#he is seeking punishment but all he encounters is apathy

[mysterioussinkhole]

What really struck me about the end of Succession 4x09, wasn’t just Roman’s self-destruction but the deep indignity of it. Prior to the ep airing there were rumors that he got beat up by “antifa” because of his election bullshit which could technically be considered true but also very much is not.

As angry of those protesters were, they didn't know him. They didn't recognize him as someone they should hate, didn’t pay him any mind. And even when Roman was screaming at them, the only time he got hit was actually them hitting back because he was goading them. They weren't circled around kicking the shit out of him, they were trying to get by and getting this dude away from them before he made shit worse.

Roman had to beg to be hated like he believed he deserved, and even then he wasn't much more than a momentary annoyance.

[jessamine-rose]

˖⋆˚♱ଘ Angel’s Tears ଓ♱˚⋆˖

*cries* I thought I was done with Church AU after Priest! Dottore yet here I am with more unholy ideas. Welp, Guardian Angel! Capitano x Nonbeliever! Darling, here we go (；ω；)

Tw:: yandere, psychological trauma, blood, violence, death, religious abuse, MDNI

Note:: fictional depictions of religion

♡ 3.8k words under the cut ♡

♡ From the moment of their creation, angels are classified into the Nine Orders. This hierarchy determines their roles in Heaven and Earth, with higher ranks assigned greater levels of power and authority. A special exception is The Strongest Angel, an individual who is neither a Seraph nor an angel from the First Sphere. Rather, the moniker belongs to Il Capitano, the leader of the Powers.

♡ The legitimacy of his title has never been questioned. As a warrior angel, Capitano’s purpose is to vanquish evil. He is the chivalrous knight in bloodstained armor, the nigh-invincible being who strikes fear into the hearts of demons, the ever-righteous angel bound by a paradoxical duty to partake in violence for the sake of everlasting peace.

♡ It is in a small town in Mondstadt, following his victory over a legion of demons, that Capitano encounters you. It is the hour of mass yet you are nowhere near the Church; rather, you have taken sanctuary in a secluded meadow. A book sits on your lap, not a religious text but a tale of dark fantasy. There is a saintlike quality to your countenance, an air of melancholy as delicate as the flowers which surround you.

✿ ⚘

The moment Capitano appears before you, all peace leaves the meadow.

No, this isn’t right. It is normal for humans to feel fear in the divine presence of angels, yet he is donning his human guise. Nonetheless, as soon as his shadow touches your form, you look up and suppress a shriek, your face losing its veil of apathy.

So what exactly did he do wrong?

For your benefit, he remains rooted to his spot. Clarity comes in the form of your gaze flitting to your book, its title printed on the cover in conspicuous letters, the whispers which leave trembling lips.

“I…I can explain! This book—it’s just fiction! There are no real curses or spells inscribed in the text; it doesn’t promote any form of blasphemy!”

Ah, now he understands. You weren’t afraid of him.

Carefully, Capitano takes a step forward and raises his hand in a calming gesture. A gentle expression adorns his false face.

“Be not afraid.”

✿ ⚘

♡ It doesn’t take long for him to understand your wariness. A glimpse into your soul, paired with your quiet explanation, tells the story of an orphan raised by the Church. Only, your Church is one of many founded on distorted beliefs, of violence preached in the name of a cruel god. As a result, your upbringing was marked by strict rules, corporal punishments, and sermons which painted the image of a hopeless child with a weakness for temptation.

♡ Knowing this, Capitano can’t fault you for forsaking God and your Church. Still in his human guise, he promises his silence and leaves the meadow. But once he returns to Heaven, his first course of action is to apply for a position as your guardian angel. It is an easy process—while that role is typically reserved for the lower ranks, there is no shortage of humans in need of spiritual guidance and protection. He only questions why an angel wasn’t assigned to you when you were in greatest need of one.

♡ Henceforth, Capitano becomes a recurring character in your life. Every week, he visits you in the meadow. When you ask for his identity, he claims to be a progressive believer from another town. But rather than enlighten you with the true Word of God, he simply keeps you company and indulges your “vices,” leading to hours spent reading together. Beyond those meetings, he also watches over you to ward off any demons or humans seeking to harm you.

♡ From your end, you slowly warm up to your mysterious companion. He is a man of few words, but his actions always convey a sense of kindness. And despite his faith, he genuinely respects your beliefs and accepts you as you are. At one point, he even gives you a special gift, a quill pen of exceptional quality. The feather, pure white with a soft radiance, must have been sourced from a rare bird of prey.

♡ Over time, however, something changes. Capitano can’t deny that the faults lies with him. His visits, his constant thoughts of you, the ever-blurring line between want and duty…nothing of his behavior can be attributed to an angel’s inherent love for humanity. If that were the case, his love wouldn’t beget heartache. His love wouldn’t beget the temptation to harm others, rooted not in the name of justice but for your own safety. His love wouldn’t beget lust, guilt, dishonor, desires so sinfully evocative of his own fallibility.

♡ The truth is, you were never in need of spiritual salvation. From the moment he first laid eyes on you, what Capitano saw was a pure soul—a good person unlikely to commit evil nor fall into true temptation. Moreover, he knows that your sin of disbelief is forgivable unlike your Church’s sins of violence. That so long as you remain as you are, your soul will not be denied paradise, albeit in a realm of Heaven beyond Capitano’s jurisdiction. So why is he incapable of leaving your side?

✿ ⚘

“I had a long, long dream. I dreamed that you and I met again in the pure white world that we created.”

As you read the final line, your gaze leaves the book and returns to Capitano.

“What did you think of the story?”

Your shoulder brushes against his own, a tempting sensation. It is all he can do to remain still, to think against seeking out more of your touch, to remind himself that your close proximity is a mere necessity for your current activity.

The left side of the book, bearing the story’s ending, rests in your left hand. The other side is held in Capitano’s right hand, a blank page devoid of hope for a happy ending. When he turns the page, you seamlessly catch it under your thumb to show the next page.

Who knew of the casual intimacies imbued in the act of reading together?

“It was a well-written novel,” he says simply. “Though her sins tarnished her honor, Rosalyne’s sacrifice was an act of love. Her loss did not hinder her faithfulness to Rostam.”

“I feel the same way,” you muse. “Now I understand why this book was banned centuries ago. Forbidden love between angels and humans…it certainly goes against what the Church taught us about angels. I have to give the author credit for their imagination.”

It’s just the two of you again, this time in the library. At the start of winter, you invited Capitano to your workplace. There, in your greatest show of trust, you brought him to a secret room dedicated to texts banned by the Church for promoting “blasphemy.” Fantasy, erotica, anti-Church publications, first editions of censored books, stories which merely deviated from the Church’s popular depictions of spiritual beings.

Molten Moment belongs to the last category. Little do you know that it was based on a true story, that the author had really formed a pact with a demon called La Signora. Capitano himself is mentioned in the story under his true name.

He was one of the few angels who noticed the changes in Rosalyne’s behavior. She used to be a Throne, an angel with no connection to Earth nor humanity. Yet by some twist of fate, she laid eyes on a brave knight from Mondstadt and began to meet him in her human guise.

He was the first to hear of Rosalyne’s sin, that being she saved Rostam’s life during a battle. It was a direct violation of God’s orders: Angels and demons may influence humans, but they are forbidden from directly altering a human’s lifespan.

He was a silent witness to Rosalyne’s descent. She fell from Heaven, burned by her own flames, yet she had never appeared more ecstatic. In the following years, she married Rostam and lived a happy life with him on Earth.

He was the last to recognize Rostam’s soul at the pearly gates, forever separated from his fallen lover. Such had been Rosalyne’s divine punishment, worsened by her knowledge of this possibility. But what else was she to do? To let Rostam know of her true nature? To drag his soul down to Hell, where he’d be subjected to an eternity of undeserved suffering?

Capitano is no fool. As he read Molten Moment, he began to understand Rosalyne’s sin in a new light. Half the time, he couldn’t even concentrate on the text, his human eyes repeatedly drifting to your intense reading expression.

He closes the book, leaving it in your sole grasp. But before he can stand up from the sofa, you scoot closer and lean your weight on him. The book is placed on a nearby table, forgotten.

“Do you mind?” you whisper. Your right hand, empty since the prologue, traces his left hand.

A moment of silence precedes his response. “You may.”

Wordlessly, you take his hand and intertwine your fingers. A gesture of intimacy, an unspoken confession. Yet as he savors your touch, Capitano wonders if you would harbor the same level of comfort around his true form.

He doubts it. As a Power, he bears an inhuman appearance on par with that of his superiors. It is his true image which has earned him the title of monster by witnessing humans.

Still, he allows himself to indulge in the blessing that is your oblivion. When you look into his two human eyes, there is a soft light in your gaze wholly free of fear.

“Spring is coming soon,” you mutter. “I can’t wait to see the flowers again. Come to think of it, there’s a variety of narcissus which grows only in late spring. It’s very pretty.”

Against his better judgment, Capitano strengthens his grip on your hand. “Shall I take it as an invitation to resume our meetings in the meadow?”

“Sure.” That is when you look up, a small smile adorning your face. “And if you can’t visit for whatever reason, I’ll pick a bouquet and preserve it for you.”

For once, Capitano is rendered speechless.

Rarely do you ever smile. Even to him, you retain your listless disposition—whether it is out of habit or lingering distance, he has yet to discern your reasons. But that is what makes it all the more special, those few instances when he is beholden to your expressions.

He wonders if this is what humans feel in the divine presence of angels, when they are borne witness to all things holy and beautiful.

Your smile is a phenomenon reserved only for the worthiest of souls. And in your grace, he has never felt more undeserving.

✿ ⚘

♡ At the end of winter, a religious war is authorized by the Church of Mondstadt. Shortly after the news reaches your town, Capitano informs you that he will be busy with “work.” He says it during another reading date, featuring Heart of Clear Springs. Before leaving, he kisses your hand and gives you a kind smile. There is a sad look in his eyes, but you don’t inquire further.

♡ In late spring, your town is attacked. With the entire area under fire, from your home to the meadow, you find yourself running back to the sacred building which you’d avoided for years. After all, though the enemy soldiers belong to a different denomination, they still worship the same god as you. In the present, the church is the only place on Earth where you can claim asylum and pray for your survival.

♡ Except every entrance is locked, including the doors to the orphanage. As the army reaches the town square, all you can do is bang on the front doors and beg to be let in. From inside, you can hear the voices of the people that luckily attended mass before the invasion. Some tell you to hide elsewhere, others beg you for forgiveness, a few sound like the nuns and caretakers who tormented you in the past.

♡ Before you can think of another sanctuary, a soldier strikes you. Pain…it has never felt more intense. Through your fading consciousness, you register your body falling and your head hitting the concrete. Blood pools from your forehead and trickles down the steps of the church, tainting it red.

♡ Life flashes before your eyes in a blurry sequence. The static images of God, sermons and bruises, unanswered prayers, people who never believed you or simply didn’t care. A birthday celebrated with your departure from the Church. Sanctuary found in the library followed by the meadow. Yet the numbness remained, each day bleeding into the next in a gloomy haze. In all those years, did you ever feel God’s love?

♡ It doesn’t matter at this point. A small part of you wonders if you should have retained your faith, continued your prayers, sought out salvation in the safety of your solitude. At least then, at the hour of your death, you wouldn’t be confronted with the fact of your humanity. The primal fear of death, the spiritual fear of ending up in Hell no matter Capitano’s reassurances.

♡ Capitano…where is he? Weakly, you call out to him but he doesn’t appear. Of course, why would he? You should feel thankful; it means he is probably safe, wherever he is. Still, you can’t help but wish he were here—if not to save you, as he has done by simply keeping you company, but to comfort you one last time. And those are the thoughts which plague you in your final moments, an unheard prayer on the tip of your tongue.

“I pray that we meet again, myself and the first person who truly loved me.”

♡ ______ died on a cloudy day, one of many people persecuted in the name of God. After the Church was destroyed and its followers slaughtered, their body was buried in a mass grave that once flourished with nature. There was a poignant quality to their countenance, an air of distress as transient as the flowers planted above them.

♡ At least, that is how your story ends from the perspectives of the survivors. But to the angels and demons who witnessed the destruction of your town, your death was only the end of a chapter in your life. In their eyes, Capitano had been present all throughout, an invisible witness to your death, absolute in his refusal to perform an unauthorized miracle.

♡ He remained by your side until the light faded from your eyes. That was when he took notice of the bouquet of narcissus clutched in your hand, tainted with blood despite your feeble efforts to save his gift. A soldier approached your corpse, intending to drag it down the steps for burial; but before they could touch you, Capitano appeared before them.

♡ It was only for a brief second, but the soldier drew back and cowered in fear. In the following days, they were haunted by the memory of the angelic figure who appeared outside the Church of Mondstadt. Or more precisely, the monster who prayed over a bloodstained corpse and took a bouquet of ruined flowers out of their grasp.

✿ ⚘

From the moment you wake up, all peace leaves the meadow.

What happened? Your memory comes back in hazy fragments—death, darkness, blinding light, pearly gates, ethereal figures. Most vivid is the sensation of strong arms and soft feathers, a familiar warmth which accompanied you throughout your journey.

As for your current surroundings, you are in a meadow so beautiful that it brings to mind the Garden of Eden. Flowers of every variety bloom across the scenery, some out of season. The sky is bright, sunless, a canvas of multiple colors. There are no other signs of life.

Internally, too, something feels off. A nearby pond provides a glimpse of your reflection—white garments, gold scars in place of your fatal injuries, your disoriented countenance. If this place is what you think it is…shouldn’t you feel at peace, happy even? And why are you alone?

Your gaze lands on a patch of flowers. Pure white, perianth petals, cup-shaped coronas…the same type of narcissus which grew in your favorite meadow. The flowers point in different directions, as though searching for a sun that does not exist.

“You are awake.”

A shadow touches your form, engulfing you in darkness. It bears a large, unrecognizable shape but such details evade you as you recognize the voice behind you.

“Capitano!” Immediately, you turn around, only to gasp and suppress a scream.

The person before you…can you even call him human? He is incredibly tall, to the point that you must crane your neck to see his face—assuming there is one beneath his iron mask. His body is clad in silver armor, stained blood in some places. A halo, shaped like a crown of thorns, shines behind his head.

But what shocks you are his wings. A single pair covered in radiant white feathers and eerily dark blue eyes. Each eye seems to glow with an uncanny aura.

Dark blue eyes with a striking resemblance to Capitano’s. What more for his long black hair and his solemn manner of speaking?

It doesn’t make your revelation any less unsettling.

“Capitano.” Your voice comes out in a nervous whisper. “Is it really you? You’re a…”

“An angel,” he confesses. He takes a step back, widening the distance between your bodies. “I ask that you pardon my appearance. Such was my sacrifice—for my true form, in all of its monstrosity, to be my sole image.”

His human face comes to mind, along with the kind gaze you fell in love with.

You feel the weight of multiple gazes on you. “What do you mean?”

“Is this realm to your satisfaction?” he asks. “I beseeched God to create a special paradise for you, cut off from the rest of Heaven. The price is that your capacity to feel negative emotions remains in this realm…though that is preferable.”

Preferable? How so? Right now, you can barely process what he is telling you. You are dead. Your companion is an angel. Your soul is in paradise, but not exactly.

After everything you’ve been through, you were still deemed worthy of a place in Heaven.

“I am sorry.”

Capitano’s voice brings you back to reality. He has never sounded more serious, emotional, repentant. And when you look up…

Is he crying?

Most of his eyes remain open, focusing on you with a fervent stare. But others are downcast, as if unable to face you. And a few appear glossy, blinking back iridescent tears.

“I am truly sorry.” He bows his head in shame, wings folded. “What I did to you was cruel, an absolute injustice.”

You don’t know which eyes to make contact with. “You—”

“It must have been painful,” he continues. “Even if I were to justify my actions, the truth lies in the fact that I tolerated your suffering for my own selfish desires. And that is why I ask not for your forgiveness, knowing I am the one at fault.”

Silence. In light of Capitano’s confession, all you can do is stare at him and comprehend the weight of your situation. What exactly are you supposed to feel, knowing his betrayal? Knowing that regardless of your feelings, you have nowhere else to go in the afterlife?

Yet despite it all, your prayer came true. The two of you were able to meet again.

And that is what compels you to take a step forward, to come closer until you are standing in front of him. “Hey, it’s…don’t cry.”

A delicate sensation blesses his wings—your hands carefully tracing his feathers to wipe away his tears. Several eyes widen in surprise, but all he can see in your gaze is sympathy.

“I’ll admit, it was painful,” you tell him. “Dying alone. But maybe it’s…better this way. If I survived, I’d have to deal with the loss of my home. And who knows what kind of living hell the other Church would’ve put me through?”

Above all, Capitano is the only person whose love you can believe in.

Hesitantly, you take his hand and intertwine your fingers. The next words to leave your lips are spoken with certainty, bringing fresh tears to his eyes.

“I’m sure it was an act of love on your part.”

His reaction is sudden, incurring your surprise. But all you can do is surrender to Capitano’s embrace, allow his free arm to hold your waist and pull you closer to him. His wings wrap around you, caging you in soft feathers and eerie blue orbs.

“Capitano?” You can only look up at him, peering into the contents of his mask.

…It’s like staring into an abyss, a night sky dotted with twinkling blue stars. But in the absence of a human likeness, his words express what a face cannot.

“Never again,” he vows, “shall I allow harm to befall you. That is a promise.”

The hand on your waist moves upwards to caress your face. His touch is light, more hesitant than his previous gestures.

“You need not serve God nor partake in fruitful labor like the other souls in Heaven. All I ask is that you rest, indulge yourself, enjoy this paradise to the fullest.”

A flower is pinned to his armor, right above his heart. You recognize it instantly—a narcissus in full bloom, stained with your blood.

“If you desire a flower, it shall grow at once. If there are any books you would like to read, they shall be brought to you shortly.”

What was the name of that variety again? Narcissus triandrus. Angel’s tears.

“If you are in need of my presence, I shall appear before you, so long as I am not in the midst of battle. And should you ever desire the opposite, I can promise my distance.”

When Capitano looks into your eyes, all he can see is his own reflection. Whatever emotion colors your gaze, it casts his true image in a compassionate light.

“I shall do everything in my power to bring you joy for all of eternity. Such will be my penance.”

“...All right.” With that, you close your eyes and lean into his touch. He feels warm, comfortingly familiar. “I’ll trust you on that.”

Rest in peace, ______.

Think not of your mortal body in the beginning stages of decay.

Think not of your tormentors who are paying for their sins in Hell.

Think only of eternity with your beloved savior.

♡

More Church AU here!! Dottore ๑ Arlecchino ๑ Pantalone ๑ Pierro ๑ Dainsleif

Note:: Please do not send me any Church AU asks/ requests involving other characters or dynamics who are not listed in my masterlist.

Aahhhh it's done....this idea turned out much heavier than expected, but I'm glad that I was able to write this!! I hope you all cried over enjoyed the story of Angel! Capitano and his damsel. They were truly a delight to write for~

Tag a Capitano enjoyer!! @diodellet @navxry @leftdestiny-posts @beloved-blaiddyd @bye-bye-sunbird @yandere-romanticaa @harmonysanreads @mochinon-yah @oofasleep @micchikari @whispereons @thescribeoflostmemories

[alternis-dim]

If someone wanted to get into persona, what is the best game to start with?

to be honest, Persona is kind of nice in that it doesn’t matter a whole lot where you start, since each game is a relatively self-contained story which only has brief mentions or cameos of previous entries! some elements of the lore make more sense if you play certain games before others, but it isn’t anything drastic enough to impact your enjoyment. Hell, I started with Persona 5 and was just fine. So I guess I can just sorta talk about the pros and cons of each game as an entry point to the series! I can also briefly describe their premises in case a particular one seems more interesting, which could help someone with deciding where to start.

this is gonna be long, so I’ll put it under a read more.

Persona 1/Revelations: Persona is the only game I wouldn’t recommend playing first. Its mechanics are pretty outdated and not reflective of the rest of the series, and it’s relatively short compared to the others as well. Not to say that it’s not worth ever playing! In fact, from my understanding it has wonderful characterization, an engaging plot, and lays important groundwork for the franchise’s worldbuilding. I just wouldn’t recommend it for getting a taste of what the series is like.

Persona 2: Innocent Sin is the first of the dual entries for the Persona 2 duology. It has some of the same cons I mentioned for the first game; it’s relatively old, so its mechanics are a little outdated, and it plays more similarly to an SMT game than the future Persona entries do (for example, the story is fairly linear and occurs over the course of a few days, whereas later entries are strung out over a year). It is a little more refined, though, and the formula is starting to get there. It also has, in my opinion, some of the best character writing in the series.

P2IS is a story about how strange occurrences are brewing in the city of Sumaru because of a phenomenon where rumors actually influence and/or become reality. A group of high schoolers get tangled up with a mysterious man named Joker, who can supposedly grant wishes and, for some reason, seems to hold a very personal grudge against them. They discover their ability to call upon Personas to defend themselves from the demons at his command, and soon end up teaming up with journalist Maya Amano to get to the bottom of Joker’s identity and the source of the rumors which are warping the city. Over the course of their journey, they slowly start to piece together their past in order to figure out why Joker seems so invested in them.

Pros: - Stellar character writing- An intriguing, interconnected plot which is a bit of a rollercoaster but a lot of fun- Lays the groundwork for lore in the Persona series (most importantly the existence of Philemon and Nyarlathotep, as well as the origin of the Velvet Room)- Incredibly mature takes on the impact of trauma and familial abuse (TW for both of those things though)- Canonically bisexual protagonist with a potential same sex dating optionCons:- Unavoidable random encounters and really grind-heavy, as most 90′s jrpgs go- Outdated mechanics that aren’t really reflective of future Persona entries- One of those wiki-heavy games: it’s damn near impossible to unlock certain character interactions or personas without use of a guide- The second game in the Duology, Eternal Punishment, isn’t nearly as accessible to English audiences

Persona 3 is where a lot of the series formula originates from! It’s also my personal favorite, but I’ll try my best to be unbiased describing it. Small note: I recommend playing Persona 3 FES specifically, since it refines a lot of the things that were clunky in the vanilla version, adds more character content, and features a post-game which answers a lot of questions.

P3 takes place in a coastal city called Iwatodai at the beginning of the school year, where the protagonist moves in as a transfer student after being bounced around in foster care for ten years following an accident which killed his parents. Upon arrival, he experiences the strange phenomenon of the Dark Hour: an extra 25th hour in the day where people are transformed into coffins and monsters roam free. Technology doesn’t work during this hour, and anyone not protected by a coffin is violently attacked and seems soulless the next day, a condition local news dubs Apathy Syndrome. A select few people have the potential to stay conscious during the Dark Hour and protect themselves by use of a Persona, and these people make up a unit called the Specialized Extracurricular Execution Squad (S.E.E.S.). The protagonist joins, and the game follows their investigation of the phenomenon. It’s considered the darkest entry in the series, and for good reason: “memento mori” is right in its introduction. The game focuses heavily on themes of death, what it means to be mortal, how people deal with being confronted with their mortality, what the point of life is, and much more. 

Pros:- Introduction of the Persona formula: school life and dungeon exploration which requires time management on a linear calendar, the knockdown/1-more feature in combat, all-out-attacks, social links. Starting with this game may actually be the best way to go gameplay-wise, since coming back to this game after playing later entries makes it seem clunky.- Dungeon-crawl style of gameplay, which is a lot nicer than random encounters. You explore randomly generated floors and choose when and where to ambush enemies.- Excellent character arcs which enrich the game’s narrative- A dark, mature, and interesting story which explores human natureCons:- Still an older game, so some controls are clunky. One game mechanic in particular that many are frustrated with is the inability to directly choose what moves your teammates will use, instead requiring you to use Tactics to direct how the AI should behave.- Probably has the worst pacing issues out of any game in the series. There’s an entire calendar month where you do basically nothing.- The post-game is grind-heavy and long for the amount of story it offers. Some people just recommend watching a playthrough.- Features an uncomfortable transphobic skit towards the middle of the game.

Persona 4 is a refinement of many of the features of Persona 3. The best version to play is Persona 4 Golden, since it has a lot of extra content, but it’s vita exclusive and I’m stuck with vanilla :( Vanilla’s still fine in my experience, at least!

P4 takes place in the small town of Inaba, where the protagonist has transferred for a year to live with his uncle and cousin due to his parents leaving the country for work. Shortly after his arrival, a bizarre series of serial murderers start to occur where the bodies are found strung up on telephone lines. There’s also a rumor that looking into a turned off television screen on a rainy midnight will reveal your soulmate; this rumor is referred to as the Midnight Channel. The protagonists and friends inadvertently discover a parallel world which exists alongside Inaba, which can be entered through televisions but which can’t be exited without the help of a mysterious denizen named Teddie. They discover that these worlds are linked; people who show up on the Midnight Channel turn up dead in the real world shortly after, and the weather is inverse to Inaba’s. They discover that this is because someone is throwing people into this world, who are then unable to escape, and that the Shadows living in it become violent when the fog lifts (inverse to when the fog settles in the real world). This world also has an interesting quirk: people who enter it end up confronting their own shadow, which is a manifestation of the parts of themselves they repress or deny. Denying your shadow leads to it attempting to kill you, and this is likely what caused the deaths of the first victims. The protagonist and team discover that confronting and accepting your own Shadow, however, turns it into a Persona which you can then use to combat the monsters in the world. Equipped with their unique knowledge, the team sets out to save victims, solve the murder mystery, and learn how to accept themselves.

Pros:- A powerful message about the importance of seeking the truth and accepting all facets of yourself- An absolutely incredible murder mystery with clever plot twists and high stakes: getting the true ending is actually difficult if you don’t know who the murderer is, and you’re expected to understand the themes of the game and the characters in order to get it.- A nice in-between for the mechanics of P3 and P5: it’s pretty easy to transfer to either one after playing this one. (also introduces the ability to control party members directly, thank god)- A TON of spinoff content if you find you enjoy the characters and setting- Probably one of the best games in terms of understanding the overarching lore of the series, since it explains how Personas and Shadows work in much more depth than other entriesCons:- Has sort of a wonky difficulty curve. The first couple dungeons are honestly kind of a pain in the ass because of how level scaling works, and it takes a little while to level out.- The character arcs aren’t quite as well-written as previous games, due to the ultimate personas being associated with social link completion rather than events in the plot.- Oh god, such clumsy handling of LGBT topics. Plays around the idea of a gay narrative for one character (Kanji) and a trans narrative for another (Naoto) but ultimately just ends up playing up stereotypes and then backing out before doing anything “risky.” Another character in the party is pretty homophobic to Kanji for a while too, which sucks.

Persona 5 is the most popular in the series for sure, and for good reason. It’s the complete culmination of the Persona formula, and it adds all sorts of stuff to the gameplay and lore. It has a pretty lovable cast, to boot. Not that it doesn’t also have its problems, imo.

P5 features a protagonist who was falsely convicted of assault after attempting to defend a woman from a drunk man harassing her. His criminal record and probation result in his expulsion from his home school, so he moves in with a family friend in Tokyo where a school will accept him until his time’s up. Tokyo’s been strange for a little while now. Mysterious incidents have been causing disruptions for a while. There’s been a surge of “psychotic breakdown incidents” in which people act out unpredictably for seemingly no reason, and on rarer occasions “mental shutdowns” where people seem to completely break and die shortly after. The protagonist and friends get tied up in nonsense pretty quickly when a mysterious app on his phone transports him to a parallel world in which real locations of Tokyo are warped beyond recognition. The protagonist discovers the power of persona pretty early on, which he uses to fight the enemies there. With the help of a strange creature named Morgana, they learn that this is the “Metaverse”, a space in which the twisted desires and perceptions of people are made manifest. It’s a space where a person’s Shadow lords over a “Palace”, an altered version of real-world locations which reflects how that person views the world around them. They also learn that personas are the result of having a strong, rebellious will, allowing you to control your Shadow in combat. By breaking into a Palace, defeating the Shadow, and stealing the “Treasure” at its core, the Palace will crumble and the person in real life will come to grips with the morality of their actions, effectively outing themselves. This is referred to as stealing hearts, and the Phantom Thieves are born; they quickly become infamous in Tokyo, though their reputation attracts unwanted attention, as well as blame… could those breakdown incidents be related to the Metaverse, too? This game focuses heavily on the corruption of society, the abuse and manipulation of people in power, the ways in which our circumstances force us to hide parts of ourselves, ideas of justice, and all sorts of fun ideas of “rebellion”.

Pros:- ABSOLUTELY the best gameplay in the series. The controls are smooth, the battles and UI are streamlined, the visuals are absolutely stunning. This is the one that’s most fun to actually PLAY, bar none.- More of a stealth/heist game than a dungeon crawler, which is a fun spin on the series.- Excellent social commentary on the injustices young people face in a system stacked against them.- A really lovable cast of characters, and social links which actually grant you access to helpful gameplay features as incentive. Cons:- Sort of a small thing, but one of the game’s twists is a lot more fun to figure out if you’ve already played at least one other entry in the series.- Has some serious writing issues. The game has a very strong first half, but then starts to feel rushed the further along you get after a certain point. You can tell that the developers wanted to fit in a lot, but didn’t quite have the time to refine the ideas they implemented.- On that note, some of the character writing starts to regress or even becomes contradictory.- Has a couple instances of homophobia surrounding the Red Light District.

This got long, sorry, but I hope it’s helpful! like I said, you really can start anywhere, and you don’t have to play them in a particular order. Just pick the ones that seem the most interesting and have fun!

[brief-candle]

ʙʟᴀᴄᴋ ᴠᴏᴡ - Kyoujurou Rengoku & Muzan Kibutsuji

just........ two more..............

tbh i don’t even know what i’m doing on this site bc none of my posts appear in the tags so i’m just hardcore plugging on my quotev because i gotta do what i gotta do y’know?

series: demon slayer/ kimetsu no yaiba

notes: little to no yandere (mayhaps if you squint you can see some?), major character death, male reader, angst, stuff that probably makes 0 sense, angst, the muzan x reader you have to squint for, most likely ooc, angst.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

The rain didn't seem as if it were ever going to stop that day. Tiny droplets littered the streets endlessly, falling from a sea of murky grey which hung in the sky longer than anyone would have liked. It only seemed to enhance the bitter cold and dubious darkness of that alley.

I remember that alley well, with crumbling cobbled floors and walls with jagged cracks that ran up them like crevasses. Fading greys that mixed with the sky, painting the world in monochromatic misery. People hurrying to seek shelter, not sparing a second glance at anyone who didn't have the same options. Humans truly were miserable creatures. This world of grey truly suited them.

But it didn't suit him. As soon as I met his eyes, I knew they would be my doom.

Golden irises like melted honey, or freshly made butterscotch. Those were the first things I saw, and were what I kept returning to. Even the charm of his strangely coloured hair couldn't grasp my attention from those eyes. A soft amber hue with the intensity of the strongest fires behind them. From the second I saw them, I was utterly smitten. Even if it was forbidden by all means, and could never be forgiven by neither humans nor demons, these feelings only festered with time.

He took me in off the streets, with all knowledge of what I was. I wasn't sure how, or more importantly why, he would do such a thing, but I quickly learned that I would never quite understand Kyoujurou. How he would smile as he talked of his upcoming wedding, yet couldn't hide the dimming of the vibrancy that was so common in his eyes. It tugged at the heart that I thought had long ceased existing. Not only to hear of him being promised to another, but also to see such a crestfallen look in those eyes that had gained my affection.

I knew it could never be. Truly, I did. For not only was I a demon and he a human, but we were also two men. We could never marry, even if these sinful feelings of mine were reciprocated. It was disgusting for me to be most ashamed of this, considering the heinous things I've done up until this point. The countless people I've murdered to please a man of my past. Before, I believed that perhaps I loved him. However the heart is a fickle thing, and so betrayed that emotion almost as quickly as I had betrayed him. Fleeing without any notice, I wound up in that very alleyway and discovered true love just hours later.

Yes, true love. True love that could never be, with so many barriers between us. From every meeting between Kyoujurou and his betrothed, it was obvious that neither were interested. I believe that was what hurt the most, the fact that the main thing keeping me from confessing these wretched feelings was born out of convenience, rather than any form of love. They were incompatible in every meaning of the word, with her iciness putting a damper on his usual flame of excitement. Only in those situations did those flames simmer down into a mere ember, only to spark up again in her absence.

"Do you not enjoy the Lady's presence?" I had once approached the subject in a voice full to the brim of faux dispassion.

He attempted to laugh his usual hearty laugh, but it was almost as false as my previous question's tone. Afterwards, paying no attention to this, he returned with another question: "Why do you ask that?"

His voice held a slight tremble to it, one of nervousness. This was unlike him, so unlike him that this alone evoked in me a strong distaste for the woman.

'Your smile never seems as bright.'

'Your tone is completely different when answering her.'

'Your posture makes it obvious.'

'Your eyes lose their usual warmth.'

These statements, all equally true and clawing at my throat to be said, never came. They hung back, caged in through a tightened jaw and rows of razor teeth. Teeth that had devoured many, and would probably devour many more. And those words would suffer the same fate.

I continued with my task for a minute or so, which was to clean the windows during the night. Looking for something more suitable, I stared at my reflection. Sharp features, dangerous cat-like eyes with a colour that didn't match the softness of Kyoujurou's in any way, shape or form.

It disgusted me, reminded me of what I was. And so instead of speaking the truth to him, which was the least he'd deserved for all his kindness, I turned away from both the window and him.

"A hunch."

He seemed relieved to hear that, as well as chipper that I seemed to understand him like that. But he didn't express that in words, but admitted that he didn't hold any affection for that woman. He wasn't enthusiastic in doing so, but it certainly raised my spirits as well as my guilt. If he could trust me with something so personal as his negative view of his betrothed, then he must certainly hold me in high regard. As someone trustworthy. Yet I couldn't even return such a thing.

As days passed, the wedding drew nearer. And so we had to run around to find the best suits, best flowers, best everything for when the horrid day arrived. Each night I lay awake, never needing to sleep but seeking it more than ever, feeling each day that passed like weights on my chest. Every night I lay there, thinking: 'tomorrow will be the day; I'll confess tomorrow'.

However, every 'tomorrow' came and went like each of the 'tomorrow's before it. With unannounced feelings like chains that tightened around my heart with each sunrise that I cowered from.

Until finally, that 'tomorrow' came.

The confession was hard, and one without words. It was messy, in the heat of the moment, and more human than I'd been in hundreds of years. Vulnerable, weak, pathetic and a complete failure.

Those beautiful eyes of his looked so shocked and cold in that moment, like the melted honey had finally set and would never soften again. Even a thousand blades would hurt less than that moment, and perhaps would make me wish to disappear completely less. So when he pushed me away after I had kissed him, I turned to do exactly that.

I ran away.

It was impossible to not look back, and I did it several times. Wishing that I hadn't done that, so I could have lived on with my life even with those unspoken feelings weighing down on my shoulders. Even if I'd had to show up to the wedding and pretend to be happy, when inside it'd feel like I was being slowly torn apart. To wish for his happiness, even though I knew such a thing was unattainable for such an incompatible couple. Because at least then I could still be near him, and could still be there for him to tell anything to. For him to let out stress through words, or to simply chat with and rekindle his infamous enthusiasm with.

However I'd ruined it all in an act of selfish indulgence, of thoughtlessness. Thrown the relationship that we had cultivated into the gutter in a moment of poor judgement.

Though I wasn't sure what I had thought in the first place by doing so. For in kissing him, I had a vain hope that he would accept these cursed feelings of mine, and we could live happily. However reality is cruel, and so crushed that dream as soon as I had hoped for it, out of spite for my very existence.

When I had stopped running for a moment, it allowed for my thoughts to make themselves known. How perhaps if I was a human, it would all be fine. How perhaps if I was not a man, then it would all be fine. For if Kyoujurou was allowed to marry a human girl, then of course he could not love someone who was the very opposite of this.

Even with the mistake born from my passion fresh in mind, my heart still yearned for more. It yearned to be loved by the man with the beautiful eyes, for perhaps then I would discover both the truest form of love and the truest form of happiness. For only a taster of these had been given to me from being just a friend to this man, which left me wanting more. It was the forbidden fruit, and a trap that I would fall into with open arms. To taste the forbidden fruit, one must first sell their soul to the devil.

And so that is what I did.

The devil willingly took my soul with the broadest of smiles, offering what I wanted for something that he deemed of equal value. To love Kyoujurou without being punished by neither man nor those who feed on them, the thing I must offer would have to be of immense value. However that didn't matter to me at that moment of greed, for my mind was too cluttered to consider any consequences.

Upon encountering Kyoujurou again, the consequences were clear as day. All of the apathy I'd felt towards the idea of any sort of consequences had been replaced with intense sorrow when I met him again; to him, it truly was the first time that we had met, for the thing that the devil decided was of equal value was the treasured memories of our time together. Mine were still intact, but I couldn't decide whether I would have preferred it if they hadn't, for I fear that the tears that threatened the lip of my eyelids were all too obvious.

I wondered if he noticed that look in my eyes when I first met him in that alleyway. The look of awe when looking into his eyes was mirrored in his own, so much so that he barely looked away from them. It wasn't even a minute later that he left the bouquet of freshly cut roses behind. When I saw them, that was when I realised the day.

It was his wedding day.

I wasn't sure whether it was relief that I was just in time, happiness when he embraced me or the lingering sadness that forced the tears down my cheeks. However the second of those listed seemed to win when he didn't pull away from our second kiss. Or our third. Or when we went further.

It was bittersweet, really, to think that he may have never loved the real me, rather than this beautiful shell that harboured all of the best features from my previous form. The thought of him only being interested with this new body of mine left me feeling sick to my stomach, however when he spoke to me those feelings were cast aside completely.

"It's comforting to talk to you," he'd said, "it's like I've known you for a long time."

When he added that onto his original statement, all clues of what to respond with vanished. I was left speechless, utterly astounded, and once more on the verge of tears. His gaze, which was on me, seemed so distant and far away, as if trying to recall something that evades you the more you struggle to grasp it.

I swallowed, exhaled softly, and let out a chuckle that sounded more like a choked bark than anything else. It was an ugly sound, one which I stifled my cringing from with a placid, "that is rather strange... but I'm flattered you feel that way."

To speak like a lady was tiring and required too much thought. Where before I could speak to him however I liked, as the other gender it would be considered rude and crass to do so. Such a thing could drive him away from me again, and that was perhaps what I feared the most.

Perhaps in some aspect he still remembered the time that we'd spent together. Comments like 'you could pass for a boy' from him didn't seem all that offensive to me, considering the context of my situation. Any other woman would have felt disgusted and put-off by such a declaration, but it was hard to feel that way when the thing that I could 'pass for' was what I originally was. Besides, it lay seed for a small flower of hope to begin to bloom in your chest, lay way for hope that perhaps he would gradually begin to remember all the time you'd spent together and all you'd trusted each other with before you'd messed it all up.

But time never allowed for that.

As time moved on, another figure moved into the small lives you'd made for yourselves. You were content, growing to be at some form of peace with your situation before someone from the past emerged.

"Give them to me." He had said, voice like silk yet tone like the sharpest of daggers as he gave his demand. As haughty as I'd remembered, and as beautiful.

"Why?" Kyoujurou's smile never left his face, even in a situation as tense as this. He had no clue what was happening here, or why. The guilt began to eat at me again, for if it wasn't for my selfishness, he wouldn't have to be in such a situation anyway. He wouldn't be standing there in between me and the man, shielding me from him. Though Kyoujurou was no fool (he could tell what was a demon and what wasn't from a mile off), he still voluntarily put himself there.

Though I tried to intercept, to convince Kyoujurou to back down from the rising tensions, he didn't allow it in the slightest, only turning to me with that same smile and the same soft eyes that I adored: "there's no need to be worried, I'll keep you safe."

Even still, I wanted to protest, to cry out that his safety was much more important than mine. However the coldness of the intruder's voice cut off any attempt of that.

"You don't need to know that. All you need to know is that I'll take them either way, except if you resist then you'll wind up dead."

To see him here was both shocking and something I dreaded since the moment I'd fled those many months ago. However I wasn't expecting it now, after all this time. It was foolish of me not to, but I just didn't. I found it much easier and much more enjoyable to indulge in the simple and happy lifestyle, where Kyoujurou and I were the only people in the world.

But out of us, soon it would just be I in the world.

The blood was escaping faster than I could try and slow it to give it time to clot. There was so much; it painted my palms and the outside of my hands, staining my face as I stressed as to how to save him. How could I save him? Could I even save him- was it possible? Was this the hand of fate once more, bringing wrath down upon those who dare to taste the forbidden fruit of love between two people that could never be? Was fate serving justice to me, taking away this man's life as revenge for me ruining it? For tempting him away using the foulest of methods from the life he had been given to live?

Such a cruel thing is something I cannot allow. Not if it results in his death.

Yet no matter how much I tried, what I used to soak up the blood and put pressure on the wound, it just wouldn't stop pouring out. Futile tears emerged once more, as if to evoke some pity from whatever cruel deity was enjoying this image of suffering. Yet even then it wouldn't clot, only slipping through my fingers and staining the ground below him. The ground that would swallow him up if I continued to do next to nothing. But there was nothing I could do! I was no doctor by any means, more used to slaughter than healing.

And so, unable to do anything on my own, I had visited an old friend. One who had helped me out with my poor choices once more.

The devil welcomed me back with open arms and a wide grin, as he had first welcomed me before.

I felt the very structure of my being begin to change. A process so painful that I wanted to scream, though sharpening teeth kept them locked within.

He asked for what I had returned.

My internal structure was tearing itself down only to rebuild itself again.

I asked him, with no hesitation: "is it possible to undo my wish?"

But I could feel it, underneath fingers that begun to sharpen also-

He affirmed that it was possible, only to question the reason behind why I was curious about such a thing.

-his wound was clotting.

I told him of my situation, a brief rundown so as to not waste any time. It was of the essence here, after all.

Such a feeling caused the flower of hope to bloom once more in my chest; a full bloom, full of beauty and without sin.

Very quickly he caught on, coming up with a solution with astounding speed. Not that it was very surprising.

His eyes, the sun beginning to fade from those golden hues, began to regain their light.

This was the devil, after all.

They were just as beautiful as the first time.

He had proposed the solution to me.

With the bittersweet familiarity now running through them, unsure of whether to smile or cry.

To undo my deal and to, in turn, fulfil a different one.

This was a dilemma I was facing myself.

This time, as it was his life on the line, the price was higher.

So instead of choosing, I settled on both.

As he was in such dire condition also,

This time, he couldn't bring his radiant smile to light up his features.

the price would be my life.

Instead, as I collapsed into his arms, he only cried instead.

And I accepted without a moment's debate.

The embrace he held me in was shaky as his body was wracked with sobbing, the demon who almost stole away his life standing a bit away from us with unimaginable anger across his face. He was yelling, staring outraged right at me. But at this moment, I decided that I couldn't care less, for surely in exchange for an immortal life, even he wouldn't be able to harm Kyoujurou.

'Let's meet again,' I had tried to say, but lacked the breath and the energy to do so. All I could do was hope that he understood as I lost the energy to even stare upwards at the tears escaping from kindling irises.

[ivy72376]

GREAT EXPECTATIONS - August 19, 2020

The Word today somehow reminds me of the novel, “Great Expectations” by Charles Dickens. Being a coming-of-age story, we learn of the character’s life and realizations and the people associated with him—their hardships, dreams, their changes, revelations and resolutions.  There are people believed and judged by society to be wicked and miserable, but are actually not quite so, and some who are admired and patronized, but are indeed not worthy of it.  There are people who live their whole lives being wicked and cruel, selfish and greedy, while others who, upon encountering misfortune, learned some wisdom and changed for the better.

 This story is one of the greatest works of literature of all time, because of the lessons we learn in the life of Pip, an orphan boy, and how many of the scenes and circumstances in his story are happening even until now.

 In verses 1 and 2 of the book of Proverbs, chapter 24, we are warned against being envious of evil people.  They may seem successful or wealthy, but there is only wickedness in their hearts.  Verses 3 to 6 says that wisdom is better, because it “builds a house”, instead of tearing it down or destroying the relationships of its inhabitants. Knowledge fills a person and his house better, and renders them more content, than ill-gotten wealth or riches that are not gained by honest, diligent and godly labor.  A wise man is also described as strong because he can make strategies and in collaboration with others, be successful in whatever endeavor, be it in war or during peacetime.

 Verses 7 to 12 warn GOD’s people against foolishness and apathy.  Therein are the people who do not talk with sense, those who do mischief, those who easily faint and give up in the face of adversity, those that do not help others who are in desperate and miserable circumstances, and those that ignore the need of their fellowmen.  The wise teacher is saying that for all these injustices, the One Who Knows everything will give them their due.

 In verses 13 and 14, we are encouraged to gain wisdom and knowledge, because like honey, these are both nourishment and medicine for our souls.  In verses 15 and 16, the wise teacher said that even if a righteous and just person falls and the wicked laughs at or ridicule him, he will yet rise again.  Verse 17 also cautions us against laughing at people who are undergoing difficulties and hardships in life, because in verse 18 he says that the Lord will see it, it will displease Him, He will have mercy on the person who is in difficulties, and He will turn His wrath and punishment on the one who laughed at the other person.

 Verses 19 to 22 are again a repetition of the first two verses in that we are warned against getting envious or fearing wicked people, because there shall be no good reward for them.  Rather, we need to fear the Lord and worship Him, serve Him and bring glory to His Name.

 In verses 23 to 29, we are again admonished about favoritism, bias and prejudice.  Yes, indeed, now more than ever, we must learn not to give undue favor and accommodation to people we deem to be superior than us, because this pandemic has shown that disease knows no purse-strings.  No matter the status, anybody can get sick.  But life’s realities show us too that those who have less in life will, in our broken systems, get lesser and sometimes none, help and support from our government and those who are tasked by law to do so. Hence, it falls on us who believe and worship the same GOD, to render help and support whenever we can.

 And the last verses of the chapter, in 30 to 34, show something very sensitive to our times today.  True, laziness is one reason why some people are poor, but it is not all there is, because there are many factors at play why one person has more difficulties in life than the other.  It could be because of familial support or lack thereof, or it could be someone else has stolen or taken away what should rightfully belong to that person, hence, the one who is poor can never progress anywhere they go.  

 In school, especially now that learning will be predominantly online, those living within and below poverty line will all the more be at a disadvantage.  In work, those who belong to low- and mid-level jobs will most likely get the ax more than those occupying higher positions, hence, those who are earning less will all the more be economically challenged.  

 It is our duty then, if we think ourselves as having the spirit of humanity, and being made in the likeness of GOD’s image, to do our part to help and equitize the way wealth is distributed, at least the part that is our responsibility or the one that falls under our stewardship, be they income generated or taxes collected.  This is not the time to squeeze dry the hard-earned efforts of the majority of our people with minuscule pay, while on the one hand doling out generous subsidies and easy huge loans, and catering to the whims of the minority occupying the top 1% of the wealth pyramid.  

 We must have the wisdom to discern who needs more help and support.  We must gain more knowledge, seek out the facts rather than the theories, and act promptly.  If, as one health expert in a foreign land has said that “we must learn to live with CoViD”, we may have had great expectations a few months ago with how we want our lives, our careers and our businesses will turn out to be, we need to realign our priorities and refocus our visions now.  Our expectations should not anymore be for our greedy selves alone, but for the greater majority whose lives we touch, whose affairs we can help put in order, and whose hope and faith we have the opportunity to strengthen and encourage.

[rolandfontana]

Does Community Supervision Have a Future?

The nation’s probation and parole systems, usually grouped under the category of Community Supervision, were designed to help people navigate the transition from prison back to civilian life—and become productive, law-abiding citizens.

But they are more likely to make things worse for individuals—and by extension for their families and communities—say experts who believe it’s time for the U.S. to adopt a radically different approach that treats ex-inmates with the dignity they deserve as returning citizens.

“The (U.S.) community supervision population has grown 239 percent since 1980,” says Connie Utada, who leads the community corrections work at Pew Charitable Trusts’ Public Safety Performance Project.

“It’s now over 4.5 million people. Larger than everybody who’s in jail and prison combined.”

In addition, according to research gathered in a joint effort by both Pew Charitable Trusts and the Laura and John Arnold Foundation (now Arnold Ventures), nearly a third of the roughly 2.3 million people on probation every year fail to successfully complete their supervision and wind up back in prison again, often not even for committing new crimes.

Connie Utada. Photo by John Ramsey/TCR

“In 2016, 350,000 people who were on probation and parole were sent to prison or jail for minor infractions or some type of rule violation,” said Utada.

Instead of helping people start over, it’s a “revolving door that actually denies (former offenders) the ability to reenter the workforce, to get stable housing, or to provide for their families,” she added.

Utada, speaking at a discussion last week at the 14th annual John Jay/Harry Frank Guggenheim Symposium on Crime, was joined by Vincent Schiraldi, a senior research analyst at the Columbia Justice Lab and former commissioner of New York City Probation; and Brian Lovins, Assistant Director of the Harris County (Texas) Community Supervision and Corrections Department.

All said state policymakers had generally failed to address the flaws in the community supervision system.

The problem is exemplified by states like Pennsylvania, where a 2017 report by the Council of State Governments Justice Center found that roughly one-third of prisoners in the state are in prison for probation or parole violations.

In New York, a 2018 report from the Columbia University Justice Lab found that, while the number of people imprisoned has dropped by 21 percent, the population being held for technical parole violations, such as missing an appointment with a parole officer, associating with people with felony records, or failing a drug test, has increased by 15 percent.

“Crime’s going down, the number of people on parole is going down, but the number of people being technically violated and returned to incarceration is going up,” said Vincent Schiraldi, author of the report.

The current system of probation and parole used in the U.S. is an ineffective waste of criminal justice resources and a driver of incarceration rather than an alternative to it, the speakers said.

And while some may seek to blame these numbers on some sort of animus on the part of those handling the cases, Schiraldi maintains that the culprit is due more to underfunding and bureaucratic apathy than anything truly sinister.

Apathy and Neglect

“There are thousands of probation and parole departments in America,” said Schiraldi. “These places reek of apathy and neglect.”

While working as a commissioner for New York City probation, Schiraldi says he regularly encountered distrust by judges, generally low expectations of the probation department, and all the while no one knocking on the door for change.

Those handling cases and distributing violations were “lunch pail people”—men and women who just wanted to get to retirement and were willing to go whichever way the winds were blowing.

Vincent Schiraldi. Photo by John Ramsey/TCR

“We put bureaucrats in spaces where if they revoke somebody and send them to prison nothing happens to them, but if they take a chance on someone, and it goes south, they’re screwed,” said Schiraldi.

“I could have done nothing and been fine. In an environment like that, it’s what you’d expect.”

Such neglect is dangerous and is tied to the increasing rate of people on parole and probation who are currently incarcerated for supposed technical violations, the panel was told.

A study from the Journal of Offender Rehabilitation found that parole and probation officers who failed to adhere to the standard Risk and Need principles, which are the methods used to decide the level of intensity of services based on risk levels of the offender, greatly contributed to increased recidivism rates in the states surveyed.

Schiraldi believes there are many ways to address this problem, but the simplest is to make probation departments smaller and more focused.  Another is to focus on zero-based parole and zero-based budgeting, starting from nothing and justifying every person put under supervision.

By forcing departments to account for every dollar they spend, Schiraldi suggested, you force due diligence and accountability.

“Prove to me that this is the best thing we could do with the next government dollar versus efforts to improve communities focused on probation, drug treatment, or mental health,” said Schiraldi.

Yet while efforts like this might help to clear out some examples of negligence and apathy, the fact may be that supervision alone just isn’t the answer.

“Research shows there are better ways to do this.”

“Research shows there are better ways to do this, that the closer you watch or monitor somebody the more likely they are to be punished for a minor violation,” said Utada.

Therefore, Utada and Pew Charitable Trust have taken on two main initiatives:

Building a policy framework to develop a number of best practices with the focus of reducing the community supervision population, thus getting better outcomes for people on supervision, and reducing the amount of time that people are spending incarcerated for technical violations or performance violations; and

Launching a multi-state technical assistance effort to help reach meaningful reform through pre-directed and proven paths of action.

“Supervision can be more successful when it is coupled with treatment and paired and customized for somebody’s individual risk and needs,” said Utada.

“So, if somebody is a low risk to re-offend, they’ll be much more successful if they have very little involvement or connection with the correctional system. But if they are high risk to re-offend, the focus should be on finding out what drives their criminal behavior rather than just punishing it.”

For Brian Lovins, who has done extensive work in using evidence-based standards to improve juvenile and adult correctional programs, finding the driver to prevent criminal behavior, and abandoning the punitive nature of our entire criminal justice system, is the first step to fixing the problem of probation and parole in this country.

That amounts, he said, to turning the whole system upside down,.

“The way that the criminal justice system is (currently) designed, is for self-correctors,” said Lovins, who helped develop Ohio’s juvenile and adult risk assessment systems.

“From the very beginning, the expectation is that the police arrest you, put you in jail, bring you to court, punish you, and the punishment by itself is enough to stop you and make you go a different direction.”

Lovins maintains that this is a flawed concept of our criminal justice system: it does nothing to change people’s behavior.

He pointed out that while this line of reasoning may enable people who have the skills and capacity to avoid re-engaging in the behavior that got them into prison; it does little for those less fortunate.

Brian Lovins. Photo by John Ramsey/TCR

“It’s not enough for the folks that don’t have those skills, don’t have those resources, come from impoverished areas, come from families that are struggling, come from a broken school system,” said Lovins.

A 2018 report by Human Rights Watch underlined the point, observing that many probation programs bury low-income men and women in fees and costs that they are never able to meet or recover from.

And Lovins stressed that these systems also disproportionately affect people of color over white offenders in the same situations. A 2014 study by the Urban Institute found that black people on probation are more likely than whites or Hispanics to have their probation revoked.

“Our system works backwards.”

“From a probation standpoint, our system works backwards,” said Lovins.

“We give you a set of rules and we referee those rules and tell you to behave today. We have this belief that because someone in a robe sits behind a desk and tells you go forth and sin no more that people will change and become self-correctors.”

This unrealistic mentality ignores the very real circumstances that many people on probation or parole have to deal with, he said.

And whether it’s drug addiction, joblessness, social interaction issues, mental health issues, poverty, or a lack of education, Lovins maintains that the current system chooses to ignore them all and, instead, paint with a broad brush that only lands more and more of them back in jail and prison.

“We expect you to be better from day one, and we start counting against you, every time you screw up, and then at the end we look at all the marks  and we fail you anyway,” said Lovins.

Probation Officer as Coach

In an effort to change these practices, Lovins endorses a probation model where, instead of a referee, a probation officer would be a coach.

While working at the University of Cincinnati’s School of Criminal Justice, he helped develop a statewide juvenile risk assessment system that encourages establishing relationships and developing pro-social skills with offenders, using positive reinforcement, and harboring a willingness to teach and adapt.

“What should happen is that by the end of supervision, by the end of this intervention, you should be better,” said Lovins.

Now, as assistant director of the Harris County Community Supervision and Corrections Department, Lovins has brought this sort of reformist approach to Texas. He reported that the strategy has so far resulted in reductions in both technical violations and law violations, and lowered recidivism rates in his county.

He suggested that implementing this approach may also help to improve and curb the kind of neglect and apathy existing in departments by holding staff members to similar ideals.

“I use the same model with our staff as I do with the folks that we serve,” said Lovins.

“Every day I tell my staff if you screw up, we’ll move on and figure out how not to do it again. And that translates to them saying that to the people that they serve. Everyone has a chance to change and grow, and we’re a learning model.”

As a result, Lovins says, his staff love coming to work; there has been less turnover and callouts from a position that, historically, offered little in the way of positive reinforcement and, instead, made them little more than a referee on the sidelines throwing flags.

“Now they get to be the coach, and they get to change people’s lives,” said Lovins.

Yet despite positive moves for reform like these, probation and parole in this country still remains a major problem with daunting hurdles for the average person to overcome.

A 2015 report by the Robina Institute estimated that people on probation or parole must comply with 18-20 different requirements a day in order to remain in good standing with the probation department. And while reform research promises improvement, some insist that they’re only focusing on the edges of the problem.

“Research mostly shows us how to get through this pathetic thing that everyone calls community supervision to a 20 percent better pathetic thing,” said Schiraldi.

And while this still counts as a step in the right direction, until underlying issues such as poverty, institutionalized racism, poor education, and mental health can be addressed and discussed as the root issues of the problem that they are, he maintains that small successes only seduce people into thinking the problem can be fixed that easily.

Instead, reformists like Schiraldi, Lovins, and Utada insist that change can only come by looking at the big picture.

“Let’s not just ask how can we get it 20 percent better,” said Schiraldi.

“Let’s ask the whole question.”

Additional Reading: “A Parole System Report Card Gives Most States Failing Grades”

Isidoro Rodriguez is a contributing writer to The Crime Report. Readers’ comments are welcome.

Does Community Supervision Have a Future? syndicated from https://immigrationattorneyto.wordpress.com/

[whatsgodgottodowithreligion-blog]

Behind Blue Eyes

As anyone who has read my book, What’s GOD Got To Do With It? knows, I am an abuse survivor. While I don’t go into specific detail about that inside those pages, I have dealt with and struggled with the ramifications of this abuse (physical, verbal, sexual) for the majority of my adult life. In fact, one of the more painful sidebars that came with my decision to not self-medicate with alcohol in 1995 was that I had to address the post-traumatic stress this abuse was plaguing me with, even after years of therapy which allowed me to see clearly the emotional and psychological impact this had on me as an adult.

For years, I wondered (or rather, looked for a logical explanation) as to why, out of seven offspring, my Dad was particularly mean and cruel to me - why he seemed to single me out for a lot of his rage and anger from as early on as I can remember. One day, during my teens, a seemingly innocent trip down memory lane served to provide that missing piece of the puzzle. My brothers, sister and me were looking at photos in the family album, taken during our younger years. I remember looking at a picture of me taken in kindergarten, all happy and smiles (thanks to the photographer telling me corny jokes while he shot the images) in my houndstooth blazer, white dress shirt and tie, when my sister remarked “You think that’s a cute picture of you - you should’ve seen yourself as a baby.......you had the cutest blue eyes!”

Now I know, there’s a common belief that all kids are born with blue eyes (and most eye color changes in the weeks after birth), but apparently, that blue eye gene did not show up in the six siblings which preceded me, nor in my kid brother who was born a year later. What’s more, it was several months before my eye color did indeed change from blue to brown. This would seem like a minuscule and trivial detail, except for one thing: my Dad, who was a simple Southern man with less than a fifth grade education (he had to drop out of school to tend chores on his grandmother’s farm after his birth mother abandoned him) was not educated enough to understand the dynamics of recessive gene traits. Put another way - if you were a country bumpkin, and five of your kids had your eye color, but the sixth child came out with blue eyes, what would you likely conclude?

Unlike anyone else in my family, I realized the conclusion that my Dad had to have drawn was completely logical, in absence of any evidence refuting it - that is, that I was not his biological son. Worse, it meant that he was staring into the eyes of his wife’s adulterous behavior. Nevermind the fact that my Dad wasn’t exactly faithful to my mom, he had to be worried that if anyone noticed the discrepancy in eye color, they too, would draw the conclusion that ‘his woman’ was a two-timing whore. To this day, I’m not entirely sure he ever believed that I was ‘of his loins’, a fact reinforced by the multiple times he said “You’re no son of mine!” to me, and only to me, even as a brown-eyed teenager and adult.

This meant that even within the family dynamic I was born into, I was left with the feeling that I was different - that I was not like my other siblings. Indeed, not only that, but that I did not belong, that I was an intruder, or in the eyes of my father, I represented a significant threat to his manhood, and by extension, his self concept. So before I ever learned that my skin color would be looked upon with the same level of distrust and suspicion, I was subjected to unjust ostracizing in an environment where I should have felt loved, appreciated and protected.

In elementary school,  I always looked forward to “career day” - when adults of various professions would come in and talk to us about the jobs they did, why they did them, and what they enjoyed about them. This included, without fail, a visit from both a fireman and a policeman. At least in my day, kids (especially boys) looked up to both cops and firemen as heroes - brave guys who risked their lives to save others, keep the communities they served safe and protected, and got to wear cool uniforms that elicited both admiration, awe and respect. The message (or should I say slogan) that we were told repeatedly was “Remember kids - the policeman is your friend. So always be polite and respectful, and always obey what an officer tells you to do.”

And so, while I had my sights set on riding a red fire engine and having a cute Dalmatian by my side, I did believe what I was told, and learned to respect the police, and had the mindset that the policeman was indeed a friend I could trust and turn to. But something happened along the way between the ages of sixteen and onward that sent a very distinct counter-message that while I may believe the policeman was my friend, he had an entirely different view of me.

The first significant episode happened to me when I was in my twenties: I was hanging out in the lobby of a movie theatre, talking with my friend Howard, when suddenly, three cops burst in with steadfast intent. While standing there with my friend, the three cops suddenly advanced on us (or more accurately, advanced upon me), and proceeded to throw me up against the wall dividing the lobby seats, with two of the officers frisking me while the other stood by. No advance warnings were given, nor was there any explanation as to why I was being ‘singled out’ over my white companion beside me. I calmly and respectfully asked (repeatedly) what I did wrong, and why I was being searched - the one answer I got was “Be quiet” as they continued patting me down, in search of what I had no idea. A few minutes into this episode, an elderly woman entered the theatre - she noticed what was going on, and noticed me being frisked. It was only until the woman remarked to the cops “No.....that’s not him” that the cops stopped their frisking/detaining of me and let me go. They then proceeded to exit the theatre with the old lady in tow.

Without explaining why they did what they did. Without so much as an apology for frisking “the wrong man.” I was humiliated in front of my friend, and had my dignity stripped from me, but I did not deserve any apology in their eyes. When I have recalled this episode in the past, many folks responded (or should I say rationalized) this intrusion with, “Well, they were just doing their job.” An unidentified black man likely snatched an old white lady’s purse, so the police went into the first place they surmised he would likely hide, and decided to frisk whatever black males they encountered inside the premises. Seems perfectly logical to me. What doesn’t seem logical is the fact that we, as a society act as if the police can never be wrong, never make a mistake, or ever have anything to be apologetic for. That demoralizing episode became a rude awakening to me that 1. The policeman is not my friend - he considers me an adversary/suspect guilty until proven innocent, and 2. I can be as respectful and compliant as I was taught to be in school, but I would still be treated as a second-class citizen, and should expect as much whenever I am in the presence of law enforcement.

There’s been a lot of discussion lately about racial bias, police brutality and excessive, deadly force. Those who protest the disparity in how blacks and whites are treated by police are all too often met with derision and criticism. When the Black Lives Matter movement began as a response to unexplained instances of why unarmed black men were being shot to death by policemen who suffered no outside investigations or repercussions, the phrase “Black Lives Matter” was rebutted with “Blue Lives Matter” - as if the two were somehow in conflict with each other. Whatever I may think about the radicalization within BLM, or how their message has become distorted by the extremist voices coming from inside that protest group, the fact is it’s hard to believe that black lives really do matter in the eyes of many, though not all in law enforcement.

But even more disturbing than that is the emergence of black conservative voices who seek to justify racial profiling and excessive force as being necessary elements in the ever-increasing dangerousness of being a cop these days. To rationalize the death of an unarmed black man being shot in the back and killed by a policeman with “Well, he shouldn’t have been running away” or “If he wasn’t guilty of something, he would have listened and obeyed orders” is sad and distorted enough coming from the mouths of clueless Caucasians, but to have black conservatives echo the same sentiments is chilling. When San Francisco quarterback Colin Kaepernick decided to “take a knee” during the National Anthem as a sign of silent protest, the blowback was disproportionately hostile: hearing people like CRTV’s Dineen Borelli and The Blacksphere’s Kevin Jackson (above) attack Kaepernick for his righteous anger over racism and police brutality I find particularly disturbing. Jackson has gone one step further: producing a documentary entitled Bleeding Blue: Behind The Badge, Under The Gun, whose objective is to shed light on both how dangerous it is for cops out there on the street, and how the “leftist media” continues to fan the flames of racial discord, instead of holding the black community accountable for the lawless criminals that are being coddled as “victims of their environment.”

No one would argue that the police have it tough out there, and that being a policeman is one of the most dangerous occupations one could have, but it was tough being a cop when I was in grade school - so what exactly has changed? More criminals with guns? Stronger narcotics on the streets and in the veins of those committing crimes? Public apathy? I’m not sure that things have changed in terms of danger to policemen as much as our 24/7, as-it-happens news cycle has been feeding us a daily diet of crime and punishment. When the average white person watches the news, and sees the majority of crimes being committed by blacks - specifically black men, what underlying message is implanted inside their minds? If racial bias exists within society (which it does), it must certainly manifest itself among police officers - but officers are (or should be) trained to discern what is reasonable suspicion and what is a knee-jerk reaction to the presence of black men on their beat.

And when excessive force is used, there needs to be accountability, period. Every time a cop is caught on camera using excessive, unnecessary force (which results in the death of a black man), and an internal review exonerates the policeman of any wrongdoing, you are reinforcing the idea that black lives do not matter. Black conservatives want to cloak themselves in the misguided belief that only “thugs” have deadly encounters with police, and so whatever fate befalls them is justified and of their own making. This conveniently ignores the fact that there are countless incidents where armed white men brandishing deadly weapons manage to be peacefully apprehended by law enforcement, and do not result in the use of excessive force or the death of a suspect. So why is it okay for an unarmed man to be shot in the back and killed? How can one watch videos on the news or Youtube of unarmed black men being shot like wild dogs and not feel a tinge of horror? Why do we hold the police to a higher standard, even when that trust is betrayed by their actions? Why no outrage over the increased militarization (and combat mindset) of law enforcement, which perpetuates an “us versus them” mentality, presuming all suspects guilty without benefit of due process?

Finally, how did we get to a place where respect for law enforcement means looking the other way when rouge cops act more like vigilantes than peace officers? Frank Serpico was more than the subject of a 1973 Sidney Lumet film starring Al Pacino: he was a living, breathing embodiment of a “good cop.’ When Serpico witnessed corruption and law breaking among his fellow officers, he did not look the other way - he spoke up. You would think all good cops would have his back and support his efforts to expose the bad apples inside the NYPD, but you’d be dead wrong. The “blue wall of silence” was erected almost immediately, and Serpico was subjected to retaliatory behavior, both from his superiors and from fellow cops on the force. During his testimony before the Mayor Lindsay-appointed Knapp Commission in 1971, Serpico said:

“The problem is that the atmosphere does not yet exist, in which an honest police officer can act... without fear of ridicule or reprisal from fellow officers. Police corruption cannot exist unless it is at least tolerated. Therefore, the most important result that can come from these hearings... is a conviction by police officers that the department will change.”

Serpico retired from the force a month after receiving The Medal Of Honor in June of 1972, and has been an outspoken advocate for police accountability to this day. Serpico’s bravery is, unfortunately, eclipsed by the fact that such courage is rarely acknowledged or validated by the world in which we live - indeed, the “blue wall of silence” continues to infect police departments across America, where good cops look the other way, when they should be speaking out. Even when a fellow officer uses excessive force; even when an officer taunts or harasses a suspect, barely containing their racially-motivated contempt. Even when an officer ramps up a situation to a deadly conclusion, that should have been de-escalated to a peaceful apprehension of the suspect. Even when a shooting is not justified, under any circumstances, given the particular circumstances of that incident.

When my Dad would beat me, he’d often yell, “You need to respect me, boy!” Sometimes, I would have the temerity to respond, “That respect has to be earned”, either internally or out loud. Blind respect to authority serves no one, especially if such authority is misapplied, abused or otherwise diminished by a lack of compassion, fairness or justice. Black conservatives and self-righteous white folk can look upon all suspects as “guilty as charged” (as the majority of comment threads on social media platforms would suggest), and psychologically distance themselves from  the criminal ‘other’, but the presumption of innocence and the tenets of due process are vital parts of a civilized society. In his book, The Divide, investigative journalist Matt Tiabbi exposed the fact that cops in New York City were arresting young black males for “jaywalking” as a way to preemptively instill them into the criminal justice system - the presumption being that sooner or later they’d end up breaking some significant law, and that this tactic was an effective way of streamlining that process. Were all males, regardless of race being arrested in this manner? No. 

Sometimes, I think about how different the world would be if I could view it from a ‘lighter perspective’ - alas, such daydreaming is futile. Like it or not, God brought me into the world as a brown-skinned black man, and this world has separate and unequal guidelines on how I should be perceived and treated. Black conservatives can delude themselves into thinking such prejudice or brutality only comes to those “who deserve it”, but from personal experience. I know better. “No one knows what it’s like to be the bad man, to be the sad man” better than I.