just having fun. But Peter once told me that he could really fall for you-” 

Davy widened his eyes, not ever aware that Peter had ever said anything like that. 

“It’s not like he did anything horrible. He’s our friend.” Micky sighed, looking back to the water again. Davy felt his heart drop into his stomach and was overcome with the worst feeling of regret that he attempted to drown out. 

“So...how was his trip?” Davy asked, though he really didn’t want to know the details. Micky sighed with thought and shook his leg. 

“Good. He told me that it was really what he needed before he went back to school. He went all sorts of places...hearing him say it really makes you wanna do it, y’know? You should hear him say it.” Micky shrugged, his voice fading off in that higher pitch he used when he was nervous. 

Davy shook his head, seemingly offended at the suggestion. “Look, I’m just thinking that you could talk to him....cause I mean, just ‘having fun’ for six months? Really, Davy? You were into him more than you say. You were really happy when you two were a thing” Micky sniffled from the slight chill. 

“I’m not saying it was great to be six months into it and have Peter decided to go off on some soul-searching year trip. I would have been thrown off too.” Micky shrugged, the statement caught Davy’s attention. “But it was just a year of long distance. That’s not that bad. I know you really liked him, I don’t get why you had to make it seem like the whole ‘relationship’, whatever you wanna call it, was nothing to you.”

“I know you like to stick your nose into other people’s business, Micky. But-” Davy turned to fully face Micky who ran his hand through his hair. “Ok, maybe you’re right. I was really into Peter...like really into him. But Micky, I was freaking out.” Davy shook his head.

“Peter was the first guy I was really with...you know that.” Davy gestured and Micky nodded. “Commitment in general is not my thing, let alone to a guy. I knew that if I said yes to the long distance thing- that Peter and I were serious and I just-I wasn’t ready so I fucking blew it because I was scared.” Davy’s voice cracked and he turned away again. 

“You could have talked to him or hell, even me. You know I had some trouble with my sexuality too.” Micky gently pat Davy’s shoulder, who just looked more guilty. 

“I should have but I didn’t. It’s done. Nothing I can do about it.” Davy sighed, eyes a little watery. 

“This whole thing is really complicated. I just want us to all be friends cause I love you guys-” 

“You’re really naive, Micky. Did y’know that?” Davy intended to make those words sound harsh but looking at his friends face, they came out much softer. “I was real shit to Peter before he left. We aren’t going to mates, I can tell you that much.” 

“But if-” Micky was interrupted at the sound of his phone and slipped it from his pocket. “Hello?-Oh, I’m with Davy, yeah. -Noooo, I left them on the counter.” Micky’s face was taken over by a small grin and Davy felt a little jealous. 

“Look under the-No? They aren’t there?...Oh! You know what, I think I put them on the nightstand actually!” Micky smacked his forehead. Davy could hear Mike’s voice on the other end, annoyed but amused at Micky’s bad memory. 

“Ok.....I love you, be careful. Bye.” Micky hung up and threw Davy a sympathetic grin. “He couldn’t find his keys, he’s gonna get Peter now.”

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

Mike pulled up to just pick Peter up from the car but remembered Micky’s voice from the morning, nagging him about going inside to meet Peter at baggage claim. He sighed, turned his car around and went to park. 

Mike got inside, bought himself a coffee from the stand and sat down right where Peter should be coming in a few minutes. 

Mike kind of enjoyed the drive up there and he was about to complain about sitting around with a nice cup of coffee. He liked to watch the people passing about him and wonder where they were coming from or going to. 

His good time was soon to be interrupted as Peter made his way towards his, picking his bag up on the way. The orange bag rolled behind him as he strolled over to Mike with a large grin. “Mike!” 

Mike nearly jumped, having zoned out for the last five minutes or so. He stood with a small smile on his face. “Hey, Pete. How was your flight?” He stretched his back a bit and started to make his way out, Peter strolling next to him. 

“Good, little rough but..” Peter shrugged, his smile taking over his face. “good. Thanks for picking me up.” 

Mike sipped his coffee and nodded, holding the door open for Peter as he walked out. “No problem.”

“I’m guessing the meeting me in baggage claim was Micky’s idea?” Peter asked with a tiny chuckle, seeing right through Mike who had to chuckle too. 

“Yeah. I was just gonna pick you up from the car.” Mike opened the back of the car for Peter to toss his suitcase inside and they went off to get in their seats. He couldn’t help but notice the sparkly little weed key-chain Peter had put on it. He rolled his eyes. 

As Peter shut the car door, he tossed Mike a look. “Speaking of, I’ve been gone for a year so you two are up to around three years...?” Peter trailed off and Mike nodded. “Anything special going on for you guys?” Peter wiggled his eyebrows a little and Mike rolled his eyes, ready to dismiss him but felt a pang of insecurity. 

“Do you think there should be?” He asked, dreading an answer as Peter hummed. 

“I don’t know. I don’t know if I believe in marriage, myself but- I think three years is the appropriate time for engagement.” Peter spoke casually but Mike felt a rush of emotions at the words. 

“You don’t believe-? What do you mean you don’t believe in marriage?” Mike raised his eyebrow. “It’s not Bigfoot, Peter.” 

Peter chuckled, opening his window the tiniest bit for a little bit of a breeze. “I think people can have a long term, committed relationship without having to do all that.” He gestured weirdly into the air and Mike rolled his eyes. 

“But you think three years is the ‘appropriate amount of time’ before getting engaged?” Mike swallowed and Peter shrugged. Mike felt a rush of worry that he was supposed to be thinking about this a lot more than he had been. And worse, if Micky was thinking about it. 

“Where is Micky anyway?” Peter asked and Mike was distracted from his own worries to remember what he should be worried about. 

“Oh, he’s with Davy.” Mike shrugged, turning on his turn signal as Peter bit into his lip. 

“That reminds me..” Peter shuffled in his seat. “I was gonna say, I mean- we’d only been friends for six months before I left and you guys have known Davy for a long time so-I mean, I could-” Peter was cut off with a hand gesture from Mike. 

“Can I be honest with you, Pete?” 

Peter nodded, a little nervous “Sure.” 

“I think the whole thing with you and Davy is ridiculous.” Mike turned the wheel and narrowed his eyes to watch the road. “Davy’s my friend and all but I don’t think you two made a good match.” 

Peter frowned. Mike could tell he really wasn’t good at this. 

“I just mean-” Mike shook his head and breathed in to clear in his mind. “Maybe things happened the way they did because it’s not meant to be. Davy-He’s well he did a dumb thing...so maybe...” 

Peter could see Mike’s struggle and tried to help. “I can do better?” 

Mike nodded. 

Peter appreciated the help but. ‘I really doubt it.’ He thought to himself. 

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

“-And did Peter say anything about Davy?” Micky asked, tossing his fork around in the food Mike had brought home for them. Mike hummed, scratching the side of his face. He knew Micky was not going to be the biggest fan of the advice he gave. 

Mike hunched his body over, sliding his arms onto the counter and folding his hands. Micky glanced up, feeling the heat from being that close to each other. “What did you say to him?” 

“I didn’t say it technically...I was ramblin’...y’know like I do.” Mike lifted one of his hands to scratch the back of his neck and Micky let his fork go, it fell against his plate. 

“What did you tell him?” Micky pouted, which Mike found supremely adorable though he was most likely in trouble. 

“I may have lead Peter to the conclusion that he could do better than Davy.” Mike shrugged and Micky’s eyes flickered with heat.  He immediately reached over and smacked Mike’s arm. 

“Mike, you idiot! I’m trying to get them to work their shit out to get back together.” Micky scowled and Mike shook his head, standing up. 

“Why?”

“Any idiot can see they still like each other.” Micky slouched in his seat and rested his chin on his open palm. 

Mike bent over to get himself a drink from the fridge. “Apparently not every idiot though, huh?” Mike pointed to himself and Micky begrudgingly chuckled. 

“I think they need to give it another go. A second chance.” Micky rubbed his hands over his face and Mike looked at him with uncertainty. It was like the two of them were just on a different wavelength. 

“You didn’t hear what Davy said today. He-he messed up but, I mean, Peter going away for a year after six months freaked him out.” Micky shrugged as Mike pulled out a chair to sit across from him. “And Peter was the first and only guy Davy has ever been with, he was scared to commit and that’s why he ruined it. Not because he didn’t love Peter.” 

“Did he say he loved him?” Mike furrowed his brows and Micky slouched.

“No but the rest of it is what he told me. I know he loves him though.” Micky sat up straight again and Mike rolled his eyes.

“You know that?” Mike formed it as a question though he was quite familiar with Micky and his naivety. Micky slid his fork from his mouth and swallowed. 

“I know where you’re going with this and it irritates me.” Micky narrowed his eyes but Mike just shook his head. They were both familiar with where this was heading. 

The air between them suddenly got heavy and they both pulled back. They each went back to silently eating their food in their own different worlds for the moment. Micky did what he usually did, tried to find something to do with his hand that wasn’t busy with the fork. He slid his finger through the key-ring on his house keys. His funky little key-chains rattled against the table and Mike briefly looked up from his food. 

He was about to grin until the sight of Micky slipping the silver key-ring over his finger reminded him of something he really didn’t want to think about. He swallowed the hunk of food in his mouth and looked back at his plate. 

“Why are you being weird?” Micky asked casually as he slipped his fork past his lips again and Mike wiped his hand down his face. Sometimes it just surprised him how well Micky could read him. 

“I’m not-” Mike didn’t even finish the excuse before Micky gave him a look. “It’s just, you’re not expecting a proposal, are you?” Mike didn’t mean to be so blunt but that was something he was just too good at. 

Micky pulled back like he flinched, eyes widening with shock. Mike could tell Micky was completely thrown off, it didn’t take a genius to know. He ran his free hand through his hair. “From who?” Micky asked, a small smirk on his face that eased Mike intensely. Classic Micky. His Micky. 

“Don’t get all Mike about that.” Micky shook his head and Mike chuckled. 

“All Mike about it? What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Oh you know. When you overthink things that haven’t even happened yet and pull away from me.” Micky offered him a beautiful smile that Mike was distracted enough by to let Micky’s analysis pass. “C’mere” Micky tilted his head to the side, a few strands of his curly hair bounced. Mike was sold. He leaned over the counter to kiss him. 

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

“Marriage?” Davy fumbled a little with his words as Micky just nodded over and over next to him on his couch in his little dorm. He’d been increasingly bitterly jealous that Micky and Mike were able to get their own apartment and he was stuck here. The place irritated him to no end. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah-Apparently Peter said something to him. So yesterday he asked me if I was expecting a proposal. I didn’t wanna say I wanted one if he wasn’t into the idea-” Micky was also stumbling on his own words. “I think he thinks I’m cool with his whole ‘I’m ambiguous about what I want’ get up but ooooh Davy, I’m not.” 

Davy was having a hard time with Micky, who was a mile-a-minute talker. He tried to take it piece by piece. “Why would he think you’re cool?” 

“Well cause I made a joke-but I was nervous.” Micky bit his fingernails. “I really wanna be with him forever. I’ve known since day one. But Mike...I know he loves me but would he marry me? Propose? In public? God, he can’t even hold my hand in public. One time he said that I asked him for the sauce too sexually at Taco Bell but to be fair I was trying to sound saucy but it was only to make a pun-” 

“Micky, please. It’s not life or death, babe.” Davy pat his shoulder and shook his head. “But Peter said something to him that got him all wigged out about getting angaged?” Davy asked and Micky paused but nodded after a few seconds. 

“S’weird. On our first...umm date thing, I asked him to tell me some interesting things about himself and he told me he didn’t really believe in marriage.” Davy shrugged, looking a little confused. “ ‘Course he also told me he liked that dumb little weed key-chain I found for him and he threw that out so I wouldn’t trust him.” Davy shrugged. 

Micky paused on his issue as he remembered something Davy might like know. “Mike told me Peter had a weed key-chain on his suitcase.” Micky chuckled as he remembered how Mike seemed to be amused at that. Davy pulled back on his seat and frowned. 

“You know, I invited Peter over tonight cause I haven’t really seen him yet.” Micky tilted his chin up with that hopeful little smile on his face. 

“What does that have to do with me?” Davy asked, pretending not to know Micky’s intentions was just easier for him. Micky sighed and played with his hands. 

“Just come. It’ll be fun and Mike and I will be there so it won’t be weird-”

“That makes it even weirder Micky!” Davy burst, standing up to collect his bag to storm out of his own dorm. Micky leaned back on the couch and watched him walk around the room, without saying anything. “I really hurt him Mick. And you know...I am very confident that he doesn’t wanna see me.” 

“I’m sure he’ll be able to understand, at least a little bit, if you explain to him what you said to me.” Micky threw his hand up to gesture and Davy rolled his eyes. And with that, Davy did storm out of his dorm. Micky took a few seconds to sit on what Davy had said and put his face in his hands to let out a frustrated groan before standing up. 

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

One thing about being back in his hometown that Peter loved was that he had his old favorite place to smoke back. He would always come in the late afternoon when the sun was in just the right place to shin a little light spot on the concrete wall. It was always warm, no matter the weather. 

Getting high was a little therapeutic at the moment. The waves just a ways in front of him were hitting the sandy shore and darkening the sand. Just as a small breeze blew his hair, he puffed smoke from his lips in rings. 

He tilted his head up to watch the smoke fade into the air and caught sight of someone walking towards the beach in some kind of huff. It wasn’t until they got closer that Peter could recognize that huff and he was kind of mad at how his heart fluttered. For some reason, Peter turned his head away quickly and just waited for Davy to get close enough to recognize him. 

“Shit.” 

Peter rolled his eyes and glanced up, Davy standing just above him. He blew his smoke in the other direction as he seemingly froze in place. “Hey.” Peter rolled his lips together. Davy looked as if he was debating just booking it and running in the opposite direction. 

“Hi.” Davy finally decided on replying, his fingernails dug into his skin with nerves and he looked momentarily towards the water. “How was the trip?” He grimaced at his small talk and didn’t want to look back at Peter. 

“Good.” Peter nodded to himself. 

“That’s all. Micky really talked up how great it was to hear you talk about it.” Davy shrugged and Peter gave him a side-eye. “Look, I wasn’t going to have Micky corner us into talking. I know he’s got the best of intentions but let’s face it, he’s not the best at plans.” Davy waved his hand, still standing. 

Peter had to agree. Micky was a peacemaker...but a chaotic peacemaker. 

“But since we’re here...let’s hash this out, huh? Get it over with?” Davy gently nudged Peter with his foot and Peter felt a rush of warmth. He licked his lips and thought about it before scooting over to show Davy he was all welcome. 

Davy calmly sat down beside him and they silently looked over at the beach. Both of them were scared to talk first. 

“I have to know something.” Peter put out his joint and turned to Davy, feeling very vulnerable. Davy turned just the same, they locked eyes for a nervous little moment before they both looked elsewhere. “Was I really just a fling to you?” Peter felt uncomfortable heat in his chest that made  him sort of light-headed. 

Davy swallowed. “No.” 

Peter didn’t know whether he felt relieved or frustrated. He flickered his eyes back and forth from the wall to the beach. “Then why did you tell me that?” 

“Look Peter, hear me out-” Davy held up his hand and Peter nodded. “You were the first guy I was with. And everything was going so well...really well.” Davy paused and Peter let himself smile at the memories. 

“It was the best six months of my life.” Davy bit into his lip. “But then, when you started bringing up leaving for a year, I got freaked out. Long distance was this huge commitment and I’ve never been good at that. And it was a scary thing to fully admit to myself that I wanted to commit to a guy and not a girl.” Davy sighed. 

“And you were so sweet. You gave me time to myself to think about it even though I completely tried to ignore it until the night before. And that’s when I blew it. I was scared. I told you that we were just a fling because I was terrified because I knew that we weren’t.” Davy sighed and put his hands over his face. 

“I know that doesn’t excuse what I said to you that night. I know I hurt you because I was trying my best to make it seem like I didn’t care about what we had at all.” Davy’s eyes were watery and genuine. 

Peter raised his legs onto the wall, pulling his knees up and crossing his arms over them to rest his chin on. A very Peter thing to do that made Davy’s heart jump. 

“Micky told me that you told him that you could really fall for me?” Davy just had to ask about that and Peter was hesitant but nodded. “I’m such an asshole.” Davy shrugged, shaking his head. 

“I don’t think you’re an asshole.” Peter spoke softly and Davy hesitantly looked back at him. “I think you did an asshole thing.” He said with a tiny grin and Davy chuckled, wiping his sleeve under his eyes. “But I mean, I did kind of spur of the moment told you I wanted to leave for a year.” Peter shrugged. 

The sun was beginning to set just over the water as they simply stared at one and other. 

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

Micky rest his head in Mike’s lap as the man ran his fingers through his waves of hair. In his haste to fix Davy of his problem, Micky had almost forgotten why he’d sought out his friends help in the first place. He’d been very tempted to bring that engagement topic back up again but their day was going so well that he decided not to. He’d let Mike know of his failed attempt to invite Davy over as well and Mike had offered a simple ‘Maybe give it some time.’ 

It was only just turning into the evening, meaning Peter should be over soon.  It was right around the time whatever afternoon movie the two of them had missed, during their busy work of the day, was on the obscure film channel & was going into it’s ending. Which meant they could chill together on the couch and try and guess what the movie had even been about. A little tradition they had. 

“How long have there been aliens in this movie?” Mike squinted at the TV as Micky pulled the other mans hand from his hair and sat up a little so Mike’s arm could rest on his shoulders. 

“The whole time I guess.” Micky shrugged with a little grin. Mike looked down at  him and gave him a smile back. Micky snuggled closer, enjoying the warmth of his body heat. The movie was fading into it’s soundtrack and Mike tapped the beat out with his thumb against Micky’s shoulder, a habit of Mike’s that Micky adored. The quiet was interrupted with a knock and Mike sighed as Micky darted up. 

“Peter’s here.” He grinned and Mike chuckled. 

Much to his surprise, when he opened the door he found not just Peter but Davy. He pulled back a little before Peter reached over to hug him hello. Micky returned the gesture with confusion. “Mikeeeee, come look.” 

Mike got up from the couch and paused just the same as Micky had upon seeing their two friends. 

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

Micky and Davy sat on the couch in the living room while Mike got Peter a drink in the kitchen. “Soooo, how-I mean-what happened?” 

Peter chuckled. “Davy and I talked. We’re cool.” 

“Just friends cool or-?” Mike asked and Peter gave him a smile. 

“We’re seeing where it goes from here.” Peter looked back over where Micky was basically eating up every word that Davy said, the look on his face was priceless. 

“Why? I mean, I thought Davy really hurt you?” Mike simply couldn’t understand what was happening and Peter leaned against the counter, still looking at Davy. 

“He did. But I forgave him-” Peter could tell Mike was gonna interrupt again so he held up his hand. “Because if you love a person, and you don't want to be without him, you forgive them.” Peter shrugged. “We’re seeing where this goes, slowly but surely.” 

Mike couldn’t lie, the two of them looked much happier. Peter was practically glowing and Davy looked as giddy as a teenager as he spoke to Micky. 

“When you wanna be with someone, be with them.” Peter smiled and Mike felt a shiver up his spine as he looked to Micky, his Micky. 

He wanted to be with Micky. Might as well set it in stone. He was sure he could get his grandmother’s ring. He was gonna give himself some time to actually work up the nerve but Peter was right. 

The four of them had dinner in the living room like the old days. Peter and Davy were a little hesitant, like new lovers again. And Micky and Mike were so in sync like and old married couple, which was definitely in their future. 

[davidastbury]

Early Morning .... Manchester ... postcode M1 4RJ

Pavement littered with the detritus of last night’s fun and folly - smashed bottles, crushed cans, pizza packaging, Costa cups, vaping cartridges, vomit.

I was stepping carefully, skipping over pools, when I came face to face with a lovely Japanese couple. They were adults but looked about twelve - identical mops of the blackest hair imaginable and Pierrot white faces. He in belted baggy jeans; she in a very abbreviated Burberry mini-skirt.

There was an instant recognition of our incongruity- they probably thought I looked funny jumping over the puddles; I thought they looked absolutely divine. So we all laughed - and then I carried on, stepping carefully around the smashed bottles, crushed cans and vaping cartridges.

THE American

Henry James said that the Fellow’s Garden at Trinity Hall, Cambridge was the most perfect small garden in Europe ...

‘ ... The trees are of prodigious size; they occupy half the garden, and are remarkable for the fact that their giant limbs strike down into the earth, take root again and emulate, as they rise, the majesty of the parent stem. The manner in which this magnificent group of horse-chestnuts sprawl about over the grass, out into the middle of the lawn, is one of the most heart-shaking features of the garden ... ‘

He also rhapsodised about ‘the other place’ ...

‘... the beautiful gardens of the Oxford Colleges - charming lawns and spreading trees, music of Grenadier Guards, ices in striped marquees, mild flirtation of youthful gownsmen and bemuslined maidens; memories too, of quiet dinner in common-room, a decorous, excellent repast; old portraits on the walls and great windows open upon the ancient court, where the afternoon light was fading in the stillness; superior talk upon current topics, and over all the peculiar air of Oxford - the air of liberty to care for the things of the mind assured and secured by machinery which in itself a satisfaction to sense.’

North of Cambridge

The train was delayed somewhere north of Cambridge and then went at a crazy gallop as if trying to make up lost time. Imogen stared out at the blur of landscape, she was in a foul mood. Her boyfriend, knowing her as he did, realised that there wouldn’t be much enjoyment for him - she was in one of her ‘pushing away’ moods - yet he was under the spell of that mane of red hair and her peevish, caustic, perfection.

‘There’s my school!’ - she called out, pointing at a building in the distance. He decided to go along with her mood and said it looked like a Victorian mental asylum. ‘Good description’ - she replied. ‘Apart from me, it’s full of very tall girls whose fathers are Church of England vicars - or their dads are dead and the church pays the fees.’

And he was right ... there wasn’t much enjoyment that day. The railway line was long since ripped up; the school demolished and is now a science park; everything has gone - Imogen has gone, leaving memories that crumble when touched, like ancient paper or dried flowers.

And only now - at such a distance in time, does the enjoyment pour through.

Young Couple ... 1965

It was a soft goodbye - they’d see each other again - three months wasn’t all that long - it would pass. But he was gloomy and she put her arms around him and made him smile. And the train pulled up noisily; awful squealing brakes, doors slamming open, it was difficult saying anything. He stood at the window and looked down at her and felt that he might never see her again - or he might see her but she would no longer look at him this way. And then it was all over - the train moved, laboriously gathering speed.

He wanted to turn away - go to a seat like everyone else - but he stayed at the window, seeing her vanish.

But he wasn’t aware of the railway’s eccentric topography. The little station passed out of view causing the young man to think - ‘Well, that’s that!’ - but a few seconds later it came back into view. He could see the station again; he could see her again. And then a huge building, railway sheds, blocked everything - but then it cleared and again he could see her. This occurred a few more times and it horribly disturbed him. Saying the goodbye was bad enough - he could still kindle hopes - but these repeated views hammered home the message - ‘You will never see her again’.

A French Trip 1965

Paris was fabulous but he had liked Deauville and Trouville far more. Those two little towns on the Normandy coast made his heart sing. He felt he had stepped into the pages of Proust! The sea-air and gulls; the ribbon of ornate railings; the iron street-lights converted from gas; the butter yellow facades of the hotels where uniformed men held back the doors; the excitement of foreign faces; the elderly women, white-haired and fierce looking, sitting in their wheel-chairs being pushed along by nurses; the wonderful French men with their grey flannel suits and silk ties, smoking Gauloises cigarettes; the feeling of a charming ill-health, not the frightening kind, more like when you were a child and your mother was looking after you; the clever girls leaving the Lycée each afternoon so stylish in school uniform, so pretty, so ... je ne sais quoi; the little cafes, modest and plain, yet serving Chateaubriand steaks few London restaurants could match; the sunshine and elegance and gorgeous ease of it all - he was captivated.

Going back to England filled him with dismay - but there was one further surprise. He and his friend boarded a boat from Dieppe to Newhaven. Again it was a beautiful afternoon. The top deck was quite crowded and he leaned on the handrail watching the complications of disengaging ropes and the jerky manoeuvres to leave the jetty. The boat shuddered and the gulls screamed. People laughed as they almost overbalanced. A man wearing an apron was selling drinks; black coal smoke poured from the chimney but was deflected by the breeze; a young teacher with a party of tiny children got them singing; an elderly man wearing shiny brogue shoes looked up at the sky, as if praying; a woman was clutching her pet dog, nuzzling him with kisses and the dog looked over her shoulder, tongue out.

And in the middle of all this - like the motionless centre of a tornado - stood the most astonishingly beautiful girl he had ever seen. He was nineteen and fearless - he went up to her as if going to his death.

She took his hand and smiled.

She said - ‘My name is Agnes Bujold and my town is Dijon.’

Anna

I’ve mentioned Anna before - the student nurse at St Thomas’ Hospital, married to the unemployed drummer. She was gentle, soft-spoken, generous and uncomplaining, even when her husband brought home his pals from the pub - usually out of work musicians but also every sort of drunk who had missed the last train home, or didn’t have a home to go to. Even at the end of a long shift, when she must have been exhausted, she sorted out supper and carried heaps of bedding.

It taught me a lesson - confirmed many times over the years - that women will overlook mediocrity in their men. Once their heart is set on someone they will overlook almost anything. Anna was a much finer person than her husband. She had intuitions and intelligence far beyond his. She probably climbed upwards through the nursing grades - she had a brilliance about her - he probably didn’t change, he would drift in and out of work, sometimes making money, sometimes playing for the beer. Yet she wouldn’t hold his lack of success against him; she wouldn’t ever make him feel a failure. Her only demand, perhaps never spoken in that soft Welsh voice of hers, was that he treasured her above anyone else - that was all that mattered.

Took a walk today - a few miles along main roads, side roads, country lanes and so on. Passed lots of people but no one I knew; no one wanted me to stop and talk - but - so many (I didn’t count, but it was a lot) smiled and said hello. I’ve never experienced that before.

It’s not all jostling and fighting in supermarkets - people are nice to each other; there is friendliness and affection.

Haircut in Houmt-Souk

He was a charmer! The barber of Djerba, small and bald and old, but nimble on his feet, skilfully snipping the undergrowth at the back of my neck, all the time chirruping in an amalgam of English, French, Arabic etc. Delighted to have a foreigner captive on his faux leather chair. I could see him beaming at me in the peeling mirror - around which were fading Polaroid snaps of the man himself - much younger - in a white tuxedo and bow tie - brandishing a violin.

‘So you are a musician?’ I asked.

He swelled with pride and nodded enthusiastically. I made some pleasant remarks and then he vanished into a side room behind a plastic screen. He reappeared carrying a violin case.

What happened next was a concert - for me and for those waiting their turn. His eyes closed and started to play - ecstatic romantic music - palm court music - Viennese waltzes, Polkas, sobbings and pleadings from his violin - the ache of separation, the hope of meeting again, deepest melancholy, and then! Back to the frivolous and pretty!

This man had played on ocean liners and in palaces. He had been in Egypt before the revolution - the one in 1952 - he mentioned parties for Soraya, the second wife of the Shah of Iran. He had played for everyone - and he was playing for me!

His head was back, swaying to Strauss - a small crowd had gathered. The door was open and the sound had reached the street. Everyone was smiling and nodding to me and the doorway was blocked with small children playing imaginary violins.

‘ ... and hearts that we broke long ago, have long been breaking others ... ‘

W. H. Auden

She had finished with him and he had only himself to blame. Word had got back to her that he’d been seen with another girl and she wasn’t having any excuses. So she finished with him - dumped him as the modern term has it - and there couldn’t be any reconciliation; it was over; totally.

He felt unhappy and angry with himself for a while. Eventually the guilt eased and eventually faded altogether, but then unexpectedly returned in a different form - he was afraid that he may have hurt her in a way that had not occurred to him at the time. He had adored her and she must have known it - he rushed to meet her - he loved being with her - he was always surprising her with gifts - he put her wishes before his own - he couldn’t get enough of her loveliness - but he began to feel a dreadful realisation that he hadn’t made her see how much he liked her - how much he simply liked her.

[mattyslittleworld]

Never Meant

I hear “What are we going through? You and me?” as I watch the sunlight literally tear through the black clouds that were hanging over my town. This is my favorite song by The National - Hairpin Turns. It’s so fucking brutal, and it seems like, to me, he is absolutely desperately fucking annihilated by losing whoever he lost. I’ve been there. And I thought I was going to be there again, pretty soon. I am currently pulled over in my car in a parking lot, as I was on a little drive through the neighborhood. Coffee and some beautiful, subtle music. The sun was out all day, and it’s t shirt weather. So me and Gionna’s ex boyfriends American Nightmare shirt (lol) went on a windows down stroll until suddenly the bright sky was filled with darkness. My one moment to forget about all of this madness was being pushed aside, I just wanted to pretend it was summer, shit was normal, and feel calm and collected, as if literal iced out trucks weren’t being filled with corpses outside of hospitals. We’ve all lost people, in a week, 5 deaths close to my immediate family, bringing my family itself stronger and closer together. Here I am driving into a storm, in a t shirt, just like the current state of American Society. Until.....the clouds part....and as I drive slowly down 35 north....the sunlight starts dancing in the most beautiful way. It was almost an epiphany and it made me think. It made me pull over - within the beautiful chorus of this National song...eloquently tiptoeing in the background. I felt calm. I smirked. If there was a god up top, I thank my guy. But it made me think - hey - we may be walking into a black cloud in just a t shirt, for we’ve been blindsided, but if you walk forward....maybe the sun will come and shit will be better than expected if we stand tall and be brave and love. 

“What are we going through? You and me...”

Currently writing at 2:15 am - two days later than what appears above this. 

I didn’t record any music today, unlike every single day of this quarantine we’ve all been locked into. I wake up, walk over to the mic, which is brand new - and pull up beats or pick up the guitar and hack away. Even if its horrible, its just important to me to get it out. Stack and stack and stack and stack. Ive discovered that during this quarantine - the isolation is making me look inward, and subconsciously pick away at the thing I’ve been chasing for the past few years that ive been so curious and scared about cracking open. But with no distraction of the outside world…because its literally shut down…it makes sense the little bits and pieces of this thing that’s been bleeding into my music….like I said with no distractions…POURS OUT OF ME effortlessly. Im like okay this makes hella sense. With dark city lights and the cage shit and even with the Albee shit I was like…okay this is a NEW DOOR. But do I walk through it? What do I wear? Can I walk back out or will it lock once I get in there? Is it a trap? I need more information. I need more clarity. So without me really knowing what’s in there - I feel like little bits and pieces have been bleeding into my work. And now I finally busted that fucking door down and it wasnt a room…it was the exit to the trap I was existing in my whole musical career. Now liberated. Now free. Now born. This has been so inspiring to me because what people don't really realize about this genre is that its a full on contact sport. Its competitive. Its similar to being an athlete. Which I was my whole life. Similar to basketball - you gotta stay in the gym and the more work you put in...the more shots you take...the better your jump shot is. same with this...theres a fucking skill to it. You can be really good at it. Or you can be trash. And you can utilize it in the most combative ways. It gives me something to attack and focus my need of competitiveness on. Another thing I can obsess over. The samples ive been using in my beats have not ever been used before. These ideas are brand new in this shit. The topics I am spitting about are so serious to me. I want nothing to do with the stereotypical rapper aesthetic - the gimmicks - the drugs….all that can fuck off. I want to make a difference and tackle drug abuse, depression, anxiety, anger, the violence ive seen my whole life, hardcore, my old friends, my new friends, my love life, everything ive experienced. Im using actual real names, with actual real life things that happened with 0 apology about how you feel about it. I want to utilize this to up the worth of my words and vocabulary and paint the portrait of my life. I want it to mean something. I want to make change. Even if its on a small level. Man I feel everything. Its insane how this could all be so evident with just non stop self reflection. You vs. You….who will you become? Like I said…wake up. Hit the mic or bring up beats and just cook. If that hits a wall…just study study study study podcasts and interviews for hours and hours and hours. After that ill play basketball, run a mile, work out, and take it down to Ozark lol. Im invested. I don’t do anything illegal cause im a lil bish ass pussy but I wanna do some crazy shit lolol. 

Anyway, original point, I didn’t record any music. I was feeling restless and packed my shit and drove for literally 5 hours tonight. Went up 287. Hit a few nostalgic spots that I love so much and hold close to my heart. I listened to all the music ive been making. But mainly the objective was to just take a day to free myself of this grind and quarantine and be a fan of music….in the world….and reconnect with that feeling it gives you. I listened to early Alicia Keys, first Drake album, some Russ, some old folk shit, so much beautiful music. Damn it really moved me. 5 hours I drove around just visiting places that my heart are attached to. Those milestone places. Little ones….like a diner in Clark I went to once but something important started there. Or a venue in Hackensack called School Of Rock that I met my boy Alex at…when we attend a Horse The Band show together with a few homies and I got yelled at by some girl by the Merch table cause I used to be so fat and moshed so hard and punched like 14 people in the face and it was so not cool and so out of place lmao. I was in a awkward dress shirt I looked straight out of fucking Billy Madison. Horrible. Its always so interesting to me to return to places like this…after years and years and years of it only being a distant memory…to kind of return and prove it was real. I am such a different person now. As we all are. But I really drifted into a whole other land of opportunity that exists outside of everything I grew up around. Socially too. So sometimes it really does feel like everything and everyone I loved….everything I experienced…was just a dream and didn’t exist. It’s so odd. People I knew for 20 years…have no idea about anything I do now. They just see my social media. But that line is drawn. And vice versa - everyone in my life have 0 idea of my life prior. The people, the interests, the stories I tell are foreign. They’re like hardcore? Whats that? And meanwhile that was the most important thing in my life for literally 20 years….and if you told the people in my life at that time that the people in my life in the future wouldn’t even know what hardcore was….theyd be thoroughly confused as to why I was lying to them. But life goes on…and hey…sometimes you gotta take a trip down memory lane and cry in your car tears of joy that you don’t have to fucking fight loading in your gear anymore and you get to have platinum selling artists touch your beats. Or you get to sing songs with billboard charting artists, who have the biggest billboards you ever seen ,light up Times Square right above the spot you found a 100 dollars with your first love. If you told me that when I found that shit years ago id be like eat a dick we’re going to see Ceremony at the warren American legion peaaaaace lolol. 

Side bar - im listening to the national again. 

But this time the song “Quiet Light” and I want to point out that I think its magnificently adorable that a lyric is

“Im not the spiritual type…I still go out all the time to department stores” 

I have literally no idea what that means but I think its mad cute.

Department stores are cute as fuck because “things” are cute.

Like little things to put on bigger things yanno lol?

I think this song is entirely too amazing to be released to the public, it really makes you question everything you ever made, and reality.  I mean the line “between you and me I still fall apart at the sound of your voice”…OOF. Im just sitting here at 2:46 am on this Sunday, with my eyes closing for small moments to really soak in the beauty of this master piece. Whoever he is talking to ruined him. Ive been ruined, I understand and empathize with this. Primarily making rap and pop music it really opens up my taste to this indie type shit…really falls right into that open wound in the best way. It stings because it hits home so hard, but its so eloquent at the same time. Almost addicting. I want to take a lot of these sounds recreate them, and apply that to the music im making now that exists outside of this genre. I think it’d be crazy and it’d cross two worlds that haven’t been crossed. Damn im out here giving away the tea to you useless fuckers. 

Last night I had a dream about an old friend, that I don’t think is healthy in this time of my life to be around….but damn…it was like I relapsed on the heroin of our friendship. It was the realest shit I have ever dreamt. I woke up - with the exact feeling you get when you go home after you hangout with somebody in the flesh. This whole day it was very real, and felt like I spent a whole night with them, and all my wounds were reopened, all the great times were revisited, and it was just brought to the forefront of my mental. As if we just met. Its crazy dreams can do that. Its just sad that this is such a toxic relationship, and the inevitable cannot be avoided, and a true bond that exists somewhere, deep deep deep down in it, has to be supressed because of the negativity it brings. In the dream we were older, existing without issues, exploring that bond, with issues pushed aside. It was beautiful. I woke up genuinely upset, confused, with a wish that maybe one day we could meet again In a place that’s safe and relevant to who we are. Im at a point in my life where I haven't answered the phone in month for anybody, answered text messages, my bags are packed waiting for this shit to be over with so the rest of my life can begin. Theres no time for friends, love, social activities, or anything that doesn't have to do with business. But there will be a time in the future. This has visited me in the past before. Its interesting when you have to suppress shit that’s extremely bad for you, because its the right thing for you to do…but then the universe bypasses that completely and shakes your fucking soul. During the rest of my day I started realizing that I am really not okay with this person not in my life, like deep in my soul. Its too much of a damn shame, we’ve been through too much together. Every huge milestone in my life as a kid was shared with this person…years and years of growth. Every story I share with people in my life now, was experienced with them, every amazing time, every horrible life altering time. I learned so much, and even taught. I became a young man with them, and then a man. How is it that these new people around in my life have my time…but this person doesn’t? One day we will meet again…when the time is right…..in a different time of our lives. When it’s right. For us. You were my best friend, and no matter how far we are from each other….I got you. In the  depths of my soul and heart. Id literally kill somebody and go to prison for murder for you. But if you happen to read this - you already know that. 

I am listening to “Never Meant” by American Football.

To quote Mike Kinsella 

“Lets just pretend

Everything and

Anything between you and me

Was never meant

Was never meant”

-1-

[doodlewash]

I’ve just launched a brand new Da Vinci Trio that I hope you’ll enjoy as much as I do! (please read on for my marble mixes using these colors as well as lots of sample paintings). Da Vinci Trios are those awesome little artist-curated sets with three 8ml watercolor tubes and mixing suggestions that first launched in April 2018.

My new Da Vinci Trio is called the “Vintage” trio because mixing these colors took me back to my childhood during the 70’s with faded blue jeans, greens and golds, along with pops of orange and brown. Yeah, I contemplated calling it “That 70’s Trio,” but vintage works just fine as well, since it’s not really limited to a decade. But, for me at least, it created a trip down memory lane and the start of a wonderful journey to embark upon.

Painted Using Only My “Vintage” Da Vinci Trio

If you did happen to be around during the 70’s, you’ll no doubt remember those shiny kitchen appliances that actually came in a few colors, but two of the most popular colors were Harvest Gold and Avocado Green. These would be nestled into place and surrounded by deep brown wood cabinetry. Yep, even the Tupperware containers were made to match! It was, perhaps, a bit overkill in a single kitchen, but as a palette, I find using Harvest Gold and Avocado green to be really quite lovely. It works just wonderfully for memories of miniature golf or, as it turns out, it’s pretty perfect for painting actual avocados.

Painted Using Only My “Vintage” Da Vinci Trio

Painted Using Only My “Vintage” Da Vinci Trio

If you’d like to learn more about Da Vinci Trios, please be sure to check out the initial launch post here, or if you’d like to learn more about Da Vinci Watercolors, be sure to read Jessica’s full review here! Read on to learn all about my new trio!

Charlie’s “Vintage” Da Vinci Trio

SO, what are these three wonderful colors that created such fun and nostalgia for me in creating my Vintage Trio? A lovely mix of Aureolin, Vermilion, and Indigo! When I was deciding on what trio to create, I mixed these colors on a whim and was immediately hooked.

Aureolin (Mixture) (PY40/PY3 – Transparent)

This lovely and light yellow is beautiful on its own and creates a nice glow as an underpainting in a light wash. It’s great to add a bit of pop to citrus fruits or to mix with other colors, which is primarily how I use it. Despite its lighter color, there’s a richness and intensity there so a little can go a very long way. With just the tiniest drop of Indigo, you can get a lovely and bright green that almost glows or you can add a bit more to get an earthy shade of green. Similarly, a tiny drop of Vermilion can create a fiery orange glow.

Vermilion (Hue) (PR188/PO62 – Semi-transparent)

This color is definitely one of my new favorites. In lighter washes, it’s a lovely orange shade, but used with very little water or built up with several washes, you can get a beautiful red that can look even redder based on the colors with which you surround it (check out those tomatoes below!) Though this and Indigo won’t combine to give you purple, you will get a gorgeous chocolatey brown that already has a reddish tint to make those food sketches of chocolate treats look even more appetizing.

Indigo (PB27/PV19 – Transparent)

As an illustrator, I immediately fell in love with this deep and rich blue. It’s a wonderful way to quickly add dark contrast to my sketches, while doing so with a hue to keep things from looking too dull. It’s become my a new favorite as well and you’ll find it making an appearance in most of my daily sketches. If you follow daily illustrations, you’ll notice that I like things to look extra bright and happy. In order to achieve those effects, it’s actually the darker tones that make the paper white and lighter colors really pop. So this moody blue is totally perfect for elevating the mood a bit and creating that bright level of contrast.

My Marble Mixing Chart

Here’s a few of my marble mixes you can get from this “Vintage” trio. As I mentioned in my first trio post, my inner child doesn’t like to make swatches, so I always make marbles instead. Because of the quick style in which I paint, often without letting every layer dry completely, these marbles are a bit more accurate to how I actually mix color.

Also, as before, this isn’t a triad, so you won’t be able to get a bright purple from this mix, but you can get just about every single color that was popular when I was a little kid in the 70’s, so that’s why I called this one “Vintage,” which yes, also makes me feel old, but thankfully not old enough to qualify for “antique” yet. Though this trio works quite well when painting them.

Painted Using Only My “Vintage” Da Vinci Trio

Painted Using Only My “Vintage” Da Vinci Trio

These are not shy colors, so it often takes only the tiniest drop of another color in this palette to transform them. Or a perfectly balanced combo of two of them to get a specific color for a mix. Here’s an example with Aureolin and Indigo. Note, how just a drop of Indigo in Aureolin creates a very bright, almost acid green, while just a drop more quickly moves it to a calmer, forest green. While an equal blend makes for a faded green that I find rather pretty.

When it comes to Neutrals and this palette, you can actually get a gorgeous grey from a delicately balanced combo of Vermilion and Indigo. Adding extra of either color will bring you to the deep blue blacks and deep rich browns that are quite lovely in this mix. And mixing all three with a lot of water can give you some lovely pastel neutrals like a faded green or even a dusty pink.

To be honest, I tend to splash colors about a bit on my palette and don’t approach color in a horribly scientific way, preferring to go by impulse alone. Sometimes, okay most of the time, I grab for the accidental mixes that occur when my paint blends together on the palette. So it’s not easy for me to explain each and every mix, since some of them happen in the messy moment and I’m still finding them and making them up as I go along!

What I always suggest is a fair amount of playing and splashing when you want to try new mixes. It’s in those more playful and less controlled moments that the unexpected discoveries are made. Below you can see some examples of these neutrals at play in an elephant and her baby that was created with only Vermilion and Indigo, and a pen and ink set that adds just a few pops of Aureolin at the very end, simply to give the illusion of having more colors present.

I adore the range that I can get from these colors and the fond memories that flood back to me, harkening back to a time when many of these colors were are all the rage. A bold, yet still more subdued palette before those bright pastels and neons blasted their way into the 80’s.

Charlie’s “Vintage” Da Vinci Watercolor Trio – Watercolor Marble Mixing Chart

Here’s a full chart of my marble mixes so you can get an idea of the range you can achieve with these colors. I make these marbles by first painting with water, leaving white for the highlights, then I jump in with various colors, pushing colors a bit toward the edges to both create the outline of the marble, but also to quickly see the darkest shades as well. The shadow is dashed in with whatever remains on my brush, which often, depending on the colors is a more neutral shade as the colors have then blended together.

I love this technique, because you can create each marble in a quick single pass, an entire chart like this one in less than 10 minutes, and simply wait for it all to dry at the very end to see the final magical color mixes that are revealed. Plus, it’s just really fun to DO!

My “Vintage” Trio – Even More Painting Examples

I had a blast using this trio and found myself reaching for these colors on a fairly regular basis recently. So here are some more examples of what you can make with this little set. When I first began testing these colors, things stayed very vintage, from camper vans to that 70’s sensation of the Pet Rock.

  Painted Using Only My “Vintage” Trio

Painted Using Only My “Vintage” Trio

Painted Using Only My “Vintage” Trio

I quickly discovered that this Vintage Trio can be used to paint just about anything at all, and decided to give animals a try. Yep, these colors will work well for that too, and allow you to paint all sorts of animals, from parrots to alpacas!

Painted Using Only My “Vintage” Trio

Painted Using Only My “Vintage” Trio

Painted Using Only My “Vintage” Trio

And lastly, here are some examples of the rich tomato reds and glowing amber colors you can get with this trio, and, I did mention chocolate, right? Below are those delicious browns that might look a bit dated today on kitchen cabinetry, but can make chocolate desserts look really yummy! And a vintage trio would certainly not be complete without paying homage to the TV dinner.

Painted Using Only My “Vintage” Trio

Painted Using Only My “Vintage” Trio

  Painted Using Only My “Vintage” Trio

Painted Using Only My “Vintage” Trio

Conclusion

Painted Using Only My “Vintage” Trio – Available NOW!

I hope you’ve enjoyed my overview of mixes in my “Vintage” trio and I do hope I’ve appropriately wooed you into clicking here to purchase this set for yourself or someone you love! Each trio is only $19.95, with three 8ml tubes, a little brochure with info on the artist as well as a mixing chart (or yeah, marbles in my case). This is a wonderfully fun and affordable way to try new colors, so I do hope you’ll give mine a try and share what you make with me!

I love this Da Vinci Trio project as it’s a blast to do and, most of all, really fun to see what the other artists come up with in their trio. You’ll find many Doodlewash featured artists in the mix, so please check out their wonderful trios and support them as well (dare I say, collect them all!): Jane Blundell, Denise Soden, Kate Powell, Jennifer McLean,and Tonya Lee.

Da Vinci Watercolor Trios are available now! Click Here To Shop Them ALL And Make Your Own #DaVinciMoment!

My NEW Da Vinci Watercolor "Vintage" Trio! has launched! Check it out! - #DaVinciMoment #watercolor #watercolour #artsupplies #artist #doodlewash #WorldWatercolorGroup I've just launched a brand new Da Vinci Trio that I hope you'll enjoy as much as I do!

[almostdiplomatic]

Just like that, it’s February. Did you even feel January pass you by? I sure as hell did not. It’s been one crazy month and my husband and I were totally wrong when we thought 2018 would become a little less busy for us. But like I always say – busy is good. And we always find time for fun anyways. Today’s post, however, is another one of my Throwback Travels. It’s 1°C outside in Berlin today with some sun peeking out so I thought I’d bring you over with me down (not so distant) memory lane to Dubrovnik in Croatia.

Dubrovnik where the weather was pure perfection when we went last summer. Where the water was just the most exquisite shade of blue. Where people were as bright as the sun and the food was just spectacular. I’ve bookmarked this place for my dream retirement. That’s how much I loved it.

You see, we arrived in Berlin in April last year. It was right smack in the middle of spring yet the weather wasn’t anywhere near pleasant. There was even a day when the weather decided to freak out and it snowed. I was, of course, ill-prepared for it and it resulted in a horrible bout of the flu. #TropicalGirlThroughAndThrough

So, once summer rolled in, I was itching for some time in the water. While Berlin does have lakes, they weren’t enough to satiate my craving for some sun, sea, and sand. Enter the upcoming end of the last season of Game of Thrones last year and the impending purgatory of a wait for season 8. That really was the push that my husband (who’s not a beach person, by the way) needed to get out of the city, file a one day leave, and get his wife the weekend beach trip she’s been begging for.

  And boy, did we enjoy.

History, culture, the beach, food, architecture, and a bit of geekery. If Dubrovnik was food, it would be pizza with all the different toppings we love, blending in beautifully over that perfectly done pie and crust.

I’m not going to talk about the must-sees in Dubrovnik in this post anymore. I already wrote about that for The Binge.

I also made a travel video for Rappler and an article about the businesses that are booming there because of Game of Thrones for Forbes.

But I will share some more tips towards the end of this article to make your trip more fun and budget-friendly.

Tips for Your Visit

Dubrovnik Card

If you want to save some serious Kuna, you better buy the Dubrovnik Card. It’s available in one, three, and seven-day versions starting at HRK171 (USD28.56). It gives you free public transport and lets you enter the major attractions – including the top of the city’s walls. My favourites such as the Maritime Museum, Fort Lovrijenac, the Franciscan Monastery, and the Cultural Historical Museum are also included so it’s such an amazing deal.

Just for the Dubrovnik City Walls and Fort Lovrijenac will already set you back HRK150 (USD25.05) so might as well get the card that lets you take the bus to and from your hotel as well.

Boat Tours

  Take the boat tour during lunch hour. Yes, around 12nn or 1pm while everyone is busy eating. We paid around EUR10 (USD12.42) and ended up having the glass bottom boat to ourselves because nobody else booked a tour for that time.

Where to Stay?

I can highly recommend the Valamar group of hotels. We stayed in Valamar Lacroma which came out pretty affordable at that time because we were able to book a few months before our trip. Luxury at an affordable rate should be my middle name. But that’s just one too many words.

I like their breakfast buffet as well with all the choices available. They have two swimming pools and staying at Valamar Lacroma also gives you access to the beach area of Valamar President which is right beside it.

How’s the swimming?

If like us, you’re used to powdery, soft sand, well you’re in for a bit of disappointment. Dubrovnik’s beaches are rocky but I ended up enjoying myself anyway. I just needed to swim with my flip flops in tow and get over the fear of jumping off the ledges that bring you to really deep parts of the water.

It was easy once I saw little kids doing it. They brought out my competitive gene.

You can also swim near the Old City. There are lots of rock formations by the sea where you can just leave your clothes and jump into the water – if you’re brave enough.

Shopping?

I urge you to shop and support the locals. Most of the Croatians in Dubrovnik make a living through the arrival of tourists in their city. Also, your hard-earned cash goes a long way. I didn’t see one shop that sold overpriced goods. Even some of the Game of Thrones and Star Wars collectables were affordable.

Their handmade items are of really high quality and the skin care they sell at the Franciscan Monastery is just amazing. Get the lavender cream if you’ve got sensitive skin!

What do we eat?

Seafood, seafood, seafood! Oh, and pizza at this really small place called Tomato Pizzeria – just outside the Old City (through Pile Gate). It’s near the bus station to Babin Kuk.

But make sure you get it with anchovies because why are you even near the Adriatic if you don’t want to have some? But seriously – they’re so good!

There are lots of choices inside the Old City and it’s such a lovely place to dine at for dinner.

  You sit outside, under the stars while you have a lovely dinner and drink some good wine. Bring a shawl as it can get windy at night, though.

If you’re someone looking for affordable options, I can assure you that you will find fancy restaurants inside the Old City that are extremely affordable. Especially if you compare the prices to like Berlin or Amsterdam.

Oh, and another thing – it’s good to note that as soon as you step out of the Old City, prices would drop even more. Even for that bottle of water or that scoop of ice cream you’ve been craving for due to the hot and humid weather.

And there you have it. My Dubrovnik photo diary! 🙂 Hope you enjoyed and once again, if you need any more information. Check out the links I posted above for the other articles I wrote and the video made about Dubrovnik.

Do share this on Pinterest if you enjoyed this post!

More later!

Love,

Carol

  Photo Diary: One Summer Weekend in Dubrovnik Just like that, it's February. Did you even feel January pass you by? I sure as hell did not.