#i know the results will be skewed toward whatever most respondents know how to do

[milkweedman]

Edit: the last option should say "I find most or all of them to be similarly easy"

Also, if you're tied between a couple, pick your favorite

Personally spinning is always the easiest to do when my brain isnt working.

[downwiththeficness]

A Need So Great Chapter 11

Summary: Eva Moore is assigned to work the last year of her contract with the DEA in Colombia. She just wants to get to the end of her tenure, but she keeps getting drawn further into a string of murders in the city. It isn’t long before she’s forced to face the ghosts of her past.

Word Count: ~7,100

Warnings: Smut

A/N: For the purposes of this story, Carrillo isn’t married--or, if you like, divorced. A/B/O dynamics are prevalent, and they come with their own warning. The overall rating for this story is Explicit, although not every chapter will contain adult themes.

Taglist: @dirtynerdy98 @1zashreena1 @heresathreebee @deliciouslyclassytrash @maybege @kid-from-new-zealand @clydesducktape @revolution-starter @autumnleaves1991-blog @jedi-mando @buckysalefty

Chapters: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 8.5, 9, 10, 10.5, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21

Someone was banging on her door. Eva groaned and rolled out of the bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants and trudging through her apartment to answer it. Standing on the other side was a livid Connie, a storm in her expression.

“Where the hell have you been?”

Eva stumbled back, pushed by Connie into the living room. She winced against the sunlight, thankful that Connie closed the door behind her.

“Steve says you haven’t been at work all week and you’re not answering your phone.”

That was true.  Eva had turned off the ringer on the phone when the incessant noise kept pulling her out of much needed rest during the periods when her heat wasn’t demanding she see to it.

“I’m sorry. I’ve been… indisposed.”

That was how her mother had put it, whenever she’d have to send Eva to a neighbor for a few days as her mother’s heat began. Indisposed. Like a fucking maiden in a story. A pretty word to gloss over the animal ferocity that was a heat. The truth of it was that heats were intense, frantic, primal things that served to bind together partners. The sex was a bi-product of an onslaught of bonding hormones that were assuaged by physical touch. There was nothing gentle in its nature.

Connie looked at her like she was insane, “That’s your explanation.  Jesus, Eva, I thought something had—.”

She cut off, inhaling. Eva had been working to clear out the air in the apartment as discreetly as possible, but she knew the scent remained. Connie had gone very still, and very red.

“I—I’m sorr—,” she cleared her throat, “I’m sorry, I didn’t know.”

Eva shook her head, “I didn’t tell anyone.”

Connie’s brows drew together, “You didn’t tell anyone? Not even…” She left the sentence hanging, turning her hand over, her meaning quite clear.

“No,” Eva confirmed, “He had a mission he was doing, and I didn’t want to pull him away. Besides, its early to...do that...together.”

They’d been seeing each other maybe twelve weeks or so. And, if Eva’s hunch was correct, their innate compatibility would have resulted in a deeper intimacy than would normally happen at this stage in a relationship—at least, that’s how she understood adult relationships.  Her perception had, no doubt, been skewed a little.

Scoffing, Connie folded her arms over her chest, “You should have told him. Steve said he got back this morning. Maybe give him a call or something, let him know what happened.”

Eva rolled her eyes, “What good is it going to do now? Its over. I won’t have another for a couple of months, maybe more.”

She didn’t even fucking know her own cycle, her hormones too screwed up from her experimentation with off-use suppressants. Eva could have another heat in a month, six months, or not for a year. She only hoped that she was a little more prepared for it the next time around. The knowledge that he was back rattled around in her head. Her body buzzed at the thought that she would get to see him very soon.

Connie’s expression turned soft, “You shouldn’t have to go through it alone, Eva.”

As an alpha, herself, Connie was well aware of what Eva had just gone through.  Though Steve was a beta, he’d respond immediately to the hormonal fluctuations, ride it out with her. If she were unmarried, she may or may not be able to find a willing partner. As a woman, it could be dangerous to take on an unfamiliar partner during a heat.  If she were a man entering rut, she could potentially go to any one of the many sex workers in the area and this would be generally acceptable, if unfortunate.  A woman had no such option.

“I did okay,” Eva said, lying through her teeth.  She absolutely had not done well, and she felt like shit.

Connie eyed her, “No, you didn’t. You look like you’ve been hit by a train.”

Eva laughed, couldn’t help it, “I’m good.  I’ll be better in a few days.”

Mouth thin, Connie dropped her arms, “Listen, I think you need to talk with Horacio about this. But, do whatever you want.” She headed for the door, turning a bit, “You need anything?”

Eva shook her head, “I’m good.”

Connie sighed, pointed a finger at her, and said, “Hydrate. Lots of water.” Then, “I’m glad you’re alright.”

And then she was heading back out into the sunlight. Eva stared at the door for a little while, feeling weak.  She sat on the couch, pulling her knees up to her chest, and eyed the phone.  A phone call.  She could make a phone call, hear his voice, feel the comfort of knowing he was safe. Then, she could go back to laying around in bed until he could stop by.

Chewing on her thumbnail, she stood and stepped over to the phone, picking it up from the cradle and dialing.  It rang. It rang, and rang, and rang.  She hung up. Glancing at the clock, she figured she’d give it an hour or so before she called again.

To distract herself, she showered. The water was gorgeously hot, sweeping away the tiredness that had settled into her muscles. She dried off and wrapped a towel around herself so that she could look for something to wear. Her brain helpfully supplied that Horacio might want to see her, so she should make a little bit of an effort.  She pulled on a sundress, reaching behind her to pull up the zipper. She’d been careful with her underwear selection, choosing a soft lace hipster brief and a bra with semi sheer cups. Though they were both in a similar champagne tone, they weren’t a matching set. Eva didn’t actually own any matching sets. She didn’t have the energy to wonder what that said about her.

Barefoot, she padded back to the living room, running her fingers through her hair. She opened the fridge and looked at the contents, her stomach turning.  She wouldn’t be able to eat anything more than bland foods for a while, her body still flushing out the hormones. Closing the fridge, she returned to the living and sat on the couch, sulking.

It was late afternoon, the sun starting to head down towards the horizon. He’d gotten back that morning, but she hadn’t heard from him. Eva chided herself. He was a busy man, in charge of an entire unit of police. He was probably tying up the loose ends of his mission. Doing paperwork. Normal job duties. Still, she couldn’t help that little bit of anxiety that bubbled up beneath her logical explanations.

“Its the hormones, Eva,” she said to herself. “Its just the hormones.”

She lasted the hour and allowed herself another phone call. No answer. Eva huffed, thinking. She was going to drive herself crazy if she kept doing this. Grabbing her purse, she dug through it for her keys. What she found was the lighter he’d given her in the bar.  She’d dropped it into her purse for safe keeping all those weeks ago and it had fallen down into the depths of the bag.

Eva turned it over in her hands. It was a plain silver, heavily weighted, no inscription or decoration. She flipped open the top and spun the flint, the flame igniting easily. Closing the lighter, Eva slipped it into the pocket of her dress, patting it.

Keys in hand, she drove down to the restaurant that he’d taken her to when they’d had lunch. In stilted Spanish, she ordered a few of their recommended items, smiling wide when they handed her a bag stuffed full.  

When she was back in her car, Eva sat at the wheel and wondered if what she was doing was appropriate. The boundaries of their relationship weren’t clearly defined. But, he’d always seemed happy to see her when she dropped by, always seemed to welcome her presence.  This was no different.  Eva nodded to no one in particular.  She would drop in, deliver the food, let him know that she was glad he was back, and leave.  Short. Sweet. Simple.

Decision made, Eva headed for the station. The walk up to his office was quiet, most of the officers having left for the evening. Her sandals whispered over the tile floor as she navigated around the bullpen of desks towards his office door.  When she leaned in, he wasn’t there. Eva smothered the disappointment.

Sighing, she swung the bag from her arm to the opposite hand, moving to set it on his desk. Nimble fingers plucked a pen from where it lay atop a pile of folders.

“Sticky note...sticky note,” she murmured, looking for something to write on.

The scuff of a shoe behind her startled Eva from her search, she spun around, brows lifted in surprised.

“Hey,” she breathed.

Horacio stood in the doorway, hair wet and brushed back from his face, a bundle of clothes in his hands. His gaze was focused, intense, sweeping over her in such a way that she could tell he was noting every detail. She stilled, the smile on her mouth dropping a little as she waited, breath held.

“Hi,” he said finally. There was an odd note in his tone, a slowness to the one word sentence that usually wasn’t there.

Exhaling, Eva gestured to the bag of food on his desk, “I brought you something to eat. I figured you’d only been eating MREs for the last week and you might like some real food.”

His eyes flicked down to the bag and then back up again. Moving slowly, he set the bundle of clothing on a table near the door and stepped into the room. Back to her, he closed the door, hand lingering on the handle. When he turned back to her, he fixed her with that same focused look and Eva’s spine straightened underneath the weight of it.

Head canted down, he walked towards her. Every muscle in Eva’s body froze as she eyed him. He moved leisurely, a relaxed saunter, but there was darkness in his eyes that she had only very rarely glimpsed. Lips parted, her thoughts muddied in her head. She couldn’t move if she tried.

When he reached her, his arms wrapped around her middle, hauling her up against his chest in a fierce embrace. Reflexively, Eva cradled him to her, arms rising to his shoulders. Pushing his face into her neck, Horacio nosed along her skin until he reached her scent gland. His next inhale was deep, intentional.

Gasping, Eva’s head fell back, her body leaning into him. He held her weight easily, crowding her until they were pressed together from chest to knee.  

“I missed you,” he murmured into her skin.

Eva’s eyes closed tightly, relief flooding out from her heart into her veins. She inhaled, trying to center herself. His scent was rolling over her, alternatively calming and exciting.

“I missed you, too.”

He pulled back a little, one hand tucking her hair behind her ear, looking at her as if he hadn’t seen her in months rather than a little over a week. Eva blushed, unable to hold his gaze. Her skin tingled where they touched, heart palpitating in her chest. She felt like she had the first time she’d scented him, a bundle of vibrating nerves that grabbed and pulled her into his orbit, holding her there.

“How did the mission go? Did you catch him?”

His shoulders deflated, and Eva knew she’d said the wrong thing.

“No, we didn’t. We did get a few key players, but that’s it.”

Eva traced her hands up above the collar of his uniform, thumbs finding their place at the nape of his neck. She kneaded the muscle there, please when his eyelids drooped.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, knowing how disappointed he must be about it.

He dropped his forehead to hers, “Not your fault.”

“I know, but I’m sorry all the same.”

Hands gripping her waist, thumbs rubbing over her belly, he closed his eyes. She continued to press her hands into his neck, fingers spanning out beneath the collar of his shirt to get at that tense shoulder muscles. He let out a soft groan when she hit a particularly tight spot.

“I want to kiss you,” he said softly. “Can I?”

Eva smiled, “Yes.”

Leaning down, he pressed just the tiniest kiss to her mouth, lifting up a fraction of an inch before diving back down to kiss her properly. She opened for him, hands pausing at his shoulders as she lost focus. He kissed her deeply, arms pulling her so tightly to his body that she had to rock up onto her toes to keep balance.

The first taste of him after so long without was a shock to Eva’s system, everything inside her lighting up into bright, incandescent fire. It was then that she knew coming here may have been a mistake. She thought the heat was over—she was sure of it. But, the lingering hormones in her body rushed to her brain, sending sizzling signals to her core. It was not a heat, but the echo of the one she’d just gone through, a ricochet that hit her right in the chest.

Breaking the kiss, he took a step back, pulling her with him, “I want to touch you.”

She followed him closely, until he was sitting on the couch at the far end of his office, pulling her into his lap. He looked at her, waiting for her answer.

“Yes.”

Legs on either side of his hips, Eva carded her fingers through his damp hair, kissing him fervently. True to his wishes, his hands moved over her,  fingers curling over her skin, grabbing handfuls of her thighs and hips. He pushed his hands beneath the fabric of her sundress, rucking up the fabric. The cut of the dress caught on his wrists, restricting his movement, the pads of his fingers stopping short of her breasts. With a frustrated growl, he reached behind her and yanked on the zipper, pulling the dress down.

Without skipping a beat, he cupped her breasts, running his thumbs over her nipples through the sheer fabric. He kissed down her neck, pulling down the cup of her bra, mouth sucking at her skin until he drew her nipple between his teeth, biting down ever so slightly. Eva moaned, a high pitched thing that caught in her throat.

She’d been waiting all week for this, had been fantasizing about having him back with her while she worked to get off. The reality of feeling him hard beneath her, hips rolling upwards, was so much better than she could have imagined.  His scent wafted around her, clean and fresh from the shower.

Releasing her nipple with an obscenely wet sound, Horacio placed an open mouthed kiss against her neck before shoving his nose against her and inhaling lewdly.

“Smell so good,” he ground out, fingers gripping tight.

Eva could only nod. She knew what he meant. After a week without him, she wanted to drown herself in his scent. Tobacco and vetiver. Her mouth salivated just breathing him in. Needing to taste as much as she needed to touch him, she leaned down and licked a hot stripe up his neck until she got to the scent gland behind his ear. It was feverish to the touch, a little swollen, and radiating the smell that had and would continue to haunt her fantasies for the rest of her life. Lips open, she encircled it, sucking hard.

The sound he made was as feral as it was pathetic, his hips snapped up, grinding into her forcefully. She whined, lifting to try to keep hold of him, tongue swirling. Fingers in her hair, he pulled her away, her scalp stinging. She groaned, mouth open.

He shushed her, “Have to be quiet, Eva. There’s still others here.” He kissed her, a sly smile on his mouth, “Do you want me to stop?”

She shook her head wildly, hair falling over her bare shoulders. He looked up at her, eyes bright, skin flushed—looking for all the world like he was awed by her.

“I want to be inside you,” his tone was urgent, tongue coming out to wet his lips.

“Yes,” she answered him, her voice cracking.

Pulling her close, he kissed her, hands sliding up her thighs. She met him eagerly, hands fisting in his shirt.  He nipped at her, hand moving to work at his belt, fingers pulling at the zipper and pushing his pants down just enough to free his erection. Fuck, but she missed looking at it. The toy she’d used as a substitute wasn’t nearly as thick as he was, and her body clenched at how she knew he would stretch her wide, fuck her open in the most delicious way.

Impatient, Eva rose up on her knees, using one hand to pull her panties to the side and the other to line him up and sink onto him. If she hadn’t been fucking herself through a heat over the last week, it might have taken the usual two or three thrusts to drop all the way down. Instead, she slid over him smoothly, her body welcoming him enthusiastically.

He gasped, surprise written all over his face before his jaw clenched and he grabbed her hips to hold her steady. Eva threw her head back, biting her lip to keep the wail that wanted to escape at bay.

“Fuck,” he breathed, looking down at where they were joined. Reaching up, he pulled her to him for a kiss, saying against her mouth, “I thought about you every day. Woke up hard for you. Couldn’t even get myself off because there was no fucking privacy.”

The image of him laying in a tent somewhere, aroused and unable to do anything about it was titillating. Then came the image of him stroking off to the thought of her, his fist flying over his cock. Eva felt like she couldn’t catch her breath, the need to come pushing its way to the forefront of her mind. She shifted her hips, trying to catch a rhythm that she knew would send them both into a frenzy. He met her, the muscles of his arms and chest bulging as he helped her thrust down on him.

“I want—,” Horacio’s lips pressed together, cutting off the sentence.

Eva cupped his jaw, forcing him to look at her, “What do you want?”

Everything inside her wanted to give him whatever it was that he wouldn’t let himself have. The man denied himself so much, controlled everything about his life to the minutest detail. If he needed, she would provide.

“I want,” he started again, pausing. He buried his head against her neck and she could feel him fighting to keep the words down.

Leaning back, she forced him to look at her. There was an openness to his expression that gave her pause, an almost pleading in the tone of the sounds coming from him. She ran her thumb over his cheekbone.

“Tell me what you want,” she whispered, kissing him softly, “Tell me.”

His eyes closed as he said, “I want to come inside you.”

Liquid fire coursed through her, a wild feeling that reverberated around until she shook with it. Eva felt her body respond in a primal reaction, her hips swiveling down on him as if to coax the orgasm from him immediately.

“Yes, alpha,” she moaned, the words out of her mouth before she could catch them.

Eyes flying open, he hauled her to him, holding her immobile. Eva squirmed, incensed that she couldn’t keep grasping at the tendrils of pleasure that she needed. His arms tightened further, until she was sure she would burst from the pressure.

“Say it again,” he demanded through clenched teeth.

“Yes, alpha,” she gasped, pulling at his shirt, trying and failing to gain any leverage, “Please, alpha.”

Snarling, his torso rotated and she fell heavily on the couch cushions. Horacio crawled over her, pushing his hands under her dress to yank off her panties, dropping them to the side. He braced a foot on the floor, dropping his hips and shoving into her again.

Mouth at her ear, he let out a string of filth, telling her how good she felt, how tight and hot she was. His hands held her still as his hips slapped against her, the wet sound of his cock pushing up into her loud in the quiet room. Eva held on as best she could, burying her face into his neck to quell the sounds that she couldn’t keep inside. He reached up and gripped the arm of the couch, using it to gain leverage.

His pace was hard and fast, and exactly what she needed. Eva felt her body bear down on him, tightening as she neared release.

“You gonna come on me,” he asked hoarsely, “Gonna soak my cock with your come, omega?”

The use of her designation caused her eyes to roll back, the sweet, lancing pain of her orgasm rocketing through her as she laid there, unable to do anything but bite down on his shoulder to stop herself from screaming.

“Sweet fucking omega,” he growled, pace picking up until she could feel him pulsing inside.

He held himself against her, hips grinding for several long moments, until his body relaxed. Breathing hard, he let his weight fall atop her briefly, nosing against her neck, licking at the sweat that had pooled there.

With effort, he pulled out, his eyes falling to her folds. There was that focused gaze again, his lips pulling between his teeth. She could feel their combined orgasms leaking out of her slowly and she had to resist the urge to close her legs at the thought of what he was seeing. Lifting onto one palm, Horacio ran two fingers up her slit, gathering the wetness and pushing it back inside.  Still sensitive, Eva drew in a shaky breath, her hand grabbing at the forearm near her head.

He stirred his fingers inside her a few times before pulling them out, bringing them to his mouth and sucking them clean. Eva’s jaw dropped as she watched him, her core pulsing at the sight.

After tucking himself back into his pants and setting his clothing back into place, he carefully helped her to dress. He laid down a kiss on each patch of skin before he covered it again, a softness to his touch that had not been there a few minutes previous. Kneeling, he reached for where he’d dropped her panties, his free hand pushing open her thighs.

His gaze lingered over her, eyes dark. Then, with little warning, he dove down and gave her a long, hot lick. Groaning, he leaned into her, nose pressed against her curls, mouth sucking at her clit. Eva hissed, her body curling over him. He swirled his tongue over her, a helpless little moan catching at the back of his throat. His hands tightened on her thighs, her panties hanging from where they’d caught on his pinky.

Eva gripped his shoulders, giving a pouting little huff when he pulled away suddenly. Panting he squeezed his eyes shut and Eva watched as one hand fell to his lap, palming at the erection that was growing behind his fly. He looked up at her, a kind of desperate surprise in his eyes. Eva grasped the hand on her thigh, soothing.

He rose, her panties still gripped in his hand, and paced away towards his desk. Eva brought her knees together self-consciously, not sure what was happening.

“Did you mean it?”

His back was to her, he ran a hand over his hair, fingers tucking her panties into his pocket. She knew without asking what he was getting at. She’d called him ‘alpha’, had acknowledged him as such. For an omega to make that kind of declaration was serious. Serious, and dangerous. It was a thing that existed in the space between marking and bonding, a deeply intimate gesture. That left the question: Did she mean it? She’d never wanted to invoke it before, the recognition of an alpha had terrified her in the past. Now, the thought was seductive.

Eva took a breath, steeling herself against the urge to protect herself at all costs, “Yes.”

He visibly tensed, still looking at the far wall. Then, he circled his desk and opened the middle drawer, pulling out a key. Stepping determinedly, he returned to her side, sitting next to her on the couch. He put the key in her hand. His tone was firm when he spoke.

“This is the spare key to my house. I’ve got some things I need to wrap up here, but when I come home, I want to find you in my bed—naked.”

Eva stared at him, feeling heat rise in her cheeks. He curled a finger beneath her chin, kissing her lightly. Dropping that hand to her thigh, he traced up the inside of it lightly.

“This is mine tonight, do you understand?” He asked as he circled her opening.

She nodded, resisting the urge to slot her hand on his and push his thick digits inside. He kept circling, breath fanning over her cheeks, his free arm coming up around her waist to hold her to him.

“Can I…?” she started, her words cut off as he threaded two fingers into her folds, rubbing at the hidden legs of her clit on either side.

He hummed in question, eyes trained on where he was playing with her.

She swallowed dryly and tried again, “Can I get my overnight bag from the apartment?”

One side of his mouth lifted, “What would you do if I said no?”

Eva blinked, shifting on the cushion as he applied just a little more pressure, “I wouldn’t go get it.”

Looking up at her from beneath his lashes, clearly pleased, he kissed her temple. The hand between her legs pulled away, grasping her skirt and settling it down over her knees.  It took everything in Eva to keep from begging for him to keep going, her core throbbing.

“Go get your bag,” he said as he stood, helping her to rise with him. Then, he walked her to the door of his office, pausing in the threshold. “I’ll be home soon.”

The walk to her car, the drive to her apartment, and then to his house was a blur, her mind foggy with arousal. Eva was standing at the door to his house before she knew it, the key in the lock. Swallowing, she turned it and stepped inside.

The house, like it always did, smelled like him. Eva took a deep breath, moving through the living room and down the hall to the bedroom where she dropped her bag.  The bed was made, the closet door closed, the blinds drawn. One of his jackets was thrown over an armchair to the right of the bed, the clock on his nightstand read seven pm.

Dropping her overnight bag next to the dresser, Eva sat on the bed, leaning down to pull off her sandals.  Absently, she felt the lighter still sitting heavily in her pocket. Pulling it out, she set it carefully on the nightstand.

She didn’t know how long she had, but she felt the need to make herself as presentable as possible.  The frantic searching for the things she needed to pack in her apartment, the drive over, not to mention the exertion in his office...Eva could smell the sweat on her skin.

Rising, she peeled off the sundress and stepped into the bathroom.  Showering quickly, she toweled off and returned to the bedroom. She should maybe eat something. Still naked, Eva went to the kitchen and looked through the cabinets until she found a box of crackers.  She ate as many as she could stomach, which was, admittedly, not a lot.  Washing it down with a glass of water, Eva stood at the sink and tried to figure out if she needed to do anything else.  He hadn’t given her any other directives. Bed. Naked. That was it.  

Filling the cup again, Eva leaned against the counter and looked at the living room through the archway. A few magazines and the TV remote sat on the table.  She could maybe try to distract herself with a late night show—no, if he found her on the couch...Eva shivered.  She wasn’t quite ready to test his limits, but the thought was intriguing enough that she filed it away to explore later.

Reaching over, she flicked off the lights, heading back to the bedroom.  She’d settled on getting rest. There had been promise in his voice when he’d told her he would be home soon. Eva needed to have the energy to rise to the occasion.

Sleep came easily, ensconced as she was in his sheets, in his scent. Dreamless, she snuggled deeply into the comforter. As solid as her sleep was, Eva could be forgiven for taking a minute to come back to consciousness.

Horacio was sitting beside her on the bed, hand on the dip of her waist. He’d pulled the sheet and comforter off her, the bulk piled at the end of the bed.

“I should have you here more often,” he said.

Eva smiled, “You usually want to go back to my place.”

He hummed, leaning down to pick up a plastic bag from where it sat at his feet. He reached in and tossed a box onto the nightstand. Eva would have giggled if her insides hadn’t twisted in anticipation. He’d gone to the drug store on his way back from the station. If there was any confusion about his intentions with her, they were now clear as fucking day.

Dropping the bag to the side, he worked the buckle of his watch loose, setting it on the nightstand. She watching him notice the lighter, his hand covering it for half a second. Then, he moved to his belt, sliding it through the loops of his uniform and rolling it into a neat spiral.  Next came his button up, thrown onto the armchair. His undershirt, too.  He paused over his pants, debating. Then, his thumb flicked open the fly and he pushed them down. Eva noted that he must have removed his shoes and socks before he sat down.  They were laying neatly by the door.

Leaving his boxer briefs on, he moved to the end of the bed, looking down its length at her. Eva rolled to her back, arms over her stomach as she waited. He looked at her a while, eyes narrow.

“Open your legs.”

She did.

“Wider.”

Leaning down, he grasped her ankle, thumb pressing into her Achilles heel. First one knee, then the other pressed into the mattress as he crawled up and over her, hands trailing alongside. The breadth of his chest pushed her thighs open further. Face against the soft swell of her belly, he breathed in.

The fingers on her hips curled, he looked up at her, displeased, “You showered.”

Eva bit her lip, nodding.

“Why?”

She shrugged, “I wanted to…” she searched for the words, “be presentable.”

A soft chuckle left his lips. Eva felt her cheeks heat in embarrassment. She looked away, trying to think of what to say.

Moving up her body, he grasped her chin, trying to catch her gaze, “No, no, I’m not making fun of you. I just—don’t pout—I just think its cute that you think I’m going to find you anything but irresistible.”

Eva rolled her eyes, “I was a mess.”

His brows quirked and he hummed a little, “A mess that I made.”

She absolutely had no response to that, her mouth open in shock. He clocked it, smiled wide enough that she could see his dimples, and leaned down to kiss her. He slipped his tongue into her mouth, moaning. Eva grasped his sides as he kicked up the intensity, his hands in her hair.

“I need to tell you,” he gasped against her mouth, “While I can still think—fuck—while I’m still sane. You know what this is?”

Eva stared up at him, trying to make sense of his words, her mind already beginning to fog over with arousal. Pulling away, he grabbed her wrist and shoved it between them, laying her palm over his erection.

“Feel that?”

Eva groaned, eyes closing, as she tried to give him a firm pull. His grip tightened, his free hand cupping her cheek to get her attention.

“Feel, Eva.”

At the base of his cock there was a swelling, a little ring of flesh that was only about a quarter the size of what it would be fully engorged. Eva’s hand froze, her eyes flying to his face.

He looked down at her, all serious, “If you don’t want this, you need to tell me.  I’ll get up and I’ll go, but you need to tell me right now.”

As if to illustrate his point, he rose up on his hands and knees, his body trembling above her. Eva looked him over, looked at the scars she’d traced in the lazy intervals between kisses, looked at the arms that had held her, supported her, looked at the dark eyes that were begging her to choose quickly.

With deliberate slowness, Eva tucked her hand into his briefs and palmed him, sliding down to the base and squeezing the barely formed knot. He hissed, back bowing, eyes squeezed tightly shut. When he opened them again, they were as focused as they had been in his office.

Quick, sure movements hand her wrists in his hands, sinking into the mattress on either side of her head. He mouthed along her collarbone, dropping his hips into the cradle of her thighs, knees pushing outwards to spread her wide.

The ascent upwards was fast, frenzied, his hips twisting against her. The friction felt amazing on her already sensitized skin. He rocked against her, tasting her skin. Pinned down as she was, Eva could only hike her legs up high on his waist, using the little bit of leverage to grind against him.

“Inside,” she rasped, trying to arch deeper into every thrust.

Horacio shook his head, breathing hard, “This one is for you. I don’t know that...I won’t be able to make sure you’re, shit, taken care of after I…”

Eva took his meaning.  He was nearly in rut, a frenetic sexual energy coursing through him that would not be stopped once it started.  An alpha male in rut wouldn’t knot fully, but the partial swelling was enough to drive them to fuck until it had emptied—with a partner or without.

Feeling her body respond to that knowledge, Eva threw her head back, her thighs burning. She’d soaked through the front of his briefs, could feel even more slick dripping out of her as she climbed higher towards orgasm. A choked gasp caught in her throat, her body clenching down on nothing, spasming beneath the heavy weight of him.

“So good for me,” he praised, kissing her cheek chastely.

Eva sighed, muscles limp as he lifted off her and reached over to open the box of condoms, pulling apart the foil packet and rolling it on. After kicking off his underwear, he settled back between her thighs, lifting one leg up and over his hip. He pushed inside slowly, grunting as she pulsed around him. As he bottomed out, his eyes rolled back, the little swell of his knot settling against her folds.

There was a pause, a breath that held stagnant between them for only a second or so, and then he was pumping into her at an ever increasing pace. Eva teeth clacked together when he gave a particularly hard thrust, knocking against her cervix, grinding down.

All at once she was reminded of that first conversation they’d had following their first night together—how he’d worried about having hurt her. She had a feeling this was why. Eva had known he was strong, could feel it every time they touched.  She’d seen him fight, knock a guy unconscious. She’d felt him lift her with seemingly no effort.  All of that could not prepare her for the unbridled force with which he was currently fucking up into her.

His skin slapped against her, cock thrusting against her walls, hitting her g spot regularly enough that she felt another orgasm begin to rise. He wrapped both arms around her, holding her to his chest, face in her neck. It cost him in leverage, his knees digging into the mattress for purchase. But, he didn’t seem keen to let her go.

Eva hugged him to her, one hand in his hair, the other tracing down the length of his spine.  She could not quell the whimpers falling from her lips, could not stop her ankles from locking together at the small of his back, urging him on. She definitely could not stop her cunt from fluttering around him.

He groaned into her neck, hips stuttering. Cursing, his body slowed, lungs drawing deep breaths. Eva sighed as he rolled off her, her hands falling on either side of her body. She turned to her side, stretching her legs out, toes pointed.

Horacio returned to her, having dealt with the condom. He touched her shoulder, sliding up behind and slotting his leg between hers.

“You good?” He asked, voice rough.

Eva nodded, laying her hand over the arm around her waist. He continued to trace along her skin for a while, mouth leaving syncopated kisses all over. Soon enough, she felt him begin to harden against her ass and she tilted her hips back in invitation.

“Rest for a moment,” he said, his hand tracing up to her breast, kneading gently. He continued to dot kisses over her neck and shoulder, licking here and there.

He petted her for a long while, occasionally reaching down to slide his fingers over her pussy, rubbing light circles over her clit. All the while, sweat began for form over his arm and along his chest where they were pressed together. It wasn’t long before he was reaching for another condom and rolling Eva to her back, pushing into her.

The sound she made was not feminine or pretty. It exploded from her throat, a needy, guttural thing. As before, his pace was quick and hard. Eva gripped the pillow beneath her head, jaw unhinged as she tried to keep up. Too soon, her tired body was giving up, her legs falling wide as she simply took what he was giving her.

Horacio grasped her behind the neck, pulling her to him for a sloppy kiss.  Eva could barely breathe around the way he kept upping the intensity of how he fucked her, changing the angle, pushing inside and grinding on her, using one hand to arch her back up to him so that he could bite at her breasts. She keened, a frission running through her.

He came with a shout, his body shaking all around her, forehead dropping to her chest. She barely felt him pull out, still reeling from the electric static running rampant over her skin. Hands ran over her, lulling her as she dropped into a strange kind of sleepy place, somewhere between waking and dreaming.

When she came back to awareness, he was rolling his tongue over her pussy, one long finger dipping inside. He massaged her thighs, hanging over his shoulders. Eva moaned lowly, his name sounding as she shifted against the sheets. He sucked at her lips, thumb rubbing at her clit. From between her thighs, he watched her come apart, her head thrown back, legs shaking.

Making a sound of satisfaction, he lifted up, already reaching for another condom. With confident hands, he rolled her to her stomach, laying down atop her, pushing his cock into her in a smooth, firm stroke. The sound he made against her shoulder was obscene, a desperate, needy thing that dropped down into his chest.

He gave her a few slow, controlled thrusts before his body took over. The way he straddled her thighs, pushing them together around him, the weight of his body keeping her immobile—it built around her, feeding into something deeply held, something she didn’t know existed in her.  She liked that she couldn’t move. She liked that he could, in that moment, do whatever the fuck he wanted with her.

Whining against the pillow, Eva felt herself say things she had never let herself say before. Things like: Yes, hold me down and More, alpha, give me more. Fuck me harder, please. Her words seemed to spark even more of a fire in him. He lifted back to sit on his heels, pulling her with him until she was sitting astride his thighs with her back to his chest, speared on his cock.

At this angle, he could grind the promise of his knot against her. One arm crossed over her chest to hold her steady, the other reaching down between her legs, he strained against her. Eva grasped futilely at his hips, his thighs, not exactly sure what she was trying to do but she needed to touch him. She needed more of him, more connection.

Mine, mine, mine, he was saying, and it took too long for Eva to recognize that he’d dropped into Spanish. Words falling out of him like water. He called her his little omega, called her beautiful, called her his.

Pushing her hair over her shoulder, he kissed underneath her jaw, licking up to her scent gland and swirling his tongue over it. Eva gasped, her nails digging into his thigh, urging him on. Grunting, his fervent kiss turned into a deep bite and she could feel the moment he broke the skin.

She screamed in pleasure, the orgasm powerful enough that her whole body shook with it. She must have passed out, because the next thing she knew, he was calling her name, shouting at her.

“’m okay,” she groaned, touching his jaw tenderly.

Eyes wild with worry, he stared at her face.  She smiled at him, giving his cheek a pat before settling down into the softness of the mattress. He made her drink the cup of water she’d brought in with her before laying down beside her and watching her carefully. His eyes drooped as he stroked her thigh. Eva leaned over and kissed him, feeling blissfully worn out.

“Thank you,” she murmured before succumbing to sleep, though those weren’t the words that echoed silently alongside it.

[big1ron]

The Venator “Resolute” had jumped right into a separatist trap. Somehow a virus infecting the main computer has scrambled the hyperspace jump coordinates, and now the companies on board were outnumbered and without reinforcements, deep in separatist space. A few last, desperate SOSs to nobody, and the ship was quickly overwhelmed with fire. The Resolute was going down. But not before each of the escape pods could be jettisoned.

————- Chapter Six: Rescue. -————

- as always sorry for the wait and length. But here you go! May receive small edits later. -

There were a few moons in the system to check over, and they couldn’t waste much time. This was separatist controlled space and they had already shot down one Venator. Plo Koon didn’t want his fleet to be next. Still, he opted to be deployed with the rest of his Wolfpack. Leaving the fleet to Admiral Coburn. Now that he was closer to the system, he could feel Anakin and Ahsoka in the force. He took a gunship down with Wolffe and his personal squad to the command outlet the message had been sent from, as that was where they were most likely to find them.

Echo pulled up beside Jesse, now free of Kix as Kix got too fed up with the constant tripping and was now walking by himself. Jesse was still carrying Dogma, who was resting his head on Jesse’s, eyes closed.

“did he actually fall asleep?” Echo poked him in his injured side and he jolted awake with a hiss of pain.

“Well he’s not sleeping anymore” comments Jesse as echo flinches in sympathy, clearly not having intending for that poke to hurt badly.

“You karking bantha fur osik rag shabuir better kriffing have one hell of a karking good reason for doing that.” Dogma cursed angrily. Kix stifled a chuckle.

“No I just wanted to see if you were awake.”

“Jesse, if you would be so kind.” Jesse took a step closer to Echo and Dogma smacked him upside the head.

“Hey no, that’s not fair! You two teamed up on me you’re not meant to do that!” Echo complained, rubbing his head

“You did deserve that” says coric.

“You too?! You’re supposed to be the neutral party you shabuir!”

Tup continues his trek forward, now using his weapon as a walking stick, when he hears a clones voice. He can’t make out what they said but he stops and looks around.

He hears shouting and chatter but when he determines the direction they’re coming from and heads towards it, he doesn’t see anything.

Great. More hallucinations. He thinks. Maybe from the dehydration this time. He ignores it when he hears a more clear

“Hey! Trooper! Over here!”

He starts walking again, in the same direction, but he hears running footsteps behind him. He turns around and points his stick at whatever it is.

“Who is this!? Are you even real or am I just actually going crazy now?”

He’s face to face with a Wolfpack clone. But he doesn’t lower his weapon until he gets his response.

“Woah, vod calm down. This is the 104th, here to retrieve you. I’m sparker. Come with me, let’s get you back to the transports ok?” He had the signature warmth of the 104th’s relief devision but tup couldn’t quite believe it. Still, he cast his stick aside and followed Sparker back to his squad.

He gained a few strange looks from the rest of the squad as he still looked quite wild. A wave of self consciousness washed over him.

They located a couple other 501st members as well before returning to the gunship, marked with the signature “plo’s bros”. There he was looked over by a medic, and told to sit tight for the trip back to the venators in orbit.

Plo Koon’s gunship landed at the outpost that had relayed the message. Three troopers were waiting outside the command post at attention as the general stepped out. Wolffe was right on his tail

“At ease, troopers. You must be Rex, Fives and Hardcase correct? We received your transmission. It was quite... entertaining. Trooper Fives, do you mind sharing what discussion topic had you so passionate? You have permission to speak freely.”

Fives could feel Rex’s glare burning holes into the sides of his head. They had actually heard that? That was embarrassing. “It was uh... wether or not how many lightsaber blades an individual had related to how much of a bitch they were... sir. Among other things.”

Rex shook his head disappointed and embarrassed, hardcase was struggling to contain his laughter, and one of the Wolfpack members passed some credits to one of the pilots. Wolffe was definitely grinning Impishly at Rex. Definitely. Plo Koon only shook his head amusedly. “Well captain, do you happen to know where your two lightsaber wielding individuals are?”

“Oh yes sir. They should be back soon. They got bored and so made a small speeder bike track. They’ve been racing eachother.”

“Then we had better get the gunship out of the way. Wouldn’t want to skew the results.”

No doubt the Wolfpack was already placing bets. They were notorious for it.

As the men took their places along the main road, eagerly awaiting the results, Rex finally asked Wolffe the question that was burning in his mind. “Have you heard from the other squads yet? Did you find anyone else?”

“Sorry Rex, haven’t had any contact with them since they were deployed. But it’s still early. Just you wait and I’m sure at least a few will turn up. Don’t worry”

Waiting, Rex could do. Not worrying? Not so much.

Cheers erupted from the small group as the motors of the speeders came into earshot. Anakin jetted last the crowd and with a quick 90° turn he drifted to a stop. Ahsoka wasn’t far behind, but Rex had no doubt in his mind that anakin had lapped her. Ahsoka might be a daredevil but Anakin was a true speed demon. Always had been. The Two of them dismounted and met with Plo Koon as the Wolfpack paid their bets.

“Ahsoka, Skywalker. It’s good to see you two.” Plo Koon greats them.

“And it’s great to see you Master Plo” Ahsoka responds.

“Now, I assume you two have had enough of this planet?”

“Definitely” they both respond at once.

Jesse and echos squad overhear a series of howls in the distance. Multiple groups communicating to each other. Jesse signals for them to ‘stop’ and be ‘silent.’ Coric disobeys.

“No. No! Howl back!” Coric howls as loud as he can, to Jesse’s horror.

“What are you doing!? You’re going to lead those animals right to us!”

“Those aren’t animals! It’s the Wolfpack!” Coric howls again.

“It’s official. He’s lost it. Good job everyone, we actually drove him crazy.” Says echo.

Coric gets a response and howls once more, before the air is quite again. “I’m not crazy. But rescue is coming now”

“You can’t possibly know that. The howling thing is fake, we all know that.” Jesse isn’t having it.

But in just a few minutes two Wolfpack members, sinker and boost make contact with the group.

“Hey! 501st! Coric! Come over here! Man you all look terrible!”

“Yeah Thanks boost. Truth is we all feel mildly terrible too. Here to get us off planet I hope?” Coric walks over to the two, and the rest of the group follows. Jesse and echo are completely stunned.

“Yep! We were just about to leave. You were going to be left behind you know. You all got lucky. Which one of you was howling by the way?” Asks sinker, as they lead the group in the direction of the transports.

“That would be me.” Says coric.

“Ah, figured. Pretty impressive, but not as impressive as this.” Sinker takes a deep breath and howls so loud it makes the rest of the groups ears hurt. Kix winces. Boost laughs.

Rex darts around the hangar. This is the last batch of gunships and he’s still missing so many clones. He feels terrible. Especially about Kix and Echo. He can’t stand the thought of leaving any clones behind, but he knows they won’t all come back. He spots Tup getting out of one of the gunships and rushes to him

“Tup! You’re alive! I was worried when Hardcase and Fives told me that had lost you. Are you doing alright?”

“I’m gonna kill those karking nerf herders. They left me! I fell down a cliff and I don’t think they even noticed I was gone!”

“They looked for you. But fives thought you were dead. With good reason. How did you even survive that fall?”

“I didn’t jump, I slid. I rolled the entire way down.”

“Alright kid. I’m glad to have you back. You’ll have to give Hardcase and Fives a stern talking to about that.” Rex patted Tup on the shoulder before moving onto the next gunship.

His eyes fell on the group leaving this one. The group was larger than the rest, sitting at 5. Dogma, Jesse, Coric-

“Echo, Kix!”

Rex ran over and hugged the two tightly.

“Huh. Guess I am your favourite after all.”

Rex smacked Echo in the back of the head. “You’re not my favourite. I don’t have favourites. But I’m sorry for leaving you two. I had to lure a group of droids away, and I got lost.”

“That’s fine. We survived. Mostly.” Says Echo

“Thanks to Coric. Echo would have killed me if it weren’t for him”

Rex gives echo an unimpressed look, but he can’t stay mad as he’s still to relieved at seeing them both alive.

Tup storms over to where Hardcase and Fives are discussing something with Sinker and Boost.

“You two LEFT me! I was all alone! Cause you two wouldn’t too arguing long enough to notice I FELL OFF A CLIFF!”

“TUP!” Fives immediately scooped up his little brother in a bone crushing hug. “I’m so sorry! I won’t do it again! I’m not gonna leave you anywhere again and I’ll stop picking fights with Hardcase I promiseeee”

“No you won’t.”

“Ok maybe I won’t but still I love you and I’m sorry. Hardcase, you can come in too.” Fives knew he wanted too, but sometimes Hardcase needed an invitation. He joined the hug wrapping his arms around the both of them but not too tightly.

Rex watched as the troopers found their brothers, and each made note of who was there. He waited for more gunships, there was still a significant portion of the 501st missing. But the last wave had arrived, and Rex tried not to think too hard about the ones he would have to leave behind, as he saw the stars turn into smears and the planet disappear out the viewport.

Wolffe put his hand on Rex’s shoulder. How long had he been standing next to him?

“You know... we did the best we could. I’m sorry Rex.”

“I know... I know.”

“Why don’t you go join the others? Some of them have some pretty interesting stories to tell. I’m sure you do too.”

“I will, thanks.”

Wolffe knew the thanks was for more than the offer. He watched Rex go join the others, laughing and enjoying the company of those who were still there.

[bitch-in-a-bag]

can we talk about how the LGBT movement has changed in the past 15 years?

in the light of the events surrounding Chris chan, and people prioritizing pronouns over the rape of a woman with dementia, I think it displays just how... different things are.

i personally feel like it's been co-opted by the more loud and entitled mtfs/ males/penis-havers/whatever pc term exists for the XY chromosome'd, who go too far and aren't reasonably kept in check. I think terf no longer has meaning anymore because it's just become a word we use to silence anyone that disagrees with a trans woman. immediately you're going to call me a terf, I accept that, but please continue reading. I may suprise you. calling someone who's transgender a terf is kinda messed up anyway, and that's exactly why im writing this.

I also think that everyone else (allies, ftms, etc) have followed suit because they've written this messed up narrative that EvErYoNe iS VaLiD. except for trans penis-havers, bc they're the most oppressed and the most valid, actually, regardless of their experiences.

I never used to believe the above because it was always written off as terf shit, and ignoring it kinda benefitted me, but between seeing ftms getting bashed for refusing to follow new "TME" rules as if they aren't trans too, and seeing outrage around Chris chans pronouns, I think it's time to start saying things that may make people uncomfortable. innocent people are already getting hurt by this, and we need to do better. it's time to get uncomfortable.

I want to remind you that perception is both the relying factor, and also the downfall of newer lgbt theory. if my profile were mtf coded, maybe it currently is, you'd call me a self hating trans and I wouldn't be that big of a deal. terfs would probably target me.

if my profile was ftm coded, I would be absolutely skewered for daring to speak out about these issues, even though they do actually affect ftms disproportionately. terfs would try to convince me that being trans is a plague and a mental illness, and to just ~be a cis woman~!

and if assumed cis, I would 100% be assumed radfem terf, and everything I say would immediately be dismissed because of the genuine damage terfs have done. but terfs would still probably flock to this post and berate me for daring to validate trans people At All, because to them, being transgender is a mental illness akin to an eating disorder, and "giving in" to it is "self harm". clearly I don't believe that, so hopefully you'll give me at least some benefit of the doubt.

so, does my identity matter? i have a feeling you'll say yes, because it gives us a good idea of experiences I do and don't have expertise in, and thus room to talk about. but I refuse to directly identify what I actually am because I want the focus of any resulting conversation to be my message and not my self identification. if you read between the lines and figure it out that's just fine, but I would like to be heard first and foremost.

my profile is thus an attempt at being cis female coded, somewhat out of comfort, and that is likely what I'll be assumed to be due to the beliefs I am expressing, even though there is a substantial risk of getting misgendered and dismissed, no matter what my birth sex may actually be. i will give you a hint about my identity: I am transgender, on HRT and everything, and I have been personally affected by all of this. rest assured, this is well within my lane to speak about, and it does matter if you misgender me.

I want you to really think about that. before you respond, really think about if someone saying words on tumblr, talking about their OWN experiences and their take on recent history that applies to themself, really more worthy of being misgendered and harassed than... someone who said they transitioned so they could date lesbians, and then raped their own mother with dementia.

is that fair or just? or is this just a new way of letting people with penises do whatever they want? I personally think it's the latter. we need to hold people like Chris chan accountable without getting caught up on something as minor **in comparison** as misgendering and self identification. Is it sad and confusing that someone who self IDs as transgender became 1:1 with the most dangerous stereotypes that exist for trans women? Of course it is. But it doesn't mean that self identification is suddenly more important than a literal crime being committed.

I would normally dismiss it as a fluke or outright trolling if the evidence weren't so damning that this is in fact a real event that happened. If I hadn't seen this happen to other people, and if I didn't literally know another mtf person who used their dysphoria as an excuse for date rape on multiple occasions and never got any consequences for it.

It's not a one time thing, it's a developing problem that we need to stop before more people have their lives ruined. I can't even imagine how traumatizing and messed up it is for an FTM person to be date raped, by another transgender person no less. When I, an abuse survivor, told people of this MTFs red flags, people violently silenced me. People who didn't know I was trans called me a terf and transphobic. We, as a community, could've protected someone from getting date raped, and we didn't. Trans women can be awful, horrible fucking people, because they are people. Protecting them at all costs is wrong. Protecting them from transphobia is what we should be doing.

That being said, misgendering is still skeevy, and I haven't done anything like raped a disabled woman who is no longer able to consent, or date raped my own partner. if you give a shit about respecting my identity, please use they/them for me. if not, use visual perception and make assumptions that will most likely be incorrect, skew your own argument, and put me on the same level as a rapist, and arguably a fetishist. And I do need to remind you that calling someone transgender a rapist and a fetishist without evidence is still definitely classic transphobia, to the letter, so I'd appreciate it if you didn't do that.

as someone who is same sex attracted, I also want to bring this up as well.

in the US in the past 15 years, the movement as a whole pretty much went "YEAH BORN THIS WAY" with Lady Gaga, and then jumped ship to prioritize mostly mtfs at every angle. do mtfs need support? absolutely. but they don't need misguided toxic positivity, and that's what it's turned into.

it's gotten genuinely homophobic to the point where actually homosexual people are constantly being erased and demonized via "genital preferences are a fetish uwu", and vulva havers, especially the trans ones, are constantly being told to shut up about their experiences.

as much as you want to deny bioessentialism, its still very much well and alive with newer trans movement sentiments when we classify ftms as not worthy of speaking about their own issues with terms like "TME". it's also incredibly ignorant towards FTMs who pass, but dress feminine for comfort, and get mistaken for MTF, and treated like garbage because of it. They are not remotely exempt from misogyny, transphobia, or the intersection of the two, and it is not anyone's job to tell them they don't ever experience that when they do. Turning ftms and biological homosexuals into our enemies-- especially when the actual cause is transphobia and harmful gender stereotypes-- does nothing good or healthy for our movement.

Dont be mistaken, though, passing isn't the focus or end all be all here, it's the perception of others that ends up drastically effecting your experiences. There are words like misogyny that imply treatment via birth sex, however this too can be reliant on external perception. If an MTF individual either transitions very young, has an abundance of resources to transition, or just gets lucky and passes well, chances are she will experience a lot more misogyny than people may give credit to. inversely, someone who just started questioning yesterday, but lived as a male their whole life up until then, they genuinely cannot speak about misogyny with that much room because they simply haven't experienced it at an accurate enough angle or for enough time to understand it as a repeated and sociological force.

It works the other way as well, though; someone who's known that they're trans for a long time and haven't had the resources to transition, or do not or cannot pass in the eyes of society; these people suffer pain that we don't neccesarily have a word for yet, imo. It makes dysphoria worse and it makes living seem hopeless. And as a community, we deal with this is in a really messed up way by over-validating them instead of solving the core issue at hand. and people who suffer from this, but also acknowledge they can't claim what they haven't experienced, are left with nowhere to go.

And its important to acknowledge these things because they're integral to the over-encompassing trans experience. Instead of lying to everyone and telling everyone they pass/giving out unconditional positive regard, our focus should be making it so that it **doesn't matter if you pass**. that you're still worth respect and dignity if you're transgender, no matter what passing is or what it means to you, and no matter how you present. But also, if you do something awful, you still need to be held accountable, especially if you use yourself, your body, or your trans status to contribute to other axi of oppression.

Transphobia is a word that encompasses and addresses all of that, regardless of birth sex. "TME" shuts that down in favor of only letting MTF's speak. Which is still very bio-essentialist, and I can't help but feel like we've gone full circle.

Once upon a time you couldn't even get married if your partner had the same genitals as you. in the US, this was less than 7 years ago. and if you care about human rights activism, you know damn well that legal modification is not the end all be all. people who are genuinely homosexual are still oppressed, but the trans movement has started stepping on them to make ground we don't deserve. homosexuals are ok and valid. it's not a genital preference, and the prescence of trans people doesn't make conversion therapy sentiments ok, ever.

we've gone full circle, and it's not right.

[athenagc94]

Gust and Piper - Beginnings Pt. 1

I’m starving for more MTAP content, but now I’ve resigned myself to the fact that I have to create some of it too... I guess.  Here is a little of snippet of something I’m working on for my builder, Piper, and Gust.  It’s a lot of scenes right now and I’m working on bridging them together.  Here’s one of them.  Kind of the start of everything.  I don’t know

You can read the first the other parts here: Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

I’m also posting the story here on AO3!

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

As a younger man, Gust dreamed of making his mark on history.  He planned on traveling across the Free Cities, designing important structures for important people.  Several years ago, he’d fled to Atara to chase those dreams.  He lived the fast paced life of a bustling city.  He’d studied under his mentor Vera for years.  When he graduated, he was ready to take on the world as the next Master Architect.  If Gust could smack his younger self upside the head, he would.  Because that kid was a naive fool.

When he and Albert discussed the possibility of forming their own business, he didn’t plan on setting up shop in his hometown of Portia.  However, his sister’s health started to decline and, as it does, life happened.  Now, here he was, four years later with nothing to show for it.  He spent his days hunched over a drafting table, designing bland buildings for the bland people living in this bland town.  It wasn’t the life he had hoped for, but it was his reality.

His grip tightened on his pencil as he dragged it across the page.  The latest rendition of the South Bridge was beginning to take shape.  It wasn’t his first crack at the design and he doubted it would be his last.  His design process followed a similar pattern these days.  He’d create an inspired concept, the client would see it, they would hate it, and he’d be back at square one.  Wash, rinse, repeat. 

His father always said Portia was a frontier town and that they would develop it into something great.  Gust clucked his tongue irritably.  The longer he worked in Portia, the less he believed it.  How did one develop a town full of people that feared the very concept of change?

“Good morning!”

The front door jingled.  Gust set his pencil aside and turned around.  Portia’s newest builder, Piper, stood just inside the door, hands stuffed in the front pockets of her grease stained coveralls.  She didn’t seem to notice him right away, in fact, she didn’t spare the loft above a single glance as she searched the lower level.  “Albert?”  She disappeared out of sight, “you here?”

Gust pursed his lips and stood up.  Albert was usually on top of helping customers.  He rarely did any filing in the back rooms during office hours.  Albert would never miss out on helping one of Portia’s eligible bachelorettes.  He peered over the railing curiously.  His desk looked like it hadn’t been touched.  The usual mess of work orders and commission forms were stacked neatly on either side of his desk and his chair tucked in place.

Now that he thought about it, he never heard Albert come in this morning.  He racked his brain.  They’d left the office together yesterday.  They were discussing the latest commissions they needed for the bridge when they bumped into his father.  Gust groaned.  That’s right.  Albert was meeting with his father and Mint this morning to go over the budget for the project.  He would be gone until after lunch.

“Albert?”

“Albert is meeting with my father this morning.”

He heard a gasp and the builder reappeared under him.  He watched as several emotions played on her face.  It was like flipping through a book.  Surprise quickly turned to realization, which immediately became disappointment.  He sighed.  Yeah, he tended to have that effect on people.  “He won’t be back until this afternoon.”

Piper glanced down at her watch and made a face.  “Can you help me then?”

Gust blinked, taken aback.  Most people never asked him to help.  If a customer came in while Albert was out, they’d quickly apologize and came back later.  To them, Albert was the brains of the operation.  Gust was just there to be pretty and make things pretty, which was a fair assumption now that he thought about it.  Regardless, it wasn’t true.  Gust was knowledgeable enough about the inner workings of A&G.  But the people of Portia didn’t need to know that, if they did, he’d be expected to help them.  So he never corrected their assumptions.  Apparently, no one had bothered to inform Piper.

He rolled his eyes and turned away from the banister.  He may as well help her.  The sooner he did, the sooner he could get back to work.  He smoothed the lapel of his coat as he meandered down the stairs and towards Albert’s desk.  If he remembered correctly, Albert kept the blank work orders in the bottom left hand drawer.  He rummaged through the drawer, pulled out a blank order and took a seat.

Piper hadn’t moved.  She stared at him, dumbfounded, though he couldn’t imagine why.  Was she surprised to see him willing to help?  Should he be insulted right now?  He pursed his lips.  A moment passed, then another, and she still didn’t move.  He tapped the nib of his pen impatiently on the desktop.  After another moment of tense silence, he cleared his throat.  “Well?”  

Piper shook herself from her stupor.  “Iー” she cleared her throat, “I’m looking to add an extension to my workshop.”  She bounced on the balls of her feet.  “I’m tired of sleeping where I work, ya know?”

Gust didn’t know the feeling, so he chose not to respond.  He tried to ignore the awkward silence that had settled between them and made quick work of filling out the form.  It was easy information.  The initial consultation was always easy.  His real work began when he started conceptualizing.  It was his favorite part of the process, but recently, it had also become the most draining.  He could see it now.  He’d design the new addition.  The builder would want something less aesthetic and more functional.  He’d be disappointed and create the same thing he’s made for the last four years.

“Alright, I’m going to needー” The rest of the sentence died on his lips.  Piper was gone.  He peered around the room and found her examining the model he’d left on one of the displays.  His stomach lurched.  He’d spent weeks designing that model for a competition for the Vincent Design Institute.  The results had come back earlier this week.  They had been less than satisfactory.  He swallowed thickly.  He would have thrown it out already, but Ginger had insisted he keep it.  She didn’t want his hard work going to waste.

Piper peered a little closer.  Scrutinizing it.  Picking apart every flaw, just like the judges had.  His grip tightened on his pen.  Just like he had since the results had come out.  He pushed himself out of his seat and approached her.  

“Are you done snooping around?”

Piper jumped away from the model.  He met her sheepish gaze evenly as he crossed his arms.  “Sorry,” she gestured to the model, “I was just admiring this. It’s really well made.”

Gust felt the heat flood into his cheeks.  Pride swelled in his chest as he let his arms fall to his sides.  At least someone seemed to notice its quality.  “Well, thank you,” he said curtly, “I guess.”

Piper gaped.  “Is this your design?”

He scoffed, “well, obviously.”  He brushed past her and approached his model.  He’d drawn inspiration from the logic cube Ginger sometimes played with.  It was a boxy structure made up of three stories.  Every level was skewed on a central axis to give it a unique shape.  He’d used lots of windows and skylights to draw on natural light.  “It was for a competition I entered last month,”  He ran his finger along the edge of the top most story.  Dust was already beginning to collect on its surface.  “I didn’t win,” he continued bitterly, “they said it was too strange.  They didn’t understand my vision.  The crotchety old fools.”

Piper tilted her head to the side.  “Well, those guys have no taste.”  She knelt in front of the design and peered through one of its windows.  “It’s so interesting.  I’d love to see it full scale.  It would be breathtaking.”

Gust narrowed his eyes and searched her face.  She had to be messing with him.  The people in Portia didn’t like his designs.  She was tracing the angles of his design with his eyes.  She wore a sincere, almost dreamy, smile as she examined his work.  He stared a little longer before giving up.  She genuinely liked it.  The mere notion made his heart flutter in his chest.

“Have you studied architecture?”

Piper snorted.  “Well, no,” she admitted as she stood back up, “but I’m a builder, so I make things for a living.  Sometimes I like to admire the handiwork of others.  Especially when they’re this talented.”  She stuffed her hands back in her pockets and took a step back.  “You think differently and I like that.”

“Unfortunately,” Gust regarded his model with a look of disdain, “you seem to be the only one who shares in that sentiment.”

She gave him a sympathetic smile.  “It’s a shame they didn’t appreciate your design,” she was bouncing on the balls of her feet again, “If it makes you feel any better, I would have scored it well.”

Gust would be lying if he said it didn’t.  It felt good to know that someone appreciated his work.  His real work, not just the stuff he made to satisfy the town.  He didn’t really have a lot of support in his creative endeavors.  There was Albert of course, but he was more practical about these things.  He did what had to be done to make money.  Whatever made the client happy, he would do without question.  His sister tried to show her support, but she lived a sheltered life and she didn’t quite understand his late night tirades about parapets and gables.  

Piper was a builder.  She understood construction and aesthetics to some degree. The materials he’d used to create this model had been given to him by his father.  A halfhearted attempt to show his support, but the materials came from somewhere.  Had she been the one to provide them?

Gust’s breath hitched.  “Those materials my father got me,” he began slowly, “they came from you didn’t they?”

Piper shrugged.  “Your father asked me to lend a hand.  I was more than happy to help.”

“You sure like to be nosy, don’t you?”  He tried to sound irritated as he brushed past her, but he couldn’t stop the smile that curved on his lips.  The room had gotten significantly warmer.  His heart was hammering so loud, he was afraid Piper would be able to hear it.  He pressed a hand firmly to his chest and cleared his throat.  “Now,” he slid back into his seat, “come over here and sign this.  You’re wasting my time.”

“You’re not the only one with things to do.”

“Then do us both a favor and get over here.”

Piper didn’t argue and took the seat across from him.  “Sign here, here, and here” He punctuated each word with the tip of his pen.  “This is just the initial work order, so Albert will touch base with you later to go over the details.”  He handed her the pen and shifted back in his chair.

As she read through the fine print, Gust gaze wandered back to the model across the room.  He’d spent the last few days despairing over its imperfections.  If only he’d made the angles a little cleaner, or if he’d spent a little more time conceptualizing, maybe then the judges would have liked it.  He was nursing a big blow to his ego.  He had even begun to doubt his abilities as an architect.  Maybe he wasn’t as good as he thought he was.

It would be breathtaking.  Her words resonated with him.  He had thought the exact same thing when he drafted the first renditions.  It would be nice to see it come to life.  

“Is that all you need from me?”

Gust tore his gaze away from the model.  Piper fidgeted in her seat.  She really didn’t like sitting still, did she?  “That’ll be all for now.” He picked up the order form and placed it in Albert’s pile off to the side.  “I’ll begin drafting some concepts for you addition.  When I’m done, Albert will bring them your way for review.”

“Ooo, a Gust original for my addition,” she beamed at him, “I can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

Gust gave her a thin smile and he hid his twitching fingers in his lap.  He could feel the thrill of inspiration course through his veins.  He was itching to get started.  “Don’t get your hopes up.”

“I’ll try not to,” she winked and slipped out of her seat, “but I should really get going, so I’ll leave you to it.  Thanks for your help.”  She offered him a small wave.  Gust watched her go, offering no farewell in return.  She didn’t wait for one.  Without another word, she slipped through the door and out into the plaza.  The door jingled after her.

Gust was out of his seat in a flash and making a beeline for the model.  He scooped it up in his arms and hurried up the stairs to his drafting table.  Several ideas were already floating around in his head.  He hadn’t been this excited about a project in awhile.  He sat down at his table with renewed vigor and got straight to work.

[homenum-revelio-hq]

Welcome (again) to the Order of the Phoenix, Kate!

You have been accepted for the role of LILY EVANS! We really loved your interpretation of Lily and her family, specifically the parts including Petunia and how everything is not always what it seems. We also loved how you mentioned her self-righteousness multiple times and how you allowed for a beloved character to have flaws - because everyone does! Looking forward to seeing what you’ll do with her! 

Please take a look at the new member checklist and send in your account within 24 hours! Thank you for joining the fight against Voldemort!

OUT OF CHARACTER:

NAME: Kate

AGE: 25

TIMEZONE: EST

ACTIVITY LEVEL: Hopefully I’ve already been able to demonstrate that I’m active most days. During the week, I have so much time to plot & do replies – the weekends are a little more hit or miss, but I can usually pop around once or twice.

ANYTHING ELSE: nope!

CHARACTER DETAILS:

NAME: Lily Evans

AGE: 22 in a few days time in game.

GENDER, PRONOUNS, and SEXUALITY: female, she/her, straight.

BLOOD STATUS: muggleborn

HOUSE ALUMNI: gryffindor

ANY CHANGES: nope, she’s wonderful!

CHARACTER BACKGROUND:

PERSONALITY: 

lily evans is bold. she’s fearless. she’s sunlight and bonfires and radiance. she’s kindness and compassion and optimism. she’s vivacious and mischievous and quick to laugh. she’s smart, witty, determined. she’s competitive. she’s protective of the people she loves. she’s fierce in the way she loves. she’s crinkled eye smiles and sticking out her tongue when provoked. she’s goofy and an expert at initiating quick dance parties. she’s stubborn and maybe just a little too quick to hold a grudge. she’s sharp with people she dislikes and sometimes her words can bite. she can be maddeningly self-righteous, though she would never think so. she’s excellent at getting others to open up to her and being a consoling ear to them, but it’s more difficult for her to do the same. she builds walls around her heart without knowing it, her deep-seated fear of rejection ruling more of her heart than she may ever know. she finds it impossible to give up on the people she loves. she thinks that there’s always a solution, always a way to fix things. she’s passionate and quick tempered and now what you would consider quiet. she’s full of life, and determined to live her life fully.

or at least, she was. much of our world has been lost to this war, and the lily evans we once knew is just another one of those casualties.

lily had no hope of escaping this war. first of all, she’s a muggleborn, so this war is very much about her. but even if that weren’t the case, or even if she ever thought it was an option to disappear back into the muggle world, her ideals and sense of duty would never allow her to do that. she has a bit of a hero streak in her, and lily can’t sit back and watch as other people are hunted down and hurt, as the world she has embraced as her own is torn apart. lily always knew that she would be a part of this war, but her pride and stubbornness never let her consider that this war might break her.

and yet, it has. in some ways, she’s still lily. she’s still bold and quick to kindness. she’s still moved to compassion for those around her. she’s still determined and protective and fierce and stubborn. she’s still a brilliant witch (though maybe not as good at defensive magic and dueling as her pride would like her to think). but the spark in lily has gone out, the hope that animated her at the beginning of all of this has dried up. she’s lost the softness that once defined her and made her so extraordinary. instead, she’s hardened, and her flaws have become just a little more fatal in her life. the walls have built even higher, and she’s lost her tendency towards openness and trust.

lily’s not so sure anymore that they actually can win this war, but she hasn’t lost her determination to help in whatever way she can. she still sees it as her duty. what lily doesn’t see is that she’s become harder to be around. she’s quicker to push others away, to keep them at arms’ length. this is even more true after the failure that resulted in her taking the life of an innocent woman for what turned out to be a completely fruitless mission. lily isn’t introspective enough anymore to realize this about herself, let alone name it, but she’s suffering from a textbook case of depression. this will be interesting to see play out, because it could have serious consequences in lily’s life and the lives of those around her if it goes untreated.

BRIEF OVERVIEW OF FAMILY: 

patrick and rose evans were a perfectly matched pair. two writers and dreamers, patrick was a professor of classic literature while rose split her time between writing novels and painting masterpieces that were well sought after by a select cohort of people. they always wanted children, but they had no taste for a typical, ordinary suburban life. they wanted to teach their children how to be special, extraordinary, dreamers and artists. it was their greatest delight to have two daughters born in such close age to one another, two brilliant little hearts to mold and cultivate and raise like the garden of rare flowers that sprawled across their Cokeworth backyard.

patrick and rose loved both of their daughters, but raising humans turned out to be a lot different from raising a garden. from the time she was an infant, strange things happened around lily, while petunia remained perfectly ordinary. lily was soft and sweet and full of light, the epitome of what a perfect heroine to one of their stories would be, while petunia had a hardness in her that they didn’t know how to handle. they loved petunia just as much as they loved lily, but she baffled them with her obsession with ordinary and her desire for them to be just like all the other parents. patrick and rose were delighted at the unexplainable things that lily seemed able to do, while petunia responded with a stiff and begrudging fascination.

when it was discovered by the family that the special things lily could do were magic, patrick and rose were ecstatic. of course, they knew that it must be kept a secret, but their daughter was a witch? how unique! how special! what a dream it was! they were too wrapped up in their delight to notice their elder daughter’s resentment and envy, but lily was not so oblivious as her parents, and petunia’s distaste wore on her. lily responded with self-righteousness as a protective mechanism – she wasn’t a freak, she was special, and their parents saw it too.

as lily grew older, she began to realize that her parents’ treatment of her as the favoritism that it was, and her conscience prickled uncomfortably at the knowledge, but she did what she could to push that away. it wasn’t her fault that she was special, and besides, petunia was the one who constantly rejected lily. their parents loved them both – they just made a fuss over lily when she was home because she was away for most of the year. it was petunia’s fault if she couldn’t see that.

when lily was in her seventh year, rose evans’ studio caught on fire with rose still inside. patrick, unable to bear a life without his wife, ran into the burning building, and neither came out. lily was devastated and turned to her sister for comfort, but petunia responded with bitter words and painful rejection. lily tried a few times to reconcile, but each of her attempts yielded a similar result, and eventually lily stopped trying, tucking that pain away in a place so deep that she could pretend it wasn’t there. after leaving hogwarts, lily followed her friends into war. they were the only family she had now.

OCCUPATION: 

when lily was in her early years at hogwarts, she considered many different career paths. the fact that she could make a life for herself that was completely surrounded by magic was intoxicating, and her friends teased her for how often she changed dreams about what she might do after hogwarts. but as lily grew older and the war began to creep inside hogwarts, lily’s focus shifted from finding a job she could thrive in to finding a way to make a difference in the war. upon leaving hogwarts, lily chose the order instead of a career. she didn’t quite feel comfortable with letting james support her, though, so she took a potions apprenticeship and began working for an apothecary that allowed her to do mail orders for potions. this allows her to spend most of her time at the mckinnon farm while still finding a way to support herself. lily sees her real purpose to be the task force. she knows exactly what is at stake in this war, and if she can save more lives from being lost, she’s going to do everything she can to accomplish that. some might accuse lily of having skewed priorities, but if the whole point of this war is to save muggles and muggleborns, why shouldn’t they be focusing on helping those that want to escape?

ROLE WITHIN THE ORDER/THOUGHTS ABOUT THE ORDER: 

lily joined the order because there was no other option. she couldn’t sit back and pretend that this war wasn’t raging – her blood status doesn’t allow her that luxury. she doesn’t see it as this grand adventure in the way that her boys do, and sometimes it frustrates her that they can’t seem to take it more seriously. there’s so much more on the line than some people within the order realize. the longer lily’s spent in the order, the more disenchanted she’s become with some within it. she’s glad for the task force and for the chance to throw herself into that, because as important as fighting is to win this war, if they stoop to the same level as the death eaters in their attempts to fight, then what’s the point? with the way things are going, lily isn’t sure how much of a world there will be left even if they do win this war. lily won’t walk away from the order, because so many people she loves are giving themselves to it and it’s the only way she knows how to make a difference, but she doesn’t view the order with the same rose colored glasses she once did.

SURVIVAL: 

Lily relies too heavily on relationships around her for her survival. One of her fatal flaws is that she’s too quick to trust her friends. She is scrappy and resourceful enough that she could figure out a way to survive on her own if the need should arise, but Lily has not yet had to do that. She trusts those around her to protect her, and is maybe a little too laissez faire about her own survival. Lily chooses to live at the McKinnon farm most of the time, and when she’s not there, she’s with the marauders. She knows that they’ll do anything to take care of her and help her survive this, just as she’d do the same for them.

RELATIONSHIPS: 

Lily started this war with many good relationships in her life. She has a kindness and intuition about her that makes her an incredible friend, and many people have always been drawn to her because of that. She threw herself into building relationships within the order, seeing these people as her family. But the darker this war has been getting, the more those relationships have been strained. There are so many divisions within the Order, all around the way they should or should not be fighting this war. Lily knows that there are some who view her dedication to the task force as a waste, and she finds herself on the defensive with those people.

Her relationships with the marauders have been slipping, too. Distance has been growing between her and James – he just doesn’t seem to fully understand the stakes in this war, and how could he? He’s a pureblood with enough money that he would never have to work. He doesn’t understand what it is to be in her position – for the target to always be on her back and for her to have to think carefully about what she has to do to provide for herself and survive in this war. things have been tense between them, but after the failed mission, lily found herself turning to james for comfort. he seemed quick to understand the devastation that she felt, and she thinks that maybe there’s hope for mending their fractured relationship. after all, he’s still her james.

lily has also felt more distanced from sirius and peter lately. there’s something constantly on edge about sirius, and lily is concerned, but she has too much else on her plate to have time to babysit him, so she leaves it to james and peter to make sure that sirius doesn’t do anything too terribly reckless. peter has felt more distant, too, though lily wouldn’t say she’s ever been that close to peter in the first place.

remus is lily’s saving grace – he’s always been the one she’s felt the closest to (besides james), and their work together on the task force has only served to bring them closer. she’s doing everything she can to help him keep his status a secret, but she can’t deny that his determination to rock the boat when it comes to the rest of the werewolves worries her. she understands why it matters so much to her, but she’s afraid that others are going to begin to look a little too closely, especially with how sick he’s been. she’ll do anything to protect him and keep his secret exactly that, but she’s not sure she’ll really be able to do that.

as far as lily’s relationships with the rest of the order, she currently feels a little hurt. the people that she thought would understand and stand by her have chosen to punish her for what happened with leina nott, as if lily isn’t punishing herself enough already. she’s angry that she’s been benched, but she’s determined to prove to them that she still has what it takes, and she’s not a liability.

OOC EXPLORATION:

SHIPS/ANTI-SHIPS: 

Note that there are no planned endgame ships set in this roleplay. There are a few characters who are in romantic relationships at the start of the game, but it will be up to players to decide if those relationships can survive the war. This question does not guarantee that any ship will happen, it is merely for fellow players to see where your interest might lie.

obviously I’m ready and excited to explore the lily/james ship because I’m a big jily fan, but I’m not tied into any one thing in particular. this war has changed lily, and that necessarily means that her relationship with james has changed too. the only question is whether their relationship can adapt to survive the changes that have taken place, or whether it will continue to splinter. I’m excited to explore anything that might come up, especially in working with Karli.

WHAT PRIVILEGES AND BIASES DOES YOUR CHARACTER HAVE?

lily would like to think that she doesn’t have any prejudices. she’s a muggleborn, after all, which makes her the one that everyone is prejudiced against. this fact serves to have the opposite affect, however, making lily just a little too self-righteous, especially with those that couldn’t understand what it means to have a constant target purely because of who her parents are.

lily has a hard time being completely open with things she can’t understand. she isn’t prejudiced against the half-breeds, per se, but she does have a lingering suspicion towards them that she can’t shake and that she’d never admit to remus. it’s not that she thinks they’re all monsters or that they’re any less than her. it’s that they’re something she can’t understand, and that makes her uncomfortable enough to avoid them as much as she can instead of actually get to know what exactly it is that makes them different.

lily has more privileges than she realizes – she has a group of people who would willingly die for her and who would do anything to protect her and help her in this war. she takes that for granted, and thinks that she’s just like all these muggleborns who are seeking a way to hide and run, when in reality, she’s much better off than most of them. this has the potential to cause some tension with the very people that lily is so determined to help.

WHAT ARE YOU MOST LOOKING FORWARD TO? 

well I already know that I love this group. it’s one of the highlights of my quarantine time, and logging on every day to read the writing by my fellow members is a delight. as for lily, I’m so excited to explore another facet of this war that only playing mary doesn’t allow me. lily has always been one of my favorite characters, but lily in this verse has the potential to be so different from the typical lily evans that you find in other groups, and I love that. I’m particularly excited to explore the possibility that lily is suffering from depression and what that will look like continuing to be played out.

PLOT DROP IDEAS:

wow, so many thoughts. I’d love to see a plot drop that included the task force being compromised in some way – this is about the only thing holding lily together at this point, and I think her losing it in some way would cause lily to come apart at the seams, which is something I’d love to explore. I’d also love to see petunia as a secondary character – maybe petunia is impacted by this war in some way and it forces the two sisters into a confrontation that could either start to heal the most broken parts of lily or else force them even deeper underground in her heart. I’m sure there are so many more possibilities, but those are the ones right off the top of my head.

ANYTHING ELSE? karli & nicky, y’all are the best and we loooouuuurvvv you!!

[ahnsael]

I’m just gonna come out and say it. Biden is my guy. Even as a Bernie supporter (and county delegate four years ago; when I saw our county Democrats skew the results for Hillary and they blew me off when I called them out on it and actually left the party and I am officially unaffiliated now).

I know that “Biden is my guy” is not a popular opinion. Nor is it an educated one (to the extent that I know what I’m getting with Bernie, and I’m good with that if that’s where we end up), but...what changed between 5 years ago and now, between when we were sharing Biden memes about what a good person he was, vs now?

But if we don’t have Joe “Buying Everybody Ice Cream” Biden, I’ll GLADLY accept Elizabeth Warren. Or Bernie (though he would be as divisive as Trump but from the other end), so in our current climate I don’t think he’s a good idea even though I like him a lot). We all loved Biden as VP. What changed? Yes, he has issues...but he had those issues when tumblr was worshiping him. He had had those issues for a long time before those Obama/Biden memes were a thing.

If you’re holding out for a “perfect” candidate, good luck. Enjoy a lifetime of disappointment.

Whoever wins the Dem nod, I have to vote for them in November (unless it’s Bloomberg, in which case I will still vote in all other races but either leave the Presidential vote blank or write in Big Bird from Sesame Street because he would do a better job then either). The main goal is to get Trump out, but if it’s down to substituting him for another Trump...what’s the difference?

YOU ARE FREE TO REPLY TO THIS POST. Politics is about discussion and compromise (I wish politicians would remember this once in a while). I WANT to read your opinion. I may or may not respond depending my my schedule (and, let’s be honest, depending on my mood), but I DO want your input on this.

I have friends who say “vote your conscience” despite my conscience saying that if I vote for a third-party candidate, I help the worst person win. I mean, I voted Hillary in 2016 because, despite being a Bernie delegate in my county convention, and seeing how INCREDIBLY biased the leadership was towards her, she WAS NOT DONALD TRUMP so I voted my conscience in November and went with Hillary. Sure, I could have voted Vermin Supreme, but...what would that accomplish? I voted my conscience as in “I cast my vote for the greater viable good, and to try to prevent the greater catastrophe that is Donald Trump.”

So I mean, I get those who vote third party or write in Kermit the Frog or whatever (Kermit would actually probably be a pretty good President, if Jim Henson was still around to be the Vice President). But I would rather, under our current system, vote for the “lesser of two evils” than to vote for someone who cannot win. The system sucks, but as long as it’s in place we have no choice but to deal with the electoral collage.

Your conscience may say “I have to vote for the person whose beliefs most exactly align with mine” but my conscience says “it’s politics, NONE of their beliefs align exactly with mine, politics is all about compromise, so let’s go with the viable candidate whose beliefs are closest to mine, even if they don’t line up exactly, and who can make favorable compromises happen.”

Holding out for all or nothing is the SUREST way to lose.

[thunder-the-ranger-wolf]

Possible Excerpt from Had Enough: The Dreamsight Remix

Summary, the tag to follow

The next shop was Flourish and Blotts, where Harry would get his school books. On the list were The Standard Book of Spells, A History of Magic, Magical Theory, A Beginners' Guide to Transfiguration, One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi, Magical Drafts and Potions, Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection.

He knew nothing about these books or the authors. Maybe he should have paid more attention to his dreams because he knew there was something about Fantastic Beasts that helped him and his friends later on.

There were far too many books for him to go through in one day, so Harry was hoping McGonagall had a good idea of where to go. He would definitely be coming back to get more books that weren’t on this list but he’d start with these.

Harry paid for the books on the list and a few of the others that Jaime, Jack, and Amelia had picked up. McGonagall had a few books of her own that were accidentally lumped in with his. After they realized, he said that she could pay him back later if she felt like she had to. It made no sense to split up a purchase like this when they were all here for similar things and were all going to the same place next. He didn’t see the big deal she was making of it, but he also might have been missing something. Maybe it’s because he has his own money now.

The next shop was for potions supplies. Hary would need a cauldron and a set of scales to weigh ingredients and apparently a telescope. McGonagall was very no-nonsense and by-the-book about the purchases despite the awe that he felt seeing all these tools. He and Jamie made lists of everything they could come back for the next time they visited this place. McGonagall agreed on that because it would have to be another six times, one for each year.

The Apothecary reeked like rotten eggs and cabbage went bad, Harry’s dreams lied about that. Barrels almost Harry’s height stood against the wall, some of them caked in slimy goop that he wasn’t too keen on touching. Jars of shriveled herbs, dried roots, and bright powders lined the windows. Feathers bundled, wicked fangs, and snarled claws were strung up and dangled from the ceiling. Harry wasn’t sure what exactly he’d need for potions, but the surprisingly young man behind the counter seemed to expect McGonagall, so he and Jaime were free to roam around the shop and keep a listening ear out for whatever sounded most interesting. Harry would definitely be looking out during Potions. If the magical world was anything like the science teacher said chemistry was, something was bound to explode if he didn't know what he was doing.

After the apothecary came time for a wand. Harry and Jaime laughed when that came up and whipped their arms about.

“Abracadabra!” Harry shouted.

“Alakazam!” Jaime parried.

Professor McGonagall hissed and something smothered Harry’s mouth seconds later.

“Do not ever say that word!” McGonagall insisted sharply.

“But it’s just a silly trick!” Harry scoffed beneath her hand. She shook his head from side to side before lifting her hand.

“Say again?” She ordered frostily.

“It’s a silly trick. Nothing happens if you say it. To people who don’t think magic is real, it’s just sounds strung together.”

“Well, it’s not here.”

“I think there’s been a misunderstanding.” Amelia offered warily. “And I would very much like it if you never struck my nephew again.”

“What did you think I said?” Harry asked, coming to a realization.

“Avada Kedavra is the killing curse. If a Magician is powerful enough, it can be done without a wand. Its intended target receives an instant, painless death.”

“That’s not what I said,” He confirmed. “Similar language,” because of course it was, he almost can’t believe this! “but lacking a syllable and different vowels and consonants. I’ll keep it in mind, though. Wouldn’t want to accidentally kill someone for annoying me.” He joked.

“No, Mr. Potter.” Professor McGonagall informed him sternly. “No, you wouldn’t.”

“Jaime, stick with Harry and McGonagall, your father and I are going to have a look around, see if we missed anything and maybe get you some food. You can handle the wand part, can’t you?”

Jaime looked at his mother, eyebrows scrunched before he nodded and slung an arm around Harry.

“C’mon, Wolf, let’s go get that magic wand. I wonder if there’s anything else you’re not allowed to say around here.”

“The store is Ollivander’s.” McGonagall hurried off after Harry and Jaime and it took a lot for Harry to walk away from the Alfers. He had no clue why the Alfers sent them away or what Amelia was so upset about. Harry had committed a faux-pas here. It was only right that he was corrected.

Jaime shook his head when Harry voiced his thoughts.

“Teachers don’t put hands on their students. That stopped a few years ago and most of Britain isn’t too keen on bringing it back.”

This was all so weird that Harry figured it was best to just go along for now. It was stupid to be so upset over getting hit when he’d very obviously done something wrong and was getting corrected. What if someone’s life had actually been in danger from my words?

“We’re here,” McGonagall said stiffly.

The shop before them was narrow and shabby. Peeling gold letters over the door read Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 B.C.

A single wand lay on a faded purple cushion in the dusty window. A tinkling bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop as they stepped inside. It was a tiny place, empty except for a single, spindly chair that McGonagall sat on to wait. The place had an air of silence about it similar to a very strict library. Jaime let out a noise of surprise and he instantly shushed him. Stunned by his own actions, Harry didn’t speak again.

There was so much to do with wands that Harry wasn’t sure where to start. Would Ollivander answer all his questions? Did he even know how to?

Harry shook his head to clear it and looked around instead. Each wand was nestled in soft velvet jewelry boxes, the type that would hold a necklace the long way.

The strict feeling intensified, to the point where shivers jolted up Harry’s spine and he clutched Jaime’s arm.

“Good afternoon.”

Surprisingly, Jaime was the one who jumped. Harry’s feet remained rooted to the floor, though he still clung to his new cousin.

Twin orbs glittered through the darkness and the closer the person stepped, the more of themselves they revealed.

“Hello,” Harry murmured awkwardly.

"Ah yes," said Ollivander. "Yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Harry Potter."

Goodness, it would take forever to get used to people automatically knowing his name.

“Wolf,” He responded on reflex. “If you don’t mind too much.”

“Of course not, dear boy. Names, somewhat like wands, are chosen and shed. If a name no longer fits the person it belongs to, much like a wand, it can be exchanged for a new one.”

“How do you know when it’s time to change?” Harry wondered. “What if a name, or a wand, is forced on you?”

“Well, well, well, cunning little magician you are. Wands are a bit more obvious when they no longer fit, but, much like a name… sometimes you just know, Wolf. I want you to keep that in mind as you accomplish your goal today.”

“Fair enough.” Harry offered warily. He doubted that the same wand dream-Harry got would fit now, but he could only hope. Having the same wand core was all that got him through his dreams. Without that protection, that luck… well. Harry was already hopeless in the real world. He didn’t want to die anytime soon.

"You have your mother's eyes,” Ollivander said conversationally as he rifled through a stack of wands on the counter nearest to him. “It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work.”

It’s good to hear something nice about Lily Potter. Harry didn’t remember much about her that isn’t skewed by someone else’s view. Apparently, she’s good with charms. Maybe Professor Flitwick would know something about her.

“Your father, on the other hand, favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration.”

Ollivander got closer as he said this, and within seconds Harry could see his face reflected in the man’s off-white moon-like eyes. Ollivander reached a long unkempt finger towards Harry’s forehead and Jaime jerked Harry back before he could actually reach it. Ollivander paid no mind to the offense and Harry nudged Jaime’s arm.

Play nice! He mouthed to his new cousin.

“I’m sorry to say I sold the wand that sealed your fate, young one,” Ollivander said softly, breath barely above a whisper. “Thirteen and a half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very much so, and in the right hands, it could have been great. If I’d known what that wand would go on to do, I’d have denied the owner, first thing.”

“Yew is poisonous,” Harry found myself saying. “And if the wand chooses the Magician, then how could you hold it back?”

Ollivander’s eyes glittered knowingly.

“You are going to do great at Hogwarts, young one. Especially once we find your wand. Now, which is your dominant hand?”

Harry held out his right arm and Jaine stepped back. The boys watched as the wand-maker pulled out a long tape measure with silver markings from his pocket. He proceeded to measure from shoulder to finger, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and around Harry’s head. He explained the makeup of wands as he continued to measure.

“Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another Magician’s wand.”

Just like in the dream, somewhere along the way the tape-measure had lifted from Ollivander’s hands and continued to measure Harry on its own. He was surprised Jaime was so quiet about this since it was taking all Harry’s strength to be perfectly still as the tape measure did its work. Mr. Ollivander appeared in front of him with four stacks of small slim boxes.

“That will do,” He said, and the tape measure crumpled to the floor like a puppet whose strings were suddenly cut. Before Harry could ask how the tape-measure did that without an incantation, he was handed a long smooth light grey stick.

“Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave.”

Remembering how McGonagall had freaked out when Harry said a fake curse, he decided to keep silent as he flicked the wand. True to the dreams, Ollivander snatched it out of his hand almost immediately and gave him another one.

“Maple and phoenix feather. Seven inches. Quite whippy.”

This time Harry actually waved his hand as if he were saying hello to someone. Nothing happened with this wand either, but Olivander seemed to need it for something because he hesitated with that one.

“What are you doing?” Harry wondered as he twitched the wand between his fingers.

“Testing this one.”

“What is there to test? The wand didn’t work.”

“You reacted to the phoenix feather more than the maple, but not so much as you would with your true wand.” Ollivander informed Harry as he evaluated the wand he’d just taken back.

“I said before that no two wand cores are alike because no two magical substances are alike. But I can tell if you react to the magical core or the wood more strongly and narrow it down from there.”

“So even though the phoenix might not be my wand’s phoenix, you can see that I’ll need a phoenix feather for the core of my wand.”

Exactly, young one.” Ollivander crowed as he put the wand back in its box. “But just to be sure, we’ll test out a few more.”

A few more turned out to be about a hundred, or so it felt, and with each wand that seemed to be a dud, Harry found himself questioning his worth more. All the things that had happened in Harry’s dreams were extraordinary. He couldn’t imagine even seeing a three-headed dog, much less getting past one. The thought of getting on a broom scared him beyond belief, trolls would be at the school and he already knew he wasn’t capable of saving anyone because all the magic he’d been able to do involved talking to one snake, changing objects, and getting away from Dudley. There was no way the wand that chose Harry in the dream would match him now. If any wand chose him at all.

“What happens if none of the wands here fit me?” Harry wondered, feeling small.

“There are other wand-makers, though not many, that I could consult to have you fitted. You are not the first tricky customer I’ve had and you won’t be the last.” Ollivander assured Harry.

“Look at it this way, Wolf,” Jaime said suddenly. “You’ve got magic, that’s for sure. You have a bank account in a magic mall and you can make coins appear in a bag.”

“That’s stuff the Potters set up when-. When I was born, probably. It would work on any child they had.”

“A non-magical child would not get a letter for Hogwarts,” McGonagall informed us sternly. “Your mother comes from an Assiduan family and she got a letter. Her sister, Petunia, did not. You belong in the Magical World, Mr. Potter.”

“Wolf,” Harry said quickly, almost speaking over her. “I… I don’t like being called by my name,” He admitted. “Everyone who says it acts like I’m some bug they want to crush under their shoe. Except the Alfers and Mrs. Figg. But they don’t mind calling me Wolf either.”

“If that’s truly how you feel about your own name, then it’s no wonder the letter wrote out that moniker.”

“Holly and phoenix feather,” Ollivander cut in suddenly, handing Harry a pale green wand that sparkled red when hit by a patch of sunlight.

“You did say I’d need a phoenix feather.” Harry offered, knowing that this was the wand from the dream.

“Go on, give it a wave.” Ollivander encouraged.

Please, please, if I ever do anything right in this world, let it start here.

Harry raised the wand above his head and brought it down in a fierce arc. A blaze of red and gold sparks followed. They shot from the end like a firework, throwing dancing spots of light onto the walls.

“And indeed, you do!” Ollivander whooped eagerly. “It is… rather curious, though, young one.” He offered soberly as he took the wand back and wrapped its box in packaging paper.

“What is?” Harry asked with a knowing sense of dread. He hoped the wand-maker was about to say what he thought…

“I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, young one.” He began slowly. “Every single one. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand only ever gave two feathers. It is extremely curious, young one, that this wand chose you when its brother… dear young one, its brother gave you that scar.”

Harry swallowed loudly, knowing that this was what he expected to heat but somehow, coming from people in this world, it made the news more real.

“Yew is poisonous.” The younger boy choked out. “I guess only a strong rare magical substance could make its home there.”

“That is… almost true, young one. The magical substances are all powerful enough to temper the damaging properties of the woods we use to make our wands. In fact, I’d say they temper each other. But since yew is very poisonous, not many wands can be crafted from it. You are a very insightful young student, Wolf. I look forward to great things from you.”

Harry exhaled shakily, more thrown by this experience than he would like to admit.

“How much do I owe you?” He prompted.

“Seven Galleons, young one. They’re gold and the largest.”

Harry shook the Gringotts key from around his neck and pressed it to the pouch he’d been given.

“Seven Galleons.” He croaked out, hoping the magic wouldn’t fail him now.

He felt the bag grow heavier and shook the coins into Ollivander’s hand.

“Thank you,” Harry said. “for helping me today.”

“Of course, young one, the honor is mine.”

Jaime had to lead Harry around after that. Harry was too busy trying to process the day. Nothing that anyone said reached his ears, something he vowed to change once he settled into Hogwarts. He couldn’t afford to be as unaware as he was. Harry survived in the dreams because he was observant, in his own way. He had to at least get something from those.

McGonagall led the Alfers back home with the same portkey she’d used to bring them to Diagon Alley. After a few cups of tea where McGonagall told the Alfers what to expect on the first day and how to get to Hogwarts, the older woman was gone.

Ameilia, Jack, and Jaime all turned to Harry.

“What do you want to do now?” Jack asked softly.

Harry wanted nothing more than to go back to sleep. He needed to think. He needed to figure out how much of this was real and when he would wake up.

He could admit to the first part, at least.

“I’m going up to my room,” Harry said. “ I need to think about all this.”

[jising-jisang-jisung]

Sugar Lips | Huang Renjun

Genre: floof

Word count: 1.7k

A/n: this is one of the longest fics I've ever written and not at all based off of a boy from my school whom I dislike sorry about the rushed ending I didnt know where I was going with that :/

~~~~~

You and Renjun had never gotten along. He sat behind you in math and was constantly picking on you. Yeah, you could have destroyed him with some sick burns, but you held your tongue out of consideration for his gigantic ego. Half the school thought you two liked each other and the other knew that yall were mortal enemies. The thought of you liking Renjun made you want to stab your eyes out with sporks. However, you couldnt deny that Renjun was hot. Like, this boi had been hand sculpted by God himself. Seriously damn. You had to give credit where credit is due. But, as I said, you do NOT like Renjun.

After the rumors started that you and Renjun like each other, you tried to react less to him. You no longer argued and paid little attention to him. Much to your dismay, your teachers seemed to find your ability to ignore Renjun as a good quality that most of the others students lacked. This resulted in you sitting by him in most of your classes. But obviously you didnt let this affect you. You just had to sit there and pay him no attention. Easier said than done. You were always trying to not notice him, despite always looking at him because hes hot.

One night your friend, let's call her Ryn for fun, forced you out to a party and then ditched you. Skew you, Ryn! You weren't the biggest fan of parties so you sat on one of the counters in the kitchen, by yourself, patiently waiting for Ryn to be ready to leave. That's when something caught your eye. Renjun was also alone in the kitchen and he was looking right at you. Or at least, you thought he was, but he could easily be looking at something else. Why would he be looking at you anyways? You looked back down at your drink, avoiding any eye contact with the boy you have to ignore.

By this point in the year, you had gotten very good at ignoring him. You didnt even notice when he started walking towards you. And you didnt even react when he grabbed your hand. You paid him no attention as he led you into an empty room. All you had to do was not pay attention to Renjun. That's seriously all you had to do. So you didnt pay attention to him as he leaned towards you. But he grabbed your chin, causing you to look him in the eye. Shoot. Just dont react, you thought to yourself. You tried not reacting as he leaned closer and closer. Until..

He stopped? "Do you want me to stop" he asks innocently, a blush leaking onto his cheeks. Okay stay calm, just dont do anything rash- You tried to tell yourself but instead you grabbed his shirt in a fist and pulled him until the little space between you was now nonexistent. His lips were sweet, like sugar. They were as forbidden as they were sweet. And you were completely aware that you should not be doing what you were doing. Yet, you did not pull away. Thankfully, neither did Renjun. He just wrapped his arms around your waist and held you as close as he physically could.

The next thing you knew, your phone was going off. The musical tone signaling a call from Ryn who, to your dismay, was ready to leave and looking for you. Renjun took a small step back, wiped his mouth, and walked out of the room you to had shared. He didnt even say anything. Confused, you left as well, in search of Ryn. You found her by the door and explained everything that happened on your way home. Leaving out no details, it was a bit hard to believe considering Renjun was known to be you mortal enemy. What will happen when you sit by him in class tomorrow? Will he say something about it to embarrass you? Or will he stay quiet and pretend it never happened? Oh gosh, what if he says it was only because he was drunk? Thinking back to your memory, his mouth didnt taste like alcohol at all, so even if he tried to blame it on drinking, it wasnt feasible. But now you were thinking about kissing him,,, and that thought didnt go away easily.

~

You walk into your first class to see him already there surrounded by the other boys. You had planned to avoid eye contact and avoid him in general because you were worried about what he would do. But you locked eyes and to your dismay, he just smirked. Dare you say, is was a really handsome smirk too. Luckily nobody was paying attention so this interaction went unnoticed as you sat at your seat beside him.

Half the class went by without mishap and you hoped you would never have to deal with Renjun again. However, you are not that fortunate. He slid you a note discreetly.

Y/N, for acting like you have a pole stuck up your ass 80% of the time, you're a surprisingly good kisser ;)

You tried so hard to hold yourself back. To not react. To go back to how things were with Renjun as your enemy of mutual disgust. But you could help but write back.

Only 80% of the time?

You busy later?

I am completely free tonight

Good, my family is out for the night

And then the bell rang and you were off to your next class which you didnt have with Renjun. Before you knew it the school day had ended and you were rushing to leave. Maybe you were going too fast because you didnt see the person in front of you until after you ran right into them.

"Y/N! Can you fucking watch where you're going?!" Renjun said. You were taken aback by his antics because he was acting so weird in your classes today. I guess this makes it seem like nothing has changed between you two to the rest of the school.

"Watch where you're going, Renjun, you stepped out right in front of me." You spit back before you walked away without another word.

~

You arrived at Renjuns house around 5. When he opened the door, you could tell he was nervous but tried to play it off. You wanted to kiss him again, but he hadnt made another move. Yolo! You grabbed his shirt in a fist and aggressively pulled him towards you. His eyes were big, surprised by your actions. He kissed you back more delicately than before. It was as if he was no longer fueled by the lust he had at the party.

Renjun was the first to pull away. His face was bright red as he invited you further into his home. "Are you hungry?" He asked. "Yeah, maybe a little" He then went to his kitchen and got some snacks. "Listen, Y/N" his voice was shakey, "I know that we made out at that party and we havent really gotten along before but what I'm trying to say is" his eyes fell to the snacks in his hands, "I actually like you." Your jaw actually hit the floor when he admitted this. Obviously your reaction didnt do much help for Renjuns nerves. He scratched the back of his head when you didnt respond and spoke again, " I know I act like I hate you and that's because you hate me, dont you? So I'm not expecting you to like me, but I just thought I'd let you know the truth."

You couldnt believe what the boy was saying. Right now he looked so shy and small compared to his usual cocky, confident self. "I dont hate you, Renjun." You tried to say but it only came out in a whisper. His face lit up. "You dont, well then I have a slight chance- shit I meant to say that in my head" Yeah, this boy is supposed to be your enemy, but you have always found him attractive. You spent years pretending to hate each other because you both thought that the other did. Maybe Renjun isnt as bad as you thought. You decided to see where this would take you. "Do you wanna watch a movie?"

Again, his face lit up as he smiled at you handing you a bag of gummy worms, "Thatd be great."

You two wound up picking out a movie that you barely remember because you're sitting very close to Renjun. You cant help but stare, and your heart flutters a little. He turns to look at you, catching you off guard, meeting eyes. This time he took the initiative and grabbed either side of your face and kissed you softly. You wrapped your arms around his neck with your hands playing with his hair. Before you knew it the movie had ended and the credits were playing. You pulled away from Renjun a little dizzy from the lack of oxygen while you had been kissing. You didnt want to leave but it was a school night and you had to get home. You smiled shyly as you stood from his couch. "I'll see you tomorrow." Renjun nodded and followed you out, watching as you drove away.

~

The next day when you entered your class, Renjun was already there, again. But this time he got up from the group of boys and came over to you. He smirked before grabbing your hand and kissing your cheek. Queue everyone's reactions ( .O.) You knew he was just playing it cool but you were still blushing like you have too much blood in your body and it happens to all be in your face. Some people claimed they called it or knew or whatever. None of that was important to you two.

Yall would go on cute dates pretty much anywhere. The park, a picnic, the arcade, literally anywhere was fun with Renjun. Sometimes you'll even go to his house just to nap and cling onto him. Due to this, Renjun bought you a big plushie to hug for whenever he cant be there for you. What I'm trying to say here is that you two are goals and cute af and so on.

[mintychocolatechip]

In Your Eyes, I See Embers

Ao3 link

Chapters 1&2: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19416478/chapters/46207252

Chapter 3: Blurring Reality

Here I am uwu

Back with another chapter ;)

Enjoy

Soft Jazz mellows in the background of a seemingly high class event. Tailor made suits, and dresses litter the mansion floor as men, and women of varying importance mingle with one another. Taking a sip of the white wine that filled her small glass, Beverly sighs in boredom. Even the alcohol tasted bland and boring. She takes a look upon her husband, smiling arrogantly among the other presumed doctors. No doubt in the midst of taking credit for a patient he himself didn't actually save.

Finishing off the last of her drink, Beverly searched around hoping to find the waiter so she could request another. However, due to the constant shuffling among the room she doubted finding one any time soon. Beverly had just given up her search when she heard the sound of a shrill voice headed in her direction.

"Oh my gosh, Bevvie!"

That fucking nickname...

"Greta, heeyyy." Beverly half hoped her mocking tone didn't slip through too much. There before her stood Greta Hocksetter, wife of the wealthy business owner Patrick Hocksetter. Her tall almost stick like frame made her a dead give away, and considering Patricks last two wives it was clear he had a type. Still, Beverly smiled and waved as the blonde approached instantly regretting not getting more wine.

"Oh my gosh, how have you been? Better than before I hope." She squealed. The grating pitch of her voice aggravating Beverly's nerves to seemingly no end. She nodded slightly, her forced smiled faltering a bit as Greta began to drone on about whatever petty drama she spyed into. Amidst Greta's constant chatter Beverly closed her eyes, inhaling deeply through her nose. In that moment the posh fragrances of the mansion left her senses. They were then met with the smell of freshly grilled food in the air, she could taste the slightest hint of cold beer on her tongue, and the faintest sound of a gruff yet caring voice in her ears. Beverly chalked this all up to her imagination, a result of her wanting to be literally anywhere else.

"I sure do hope everything has been okay between you and Tom, you know especially since the 'incident'." Those words mercilessly ripped Beverly from her thoughts. The incident, of course she'd bring it up. In fact Beverly wouldn't be surprised if that was the topic of everyones discussion that night. It was honestly the very last thing she wanted to recall.

"You'll have to excuse me Greta I need to use the ladies room." She said hastily before practically running off. Once she was a safe distant from the gangling housewife, Beverly resumed her search for another glass of wine. She'd definitely need a few more if she was gonna survive tonight. After a bit of wandering she came across a door leading outside.

Entering the the mohogany wooden deck placed towards the back of the estate, she quickly made her way to one of the serving tables finally getting another drink. Relishing in the breeze of the cool night air, Beverly lifts her glass intending to take another sip. Yet to her immediate surprise it smells strangely familiar. The ginger's senses are once again flooded with foreign surroundings. Sounds of people chattering, laughter, and a general sense of comfort begins to wash over her. Taking a sip of the wine in her glass, she is instead welcomed to the buzz inducing taste of cold beer, something akin to Miller or Bud light. Beverly is still aware of where she is... Although for something she conjured up from her mind it seemed so real, almost too real.

Beverly closes her eyes, attempting to focus more on the strange feeling that's overcome her. The voices, and smells intensify. The feeling of it is so surreal that she almost believes she can see this lively location once she re opens her eyes. However in that very same moment it leaves her, briskly returning her to the quiet, and cool breeze, of the mansion's deck.

"What's got you all alone back here?" A voice calls, startling Beverly. The red head turns to see Kay McCall, her expression softening, giving way to a light hearted smile. She, and Kay had been fast friends ever since Beverly got to highschool, and had been a huge help to Bev through everything, even through the incident.

"Just needed a bit of air." Bev replied with a sigh.

"I hear ya, another minute stuck listening to Greta, and I would've lost it." Kay remarked, earning a small chuckle from the ginger beside her. A brief yet comfortable silence follows, the two standing peacefully among the breeze.

"Can I have everyones attention please?"

"Thats our cue." Kay sighs, and the two walk back into the fray of guests who were all scurrying around the podium which was now occupated by the host, Steve something. Beverly never bothered to remember his last name.

"Well ladies, and gentlemen first i want to thank you all for coming out tonight. Im sure-" His voiced seemingly droned on, and on causing Beverly to zone out a bit.

"So im sure this years profits will-" Bev had half heard him say something about profit margins...

When it hit her full force.

In that moment Beverly's feeling of familiarity was vioilently ripped from her. It being replaced with immediate panic. Her vision twisted and skewed, becoming blurrier by the second. Her breathing becomes labored as she attempts to take a step back, to calm down yet...

Her body isn't responding.

"Bev, are you ok?" Kay questions, taking notice of the panicked expression on her friends face. But Bev doesn't respond, instead lifting her arms up infront of her as if she was pushing some invisible object.

"Woah woah gentlemen, what seems to be the issue here?" The sound is peircing, intensifying the dull migrane forming directly on her scar. Through her torn and distorted vision, Beverly spots what looks to be a revolver in the corner of her eye. That feeling of panic growing stronger with each passing second. An overwhelming lightheadedness washes over her, and Bev begins to sync in and out of consciousness.

"You won't get a damn thing outta me!" From what she can recollect through the chaos in her mind, theres something about money, and from the looks of that gun, it was gonna get ugly. There's brief silence, followed by a whistle, and a door being slammed shut.

"So heres to our most profitable year yet, and many more to come." The host's speech ended with a toast, instantly snapping Beverly back to reality. She looks around cautiously, and sighs in relief when it seems no one noticed her little "episode". She then looks to Kay who's still looking slightly worried.

"Don't worry, i'm ok now." She reassures causing her raven haired friend to sigh as well. Beverly decides to head back out side to clear her head.

She turns around, taking a few steps before a sharp, intense pain hits the back of her head. She can somewhat hear the sounds of someone screaming before losing consciousness completely

"BEN!!!"

-----------

The sound of sirens flood Ben's ears, waking him from his injury induced slumber. Not a moment after the pain comes rushing to the back of his skull, and he screams in agony, only it isn't his voice that cries out. Fighting the pain, Ben opens his eyes for a brief flash seeing several mask covered faces staring down at him. Wait, why are there sirens if he's already at the hospital. The jagged scar on his fore head begins to throb forcing Ben to shut his eyes. Soon the blaring sirens dissipate, and he's left with the sound of Eddie's voice. He's panicking despite Richie's best efforts to calm him down.

"He's gonna be ok Eds, Ben's been through worse than this." Ben wants to say something, anything to let them know he's still alive. A needle gets stuck in his arm, the sting being the equivalent of a misquito bite compared to the intense pounding in his skull. He grits his teeth further, feeling whatever liquid they stuck him with enter his bloodstream. The pain steadily begins to subside leaving Ben completely numb. He slowly opens his eyes, stiffly turning his head to the right. He sees the relieved expression on Richie's face, and the misty look in Eddie's eyes. With all the strength he could muster, he gives them a weak but genuine smile.

"Thank goodness." Eddie says, releasing a breath he'd seemingly been holding. Ben tries to recall what happend that landed him injured in the back of what he assumed was a speeding ambulance. He can fuzzily remember difusing the situation with Henry, specifically having to give up 200 dollars to some drunk stranger with a gun. He tries to remember further but all he is met with is empty images, and the distinct taste of white wine.

"What- what happened to me?" Ben's voice came out low and hoarse, thankfully the two heard him. Richie's expression changed to one of anger as he clenched his left fist, the other hand tangled with Eddie's.

"That drunk bastard Henry came at you with a half empty beer mug." Richie replied through gritted teeth. Ben would've probably been just as seething as Richie if not for his current condition. Eddie gives Richie a comforting look, calming him down for the moment. Ben smiles as he looks upon them, they were lucky to have eachother, and he was sure as hell lucky to have them.

"Mike would've came with us, but he has to manage the bar, and clean up after that asshole." Eddie continues, Ben replying with a quiet "oh". Shifting his gaze to the left Ben expected to see a specialist of some sort, and the lack of one only raised more questions.

'Who was it that just stuck me?' Immediately after the thought, he begins to feel a buzz centering at his scar. His vision twists, and he is suddenly greeted with sounds of beeping machinery. The bright flouresent lights hurt his eyes, and he can't focus on much else. There are constraints wrapped around his head making it very difficult to move, and even as Ben tries to speak no sounds emerge save for a few breathless gasps, and whimpers. He looks to his left to his left to see a pale slightly freckled arm hooked to an IV, medicine flowing continuosly through the plastic pack. The arm couldn't be his it was too thin, and much paler than Ben's usually tanned skin tone. He hears several voices to his right, turning to see two doctors, one with a scowl like expression on his face. Then there is a woman with dark hair, and Ben can see tears cascading down her distressed features. He feels himself stir, but he isn't the one doing it. Suddenly he's back in the ambulance, Eddie had fallen asleep with his head resting in Richie's chest.

The buzzing in his head fades, leaving Ben feeling unexpectantly cold. However at this point the little strength Ben had has left him, and he closes his eyes once more falling unconcious as the ambulance speeds through the streets of Santa Fe.

----------

It's the dull ache in her head that pulls Beverly from unconsciousness. Slowly cracking open her eyes, the first thing she sees is Kay's face riddled with tears. Bev moves a hand to meet hers reassuring that she is indeed still alive. Kay looks down in surprise to see Beverly's tired yet happy expression, and returns the gesture with a small breathless laugh.

"You can't keep scaring me like this Bev." Kay says almost in a whisper. She gives Bev's hand a gentle squeeze, and the two sit in silence letting the calm atmosphere take over. Beverly looks over at the digital clock hanging on the opposite wall. It reading 1:30 am, causing a look of worry to pass over her features as she turns back to her hazel eyed friend.

"You should go home,don't worry about me... I'll be fine." Beverly croaks out. Kay sighs in response telling Bev that she isn't going anywhere, not when she's like this. Bev considered insisting, fearing for her friends health yet the dull ache in her head forces her to drop the subject. Her ears pickup the faintest sound of muffled sirens, and she begins to feel herself moving only she isnt going anywhere.

"C'mon Eddie we're there." Bev distinctly hears the voice yet she can't see anyone, its as if she's still closing her eyes, and can't seem to open them. There's some shuffling followed by shaky movement, but Bev is too exaughsted to try and focus on whats happening so she allows herself to fall back into unconsciousness.

Damn that was fun. I really enjoyed writing this chapter. Hopefully another one should be out before the end of next week but given my schedule, i cant make any promises.

As always Comments/Reviews are Highly appreciated... until next time

Kylo Out

[whitestonetherapy]

Negativity... (2.9.19)

If you're anything like me, you'll know that sometimes your mind can be your own worst enemy.  

Most of us have times that our mind can't settle - times when we're prone to making just about every 'thinking error' in the book.  Catastrophising, jumping to worst conclusions, making generalisations that are unhelpful, being highly self-critical etc.  We might find ourselves increasingly focusing on the negative side of life and feeling pessimistic.  

When this happens we'll often give more thought to negative situations in our lives.  We might think of all the things that could go wrong at work next month, or dwell on the times we've been treated badly in the past.  Then it's easy to get stuck in a loop of unhelpful thinking.  Roughly speaking, when you focus on the negative, your mood becomes lower, and so you focus more on the negative things. Boom...

The human brain has an inbuilt bias that tends to veer towards focusing on 'negatives', and this is just part of how the human brain seems to work.  We also have a tendency to notice the bits of information that support our state of mind (and so 'the way we see the world').  This means, for example, that if we are in a bad mood we're more likely to remember any unfriendly interactions when we visit our local town.  Dwelling on these unfriendly interactions will reinforce our low mood and may reinforce an idea that "other people are rude to me", and over time this becomes a fixed prediction for how people are likely to treat me in future.  (And so our negative predictions begin to colour future interactions).  

In scenarios like this, friendly social interactions are more likely to be ignored, and we'll assign more focus and attention to the negative experiences we have.  These become 'proof' of our theory about others.

This kind of inbuilt cognitive bias plays a big part in therapy too.  In therapy sessions sometimes people will say "I want to be happy" - something I can definitely understand.  But it is a fact that our brains are not evolved to produce happiness but to focus on survival.  Problem-solving has been the chief concern of the human brain for all of our evolutionary history.  The main goal of the brain is to solve potential problems, to automate tasks and take the need for conscious thinking out of as many of our daily tasks as possible, and to make 'predictions' to ensure we survive.  

This means we have natural default settings in our minds that ensure we allocate much more attention to problems than we do to situations which go according to plan.  It is because of this tendency to focus on solving problems (above, say, counting our blessings), that our perceptions of the world can become quite skewed, often to the pessimistic side of things.  

Hans Rosling (a Swedish researcher) quite famously demonstrated this tendency in a piece of research in 2013.  His research asked the question:  " Has the percentage of the world population that lives in extreme poverty almost doubled, almost halved or stayed the same over the past 20 years?"   Only 5% of respondents correctly answered that poverty has actually halved.  Our bias towards pessimism or a negative appraisal of situations sometimes means we can be really, really wrong...  In fact, this is the case with almost every quality-of-life metric.  Things have improved so much in the last fifty years, and yet the sense of pessimism remains high.

Like moths to a flame, we seem to be particularly drawn to 'problems' in all forms.  In 2014 a study at McGill University examined people's consumption of written news media and looked at the stories participants chose to read in what they thought was an eye-tracking experiment.  What the results showed was that even the participants who said they wanted more good news stories were much more drawn to 'negative news content'.  And in the absence of any sizeable problems, our minds will often work overtime to create some new ones - to find some new angle, some new (hitherto unimportant) issue on which to rest our attention and focus our concerns.  

This is partly due to "prevalence-induced concept change", a theory that suggests that as the prevalence of a problem is reduced, humans are naturally inclined to redefine and broaden the nature of 'problems' themselves.   This means that as things improve all around us, our definition of 'bad news' is just widened to find new things that are bad to report on.  We recast our 'problems' and simply discover a load more of them.  I suppose this is far more common in the developed, capitalist, liberal West  (where to some extent the 'problems' that have made life miserable for countless generations before the last several have now been solved) than in developing nations.  And so we see a recasting of 'problems' in new and unresolvable directions, one example being the current obsessional focus on 'identity politics'. Closer to home, I recently spent many hours looking at YouTube reviews for a new iPhone, obsessing about a choice between LCD or OLED screens as though something serious depended on my choice (both screens are far better than anything remotely possible even five years ago - and both are effectively identical to the normal eye).  Perhaps it fills the time in the absence of survival-critical problems...

We are also subject to something called "availability bias".  This bias was noted in a study by Tversky and Kahneman in the 1970's, whereby respondents seriously overestimated the frequency of crime, due to the overwhelming reporting of crime on the news.  Random violence or sudden, explosive bad things make the news because they shock and happen suddenly.  Good news - such as acts of kindness - are common and tend to form part of the clement background conditions in which life unfolds.  The good news doesn't have the power to make a sudden splash that changes perceptions that, say, warfare, accidents or disasters have.  Bad news is sudden and explosive, and so is exaggerated in our minds.  Real tragedies are thankfully rare, but never in history has each tragedy had such global coverage.

So, bad news arrives in ways that are far more eye-catching than good news. Then our mind focuses on problem-solving in ways that exclude more positive appraisals of the situation.  In evolutionary terms, it simply makes sense for us to dwell more on risks.

Add to this that people tend to think in relative and not absolute terms.  It matters how you are doing compared to others around you, far more than it matters how you are doing in a general sense.  This is why, whatever goal we reach, we experience a short burst of euphoria before quickly resetting and then taking for granted our new situations. It's why, for example, acquiring a new car only brings temporary satisfaction, before the problem becomes, say, a small scratch we've noticed on the rear bumper.  It's why a big promotion and pay rise quickly leads to wondering whether the person next to you was given an even bigger pay rise.  When things get better in our lives, this relativizing behaviour means we quickly reset our expectations and focus on the next set of problems.

During my years trading derivatives, I remember we would leave the trading floor and go to one of the pubs in Leadenhall Market after the close of the trading day.  One topic always came up - "losing trades".  You'll always find traders talking at great length about losing trades.  In fact, many traders remember their losing trades and losing days for far longer than they remember profitable days.  It's the days that everything goes against you that stick in your mind.

This is a long way round of saying that it's actually very hard to overcome your tendency to dwell on the negative side of things!  People often say "I don't want to feel so negative about everything", and it's useful to understand that your brain is doing what it is evolved to do.  

But this can be debilitating if it runs unchecked.  We can try and counter this tendency and bring some balance to our inner-lives, and it is possible to take steps in this direction.   There's lots of way of approaching this, but here are some questions you can ask yourself if you find yourself stuck in a cycle of negative thinking.  You can check your thinking by asking:

Where is the evidence for my belief(s)?

What impact is this way of thinking having on me?

Am I jumping to conclusions?

Is there any evidence to disprove my belief?

Am I concentrating on my weaknesses, and neglecting my strengths?

Am I taking things too personally?

Am I thinking in all-or-nothing terms?

Am I overstating the chances of something bad happening?

Am I predicting the outcome instead of experimenting with it?

Am I expecting total perfection?

Am I being open to evidence that 'disproves' my worst fears?

If I had to come up with a more balanced/helpful belief, what would this belief be?

If you have a problem situation in your life, you can try sitting down somewhere and taking twenty minutes to write out answers to these questions.  Really explore your own style of thinking.  If you spend some time doing this, you'll begin to condition yourself to avoid getting stuck in a spiral of negative thinking and hopefully more able to take a balanced view of your life.

www.whitestonetherapy.com

[funkymbtifiction]

In one of your recent asks, you answered the following (in part): "3) They don’t understand the difference between high Ne and high Si, so they assume having “a lot of ideas” or reflecting makes them an N." I was just wondering if you could clarify why/how those two as dominant functions could be so often confused/misunderstood? Thanks!

People confuse them, because they aren’t self-aware. It’s that simple.

Most people do not have a clear perception of themselves. And if they mistype, they adopt the mantra of whatever functions they think they use, but could not “prove it” or put it into their own words when you press them to do so – which would reveal that is not, in fact, their true type. If, for example, you are a Fi who believe you are a Ti, your understanding of Ti is skewed by your Fi. So you are saying things that sound like Ti (because you’ve read that’s what Ti does) but it is inconsistent with your self-expression. You do not ‘get’ Ti on the visceral gut internal way that you will, when you see yourself doing it as an actual process and realize that’s how you’ve always been, only this is the first time you are aware of the cogs of your brain turning in that particular way.

It is only when you can gain an independent understanding of the functions, and are able to observe yourself actually doing those things in that manner (and not giving lip service and/or falling back on someone else’s definition of that function when someone asks how your function works) that you are truly seeing yourself. Once you find your type, you can actually SEE your mind working – you become consciously aware of and amazed by it.

What you ask me to do in this ask seems simple but it’s difficult. I have pages and pages of INFP vs ISFJ contrasts. I have talked endlessly about what SiNe and NeSi do. I have used characters as examples. I have theorized on what the functions do, at various points in the stack, and I still get asked this on a regular basis. But the easiest explanation may be the one that is most often ignored – one of them is an intuitive, the other one is a sensor.

The intuitive lives, breathes, and speaks “intuitive.” What they say is often abstract, vague, or generalizing; they will come to you with a problem, outline it in vague terms (or sometimes “the facts” of what someone said or did), and not elaborate until you ask them to, on the details – because it never occurred to them you would not intuitively pick up on the meaning between the words; because it is natural for them to do that, themselves. To not ask for clarification on what YOU say, either, because they think they know what you mean (and do not need details, to answer you) or because they know what you mean. I know if I were to press my intuitive-feeler friends in one of two ways, they would become frustrated and/or eased depending on their functions.

The INFP in my life would become angry, defensive, and abstract if I pressed her to tell me how she felt about something; she relays to me the facts but often what comes across in the undercurrent of her words is the high Fi frustration that the world wants me to conform, to be part of this group, and it’s not what I want, and people there are so shallow; I can see right through them. That is not how she says it, but that is exactly what she means – and I get it, because I too am a Fi. I have the exact same internal bristling over the very things that frustrate and anger her most – not because we share the same values (we don’t) but because the same things irritate a Fi – being told what is or what isn’t appropriate to a situation, being asked to conform in a way that we do not want to do, the idea of us or anyone else being “forced” to do anything against our/their will (even if it’s “just” a company picnic whose attendance is “mandatory”)… the sort of things that set us off, where a Fe would think, “but that’s how the game of life is played… yeah, it’s stupid and I’d rather not go to the picnic, it’s lame, but you are overreacting here, just do it for pete’s sake…” but to them it’s not this deep-rooted INSULT or assault against the very foundations of Fi.

That sort of internal resentment toward “the group” is absent in a Fe-user, who would also not become angry, resentful, or resistant when pushed to “share” their feelings – the Fe would open up and be easily able to tell me about them, in plain words. Part of the reason a Fi would become defensive is, to a Fi and their feelings – asking them to tell you how they feel is like asking them to describe the ocean to a person who has never seen a drop of water. Now, to a Fe user, that sounds insane. Emotions have words. You can find a word and use it to describe your feelings! But a Fi has all this wordless, soundless color inside them that is their feelings. They are all tangled up, and it makes the Fi frustrated and angry when they WANT to share and CAN’T put it into words because it feels like none exists.

Trying to describe high Ne is also difficult. It is as if I walk through my day with no expectations and no preset ideas, only to encounter information, and have an instant response, connected idea, or explanation form in my mind – to the extent that if you asked me to speculate on the motives of that person, or what might be a consequence to this action, or how it connects to something else, I could fire off an instant response, treating and mostly believing that my initial instinct not only has merit, but is probably true. Sometimes I am right, sometimes I am wrong, but I believe what I am saying at the time, and it is never about the tangible things, it is always a theory about something related to it, or “other.”

Today, I was talking to someone, listening to them vent about an ongoing issue they have with a friend, and suddenly my Ne said, “They are doing THIS for THAT reason. Ask them if that’s what they are doing.” And it was. I knew it, so I laid out my intuitive perception (”I think what is happening is that this is messing with you on this level, and you are retaliating with that response, because it is a self-preservation mechanism that makes you feel safe… is that accurate?”) and found out it was right. I do this a lot, because I am working with connections. Unseen connections. That is what strong Ne does. It is not “just” ideas. It is not farting unicorns barfing rainbows. It is not being “bubbly” (kill that stereotype with fire). It is not stupid conversations for their own sake, though we can do what for fun when we get bored. It is the total belief that we are right in what we assume / know about someone, even if we have zero observable evidence to confirm it.

(I do not say this to go “woo, look how awesome intuition is,” because if you use it wrong or do it prematurely or lack enough knowledge to allow yourself to build a broad scope of connections… you will get it wrong a lot of the time and wind up looking like an idiot. And the result of this can be living in the land of delusions and coming across like a moronic asshole. Intuition is serious business, folks. It’s not a cool toy. And the best possible thing you can do for yourself is to not believe your intuitive conclusions about others without proof when you can just ask them, “This is what I think is going on – is that true?” The more you ask, the more you will learn about them, the more accurate your N.)

You will find this in intuitives – the tendency to trust and believe their intuitive insights about the future, about other people and their motives, about what is actually being said by that movie, or song, or television show… is a “fact.” Because in their mind, it is. Ne saw what was there, connected it to something else unconsciously, and handed them a strong perception. Sometimes that is the right perception, and sometimes it is wrong. I have been wrong. My intuitive friends have also been wrong when they have asked me, “Is this why…” or “I think you…” and I have said, “No, not at all.” The thing is, though, N is quick to leap to a conclusion – and N’s have to learn to slow it down to get it right.

I have tested this tendency to operate on Suspicion by spending days where I took note of everything I said, for which I had no tangible evidence or proof – how each time, I assumed I had the intuitive answer. I shocked myself at how many times I inferred things and was eager to leap on them without confirmation – only to easily abandon that perception as soon as contradictory facts or new statements challenged it. And I have also seen how my Fi has influenced my Ne – and in those cases, my intuition has been “off” – I am much more likely to read negative things into people’s motives if I have an “issue” with them which is clouding my judgment than I am to be emotionless and “pure Ne” in assessing something (so that’s also something to think about, if you’re an N – are you being pure N right now, or is your personal bias driving your conclusions?).

What I have just written is intuition. And I can tell you, ISXJs do not think the way I do, nor the way the INFP does. She is like me. So much like me that the only way you could tell the difference is my ability to respond quicker (dom Ne vs aux-Ne) and that her need to push back against any attempts to force her into conformity drives her intuition; it shapes it, so that it is almost always influenced by Personalization – her Ne’s attention goes to herself, her interests, her passions, her beliefs. Her Ne is saturated with her Fi. That is not something I can describe with words, but I can “see” it when we talk to each other. Her Fi is who she is. It is the air she breathes.

I can also “see” Si in my ISFJ friends... but from the outside, it’s something far different than what it is from the inside. Jung had a point when he said that Si creates its own sense of wonder, which is different from intuition, and built entirely of Self. I cannot describe it; I wish I could, because it fascinates me.

For comparison, here’s a post from a Si-dom that talks about their cognitive process; and they have 20 pages on Si in their introverted sensing tag.

- ENFP Mod

[paradife-loft]

so, one of the mailing lists I'm on sent out a link today to a survey for residents of my city on what qualities we find most important in the convo about affordable housing, to help guide what gets done with $$ from a housing bill that passed last year. which is great! I have lots of opinions about affordable housing and I do enjoy filling out a good survey, and I appreciate, uh, any measures taken to help get a wider set of perspectives on community issues like this.

but at the same time I'm having the same issues trying to fill this out that I *often* have with surveys of this type, namely questions that could be interpreted in multiple ways and would result in different answers from me to each; and perhaps more on my end than the survey's, exactly, the concern about whether they want - my opinion about what most affects me personally? my opinion about what the biggest concerns are for the community/city at large? because either way but especially if it's the latter, I'm already trying to calculate furiously how to best tailor my answers to reflect the most accurate state of what needs the most improvement and attention, trying not to skew the data toward whatever overrepresented demographics among survey participants I belong to...

(note that I don't *endorse* this method of survey responding, as for me it's less a method and more a very impotent attempt at divination fueled by mildly grandiose anxiety, but, yanno...)

but yeah it's just. there's so many things. I'm not a family, nor do I know many people with families in my peer group, and so frankly I don't have on my radar the number of affordable apartments that can fit more than one person and a cat - but family access is absolutely not *trivial*??! I'm more interested in whether housing is located near my, fucking, probably ex-middle-class millennial lifestyle-inflected businesses of choice, rather than providers of social services, but can I say that one concern is necessarily more important than the other on the scale of a whole city??! policies geared toward housing affordability for one group or the other are addressing different immediate needs, ultimately, and you can't run an entire policy looking only at one or the other if you want to enable a city overall to thrive. a whole nother set of concerns comes up if we're talking about creating new Designated Affordable Housing with tons of specific application requirements geared toward low-income populations, versus just, "hey guys stop generally making all your houses so FUCKING EXPENSIVE" as a blanket guider of policy.

anyway yeah I'm just kind of ranting now bc I probably overthink this all and hate the idea of... perpetuating inaccuracy and/or doing harm. and vagueness has always been a difficult thing for me to deal with and respond to. nnngh.

[theonyxpath]

Eric Zawadzki here. As there seems to be a lot of interest in the Clades, I thought I’d share a bit more about these. To that end, I’ve provided the introduction to Clades, most of the write-up for the Mutant, and the current version of one Mutant Variation – Rapid Healing. A usual caveat applies: This game is just entering the first round of playtests, so things (especially mechanical things) could change.

Clades

Origins are how you went into the Divergence; Clades are how you broke. Which of the five Clades a Deviant belongs to depends on how her mind and body adapted to the process that fractured her soul.

While individuals within each Clade transformed along similar pathways, every one of them is unique and carried specific variances into their transformation. The Divergence brought the inevitable conclusion that the human subject would be altered into something inherently inhuman, either through dying or breaking and accepting becoming one of the Remade. While the outcome was unavoidable, the specifics were never certain. Despite any similarities that may exist in appearance, function, or powers of Broken within the same Clade, every transformed is unique. Each survived the Divergence in their own way and came into their Variations and Scars as individuals. No one within a Clade need have consistency or predictability with their peers.

Every Deviant has three Adaptations – two as a function of their Clade, plus Stubborn Resolve (p. XX), which is universal to all Remade. However dissimilar various Broken are, the Adaptations denote shared experience in surviving the horrors. For some Remade, the fact that others share their Adaptations is the only comfort they have in knowing they’re not alone.

Cephalists: The minds of these Psychics lashed out at the trauma of their Divergence, reshaping themselves as their souls cracked and giving them power over the world through sheer mental will, beyond anything a Baseline would understand.

Chimerics: Also known as Hybrids, these Remade combine human and foreign species to try and gain the best of both worlds. Hybrids may incorporate animal organs, plant genes, hastily attached limbs, or play host to voracious pathogens and parasites to merge human and other and see what results.

Coactives: The Infused blend the intangible with the solidity of human flesh. The precise power bound to the Broken that shattered her soul could be nearly anything. One harnesses deadly levels of electricity or radiation while another channels angelic light or demonic darkness. The intangible source is irrelevant to belonging to this Clade, only that the human controls it.

Invasives: The Cyborgs gained power as their flesh grew around invasive, inanimate matter, taking it in and incorporating it to be one with the human. Some Invasives benefit from shiny technological marvels while others make do with tarnished jury-rigged devices, but gadgets aren’t the sole province of this Clade. Magical artifacts, alien devices, and other exotic materials bonded with human meat also mark Invasives.

Mutants: Something in the genome of the Grotesques rebelled at the horror of the Divergence, rejecting whatever was trying to force change by responding with a change of their own. As the Mutant’s soul cracks, his body becomes something more, something with the ability to refuse the alternative insult to his flesh.

Classifying the Unclassifiable

Conspiracies focus on Clades because it gives some predictability to the Divergence, but this is far from perfect. It may be somewhat logical to think that slicing open a subject and surgically implanting mechanical parts produces an Invasive, but the victim’s body may reject the cold metal and latch onto the warm electricity inside the machines, becoming Coactive, instead. Or some quirk of genetics may force her body to violently destroy the foreign substances and rewire her Mutant physiology to be inimical to all machines. The stimulus of the Divergence is impersonal, while the response of Clade is nothing but personal.

Clades are not truly random, as statistical clusters do exist. The individual subject is important but not the only factor. Divergences appear to follow certain trends based on the events that brought about the rupture of a Broken’s soul. As an example, overcharging energy supplies — even with ephemeral energies poorly understood by science — while performing procedures may help skew results towards producing Coactives. Implanting living biological material is best suited to achieving a Chimeric result, just as grafting machines to human flesh most often gives an Invasive, when it delivers anything at all.

Progenitors who work under controlled conditions tend to have some level of repeatability to their methods, or at least try to limit the variables as much as possible to channel the results down the pathway they desire. To help deliver the control they so desperately crave, conspiracies specializing in producing certain Clades may use psychological profiling and genetic screening to identify those subjects with similar characteristics to what has previously yielded favorable results. What worked to make one subject of given background and health characteristics may work on another.

Despite these efforts, the Divergence is more art than science and any method can just as easily result in psychic Cephalists or genetic Mutants instead. Overall, Progenitors know every population has its outliers, and statistical anomalies exist. Sometimes, accidents just happen. Ignorant bystanders or isolated observers in the right place at the right time can undergo the Divergence as readily as carefully prepared subjects. In the end, which Clade a Deviant joins depends largely on the physical, mental, and spiritual state of the transformed herself.

Mutants: The Grotesques

Adapt and survive.

Every Mutant is a miracle, a statistical anomaly that, by rights, should have died as a result of the Divergence. Somehow, they didn’t. Their body rejected the cybernetic implant, or transplanted organ, or infusion of exotic energy as though allergic to it. Then it went a step further, transforming into something that would never suffer another such incursion. Unfortunately, this aggressive immune response still splintered the Grotesque’s soul.

The Mutant can endure almost any environment, for a time. Grotesques only rarely encounter situations that they can’t adapt to overcome. If a Mutant doesn’t have what it takes to thrive at that moment, she can change herself and triumph. If the Grotesque needs some advantage to save the day — or tear down a conspiracy — she will adapt and make it happen. These changes carry a cost — always a cost — but many Mutants are willing to pay this price if it advances their cause.

Welcome to the Freak Show

Mutants embody humanity’s adaptability to overcome any situation, including the Divergence. Regardless of whether the Remade was willing and prepared for the transformation, something within her genome refused to obey. Her body changed to survive, developing its own way of coping, and rejecting what was on offer.

Most Progenitors agree that this surprising immunity has roots in some quirk in the Grotesque’s DNA, but they argue vociferously over whether it would have occurred in the face of a different Divergence trigger. In short, no one knows with certainty whether the Mutant’s genes would have reacted the same way to a nanotech injection as it did to the implantation of a unicorn’s heart, or even whether the heart of a lion would have succeeded where the unicorn’s heart did not. Genetics might predispose a person to mutation, but it is equally reliant on the much less likely possibility that she is exposed to a Divergence-triggering stimulus that will unlock this potential.

Inhuman Resources

The very adaptability that refused compliance is what conspiracies want with Mutants. Every loyal Grotesque is a wildcard giving power to the conspiracy. Rivals may plan for attacks from many fronts, but they can never fully prepare for the Mutant dedicated to the conspiracy’s disruption or destruction. This unpredictable power makes Renegade Mutants just as terrifying to the conspiracies they’ve betrayed. Even Mutants who have worked within a conspiracy for years as Devoted could return for vengeance from any direction and despite the obstacles placed in their way.

This risk and uncertainty prompt smart conspiracies to approach identified Mutants carefully. Recruiters would rather proffer the carrot than the stick, enticing the Remade to join on her own terms, and under what she at least believes is her own free will. The cost of keeping a Grotesque onside and at ease is usually far less than forcing her to comply. Among several conspiracies, Mutant assets enjoy a freedom unmatched by other Clades, and coexist with the organization as a valued freelancer or consultant rather than a slave. The main question is how long can the Mutant turn a blind eye to the treatment and propagation of other Broken in the conspiracy’s clutches before her maladjusted conscience realizes the truth of her ‘business partners’?

Mutant Variations

Mutant Variations penetrate the Deviant’s anatomy down to the cellular level. Grotesques suffer frequent comparisons to cancers, for their most common capabilities are disturbing perversions of normal bodily functions, and they are the Clade most prone to fatal deterioration due to Instability.

Rapid Healing (• to •••••)

Subtle Discrete, Perpetual

The Deviant’s body works tirelessly and unerringly to restore itself.

This Variation must be Persistent. This Variation cannot heal damage caused by Scars (such as Perilous Variation) or Adaptations (such as Adrenaline Surge or Overclock).

At Magnitude •, the Deviant’s natural healing times are halved.

At Magnitude ••, the Remade heals one bashing damage per turn in action scenes and heals all bashing damage at the end of each scene. This also removes minor ailments such as colds, food poisoning, or sprains.

At Magnitude •••, as Magnitude ••, but the Deviant also heals all lethal damage at the end of each chapter. This also cures most diseases and purges the Broken’s body of toxins.

At Magnitude ••••, as Magnitude •••, but the Deviant instead heals one bashing or lethal damage per turn in action scenes, heals all lethal damage at the end of each scene, and heals all aggravated damage at the end of each chapter. This also regenerates damaged or destroyed limbs and organs, eliminating relevant Persistent Conditions such as Blind or Crippled.

At Magnitude •••••, as Magnitude ••••, but the Deviant is nearly invulnerable to death, except as the result of Instability. Even if decapitated, dismembered, or incinerated, his body still makes itself whole. After being killed, the Broken’s body can remain inert for as long as his player wishes, such as to wait for enemies to leave the scene or until he is no longer immersed in a vat of strong acid. When he rises from the dead, the Deviant heals points of aggravated damage equal to Scar Power.

The Coactive Symbiote doesn’t remember the assassination missions her body carried out on behalf of her old employers because the spirits they coaxed into possessing her never let her — at least not until she convinced one to help her escape (Amnesia; Persistent).

The Invasive contains powerful nanites capable of rebuilding his body from a fragment, if necessary. They have done her mental health no favors, however (Murderous Urge, Persistent).

The Mutant possesses regenerative abilities that would make a starfish jealous. Although he heals quickly, he also feels pain more keenly (Fragility; Persistent).

[scripttorture]

Star Wars AU anon! Thanks for letting me know! Basically, my questions were: How can I characterize Rey’s deskilling/mental health issues in a mafia setting if she goes on a trip with Finn? How could I characterize Boss Kylo and why he would keep a torture group that is poisoning his organization? I want Finn to inform him when he sees Rey’s condition and incompetence as more than just being new, but I want Kylo to see competent/powerful and not too dense about his organization. [1/2]

(Star Wars anon) Lastly, just to make sure I didn’t miss anything, would the torturers interact with Kylo and would they be disrespectful? Or only toward those who don’t like torture? Would Rey be nice to Finn even though he doesn’t like torture itself? [2/2]

Thisis quite a long set of questions, I’ll try to tackle it as best Ican. Some of these have more definitive answers than others. In somecases I might make suggestions based on the characters, as I’mfamiliar with them.

And this got very long so the rest of it is under the cut.

Ihad quite a few conversations with the author discussing the story,so I got quite a bit of extra information on the characters andcontext.

Oneof the things that came up in conversation with the asker was a fearthat this plot might have sexist connotations. That Rey is going frombeing led by Kylo to being led by Finn.

Nothingin the plot outline struck me as particularly sexist, though I agreethat context and connotations are important. Female torturers arerare but there’s nothing in the current research to suggest thatthis is because women are less likely to torture. Instead thedisparity is likely explained by women being denied opportunities.In most countries the sorts of occupations torturers are usuallyemployed as, are heavily skewed towards men. In some countries womenare actively barred from filling these roles.

Theresult is that (while I admit research is lacking) it seems likelythat there are less female torturers because there are less women ina position where they can become torturers. When there arewomen in these kinds of positions and environments then we dostart seeing them participating in torture.

Oneof the things the author mentioned in conversation was thedifferences between torture in a military or policing context (ie thefocus of most research) and in an organised crime context. When itcomes to the gender ratio the observations in policing and themilitary hold just as true for organised crime: most of thesecriminal organisations favour men and many actively exclude women.

Thatdoes effect Rey’s position here. The story puts her in a sexistenvironment, but that doesn’t necessarily make the story sexist. Ithink if you’re worried about that the thing to emphasise here isRey’s choice.

Theodds are that in this deeply sexist environment she’s listening toKylo because he gave her a chance. It may seem cliché butpeople do remember and respond well too individuals who help us wheneveryone else was dismissive. Stressing her reasons for followingmakes this less about Kylo and more about Rey actively choosingbetween the options available to her.

Youcan then extend that to Finn as well. Because if this Rey limitsherself to a life in organised crime (or a life as a torturer),  thenshe may well see Kylo as her best option. Listening to Finn thenbecomes less about Finn himself and more about Rey discovering thatactually she does have other options. Again, it’s aboutshifting the focus to emphasise that she’s making a choice.

Asfor how sexism would effect the way readers respond to afemale torturer-

Ithink whatever you do there will always be a couple of people whowill excuse a character’s actions because they like the characteror because she’s a young, pretty white girl and thereforecan do no wrong. However well you write this scenario you’re notgoing to get rid of that section of fandom.

Iknow quite a few fic authors who have written wonderful, lengthynuanced (tagged) pieces and still gotten a bunch of responsesthat say far more about the commenters prejudice then they do aboutthe character or fic. They are a minority ofcomments/responses. I would suggest preparing yourself for thoseresponses even while doing the best job you can.

AndI think the answer here is actually the same as the prior one:emphasise Rey’s choice. Kylo may want or ask her to dohorrible things but it is still her choice to do them. Emphasise herreasons and motivations. They won’t all be about pleasing her boss.

Somethingyou could include that would help here (and be in keeping with thebehaviour of torturers) is having her jump the gun sometimes. Havingher leaping straight into abusive behaviour before she has theorder or OK from Kylo. She might then have to justify her actions tohim afterwards. But one or two incidents of this kind of realisticinsubordination would serve to underline her decisions, her thoughtprocesses and her choice.

Ithink this is probably the point where I should start talking aboutorganised crime.

It’sa minor point but I’m not sure it’s appropriate to call thesesorts of Organised Crime settings/AUs ‘Mafia’ AUs. I’ve seenquite a few Italians object to this usage and- well it seems to implythat mafia groups are a thing of the past or from old Americanmovies. Rather than hugely powerful groups that are very much stillaround murdering people today. Hence why I’m referring to this as‘organised crime’ throughout.

Ialso think that the story you’re going for would benefitfrom a little distance from Mafias in particular. Because while youdo get torture around some of their ‘traditional’ activities (ieracketeering and ‘protection’ money) it comes up a lot morefrequently in human trafficking gangs. I’mnot sure if that’s something you want to use butif Kylo’s gang had a history of being involved in that trade itcould explain why they have a full-time torturer.

Fromwhat I can tell (and once again I’m not an expert on organisedcrime) most of these sorts of gangs don’t.There doesn’t seem to be the same relentless intensity of violencethat you see in the context of police and military torturers.

Iam not suggesting thatorganised criminals don’t torture or that they don’t dohorrendous things. What I’m saying is that individual gang membersdon’t typically seem to occupy positions where they’ll betorturing people 9-5, five days a week every week for years at atime. And that difference in intensity of exposure maylead to a difference in things like symptom severity. I don’tcurrently have enough data to confidently judge that.

ButI think if you characterise this criminal group as having beenheavily involved in human trafficking in the past (whether it stillis now or not) then you have more a plausible explanation for thespace you want Rey to occupy.

Internationalhuman trafficking gangs definitelyhave members who are engaged in torture in ways that are comparableto military and police torturers. Thishappens while victims are being transported and throughout the timethey’re held. The result is that gangs members who have directcontact with victims are oftentorturing or witnessing torture for the majority of their day.

Ifyou feel comfortable writing the characters engaged in these sorts ofactivities then you have a perfectly plausible explanation for Rey’scondition and function within the organisation already: she startedout at that level and she’s carrying the same behaviours andproblems forwards.

Ifyou don’t feelcomfortable writing that I think you could get Rey to a similarposition by having that as part of the gang’s recent past.

I’mthinking of a scenario something like this- The gang has stoppedengaging in human trafficking for whatever reason. However there arestill a fair few older members who were heavily involved with humantrafficking, including torturers. These older torturers are likely tofeel like they’ve been sidelined. They’re likely to feel bitterand generally opposed to the organisation’s current leadership. Asa result most of them are not likely to last long in the gang.

Butyou only really need one or two to last until Rey joins. Becausetorture is generally passed on in the same way ‘craft’professions are: an older more experienced person takes it uponthemselves to show a younger person how to do things.

Reyis already in this intensely sexist and competitive environment. Alot of fellow criminals are unlikely to want to give her the time ofday when she starts out and Kylo may not have noticed her instantly.She’d likely be isolated within this group, which makes her a primetarget for a torturer to pick up as an apprentice. The oldercharacter’s motivation here would be showing the others that theystill have a purpose and that what they do has a use. From Rey’sperspective she’d probably just be glad to have someone in the gangappearing to care for her and give her attention.

Ifyou haven’t found a use for Phasma in the story this could be avery good background role for her. It could also help address some ofthe worries you have about sexism by giving Rey a female ‘mentor’.

Thiskind of ‘training’ from early on when Rey joins could give anexplanation for her being pigeon-holed into this sort of violentrole. In fact it could be something her mentor figure here activelyencouraged. ‘Look how well I trained her to be violent. Use her forthis. Send her in when the protection money isn’t paid and you needto make an example out of someone.’

Itgives Rey her ‘role’ in the organisation and it would give adisgruntled, bitter formerly-activetorturer thekind of ego boost they thrive on.

Nownormally I would say that yestorturers would show a lack of respect to the people who outrankthem. Which in this scenario includes Kylo. But- well with some ofthe things I’ve outlined above, the likely sexist nature of theorganisation and this mentor-ship idea to explain Rey’s role- Ithink you could plausibly side step that.

Ina typical situation torturers disobey orders and don’t respond wellto authority. However this isn’t a typical situation. If Rey feelslike Kylo is one of the few men/people in this organisation that’sgiven her a fair chance (or one of the few to respect her‘abilities’) then that couldresult in a different relationship.

Theask and our conversations gives me the impression that theirrelationship isn’t distant. They know each other personally, thereseems to be a certain amount of mutual respect there. I think thatfits with the way you’ve established these two characters withinthis AU. It seems like this Rey may well feel personally indebted tothis Kylo.

Thatdoesn’t extend to other torturers though.

Thereare two realistic ways to handle that. The first is keeping thenumber of torturers very low; perhaps only two others aside from Rey.That could lead to a situation where Rey is the only one reallyinteracting with Kylo. The second is giving the torturers a highturnover rate: a lot of them are killed quickly for insubordinationor general incompetence.

Bothof those are plausible, realistic scenarios and they can functiontogether. The second in particular could be used to strengthen theboss-employee relationship between Kylo and Rey. He may well havenoticed that the torturers generallyaren’t trustworthy while also noticing that Reyhasn’t been insubordinate. That could also help with making himseem less incompetent; he believes Rey is trustworthy so he’sattaching the problems with other torturers to the individuals ratherthan torture itself.

HonestlyI’m a little unsure what else to advise with regards to Kylo andincompetence because one of the things I love about the character ishow incompetent he comes across as. I absolutely adore the way StarWars gave us this villain with huge personal power and no idea how towield it. With so many villains positioned as incredibly smart andtactical it seemed incredibly refreshing to me.

Divorcingthat question from the character though-

Ina military context a lot of superior officers don’t notice the facttorture doesn’t work because they’re not effectively comparingwhat their people are actually doing. Torture destroys their abilityto fact check.

Ithink this is probably easiest to explain in a policing context. Saythere’s been a robbery. The torturers go out and arrest some randompeople while the officers who are actually policing do the hard workof trying to look for evidence. To the superior (who is going by whatthe subordinate officers say)it looks as if the torturers have been more efficient. They havesuspects in jail already.

Bythe time the officers come back with some evidence the torturers mayhave forced a confession out of someone. The superior looks at thatand at the evidence and realises they don’t match. At this pointthe superiors has one group of subordinates telling them one thing iscertain, and another group saying something different. They’relikely to tell both groups to go away and investigate further.

Inthat time the torturers will probably get their victim to changetheir confession, taking the new details into account.

Thesuperior ends up praising them and feeling like they’ve got the‘right’ person. The officers go on working in the background anduncover more evidence that contradicts this, but by that point thevictim may already have been charged. The case might go to court andget thrown out because the evidence contradicts the confession.

Butby that point the truth, as it’s being communicated to the superiorofficer, is so muddied that it’s not particularly surprising thesuperior is having trouble. Especially when they’re dealing with alot of cases.

Unlessthey keep detailed records of these sorts of confused, contradictoryevents and the officers involved over time, they may well notidentify the problem with particular officers. It’s a question oftrust: superiors often need a clear reason to stop trusting theirsubordinates and torturers are usually very good at presenting theirstory as if it’s established fact.

Thisfeeds into the broader question of why an organisation might keepthese groups around. What follows is my opinion, rather thansomething I can point to research on.

Inthe context of the sort of organised criminal group you’representing- they may just not care. They may see it as something thatscares the competition and victims. They may (wrongly) believe thismakes people more likely to obey them.

Iget the impression that in military and police organisations there’soften a lack of will: the authorities in particular areas can’t bebothered to root out torture. There’s also often a high acceptanceof apologist ideals, especially ones surrounding victim’s‘deserving’ to be tortured.

Ifyou choose to use the idea that the gang engaged in human traffickingin the past they may have torturers through... inertia. They’ve‘always’ had them so why change?

Organisations,criminal or otherwise, don’tnaturally follow the path to greatest efficiency. People do thingsthey think work,rather than rigorously test everything. And if this organisation hasnever been without torturers then they probably have no idea how muchthey’re being dragged down.

Buthonestly? I don’t think you need much more explanation then anacceptance of apologist ideas and a lack of will/time/energy to roottorture out.

Ithink that covers the questions about the organisation and leaves thequestions about Rey in particular and her interactions with Finn.

I’mgoing to try and start with mental health problems.

Oneof the questions underlying this is what it takes for us to recognisesomething as a mental health issue, as opposed to an individual issueor not liking someone. And that varies greatly depending on theculture. The question of recognising and addressing incompetence intorturers is much easier.  

You’veprobably taken a look at the list of symptoms but here they are againjust in case.

Ithink characterising and recognisingthose symptoms depends on both the symptoms themselves and thecharacters.

Somesymptoms are probably easier to recognise in the context of thistrip. Memory lapses stand out as both obviouswhen you’re spending a lot of time with someone and something thatcan be tied to incompetence. Addiction could be used similarly butcan easily warp any narrative it’s put into: make sure you’ve gotthe narrative space to address it before deciding to use it.

Anxiety,panic attacks and PTSD can all make people freeze or seem to spaceout. They can cause visibleshakes. Anxiety and panicattacks can also make people repeat words or speak noticeably morequickly.

Depressionand anxiety can cause nausea and difficulty eating.

Hypervigilance,anxiety and panic attacks can look like paranoia. And any of thosesymptoms coupled with insomnia, memory loss or difficulty relating topeople can lead to situations where characters massivelymisjudge someone’s emotional state or a situation more generally.

Someof these things are easier to recognise as mental health problemswithout prior information on mental health. I think the best thing todo here is decide on symptoms, not just in relation to Rey but inrelation to what you think Finn would recognise. You need thesymptoms you pick to fit the broader plot as well as the character,so I’d suggest leaving out symptoms that you don’tthink Finn would be able torecognise as symptoms.

Deskillingis going to be- well prettydependant on what Rey and Finn are actually doing during this trip.

NarrativelyI think the best way to approach that would be to try and create anincident that highlights it, a situation where Rey leaps into doingsomething Finn knows is wrong. Not in the moral sense, in thepractical sense.

Thebasic template that comes to mind for me is this: Rey and Finn arelooking for someone, some thing or a particular important piece ofinformation. They’re in a new place. They’ve been together forthe time it took to get there but they don’t necessarily know eachother well yet.

Theydecide they’ll cover more ground if they split up. Youcould then show Finn following effective investigation methods andgetting some decent leads as a result. He contacts Rey and askshow she’s doing. Rey says she’s doing great and she’s got somefantastic leads. But when they meet up the things she’s saying makeno sense to Finn. They contradict the information he has, informationthat’s backed up by separate sources.

Finnmight be a little suspicious of this but interpreting it as a lack ofskilled information gathering means having the pattern repeat. Itmight mean Finn going out and trying to investigate Rey’s ‘leads’and finding either nothing or outright refuting evidence. Or it mightjust mean a generalised pattern of the same thing repeating; theykeep coming up with different ‘evidence’ and Rey’s is startingto seem increasingly outlandish.

Eventuallythat could lead to Finn questioning howRey is getting information. Finn might also start encounteringunexpected resistance. You could have previously reliable informantsflatly tell him they don’t want to talk to him any more because hebrought a torturer into town (perhaps people they know were targettedor perhaps they fear for their own safety).

Fromthe longer conversations I had with the author it’s clear that Reyisn’t completely comfortable with her role by this point and she’sprobably linked her mental health problems to what she’s doing insome way.

Nownormally I would saythat a character trying to intervene and stop a torturer (or justtrying to present an anti-torture point of view) was likely to getattacked. But I think a combination of the way you’ve characterisedthis version of Rey and the isolated situation they’re both inmeans that you could pull this off.

I’vespoken before about how torturers have a tendency to interpretanti-torture stances as attacks and respond accordingly. But thatresearch is all from amilitary context. What happens in that scenario is that thetorturer-sub-culture tends to close ranks. They try to make life asuncomfortable as possible for the person they see as a ‘threat’.Social isolation, bullying, attempts to sabotage their job and thelike are common. The situation can escalate to violence and attemptedmurder.

Howeverthis is within a context where torture is (at least theoretically)always against the rules. Your characters are alreadybreaking the law, none of them need to really worry about whetherbreaking another law is going to get them jailed or fired.

You’vealso taken Rey outsideof that toxic sub-culture when this happens. So she isn’t going tohave other people putting social pressure on her to reject what Finnsays.

Sometorturers do say theywant to stop. Especially when they acknowledge that their healthproblems are caused by what they do.

Whetherthis counts as ‘guilt’ or ‘regret’ depends on how you definethose terms. I think a lot of torturers regret the consequencestorture has had for them.But that’s not the same as a deeper understanding of what they puttheir victims through.

Fromeverything you’ve said about the way you’re characterising Reyand the story generally I think you could easily present her as‘regretting’ the fact her actions have led to her mental healthproblems. A greater insight into what she’s done would probablytake more time. But I’m not sure that greater insight would benecessary at this point, when you have Finn confronting Rey about thepointlessness of her actions.

Ifshe’s aware that she’s hurting herself and Finn can presentevidence that what she’s doing is ineffectivethen I think you have enough for the character development and arcyou have planned. It seems plausible to have an intervention workwith these specific characters under these specific conditions.

Ithink that leaves the question of Finn bringing this information toKylo and the question of how Rey might interact with Finn morebroadly.

It’sseems pretty clear to me that you’ve got their relationship growingand changing as the story progresses. It would make sense to havetheir interactions and Rey’s attitude change over that time periodas well.

Onceagain the differences between military torture and torture in anorganised crime context come into play here. Everything I’ve justsaid about how Rey might respond to Finn pointing out how ineffectiveher efforts have been is notbased on research. Because there is not so far as I know sufficientresearch on this in organised crime particularly. It’s an educatedguess on my part.

Imentioned that Rey is…. ina position where she’s at less ‘risk’ then a military torturermight be. That could result in a less confrontational attitudetowards Finn at first but I’m not sure. What it boils down to iswhether she sees him as a threat. Not in a physical sense but as athreat to the role she’s carved out for herself, her position inthe organisation, her prestige, her livelihood.

Ihonestly think you could play it well in a number of ways. You couldhave Rey start this trip not feeling threatened by Finn butdismissive of him. A general attitude of ‘well he doesn’t knowwhat he’s talking about’ that lets her ignore everything he says,right up to the point where he can underline just how pointless herefforts have been.

Ithink you could also start this off with Rey feeling quite threatenedby Finn’s stance and determined to ‘prove’ she’s right. Thatcould make it harder for Finn to reach her later.

Youcould also lean in to the fact that torturers are often quitesocially stunted. If Rey is already questioning what she’s doingbecause of the effect it’s having on her health she might feel tooconflicted about the issue to really know how she feels about Finnhimself. If she thinks what she’s doing is effective and haspurpose then she might see herself as sacrificing her health for theorganisation. She may find it difficult to interact with Finn oraddress any of his points against torture.

Shemay feel like she ‘needs’ to verbally defend what she doesbecause she sees it as ‘for the greater good’.

Ithink however you start their relationship off you could use theconfrontation, Finn pointing out how ineffective her methods are, asan opportunity to bring them closer together. You could use it as anopportunity for Rey to open up about her mental health, possibly forthe first time. You could use it as a chance to have her addressthese conflicting feelings about what she does, about what her placeand purpose is if everything she’s been taught about violence is alie.

Youcan bring the characters much closer together at this point by havingFinn willing to listen andto assure her she has worth.

Asfor taking this to Kylo-

Ithink that depends on whether Finn primarily wants to get Rey out ofa bad situation or end the torturer subgroup.

Thefirst option probably means emphasising the skills she does have andhow Finn finds them useful. How they makea good team and how thatwill make Kylo more money then what he currently has Rey doing.

Thesecond option would take longer and be more involved. It would meanspelling out to Kylo both that this isn’t working and that it’sdamaging his organisation. Particularly his ability to make money.

Ifyou go down that route I think you should include Rey in theconversation in some way. You’re concerned about her agencythroughout the story so Ithink involving her in dismantling the torturer-sub-group would helpaddress that. It gives her aplatform to state her feelings and views as well as something activeto do: rebuild part of the organisation afterwards.

Shecould also play a much more active role in convincing Kylo then Finndoes. Because it’s one thing to have someone uninvolved come alongand tell him that this doesn’t work. It’s another thing to havesomeone directly involved come along and say the same thing.

Ithink stressing the fact torture isn't working is probably the mainarguement to stress here. In this universe they're all violentcriminals so a moral stance is going to be less important. But Finnand Rey can still argue that they got further when they weren't usingtorture, that torturing made their job harder and that represents alarge waste of time. Time that gang members could be using to say,make money.

Dependingon how exactly you want to play their relationships with Kylo youmight also be able to have them making more personal appeals. Rey inparticular can attest to the way doing this has injured her andtherefore argue that Kylo is going to lose good loyal people if hekeeps doing this. If you go with some of my suggestions about theorganisation generally, with a high turnover rate among torturersthen that point could stand out; highlighting that Kylo doesn'treally lose anything by instituting this new policy.

Activelygetting rid of torturers is another matter.

Somethingas simple as a change in the 'law' (in this case 'the bossdisapproves') has a big effect. But to totally eradicate torturetakes more then that. It takes time, effort and perseverance. In thecontext of a criminal organisation, I think you need to think abouthow the organisation is set up and whether they'd ever make it apriority.

Theycould still get rid of the 'ring leaders', the 'mentors' thecharacters who are most actively perpetuating this toxic sub culture.In the context of a regime that would usually mean killing them.That's not the only option in this scenario. Kicking people out ofthe gang is a possibility, but it might be seen as a risky one. Theycould join rival gangs and give away the organisation's secrets.Another possibility is setting them up and letting the authoritiestake them away. That makes them someone else's problem. I think whereexactly you go with this aspect should depend on- well how you seethis criminal organisation functioning and where you want to take thestory later on.

And,at almost five thousand words I think I’m going to have to leavethat there. I hope this helps. :)

Disclaimer

[whattheactualass]

   ☺ ✖ –  Providencia was a strange territory when compared to the other’s of the Roman Republic. The aristocrats still played part for the whole and held the most power on their island, but their senator that represented them was a woman. The backlash Fury, the Consul that had chosen her had received was terrifying- but had faded like a hush. Minds had swayed overnight.      It then became a providence commonly talked about- whispers surrounding it but never being messed with. Providencia had it’s wars- it’s attempt to conquer and bring home goods, rarities and treasure, but it had never fallen. No one targeted their territory. They didn’t dare- something had always stopped them.      Those outside of the city-state believed it to be the center of the gods’ favor. Their hiding place, their central playing ground. It was the only way to explain why it was so vastly different, why minds had swayed so quickly when a decision reached the city of Rome. Why this random island that appeared in the Mediterranean Sea held such a strange set up for their operations, but still lay under the Republic’s rule. 

   Wade had grinned when he’d first heard the whispers. He had always found humans to be clever- how their ‘stories’, mocked by some, could hold so much truth- but they’d always been strange to him. Weird, wishy-washy characters on the game board. 

   Strange, like the fact that he’d been the one to receive the most recent peace offering. The fact that they were receiving the peace offering from another territory headed by the senator Antonius Stark was weird enough. But Neena deciding that Wade should receive it was even stranger. Him. The God of War- all because she ‘had a good feeling about it’. 

   Wade, had given her a bemused look. Tried to remind her that this was an attempt at peace- one that he didn’t even understand- he wasn’t targeting any other providences, though the concept amused him and that he was the general known for heading wars. Enabling them and tearing down other nations.     Neena didn’t know how strange it was- how ironic it would be- for him to receive this object of peace. No one knew his deity status outside of the other deities running around on providence- but she’d simply shrugged him off, told him she’d be recommending it to the others. 

   They’d followed her. They always had. A strange amount of luck that few knew the source of. Neena was a tool of the divine. The unknowing celestial conduit of this age. How many times had Wade witnessed- what was she going by now, Vanessa? - whispering in the woman’s ear?                       Too many, really. 

    The gift in question was a gladiator complete with gold and a ‘party to celebrate peace’ from Tony Stark- a disinterested looking aristocrat from a rich, rich family a couple providences over. He hadn’t been happy when he’d met the general. Wade hadn’t been rude- just blunt. Upfront. Confused. Tony had held a distrustful expression on his face, looking unsatisfied with the language that tumbled out of his mouth.      Neena had said they needed to ‘work on that language’ and being more ‘diplomatic’, but Wade hadn’t asked for a slave to begin with. He wasn’t interested in slaves. He found the concept to be demeaning. Improper. He’d watched slaves act more noble- more worthy of the gods than even the highest aristocrat. 

    He didn’t want this gladiator as a slave- even if he had been an apparent believer in the God of War. Emphasis on believer- Wade would guess he devoted. It was evident by the crippling amount of scars, ridiculous body mass, and greying hair. It was rare to meet a gladiator that had even one grey hair- not one that had a full head of it- and Wade tried to remember the last time he’d heard a prayer in his name. He suddenly realized he’d stopped paying attention to the individuals once they’d started dwindling, merely tossed good fortune in the way of those who took their time to worship.     Needless to say, he had Wade’s attention quickly- and if his short-attention span remembered right, he’s pretty sure he’d just pointed at ‘Nathan’ and asked, for clarification purposes, if he really “could do whatever the fuck" he wanted.

   Stark hadn’t looked impressed.     Neena had given him the look.     Nathan had been taken away, lodged at Wade’s domus further away from the center of the city. 

   But he’d buzzed around Wade’s head all night, even as the general bustled around the party, rubbing elbows and making those from the neighboring nation laugh. They were key players- other generals and world leaders that he needed for his next plan. For his next game. And they always fell so easily, settling in line and ready to move forward. Wade tried not to cheat, not using anything to sway their minds. He simply used charm, well placed information and the weaknesses apparent in wandering glances and small frowns. Humans were so easy to read and it had started to get boring, really. After decades of playing the same sort of games. 

    So Wade had returned to his domus, knocked on the door and gotten a disgruntled ‘you don’t have to knock’ and found the man kneeling. Wade supposed it was strange, the way he disregarded the other’s skewed attempts to show respect- no doubt beaten into him by the arrogant prick that had scowled at Wade all night. 

    But Wade hadn’t expected Nate to take an interest so quick- to have the balls to push him up against a window after Wade had, nonchalantly, hinted at him being a God. It had been delivered as a joke, but a twinkle of truth in hazel eyes. The closest to a reveal he’d ever gotten. 

   Two arms trapping him against the window seal, mortal lips ghosting over his skin and sending goosebumps up the vessel’s skin. 

  Then I'd have no choice but to worship you. Maybe I’ve prayed to you already.

   Nate had pulled away before he could respond. And Wade had grinned- something more authentic than the mask he’d wore for the past couple centuries. Reaching his eyes as they looked to the human in curiosity. 

    Who would ever corner a god?     Wade didn’t know, but the answer was apparently Nathan.

   His attention had shifted that night, even as they made their way down to the beach. Talked for hours- until Nathan stopped responding and the sun peaked over the horizon. Wade’s feet were buried in the sand, watching the sky twinge with hues of orange.     Nathan had woken up in his bed the next morning. Wade left him to assume how he’d gotten there.     And he’d yet to be separated from him since. Wade took him everywhere- interested in the fact that he listened to him chatter, took his words seriously and had the audacity to smirk, occasionally, and say something back. Wade had hated how he’d apologized after, voice strained as if he’d been forcing the words forward through his pride. 

   Today’s adventure had started no different from the rest, really, with Wade shoving the doors of the gladiator’s room open at the crack of dawn. He’d requested that Nate wear his good clothes- the ones they’d bought a few days prior maybe, Wade didn’t really keep up with the passing time unless necessary for a meeting with Neena and the two generals for their stupidly large armies. The two traveled more than Wade- settling on the outskirts of the republic with the intention of gaining more territory. Wade acted more-so as the last result- the one who was used to destroy the nations they wished to take over. 

Stéphanos, ‘Steve’, laid to the North. While Coulson laid to the South. It was a planned meeting- nothing impromptu that would cover next steps and strategy. An update for the senate and requests, should there be any. 

   The looks Wade had received when he’d arrived with Nathan by his side would have led you to think Wade had committed adultery. Nate had protested, of course, but Wade had shrugged him off- much like he’d done with the two men and their heavy frowns. 

    It took an hour for them to warm up. To accept the fact that Nathan was just there and he wasn’t going anywhere after a couple pointed looks at Neena and a couple jabs at Wade. Wade had only given them a head tilt- a curious brow arch and a response that had nothing to do with the man on his right- but everything to do with ‘your toga seems a little tight today, is it riding up your ass, general?’. 

    Neena seemed strangely okay- unaffected by this turn of events. 

    So the talk continued, the glances at the man invading their ‘war room’ fading away as Coulson and Steve yammered away about their plan. Wade watched, taking in the board over the center piece. Taking in the counts, the current status of each man and their legions. 

   And then he starts talking- not to the two men, but to Nathan. A quiet yammer easily overtaken by the voices of the two generals who were hell bent on talking at the same time.     Wade doesn’t necessarily need the feedback- but it’s sorting it out in his mind as he forces Nate closer- into his bubble with a gesture over the top. It’s the equivalent of talking to yourself- but Wade likes having someone there. Someone to listen. 

    He has his plan in five. 

    “Here’s what I got for ya,” it comes out nonchalant, but loud- the two generals shutting their mouths at the interruption to their discussion and Steve looks like he has something to say.      But Neena is gesturing, waving her hand at the general with the potty mouth.      It tumbles out- Wade gesturing to both a undeveloped nation towards the east, and one that’s up and coming, according to the words tangling in the grape vine. It’s a long walk for the two countering armies and a trek that would take a bit of resources. But Wade’s could come from the west, settle on the shore and not take a straight shot. It’s an area most providences don’t bother with, focusing rather on the slow expansion around the republic. But if they start here they can work their way back. 

    They’d need resources, permission from the republic in exchange for the resources- but Wade liked the odds- liked the ideal of creating one large circle of chaos when everything came crumbling down, eventually.  

   The other two don’t look happy, but they don’t necessarily disagree. Wade had yet to steer them wrong and having his army in the mix would almost guarantee a win. 

    So they agree. Finalize the plans and by the sixth hour they’re leaving- Wade the first out the door with a content sigh in his freedom.      “Venus’ glorious ass I hate those two. So fucking pretentious.”