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scripttorture · 3 years

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One of the central characters in a fantasy story I'm writing has torture as part of her backstory. She was captured by an evil race, and one individual in particular put her through a "training" regime designed to turn her into a useful/trustworthy slave. Specifically the goals of the training were:

- destroy her sense of self / agency

- overwrite her ingrained response of healing herself when injured (she has magical healing powers)

- an affectionate or worshipful disposition towards her captors

- immediate obedience to any command

I feel like both physical and psychological torture / mental conditioning are probably appropriate, though I'm leaning away from including sexual abuse. I honestly don't know much about torture at all and the only things that come to mind as producing a result similar to what I'm looking for are the Game of Thrones torture sequence and the use of obdience collars in the Codex Alera book series. The latter is very interesting to me because it is a magical device that inflicts pain in reaction to disobedience but also inflicts pleasure to reward obedience.

I guess I'm just wondering if you have any advice for what kinds of methods would be good to include in a process designed to produce obedience, rather than torture for its own sake or to extract information, as well as if there are any common pitfalls I should try to avoid in writing about such a thing.

The training itself won't be in the book, but I need to be familiar with it for backstory purposes because later in the story this character encounters her torturer again, and is subjected to some further abuse before she finally overcomes her fear and kills him.

Alright well I’m going to be straight up with you: the scenario you’ve presented is a very common torture apologist trope. It’s incredibly unrealistic. And it’s unrealistic in ways that support torture by claiming it can be ‘useful’.

Which probably means that you’re new to the blog and haven’t heard me give this talk before. That’s OK, we all learn sometime and it’s not my intention to shame you for the fact you’re not as obsessed with this stuff as I am or couldn’t afford to shell out for the books.

Torture does not produce obedience. The best evidence we have right now suggests it encourages active resistance.

If you got a lot of your inspiration from Game of Thrones then frankly I’m not surprised you came up with apologia. The torture in that series is incredibly badly handled. And a big part of the point of running this blog is that most people are getting their information on torture from shows like that. Which happens because the research is inaccessible and hasn’t been popularised the way fictional tropes (sometimes fictional tropes literally started by torturers) have been popularised.

The important thing is what you choose to do now.

I’m going to break down the problems here and make some suggestions for what you could do instead.

Firstly: there is no torture or abuse that will guarantee obedience. Pain does not make people meek or compliant or willing to follow commands.

Torture survivors are not broken.

They are not ‘controlled’ by their torturers and the suggestion that they are is used in the real world to bar real survivors from treatment. It is also used to bar them from entering safe countries and to argue that they shouldn’t be allowed visas or passports.

The best statistics we have for any sort of compliance under torture come from analysis of historical French data where torture was used to try and force confessions (something we know torture can sometimes do).

The ‘success’ rate averaged at 10%. Under torture 90% of people will not comply long enough to sign their name.

Secondly: torture does not and can not ‘make’ a victim feel ‘worshipful’ towards their torturer. The suggestion is kind of like asking if someone can tap dance immediately after removing the bones from their legs.

Torturers have no control over a victim’s emotions. They have no control over their symptoms. They have no control over their beliefs.

And there is no such thing as a torture that can change someone’s mind in a way torturers can control.

Once again, this fictional trope is used by politicians and the media to justify marginalising real torture survivors.

I have read hundreds, possibly thousands, of accounts from torture survivors. I’ve read historic and modern accounts. I’ve read accounts from all sort of people from all over the globe. I have never seen a survivor say anything positive about their torturers. I have never seen anything close to toleration.

A lot of survivors are blisteringly angry at their torturers. A lot of them feel overwhelming levels of spite and some report literally putting themselves at risk of death in order to spite their torturers. And yes, a lot of them are afraid too. None of these emotions are mutually exclusive.

Affection is impossible. We are not wired that way.

Thirdly: I understand that ‘evil races’ are a long standing fantasy trope but it would be remiss of me if I didn’t mention the racism inherent in that idea. That some people are ‘born bad’.

I’d strongly suggest you look up the Black, Indian and First Nations people that I know are on this site critiquing these kinds of fantasy tropes. Because they will be able to explain it better then I can.

Fourthly: the term ‘psychological torture’ is a pretty common dog whistle for torture apologia.

Most of the time tortures that people dub ‘psychological’ are things with real, physical effects that lead to lasting injury and death. They just don’t tend to leave obvious external scars. I use Rejali’s term ‘clean torture’ for these techniques. Researchers distinguish them from scarring tortures because they are harder to detect and prove in court.

The majority of survivors today will have experienced clean torture. They will have no obvious physical scars. But they will still be disabled. They’re ‘just’ less likely to see any form of justice for it.

Fifthly: torture is a terrible training method because it decreases a person’s ability to learn.

Torture causes memory problems. It also often causes lasting physical injuries that make performing basic tasks more difficult. And it causes a lot of serious psychological problems which make performing basic tasks more difficult.

A trained person who was never tortured will always out perform someone whose training involved torture.

I probably sound quite angry here.

I write fantasy and I also write about torture a lot. But I can’t imagine that it’s just flavour for a fantasy world or some artefact of the past. Torture is a real, present threat in the country that I grew up in. If I was to return now I could, literally, be tortured and executed.

If you want to include torture in your world, in your story then you are committing to telling someone else’s story. You are representing an incredibly marginalised group of people and you are presenting that representation to a third group, one that has never had contact with real torture survivors.

Are you comfortable with the idea of telling your peers that survivors are still controlled by ‘the enemy’? That they’re passive? That they don’t have the capacity to make their own decisions?

Are you comfortable knowing that the popularity of this message keeps millions of genocide survivors in refugee camps, blocked from citizenship, aid and safety?

I understand feeling attached to a story and a character. And I understand that this information is hard to find. Hell I’m probably going to end up with the only English copy of one of the pivotal textbooks because I’m shelling out to get it translated.

You say you want to write a torture survivor. With respect I don’t think you know what a torture survivor looks like.

I think the most helpful, and kindest, thing I can do here is describe what torture does to people. Because I can’t tell you whether that’s something you want to write. I could try and rebuild this scenario for you (and if you decide you’re interested in that after reading all of this and all the links then I suggest looking through the blog tags for ICURE, torture as training, Black Widow and Overwatch.) But I think you need to decide whether you actually want to write a torture survivor first.

Here’s a post on the most common torture apologia tropes.

Here’s the post on the types of memory problems torture commonly causes. I strongly recommend picking at least one.

Remember that this would never go away. Improvement and recovery in torture survivors means learning to live with symptoms. The symptoms themselves are permanent.

It’s a hundred different alarms set up on their phone to try and make up for the forgetfulness that makes them miss appointments. It’s the little bottle of perfume in their pocket to bring themselves back to reality when they get intrusive memories at work.

Here’s a post on the other common symptoms.

You want something in the range of 3-5 of those, though more are likely if your character is held for years. Each of them should be severe. Every single symptom should have a large, negative, impact on the character’s daily life.

Do you know anyone with chronic pain? It warps their world. Work can become impossible. Basic household tasks like getting dressed, cooking, cleaning the dishes are done through gritted teeth or not at all. Hobbies and ‘fun’ activities dwindle as they struggle to find a way to do them that doesn’t hurt. Interaction with other people, even loved ones, can easily become barbed.

Because the pain makes everything more difficult. It means everything takes more energy, more effort. Which means that things fall by the wayside, whether that’s by a pile of mouldering dishes in the sink or snapping at a child. It means tears and the social judgement that follows them. It means the world narrowing as it gets harder to go out.

Do you see what I mean? Every part of life.

That’s an example for one symptom. You need to work out at least four. Then figure out how they interact. Then figure out what the character can do to make her life better.

With chronic pain that can mean painkillers but it’s always more then that. It’s re-learning how to do things; how to put on trousers without aggravating the bad knee, how to sew with one hand. It means learning to cut down on what they do and it means learning a new sort of flexibility; accepting that there are days when the pain is too much.

It can mean having the same conversation about disability over and over again. With family, with friends, with colleagues. ‘I can’t do that.’ ‘I can do that sometimes but not always.’ ‘That will hurt me.’ ‘I can’t use that chair.’ ‘I can’t get my arms that high above my shoulders.’ ‘I need help with this.’

And that sometimes means learning a kind of patience that is really barely held back rage. Or perhaps I’m projecting a little with this last one.

If you’ve never met a torture survivor, if you’ve never looked at a survivor’s work, then all this is difficult. You’re trying to imagine something from first principals with nothing to fall back on.

So let’s bring some survivors into the discussion here. Some reality.

Who’s listened to Fela? How about Bobi Wine?

Fela Kuti was the father of modern Afro beats music. He was tortured multiple times and during one attack, which destroyed his home, his mother was murdered by the military. When he got out of jail Fela marched her funeral procession past the biggest barracks in Nigeria’s biggest city. He wrote two songs about this attack and he doubled down on his opposition to the military government.

Fela’s music started causing riots.

You can read what I have to say about him here. You can listen to his music on youtube.

Here’s an interview with Bobi Wine, which was conducted shortly after he was tortured in Uganda. He talked about how he was determined to go back and continue fighting. Which he did. He even ran against the president.

I’ve also got a short piece on Searle who was a cartoonist captured by the Japanese during World War 2. His drawings of what happened in To the Kwai and Back are worth seeing. Especially if you want to write atrocities on this scale. They will show you the scale and how to focus on the small, human elements despite that overwhelming scale.

Alleg’s The Question is pretty much a must, it’s one of the most thorough accounts from the Franco-Algerian war.

Monroe’s A Darkling Plain is also a must, it’s a series of interviews with survivors of various different conflicts and atrocities. Some are torture survivors. Some are not. It is essential reading because it shows the variety in survivors as well as giving a sense of their lives beyond the symptoms.

Finally Amnesty International has literally hundreds of interviews and studies available for free online.

The most important decision for any story with regards to torture is whether it should be there at all.

So much of this topic is intimidating and so much of it is difficult to write. Not just in the ‘oh this is horribly effecting’ sense but in the ‘I have twelve things to juggle in this simple scene’ sense.

Ask yourself what torture adds to this character and this story. What does this backstory actually give this character?

Because if the point is to have her vulnerable and then ultimately triumphing violently over her attackers I don’t think you want a torture scenario. You could get the same thing from a bad guy trying to drug her and having the kidnapping fail when she fights him off, clumsy but effective nonetheless.

And she could still come out of something like that traumatised.

Right now I really don’t see this adding anything but torture apologia to your story.

Handling torture well in a story means accepting that it can’t be the same story without it. It means watching the characters and narrative warp under the weight of it. It means lasting effects, for all the characters and for the world itself.

I believe you are capable of writing that if you want to, pet. But this ain’t it.

Edit: I’m having trouble seeing the beginning of the answer here. Can anyone let me know if there are formatting issues again please? The first word in the htmal is ‘Alright’ but what I’m seeing on tumblr starts 8 paragraphs in.

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wr1t3-my-wr0ngs · 4 years

Text

Good Soldiers - chapter 4/4

Remembering Yesterday’s Tomorrow (In the Here and Now): Part 4 COMPLETED

Rex isn't happy with resorting to Plan B, however, he's not surprised that Plan A didn't work out. Disappointed, but he knew that it was a long shot getting a Jedi to intervene.

At least Plan B has the benefit of working before, but it will still be a bloodbath. Not even the best of troops can hope to match an armed and trained force user, and it's not vanity when he says that his men are the best.

He felt like a cheat when he had described the plan earlier.

"We lead him to the nearest Vixus."

"You want us to go near one of those things on purpose?"

Rex couldn't blame the men for their incredulity, not after one of the creatures had nearly eaten almost every person in the room only hours before. He's not exactly thrilled at going near the sarlac-like thing either. But they aren't fast enough to take Krell in a fair fight, not with his four lightsabers and absolute willingness to maim anyone in his path. (Too many limbs, too much speed, too little empathy.)

Every word from his lips felt like a lie, a stolen idea that he parroted as his own. In a way, they were. It had been Tup who had thought of using the Vixus to capture Krell, a stroke of genius that had ended a horrific fight, and it grates that Rex can’t give the trooper the recognition he deserves.

"What the Captains trying to say, " Fives chimed in after watching Rex flounder for a moment. "Is that we need this to be on our terms. He's not going to come quietly if he is a traitor."

Rex nodded, both in thanks and in confirmation.

"If you think you have a shot, take it. The faster the fight is over, the better it will be for everyone, but we need to aim to arrest him if possible."

"And if we can't?"

"Have your recorders on and let the bastard incriminate himself."

In true GAR fashion, the plan had spread like wildfire, and soon enough, every last soldier knew their task.

Rex hardly needs to issue the orders, but he does anyway, following the formalities because he knows that, despite what General Skywalker may sometimes claim, appearances and regulations do count.

The ride up the tower is quiet, and from the corner of his eye, Rex can see a few of the younger troops nervously adjust the grip on their blasters. He has to fight the urge to fidget or even reach up and place a hand over his ring, doing his best to project confidence for both the men and himself.

Krell is waiting for them, facing the window, one set of hands clasped behind his back.

"CT-7567, explain yourself."

Rex readies his blasters, switching off the safeties and aims at the Besalisk.

"Pong Krell, you are under arrest for treason against the Grand Army of the Republic and the Galactic State which it serves. Do you comply peacefully?"

Krell turns, malice written in his face and eyes.

"You know, I'm surprised you were able to figure it out for a clone. Tell me, when did you first suspect?"

Rex ignores the question, refusing to be goaded by the man before him any more than he already has.

"Do you comply?" He puts more force into his words than before, using a tone of voice he would never dare to use on a commanding officer.

Krell looks around, almost lazily, and takes in the various troopers - all with blasters pointed his direction – and smiles in a way that is anything but friendly.

"You think you can stop me, Captain? I have trained for more years then you have been alive, and I will not be stopped me some creature bread in a tube."

Without further preamble, Krell pushes out with the Force, sending every trooper slamming into the walls. Those unfortunate enough to have stayed on their feet during the assault are quickly cut down by the blue-green pair of saber staffs, and Rex watches from his place on the ground as the fallen Jedi jumps out the window.

He scrambles to his feet and rushes out the door, brushing past medics on their way in to try and stabilize those they can. He does not envy them their job, one which he knows will only get harder the longer Krell goes unattended to.

The sound of boots fills the night air as soldiers pour from the base and onto the hard pavement of the airfield. Krell is nowhere in sight, but the evidence of his departure lies scattered on the ground.

Passing the bodies that litter the ground outside the airbase doors, Rex has to swallow past the rising bile as he takes in his brothers: some still breathing, others lifeless. He charges on more determined than before, no time to pause the pursuit and tell the living from the dead before crashing into the underbrush.

The forest is quiet and incredibly dark, the helmets night vision thrown off by the red glow of the bioluminescent trees.

"Does anyone have a visual?"

"Negative Captain, he's —"

The sound of a lightsaber crackles through the comms, the distinctive hiss as it cauterizes and cuts, distorted and warped by the tiny speakers.

"You should have kept quiet, Captain."

The back of Rex's neck tingles as Krells' voice echoes around the landscape, seeming to come from all directions, shifting on a nonexistent wind.

"You've led them to slaughter in a fool's errand. I have seen the future Captain, your life, and that of every clone is expendable. You and your so-called brothers: specialized rats bread in a lab for just one reason. The Jedi will fall, and in its place, a new order will rise and rule. Yet you rebel in a misguided notion of liberty, and now your men will pay the price."

Displayed on his hud, Rex can see the blinking light of the recorder, and even though he hopes it won't come to it, they need a back up should Dogma fail to reach General Kenobi. He keeps Krell talking, shouting into the eerie red nothingness, turning all directions in the hopes of catching sight of the six-limbed man.

"You're a Separatist?"

Krell's laugh is merciless.

"Not hardly, I serve none but myself. But soon, I shall reap the rewards, and my new master will grant me a seat of power in the Empire that shall arise."

A twig snaps from somewhere above their heads, and it's all the warning Rex and his men get before Krell is in their midst, dual staffs slashing without remorse, skillfully dodging every shot aimed his way. Rex is too busy firing his blasters, shouting for his men not to get too close, to stay out of lightsaber range, to notice at first. Eventually, he hears the shout of his name, and the Captain spots one of the men signaling to something on the ground roughly fifty yards away. Despite his dread and increasing panic, he grins to himself, and relays the information into the comms, alerting all units to draw Krell his way.

Navigating the vine limbs of the Vixus proves challenging, especially with the Besalisk hot on his tail. He should have known that things were going too smoothly, should have expected that something would go wrong (and it makes him sick to his stomach to think, however briefly, that the death of so many of his brothers is according to plan). When it happens, it stirs up disappointed resignation and panic in equal measure. Time seems to slow as his foot catches on something, and he watches the rapidly approaching ground in horror, twisting at the last second to avoid landing face first atop his blasters.

His blunder is all it takes for Krell to be on him, lightsabers baring down with unnatural swiftness. With the adrenaline coursing through his veins, Rex freezes, and he can feel the heat of the green blade through his neck gasket as it flies toward its target. He should move, or fire a shot -anything- instead, his thoughts drift to Ahsoka.

Her skin set aglow by the light of a dying fire beneath a star-studded sky; dirt-covered and sweaty, kneeling next to him as they sew seeds on Lothal; graceful in battle, twisting through the air, elegant and lethal and incredibly kind.

All at once, the heat from the blade disappears and time reasserts itself, leaving the Captain momentarily disoriented until he can process the slashing of sabers far overhead as Krell battles against the vine wrapped around his waist. There is no time to berate himself for either his blunder or for freezing up, and he shoots to his feet, blasters drawn and firing.

Around him, his men are doing the same, some aiming at Krell while others aim for the flailing arms of the Vixus as it attempts to grab anything within reach. Undercutting the din of battle, Rex can make out the tell-tail click of blasters being switched from stun to kill, can feel the increase of energy electrify the air like an oncoming storm. A shot fires and between one heartbeat and the next, Krell is falling, having managed to sever a limb and free himself.

He hits the ground hard, and the shooting ceases, soldiers approaching with a careful tread, ready for the Besalisk to spring up. Instead, Krell lets out a ragged cough into the dirt, and Rex cautiously approaches, DeeCees at the ready, and carefully rolls the fallen Jedi onto his back. Blood gurgles from Krell's chest where a blaster bolt made its home in a lung, whether intentionally placed or a mistake is unclear and, frankly, Rex doesn’t care.

Krell has moments left, and the Captain is seized with the need to make eye contact with the force user one last time. Slowly, he kneels and pulls off his bucket, taking a moment to make sure he has the Besalisks attention.

"I've lived your future, " he whispers, quiet enough that the various recorders can't pick it up. "It doesn't last."

It is satisfying to watch Krell's face fall as he searches the force, feels the veracity of Rex's statement— Realizes that for all his gifts and abilities, a clone knows more than him. Satisfying to know that its the last thought he will ever have.

Words form on the force users' lips, but all that comes out is a cough followed by a rattling breath and then - nothing.

Everyone is quiet for a moment, as the enormity of what just happened registers with the gathered troops. Some take off their helmets, most simply stare in shock. It doesn’t last long; the area is still a live war zone, and all too soon, the sound of steadily approaching enemy bombardment draws everyone from their stupor.

Rex pulls on his helmet and orders everyone back to base. It takes some time, now that they aren’t running after the Besalisk - longer than it usually would have, considering they are hauling Krell’s corpse and the numerous wounded with them. Some of the men had wanted to leave him where he lay, claim that it had been lost in the darkness and confusion of the planet. But the Captain hadn’t wanted to risk being ordered to send anyone out on a retrieval mission. Didn’t want to risk losing more men over the fallen Jedi.

No one speaks as they trudge through the dark landscape, and in the pressing silence, one thought relentlessly hammers away inside the Captains mind:

What now?

His instincts still tell him that this isn't a dream, and Rex is still inclined to trust them. But with his mind no longer occupied with the survival of his men and himself, the doubts that had reared their head when he had woken have returned. Is this death? If so, what does it mean for him now that Umbara is over? Or if it's a dream? Or, even more daunting, what if it's not? What if, by some insane occurrence, its exactly what he thinks it is?

He’s no closer to an answer by the time they reach the base, and in his meditative state, he almost misses the arrival of General Kenobi’s transport.

“Captain!”

Rex has to work to keep his face impassive, even as he salutes (its a different kind of pain seeing Kenobi again then it was from seeing his brothers. Less piercing, more bittersweet, aching like a day-old bruise that you can’t help touching, just to make sure it's still there).

“General,”

“I would ask what’s so urgent that you would send a trooper to collect me in the middle of a delicate campaign, but your man was very thorough in his explanation.”

Behind the Jedi, Rex can make out Dogma - a little cut up and bloodied but in one piece - side-eyeing the trooper next to him. Rex’s heart stops for a moment as he takes in the distinctive orange paint of his batchmate. He should have known that where General Kenobi goes, Cody would follow, but somehow it hadn’t clicked. (Cody shifts and Dogma nervously straightens. There’s a story there, and Rex resolves to get it later —if there is a later).

If Obi-Wan notices the Captain's momentary discomfort, he doesn't say anything.

“We had hoped that you might have been able to assist us in dealing with Krell.”

“I see.” The Jedi pauses for a moment, taking the time to really look at Rex. His next words are terribly kind, and the clone's heart swells with affection for the man.

“How are your men, Captain?”

He thinks of Dogma, the betrayal and the pain that he knows the rookie must still be dealing with, thinks of his own distress at watching Krell cut down brother after brother and chooses his words carefully, voice low.

“We lost a fair number in the fight, and I think the men are more shaken they would like to admit.”

Obi-wan looks sad at the confession but nods understandingly.

“And Krell?”

“Dead, Sir.”

Someone comes up beside him; he's not sure who, but judging by the sound of the footfalls, he thinks its either Jesse or Fives. Looking confirms that its the former.

“Report?”

“All men accounted for, Sir. Wounded are being taken care of now.”

Rex nods.

“Get some rest; you've all earned it.”

Kenobi waits for Jesse to leave before he picks up the conversation.

“Who fired the shot?”

Truthfully, he doesn’t know. In the chaos and confusion, the blaster fire had blurred together. But it was his mission, his orders that the men followed, his responsibility. His fault.

“I did, sir.”

Obi-Wan sighs, looking pained, and Rex understands. A General is dead, an act that cannot go unseen to, regardless of if the general was corrupt or not —there must be a hearing.

"I'm sorry, Captain, but I'm afraid I have to place you under arrest."

Rex nods solemnly.

Appearances and Regulations, his mind supplies, and as much as he doesn't like it, he would rather it be him who takes the brunt of a Court Marshal than any of his brothers. Something he had taken into account when he had first come up with his plan.

Kenobi nods to one of his men, who steps forward with a pair of cuffs.

"Those won't be necessary, will they Captain?"

Mild amusement flickers through Rex at Obi-Wans tone, and he flashes a brief smirk at the General, who, despite the regret etched on his face, has an answering twinkle of humor in his eyes.

"No, Sir."

The trooper shrugs and puts away the restraining devices then reaches out and relieves the Captain of his DeeCees's, before leading him by the elbow toward the tower and the brig.

Behind him, the General calls out.

“We’ll get you out of this, Rex.”

He doesn't need to ask who “we” is.

----

Despite the exhaustion that has settled in his bones, Rex spends his first hour in the brig with his head in his hands, sedately running them over his buzzed hair. Various people stop by, sometimes offering updates, sometimes to provide words of support. They don’t stay for long, recognizing the fatigue, and leave the clone to himself. As a result, he doesn’t look up right away when he hears a set of boots approaching. What does make him look is the sound of his cell door opening, and he is just in time to see Fives, dressed in his blacks and some of his armor, walk-in before shutting the door.

"Hey, " the goateed man greets, walking over to the bunk and sliding down the cell wall, sitting on the ground.

"Hey." Rex returns.

They sit quietly for a few moments, both worn and weary from the horrors of the past 24 hours, the sound of their breathing echoing slightly off the walls.

"I didn't think anyone was allowed inside the cell."

Fives huffs in what could be amusement.

"I don't think anyone is taking your confinement too seriously after what Krell put us through. Pretty sure they would let you out for a walk as long as you have supervision."

They both laugh without much heart before lapsing back into a silence that seems to be building a soft sort of anticipation — a tension, not unpleasant or overwhelming, but constant and steady. The seconds stretch into minutes, all the while the anticipation builds, culminating in a sigh from Fives.

"I believe you."

Rex, arms resting on his legs, looks at his little brother.

"I can't explain it, but —” the ARC trooper shakes his head as if doing so will set his thoughts straight — “you know things. Things you shouldn't have been able to know. And I can't put my finger on it, but you're different, smile more but at the same time are so...sad."

He looks at Rex.

"And I don't know what it is or what it could be, but we've seen some crazy shit together. Dying and coming back to the past is as good an explanation as any. So, I believe you."

Rex doesn't know what to say, doesn't think they are words in basic or mando'a that can encapsulate the affection and love he feels for his brother. He settles for a smile, and it's probably wan and maybe a little teary, but he hopes it can say what he can't.

"Thank you." He tries, and the ARC Trooper nods, smiling back.

Fives eyes catch on something on Rex's person, and the blonde watches as his brother's face goes from understanding to curious.

"What have you got there?"

Rex looks down and sees his wedding band, still attached to the chain, in his hand. It's an old habit, fiddling with it when thinking or just bored, and he hadn't realized he'd started playing with it until his brother had pointed it out.

"Is that a ring?" Fives sounds positively gleeful, and he pulls himself up onto the cot, seating himself practically in Rex's lap to get a better look.

"It is!"

"Get off–!"

It takes some effort, removing Fives from his lap, and it almost dumps both of them on the floor in the process. In the end, they both stay on the bed, Fives leaning far too close into Rex's personal space.

"I didn't think you were the jewelry type."

"For the right person, I am."

He's said too much if the unholy grin spreading across his brother's face is any indicator. He would be more upset at his slipup, if it weren't for the matching grin, he can feel on his own face and the lightness in his heart he hadn't expected to feel for weeks.

"What kind of person could be crazy enough to catch your eye?"

"Watch your tongue, that's my wife you're talking about."

Fives' face is priceless as he processes Rex's words and their implications, and Rex can't help himself. The laughter that bubbles out of him feels both freeing and wrong; Wrong after all that happened, when so many of his brothers lay dead, after so much loss; Freeing, to know that he still can, that despite everything he did, Krell couldn't take this from him.

And he knows his vod'ika has a million questions, can see them flitting about behind golden eyes. He prepares himself for the onslaught when Fives opens his mouth, only for the question to be transformed into a jaw cracking yawn.

Rex shakes his head, amused and fond.

"Get some sleep, Fives."

His brother looks like he's about to protest when a second yawn overcomes him and grudgingly concedes the point.

Fives stands, one finger pointed at Rex.

"I want answers.”

"Later, " Rex promises, all but shoving his brother out of the cell. "Sleep well, Vod."

The door closes with an electric hum, and Rex makes his way back to the bunk.

Exhaustion claims him the second his head touches the pillow, and all too soon, he finds himself falling asleep.

He keeps falling...

Falling...

Falling through blood and death, the noise of battle raging around him. It is a kaleidoscope of sound and color, screams, and blasters blurring together until it's impossible to tell the sound of his voice apart from the bark of his DeeCees. Through it all, he spirals from battle to battle: the heat and sand of Geonosis, his armor still unpainted and new; to the frozen moon of Pantora, snow gear frosted over and growing heavier with each passing minute; the choking taste of the Blue Shadow Virus, each breath harder to take than the last, until all at once, his feet hit the deck, sending shock racing up his calves and spine.

The ambient noise of the star destroyer is defining after the chaos of the battles, the hum of hyperspace hardy even background to the ringing in his ears.

He can hear himself speaking, but it's without his permission, his words and actions separate from his thoughts.

“Yes, Lord Sidious.”

No, his mind screams, and within the confines of his own body, he rails against the inhibitor chip. No, he screams as the doors open, and he pulls out his blasters, leveling them at the young and confused face of Ahsoka Tano. He fights harder, thrashing against the walls of his skin, will be damned if he lets the order take him without a fight. Find him. Find him. Fives. Find him! FIVES!

Its a battle unlike any other, waged against himself, the most important in his life. But he cannot hold out, cannot win, and at the end of things, he fails. Mind exhausted and worn, he loses what little control he had scraped together, pulls the trigger. The programming takes over, and Rex can do nothing but watch as he and his men fire volley after volley at the former Jedi. Locked in the deepest corner of his own mind, he can only pray that they don’t find her as they comb the ship. Silently weeps when she steps out, distracted from the droids behind him long enough for the electricity to coarse through his body - vision going white.

The light spreads, at first cold and sharp, but soon enough gives way to the soft yellow glow of the morning sun filtered through closed eyes.

He's roused by the sensation of fingers lazily dancing over an exposed hip.

"Morning."

Her voice is light and playful, and he takes a moment to grin into the pillow before opening his eyes and looking behind him.

In the light of dawn, with the sheets pooled around her waist and sleep shirt slipping down one shoulder, she looks like an angel: her blue eyes sparkle, and the sound of birds caries through the open window.

"Morning."

He rolls over to face her, and she combs her fingers through his beard, eliciting a smile at the sensation.

“We slept in, didn’t we?” his voice rumbles in his chest. Beside him, Ahsoka hums, lips pulled up in a grin. There is a glint of mischief in her eyes that holds the promise of something more, coy and inviting, and no small amount exciting.

"Just a little."

“Then we better get up,”

He can’t hide the smile in his voice, but two can play at this game. Rex sits up and makes a show of stretching - careful not to look at her or else lose his resolve- and he can feel her eyes on him, searing into his skin. In his mind's eye, he pictures her smile growing, teeth bared, and cheeks dimpled. A quick peak confirms his suspicion.

“Long day ahead of us, can’t start if we’re still in bed.”

She slides up next to him, turning his face toward hers with a delicate finger, one of her white eyebrow marks raised in challenge.

"Is that so?"

Her grin is infectious as she settles herself across his hips in a fluid motion, her head tails swaying with the movement. He brings both hands up to her waist both to steady her and to hold her close, thumbs running gentle circles over ochre skin.

"Prove it, Captain."

She leans in and kisses him, slow and deep, and he lets his hands wander underneath her shirt. Over soft skin and up, following the dips and curves of her body, feeling the strength hidden there. Her hands wander in turn, roaming over his chest and arms, slipping under the waistband of his sleep pants. He can feel her tremble oh so slightly under his touch, muscles coiled with anticipation. It spurs his hands higher, fingertips ghosting over sensitive flesh, cupping a -

A loud bang jolts him into consciousness, and Rex instinctively reaches for the warm body that should be there with him. Instead, his hands find nothing but air, and it takes him a moment to process the too harsh lighting and hard metal bunk, the hum of the energy shield that separates his cell from the rest of the room.

For the second time in as many days, Rex's mind must grapple with waking up after expecting to never do so again. But for the first time, he has more than an instinct or a gut feeling to go off of. He's in the same room, the same place as he remembers last being, has two sets of memories for how yesterday went down, and it pushes the few doubts he had left about his reality from his mind.

The future as he remembers it plays out in his mind's eye, and the question from earlier pushes to the forefront:

What now?

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ephiel · 2 years

Text

February 25th, 2022

I never knew that breaking apart could be so healing.

Clearing out the old clutter and muck, minimizing and organizing, reviewing information to make beautiful decisions.

processing, reconnecting, repairing, mending, rebuilding a friendship that we both want and desperately need.

It's not like our love isn't there, fresh and deliciously fun as ever when it's nurtured.

Maybe a life apart means we can nurture ourselves and each other better, with gifts and careful attention rather than dredging obligations and desperate pleas for recognition.

He was so sweet and giving, last night.

I didn't expect it at all, even though I know that's his nature.

I've always been one to give, to pour out of myself until I'm empty. Filling up just a bit before I offer to give of myself again. Just like a pitcher of water, filtering in at a trickle, but always pouring out more before ever given the chance to become full.

I know now that I can't expect to be received correctly,

but I can give only when I choose, instead of choosing only to give.

I can receive, and work on receiving correctly, gratefully, and attentively.

I've always resisted.

People give me gifts, often. I don't know if people give gifts to others like they do to me. They think of me, and they smile, and they say "Oh, you just had to have it!" so they pick it up and put it away until they have the chance to bestow it upon me.

I'm grateful and joyous and appreciative, or at least I try to seem so.

I don't give anything back but uncomfortable gratitude, yet I'm often given more and more.

The truth is, receiving gifts has always made me uncomfortable.

In the past, when I've received gifts, I've felt beholden to give one back. Another responsibility, another cup to pour out from my pitcher of ever-diminishing quantity. I distance myself out of fear of not living up to their expectations of exchanging gifts.

But when I give a gift, it's not as manipulative as that. I've only wanted to treat the giftee to something. To soothe them a little bit.

I only want them to know that I think of them sometimes, and I care about their tastes. I'm very carefully cherishing the impression I have of them in my heart, and I want to express it in a way that's visual or tactile.

So I've given as much as I could because that's what I understood.

And I've never really known how to receive, comfortably or graciously or at all.

I've been taken from, too.

There have always been takers in my life. Gracious reception isn't something I have experience with, because it's different than taking something.

My body has been taken from me, in so many different ways. My emotions have been taken and sharpened towards resiliency and positivity. Never give up, never say die, never stop trying. It's warped me, a little. Physically and mentally I'm exhausted. My body is weak now, and I flare up easily, even from emotional or mental tasks. Even so, if it's between giving and taking, I'd rather give of myself than be taken of.

When offering myself, I've learned to present myself gruffly.

" Go ahead, take as much as you want! It won't matter, I'll always find a way to have enough in the end." is easier than saying "Please don't take this, it's all I have." Being vulnerable and still haveing to watch the little that I do have being stolen away is something that's too painful for me to cope with.

It makes me feel horrible to realize now, in retrospect, that I didn't put action behind the trust I have in my partners' sweet way of being.

He would sometimes say that I made him feel like a bad person, and I never understood that. Now I can see how I must've resisted his warmth, rejected his gifts in order to assert myself over his gentle kindness. I wasn't vulnerable, or receptive. I was uncomfortable receiving anything from him. I was uncomfortable receiving anything at all.

But last night was comfortable and beautiful. It was gentle and kind.

It's a subtle shift to focus on what little gifts I can receive instead of what I can give. Maybe it's because our time is fleeting now that I can prioritize what matters, instead of what's convenient.

I didn't know love could be so undefined and free. I'm happy to be parting from him. I'm happy to be receiving his gifts. I'm happy to see myself growing and changing again.

It's like sitting in the warm sunlight in early spring, studying the ground to see what will soon emerge. Surrendering to time, space, and nature.

It's easier than I could've hoped.

#journal #writing #writeblr #breaking up #personal #surrender #reception #self reflection #tldr: the breakup sex is very good lol #ephial writes

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utopianparadoxist · 6 years

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Hey, I found your youtube videos on the classpects a couple of days ago and I just wanted to say that they're very, very good. I was also wondering if you had any thoughts on Trizza's class? Her being blood-bound certainly got a chuckle out of me, but that aside I'm having a hard time trying to fit that into my theorizing, even compared to some of the other characters with aspects that were unexpected to me, like Charun or Chahut.

I may as well throw in Dammek and the rest of these new trolls, too, since it’ll set a precedent for how I want to evaluate this class stuff as the games tell us more.I think Roleplay’s biggest advantage is that it’s pretty falsifiable, though you gotta be careful to get access to all the potential information possible before making a decision–I’m often caught off guard by the way this stuff lines up.

Since I’m not interested in getting the fandom SUPER EXCITED for classpects or lore in general in ways that lead to disappointment with the way the story develops later on, it’s REALLY important to me that A) roleplay as an idea gets held up to scrutiny and B) that I don’t try to overreach what I can derive from the information we’re given.

So talking about my own mental process for evaluating Class, I think, can only be helpful for both. I’m gonna do this in more depth in video form soon (so much to say about Xefros), but since you’re asking here’s a rough roundup. This got long so its under the cut.

I only have guesses as to a few of the trolls’ classes, because we just have too little information on them. I was able to guess Xefros would be linked to the Serve classes, probably Knight, only because he happened to be noted as being interested in Butlers.Even then, I wasn’t guessing his actual class. It was implied pre-release that Xefros was a butler unwillingly, so I figured he was most likely being forced into Knight roleplay. Knights being the butlers associated with serving to benefit others–in this case, the Empire, though a lot of his service ended up being directed at Dammek as well.

That was all I figured. It didn’t account for his Page nature at all, and since I wasn’t thinking about Aspects as something that could be roleplayed, I took his Time thinking at face value, though there’s plenty of references to his relationship with Rage in Act 1.

Now that said, I don’t have a clue about Trizza’s true class, honestly. There’s so many ways her character could shake out that there’s no way to tell before getting to know her more. I’m going to guess that she might well be “roleplaying” the Life aspect, if there’s any merit to the Caste Influece/Aspect roleplay idea.

If that’s the case, she’s probably being at least strongly encouraged to roleplay either a Destroyer class–if the narrative emphasis is on her adopting Alternia’s hemospectrum superiority to heart and considering herself biologically superior by dint of aristocracy.

Or an Heiress–if she’s like Jane and has been raised to constantly perceive herself as related to her eventual inheritance of the empire.

I like this idea, because it would relate the two Crocker heiresses who are actually forced to live under the Condesce’s thumb. And because if A. Claire is Jane, then the contrast between Anna as Heiress and Trizza as Heiress would be narratively interesting.

I also think it’s the slightly likelier option, because Xefros is already referring to her as the Heiress, meaning she hasn’t abdicated/abandoned the throne like Meenah and Feferi did.

It seems to me Dammek is likely a Thief. He’s got the outlaw imagery going on, and Xefros mentions Dammek “taking his stuff.” Dammek is also forced into Butlering, just like Xefros, and being a Thief means that being put into a position of Serving for the benefit of Others is essentially counter to his very nature.Kind of the inverse of Tavros being forced to roleplay a Rogue of Breath, in fact. It’s not a good place to be, if Tavros is any indication, so it’s no wonder Dammek is pretty fucked up.

It’s worth noting that while Dammek is demonstrably a Blood player–he’s able to steal from Xefros because of Xefros’ feelings for him, essentially, making it theft through Blood–the most notable object Dammek steals is the Hoverpad, which is a Breath item. It links to motion, flight and freedom, but also it’s laser is literally Breath blue.

So like Xefros, Dammek seems to be simultaneously manifesting his true Aspect, while also manifesting his Blood Castes’ Aspect, usually while linked with unhealthy or toxic behavior. The microphone can be interpreted as Dammek’s warped attempt to Serve Xefros Breath, for example, and theres grounds to read him as roleplaying a Knight at the time being, much like Xefros.

I treat these new trolls the same way. If there’s a suggestion of one of the archetypes in their design or text bites, I think there’s a chance they’ll be linked to the corresponding classes, either because it’s their true class or, maybe more likely, because they’re roleplaying.

I’m currently thinking there’s a chance almost every blood caste is encouraged to roleplay a particular role, so I’m keeping an eye out for that, but I’m not convinced. The strongest point of evidence would be the Olivebloods so far all qualifying as Outlaws, so I assume they’re all roughly roleplaying Thieves or Rogues.

Maxlol (god I love him) is marked by being an internet crusader (in other words, a kind of Warrior) and by a desire to serve the empire. So I think there’s a solid chance he’s a Knight, and if there’s a cultural force encouraging him to act like a Mage or Prophet, then Knight is probably even his true class?

Amisia references “making” her own Paint, which means she might have some relationship to Sylphs or Maids.

Not a class thing, but it’s worth noting that Tyzias is a Blood player and is associated with lack of sleep and, uh, maybe drinking literal blood? So I do think there’s grounds to be looking at classpect details in these little blurbs, where they appear.

That’s about all I’ve personally got right now. I’m curious about the troll call trolls, but there’s not a ton to say about each of them individually other than some idle speculation. I’ll be interested to see to what extent, if any, I’m right about any of them.

I’m not sure any of these will be the case because I’m still not 100% how much I’m full of shit about the way Roleplay seems to work, but that we’re being presented with so many trolls presents a very interesting case study.

#small-leviathan #Hiveswap #Xefros Tritoh #Dammek #Trizza Tethis #Troll Call Trolls #analysis asks #my mspa analysis

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maisieiona1818 · 4 years

Text

“Feel free to ask for more information about any of these steps. I'm going to give a pretty broad overview to start with. I do the entire process myself so it is a bit different than most people that make plugs. This is the process for making a large resin block that can make multiple pairs of plugs. I use a slightly different process for making a single pair but the basics are the same.

To bring it to the very beginning first I have to get the wood. I try to avoid using any exotic woods because of unethical harvesting practices. There are so many amazing species that are readily available that I don't see a reason to cut down the rain forest. Most of the wood that I use I get from other woodworkers. Most of it comes from people that make or install guitars, cabinets, signs or flooring. The wood used for these industries is typically very high quality hardwoods that are ready to use.

Most of this wood is shaped like normal lumber that people are used to seeing. For my artwork I need harsh and random edges. The next step I chop the pieces up with a hatchet, ax and chisels. I break them apart along the natural wood grain to make them the right size and shape for my work. I rarely make enough just for one or two resin blocks. Typically for this step I will spend a few hours chopping wood and sort it out for later use by wood species and color.

To make the molds I use old cardboard boxes. I found it's the most economical way and recycles the boxes that I get deliveries in. Since I order the same things from the same places I get the same boxes so I never run out. If you're curious on the dimensions they are about 75mm wide, 75mm high and 150mm long. (3 inches by 3 inches by 6 inches) After they have been cut to size I cover one side in Tuck Tape. It is a construction tape that happens to by very smooth and resin has a hard time sticking to it. After covering one side I spray the tape with a silicone spray to help the resin release from the mold. I've found you can do without this and it will work just fine but it's much easier to get the mold off with it and it barely takes any. I've been using the same can for at least 200 blocks and it still has a ton left. I then fold the cardboard and tape the edges so that it forms a box with an open top. In the bottom of the mold I cut a few small holes in the tape but not all the way through the mold. Using CA glue (it's basically a high end super glue) I attach the wood to these little holes. The tape and silicone spray is so slick that not even the strongest super glue I have will stick to it. This part of the process is often an eye opener for people. A common complaint is when you use wood it floats in the resin and moves so it's hard to make a lot of stuff with it. I then fill the mold one layer at a time arranging the wood in a specific pattern depending on how I want the block to look in the end when I cut it. From this point temperature becomes very important. The room I pour in is always about 24 degrees Celsius. Too cold and the resin will not set up, too hot and it will set up too fast. Wood is very porous and having a lot of surface area can lead to bubbles in the resin. The first resin I pour is mostly to seal the wood so that the bubbles will not show up when I pour the rest of the resin. It's difficult to explain all the details for this part. During the pouring process I use a vacuum oven a few times to help pull bubbles out of the resin. Most resin artists use a vacuum chamber to do this, however I use the over portion in order to control the speed that the curing happens. The details on temperature and duration for this part I keep secret though. It makes the resin cure faster so that more of it stays on the wood and doesn't flow down to the bottom of the mold. Once the resin has been poured it goes into a pressure pot. It has to be timed right if you are doing more than one layer. If you leave the mold in the pressure pot too long the resin will harden too much and the next layer will not stick properly. If it's done properly the first layer is still curing and the two layers will chemically bond together. The resin blocks will then sit for at least a week to fully cure and harden. This is much longer than the instructions and it is completely possible to speed this up but I'm not in a rush making blocks so I prefer to extra time. I have one of my saws set up so that I can cut the blocks into even slices at a few common widths. I cut them up and sand both sides of the slices until they are smooth and clear enough that I can see all the resin shapes and colors. I have a set of plugs to reference for size and I will trace circles on the blocks where I want to cut the plugs. I try to find the best spots to cut based on how the plugs will look instead of what will get the most plugs from that slice. The circles are then all cut out. The sides of the circles are sanded further so that they are finished and I can see exactly what the plugs will look like.

Next the circles go on the lathe. I squeeze the piece in between two pieces of wood that I shaped for this process. The only thing that holds the plug in place is pressure from both sides. Too little pressure and the plug will fly off the lathe. The lathe is extremely strong though so if you apply too much pressure it will dent the plugs or possibly break them. On the lathe I cut the wearable portion to size and shape the flares. I prefer to cut as much as possible instead of sanding so that I can avoid damage to the wood. A clean cut will last much longer and hold up to moisture better than wood that has been sanded extensively. I do some sanding at this point but only with 1000 and 2000 grit sandpaper so little damage is done to the wood.

For the finish I use a 3 part oil and wax system. Each one is put applied and removed by hand. I'm not a fan of using a mechanical buffer because they are heat up the resin and possibly warp it. I've also had some of them fly out of my hands and hit a wall or me so I just do it by hand now. The process for the finish is just to rub on and wipe off so there isn't really anything special here so here's a little information about finishes. The finishes that I use are made to penetrate into the wood and stabilize it further. This helps to keep the flares from chipping and from getting as many dents and scratches. I've seen a lot of plug makers advertise that they use only simple kinds of oil such as olive or jojoba to treat the wood. There are many oils that you can use to treat wood but they mostly just are keeping it water resistant and need to be reapplied often to be effective. A lot also buff Carnuba wax into their plugs to give them a really shiny and smooth appearance. Unfortunately this type of wax is only rated to last 4 to 6 weeks. The products used most in the industry look great at first but then leave the wood more vulnerable to chipping and issues later. The finishes I use are all by Odie's and I first found them looking up what they use on those big resin river tables. I was making serving boards in the same style and wanted to use the same finish they used on the high end tables. I found this was one of the most commonly used because of how well it works and also how safe it is. It is rated to be used on baby toys, wooden spoons and anything else you eat off of. It is also rated strong enough to be used outside on decking. It doesn't need to be reapplied and it smells great. Oh I love the smell of it. “- solomon Email from an artist

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nomorelonelydays · 7 years

Note

I've been summoned and now I'm blushing BUT to answer your questions, I think it's one of those things where Nicky gets to the Ministry and people won't. stop. looking. at. him. And not in an "Alex went and told everyone he knows that he proposed" kind of way. In a way that makes makes Nicky want to grind his teeth and dig his nails into his palms. He's steeled himself for anything by the time he gets to his office, glares until somebody hands him a pile of parchment, and seethes because (1/11)

the plan is so ingeniously fucking Alex. (I'm thinking way too hard about incorporating this with canon, but if anyone's curious, Ovi claimed another Death Eater -- one who had actually gotten killed by the Order -- approached him wanting out, and while it was a clear sign of disloyalty to Voldemort, he'd spare their family's reputation by ending his life with the killing curse, using polyjuice potion to ensure his actions secured good favor for the family, and then have the Death Eater (2/11)

eventually die an “honorable”, unknown death.) Fuck Ovi for being the potions savant that he is, because if anybody would just have twenty three mason jars of polyjuice potion to frame themselves with at a moment's notice, or an undetectable extended-release antidote to veritaserum that could last an entire trial? It'd be Ovi. Additionally, a big motivating factor in Ovi pulling all of this shit IS the fact that Nicky's an Auror -- specifically that he and a few others are doing the (3/11)

"internal affairs" sort-of work and trying to pinpoint who was passing information to Voldemort from the Ministry and pissing a whole lot of people off in the process, and Ovi calling Nicky dumb and stubborn for not letting any of it go is a bit "pot and kettle" but seriously, he wants the two of them to be safe someday. (Ovi... has a talk with Igor Karkaroff once they're both on Azkaban and he learns that Igor knows who the spy is... and persuades Igor to share that information with the (4/11)

Wizengamot.. Augustus Rookwood is arrested soon after). Also, when Alex first gets out, he's just skin and bones, so Nicky basically turns into my grandmother when it comes to Ovi's diet; the portion sizes for everything are slightly larger than what you should realistically try for, every other hour or so, he'll tap Ovi's hand and ask, "Hungry for anything?" and it's like he always has snacks present and is working on subconsciously convincing Ovi to eat them at all times. It's adorable. (5/11)

Also heartbreaking, within context, but adorable. And then to the Sid and Geno half of things, things would be harder for them immediately after Geno's able to break his cover, because there's always whispers that he was never a spy for the good guys or that even if he was, once a Malkin, always a Malkin, and he'll do something awful to prove it soon enough, though it's gonna be a damn shame when it's that beautiful Sidney Crosby at the receiving end of it. He takes veritaserum when he (6/11)

goes on trial, his memories of his time undercover as a Death Eater are also viewed through a Pensieve, are admissible in court, and legally justify all of his actions, but the rumors persist. Worst of all, though, is the fact that Geno feels the lingering traces of power from certain spells even after he wakes up spasming and in a cold sweat while Sidney anxiously purses his lips and moves his hand in small circles over G's chest. He remembers everything, and starts worrying that he (7/11)

wants to feel it again. So, he and Sid have a talk, and eventually, Sid just stops him to hold onto both of his hands, and (I don't know about y'all but Veela Sid is my fave so I just like to shove it places srynotsry) focuses for a moment before all of his features shift -- get more radiant somehow, more stunning and terrifying -- then tells Geno, "Evgeni Vladimirovich Malkin, if you can look me in the eyes and tell me that one day, you'll make the conscious decision to harm me, or our (8/11)

children, I'll let you leave me right now, and I'll never ask you to come back." And Geno tries maybe four times because if there's even a chance his family won't be safe... but he can't say it. He admits that he can't and Sid's face goes back to normal and he cradles Geno's jaw in his hands and says, "Of course, you can't." After a lot of researching, they find a few wizards in the Himalayas who have developed a sort of remediation spell for cleansing dark magic from the actual body, (9/11)

rather than just from artifacts, and it's successful in that, while G still gets nightmares or has flashbacks or starts feeling sick, there aren't the little twinges of something sinister lurking under the surface anymore, and they fade with time. But, the spell does leave a huge pattern of warped, pale scar-tissue all up the inside and some of the outside of his left arm and shoulder. He’s self-conscious about it, at first, but then he sees how proud Sidney is of him, the declaration (10/11)

of his dedication to their family, and he starts leaving his sleeves pushed up a little more often. AND LAST THING I SWEAR SHIT FUCK OKAY Sidney works in the Dept. of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes working on incorporating health standards (including mental) as something the Ministry should be held accountable for and Geno teaches either Herbology or Care of Magical Creatures because after so much death during the war, nothing makes him happier than being surrounded by life (11/11).

I’M DEAD!!!!! WHAT A JOURNEY

#sidgeno #nicky/ovi #hogwarts au #ask bee

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