#i think we have amassed significantly more things

[asteracaea]

So some gaylors and swifties are saying taylor is mirroring KK with brittany mahomes now, because she did that lover pose and that she is throwing shade to her. I don't know what to think anymore, I really don't understand what taylor is doing right now

also KK was mocked for being on the nosebleeds by some late night show and they are saying taylor and tree planted this

i'm sorry you feel shaken by this, anon!

i'm not phased by it, though. the anti-karlie contingent will grab at any wisp of an opportunity to dig at her.

i've been around here observing things for almost 4 years now and i am convinced that there is no bad blood between them (quite the contrary). the thousands and thousands of instances of them referencing each other in a loving way has me confident, and the haters can't shake that.

i haven't seen the colbert clip so i don't know the context, but it sounds really weird that he would talk about something that happened 7 months ago ? and the only response i have to that atm is that it proves kaylor is still a hot topic people are talking about !

[just-late-roman-republic-things]

What sources do you think had cemented a view of Caesar where he is this guy ultimately tying to destroy the republic to make it into a one man show?

Good question! This is just my opinion - I'm not a historian - but I think there are several layers to this:

Ancient sources. Cicero, Caesar himself, Sallust, Pollio, Hirtius, Augustus, Velleius Paterculus, Suetonius, Plutarch, Appian, and Cassius Dio are the big hitters here.

Some are pro-Caesar, some are anti-Caesar, and some (like Cicero) show different views at different times. But one thing they all have in common is that Caesar tends to "take over the story" as either a hero or villain. They also tend to be "backward-looking," in that they look for evidence of this heroism or villainy long before the civil war broke out in 49 BCE. It's like when a scandal breaks about a modern celebrity and people start digging up old rumors about them, or looking for signs that there was always something "off."

This is why Suetonius gives us stories of Caesar plotting to overthrow the government at times that don't make logical sense, and Plutarch highlights Caesar's charisma by telling us how he charmed the pirates who captured him. Even when a writer isn't trying to be biased, they still tend to assume Caesar's actions in 49-44 BCE reflect the values and goals he always held.

Most people change considerably throughout their lives, and a lot of our actions are dictated by luck and external pressures. But acknowledging this would go against the "story" that Caesar was exceptional, either for good or evil. It is, quite frankly, uncomfortable to imagine that an ordinary person could do monstrous things under the wrong circumstances, or that "bad people" have a lot in common with us. Easier to say that Caesar was different, Caesar chose to break the republic, not like us who are just making the best decisions we can in difficult circumstances.

(This is not me making excuses for the bad shit Caesar did do; I've criticized him in other posts.)

2. Secondary sources.

Caesar doesn't change, but the way we see him changes with every generation. Ronald Syme's monumental work The Roman Revolution came out in 1939, under the shadow of rising fascism in Italy and Germany; that influenced his views of Caesar and Augustus considerably. Napoleon saw Caesar as a role model, an exemplar of a "middle path" between tyranny and mob rule. The American founding fathers saw him as a boogeyman, a symbol of everything they were trying to get away from, and drafted the Constitution with the fear of an "American Caesar" in mind.

I don't think there's ever been a consensus on "How should we feel about Julius Caesar?" We cannot help but project our own values, fears, and cultural baggage onto him. In fact, I'd argue that most people's views of Caesar are more about what he represents to us than about what he personally did.

This is why I recommend A Companion to Julius Caesar and Julius Caesar and the Roman People so highly. Both books attempt to distinguish Caesar, the ordinary and fallible person, from Caesar the legend.

3. Cultural values.

One of the reasons we have so many conflicting views of Caesar is that in many ways he exemplified the cultural values of Roman politicians, and our values have changed significantly since then. Like, I detest Caesar's conquest of Gaul, but most of his contemporaries would have attempted to do the same thing, and very few Romans would have seen it as immoral.

Even during Caesar's lifetime, people disagreed on how to interpret his actions. When he reinstated Marius' statues, was he piously honoring his family, or was he dissenting from the post-Sullan establishment? Was his conquest of Gaul a traditional, respectable way of serving the state, or was he building an independent base of power to challenge the state? Were his multiple dictatorships necessary responses to breakdowns in public order, or a sign that he wanted to amass power for himself? Depends who you ask!

Ultimately, I think it's impossible to have an objective view of Caesar. And we'll never know what was really going through his head; we can only make our best guesses. But we can try to distinguish the man from the myth, to examine what we know and don't know, and to become aware of our own biases.

And all of this [waves in nerdy frustration] is why I tag posts like this with #caesarhell!

[iturbide]

What about an Almyran invasion? I think the answer to that lies in “We just saw two Almyran armies get devastated within the span of three years, and the Prince who led both of these miserably failed invasions was killed out of a result of his own stupidity.” It’s no different than killing Edelgard at the end of AM or VW. When the aggressor kicks down your door and outright rejects mercy to your face, I think most can say one is within reason to oblige.

I mean. While it is stated in the Prologue that the Almyran army amassing beyond the Locket is the largest seen since the last invasion attempt roughly 200 years prior, I don't think we have evidence that the whole of that army was devastated. Shahid went in against orders trying to prove himself and got his ass kicked -- if his contingent was the only one that got decimated (and I personally doubt that a handful of students, a mercenary, and Holst would be capable of countering a full army the likes of which hasn't been seen in 200 years), that's not a whole army. The same is true for the second fight against Shahid, where he pulled together a force and tried again: a substantial force, maybe, but not an invasion force the likes of which hasn't been seen in 200 years, which I don't think he could amass on his own without the king's knowledge or approval (as far as I understand it -- again, haven't played, don't know details).

Also, you said it yourself: it was a prince who led them (against orders). The king has significantly more power than a prince does, and can pull from a far larger pool of military resources than a prince who's recklessly trying to prove himself. Almyra is huge, described in the Traveler's Journal as a vast kingdom of plains, deserts, and mountain ranges, and it's so large that it hits the edge of the Fodlan maps and potentially extends further. If the king of Almyra really wanted to, I have no doubt he could pull together a force that more than makes up for what Shahid lost.

But at least by my understanding, the situation with Shahid is very different from the one with Edelgard at the end of Azure Moon and Verdant Wind. In Azure Moon with Dimitri, he offered his hand and she met it with a dagger to the chest -- Dimitri reflexively struck her with his lance in the face of that attack. It wasn't a calculated murder, it was an ingrained reaction. And in Verdant Wind, Edelgard is never disarmed: she makes it very clear that Byleth will have to forge ahead over her grave, and since she doesn't unhand her weapons (she can't physically manage Aymr, but she never loosens her grip on the Sword of Seiros she took from Rhea) there's really no choice in the matter.

From what I understand, Shahid has no weapon anymore: he threw it in a rage at Claude, and has no further means of defense. His death is therefore an execution in the vein of Edelgard beheading Dimitri at Tailtean in Crimson Flower.

The thing about Claude that made him stand out in Three Houses was that while he might not have had a reason to offer mercy, he tried to the best of his ability. He tried to reach out to people and avoid bloodshed, knowing that every life lost was someone he could not reach in understanding, which -- by his own words to Byleth in their Three Houses A support -- has been his ultimate goal since the he came to Garreg Mach in the first place: opening borders to encourage peaceful relations between different peoples and cultures. Hence why so much of what I've been hearing about Three Hopes and its characterization of Claude leaves such a bad taste in my mouth.

[no-droids]

Why is the Girl Here?

Part 1 of 2 of The Locked Door Series

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi/fem!Reader

Word Count: 12.8K

Summary: The Clone Wars have launched the galaxy into darkness, and hundreds of Jedi have fallen. With nowhere else to turn, the Order seeks to ally with powerful Force users from the Unknown Regions.  Just a three-cycle trip from Ilum, the planet s’Ziscari is home to the largest army of Force sensitives known to the galaxy, three times the size of the Jedi Order and with no current allegiance to the Republic.  There, Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and his newly ordained Jedi Knight are to negotiate an alliance with the s’Ziscari government on behalf of the Order and the Republic.  As the separatist army grows ever stronger, the fate of trillions rests in their hands…

Warnings: THIS WILL BE A FUCK OR DIE-ESQUE FIC.  Smut will come in the second part.

***

“Why is it,” you ask, the heels of your leather boots clicking in perfect synchronization with the cloaked figure to your left, “that the greatest negotiator in the Jedi Order wields a blue saber, and not a green one?”

While you're unable to see his gentle smile from underneath your dark cowl, you sense a general wave of amusement reverberate through the Force from his direction.  The energy somehow feels like the equivalent of a lift inside the cavity in your chest; transparent, tinted a soft blue in color, comfortable, calm, and familiar.

“Perhaps we should trade,” comes that crisp and precise Coruscanti accent you've ached to hear for the past two years.  “No matter how much you lamented its color as a youngling, you know I have always been rather fond of yours.”

It’s true, you think.  The color green never really… agreed with you, and much less what it represents to the Jedi, but your Master always said he found the pastel hue of the saber currently clipped to your belt to be unique and appealing.  Green—any shade of it, really—is the color of the Jedi Consulars.  The peacekeepers, the diplomats, the healers and seers.  Their—your—inner nature and connection to the Force speaks to concord and harmony, and though you’ve come to accept your place amongst the pacifists and mediators in the Order after years of training and meditation, you still remember what a shock it was to discover the color of your kyber crystal as a youngling.

You always thought you’d have a blue saber.  The mark of the Guardians—the second of the three branches of Jedi.  Their skills are focused in battle, and any saber towards the far end of the color spectrum typically leads to specializing in lightsaber combat and warfare tactics.  That’s what you always thought your soul spoke to most—the warriors of the Order.  The soldiers and the members of the Jedi Core, the battle tacticians, the security of the Republic and law enforcers.  You were always a bit of a brash and emotional child compared to your peers, a bit of a handful as a youngling, and you were certain your saber would be some shade of blue because of that.  At that age, a yellow saber was maybe a possibility.  Though you didn’t really have the amount of friends a sociable, service-oriented Sentinel would have, you still felt that if you didn’t have a blue saber, then yellow was far more likely than green.  Yet, you still remember blinking down at your tiny, open palm deep in a cave on Ilum, stunned, a pale mint kyber crystal held precariously in it and nearly vibrating with how loudly it was calling to you through the Force.

“Did the Council do that on purpose, you think?”  You ask, the both of you taking a sharp right down another unfamiliar marble hallway with no spoken direction.  “Pair their most combative Consular with their most mild-mannered Guardian all those years ago, hoping we’d make a good team?”

“You know as well as I do that I chose you for a Padawan myself, young one,” your Master hums.  “And that… we have always been.”

It’s been two years since you last saw him.  Two years, since you passed your trials and graduated from his tutelage.  Knighthood has been good to you with the exception of your former Master’s extended absence, a consequence of your newfound independence as a bonafide member of the Order.  Though the circumstances surrounding your much anticipated reunion with him certainly aren’t ideal, you’re glad nonetheless that you’re face-to-face again—or, currently, shoulder-to-shoulder.

You hide the ghost of a smile under your hood and maintain a steady, calm signature in the Force, keeping in stride with him and speaking in hushed tones.  “Things must really be desperate if they’re putting us back together again.”

“I do not wish to alarm you,” he drawls, sarcastic in cadence but a hint of affection weaving through his voice all the same, “but we are in the middle of a war.”

“Fair,” you acknowledge with a tilt of your head, though being on a planet so far removed from the chaos currently wreaking havoc on the rest of the galaxy allows you the privilege of pretending for the moment.  “A threat to the very fabric of the Republic is the only reason the Council would sanction the two of us reuniting.”

Though you say it jokingly, there’s something hidden in it.  An unspoken apprehension you’re attempting to mask with the high spirits of seeing him again.  The stakes of the forthcoming interplanetary negotiation are absolutely staggering, and though it remains unsaid, you understand that just as well as he does.  Scared isn’t the right word, and neither is worried, but—

“I sense a mild trepidation in you, young one,” your Master murmurs, and yes, that’s it.  A mild trepidation.

“I am…”  You close your eyes and attempt to find the right words.  “I am… considering the long-term consequences should this endeavor fail,” you eventually settle on, allowing your feet to lead you left as you keep your pace with him.  “While I consider it a great honor to lead this negotiation on behalf of the Galactic Republic, I’m concerned the Council’s faith in me is… ill-placed.”

Your Master turns his head just marginally in your direction, and though you both can't technically see each other, you know the face he's making under the hood of his robe: his eyebrow is raised, his chin is tilted, and there's the faintest hint of an amused grin threatening to morph the slightly sassy expression to one of genuine humor.  “You distrust the Council’s judgement?”

“Failure and any potential repercussions will be mine alone to bear,” you clarify.  “It’s not the Council I lack faith in, but rather my own skills as a mediator.”

At this, the Jedi does chuckle.  “And I'm to assume I'm just the tauntaun next door in this scenario?”

The apprehension clears, almost immediately, and you can’t help but grin gently in return.  He always did have that effect on you.  “Better be,” you toss out, sensing the large congregation of lifeforms gradually burn brighter in the Force as you both continue your quiet approach.  “This is my negotiation, after all; the Council’s instructions were clear.”

“Very well,” he agrees.  “And, since this is your negotiation, I’m sure you’re more than aware of s’Ziscari etiquette and tradition?  Wouldn’t want to offend them by accident.”

“Of course,” you nod.  “But a… a quick refresher certainly wouldn’t hurt.”

Your Master just tsks quietly, but launches into a brief explanation for you all the same.  “It is the Council’s understanding that Queen s’Zerthia is absent from the Palace at the moment.  In lieu of an audience with her, Ambassador Zyther is the only other member of her Royal Majesty’s court who happens to be fluent in Basic, so be sure to address only him when you speak, and to speak slowly and clearly, as it’s crucial they understand our intentions are purely diplomatic in nature.  Do not forget the s’Ziscari are a Force sensitive race; they’ll be able to spot deception the second you think to speak it aloud.  Not that I anticipate the need to mislead them for any reason, of course, but please.  Be mindful.”

Instead of answering him, you direct an affirmative through the Force, and your Master continues.

“They are known to take offense to extended eye contact and they’re not fond of humor or small-talk either, so skip directly to the point: the Jedi are here on behalf of the Republic to garner the support of their planet during these times of war and great unease.  Intel tells us they have amassed an army of Force sensitives three times the size of the Order.  While we’re hoping for a pledge of at least a thousand soldiers to fight in the Clone Wars, we are more than willing to compromise and accept any assistance they’d be gracious enough to provide nonetheless.”

“In exchange for what?”  You ask, the throne room doors now in sight.  You were formally debriefed on mission details during the three day trip to s’Ziscari, but the answer to that specific question was kept purposefully vague, even for the likes of the Council.  Presently, you still have no idea what exactly you’re meant to be bargaining with, not for.

“In exchange for the continued security of having a peaceful and harmonious neighbor with which to share the galaxy,” he replies breezily, the both of you coming to a halt directly in front of two large wooden doors.  “Now.  Are you quite ready?”

“Hang on,” you say, turning to face him, and he carefully ducks his head and removes his hood with two hands as his body rotates to mirror yours.  “You’re telling me that we’re walking into the most important negotiation in the entire galaxy without actually having anything substantial to offer on our behalf?”

Slowly, the dark cowl is lifted from your head as well, and your eyes lock with a pair of calm cerulean blues staring back at you as he gently soothes the fabric down by your collar.  He looks older—ever since the Clone Wars started, Jedi Master General Obi-Wan Kenobi has aged significantly.  Gone are the long, flowing locks he sported for most of your youth—the short hair with a clean part is more refined, the beard fuller and more mature.  More… attractive than you remember him being, even though you always remembered him being… achingly attractive.

Instead of answering your question, however, he simply moves both hands to rest over the curve of your shoulders, lowering his head and lifting his eyebrows at you in a look of genuine sincerity that makes your heart thump painfully in your chest.

“I am so very proud of you, my former Padawan,” he tells you quietly, and you feel yourself nearly swell with warmth.  You’re strong enough in the Force to subdue the sentiment before it bleeds into your signature, but you can’t help the way your face flushes slightly and a girlish little smile pulls tight at your cheeks.  “You’ve grown into a fine Knight and an exemplar for the Order.  No matter the outcome of this mission, nor of this war, please know I’ve been truly blessed by the Maker to have been given the privilege of training you all these years.”

Master Kenobi tilts his head forward just slightly, allowing his Force signature to brush delicately against yours for just a moment, the soft periwinkles and lavenders of his energy swirling gently through your pastel seafoams and teals.

And then he clears his throat, straightens his spine, and claps his hands tight to your upper arms.

“Come now, Jedi,” he winks, turning his head to the double doors and breaking into a brilliant grin, the skin around his eyes crinkling with age but the sparkle in them still lovely and youthful and bright.  “The fate of the galaxy awaits.”

***

Master Obi-Wan Kenobi remembers very clearly the day he chose you as a Padawan.

You were a fiery little thing.  The Sentinels who raised younglings at the Academy would often speak about you at length to the Council, each of them reporting back with the same issues and concerns.  Too emotional, too chaotic, too rebellious for the likes of the Jedi.  You threw tantrums, you had outbursts, and to him, you were very likely the worst possible candidate for a negotiator to take on as an apprentice, if only because by all accounts it appeared that you were nigh impossible to negotiate with.

But then you caught his eye one day when Master Yoda was in the process of introducing him to your class.  You should’ve been paying attention to the wisdom being shared by the oldest Consular in the Order (and, admittedly, so should he) but instead, you were gazing quietly at a dove that made its nest on the transparisteel dome arching across the ceiling.  Obi-Wan remembers feeling your energy cautiously reach out towards it, gentler than anything he could’ve expected from a child of your age and reputation, and the moment stuck with him.

The younglings were each allowed one possession at the Academy, and when it came time for him to choose a Padawan, he swiped yours, if only to see what you’d do.  A stuffed rancor you’d endearingly named Cory—rather hideous looking thing, if you asked him—and he was told you were fiercely protective over it.

Obi-Wan remembers carefully setting the stuffed animal down next to him in one of the old storage rooms in the isolated training area, locking the door manually and then taking a quick second to cloak his Force signature.  You had three options, he figured, if you were able to find its location.  Use the Force to unlock the door, use the brand new saber clipped to your belt to create your own door, or leave without your stuffed rancor.  Based off your reputation as an emotionally volatile little youngling, he was assuming he’d have to replace the frame and wall paneling altogether, but regardless, Obi-Wan figured that if you had the nerve to break into the locked room to retrieve your missing possession, he would train you, and if you didn’t, then he’d find someone else.

He waited patiently, meditating for a few hours on your signature from across the Academy.  He went through the subsequent stages with you.  A bright flare of panic, probably from noticing its absence from your quarters.  Sharp sparks of frustration for the next few minutes, likely in response to nobody knowing where it went.  He was expecting some sort of distraught next as you began making your way through the Academy to search for it yourself, some sort of upset, but then you surprised him for the second time.

All at once… Quiet.  Serenity.  Your signature carefully sweeping out in all directions as you walked through the halls, calmly attempting to locate your missing possession.

Obi-Wan pondered this as you approached, and what it might mean.  Were you just an excellent student when you felt the stakes were high enough?  Were you capable of listening to instructions despite what he’d heard about you in passing?  Were you simply just strong in the Force?  Or was there perhaps more to you than what others had told him?

Soon, he could hear your footsteps come to a halt in front of the locked door.  He waited silently; hidden in the darkness, hidden in the Force, barely breathing while he listened for either the sound of a lightsaber turning on or a lock clicking.  He knew you’d find some way to breach the entrance somehow; he knew you wouldn’t just give up and leave.

Except, then all he heard was a quiet little rap of knuckles against metal.

“Master Kenobi?”  A small voice called through the door, and Obi-Wan froze.

To your credit, he wasn’t focusing on hiding himself the way he should’ve been.  Had you been roughly ten years older, he might’ve taken the time to concentrate a bit harder on it, but truthfully, that’s not what surprised him the most.

You didn’t break in at all.

Instead, you… knocked.

“Master Kenobi?”  You tried again after a moment, your knuckles tapping quietly on the door once more.

“Em…”  He eventually cleared his throat.  “Yes?”

“I think you may have accidentally taken something of mine on accident,” you carefully said after a moment, the overly cautious intent not to offend or intrude suddenly striking him as an invaluable trait in a potential negotiator.  “May I please have him back please?”

You were quite a handful at times, Obi-Wan thinks, but it’s been so long.  So long since he’s had to correct you in any way.  As the years passed, you aged from an emotional Padawan to a refined Knight, a hot-tempered adolescent to a disciplined and capable young Jedi.

Now he looks on as you greet the s’Ziscari Ambassador to the Republic, your head bowed in respect and your eyes focused somewhere near the man’s chest.  It appears the two of you have an audience for your audience—members of the Royal Court are sitting perched in a tiered viewing gallery, speaking quietly amongst themselves as you introduce Obi-Wan and state your purpose to the room.

Your voice rings out sharp and clear, and throughout the entire negotiation, not once does he feel compelled to assist you in any way.  You do everything right—you make fair points without stepping on any toes, you never allow the Ambassador’s booming voice intimidate you or sway your collected composure.

Obi-Wan meant what he said.  He’s proud of you.

Though… though at one point throughout the mediation, something about this starts to not… feel right.

It’s the Royal Court, he realizes.  They’ve stopped talking, they’re… paying attention.  It doesn’t make sense—none of them speak Basic, they must just be reading the energies in the room.  Nothing spectacular has happened—no outburst, nothing to draw their attention any more than when you both first made your entrance.  The Ambassador’s voice continues to echo throughout the vast ceilings and contrast with the pleasant and tranquil alto of your steady responses, but then Obi-Wan suddenly goes rigid and spins around— 

The Royal Count immediately stands in unison as the Ambassador abruptly cuts off, and a familiar signature reveals itself in the Force.

***

The Queen.

The Queen is here.

You keep your head down and follow the intricate laced bodice of her gown as she makes her entrance into the grand throne room, gliding right between you and your Master before climbing the stairs and collapsing down onto the throne with a sigh.  The Council was misinformed concerning her whereabouts, apparently.

The Court finds a seat not long after she does, and you clench your jaw at the unfortunate twist of events.  Her presence means that whatever progress you’ve made with the Ambassador is now, for all intents and purposes, moot.

There’s also just something… odd about her and her energy, you think, something you can’t quite place.  The second she turns her head and looks in your eyes is the second you forget all about avoiding eye contact with her, but if she’s offended by your sudden lack of etiquette, she displays no signs of it.  In fact, you’d almost argue she looks intrigued.

“Your Majesty,” you greet.  “I was just—”

“I got the gist,” she waves a manicured hand at you.  “What was your name again, little girl?”

You tell her, and put a hard emphasis on your full title.  She may be a monarch, but you are a General in the Clone Wars and a Knight of the Republic, and an attempt by the opposing party at intimidation by flippant degradation will not be tolerated.

“Pleasure,” she nods.  “May I ask what your people are willing to offer in exchange for the military assistance you’re seeking?”

You swallow thickly, your stomach sinking.  “Truly, your Majesty, I… I cannot provide you with a specific answer to that at this time.  However, we would gladly be willing to—”

“Perhaps you can answer me this, then, little Knight, since I never was able to obtain anything satisfactory from your High Council,” the Queen interrupts, studying her jeweled manicure and sounding bored with the conversation she just initiated, and you feel your Master stiffen behind you.  “If we s’Ziscari are so incredibly important to the Jedi, as you previously insisted to the Ambassador multiple times, then why in Maker’s name does the Council reject invitations to partake in our people’s most sacred of ceremonies year after year?”

You’re… you’re at a complete loss for words.  The Sentinels have dedicated ambassadors to travel the territories specifically for these reasons, to keep political relations agreeable between outer-rim planets and the Jedi.  There would be no discernible reason as to why the Council would reject attendance to an annual s’Ziscari cultural celebration, especially if their standing military was even half as powerful in the Force as rumors would imply.

Obviously you’re not privy to any of this information, so you subtly reach out to Master Kenobi’s Force signature with a tiny flicker of uncertainty, silently questioning your next move.  However, before you can barely even mentally gauge the calm, sky blue of his aura, your Master’s outer-shields slam into place and even so much as shove against your open question in warning.

“It was—” You trip over your sentence, heart thumping in your chest with panic at his unprecedented response to you, “—It was never our intention to cause any offense, I’m certain—”

“And yet great offense was caused nonetheless,” the Queen returns.  “However.  As it just so happens, you’ve arrived on my planet the day the Sh’inzith Ritual is to commence.  Because of that, I am more than willing to allow the Order to remedy their grave lapse in judgement tonight, in exchange for…”  She tilts her chin at you, considering.  “Ten thousand soldiers to fight in your little war.  What say you, Jedi?”

No, this is wrong.  This is all wrong—an addition of ten thousand trained Force sensitives would put an immediate end to the Clone Wars.  Full stop.  Instead of being tempted by the bait, however, you’re just becoming increasingly wary of it.

Regardless of how on edge you are, you keep an unbothered composure and continue stunting any major change to your signature.  “You cannot expect me to agree to a deal before knowing the finer points of its terms, my Queen.”

“Of course not,” she agrees diplomatically.  “My terms are simple, really.  All you have to do is—”

“If you will pardon the interruption,” Master Kenobi’s voice suddenly rings out from behind you for the first time in what feels like ages, and he takes a few steps forward until he’s standing directly adjacent to you.  “Apologies to the Court, but my companion and I have grown very weary from a long tr—”

“No apologies necessary, Master Kenobi,” the Queen grins, her eyes flicking away from yours.  “Thought I saw you back there.  Shall I elaborate?  I’ll make it quick, so you don’t fall asleep.”

There’s a tense, pregnant silence that fills the throne room as everybody waits for his response, and you’re left wondering how your Master knows this woman.  

He breaks eye contact with the monarch first and stares down at the floor while he considers his answer, before finally settling on a quiet, “Leave us.”

The Queen nods exactly once and everyone in the gallery rises and slowly files out.  You take a moment to glance around at the handful of guards surrounding the throne room, waiting for their perfect statuesque posture to falter.  Only, they remain completely motionless.

You turn back to the Queen, watching you thoughtfully from her elevated throne, and then to your Master, who’s… still looking down at the floor.

It takes you a bit longer than it should, even then.

Obi-Wan says your name in a tight, urging tone, not even bothering to turn his head to address you.  “Please.”

What?

You?  He wants you to leave?  But… the Council said… they said that this is your negotiation.  Clearly they failed to provide you with some very crucial piece of information, so now he’s dismissing you because of it?  Openly?  In front of the other party?

“But… But I was supposed to—”

“Padawan,” he all but snaps at you.  “Please.”

You stand there, holding yourself as still as possible, absolutely stunned.  Your Master has never spoken to you this way.  You’ve never heard him speak to anyone this way.

The Queen just smiles down at you saccharinely from her throne, clearly enjoying your blatant discomfort and embarrassment.

This is humiliating.

You’d never say it out loud.  But as you quietly leave the throne room, two guards on either side accompanying you to your chambers, you practically shove the words at him through the Force, trying your absolute hardest not to let the hurt through.  Though in hindsight, you may have emphasized the last part a bit too harshly.

Of course.  Master.

***

Obi-Wan realizes the grievousness of his mistake the second it comes out of his mouth.  He doesn’t need the extended moment of silence as you work to process the unintentional insult.  He doesn’t need the way your Force signature suddenly seems incredibly small, like it shrank in on itself in mortification.  He most definitely does not need the spiteful remark reverberating around his brain as your footsteps fade into nothingness, the thought so sharp and directed that he’d likely have trouble blocking it out.

“Strange,” the Queen drawls out in his direction, breaking him from the whirlwind of his thoughts.  “Do you really still view her as a Padawan?  But she’s such a pretty girl.  And she was doing so well.”

“I will not speak of this with you,” Obi-Wan replies candidly, abandoning all pleasantries now that they’re alone.

“Oh, but you will,” s’Zerthia tuts, somehow sounding disapproving and gleeful in equal parts.  “If you want your army, that is.”

“Must you be so cruel, Your Majesty?”  Obi-Wan sighs, lowering his head and rubbing the bridge of his nose.  Maker, he’s getting a headache.  “Are the Uncharted Regions truly that dull?”

“Come now, old friend,” she grins, tilting her head at him as she relaxes back in her throne.  “You’ve known of my nature since we were introduced at the Senate all those decades ago.  There is a reason you’re still with the peace-loving wizard monks and I am now the reigning monarch over twenty thousand square parsecs of territories.”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan acknowledges.  “And now we are grown.  Though it appears someone has yet to remind you.”

“Contrary to what you may believe, General Kenobi, this is not about me,” the Queen sighs.  “My people do not look kindly upon the Jedi.  The Ritual is a celebration of our connection with the Force, and denying an invitation, to them, is akin to denying their existence as a Force sensitive people.  I can give you your army at any time, of course—I am Queen.  But I fear that will not be enough.  The s’Ziscari will not willingly fight for you until you pay your due respects to our culture.”

“Queen s’Zerthia,” he exhales, clearly exasperated, “I cannot call myself Jedi and partake in such… proclivities.  The Council will never agree to such measures.  There must be some other way.”

“There isn’t, old friend,” she huffs shortly, her signature beginning to spark with impatience.  “Make your choice.”

“I am not having sex in an arena, s’Zerthia,” he hisses.

“Then the Republic shall fall.”

“You’ll let trillions die—”

“Do not speak to me as if you are not the only person who can change that, Jedi!”  The Queen suddenly barks, her voice echoing throughout the empty throne room and booming with frustration.  “I cannot make them fight!  They love their Queen, but I am thirty-nine years old, for star’s sake!  These traditions have lasted for millennia!  Would you abandon the ways of your religion simply because your leader ordered it so?”

“That is exactly what you’re demanding of me,” he returns sharply.

“Yes,” s’Zerthia acknowledges.  “But you are but one martyr, Obi-Wan Kenobi.  Not an army.”

Obi-Wan sighs.  “I’ve… s’Zerthia, I’ve never…  It’s forbidden.  And now you’re asking me to break my oath in front of an audience… with someone I don’t know?”  He keeps his voice as steady as possible, but he knows it’s useless.  The Queen of the s’Ziscari will see the wavering in his Force signature.  The underlying pulse of fear at the center.

It’s her turn to sigh.  “The Sh’inzith is about celebrating our connection with the Force… consensually.  I… may be able to speak to some of my people about the possibility of you participating in private, due to the,” she clears her throat, “delicate nature of the situation, as well as your particular upbringing.  However.  You will have to project during the… closing ceremonies, if only to prove your direct involvement.  This is the best I can do.  Do we have an agreement?”

Obi-Wan drops his gaze.  “I… I don’t know.  I must confer with the Council first.  But… but with their permission…”  He chooses to leave his sentence unfinished, still so unbelievably uncomfortable with the terms of this nightmare to agree to them aloud.

“Understood,” she nods.  “Then I shall arrange to send someone to your chambers at midnight unless you notify my staff otherwise.  Which would you prefer—a man or a woman?”

He stays silent, his stomach churning in discomfort.  He doesn’t think he’s ever even considered the question before.  He truly doesn’t know how to answer it.

Intuitively, the Queen moves on.  “No matter.  What of the girl, then?  A man would do well for her, I’m assuming?”

He lifts his head, furrowing his eyebrows.  “The girl?  What girl?”

“The girl,” s’Zerthia repeats blankly.  “All Jedi present will need to participate, of course.”

“No,” Obi-Wan says immediately, taking a few steps forward.  “No, that wasn’t the deal.  The girl has been a Knight for barely two years, she’s never even heard of the Ritual.  She has no part in this.”

“And yet she was meant to lead this negotiation, was she not?”  She tsks in disappointment, each staccato click of her tongue echoing throughout the vast ceilings and rafters of the room.  “Is that how you Jedi treat your women?  Throw her headfirst into a mediator’s position with none of the details she needs to be successful, dismiss and humiliate her when she inevitably fails, and subsequently refuse any involvement in a potential solution on her behalf because she ‘has no part in this’?  Perhaps I should be offended that the Jedi thought so little of the s’Ziscari as to assign someone of her standing to lead this negotiation, but as of right now, considering the mere fact that my palace is still intact, I’m actually starting to believe your little Padawan may just be the best of you.”

Obi-Wan says absolutely nothing in response, his heart panging in his chest in shame hearing it put into words that way.  He’s never been one to question the decision-making of the Council, but assigning you to this mission had admittedly been something he himself couldn’t quite puzzle out.  Obi-Wan understands the need to further develop your diplomatic skills, but the terms of this specific negotiation were just far too complex and far too crucial to the survival of the Republic to gamble on one of the youngest Knights in the Order.  By all accounts, you shouldn’t be here, but the Council was very specific in their instructions.  You were to lead negotiations, and Obi-Wan was to act as reinforcement should anything happen to go awry.

The Queen quietly studies the Jedi Master all the while, tilting her head thoughtfully.  “None of this makes any sense, does it?”

Again, Obi-Wan maintains his silence with a furrowed brow and a far-off look on his face.

“What’s so different about this one?”  She asks him, sincere curiosity appearing to overtake her in the moment.  “This girl, specifically, out of everyone—why would they choose her for this negotiation?  There’d be no discernible reason, unless they wanted her to—”

She cuts herself off abruptly as Obi-Wan quickly flicks his gaze over to her.  When she’s silent for too long, he has to prompt her.  “Unless they wanted her to what?”

“Ah,” she whispers at once, her expression immediately clearing in understanding.  “Clever.  Diabolical, manipulative, and entirely unexpected from a group of glorified cultists with brightly colored laser swords.  But oh, so clever.”

Obi-Wan is starting to become very frustrated with this conversation.

“You know,” the Queen continues, back to studying her manicure, “I used to lament my lack of free will as a member of royalty by marriage.  My husband, Maker rest his soul, could never yearn for what he did not know, but as the daughter of a Senator, I was born as low as you.  I was a Miss once,” she laughs airily, as if the thought of her holding that title is absolutely ridiculous now.  “I knew the difference between a life of freedom and that of a puppet.  But.  At least my superiors revoked my autonomy to my face.  Your Council sees fit to pull strings from behind a curtain.”

“You think the Council wanted this?”  He can’t keep the intense skepticism from lacing his tone, despite his best efforts.

The Queen suddenly looks up from her jeweled fingernails and pins him with a hard stare.  “Will you bed a stranger even with the direct permission of your betters?”  She shoots at him, quite unexpectedly and shameless in her phrasing.

Obi-Wan nearly jerks back, the abrupt change in subject and rather personal question startling him.  “I—”

“Would you have asked your Padawan to accompany you here if you’d been put in charge of negotiations instead?”

“I’m not sure I—”

“Do you think it simply a coincidence the two of you were scheduled to arrive on my planet exactly ten hours before a festivity that only happens once every five hundred and some-odd cycles begins?”

“I can assure you I was not privy the t—”

“Why is the girl here?”

He… he doesn’t understand.  It’s like she’s trying to have four conversations with him at once.  He’s getting whiplash.  “s’Zerthia.”

“Obi-Wan.  Come now, don’t be daft.”  She goes back to picking at her fingernails, clearly done with her interrogation for the time being.  “She’s here because she is a thousand times more prepared to participate in the Sh’inzith than you are, of course.”

Obi-Wan blinks.  “What is that supposed to mean?”

“It means the Council knew full well what the terms of this negotiation would be,” the Queen shrugs.  “Though you may not be too familiar with Jedi-s’Ziscari interplanetary relations, I can assure you we have openly voiced our offense to their denial of our invitations multiple times.  We still send them, of course, as is tradition.  We have for a few centuries at least.  A formal alliance would obviously require some act of rectification on the Council’s behalf, so therefore the only logical assumption to be made is that the girl was chosen for this mission specifically with that in mind.  She likely didn’t take an oath of celibacy or something of t—”

“All Jedi take oaths of celibacy,” Obi-Wan interjects with a startlingly unfamiliar edge to his voice, clearly warning her not to continue on in this direction.

”Oh, apologies; I misspoke,” she clarifies.  “She probably didn’t take an oath of celibacy seriously, or something of the sort.”

“Mind yourself, s’Zerthia,” he warns her.  “I care not of your position nor our history, you will not speak of my protégé that way—”

“Oh, she’s your protégé now?”  She grins, amusement flashing in her eyes.  “I see.  Because we both have been referring to her as your Padawan up until the moment someone other than you decided to insult her, so I wasn’t sure.  Forgive me.”

Obi-Wan flushes and opens his mouth once, twice.  He is quite honestly speechless at how his… long-time acquaintance is so truly gifted at creating sentences that somehow manage to turn themselves into icy daggers in midair, so instead, he takes a different approach.  “E-Even… even if you were slightly correct with that… a-absolutely baseless accusation, it makes no sense,” he reasons desperately, still trying to find some way out of all this.  “Breaking an oath of celibacy in her youth does not at all mean she’d be any more likely to lie with a s’Ziscari to complete a diplomatic mis—”

“No,” the Queen agrees, “it means she’d be more likely to lie with a Jedi.”

Obi-Wan stops dead.

She laughs, a soft tinkle of a sound, taking in the underlying shock of his demeanor.  “By all their faults, the Council is not stupid.”  She almost sounds… impressed.  “Think, Obi-Wan.  Pair the Greatest Negotiator in the Order with his newly ordained Knight?  The one young enough to not have the strict pillars of your cult of a religion so hopelessly cemented into her mindset?  The one who so very clearly considers you to be far more than a mentor to her?  The Council knew you’d be incredibly reluctant to bed anyone, let alone a stranger from the Uncharted Regions, but they also knew of our history as friends—if anyone in the Order was in a position to make the deal with me, it was you, so if anyone in the Order was in a position to therefore… persuade you to follow through with the conditions of said deal, it was her.  To gain ten thousand more Force sensitives and win a galactic war, all your Council had to do was shove two of their most agreeable Generals into bed with one another.  Beautifully executed, Machiavellian at its core.  Stars.  I knew politics suited the Jedi, but this is just…”

Obi-Wan feels his chest sinking deeper and deeper by the second as she kisses her fingers animatedly.

“…Masterful,” s’Zerthia finishes, turning to smile widely at him, positively delighted in her demeanor.  “I do say, I may have met my match in your superiors, Obi-Wan.  Perhaps they shall make better allies than I’d originally assumed.  If nothing else, this little display of cunning and manipulation gives me faith that perhaps the Republic isn’t so completely doomed after all.”

“Do you truly think they’d be so cruel?”  He finds himself asking quietly after a moment.

“These are times of war, old friend,” she tilts her head with as much solemn comfort in her voice as she can reasonably provide.  “They knew the terms, and they knew you wouldn’t agree if you knew them in advance.  This was the only way.  And honestly, should a… well, let’s face it, a rather attractive coupling be all that stands between the galaxy and total destruction, I’d say that may just be a fair price to pay.  My only lament thus far is your rather timid demeanor.  You two would’ve made for a crowd favorite.”

The Queen’s assertion startles him so much that Obi-Wan outright defaults back to skeptical pragmatism instead of entertaining elaborate and incredibly far-fetched conspiracy theories.  “Yes, yes, s’Zerthia, but—but this whole entire scheme hinges on the completely incorrect assumption that she and I would actually be willing… willing to…”  He can’t even finish the sentence.

“How old are you, Obi-Wan?”  She raises a perfectly arched eyebrow at him, thoroughly unimpressed with his sudden lack of articulation.  “We are of similar age, correct?  Are you outright incapable of saying the word ‘fuck’?”

“Quit being foul,” he snaps.  “It suits your personality, not your tongue.”

“So quick-witted in conversation for someone so incredibly dim-witted in practice,” she muses, as if this entire thing is incredibly entertaining to her.  “Do you really not see the way she looks at you?”

“She respects me,” Obi-Wan declares meaningfully.  “She’s loyal.  She thinks much higher of me than I deserve.  She’d stand alone in the face of an army if it pleased me and she’d stand tall—”

“That’s not the only position she’d assume to please you,” the Queen mutters under her breath, pausing to give him a sweet little smile as Obi-Wan burns a hole through her with his glare.  “The only variable remaining is your willingness to please her.  After all, the offer to lie with a s’Ziscari instead will always be up for the both of your considerations, as is the ability to walk away entirely at any time of course.  I’m assuming the Council was relying on the fact that you’d pitch an absolute fit after being informed her involvement was required—which, naturally, you did.  And then they gambled on the answer to a question you’ve yet to ask yourself.”  She leans forward and tilts her head at him, lacing her manicured fingers together.  “Perhaps it’s not a matter of how willing you are to sleep with your Padawan to save the galaxy from complete and total annihilation, Master Kenobi, but simply a matter of whether or not the clueless little thing will want it bad enough to be able to convince you to do it.  This—this is a real negotiation for her now.”

“s’Zerthia—” Obi-Wan sputters, “—I—She—I’ve traversed her consciousness more than anyone in the entire galaxy, and not once has she ever even hinted at the possibility that she—”

“And can you blame her?  My, the scandal it would cause!”  The Queen presses the back of her hand to her forehead and collapses dramatically back into her throne.  “A Jedi Knight secretly harboring feelings for her Master?  In my good temple?  Shame!  Shame!  Sha—!”

“You think you know more of my successor than I?”  Obi-Wan interrupts sharply, somehow more irritated now at the insinuation than he’d been the entire conversation.  “The youngling I raised?  The one I handpicked to take my place in the Order, you think you know more of her heart than I?”

“Yes.”  s’Zerthia answers him simply, straightening up on her throne and abandoning all theatrics.  “Because you did not see her face when you called her Padawan.  I did.  And I also happen to know far better than most that hiding the truth from nosy Force sensitive authoritarians is most easily accomplished by controlling one’s energy signature.  Jedi, s’Ziscari, it matters not the culture—you lot spend far too much effort reading into the Force than simply looking someone in their eyes to learn the truth.  Look her in the eyes next time, Master Kenobi.  Then you will understand.”

***

You’re furious.

The Jedi are not meant to feel fury.  But you are a Jedi, and by the Maker, do you feel it.

“Padawan?”  You hiss, pacing the length of your bedchamber with clenched fists, trying to control the volume of your voice so desperately that the words come out shaky and slurred.  “Padawan?  Is that what he thinks of me?  That I’m still a youngling?!”

You haven’t been this upset since you were a small child.  And the thought stops you dead in your tracks.

You are a General.  You are a Consular.  You are a Knight.

Regardless of what he may believe.

So you climb up onto your unnecessarily large bed, crawling the incredibly soft fur blanket of an animal you’ve never seen before to sit yourself in the very center of the mattress, crossing your legs.  Though it takes you longer than it has in years, you’re finally able to relax your breathing and clear your mind, slipping into a deep meditative state.

You don’t know how long you stay in that position, nor do you really care to. But when your Force signature feels the slightest brush of your Master’s, likely just looking for your location within the palace, you’re a bit too late in slamming your mental barriers up in response.  You know he still senses the reciprocal shove he gave you earlier, the shocking feeling of being practically hurled out of someone’s mind with unprecedented ferocity.  But he also knows where you are now.

So, like you’re a youngling at the Academy again, you just pretend to meditate.  Like an actual child, you close your eyes and focus on just sitting still.  You shouldn’t be responding this way, you tell yourself.  Restraining your emotional response has been hammered into you for decades—keeping calm when you’re upset is your default, it’s how you’ve lived your entire adult life.  Why can you not seem to accomplish it now?

What… what is this?  This toxic, absolutely dreadful emotion?  It's hard placing them sometimes when you were taught from infancy to just will them away instead of processing them.  It’s not fury, not anymore.  It isn’t sadness, either.  You’ve been sad—you’ve been sad for two years straight, and it feels nothing like this.

You’re throwing a tantrum, you realize.  That’s what this must be.  You’re reverting back to your childhood, back to when you felt discounted and disapproved of by nearly everyone around you.  You haven’t felt this way in years, not since you met Master Kenobi.  This is hurt.  Just pure, irrational, emotional pain, and it’s manifesting itself in truly ugly ways.

You can feel his signature glow just marginally brighter in the Force as your Master steadily approaches.  You take slow breaths, trying to rearrange yourself into something at least mildly composed and tranquil, but it feels almost impossible.  So instead, you just try to ignore the past few hours and think back on all the things your Master used to tell you when you were like this, this raging turmoil of emotions overtaking you and causing you to lash out.  

You are a Consular, child, he’d say, and if you focus, you can practically hear the musical cadence of his calm, comforting voice.  A peacekeeper.  A dove.  When faced with a locked door, what must you always do?

Master Kenobi’s knuckles rap on the entrance to your quarters quietly, and you blink your eyes open, taking another deep breath before replying.  “It’s open.”

The door opens and he takes a few steps inside the room, stopping immediately when he lifts his head up and sees you sitting on your bed.

You both stare at each other in silence for way too long, and you’re not… really sure why.  You’re obviously just waiting for him to say something, take the lead in this conversation since he was clearly a better fit to take the lead on this mission, but he just looks at you.  For an eternity, he looks at you.  Completely blank.

He suddenly jerks his spine straight and breaks eye contact with you, coughing and flicking bright blue eyes around the space as if he’s just noticing it.  “Ah, I… Apologies, this is the wrong room.  I thought… my quarters are—I must confer with the Council.  Please, excuse me.”

And then he turns around and leaves.

You blink a few times, wide-eyed and completely bewildered as the door slides shut behind his billowing cloak.

He… he knocked on the door to his own quarters?  And then… and then he waited for you to call him in?

What in Maker’s name is going on?

***

“This is unbelievable,” Obi-Wan sighs, and the hologram of Master Windu rubs his blue flickering temples in slow circles, looking equally as exasperated as Obi-Wan sounds.  “Did you know the Ritual was to take place tonight?”

“The Council had no idea,” the fellow Guardian murmurs, and something pulls tight in Obi-Wan’s chest, remembering the Queen’s assertion that the s’Ziscari continue to send invitations to the Council every year.  Perhaps… perhaps there was some sort of an oversight, he thinks, due to the Clone Wars taking precedence for the Order.  “Intel told us she’d be off-planet for at least another week.”

Well now, that doesn’t make much sense, not if the Ritual is to begin soon.  None of what Master Windu has said throughout the conversation has made any sense at all regarding the situation.  Obi-Wan… Obi-Wan thought he’d feel better after speaking to another member of the Council, not more uncertain.

“What does Master Yoda think of all this?”  He eventually tries, but the holographic projection of Master Windu sighs and tilts his head regretfully, his upper body flickering and waving with intermittent static.

“Master Yoda is currently dispatched to Rugosa to convince King Katuunko to allow the Republic to build a base in Toydarian territory,” he replies solemnly, and Obi-Wan… needs to meditate.  Yes.  Meditation sounds like a phenomenal idea.  “Are you certain there is no more room for negotiating?”

“An ultimatum was given,” Obi-Wan says shortly.  “These are the terms.”

Master Windu takes quite a while before responding, but when he does, he speaks calmly and with purpose, addressing him with a formal opinion.  “Then the Council will leave this matter up to the discretions of you and your former Padawan, Master Kenobi.  This mission designation has hereby been elevated to the highest level of classified and your subsequent choices need not be reported, nor will they affect either of your places in the Order.  May the Force guide you and be with you both through these uncertain times.”

The transmission is cut and Obi-Wan feels his insides twist.  

He collapses onto his bed and groans quietly, burying his face in his hands and finding it easier to just conceal his Force signature altogether than attempt to mask the anxiety and crushing pressure he feels threatening to overwhelm him.

This is not good.  This is, in fact, very much a disaster.  This is a mess.  This is far worse than anything he could’ve possibly imagined when he was first assigned to this mission.  

Obi-Wan slowly rakes all ten of his fingers down the sides of his beard, lifting his chin and then letting them drag all the way down his throat, and the quiet scratchy sound it makes mixes in with another longer, even more exhausted groan.

Maker.  First things first, he needs to apologize to you and explain the situation.  Neither one of those things will be easy to accomplish, but in the grand scheme, they’ll be far simpler than anything else facing him.

He… he takes a second to think about you, about the awful way he unintentionally disrespected you earlier.  Stars—he handled this terribly.  He was caught off guard and he owes you an explanation, but he’s at a complete loss as to how to go about it.

And why… Why must you have been sitting on your bed?  Staring up at him silently, waiting for him atop the very place he’s just been given permission to… to…

Obi-Wan shakes his head and clamps his eyes shut, rubbing them with a bit too much vigor to be from tiredness and stress alone.  He should meditate.  He should meditate, let his mind break free of the nerves and sudden change of events, but he doesn’t have time to even begin unscrambling the chaos of his thoughts.  It’s getting late, and he has an obligation to tell you about the situation as soon as possible, to give you as much time as he can to process the decision facing you before the clock runs out.

He’s dreading this.  He’s absolutely dreading it, but it needs to be done.

***

After your Master leaves, less than a half hour passes before you hear another knock on the door.

By then, you’re just sitting there.  Sitting there, empty.  This is good, really.  Truly, this is a good thing.  A flat emotional state is what you should always strive for, but… nothing about it feels like peace, really.  No, this just feels… grey.  Desaturated.  Dull.

“It’s open,” you call once again, and Master Kenobi quietly enters your chambers.  This time you don’t look at him, though.  You don’t really… feel the need to, especially from the way his signature is still just barely presenting itself to you, still so guarded and cautious around you when he’s never been this way before.

Your Master comes to a stop right in front of the edge of the mattress, and stands there for a few moments in silence.  You just blink down at the mattress and wait, undisturbed, until you hear him heave a long, heavy sigh, before spinning around and unceremoniously sinking down to the floor at the foot of the bed.

Something about it breaks through your blank, almost dissociative state.  Your eyebrows narrow just slightly where your gaze is pinned to the fur covering the mattress, hearing him sigh heavily once more out of your line of sight, but it’s enough to urge you to crawl forward until you can see him sitting on the floor at the foot of the mattress, bent over on himself, his head buried in his hands.  You’ve never seen your Master look so… vulnerable before.  So small—not in all the years you’ve known each other.  His energy is so concealed that you’re just barely able to sense anything besides the mere presence of his signature, but he’s clearly distraught with just as much emotion you were struggling with earlier, and suddenly…

Suddenly a calmness sweeps through you.  A gentle sort of kindness fills your soul, slowly flooding your energy with color once again at the sight of someone who’s usually so composed struggling so openly in front of you.

Carefully, you lower yourself down until you’re seated on the floor next to him, your back pressed up against the side of the mattress as he continues to hide his face from you.  You stay there, not touching him, not saying anything, but just radiating a steady tranquility through the room from the very center of your being, anchoring him through his storm until it clears.

The sun goes down through the window before either of you speak.  Your Master eventually drops his hands from his face and takes a deep breath, choosing to break the silence first.

“Before I begin,” he finally says, his shoulders still uncharacteristically tight and full of tension, even though his voice is soft.  “I must… I must sincerely apologize to you.  This type of subject matter makes me extraordinarily uncomfortable and I took that out on you, and it was absolutely unacceptable behavior on my behalf.  Unfortunately, I can offer you no explanation that wouldn't count as an excuse for something that was completely inexcusable.”

“I understand,” you reassure him, just as quietly, but then quickly correct yourself.  “Well, no—I don’t.  I don’t understand, but.  Judging from your demeanor, I can only assume things have become… a bit more complicated.”

Your Master takes another full, deep inhale.  “Yes, that’s…” he empties his lungs of air with a huff, amused but in a way that’s not really amused.  “That’s certainly one way of putting it.”

“Do you…”  You blink at the floor, still keeping your voice and energy as gentle as possible.  “Just—before… before you begin… Do you truly think of me as your Padawan still?”

“No,” he answers firmly.  Immediately, and with less hesitation than anything he’s said so far.  “I do not.”

You nod, the finality in his tone leading you to believe that’s the end of his sentence, but then he eventually lowers his voice and continues.

“But sometimes, I…”  Your Master sounds conflicted, like he’s not sure he should be saying this aloud.  He still hasn’t looked at you.  “I find myself… wishing you were.  That we could go back to those days, the days before the war.  Before fighting armies, and leading them… and now recruiting them.  The happiest and most fulfilling days of my life were spent with you by my side, young one.  I am not telling you this in an attempt to justify or defend my actions in any way, I am telling you this simply because I don’t want an egregious misunderstanding of this magnitude to continue to fester between us when it can be addressed right here and now.  In the face of incredible discomfort, I selfishly reverted the terms of our relationship back to what they were two years ago—not because I subconsciously think of you as my Padawan still or that I somehow haven’t recognized your unprecedented list of accomplishments as a Knight—but because you, the former title, and the nature of the relationship it entails were the only things familiar to me when everything else around was so incredibly and uncomfortably foreign.  I humbly beg your forgiveness for ever allowing you to spend a single second of your time thinking differently, never mind hours of it.”

You blink, startled by the sudden articulation and sincerity of the apology.  “I—it’s… it’s okay.”

“It’s not,” Master Kenobi softly counters, “but your forgiveness is greatly appreciated, no matter how undeserved.”

You smile at him.  It’s one of those gentle, sad smiles—the kind of smile that would feel fake if it wasn’t for the comfort you’re trying to provide with it.  Carefully, you place a hand on the bend of his knee.  “Do you have a place you’d like to start, or would it be easier for you if I asked specific questions?”

He looks at you.  Finally.  For the first time, his clear blue eyes rise to meet yours and he looks… grateful.  “Ask.  Please.  That would be so much better.”

“A ritual begins tonight,” you say after a moment, studying his handsome facial features for some kind of confirmation of the information you’ve managed to piece together, but then your Master abruptly breaks eye contact with you and lowers his gaze once more.  “Yet the Sentinels historically choose not to partake.  Why?”

“Because… the Ritual… contains proceedings that stand in direct opposition to the values and teachings of the Jedi,” he explains to the floor.  “It goes against the core pillars of our religion to even spectate.  The Uncharted Regions are… different.  They follow neither the laws nor the customs of the Republic.  It was decided long ago to politely decline their invitations, though we offered many times to meet during another time of the year.  The Council had no idea the Queen would take this much offense.”

You have to ask.  It’s important for you to know, but his rather vague explanation serves to peak your trepidation just as much as it does your curiosity.  “…What is…”  Maker, you’ve gone unbelievably quiet.  “What is the Ritual, Master?”

Obi-Wan goes just as quiet, looking down at his hands as they fiddle idly in his lap.  “Ah.  Yes.  That.  Well, the—th-the Ritual is, uh.  Uh—”

You blink softly at him and his abrupt loss of articulation, trying to rearrange your expression to be encouraging without appearing too eager.

He suddenly cuts himself off and looks up at you, pinning you with an ocean-deep blue gaze once more.  “It’s a celebration of fertility.”

You blink once more at him, this time quite stupidly.

“People are encouraged to be intimate with each other.  Openly.  Shameless displays of fornication between two consenting adults are commonplace in almost every conceivable forum, said to permanently connect the s’Ziscari to one another through the Force—which is why they usually project throughout the act.  In fact, they even have a gathering here at the palace capital, an ‘opening ceremony’ of sorts where people… perform.  It’s debauchery disguised as a holiday.”

You… for some reason, the fact that he stares so intently at you while he says it makes your reaction marginally subtler.  He gives away no emotion as he takes in how your mouth has formed a soft O shape, how a solemn understanding seems to flood through you.  Of course he’d have incredible trouble with something like this.  And somehow it’s only then that you fully forgive him for his previous mishaps and mistakes on this mission.  You understand now, you get it.

“Ah.  Okay.  And… and in exchange for the s’Ziscari’s assistance in the Clone Wars, they want us to… what, exactly?”  Maker, why is your throat so dry?

“They’ve presented the ultimatum of either walking away from the deal entirely or partaking from the privacy of these chambers,” he answers.  “Together.”

Okay, so your reaction is a bit more pronounced this time.

Your eyes widen for a fraction of a second, all the breath in your lungs whooshing out at once.  Maker, it’s like he punched you in the chest.  Muscle memory alone allows you to almost completely muffle the burst of shock that radiates through the Force, but your face is still a dead giveaway.

Is this… is this a trial?  Are you hallucinating?  Perhaps a vision, if it wasn’t so beyond ludicrous or had any basis in reality whatsoever.  How many vaguely similar scenarios have you imagined throughout the duration of Obi-Wan’s tutelage?  And yet never has one been so incredibly creative.  Or elaborate.

And then, the thought suddenly hits you.

Oh.  Oh, no, this is dangerous.

It’s one thing to harbor a dark, hidden crush on your Master for years, something you refuse to even let yourself think about most of the time.  It’s one thing to learn how to bury your needs deep down and refuse to let them see the light of day, to learn how to build a mental fortress around a dirty, terrible secret from your youth and guard it with a saber and matching ferocity.  This is the way of the Jedi.

It’s another thing entirely to have it offered to you on a silver platter.  To be given just a sample of Darkness, knowing you’ll never have anything close to it ever again.

***

Obi-Wan doesn’t think he’s studied your face this closely in his entire life.

It feels almost… unnatural, how meticulously he’s trying to read your expressions.  Outwardly, you don’t appear to be anything more than surprised, really.  Not horrified at the idea, just… stunned.

“What did you tell them?”  You eventually ask him.

“That I’d need to discuss it with the Council first,” Obi-Wan answers carefully, “and then that I’d need to discuss it with you.  And I’d make a decision by midnight, when the Ritual is to begin.”

And—there.  He sees it.  Your Force signature continues to radiate a gentle calmness outwards, unwavering and unbothered in its beautiful gradient of pale greens and chartreuses and golds, brilliantly contrasting with the cool blues and periwinkles of Obi-Wan’s own signature, but there’s a flash of… something in your eyes, and he sees it for maybe a split second before it’s gone completely.

What did he say?  What did he say?  He tries quickly to remember.  That he’d need to discuss it with the Council first, and then that he’d need to… 

Obi-Wan sighs, instantly realizing his mistake.  He both openly admitted and proved to valuing the opinion of the Council over yours.  He valued the collective opinion of a group of Jedi tens of thousands of light years away who put you in the middle of this ghastly situation more than your opinion.  You.  The only other person directly involved with this absolute shipwreck of a negotiation, even though you never asked to be.  The person whose opinion on such a delicate situation should’ve mattered the most.

Stars, s’Zerthia was right.  Has he always been this blind?

“Though… though now I realize that was incredibly dismissive of me.”  Obi-Wan’s head drops and his hand comes up to cover and rub at his eyes, feeling halfway stuck between amused at his endless list of mistakes and miserable at how they’ve affected you.  “I’ve done absolutely nothing right on this mission so far, young one.  And you’ve done absolutely nothing wrong.  The Queen of the s’Ziscari said you’re likely the best the Order has to offer and I’m very quickly beginning to see her point.”

You jerk back comically.  “She said that?”

He peeks an eye open at you through his fingers, watching you look at him like he’s grown two heads.  “…Yes?”

“And not as an insult to the rest of the Jedi?”

Obi-Wan drags his hand down his beard, trying to hold the corners of his mouth down, but it does nothing to stop the small smile that begins to peek through.  So he doesn’t try to hide it.  He just smiles at you, exasperated but so incredibly fond, shaking his head meaningfully.  You sit there and stare at him with your mouth hanging open, completely discombobulated, and Obi-Wan actually begins to chuckle quietly to himself, marveling at how your reaction to the praise practically doubles its sentiment.

You’re the only one who’s been able to make him truly laugh in the past two years.  You did it despite his wild discomfort concerning the unfortunate situation the two of you have found yourselves in.  You did it despite the foreign territory, the foreign government, the foreign planet, the foreign customs, and the foreign subject matter.  And you did it all entirely unprompted, despite everything he’s done to wrong you.

“The lady in the big chair?  The one with the fingernails?”  You lift your hand up and wiggle your fingers, both looking and sounding like a droid in need of a hard reboot.  “The fingernail lady, she said this?”

“Why is that so surprising to you?”  Obi-Wan asks with a gentle grin, leaning back to rest his shoulder blades against the bed, his muscles considerably less tense than they were even just two minutes ago.

“Because I don’t—?  People don’t—??”  You wave your hands around uselessly.  “I’m not used to… that.”

“To what?”  He prompts, still not removing his attention from your face.

“High praise?  I mean—I spent years being told that I was quite possibly the worst of the Jedi,”  you laugh awkwardly, and then you change the subject too quickly, like you’re attempting to fill the silence before it can be read into too much.  “Not to mention she looked positively delighted when I was dismissed.”

There it is again, he thinks, your eyes once more betraying your signature, tone, and countenance.  He only allows himself a beat to silently vow to himself to consciously voice his recognition of your dedication and achievements more often.  It’s just… with the right ratio of patience and prompting, he always thought you were such a brilliant student.  Obi-Wan is unable to recall the exact moment as a teacher he began to recognize any positive trait you exhibited in his presence as simply part of your hidden, untapped given character instead of a very purposeful mindset you had to actively work to embody.  Perhaps the true reason he’s so skeptical about s’Zerthia’s assertion that you care more for him than you let on is because he cannot possibly fathom why.  Not when it feels like he’s spent years by your side and is only somehow only just now seeing you.

“Ah, yes, well,” Obi-Wan says, easily glossing over his quiet moment of contemplation without arousing any suspicion, “the Queen is arguably obsessed with seeing how much torture a person can endure without actually having any physical pain inflicted upon them.  She gets bored, see.  Not many visitors to the Uncharted Regions.  She likes to play games with her guests whenever they do arrive.”

You quirk a brow at him.  “Then shouldn’t she have revelled in my suffering instead of defending me because of it?”

“I’d say she’s entirely capable of doing both, especially considering just how torturous it was for me to sit there and be reminded of all the many different ways this has been so terribly unfair to you,” he admits softly.  “She paid you the compliment as a direct commendation for enduring such mistreatment and still leaving the walls of her palace standing.”

Your expression goes blank again, and Maker, this is more difficult than he thought it’d be.  It’s a legitimate challenge to gauge your emotional state when you’ve so clearly mastered your control over your energy signature, to a degree of which Obi-Wan was almost entirely unaware before today.

“You’re sure this is the only way?”  You eventually ask.  “We either do this together or we go back empty-handed?  That’s it?  No other options?”

Obi-Wan takes exactly zero seconds to consider the implication behind his answer before confirming your assertion with a solemn nod.  “No other options.  I’m sorry, young one.”

Later, he’ll reason he refused to present the Queen’s first suggestion to you because he couldn’t agree to the terms, even if you could.  It would be of no use for you to share your bed with a s’Ziscari when he was incapable or unwilling to do the same.  Yes, that makes… logical sense, he supposes.  Right now he just has far too many things on his mind to contemplate it, and the sudden reminder of the situation he’s in causes his heart to start beating faster in his chest.

“Okay.  Well…” You look uncertain, your eyebrows furrowing slightly even as your energy continues to glow soft and undisturbed from the center of your being.  “Well, what are—what are your… concerns?  Is there anything I could do to make this easier for you?”

Because Obi-Wan has absolutely no clue how to answer that question, he just keeps quiet.  He supposes it shouldn’t be so surprising that the Uncharted Regions feature so much… uncharted territory.  He truly doesn’t know how to go about this; upon explanation of the situation, he had hoped you’d supply a firm no so that the burden of choice was taken away from him.  He doesn’t want to offend you, but at the same time, the more you’re not directly protesting against the idea, the faster his heart begins to pound in terror at the realization that… breaking a sacred vow he’s honored his entire life is quickly becoming a very likely probability.

And also… why?  Why are you able to be so… calm about this?  Why are you not panicking and struggling with this decision the same way he is?  When s’Zerthia first suggested you’ve already broken your oath of celibacy, Obi-Wan didn’t want to believe it, yet here you are—asking him if there’s anything you can do to make this easier for him when both of you should be having a crisis about this hypothetical.  Are virgins typically so considerate?  Is he just being over-dramatic about this?  Is this just a manifestation of the serene hue of your saber reaffirming itself?  Is this just your cool head prevailing when the one person you’ve spent years looking to for guidance is clearly on the verge of spiraling?

Why?  Why aren’t you protesting more?

“Are we actually going to do this?”  You ask after a moment, and Obi-Wan unintentionally cringes.  Good Maker above, he truly doesn’t mean to.  It has almost nothing to do with you—in fact, he can only assume you're genuinely trying your best to adapt to the unfortunate twist of events, and you’re actually managing to be somewhat successful where Obi-Wan is just hopelessly, miserably failing.  You must be just trying to maintain some sort of base foundation for his turbulent mental state, but—but then he sees another flash of emotion in your eyes at the way he flinches away from the question.

He opens his mouth to respond—to apologize, or… stars, something, but then you supply a quick reassurance instead.  “I won’t—I won’t take offense, if you need me to, you know,” you shrug, very much avoiding his gaze and your voice suddenly sounding incredibly small.  “I don’t know.  Not make any sounds?  Or hide my face?  Or… something?”

“You’re…”  Obi-Wan’s mind, previously struggling with far too many chaotic, rapid-fire thoughts, suddenly can’t seem to conjure a single one of them.  “You’re… serious?”

“It’s not a big deal—” you quickly tell him, “—either way, we don’t have to make it a big deal.  I mean, I wouldn’t want it to be… It doesn’t have to be… terrible for you, or anything.”

Maker, is that what you think?  That this isn’t a ‘big deal’?  He stares at you, the word you used resonating with him.  Terrible.  On one hand, of course it’s terrible—the whole thing is terrible, it’s something out of an ancient Jedi parable he was told as a youngling, about the sins of passion leading to the Dark Side.  On the other hand, he knows you can’t possibly mean it like that, and… you’re somehow managing to interpret this conflict all wrong.  Asking him if he needs you to hide your face?

He eventually shakes his head just slightly.  “I… No.  No, young one, I will not…” he clears his throat, “I will not… require such a thing.”

Though neither of you say anything for quite a long time after that, the loud knock on the door still feels like it’s interrupting a crucial moment.

You quickly call that it’s open, and Obi-Wan turns his head to see the door swing forward and two s’Ziscari in thin black robes, standing in the hallway.  A man and a woman.

His heart suddenly thunders against his ribcage and he scrambles to remember the hour.  It can’t be midnight yet, no, he needs more time—

The male s’Ziscari says something in his native tongue, and the woman calmly translates to Basic.  “Her Majesty the Queen formally requests your presence in the great hall for dinner and the start of the festivities.”

“Respectfully,” you nod at the guard while Obi-Wan struggles to regain himself, “if it pleases her Majesty, Master Kenobi and I would prefer to eat in our quarters tonight, as we are still discussing the nature of our potential involvement in the festivities.”

The woman repeats back your polite and much appreciated response to the guard, and he looks between you two, before clearing his throat and saying something that sounds remarkably similar to his first sentence.  The translator turns back to you both.  “Her Majesty formally and… firmly requests your presence in the great hall for dinner and the start of the festivities.”

When you don’t respond, Obi-Wan suddenly realizes you’re waiting for him to speak.

“Very well,” he eventually sighs, reminding himself that you both are still guests on this planet.  “We shall be there momentarily.”

Regardless of the language barrier, the guard appears to understand the sentiment of his response through the Force, not needing a translation.  He says something and then turns to leave as the woman walks into the room, revealing a black bundle of fabric from behind her back to drape along one of the side tables.  “Zashir is currently placing your ceremonial robes in your quarters, General Kenobi.  If there will be nothing else?”

Maker, his what?  Obi-Wan’s pulse stutters.  “I’m sure that—that won’t be necessary, my lady—”

“It will be,” she nods shortly.  “If there will be nothing else.”

And then she spins around and walks out without bothering to wait for an answer.  You blink at the closed door as Obi-Wan drops his head and pinches the bridge of his nose once more, so far beyond stressed concerning how tragically the events of this cursed mission are unfolding that he almost wants to laugh.

“Something tells me the s’Ziscari don’t like the Jedi too much,” you offer after a moment of silence.

“Nonsense,” he counters, lifting his head and sighing helplessly, apparently reverting to sarcasm when everything else he knows is all but ripped away from him.  “Wherever could you have gathered that?”

Obi-Wan eventually moves to struggle up to his feet—struggle, being the key word, if only to maintain some essence of behavioral uniformity throughout these past  few hours—when he suddenly feels your hand on his elbow.

He glances down at you, your soft features and gentle eyes blinking up at him in his half-standing position next to you.

“We don’t have to do this, you know,” you remind him quietly.  “Either way.  Not a big deal.”

It’s strange.  He knows your primary intent is to put his mind at ease, but everything you’ve been saying just seems… too disconnected.  Good people are dying as you speak—civilians, children, innocents, you both know this, and yet… 

Perhaps… perhaps Obi-Wan is simply just too emotional right now, too chaotic.  He’s certainly not being fair to you.  He realizes he’s responding negatively no matter how you’re attempting to go about reassuring him, and though he recognizes it, it’s more difficult than it’s ever been to reign in his mental state.

He clears his throat.  “The Queen has assured us that we are free to decline her offer and walk away at any time.  Her only stipulation is that we’ll have until midnight to… i-initiate the…”

Stars.  Initiate the what?  Is this a self-destruct sequence?  It may as well be, Obi-Wan thinks, but you nod your understanding and rise to your feet nonetheless, far more gracefully than he does.

“Well,” you sigh, walking over to the side table and pulling the black robe off of it, turning to face him and balling the silky fabric in your hands awkwardly.  “Uh.  I guess.  Fate of the galaxy awaits, and all.”

And then he sees you wince, your subtle call-back to the beginning of this mission landing flat and clearly not contrasting well with your previous assertion to him that this is no big deal, but… for some reason the mistake and subsequent display of self-consciousness makes Obi-Wan relax just marginally.  Even if you’re not necessarily panicking, at least you’re still clearly nervous, and that fact alone is more reassuring than anything anyone has said to him since this disaster first started.

“Yes,” he murmurs with a companionable, albeit hesitant smile, patting your shoulder just once before moving to leave.  “The… the fate of the galaxy.”

Stars.  He’s… well.

Fucked, isn’t he?

[tracinyad]

A Quick Overview to Taking an Invention to Market

If you are an inventor or supplier of a new product, competitors can be a major problem. For this factor, I am often asked just how to secure an invention or new product from being stolen or "knocked off."

In my experience, the response to the competitive challenges is to develop a technique based upon the objectives for the invention, the certain product itself, and the approach to be taken.

Developers take one of two major techniques to make cash with their invention: certifying the invention to one more business or ending up being a maker themselves. I will first talk concerning the technique for a licensing strategy.

Before describing some strategic options, I need to discuss that the magnitude of worry of revealing others an invention at this phase is typically overblown. In my experience, a business will seldom rip off an invention at this phase. The majority of item firms, including those inclined to knock-off items, have lots of brand-new products underway at any type of given time. They are focused on ending up and also launching the stockpile. In a lot of cases where "burglary" is assumed, it is likely a plain coincidence. I am frequently offered extremely comparable suggestions from individuals who can not have an understanding of each other.

I ought to likewise deal with points I have made somewhere else regarding patents and also nondisclosure agreements. They are devices that can be useful, however generally, they're far much less powerful and effective by themselves in the real world of affordable consumer products than most inventors as well as lots of experts believe them to be. You can also check out InventHelp Commercials for more information and advice

Please note: I am not an attorney, as well as while I will attend to several of the legal devices made use of in this procedure, this is based on my very own experience and also should not be taken into consideration legal advice.

Method for the Licensing Technique

When licensing an invention, the main purpose is to develop the assumptions with the business you are approaching to license your item that your invention would be of value to them and also it remains in their benefit to enter into a lawful licensing agreement with you as well as pay you for it as opposed to just replicating it and also claiming "thank you for the pointer."

Here are several ways to create the assumption of value:

A prototype that plainly illustrates the functionality, creativity, and also utility of the invention is a valuable, if not vital, tool. Although these people check out items daily, the effect of being able to hold and also try a new item vs. describing it or revealing an illustration is significant.

Provide details. Product groups at companies, especially little or midsize companies, are putting on several, several hats. This is, after all, one-factor inventors can be useful to them. When an item supervisor advocates for launching a new product, being geared up with crucial market information that sustains his choice can drastically raise his dedication to an invention. Market research can have a significant impact. As well as by this I suggest info concerning security problems as well as competitive products, and also beneficial market statistics or stats they may not have considered to be appropriate. And we like it when creators have real focus group information from the core target customers.

While this may seem secondary, based on the first-hand experience, I can state that for firms that have licensed products before, the assumption of the creator and also exactly how easy (or challenging) they believe it would be to function with them is an actual element. As many service masters have claimed, people do organization with people they like.

As soon as the worth of the invention has been established, it's important to be clear that to protect the civil liberties to take this product to market, the possible licensing partner will require to implement a licensing agreement. In licensing negotiations, intellectual property security, or at least the look of defense, is typically important, regardless of the intrinsic weaknesses I discussed above.

Discover and understand the offered options from a certified expert. While practically it is possible to create and submit intellectual property filings oneself, I advise using a qualified and registered patent attorney or representative. There are nuances in using language, as well as leveraging and using IP law is hard to pick up from the ground up.

In this procedure, the most essential phrase I can think about is "patent pending." Having the ability to provide your item as patent-pending includes in the regarded worth and it shares a warning (" We better not replicate this or we can get filed a claim against"). So file what you can to be able to properly compose "patent pending" on your sell sheet, prototype, website, calling card, as well as anywhere your product, will be shown.

Depending on the intricacy and also the attorney or patent agent's prices, having a utility patent prepared and submitted by a specialist can set you back thousands of dollars. Nevertheless, if you think licensing to be a sensible method, having been issued a practical energy patent, or having one in process, is a beneficial device in this situation.

If filing an energy patent promptly is not an option, there are various other means to achieve patent-pending conditions. Probably the fastest and also least pricey method is to submit a provisionary patent application. A "provisional" never, in fact, becomes a patent but works as a place-holder (or date-holder) for when, as well as if, you do file a patent.

A developer has twelve months from the date a "provisionary" is submitted to then file the utility patent application. Along with having the ability to utilize words "patent pending" throughout this period, it additionally supplies time to find a licensing companion. At this juncture, several options exist:

As soon as a partner has been found, the utility patent can after that be filed.

The "provisionary" can be licensed as part of the negotiation-- as well as the worry to file the utility patent.

The licensee might license the "provisionary" and also discover they are content to continue without the energy patent as any type of variety of current products does not have licenses.

The technique for the Manufacturing Approach

Most of these actions can be taken if the technique is to take a product to market. Nonetheless, the thoughtful technique will be various.

When taking the item to market, there is no need to produce the "assumption" of value with an additional supplier. Actually, in this method, the assumption should be made that once the product has begun to amass a meaningful market share, rivals will take notice. As well as considering that licensing the invention is not the main objective, safeguarding IP to produce a property to certificate additionally has less importance. Consequently, the protective approach in this technique is mosting likely to be made to hinder the competition's capacity to duplicate you by enhancing the danger as well as price-- regarded or actual-- of knocking you off. This will get priceless preparation for the market. So the method is to use whatever lawful devices are offered-- as well as cost-justified-- to create obstacles to being duplicated and also to win with marketing.

While some creations are patentable, in my experience, the patentability of an invention is frequently uncertain. I have often consulted with creators that invested the majority of their offered capital on their patent applications to locate that the result was either a declined application or a substantially narrowed-down, less-useful version of their initial application; this is why numerous product companies don't also trouble with patents. That same cash is made use of to create an excellent product and also to win at marketing. You can also follow InventHelp Linkedin

If the cost/benefit of declaring and preserving an energy patent is suspicious, then it may be useful to submit a provisional patent application at a fraction of the cost of a patent. This will certainly delay the need to submit an actual patent for twelve-month, which might or may not be the chosen path, and provides 12 months' lead time with the capacity to make use of the caution of "patent pending" on packaging throughout this period.

A hallmark can be asserted by just beginning to use the ™ after the brand name as well as item name (done by typing "tm" between parenthesis). Second, filing for a government registered trademark prices significantly less than a patent, and also the bar for demonstrating infringement is less stringent. Produce a fantastic product and offer your sellers as well as customers fantastic value from the start.

Design product packaging that is both captivating and also easily merchandised.

Establish targeted marketing as well as Public Relations project that fits your budget. Note: Restricting advertising to trade magazines targeting retail buyers and also at a trade convention as well as making use of Public Relations to create nationwide brand name recognition as well as need from end-users is commonly most cost-efficient at an early stage.

While not an assurance, lots of merchants will believe difficult before giving a peg or shelf room to a thing that is similar (a knock-off) to yours. They will pick your rival if the new thing wins at advertising and marketing (is of much better top quality or is valued in a means that enhances their margin).

Be a trusted vendor with outstanding customer care.

Safeguard your brand impact in the store by developing complementary products rapidly.

Book as lots of URLs as you can economically justify that relate to your item as well as trademark name and ideas.

Be generous, make pals in the sector, and develop your affordable intelligence.

Know who one of the most likely rivals are and also enjoy them very carefully.

Despite the course you pick to take, there will certainly always be risks. As well as in organization-- specifically the product service-- the threat of competition is constantly existing. Nevertheless, if protecting the invention/product is integrated into a natural strategic plan with multiple techniques based on the technique to be taken, the chances of success will be significantly enhanced.

The Fact of Patents as well as NDAs Some would claim that the "noticeable" way to safeguard your product is to file a patent. As well as sure, there are some scenarios where a beneficial patent has been released to an inventor who has the financial wherewithal to police as well as protects it.

By now I hope the constraints of patents are clear. Go to Target or Walmart and review the product packaging of 50 items. Exactly how several are patented?). A layout patent, which covers the precise style of an item, is much more limited as a defensive tool than a wide utility patent. Provided the number of new patents being issued each day, there are fewer readily available insurance claims for basic products every year.

There are no "patent authorities." If somebody rips off a product and it can be shown that someone has infringed on a patent, it depends on the creator to participate in and spend for, the lawful battle to prove and also to stop the infringer from proceeding. Given that the argument may not be specific, this can be an expensive legal action. Several developers lack the monetary funding to combat a lawful battle with a well-heeled knock-off business.

It should currently be clear that a patent is usually not the end-all response that many inventors, as well as specialist consultants, presume it to be. That's the trouble. The bright side is that understanding this, an inventor can concentrate on producing a winning technique.

I would certainly additionally like to briefly discuss another often-misunderstood lawful record: the nondisclosure agreement (NDA). While there are advantages to utilizing an NDA, its effectiveness is typically overemphasized. Below's why:

Initially, many-- most likely most-- suppliers will certainly not sign an NDA. They see no reason to obligate themselves to a creator with whom they have no prior relationship.

Second, an NDA is not a patent. Many NDAs don't say anything concerning not swiping the item idea, so the celebrations to the NDA are just guaranteeing not to tell anyone else.

Third, there is the capacity of including a non-compete provision of some kind in an attempt to deal with the last factor. Doing so will certainly further minimize the number of companies to whom you will certainly be able to pitch your invention as few will certainly authorize these. I have additionally directly discovered a couple of venture capitalists and expert financiers ready to sign NDA arrangements.

The majority of item companies, including those inclined to knock-off items, have lots of brand-new items in progression at any provided time. When an item manager supporters for launching a brand-new item, being geared up with critical market data that supports his decision can drastically boost his commitment to an invention. I have frequently spoken with inventors who invested the majority of their readily available funding on their patent applications to find that the result was either a decreased application or a drastically narrowed-down, less-useful version of their original application; this is why lots of item business do not also bother with licenses. A layout patent, which covers the specific layout of a product, is a lot more limited as a protective tool than a wide energy patent. If a person knocks off a product as well as it can be shown that someone has infringed on a patent, it is up to the inventor to involve in and also pay for, the legal fight to show and also to quit the infringer from proceeding.

https://twitter.com/inventhelp

[large3dprints-blog]

Best Large 3D Printers in 2021

It took me around one and a half years to plan and fabricate this printer, and I'm glad to abbreviate the entire assignment for you. I've additionally made a couple of minor changes from my unique plan to rearrange and further develop the structure cycle for you.

This printer doesn't utilize the customary belt pulley framework for the X and Y tomahawks. All things being equal, it's anything but a strung bar and nut to move every pivot. I found that by doing this I had the option to reduce down the expense impressively DIY 3d printer while keeping up with a similar print goal.It utilizes one stepper engine for the Z pivot rather than two. This again keeps up with a similar measure of security and goal while reducing down the expense.

 The X pivot is put underneath with the Y hub rather than with the Z hub above. This little change was made to lessen the heap of the single Z hub stepper engine (regular 3D printers have the X hub which goes here and there with the Z hub). The print goal is as yet awesome!

 What's more, obviously, it ended up being a decent 100 - 150 $ less expensive than ordinary printers.Since the principal 3D printer was worked by Charles W. Body during the 1980s, 3D printers have gotten considerably more accessible and reasonable. What's more, however there are a few unique sorts of 3D printers, in this article, we'll center around combined affidavit demonstrating (FDM), the prevailing work area machine because of its low cost and convenience.

 The choices are many, from a quality, essential FDM 3D printer, which costs somewhere in the range of $150, to over an expert grade printer, for more than $5,000. All things considered, on the off chance that you need to begin printing top notch models immediately, we recommend you put resources into a completely gathered 3D printer that has been adjusted and quality controlled.

 Then again, in case you're a 3D printer aficionado and up for somewhat of a test, you should think about building your own 3D printer. You'll require time and some persistence, yet it very well may be a lot less expensive than purchasing a completely amassed machine. All the more significantly, when you construct a 3D printer, you'll become familiar with the machine's internal capacities and the unlimited opportunities for customization.

 There are two fundamental approaches to assemble a 3D printer: from a pack or without any preparation. In the accompanying, we'll give you an outline of the two techniques and a few hints to make the cycle as simple and smooth as could really be expected. We should begin!

[wtffundiefamilies]

For those of you who missed this, this is the doctor whose genius Trump is praising.  As always, bolding is mine for emphasis.

A Houston doctor who praises hydroxychloroquine and says that face masks aren’t necessary to stop transmission of the highly contagious coronavirus has become a star on the right-wing internet, garnering tens of millions of views on Facebook on Monday alone. Donald Trump Jr. declared the video of Stella Immanuel a “must watch,” while Donald Trump himself retweeted the video.

Before Trump and his supporters embrace Immanuel’s medical expertise, though, they should consider other medical claims Immanuel has made—including those about alien DNA and the physical effects of having sex with witches and demons in your dreams.

Immanuel, a pediatrician and a religious minister, has a history of making bizarre claims about medical topics and other issues. She has often claimed that gynecological problems like cysts and endometriosis are in fact caused by people having sex in their dreams with demons and witches.

She alleges alien DNA is currently used in medical treatments, and that scientists are cooking up a vaccine to prevent people from being religious. And, despite appearing in Washington, D.C. to lobby Congress on Monday, she has said that the government is run in part not by humans but by “reptilians” and other aliens.

Immanuel gave her viral speech on the steps of the Supreme Court at the “White Coat Summit,” a gathering of a handful of doctors who call themselves America’s Frontline Doctors and dispute the medical consensus on the novel coronavirus. The event was organized by the right-wing group Tea Party Patriots, which is backed by wealthy Republican donors.

In her speech, Immanuel alleges that she has successfully treated hundreds of patients with hydroxychloroquine, a controversial treatment Trump has promoted and says he has taken himself. Studies have failed to find proof that the drug has any benefit in treating COVID-19, and the Food and Drug Administration in June revoked its emergency authorization to use it to treat the deadly virus, saying it hadn’t demonstrated any effect on patients’ mortality prospects.

“Nobody needs to get sick,” Immanuel said. “This virus has a cure.”

Immanuel said in her speech that the supposed potency of hydroxychloroquine as a treatment means that protective face masks aren’t necessary, claiming that she and her staff had avoided contracting COVID-19 despite wearing medical masks instead of the more secure N95 masks.

“Hello, you don’t need a mask. There is a cure,” Immanuel said.  

Toward the end of Immanuel’s speech, the event’s organizer and other participants can be seen trying to get her away from the microphone. But footage of the speech captured by Breitbart was a hit online, becoming a top video on Facebook and amassing roughly 13 million views—significantly more than “Plandemic,” another coronavirus disinformation video that became a viral hit online in May, when it amassed roughly 8 million Facebook views.

“Hydroxychloroquine” trended on Twitter, as Immanuel’s video was embraced by the Trumps, conservative student group Turning Point USA, and pro-Trump personalities like Diamond & Silk. But both Facebook and Twitter eventually deleted videos of Immanuel’s speech from their sites, citing rules against COVID-19 disinformation. The deletions set off yet another round of complaints by conservatives of bias at the social-media platforms.

Immanuel responded in her own way, declaring that Jesus Christ would destroy Facebook’s servers if her videos weren’t restored to the platform.

“Hello Facebook put back my profile page and videos up or your computers with start crashing till you do,” she tweeted. “You are not bigger that God. I promise you. If my page is not back up face book will be down in Jesus name.”

Immanuel is a registered physician in Texas, according to a Texas Medical Board database, and operates a medical clinic out of a strip mall next to her church, Firepower Ministries.

Immanuel was born in Cameroon and received her medical degree in Nigeria. In a GoFundMe legal defense fund, which swelled from just $90 to $1,616 hours after her speech, Immanuel claims without offering any proof that members of a Houston networking group for women physicians are scheming to take her medical license away over her support for hydroxychloroquine.

It’s not clear whether anyone is actually trying to take Immanuel’s license. But many of her earlier medical claims are definitely ludicrous.

In sermons posted on YouTube and articles on her website, Immanuel claims that medical issues like endometriosis, cysts, infertility, and impotence are caused by sex with “spirit husbands” and “spirit wives”—a phenomenon Immanuel describes essentially as witches and demons having sex with people in a dreamworld.

“They are responsible for serious gynecological problems,” Immanuel said. “We call them all kinds of names—endometriosis, we call them molar pregnancies, we call them fibroids, we call them cysts, but most of them are evil deposits from the spirit husband,” Immanuel said of the medical issues in a 2013 sermon. “They are responsible for miscarriages, impotence—men that can’t get it up.”

In her sermon, Immanuel offers a sort of demonology of “nephilim,” the biblical characters she claims exist as demonic spirits and lust after dream sex with humans, causing all matter of real health problems and financial ruin. Immanuel claims real-life ailments such as fibroid tumors and cysts stem from the demonic sperm after demon dream sex, an activity she claims affects “many women.”  

“They turn into a woman and then they sleep with the man and collect his sperm,” Immanuel said in her sermon. “Then they turn into the man and they sleep with a man and deposit the sperm and reproduce more of themselves.”

According to Immanuel, people can tell if they have taken a demonic spirit husband or spirit wife if they have a sex dream about someone they know or a celebrity, wake up aroused, stop getting along with their real-world spouse, lose money, or generally experience any hardship.

Alternately, they could just be having dream-sex with a human witch instead of a demon, she posits.

“There are those that are called astral sex,” Immanuel said in the sermon. “That means this person is not really a demon being or a nephilim. It’s just a human being that’s a witch, and they astral project and sleep with people.”

Immanuel’s bizarre medical ideas don’t stop with demon sex in dreams. In a 2015 sermon that laid out a supposed Illuminati plan hatched by “a witch” to destroy the world using abortion, gay marriage, and children’s toys, among other things, Immanuel claimed that DNA from space aliens is currently being used in medicine.

“They’re using all kinds of DNA, even alien DNA, to treat people,” Immanuel said.

Immanuel’s website offers a prayer to remove a generational curse originally received from an ancestor but transmitted, in Immanuel’s telling, through placenta. Immanuel claimed in another 2015 sermon posted that scientists had plans to install microchips in people, and develop a “vaccine” to make it impossible to become religious.

“They found the gene in somebody’s mind that makes you religious, so they can vaccinate against it,” Immanuel said.

Immanuel elaborated on her fascination with witchcraft in her 2015 Illuminati sermon, claiming that witches were intent on seizing control of children.

In her 2015 sermon on the Illuminati’s supposed agenda to bring down the United States, Immanuel argues that a wide variety of toys, books, and TV shows, from Pokémon—which she declares “Eastern demons”—to Harry Potter and the Disney Channel shows Wizards of Waverly Place and That’s So Raven were all part of a scheme to introduce children to spirits and witches. Immanuel warned that the Disney Channel show Hannah Montana was a gateway to evil, because its character had an “alter ego.” She has claimed that schools teach children to meditate so they can “meet with demons.”

In the sermon, Immanuel preserved special vitriol for the Magic 8-Ball, a toy that can be shaken up to “reveal” any answer. Immanuel claims the otherwise innocuous Magic 8-Ball was in fact a scheme to get children used to witchcraft.

“The 8-Ball was a psychic,” she said.

Immanuel’s oddball claims about the world extend to politics. She didn’t bring up this allegation publicly in Washington, but she has claimed that the American government is run in part by non-human reptilians.

“There are people that are ruling this nation that are not even human,” Immanuel said in her 2015 Illuminati sermon, before launching into a conversation she had with a “reptilian spirit” she described as “half-human, half-ET.”

Immanuel has also used her pulpit to preach hatred of LGBT people. Shortly before the Supreme Court legalized gay marriage, Immanuel warned her flock that gay marriage meant that “very soon people are going to be seeking to marry children” and accused gay Americans of practicing “homosexual terrorism.” In the same sermon, she praised a father’s decision to not love his transgender son after a gender transition.

“You know the crazy part?” Immanuel said. “The little girl demands he must love her anyway. Really? You will not get it from me, I’d be like ‘Little girl, when you come back to be a little girl again, but you talk—for now, I’m gone.’”

Unusually for a pediatrician, Immanuel has praised corporal punishment for children. The American Academy of Pediatrics opposes corporal punishment, and claims that the “vast majority” of pediatricians do not recommend it.

“Children need to be whipped,” she declared in a 2015 sermon, before adding that she didn’t think children should be “abused.”

It’s also not clear that Immanuel has abided by her claims that face masks aren’t necessary. In her Washington speech, Immanuel claimed that she and her medical staff had avoided any COVID-19 infections while wearing only medical masks. But in two videos shot at her clinic, Immanuel appears to be wearing an N95 mask, which offers more protection.

Immanuel has also alleged that masks of all kinds are superfluous, because she says COVID-19 can be easily cured with hydroxychloroquine. But in a Facebook video advertising her clinic, Immanuel said anyone seeking treatment should wear a face mask before entering the clinic.

“Wear a mask, or a scarf, or anything to cover your face,” Immanuel said in the video.

Immanuel has seized on her newfound celebrity, tweeting a video demanding that CNN hosts and National Institute of Allergy and Infectious Diseases chief Anthony Fauci give her jars of their urine so she can test if they’re secretly taking hydroxychloroquine even as they caution against its use.

“I double dog dare y’all give me a urine sample,” Immanuel tweeted in her challenge.

Now Immanuel is angling for the key rite of passage for any budding MAGA-world personality: a visit to the Trump White House. Late Monday night, Immanuel tweeted that she was open to meeting the president.

“Mr President I’m in town and available,” she tweeted. “I will love to meet with you.”

[saps4hanablog]

The main benefits of SAP HANA

GTS

Settle on better choices, quicker, with SAP GTS! To this point, I needed to set aside some effort to expound on a few of the basic advantages that SAP HANA will acquire to an association. HANA incorporates with continuous information found in the customary ERP frameworks and will undoubtedly amassed figures like what is right now needed by BW. Here is a case of how customary OLTP and OLAP frameworks are impeded when we talk about announcing. BW may assemble Purchase Order header information so as to do revealing, in doing as such, winds up missing Purchase Order thing data. In the event that you wish to run investigates substantially more detailed information, end clients will have the option to get more extravagant bits of knowledge into their thinking and settle on more edified choices. In a business without SAP GTS, the account detailing group is called to compose impromptu questions to support administration choices. Notwithstanding ordinary report work, Business Warehouse directors are needed to wed information from unsimilar sources. This can take weeks, at times a long time to end up at an aware result got from manual question creation. This is tremendously wasteful.

For all intents and purposes all information sources are available through SAP group reporting! By utilizing SAP HANA revealing, which additionally permits blend of outer data, the turnaround time for impromptu investigation will extraordinarily diminish. This permits the Business group to respond massively quicker to business requests.

Quicker month-end shutting. Month-end shutting is a progression of exercises including report improvement and framework asset adjusting. At the point when an organization is run on SAP HANA, all reports are accelerated considering extra an ideal opportunity for clients to get to the information they utilize and less time spent hanging tight for it to be perused from the information base.

Furthermore, request arranging will be significantly more precise and valid. By uniting the retail location information of clients, organizations are presently like never before ready to quantify up request with gracefully just as diminish stock holding levels, which thusly will cut working costs. This assists organizations with finishing additional items without running off gratitude to an augmented exactness and rightness in getting ready for client interest. This acknowledgment builds pay by expanding riches and more alluring controlling of cost.

Shorten work power and increment cash available with sap group reporting ! Indeed, SAP HANA will eventually be the substitution of bounty groups over an endeavor. This is tremendous news for individuals higher up hoping to expand benefit, yet terrible news for those whose employment might be in peril. Associations requesting IT assets to help business clients on report age exercises will not, at this point be vital. With continuous revealing and the unrivaled speed of SAP HANA, it returns the requirement of report start to the hands of the business clients. IT associations will not, at this point need a gigantic help group and in the end cut the IT upkeep.

Convey BI arrangements quicker than at any other time possible. Generally, a decent piece of a ventures broadness has joined a time allotment for execution tuning. Truly, this can take up to 15% of the undertaking conveyance time. With HANA, no proficiency tuning is important as it as of now empowers super-quick detailing. That is 15% less time squandered conveying a task which takes into consideration more opportunity to more readily convey for the customer.

Watch a business crusade progressively. With SAP HANA, you can watch figures progressively which takes into account a mission to be changed to be more compelling and caution in any market. Business groups can recognize viability of their works by examining purchaser purchasing conduct (for example regardless of whether the advanced items are offering quicker when contrasted with different items). This takes into account more enticing efforts to be begun that thusly, duplicate incomes. It resembles fishing with a fish locater.

 Article Source: http://EzineArticles.com/7407187

[blondrichclosetwitch]

“What was your first reaction when you saw the video of the white cop kneeling on George Floyd’s neck while Floyd croaked, “I can’t breathe”?

If you’re white, you probably muttered a horrified, “Oh, my God” while shaking your head at the cruel injustice. If you’re black, you probably leapt to your feet, cursed, maybe threw something (certainly wanted to throw something), while shouting, “Not @#$%! again!” Then you remember the two white vigilantes accused of murdering Ahmaud Arbery as he jogged through their neighborhood in February, and how if it wasn’t for that video emerging a few weeks ago, they would have gotten away with it. And how those Minneapolis cops claimed Floyd was resisting arrest but a store’s video showed he wasn’t. And how the cop on Floyd’s neck wasn’t an enraged redneck stereotype, but a sworn officer who looked calm and entitled and devoid of pity: the banality of evil incarnate.

Maybe you also are thinking about the Karen in Central Park who called 911 claiming the black man who asked her to put a leash on her dog was threatening her. Or the black Yale University grad student napping in the common room of her dorm who was reported by a white student. Because you realize it’s not just a supposed “black criminal” who is targeted, it’s the whole spectrum of black faces from Yonkers to Yale.

You start to wonder if it should be all black people who wear body cams, not the cops.

What do you see when you see angry black protesters amassing outside police stations with raised fists? If you’re white, you may be thinking, “They certainly aren’t social distancing.” Then you notice the black faces looting Target and you think, “Well, that just hurts their cause.” Then you see the police station on fire and you wag a finger saying, “That’s putting the cause backward.”

You’re not wrong — but you’re not right, either. The black community is used to the institutional racism inherent in education, the justice system and jobs. And even though we do all the conventional things to raise public and political awareness — write articulate and insightful pieces in the Atlantic, explain the continued devastation on CNN, support candidates who promise change — the needle hardly budges.

But COVID-19 has been slamming the consequences of all that home as we die at a significantly higher rate than whites, are the first to lose our jobs, and watch helplessly as Republicans try to keep us from voting. Just as the slimy underbelly of institutional racism is being exposed, it feels like hunting season is open on blacks. If there was any doubt, President Trump’s recent tweets confirm the national zeitgeist as he calls protesters “thugs” and looters fair game to be shot.

Yes, protests often are used as an excuse for some to take advantage, just as when fans celebrating a hometown sports team championship burn cars and destroy storefronts. I don’t want to see stores looted or even buildings burn. But African Americans have been living in a burning building for many years, choking on the smoke as the flames burn closer and closer. Racism in America is like dust in the air. It seems invisible — even if you’re choking on it — until you let the sun in. Then you see it’s everywhere. As long as we keep shining that light, we have a chance of cleaning it wherever it lands. But we have to stay vigilant, because it’s always still in the air.

Police put a gun to my head at 12. Tired of reading about racism? I’m tired of living it

So, maybe the black community’s main concern right now isn’t whether protesters are standing three or six feet apart or whether a few desperate souls steal some T-shirts or even set a police station on fire, but whether their sons, husbands, brothers and fathers will be murdered by cops or wannabe cops just for going on a walk, a jog, a drive. Or whether being black means sheltering at home for the rest of their lives because the racism virus infecting the country is more deadly than COVID-19.

What you should see when you see black protesters in the age of Trump and coronavirus is people pushed to the edge, not because they want bars and nail salons open, but because they want to live. To breathe.

Worst of all, is that we are expected to justify our outraged behavior every time the cauldron bubbles over. Almost 70 years ago, Langston Hughes asked in his poem “Harlem”: “What happens to a dream deferred? /… Maybe it sags / like a heavy load. / Or does it explode?”

Fifty years ago, Marvin Gaye sang in “Inner City Blues”: “Make me wanna holler / The way they do my life.” And today, despite the impassioned speeches of well-meaning leaders, white and black, they want to silence our voice, steal our breath.

So what you see when you see black protesters depends on whether you’re living in that burning building or watching it on TV with a bowl of corn chips in your lap waiting for “NCIS” to start.

What I want to see is not a rush to judgment, but a rush to justice.”

[iturbide]

The more I look at it, it's like... Grima doesn't do anything. Like they prattle off some villainy sounding lines but. It makes Lucina's future seem weird? Like, Grima actually did something? Lucina, I'm not doubting you, but are you sure? And considering all we see them do is nothing but sound ominous, it makes it even more odd that they and the grimleal keep referring to everything as if it's a play.

( ✧ ∇ ✧)

Welcome to the secret clubhouse friend I think our membership is still less than 10.

Fun story: when I first finished Awakening, I was really, deeply touched by the storyline.  I did end up going with the route of Robin’s sacrifice (and post-credits return), and that whole wrap-up was just...really moving to me.  It stuck with me really, really hard, and I kept thinking about it in the days and weeks that followed.

...and the more I thought about it, the more I realized that a lot of things didn’t make sense.

Grima grandstands at the Dragon’s Table.  Grima talks this big game about being there to ensure that destiny came to pass and all of their actions were meaningless in the grand scheme of things blah blah blah...but the deeper I dug into the logic, the more it all started to fall apart.  In no particular order, here’s a short list of things that I dug up (some of which I’ve covered before, some of which I haven’t touched on so much):

Based on the fact that Lucina has clear memories of her father and states in several supports that she learned her swordplay from him, it’s fairly reasonable to assume that Chrom didn’t die until years after she was born (perhaps as few as ten or as many as sixteen -- I personally tend to err on the higher side and put it between fourteen and sixteen).  If their purpose really was to ensure that destiny came to pass again, why wait at all?  They made direct contact with Validar following the failed assassination attempt on Emmeryn, they had all of Robin’s memories, and they knew what Chrom would be doing and therefore when he would be weakest during the two years of post-war restoration; why not attack early and kick things off while the Shepherds’ kids were hopelessly scattered and unable to mount a defense?

In her own timeline, Lucina clearly had a run-in with the apocalypse dragon -- and yet, she very clearly survived it.  We never see how in the game, but the fact that Grima had her very nearly in their jaws and didn’t destroy her is incredibly strange.

On top of that, Grima not only helps her in her fight against the Risen by blowing them away when she’s wildly outnumbered, but also gives her the biggest hint about what to do: ”the future is built upon the past,” they tell her -- aka “go find Naga and change things so that this never comes to pass.”  Why in the world would they tell her that at all?

Grima claims that they had to step in to keep the future “secured” -- and yet, despite having a perfect opportunity to do just that, using the newly resurrected apocalypse dragon to wipe out not only the Shepherds in the revised timeline but the children who came back to prevent the dire future...they don’t.  They fly off beyond Origin Peak instead, out over the ocean, where their power and size are less likely to affect anyone.

Grima says that they revived Validar after the failed assassination attempt, supposedly because he was necessary to ensuring that the doomed future came about.  Why let him die before the ritual was completed, then?  If he was so necessary, why did Grima do nothing when Robin and Chrom revealed their bluff and then took Validar down, especially if reviving the sorcerer really was within their power in the first place?

And on the topic of the assassination: given that Grima was there at the time, why did it fail?  Couldn’t they have just impersonated Robin to get into Ylisstol castle and eliminate Emmeryn themselves?  I’ve seen some speculation that Grima didn’t have a corporeal form at the time, but this makes no sense to me personally since Robin was a physical entity and that’s the vessel Grima’s presently inhabiting -- plus, Grima sure as heck has a physical body when they meet Robin after the two year timeskip.

Speaking of Validar: why did he even need the revised timeline’s Robin to become Grima if he already had Grima right there with him?  Grima claims that the journey through time diminished their power, but wouldn’t it have made more sense for them to focus the ritual on the Grima in their ranks rather than trying to raise a second one?

Grima insists that the course of fate might change but not its destination.  Why bother following Lucina into the past at all if they’re so confident?

This isn’t even all of them.  This is just the stuff that comes quickly to mind.

The more I started putting this together, trying to puzzle through what must have happened in Lucina’s doomed past and how it compared to the revised future, the more I noticed how incongruous Grima’s actions were with the words they said.  And that’s about when it hit me:

The whole thing is an act.

Validar, Aversa, the rest of the Grimleal cult, they think this is real, but Grima?  The one they’re supposedly following and serving?  Grima’s specifically trying to avoid walking the same path of ruin.  Grima came back to help Lucina, and unlike the children, they decided to do it by infiltrating Validar’s operation and trying to dismantle it from the inside out, since they knew from their own timeline exactly how things played out.  They ensured that Chrom wasn’t attacked during the two year gap, accelerated the timeline in hopes that Validar wouldn’t be able to amass the necessary resources on an abbreviated timescale (or reduce the loss of life should that fail), and gave the Shepherds every possible chance to take them down before the ritual could be completed by grandstanding and monologuing rather than attacking them at any point during the confrontation at the Dragon’s Table.  They were purposefully playing off of the Ylisseans’ belief in Grima as an evil entity in hopes of goading them into attacking and therefore preventing disaster before it could take place.

At some point during the two years between the end of the Ylisse-Plegia war and the beginning of the war with Valm, Validar realized that something wasn’t quite right with the situation.  Despite having Grima in the fold, they weren’t making anywhere near as much progress as he would have expected toward his goals of raising the fell dragon.  The issue, for him, was that he didn’t have control of Grima the way he wanted, and even his mind control seemed ineffective -- so he set his sights on Robin, instead, intending to harness all of Grima’s powers into the vessel born into the revised timeline while keeping Grima’s will locked out, granting him power enough to destroy and conquer whatever he set his sights on.  Thankfully, he didn’t pull it off, since his mind control was significantly weaker due to how accelerated the timeline was thanks to Grima’s interference, and Grima relished that death before trying to orchestrate their own -- though Aversa’s interference in completing the ritual Validar had prepared was unexpected and also unwelcome, and contributed to their flight away from the Dragon’s Table and Plegia on the whole rather than striking down the Shepherds.

As for Lucina’s future, sadly I do think that it was destroyed -- not by Grima’s design, but by Validar’s.  As we know from the game itself, Validar sacrificed a substantial number of Plegians in order to fulfill the ritual of raising the apocalypse dragon; in Lucina’s future, the death toll was likely higher still, since Validar had longer to prepare and strengthen the mind control magic he eventually used on Robin.  All of those dead bodies ended up turned into Risen -- and while the they are physically strong, mentally Risen aren’t all that bright, making them difficult to control.  With so many of them, it proved impossible, and so they eventually overran everything.  In a bid to change a course of events they never wanted to play out in the first place, Grima pointed Lucina toward Naga, then followed her into the past to help her prevent that terrible future from coming to pass again.

[yourassignmentwritingservi-blog1]

How Students Can Be Happy As An Individual

People habitually ask, "What might I have the option to do to support my euphoria?" This is to unveil to them that there are immense measures of things you can do, and despite the way that many smart writers formed different books about how to assemble delight now, in the development age, even oftentimes, they simply give you a little bundle of frameworks to use at that point.

So, it is good for you as being a student to take a guided tour of this blog post, as well. Being happy is not always easiest, but it's a habit to make and if you use these practices dependably, you are likely going to extend your desires and satisfaction, let's take a gander at significantly more euphoria boosting strategies here: 

Find your inspiration:

We all in all need to feel like we made a kind of good impact in this world, yet a portion of the time we are questionable of such an impact we have to make. Examine exactly what provides you with a sentiment of guidance and how you have to search after this motivation to give your life a more imperative sentiment of hugeness.

Find what to do first:

How are you expected to produce the right fulfilment capacities if you don't know which ones you are fighting with regardless? This is the explanation it's valuable to step through an exam to research your joy characteristics and weaknesses. Improve perception of what these aptitudes are about, and make sense of how to upgrade your inadequacies and amass your "bliss characteristics."

Give yourself an assurance uphold:

For what reason would you inconvenience growing your happiness if you didn't figure you could be productive at it? You wouldn't. That is the explanation it's so basic to amass your self-feasibility — to exhibit to yourself that you can assemble your bliss. The best way to deal with do this is by starting with less complex aptitudes — capacities like gratefulness or sorting out contributing vitality doing fun things. Get a smart achievement, and you'll be more sure that you genuinely can change you.

Make alter and rout burnout:

How are you expected to have the imperativeness to be more upbeat in the event that you're pushed, exhausted, and sad from work? It will be genuinely hard. Building new capacities, aptitudes that will help you with being more euphoric, will require some speculation and essentialness, so it's helpful first to improve work-life balance. 

 Build an improvement viewpoint for happiness:

An improvement viewpoint insinuates the conviction that we can change ourselves. Right when we produce an improvement standpoint for joy, we acknowledge we can change our fulfilment. This is exceptionally critical, assuming that we don't acknowledge we can assemble our euphoria, we won't attempt to endeavour. 

Find those silver linings:

Taking everything into account, when you search for the central focuses or points of interest that are concealed for a stunning length, you may be bewildered to locate a huge proportion of good. Keep practising to think positive and decreasing the negative to make happiness. Also, this strength has been connected with a better limit than adjust than pressure and be more grounded.

Fuel your progression by making sense:

You wouldn't practice math to give indications of progress at cooking. In addition, you wouldn't get acquainted with another vernacular to shed pounds. To be more blissful, you will presumably acquire ground by focusing in on the capacities that are most immovably associated with fulfilment. In my assessment, the capacity that regularly winds up being immovably associated with euphoria is a positive self-sees. Making sense of how to sit back and relax pondering yourself — for example, by imagining your most ideal self, seeing your positive attributes, or recognizing your characteristics — can go far to extending your fulfilment. 

Spend the money for happiness:

How we choose to experience our money impacts, what we can do and how we live inhabits that influence how happy we are. Exactly when we pick a less extreme house or vehicle, things that don't bring us much euphoria, we have more money to spend on endeavours or on presents for sidekicks: things that truly make us more blissful. 

Talk thoughtfully:

Right when we are minding to others, we breathe a sigh of relief considering ourselves. We can do not too bad things for others, be humane, or we can basically move toward one another with yielding, passing on considerate rather than tolerating the most observably dreadful. 

Stop thinking negative:

Let's face it: Sometimes we are what's making us sad. We can't stop examining how hence disregarded us, or how our life didn't turn out as we trusted. Negative perspectives, like focusing, ruminating, self-judgment, and fearing excusal, essentially keep us miserable and unsuitable to push ahead. Right when you wrap up allowance conversely, deferral and arrange your contemplations. In time, your cerebrum will have the alternative to do this even more successfully in isolation.

Zero in the extraordinary:

Positively, at times life is a battle. Regardless, by zeroing in on the incredible, you can rise above it and be more grounded. Exactly when you find the extraordinary, welcome the experience, and convey it with you to keep up ecstasy regardless, during predicament. Or then again have a go at mulling over a period later on when you'll feel better. 

Live your characteristics:

Right when you start to examine yourself and your characteristics, you may find that you've known from the beginning what may fulfil you, any way you're basically not doing it. To be more cheerful, get clear on your characteristics, so you can continue with your life independently, according to your own principles and characteristics. 

Use your imaginative psyche:

Did you understand that your cerebrum battles isolating between things that happen in your innovative psyche and things that happen, in reality? So when you imagine something — even satisfaction — your cerebrum goes about like it's authentic. We can use imaginative brain to assist make with joying unexpectedly and capitalize on our experiences more. 

Stay cautious:

Sometimes we have to escape. The world gives off an impression of being dull and alarming, yet by practising care, we experience even more totally both the positive and the negative — we are for the most part the more totally busy with our lives. 

Research what fulfilment means to you:

We, all in all, describe ecstasy in different habits. Exactly when you understand what euphoria plans to you, you'll make some easier memories finding it. So examine fulfilment; what it infers, what it looks like, and what it appears as, to even more successfully make bliss and continue with an everyday presence stacked up with more explanation.

Follow motivation of living:

How are you expected to change yourself by getting along fundamentally the same as things you've commonly done? It's very exceptional. Or maybe, drive yourself to overcome fear and approach presence with energy. Try doing the new things to see how they get felt, and to make your psyche more versatile. 

See yourself as mindful:

We will undoubtedly do the things we state we will do if we plan time in our timetables to do them. We can similarly more adequately stay on track if we get obligation from others. So if you genuinely need to live happily, don't let yourself pull off being hopeless. 

Act normally:

Exactly when we let people misuse us, we're melancholy. Notwithstanding, when we advocate for our own needs decidedly and impart, we feel more responsible for our lives. Making sense of how to impart can help you with overcoming social challenges, which can make you hopeless.

Create critical affiliations:

Did you understand we acknowledge practically everything more when we do it with others? It can be an explanation may be the best thing you can achieve for your happiness is to fabricate huge associations and social affiliations. To sustain these associations, practice mindfulness and thankfulness towards the people you care about. 

Get off the profligate treadmill:

The "profligate treadmill" suggests the tendency for us to return to our exceptional happiness level after some time. To help your example level fulfilment, you can try changing your physiology through sustenance and exercise. To keep up your fulfilment, you have to get away from your standard scope of commonality and proceed with switching up your ecstasy plan. 

Author Bio:

Anna Humphries is one of the best writers in the UK; he begins his career after moving to the city by providing students with the assignment writing services. In the start of his career, he asked students if any of you need any assignment writing service UK, then contact me to write for you. He is an amazing artist and a wonderful person who is now known as one of the most known and enthusiastic writers in the UK. He worked hard to make his future and end up achieving success in the field of academic writing. 

[as-write-as-rain]

Once Upon A Dream (remix) - Chapter 2

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: A Sleeping Beauty/Winter Soldier remix, featuring the reader as a SHIELD agent who might have powers (or just a really finely tuned intuition)

Warnings: None. If you’ve seen and enjoyed the Captain America films, you shouldn’t find anything troubling here.

The second chapter of my Fairy Tale AU for @moonbeambucky’s 5k Writing Challenge! I’d hoped to get it out sooner than this, but I’ve been under the weather.

Chapter 2

“Hey, Y/N, wait up!”

You were just heading out of the locker room, ready to get home and take a nice long bath. It’d been a long night, and even though you’d managed to catch some sleep on the jet, you still had a few too many bruises for comfort (thanks to some Algerian goons). But when you heard Natasha call your name, you paused and held the door open, waiting for her to catch up.

She gave you a grateful half-smile when she reached you, and you nodded in response as you started walking again. “How’s your back?”

She grimaced and stretched. “Eh, I’ll be alright. At least Rogers took most of the damage by crashing through the window first. Yay?”

You chuckled. “Must be nice to have super healing.” You glanced back over your shoulder, but the hallway was empty behind you. “Did he head home already?” Even as you asked the question, you felt a twinge that told you the answer was going to be no.

Sure enough, Nat was shaking her head. “He made a beeline for Fury’s office as soon as we landed.”

Now it was your turn to grimace. “I did notice he wasn’t happy when you guys got back to the jet,” you admitted. “I guess Fury will have to finally tell him about the project now. They’ve been putting it off for too long, anyway.”

Nat sighed. “Yeah, probably. I don’t think he’s gonna like it, though.”

That was the understatement of the century. “Probably not,” you agreed. You’d reached the garage, so you stopped next to your motorcycle and started putting on your helmet. “I’ll check in on him later, make sure he’s doing okay.”

She smirked and gave you a little wave as she sauntered over to her car. “Have fun.”

You scoffed a mirthless laugh. “Of course!”

As you’d predicted, Steve showed up at the Smithsonian exhibit in his honor early that afternoon; you’d noticed it seemed to be a favored destination whenever he was feeling unsure about where he fit into this modern world. He was wearing his classic “disguise” – a baseball cap – as though the top of his head was the only thing that identified him as Captain America.

Yet, it somehow seemed to do the trick; as usual, the patrons of the museum were more focused on the exhibition than on the people around them, and with the exception of one small, observant child, he maintained his anonymity. Perhaps it was because the exhibit always made him out to be something larger than life – so when he slouched in here in a nondescript cap (Cap in a cap, ha!), he was so unassuming that nobody even looked twice.

He didn’t blink an eye when you silently fell into step beside him. He’d noticed early on that you had a strongly developed intuition and you tended to follow it unflinchingly. It never steered you wrong, and you had learned to trust it – and by extension, Steve trusted it too. You appreciated that about him: that even if you couldn’t explain how you knew something, he always went with your gut anyway. That’s the kind of thing that makes a person a great team member.

And the fact that he never once treated you like it was something weird or creepy…well, that’s the kind of thing that makes someone a great friend.

You’d shown up mostly to be a comforting presence to Steve, so you didn’t impose yourself upon him or force him into conversation. You could tell that he just needed to know he wasn’t alone; other than that, you left him to his own thoughts. While he was preoccupied with his soul searching, you kept a casual eye on the crowds, and every now and then perused one of the displays. Most of them you knew by heart, and you had the video loops memorized from all your previous visits to the museum with Steve. Yet, as always, your heart stuttered when the section dedicated to James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes came into view.

Mindful of the heat rising to your face, you tried vainly to ignore the memories that flooded your mind – if recalling moments in a dream could even really be considered memories. Thankfully, Steve was too lost in his own head to notice your discomfort, and you took the opportunity to study the picture of Bucky obliquely. His eyes looked every bit as soulful as they had last night in your dream, but for some reason his hair in these pictures (and the footage) always looked weird to you.

What was it about this guy anyway, that made him such a frequent figure in your sleep? He’d been dead for 70 years – the words on the wall made this fact very clear, as did Steve’s haunting retelling of the memory that often kept him awake at night. Yet your mind couldn’t seem to accept that truth, and by now you had grown accustomed to his near-nightly presence in your dreams, for the most part.

Normally, a recurring dream would be a warning or a signal about something you needed to look out for – an omen that something was about to happen, or a sign that you needed to interpret. At least, that’s how your dreams used to be, when you were growing up. At this point, you could only vaguely remember what it was like to not dream about Bucky.

And these dreams weren’t technically recurring either. They were different every time, and the only constant was the presence of James Buchanan “Bucky” Barnes. A man you’d never met, the long dead best friend of your best friend, a stranger who didn’t feel at all like a stranger. You felt like you knew him intimately – because you’d seen him, talked to him, interacted with him, pretty much every night for the last decade or so. He felt like a real person to you, and your adventures felt like real memories.

Hell, you felt significantly closer to him than you did to most people in your waking life.

Sure, sometimes Steve appeared in your dreams, too, but he was never the focus – which was strange, given that the two of you were so close in real life. It was always more like a cameo appearance, a side character; and most of the time if he did show up, you still barely even interacted with him. Bucky was always the focal point, no matter what else was going on in the dream.

The whole thing was just…weird. You couldn’t make heads or tails of it. And you’d certainly never mentioned it to anybody else. What were you supposed to say? “Hey, you know your best friend whose death traumatized you? I have lovey-dovey dreams about him all the time – long before you and I met, actually.” Yeah, no. That conversation would be super awkward, not to mention pointless; it wouldn’t change anything, other than making Steve feel uncomfortable.

And who else could you tell? Natasha would jump all over you and tease you about it, and anyone else…well, you couldn’t be assured that word wouldn’t get back to Steve. After all, Bucky was his friend, someone he actually knew and cared deeply for. For you to dream about him was the equivalent of dreaming about a celebrity, someone you’d never actually met and only knew about through second- or third-hand stories. And if people knew you dreamed about him pretty much every night? They’d think you were more than a little obsessive. And honestly, who could blame them?

Shaking your head to clear it, you tried to bring your mind back to the present. You filed into the darkened alcove behind Steve, and joined him on the bench to watch the much-loved interview with Peggy Carter. This was the room that Steve generally spent the most time in, and you could probably repeat her speech verbatim if someone asked you to. So, in order to keep your mind off the things you really didn’t want to think about right now, you set yourself an objective: trying to count how many times Director Carter blinked during her interview.

Outside the museum, you and Steve checked out one of the food trucks lining the Mall, then sat down on a nearby bench to enjoy your treats. A cool breeze blew across the grass to ruffle your hair, and you spied a handful of colorful kites soaring high above. Down closer to the Washington Monument, a trio of college students tossed a Frisbee back and forth. To the rest of the world, it was a lovely late spring day, perfect for relaxing: sunny and warm, but yet not close enough to summer to be hot. You would have loved to join in, if it weren’t for this pesky foreboding that wouldn’t seem to leave you alone.

Steve smiled with nostalgia as he opened his Cracker Jack box. “I can’t believe they still make this stuff,” he mumbled, pouring the mix into his hand and shoving it in his mouth.

You grinned. “Does it still taste the same?”

His expression turned thoughtful as he crunched. He took another mouthful to be sure. “I feel like it tastes even better than I remember? But it’s not like I got to eat it all the time,” he hastened to add. “It was mostly a special occasion food, saved for ballgames and stuff.”

You nodded in understanding, and tore open your package of Astronaut Ice Cream. You’d bought it in the Air & Space gift shop while anticipating his arrival; it made for a great snack, and you didn’t even have to keep it cold. Sure, it tasted a little like cardboard, but the flavor had grown on you somehow.

The two of you munched in silence for a bit, watching the chattering crowd of schoolchildren who were amassing nearby. Harried teachers were attempting to wrangle them into organized groups, desperately counting heads to ensure all their charges were present. Some of the less-obedient children were running around harassing mobs of pigeons, frightening them into flight like feathered bowling pins. You chuckled at their antics, but Steve remained pensive.

“Did you know?” He eventually asked. He kept his voice low, out of habit; one never knew who could overhear.

You didn’t have to look at him to know exactly what he was asking, but you attempted to make light of the situation. “About Cracker Jacks? Yes, I’ve actually been an expert in eating them since early childhood.”

He snorted. “It’s called Cracker JACK. Singular. You wouldn’t call it ‘pop corns’ would you?” Bantering with Steve was always comforting; but before you could do more than smirk in response, he dropped his voice again, adding, “And you know that’s not what I was talking about, Y/N.”

Behind your sunglasses, your eyes casually skimmed the vicinity, making sure no one was near enough to listen in. “I knew,” you admitted quietly. “Fury briefed Nat and me at the same time. I warned him you should know too, but he made me promise not to say anything. He wanted to be the one to tell you.” You dropped your gaze to your silver packet of half-eaten pink styrofoam.

Steve sighed. “I don’t like it, Y/N.” He folded up his Cracker Jack box, and tossed it into a nearby trashcan with casual skill, as though it were perfectly natural to throw something that far with barely any effort. “But I suppose you already knew that.”

You nodded, studying him out of the corner of your eye. He didn’t seem angry, or even upset. He just seemed…morally troubled. His struggle was intellectual, rather than emotional – though no less agonizing. You put a comforting hand on his arm, hoping to reassure him. “I don’t like it either, honestly. The whole thing gives me a bad feeling.”

He frowned. “Well, that makes me feel even better.”His sarcasm made you bark a laugh, even though this was no laughing matter.

“I’m not going to caramel-coat it, Steve, something is going on. Something just beyond what we can see.” You leaned forward, elbows on your knees. “Precisely what, I don’t know. But I’m working on figuring that out.”

Steve let out a long breath you hadn’t been aware he was holding. Slowly, he stood, wiping the crumbs off his hands. “Well, I guess I’m just going to have to be patient. If anyone can get to the bottom of it, it’s you.” He beamed at you, and you returned his smile. You felt honored that he had that much faith in you.

You just hoped you wouldn’t let him down.

He bid you adieu, saying something about visiting an old friend. You knew exactly which old friend he meant, but you let him have his privacy. It’s not like you were interested in tagging along – and besides, you had a mystery to solve.

After he left, you slumped back against the bench with a frustrated growl, clenching your fists. The crinkle in your hand reminded you that you had yet to finish your snack, which perked you up immediately. You popped another piece in your mouth while you ruminated over the evidence at hand.

The mission yesterday had gone mostly to plan, but you’d been having a strange feeling for awhile now that had increased acutely while you were on the Lemurian Star. What was Jasper Sitwell doing on a launch ship in the middle of the Indian Ocean? What answers lay encoded in that data that Nat stole from the ship’s hard drive? 

Your sixth sense was going crazy, filling you with an uneasy dread and the certainty that something bad was on the horizon. But what? And what would be the best course of action to take, if you wanted to avoid it – or, at the very least, minimize the damage?

As you crunched away, you tuned into your deeper intuition, trying to determine the root of your growing alarm. Suddenly you stopped mid-chew, nearly choking on the vaguely-strawberry space dust as you gasped at a sudden impulse: you needed to call Director Fury immediately. 

Or better yet, Maria Hill.

[awesomelephuoclocblog-blog]

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[besidemethewholedamntime]

and i will always love you ~ chapter seven

Fic Summary:

“He feels sorry for her. It’s hard not to. Except it doesn’t change the fact that she’s still the child of an eminent politician, using her wealth and status to arm herself in ways that others in her situation couldn’t. Fitz has protected all kinds of people who’ve done the same thing, and every last one has been a complete and utter wanker.”

When an accidental discovery causes nationwide outrage at Dr. Jemma Simmons, Protection Officer Leopold Fitz is the one called upon to be her bodyguard. It starts off as one thing and ends quite another. A bodyguard au.

Chapter Summary:

a chapter which contains: - some Disney magic -proud Huntingbird parents -an unexpected truth

{Read chapter 7 on Ao3}

{Read from the beginning here}

or read chapter 7 below!

The only way to describe it is like it’s a Disney film.

The birds seem to sing to him as he wakes up in the morning, the sun parts the clouds for his benefit only, and the whole world seems to sparkle with hope and magic and love.

Both him and Jemma have to be careful in her office, where prying eyes with a love for drama could give them away. They’re professionals, so of course it should be no problem, except right now they’re more lovesick teenager than anything else and, unfortunately for them, subtlety is not their strong suit.

Apart from that, though, it’s amazing how little has changed. They still bicker like they always have and laugh like they always have. The only difference is that at the end of the day when they leave work and go back to the hotel there’s no more confusing feelings scrambling his brain and making him grumpy. They go back together, in all kinds of ways, and he feels the best he has in years.

Bobbi and Hunter are, of course, elated.

His day off is two days after the beach trip and, when he drags himself back to his flat, both of them are waiting on the couch like they’re his parents.

“So, Fitz,” Hunter begins. “Where you been, mate?”

Fitz frowns, dropping his bag to the floor. “Working,” he says slowly. “Why?”

Hunter jerks his thumb to his right. “Bobbi here has been speaking to a certain Alphonso Mackenzie, who spoke to a certain Daisy Johnson, who spoke to-”

“Alright, alright!” Fitz holds up his hand. “I get the picture. What do you want to know?”

“Did you tell her?” Bobbi asks.

“I did,” Fitz nods, keeping a straight face to make them suffer.

“And?” Hunter’s practically bursting out of his seat. “Come on! You can’t leave us in the dark like this!”

The smile that Fitz has barely been able to keep back suddenly makes an appearance and both Bobbi and Hunter jump up, coming over to hug him in congratulations. He suffers through it good-naturedly, knowing that it very well might not have happened if not for their not-so-gentle shoving.

“Aww, Fitz! I’m so proud of you!” Hunter ruffles his hair. “Truly, mate.”

“I only told Jemma how I felt,” he tries to laugh it off. “Nothing that big.”

“But big for you,” Hunter tells him, looking him straight in the eye. “And I’m proud.”

They’ve been through a lot, Fitz and Hunter. They live together, briefly worked together, and for a long time Fitz has relied on him because the world was too big and too daunting to face on his own. They know how much they mean to each other, and it never needs to be said, so this unexpected display of sincerity makes tears prick at the corner of his eyes.

Things are changing, he can feel it in the air, but no matter what, Hunter will always be the person who was there in the beginning, and will be there to the end.

“Thanks, mate,” Fits says, slapping Hunter on the back. “Thanks a lot.”

-x-

When Fitz is summoned to HQ, his first thought it oh shite.

Pretending in front of Jemma’s colleagues everyday that he’s not walking on air is challenging enough, but pretending in a building that houses trained officers, and frequent visitors from MI5, takes every ounce of strength he has. He’s reasonably sure that his boss can’t have found out anything, and while it’s not technically illegal, it’s certainly against the rules, and so his heart thumps painfully as he takes the lift up to the floor where he’s sure he’s about to get fired.

Fitz gets directed to a meeting room with five or six others and he decides to let himself breathe. Unless everyone here has found themselves in love with Jemma, he’s sure that this isn’t the sacking he was so terrified of. When his superior designs to join them all ten minutes later, the man walks in with something close to a smile on his face.

“We arrested our penpal,” he announces, looking proud of himself even though Fitz doubts he played a physical part. “The one who loved some cut and paste. He’s confessed to it all, and even gave us some of his friends.”

There’s sighs of relief throughout the room, and Fitz feels the knot in his own chest loosen significantly. Protection Command was receiving intense pressure from Jemma’s father in particular for not having found the culprit yet and the man being found means the burden has been lifted from their shoulders. Fitz finds his relief comes from a rather more personal direction.

“With that in mind,” the boss continues, “we feel that security can be lifted. Dr. Simmons may move back to her own home. I’d still like an officer there, of course, and to accompany her on journeys, but the stricter side of things can be relaxed. If everything continues as it has done, I should say she will no longer require our services within the next few weeks.”

It’s welcome news, and uses up the remaining grains of Fitz’s self-control. There are a few arbitrary points to go over, and then eventually the short meeting comes to an end.

“I trust I can tell you to pass the news along to Dr. Simmons, Officer Fitz?”

“Yes, sir,” he says, trying to remain calm while every cell is alive with energy.

“This will be very welcome news for you, I imagine,” the man says, a small smile on his lips. “Very welcome news, indeed.”

-x-

Fitz returns to tell Jemma the wonderful news with a spring in his step.

She reacts enthusiastically, kissing him in excitement. They spend the rest of the evening packing up the hordes of random items they’ve amassed during their hotel stay and when they finally make it back to Jemma’s flat both of them wear the same looks of relief.

It’s easy to get addicted to the feeling. They sit on Jemma’s couch, a Chinese takeaway on the coffee table in front of them and they discuss how wonderful it is to be back, how uncomfortable the hotel beds were, how nice it will be to be able to cook again. Inevitably they turn to the future. The news from today confirms that the circumstances are about to change soon and it makes him nervous but also terribly excited.

“Boss man said it’ll be a few weeks until you don’t need me anymore,” Fitz says.

“I know, Fitz. You’ve told me three times this evening,” Jemma teases gently. “And as I’ve told you, of course I’ll still need you. Just not quite in the same way.”

He’s giddy with happiness and it’s clearly affecting his short-term memory. The way she says of course makes him dimple. He wants more.

“I think if we can just figure out who leaked your research then we’d be able to speed things along. Don’t you think so?”

Jemma’s eyes slide away from his, and she picks up a spring roll. “Perhaps, but it doesn’t really matter who did it now, does it? The news is already out there. Finding out who put it out there won’t change anything.”

“Nah, I suppose not,” Fitz concedes, deflating against the cushions. “Would just be good to catch who did this to you, so they couldn’t do it to anyone else, at least.”

“It’ll blow over soon, I’m sure. These things always do.”

“Yeah, I know, I know,” he sighs. “It’s just… I dunno, these people shouldn’t get to get away with it. They could really ruin lives. What if someone didn’t have your dad’s influence and got faced with an angry mob because they couldn’t get a bodyguard? It’s not fair.”

“Fitz-”

“I’m serious, Jemma. It’s not right. There was no reason to release this. It’s not like it was an accident.”

“Fitz, please-”

“They knew exactly what they were doing, which makes it worse! They deserve to face time for it. It’s utterly ridiculous that in this day and age-”

“It was me.”

He doesn’t finish his sentence, doesn’t breathe for a second. He decides to give her a chance. “What was you?”

Jemma fidgets with her fingers but looks him straight in the eye. “It was me who leaked the research. I sent it to the news.”

He blinks. It’s all he can do. The news has hit him with the force of a freight train; so many feelings flitter though all at once. Betrayal, hurt, love, confusion, anger… he settles for the last one. It’s hot and fiery and it hurts so much less than anything else.

“What the hell?”

“Please,” Jemma says urgently as Fitz springs up off the couch, unable to sit at the place where minutes ago they were laughing. He starts to pace, thoughts rushing at a million miles a minute. She stands, too, and they both end up standing behind the couch. Jemma has tears in her eyes and he feels only a little bit sad. “Please, Fitz, just let me explain.”

“Oh, yeah,” he laughs, a harsh, ugly sound. “Go on then. I really want to hear this one.”

“I was just trying to do the right thing,” she says.

“And how the hell could this be the right thing?”

“It wasn’t my goal to create that kind of method, you see. It came as the result of another experiment, a complete accident.”

He just wants the truth, doesn’t care about all of this backstory. “It doesn’t matter how it came about.”

“Actually, it does.” Jemma takes a deep breath. “I told my supervisor about what I’d discovered. I thought she’d tell me to publish it, like I was going to if the experiment had revealed what I thought it was going to. Only she didn’t. She told me to keep it quiet, and that she would handle it.”

“How is that a bad thing?”

“Because I knew exactly what would happen. It would go higher and higher and when it got to the top it wouldn’t be shoved into a drawer. Think about it, Fitz! They could have sold it. It’s only theoretical just now but with more time, a few years perhaps, it could become a reality. Imagine how many countries would like to have that. Imagine if this one did. It would be biological warfare, only with no way to stop it.”

“So you leaked it,” he says, flatly.

“Yes.” Jemma’s chin remains high, and while her eyes remain tearful, they do not divert from his own. “I did. Because if it’s out there then it means nobody can use it without being held accountable for it. They’ll know exactly where it came from.”

There are very few ways in which Fitz is like his father, but his quick temper and inability to listen when angry are two of them. He doesn’t allow her explanation to sink in, doesn’t really care for it all that much even though he asked for it.

“That doesn’t make it okay, Jemma,” he tells her, anger seething into his tone. “It doesn’t make it right. You can’t take it upon yourself to make decisions like that.”

“And what else was I supposed to do? You can’t trust people with this type of thing.”

He scoffs. “Clearly.”

“Please try to understand! I was only doing what I thought was right.”

“It doesn’t matter!” He yells. “You’re supposed to be smart. Surely you knew how this was going to play out, how many people you would drag into your bloody circus.”

“I didn’t,” she protests, and he tries to ignore the tears clinging to her eyelashes. “I truly didn’t think it would get like this. People don’t seem to care about anything these days, certainly nothing scientific. I expected he Twitter comments and maybe a few distasteful articles but nothing on this scale. You have to believe me.”

“No,” he says, betrayal making him hard. “I don’t.”

“Fitz,” she breathes, pouring everything into the one syllable.

He pinches the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes so he doesn’t need to see her face for a second. He’s been working with her for weeks and all this time she’s been keeping this secret from him, stringing him along. What other secrets has she kept, he wonders. What other truths has she left out?

“No.” He opens his eyes, sight momentarily blurred by tears. “Just don’t. Don’t you see? You aren’t different at all. You’re exactly like your parents, like all those people you pretend you’re better than.”

Jemma narrows her eyes. “That’s not fair.”

“Yes it is. You thought you were immune; that you could do whatever the hell you liked without any consequences.”

“It’s not as simple as that.”

“No, maybe not, but that’s what it all boils down to, isn’t it? Your lot think they rule the world, think it’s your place to decide what happens. That’s not right.”

They stand before each other and what they had tentatively built crumbles between them. In the morning, Fitz might care. Right now, he’s too mad to even try.

“That’s not why I did it,” Jemma tries to explain. “You know me, Fitz. You know I don’t think like that.”

“Clearly you do!”

“And so, what? You never changed your mind about me at all?” Jemma finally shouts back. Yes, Fitz thinks. Yes. Get angry. If they’re both angry, shouting and screaming at each other then he can handle it. It’s fine. What he can’t bear is the trembling of her bottom lip, the tears clinging to her cheeks until the last possible second. He doesn’t want to feel sorry for her right now.

She continues. “All this time you’ve just been there silently stewing? Saying one thing but meaning quite another.”

“Of course, I haven’t,” he scoffs. “But even if I had, I wouldn’t be the only one. You have no right to judge me when you’ve been keeping the biggest secret of all. God, don’t you understand? This is against the law, Jemma!”

She looks briefly down to the ground, “I know.”

“Do you? Do you know that all your work is covered by the Official Secrets Act? Do you know that you can actually serve jail time for breaching that?”

“Of course I do,” she says. “You don’t need to explain it to me.”

“Are you sure? Because it seems like if you knew that you maybe would have thought about it more before leaking the bloody documents to the press!”

And now he has come to another problem, one that should have occurred to him from the beginning but that his heartache made him forget.

“I could go to jail for this,” he says quietly. “If I know what you did, and I don’t tell them, then I’ll be an accessory.”

Jemma only blinks.

“I’ll lose my job, my flat. My mum will be in bits.” He heaves a shaky sigh. “Did you even think about that.”

She swallows audibly. “I did.”

Her short answer stokes the flames. He scoffs. “And?”

“I’m not telling you to do anything, Fitz.”

She has shifted the choice to him and God, how he hates her for it. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I told you because you should know,” she says carefully. “If you want to tell your superiors then that is your choice. I’m not going to plead otherwise.”

He scoffs again, waving away the option he never really had. “Please, like I could do that to you. I care about you too much to hurt you.” His admission slides out without meaning to, and he looks at his feet before mumbling, “A feeling you clearly don’t have about me.”

Jemma gasps, a sharp intake of breath. It sounds like it hurt. He hopes it did. “Oh, Fitz…”

“No. Just, just don’t, okay?” The anger has vanished, replaced by an unbearable weariness. There’s nothing within him to fight anymore. “Just… was it real? What you told me… did you mean it?”

“All of it,” she assures him. She goes to take a step forward only to think better of it. “I meant it.”

He should never have asked. There’s an acute pain in his chest that intensifies with every second that passes. He starts to fumble around for his bag, his jacket. Pulls out his phone.

“What are you doing? Where are you going?”

“I can’t say here.” With his back to her he swipes the tears from his eyes. “I can’t pretend. I'll phone someone, say I’ve got to go home sick or something.”

“Fitz, come on. We can have a discussion like adults do.”

“There’s nothing to discuss, Jemma,” he says flatly. With all of his things together he stands before her. They’ve become strangers to each other. Perfect strangers. There’s nothing of the people they were to each other standing here now.

“Davis will be here in half an hour. I’m sure you’ll be fine until then.” He grabs the door handle. “See you around.” He turns away.

“Fitz, please,” she’s all but begging, He’s too worn out, can’t stay here any longer. “It was real. All of it. I promise you that.”

He half turns around. “Your promises don’t mean anything anymore.”

He doesn’t stay to find out the impact of his words, instead leaving without another word, and without once looking back.

[imagine-loki]

Wedded Bliss

TITLE: Wedded Bliss CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 40 AUTHOR: MaliceManaged ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Odin determined to find Loki a wife in a misguided, though somewhat well-intentioned attempt to ‘mellow him’. … RATING: T _____________________

Loki ended up having to magick the glitter off himself and Edith, else they never would have gotten rid of it in time for the party that evening, there was so much of it. When the cake was mostly gone and more than a few jokes were made about Loki’s age that got Tony quite a few slaps to the shoulder from Pepper; Natasha and Pepper whisked Edith away to get themselves dressed for the party while Tony took charge of the guys. Edith had, as she usually did, worked with a seamstress early in the month to design her dress and even had some input for Natasha and Pepper’s, so they had the dresses brought up to the penthouse for a final fitting along with some champagne.

“You guys seemed a bit closer,” Pepper commented as the seamstress made a few tiny adjustments to the back of her royal blue dress, “I take it he liked your present?”

“He did,” Edith grinned then bit her bottom lip, “We may have shared ‘I love you’s…”

“Oh, my god, that’s great!”

“Yeah. Thanks so much, you guys, for helping me with that; hiding it until then by myself would have been impossible.”

“Well, what are friends for if not hiding things from your boyfriend?” Natasha joked, winking and taking a sip from her glass, earning laughs from the other women.

“I’ll drink to that,” Edith replied with a sip of her own. She eyed Pepper up and down as she struck a pose once the seamstress was done, “Oh, niiiice! Sexy!”

Pepper laughed. “Why, thank you! I really like this colour, and your taste is impeccable as always.”

Edith basked in the praise happily before waving at Natasha to stand up. “Come on, you next, Nat!”

Natasha rolled her eyes but nonetheless stood and walked over behind the screen set up in the room to change, coming out a bit later in a sleeveless dress of a grey so deep it was almost black, though it shimmered red as she moved. “Well, it looks like you finally did it,” she commented amusedly as she stepped onto a low platform so the seamstress could shorten the hem a bit and looked at herself in the mirror, “You finally got me into something shiny.”

“I told you I’d do it,” Edith replied smugly.

“How in the world did you keep that little detail a secret?” Pepper asked, more than a little impressed.

“Bribes, Pepper. Bribes.”

“Ah, of course; a time-honoured tradition.”

Edith’s dress was a dark red halter top that fitted her closely to the lower waist then flared out into a sea of crimson and yellow skirts cut in such a way as to look as though it were fire, and Pepper gasped as she walked out from behind the screen. “And here I thought your prom dress was perfect,” she managed, “You look so beautiful.”

“You’re going to give that boyfriend of yours a heart attack,” Natasha commented, twirling her finger to prompt her to turn.

“Stooop,” Edith laughed, blushing, giving a little twirl that caused the skirts to fan out around her, “You guys are going to make me cry.”

With the fittings done the seamstress left, thanking them for both their patronage and being her most delightful regulars, then between the three of them they did their hair and makeup, with Edith doing most of the latter since no one would contest that she was the best at it. Once that and their accessorising was finished they took the elevator down to the parking level, where Happy waited by a limo to drive them to the venue Tony had booked for the party. They chatted idly along the way, then Pepper and Edith posed for the photographers that had predictably amassed outside the building; Natasha had mysteriously vanished, though they ran into her again as soon as they were done.

Inside was full of guests, though Tony was hard to miss, standing on a stage greeting everyone in his usual fashion of telling everyone to have fun and get very drunk. Steve was close to the doors, going over to greet them and telling them where he’d last seen the others; Pepper went over to get Tony off the stage before he said something regrettable, Natasha went looking for Bruce, figuring he might not be too happy by himself in a crowd, and Edith sought out Loki, wanting to see if Tony had managed to convince him to wear a suit as opposed to his own asgardian formalwear.

He saw her first, coming down from the second floor where he’d been looking over the balcony at the rest of the crowd, though when she spotted him she couldn’t help but to let out a laugh; Tony had indeed managed to get a suit on him, though she should have guessed Loki would never agree unless it involved a long coat. She met him at the bottom of the stairs, giving him her hand to kiss with a soft giggle before leaning up to kiss him, her heels making that significantly easier than usual.

She took one end of the scarf he was wearing and hummed. “You know, I figured you’d go back for this.”

“What can I say? It called to me,” he replied, earning a laugh. He looked her up and down, “You look… would ‘radiant’ be too on the nose?” Edith snorted before laughing out loud, getting a few amused stares. “I am going to hazard a guess that you had a hand in creating this dress?”

“Eh, maybe a little bit,” Edith replied, lifting a hand and holding her thumb and pointer finger about an inch apart, causing him to laugh softly. “You look criminally good in a suit, it must be said.”

“I am glad you approve,” he replied, practically preening at the compliment, then offered his arm, “Shall we find something to eat? As delicious as that cake was, it was entirely too long ago.”

“Too true,” she agreed, taking his arm.

As the night wore on they ate, drank, danced and mingled; Edith and Clint poked fun at Loki for the fans he seemed to have amassed at some point that he seemed more bemused than anything at and Steve had to intervene with a very drunk guest that attempted to get hands-y with Natasha before she murdered the man, but otherwise there were no incidents of note.

It wasn’t until about twenty minutes to midnight that that changed; Edith had been talking to Pepper and the CEO of a corporation aiming to do business with Stark Industries when there was a scream quickly followed by a gunshot and then more screams, and she whipped her head in their direction to see two masked gunmen carrying more SHIELD tech coming in, with more covering the other doors. They began shouting at the quickly panicking guests to get down on the floor, and Edith bent to grab a pair of knives from the thigh holsters she was wearing before urging Pepper and the businessman to find cover.

Slipping her heels off, Edith crept as stealthily as she could towards the nearest gunman before coming up behind him and jabbing one of her knives into the gap between the vest he was wearing and his underarm, causing him to cry out in pain and alerting the rest of them to her presence. As they turned to her, though, several darts rained down on the nearest from Clint up on the second floor balcony.

Natasha came up behind another gunman, jamming her ‘bracelets’ – which were actually her Widow’s Bite – into his neck and knocking him out, while Steve grabbed a serving tray and threw it at another, knocking the gun out of his hand, before moving to tackle another. Loki threw a shield up over the crowd as another gunman tried firing on them, swiftly closing on him and disarming him before knocking him out with an elbow to the face; he looked over to where he’d last seen Bruce, but the man had wisely removed himself from the situation as soon as the first shot had been fired, instead helping herd people towards the back of the building away from the potential crossfire.

Tony had, of course, brought one of his suits, and though he couldn’t risk firing his repulsors with the civilians there he could still fight the gunmen hand to hand. His main priority was to distract them until the guests were out of the way, coordinating with Loki, who was using illusions to disorient the enemy further. With their combined efforts the gunmen were subdued, and Natasha was calling in SHIELD when they heard a sharp gasp; looking over, one last enemy had grabbed hold of Pepper and was holding a gun to her head.

“One move, and she dies!” he threatened, only to cry out in pain as she drove her heel into his foot. Not a second later, Clint threw a small throwing knife he’d gotten from Loki earlier, hitting the gunman right between the eyes.

“You okay, Pep?” Tony asked as he shed his Iron Man suit and went over to her.

“Fine,” she replied, straightening her dress out with only a hint of a tremor, “Impeccable aim as always, Clint, thank you.”

“My pleasure.”

“This all of them?” Edith asked nobody in particular.

“Looks like.”

“Bruce? Where’s Bruce?”

“Here,” Bruce replied as he walked back over, “I’m good. The guests are shaken, but I don’t think anyone’s hurt.”

“Good work,” Steve said, patting his arm as he passed him.

Once SHIELD took away the gunmen and the guests were seen to, the team returned to the tower and cracked open a couple bottles of champagne, determined to celebrate regardless of interruptions.

“To an uninterrupted New Year’s,” Edith toasted, “It’s gotta happen sometime.”

“Wait; this happens every year?” Bruce asked incredulously as the rest cheered.

“Pretty much; apparently the bad guys think we’ll be too busy partying to be prepared for attacks?”

“Huh.”

“I want to know how they keep getting SHIELD weapons,” Steve commented.

“No,” Tony said firmly, interrupting the beginning of Natasha’s reply, “That’s morning problems; right now we’re celebrating.”

Steve conceded, raising his hands in surrender, and Natasha rolled her eyes but let the matter drop.

[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

Ready for lift-off

Espionage thriller Summer of Rockets is the first screen work from acclaimed writer/director Stephen Poliakoff to draw on his own life, set in 1958 at the height of the Cold War. He and executive producer Helen Flint talk to DQ about merging fact and fiction.

As a writer and director for the screen over the past four decades, Stephen Poliakoff has been behind work that has amassed numerous Bafta, Emmy, Golden Globe and Peabody awards. The playwright, who learned his craft in the theatre, counts series and films such as Perfect Strangers, The Lost Prince, Friends & Crocodiles, Gideon’s Daughter, Joe’s Palace and Capturing Mary, as well as recent dramas Dancing on the Edge and Close to the Enemy, among his extensive credits.

Yet for all his fascination with the past – among many examples, Dancing on the Edge trails a black jazz group in 1930s London and Close to the Enemy is set in the aftermath of the Second World War – his latest series is the first to draw on his own family and life experiences.

Written and directed by Poliakoff, Summer of Rockets is a semi-autobiographical drama set during 1958, a year that marked the height of the Cold War as fear and suspicion clashed with the start of the mobile revolution and the Space Race. It was also the last time debutants were presented to the Queen at Buckingham Palace and the year of the Notting Hill riots in West London.

Stephen Poliakoff, writer and director of Summer of Rockets, pictured during filming

Poliakoff says the fact it is partly based on his own life marks Summer of Rockets out as “significantly different” from anything he’s done for the screen before.

“My first real memories are from this time – I was five in 1958 – so I could feel, even as a small child, the apprehension in the air, the feel of nuclear war,” he says. “The Russians were the enemy and yet I was half-Russian, so that made me feel an extraordinary sense isolation as a child. I was also sent to boarding school, as we see in the story, and was the only Jewish boy there. That was why I was drawn to this time.

“There’s a lot of resonance for us now, as Russia again seems to be our enemy and there is also unfortunately, tragically, anti-Semitism in Europe and it’s coming back to the UK. Well, it never goes away. But above all, it was a sense of the absolute epicentre of the Cold War; the fact nobody could be trusted, especially if they were foreigners.”

Another parallel between that period and today, he notes, is the “humiliation” of the Suez Crisis in 1958, which left Britain “a laughing stock” on the world stage. “Things have happened since I’ve written the piece and we’ve become a laughing stock for very different reasons, with people harking back to a sense of our past glories, which also plays a part in the story,” Poliakoff says. “This is not a story about Brexit or a metaphor for it, but nevertheless there are resonances in the piece.”

Toby Stephens (Black Sails) stars as Samuel Petrukhin, a Russian Jewish émigré modelled on Poliakoff’s father Alexander, an inventor and designer of hearing aids, whose clients include former UK prime minister Winston Churchill. The series also focuses on Samuel’s wife, Miriam (Lucy Cohu), and their children, Hannah (Lily Sacofsky) and Sasha (Toby Woolf). In the show, having developed a new paging system for hospitals, Samuel is is approached by the UK’s domestic intelligence agency MI5 to demonstrate his work.

Set in 1958, the series stars Toby Stephens as Samuel, who is based on Poliakoff’s father

However, it’s not his inventions the agency (led by Mark Bonnar’s mysterious Field) is interested in but his fledging friendship with MP Richard Shaw (Linus Roache) and his wife Kathleen (Keeley Hawes), who also introduce him to Lord Arthur Wellington (Timothy Spall). As Samuel’s life becomes intertwined with his mission, he is left to question how far he is willing to let things unravel for his cause and who he can trust.

It was Poliakoff’s discovery that his father had been suspected of bugging Churchill’s hearing aid, a revelation he first heard when a journalist contacted him about newly released government papers in 2007, that sparked the story behind Summer of Rockets,

“It took me a long time to think about writing it because it meant revisiting my youth and a very traumatic time at boarding school,” he says. “I also tend to write slightly away from my immediate family experience because I find it easier to invent like that. But, after quite a considerable while, because the story kept haunting me, I broached it to the BBC.”

His father’s work, he explains, is truthfully reflected in the story by his hearing aids business, the deaf workers he employs in the factory and his invention of the paging system, which he created for St Thomas’ Hospital in London.

“But I always saw that as a jumping-off point for Keeley’s side of the story,” Poliakoff continues. “My father was besotted with everything English; he was a real anglophile. He was a Russian Jew but he wanted to be an English gentleman, so there’s the story of him being involved in this English upper-class family who have their own darkness and trauma hidden away in a magnificent house. They have charm and grace, they entertain people, but this covers a deep unhappiness.

“My father would have loved to have been entertained in such a house, so that was what led me from that jumping-off point for the fictitious side of the story, but it’s based on the sort of things my father loved and was attracted to by English life and aspired to. The story curve shows Samuel learning that he doesn’t want to be the perfect English gentleman.”

Bodyguard and The Durrells star Keeley Hawes plays Samuel’s wife,  Miriam Richard’s wife, Kathleen

Through the first episode, the story is laid bare against the backdrop of rockets being launched and rising anxiety over what might lie ahead, coupled with the symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder that stem from the still-raw fallout of the Second World War. Samuel’s technological achievements also shine a light on how industry was set to move forward rapidly over the next decade.

“When you have six hours of television drama, it’s a big canvas. The joy of longform is that you can build a complex world and you can delve deeper into character than you can in a two-hour movie,” Poliakoff says. “It’s great to try to be ambitious when you’re given that length of screen time.”

Helen Flint, MD of Little Island Productions and Poliakoff’s long-time producing partner, admits the writer’s outlines need very little development as they are often fully formed, “very detailed and very ambitious” by the time she becomes involved.

“The thing is to identify where and how you’re actually going to make it happen,” she says. “Both of us have been around far too long. Therefore, between us and the heads of department, we can work out how to put this on the screen, which is our craft.”

With all of Poliakoff’s work filmed on location, the first task on Summer of Rockets was to find the house belonging to Richard and Kathleen Shaw, which is a constant presence during all six episodes. They eventually settled on Benington Lordship, a grand setting close to Stevenage, 35 miles north of London, which is notable for the Norman keep adjoining the 17th century house and expansive gardens.

Catastrophe’s Mark Bonnar plays the head of MI5

“The other important thing was when to film it, because getting lucky with sunshine in this country is not a given – so the schedule is everything,” Flint says.

Finding London streets that could double for the time period also proved problematic, with the slums of Notting Hill in 1958 far removed from the affluent neighbourhood it is today. Another set piece saw a queue of 1950s cars lined up along The Mall, leading to Buckingham Palace, which was filmed early in the morning to avoid the crowds of tourists usually occupying the area.

“It takes a huge amount of work, more work than anybody would imagine, weeks and weeks, and then huge amounts in post-production just to paint out silly lines and stuff like that,” Flint says of filming in London. “After that, it’s all of the countryside, the driving [scenes] and the minutiae. But because we’ve got a cast that is working all the time, we have to try to jigsaw them all in, which is very complicated at certain points. Once you have those actors, the schedule is dictated by that. Then other problems come to the fore because if they’re not available, you can’t do the locations. London exteriors are the hardest, and then piecing it together is a massive jigsaw.”

In some cases, however, the reality on which some of the series is based was too extreme to be dramatised. Poliakoff decided to tone down scenes where Sasha is at boarding school, as his own experiences at school were too “draconian” to be depicted exactly as he remembered.

Summer of Rockets debuts on BBC2 tomorrow

“When I started writing it, I realised it had to be more interesting and more inventive than the actual thing I experienced, which in reality was relentlessly grim,” he says. “A little bit of that was fine, but I didn’t think an audience would stand for that being repeated in each scene. So, oddly enough, the bit that was closest to reality was the most difficult to write.”

The series sees Poliakoff reunited with Stephens, who starred in his 2001 family reunion drama Perfect Strangers, while this was his first time working with Hawes despite having known her since she was just 19. “She starred in my wife Sandy Welch’s adaptation of Our Mutual Friend 20 years ago,” he recalls of the actor, who has recently starred in Line of Duty, The Durrells and Bodyguard. “I’ve known her for some time and we’ve always wanted to work together. She’s phenomenal in her role, which is a really very juicy role, so I’m thrilled. I think she gives one of her greatest performances.”

Following Summer of Rockets’ launch on UK pubcaster BBC2 tomorrow, all six episodes will be made available on the pubcaster’s VoD platform iPlayer. The drama is distributed internationally by BBC Studios. “‘Bingeable’ is not the prettiest word but, actually, I think my work was born to be binged,” Poliakoff notes. “People over the years have always told me they’ve sat down to watch something like Perfect Strangers, which is only four hours long. They tend to watch the first part and then they’re there four hours later.

“So I very much hope the story has that effect. It does have quite a powerful story that gathers and evolves and changes. It’s great for people to watch it in a linear way or in an immersive way. Either way, I hope people will really get into it.” - Michael Pickard (Drama Quarterly)