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arcane-abomination · 10 months

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This is a topic that can get very confusing for those starting out. There are lots of interchanging terminology, beliefs, and constructs that not everyone sees fit to agree on. This can often create misunderstandings and propagate the misuse of certian energies making navigation for newcomers more than just problematic. In this blog, I will attempt to systematize some of the complexities enough to deliver a more organized path for beginners to follow and build upon.

Keep in mind, however, that while there are some definite rules to thoughtforms there is also a well of UPG around this topic. The knowledge surrounding thoughtforms changes quite considerably with the beliefs of the individuals that practice it. So take from this blog what you will.

The Basics

So I bet some of you are asking, what exactly is a thoughtform? Well, that’s a being created from our beliefs and thoughts. They are made up of energy and can be utilized in magickal workings. Now there is some confusion among some members of the community here. Sometimes the term is not seen as the umbrella term it really is and instead becomes a varying type all on its own. However, to fully understand where this name fits we need only break it down in its simple meaning. "A being formed by the power of thought." This clearly describes a variety of different beings, not just a singular one, hence why it's more traditionally used as an umbrella term.

⚜️ Creation ⚜️

A thoughtform’s creation will ultimately depend on the witch but essentially most agree it starts with finding a purpose. From there you can build it up starting with a name. A name binds the thing into existence so this is most often agreed upon to be a very important step. From this most people use that name to create a sigil. Others make a symbol on their own and bind it to the name afterward. Either way, it’s often seen as an essential step in the process. A sigil gives the thoughtform a physical foundation to draw energy from and affect the real world. Some witches in turn will then place that sigil on a vessel for their thoughtform to connect to, while others draw it in the air with energy.

Finally comes the fun part, designing. You can skip this process altogether but many enjoy deciding how this being is going to look. This is also a great opportunity to build more symbolism around it. Tie its appearance to its purpose and allow this to strengthen it. Once that’s done it’s time to begin the actual ritual. Now, many like to write out everything on a petition and/or draw a picture of the being. In my experience, this isn’t really needed but it helps quite a bit if you’re doing a more complex being (this will be discussed later in another section). It’s also good to decide on the finer details. Not just what you want your thoughtform to do, but what type it is, and what it’s not allowed to do as well.

Once the written portion has been completed (and drawing if you choose to use that), set it up in a place of power. Most people use their altar but you can also create a sacred space specially for this part. The ritual itself will essentially involve you going into meditative gnosis and forming the energy with your mind. (Visualization helps with this. Some people choose to picture a light forming into the being or a large cosmic egg. But that too is based on a user's preference.) This part takes focus so make sure there aren’t any distractions nearby. Once you’re finished greet your thoughtform and continue with any other magick you wish.

As for how long this is going to take, nobody can truly say. We each are different and how our energy works will ultimately decide how long things will take. However, in my own experience, I would say that most thoughtform creations vary based on complexity. The simpler the being the shorter amount of time it will need. For longer amounts of time, you may need to visit your uncreated thoughtform once a day. giving it energy each time to ensure its continued gestation.

⚜️ Feeding ⚜️

Think of your thoughtform as a computer. It’s programmed to function a certain way by the user and to keep it going you need to give it a battery or plug it into a port. In short, it needs something to draw energy from to work properly. How you feed your thoughtform will depend on its type, but for most people, they set their thoughtform's ability to feed during its creation process. Either going to it regularly to meditatively give it energy, to offerings, or even to preprogrammed sustainability, a thoughtform needs something to ensure its success.

⚜️ Setting A Time Limit ⚜️

Certain thoughtforms will need a time limit of some sort. This is usually predetermined by the creator and set during the creation process or a kill switch is kept in place for whenever the practitioner deems it necessary. (Like burning or tearing up the paper vessel or petition with the thoughtforms sigil). Now depending on who you ask, What thoughtforms should get a time limit will inevitably change. Some believe that all thoughtforms need a limit and thus rarely venture past the simple variety. While others believe that there are many more varieties that don’t need such a limit. I will cover this in further detail in later sections.

⚜️ Involuntary Creation ⚜️

This can happen sometimes, especially if there are lots of emotions around a certain belief. Things can manifest against our will and they can be both negative or positive depending on what energy was used to create them.

Servitors

Also called simple thoughtforms and simple servitors, they are the most common form of thoughtform and by far the easiest to create. They have no sentience to speak of and are driven only to complete their task. The purpose for their creation. It is everything to a servitor which is why many believe it’s the type of thoughtform that MUST have an end after that task is finished. To allow a servitor to exist without a purpose would be like a living hell to such a creature. It would be cruel and compared to torture some believe.

Now let’s say you did decide to let it remain. What exactly would happen? Well, there’s a variety of things really. One, if left unfed the servitor could simply vanish one day, but it would be a slow death. However, if you’re unlucky enough, it may just evolve sentience. When this sort of thing happens in such a situation the servitor is often already driven to madness and will become something akin to a parasite. Recklessly feeding off their creator to sustain themselves. This can cause exhaustion, dizziness, clumsiness, and in some more severe cases illness to the practitioner. And those who suffer from other forms of mental illness like depression and anxiety have often reported their symptoms getting worse. The best course of action for these sorts of beings is to extinguish them completely. They have no hope of being reasoned with.

Now let’s say you do feed your servitor, but you never give it a purpose. Then what happens? Well, they can still go mad as the life without a purpose is demeaning and arduous for such a creature. This is why some people like to give them new purposes. The problem is, a simple servitor isn’t made to properly sustain things like this. It would be like uploading a new program onto an older computer that isn’t equipped to properly run it. So while it may work for a little while, it will never be up to par like it was before, and eventually, you’ll have to accept that. You’ll be forced to get a newer model anyway. Problem is, that even these beings can still grow in sentience. And while they may not be as crazed as the ones mentioned before, because they’re not in a state of starvation, they may still express the dislike of such an existence. Some people report that once sentient, some servitors have simply run away or completely withdrew in their own depressive state. Ultimately wasting away because they wouldn’t eat. This is why it’s generally agreed upon that a simple servitor works its best when a time limit is in place.

Sentient Servitors

Also called complex servitors or complex thoughtforms, consider these beings a step up from your average servitors. Most often they are created with sentience or at the very least created with the intent to obtain sentience by growing into it as they do their job and experience the world around them. This type seems to have become more popular in recent years and has garnered its own subcategories in turn. These generally tend to be something concerning their purpose and will vary by practitioner. Some of the most popular is a familiar, home guardians, or personal protectors.

For the most part these beings are created without the intent to destroy them. This is because what they are needed for what generally takes regular upkeep as well as a mind that can analyze and learn just like we do so it can grow alongside you and learn different ways to cope with its overall objective. But that isn’t to say people don’t exist that give them time limits. However, that can bring up more controversy depending on who you talk to because now you’re destroying something that may not actually want to be destroyed. Something that wants to continue on and experience existence. When a thoughtform reaches this stage and they realize you may want to destroy them, they often start looking for a way out. A way to feed without the help of the witch. That way they can simply go off on their own. In lots of cases, a witch may gift their thoughtform with this ability so that when their task is done they can go ahead and make the way out.

Poltergeists

Now some of you may be surprised to see this category on this list but it really is a thoughtform. Looking into how some paranormal experts define these entities reveals that they are entities created from the negative energy accumulated in a certain place or around a certain individual, and that’s exactly what a thoughtform is. A poltergeist is always an involuntary creation, however, and is almost always negative as well. It’s known for throwing objects and making strange noises. Hence why their name means “noisy ghost” in German.

Egregores

These thoughtforms are created by a group of individuals instead of just a single person. They can be voluntary or involuntary, sentient or otherwise, it all depends on the conditions for their creation. For instance, some covens create an egregore for their personal group typically of the non-sentient variety, while other individual people may believe in something so much that the beings form involuntarily from that belief. Many use this way of thinking to explain how deity came to be. Declaring that all gods and goddesses as we know them are simply egregores believed into existence. Not everyone agrees with this sentiment, however, nor does everyone utilize the egregore label exactly the same.

While some say egregores can be both sentient and non-sentient, others have strong beliefs that the egregore can only be non-sentient and that once it grows to sentience it will become something else entirely. The former seems to be the most popular way of looking at it on our modern age though, so you're bound to find that this way of utilizing the egregore to be more prevalent in the ways of information.

Godforms

Also known as God Heads, this is probably the most confusing of all the types of thoughtforms simply because there are so many varying beliefs around it. More traditionally, godforms are statues or pictures portraying the image of a particular god. Through ritual, the god embodies these pieces and they become an extent of that deity. Some believers even associate people as being a part of that godform, and during those sacred ceremonies, the chosen individual becomes a direct speaker for the god they are channeling. However, in more modern times, the term has taken a considerable divergence into thoughtform territory.

It is believed by some that the godform is a type of deity, either created to be a god from the beginning or grown into one by an egregore. In more recent years, however, a godform is often depicted as being a more personalized entity. An individual's own personal god if you will. In this instance, they are created using a specific part of the practitioner's energy. Usually some part of a magical circuit like the elements, or the 8 circuits of consiousness. This entity in turn becomes heavily connected to the individual and will affect whatever cuircut or energy center they were made from. Let's say you made a god that draws from your fire energy. Therefore, your fire energy will grow and everything it affects will also grow. This entices the person to continue giving the god energy, through meditations, offerings, even an altar. It's given praises and prayers as well, just like any other deity.

Tulpa

The tulpa is often confused in our modern times as being nothing more than a servitor, but that understanding couldn't be more false. Traditionally Tulpa's are a concept from Buddhist nirmāṇakāya. It was a translated in Tibetan as sprul-pa and was the practice of creating an autonomous entity made from the individual's mind. It was manifested by a Buddha to teach and guide those who hadn't yet attained nirvana. Some have likened it to seem much like a ghost or apparition, walking between the physical and metaphysical realms. They were said to obey their master for the most part but were entirely sentient with their own thoughts and emotions.

Today, tulpamancers, often equate a tulpa to something kind of like an imaginary friend, but one that can actually manifest things. Tulpas are said to have the ability to use their creator's body, or even dwell inside of it completely. They can even operate it on their own should their creator allow it. Many, state that the tulpa often helps them out during difficult situations. They are created with the qualities that the user doesn't have so that they can take over in times when those qualities are needed. As for life span, that will definitely depend on the individual. Like regular thoughtforms, some say that the user ultimately decides if they want their tulpa to remain or vanish after they themselves have learned to obtain whatever qualities they had placed in their tulpa. Others say that the tulpa stays with you for life. Whatever the case, this thoughtform is definitely the most unique of the bunch.

Conclusion

Thoughtforms are an interestingly diverse form of magick. And while they are very prevalent within the chaos magick community, many magickal practitioners from all pathways come to utilize them within their crafts. As stated above, there are many unique beliefs surrounding them, and finding out what way is best for you can seem somewhat daunting. The best thing to do is take it slow, and practice, practice, practice. Thoughtforms are one of those things you learn best by doing. Just remember that what works for someone else may not work entirely for you. Go at your own pace, and find your own rhythm. Best of luck!

Further Reading

• Types of Ghosts (Poltergeists)

• Servitors (Chaos Magick)

• Thoughtforms

• Psychonaut Field Manual: Egregores

• Psychonaut Field Manual: Godforms

• Tulpa’s

#paganism #witchcraft #pagans of tumblr #chaos magician #chaos magick #eldritch magic #witches of tumblr #chaos witch #eldritch witch #chaos witchcraft #thoughtforms #thoughtform #servitor #egregore #godform

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icharchivist · 10 months

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I definitely agree, the VAs are doing a great job and just because one prefers the Japanese dub over the English or doesn't like a specific performance doesn't mean they're bad voice actors or anything

I'm happy for any and everyone working on the game and the VAs certainly seem to be having a great time

The Japanese dub is a tough act to follow as is and most people have heard the Japanese voices first, so there's clear biases

That's not to say the English dub is bad

I love Cristina Valenzuela's work and I think she does a great job on Charlotta and Ferry, for instance

But yeah, it's also completely valid to give constructive criticism on performances

But we're not hating, we're just commenting without being overly negative, I'd say

The Anime, for instance, is perfectly fine, in either English or Japanese imo. Both are very listenable

And again, in Mr. Rudd's defense, Hosoyan as Belial is pretty much impossible to live up to. He is very much living in that role. But kudos for trying!

Looking forward to the English dub on Relink!

Yeah pretty much agreeing on all of that!

I think the other thing that influences the "Japanese voice came first" is that, the original seiyuu are the ones who kinda end up deciding how they'll interpret their characters, and it's not unheard of that it ends up also changing the writing of those characters as well in ways that can make the voice stand out.

Any redub therefore ends up in a tough position because everything will be an interpretation. There's the pressure of the previous voice, the way to adapt it in a way that works out for an English speaking audience... It's tricky! it's walking a balance of trying to make the characters theirs while respecting the original for example.

and English and Japanese are still different language in term of how accentuation and grammar is structured. Like if you want your character to accentuate the verb of the sentence you have to be prepared with the fact they will not accentuate it at the same time of the sentence. do you rework your voice acting to fit the accentuation of the voice flow or the accentuation of the meaning? and stuff like that, can usually also end up coming off weird no matter the final decision.

And it's not really a situation i envy and it takes a lot of work to make it work!

Personally i like to see the "original" mostly because i like to stay as close as possible to the initial intention of the creators, but i do sometimes play big Japanese RPG with English dub mostly because i often play those with my brain on autopilot and get frustrated if i miss an ambiant line of dialogue.

But also i feel like i'm not being fully transparent without mentioning that, as i'm not a native English speaker, English dubbing can seem more uncanny to me in general. I'd say i'm not fan of French dub either, but my point is that I therefore usually find English's dub - specifically when it's redubbing something else - to be a bit uncanny to me, and it comes from the style of voice acting they tend to do, which personally takes me a LOT of time getting used to.

Like i can't actively judge an English voice because some stuff that peeves me for example are also just kneejerk reaction from some overexaggeration of the English language that *i* pick up on because they're not usual for me to start with. I don't feel equipped for a proper review of that in general.

there are stuff that are worth discussing still! I'm just not sure i come with the best of bias when it comes to doing that though.

but yeah, Ferry/Charlotta's English VA does a very good job, and yeah, for the Belial's voice it's really just that Hosoyan is just too big an act to follow and it will always suffer from comparaison. It's either trying to bring it close to Hosoyan and it could be hit or miss depending on how good the imitation is, or even more hit or miss if he interpreted it any differently.

In the end everyone is doing the best they can with the material and limitation they got!

I don't think we're hating on it either, but i do think i'm not the most qualified to talk about it in depth and i would loathe to end up sounding dismissing to someone's hard work in a sense.

But yeah! Looking forward to see the dub of Relink too! that'll be cool!

#ichareply #ichafantalks gbf #anonymous

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221bshrlocked · 2 years

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I agree fully with that last anon. Race is a social construct that white people and black Americans heavily rely on. And sometimes they're so blinded by that fact that they ignore and devalue other minorities that have had also really bad experiences simply from being not white. There's a very big difference between a white red neck american and a light skinned latino or a light skinned desi, or a light skinned middle eastern. if any of these people were to go to the south, they'd be called obscene slurs simply because they're not the type of white person they (white Americans) value in society. do they perhaps prefer them more than black/dark skinned people? yes because that is the sad reality, however by proclaiming all light skinned people under the category white is very insulting to other pocs experiences. I think the term 'white passing' needs to be redefined because to me, unless they look like a redneck american, they're not white to me because I know those white people won't claim me as theirs. Can a poc regonize their light skinned privilege? yes, they absolutely should but I wouldn't go far enough to have them call themselves full on white because its simply unfair.

I think you just put in words what I was trying to ask yesterday on the long post that started this conversation (ep. 5 not being led by a poc actor)! Thank you for this message because there was no way in hell I would have been able to phrase it like this.

#explained

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stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale · 3 years

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I don’t get you, CJ. Why are you so quick to throw around the term “bad writing” when you don’t agree with something? Why not simply chalk it up to having different likes or dislikes than other people and move on?

Instead of deconstructing characters you don’t like, why not use your platform to empower other voices and highlight others with different tastes or opinions than you? Different people notice different things about the games. That’s one of the nice things about fandom.

You clearly love writing and analysis, but when you post answers to asks that hold different opinions than you’re own, you often go “you’re valid, but…” and launch into paragraphs upon paragraphs of your opposite opinion rather than truly exploring theirs.

I guess what I’m trying to say is I think your blog and analyses would be stronger if rather than dismissing plot points or characters as “bad writing” you step outside yourself and ask others what they see in that writing since it’s not connecting with you.

To be fair, anon, I don't get me either.

But I hear you, so if you'll allow me to do the thing where I launch into paragraphs upon paragraphs, let's talk about this.

I assume this might've come about because of the recent Violet talk here? Or maybe it's from older posts, I dunno, you didn't specify so I can only speculate and use the Violet posts as the main example here.

So here's the thing... deconstructing characters and storylines is something I enjoy doing. Hell, it's one of my favorite things to do. It doesn't matter if I like or dislike the character, or if I agree with plot directions, or if I think it's "good" or "bad" writing. That's how I work things out for myself, how I try to understand why I'm feeling the way I am about certain characters and story elements. I break apart the different aspects of these things and analyze them so that I can improve the content I create and try to avoid the same mistakes I've come across that I wanted to be better.

When it comes to me tossing around "bad writing", or just implying it, I'm not trying to say that "bad writing = trash, garbage, unenjoyable, anyone who likes this is a dingus, how could you?" it's more "I see flaws here and I want it to be better, I know it can be better and it frustrates me that I can't fix it," y'know?

And I'm fully aware that other people might not see it that way. With that basketball Violet post, I know that a lot of the Violet crowd are gonna read that and be like "no, I love the bell tower scene! It fits well with her character! What are you talking about?" and that's fine, I expect that. That post was me writing something that's been on my mind that I wanted to share, it wasn't me trying to scold anyone for liking it or trying to dismiss their feelings about it.

When it comes to differing opinions, especially on Violet, I've come to the conclusion that we just gotta agree to disagree. I've tried for years at this point to understand the appeal of Violet and gone looking for answers about her in hopes of being enlightened, and I have asked around.

In the past, I have made posts inquiring about what people see in Violet [Minerva, too] and why they prefer Violentine, and I got little to nothing in response. So I totally get where you're coming from when you say I should ask others what they see in the writing that I don't, but there's only so much I can do when no one is willing to answer me. So, I have to look around myself.

I've searched through several threads on reddit and none of them have been insightful, unsurprisingly.

That's what sparked my mini-rant about Louis before. On reddit, a lot of the answers on why people like Violet are either "she sided with Clementine, she's just really sweet deep down, she has more trauma, and lesbian," or "I like Violet more because Louis is a traitor," and what the hell am I supposed to get out of that, y'know? They're not really telling me anything, they're just looking to argue among themselves and I've had to throw in the towel on that one.

I've had better luck here, having read some truly insightful posts about Violet, her arc, and her relationship with Clementine. The conclusion I've reached it that the things people find appealing about her are things that I don't.

If you need an example, we'll use the aftermath of Marlon's murder when Violet turns on the group to defend AJ. Every post from the Violet crowd I've read that talks about that scene praises her for turning against her friends/family to defend AJ when they were gonna attack him, it shows what she's willing to do for them, that's something that drew them to her. Then there's me, who sees that as adding unnecessary aggression to the situation when none of them were going to attack AJ, they weren't looking at AJ, and none of this is helping. Neither of these interpretations are wrong.

Guess what I'm trying to get at is I'm one person, and having discussions takes more than one willing person.

Moving on, "when you post answers to asks that hold different opinions than you’re own, you often go “you’re valid, but…” and launch into paragraphs upon paragraphs of your opposite opinion rather than truly exploring theirs."

I've thought about this for a while, and maybe I do actually do this but don't realize it. I like to think that I'm engaging with the ideas that people send me, but I dunno, maybe I can be dismissive of things because I have a hard time being objective. That's something I've always struggled with, and I'm sorry if I ever came across as dismissive or didn't fully explore ideas, that's something I can definitely get better at.

As for "why not use your platform to empower other voices and highlight others with different tastes or opinions than you? Different people notice different things about the games. That’s one of the nice things about fandom."

I've done character nights, ship nights, season nights, etc. for about two years, give or take. That's what those nights were about. Usually, I'd put up a poll and we'd all vote on what we wanted to discuss, and then the floor was open for anyone to give their input, and we'd discuss.

I stopped doing them a little while ago because I was burnt out on themed nights. Remembering to make new polls, setting aside part of my weekends to spend hours answering asks the best I could, usually dealing with other projects on top of it all.... it may not seem like it, but god, those nights took a lot out of me. I loved doing it! Having those discussions were some of the best parts of running this blog, but now my new job has me working 40+ hours a week, four days with ten hour shifts and occasionally some overtime on the weekends, I just don't have it in me anymore to do it every single weekend. Not with how tired I am and with all the other projects I'm working on.

That's why I've started testing the waters with these shorter posts of me throwing out ideas or going on mini-rants. They're something simple I can do with no pressure, just me with an empty document getting whatever's on my mind out... and it helps that it feels like my last fuck has just flown away to the heavens to weave itself into the boat god's beard like as he sails among the clouds and stars..... so now I'm gonna talk about whatever I want and the fact that it's my opinion is implied.

I'm sorry if I'm coming off as a little defensive with this part, I tend to get that way whenever people tell me what I should or shouldn't do with my blog, even if they're just trying to be helpful and I don't believe you have any ill intent with your message. I've had this blog for three years now, and I've always had people telling me I shouldn't do character analyses, I should stay in my lane, just write fanfics and do character nights. I should answer more asks otherwise people will think I don't care. I shouldn't write headcanon posts, that's what other blogs do and I'll be taking content away from them. I shouldn't write that one au I've always wanted to because I should be working on [with you]. I shouldn't write anything but [with you.] I shouldn't talk about Violet because I'm a Louis blog.

And that's dumb. All of that is dumb! No one owns the concept of headcanon posts or character analyses! Just like how I don't own the concept of character nights!

Again, my last fuck is lost in Kenny's beard, I don't have it anymore. I'm going to write and analyze whatever I want, when I want, and the best I can do is promise to be better. My inbox is open, I'll try to answer and engage with you guys when I can, I'll keep doing these posts where I ramble about whatever topic is on my mind, and I shouldn't have to put a disclaimer of "This is all my opinion and it's okay if you disagree, I'm not trying to invalidate you" because that's implied.

Before I close out this long response, I do wanna add a thank you for the ask, I do appreciate the constructive criticism. Usually anons that have any problem with me after I talk about Violet will just call me a piece of shit and tell me to delete my blog. Maybe this helped you, maybe it didn't, either way thanks :)

#asks #twdg clementine #twdg louis #twdg violet

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ecoamerica · 1 month

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youtube

Watch the 2024 American Climate Leadership Awards for High School Students now: https://youtu.be/5C-bb9PoRLc

The recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by student climate leaders! Join Aishah-Nyeta Brown & Jerome Foster II and be inspired by student climate leaders as we recognize the High School Student finalists. Watch now to find out which student received the $25,000 grand prize and top recognition!

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brooklynmuseum · 3 years

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Conservators Ellen Nigro, Natalya Swanson, and Kate Wight Tyler discuss the use of repurposed and recycled materials in artwork and the overlap between Environmental and Art Conservation in this conversation inspired by Earth Day.

KWT: As themes like consumption and climate change are increasingly addressed by artists, we see more use of recycled, reclaimed, discarded, and degradable materials in their work. How has this evolved our role as conservators?

NS: Sustainability-themed art is challenging conservators to adapt our practices, partially because repurposed, reclaimed, and recycled materials tend to be more fragile and often require innovative solutions to preserve signs of use, and partially because it raises bigger concerns about the sustainability of our materials and practices.

El Anatsui’s fabric-like metal tapestries made of recycled liquor-bottle caps and wrappers present interesting challenges. Every time the artwork is installed it is formed into a new shape. Variability is a defining feature of these works, but also requires a lot of handling which wears on the recycled metal tabs. Our conservation strategy includes attaching mesh onto the back of the artwork, which redistributes the weight off the metal tabs without restricting future iterations of the artwork. By using recycled materials and employing local community members to help construct the tapestries, El Anatsui not only comments on consumption and waste practices, but literalizes a foundational sustainability principle of prioritizing community well-being when making decisions. The more I work on this project, the more I wonder how conservators can embed sustainability values into our practices.

EN: The artwork cycle by Hugo McCloud is a collage made of single-use plastic bags adhered to a plywood panel. As a paintings conservator, working with the McCloud has been a different project than what I am used to, since there isn’t any paint used in the artwork. It was an opportunity to collaborate with my colleagues in objects conservation, especially Kate Wight Tyler. Although my education included lessons on plastics and plastic degradation, I haven’t thought about them in a while! Having conversations with Kate really helped me understand the degradation that may happen in this work.

KWT: When components creating an artwork are made for different purposes or already had a use-life it can complicate the terms of preservation. How does caring for these works reiterate and/or contradict the message the artist is trying to achieve?

EN: Cycle is part of a series where McCloud depicts workers in developing countries moving large amounts of materials, often in plastic bags. These works address class, labor, resources, and how they are all intertwined on a global scale. They call attention to the prevalence of plastic in our lives and throughout trade systems.

In this work, as well as others in the series, McCloud uses new bags and plastic sheeting in these works instead of upcycling materials. By doing this, I think he reiterates and highlights the message that plastic is present in many aspects of our lives and throughout global trade. It seems that McCloud wants to make an environmentalist statement by calling attention to the pervasiveness of plastic in the world, but by using new plastic, he is actively participating in the use of single-use materials and contradicting the environmentalist message.

Caring for this work of art involves gathering information from the artist through a questionnaire or an interview to learn about how he views degradation in his work. As conservators, we are trained to decrease the chance of physical change in an object, however, this is not always the best approach for treating works by artists that value degradation or change in the work’s aesthetic over time. We are still in the process of gathering this information. For example, if Hugo McCloud prefers for his work to remain as pristine as possible, we may implement preventive conservation measures like glazing to protect the surface from light, humidity, dust, and other pollutants. However, if he values degradation of the plastic, then we may take a more passive approach to the care of this work.

NS: I’ve been thinking about the question of artist intent in regards to the El Anatsui a lot, and wonder to what extent his emphasis on intersectional environmentalism (a term used synonymously with “sustainability” that only differs in the sense that it underscores the intersectional nature of sustainability work, rather than relegating it to the environmental sector) should affect our decisions as conservators.

Unlike the McCloud piece, El Anatsui’s Black Box embodies sustainable decision making in all aspects, from sourcing recycled materials to employing locals to create the works. Because of this, I’ve been feeling conflicted about our decision to use plastic mesh in our conservation treatment. Like all decisions, the rationale behind our choice was complicated: we needed to use a flexible but strong material that won’t change the physical properties of the artwork; we also wanted to use something that has a long lifetime, so we won’t have to redo the treatment in a few years. The plastic mesh meets all these criteria, but conflicts with the message El Anatsui communicates by making these works.

When conserving conceptual art, conservators sometimes have to make compromises with physical elements to ensure they are preserving what’s important (the concept). It feels like we are grappling with a similar type of problem with sustainability-themed artworks.

KWT: Art Conservation is sometimes confused with Environmental Conservation. In what ways are they connected and how do they differ?

NS: This is a challenging question. Both heritage and environmental conservation are based on the fundamental belief in caring for valued and shared heritage. Both fields are scientifically-oriented professions that use a similar technical language - and although we both use terms like “restoration,” “preservation,” and “conservation,” we mean very different things when we use these terms! Also, both professions believe in and practice collaborative interdisciplinary work.

Perhaps one reason why there are not more overlaps is because our guiding principles are significantly different: environmental conservationists believe in a holistic approach to community well-being achieved through balancing future and present needs; art conservation is primarily concerned with the long-term preservation of cultural property. Sustainability work has shifted away from an expert-driven decision making model, while this is still the dominant approach in heritage conservation. Over the past few years, the boundaries between our profession have gotten more blurry as heritage conservators realize that preservation of the natural environment is critical to long-term care of tangible heritage. We’re still working on how to integrate this thinking into our “best practices,” but there’s widespread agreement that we can begin by creating more space for collaborations and candid dialogue with our environmental conservation colleagues.

EN: As I have worked on the McCloud, I’ve been struck by the difference in how conservators think about plastic degradation versus how environmentalists view it. While the two fields agree on the science of plastic degradation, what is perceived as acceptable or unacceptable is quite different. In the context of art conservation, plastic is a very delicate material and one that easily degrades through exposure to ambient light, humidity, and temperature, and something that may start to change in a relatively short period of time, affecting the function and/or aesthetic of a collection object. However, environmentalists express concern over the timeline of plastic degradation, and highlight that the plastic may not fully decompose for hundreds of years. The two fields have very different ideas about what timeline for degradation is acceptable.

Photos of El Anatsui (Ghanaian, born 1944). Black Block, 2010. Aluminum and copper wire, two pieces. Brooklyn Museum, Bequest of William K. Jacobs, Jr., by exchange, 2013.7a-b. © artist or artist's estate and Hugo McCloud (American, born 1980) cycle, 2020.

#bkmconservation #earth day #hugo mcloud #el anatsui #sculpture #material #resuse #preservation #conservation #environmental conservation #art conservation #environmental #repurporsed #recycled

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sargasmicgoddess · 3 years

Note

If you choose to post this, my apologies in advance for using your platform in order to access your large audience to increase my chances of real feedback. And very hopefully, if I'm lucky, your own intelligent and thoughtful feedback to my question.

I will first preface by saying counseling is in process and has also been attended solo and as a couple off and on for a while with mixed results. I find myself at a crossroads personally and as a spouse, I have for some time.

Many years into marriage, I find myself not knowing who my husband really is (or realizing who he isn't). And realizing that I don't really know myself fully either, other than being sure of what doesn't make me happy and that I do need to figure that out for my own wellbeing. It doesn't look like things can be worked out, and that's not for lack of trying. That said, I've proposed a roommate situation as we try to find clarity in what to do next, and decide what we both actually want. As of this morning, he has agreed that maybe it is what we need. I will be transparent in that part of the suggestion is heavily hinged on my own fears and anxieties about not being able to make it alone until some other things change personally, and the hopes that any impact of major changes on kids can be minimized. The tension in this house is noticeable and already tough enough, so trying to deal with that first and hopefully a new arrangement will ease some of that for them.

All of that to ask the world of tumblr, whether anyone has tried such an arrangement and what advice or stories they may be able to share about how that worked out, what they learned and how they set boundaries?

Thanks in advance for posting this if you choose to. And many thanks to any who choose to respond. If you'd prefer to privately discuss your experience, please just comment that it's ok to message you and I'll reach out. Thank you!

First I commend you on learning to be more self aware and for doing the work to figure things out. Marriage and relationships are work, and it definitely takes mutually proactive effort. That being said, if there is a fundamental disconnect in the foundation of the relationship (which I think is what you're describing) then kudos to you guys for making this hard decision.

I would first recommend that you discuss this with your counselor/therapist. You mentioned on and off therapy....which is great but I do suggest consistent therapy so that you have the space, momentum, and time to continually work on you and towards personal breakthroughs. That is what they are there for and they are always a safe space to work through things.

I have consistently had long-term therapists, even when I am doing great, so I can continually work on me. I do the same with my family. My therapist and I talk a lot about family dynamics, attachment and relationships (sexual and emotional aspects). Therapy is part of my self care and it is non-negotiable and I always encourage people to proactively pursue it.

I don't have personal first hand experience on this particular situation, but I have seen it many times with others. I think it is wonderful you are thinking ahead and mapping out concerns because it otherwise has the potential to become a slippery slope of passive aggressive and toxic behavior.

What I DO have experience with is being someone who is very very clear with my boundaries. I will say that with practice, it gets easier to enforce boundaries. Be firm with boundaries and be very clear. It is uncomfortable at first but that initial discomfort will translate into relief later on when you realize that you have a set construct to reference when needed. Since you can't unring a bell, it is best to establish a protocol that doesn't lead you to ring it in the first place!

I recently wrote a piece about someone who was toxic and pushed my boundaries. While I regret initially letting this person push my boundaries a little, I was so thankful that I took the time to revisit my boundaries and ultimately cut this person from my life cold turkey. And I feel so grateful for having a good sense of my boundaries.....I feel like I dodged a bullet by not pursing that friendship any further. I bring this up as an example of the importance of boundaries for me. Overtime, I just have an inherent sense of uneasiness around people who don't respect them.

I know there are people out there in very similar situations so hopefully people will comment. I know this is a deeply personal topic so I will say that if you or anyone else wishes to discuss this privately, please DM me. I am happy to privately pass along information to connect people. Those who know me know that I deeply value the privacy and trust of others so I promise it would be discreet.

Wishing you all the luck on your new journey. It is scary for sure, but I've found that my darkest moments have given me the strength to follow my heart towards some of my most amazing moments. Stay strong and I hope you can find the answers you are looking for!

#asks #ramblings and musings

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presumenothing · 3 years

Text

first: do no harm

(AO3)

Dr. Mensah’s attention zeroed in on me like a well-tuned surgery bot arm. “You have medical training.”

I was going to deny the hell out of that. I really was.

And then I said: “Not recently,” instead of no or even more accurately I frankly don’t think the company’s education modules count as training by your standards. (As far as I was concerned, the only thing worse than those modules was the one on breaking bad news, but what did I know. Maybe humans actually felt comforted by those tactics they described.) (No, I didn’t think that was likely, either.)

Which reminded me of a necessary addition. “The company won’t cover liabilities related to any non-security tasks you assign me to, if that’s what you’re intending.”

Mensah made a sound that was both grim and viciously annoyed at once, which I immediately saved for further analysis and replication. “Then we’ll just have to not make any mistakes, won’t we?”

–

I hadn’t exactly been thrilled with getting assigned to this mission. Not that mining installations were much of a walk in the park, but this was just asking to turn up memories that were better off buried (preferably forever) in my organic parts.

I don’t usually pay attention to mission briefs, as you may have noticed, and I wouldn’t have this time either except that my half-assed scan turned up the fact that the team weren’t science-doctors on a survey like I’d initially assumed, but medical-doctors. On a medical mission.

Of course they were.

(I wanted to say that someone had allocated me to this on purpose, but realistically speaking the company didn’t give enough of a shit, and the universe disliked me enough that this could totally be pure chance.)

Considering all that, the mission so far had been… much less worse than it could’ve been. Though the bar for that was admittedly very, very low. Possibly somewhere in the negatives.

Anyway. Up until the whole thing with Bharadwaj and Volescu getting almost-but-not-eaten, the task of making sure no one died had mostly been the clients’ job for once, which was a nice change since they were actually competent at it.

I still didn’t care enough to read their background info, but it was pretty clear just from observing that these doctors had experience with working in less-than-great conditions, even if Ratthi did sometimes sigh wistfully about equipment they couldn’t have in field hospitals. It meant that my job had pretty much amounted to patrolling, lurking visibly around the supplies storage in case anyone got ideas about that, and helping to fetch various medical items when I happened to be there and it wasn’t Gurathin asking.

It wasn’t terrible. I’d even got some media-watching time in.

(There might have been the vague thought that things could’ve gone much better if I’d been deployed with a team like this instead of Corporation Rim fuckery that literally bled payment from patients, but part of the reason medical-use constructs had been developed in the first place was so that hospitals could draw up forty-hour shifts and other assorted fun without worrying about doctor and surgeon unions, which told you everything you needed to know about our existence.

Also, the thought was inherently depressing and I already had enough of that in my head, thank you very much.)

The contract was more than halfway through. All I had needed to do to avoid awkward questions was continue making sure no one noticed that I was weirdly well-versed in all this, which wasn’t difficult since they only seemed to have theoretical knowledge about SecUnits at best.

Then the fauna happened, and poof went my cover.

Now all of PresAux knew I was – whatever the hell you called a catastrophically failed MedUnit who got turned loose onto security, because at least if I screwed up here the press wouldn’t be as bad. And that wasn’t even getting into the hacked governor module.

Even constructs didn’t have a term for all that.

–

Of course, none of that stopped this from being a Very Bad Idea. Even if apparently no one except Gurathin (ugh) seemed to agree.

“I’m a SecUnit, Dr. Mensah. I scare people. Patients are harder to assess when they’re running away.” I thought basic logistics might work here.

“You had better bedside manner with Bharadwaj and Volescu than many doctors I’ve seen. Human ones, might I add, and not actively injured themselves at the time.” Mensah’s tone was brisk as her pace – which wasn’t difficult to keep up with either, given my vertical advantage, but impressive nonetheless. “And no one wants to be around Pin-Lee when she’s holding a scalpel. That’s what the sedation is for.”

It’s because SecUnit hasn’t seen her in court yet. Trust me, it’s much scarier, Ratthi chimed in over the feed, with the text signifier for “amusement” but not “joke”.

Pin-Lee just smiled.

It was terrifying. I wasn’t even looking directly at her.

“I don’t have a valid license.” That’d been a part of the legal fallout from the disaster on RaviHyral, though no one had actually bothered with adding malpractice charges or barring me from ever doing medicine again. (Just another side effect of being considered as equipment – I doubted the company would’ve even secured licenses for constructs if not for their paranoia about covering their asses on all fronts.)

But it was a last resort argument, and I knew it.

Mensah knew it, too. “There’s special dispensations for that, especially under the current circumstances, as long as a fully-licensed doctor is in the vicinity at all times. It’s not like any of us can actually get out of each other’s hair in this base anyway.”

Mensah had stopped in a less-chaotic corner and turned to me, not that she could see anything behind the faceplate. I fixed my gaze a generous distance to the left and let my drones do the looking.

“I’m not going to make you agree. You perform a valuable function as our security – far more than I had initially expected, to be honest, and we would all be grateful if you kept doing that. But with Bharadwaj down for the count and Volescu still recovering, we could do with the help.” Her expression was still steady as ever, even though she probably knew better than I did the risks of continuing to operate shorthanded like this. “It’s your decision, SecUnit.”

Right, just the very thing I didn’t need to hear.

I kept most of my sigh internal. “Triage and first-aid only, between patrols. No procedures, and I won’t be responsible if any patients freak out.”

Mensah nodded. “Of course. Gurathin’s on receiving duty today, how about you work out a roster with him?”

I knew it. This was a bad idea.

–––––

You’d be my guardian.

Yes. The education opportunities – most of us were trained on Preservation, if you’re interested in learning and getting your license properly this time. Or not. You can do anything you want.

–––––

ART barged its way into my feed. You’re exhibiting a mildly elevated temperature and respiration rate. Though it could of course merely be a sign of inferior processors rather than emotional distress.

Do you talk to your clients like that?

Do you? ART retorted right back, but obligingly brought up the documentation for its MedSystem before I finished the query for it.

I ignored ART’s attention (with some difficulty) as I flicked quickly through the top few files, taking in the glaring disparities from my existing data. The notable lack of suggesting costly procedures that no-one actually needed, for starters. I’m assuming some of these are your improvements on standard procedure?

I am the cutting edge of medical research, ART proclaimed. You couldn’t accuse it of humility if you tried.

I still wasn’t sure what I wanted, and I still didn’t want anyone to decide it for me. But moving towards the one thing I did want (at least in the short term) had ended up with me running into what was very possibly the most advanced and opinionated diagnosis-treatment AI currently in existence, because that was just the kind of luck I had.

I didn’t have a medium-duty surgical suite in my arms anymore, since that was the entire point of modular Unit construction, but neither did Mensah.

And I didn’t think I wanted to stop doing security, anyway, since it turned out I might not be completely terrible at it; having actual medical knowledge that was MedSystem-malfunction-proof couldn’t hurt.

Plus, overwriting those shitty education modules seemed like a pretty great fuck-you to the company. I was always interested in that.

I tagged some of the more emergency-related files, then added a bunch of the weirder injuries I’d seen on contracts, and prodded ART. Tell me about these?

#the murderbot diaries #murderbot #murderbot fic #tmbd #fanfiction #mine #long post #me staring at the wordcount in disbelief: okay then #????

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rejectclone · 4 years

Text

Even though I’ve never played Minecraft EVER in my life, since Steve got in smash I tried learning some general stuff about the series on the wiki and apparently there’s no ‘real’ lore to him??? I tried making some headcanons at least since I genuinely like the character potential he has!

* Steve seemed to originate out of virtually nowhere, just being spotted by some villagers one day and he seemed to just set up camp nearby, soon making a small house of his own.

* He is mute, but is still capable of writing in English and communicating with ASL. Unfortunately for him, villagers and other sentient humanoid species do not comprehend his hand gestures, and thinks he’s just messing around with them, much to his dismay.

* As for how he learned how to write and use ASL, he oddly doesn’t seem to remember. He assumes he learned it from his parents, and yet he doesn’t even remember their own faces.

* He claims that he is a orphan, as most of his childhood memories seem to be in a haze, and his stronger memories seem to exist from his mid-teenage years as he was already living off the land on his own.

* He is gifted in both mining and construction, and likes to dabble in alchemy. However he is still a rookie at it, and has accidentally ruined many important items by trying to place enchantments upon them.

* He doesn’t really have that many hobbies, as he’s always focused on maintaining his home, crops, animals, and safety, which is a constant 24/7 endeavor. Later on after exploring more villages and learning new lifestyle related information, he has taken up reading as a small hobby. This is where he first learned of preforming alchemy, as he once thought it was impossible to learn if you weren’t ‘gifted’ with it.

* He has seen his fair share of mobs, but the ones that seem to ALWAYS rock him to his core are oddly enough, the zombies. He claims that every time he even glances at one, he feels extreme discomfort. Perhaps it has to deal with most zombies originating of supposed human origin, and their uncanny valley-ness getting to his mind.

* Zombies honestly may be the closet thing to ‘other human beings’ in the area, as Steve seems to be the odd one out in terms of species. Villagers, Illagers, Endermen, and other sorts are in abundance, but not his own kind. He tries to not let this go to his head, but there has been plenty of nights of him suffering from touch-deficiency and total isolation.

* Even though he may be seen as a outsider to many, nobody can deny how much of a optimist he is. Constantly beaming with joy and always willing to help, he has become well known for being one of the most incredibly helpful people out there.

* However it is quite rare in which he comes off as incredibly stoic and even morose. When like this, the metaphysical aura he gives off is immediately powerful and extremely unsettling, to the point some usually hyper aggressive hostile mobs seem to notice this and actually leave him alone.

* Genuinely did not know WHAT a cake was. Learned about it and tried it for the first time from a farmer villager, and has been completely enamored since. Has developed a bit of a sweet tooth from consuming too much after learning about it, and now tries to eat cake moderately. He also enjoys pumpkin pie, but only during the fall months since it feels ‘more cozy feeling’. Ironically not a huge fan of cookies, and prefers the chocolate in them to be used in cakes.

* His favorite mobs to interact with are most of his own livestock! He owns pigs, cows, sheep, donkeys, and even a rabbit! However, chickens might be his top favorite, and thankfully he doesn’t really eat them and instead just takes advantage of their eggs and how fun and enjoyable it is to maintain them. Later on as he saw parrots for the first time in person, he has been in absolute love with them!

* Even though he does keep and maintain livestock, he is petrified by the concept of keeping a permanent house pet. He has actually tamed some wolves and cats in the past, but has endured too much heartbreak when they are accidentally killed when trying to defend him when undead mobs attack near their home. He always breaks down when burying their remains.

* He does own a horse, but is wary of using it since the last thing he wants to do is accidentally overstrain it and cause it any harm. He still cannot bear to see any more animals under his care go through any pain for him.

* He keeps a small beehive near his house, as he enjoys how their pollination leads to some beautiful flowers sprouting up around his home. He sometimes harvests their honey, but has been stung so many times that he’s not really willing to harvest honeycombs again. It took him quite some time to realize that he needed to use a campfire to calm the bees down, as before he just literally shoved his arm in the hive to get honeycombs.

* He will sometimes try to add new flowers that he discovers from his travels to his home’s makeshift garden, but eventually he really started to put more effort in having a visually pleasing garden and not just having a mess of various plants and flowers.

* Kinda thinks Creepers are cute, but is equally scared of their odd ability to explode violently. He has tried many times to tame them but always inadvertently scares them, soon prompting their unfortunate demise. He still has hope for possibly meeting a non-exploding Creeper one day, but will still keep his distance out of fear.

* He is a good swimmer, capable to dive to considerable depths, but refuses to go down to the deeper parts of the ocean such as the surface floor. Mainly out of concern from accidentally drowning by not being able to make it to the water’s surface in time, and also his distaste for looking at the Drowned as they also give him that ‘off’ feeling.

* He doesn’t mind crafting potions when needed, but feels like most of the time they’re quite unnecessary as they mainly take away the trill and inherent danger of exploring. He will cave in however and will use the Potion of Water Breathing and the Potion of Fire Resistance when he knows he’s heading into some riskier areas.

* As for how Steve met Alex, it was quite sudden actually. He was just out exploring when he saw them hunting in the distance, stalking some Skeletons. He assumed at first it was just some brave Villager, but soon noticed how their physical proportions seem to mirror his. After realizing that they ARE human, he was too shy and terrified to actually go up to them and introduce himself. What if they thought he was a creepy stalker? Or a Pillager?! It seems to be fate however when Alex was soon cornered and he threw himself into the fray to help. After the fight, the two awkwardly interacted, as Alex does speak English but didn’t realize that Steve was mute. Since then the two have interacted more and more, showing to each other their homes and various bases, along with trading goods and their own life stories to pass the time together. He does hold some romantic feelings for Alex, but holds it inside of him as he fears that expressing his love would inadvertently scare them away.

* His body is wracked with scars, all from various accidents and misadventures. Strangely however, he does have some scars that would only be created from fatal wounds, such as a arrow entry-wound scar directly over where his heart should be, or odd deep bite wounds around his neck. Steve always seems to shrug these scars off and claim that they’re usually from falling debris when mining, but it seems unlikely.

* He claims that he tends to suffer from randomly occurring nightmares, all ending in brutal deaths such as being burned alive in lava or being ripped to shreds by zombies. If you were to ask what happened before these events, he will explain that it feels ‘just like any other day’ before the death happens. He is completely oblivious to the fact that after each nightmare, a new scar seems to appear on his body.

* Sometime after Steve ‘moved in’ to the area, there has been some strange rumors of another human, a unusually hostile human..... Some Villagers claim it is a near splitting image of Steve, but they refuse to believe it’s him. After all, why would he become so....... brutal..... The few that managed to observe this human usually claim that his body is usually drenched in his own gore from being mauled, charred beyond belief, riddled with arrows and weapons still lodged in their flesh, or even fully drenched in seawater with them perpetually vomiting it and blood out. Others claim that this human has no pupils or iris, just a unsettling white void that almost appears ethereal-like.

* When addressing Steve about this odd human lurking around in this area, he is actually quite curious yet afraid about it. He met Alex by chance, as they’re more of a free roaming explorer, so perhaps this new human is akin to Alex’s more extreme traveling lifestyle? He does agree however on their reported violent behavior to be..... deeply unsettling....... setting Illagers on fire to only chop up their corpses in the end, disfiguring and torturing Witches with their own potions, purposely corralling Creepers together to cause a horrible chain reaction to occur that deeply scars the ground, drowning Endermen and proceeding to gouge out their eyes after the deed has been done......... certainly dark actions for a twisted individual. Steve thinks they might be observing him, as he has found trails of blood and other various fluids leading up to his house’s door every few days. He can only hope that if they were to meet one fateful day, he would be spared.

#really had fun writing these!!!!#minecraft #MC Steve #steve #mc alex #Alex #herobrine #vinyl scratching

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strangertheory · 3 years

Text

We can't know what we don't know.

The value of skepticism in fandom discourse

I worry that the Stranger Things fandom often allows the development of fan-canons and false absolutes in between seasons that might be destructive to certain fans' long-term enjoyment and appreciation of the series.

We can't know what we don't know.

And if we forget this and begin to construct expectations for what might happen next in the story that are too deeply rooted in our hearts: we are setting ourselves up for disappointment and this is not the fault of the Duffer Brothers or the writing team. This is our fault as individuals and as a community.

Stranger Things has three completed seasons, a fourth season currently in production, and an intended fifth and final season.

We are only a little beyond the halfway point in this larger story.

The halfway point.

A lot can happen in the span of two final seasons.

The writing team probably intends to maintain thematic and narrative intentions across all five seasons. The Duffer Brothers have spoken of having an ending in mind for the story for a long time. (”We’ve known the ending for a while.” - Matt Duffer) But we, the fans, cannot truly know what those plans are until the credits roll on the final episode of the final season.

And yet there is a stubborn certainty that many fans engage in between seasons and that I worry has been growing and spreading worse than usual during season 4′s production delays.

In spite of having only just surpassed the middle point of a story arc that’s being told over the span of five seasons, many fans declare that they "definitely know" that certain relationships between characters won't change. That certain characters will "definitely" survive. That certain rumored future story arcs (based on audition tapes, fan speculation, interviews with the cast) will "definitely happen." That certain characters are "definitely straight" or that certain characters are “definitely gay.”

I believe that there is value in seeking to understand and predict events in a story. Appreciating the way that skilled storytellers use foreshadowing, symbolism, narrative parallels, metaphor, lighting and camera angles, music, and other creative tools when putting together a show like Stranger Things is thrilling. I love debating the relevance of certain details to an author’s larger intentions and long-term vision for their story and characters. I believe that skilled writers should plant clues throughout the earlier moments in a narrative so that plot twists are surprising and yet also also have us slapping our knees declaring “Oh, look! All the signs were there from the beginning! Well played.” Some writers start off without a particular end-goal in mind and allow the characters to lead them there as they develop, however we know that this is not entirely the case for the Duffer Brothers and that they have an ending in mind that they have been building towards.

Authors can also make poor writing decisions that contradict the internal logic and implications of their own universe. Writers and creative teams are not infallible. Productions have constraints and behind-the-scenes pressures, challenges, and limitations that might sometimes result in a less cohesive narrative. I don't believe that's the case with Stranger Things but this can and does happen.

But I always keep in mind that this story is not mine. I am fully capable of being incorrect in my analysis and predictions regarding what might happen next.

My theories and predictions (that Mike has romantic feelings for Will, and that Stranger Things is perhaps intended to be about a dissociated system and internal worlds etc.) are not shared by the majority of the fan community.

I question the logic of my thoughts constantly because I am prompted to do so any time I share my unusual theories and ideas with other fans. Because my ideas are strange and less popular I am well aware of my need to provide evidence and logic when offering them to other fans for consideration.

If your ideas regarding what is happening in Stranger Things are shared by the majority of fans: how often do you question your expectations?

Do you think that you question them often enough? Are you allowing yourself to become complacent and to assume that because a large majority of your fandom community agrees with your interpretation of certain plot-points and characters that you absolutely must be correct in your understanding of Stranger Things?

I have seen how emotionally attached many fans are to their own preferred understanding of the story. Many fans greet alternative understandings that conflict with their own ideas with a lot of hostility and protest.

I want to warn all fans against closing their imaginations off to the story taking a different route than what they’ve carved into their hearts.

Fans that like less popular ships or that indulge in the discussion of fringe hypotheticals and unique theories are second-guessing and questioning themselves every day and I think for that reason we are better prepared for disappointment than fans that have allowed themselves to believe in characters, ships, and plot-points being “definite” or “canon” or “endgame” simply because the majority of other fans share (and reinforce) those same assumptions.

I worry when I see large fan-made accounts on Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Tumblr that post a constant stream of content that reinforces very specific fan-canons that are not yet absolute and yet are still favored and embraced as inevitabilities.

Do fans truly believe that nothing might surprise them in the last half of the story? Do fans believe that we know everything about these characters, their relationships with one another, and this sci fi universe by this point in the show? Does this attitude seem reasonable?

The constant consumption of our favorite fan-cams, fanart, and fan-canons creates echo chambers reinforcing our current assumptions about characters, character relationships, and presumed future plotlines. Just because a fan-run Stranger Things account with over a million followers posts about a specific ship constantly and this is what you are seeing on your phone every morning it doesn’t mean that this account knows what is going to happen in the story any more than you do. We need to be wary of allowing ourselves to lose our objectivity and our awareness that this story is in the hands of the Duffer Brothers and the Stranger Things writing team and that nothing that fans expect (or, god forbid, rudely demand) is guaranteed. The twisted idea that creators are in any way obligated to pander to their current fanbase is absurd to me when you consider that this is their creation, and additionally when you consider that the series will exist for future fans long after the majority of current fans abandon it.

I want the entire Stranger Things fandom to enjoy the journey, to enjoy uncertainty, and to look forward to finding out what happens next. I don’t want fans setting themselves up for disappointment by stubbornly insisting that their interpretation of what is happening in the story is absolutely correct when the story is not over yet.

If the Stranger Things fan community can allow itself to be open to being wrong I think we will all enjoy the story a lot more and continue enjoying the story no matter what. The creators behind Stranger Things are very talented and I believe they are telling a very well-crafted story. I only hope that the fandom will appreciate it and that we haven’t stubbornly built walls around our own desires that will prevent us from enjoying an excellent story if it contradicts our expectations in the next few seasons.

I know that if I look forward to the thrill of discovering something new about my favorite characters in future seasons that I will rarely be disappointed.

I hope we all continue opening new curiosity doors and try to avoid setting our hearts on specific expectations.

#stranger things #stranger things fandom #stranger things theories #I know this might be a buzzkill post but I think it's important not to forget this

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mittelfrank-divas · 3 years

Text

Dance of the Black Heron chapter 2

The next chapter of my Dancer Hubert fic! In which the other Black Eagles have opinions on this situation.

This fic is now up on AO3 for those who prefer reading there!

===

"I think it's a fine idea." Edelgard rounded one of the long tables in the Black Eagles classroom, carrying a stack of tactics textbooks. It was quickly growing dark outside, and every other student had long ago vacated the classrooms, but the pair of them were often found here at this hour by the flickering light of the candles and the dwindling embers of the fireplace.

At first, tidying the classroom had been an easy excuse for them to meet at night without suspicion. It was a perfectly appropriate activity for the head of the class and her attendant to engage in regularly outside of normal class hours, with obvious evidence of their work that they could point to the next morning if anybody asked where they had been.

Now, although better awareness of the guard rotations and lesser-used passages gave them plenty of other ways to slip out after dark, habit still found them here day after day. Hubert could not help but notice the pride that Edelgard took in maintaining the Black Eagles classroom, making sure the chairs were straightened and every student had their required materials ready in the morning. It did not matter that their classmates could easily retrieve their books and quills themselves, or that the room would be equally serviceable if the chairs were left slightly askew or that the floor could endure going unswept for a few days. Edelgard wanted the classroom to be perfect for her Eagles, and so Hubert was all too happy to assist her in that.

He automatically held out his arms for her to deposit the books into and began distributing them before each chair on one side of the room while Edelgard began passing out her own stack on the other side. He scowled down at the books in his arms as he sought out the one with the broken binding, which he always deliberately placed in front of Ferdinand's chair. "I did not expect you to share in our professor's folly."

"I see no folly in it." Edelgard was not quite so deliberate in her distribution, placing each of her own books without checking its state. Hubert doubted that any of the other Black Eagles noticed that the left side of the classroom always received the same books each day (the nicest one went to Bernadetta and their state of decay decreased down to Ferdinand's) while the right side was randomized, with each equally likely to receive the one wrinkled with water stains on one corner. Her egalitarian approach meant she always finished sooner than Hubert, and so she was first to move behind the professor's desk to retrieve the quills and ink pots. "I know you know how to dance, Hubert. I have seen you do it many times."

"Respectfully," Hubert grumbled, "our little bedroom waltzes hardly compare to a competition that will determine the composition of our class. You have seen me run before, but you would not ask me to participate in a marathon."

"Nonsense." Edelgard turned to him, a pot of ink in each hand. "That comparison would only be suitable if I had watched you outrun the entirety of our class. You are good at dancing. You have proper stance, you keep time well..."

"Lady Edelgard," Hubert set his final book down and met her eyes directly. "Did you convince the professor to choose me?"

Edelgard's pale eyebrows rose. "You are cross with me. No, I did not. I merely advised them that you would be a good choice. They were already considering you."

"I am not cross with you, I am…" Hubert sighed, and slouched down to rest his gloved hands on the table. "Alright. I am cross. I wish you'd consulted with me before agreeing to this."

Edelgard never cowered from anger -- his, or any other's. It was one of the many traits that made him admire her. Her pale lavender eyes met his fully. "I apologize. I thought it best if you heard directly from our professor first. It is not as though they can force the decision upon you, after all, can they?"

"No," Hubert admitted with a sigh, finally moving to retrieve the quills and ink alongside her. "They merely trapped me in my own logic. Forced me to admit that I can see no better option."

"Well?" She flicked her white hair back out of her eyes as she shot him a sidelong glance. "Is your logic flawed? Is there any other who we should choose instead?"

Hubert had been asking himself that very question since the moment he exited the professor's room. Dare he give up their only cavalry unit? Their only assassin? Could he ignore his own predictions that Linhardt would shirk whatever responsibility the role would demand of him? "I am beginning to question whether we require a Dancer in our ranks at all."

"Well then, I am certain that Claude von Riegan will make good use of it," Edelgard said crisply as she laid out quills.

Claude von Riegan. Claude von Riegan with somebody under his command who could effectively double the speed of any attacking unit. Hubert could already imagine a number of scenarios that Claude could manifest with such power in his hands, but worse were the ones that he could not imagine.

"Your attempts to bait me are rather transparent, I'm afraid." Even as he said it, Hubert attempted to shrug off the vision of the future Alliance leader darting out of their peripherals, bow at ready.

"A pity," Edelgard sighed, moving toward the professor's desk. She always made a point of organizing their notoriously scatterbrained teacher's class materials at the end of the day. "I had hoped I was being subtle. Transparent though I may be, however, do tell me if my plan has worked."

Hubert prided himself on his schemes, on his ability to out-think his opponents. Unfortunately, the fact that he had honed his skill by practicing with his closest friend meant that same friend knew him all too well, and easily turned those same skills back on him. "Of course it has," he conceded, and moved to stand in front of the professor's desk while Edelgard sat down in the chair across from him. "You know I cannot bear the thought of giving such a calculating opponent an edge such as this. Well spotted as ever, Lady Edelgard."

She pulled a stack of Byleth's disorganized notes to herself, a small smile creeping onto her face at her victory. Under normal circumstances, Hubert lived to see that smile soften her carefully-managed features. In this case, it was difficult to take joy in one more sign that his doom was sealed. Nevertheless, she nodded at him. "Alright, then. If our only goal is simply to keep the Dancer class out of anyone else's hands, the solution is simple. We send someone else to compete in the White Heron Cup, but we will not make use of the certification once we have it."

Hubert crossed his arms, considering her suggestion. It was an easy way out. They could send Dorothea or even Ferdinand to compete without interfering with their long-term plans. Edelgard was showing him a kindness by offering an alternative. The fact that he recognized it for a kindness made loathing for himself churn in the pit of his stomach. For her to settle on a lesser choice simply for his sake was intolerable. "An elegant solution, but a wasteful one. I doubt you would be satisfied with such a plan."

Edelgard sighed. "Of course I wouldn't be. I think a Dancer would be of great benefit to us, and I think you would be an ideal choice."

Hubert shook his head, leaning down to press both hands against the front of the desk. "I simply fail to understand why."

"It is just as you and the professor said. The Dancer must be able to anticipate the movements of the battlefield and turn it to their advantage. When I am at the front of the line, I want someone who knows my tactics and my plans, who can predict exactly what choices I will make, to be at my back setting the stage. It's true that anyone in our class could do the job adequately, but only you could use such a position to seamlessly carry out my plans." Edelgard leaned across the desk, her hand closing around Hubert's wrist, her pale eyes meeting his fiercely. "I would never order you down a path that you found intolerable, Hubert. If this is truly unbearable for you, then we will find another solution. I just wish you could see how much I think you would shine in such a role."

She truly had so much faith in him. Not just to be a Dancer, but to be her Dancer. Someone who could help her achieve her lofty goals. Maybe, if he actually could succeed in winning the certification…

Hubert's hand went to his head, pushing his black hair out of his eyes. "This is foolishness. It is not a test of skill, but of charm. You know that I could manage to hit every step perfectly and the judges will still favor whoever has the most attractive smile."

Edelgard's eyes glinted confidently. "And is that such a bad thing? You know as well as I that charm is a matter of manipulating perceptions." She leaned forward, using her grip on Hubert's arm to pull herself across the desk. At her height, Edelgard practically had to lay across the expanse of the wood surface to lean close to him, but she somehow managed it. "Hubert," she said lowly so none passing by the open door could hear, "when we constructed the Flame Emperor together, remember what you said? That we must create an image that strikes awe into the hearts of all who see him. It will not be you dancing out there. It will be the image we create for you. So let us create that image. Will you permit that?"

An image. A persona, like the Flame Emperor. Hubert could not imagine himself standing before the entire school, hoping to convince them of his appeal with a charisma he did not possess. But thinking of it as simply another mask…

His other hand closed over hers. "If you are behind me, I can try."

***

The evening was still early when he found his way to the ground-level dorms. Light glowed warmly from the open doors and windows of the cafeteria, chatter and laughter filtering down the stone staircase. It was a crisp fall evening, not yet cold enough to keep the students from lingering around the fishing pond or drifting slowly toward their dorms while carrying on their dinner conversations, trying to delay the night of studying ahead. It would not be, therefore, considered terribly untoward for Hubert to be standing outside of Dorothea's chambers at this time. He took a moment to steel himself before knocking sharply on her door.

He highly doubted that he was remotely within the sphere of people who Dorothea hoped would be standing on the other side of her door, yet her smile was dazzling anyway. The songstress knew how to perform even in the most mundane of venues. "Hubie! It's not like you to make social calls. Are you here to scold me for forgetting to use Edie's title again? Or is this about that saucy joke I made yesterday? Was that too much for her delicate royal ears to hear?"

Hubert stifled a sigh, already regretting this conversation. Dorothea's personality was entirely too much for him to face directly like this. Her irreverence around Lady Edelgard had been a point of contention in their first few weeks at the academy, but Edelgard herself enjoyed Dorothea's brash attitude and had told him to let it go. Truth be told, Hubert also took a certain amount of pleasure in watching a commoner breezily ignore social mores the way that Dorothea did, pointedly affixing his fellow nobles with all-too-personal nicknames rather than a deferential title. But it was a spectacle that he preferred to appreciate at a distance, without the full force of the songstress's energy and wit directed at him.

"Nothing so serious as that, I assure you." Hubert stiffly folded his hands behind his back, sifting through his mental notes to recall exactly how he had rehearsed this conversation. Unfortunately Dorothea's chaotic nature had already derailed his plans, leaving him to leaf frantically through his script to work out what to say next. The sound of laughter echoing across the square made him uncomfortably aware of the other students and monastery residents moving around behind him. "I thought perhaps that you should hear it first. The professor has chosen our candidate for the White Heron Cup."

He saw her smile falter a bit, and knew that she was doing the math. If Byleth had chosen her, then surely Byleth would be the one to deliver the news. Still, her voice remained as bright as ever. "Really? That's great news! Who is it?"

Hubert could not stand to look at that fading smile anymore, and his eyes found a particularly fascinating crack in the wall by her door. "You should know that this was not at all an easy choice. It was less a matter of who could succeed in the competition than of who we could afford to remove from another role. The composition of our class is..."

"Hubie," all warmth had drained from her voice now, replaced with a dangerous edge. "If you've come all this way just to soothe my feelings over Ferdie being chosen over me, you can just get it over with."

The very suggestion that Hubert would ever choose Ferdinand von Aegir shocked him into looking at her again. "We need Ferdinand on his horse, loathe as I am to admit that. Just as we need you continuing to study both Reason and Faith, a combination that we otherwise lack." He shifted awkwardly, resisting the urge to either fidget or flee. "I have been over the class roster many times, and unfortunately I see no other way around it. The professor is of the opinion that the only one who can be spared for this role is myself."

A single laugh burst out of Dorothea's mouth before she covered it with both hands. "Oh Hubie! Oh I'm sorry, it's not funny. It's just unexpected."

"I am quite aware of how unexpected it is," Hubert muttered, once again taking tremendous interest in the details of the wall beside her. "Which is precisely why I must request your assistance. There can be no doubt that you are our most gifted dancer. Moreover, you have experience with performing before an audience. I wish to ask for your help in preparing for this competition."

Dorothea stared up at him, cautious skepticism on her face. She did not trust nobles, and he shared in her loathing. Hubert himself nearly forgot sometimes that he would be considered one of them in her eyes. Dorothea may have acted cheerful around her classmates, but Hubert had seen the way she sometimes seemed to be bracing for them to turn on her. She looked like she was bracing for that now. "I'm sorry, did you say you need my help? You, Hubie, need my help."

"That is what I said, yes."

Dorothea snorted. "I'm surprised you aren't asking Ferdie, since he seems so very convinced of his superiority in every realm, including dance."

"I do not entertain that one's foolish ramblings." Hubert smirked as he said it, and was pleased that a smile crept back onto Dorothea's own face. She made clear her feelings on Ferdinand -- loudly, and as often as possible -- and it seemed that he won an ally in her on this front. "As much as it pains me to admit my own failings, I know that you are much more practiced in this arena than myself. If you are willing to assist me in this, I would be grateful."

She granted him that warm smile that she shared so freely with her classmates. "Well with a request like that, how can I refuse? Alright, Hubie. How about we meet on the training grounds tonight?"

Hubert felt his heart rate spike just at the thought of being caught practicing in such a public area. The training grounds were less crowded in the evenings, but there were many students who remained there even late into the night. There would be no hope of privacy in such a place. "Actually, I have somewhere more private in mind, if you'll allow. I'll meet you here at your room after class tomorrow and show you the way."

Her smile twisted itself into a sly grin. "Why Hubie, if you wanted to get me alone, a simple dinner invitation would have sufficed."

Now he did sigh. Truly, she was relentless. "I assure you, I have no such intentions. But if this is your way of requesting an exchange for your services, I will see what I can do about a meal."

"No fun at all," Dorothea sighed back, though he could see that she was still teasing him rather than truly disappointed. "Forget it, then. I'll see you tomorrow."

Dorothea closed the door, leaving Hubert standing awkwardly outside. He had the rest of the night ahead of him to fret over what awaited him at Dorothea's lessons.

***

Hubert had never before dreaded class. In fact, against all reason, he even sometimes enjoyed it.

That had been an unexpected development. That Hubert would accompany Edelgard to Garreg Mach, the very seat of the Church of Seiros, that he would attend classes alongside the frivolous sons and daughters of nobility, that he would sit in front of some church-approved professor and listen to their tiresome lectures… and he would not hate it. Sometimes he even learned something. Sometimes he even forgot that he was here under false pretenses, that he was only pretending to be a student in order to further Edelgard's aims.

But class had never before felt like such a trap. Never had he so cursed Edelgard's preference for sitting in the very front row, as well as his own decision to accompany her there. Hubert felt that every single pair of eyes in the room must have been on the back of his head. Surely such a thought was irrational, since only Edelgard and Dorothea yet had reason to suspect his distraction when he failed to turn his tactics textbook to the correct page.

Worse, their distractible professor left Hubert to suffer in silence through the entire lecture, carrying on as though his humiliation was not imminent. It was only when Byleth was about to dismiss them for lunch, threatening to draw out the torture even further, that Edelgard came to his rescue. "Professor, I believe you had intended to make an announcement."

Byleth paused, blinking at Edelgard in that dreamy way they always did when they forgot vital information, such as their own plans. "Oh, yes. We've chosen our candidate for the White Heron Cup."

A general murmur of excitement rippled through the classroom. Hubert pointedly closed his book and began organizing his things, trying very hard to ignore the chatter behind him.

"You were wanting to be choosing, weren't you Ferdinand?"

"I assure you, I know nothing about the professor's choice. If they have selected me, this is the first I am hearing of it."

"It's not me, right? You wouldn't pick me just to make fun of me, would you? Oh no! You have, haven't you? Aaaaaaah I don't want to do iiiiiiiiit!"

"Finally!" Caspar's voice rang out over Bernadetta's cries. "Who'd you pick, professor? We've got so many good dancers here, I bet we'll win no matter what!"

Byleth did not waste time on drawing out the suspense with theatrics. "I've chosen Hubert."

The din faded to uneasy silence. Of all the times that Edelgard had urged the Black Eagles to learn the art of being quiet, somehow this was the moment in which the lesson finally took.

"I don't think he's a bad choice at all." Dorothea jumped in to helpfully damn Hubert with faint praise.

"Indeed, if the strategy is to frighten the judges into choosing our house, you could not ask for a better candidate." Linhardt, naturally, chose to wake up from his nap exclusively for the purpose of contributing this jab.

Having run out of anything left to do with his own class materials, Hubert moved on to straightening Edelgard's notes for her. Might as well let his classmates get this out of their system so they could hopefully never speak of this again.

"Hubert's not going to assassinate the judges, is he? Noooo I can't be an accessory to murder!"

"Bernie, nobody's going to assassinate anyone."

"Is this being a contest of violence? I thought it was of dance."

"No, there's no violence. Bernie's just being dramatic."

"Imagine if it was though? Like what if we had to fistfight Alois to win? That would be awesome!"

"But I don't want to fistfight Alois!"

"Bernie, absolutely nobody is asking you to fistfight Alois."

"Well I trust in our professor's decisions." A single voice boomed above all the others. Caspar may have existed in a perpetual state of yelling, but Ferdinand von Aegir projected his voice at all times as though he was in the midst of orating to a crowd. "I am certain that they have good reason to choose Hubert to represent the Black Eagles house, and we should be proud to support him. Why, regardless of whether or not he's had training, with a few weeks, he should--"

"I have, actually." Hubert was already out of his chair and turning to face Ferdinand before his nerves had a chance to catch up with him. The ginger with his all-too-bright smile was staring at Hubert, startled at being interrupted mid-speech. "Which is something you might already know if you ever deigned to dance with those you consider beneath your status, Ferdinand."

Ferdinand's mouth hung agape, his ears turning a satisfying shade of scarlet. "What is that supposed to--"

"Alright!" Edelgard stood, inserting herself between them as she stepped into the center of the classroom. "Honestly, is this any way to behave before a competition? We are supposed to present a united front before the other houses. I expect all of you to give Hubert your full support, just as you would any one of us."

Hubert made a point of avoiding any further eye contact as he exited the classroom. With resounding support such as this from his own class, did he even need rivals to compete with? Perhaps they might send one of Bernadetta's plush toys to compete and save him the trouble.

#hubert von vestra #edelgard von hresvelg #black eagles #fanfic #dance of the black heron

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theflashdriver · 4 years

Text

Faux (A fake dating Silvaze Fic)

Here’s a little something I wrote to promote Silvaze Week 2020. It starts on September 27th, for more information please go see the Silvaze Week twitter! This story uses the oblivious prompt and is over 11,000 words wrong!

---------

“I still don’t think I get it, Blaze. If nothing’s changing, what’re you asking me to actually do?” Silver the hedgehog said, sat at the foot royal bed. A book was sprawled open in his lap, but his attention was fully focused on the princess.

Blaze the cat was supposed to be working at her desk. The sun was well on its way to setting yet papers were still stacked high before her; agreements to endorse and budgets to look over and constructions to sign off on, it was nothing too out of the ordinary. Rather than tending to those though, she’d turned her chair to discuss a more personal matter and project with her closest companion. She’d thought it would be easy to explain but, in hindsight, the plan she’d propose was nothing like their usual fair. It didn’t help matters that neither of them had any experience in this department. Well, as far as she knew, he didn’t.

“I’m proposing that you say and pretend that you’re my boyfriend, Silver. That’s really all there is to it,” She instructed, using as simple and plain terms as possible, “I’ll do the same for you and we’ll go on a date tomorrow,” She caught the flexing of his brow and elaborated further, “A fake date, of course, just something small, we could visit the beach for a picnic lunch?

“Right,” He nodded but confusion still twisted his face, “But I’ve never actually been a boyfriend before, how will I know what to do?” It didn’t surprise Blaze that he was willing to go along with this, but it did surprise her that, of all the first questions, he’d landed on that. Not why they were going through this in the first place, just what he was supposed to do; it was very like him, but it still managed to catch her off-guard.

“I’ve not been a girlfriend, we’re both going into this blind and I think that’s what’ll make the ruse more believable,” She answered, “Honestly, I don’t think you’ll have to do anything different. If anything, I’ll have to be a little more forward.”

“More forward?” His head gently tilted, and his eyes squinted; her phrasing was throwing him off. Perhaps she wasn’t being clear with him.

“We’re both new to this but I think it’s clear that I understand this potential task better than you. While I have not been in a relationship, those around me have,” Blaze elaborated, “That means I’ll have to take the lead, initiate bolder actions that’ll suggest to the public that we’re an actual couple; that we’re not just partners.”

Then again, that’d hardly be difficult. Silver was perfect for this plan because, frankly, that nature of their partnership was nebulous. They’d been mistaken for a couple more times than she could count. When Silver had first arrived in the Sol Dimension and her public had observed a total stranger hugging, laughing with and being doted on by the princess, rumours and gossip had quickly sailed to inform all corners of her kingdom. She’d never acknowledged that hearsay, denying a rumour only spread it further, but now she was going to use it to her advantage; she was going to turn that gossip on its head.

His ears were still slightly folded and, though it had faded, befuddlement lingered in his eyes and on his brow. The why was almost as important as the action itself, his curious nature would surely gnaw away at him and she wasn’t opposed to explaining. It was just a wordy and rather sad story, ideally the cliff notes alone would suffice.

“I know it’s all a little strange but my birthday’s only a couple of months away and I’m starting to worry,” Blaze began to explain, “When my mother turned eighteen, she started to get letters from suitors. People she’d never met wrote to her and asked for her hand in marriage. They were rich and powerful people, important to her kingdom but, equally, they were people she hardly even knew let alone loved,” The cogs in Silver’s head were turning, his fist tightened at what he surely thought and injustice, but Blaze thought it best to tell a more complete tale, “She was afraid to turn any of them down for fear of worsening her professional relationships but, atop that issue, she had already fallen in love with my father; she had a secret boyfriend. When that information became public those letters stopped arriving, but a few families felt as though they’d been led on and public relations worsened. Many of them refused to speak with her for several years, some won’t even speak to me.”

“What? People cut her off because she didn’t marry them, even though they didn’t even know her? Of course she didn’t want to marry them, why would she want to marry someone she doesn’t know?” Silver was aghast, she couldn’t help but smile at his innocence and the sense of justice behind it, “That’s awful! Did they just want to be in charge?”

“Yes,” Blaze affirmed, “They didn’t love her; they just wanted the royal name, be it to further their brands or grow their pride. A lot of parents wrote in on behalf of their children, many either much too old or much too young, offering them up to further the family’s social status.”

“So, you want to avoid all that by making them think you already have a boyfriend? That way, they won’t send any letters in the first place and won’t have anything to be angry about?” The hedgehog surmised. His stare was still galvanised by the tale of her mother.

“If you wouldn’t mind being that person Silver, yes,” Having made that request twice now, feeling a pang of guilt, Blaze hesitated, “I wouldn’t trust anyone else to do this, but I know it’s a lot to ask. It’ll take up time and, obviously, stop you having this kind of relationship with anyone else. If you’re uncomfortable then we don’t have to, I don’t want to impose-

“If it’ll make you feel more comfortable, I’m willing to do anything, Blaze. I’ve never dated anyone before, but I’ll do my best to do it right,” Before she could finish, he’d bounded from his seated position and let his book tumble to the floor. He’d flown forward and taken her by the shoulders. When the hedgehog agreed to something, no matter how small, he made it his duty to see it through. She should have known that he’d want to see this through, “Starting tomorrow we’ll tell people that we’re dating. It can’t be that hard!”

The hedgehog had never quite understood personal space, his forehead was practically against hers and it’d only take a small push for their noses to collide. Blaze rolled her eyes, reaching up and returning his hold, “Thank you, Silver. Really, you have no idea how much more comfortable this will make me. I’ve been worrying about it for months now, weighing my options.”

“I just hope I can play the part well enough to convince everyone,” He awkwardly smiled, failing to mask his concern, “I’ve never had to act before, let alone trick people.”

“I doubt you’ll even have to act, just be yourself, you’re a very…” She searched for the perfect word, “Passionate person. When your mind is set on doing something, you invest in it so deeply; I’m sure that’ll come through and it’ll be more than enough,” Concern faded from his eyes, just a little, “But, like I said, I’ll take the lead. If I don’t think we’re being convincing enough, I’ll make a move.”

“Do you want me to do anything to help prepare? What about tomorrow’s date?” He asked, already trying to help even more, “I’ve got stuff back at the hut, I could easily put together a picnic if we do want to do a beach date?”

“I think that would be perfect, Silver,” She admitted, having intended to imply that was what she wanted later. Though he claimed to love her cooking, she had a far more rational palette, “This should be the last weekend before the weather turns, it’s already getting too cold for beach going. The crowds shouldn’t be huge but hopefully we’ll be visible enough that the word will spread itself.”

“We can go around the rock pools, walk along the beach and look for shells,” A new idea popped into his mind, his eyes lit up, “O-Or we could just relax if you prefer? Take a few books to read, maybe even get ice cream and…” Silver seemed to catch himself, his eyes began to lower, “I’m sorry, I’m trying to plan all this out. I want to help you Blaze; you should be free to choose who you want to love; you shouldn’t have to do this in the first place.”

He wanted to make things right, of course he did. The princess found herself shifting just a little closer as her grasp on him grew just a little tighter. Silver’s strong sense of justice didn’t have as many opportunities to shine through in this dimension, the world’s state of relative peace contributed to that, but it was a part of him she adored seeing. He was willing to put himself through so much and try so hard, she didn’t think he was romantically interested in anyone but even still; he was willing to put future romances on hold just so she could be comfortable.

“It’ll be easy, Silver. Don’t think of this like a date, think of it as one of our usual outings; like stargazing or visiting the crystal caves, it’s nothing out of the ordinary. We’ll do whatever comes naturally. All you need to do is stay by my side and be how you always are, all that’s changing is how we refer to each other,” Despite her reinforcement, his gaze drifted further from hers. She reached across and pushed his chin, turning him to face her. The worry seemed to vanish from his bright yellow eyes, “Just act natural, it’ll be fine. I’ll do the heavy lifting; it was my idea after all.”

“I’ll do my best,” As he promised, their heads came to touch. The contact seemed to invigorate him, “I’ll be the best boyfriend I can be! You don’t have to carry all the weight; I’ll handle it!”

Her smile only grew as she pushed against his contact, “You’re so naïve…”

----

Whittling the evening away, talking and toying with Silver, proved to be foolish. By the time he’d left, midnight was mere minutes away and a good two hours’ work still lay upon her desk. Coffee had helped her through it all but, unfortunately, it’d also scared away sleep for an additional hour at least. By the time she’d finally drifted off, it couldn’t have been far from four.

The princess awoke just after nine, her head made heavy and ears brought to curl by the incessant blaring of her alarm clock. Groggily rising, stretching cricks from her body, Blaze managed to stumble the path from her bed into her en suite. Warm water and morning rituals washed away much of her morning daze, though a small pain continued gnawing just behind her forehead. She supposed it was her own fault for leaving so much undone, but it surely wouldn’t make today any easier.

This proved to be true as the princess entered her walk-in wardrobe only to find herself befuddled. She’d already chosen an outfit for today, the same outfit she usually wore (her long sleeved tabard and tights, her standard guardian-wear), but, for whatever reason, it wasn’t appealing to her. Something about it didn’t seem right for today, something she couldn’t quite put her finger on.

Though she didn’t fight her gut intuition, Blaze told herself that it was the fault of nerves and a want to be more convincing more than anything. After all, the public had seen her dressed like that and with him a good few dozen times. Rather than take the garb at the front of her closet, she pressed herself to take a few steps deeper inside. Her stomach fizzed at the sight of jeans, dresses and other casual wear. She’d never intended to wear most of these articles, but they’d gathered here regardless of her want.

Most of her alternate outfits were gifts sent from fashion designers and clothing chains, dropped on her in the foolish hope that the princess would act as their living advertisement. She’d learned as a youth that it was wiser to wait a year and donate them rather than simply send them back, it was just another way she managed to avoid sour responses. Still, as she found herself near the back of her closet, none of those gifted items called out to her. One ensemble was singing to her, both loudly and clearly, but it had a far more embarrassing origin.

When Amy Rose set her mind to something, it was difficult to stop her. During one of her brief excursions to the other world, the young hedgehog had dragged the older feline away to pick out some summer clothes. Blaze had successfully rejected most of Amy’s recommendations but one of them had managed to pierce her armour, early into the outing Blaze had been caught off guard by a certain garb and the hedgehog had built upon it.

She pulled the hanger free and its scary splendour was fully revealed to her. It was an amber sundress, the fabric littered with inconsistent clusters of white lilies. Once Amy had pushed her into a changing room, the pink blur had rushed off to gather some matching accessories. An amber scrunchie to replace her usual red ring, a set of saltwater sandals and a pair of white rimmed sunglasses had been shoved beneath the changing room curtain before Blaze was even half changed.

This outfit would play into their charade incredibly well, Blaze knew how much a change in garb could do, but her stomach was doing backflips. She knew she was overreacting, when she’d tried it on for the first time she hadn’t felt like this, but that knowledge did nothing to curtain her errant emotions. It was only after she donned the full outfit the Blaze realised why she felt quite so tense. Utilising the full-length mirror attached to the closet’s outer door, Blaze found that her reflection’s cheeks had turned scarlet. The dress was pretty, undeniably pretty, and the lower five sixths of it were fine… but…

The dress hung from her shoulder on two, rather thin, fabric straps. The white fur of her underbelly wasn’t quite visible but, this dress exposed her shoulders, her arms and almost the entirety of her collar. Everything else about it was perfect but those straps were just too thin for her liking and the neckline was just a little too deep. Perhaps it was made for someone with a different body shape?

Why was she wasting so much time on this? For whatever reason she wanted to wear this dress but, simultaneously, couldn’t overcome its collar. Blaze knew that if she’d just force herself to wear her usual attire this’d be over with already but something about this just felt… right for today. She was worried about fully convincing her public, perhaps this change really was needed.

Eventually, she managed to come to a compromise. She decided to wear the amber sundress, and all the additions Amy had piled upon her, but don her swimsuit beneath. It was a plain, dark purple, one-piece leotard intended for sport rather than casual use. Fortunately, the dress was baggy enough to hide the under-outfit but its straps were too thick to be covered by those of the dress. Well, it didn’t alter the outfit and it did immediately make her feel a lot more comfortable. It wasn’t uncommon for people to wear swimsuits under their beachgoing clothes, was it? Settled, she managed to finally leave her room and, having snatched a banana for breakfast on the go, made her way out the front doors of the palace.

Immediately, the arrival of sunlight forced her to don her sunglasses. They were supposed to be in autumn but, even despite her pyrokinetic nature, Blaze could feel the heat. It wasn’t even muggy; the day was dry, and the sky was totally clear, it was as though a summer day had been transplanted later into the year. That would complicate things a little, she assumed. It was better this than it being rainy, but the beach would probably be a little better stocked than she’d assumed last night. This was a Saturday too…

Regardless, it’d take more than a new garb and a little sun to stop her. Silver was waiting, everything was prepared, their late-night planning couldn’t go to waste!

----

The uproar on the beach wasn’t just a little louder than she’d anticipated, it was much louder. She’d arrived outside Marine’s driftwood-hut, a good hundred or so metres from the sands, but the princess could hear the sounds of families shouting and playing… so many families. She’d hesitated at the doorstep, that noise and all it implied had managed to paralyse the powerful pyrokinetic. A few eyes she could handle, she’d given hundreds of speeches, but this was different. Blaze told herself that she could endure the stares, but would he be okay with this?

She hadn’t known the hedgehog to get stage fright, but this was new ground for both of them. If she didn’t know how she’d handle this, what chance did she have of guessing how he would? Well, then again, she’d watched him more than she’d watched herself. They probably had a better idea of how the other would react than themselves. Hopefully, ideally, he’d be too focused on their task to notice anyone else.

Mustering all of her courage, the princess brought her knuckle to rap against the door. Her thoughts on the hedgehog’s state were split into two distinct pieces. The first was that he’d try his best to lie and put on a front, following her lead, but, ultimately, his inability to lie convincingly would make today more than a little silly. Perhaps that was for the better, maybe that’d make her feel more relaxed.

Alternatively, it was entirely possible that his obliviousness in regard to romance would make this incredibly easy. He’d play along blissfully unaware of what he was actually doing, entirely comfortable in his position. Try as she might; Blaze struggled to picture Silver being romantic, let alone in a relationship. He’d been through so much, both with her and without her, that ideas of who he’d want to be with, let alone what he’d want to do with another person, assumedly hadn’t arrived in his mind. He almost seemed too selfless for love, too focused on other things.

Blaze supposed she hadn’t really pondered it until recently, whether he actually had an interest in romance. Just before she’d proposed this plan, she’d considered it and come to a similar conclusion but now, for whatever reason, that questioning refused to abate. Was he actually interested in romance? Who would he even be interested in? Were it not for her discordant mind, she’d be far more comfortable making assumptions about his position. Something about this morning was simply off, working too late must have been taking its toll.

The feline, so lost in a world of her own, almost fell backwards as the door flew open. Marine the Raccoon, garbed in her usual green dress and wearing a ludicrously knowing grin, had reared her head in Silver’s place. It was as though she’d been up and waiting for this moment for hours.

“Picked out some nifty duds, didn’t ya? Strewth, I don’t think I’ve ever even seen them. You’re lookin’ for your fella, aren’t ya?” Her smirk seemed to grow evermore with every passing second. Before Blaze could even offer up an answer, the raccoon had turned her back, “Silver! Your Sheila’s here! How could you just leave her out on the doorstep, some boyfriend you are, are you even up? Oi, mate? Mate…?” She toddled back inside, leaving Blaze’s eyes to roll in the sailor’s wake.

Marine had been more than a little insistent that the pair were together long before this plan had been hatched. She’d undoubtedly been overjoyed to hear the false news from Silver, she’d probably been the first person it’d spread to. When the truth eventually came out, she’d probably be a little disappointed but, surely, she’d be old enough by then to understand the princess’ position.

That was a thought, how long were they going to keep this up? Months perhaps, but years? She supposed they’d have to, the moment they admitted to the contrary she’d likely be bombarded with letters and gifts. Well, they didn’t have to, but she couldn’t see herself finding a reason to stop. No one really appealed to her but if Silver ever wanted out, she’d let him out. If he met someone or-

“Oh, Blaze! You’re here!” Just as her mind had refocused on Silver, she heard the hedgehog approaching from behind. She turned to look over her shoulder and his smile almost knocked Blaze from her feet, “Sorry I’m late, I had something to pick up in town. I hope you didn’t have to wait too long?”

Something about him was different today… well, many things looked different. Like her, the hedgehog was wearing casual attire, but it was an outfit she recognised all too well. She’d bought it for one of his birthdays, when she’d noticed him outgrowing much of the wardrobe he’d been gifted upon his arrival to this dimension. It was a basic but well-fitting garb she’d picked out because she’d thought it’d suit him and, well, today it especially seemed to. He was wearing a button up, short-sleeved, teal and navy shirt with a set of long navy shorts. In place of his typical boots, Silver had donned a thicker set of walking sandals, almost intended for hiking. Naturally, his cuffs and anklets had to remain so she’d chosen colours that wouldn’t clash with his aura or gold.

The psychic had worn the outfit quite a few times, though only on occasions he seemed to consider important. For as plain as they were, the hedgehog was very much making them work. They let him look relaxed, as she always liked him to be now that he was safely away from the future, without looking untidy. She hadn’t noticed that the outfit rather… accentuated a distracting feature of his. His quills were pulled back into a messy ponytail, an attempt to avoid battle with the sea breeze, but the edge of his chest fluff had managed to breach his shirt. Hiding some of his fluffiness only drew her eyes to what little remained. She blamed her choice in neckline for that latter issue.

There was something else though, something deeper than fabric that was drawing her attention; causing some strange quaking in her gut. She told herself that it was just grogginess, that she was just being silly, but even as her eyes broke from his form, the hedgehog’s visage lingered in her mind. Blaze supposed she just hadn’t seen him dressed in them for a while, the hedgehog liked to wear clothes but his outfits were usually more ragtag; tempest tossed quills, a hoodie pulled over his bare shoulders, dirty boots and crumpled trousers. He’d made an effort for her and… well…

It’d paid off. Try as Blaze might; she couldn’t deny it, he wasn’t exactly unpleasant to look at. But then, why were her eyes locked onto the ground?

“He was up half the night putting everything together; the clothes, the food…” Marine listed from the corner of the feline’s eye, “I’m glad you both finally came to your senses, I always knew he’d make the perfect boyfriend for you.”

For whatever reason, those words had stoked something within Blaze. The wriggling within her stomach longed to go on the offensive and chastise Marine but, being such a foolish feeling, the princess knew it would do neither her nor them any good. Instead, she simply brought her toes to curl and fists to ball. When the hedgehog arrived at the doorstep, the scent of sweet goods hit her nose and further drew her attention.

“Marine, could you get everything I made last night? There should be a little basket on the kitchen counter,” Rather immediately, the little sailor scampered off to do what he asked, “So, are we still doing this?

“Y-Yes,” Her response was quick, but that stutter wasn’t a result of speed. She swallowed, “As long as you’re still okay going through with this, I’m okay.”

“I feel the same. I just wanted to make sure you were okay. This is still a little strange to me but then it must be for you too. We can do this, I’m sure of it,” He hesitated for a moment, blinking at her slightly, “I don’t think I’ve seen this outfit before. You look really pretty!”

Her face went from red to boiling, he clearly had no idea what he was doing to her. Well, to be frank, she had no idea what he was doing to her either. She scrambled for a reply, “Y-You look nice too,” Was that arrogant to say? She had bought him that outfit after all.

As she looked up to him- no, as she realised that their difference in height forced her to look up to him, the wriggling and jostling in her stomach exploded into two dozen angry butterflies. Something about him today, the way his eyes met hers and his shoulders seemed broader, was holding her full attention. It was as though she hadn’t seen him in a while, no… it was more like she hadn’t looked at him in a while. He was surely still the naïve hedgehog she knew, but Silver had grown. He looked far more mature than Blaze recalled even last night. What had changed beyond her clothes? She supposed they had fake titles for each other now? But why would that-

“Blaze?” A shock ran from the top of her shoulders to the tip of her tail, bringing it to dance and curl around her waist, “Are you alright? You were staring…” He reached up, rubbing at his muzzle, “Do I have something on my face?”

“N-No Silver,” The princess practically choked on her stutter, she tore her gaze from him again, “I just didn’t get much sleep last night, I was too busy… planning all this. It was a lot of work.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” He cringed slightly, “I would have stayed and helped if you’d said.”

“I-It’s fine, don’t worry about it. What’s done is done,” She was usually better at lying but, for whatever reason, today was proving to be an exception to all of her norms.

He didn’t look entirely convinced but Marine had returned, he gently stuffed his current bag into the she’d retrieved basket, “What’s the plan then? Are we still heading for the beach?”

“It does seem a little busy,” Blaze mused, trying to resign his worry to the business of the beach, “Perhaps we could keep to the cliff face, the near edge. That way we won’t be getting in anyone’s way and their attention should be towards the water.”

“That seems like a great idea, that way we’ll be seen but not too seen,” He enthusiastically nodded, “The cliff should keep our picnic in the shade too, it’ll be perfect!”

The excitement in his voice sent a wave of heat up her face to tip her ears, as her temperature rose the hedgehog’s gaze overwhelmed her; Blaze’s stare fell to the ground. Only three words managed to slip beyond her lips, “Y-You’re so naïve.”

With an awkward wave goodbye to Marine the two finally set off towards the beach, walking together as faux boyfriend and girlfriend for the first time.

----

The beach was just as busy as it had sounded; children were running wild, frolicking in and out of the water with reckless abandon. Beach towel after beach towel littered the sand, slovenly forms comfortably spread across each and every one of them. They’d stuck to their plan, keeping to the far side of the beach and walking alongside the great cliff edge that shaded it; passing into and out of its shadow based upon the warping of bluffs.

Talk had been, admittedly, sparser than usual. He had made attempts to start conversations, but her mouth had been rather useless today. Speaking seemed to further the heat on her face and strip her tongue of its rationality, resulting in stuttering. Thus, she’d kept replies brief; a handful of words at best, awkward nods and headshakes at worst. If she was walking with anyone else, they’d surely think she was being rude. At least with Silver, he’d been around long enough that walking quietly was normalised. Still, given the nature of this current outing, she couldn’t help but assume he was either worried or confused.

Blaze was a good half pace behind him, rending her stare from the sand to throw him a look every so often. Since their arrival on the beach, she’d kept her sunglasses firmly covering her eyes; both to partially obscure where she was looking and hide some of her panic. Unfortunately, they weren’t doing much to prevent her embarrassment.

Their difference in height was really throwing her off, the feline felt like she should have been walking on her tiptoes to better match him. Had it really been so long since she’d worn flats? Had the difference between their heights grown so great without her even noticing? The Silver she saw in her mind’s eye was sweet and insecure, she could hardly even identify him as anything beyond his name; he was simply Silver, her partner, a person she could trust above all others. Looking at him now it was… it was as though she was actually seeing him as a man and that was, somehow, far more embarrassing than being dressed as she was. She’d probably find it easier to publicly admit that they were together than spend five minutes eye to eye with him, something had changed; he wasn’t the same cute, naïve, hedgehog she’d once known.

Well, he was still naïve, and he was undeniably cute; just not in the way she recalled it, not in a way she could bring herself to describe internally let alone audibly. How had he gone from the amorphous, fluffy, form she pictured in her mind’s eye, to this in only one night? What had changed? It couldn’t just be his clothes. It was so fascinating and yet so hard to dwell upon.

As he turned to look at her, Blaze’s gaze darted towards the waters and stumbled between the people watching them. There weren’t too many gazes on them, at least not consistently. A few people were whispering, and an elderly pair were throwing some kind of stare their way but most of the public seemed squarely focused on their time at the beach.

“Blaze?” His words drew her stare back to him, there was concern in his eyes.

She couldn’t muster a word in response, only an acknowledging hum. Her tongue was weighed, if she spoke then she’d surely stutter. How long would this feeling last?

“Is everything okay? Am I doing this right?” He’d slowed and taken a step closer, her eyes dropped to meet what little chest fur was free before darting up to meet his eye again. At this distance, she had no idea if he could make out where she was looking, “You’ve been very quiet. I thought we were supposed to be making a scene, drawing attention to us being together.”

“O-Oh,“ She gulped, ballistic at herself for swallowing, “I’m not entirely certain how we’d go about that. I think we’re drawing enough stares as it is, it’s probably fine...”

“Is this making you uncomfortable? Is it too much?” He fumbled with the picnic basket, switching it into his right hand as he looked past her and to the beach, “We can swap places if you want, that way they’d be looking at me instead.”

Despite this feeling in her gut, Silver was still Silver. If he thought he could do anything to help, even the slightest thing, he’d offer it without hesitation. She didn’t have the heart to tell him he was wrong, let alone that she was being bombarded by feelings she couldn’t explain, “Thank you, Silver.”

He shifted to her outer side, acting as a barrier between her and the stares, but part of the endeavour caused her heart to skip a beat. Once he’d arrived on that side, Silver had slipped his left hand into her right. She almost stumbled and he quickly looked back at her, very clearly confused. This kind of contact was regular for them, whenever the other was troubled the other would take their hand or wrap an arm around their shoulder; last night even, he’d held her by the shoulders and she’d casually returned that grasp. They’d held hands thousands of times, more than she could ever hope to count but, today, this afternoon, there was something almost electrifying about that contact.

He was staring, waiting for some kind of response, but her tongue would surely fail her again. She had to make up for its lack of fluidity.

Bluntly, boldly, she brought her fingers to lock between his and squeezed his hand tight; forcing herself into the leading position, she spoke without turning back to him, “L-Lets find somewhere quieter to eat. I’m starving.”

Her cheeks were on fire, she locked her eyes on the path ahead but no matter how she charged or tried to distract herself; Blaze’s embarrassment refused to shift. A lack of sleep had never done anything like this to her, at least not before today. Was that all this was? Tiredness and the stupor brought on by it? It had to be, nothing else made sense.

He’d caught up, matching her quickened pace to walk beside her, “Somewhere quieter, okay, um…”

Silver cast his eyes to the beach and Blaze’s stare followed, it seemed that their shift in pace had caused them to draw more attention. Rather than one or two older couples, a larger group of multiple families seemed to have noticed them. That, or word had simply spread up the beach and the world had finally noticed them together; dressed differently and holding hands, more than likely on a date. She slowed her pace again, turning to the cliff face. She’d had an idea, born of his recommendation of picnicking in the cliff’s shade. It was a stupid thought, so very stupid, but she knew somewhere more private. People might still see them, people could still reach them, but it’d perhaps make her feel more comfortable long term… even if it was bound to make her less comfortable in the short term and draw many more eyes.

“What about up there? We’d be away from the beach itself, but it’d be a little more private. I think we’d still be seen enough,” She suggested, gesturing up the cliff face, “They’d see you carrying me up there, perhaps that’s enough of a sign that we’re...”

He came to a stop, glancing up the cliff’s edge before quickly turning to the beach behind them, “Are you sure you’d be comfortable with that?”

Blaze knew what he was implying. Not only would this draw more eyes to them initially, but it involved scaling to a height that, while not ludicrous, was a little beyond what he knew her to be comfortable with. The concern in his eyes was so genuine…

“I know you won’t drop me, Silver. I trust you,” She squeezed his hand again, “Just, please, make it quick but not too quick.”

He managed a nod, his worry quelled, and slipped his hand from hers to shift the picnic basket further up his arm. Without blinking or flinching, he turned and put his right hand to her back while crouching and lowering his left arm for her to swing her legs up and across. While she’d focused on his concern her embarrassment had faded. Now, the heat had returned.

This was how he usually lifted her, it was more comfortable to lie in his grasp than to cling to him as he flew, but, due to her addled and tired mind, she was having further thoughts. Usually she’d have stepped up without flinching, she’d allow her head to fall against his shoulder and focus solely on his face until they reached their destination. They’d make conversation, he’d distract her from the distance between them and the ground. Today however, that seemed more difficult. Her tiredness couldn’t be responsible for that. Was it because she was wearing a dress?

Briefly catching his eye again, Blaze rapidly neatened her clothes a little. As she finally brought her legs over his arm, she tried to keep herself decent. It was stupid, the skirt of her dress was long, but it didn’t do anything to dispel the heat on her face. Her head still found his shoulder and, although she’d been looking up at him all day, at least this was a more familiar view.

“Are you ready?” He made sure, she felt his grasp tighten just above her knee and around her shoulders. Something about that contact, contact she’d experienced hundreds of times, coupled with the view energised the butterflies in her stomach.

She forced her gaze to roll from him and to the rock wall in front of them, “Yes.”

Cyan light crept into her vision and weightlessness set in. Her choice to focus on the wall didn’t serve her well. While it was better than looking down, she could tell that they were rising and with each passing second the ground drifted further away. They weren’t going slowly, but Silver was making sure to keep things stable; ergo, their pace wasn’t as fast as she knew he could fly, or he’d even normally fly with her.

As his concern for her was made manifest and the shifting rockface began to make her queasy, the princess couldn’t help but return to her normal position. Historically, her cheek would be cushioned by the edge of his chest fluff but now his shirt was in the way. Why did she miss that comfort?

Her shifting brought his attention back to her; those piercing yellow eyes were upon her again. Without so much as thinking, she stuttered out; “Sh-Shouldn’t you be watching the sky?”

He responded to her request immediately, shifting to look upwards, so he didn’t catch her grimacing at her own stupidity. Her gaze lowered slightly, and she ended up staring at what little of his fluff was visible. Despite his endeavour to look presentable, a few tufts were out of place. If she was feeling more regular, she might have seen reason to undo its tugs and neaten him. As things were though, Blaze could only stare.

Though he stopped ascending when he reached the green grass that topped the cliff, he didn’t quite put her down. Instead, the hedgehog flew just a little more inland so that she wouldn’t have to see the worst of the height; they touched down a good twenty paces from the edge. He gently set her down, dipping her legs and allowing her to step free from his hold. The grass wasn’t exactly thin up here, they were a little off the beaten trail, but it seemed like a fine spot for a picnic. The tide was out, so they could see where the beach met the waves, and to their backs was a lush palm tree forest. They would only be visible to those close to the water’s edge and out at sea. More eyes were on them for the moment than had been before, a few kids had run up the beach to watch their flight, but she knew they would drift with time. In the long run, this was better.

“Here seems pretty perfect for a picnic,” He commented, taking in their surroundings, “This was a great idea Blaze!”

“I suppose it will do,” Blaze tried to underplay her decision, unwilling to claim praise for what was an impulse decision rather than a planned one, “Let’s just relax for a while, away from so many prying eyes, and return to our walk later.”

The princess wasn’t sure if she was instructing him or herself.

With a nod, Silver reached into the hamper and drew out a large plaid picnic blanket. Without so much as blinking, he tossed it into the air and caught it with his psychic aura; completely flattening it and holding it in the air. He slowly lowered it with a single glowing hand, the long grass beneath the blanket was made to bend down flat, free to pop up whenever the cover was removed but smoothed for their sitting. That done, he dropped to the ground and dug through the basket. First revealed was a flask and two tin mugs, next a reasonably sized plastic container and, finally, a smaller white paper bag that was, assumedly, the reason he’d been late to meet her

Everything set out, he caught Blaze in the midst of staring. Rather quickly, the feline dropped down to sit with him; positioning herself on the other side of their bounty. The lid was popped free from the container and steam rose from its depths. Six pastry parcels, surely too much for the pair of them to eat, were revealed, perfectly browned and sealed along their top.

“They’ve got prawn and salmon in them with a cream sauce and some vegetables,” He quickly explained, offering her the box.

She knew his taste; this was more for her than it was for him. Without so much as hesitating, she picked up one and took a bite. They’d managed to maintain their heat in the box, she’d known that by sight and touch, but the taste managed to fully draw her attention. The blending of flavours was perfect, the sauce didn’t overwhelm the fish and the fish didn’t overwhelm the sauce; the prawns were just small enough not to manifest in large chunks.

He’d been about to reach for the box himself only for a realisation to strike him, “I’m supposed to be being the best boyfriend I can, r-right, okay…” With a wave of his hand, the flask and tin cups were pulled toward him. He poured her a cup of tea, gesturing again to hover napkins, a small sugar-jar and a spoon from the basket. Once he’d presented her the mug, he unwrapped and opened the white paper bag. Inside was a small assortment of muffins and fairy cakes, “I would have baked us a cake, but we were a little too short notice. I hope that’s okay…”

She took the jar, adding two teaspoonfuls of sugar to her brew, “Silver, this is more than okay. I was expecting sandwiches or something small, not all this. How long did you stay up last night?”

Somehow, unlike the stares or most of today’s endeavour, that managed to prompt a bashful response from the hedgehog. His cheeks lit pink as he claimed a pasty of his own, “It took a couple of tries to get them perfect, but It wasn’t too long. I got up a few hours earlier rather than staying up late, I just wish I’d had a little more time.”

“Don’t be silly, I only planned the walk while you did so much; even though this was all my idea,” She passed him back the jar as he poured the flask.

He added far more sugar to his cup, the blush had spread from his muzzle to his ears, “But this is just what we normally do. If we’re pretending to be boyfriend and girlfriend, shouldn’t I be doing more?”

Having something to eat, as well as seeing his blush, seemed to reduce her own embarrassment, “This isn’t about actually embodying those roles so much as just making others think we are. You don’t have to go to extra effort like that, you do more than enough by just being you. A lot of people already debate whether we are a couple,” She managed to smile, blowing her tea to cool it, “All we need to do are the public things, the more blatant things. Go out together, hold hands and hug in public, those kinds of things. Don’t worry too much about the little details.”

“I’ll try not to, but I promised to do this right,” He affirmed as she took a sip. Despite his flush still lingering, he gave a proclamation, “I’m going to do my best, I’m going to be the best boyfriend possible!”

“Y-You’re so naïve,” She pretended to sigh and grumble, turning her attention towards the meal.

He’d probably said that both to renew his promise to her and to bolster himself for the coming task. Just as she’d begun to overcome her embarrassment, he’d managed to stoke it again. Despite that fact and despite the renewed heat on her face, Blaze flicked her sunglasses up. She couldn’t keep hiding forever and brewing thoughts were becoming too much to contain.

He wasn’t wrong to have done all this, and Blaze knew she should be showing more gratitude, but the feline’s state was making that impossible. The hedgehog had also led her to think on an interesting aspect of their plan; just what should they be doing, what would convince the public and what were they willing to do? Were there lines she wanted to draw and what lines would he like to draw? A certain concept, a thought, fluttered up to reach her brain that Blaze couldn’t help pondering. There was no easy way of broaching it though. Two questions were gnawing at the back of her head, a thought that was relevant to this concept, but she wasn’t willing to entertain.

Was she willing to kiss him, and would he be willing to kiss her? If they did kiss among the public, that was all the proof they’d ever need.

Last night she would have said yes to that question without hesitation. If it meant completing their ruse, she’d be more than willing. But as these feelings spiralled both in her head and through her gut, Blaze couldn’t help but squirm. She threw Silver a quick glance only to find him entirely focused on his meal, being up so early and going to the bakery had perhaps caused him to miss breakfast. He was willing to go so far for her, could she plant her lips on his for her own sake?

For a split second, her eyes drifted to her muzzle only to be torn away and thrown to the plaid blanket beneath them. She wouldn’t have been opposed to it before, so she supposed she wasn’t now, just a lot more nervous about it. If they did it, it’d only have to be a peck; nothing too scandalous, something small. Blaze had chosen him to play this role for a reason, she trusted him and was willing to do things with him that she wasn’t comfortable doing with others. She could see herself doing it, embarrassment aside, but what about him?

Silver was like her; he’d never been in a relationship before. While she’d accept him as her first kiss, would she be his? Would he want her to be his? Well, she’d brought up not knowing how to draw stares before. Perhaps she could ask through that? Now that the concept was in her head, Blaze wanted to know if there were any boundaries between them; was he saving certain things for someone else? As he reached for his next pasty, she took a deep breath and made a move.

“Well,” It was going to be roundabout, but she had to prompt this discussion somehow, “Is there anything you think would make it more obvious that we’re a couple? Something quick and easy, anything we can do to get the message across. I was up last night considering options but couldn’t come up with a concrete solution.”

“We already do most of the things couples do, right? We hug, we hold hands and we visit all kinds of places together,” He pondered aloud, tugging at what little exposed chest fur he had as he thought, “I guess there’s other stuff we can do; like writing each other love letters, wearing clothes that match or just telling others how much we’re in love. More blunt stuff,” Silver managed to answer, “I think that’s what couples do. You know, they kiss and stuff; give people some kind of undeniable sign.”

What he thought couples did; he’d phrased it so innocently but implied so much. He’d hit the nail on the head, brought up the very object of her curiosity. He’d been so casual, did that mean he was willing to do it?!

“R-Right, yes, th-they…” Her stuttering came to a head, her tongue was useless; she should have taken a moment and considered her words.

“Are you sure you’re okay, Blaze? You’ve been kind of red all day,” He, so helpfully, informed her.

“Yes, don’t worry, I’m fine,” She waved him off, almost pulling down her shades but catching herself before she could, “I’ve probably just caught a cold, they’re common at this time of year.”

That’d surely worried him, her brain was going a mile a minute. Blaze knew he’d never been in a relationship, but that didn’t mean his heart wasn’t set on someone. She didn’t know who they could be, a fact that made her want to assume that there was nobody, but a larger chunk of herself wanted to be sure.

“Silver,” She was fighting to keep a straight face, attempting to hold back her stutter merely forced Blaze to pause and hold her breath, “Have you ever actually…” She knew it was better to be blunt, best to keep things simple, but it was the most embarrassing way to ask, “Kissed anyone before?”

“No,” His reply was immediate, he didn’t even blink!

“Oh,” He looked confused at her response, “I-It’s just that, most people think first kisses are important. I wouldn’t want to take something like that from you. By having you pretend to be my boyfriend, I feel like I’m already asking a lot,” She was blabbering, not asking what she really wanted. Her fists clenched, “I-I wasn’t sure if you’d be okay with kissing me or…”

“Blaze,” He crawled closer, their knees almost came to touch, “You’re my partner. I agreed to do this because I want to help you, you’re not asking anything of me. I decided to do this, it’s not like you’re forcing me.”

“It’s still…” She wrestled with herself. There was only one way to reach her desired answer; to ask her desired question, “Is there anyone you’d want to be that first kiss?”

“Well, people only kiss those they’re close to, right? Specifically, the person they’re closest to and want to stay with…” He defined, clearly deep in thought but trying to relax her at the same time, “I’m not an expert on it or anything, but that’s how it always seems in books. I don’t really know a lot about this dating stuff, just what I’ve heard from Amy really.”

The mention of Amy immediately explained a lot of things; his change in garb, the holding of her hand and this picnic. Though they’d only met a handful of times, across both this and their past life, the pink hedgehog overabundant love for Sonic made sense as an informant to Silver’s understanding. She was though, admittedly, a terrifying informant.

Swallowing, she nodded, “Yes, that’s not how it always is but that’s how people romanticise it, Silver. If there was someone you wanted to kiss, that should be someone you care about in a way that’s different to how you care for everyone else.”

“Well, the person I’m closest to is you, Blaze. I don’t think I could ever share the kind of bond we have with anyone else,” That feeling was undeniably mutual, she knew where this was going but he wasn’t done talking. She felt the butterflies squirm in her stomach, “So, if I was going to kiss anyone, I guess I’d want to kiss you.”

Her heart skipped beats and she couldn’t help but shift, he’d called out her blushing before but now it was surely worse. He’d used such simple and honest words, the likes of which she had no defence against. His heart was on his sleeve, she couldn’t deny its existence; there was no front, there was no lie.

“Just, promise me you’ll say if that changes,” She insisted, taking on a sterner tone in an attempt to smother her slurring, “If, for whatever reason, you either don’t feel the same about us or you meet someone or… whatever it is, just promise you’ll say.”

“I don’t think that will ever happen…” She couldn’t help but frown at that. His eyes softened, her concern had gotten through to him, “If that happens then I’ll say, but I’ll still help you in whatever other ways I can. You’re my best friend and I want you to be happy.”

“Good,” She managed to huff, “A-And thank you.”

A moment passed. While he’d smiled at her response, after another sip of tea and a few bites, confusion crossed his brow and he dared to ask, “Blaze, have you ever kissed anyone?”

“No, I haven’t really considered…” Well, she had no more than a moment ago. She’d worried about whether he’d be okay with her kissing him, albeit to further their ruse. With that exception though; “I’ve never even thought about it. I worried so much that it’d be a suitor that I never considered who I’d rather k-kiss instead.”

She longed to snuff her stutter, but an immediate shift in Silver’s demeanour caught her off guard. His brow hardened and he’d set down his food, shifting closer still to put his hand atop hers, he said, “Well, now you will be able to think about that without worrying. You’re amazing, whoever you chose will be so lucky; after all, they get to be the closest person to you.”

He was just being protective, being a good friend and bearing his sense of justice, but the combination of his honesty and physical touch sent her senses into further disarray. She couldn’t meet his eye and, for what felt like hours, she couldn’t bring herself to speak. Part of her was screaming to admit, as he had, that Silver was the only person she’d truly consider kissing but another part kept promising Blaze that saying so would lead to ruination. He’d ask more questions, or he’d ask if they should kiss or something else naïve yet heartfelt.

“I-I only asked because…” Her tail was dragging across the ground without her consent, “If this goes on for too long, people might expect us to kiss. I’m glad you’re okay with that.”

“If you’re okay with it then I’m okay with it,” He swore, squeezing her hand, “First kisses are supposed to be important but, I guess, since we’re not actually together, it wouldn’t count if we kissed? So, you don’t have to worry about that.”

The way that was worded, it was almost an invitation to kiss him whenever she felt like it. While it didn’t outright state it, it implied that they could essentially practice using each other. Somewhat stunned, Blaze could only manage a meagre, “S-Sure, I guess so.”

“If you ever think we should, just say and we can!” He promised, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

Thoughts and emotions bubbled and boiled; his hand was still in hers, had he even noticed? The butterflies had never settled in her stomach, but their vigour seemed to have been renewed. What was wrong with today, what was wrong with her today? Ever since she’d woken up, something had been off. Everything they’d done so far was regular for them, they’d regularly visit the beach and picnic, let alone hold hands and talk.

“Oh, huh,” The engine of her heart skipped a beat, bringing her train of thought to a ludicrously quick stop. What could possibly fall from his mouth next? “We’ve got the same hair now.”

The most bizarre concoction of relief, embarrassment and anguish flared across Blaze’s face. Her muzzle was cast in scarlet, but not the burning red of before, “Yes, I suppose that’s true,” Pushing herself, to speak more quickly proved unwise. Rather than complementing the change, her blush led her to chastise him, “You should take better care of your quills. I-If you kept them like this, they wouldn’t get into such a mess.”

Despite her rudeness he continued to smile at her and enjoy the meal, “They’re getting a little too long again,” He admitted, trying to look over his shoulder at those fluffy extremities, “Maybe I should cut them more properly.”

Despite her initial outburst, this conversation was a relaxing breath of fresh air compared to their last one. Drawing her tea to her lips, she tried to talk from her heart rather than her flushed face, “I wouldn’t clip them too short, just short enough that they’re easier to manage. I could do it tomorrow if you’d like?”

“That’d be great! We can try to have a more relaxed day,” He immediately grinned, but a realisation overtook him, “Wait, would that be our second date? Or would we just be doing that as friends?”

“It can be whatever we want it to be,” She practically blurted out before quickly realising what that implied, “I-It’ll be in private though, so we hardly have to call it a date. Perhaps, if someone asks about your quills, then we’ll say it was, but we can actually treat it like a normal day.”

“Alright, that’ll work!” He practically cheered, finally releasing her hand and drawing out another pastry from the box.

She took that opportunity to change her grasp, holding her teacup in both hands. Despite her pyrokinesis and the mug’s heat, her hand felt substantially colder without his touch. This grogginess was playing games with her senses now, what could be next?

She managed to turn her attention towards the picnic spread, quickly reaching down and claiming another pasty. It was only as she did that, that Blaze realised why he’d brought up their matching ponytails. He’d mentioned matching clothes before, clearly implying the likes of matching shirts and wedding rings, but their current hairstyles were a way they matched. While she didn’t think it made them look more like a couple, he had planned this out even more than she thought.

Attempting to distract herself, she began to eat the baked good and tried her hardest to focus upon its creamy flavour. Despite how delicious it was, it was not enough. Blaze found herself dwelling upon the shift in how she viewed their relationship; the change she had undergone but he hadn’t. She’d done all this to avoid marrying a suitor, but who did she want to take the place of a suitor? She’d convinced herself that this was for long term convenience, that it would give her the chance to find someone, but, the truth was, she hadn’t planned to look. She hadn’t considered where to start, let alone where to find someone she trusted as much as Silver. She couldn’t see herself being closer to anyone than she was to him; their bond had lasted beyond her death and into this next life, they’d survived the unsurvivable together. Who could even come close to filling his role?

She’d never considered her endeavours with Silver to be romantic, it was simply how they were with each other, but some combination of their lifted burdens, their actions’ current context and time had freed this realisation from her subconscious. Time was surely an important factor, in their last life things hadn’t had the opportunity to blossom this far; they hadn’t had the chance to grow both physically, as individuals, and as a pair. This time though, not only had they been in a more comfortable position for growth but they’d both learned what life was like without the other; they understood what that loss felt like. Not to mention, they were newly adults now; they’d aged further than that last life. No wonder she was embarrassed, she’d asked the only person she’d consider dating to pretend to go out with her.

She didn’t think she’d change much physically, but Silver had undeniably grown while she hadn’t been paying attention. The most obvious changes were physical, he’d grown taller and his shoulders had broadened, but there’d surely been internal shifts that Blaze couldn’t quite discern. Silver was still very naïve, his heart was attached to his sleeve and he’d shown his want for justice throughout the whole endeavour, but his living in a more peaceful world had led him to acquire hobbies and interests. She was seeing him at his best, better than he’d ever been. Many of his skills, his interests too, either matched or complemented hers.

Having finished the pasty just as her thoughts concluded, Blaze threw him another glance. He was fairly focused on the coast, absentmindedly making headway on a third pasty. Following his gaze, she found that his eyes had landed upon a flock of migrating birds; a sign of the coming Winter. This would be their last chance to walk the beach comfortably for at least three months. She should have been making the most of this.

She reached into the bakery bag, drawing out a muffin before pushing the bag his way, “Come on, let’s hurry and head down again.”

----

Unfortunately, despite now understanding her state, Blaze found herself no better equipped to combat her embarrassment. Talk was less scant than it had been last time, Blaze was trying her best, but she still wasn’t comfortable with this sudden upwelling of understanding. She’d stutter and stammer, catch herself staring, tear her eyes from him and, occasionally, chastise him when her embarrassment became too much to bear. It wasn’t perfect, but at least they were talking this time.

Still, she was managing to walk hand in hand with him. The hedgehog himself, seemingly in response to her slightly calmer demeanour, had shed most of his worry. He’d panic, just a little whenever she told him off too harshly, but he was certainly smiling more now. They were almost walking shoulder to shoulder, Silver on the water’s side, approaching the rockier far edge of the beach; where sand gave way to low crags, a prime site for rock pools. Of course, as a result of that, this part of the beach was particularly swamped. Many families with younger children were searching for the likes of hermit crabs and trying to make memories.

As they reached the shift in ground, Silver came to a halt. Before she could even fully turn to him, his hand had slipped from hers; both his left palm and right were suddenly on her shoulders. Her eyes collided with his and a pair of stern brows. The concern that she’d just thought abolished had returned in an instant, bringing her prior embarrassment with it.

“Is this going to be okay? Are there too many people over there?” He asked, his concern and care on display, “We can turn around if you want.”

Blaze looked over her shoulder, both to better scan how many families had gathered and, more primarily, to simply hide her renewed blush. The hedgehog’s hands were in the exact same position they had been last night; she had looked him in the eyes, returned his touch and thanked him for his aid. Right now, she could only think to avoid his gaze and call him naïve.

But she didn’t want to do that. There were families by the rockpools, yes, but before today she would’ve been entirely comfortable among her people and beside him. Her boosted bashfulness had swollen to such an extent that not only was Silver pointing it out, he was actively concerned about it. She couldn’t let this stick; she couldn’t let it drag into the future days! She’d promised to take initiative and that was exactly what she’d do.

Her hands came to latch on his biceps, her brow steeled, and lips pursed as she met his eyes once more, “W-Well, what about you, Silver?”

“Wh-What about me?” He asked, concern quickly being dashed by confusion.

“You’ve said it before, but I’ll ask again; are you okay with this?” She had to be more specific. She took a step forward; surprised, he almost stumbled back, “Are you okay with us being seen like this?”

“I am!” He swore without hesitation, “As long as you are, I am.”

“So, you do want to be here with me?” She went further, tightening her grasp and taking another step. As long as she kept moving, she could overlook the stutter in her voice and the heat on her muzzle. If she controlled the pace, if she took hold of the momentum, then she could manage all of this.

“Of course I do,” He immediately answered. His seriousness grew further but it couldn’t match hers, she’d always known this, “Even if we weren’t pretending to be together, you know I like being with you.”

He had no idea what she’d prompted from him but, essentially, she’d managed to tease free an admittance that he wanted to be here with her. That fact he’d admitted to wanting to be there, regardless of their overall scheme, went a long way to setting her at ease. Despite that though, she still had a point to get across.

“And as long as you’re okay with this, I’m okay with this. This was all my idea after all,” She forced her amber orbs to burn into his brighter set, “Don’t worry about me being uncomfortable, but I want to know if you are,” Blaze refused to let herself flinch and denied herself even the right to blink. She rose to her tiptoes and brought her head closer to his, mirroring the way he’d leaned down to her last night, “As long as you’re okay, I’m okay.”

“R-Right,” His stutter wasn’t born of embarrassment, merely a combination of surprise and confusion. He broke from her gaze and took a deep breath. His grasp had tightened when he met her eyes again, “Let’s do it then, it’ll be easy.”

“If you change your mind or worry about anything, you just have to say,” She wanted to press her forehead against his, but height wouldn’t allow it. Instead, she opted to take yet another step. With that, they escaped the shade of the cliff, “You can rely on me just as much as I do you, you know this?”

“I do, of course I do! I don’t know what I’d do without you,” He insisted, not so much embarrassed but flustered by her endeavour. Strangely, Silver somehow looked cuter still when positioned like this. Despite that, he managed to keep talking, “You look out for me and I look out for you, th-that’s what we do.”

She let herself drop to her heels, her arms left his, “Good. Then we’ll make it through this,” He, almost lost and confused, replicated her release; allowing her to turn back towards the rockpools, “We’ll look out for each other, no matter what.”

They resumed their approach, many eyes had turned upon them but, noticing their shift, were quickly dropping towards the pools. Blaze hadn’t had the gall to retake his hand, but she was still leading, she was succeeding!

This would be easy. If she could keep a tight grip on herself and control of the pace, then she was certain she’d make it through today’s date at least. Tomorrow would be a more private affair, prime for both self-discovery and prying further into how he felt. She wasn’t sure how long this fake dating scheme could last now, it would be immoral to steal kisses from him with her new understanding, but hopefully this state’s replacement would eventually grant her that freedom. She couldn’t help feeling embarrassed by that thought but, as long as she could subdue it, overcoming this meant future efforts would become easier. She just had to chip away at these feelings, work and practice until she could properly control th-

“Oh, I meant to ask earlier,” Her ear twitched, registering the return to his more casual tone, “Why’re you wearing a swimsuit under your dress, are we going swimming later?”

She’d entirely forgotten that was a choice she’d made; a choice that’d become especially obvious when his hands found her shoulders and she’d drawn so close. As Blaze’s cheeks reddened, and her temperature spiked, the undeniable became clear. She was far from overcoming this embarrassment. With a quick fumble, her sunglasses were made to lower again in a half-hearted attempt to hide her panic.

“It’s just, I didn’t bring my stuff with me,” He continued, seemingly oblivious, “I don’t want to ruin these-

“Sh-Shush!” She took hold of his hand again, dragging him towards the rocks with a speed unmatched by any prior, “It’s fine, don’t worry about it! Let’s just go find some crabs, o-or something.”

Finding her ideal partner, the very goal of this scheme, had taken no time at all, but being comfortable seeing him in such a light… that was going to take much longer.

#silvaze #Silver the Hedgehog #Blaze the Cat #sonic the hedgehog #sonic #silverxblaze #Marine The Raccoon #fanfiction #writing

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yourdailykitsch · 3 years

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Taylor Kitsch, an actor known for his roles in such Hollywood productions as "Battleship: Battle for Earth" and "X-Men Origins: Wolverine", is starring in the new Canal + series "Defeated". In an interview, the actor reveals what he remembers from history lessons, what connects the series' story with the modern world. He also explains why, according to him, every person should visit the former concentration camp of Auschwitz-Birkenau.

Taylor Kitsch started his adventure in Hollywood as a "hottie" - an actor associated with a great body and beautiful face. All because the first role that brought the popularity of the former model Abercrombie and Fitch was the character of naughty lover Tim Riggins in the cult series "Friday Night Lights".

Kitsch did not avoid tough moments in his career - for example, when the $ 250 million John Carter, his first such big role, suffered a disgusting box office failure. But the Canadian knew this taste already - after coming to the USA, he was homeless for some time before finding a job.

For years, he has been successfully playing in big titles and alongside big names. Oliver Stone ("Savages"), Ryan Murphy ("Heart Reflex"), roles alongside Chadwick Boseman ("21 Bridges"), Michael Shannon ("Waco"), Michael Keaton ("American Assassin") and Rihanna ("Battlefield ), the HBO series "Detective," starring Vince Vaughn and Rachel McAdams. Meanwhile, Kitsch finds his way to charity, especially for children.

From 1 January 2021, we will watch him in "Defeated" . There he plays the role of Brooklyn policeman Max McLoughlin, who in the summer of 1946 is sent to Berlin, which is divided into four spheres of influence. Its task is to support the emerging police structures in the rubble. But upholding order in a space of brutality and lawlessness and clashing political forces - French, American, British and Soviet - will not be easy. Especially since Max does not know that he is used as a pawn in the game to open the Cold War, and somewhere in the maze of Berlin rubble lurks his brother Moritz, a self-proclaimed Nazi hunter who will stop at nothing ...

In addition to Kitsch, the main roles will be: Nina Hoss (local policewoman Elsie Garten), Sebastian Koch (criminal known as Engelmacher, Al Capone of post-war Berlin), Logan Marshall-Green (Max's missing brother, Moritz) and Michael C. Hall (consul Tom Franklin ).

The "Defeated" takes place in Berlin, right after the war. When you decided to play Max McLoughlin, did you have any knowledge of what the situation in Germany was like then?

The seres begins six months after the end of the war. I have the impression that this is a moment that is missing in the educational process - we learn a lot about the war itself, but about what happened immediately after it, for example, I had no idea. The plot of "Defeated" is made up, but our director Måns Mårlind (co-creator of the hit series "Bridge over the Sund") constructed it on the basis of many true stories. I have the impression that fact and fiction are perfectly balanced here. In the process of preparation, he gave us many documentaries and articles that helped to build an idea about the climate of the city from 1946. Discovering the next details of the story was fascinating for me.

Your work gives him a chance to get to know the world, its history, extraordinary places and people. Do you appreciate it?

This is the best part of my job! With each new production, I have a chance to immerse myself in its world and get to know it thoroughly. It could be a war movie like "Survivor", a story about a cult leader ("Waco"), the world of a detective ("Detective") or the beginning of the AIDS epidemic, as in "Heart Reflex". When I was an aspiring actor learning to act in New York, I never imagined that I would be able to live and work like this. Train with Navy Seals or meet Larry Kramer [American playwright, writer and activist for LGBT rights - ed.]. I am very lucky!

Prague, where you shot "Defeated", is a cult city for many Polish filmmakers, due to the famous FAMU school, but also a popular, atmospheric excursion destination. How was your time there?

Lovely. He will refer again to the privilege of working like this: six months in such a wonderful place, it is almost immoral! The only downside was the tight schedule so I didn't discover all the nooks and crannies that I had on the agenda. Fortunately, my driver, a guy in his fifties, was a great-grandfather from Prague, very talkative, and from him I learned the most interesting things - stories about the adventures of my ancestors and friends! Besides, in Prague, if you want to take a history lesson, you go out twenty meters in front of the front door - and it's already getting started. We shot in the summer, before Covid. We had an international team - Czechs, Swedes, Russians, Germans, French ... In use - not only behind the scenes, but also on the set - several languages simultaneously. Really, the only problem for me was my diet. Flour, red meat, stews ... I don't really like to eat like that. At least the beer was delicious, really amazing! In general, I really liked the culture of drinking and eating outside, these gardens, the community ... wonderful thing.

Due to the fact that the film was made in Europe, you had the opportunity to see places related to the war with your own eyes. What made the greatest impression on you? I was lucky, although it is not quite an adequate term that during the shooting we managed to visit the site of the former Auschwitz camp. Of course I knew, I had read about concentration camps before, but this direct contact with the site was invaluable, it gave me a clear idea of what happened. It is difficult for a man to believe what he sees around him. He's standing right next to him, yet he doesn't quite believe it. The space made a huge impression on me. I did not realize how huge Birkenau was, how perfectly organized the entire extermination was. This architecture, the surrounding houses, barracks. Someone designed it, thought over the function down to the smallest detail, and during my visit, I had the chance to trace how and where the whole process took place, step by step. I was standing there and it felt like I was choking, my whole body ached. Such experiences helped me a lot to bring my character to life. Max did not survive the camp himself, but he appears in a place marked by this tragedy, the tragedy of World War II, it affects him. I wish everyone could visit this place because it is a life changing experience.

Movies set in the past can be a perfect mirror for what is here and now. What analogies do you see between that reality and today's world? - Division, the dictate of fear, fear of the unknown, of otherness. Different ways to work through your trauma. These are all threads that connect the "Defeated" space with our reality. For my character, especially the experience of trauma resulting from family history, from the relationship with my brother, becomes the key. They both underwent a similar shock, but their reactions were completely different. I found it very interesting. Max is still hoping for a change, Moritz, as the saying goes, "the platform is gone". They have a completely different perception of one and the same event. Again, it is also a very contemporary thread - one event, situation, and extreme different opinions about it.

Your hero comes from Brooklyn, after you came from Canada, you spent a lot of time in New York. What is so special about the atmosphere of this city that gives it such a "mythical" status? For me, it has always been, I fully agree! Scorsese's "Streets of Poverty" has always been such a cinematic quintessence of New York, with its excellent Keitel and DeNiro. This film is set in the 1940s, which is the present day of Max. He was my point of reference in terms of the accent. Those years were difficult, the inhabitants struggled to make ends meet, and that also had to affect my character's character. Besides, New York has a chic character, New Yorkers feel proud of their roots. It's also something that Max defines.

And you had to transfer this New York feeling to Berlin ... ... to the razed Berlin, which for Max becomes, in a way, another space of trauma, personal again, but this time much more intense.

For this role, you had to master not only a Brooklyn accent, but also the German language. It was difficult?

I had an amazing accent teacher from Berlin, Simone. My rock! Fortunately, Max is an American who speaks German poorly and not a German, because if I had to play a German, I would have had a nervous breakdown! German is a damn hard language, especially for someone who wasn't exposed to such sounds when growing up. I learned everything phonetically. Sometimes I was "suspended" during the scene and then I was saved by Nina [Hoss, a great German acting and screen partner of Kitsch - ed.]. In my career, I have had to play with a South African, Texas, New York accent ... I've learned that there is no such thing as an optimal effect, someone is always dissatisfied. I focus on the vision agreed with the creators and I stick to it. Language is an amazing link between the actor and the protagonist, gives a unique insight into his state of mind and view of the world. I definitely prefer to play the character with an accent than to speak as usual. It's a great transformation tool. The arrangement of the lips, the appearance of the face, and the term are changing. In "Waco" my character, the guru of the sect David Koresh, had an unnaturally high, soft voice, which immediately made the viewer feel differently.

We associate you with American hits, but you are, like Ryan Reynolds or Ryan Gosling, Canadian. Do you feel like an American, or is Canada a state of mind after all?

I started my adventure with the USA when I was 20, I came to school. Now I'm forty, so I've spent half my life here. Madness! Over time, I have grown into this space, I have settled down and I feel at home. I'm talking to you from my home in Austin, Texas. But at the same time, I'll always be Canadian. I go there often, visiting my family and familiar places. Maybe I'll go back one day, who knows?

You've had moments in your career that turned from a promise of triumph to failure, such as the high-budget John Carter, who failed at the box office. Do you have something that you already know: "I'm avoiding this"? I don't have things that, as a rule, I don't do or know that I will never do. But there are some that I don't like. These include radical weight changes. My dear friend must have gained twenty-five kilos for a small, independent film. The first week was great because you eat what you want, then depression started, joint problems, sugar jumping ... I never put my back, but I lost weight. I lost a dozen kilos for the role in "Waco", before that for the "Bang Bang Club". It's fucking hard and very exhausting, especially the older I get. My body and head hate it! Also, until Scorsese calls with some great proposal, I say: enough.

#taylor kitsch #Shadowplay #interview

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spartanguard · 4 years

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even death won’t part us now (4/?)

Summary: Two covens, both alike in dignity, / In fair New York, where we lay our scene, / From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, / Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean. From forth the fatal loins of these two foes / A pair of star-cross’d lovers take their life; / Whole misadventured piteous overthrows / Do with their death bury their sires’ strife. (Captain Swan + West Side Story + vampires. But not as sad. Probably.)

A/N: Happy Labor Day, friends! (If you’re in a place that celebrates it) (if not, then Happy Monday!) It took me a bit to figure out where this chapter would end and the next one would start but I finally got it, so here we are! This chapter is a bit more lore/world-building than CS, but it features Zelena and Belle, who are a lot of fun to write. Hope you enjoy it! Eternal thanks, as always, to @optomisticgirl for being an awesome beta; to @thesschesthair for her amazing art (THIS ONE IS SO COOL OMG); and to @kmomof4 and @cssns for putting this event on and pushing me to continue this story!

have some OBC—and check out that sweet late ‘50s choreography!

part four: you got some high times ahead

Perhaps if Killian was less of a romantic, less dramatically inclined, he would have remembered the best way to get to Granny’s without being noticed by David would have been to stay on the rooftops. As it was, he had to sprint several blocks in the other direction after bidding Emma adieu to ensure her father didn’t catch him in the neighborhood when he hardly had a reason to be there.

Who knew that, at 270, he’d be sneaking out of his girlfriend’s place to avoid her parents? He hadn’t even done that at 27. (Also, who thought that, at 270, he’d actually be using the term ‘girlfriend’? Was it too soon for that? Was it immature? Did he care? No.)

But, thanks to his superior age and therefore speed, it was no challenge to detour all the way to Hudson Yard and take in a bit of sea air before heading back into the city, eventually hopping across apartment buildings to better avoid being seen, and landing gracefully in Granny’s back alley. He was late, but he didn’t have it in him to care much.

He didn’t want to let his friends down, though, so he didn’t hesitate to slip in through the rear door of the diner. Frankly, that entrance got just as much use as the one on the street did; not only was Granny’s a neutral site as far as vampire gang warfare went, it was something of a liminal space in the middle of the rush of the city: how many 24-hour diners catered to the tastes of all manner of nonhumans? Fae conducted business here on the regular, Bigfoot was known to make the occasional appearance when he was down from the Adirondacks, and the owner herself was a werewolf.

The woman in question gave him an appropriately feral grin as he entered the dining room; normally, he’d take the time to flirt, but the meeting had clearly started without him. Robin and David were seated on opposite sides of a small table, with their teammates around them—Henry and Will, another younger vampire (well, comparatively) were with Robin, and David was backed by that Graham guy, Jefferson the weird milliner, and Zelena, who he knew was close with Cora (and had been plain annoying as far back as he could remember).

“Switchblades?” Robin said; they’d clearly made some decisions without him. That might make it a bit harder for Killian to quash this.

“No; swords?” David countered.

“Daggers?”

“Stakes?”

“Icicles of holy water,” Killian interjected into their back and forth, somehow making them jump. “Sharpened stems of garlic. How many cliches can we hit on here?”

Robin looked appropriately chastised, but David just glared.

“What did I miss?” he asked Robin, but David answered for him.

“Rumble, tomorrow, same time as now. Under the highway. Winner gets control of territory between 42nd and 43rd. We were just deciding weapons.”

“Are you all mad?” he blurted out. “That’s a fine way to draw the attention of half the NYPD and blow the entire supernatural world’s cover. You may as well take out a billboard in Times Square.”

The ensuing silence told him they knew he was right. But he could tell tensions were too high for him to convince them to call it off entirely; he could at the very least minimize the potential damage.

“Back in my day,” he started, immediately ignoring the huff of frustration from Will, who had been subjected to any number of such stories in the past 30 years, “we settled these disputes one-on-one. A duel, if you would. I see no reason why such a tradition has to die.”

Again, he was met with silence; he took the lack of protest as agreement.

“One on one,” he continued. “The most evenly matched from both sides fight it out until blood is drawn. No weapons, no teeth.”

Jefferson looked incensed at the idea, and he could tell Will was angrily shifting behind him. If they wanted to duke it out, they could do that on their own; Killian’s days of fighting were well behind him and the sooner this was over, the better.

“I can agree to that,” David eventually said.

“Aye,” Robin replied, and they shook on it.

Graham stepped from behind David and pointed at Killian. “I’m going to enjoy drawing your blood, mate,” he threatened.

Emma hadn’t mentioned it, but he’d gotten the impression that Graham was the preferred suitor. But frankly, he found him irritating. “Oh? Are you 250 years old?”

“No; 160,” he answered, slightly deflated (which gave Killian a tiny, immature thrill).

“Then I believe you’re perfectly matched with Robin here; he’s 168.” He slapped Robin on the shoulder for emphasis.

Robin stood and inserted his hand between Killian and Graham. “Looking forward to it,” he bit out.

Slightly bewildered, Graham accepted Robin’s hand, but was still glaring at Killian.

They verified the details, gave it one last shake, and then Coroza was quick to leave. Which was just as well; Killian didn’t need any daggers, real or metaphorical, shooting in his back while he was drinking.

The four of them congregated at the counter and were promptly greeted by Granny. “That smelled like trouble,” the old wolf stated plainly, but leveled a too-sharp eye on all of them. “Should I be worried?”

“Your establishment is perfectly safe, milady,” Robin assured her. “You know we’d never dare risk the loss of your hospitality.” Though the mortals were somehow unaware of the fact, she’d been running some sort of eating establishment in the same spot as far back as Killian could remember, though back then it was a public house and she was merely the Young Mrs. Lucas (the title of ‘Granny’ didn’t come for another century). Not only was it neutral ground, but it was too beloved for any one group to let it fall into any crosshairs.

“Damn straight,” she grumbled back, then got their drink orders ready.

Henry and Will quickly fell into conversation, so Killian turned to Robin. “Why wasn’t Regina here?” He’d fully expected it, given that she’d been part of this for...well, ever.

“She decided to sit this one out. Figured it didn’t make for good negotiation if Nolan was involved.”

“Good call.” But then a pang went through his unbeating heart at the recollection of what Emma had been telling him—about why she grew up an orphan, and who was to blame. He’d known Regina quite well by that point in time, and had no idea why she’d attack a couple like that—especially all the way in Maine. It didn’t add up.

But then, how much of this petty rivalry did?

Robin went on, not noticing Killian’s discomfort. “Aye, especially with Zelena there. You know how they are.” The rivalry seemed especially bitter between those two for reasons that Killian had yet to glean.

Granny gracefully distributed their drinks in a feat of dexterity that was obviously superhuman, and they clinked a toast—though if Killian’s was less than enthusiastic, the others didn’t notice.

They continued to chat about whatever—the Yankees, the Mets, Liverpool FC (three of the four of them were Brits, after all, even if two of them predated the club), construction at Hudson Yard—until Killian noticed that Henry had given up trying to down the god-awful blood-spiked beer Will had foisted on him (the man had been a punk in the ‘80s when he was turned and never quite grew out of some tastes), and was instead staring longingly at another patron’s burger. Killian hadn’t had a chance to assess just how recently Henry had been turned, but that confirmed it was a very new thing; it took surprisingly little time to forget a taste for mortal delicacy.

He leaned over and whispered to Henry, “If you ask nice, Granny will make one extra rare for you.” Henry jumped again, clearly still getting used to his new senses, but perked up at the idea.

“So fresh, you can still hear it moo,” the old wolf commented from behind the counter. The hungry grin that accompanied it would probably be unsettling to most, but Killian had known her far too long to see anything but good humor (and more than a smidge of flirtation) in it.

“Ah, a quiet meal,” he quipped back. “Most of mine tend to be rather...talkative.” The group shared a chuckle; perhaps that joke was a bit dark, but when you could only go out at night, that tended to happen.

Unfortunately for Henry, he didn’t get a chance to try the meal before Will was dragging him out (something about videogames, apparently; that was one trend Killian had never much caught onto). Robin followed shortly, heading for for Regina’s, leaving Killian alone at the counter with Granny.

“You know that battle’s not gonna be the end of it, right?” she said as she placed another shot of bloodrum in front of him and poured one of her own.

“Aye, but it can’t hurt to try.”

“No, I suppose it can’t.” She held her glass up to him; he clinked his against it and they downed the shots together. But she continued after they swallowed. “You do know about the prophecy, though, right?”

He looked up in surprise. “The what?”

“I don’t know the details, but I’ve heard it’s the only way to settle things once and for all. If you really want to end this rivalry, you’re gonna have to go to the top.”

He wanted to ask more, but she wouldn’t go into further detail, instead going to serve a pixie at the other end of the bar. He racked his brain; he couldn’t recall ever hearing anything about a prophecy, and few had been around as long as he had. Hmm; perhaps he had a visit to make later.

But first: Granny had left the bottle of rum on the counter, and he needed a few more shots before he could truly unwind from what had been a tumultuous night.

Before he did that, however, he did dig out his phone to call Gold and appraise him of the situation. Honestly, it probably wouldn’t mean much to the man—given that neither he nor Cora were involved, it might not even be official—but still, he should know.

To Killian’s surprise, he took the news in stride. “Fair’s fair; if that’s what everyone agrees on, I’m fine with that, and I’m sure Cora will hold up her end of it, too.” Killian was less convinced of that but if Gold was, he wouldn’t argue. “Extend my best wishes to Mr. Locksley, will you?”

“Of course, sir.”

“Is there anything else?”

“Actually…” It was probably stupid, but Killian needed to know. “Sir, are you aware of a prophecy?”

The other end of the line was so silent, he feared they’d been disconnected, until Gold’s voice returned with a hard edge in it. “Where did you hear that?��

“Just a rumor,” Killian lied; it was easy to over phone. “I’ve only heard of its existence, but not what it’s about. Do you—”

Gold cut him off. “Whether or not a prophecy exists is of no concern of yours. Just make sure Locksley wins that fight.” And then the line truly went dead.

Killian stared at his phone in confusion for a moment; just what had that been? Gold didn’t just sound angry; he almost sounded scared.

Which meant that whatever was in that prophecy, it was important—and if Killian wanted to put an end to all this, and ensure he and Emma had a chance at a life together, he needed to find out what.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Emma had just gotten out of a (rather long) shower when her dad and the crew arrived back at their place. Not that their townhouse was any sort of official Coroza hangout; the Nolans were just the most hospitable—something to do with David growing up on a Midwestern farm—and always keen to invite people over.

Either the meeting hadn’t been that long, or she’d been bathing for a while—both were likely, because she’d taken her time in making sure Killian’s scent was washed off of her. It’d be noticeable, especially if they’d just been in his presence.

Right after she’d gotten out, before she’d even gotten dressed, she had gone to text him to ask how things went—until she realized she still didn’t have his phone number. Dammit. But the voices she could easily hear in the lower level of the house would tell her everything.

She was a little surprised to see that Jefferson had joined them; he was something of a loner, even though he’d been around for a couple hundred years and was reasonably close to Cora.

Closer still to Cora, though, was Zelena, who was sipping a glass of bloodwine off to the side of where the guys were gathered on the sofa in the living room. She always seemed to pop up out of nowhere; honestly, it would creep Emma out if she didn’t know that she was one of the oldest vampires in town.

“Emma! There you are.” Emma jumped at the frantic way Snow blurted the greeting, and had to rely on her superhuman reflexes to grab the wine glass that was shoved at her (honestly, if she’d been able to react at even a fraction of this speed when she was alive, maybe she’d have lived up to her last name). “It’s drinking time.”

“Did the meeting go that bad?” she asked, watching as her mom took a long drag from her own glass.

“Actually, it was rather refreshing,” Zelena said drily. “Historically, at least one person ends up dead in these sorts of things. And I really didn’t feel like washing blood from this blouse tonight.”

Snow just took another long, panicked drink. Zelena was never known for her tact (although Emma did have to agree that her green v-neck was gorgeous).

“So what did happen?” Emma had never been that great an actor, so hopefully her feigned indifference was convincing.

Zelena caught her up on the plan—a one-on-one fight rather than an all-out brawl. It was still more than Emma would have liked but certainly not as bad as it could have been.

“It was headed that way,” Zelena responded to her comment, “except for Jones apparently being the only one with any brain cells still alive in Aurum.”

“Jones?” she blurted, unable to hold back at mention of Killian. Shit.

But thankfully, they read it as confusion; being one of the youngest vampires in the coven had its perks. “He’s the one you were dancing with,” Snow murmured.

“Oh,” she said, pretending to be ignorant (and that she didn’t know what his kiss tasted like).

“It was his idea for single combat. Makes me wish we had a soldier on our side—or just, you know, anyone with any sort of battle strategy. Humbert here was ready to tear his head off at the suggestion, even though it was a good one.”

“Are they the ones fighting?” Emma had to ask; it was the one time she’d let her mom think she was showing concern for Graham.

“Humbert is, but he’s facing...oh, what’s his name—Robert? Robbie? Something like that.”

It took effort not to look too relieved, so she hid her reaction in her drink.

“I’m just glad it’s not David,” Snow said, having emptied her glass.

“Then why are you drinking so much?” Zelena sneered.

“Because this was my night to get drunk! Aurum can’t take that from me.” And without another word, Snow disappeared back to the kitchen; Emma was pretty sure she heard the liquor cabinet open, where she was pretty sure a bottle of sanguiria was hiding.

Which left a slightly awkward silence over Emma and Zelena while the boys continued to lecture Graham on fighting (what good would that even do at this point? How had he not made it a century and half without knowing these things?) She rolled her eyes at them. “At least this’ll be the end of it, right?”

“We’ll see,” Zelena answered and took another sip. “I don’t see how something dating back 400 years will be settled by two assholes in a parking lot, but they can certainly try.”

“This rivalry seriously goes back that far?” She’d been told vague stories of the bad blood between the covens, but they all started with cliches like “many moons ago” and “once upon a time.”

“Ugh, I swear—we need to make this part of new vampire orientation or something,” Zelena complained. “Cora and Gold used to be lovers; he’s the one who turned her.”

“Holy shit.” Emma had not seen that coming. She’d have believed it if one of them had killed the other’s family or something—and Killian’s story wasn’t far from her mind—but actually lovers? “They must have had the worst breakup ever, then.”

“Something like that,” Zelena confirmed. “Gold—or Rumplestiltskin, as he was known back then—” (which was a revelation all on its own—) “meddled with Cora’s family in a way that was unforgivable. He took one of her daughters.”

“Cora had daughters?” God, how many bomb revelations were going to be dropped on her tonight? (And was separating kids from their parents just an Aurum thing or what?)

“Two. And you’re talking to one of them.”

Emma’s dropped jaw had to suffice as a reply to that. Hopefully, her mom had saved her some sanguiria. “Wait—so he...did he...you…?”

“Did he turn me? No; I practically begged Mum to once I got of age. But Gold stole my sister and that caused the rift, among other things. So I really don’t see this little kerfuffle solving anything.”

There wasn’t much to say to that other than hum in agreement; no wonder things got so heated. Emma still thought it was silly, but having a frame of reference helped. She didn’t know if that made her predicament easier to deal with or harder, though.

“And it’s too bad, really,” Zelena continued. “I’d love to see my sister again, and then you could be with Killian.”

For the first time in 15 years, Emma choked on blood. “Um, what?”

“Darling, I’m 383 years old; you’re probably safe from anyone else here noticing, but I can still smell him all over you; he positively reeked earlier. And I hardly blame you. Frankly, you two might be our only hope.” Emma really wanted to ask what that meant, but was too busy mentally panicking and praying no one else heard this exchange. “Don’t worry; your secret’s safe with me,” Zelena promised, handing Emma her now-empty glass. “Just don’t be an idiot about it, alright?”

“All—alright,” Emma stammered.

“Good. Well, I’m off,” she said casually—and much louder; Emma hadn’t even realized they’d been whispering. “Good luck tomorrow, everyone,” she called as she headed for the door, but her eyes were locked with Emma’s before she made her exit.

Quickly, Emma finished her wine—just in time for Snow to refill it (with some claret; honestly, she didn’t care what it was as long as it had blood and alcohol. She would have settled for finding a drunk frat boy outside a party if that was what it took). That was...a lot to unpack in one night, and she had never been very good at that—side effect of being a foster kid.

She wondered how much of it Killian knew; he had to know at least some of it, right? And what had Zelena been talking about—how were they the “only hope”? (What was this, Star Wars?) She didn’t want to be any sort of savior; she just wanted to jump her vampire boyfriend’s bones without causing a gang war. And, you know, the happily ever after stuff her mom was always talking about.

The two of them wordlessly continued to share the bottle of booze and stare out the window as the sun’s early rays started to brighten the buildings across the street. At some point, Jefferson and Graham had left, which helped Emma relax but didn’t remove the tension.

Outside, the moon was starting its morning fade; she’d be counting the hours until it made its evening appearance—‘til she could see Killian again.

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

Killian only just made it into the library before the full sun was shining on the entrance. He’d have to steal an umbrella or something when he left, but with any luck, it would rain like it was supposed to this afternoon and he’d be fine.

He loved the library—the scent of ink on paper, the quiet hush of knowledge being shared, the occasional squeal of joy—but all was quiet and still at this early hour, especially since they weren’t technically open. (But he knew which door was usually unlocked, and if he didn’t show up on any security camera, then what was the harm?)

He would have loved to linger in the stacks, and might yet later, but he was on a mission, and instead made a beeline for the rare book collection and archives—the one place without windows, where a vampire could actually work in peace.

He made little noise as he pressed the heavy door open and stepped inside the musty room. It was pristine—not even a dust mote swirling in the lights.

“Unless you’ve somehow managed to make an everything bagel with blood, we’re not open,” the petite librarian called out from somewhere in the recesses of the space. Of course she heard him.

“I was never much of a baker, love,” he replied. “But how about some bloody earl grey?”

He’d only just moved his arm to the side, ensuring the safety of said tea, when a small but solid form was wrapped around him tightly. A few seconds later, it was slapping his chest.

“Killian Jones, you fils de pute! You didn’t tell me you were coming back!” Belle chastised, even though she was grinning.

“What, and ruin the surprise?”

She rolled her eyes, but chuckled. “Merde, but it’s good to see you,” she said, pressing up the few inches her heels didn’t cover to press a kiss to his cheek. “And you, too,” she added, but this time directed towards the tea. There was exactly one Starbucks in the city that catered specifically to vampires, just a couple blocks from here; hopefully, corporate never investigated the contents of the extra “red syrup” the undead staff kept stocked, though considering neither the location nor staff had changed in at least 15 years, they were likely in the clear.

“Why do I get the impression this is more than just a social call?”

She knew him too well; he supposed that was to be expected after 150 years. “Perhaps I just came here to help one of my best friends; had you considered that, eh? What are you up to today?”

“Digitizing, as always, and I think there’s an appointment later to see some old Broadway posters. And whatever it is that’s brought you here, obviously.”

“You wound me.”

She glared at him as she took a sip from her cup—surprisingly menacing for one so seemingly docile, but it was also hard to believe that the dainty woman before him was a 200-some-year-old creature of the night. (Though it certainly took that amount of practice to run around a library in platform heels the way she did.) “Just what are you up to, Captain?”

He took his own drag of tea as he studied the aging leather spines in a glass-locked cabinet on the closest shelf, noting that the two of them were both likely older than the tomes, and yet showed no such signs of wear and tear. “It’s not anything hugely important, just a bit of gossip I heard, but figured you would be the one to confirm or deny it.”

“And what’s that?”

“With this whole ageless coven war, have you ever heard of any sort of...prophecy?”

He turned his head to look at her; were it not for the way she licked the tea off her lips, he’d think she was a statue. “Where did you hear that?” she finally murmured.

“Granny.” He couldn’t lie, and Belle wouldn’t judge.

“Yeah, she’d pick up something like that,” Belle had to admit. “Sharp old wolf.”

“So it’s real?”

Belle nodded. “It is, but no one’s said anything about it in...gosh, at least a hundred years. It goes back ages, though; I believe to the start of all this.”

“Does it say anything about how to end it?”

She sighed. “Yeah, it does. But let me finish my tea first.”

He truly had come to see her—not just for information; they’d first crossed paths sometime during the 1860s in Australia and been fast friends ever since. Killian couldn’t even remember what Gold had sent him there for, but Belle had come back to New York with him on one of his trips and stayed in the city ever since. She was originally from France, but after being turned (and losing her family) during the Reign of Terror, she fled the continent for England and hopped on the first ship out of Europe—to a penal colony on the other side of the world. Thus her odd combination of French curses and Australian accent. (Though after long enough, most vampires developed hard-to-place accents on account of their nomadicity; his likely only identified him as British due to his recent time spent there. And it hardly mattered in New York.)

She caught him up on anything he’d missed in the last decade that Robin hadn’t already, but didn’t betray the one thing he’d been hoping she’d mention: whether or not she was currently with Gold. He kind of hated how well they’d hit it off when he introduced them, but in the intervening decades, he’d lost count of how many times they’d broken up, made up, married, divorced, or just been “on a break” (it wasn’t a stretch to say they were a real-life Ross and Rachel; her apartment even had a purple door). They were freshly divorced when he’d left, but that didn’t mean much.

While she was taking a last, long dreg of tea, he had to ask. “And how are things with Gold?”

Suddenly, the cup was flattened and thrown with some precision to the trash bin near the door.

“Excellent, I take it?”

“More like completely done. Forever.”

He’d heard that before, but wasn’t about to contradict her. “What now?”

“Believe it or not, that’s one thing you haven’t missed—we haven’t gotten back together since you left.”

That had to be a record. However, he sensed that wasn’t all. “But?”

“But he’s tried on numerous occasions,” she sighed. “I’ve had enough, though; the shady dealings, his weird hangup over Cora, acting like king of his own empire. I’m not just another one of his playthings for him to control—oh, sorry.”

It wasn’t unusual for Belle to forget who she was talking to while ranting; however, “I’m not going to refute any of that, you know.”

“I know, just—I know you don’t have a choice.”

“Few have one.”

“Well, someone might—which brings us to the prophecy.”

She started off for the back of the room, where the oldest books were kept; he had to jump to keep up with her (not like it was hard, though).

“Have you ever heard the legend of the Dark One?” she asked as she grabbed an ancient-looking set of keys and knelt in front of an even older-looking case.

“It sounds familiar,” he replied, though he couldn’t pinpoint anything solid about it—just a name, almost a fairy tale, that had popped up over the years.

She pulled from the case what looked like a journal in a very fragile state and quickly moved it to an exam table (or whatever it was called—he didn’t spend that much time back here). “According to all the tales I’ve heard, the Dark One is the most powerful dark sorcerer in the world. Not only are they immortal, they lay claim to their power by murdering their predecessor. The story goes back centuries, and continues today.” As she told this, she carefully flipped through the pages of the book, which was written in an old language Killian only vaguely recognized.

“So you mean to tell me the Dark One is alive and kicking, even now?”

“Well, alive is a loose term. Also, he’s here in the city—and he’s your boss.” She stopped on a page near the center, and despite the aged parchment, the drawing on it bore more than a passing resemblance to Gold. “Not only has he held the title the longest, he was also the first vampire to lay claim to it. His existence is...I hate to say unprecedented, given how long he’s been around, but it’s definitely unique.”

How had he been unaware of this? True, there had always been something sinister about Gold that Killian hadn’t been able to put a finger on, but he just assumed it was because the man was an utter conniving bastard and had centuries to perfect being so. Not that he was also in possession of the darkest magic known to man. Few had any extra sort of magic—Cora was the only other one he knew of, and she wasn’t shy about it. Gold, apparently, was, though.

“How on earth did you find that out?”

“Well, he told me.”

Yeah, something like that would probably come up in pillow talk over the course of 150 years. “And he, what, gave you his notebook of devious schemes?” Killian asked, nodding at the book.

Belle snorted. “Not quite. I tracked this down myself about a hundred years ago.”

“So he doesn’t know about it?”

“Nope,” she confirmed, rather satisfied. “At least, he doesn’t know I have it. It was after our first divorce. See, he’s also spent plenty of time trying to hold onto that power and I, in my ire, decided to see if there was a way for him to lose it. Turns out, there is.”

She carefully flipped another few pages to one with just a few lines of text, in an older English, but easy enough for Killian to read:

Only one without creator live Can destroy the dark and survive. At truest love’s closing hour Will they eliminate the power

“And what exactly does that mean?” he wondered; he’d never encountered prophecies in the real world, but Harry Potter certainly seemed to have nailed their ambiguity.

“In simple terms, that only an orphan—someone without living parents—can kill him and end the line of Dark Ones. He did some awful things to orphanages years ago.” Belle shivered, and it had nothing to do with the cool temperature. “But ‘creator’ is a bit nebulous, especially with our kind,” she went on. “For us, it could also mean someone without a living sire. He’s also been known to target those.”

“Aye,” and it was Killian’s turn to shudder; he certainly had that kind of blood on his hands, although he’d usually been given a reason when taking out a hit on Gold’s orders. It was generally hard for anyone to get away from their sire—you couldn’t exactly kill someone when they had the ability to simply tell you to stop. The Nolans were an exception (one he still wanted to talk to Regina about); in fact, the only one he really knew of was… “Emma,” he breathed.

“Emma? Is that the girl whose scent is all over you?” Belle teased.

“Yeah, it is,” he told her, a bit sheepishly, but he had no time to stammer. “She doesn’t have a sire; she killed hers right after he turned her.”

“Impressive. I already approve of her.” Not that he needed Belle’s approval, but other than Robin, she was the closest thing he had to family—and that felt good.

“Even if she’s with Corona?”

“You know I don’t bloody care. Hell, I might like her more, then.”

That made him chuckle, but he needed to know more about the subject at hand. “What’s the rest of it mean, then?”

“Honestly, anything. ‘Closing hour’ is up for even more interpretation—could mean marriage, could mean death.”

“But we’re already dead.”

“I know. So I’ve no real clue. But I can spend some time on it, if you think she’s part of this.”

“It’s worth a shot; whatever it takes to end this feud.” Which gave him another, almost terrifying thought: “Does Cora know this?”

“That I don’t know. But I got the distinct impression it was part of why he turned her.”

“So she couldn’t kill him?”

“I think so. She was after power, whatever she could get; I think that’s why they got together in the first place. She was still mortal, then, and something of a witch, which...you’re already aware of. Turning her was always part of the plan, I gathered, but I think he moved up the timeline on it when he found out about the prophecy.”

“If she did find out, I can see why that might cause a legendary rift.” It would explain a lot of things, really.

“Precisely. And given my own dealings with the man, it’s easy to see why that went south.”

“At least you were already immortal,” he said knowingly.

“True,” she agreed, patting his hand.

“What about you? Where’s your sire nowadays?”

“No clue. I saw her my last time in Paris but that was 50 years ago. And trust me—if I could kill him, I would have by now.”

They shared a laugh, but Killian was more laughing at the idea that she’d be willing to off him; despite her rage, he knew she still loved him, deep down, even if she didn’t want to be in a relationship anymore.

She put the book away as methodically as she’d taken it out, locked the case, and glanced at the clock. “Well, I’d love to hear more about this Emma, but I suppose it’ll have to wait for another day; my appointment is in 20 minutes and I haven’t pulled anything yet. But maybe we can get some tea again in a couple days?”

“Sounds perfect, my dear—and thank you for your assistance.”

“My pleasure; hope it helps.”

“Anything does at this point.” He gave her a parting peck on the cheek and began to walk away, hoping it was still early enough he could stick to the shadows of the skyscrapers just fine, but then she called out again.

“Oh, and tell Will to call me, would you?”

He stopped in his tracks and turned to face her; surely she was joking. “Will? That wanker? Why?”

She shrugged. “I guess that’s one of the things I didn’t tell you from the last 15 years.”

★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★・・・・・・★

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#cs ff #cssns20 #cssns 2020 #cs vampire au #even death won't part us now #my ff

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xcertaindarkthingsx · 3 years

Text

chapter 1 - reunion

a/n: hi everyone :) this is my first time posting my writing on here and writing for star wars in general, i hope you like it! it’s going to be a series. feel free to leave any comments or constructive criticism, it’s greatly appreciated. if you’d prefer to read on ao3 you can do so here

pairing: obi-wan kenobi x oc (you can learn more about her here)

warnings: none for this chapter, i think. just some fluff and two people checking each other out haha

word count: 4.162k

tag list: @a-dorin if you’d like to be tagged, feel free to message me :)

Fingers fidgeted, twisting a lock of hair over and over again. Nerves began to creep up on the Jedi, but the steady rumble and thrum of the Republic cruiser helped keep them at bay.

“You’re nervous,” her companion, Cordé, stated. Seraphine turned to face her; their faces bathed in the soft, blue light of hyperspace. She was right of course, but there was no way in hell Seraphine was going to admit it.

“Am I?” she tried to play cheeky but the waver in her voice betrayed her. Kriff, she thought.

“I can’t imagine why; you haven’t any bad blood with anyone there. Unless,” Cordé paused, “this has something to do with a certain Jedi Master you left behind,” adding an arched brow and a smirk. Seraphine shot her best murderous glare towards her friend before wrapping herself tighter in her robes. An old habit from when she was a youngling.

“Oh, please,” she enunciated with an eyeroll. “It’s not that it’s just… I wonder how different ‘home’ will be now.” Home being the Jedi Temple on Coruscant, where she grew up.

For the past 4, almost 5 years, Seraphine had been on a long-term undercover mission on Kessel, a lawless planet in the outer rim territories. There, she met Cordé, and together they worked with locals and other Jedi stationed in nearby outposts to uncover and destroy an extensive trafficking ring. It was difficult, and they suffered great losses, but within 2 and a half years their mission was a success. Seraphine longed to return home, but instead decided to stay and deal with the fallout of their mission and further assist the victims.

That quickly came to an end after the events on Geonosis. When word broke out of the battle and upcoming war, a distress call was sent out to the far reaches of every system, warning every Jedi Temple of what was to come. Those who were able, or those originally from Coruscant, were to come as soon as possible to aid in the war effort.

Just a few days ago, Seraphine received her own transmission from Master Yoda and her old Master, Plo Koon. They urged her to come back home and bring any extra hands if possible. So, there they were, aboard a cruiser en route to Coruscant.

Seraphine’s mind wandered to what she had left behind all those years ago. Her friends— Aayla, Quinlan, Kit, Nejaa, Bant; her master and mentors. Not to mention little Anakin training as a Padawan, and his master— Obi-Wan Kenobi. Her closest friend, her partner in crime, and the most honorable man she knew. His old master, Qui-Gon, had been partially responsible for bringing her to the Temple as a child. They had grown up together on Coruscant; trained as Padawans, became Knighted within a few years of each other, and carried out plenty of adventurous missions before she left.

Her heart skipped at the thought of him. They had grown so close over time, and she realized too late that her feelings for him had turned into something forbidden, something they were sworn to deny.

It was no secret to Obi-Wan that Seraphine didn’t fully agree with the way the Jedi Code was conducted, especially when it came to casting aside emotions and preventing attachments. Her abilities within the Force made doing so very difficult. They had many spirited discussions with each other and their masters when they were younger. Obi-Wan did not find it amusing how much Qui-Gon and her agreed on such sentiments at the time.

Nevertheless, Seraphine never revealed how she felt about him. How could she? There was that whole situation with Satine, and more importantly— she knew what kind of man he was. While he had his disagreements with the Council at times, he was fiercely loyal to the Order. The probability of him reciprocating such intimate feelings for her just seemed impossible.

However, she knew how much he cared. Obi-Wan had always done well in preventing emotions from clouding his actions in important situations, but that didn’t mean he was callous. He was compassionate and cared deeply, and always made sure, in his own little way, to show it. They entrusted each other with their lives.

But Seraphine had grown weak and tired of burying herself away, so she did what she thought best: she ran away.

Confessing that she was leaving was difficult. While he tried to mask it, there was no denying the wave of hurt and disappointment that radiated from Obi-Wan. There was no doubt that if he knew how big a part he really played in her departure that it would hurt him even more. So when asked why, Seraphine held back, and he could tell. Her failure to tell the whole truth had left a bit of a ridge in their relationship.

They tried to keep in touch, but it became difficult when she went deep undercover, so their communications died out. Something sat heavy in Seraphine’s gut and chest, like a boulder, whenever she thought of him for too long. Guilt, her mind told her. What you’re feeling is guilt. It felt like she was losing a part of herself.

Being so far away, she worried constantly for his wellbeing. Regardless of how capable she knew he was. But something ensured that if anything were to happen, she would feel it.

By some twisted form of fate, a Force Bond had developed between them during a mission they had carried out just before she was Knighted. If one of them was in trouble, the other would know. Seraphine wouldn’t trade it for the world, but it wasn’t the most convenient thing to possess when trying to hide her true feelings. However, Master Plo’s teachings and training made reigning in her emotions doable. To her, the pros outweighed the cons. It was nice being able to reach out and feel Obi-Wan’s presence in the Force when she was missing him.

She always wondered if he did the same.

Foolishly, she thought time would subdue her feelings. She was wrong. All the kriffing training in the world couldn’t prepare her for being forced to face the very thing she’d been avoiding for years.

It’s not that Seraphine didn’t want to see him, but she didn’t know if she could handle his reaction to her return. Resentment? Would he even be on the platform when they landed? Insecurity seeded itself back into her mind, making her feel like the ugly duckling she always saw herself as when they were Padawans. Seraphine buried her body deeper into her robes, painfully conscious of herself. Doubts continued in her mind in a torturous cycle until Cordé interrupted.

“We’re about to make the drop out of hyperspace. We’re here, Seraphine.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Obi-Wan’s hands fidgeted with his forearm armor while he stood, waiting in the landing bay of the Jedi Temple. His heartbeat thrummed in his ears as he began to pace, one hand absentmindedly stroking his beard.

“You’re nervous,” Anakin pointed out to his former Master, amused. He’d never seen him act like this.

“I most certainly am not,” Obi-Wan insisted. He most certainly was, but there was no way in hell he was going to admit that to Anakin.

“Really, Master? Cause’ I haven’t felt you this tense since—”

“Oh, don’t start.”

Obi-Wan believed he had every right to be nervous. In a few moments he’d be seeing his oldest friend, his closest friend— Seraphine. They had grown up together, here at the Temple. And while she was 6 years his junior, they had trained closely as Initiates and Padawans together, and she became Knighted just a few years after him. She had been there for him during one of the most difficult times of their lives, when Qui-Gon had died.

They had been inseparable since they were younglings, so when she decided all those years ago to leave so abruptly, he couldn’t help but feel like he was losing a part of himself. But he couldn’t, and wouldn’t, let it show. He was aware there was more to why she left— their Force Bond had told him that much— but when he pressed her, she refused to disclose.

She had been his rock in taking care of Anakin, and he’d been fearful of what would happen when she left. It was difficult the first few months, and it didn’t help that his heart had suffered a blow as well. Obi-Wan recognized his hurt reaction as indication of feelings he was not supposed to have, so he told himself it was truly for the best. Though, it was hard to get his heart on board with his head.

They had tried to stay in touch when she had first left, but it quickly became difficult with their differing schedules, and almost impossible when she went deep undercover. He worried for her but knew that if something bad happened he would feel it. Once in a while, he would reach out in the Force just to feel a touch of her presence and make sure she was still there.

He wondered if she ever did the same.

News came around the Temple of her successful mission a few years later, and he remembered being incredibly proud. As quiet as she was, Seraphine was also the fiercest person he knew, and it showed in all her actions. Not only was he proud, he was excited. A successful mission meant she’d be coming home soon.

However, he was disappointed to find out she’d be staying out there for who knows how long, to clean up the fallout of the mission. Somehow that news hurt more than watching her leave, but he couldn’t be angry with her. Most people go in, get the job done, and leave without any regard for the long-term consequences of their actions. But Seraphine always took responsibility for her actions, good or bad. It was just the kind of person she was, and one of the many qualities he admired in her.

And now, he was finally getting what he’d been looking forward to all these years. With the war looming over them, they were in dire need of assistance from any Jedi they could spare. Not only that, he knew that her incredible skills would transfer over well to becoming a General for the Republic, and the Council knew it too. Just a few days ago, Master Yoda and Plo Koon had reached out to her directly to come home. He couldn’t bring himself to be in the briefing room when they called.

“Why is he nervous?” Ahsoka whispered loudly to Anakin, interrupting Obi-Wan’s reminiscing.

“Oh, for the last time, I’m not nervous,” Obi-Wan insisted. “It’s simply been a long time since I’ve seen her, she’s a dear friend.” He reminded himself to keep a reign on his emotions.

“I have some memories of her, but they’re a bit fuzzy. In bits and pieces,” Anakin murmured.

“You knew her too?” Ahsoka questioned, trying to get as much information about this mystery woman that seemed to have Obi-Wan on edge. Anakin nodded.

“She helped Obi-Wan take care of me when I first came to the Temple. We’d always train out in the back courtyards, under that big blossom tree,” Anakin paused and chuckled. “I’d sit and watch her sketch in her notebook, or she’d tell me all these crazy stories.”

The memory caused a burst of warmth in Obi-Wan’s chest; those days seemed so far away now. He’d already heard all her crazy myths, legends she had buried her nose in or remembered from her homeworld and recited as a child, but he loved to listen to her retell them to his young Padawan. His thoughts went to those very sketchbooks Anakin had mentioned, which were hidden away under his mattress, along with a small box of her belongings. She had given them to him as a sort of parting gift. A promise; something for him to hold onto until she came back.

“So, why did she leave?” Ahsoka probed further.

“She left for that Kessel trafficking mission a few years ago,” the older Jedi responded. The younger furrowed her brows, realizing it was something she’d learned in her classes.

“That was her?” Ahsoka was stunned. “We’ve talked about her in our studies, she’s amazing.”

Obi-Wan smiled to himself. “Yes, she is.”

Something about that mission sparked a faint memory in Ahsoka, something she’d read in an Archive file. “Wait, didn’t the same girl destroy that sect of Black Knights that emerged a long time ago?”

The memory of that mission left a sour taste in Obi-Wan’s mouth. He’d almost lost her that day. He opened his mouth to respond but was quickly interrupted by Commander Cody’s voice crackling on his commlink.

“General Kenobi, we’ve got an incoming ship from the east. Looks like they’re here.” Obi-Wan nodded at his Commander from across the platform, steeling his nerves as he watched the ship land.

He held his breath as the hatch opened, watching two figures emerge. Seraphine. He picked her out immediately as the one in front, knapsack hanging off her slight figure. The one trailing behind must have been her friend that Master Yoda mentioned. Obi-Wan urged himself to calm his emotions; stay cool and collected.

That silly notion completely disappeared upon seeing her walk down the platform.

Oh, Maker, she was beautiful, he thought. Just like she had been the day she left, but things were a bit different now. Her face had matured and while she always had a hardened demeanor, there was something else she wore on her face now. A sort of defiance in her brow that wasn’t there before.

Back then, Seraphine had buried herself in her Jedi robes like a security blanket. Always trying to make herself smaller, quieter. But now? Obi-Wan was in awe at how much taller she stood on that platform. Without even thinking, his eyes roved up and down her body. Her robes kept her somewhat obscured, but he could make out the new fabric underneath. It was still modest, but he never remembered seeing so much of her skin before, especially her legs. The thought made his face blaze and he quickly tried to think about anything else. She mirrored Anakin in her dark colored wardrobe— not a traditional Jedi look but then again, she was not a traditional Jedi.

He willed his eyes to shift their focus back to her face, noting how long her hair had grown. When she had left, it was still short and choppy from her Knighting, when she had impulsively cut it along with her Padawan braid. Now, it was long and flowing, like when they were younglings. A silver circlet sat at the top of her head, attached to a chain that weaved into her violet locks and made her look like an angel, her namesake.

Obi-Wan’s chest tightened as they got closer, and realized it was because he hadn’t taken a single breath since she stepped off the ship. Reminding himself to breathe, his eyes fell on the familiar swirl of tattoos on the edges of her face and down her neck. Others often found her markings too striking, too stark of a contrast on her skin and features, but Obi-Wan always thought it suited her perfectly.

He desperately tried to make out her expression, but her head was tilted towards Cody as she walked and talked. Her presence was immediately soothing to him, a pulse of comfort in the Force, but there was a cloud of uncertainty that hung in the air. Whether it was hers, or his own, he couldn’t tell. Would she even be happy to see him?

Those thoughts dissipated when Seraphine finally looked away from Cody. Obi-Wan watched as those golden brown eyes lit up and she broke into that wide, toothy smile of hers that always made him melt. It was a smile that rivaled even Master Fisto’s trademark grin.

His heart was in his throat, but he managed to smile back. In the blink of an eye, the space between them was erased and her arms had enveloped him in a hug that was too big for someone of her size. He stiffened on reflex, but quickly relaxed. Obi-Wan was never one for public displays of affection but for her he would make an exception.

“Obi-Wan,” she breathed into his ear, clutching him tight. Disbelief tinged her voice and the air around them, like she wasn’t sure if any of this was real. He clutched her just as hard, assuring her that it was. Her touch had stoked something in him, and he realized how long it’d been since he hugged another human being.

“Seraphine, my darling,” the term of endearment slipping out. Obi-Wan rarely called her that with so many people around, but frankly he was too happy to care. Gone were the days of having to reach out into the Force just to feel a taste of her presence. Now, he was almost overwhelmed by it. Their Bond seemed to swirl in harmony, sending waves of bliss and relief over them.

He didn’t mind. All that mattered to him was the fact that she was finally back home with him, where she belonged.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵

Seraphine’s stomach somersaulted as the ship dropped out of hyperspace and made its descent onto the landing platform. The nerves were overwhelming, but a tiny ball of excitement sat in her chest as well. She’d be seeing her best friend again.

The hatch of the ship opened with a hiss and she willed her legs to move forward, half aware of Cordé trailing behind. The two were greeted by a Commander Cody at the bottom before making their way towards the Temple entrance.

From afar, Seraphine could see a small group of people gathered that seemed to be waiting. She squinted, trying to make out any faces while making small talk with Cody. Her heart caught in her throat when she was close enough to see him. Obi-Wan.

Oh, still as handsome as the day I left him, she thought. He looked a bit different, but that familiar twinkle in his eyes let Seraphine know that it was still her best friend standing before her. Not to mention the signature smirk he so often wore. Smug bastard.

He had grown older, but not in a bad way. The smile lines that crinkled around his eyes made him look even more distinguished. His hair had grown out, accompanied by a well-groomed beard that suited him perfectly. Maker, that beard, she thought. Seraphine willed her mind to keep itself in check, but that kriffing beard was raising all sorts of sinful thoughts in her head. Thoughts she quickly shook away as her face began to heat up.

The traditional Jedi attire he usually wore included additions of battle armor that broadened his shoulders and heightened his build. Seraphine never thought she’d live to see the day where Obi-Wan Kenobi, the ever “peaceful negotiator”, donned an outfit for war but he looked good. It should be a damn crime to look that good.

The excitement in her chest was crushing and her feet surged forward on their own. A huge grin was plastered on her face as she threw her arms around him, whispering his name. She felt Obi-Wan stiffen for a split second, but his arms dropped and encircled her just as quick.

“Seraphine, my darling,” he whispered softly in her hair. A stronger flush rose on her cheeks at the sound of his nickname for her, and she was thankful he couldn’t see her face. She breathed in his scent and smiled. Still the same as before: warm, clean, with a hint of oak. Seraphine squeezed tighter, wanting to make sure it was really him standing in front of her. No more reaching out into the Force just to feel a faint taste of his presence. Now his signature shined brightly, blazing through their Bond. He was really here, and she was finally home.

The grin never left her face as she took a step back to look at him. Stormy blue eyes meeting hers and making her heart melt. A wave of relief washed over them, and neither was able to tell whose it was.

There was so much Seraphine wanted to say, but the right words just wouldn’t seem to form. Instead, she resorted to what she knew best with him— teasing. She playfully tapped the end of his beard with a small smirk.

“You look… different,” she said with a laugh, and thankfully he did too. “In a good way.” A smile spread across Obi-Wan’s face, along with that twinkle in his eye.

“I could say the same about you,” he countered, and Seraphine’s face betrayed her with another blush. The older Jedi thought it was endearing how easily flustered she was, even if she found it mortifying. He watched in amusement as she tried to force it down and cover it up with an eyeroll.

Remembering they weren’t alone, Seraphine turned to the man standing next to Obi-Wan. Her brows furrowed, trying to identify him. He seemed to enjoy watching her try and figure it out, judging from the mischievous smile on his face. Something about it made him look so familiar, almost like…

“Anakin?” Seraphine asked, dumbfounded. Anakin responded with an even bigger grin than hers before reaching out for his own hug. “Gods, I can’t believe it. You’re not a little kid anymore,” she mumbled, feeling bittersweet. He had completely grown up in her absence, his figure towering over hers. The thought was sobering. Seraphine felt like it was just yesterday she was wrapping him in blankets, acclimating him to the cold of Coruscant.

“It’s good to see you again, Seraphine,” he punctuated with a tight squeeze. As she looked over his shoulder, she met the eyes of a young Togruta girl. She wondered why a Padawan would be here, but still gave a polite smile as she pulled back from Anakin.

“I don’t believe we’ve met yet, what’s your name?” Seraphine inquired, extending an arm out as a greeting. The girl seemed to be skeptical at first, but with a small nod from Anakin she took Seraphine’s hand.

“I’m Ahsoka Tano. I’m Master Skywalker’s Padawan,” she answered, pride clear in her voice. Seraphine tried to hide her surprise as she let go of her hand. While Anakin had been a very skilled and powerful student when she left, he was still wild and headstrong. The fact that he’d been Knighted, let alone given a Padwan, shocked her. I supposed if anyone could get a Padawan so early, it’d be the Chosen One, she thought.

“Seraphine Kharis, it’s nice to meet you.”

“Oh, I know,” Ahsoka replied, much to Seraphine’s confusion. “We’ve talked about the Kessel mission in our studies. Your work is looked up to by a lot of us.”

Seraphine tilted her head at her, a look of puzzlement on her face. They talked about us in their classes? “Well, it certainly wasn’t just me, I had a lot of help. Especially from her,” she assured, putting a hand on Cordé’s shoulder.

After everyone was introduced, the group made their way towards the inside of the Temple. Falling into stride with Obi-Wan, Seraphine leaned to his side to whisper.

“They gave him a Padawan already?”

“Hey!” Anakin interjected, shooting a glare my way. Obi-Wan chuckled.

“Oh, trust me. I expressed the same sentiment at first, but he seems to be doing alright so far,” Obi-Wan assured. Seraphine could only imagine his initial reaction but knew that he trusted Anakin. That didn’t stop her from teasing though.

“Right, I can tell from the number of new grays you’re sporting.”

Ahsoka’s mouth fell open in shock and laughter while Anakin snickered. Obi-Wan simply glared back, but Seraphine knew there was a small smile threatening to take over.

“It’s nice to know you haven’t lost your sense of humor while you were gone,” he countered.

“Never,” she smirked. Obi-Wan shook his head at her.

“Now, you two can drop your bags off in your rooms, but I’m afraid we’ll have to go straight into the briefing after. The Council is waiting, and you’ll be introduced to your clone divisions.”

Anakin and Ahsoka announced they’d be going ahead while Obi-Wan led the remaining duo to the main sleeping quarters. Seraphine was surprised to see that they had decided to give her old room back, with Cordé being given the one right across.

Seraphine peered into the old room, not sure what to expect. The quaint space she had spent almost her entire life in was void of any artifacts or trinkets that once branded it her own, but strangely still felt like home.

Some things never change.

They dropped off their things and made their way towards the briefing rooms.

#literally so nervous bc i've never posted my writing before but HERE WE GO #obi wan kenobi #obi wan kenobi x oc #obi wan kenobi fic #star wars #star wars oc #my oc #seraphine kharis #star wars fic #certaindark writing #my writing #always holding on to stars #star wars fanfiction

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