#in a manner and to an extent previously thought impossible

[madwickedawesome]

for all the hopelessly dramatic hopeless romantics who follow me :]

#im in a very certain good mood #i am so full of love #in a manner and to an extent previously thought impossible #Spotify

[shywhumpauthor]

The Merry Whump of May—Day 7

“Write what you know”

Box | Magic | Cell

Cw: thoughts and descriptions of gore and death, capture, light abuse, wishing for death (in the context of a choice between that and torture), anxiety, royal Whumper,l

Thief paced around the room, bare feet silent against the rich marble floor. Their hands twisted together, fingers wringing anxiously as they walked, back and forth.

The room was lavish to all extents. A shimmering glass chandelier hanging from a high, intricately carved ceiling. The walls were white with gold detailing, swooping patterns framing the smooth paneling. The decorations were sparse, but not in such a way that it made the room feel empty, rather contributing to the open and airy feel. Sheer curtains were drawn over the large windows, through which Thief could see the hazy outlines of a forest view, trees blurred with the settling darkness of the evening.

There were numerous dressers, wardrobes, cushioned seats spread thoughtfully throughout, lamps and candles sitting atop those illuminating that which the chandelier’s light didn’t quite reach. There was a large mirror to their left, looking in Thief could see their reflection. They stood out against the pristine background the room gave, dirt smudged skin and muddy clothes. The guards had stripped them of all but their undershirt and trousers, but even with the thick jacket they had previously worn, they had not been protected much from the mud and rain.

Thief hadn’t been expecting to be noticed. Sly and calculating, they had thought it all out, drawn up an impossible plan with such careful precision they didn’t have to consider what would happen if things went awry, because they wouldn’t.

The night of a ball, hosted by the Court, inviting all the nobility and high-rankings from the town. The guards occupied, patrols around the grounds were minimal, and Thief had found a perfect opening to slip through. Satchel slung over their shoulder, filled with only some rags they planned to wrap whatever they pocketed in so it wouldn’t clink and reveal their position. It would have worked, it was going to work. They had been on their way out, retracing their steps through the empty corridors to the window they had entered from.

There had been only one thing they didn’t account for. Something so absurd they didn’t even think to plan for it. The odds were nonexistent, not just said for exaggeration. It wasn’t even a possibility, in the blandest terms possible.

Whatever fates there were, weren’t on Thief’s side.

They had—almost quite literally, as they turned around a hedge in the courtyard’s garden—ran into Whumper themself.

They hadn’t been ruling for long, only a few years had passed since they’d been crowned, but to anyone looking in, it was impossible to tell. Authority practically radiated from their presence, immaculate posture so strong they could send a room silent with a simple look.

Thief didn’t even get a chance to run.

Their satchel alone had been enough evidence to incriminate them, conjuring the rope and tying the noose the moment it was opened. Maybe they wouldn’t even get that dignity. There was no direct law stating the consequences from stealing from the palace, because no one had ever been stupid enough to try. There were a thousand manners in which they could be killed. Whipped to death on a post in the center square, every lash viewed by the collected townspeople, a warning so dark and gruesome no one would ever dare replicate Thief’s actions.

Or maybe they’d be tied to the castle gates, stomach sliced open and left for the birds until they finally died of either blood loss or organ failure. Even then, they doubted their body would be cut down for at least another week, until they were nothing but strands of muscle holding together bones.

Or maybe they’d be tied to the back of a guard’s horse by their wrists, both ankles smashed under an iron, leaving them dragging behind while people threw stones from the sidewalks, when they were finally cut loose their skin nearly completely scraped off from the cobblestone.

The thought made Thief’s stomach clench, fighting back the crawl of nausea from their throat. They tore their eyes away from the mirror and returned to pacing.

There was a large bed against the wall right of the door, easily the largest bed Thief had ever seen. The duvet looked thick and soft, pillows stacked against the headboard in a display of luxury. Thief was sure that if they were to lay on it, the blankets would dip inches under their weight and swallow them up. They stayed far away.

The other side of the room, there was a fireplace. Gorgeous stone mantle, a small sofa and chair arranged in front, the hearth was unlit but that didn’t diminish its effect. There was some sort of fur spread in front, a clean white pelt. Thief was sure that if they stepped on it, they’d leave behind footprints.

Whumper hadn’t waited for the guards. They were dressed in a fine suit, a deep scarlet cape fastened around their shoulders. They wore no crown, but they didn’t need to. Anyone who looked at them would know. They had kicked Thief to the ground without giving them a moment to comprehend, fine leather boot pushing their head down to the dirt, freshly turned to mud with the day’s light rain, calling for the nearest guards with such an unbothered casualness to their tone it nearly drove Thief mad. In the moment, they had been too frozen to do much other than maintain their breath, but when the guards had arrived they quickly turned to panicked attempts to escape. Their efforts had been insignificant, obviously, only earning them a strong kick to the ribs.

It still hurt when they took a breath too deep, but a bruised side was the least of their worries.

They had been expecting to be brought to a dungeon, some moldy damp place filled with all sorts of tortures and abuse, to be bound in shackles and stripped of everything they were.

Instead, they had been brought here.

Lavish looks aside, it was just as much a cell as the iron bars would have constructed. At first glance, it was simply a beautiful chamber, but left alone for hours to do nothing but pace and get a bearing of their surroundings, Thief could see differently. The double door entryway was locked, heavy panes of wood secured from the outside. The windows were fixed with careful golden bars embellishing a cage of sorts not an inch from the outside of the glass. Below that, a three storey drop to thorn bushes planted at the base of the wall.

All of the dressers were empty. The desk only held a few sheets of neatly stacked parchment, but no pen. The bookshelf however, was filled with novels, but each volume was coated with a thin layer of dust, suggesting they hadn’t been touched in a long time.

It had been hours. They knew that much, watching the colors of the sky change from a deep indigo to streaks of rose painting the dawn. Exhaustion tugged at their mind, a chain wrapped to an anchor threatening to drag them beneath the waves, but Thief kept walking, forcing themself to round the same circle dozens of time, if anything to keep moving and keep awake.

It was early morning when the door opened. The outside world still blanketed in darkness, but the morning light beginning to fill the sky was stretching slowly across the wooded horizon.

They had been expecting a guard to come in and drag them off to whatever agonizing death awaited them, but instead, it was a servant who slipped through the door, already dressed in their attire for the day.

“Their Majesty requested you join them at the banquet this morning.” They spoke as of overcoming a fear, voice wavering in their attempts to appear firm. Thief couldn’t help but feel a shred of pity for them. It was clear they did not want to be here, anywhere near them, which was understandable. Thief, not looking like much more than a homeless peasant, wrapped in dried mud and bruises, certainly didn’t look appealing in any sense.

Only then did Thief notice the bundle of fabric held in their arms, rich looking fabric adorned with gold laces and royal blue embroidery, which the servant took half a step forwards to set on the nearest surface.

“You are to clean yourself and dress. I will return to fetch you in an hour, their Highness doesn’t appreciate tardiness, so you’d best be ready.”

The servant was gone without another word, door shutting behind them with a soft thud and a click.

Thief glanced towards the clothes, then back at the door. Unease stung heavily in their body as they then turned to look around the expensive prison they were being kept in. None of this was sitting right with them. They’d expected torture, pain, it was what they had been planning for. This wasn’t right. Something was going g on, and they couldn’t conjure any sort of explanation, any sort of prediction. There was nothing they could do to brace themself for whatever was to happen, because they genuinely didn’t know.

They wished it had been the guards.

———————————————

@themerrywhumpofmay

#merry whump of may #merry whump of may 2023 #mwm2023 #mwmday7 #whump #whumpblr #whump community #whump writing #its me coal #coal wrote something #whumpee #whumper #whump prompt #whump prompts #royal whumper #creepy whumper #captured whumpee #captivity whump #writing prompt #intimate whumper #whump drabble #kidnapped whumpee #abused whumpee #torture #tw torture #death #gore #whump series #whump challenge #writing challenge

[ragunath12]

What is Web3 and what is its role in NFTs?

Web3 (or Web 3.0) will reform the manner in which we utilize the Web by consolidating decentralization through blockchain innovation.

Some accept it will change the web similarly that bitcoin (BTC) and other digital forms of money have modified the monetary worldview. To comprehend Web3, it assists with grasping Web1 and Web2:

Web1 (or Web 1.0) is what we currently call the starting points of the Web. The Web1 made it conceivable to consume Web content, however little else. The sites were static and not intuitive; you could send one-way messages or messages. nft development Organizations were beginning to make their own sites, yet generally as a celebrated official statement; it was anything but a method for connecting with general society.

Subsequently, one could contrast Web1 and an actual paper. Made out of paper and ink, you are only a buyer of content. It’s basically impossible to straightforwardly see an article’s prominence or who’s understanding it — and you can’t connect with different perusers.

Web2 (or Web 2.0) is a great many people’s thought process of as basically the ongoing Web. Web2 is intuitive and permits you to make your own substance, remark and respond to the substance, and cooperate with different clients. This permitted the formation of interpersonal organizations and other intelligent locales like Facebook, Twitter, Reddit, and so on. Utilizing our correlation above, you could consider Web2 our paper moving to a site that permits you to collaborate in manners that were unimaginable previously.

Web3 is a reaction to worries about the utilization of individual information and protection on the Web. On Web2, client information is to a great extent constrained by significant virtual entertainment stages, programs, and sites. Web3, paradoxically, is intended to be a more straightforward and restriction safe form of the Web. More just than its ancestor, Web2, it permits residents to control both the Web engineering and client information.

Past that, Web3 embraces cryptographic money and is intended to be permissionless (no unified guardians), trustless (don’t bother confiding in an outsider), and open to all (next to zero oversight of people/thoughts). ).

NFTs and Web3

Non-Fungible Tokens ( NFT ) have numerous blockchain highlights that make them valuable and integrable with Web3. As one of a kind blockchain tokens, NFT marketplace development conceivable to straightforwardly give confirmation of possession to things like computerized workmanship, music, information, in-game resources, individual records, and significantly more.

A few virtual entertainment stages currently have NFT confirmation frameworks that permit cryptographic money to be utilized to demonstrate responsibility for — and use as a PFP. Past that, NFTs permit you to control your advanced character and can likewise give you enrollment and casting a ballot rights. For instance, a democratic NFT could permit you to decide on where beneficent assets go, how a blockchain works, or even change the elements of a NFT’s own foundation, (for example, which specialists are highlighted and what expenses are charged).

By enlisting or selling a Web2 address, for example, “examplezyx.com”, you frequently pay an outsider to offer these types of assistance to you. Web2 utilizes a concentrated data set called Space Name Administration (DNS). Decentralized Web3 space choices like Digital money Name Administration (CNS) and Ethereum Name Administration (ENS) permit you to connect your space to a digital money wallet to acknowledge digital currency. You could actually exchange your Web3 area on a NFT marketplace development service — very much like some other NFT.

The extending exchange among NFTs and Web3 growing is conceivable on the Web thanks to commitments of decentralization. The utilization of NFTs and digital forms of money on the Web will probably become universal to exploit the previously mentioned conceivable outcomes — but to-be-created arrangements that will make the progress from Web2 to Web3 much more emotional than the relocation from Web1 to Web2.

visit : https://www.blockchainx.tech/nft-marketplace-development

#nfts #nft development #nft marketplace development #nft marketplace platform development #web3 and role of nfts #nft marketplace

[teawaffles]

Forbidden Games: Chapter 4

Alan led the way as the two men proceeded down the corridor to another room. While he walked alone in front, the pair noticed the footsteps of several people following them from behind.

They seemed to be travelling to the back of the building, and apart from the people who were currently moving, there was no sign of life. Apparently, ‘normal’ participants could only play in that large hall from before.

“It’s gotten quite chilly, hasn’t it? As I recall, Mr Holmes, you’re not fond of the cold. Are you alright?” William murmured, his shoulders shaking slightly.

Sherlock himself wasn’t particularly sensitive to the cold, but he kept his expression static as he pondered the intention behind that statement.

In the next moment, William twitched the corner of his mouth upwards in a gesture that only Sherlock would understand. Recognising this, Sherlock understood everything, and promptly played along.

“That’s right. It does seem chilly. ——Liam, could you lend me your coat?”

“No problem, here you go.”

“Thanks.”

William held out the coat he had been carrying under his arm. Sherlock took it and immediately put it on. Then, he straightened the coat as he carefully checked how it felt on him.

“If you’re feeling cold, may I suggest we have a warm drink in one of these rooms before proceeding?”

Alan posed the question with a seemingly concerned tone. It appeared that he had taken William’s words at face value.

“No worries. Anyway, I’m also excited to see what kind of game you have for us. It’s almost like the shivers before a battle.”

At Sherlock’s words, Alan nodded happily.

“Is that the case? As the one introducing you to it, I’m pleased to hear that.”

At last, they reached their destination. Alan quietly opened the door and bid the duo enter. The two men shared a look, and went in silently.

The room was dimly lit, and roughly a quarter the size of the hall they were previously in. In the centre was a finely crafted round table, and surrounding it was a group of gentlemen standing in silence, staring at the new entrants.

It was an ominous sight, as if it were a secret ritual. The men’s expressions were unanimously mild, but there was also a keen sense of malice hidden underneath. Even so, having witnessed countless bloody battles and come out standing, William and Sherlock remained unperturbed amidst the disquieting atmosphere.

Sherlock looked at a corner of the room, and flashed a big grin.

“Yo, fancy meeting you here.”

Standing there was the noble’s son whom Sherlock had been tasked to find. Just like the other gentlemen, he was dressed sharply. Yet he lacked a trace of the dignity befitting a noble, instead glancing around his surroundings in sheer terror.

Having observed the young man’s appearance, William murmured a question to Sherlock.

“Is he the young man you were searching for?”

“Yep. It looks like he’s alive for now, but judging from his behaviour, it’s not hard to imagine how he was treated by these guys.”

After deducing the situation, they heard the click of a lock behind them.

Turning around, they saw Alan standing with his back to the door, a smile plastered on his face.

“As expected, you’re quick on the uptake. I sincerely admire your excellent deductive abilities.”

Sherlock snorted at his feigned courtesy.

“What’re you talking about? You’re the one who brought us here.”

“I thought it’d be pointless to keep this place a secret once you’d sniffed it out. Anyway, I reckoned I’d make sure to give him a proper welcome too.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me. Still, what reason could you possibly have for locking up some noble brat? Are all these guys your accomplices too?”

Alan made a show of being astonished.

“We don’t do such perverse things as locking people up. All we pursue is the pure delight of a game, and the comrades gathered here today share in this goal. It is only when pleasure is kept secret that it ascends to a higher realm.”

“——So just like what you did to us earlier, you invited this man here, coerced him into playing some ‘thrilling game’ which he lost, then locked him in this room until he pays off his debt. Is that right?”

“…………”

William’s harsh words stripped away the veneer of Alan’s so-called lofty pleasures, revealing them to be but deceitful tricks. The man raised no retort, and Sherlock clicked his tongue.

“So, are you holding this noble’s son hostage for ransom? Or are you thinking of threatening him so that he’ll make arrangements for you when he inherits his estate? In any case, deceiving and threatening kids makes you no different from a stingy crook.”

Having been bluntly maligned, Alan finally shook his head in sadness.

“It’s utterly regrettable to be misunderstood in such a way. This man consented to play the game of his own free will. However, because he refused to pay up despite his defeat, I’ve had to keep persuading him ardently like this.”

“Persuasion…… so you say,” William retorted.

Having taught students of the same age, he did not hide his displeasure.

Then Sherlock pressed on, openly revealing his irritation.

“Well? Our goal here’s to bring him home safely, but as for you, you’re not going to let things go that easily, are you?”

Alan held out both arms, as if to express his admiration.

“Both of you have been a big help advancing the conversation so smoothly. But there’s no need to be afraid. We have no intention of committing barbaric acts. As I conveyed from the start, all I want to do is play a game with you, with all my heart and soul.”

“Damn you, if this was really just a game then there’d be no need to bet.”

“Doesn’t the risk of defeat just add to the excitement?”

“……Only your ability to make sophisms is first-class, huh.”

They seemed to be getting nowhere trading arguments with this man. Sherlock sighed, as if rendered speechless.

Taking over from the exhausted detective, William spoke up.

“In that case, would you release this man if we win your game?”

Alan nodded in enthusiasm.

“Precisely, since our motto is that all’s fair and square when it comes to games.”

However, Sherlock nudged William with his elbow.

“Liam, you don’t have to go out of your way to play along with them. If you leave it to me, I’ll beat these wimps to a pulp in seconds.”

Hearing Sherlock’s statement, Alan took a step back.

“Ooh, how frightening. In that case……”

He raised his hand. Taking that as a signal, one of Alan’s accomplices brandished a knife and held it to the young noble’s throat. Unable to even make a sound, the young man went white with shock.

“We have no choice but to respond appropriately.”

Alan’s friendly smile had morphed into a brutal one. Having seen the gentleman reveal his true nature, William finally looked at him with disgust.

“In other words, no matter how much we struggle to avoid it, we’ll be drawn into a game…… and although it wouldn’t be outright impossible, it would be difficult to call it ‘fair and square’.”

“This is all simply because we love games,” Alan said brazenly, with no regard for the hostility directed at him.

At that instant, the pair decided to crush this man.

“——Excellent.”

Sherlock spoke up. Even though it wasn’t said particularly loudly, his statement rang out across the room.

William continued in an exceedingly polite tone.

“The extent to which you wish to play games, that I have understood completely. Therefore, regardless of the outcome, I hope you will not regret your decision.”

“……Ooh.”

The pressure exerted by the pair’s fighting spirit had started to make Alan’s entire body tense up.

“I’m glad to hear that you’re in the mood now. By the way, what would you both like to wager on this match?”

At his question, the pair looked at each other.

“We demand that this man be set free. As for the price of our defeat…… Well, I’ll do whatever you want.”

“Anything I want?” Alan doubted.

Immediately, William chimed in.

“Then it would be the same for me. In the event that we lose, be it money, my position as a noble, or the fruits of my academic research, please feel free to lay claim to any of them.”

Alan’s eye twitched at their careless manner of speaking.

“……I don’t suppose you both take me for a fool?” he uttered, in a deeply uncomfortable tone.

“That would be outrageous. It’s simply because I have conviction.”

“When Liam and I team up, no one can stand up to us.”

They were outnumbered in the enemy’s hideout. On top of that, the enemy had taken a hostage.

But even though it would seem to anyone that they were at a disadvantage, the duo’s voices were filled with confidence. Any listener would soon realise that it was not an act of bravado. The two of them had complete trust that their intellectual capacity and force of will far exceeded that of these petty villains.

“…………”

Having been struck head-on by William and Sherlock’s unshakeable conviction, an intense, hot hatred welled up in the pit of Alan’s stomach.

——In the past, Alan had been an influential noble with a vast plot of land in the vicinity of Durham. However, he had fallen into economic ruin with the Industrial Revolution and the current of the times. Simply put, he had begun to walk the path of his downfall.

He’d blindly believed his days of prosperity would continue for all eternity. Watching them fade away, Alan had sunk into the depths of despair, and desperately sought a way to assuage this sense of defeat.

To that end, he became absorbed in games. Whenever he and his opponent had agreed upon the rules and engaged in an earnest match, with him coming out the victor, Alan found that those indescribable highs were finally able to satisfy him.

Having grown aware of his appetite, upon finding out that there was a club established with the purpose of playing ‘games’, Alan immediately sought out his old friends in the nobility to gain admission. He then gathered like-minded people from within the club. Among the club members, he then would pick a target, covertly invite them to a game, and use brute force to achieve victory after victory.

Day after day they would rob nobles of their rights, with demands for payment which were unmistakably threats. His accomplices appeared to be satisfied by the profits, but Alan was different. He wanted to look down upon his opponent and use any means necessary to make them surrender.

Therefore, even now, as he held a noble’s son as a hostage, Alan refused to negotiate. He only desired to win the game. No matter what absurd sequence of events was taking place.

However, these young men were different. Even in the midst of danger, they were calm and composed, with no expectation at all that they would be defeated.

Faced with a type of person he had never met up till now, Alan not only remembered what it felt like to be irritated, but also chuckled inwardly to himself: it would surely be a pleasant experience to tear them down.

Once again, he put on a boastful smirk.

“If that’s the case, then I’ll be the one to decide the price of your defeat.”

“Fine by me. Well then, what game shall we play?”

#moriarty the patriot #yuukoku no moriarty #yuumori #english translation #forbidden games

[cyokie]

Jack Vessalius as a Symbol for Depression

Ever since I first read PandoraHearts, I have interpreted Jack Vessalius as at least a partial symbolic representation of depression, especially in his relationship with Oz. 

(Skip to “keep reading” to go straight to the analysis; this beginning portion is little more than a disclaimer.)

Jack is a complex, fascinating character, and it is precisely due to this that I believe any number of interpretations regarding him contain merit. Whether you view Jack as an abuser, a manifestation of mental illness, or an extraordinarily-written character that does not require a figurative understanding to be interesting, I think this is valid. 

I am saying this first and foremost because I want to be clear: this is not a persuasive essay. I am not trying to change anybody’s minds about liking or disliking Jack Vessalius, nor am I trying to devalue any other interpretations of this extremely nuanced character. Some points may be a bit vague and connections disjointed, though I attempted to minimize this. Any discussion of mental illness and abuse is based on either my personal experiences or those of people I know. I do not intend to offend anybody. 

This post is simply the product of years of disorganized yet in-depth thoughts about this concept. I hope some of you will be interested.

Major spoilers for the entire manga below the cut. Manga panels are from the Fallen Syndicate fan translation. This...is going to get very long.

Emotional Abuse

Jack exists within Oz’s mind. When these two interact, it almost always occurs within Oz’s head, providing every conversation with an inherently emotional and symbolic element. 

Jack initially appears to Oz as an unknown but crucial figure. Whether he is trustworthy or even harmful remains to be seen, but his input is necessary. He is the only insight Oz has into his lost memories; he knows something Oz does not. Oz is suffering an identity crisis, realizing he has endured something he does not completely understand, something that could potentially change his entire life once he does understand it. And yet, this mysterious voice within his head understands it.  

This desperation makes it almost irrelevant whether Jack is credible, whether his advice is well-intentioned. Normally a rather cynical and distrusting young man, Oz follows Jack from the beginning despite wanting answers. He does indeed receive answers, but they are perhaps not quite what he bargained for, in more ways than one.

Once Jack’s true nature is revealed, the extent to which he has used Oz’s memories and emotions against him becomes apparent. Jack does present Oz with new insights into his experiences, but he only ever provides Oz with enough information to convince him to act a certain way. He never willingly gives a fair, all-encompassing portrayal of an event from Oz’s past. He manipulates Oz’s perceptions of his memories to fit a particular emotional narrative, one that is inevitably perplexing and demeaning to Oz. 

This bears a resemblance to the way depression warps how we view past events. When we look back at our experiences, we don’t see the entire picture--though we are convinced that we may. We see a skewed version of an incident that actually occurred. Perhaps this incident proves little to nothing about ourselves in reality, but viewed through the lens of depression, everything about it seems to scream that we are useless. And it is nearly impossible to try and perceive these events any differently, because when depression overtakes our minds, this perspective appears to be the only one through which it is possible to examine any of our pasts. 

By the time Jack’s intentions have been exposed, he is also explicitly emotionally abusive towards Oz. It is easy to recognize Jack’s statements as not only psychologically damaging, but disturbingly similar to what we hear in our own heads when suffering depression. Think about these assertions without the very literal plot elements that support them: Jack declares Oz less than human, insists that nobody loves him, and claims that he has no future because the only thing he’s good for is hurting those around him. He convinces Oz that he is useless, hopeless, and worthless. 

Jack drills these ideas into Oz’s head when he is at his most vulnerable. This is when Oz breaks down and becomes convinced that all of Jack’s statements are true. He is not who he thought he was; he never has been, and so his life is meaningless. 

This is arguably when Oz reaches his all-time emotional low. While it was already addressed that he had been struggling intensely with his mental health and was probably suicidal, up to this point, he always retained some level of self-preservation (however slight). Now, he silently accepts that the world would be better off without him and offers no physical or emotional resistance to his own execution. Jack’s words worm their way into his heart and corrupt his self-image to the point where his only reaction to Oswald’s sword swinging towards him is a blank, unflinching stare. 

Trauma Response

It’s not uncommon for Jack to manifest during catastrophic moments--that is, whenever a situation triggers (or comes close to triggering) overwhelming memories of Oz’s trauma. When Oz is losing control over his emotional and physical faculties, Jack often encourages him to make the trigger disappear using the quickest and easiest method available. Unsurprisingly, this method generally takes advantage of Oz’s extraordinary powers. In other words, the “tactic” Jack advises Oz to use is simply mindless destruction.

In the second half of the manga, Oz is at his least emotionally stable. It is not a coincidence that this is also the point during which Jack gains the ability to completely hijack Oz’s body. This development allows Jack to commit impulsive acts of aggression through Oz, while Oz himself retains little to no control.

Jack overwhelms Oz with unnecessary flashbacks to traumatic events and makes an excess of harmful connections between past and present circumstances. Oz’s panicked, distressed responses to this are tools he uses to further coax Oz into acting in a self-destructive manner. These tendencies may not only connect Jack to the concept of depression, but the concept of post-traumatic stress disorder as well. 

Identity Crisis

Although Jack is introduced extremely early in the manga, one of the story’s main mysteries is the exact nature of his connection to Oz. This relationship shifts several times, especially with regards to who is “in control” and who is the true “owner” of the physical body. 

Once it becomes public knowledge that Jack is “within” Oz, the identity of the former overcomes the identity of the latter in the eyes of the general populace. Figures who never before gave Oz a second glance begin to pay incredibly close attention to him; many directly address him through his connection to Jack rather than as a separate entity. 

Oz is deeply troubled by the way others ignore him in favor of an aspect of his identity that he feels does not truly represent him--an aspect of his identity that is at least partially out of his control. However, he is also relatively resigned to being judged in this manner. He lacks knowledge of how to change this circumstance because even he does not truly understand the extent to which he and Jack are connected. 

It is true that at this point in the story, Jack is practically worshipped. His destructive actions and devastatingly selfish nature have not yet been exposed. Because of this, Oz as Jack’s “vessel” is typically viewed through a positive lens. Still, this situation reflects how people with depression are sometimes reduced to nothing more than a mental illness by their peers. Because others do not understand (and mental illness is stigmatized), they start to see us as “different” in some indefinable but undeniable way, and our existence becomes that particular part of ourselves in their eyes. 

As time passes, the line between Jack and Oz becomes more and more blurred. Questions are raised about whether they are the same person or, on the contrary, whether they are similar at all. At what is arguably the climax of the manga, Jack declares that Oz’s body is, was, and will always be his possession; he claims that in reality, there is no “Oz,” only “Jack.” 

This thought haunts Oz intensely and sends him into a rapid downward spiral. Like the sentiments expressed near the end of the “emotional abuse” section of this analysis, the idea that Oz’s body belongs to Jack is backed up by rigid, literal plot elements. However, if we view this emotional catastrophe using a symbolic perspective, it is a representation of yet another common struggle endured by those with depression.

We come to ask ourselves who we really are. Was there truly a time when we weren’t “like this?” Could we truly escape this misery in the future? Who would we be if we were to stop feeling this way? Do we even exist without depression? Does Oz even exist without Jack?

Visual Symbolism

It is a classic literary device to represent hope through light and despair through darkness. The manga is rife with this exact type of symbolism, utilizing it to describe how the Abyss has changed throughout time, Break’s dwindling eyesight, and the oscillating emotional states of various characters. 

As I stated previously, Jack and Oz interact almost exclusively within the latter’s mind. The landscape drawn in the background of these conversations initially possesses a watery, clear appearance. However, as it becomes increasingly clear that Jack’s presence is deeply damaging to Oz’s psyche, this same landscape becomes overwhelmingly tainted by dark, ink-like shadows. 

Closer examination reveals that this “pollution” originates directly from Jack--and it reaches its peak once Jack’s intentions have been fully disclosed. Not only is Oz’s mind visibly corrupted by darkness, but Jack himself appears as an almost inhuman figure composed of these shadows. 

There is another level of visual symbolism as well--namely, the fact that Jack becomes increasingly physically aggressive and disrespectful towards Oz. In the first half of the manga, he primarily speaks to Oz from a distance, occasionally reaching out a hand in his direction. This is clearly not so in the second half of the manga, at which point Oz begins to defy his influence and it becomes vital that he subjugate him as quickly as possible.

By this time, Jack is almost always seen either restraining or caressing Oz. Even in the latter situation, when his touches are lingering and vaguely affectionate, they are possessive and constraining. In other words, though they appear different on the surface, both actions are ultimately methods of forcing Oz’s submission. It can be said that this represents his desire to gain complete control over all aspects of Oz’s being, as well as his total lack of respect for Oz’s physical and emotional autonomy.

It can be argued that both of these aspects of symbolism reach their pinnacle even before this point. Oz realizes his own worth when Oscar says he loves him and reveals that his greatest desire is for him to be happy. When Oz is at last able to grasp that he is loved and there is hope within his life, Jack immediately reaches out to grab him. And in one of the manga’s subtlest but most poignant moments, his hand crumbles to dust upon touching Oz. 

What follows is an extremely impactful display of Oz’s character development. He recalls Jack’s previous statements declaring his achievements worthless, denouncing the love he received from others as fake, and degrading his worth. Then he furiously rejects all of them, thrusting out a hand to push Jack away from him and consuming Jack in an explosion of light. 

The conclusion to be drawn from this is that Jack essentially lives off Oz’s misery. When Oz understands and is able to accept that he is not worthless, Jack is suddenly rendered utterly powerless. 

The manga culminates in a scene that coincides with this symbolism. This late into the story, Oz has succeeded in transcending Jack’s influence almost entirely, but Jack is not quite ready to let go. Though they stand together within a void, glimmers of light linger around Oz--despite everything, his life has come to be surrounded by hope and love. 

As Oz floats towards the path of light above, Jack reaches out and takes hold of his wrist. But his grip is feeble and hesitant, representing how little control he truly holds over Oz at this point. Perhaps attempting to provoke guilt or regret, Jack asks Oz if he is certain that he is prepared to move on without him, but Oz has grown too much to succumb to this manipulation. 

Without delay, Oz replies that there is no reason for him to stay, and Jack finally releases him. He escapes into the light--into a world full of people who care about him, into a life where he is happy to be alive. 

#PandoraHearts #Pandora Hearts #Jack Vessalius #character analysis #Oz Vessalius #analysis #Cyokie's thoughts

[oopskashish]

Hi! Can I request a one shot Sirius x reader, where she is James sister, and tells Harry how she fell in love with Sirius at Hogwarts? Let’s pretend that Sirius did not die and Harry went to live with him and reader as a family. Thank you :3

A Promised Family

A/N: I am so so so so sorry for making you wait for so long. I was first thinking of writing everything from how he escaped and all that but damn that was too much. Instead I came up with this idea which seems pretty good to me and I am kind of rough with emotions of a reunion I read 5 minutes ago so I wrote something on basis of that. I hope you like it!

Pairing: Sirius Black x Potter!reader, Harry Potter x Potter!Aunt!Reader

Warning: heavy emotions, mentions of death, but there is fluff. And something that SHOULD have been done in the books but Rowling was a bitch to not do that.

Summary: After the war, Sirius, Harry and the reader reunite. They become a proper family as Sirius had promised, and a bittersweet truth from the past comes up.

Y/N ran through the broken halls of Hogwarts. She pushed her tired legs to their limit, her eyes wildly searching for two most important people in her life. She pushed through the crowds which consisted of people sobbing, laughing, hugging, and kissing each other.

But none of that mattered to her right now.

She came to a stop at the gates of Great Hall. Her eyes were somehow aching yet wide ache. She say the Malfoys hurdled in a corner, holding onto each other, Neville's grandmother hugging him tightly, and then finally she saw the spectacled boy.

Her nephew.

Harry Potter.

Her anxiety which was previously rushing along her veins calmed down by a half when she saw him hugging Ron. His brilliant hazel eyes lifted up and she saw tension leave his body as she saw him.

They both ran towards each other, not caring if a crowd was watching them. She enveloped the boy in her arms, holding him close to her as tears she has held back for months come pouring down her face.

She held him just as she did after the triwizard tournament when he was plagued by nightmares of watching that horrifying moment over and over again. When she laid awake at night, surviving on caffeine, because she didn't want to leave her nephew alone to deal with them. She would hold him to her chest and whisper that none of it was his fault.

But now, it seemed like both of them were doing that job without a word. They held onto each other, feeling the gust of relief wash over them in a blissful manner.

Neither of them could imagine what would they do without each other. She raised him through the most painful moments of her life. She raised him into the wonderful human being he is.

There was only one person in front of whom Harry could truly reveal who he is, his deepest of insecurities without having slightest fear of being judged. Whether it was asking how to ask a girl out for a ball or how to tame a dragon, he could trust his aunt with anything, including his tears.

Sobs wrecked his body as he cried into her neck. All the pain he has felt got undone in her arms through his tears. The world seemed to be a place so dark right now and he could only hold onto her to guide him through the dark he was so terrified of.

"Oh my sweet, sweet boy," Y/N whispers, her voice so heavy with emotions that she could break down into sobs at any moment. "You are so brave, so very brave."

For a moment, she reminicsed how she felt when she held her twin years ago. She had almost died during a mission but she survived, pushing death away and bidding it a farewell, she came back to life.

She remembered holding James in her arms so tightly because both of your biggest fears were the same.

Losing each other to death.

She remembered how they both had to hold each other and assure each other that they're alive for the rest of the day, after their boggarts came out to be each other's dead bodies in DADA class.

The marauders could not comfort him, your friends couldn't comfort you. Only each other's presence helped the two of you in both the situations.

And now, she felt just the same as she held Harry.

The pain only seemed to increase as she heard Harry's sob. Each sob shot a wave of pain which tore her soul into innumerable pieces. Each cry emitted a pain that would make cruciatus curse seem like a mere scratch.

"I am here with you, Harry, until the very end." She whispers in his ear, as his sob only seem to increase at her words.

After what felt like infinities, they both parted away, holding onto each other's hand. She wiped his tears away gently, giving him a watery smile that said words he needed to hear.

"Sirius." She heard him whisper as he stared straight ahead.

She exhaled and turned around to find the man she fell in love with in her sixth year. The man for whose innocence she faught so hard. The man whose innocence she proved to the world after the battle of ministry.

The man who could undo her soul just by looking into her eyes with those shiny grey eyes she found comfort in. The man who could make her feel like she is home just by holding her to his chest.

She seemed to still for a moment, as if someone has put a body binding spell on her. She could only look at him.

She noticed how his hair were tied into a little bun which made her knees week every time she saw it. She noticed a deep scratch over his sinfully handsome face which seemed to have stop bleeding.

Harry first hugged Sirius, seeking his warmth he needed so desparately. Sirius held him just as close, muttering words of comfort in his ear as tears whelmed into his eyes.

At that moment, she realised, she wanted nothing more than to be finally at home and bake something while they both prepared the dinner. She wanted nothing more than midnight conversations with Harry and Sirius, with hot chocolate in their hands.

She wanted nothing more than a proper family with them.

After a few moments, the two of them pulled away. Sirius turned to Y/N and he had a desparate look on his face which made her heart beat faster and faster.

She leapt into his arms, holding him by shoulders and one of his arm wrapped around her waist, holding her impossibly close to him and the other went to cup her jaw.

And they kissed.

They kissed each other slowly, desparately, and so passionately. They held onto each other, as if they would lose each other into the oblivion if they let go.

The sadness, tension, happiness, and a million emotions they were feeling right now all accumulated into a kiss they would never forget. They were like letters of a word, clinging to each to have some meaning and value.

Their kiss was so passionate that it could inspire another universe to be formed, sun to shine, and to create another heaven for each other. The universes could collide and the world could topple over but nothing could have broke them apart.

Y/N parted away, tasting salty tears on her lips. She didn't know if it was his or hers, she didn't know how many traumatic nights were to come, she didn't anything at that moment but that she could not lose him again.

"Y/N." Sirius whispered her name as he pulled her closer, resting his hear in her neck and taking in a deep breath of her scent which and calmed him to an incomprehensible extent.

"I thought I might lose you." Sirius squeezed his eyes close when he heard her voice whisper in that desparate tone. That tone which made him want to take away every ounce of pain that was in her and make it his own. It was that tone that made him want to hold her close and shower her with all his love and happiness till she was filled with it to the brim.

"I am here," he whispers, rocking her back and forth slowly. Holding her as the sky hold its stars. "I am here, and nothing can take me away from you. Nothing."

And nothing ever did.

-/-/-/-

It had been an year since the battle of Hogwarts. The final battle which left trauma in hearts of so many people, that plagued so many people's sleep, that left so many people haunted with emotions no one deserved to feel.

It was utter chaos but everything was settling back into place. With Kingsley as the minister, everything went as smoothly as it could. The death eaters, all of them, faced trial and litres of Veritaserum was used on everyone.

Mistakes of past couldn't be repeated afterall.

And in the midst of the chaos in the world. Y/N and Sirius were blessed with children of their own. Twins.

The two of them had been clinging to each other and crying out of sheer delight when they got the fantabulous news. Sirius wanted nothing more than settling down with his wife and godson in a place where they could see the sky and feel the sunshine.

And so they did. A quaint little cottage that had just enough rooms to fill in every detail they needed to have. Harry lived with them, and he would have even against his will because neither Sirius or Y/N were going to let him go after the battle for at least a few years, but luckily he needed their presence just as much as they needed his.

And now, as Y/N talked with George on the dining table, her hand resting on her very pregnant belly as Ginny and Harry prepared the dinner.

George had gotten closer with Y/N after the death of his twin because only she could truly understand how it felt to lose a twin. She helped him through emotions he could barely handle and helped him get back into a new life without twin but still managing to be happy.

They both knew it well that a part of them was dead along with their twin but they had to live on and carry on till they could meet each other again.

George had made a joke which made y/n laugh loudly, throwing her head back as she made a remark which made them laugh even harder.

Sirius smiled as he entered with groceries in his hands and set them on table. He made his way to his wife and kissed her lips and her belly, just as he always did when he entered the room in which she was.

"Hello, darling." He smiled.

"Hi, handsome. Got everything that was needed?"

"Yes, I did. Including your Hershey's chocolates and butterbeer." Y/N grinned and kissed his cheek in delight, already reaching for the bag and rummaging through it to find that chocolate that Remus introduced her to during her pregnancy.

"The cravings have gotten even sweeter?" George asks Sirius.

"You have no idea," Sirius says with a sigh, shaking his head. "Either she is having food which can burn her tongue or sickly sweet food. Or sometimes both at times."

"You put these children in me. Don't complain now." She says breezily, taking a sip of her drink and gave Sirius a glare.

Sirius leaned in and kissed her belly and her cheek. "I would never dream of doing that."

"Good."

Sirius chuckled against her lips and kissed them one more time till he heard three people gag. The couple rolled their eyes and parted away, a little disgruntled.

"Is the dinner ready?" Y/N asks eagerly.

"Yes, Aunt." Harry says, taking the pot off the stove. Sirius got up and helped with him and Ginny to serve while George made the table.

It was almost a rule that y/n couldn't do any household work. Considering she is very near to her expected delivery date and is very heavily pregnant.

At first she threw a fit but when her feet started to swell, she stopped that fit because Merlin knows how hard it is to do chores with them. Ginny had moved in with them recently to help with the pregnancy for which everyone was beyond grateful though she had a little knowledge about it, she was very helpful anyway.

The dinner was served, and y/n had it with a side of chocolate. Her steak was extra spicy, just enough to satisfy her and the babies.

"Have you guys decided the names?" Harry asks them.

"Well, somewhat yes. We are keeping a few options and then we will choose whatever suits the best." Sirius answers him, giving y/n a smile.

"We were meaning to ask you, Harry, if it would be okay if we name one of our sons after James. I will understand if you would want your son to have his name. In that case we can choose another name." Y/N asks him.

Harry thinks for a while before saying. "Actually I never told you this. I am sorry if I cross any boundaries, Sirius, but your brother Regulus was actually a true hero."

Sirius raised an eyebrow, hiding away his pain behind his gorgeous eyes and burying it further in his soul. "What do you mean?"

"Regulus actually hid one of Voldemort's horcrux in his room and had ordered Kreacher to destroy it. He had replaced it with another fake locket. It was what caused his death."

Sirius bows his head, squeezing his eyes shut.

He remembered how his little brother told him not to runaway, how he told him that they had to be together in this. How when Sirius was pushed to his limits, Regulus tried to comfort him.

He remembered pushing Regulus away and calling James his true brother, leaving Regulus in tears. How he ignored his letters after reading them.

He wished he could have done something different.

Something that would have kept his little brother alive. He realised that Regulus was a boy who didn't have a choice. In the seek of approval of his parents, he did things that he himself didn't approve of.

But he was proud of his little brother, for he managed to be braver than Godric Gryffindor himself. He was proud that at least he realised what is right and what is wrong and acted upon it.

Y/N reached for his hand and squeezed it, she leaned in his ear and whispered.

"My love, it's alright. Please don't worry. None of us could have known his actions."

Sirius nods at her, kissing her knuckles as if it could provide him some sort of comfort. He took a deep breath in and pushed away his doubts which he knew y/n would help him with after the dinner.

"I think you should name one of your sons after him, if you wish to." Harry whispers, unsure if his words are pushing his boundary or not.

Sirius squeezed her hand, gesturing her to speak on his behalf. "Thank you Harry, we will think more about it."

Harry bit his lip. "And if it's okay, can you choose another name or change the one of Dad a little? I always wanted to name my son James."

"Of course, sweetheart." She smiled at him.

And after a couple of weeks, Regulus and Rigel Black were born. Some of the, perhaps, most loved children ever to exist.

Sirius would smile at them as the twins would sleep, happy that his promise of having a family with Y/N and Harry was finally complete in the most lovely manner possible.

-/-/-/-

Send me an ask if you wanna be in my taglist :)

General taglist: @bl597 @obsessedwithrandomthings @firewhisky-kisses @pregnant-piggy @remmyswritings @harrypotter289 @mytreec @strawberriesonsummer @yourssuccubus @idont-knowrn

#sirius imagine #sirius x reader fluff #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #sirius x potter!reader #harry potter #harry pottee x aunt!reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter forever #harry j potter #harry james potter #regulus black #marauders #fanfic #hp fanfic #hp fandom #fandom #george weasley #ginny weasley

[worldallnews247]

Why You Can Be Confident That An Approved Coronavirus Vaccine Will Be Safe And Effective

Dr. Stephen Thomas, Chief of Infectious Diseases at SUNY Upstate Medical University, who's been associated with different antibody preliminaries and is driving a Pfizer Covid-19 preliminary at his University, clarifies that while worries about a Covid-19 immunization are justifiable, the advancement cycle is sound. Clinical preliminaries for different Covid-19 immunizations are continuous. My college in Syracuse, NY is one of numerous areas testing a test Covid-19 immunization being created by Pfizer and its accomplice BioNTech. In only a couple, relentless weeks my group enlisted many volunteers. Our members incorporate people from our locale who are either at expanded danger of SARS-CoV-2 contamination, or an expanded danger of an awful clinical result in the event that they create Covid-19. A large number of our volunteers are medical care suppliers, public-confronting basic workers, or more seasoned people with basic clinical issues. By far most of these individuals had never taken an interest in an exploration preliminary, yet they eagerly focused in to get two infusions of either the antibody applicant or a fake treatment.

I generally ask volunteers for what valid reason they are thinking about partaking in an examination preliminary. Previously, the inspirations individuals imparted to me ran from individual worries to unadulterated unselfishness. With this Covid-19 antibody preliminary, the appropriate responses are considerably more reliable - individuals are electing to have any kind of effect. They need a conclusion to this pandemic, they consider a to be as an apparatus which can help get us there, and if chipping in speeds the immunization advancement measure, they are all in.

Another basic feeling among our Covid-19 antibody volunteers is that they trust others will take the immunization if the FDA inevitably supports its utilization. I share my volunteers' interests that immunization take-up will be low as increasingly more data demonstrates a critical level of Americans may choose to not be inoculated.

It doesn't have to take 10 years to build up an immunization.

A couple of patterns may help clarify why individuals are thinking about not being inoculated. The first is a spike in the action of the counter antibody development. I am alluding to the development which conflates U.S. inoculation proposals and necessities with more extensive, individual rights-based plans. These gatherings speak to a little minority, however they are efficient and convey successfully. Their messages have prompted resurgences of maladies like the measles that were once thought for all intents and purposes killed. Against immunization couriers are abusing the Covid-19 pandemic, proclaiming sentiments of doubt over the Covid-19 antibody advancement cycle, and individuals are tuning in.

The subsequent pattern is that individuals are worried about the quick advancement speed of Covid-19 immunization competitors. Individuals can't help thinking about how an improvement cycle which verifiably has taken as long as 10 years would now be able to be cultivated in a solitary year; they can't help thinking about what security corners are being sliced to go at "twist speed."

On this point, individuals ought to acknowledge it doesn't have to take 10 years to build up an antibody. Expanded immunization advancement courses of events are, to some extent, the result of endeavors to alleviate budgetary danger. With improvement sticker prices frequently over one billion U.S. dollars per antibody, it bodes well engineers would move in a moderate and iterative manner instead of leaving on costly and high-hazard equal pathways.

For instance, you could never submit a huge number of dollars to the huge scope assembling of an immunization before you realized the antibody was protected and viable. For organizations partaking in the U.S. Government's "Activity Warp Speed," a lot of this monetary danger is being endorsed by the U.S. citizen. Almost $10 billion U.S. dollars will uphold advancement and assembling of the most encouraging Covid-19 immunization competitors. In the event that an antibody is demonstrated protected and compelling, the dosages will be prepared.

The antibody audit and endorsement measure has likewise been known to broaden advancement timetables. The FDA used to require over 2 years to survey an application for immunization licensure. Since the mid 1980's, various Congressional Acts, similar to the Prescription Drug User Fee Act, have decreased audit courses of events to 10 months or less. An exceptionally responsive and drew in FDA exhibited considerably more proficiency during the ongoing Ebola and Zika pestilences, and we are watching the equivalent during the Covid-19 pandemic.

It is additionally significant that individuals comprehend the advances supporting the main Covid-19 immunization competitors are not new. Engineers are utilizing immunization stage advancements which were recently intended to help HIV, flu, Ebola, Zika, and other trial antibodies. A stage innovation is a typical immunization plan which permits designers to attachment and-play new segments for explicit infections, as Covid-19. Numerous Covid-19 antibodies are based on stages which had been recently directed to a huge number of individuals.

A third pattern is the developing worry over the FDA's Covid-19 immunization audit measure. Suspected White House impact in the administrative audits of hydroxychloroquine and recuperating plasma have individuals addressing whether governmental issues will subvert the target survey of any Covid-19 antibody looking for Emergency Use Authorization or permit. The public's anxiety is so obvious a few designers distributed their clinical preliminary conventions for all to see, and many marked a promise re-confirming their duties to public security.

MORE FROM FORBESInternal Memo: Pfizer CEO Slams Politicization Of Vaccine Development During Presidential DebateBy Rachel Sandler

These worries are reasonable, however it's essential to comprehend that there are various strategies regularly utilized during huge scope antibody preliminaries pointed toward securing public wellbeing, decreasing predisposition, and ensuring information surveys are objective. Before a preliminary can even start, outside moral survey advisory groups and institutional audit sheets decide whether an immunization preliminary examination plan has logical legitimacy and shields individuals from superfluous danger.

The best quality level for guaranteeing that antibody results aren't one-sided is the utilization of randomized and twofold blinded techniques. Randomization implies unadulterated possibility figures out which volunteer will get fake treatment, and which will get the immunization. "Twofold blinding" signifies neither the volunteer nor those managing the immunization to them realizes who was randomized to which gathering.

"My greatest concern is the likelihood that a huge number of Americans will decrease to get a sheltered and compelling Covid-19 immunization."

Another progression to guarantee that the investigations are sound are occasional information audits performed by free information and security checking sheets. These gatherings of outside topic specialists audit information at different occasions during the preliminary and prompt engineers on whether the preliminary should proceed or stop.

A preliminary might be halted if there are security concerns, viability has been obviously demonstrated (so things can move to the following stage), or if antibody execution is poor to such an extent that proceeding is inconsequential. When the preliminary information at last makes it to the FDA, extra boards will at that point survey the information and exhort the FDA on whether the information underpins supporting the antibody to go to showcase and, assuming this is the case, how the immunization ought to eventually be appropriated.

Consistently, there is new data (and inescapable analysis) on progressing Covid-19 immunization advancement endeavors. A significant part of the data is confounding and some is intentionally deceptive. Thus, numerous individuals stay uncertain about whether they will decide to be immunized if an immunization opens up.

From my point of view of running numerous antibody preliminaries throughout the long term, I see efficiencies being brought into the Covid-19 immunization advancement measure which are long past due, money related dangers being taken without going with dangers, and an arrangement of repetitive outer audits and oversight which ought to be safe to even the most forceful endeavors to impact the cycle.

My greatest concern is the likelihood that a huge number of Americans will decay to get a protected and powerful Covid-19 antibody. On the off chance that this happens, the pandemic will without a doubt seethe on—overpowering medical clinics, stopping the lives of patients and demanding an impossible cost for the structure holding the system together.

Full inclusion and live reports on the Coronavirus

[ask-the-rk900]

MAIN VERSE : Good Ending

NAME: Constantine NICKNAME(s): Con, Costel OCCUPATION: Assist law enforcement, engage in investigations SEXUALITY: Demiromantic Pansexual APPEARANCE: White Hair & Brows, Light Blue Eyes. Prim & Proper Appearance.

PERSONALITY: Much like his predecessor, he hungers for knowledge.  Undaunted by the notion of curiosity and possibilities of aimed agitation, a "stupid question" is nonexistent to Constantine. Inquisitiveness is one key feature that stems from his previous model, as working closely to both androids and humans alike has caused Constantine to adopt a sort of fascination towards human behavior and their mental thought process. He strives to maintain an approachable, yet professional demeanor through soft smiles and an elegance to each stride. However, spending a great deal around Constantine may reveal a few responses that can strike as being inappropriate or simply "out of place," to the extent of being apathetic or even rude. He may shrug it off and place the blame on irrational thinking or his emotions, when it could be something much, much more.

When interacting with the ill-mannered and brash, he appears to have plenty of patience. Determination is what the other must have if wanting to envoke a reaction from Constantine, though that is unlikely. He takes pride in his resilience, a cruical trait in his line of work.

To say that building friendships were difficult to Constantine arise from his detached behavior that reveals itself periodically. He could change between sympathetic and kind to insensitive and cruel in a blink of an eye, and there isn't a clear explanation why.

BACKSTORY [GOOD ENDING]: Following the events of the successful android revolution, an order placed by the United States State Department for 200,000 RK-900 units would not be completed and instead be cancelled. The androids that had already been assembled would be awoken and converted to deviants, before set out into the world. Many would begin their lives, starting families, getting jobs; the normal deviant experience. Constantine would be one of the few that decide to stay as true to their programming as possible, residing in Detroit, MI to offer his services to the Detroit Police Department. He lives a privileged lifestyle; his place of work allows him to proudly showcase the CyberLife factory-provided attire, sporting the LED that plenty of deviants choose to remove despite the end of the revolution.

Although he doesn't make it apparent, Constantine strongly does NOT agree with the justice system. This belief of his is what guides others to the conclusion that he is deviant, but his reasoning behind his disagreement is as he'd put it, "thanks to the flaws in our incompetent government, led by the nefarious and foolish."

Constantine believes that he is the purest form of justice. He'd watch the world crumble apart and start anew if that meant he'd be that everlasting force of equity behind it all.

BACKSTORY [BAD ENDING]: Heartless and unapologetic, mimicry is a vital quality the RK-900 models possess when pursuing deviants and engaging in policework. Being exceptionally resistant to the deviancy code (however, not entirely immune), the RK-900s are able to not only imitate voices as shown from the previous RK-800 models, but also shift their skins at will to a being they have previously seen and analyzed. It's difficult, if not impossible to remove their LED, as greater precautions have been made to ensure that they are easily trackable if one does go rogue.

#𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚝𝚛𝚢 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗 𝚕𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚛. || ooc #please ignore this

[lycanthrotea]

...

“Not very smart walking all alone this snowy evening”

Lahortans froze in their steps. somebody was threatening them, right On their way to a reunion they didn’t even want to go to. They didn’t even notice they were being followed as the cold wind blew past their muffed ears and their mind was distracted by The promising future of being accepted into Leencian’s most prestigious university of magic up north. How they waited for the day to continue their research in a more enriching environment , access to so many more tomes so much better funding and some of the more well-known individuals in the field, everything seem to shatter under the icy breath sudden blowing on the back of their neck. they jumped startled, dropping their bag turned back to meet The aggressor, Because of course It couldn’t just be a voice inside their head. It was a demon Whom by their lack of thick winter clothing and frozen breath Had an affinity towards ice, Which is exactly the last ones you want to see when standing in deep snow, during dusk..

“Ah! What do you need of me?”

“You know what I want, Just give the bag here already. Try anything and i’ll slice your neck clean off. “

They stepped away from it as the Stranger Dumped all of their possessions into the snow, clothes, books, alcohol, identification. Grinned as they as found their wallet and looked content at the amount of money. A fair amount, Lahortans brought a bit extra in case they were certainly not wanted at their aunt’s farm and needed a place to stay, and drinks to Go with it. Lahortans glanced at the them, They noticed and glared right back intently at them, trying to see any hint of resistance. They did have a small fire pendant on Their person they carried for self-defense and keeping warm ,mainly keeping warm, but it was in their pocket and there was hardly a chance they could snatch it around someone who was likely rather experienced in messing people up. Of course they could also use their own blood but Because they were more interested in studying it than using it They wouldn’t be able to funnel off enough blood from their body fast enough to attack.

“There. Not as much as your nice outfit would suggest but its something. Speaking of which hand that over too.”

“Sigh..Very well ..”

They were much more annoyed to part with their lovely coat. although where they were going the winters would a little less long, they still spent a pretty good amount for such a Beautiful thing, Embroidered with intricate details, threaded with magical thread That would keep one more warm than its appearance might suggest , they weren’t sure if they would Be willing to buy a replacement. At least they still had something to keep them self warm with but they would have to move quickly unless they wanted to risk hypothermia. As they hesitantly took it off The demon suddenly made an icicle in their hand and held it to their neck like a blade.

“Now what are you doing hiding such a lovely thing under that scarf of yours. Come on now you only got to cooperate with me a little more kid.”

“Ah.. I.. Er.. please I rather you take anything and everything else. “

“Must be pretty valuable Huh?”

It was. A beautiful double layered pearl choker that had been in their family for very many years. The beads were not completely uniform In color varying from pure white to rosier tones, But all uniform in shape. the necklace itself was crafted w the property to help store excess magic Which didn’t mean much to them but was a nice bonus. Their mother had to given It to them A few years ago much sooner than their grandmother had to her. Likely because Lahortans had marveling at its beauty since they were young, despite her rarely wearing it. They also were going to be rather far away from home to pursue their interests. She at a time thought they were emotionally much closer than Lahortans was, and wanted to give something to remind them of home. Regardless of their personal feelings towards her They truely treasured it, and wore quite often. the idea of losing it to some random bandit who on closer inspection had the pungent smell of alcohol in their breath was Not something they wished to imagine, But they were cornered and had a severe field disadvantage. However at the moment they failed to consider this, in a lapse of Judgment for the briefest of moments Lahortans thought they thought they could run. As they started To back away the demon striked at their abdomen. the force of The slash threw Lahortans onto the snow, They screamed As the Sharp horrible pain It brought seized their entire body. They reflexively clutched their stomach realizing in horror they’d been eviserated.

“Not very smart this fancy one, Hey stay quiet unless you really want me to end it off for you.”

The demon jumped on them and forcibly unclasped their necklace, Lahortans tried to stop them but they could only muster dirtying the precious heirloom with their blood. They were punched in the face before Being warned once more about Trying to resist and were left to bleed in the snow. It really was the absolute worse, They were freezing and in agonizing pain and Were facing the possibility of dying where they laid. They took a minute to start gathering themself, it was most important to rid of the lightheadedness.

In the moment it was a strain to focus withblood pouring out but as they Started to get a grip over their own blood, They began to feel much better. Whether it was half frozen in the snow or flowing out of their body or still coursing through their veins. As Long as they were in control, they wouldn’t necessarily need it in their body to survive and they could turn their attention to trying to figure out what to do now.

Firstly if they wanted to get out of here, their best bet was to Inconspicuously bleed themself out, that way they would have a manner to defend themself more easily. But if they wanted to not lose precious posessions they’d have to go offensive And catch the demon Off guard. Although such Maneuvers weren’t a thing they were exactly familiar And experienced with—maybe was the adrenaline maybe it was the prospect of getting an upper hand by trying to use an amount of magic they previously haven’t been able to use— they were quite ready to go. All They had to do was distract them by using the blood left on their necklace and-

Lahortans took one last deep breath— or Tried because Doing so really hurt— And with a grip of their fist the small amount of blood covering the pearls Suddenly turned into spikes towards the hand that gripped it. The assailent Released their grip on the pearls grabbing their wrist in pain. Lahortans quickly Got on their feet, Making sure their guts didn’t spill out as the other demon reflexively began to turn the snow into rows of large Shards that erupted from the ground below. They were able to leap out of the way in time, reached into their pockets for the fire pendant and wrapping blood around their arm was able to funnel magic to create A blast of flame that the demon would stumble to avoid. Lahortans Was then able to drench the demon in their own blood In the moment of vulnerability before they could possibly turn the snow around them into shards of ice that would probably Mangle anyone’s body.

Once soaked they could constrict the body so the assailent wouldn’t be able to use it to channel magic. It was easier feat than expected, Which is fine and dandy when They really needed to get stitched up as soon as possible.

“Ugh. You’re absolutely disgusting you know that?”

They ignored them shivering as the cold really started to hit. They made sure not to lose their grip while the assailant struggled As they proceeded to pick up their coat which had gotten quite a bit sullied with blood. It was really that simple they thought as they put it on to warm their body. Some random punk who was currently cursing at them as they gathered their things Really had the gall to try and mug them. Combined with the ongoing pain, their fear suddenly turned into annoyance As they found themself to be in complete control of the situation

“Hmph.. You must be oh so fortunate that blood stains mean absolutely nothing to a person like me or else I might be even more furious. regardless I prefer you be the one staying quiet now. “

Of course threating someone who is both angry and drunk meant much more verbal abuses. They weren’t as angry as they said they were but their patience was running thin as they were figuring out what they could possibly do to not get attacked at the moment they released their grip. Maybe strangle them until they fainted from asphyxiation? They motioned to test how much pressure they could put, It definitely could work As they watched the demon struggle to breathe but- Oh. That’s it. A devious grin appeared on their face A look of horror came about the other’s face.

“Now Despite my Condition appearing to be Rather dire I Can safely afford to Dally just a little while. I feel as though letting you go unharmed would not be safe for me . I may be frilly and dainty looking But I am I demon of science, And it seems as though it would be an excellent time to Do a bit of experimentation. “

They gave a small chuckle watching as their subject Began to squirm and struggle even harder The confidence they gave off was probably frightening. The snow around them Both tried to form itself into something but without the Ability to move, To use one’s body to more effectively conduct magic, they were powerless. Of Course it Is not impossible to do so and not extremely difficult but as they were mentally Impaired they lacked The focus needed to do so and Lahortans knew it. Before they decided to resort to screaming Lahortans Took One of their gloves off, scrunched up and stuffed it in their mouth, securing it be wrapping some blood around their head.

“AIthough i am one With much magical stamina, This power you see before you is still quite new to me. I have studied it to an extent yes but I have not had the time to see it at its greatest potential, sustaining all of my blood outside my body and manipulating it. To do so without a scratch on one’s body requires time and concentration. I have been meaning to set the time and energy to do so but until now I have not been able to. However this grisly wound you have gifted me has provided an opportunity. Oh but it isn’t just playing with your body as a ragdoll, I have also never used Blood other than mine.

Those with my magic are able to blend and separate different blood at will, They able to infuse it with magic and use it as if it were their own . Historically speaking there were many more violent uses of it but you shall not worry about that. Once I am done I will put it back in your body and you may be on your way. Of course any form of retaliation and you will be bled out in a moments notice. Do we have ourselves clear? Now, Let us see, “

Lahortans approached And knelt down beside where they laid. Every movement hurt but they bit their lip To brace themselves. They attempted to focus over the others body to sense Any injury on their body they could begin their extraction. They notice that their surprise attack didn’t actually cut their body enough to be a useful point, But it wasn’t like it was something they knew how to do very well so they werent shocked.

“at the moment you are unscathed, I don’t have any sharp objects on me and I doubt you will provide me with one. Hmm. You may find it crude but It seems Is the only way of puncturing your skin would be to use my fangs. I would apologize for your excess pain however I do not think it could be nearly as severe as the gash you have left me with. Oh do not worry I will leave you with your life but you will want to wish your Intoxication is a good enough anesthetic.”

Lahortans Went over the body of their captive, Who Mustering their strength froze themselves up In attempt to protect themself. They asked the captive which hand it was That dominant but they responded by shaking their head angrily. Assuming that it was the one that was used to slash them, The right hand, They firmly grasp the left arm holding it tight before biting Down their forearm without hesitation. they were purposely a little in accurate when it came to trying to hit blood vessels, but still focused more on making large puncture wounds over scraping flesh. Lahortans pulled away only When they begin to feel their face became numb with the cold.

It took but a moment of focus to grab a feeling of the strangers blood and be able to control it as they would their own. Lahortans gleefully And began to extract the blood which floated in the air where they held, Such fascination made them forget the morally questionable nature of the action they were committing and their aching open wound. They did pay close attention to their experimemtee So they would lose just enough blood to fall unconscious and nothing more. As soon as they did Lahortans Released the bloody constraints from the body and took back their glove. From there they could finally see how much they were capable of. They stood and using their arms similar to a conductor and played around with the deep red liquid in the air as the set sun let the Moon do all the lighting. Mixed together pulled apart, and mixed Together again with ease. They could make it rain unnaturally thick droplets and Douse the snow with red Before lifting it up in the air again leaving Imprints as if heavy rain had Fallen. Percision wasn’t easy But it felt amazing (but exhausting) to see a large blob mutate Into whatever simple forms they desired. They Tried to see if they could lift themself up in the air; lightly But the amount of strain almost gave them a headache. They could drench themself in one moment and in the other not a hint of blood Was on their light colored attire.

They continued on testing things for another 10 minutes before conceding to the fact that they might be wasting a little too much magic. With a refreshed sigh, They returned to the body of the other demon And slowly returned the blood back into their body. And then proceeded To check their status to make sure everything was OK. Gave them a little kick but No reflex. Fine. They checked the pulse none they could perceive and then to see if the blood they returned was running, It was stagnant. Of course along with it no heartbeat. They were dead. Lahortans felt their heart drop. it wasn’t as much as having just killed someone , they honestly didn’t care about the others life at this point, But they did had no idea what was going to happen now. In a couple months were Supposed to be on the train to Creonys but now what would happen? It was so very likely that the invitation would be rescinded no matter what happened. But Would it close even more paths? Had their career ended before even truly started. It was not self-defense , not at this point. there was an inkling of malice not enough to have wanted to murder them, but enough to get to the point of having done so. What would the judges rule? How long Will it take to reach it, how long are they going to be behind bars. Oh and of course they were still had a wound that what is currently partly exposing their intestines and a family reunion to get to. At least there was an ever ready surgeon to stitch them up..

They felt that their magic was soon going to be exhausted if they kept holding everything out of their body. With a wave an arm, Lahortans Began to absorb the blood back into their body. They still would need to Not let their wound bleed them out but it was much less stressful on their magical reserves.

“It will certainly be fun to explain this later.. I need a drink.”

Lahortans Placed everything but the bottle of vodka in their bag and slung up on their shoulder. Quivering as they began to walk, One hand on their abdomen the other holding the bottle, they made a small mental calculation about how Long it would take to get to the farm at a limping pace and how much alcohol they could drink before getting too drunk too soon. They used their mouth to uncap the bottle, and spit it into the snow. With little hesitation they took several large swigs Before putting the bottle down. It absolutely burned but it was much better than walking about an hour after dusk Without anything to dull the pain And take their mind off things.

“Goodbye you icy bastard, though ... Now that I have given it a second thought I should thank you as well. I will probably never be seeing My family again after this.”

#they got back and were like totally drunk #oh shit not only is lahortans late but also totally wasted why are we not surprised #oh shit wait a minute they are bleeding wait a fucking second

[underthewingsofthblackeagle]

The Murderess from the Grunewald (16): Getting Closer (2)

“Wecker” by CrizzlDizzl

Previously

Six months ago. Fourth Attorney’s Visit to Prison, one day after the previous one

         "What a messy day!" James Fraser thought as he followed a female law enforcement officer through the barren, cold corridors of the prison a few minutes past nine. It was a foggy December morning, and the cold that was pouring from Russia towards the west had kept the German capital and the entire surrounding Brandenburg region firmly under control for days.  

        Dr. jur. James Fraser was a well-organized and disciplined man. In addition to the high IQ he inherited from his father, the emotional intelligence, developed under the loving eyes and care of his mother, and his rhetorical qualities that had already become noticeable at an early age, his ability to self-discipline was an important, if not the most important foundation of his success. His daily life followed a precise plan. Every day, including Sundays, started not later than 5:30 am and ended at 11:30 pm, if possible. His days were clearly structured and two 'invisible allies', as he secretly called them, helped him to archive his goals: Tessa Lüttgenjohann, his irreplaceable secretary and his smartphone. The device with numerous apps had almost become a sort of 'second brain' for him. It counted everything: The number of hours he had slept. The number of work hours he spent on a case. The cups of coffee he drunk that particular day (still too many!). The device also managed the results of his daily blood pressure measurements and the status of his home food storage. It contained lists of his books, CDs and DVDs, but also a list of the groceries he had to buy the next time he went shopping and a list of orders he had to place on a special date. A calendar for 'work dates' (which was connected with Tessa’s calendar in the law office) kept him up-to-date with the client and court appointments, birthdays (of colleagues and other important people), anniversaries and training events on a daily basis. A second calendar app reminded him of his private dates. Although there were only a few such dates (appointments with doctors or friends, some private social obligations and the deadline for his private annual tax declaration), it was necessary to be reminded in time. Every night James Fraser knew exactly how much he had worked, how many liters of water he had drunk, which appointments were due the next day, and when he had to buy a new tube of toothpaste.                              But all this didn't stop things from falling into chaos on some days, and today was such a day.

“Sonnenuntergang Berlin” by StockSnap

         Jamie had gone to bed the night before on time and had - at first - also slept well. At some point during the night, however, he had dreamed of Claire. What he saw in this dream was an unraveling mess of images. Glances of her beautiful appearance alternated with images of her bloodied hands followed in turn by a glimpse of her radiant face. He knew that he had seen much more in his dream, but it was impossible for him to remember everything. When he woke up, he was cold and when he switched on the lamp on his bedside table, he saw that it was 4.10 am. Obviously, he had been tossing and turning during his dream because the blanket had partially slipped out of bed and only his feet were still covered. Jamie had gotten up, gone to the bathroom, and peed. Returning to the bedroom, he sat on the edge of the bed and tried to make sense of what he had seen. What if this dream was a warning message from his subconscious? What if Claire was not innocent? What if he fell in love with an icy self-serving killer like Vera Brühne? He had risen and gone down to the kitchen. There he had been greeted by a surprised and apparently equally sleepy Bismarck. Jamie had taken a bottle of water from the fridge and drank. Then he turned to Bismarck, who looked expectantly up at him and the open fridge.

         "Come on," he'd said to the dog as he closed the fridge, "we'll get us some fresh air, old friend."          Bismarck followed him willingly into the winter garden. But when Jamie opened the door to the garden and stepped out, the dachshund clearly showed his unwillingness to take a walk. It was cold - according to the season - and hoarfrost lay across the lawn. Jamie took a deep breath and stretched, then he took a few steps. The dog followed him, lifting his characteristic short legs in a manner that expressed all his indignation. After a few minutes, Jamie felt the cold too.          "Come," he said, "we'll go back in."          The dog, who had understood at once, turned around and ran inside. When Jamie followed him, he saw that a trail of dirty dachshund paws led from the winter garden to the kitchen.

         "Irfrinn!"          He knew that Mrs. Schaller would come in the morning and get rid of the filth. But he didn’t want her to eliminate the effects of his ill-considered action. So he went into the kitchen, got a scrubber out of one of the cabinets, and put one of those practical wet wipes on its wiping surface. Shortly thereafter, the dirt was removed and a few minutes later, Jamie returned to his bedroom. The alarm clock on his bedside table showed 4.30 am. It was clear to him that it was not a good idea to go to bed again. The danger of falling asleep too deeply and oversleeping was too great. But he felt limp and drained. So he set the alarm clock of his smartphone to 'extra loud' and hoped that two alarm clocks would not miss their effect. His hope should not be fulfilled.          It was Tessa Lüttgenjohann who - once again - had saved his day. Or rather, what was left of that day. When he didn’t appear in the office at 8:00 am, she had called him and the continuous ringing of the smartphone and his analog telephone had archived what two alarm clocks had failed to do. First, the look at the alarm clock had shocked him, then he had jumped out of bed and rushed under the shower. The cold water seemed like a punishment, but it had the desired effect. The good thing was, that he had at least put out his suit, a shirt, and a tie for the day the evening before. He got dressed, grabbed his briefcase, and left the house. Shortly thereafter, when he had pulled himself into the morning traffic of the city, he turned to his smartphone and dialed the number of Mr. and Mrs. Schaller. When Mrs. Schaller took the call, Jamie asked her to feed Bismarck and go for a walk with the dog.  A few minutes later, he stopped in front of a coffee shop where he bought a coffee, two sandwiches, some nut bars, and three daily papers. When he was back in the car, he took a big gulp of coffee and unpacked two of the nut bars. If he hurried, he would be still on time for his appointment at the prison. Then his eyes fell on the front page of one of the newspapers.          "Irfrinn! Irfrinn! Irfrinn!"

“News” by MichaelGaida

         "Murder in the Millionaire's Quarter" was written in large letters on one of it and below there were two large pictures showing Claire being handcuffed and brought into the police headquarters by police officers. Her whole head was defaced, but the hints found in the entry text of the article would enable even a teenager to disclose Claire's identity:

         "Berlin. Already in March, she was suspected of murdering her 15 years older husband. Now the suspicions have hardened and new evidence has been found. Dr. Claire B., who has been working in the surgery of Berlin’s international recognized University hospital Charité, was arrested a few days ago and presented to the custodial judge of the District Court. Convinced of the new evidence, judge Wilfried Mackenroth issued an arrest warrant and ordered the transfer of the suspect to the correctional facility for women in Moabit. According to the spokeswoman of the general prosecutor's office, the long-prepared bill of indictment has since been delivered to Dr. B. The general prosecutor's representative was confident that the accused would be convicted of the murder of her former husband, the well-known British historian, and professor at the history department of the Humboldt University, Dr. Frank R. The marriage of the two British nationals, who have been living in a villa in Berlin’s most prestigious quarter of the rich and famous for several years, has been shattered for quite some time as sources told our reporter .... "

         Jamie's eyes fell on the covers of the other two papers. They too had made the murder of Frank Randall the headline of the day.

         "Former successful doctor - a killer?" and "Internationally respected British historian -  Was he killed by the hands that otherwise healed?" was what he read. Under both titles, the same pictures could be found as in the first newspaper. A wave of disgust arose in him, but he forced himself to focus all his attention on the traffic. Now was the time to hold all his strength together. He could not afford more confusion today.

         The judicial officer, a woman, led the Fraser through the now well-known, bald and cool corridors of the prison. Minutes later, they were standing in front of the door of the meeting room for lawyers and their clients. As the officer stepped forward to unlock it, Jamie raised his hand.

         "Just a moment, please," he whispered.

         He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to concentrate on Claire. Then he said:

         "We can go."

         The officer opened the door and locked it behind him. Claire stood at the window with her back to him. She wore the blue pants and the dark red angora sweater,  he had sent her with the clothing package some days earlier.

         "Good morning, Claire!"

         Jamie tried to smile and exude confidence. Claire turned and came to meet him. When he looked into her face, a feeling of greater concern filled his whole being. Obviously, she had hardly slept and cried a lot.

         "Good morning, Jamie," she answered softly, her voice hinting the full extent of her exhaustion.

         "Claire, are you not feeling well?"

         She did not answer immediately but pointed to the table. There was another newspaper, and on its front page the headline asked: "The deadly grip on the scalpel - last resort for a broken marriage?" Below he saw - as expected - the same pictures as seen on the front pages of the other newspapers.          Jamie hurried toward Claire, gently grabbed her by the left arm and led her the few steps to the table. There he pulled out the chair and asked her to sit down. He scarcely suppressed his inner anger. Deliberately he had left his own papers in the car because he didn’t want her to see that and still ...          "Claire, I am sorry that you are exposed to ... this slander."          He grabbed her hand and held her tight. Then he looked into her eyes.

”Fenster” by StockSnap

         "But I've already taken the first steps to make this ...," he breathed deeply, "to put an  end to this crap."          She looked at him questioningly. But before she could begin to speak, he sat down and answered:          "I have arranged a consultation with Germany's leading media lawyer. Professor Nerz teaches at the University of Hamburg and is an expert in this field. I will ask him for thorough advice and then we will develop a strategy on how we can hold this gutter press to account. "          Claire closed her eyes and Jamie could see how she kneaded her folded hands.          "Thanks," she said, "I don’t know how to thank you ... and … it will surely cost a lot of money ..."          "Claire," he interrupted gently but firmly, "you do not have to worry about that now. I came here today to discuss some very important things with you. Let’s focus on that, please."          Jamie picked up the newspaper and put it in his briefcase. Then he took out the drinks he had gotten from the vending machine in the visitor area of the prison.          "Coke or water?"          "Coke, if possible."          "Certainly."          He opened the bottle and poured the paper cup halfway.          "Thank you."          "Claire," he said as she took a sip, "as sad as it is ... yet it was clear the media would jump on this case. We are not in a small provincial village, but in the capital of the fourth largest industrial nation on the earth. However, I promise you: I will sue anyone who makes a prejudgemental statement about you in any way and anyone who even tries to stain your good name will pay dearly for it. As I said, I will consult with Professor Nerz and then ... then there is a friend of mine ... who also works in the media industry and could help us ... if ... "          "If …? If what?!"          "His name is David de Koning. He worked for one of the country's largest tabloids for many years. Then he went to Nepal for a story. You remember the massive Earthquake of 2015? Luckily, the death toll was not as high as in Haiti five years prior, but 800,000 homes collapsed and left hundreds of thousands of people homeless. David flew over to report and came back ... well, let's say, quite changed... A year or so later he then set up his own news platform, The U-Turn. He tries to publish more in-depth stories and avoids sensational headlines like ... He's a very good journalist, but his company is still young ... he offered to help us if I gave him all the important information two hours earlier than other papers and ... "          "And?"          "And ... if we will, ... that is, ... if you will give him an exclusive interview."          She went pale.           "I understand that you are worried, Claire. But on the one hand, this interview would not take place until after the lawsuit is completed and, moreover, it would give you the opportunity to present your story unfiltered."

         He was silent for a moment. Then he continued:          "When I thought about David's offer, I remembered a case that was in the news several years ago. A well-known biochemist, who had built up a small but growing business in Brandenburg, had been accused of having injured her boyfriend with a knife. Supposedly she wanted to kill him because he had turned to another woman. The classic motive of jealousy. The media went all the way and suddenly there were people all over the papers who said they know her and then spread a lot of negative things and even lies about the woman. And of course, these 'witnesses' were paid well for their 'interviews'. The reputation of the scientist was destroyed in no time. At the end of the legal trial, it turned out, that the alleged victim had lied and that his injuries were inflicted by his own hands. He wanted to put the woman behind bars to get rid of her once and for all. As a result of the trial, she lost her company and, as I said, her reputation. But she had good lawyers. After she was acquitted, many newspapers had to pay her high compensations. She gave a magazine a detailed interview and then appeared on national television for one time. This put the whole thing to an end. Today she has a new expanding company in her new hometown."          Claire had listened attentively. She put her hands over her face and took a deep breath. Then she looked at Jamie and asked:          "Do ... you trust this ... David ... de Koning?"          "Yes, I've known him for almost ten years now and he's never disappointed me to this day."          "Good," she said, "then I rely on your judgment."          "That means we're working with him?"          She hesitated for a moment, but then said firmly:          "Yes. Even if it seems almost hopeless, but if I have a chance to tell what really happened ... Yes, you can figure out an agreement with him."          Jamie smiled. This first big hurdle was done. Now he had to talk to her about the diaries.            "Then there's something else, Claire. I was at your house to see if everything is all right. Adso is fine. He is fed regularly and is well."          "Oh, that's good news! Please greet Mrs. Fritz and tell her how grateful I am to her."          "For sure."          Jamie nodded and bit back a big grin. At the same time, he was pleased that the news of Adso made Claire smiling again for the first time on that day. He decided to mention him more often.          "When I was in your apartment, I noticed that there is a room in the attic. I went upstairs and saw that everything is still fine. The room was not searched by the police. I looked around a bit ... "          Claire stared at him, feeling her blood pressure rise. What had he found in her private affairs that he urgently needed to discuss with her?

”The Traveler’s Notebook” by AnnaBetlejewska

         "I've noticed that there are a number of yearbooks on your desk and I ... am I right if I assume that these are your diaries?"          "Yes," she answered softly.          "I have not looked into any of the books, Claire. I would never do that. You are my client and I want to protect your privacy. However, we can't be sure that the police will not search your house again. I would, therefore, like to take these diaries and also your laptop and give it to a person I trust. For safekeeping."          "Why don’t you keep these things with you, Jamie?"          "I think it's safer to keep them somewhere else. While there are high legal hurdles to search a law firm or the private house of a lawyer, you never know ... "          "And where would you keep my books?"

         "I would put all into a box and seal the package. Then I would hand it over to my secretary, Tessa Lüttgenjohann, for safekeeping. She is very reliable. I can assure you, she will not touch the package. Your things are in good hands with her."       One more time she put her hands over her face and took a deep breath. Then she said:

         "Seems I have no other choice."          "So may I do it as proposed?"          "Yes."          "Is there anything else you want me to keep safe?"          "No, nothing I can think of right now."          "Fine, then we would have discussed that as well."          "Thank you for taking care of ... all this."          "Of course. Is there anything else I can do? Do you have any problems in prison?"          "No, I'm just very exhausted."          "I understand. We have discussed everything for today. I will try to come back as soon as possible."          Jamie had risen and shaken her hand.          "Goodbye, Claire."          "Goodbye, Jamie."          He had already turned to the door and was about to press the button that would inform the officer that the meeting had ended and she had to open the door. But then he remembered something else.          "Oh, just one more question!"          Claire, who was standing in front of the prisoner's door on the other side of the room and was about to push the button, turned around once more.          "Yes, Jamie?"          "Tell me, were Joe and Gail Abernathy allowed to visit you?"          Claire's face darkened and Jamie sensed that the subject touched something very painful inside of Claire's soul.

“Saal” by stux

         "Yes, ... yes, they came for a visit. The judge allowed them to visit me for 30 minutes. 30 minutes!"          "Claire, that's the usual duration. Longer …"          "We had to meet in this big hall where there is no privacy at all."          Her voice had begun to tremble again. Then he saw that tears were running down her cheeks again and with a few big steps he was at her side.           "Claire, what happened?"          "Ach, nothing," she protested. But he did not give in.          "Please tell me what happened."          A new stream of tears ran down her cheeks and she began to sob. He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a handkerchief which he handed her.          She wiped her face and blew her nose.          "Thank you," she said in a tear-stained voice. Once again he asked:          "Please, tell me what happened!"          "Oh, really nothing. Joe and Gail ... they ... they wanted to hug me, but they were not allowed to. I ... I know that's not allowed, but ... ah! Everything is taken away, that could give you at least a little strength! "          He looked into her crying eyes and wanted to kiss her on the spot.          "Claire," he said softly, "it's against all the rules of an attorney-client relationship. But ... if I can leave you with some strength, then ... then I would like to hug you ... now."          She looked at him in astonishment, but then a smile appeared on her face.          "That ... that ... you would do ...?"          He nodded and smiled as well.          "If I'm allowed?"  

         "Yes. Yes of course," she whispered.          Before she could add more, he had already wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight.          "I promise you that I ... that we ... our law office ... will do everything to get you out of here. And anyone who pollutes your name will pay for it. Trust me."          She raised her head and looked at him.          "I trust you, Jamie."          He pulled her back to him and rested her head against his chest. It seemed the most natural thing in the world, for she had slipped into his embrace without any resistance. Then he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of her hair. He felt how the warmth of her body began to warm his own as well and it took tremendous strength not to let his hands caress her entire body. How would it feel to brush with his hands through the dark curls of her hair? How would it feel to kiss the full lips of her tender mouth? How would it be to make love and become completely one with her? Before he knew it, Jamie felt an unwanted physical reaction. He pulled his right leg tight against the left and then slowly pulled away from her.          "Claire, I have to go now, yet I'll be back as soon as possible. This can take a few days. But in the meantime, I will be working on a strategy for your trial."

         Once again, he pulled her briefly to himself.          "See you then, Claire. Try to calm down a bit. I know that's not easy. But you will need all your strength for the coming trial."          She looked at him and nodded. Then she slowly broke away from him.          "Thank you. Thank you for everything."          He smiled again, then turned to leave.

Thank you for reading. If you have questions, just sent me a DM or put it in the comments. You are very welcome :) - Next time, read: “Secret Whitsun Holidays on Rügen (7): Sharing Joy and Sorrow (5)”

#Outlander #Outlander Fan Fiction #TheMurderessoftheGrunewald #Crime AU #Canon Divergent AU #Claire Fraser #Claire Beauchamp #Claire Randall #Frank Randall #Jamie Fraser #Adso the cat #Bismarck the dachshund #Berlin #German #TheFrasersinPrussia #Grunewald

[shogetsus]

Stripes of Auburn, Eye of Sapphire

22. Mai

Read on Ao3 | Read on FFN |  Masterlist

Summary: “I wasn’t the only isolated case of smallpox, back in the day. But I’ve been lucky to only lose an eye from it, that’s for sure…”

The harsh truth from the reality they live in weighs heavily on her. Masamune speaks as if somewhat detached from the horrible fact he lost his bride, of all people. However, to some extent she comes to understand a commander and head of a clan like him must have spent his entire life getting acquainted with death. May it be due to war, a disease, or just birth, the prospect of losing a loved one must be just that inevitable for people in that era.

Perhaps that’s why he goes by living life to the fullest, not missing a single moment.

Spoilers: Masamune’s route Warning for slight sexual themes.

Mai

“I came for a tryst.”

What? Did she hear him right? It wouldn’t be surprising otherwise, considering the very loud way her heartbeat begins to throb in her ears.

When at first Masamune had partially trapped her against the wall of her room, then he makes sure to let her know the new attempt isn’t going to end up as the former. Leaning an elbow beside her head, he cradles her cheek with his other hand, drawing Mai’s face up to meet his.

She’d previously thought she’d heard a purr, and turns out, it’d come from her all along. “Taking things a little faster, now?”

“What can I say, I do like turning up the speed on things,” His smirk widens, turning wicked and impossibly more alluring, “And you don’t seem to have any troubles catching up with me so far…”

Ever so temptingly and locking her in place with his gaze only, he slowly pulls the tie on her hair loose, her long copper locks falling over her shoulders like droplets. Somehow he manages to make such a simple gesture so erotic her breath catches, muscles going taut with anticipation.

“I left Kojuro in charge of Shogetsu for tonight. I thought you’d appreciate that,”

“I’m pretty sure I still see a large, imprudent kit in front of me,” Mai can’t help the small banter, visibly shivering at the feeling of his index finger sliding down the column of her throat.

Is she truly ready for a ‘tryst’ with ancient Japan’s most casual kisser, though?

Nah, he’s not really serious though.

With that in mind, her former hesitation takes a turn into a more playful mood, feeling up for indulging him in a little teasing game. And so, tiptoeing just slightly and holding onto his shoulders, she drops an open-mouthed kiss on Masamune’s cheekbone, right below his eyepatch. That side of his face feels a tad bit rougher to the touch, but it doesn’t make him any less attractive; in fact, rather the opposite.

“Tempting, but I think I’ll pass…” She breathes close to his ear, feeling more than glimpsing the way he worries his lower lip and sighs, low and deep.

“You keep saying that, kitten. It breaks my heart,” Leaning back, he fakes a pout while casually tucking a loose strand behind her ear. “I was kidding, though. Actually, I have a request for you,” Without further ado, Masamune properly enters her room, unfurling a large piece of blank paper on her desk—precisely in the same place when a certain letter was, mere moments ago.

The sight brings her back to the former source of her concerns, scratching the back of her head in an uneasy manner. Should she bring the Shingen Takeda subject up with Masamune? Truth be told, he doesn’t truly seem like the appropriate guy to confide such delicate topic on, all the more considering Shingen is technically his enemy by proxy, given Masamune’s alliance with Nobunaga.

It’s probably better if I meet with this envoy first, and then decide on what to do from then on, though. Besides, tonight doesn’t look like a good night to bring up something like that.

“Is something the matter?”

“Oh, no. It’s just… what gorgeous handmade paper!” Mai quickly brings up an excuse, “I guess since we are in the 16th century I can’t say its antique, but still!”

He quirks a brow, snorting, “Somehow that makes me feel old…”

“Haha, don’t be silly. But what’s it for?”

“I’d like you to draw me a picture,” Masamune says simply, “Something like what I saw in your sketchbook. I want to use it as a hanging scroll.”

A little confused, she tilts her head. What? He’s not meaning one of my clothing designs? That’s not really art, though. And come to think of it, he hasn’t yet returned the dress design he’d snatched from her sketchbook. “Why would you want that from me? I can’t really do calligraphy or landscapes…”

“Because I like your art. I can see the effort in it.” He replies in such a straightforward, matter-of-factly way it kind of stuns her for a moment. “It’s flawed in a rough, energetic way that makes it beautiful.”

Is he talking about her designs or himself just then? “Um, Masamune, they’re rough because they’re rough sketches…”

He shrugs, “I still think they’re impressive, and clearly something I haven’t seen before in my life,” His face softens, dropping a hand on her shoulder, “I really do appreciate the way you draw, Mai.”

The genuine, easygoing smile narrowing his face touches her heart, but most of it, his complete sincerity. It’s not just a vague praise, Masamune truly does mean every word he says.

“Thank you for that…” She can’t help beaming at him, a nice and warm feeling settling in, “Is that all you needed from me, though?”

“Yeah. And don’t worry if you mess up. I can always bring more paper,”

Plopping down on the floor beside her, Masamune’s eye is bright and vivid, and her cheeks start to hurt with how hard she smiles back at him. In reality, he’s the first person who’d thought of her drawings as actual art, and that mention alone makes her all the more joyful inside.

After looking down at the piece of blank paper before her, Mai summons the resolve to start. This will be my first time drawing a hanging scroll. I thought the pressure would block me, but I’m actually inspired!

Taking the closest brush and preparing some ink, first she settles for starting with a female figure, opting to figuring the rest out as she goes. It’s been some time ever since she doodled anything—a little more than a month, in fact—but doing something as menial as sitting down and draw something puts her more at ease than most things in the world.

Glancing fleetingly at him from time to time, Masamune remains quiet, resting a hand behind him and slipping into a relaxed position as he watches her draw. The metallic, golden crescent moon hanging on his belt and the curved patterns of his kimono catch her eye, bringing some inspiration from his ever so present moon theme.

It gets to be so easy for her mind to prone on thoughts of him lately, but she can’t truly help it. What are his favorite colors? Which patterns would suit him best? The first thing that comes to mind is that Masamune Date reminds her of a spring season—fresh, vivid, pleasantly warm and lively. The most colorful time of the year and, to some extent, the most positive in her opinion.

Struck with a nice idea, Mai continues her design in peaceful, companionable silence. “Hey, you. Still awake?” She says softly after a while.

“Mm-hm…” It’s a pretty relaxed response coming from a wordy guy like him.  

Lifting her brush, she gives him a good once over look, but he doesn’t look sleepy at all. However, he seems to be not quite here or there, watching her undisturbed yet most likely with his mind elsewhere.

It makes her smile regardless, content to have that comfortable moment between them. “Just so you know, I’m really happy you chose me for this. It means a lot you coming to me with this request.”

“Really, now?” A sort of realization dawns on his face just then, his eye widening, “Well, I’m glad.” Hesitantly, Masamune gives her the sweetest smile she’s so far seen in him, looking very much like a picture himself.

Man, if only I could frame that look on his face, so I could watch it every morning…

A soft, longing sigh appears to escape him, crawling closer. “I really do love seeing you smile, kitten…” Quite smoothly, he slips his arm around her, and her world suddenly shifts.

Huh? They’d moved so gently it takes her a moment to register she’s on the floor and Masamune’s over her. Out of the corner of her eye, Mai can see the brush rolling across the floor, ink trailing over the mat.

“Mai…” His fingers turn her face back up to his all too easily, warm breath fanning her lips. There’s something so incredibly tender in the way he stares at her, as if admiring a work of art.

The sight becomes impossible to resist, tilting her head up and dusting his lips with a fleeting kiss, barely touching. His hand travels up to cradle the back of her head, holding her so carefully, so lovingly, her heart feels like about to burst.

His chestnut bangs fall loosely over his face, close enough they tickle her cheek. “Just look at me…”

I am looking at you. You’re gorgeous, as always, and—

That train of thought doesn’t go further than that as Masamune returns to brush his mouth against hers; softly, seeming to take his precious time into savoring the texture of her lips, thoroughly enjoying the feeling of her.

She can’t remember the last time she’d been kissed like that, if ever—the sort of kiss one could only see in the movies. That perfect and blissful kind, the one that comes former to a declaration of—

Tensing, only slowly she pries herself out of the moment. “I… think there’s been a misunderstanding.”

Masamune’s eye flutters open, looking somewhat drowsy. “You think so? On whose part?”

“Perhaps on both,” Her voice comes off hoarse, and that makes him laugh, not minding as much and bringing his lips to her neck, breath hot in her ear.

When he nips at her earlobe, her treacherous body lets her know it doesn’t think there’s a misunderstanding at all, acting on its own accord and reflexively grinding against his thigh. His hair is incredibly soft as it brushes against the crook of her neck, prompting her to wind her hands through his locks.

Damn, damn! What are we doing?

Catching the collar of her juban in his teeth, Masamune pulls it down wolfishly, baring her skin down to her collarbone. A particular well placed nip sends her eyes rolling backwards, a groan escaping her.

You’re a flirt, and this isn’t going to mean anything, and we have to stop before it does. Because it’s going to get worse if we don’t…

“Masamune…” A hand sneaks its way up her thigh ever so teasingly. Come on, you’re not 15 anymore, keep it together! “P-please, let’s hold up.”

To her relief, he does so right away, “For what?”

Looking up at her, Mai has a moment to think straight. “I was still in the middle of drawing your picture for one. Now there’s ink all over the floor.”

“Well, that’s a problem.” Not making a big deal about it, Masamune moves away to lay beside the futon, watching her with clear amusement.

“I mean it, though,” Even when toying with a strand of her hair, instant regret courses though her, missing his passionate touch the very moment she’s reprieved of it. No. no, I need to focus. “Look, I think you’re mistaken about something, Masamune. You and I aren’t a couple, or an item, or a ‘thing’.”

Those alluring fingers of his stop midway. “I… don’t know what any of that means.” He deadpans.

She straightens up a little. “We’re not dating? We’re not lovers? I mean, as nice and fun this is, I’m not quite okay with sleeping with you on the spur of the moment.”

“… Who’s saying anything about sleep?” What? Oh no. Oh, no, no. Cultural AND language barrier alert!

“Okay, what I mean by that is, uh, bedding me. The sleeping part comes afterwards.” Mai struggles to make her point as best as she can, hoping it’s enough, “And those other things? That’s someone you might be ‘sleeping with’.”

Oddly so, Masamune keeps shooting her a confused look. “Why would you do that, though? I have my own futon if I want to rest…”

“What?” That takes her aback, not quite getting where he’s going. “You’re not trying to say you never—“

But just then, “… Hey, Mai, it’s the middle of the night. Keep it down.”

Her face goes white as a ghost. And things just got worse! It’s Hideyoshi! He wouldn’t barge in, would he? He’d better not!

Masamune appears very skeptical of that, however. “I think we should hide.”

“You too?” Apparently, Masamune’s first instinct is to grab the futon cover in a rush, bringing her with it. Clutching her close to his chest, he lies down and throws the cover over both of them.

There’s no way Hideyoshi’s going to fall for this!

Pressed tight against him, she can’t see anything but hears the door slide open. “Mai? Did you already fall asleep?”

Dozens of unmentionable things to say cross her mind at that, putting an effort into biting the inside of her cheek to keep as quiet as possible. Masamune, I’m going to kill you AND Hideyoshi if he finds us!

An awfully tense moment goes by, and Mai looks up into his face, watching her partner in crime putting a finger against his lips—still amused to no end. Staring at him in awe, it’s hard to believe how her evening went from a lonely and almost depressing one, to so many gears up as that.

Every moment with him seems to feel like a whole new exciting experience to unfold. I feel like such a kid. Honestly, though, this is fun.

Pressing herself a little closer to Masamune, she can’t help giving him a conspiratorial smile. The only air around them is their breaths, making both their faces flushed. “He’ll never stop lecturing if he sees us…” He mouths.

“Shut it—!“ They whisper to each other, their quiet breathing heating the air even more, noses touching. And yet, every moment she spends staring into Masamune’s eye—the brightest light around—the more their bodies seem to mold around one another, something more than just mere heat growing below the covers of her futon.

Hideyoshi, hurry up and go already!

After a long, tense moment, Hideyoshi sighs. “I guess she was sleeping? She makes a lot of noise in her sleep. Her breathing sounds a little labored too. Maybe I’ll ask Ieyasu if there’s a sleep aid for her.”

Masamune purses his lips, starting to snicker. “Don’t you dare—“ She warns him with gritted teeth.

He shakes in her arms, trying his best to restrain himself. “I can’t help it…“

“Suck it up!” An eternity later, they finally hear the door shut close and the sound of footsteps retreating back down the hall. Mai is the first to take a peek from below the covers. “Is he gone?”

A quite disheveled chestnut head makes his appearance as well. “Looks like it.” As the two of them leave the futon, Masamune can’t seem to hold back his laughter any longer. “Hah—hahaha!”

“Don’t laugh, you’ll draw him back!”

It doesn’t seem easy at all for him to contain his fit now that it’s started, but at least he tries to muffle it by sticking his face into her pillow, dropping unceremoniously onto his back. “You can be expecting some medicine for your labored breathing soon.”

She snorts, “If it’s from Ieyasu it’ll probably taste really bitter!”

“Still, I’m impressed with Hideyoshi’s mind. ‘Mai, you’re talking too loud… in your sleep!’” A small snicker escapes her at his attempt imitating his voice, “I kind of feel for his wife, to be honest…”

Soon, Mai can’t hold her laughter in either, plopping down on the futon once again next to Masamune. “Wow! I can’t remember the last time I did anything like that, if ever. I’m exhausted.” Turning on their sides and facing each other, his gorgeous eye is full of mirth, and she’s certain she must be looking the very same as him.

“Me too. All that good energy spent on nothing.”

“If you hadn’t started this, we wouldn’t have had to hide. That’ll teach you to interrupt people when they’re drawing…”

He quirks a brow, “In my defense, you were smiling so cutely, I just couldn’t resist,” As if to make a point, he shoots her a toothy grin, not bothering to wait any longer and cradling her close once again.

To be completely honest, there’s something about their undeniable chemistry that makes it somewhat hard to understand. Mai hadn’t had that instant connection with anyone before, and regardless of how they’re both admittedly playing around and basking in the moment, she can’t deny that inescapable feeling of being drawn to Masamune.

It’s as if they’re bound by invisible strings. It would be silly to call it fate, yet it’s hard to describe it otherwise.

Climbing down from their mirth, Masamune idly traces soothing circles on her lower back, sharing a blissful moment of peace and quiet. She sighs contentedly at his ministrations, burying her face in the crook of his neck, breathing on his masculine scent.

An endearing chuckle escapes him. “You look tired, but not tired enough to poke your cheeks, kitten.”

“You endless tease…” She snaps her teeth in a mock show of threatening to bite his approaching finger, managing to crawl even further into his arms. “Want to stay the night?”

“… Is that the way in the future to propose ‘sleeping together’?”

At that, it takes her a moment to register what she just said, her growing slumbering mind seeming to have made the decisions for her. Turns out, though, it’s a near impossible effort to let him go back to his manor at that point, so she doesn’t regret her words quite as much.

“In fact, I meant actual sleeping,” That train of thought brings her back to a former comment, turning up to search into his gorgeous blue eye. “Riddle me curious, though, but why do I get the feeling you never, um, spent the night cuddling up with anyone before?”

Propping himself on his elbow, he snorts. “I think I know where you’re going with that, and no, I didn’t,” He says, “I don’t know your future time customs, but in here, only wives and concubines are there to warm up a man’s bed,”

“Oh, right. But now that you mention it, how are you still single?” She can’t help but wonder. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m just guessing a guy like you surely must have had a lot of prospects…”

“Hah, not really.” He shakes his head, “But I do appreciate the sentiment, kitten,” He adds up sultrily.

“Seriously?” Maybe she’s biased—Who am I kidding, I totally am—but she finds that hard to believe, “Huh, I just figured, as the head of a clan, taking a wife would be a sort of a priority to you,”

“Well, I do was set up to be wed once, with a pretty lady from a northern clan,” Masamune goes on, relaxing further into her futon, “My cousin Shigezane married her sister, though, so the clan got into my fief in the end,”

“And why didn’t you?” As far as she knew about, Masamune seems to be to some extent the highest figure in the northern provinces, “Wasn’t a good match or something like that?”

“Quite the opposite. My bride and I were childhood friends actually,” As lenient as he seems to be with talking about it, his smile doesn’t look truly sincere then.

“So? May I ask what happened?”

Something in the way his gaze wavers just slightly makes her suspect there’s more to it. Is it he doesn’t want to allow himself having a partner? Or is it just him not looking forward to leaving another widow to mourn in the world, considering his job?

“Well, Mego died.”

She breathes, eyes widening in shock. “What?” He lays that out so simply and in a straightforward manner, for a moment she can’t bring herself to believe him. But he has no reason to make up a lie, “I’m… I’m so sorry, Masamune.”

“What for? It’s not your fault,” He pats her hand in reassurance, looking painfully honest. “I wasn’t the only isolated case of smallpox, back in the day. But I’ve been lucky to only lose an eye from it, that’s for sure…”

The harsh truth from the reality they live in weighs heavily on her. Masamune speaks as if somewhat detached from the horrible fact he lost his bride, of all people. However, to some extent she comes to understand a commander and head of a clan like him must have spent his entire life getting acquainted with death. May it be due to war, a disease, or just birth, the prospect of losing a loved one must be just that inevitable for people in that era.

Perhaps that’s why he goes by living life to the fullest, not missing a single moment. Oh, Masamune. And here I thought my life sucked. My troubles seem so small and pointless in comparison to all he must have gone through.

Struck with a sudden urge to just touch him, Mai reaches out and takes his hand in hers, “I wouldn’t call it just luck, though. I think, above that, it was your strong will what got you through,” Now aware of his admitted weakness, she puts an effort into smiling her most genuine smile, “I really like that about you…”

His face softens, taking the effect she’d been looking forward to, “Aside from my good looks, right?”

“What do you think?” Shooting him a sultry look, she opts onto changing the mood, “But you know what? Considering you just admitted you never experienced the pleasure of cuddling up, allow me to show you what you’ve been missing,”

“You’ve got my attention, kitten…”

She’d be a fool to think she’s only leaning forward and kissing him for other reasons aside of an all-consuming need to do so. Truth is, she wants him as close as humanly possible, craving for the warmth of his lips like a thirsty man in the desert.

If Masamune believes it’s selfish of her, he doesn’t seem to mind at all, eagerly following and going down atop the futon together in a messy bundle of arms and legs. “Now, lay down, tiger,” She advises after they part for breath.

Straddling him, Mai then proceeds to slowly and gently disrobe him, all the time under the scrutiny of his very intense gaze. His black cape goes off first, then the white belt holding his hakama in place, and so until he’s just down to his under kimono, leaving both in a matching state of dressing.

A teasing hand snakes up her thigh, and as tempted as she is to turn things more spicy, miraculously she finds the strength to refrain herself just so, dropping at Masamune’s side on the pillow. “Hey, I said just sleeping, remember?”

“Alright, alright…” Faking a pout, he seems rather more curious to see where she’s getting at than anything else, his eye fluttering close as her hands thread into his locks.

Turning off the lantern, the moonlight coming from the slit of the doors to her veranda haloes Masamune’s figure in breathtaking silver hues; his eye, half-lidded, still staring at her, seeming to enjoy her ministrations on his hair. Her fingers find the tie of his eyepatch, and after waiting for his explicit approval, the cloth goes off as well, dropped next to his pair of katana and rest of his clothing at the side of the futon.

Still massaging his scalp in soothing strokes, he hums contentedly. “Mmh, this is nice,” He manages to use whatever strength is left in him to pull her flush against his torso, legs tangling together under the covers.

Soon, his hums turn into quiet breaths, finally falling into a slumber, leaving Mai to bask upon the adorable view. All her worries appear to not matter as much anymore then, preferring to watch over him, not minding for what may come tomorrow.

For now, the world resumes to just the two of them, cuddled in each other’s arms. And she can only hope for the night to never end.

#Cassie writes #Stripes fic #Ikesen #Ikemen Sengoku #Ikesen Masamune x MC #Ikesen Shingen x MC #Mai Mizusaki #Ikesen fanfiction #SPOILERS: Masamune's route

[emeraldtawny]

Edgar x OC (Eleanor): Masquerade (Pt. 3/5)

...these chapters are getting longer and longer each time. I have no self-control hoorraaaaaaayyyyyyyyy~!

I....may have been a liiiiiiiittle bit angsty with this chapter. Not a lot...just enough to hopefully tear your heart out like I did mine while writing this :^) The next chapter will likely be the last, but who even knows what will happen so we’ll just wait and see......ANGST TIME! >:3

These two people who were brought together on a whim and under very unnatural circumstances were quick to find answers to the questions they had of each other. At first, it was simply business - finding information on their target keeps them safe while also discovering the other’s weaknesses - but over time, both Edgar and Eleanor realised just how similar they were. Fabricated discussions in sparse moments of free time eventually shifted into genuine conversations with set meeting dates and times.

The two would talk about everything and nothing, probing each other to discover the type of person they were. Over time, they learned of the other’s quirks and mannerisms, their likes and dislikes - things that should’ve been pointless information was stored away in their thoughts and memories. Why? Because they wished to remember it personally.

Eleanor learned quickly to distinguish Edgar’s crafted smiles from his genuine ones, when he was stressed or otherwise emotionally compromised and, eventually, Edgar divulged to her in more detail about his work with the Bright Family and his uncle. Suddenly, pieces that had no place fit together perfectly and the anomaly that is Edgar Bright made more sense to her, almost frighteningly so.

Of course, this exchange was not one-sided. Edgar picked up quickly on Eleanor’s self-driven and occasionally stubborn personality, yet he couldn’t help but laugh when her meeker, more reserved side emerged on weary days. He noticed the way she poked her tongue out slightly between her lips whenever she was deep in thought, and he laughed like a fool when he would tease her and she would retaliate by calling him every name under the sun. And, as was only fair, she spoke of her past and revealed her secrets, a conversation Edgar could not forget even if he tried.

[ “As you guessed, I am from that Lancaster family. My entire bloodline is basically comprised of compulsive gamblers and master con artists. From birth, I was trained mercilessly and shaped into another set of hands to swindle and deceive people into handing over their money.”

“That explains your impeccable poker face. However, that doesn’t explain how you knew of my business.”

“Being a con artist means you need a stable and reliable information source. How else do you know who to target and steal from? While our main operations were in Black Territory, we had connections in the Red Territory as well...where we found out about a man called Claudius Bright and what he was the ringleader behind.”

“And you found out about me through that.”

“Exactly. After I got away from my family, I had nothing. Still kept contact with the information dealers and happened to hear about a certain party you were targeting and...well, you know the rest.”

“Indeed. One query with your story: the Black Army found the Lancaster family’s operation and shut it down, imprisoning everyone involved. How were you spared?”

“Simple. I was the one who ratted them out.” ]

She didn’t tell him everything, neither did he tell her everything. However, a mutual understanding was achieved between the two; that they were more alike in their upbringings and the way they view themselves than either could have ever guessed.

…

Edgar sits silently in the faux leather armchair that he has made his own in Eleanor’s quaint little house in the Central Quarter. His eyes flick to the clock on the wall, its ticking rhythmic.

1:46pm.

(How odd. She’s never late.)

While not one for worrying needlessly, he couldn’t help but feel an emotion bubbling inside him that he thought was long since dead. Fear.

(Something must have happened. She wouldn’t draw out a prank to this extent...she wouldn’t even try to prank me to begin with.)

Edgar’s lips press together, his eyebrows drawing taught as he contemplates leaving to search for her. The thought is immediately halted by the abrupt crashing of the door as it’s unceremoniously thrown open. Eleanor flies into the room and shuts the door in the blink of an eye. She leans against the door, her breathing laboured but gradually calming. Edgar blinks, his face illustrating his genuine shock at how dishevelled and frantic Eleanor appears to be, two words hardly fitting to describe her.

Eleanor’s eyelids open and she tenses upon noticing Edgar, her pupils shrinking similar to a prey’s when face to face with a predator.

“What are you doing here?”

Choosing to ignore the thread of venom in her question, Edgar responds, “The same reason as many times before. To meet with you.”

She huffs a sigh and pushes herself off the door, discarding and throwing her jacket to Edgar before walking to the small kitchen. He barely flinches catching it, keeping his sea green eyes on her form as she moves on steady legs. But Edgar knows better. He can see the almost non-existent twitching of her fingertips as she grabs a mug off the bench to fill with tea.

Edgar stands and walks to the bench to stand next from her, keeping his analytic gaze on her face. He knows he’s pressuring her, that she’ll catch on and give him hell for it. But at this point in time, he will take her complaints as long as he can be certain that she’ll be all right.

(Since when did I start being aware of your happiness?)

After what felt like hours, Eleanor finally lifts her gaze to Edgar. The red veins pop against the whites of her eyes, her purple eyes more dazzling and distressed in contrast. He frowns, his hand moving not from his own accord to brush his thumb under her eyes, tracing the faint dark circles outlining her face.

“What happened?”

The sound of her hand smacking his away seems to echo in Edgar’s mind, the physical pain almost non-existent to the weight gradually settling on his heart. She turns to walk away, but Edgar grabs her wrist and holds on tight, correctly anticipating her attempt at wriggling free.

“Eleanor.”

He can feel the muscles in her wrist move as she clenches her fist tight. Her shoulders bunch up around her neck before letting them fall with a long, exhausted sigh.

“They’re out.”

Whatever he was expecting her to say, that was not it.

(“They’re”? Meaning...no, surely not her family.)

“What? But I thought you said that they would be locked away for years, possibly decades. How could they be out?”

“How the hell would I know?! Don’t ask such stupid questions!”

Edgar recoils at the bite in her acidic words, his grip loosening enough for Eleanor to rip her hand free. She turns to face him, her eyes burning with a myriad of emotions: anger, confusion, panic.

“What matters now is that they’re out and they’re coming to get me! I’m not safe here and I need to find somewhere where I will be! Which is next to impossible since they used to run this entire fucking town!”

Her words spill from her a mile a minute, Edgar’s expression falling at her slowly unravelling calm demeanour.

“It’s okay, Eleanor. I can give you refuge in the Red Army for the time being and we can find a more permanent residence with time. Getting desperate isn’t going to help in any way.”

She knows he’s right, but her better judgement is outcompeted for control by her storming emotions. The agony and pure ferocity in her eyes make Edgar tense.

“Of course you can say that,” she says darkly, her teeth clenching in barely repressed rage, “You have no idea what I’m going through! You’re still stuck under the thumb of your family! You’re safe! Mine are out of prison and probably already have a plan to murder me! Don’t you fucking dare try to say things are okay because they’re far from it!”

Edgar’s eyes darken at Eleanor’s words, the barrier he erects as his uncle’s cold-blooded killing puppet surrounding him fully, “Stop. Don’t speak like you’re worse off than me.”

She laughs, the sound empty and mirthless accompanying her plastic smile, “Forgive me, but I think I have a reason to be fucking petrified right now. Nowhere is safe, I can’t trust anyone and the only one I can trust is someone who’s as fucked up as I am! Sorry for feeling entitled to a fucking mental breakdown over you!!”

As swift as the wind, Edgar closes the gap between them, grabbing Eleanor’s wrists in a death grip. She stumbles back, regaining her balance to bring her knee up to connect with his stomach. Edgar side-steps before she can make contact and he pulls her with him, the two of them tumbling to the ground in a mess of limbs fighting for control. Edgar’s leaner, more agile body pins Eleanor’s below him, his legs straddling her waist and her wrists still tight in his grip pressed hard to the floor on either side of her head. She glares daggers at him from close range, his face impassive yet the determined fire in his eyes doesn’t go unnoticed.

“What the hell is this going to accomplish, huh?! Nothing you do is going to help me! I’m going to be murdered in cold blood by the family I betrayed!” She screams at him, her voice hoarse with torture. Her attempts at breaking free of his shackles lessen in strength each time, her voice following suit as her previously impassioned shouts now become nothing more than meek whimpers, “...I deserve this. I knew this was going to happen eventually. What does it matter, right? No one will care if a broken, impure monster gets her karma.”

Eleanor bites her lower lip, the strain in her face to hold back her tears and onto her dignity tearing down Edgar’s emotionless barrier. He blinks down at her, watching mesmerised as a single tear spills from the corner of her eye and trails smoothly down her cheek.

“I...I deserve this. God, I really deserve this. I’ll die as corrupt as I lived.”

“Stop--”

“Why? So you can remind me that you’re as fucked as me? At least you’re not in danger--”

“Eleanor, stop!”

She winces as Edgar’s grip tightens on her wrists. He stares into her eyes, the unadulterated pain and dread swirling in her usually calm and clear lavender eyes unsettling Edgar in a way he’s never felt before. He leans over her, their noses hovering a hair’s width away from each other, his breath ghosting over her skin as he murmurs to her.

“You’re here, you’re alive. We can get through this. No, we have to get through this, because there is no way in Hell I’m letting you go.”

(What am I saying?)

Edgar’s thoughts congeal into an uneasy feeling sitting in the pit of his stomach, unsure of why he feels so strongly about this woman’s presence in his life. Eleanor stares trance-like at the man above her, barely registering the words that fall from her lips.

“I...want to live. If not for myself, then for you. You...I don’t know why, but I need you.”

(What am I saying?)

She squeezes her eyes shut, another rogue tear spilling free to roll from her face to the floor. With a sigh under his breath, Edgar loosens his hold on her and moves off of her before pulling her gently upright. His hands slide to her waist to pull her into an embrace, his cold hands tingling through his gloves at the warmth of her body. Eleanor rests her head in the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent as her hands move to clutch weakly at the collar of his shirt.

Who knows how long they stayed like that, both sinners seeking the phantom warmth of the other. Eleanor is the first to move, leaning back to meet Edgar’s eyes. While puffy and red, Edgar relaxes at the clear focus in her eyes that he so fondly recognises.

“I’m sorry. That was uncalled for and I didn’t mean to attack you.”

Edgar chuckles softly, his relief palpable as he wipes a gloved finger under her eye to catch a remnant tear on her eyelash, “I know.”

A comfortable silence passes before she speaks again, her confidence faltering, “Do you really think you can help me? The last thing I want is for you to get caught up in my business.”

“I will do everything in my power to keep you safe. Like I said, I’m not letting you go.”

After so much turmoil and agony, finally, Eleanor smiles. And despite the obvious strain in the action, Edgar couldn’t be more relieved.

“It’s funny, isn’t it? How people like us still manage to find solace even when we both know we don’t deserve it.”

He smiles, his hand moving to stroke her glossy hair, “I think us being impure is precisely why we can find solace in one another.”

“Hm,” Eleanor hums her agreement, “Finding comfort in the darkness of another, huh? How fitting.”

They both laugh together, the sound neither jovial nor melancholic. They remain that way, both keeping each other close as they let the other’s impurity transfer to them - the shared darkness between them a shared burden, a lifeline to both Edgar and Eleanor to stop them being consumed and eaten alive by the impurity tainting their hearts.  

#ikerev #ikerev fanfic #edgar bright #original character #masquerade #angst angst ANGST #did I mention ANGST #I'm torturing these poor souls

[nikkistahgase-scenarios]

Wide Awake ~ Chapter 2/?

Hi everyone! I’m back with another chapter of my series Wide Awake! I want to thank everyone who read chapter 1 and liked it, it means a lot to me❤️. I also want to wish you all a Merry Christmas🎄 and hope that your day will be filled with love, family, friends, and gifts! Enjoy your day!

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Previously on Chapter 1

“He will wake up within 72 hours. He will suffer from headaches, nausea, fatigue dizziness. He might also be sensitive to lights and sounds for a while. However, all of that are symptoms associated with a mild traumatic brain injury. So we cannot know for sure of the extent of the symptoms he will go through until he wakes up and we can examine him.” She told us, looking up from her notes. 

I just stared at Jaebum, tears welling in my eyes. He looked so vulnerable lying motionlessly on the hospital bed. 

“Are there any other injuries?” I asked the doctor still looking at Jae, my voice breaking slightly. 

“He has a broken leg, his right one, and a broken wrist, also his right one.” She answered. 

Suddenly, we heard a beep sound coming from the doctor.

“I have to go, but if you more questions, don’t hesitate to ask me.” She declared before leaving.

As I was starting to walk toward Jaebum, I felt a hand on my shoulder. Turning around, I looked at Jackson.

“How are you holding up?” He asked me softly, concern present in his eyes.

“I don’t know… 3 hours ago, he was still with me awake and now…” I choked out faintly, not being able to finish saying what I wanted to say. I just started to sob quietly, before Jackson pulled me in a hug not saying anything, just letting me cry my fear, my pain and, sadness on his shoulder and offering me silent comfort and support. 

Present time 

I was alone in Jaebum’s hospital room as Jackson left to call the members to tell them what happened. I just stared at my hands entwined with his left one, in my thoughts, not really paying attention to my surrounding. 

I felt someone sit on the chair next to me. When I looked to see who it was, I saw Jackson with his back hunched forward and red puffy eyes. 

“What did they say?” I asked him. 

“They yelled, they panicked and then they told me that they were going to be here in 30 minutes max.” He said with a defeated look on his face.

“Okay good. How are you feeling?” I inquired worrying about his physical state. 

“Helpless and useless… Jaebum-hyung has always been the strong one, the one who handled everything. The one who calmed us down and, who comforted us when we felt down. But now, he looks so vulnerable, so frail… I just want to be useful in any kind of way that will help him, but I don’t know what to do and that frustrates me.” He said fighting back the tears. 

Looking one last time at Jaebum, I crouched down in front of Jackson and took his hands in mine, before looking at him in the eyes. 

“Jackson… No matter what you think, you are helping him, you are useful and you are certainly not helpless.” I stated firmly. 

“But..” He tried to argue.

“No! Just by your presence, you are helping him and you are letting him know that you will not let him down or let him be alone. You are letting him know that you are here. You are useful.” I told him and with that, he started to sob. 

Standing up, I hugged him tightly, letting him cry his despair and fear of losing Jae and he hugged me back, holding on to me as tightly as I was. Both of us using the other as pillars to help us hold on to the reality and not to dive into the world of anguish that was calling our names so loudly.

I don’t know how long we stayed in each other’s arms, but we broke apart when we heard a knock on the door’s room. When we looked up, we saw all five members looking distressed. I made a silent sign for them to enter the room. 

“What happened? How is he? Is he sleeping or is he in a coma?” Jinyoung fired question after question at us. 

“He was in a car accident and he hit his head against the window. They did a CT scan and discovered that he has a mild traumatic brain injury, a broken leg and, a broken wrist…” I trailed off not been able to continue on without getting too emotional.

Jackson seeing that I was unable to finish, continued.

“The doctor told us that he was put in a coma and that he will wake up within 72 hours.” He told them. 

“Okay, but do you know how the car accident happened?” Asked us Youngjae.

Jackson and I looked at each other before shaking our heads in a negative manner.

“To be honest I was so concerned about Jae’s condition that I didn’t think to ask the doctor about it.” I said looking at my shoes, ashamed of how it didn’t go through my mind once.

“Don’t feel guilty about this, it’s an understandable situation. Jaebum-hyung is the first priority here, we can worry about the accident later.” Yugyeom assured me softly. 

“It’s true but I still want to know. The next time the doctor comes in to check on Jaebum, I will ask her.” I replied looking at Jaebum still form. 

As much as I knew that it was impossible, all I wished for was for time to go back by at least 5 hours ago and just cuddle in Jae’s arms and, not having to worry about when will he wake up and the aftermath of the accident.

I slowly walked back to the chairs next to the bed and sat on the one closest to Jaebum, took his hands and put my head on his chest. Closing my eyes, the soothing sound of his heartbeat slowly lulling me to sleep. 

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *

That’s it for chapter 2! Hope that you liked it and I’ll try to post chapter 3 by Thursday! Merry Christmas🎄☃️❤️

#got7 #got7 fanfic #got7 scenarios #got7 jaebeom #got7 jaebum #jackson wang #mark tuan #park jinyoung #choi youngjae #kim yugyeom #bambam #im jaebum #im jaebeom #wide awake #kpop fanfiction #kpop #fanfic #fanfiction #scenarios

[somethingmustbreak-project]

“Assiette ou Virage et Dérapage”

Text by Natalya Serkova

If Thumbelina had to travel not on the back of the swallow but by a motorcycle, she would have hardly managed to keep her wedding dress and her tiny bows unrumpled. It is not only that riding a bike requires special gear: a helmet, gloves or a leather jacket. More than that, unlike immersion into a comfortable womb of a car or a swallow’s soft feathers, riding a motorcycle requires an equal complicity in the breakneck ride on the part of the traveller. A motorcycle is an example of a perfect hybrid of a human and a vehicle. Once astride a motorcycle, riders not only partake of the speed and the slaps of the head wind, slaps of dust, of sounds or of the ground, but they also have to fully merge with the motorcycle, to repeat its curves with the curves of their own bodies. The more complete this conjunction between the body and the vehicle, the better the riders can steer and control it, the more stable and well balanced their position is on the saddle. Those who seek to achieve an effective contact with this mechanism made of metal, rubber and leather have to become the extension of it, an outgrowth on its mechanical body that enables it to wake up and come into action.

Such an amalgamation does not mean that the vehicle engulfs its “second engine”, its human outgrowth. Just like the intestines of the motorcycle that are exposed, pulled inside out, the motorcycle itself always seeks to expand outward. It does not devour, but, with the help of powerful sounds, high speed and the sparks from its wheels at steep turns, works to expand whatever accompanies it in its movement. Everything that comes clear of the ground and is ready to follow the motorbike’s metal curves, turns into a shining, a gas, a rumble. A motorcycle continuously multiplies itself in all this shining and noise, capable of taking on new parts that are willing to be absorbed  and expanding itself to an unknown extent. But given this expansion, does the motorcycle remain what it used to be before? Or does it become a bleak reflection of its former self shimmering with its smooth, cool intestines and turning all the new parts into a semblance of itself? Every brand new thumb, every human or non-human outgrowth forces the entire motorcycle system, not just the wheels alone, into constant motion. The mutation can escalate to such an extent as to make it impossible to tell whether it is a parasitic outgrowth, hiding among the parts of the vehicle, or a vehicle that has become a parasitic virus of a weird shape that eludes the logic of functional driving.

It has become impossible to separate the parts from their bearer, because the bearer is now little more than a sum total of its constituent parts assembled in a somewhat random manner. The infinite expansion and annexation of yet more parts prompts an incessant renewal of the entire body. We are no longer sure which point in time and space we should select in order to be able to give a proper name to whatever it is that we are facing. If the motorcycle is a parasitic virus that is revived by every contact with a creature such as a human being, it means that it is hardwired—they way all viruses are—not only to mutate, but also to deftly elude the eyes of strangers. This is exactly why in contrast to a car, a motorcycle is naked: you do not have to hide or tear the surface membrane that is simply not there. Yet at the same time, its shiny, sleek, smooth, glossy surfaces are meant to distract anyone who manages to catch a glimpse of them. Will the multiplication of these surfaces and of their shine turn into the multiplication of their deceptions? Or, taken to extremes, thus will detonate the logic of the vehicle from within, unleashing the powers previously hidden inside? Thumbelina landing happily on her swallow next to an elvish prince notices a brand new bike behind his back.

Nomadic, fulfilling disposition of non-familiar shapes: Assiette ou Virage et Dérapage

Inspired by the documentation modality used to describe an art work through its details, "Assiette ou Virage et Dérapage" is a project anchored to the idea that the Minor Circumstance of such images often exhibits the most material and fulfilling aspect of the object, letting visual pleasure have the best on the imaginary / imaginative concept of the artwork. Obliged to relate to a restricted space, cynically sensual already, seven artists dialogued with the exhibition space cannibalizing an aesthetic that we all know and which we has been influenced and sometimes distracted in these years. The hateful, common, coarse, and deplorable mistakes that inspired this project are essentially two: How does an installation view reveal of the project, the curatorial thought, and the gallerist ambitions? And how often does it only show the depressing interior designer ability of the curator and the proud complacency of rampant estate owner? And when it comes to the artist: sure to choose from the dozens of photos of details the one that can best express the concept of the work, he is instead distracted as a child by the twinkle of a chromed metal, excited by the curve of a a form that reminds us some car advertising . The art works are the center of any topic that interests art, but they are often misunderstood and then chosen for the most simplistic and approximate reasons. The operation is simple and mocking. The viewer is made responsible. Will he stop on a superficial and consolatory reading? Let him. Everything is in order and prepared for this to happen, because he does not bother too much and convinces himself that everything is fine. Perhaps he would prefer to feel cuddled by those images he recognizes and loves. That he needs. Satisfying and feticist images.

Dangerous double curve, the first to the left.

Something Must Break 2017

  Monia Ben Hamouda Vitaly Bezpalov Alessandro Di Pietro Jibril Esposito Michele Gabriele Dorota Gaweda & Egle Kulbokaite Lucia Leuci

contribution text by Natalya Serkova

curated by Something Must Break

14th November 2017 Milan IT Something Must Break © 2017 All Rights Reserved. 

#moniabenhamouda #vitalybezpalov #alessandrodipietro #jibrilesposito #michelegabriele #dorotagaweda #eglekulbokaite #lucialeuci #somethingmustbreak #natalyaserkova #contemporaryart

[terrible-tulip]

Dreams & Dream-like States in Steven Universe

In real life, I have been known to be a bit obsessed with dreams and the unconscious mind.  I taught myself how to lucid dream, I’ve kept several dream journals over the years, I read books on why we dream... it’s just something that fascinated me, especially back when I was struggling with severe depression and recovering from a rather traumatic experience.

One of my absolute favorite things about Steven Universe is how it depicts dreams and the inner mind of the cast as experienced by Steven.  The show gives some accurate examples of what dreams are like: weird, strange, and completely detached from reality.  As Steven told Pearl:

“dreams don't always make sense. When you dream, the thoughts in your head get all mixed up into a weird movie. And they're really hard to explain, which is why they're boring to listen to.”

The earliest example of dream-like imagery in SU is, I believe, the fake Beach City from Rose’s Room.  I’m not sure, but I suspect that the cloud city was inspired by dreams for its surreal, creepy effect.

I don’t think I need to discuss all the little ways that the show made it pretty clear that nothing is real, from little things like how the outside of Steven’s room is featureless darkness, how the inside of It’s A Wash is too bright, how the sky is too dark and too full of stars (all white, in contrast to the different colors used in the real Beach City sky) to the big things like the fry bits loop.

Rose’s Room is the only example on the show so far where this dreamlike quality has been used to hint that nothing is real and something is wrong, and it does it realistically and not at all subtly. No matter how much detail is put in a dream, it always comes apart upon closer inspection. That’s why reality checks are an important part of learning to tell when one is dreaming or awake. 

The first time we see the show depict an actual dream is in “Lion 3: Straight to Video,” where Steven has a dream about playing checkers with Dogcopter.  Much like in Rose’s Room, everything is depicted in a surreal manner.

The clouds and water are all aqua while the sky is yellow, with a sun that’s darker than the sky.  Dogcopter is sitting like a person (yet is still able to scratch his ear like a dog) and, for some reason, they are playing checkers on a tiny island in the middle of nowhere.  Everything except Steven and Dogcopter is drawn in a simplified manner.

Dogcopter wins the game of checkers with a previously unseen queen chess piece and an impressed Steven asks him how he became so talented. The advice Dogcopter gives him is good (be true to yourself), but given in a rather oddly worded way.  Dogcopter’s mouth also doesn’t move as he speaks and he eats the queen piece.

Everything in this dream is complete nonsense and can’t be mistaken for the show’s version of reality.  Rather obvious considering Dogcopter’s presence, but this is true even for dreams where the characters who appear are just Steven, the gems, or the people of Beach City, regardless of who the dreamer is.

(Pearl’s projected dream from “Chille Tid” and Kiki’s nightmare from “Kiki’s Pizza Delivery Service”)

“Chille Tid” features quite a few of Steven’s dreams, starting with a black and white parody of old family sitcoms.  This is perhaps the most coherent dream shown on SU to date, but still obviously detached from Steven’s reality with the gems appearing as humans and the set of Steven’s living room missing two walls and his bedroom area.

The dream is presented in black and white until Lapis makes a splash of creepy and color.

Steven’s next dream is much less coherent, being a colorful string of weird mismatched information like Dogcopter meowing, Pearl’s giant head eating Steven and spitting him out with rocket upgrade, and Amethyst riding a whale.

It isn’t until he comes across Lapis that things take a jarring leap into realism, because Steven is no longer in his own dream, but encroaching on the consciousness of another person.

Despite Steven and Lapis sharing a conversation, there’s still a lack of realism here.  We know Lapis is currently fused with Jasper, not floating in the ocean alone, and Steven is asleep in his room.

(We also know there’s no giant Amethyst mouths in the ocean.  That would be weird)

Steven’s dreamscape is even more of a jumbled mess when he goes to sleep again and enters a lucid dream.

Steven: Oh! I know this is a dream now! So I can imagine anything I want. Uh... *reaches into pocket* Mashed potato! *pulls out a small grey fish* Hmm...

While this depiction of a lucid dream isn’t perfect, it’s pretty close.  Lucid dreams tend to contain fewer details than a normal one and even if you know you’re dreaming, it actually takes some practice to be able to imagine whatever you want.

Of course, at this point, he falls into Malachite’s mental realm and sees the struggle going on between Lapis and Jasper.

We see glimpses of the subconscious (or “mind realm”) of several characters outside of Steven, though the only reason we see any of these is because his magic allows him to be involved, because the whole show is either shown from Steven’s perspective or told to him with only two to three exceptions (two of which are from Lars’ perspective, perhaps because Lars later opens up to Steven).

Like dreams, these glimpses are surreal and detached from reality.   However, unlike most of the dreams shown in SU, which appear to be just random for the most part, these images seem to reflect the character’s mood and psyche.  At least to some extent.

Naturally, most subconscious imagery comes from Stevonnie.  None of which can be mistaken for their reality, as shown when they start to have an anxiety attack at a rave in “Alone Together.”

When they’re meditating with Garnet by the beach on letting go of troubled thoughts in “Mindful Education.”

When Steven is overcome with troubled thoughts about his mother and the gems he couldn’t help while training with Connie as Stevonnie against Holo-Pearls later in the same episode.

And when Steven consumed with anger and bitterness over Kevin’s nasty attitude toward them back in Season 1 while they’re racing him in “Beach City Drift” in Season 3.

We see more surreal imagery when Steven communicates with the Cluster’s component gem shards, though this is the one time the line between the physical and the mental is left ambiguous. 

The audience can see that Steven isn’t physically in the cluster; he’s unconscious in the drill with Peridot.  Despite this, he is capable of bubbling individual shards from within the Cluster.  

Or at least this is what appears to be happening.  Perhaps he is only dreaming that he’s bubbling the shards while in their mind and this gives them the idea to bubble themselves.  Either way, this internal moment has an element of ambiguity to it.

Steven Universe has consistent world-building rules that aren’t shared by reality and dreams alike.  No mental imagery of any kind is shown without some form of transition and the line between reality and mental imagery being clearly drawn.   It would be impossible, or at least very difficult, for the writers to pull off an episode with a surprise dream reveal ending without betraying this narrative style that has been consistent up to this point in the series.

#steven universe #my meta #my post

[chelsearicketts]

6 Reasons Why Apps Fail and How To Prevent That

As of March 2017, Android clients had the capacity to pick between 2.8 million apps in Google Play, while Apple's App Store housed 2.2 million accessible apps.

While apps are utilized more today than any other time in recent memory, they aren't downloaded as frequently. This implies rivalry for clients' consideration is substantial. It's essential for app engineers to direct a ton of research so as to offer some benefit and settle torment focuses for their clients previously starting mobile app development.

With so much decision, clients aren't probably going to give an app a second look. Truth be told, relatively 35% of mobile app engagements last not exactly a moment, recommending clients don't take long to make decisions. Subsequently, it's inexorably hard to create and discharge a mobile app for any platform that performs uncommonly well in the present market.

6 Common Reasons Why Apps Fail

While rivalry in the app showcase is high, disappointment isn't generally an aftereffect of misfortune. As a rule, there are other contributing variables. Here are four of the most widely recognized reasons that apps fall flat that can't be chalked up essentially to high rivalry.

1. Ineffectively Researched Market and Audience

Extraordinary thoughts in principle regularly don't make incredible apps practically speaking. The choice to dispatch a venture ought to be look into driven. Is there a business opportunity for the kind of app you need to create? Is it true that you are taking care of a specific issue? What's the opposition like? Sensibly, would individuals need to utilize your app? Is it true that you are making somebody's life less demanding? Giving an extraordinary affair? Is the thought characterized all around ok to be executed?

It's anything but difficult to imagine that clients will love your app, yet would you be able to legitimize it? Have you inquired about the market? Have you checked what your rivals do? Have you accumulated any information to demonstrate that you're not going to sit around idly and cash on something no one truly thinks about?

On the off chance that you choose to assemble an app without doing the examination, characterizing the gathering of people, and strategizing use cases and highlights that will appeal to that crowd, you may find that you fabricate an item you accept individuals will need, when in all actuality they don't.

Acquainting another item with the market ought to be an iterative procedure to approve suppositions about client conduct and the item itself. Frequently, a model isn't sufficient to approve the item and accomplish interior purchase in. An iterative procedure is exceedingly helpful to persistently address the issues of your clients and look after commitment. Be that as it may, how would you know precisely what to work for your clients? In what manner will you tackle their torment focuses and surpass their desires a long ways past what your opposition offers? Think about a base suitable item, which incorporates the component or highlights required to take care of a center issue for a lot of clients and be discharged to showcase.

49% of engineers revealed that they created apps dependent on all alone needs. Those equivalent engineers wound up producing minimal measure of income.

2. Absence Of Originality

In all actuality the app stores are oversaturated with the equivalent apps. Fruitful apps like Uber and Airbnb both have a solid offer.

Aggressive research will help uncover your opposition's qualities and shortcomings so as to characterize your own upper hand. Building an item that offers indistinguishable highlights from your opposition's won't enable you to prevail upon numerous clients. A novel incentive (UVP) is the initial step you have to consider to enhance client faithfulness and by and large business achievement.

Suggested Reading: Product Ideation: Building Innovation Into Your Development Process

3. Disregarding Platforms

Android and iOS (and different platforms) have exceptionally natural interface rules. They work in various ways, utilizing diverse signals and regular catches or prompts put in various zones.

For instance, Android clients are acclimated with a back catch that is incorporated with the equipment. Apple gadgets don't have this. Neglecting to represent platform-explicit subtleties like this can seriously influence client encounter.

At the point when apps don't perform well over the extent of gadgets, arranges, and working frameworks, it turns into a noteworthy issue. Clients get baffled when an app deals with the iPhone, however not on their iPad, for instance.

When creating for different platforms, it's vital to work considering platform contrasts. Apps that don't do this accurately will result in disappointed end clients, and given that the normal client will choose in under a moment regardless of whether your app merits utilizing, a little dissatisfaction can mean a ton of disappointment.

4. Poor User Experience

There are a ton of segments associated with building an app that offers an incredible client encounter, yet at the basest dimension, your app should be natural. On the off chance that a client battles to perform essential capacities on your app and can't make sense of center functionalities effortlessly, the outcome is exceptionally poor ease of use. Some different instances of poor client encounter include:

App execution issues (moderate or slacking)

Long load times

Long enlistment forms

Highlights that are hard to get to

One thing to give careful consideration to is platform-explicit UI/UX best practices. As referenced above, overlooking these is an exorbitant mix-up as every platform has components that are special and that their clients are familiar with. For instance, least measuring for tappable controls or explicit swipe signals will contrast from platform to platform, with clients anticipating that outcomes from the activities should be comfortable and reliable with other platform applications.

5. Inappropriate Testing

While it's uncommon that an app will be without minor bugs upon dispatch, ensuring you put resources into QA before transportation can guarantee there are no real issues. In the event that an app isn't tried appropriately's, will undoubtedly be overflowing with bugs that affect client encounter and is inclined to crash. A solitary accident is all that anyone could need to prevent clients from regularly utilizing it once more. Actually, probably the most widely recognized negative audits on app stores are identified with apps slamming. Furthermore, the more negative surveys you have, the almost certain your app is to come up short.

App testing must be done altogether, with a reported procedure set up, so as to guarantee that your application is as market-prepared as would be prudent. It's impossible you'll get another opportunity in the event that you neglect to tempt clients the first run through around.

6. A Poorly Executed Mobile App Launch

You've done the majority of your statistical surveying and now it's a great opportunity to concentrate on the execution of the mobile app dispatch. For a dispatch to be effective, there ought to be a set up promoting plan to guarantee that each progression is made and executed legitimately in an auspicious way.

As per a review by Quettra, 77% of day by day mobile clients quit utilizing an app after only three days. On the off chance that you need your app to have a high download and client consistency standard, it needs to establish a decent first connection inside the initial couple of days before the dispatch. This is a basic time to concentrate on featuring the estimation of the app so as to enhance the onboarding procedure. On the off chance that you don't awe your new clients rapidly, you'll likely lose their advantage through and through.

A mobile app dispatch is certainly not a one-time occasion. There will dependably be opportunity to get better which makes the mobile app dispatch a patterned procedure that requires reassessment as market requests change. As of late propelled mobile apps ought to be refreshed and relaunched consistently to keep clients connected through new updates and highlights.

Closing Thoughts

The execution of an app relies upon numerous variables that can go from rivalry to showcasing spending plans to sheer luckiness. Yet, past these variables, poorly designed project requirements and scope, poor research and poor execution are regular reasons why apps come up short when propelled. Concentrating endeavors on market and group of onlookers explore, following platform-explicit accepted procedures, and exhaustive quality affirmation testing can be the distinction among disappointment and achievement.