#in pursuit of justice? or in pursuit of of something to fill the void of your abuse?

[lunadademon14]

Whats curious to me about takumi is how often he just, kinda apperes to the other tamers, only during spiral moments. A danger he wants to eradicate

He eradicates danger as well as he could, not thinking of others

(or is he? In the other one with the skullgreymon, and the ones where he just almost killed a shit load of tankmon. It just feels like he does what he can to like, not have too many casualties, but in a way where nobody is winning at all. Kotoko yuzuriha ahh moments on repeat)

Hes just curious to me. I wonder if what kazuma, dorumon and takumi's basket ball team saw, was just someone saving people. No matter how ruthless the methods are (which is his whole thing in arc 1)

[aimlovesmusic]

What's your personal design of Rook, Kevin, Gwen, and Albedo in the other Alternative Universes?

Your art is amazing with unique designs and with a good story that made me love it more! I want to just eat them and leave!

Here’s them LORE DUMP UNDER PHOTO…. PLEASE READ IT TOOK ME FOREVER

What we know of Nega’s alternate Gwen and Kevin is that they are the token cheerleader and jock couple.They are also describes as Gwen having strawberry blond hair and Kevin rocking blond hair… odd… Ben does pretty much nothing of note with the watch so albedo would show up eventually, his goal? to take it from him or forcibly teach him…. Whichever comes first I guess. Also without the heroic pursuits to hear of, Rook never feels the pull of adventure or heroics sadly. But im accpeting cool ideas on what to do with this au since I have very little idea.

————-

Mad world story : (the explosive event happened a year after the loss of feedback, he never got around to removing the watch. Azmuth also never really cared to intervene in anything, he never left the mindset we first meet him with back in the movie. This leads to a much less mentally stable Ben)

Gwen: is taken off planet by the plumbers in their mission to rescue what living they can find from earth. Space if awfully unsafe for a 12 year old human, so she does what she thinks will keep her safe. Go full Anodite. With no grandpa Max or Ben around for her. Her and her parents are brought to Verdona where she lives with for the next while. Being accompanied by nightmares of those she misses.

Kevin: after escaping the null void is met with a hostile broken memory of a planet. He is rather lost in what exactly occurred, but not lost in what to do. The envoirment and energy of the place is not too different to the null void. So he does what he can to stay alive, earning some pretty loyal followers (sidekicks) who admire his abilities, straightforward-ness and rather blunt personality.

Rook: was stranded on earth after the crash of the ship he was on. He had only recently started his training. He is a year and a half older than Ben and had heard of the hero’s daring adventures. but no one ever got around to the fact that Ben was presumed dead, and the planet he hails from is on a sort of lockdown.

Albedo: is much more sympathetic than azmuth in this. He was against how demorailzing azmuth’s view on the whole situation on earth was. While azmuth looked at the catastrophe and suffering that the people endured as a controlled experiment to learn from and build a better watch. Albedo felt pity. Pity for the people slowly dying, pity for those sent in to save now stranded as well, pity for the once glorious water filled planet and pity for one omnitrix users declining state. After a long while of attempts to send in autonomous drones with anything he could think of to help, he finally settled on a plan. He would steal the completed version of the omnitrix, switch it out with one of his own prototypes and sneak it to earth. That would surely force azmuth to do something. In the mess of a plan he accidentally currupts his own form into the albino Ben Tennyson from he is cursed with in prime and makes it half injured to earth.(this is my explanation on why mad has the completed version of the watch.

———-

Bad: after being left behind during one of the missions in the null void by the plumbers. Ben is found by the rooters, They don’t exactly have the best for him in mind. (This is when he’s 14 so a year before prime him puts the omnitrix on. The plumbers are not entirely the best many are currupt. Also they viewed Ben openly as a weapon and not a person, he is aware of this to some extent but cannot do much about that.

Gwen: missing her cousin and believing him to be gone for good she buried herself in school and helping aid the plumbers dispense justice… though, this universes plumbers aren’t quite taken by fair ideals of justice. Just ones that feed their pockets. Gwen is a bit too lost in her grief and mysteries of ledgerdomain to notice for quite some time. She of course finds out through Kevin that Ben is alive! But he’s out following tetrax’s footsteps, he become a bounty hunter and not the law abiding kind. She attempts to keep that info on the downlow but someone else finds out and blabs to the higher ups causing Ben to be put on a wanted list. Of course that doesn’t end well as now any interaction Ben has with anyone for the next while gets blown out of proportion and demonized. Ben goes further into hiding due to this and now Gwen after a few years of getting close is back to square one.

Kevin: somehow instead of taking the route of bad boy he gains a sort of robinhood likeness. He steals from the rich, the rude and the authorities all together. Finding not so cynical ways to blow off steam, he rather stick it to the man or well, space police. Show them that even the broke-est of people can dispatch better justice than them. He runs into Ben semi often, they get into little spats but never far enough to do genuine damage. They both feel awful over Kevin’s unfortunate monstrous form he gained from their last true fight. Occasionally when things are dire they will fight alongside each other. Kevin was not part of the rooters plan due to being lost to them during Ben’s capture. Kevin feels sorry for the watch wearer, this is due to what the rooters put him through before tetrax stole him right from under their noses. Him and Gwen aren’t dating but she finds out through him that Ben is alive. This is of course after nearly arresting him and hearing a snide comment about how her cousin is less stuck up than her. She keeps friendly contact with Kevin after learning why he does what he does and to hopefully catch up to Ben someday.

Rook: his backstory is pretty much the same as prime but instead of simply working with the plumbers when finished his training, he is moved to work directly with the rooters after Ben is discovered to be still alive. Rook is glad to hear his idol is alive but then swiftly brought down to earth upon hearing that he is now a lowlife. Befuddled and feeling betrayed by someone he once looked up to, he works hard to hunt him down and bring him to justice. He hopes he can convince him to go willingly, maybe turn his life around. Little does he know that the ones he works for are the people he should be keeping an eye on. Him and Ben have a rough first meeting, but after countless chases, witty banter and stupid situations, they are somewhat found of one another much to both of their dismay.

Albedo: he aided tetrax is rescuing Ben from the rooters since with intended to use the watch recklessly. Even if albedo didnt agree giving a human child the watch, he knows it’s far safer in the teens hands than the plumbers. If that means having to personally teach and stick around the teen than Fine! But there’s complications when they manage to get the young teen out of their clutches, he is heavily injured and now missing many parts of his arm. What’s left seemingly is only the bones fully intact with much destruction done to the arm in an attempt to pry the watch off the host. Despite this he still attempts to keep Albedo from being harmed in their rushed escape, this earning a regreatful(he’ll never admit it) point in his book. After all that stuff. Albedo, Now left with small crew of bounty hunters, a couple stowaway amalgam teens, a really sad teen, his glowy crazy cousin and one grumpy accidentally kidnapped mindwashed rooter. To him, this sounds like the worst joke or the funniest dnd campaign, and he’s not sure which one he rather it be.

Zarro: very similar to prime but halfway through ultimate alien something in the watch goes wrong. He gets sick more often. Eventually his health deteriorates faster than before around season two of omniverse. Zscare has had enough of Ben and the meddling people he surrounds himself with. Ben becomes painting zero for a sort of ectonurite zombie apocalypse.

[shiftyjaxic]

SilentStation headcannons because I have nothing ahead of me 🚂🎞️

Including individual HCs & relationship HCs

I’m not the best with character interactions/compatibility lol

Basic Info:

Chuck:

transmasc, bisexual

real name: Chiara Carlo Macaluso

hair color (under green hair dye): brownish-black

eye color (just because): hazel

52 yrs old

6’2 ft

walks with crutches on good days

misophonic

NOT built like a stick. He has muscles. Flesh.

Gray:

cis man, pansexual

real name: Greige Escoffier

eye color (under grey colored contacts): amber

skin color (under white face paint): chestnut brown

48 yrs old

6’0 ft

partially deaf, wears hearing aids

selectively mute

Personalities & Qualities:

Chuck:

Driven, passionate

Volatile, hot-headed

Charismatic

Eccentric

Morally courageous

Loud & friendly (at first glance)

Lonely, lurks in solitude

-Has known exactly who and what he wants to be; has lost touch with society & control of his own emotions and mind as an indirect result

Gray:

Quiet (obviously)

“Cool-minded”

“Charming”

“Elegant”

“Droll”

“Stoic”

“Prefers solitude”

“Has a strong sense of justice”

Empty.

-Never knew what he wanted to be; looks into his emotions & mind more than ever as a result

Individual Conflicts:

Chuck:

Obsession

He would prioritize his creations of music over anything else, mainly himself. He would only stop when he needs to be on the Ghost Train, when his needs [e.g. sleep, hunger, thirst] become too unbearable to the point of getting in the way of his work, or if someone he cares about nags him enough.

Isolation/Detatchment

He works with his creations alone, and has worked alone for most of his life. However, only when he entered the Ghost Station in pursuit of “the next big thing in music!” did he really start detatching from society and even himself. People rarely see him outside of the station. He’s also forgotten how to relate to people & even parts of his early life.

This is kinda canon, too.

Tempestuousness

Chuck was already the type not afraid to show his emotion. Thanks to his mental health deteriorating during his time in the Ghost Station, this quality’s been made even more extreme. His mood is unpredictable; He can go from tranquil to livid in a matter of seconds. This doesn’t fail to scare most people away.

Also pretty canon.

[Gender] Dysphoria

This conflict isn’t as serious as others mentioned, but it does get to him from time to time. It’s also another reason he convinces himself not to go outside.

Gray:

Loss of Self

He believed a lifelong occupation should arise from a fiery passion, yet he never found more than an ember. Living as an empty husk, he discovered acting—living a life given to him. Through acting, he filled his long-held void, but at the cost of his true self. Everything everyone knows of him is merely an act that’s second-nature, making him distrust himself; His entire identity may only reflect his characters', after all. Even if he manages to shed his personas, he’d be right back as an empty husk. Right back to square one.

So he holds onto his act. He clings to it and keeps it in his grasp through wear and tear and blood and tears.

(Still proud of his successful career. It earned him a life, after all.)

Relationship Harmony:

Chuck’s POV:

Kinda jealous of Gray’s cool mindedness

Admires him in a celebrity-kind of way; Gray is quite literally a celebrity actor.

Will stand up (no pun intended istg) & fight for him when he doesn’t himself

Feels refreshed in his charm

Gray’s POV:

Thinks of Chuck’s hot-headedness as a bit of an inconvenience, but also a little something to chuckle with him about

Admires him in a “He’s really dedicated!”-kind of way; Chuck quite literally sacrifices his health for his music.

Will stay behind and make sure he at least tries to get better

Feels warmth in his charisma

In general:

Opposites attract dynamic

“You have so much to do, and I have nothing ahead of me.”

-both sides.

Random Relationship HCs:

Chuck is iffy about Gray carrying him. Sometimes he loves it, sometimes he hates it, and sometimes it’s just a quick favor.

Chuck has pretty fluffy hair (when it’s not greasy or tangled from neglect). Gray likes touchin’ it (much to Chuck’s dismay and/or content).

They both have effortless hair routines. Chuck just puts a hat on and calls it a day while Gray ruffles it up a bit and gets majestic outcomes.

Sometimes, Gray is comfy enough to whisper to Chuck. Since Chuck has great (& sensitive) hearing, he has no problem hearing Gray’s whispers.

Gray somehow found Chuck’s sweet spot to kiss: in between the tragus (ear) & his side burns.

[19joo]

It took me a while (like, years haha) before gathering the courage to post this. I've been writing but I don't usually post them publicly. If anyone here has read til the end, please let me know how I did. >_<

Our Last Night

[MCxJake]

"Do you really have to go?", I asked Jake as he is preparing to leave our hideout and run from his pursuers.

He sat in the bed beside me, leaned in closer, and took my hands. "It's gonna be alright. I'll come back as soon as I can. Once we get this over and done with, I'm never leaving your side again. I promise." He gave me the most reassuring look he could. I can only do nothing else but sigh. I know him too well now to see the uncertainty he's trying to mask from his eyes.

We both knew at this point that a desirable outcome is far-fetched. Nevertheless, I chose to hold on. I needed to. Otherwise, I won't have any other reason to keep going.

It's not that I didn't see it coming. I just hope things had never gone to this. Now that Hannah is safe and sound, all that's left is Jake's freedom.

After the Duskwood ordeal, Jake told me everything I needed to know about him. Apparently, we live in the same country, which is currently being ruled by the most corrupt set of government officials. It all began with Jake discovering a sketchy deal between a certain governmemt official and a foreign pharmaceutical company, which turned out to be our country's president. One discovery led to another, and now their organization has obtained a concrete proof that this heck of a useless corrupt "leader" has manipulated the election results.

It was all going so well. Jake's discoveries has been made known to the public. People were enraged, and started demanding justice. However, this government is a difficult group to get involved with.

We are now fighting for our freedom, and we have never been this close. We worked so hard for this. I am willing to do anything, but losing Jake is just a price I just couldn't afford to pay.

Before meeting everyone, I was merely existing. I've been going through the motions for as long as I can remember. I waited everyday for my life to end, because I couldn't end it myself. My body felt like an empty shell moving on its own.

I remember just blankly staring at my bedroom ceiling, contemplating between getting out of bed or going back to sleep again. I reached to my phone and scrolled at the piling messages I haven't replied to in weeks when I received that text message from Thomas. I don't know what got to me, but the urge to reply at his message was strong. When I saw how desperate they were on trying to find Hannah, I decided to sign myself up. Better do something worthwhile for once in my life, I thought.

As we went further, I noticed things gradually changing. I couldn't point out exactly when, but days eventually stopped being as monotonous as they used to. For the first time in ages, I had something to look forward to. The hollow void inside me began to be filled up with a sense of purpose, most of which I can attribute to this hacker who, for some reason, I began trusting with my entire being despite not being able to know a lot about. I don't know how he did it. He is so enigmatic, yet familiar. Despite everything, I never really felt the need to know everything about him. That must have been me going crazy — but I didn't care. When it came to him, things need not to make sense as long as they felt right. I never connected with anyone else the way I did with him.

The day he went into hiding from his pursuers was the day I fully realized can't live again without him in my life. Right then and there, I was finally able to genuinely want something for myself. We could have stopped upon finding Hannah, but I want him to be something more than a stranger I met in the pursuit of trying to save another. I want to be by his side. At the back of my mind, I knew this madness would likely be the death of me, but I'd happily accept my fate if it meant I could be with him.

Damn it. I feel so powerless.

"Maybe this wouldn't have happened had I not been too greedy. Maybe this is me being punished for trying to get what I can't have." I sobbed. "It's not too late, Jake. We can still back out now." I pleaded.

"Don't be hard on yourself. I chose this. It's my fault you got into this mess. I know I might regret this, but I won't ever forgive myself for not even trying to fight for you — for us." His pleading eyes met mine as he pulled me into a tight hug. "Trust me, please?"

He kissed my hand. "Our time is running out. I have to go."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

[mindofeloquence]

the world reeks of death. the death of the soul. it's not the kind of death that steals breath or stills the body— it's the kind that withers unseen, leaving us alive in name but hollow in essence. it's the slow erosion of something sacred within us, buried beneath the weight of our egos, drowned out by the noise of a world consumed by self-importance and moral apathy. the soul, that divine whisper placed within us, has grown faint, suffocated by the endless demands of a life driven by want rather than need, by distraction rather than reflection.

there is a heightened dissonance with the self, a fracture that grows deeper every day. we are caught in an unrelenting cycle of consumption, desperately grasping at anything to fill the void within us. but the void is not external. it is the shadow of what we've allowed ourselves to become — a reflection of our growing distance from the soul and, by extension, from the Divine.

look at the state of the world: wars waged without conscience, suffering met with silence, and truths distorted to fit the agendas of power. this disconnection has spilled out into the world around us, shaping the moral apathy we see in every corner of our existence. and the systems that perpetuate this are not broken; they were built that way- designed to extract, to exploit, to suppress, and to divide. and while we may rail against these systems, we often fail to see that they are a reflection of our own inner disarray.

the world is alive, but it is not well. and we're not well either — not really. we've convinced ourselves that this is just the way things are, but is it? or is it just the way we've allowed things to become? it feels as though the moral compass of humanity has shattered, leaving us wandering in a wilderness of our own making. and yet, isn't this wilderness just the shadow of what we've become inside? a world stripped of its soul will always mirror the emptiness of those who inhabit it.

this is the age of the ego's triumph, where pride parades as strength, selfishness masquerades as freedom, and convenience overshadows compassion. the ego convinces us that fulfillment lies in domination, in accumulation, in the applause of others. we've allowed power to seduce, dominate, control, and silences. yet what the ego builds is fleeting, like sandcastles before an oncoming tide. it blinds us to the truth: that the soul was never meant to conquer but to connect. we were not created to hoard, but to give, to receive, to reflect something greater than ourselves - a Light rooted in Divinity.

and yet, we continue to feed the ego while starving the soul. we chase validation in all its hollow forms — status, possessions, power - and wonder why we feel more distant from ourselves than ever. the world grows darker not because of some external force but because of the dissonance within us.

this death of the soul isn't sudden — it is gradual, insidious. a thousand small choices to turn away from what matters, to prioritize ease over effort, comfort over conscience. and in that turning, we have built a world where meaning feels scarce, where the pursuit of Truth has been replaced by the pursuit of the ego. but this is not the way it has to be. it never was.

the soul, no matter how faint its whisper, still waits for us. it aches for us to strip away the illusions and return to what is real. it knows that life is a fleeting gift and that our purpose is not to serve our lowest form but to transcend it. to quiet the ego and hear the soft plea for justice, humility, and love. not the love that clings or consumes, but the kind that heals, uplifts, and reminds us of our connection to the Greatest.

the crises of today - our apathy and the moral and spiritual decay - will not be resolved by noise or fleeting action, but by a return to the Essence of who we are. a return to Sincerity, to Truth, to aligning ourselves with the Divine purpose that calls to us in moments of stillness. this is not a passive waiting for change but an active reckoning with the ways we've fallen short, a collective effort to heal what we've broken.

turn inward and ask: what have we nurtured within ourselves, and what have we let wither? have we lived for what is Eternal, or have we given ourselves to what is fleeting? have we remembered the soul, or have we let it grow faint beneath the weight of our own distractions?

it is not too late to return. it is never too late to quiet the noise and listen to the soul. to choose connection over conquest, compassion over apathy, humility over pride. it waits, as it always has, for us to remember what it means to truly live. the world reeks of death — but it does not have to. the soul still whispers, still aches to be heard. the light we thought had dimmed is not extinguished; it is waiting. the question is, will we return?

[johnniesmoke]

This song, A Walk in the Park Freestyle, delivers a deep introspection of ambition, resilience, and self-awareness, woven with raw emotion and unfiltered storytelling. The lyrics paint a picture of a determined artist navigating the trials of life and the music industry, highlighting themes of perseverance, sacrifice, and individuality. The protagonist strives to maintain authenticity amidst the chaos of fame and the cutthroat nature of competition. With references to personal struggles, dreams of success, and moments of doubt, the song reveals the duality of strength and vulnerability.

The opening lines set the tone of relentless pursuit, describing a journey filled with obstacles yet propelled by an unyielding drive. The artist addresses the void they face, using creativity as a bridge to overcome challenges and stay grounded. Throughout, the lyrics explore the societal pressures of fame, with a sharp critique of superficiality, while embracing a steadfast belief in their purpose and identity.

As the verses progress, the song touches on the burdens of representation and the generational weight the artist feels compelled to carry. There is a striking balance between personal reflection and universal truths, making the narrative relatable while still deeply personal. Lines about rejection and resilience resonate, creating a profound connection with anyone striving for greatness in the face of adversity.

The climax of the song shifts toward an affirmation of self-worth and a reclamation of power. Through vivid metaphors and defiant proclamations, the artist asserts their legacy, refusing to let external judgment define their value. The final verses exude confidence and hope, urging listeners to embrace the fleeting beauty of life and their potential to leave an indelible mark.

Ultimately, A Walk in the Park is more than just a song—it’s a manifesto for anyone pursuing their dreams despite the odds, a tribute to the art of storytelling, and a powerful reminder that even in the darkest moments, there’s always light to be found in self-expression and perseverance.

A Walk in the park Frestyle: Lyrics:

It's a walk in the park/

I want to make millions/[Billions]

So I'm with no choice other than to take my shots/

Ample time has got me filling the void with my dreams trying to escape to em' before the curtain comes down/

See I'm staying within my element and I've got a mountain of content that I'm sitting on still treated like I'm a goner/

What these other guys should know is that they've got nothing on me/

I play for a team that they wouldn't want to see in the streets/

Needless to say this life ain't a game/

Some people come alive just for the video tape/

Hey isn't everybody famous crazy/

I'll fit right in/

Hahaha I laugh I weep/

It ain't nothing to me/

You could say I'm heartless because of the pain while it was drawn out like 1000 slices/

Yeah day in and day out I'm trying to keep it peaceful and reason with these people that know none/

Studying the fidelity deity of the tune/

After hearing this what do you really believe/

Could this be you/

Well if I got to wilding there'd be no place for me in this world/

When I get to playing other peoples stuff its all old news/

Maybe Cupid could come through and shoot Bae in that booty she's showing off every day/

These fools should tell me their story/

I'll hear it and tell them the truth/

This industry's cut throat/

It ain't nothing for you/

Me, I've got something to prove/

All right yeah when push comes to shove I don't even want to be on the record/

I'm biting the bullet for my generation because I know I'll do it justice/

It takes a set of balls to rig up the vibe seeing through to the better times has got me shedding a tear for the other guys/

When you've got it like me all you ever get is scrutinized/

So I'm just living low key/

I've got a date with destiny but I'll forget the time because I love a good story/

And I'm having trouble convincing myself of a few things so I could use the moral just like a few of yuhs' I know/

If there ain't' any cash to be made would I still go for broke/

Hell no/[Hell Yeah!]

What do you know/

It's Johnnie smokes lending a hand to the vibe serving up masterpiece after masterpiece/

Sure I've mustered up another go/

There was a point where it couldn't get any worse/

Don't you know just what you're asking for when you're asking to blow/

It Ain't' any fairy tale that she's rolled/

It all started with quite the display of recognition/

I caught some winks and I knew I was in/

I didn't really know what I had to bring when I click that red record button/

I'm just letting my soul sing/

Ain't that a beautiful thing/

Love me how you love me/

Because baby this life is the only one we'll ever get/

If this doesn't live forever all I'll [we'll] ever wonder is what gives/

-

Johnnie Smoke

https://soundcloud.com/johnniesmoke/a-walk-in-the-park?si=f090b1701ed2418aa7996b5dc64d1927&utm_source=clipboard&utm_medium=text&utm_campaign=social_sharing

[orangegreet]

No Minor Miracles | Chapter 3

One Day in Midsummer

Our immortal idiots get some distance from each other and we learn a good dose of their back story.

Once he closed the door to her on his end, slipping back into his previous persona was painfully easy. Months he’d tortured himself trying to get back there and suddenly he was arrived.

The tether lay limp inside of him and pretending it did not actually exist was second nature again. He built a vacuum around it and shoved it full of his hate and indignation. Then he boxed it all in numb indifference and cast his shadows around it.

The space he held her in was carved out of himself and there was nothing but a hollow in her place.

Years wasted and he finally found the perfect shield against her charms. Aleksander allowed himself to really, truly hate her. Hatred he could dole out with practiced indifference.

A couple months passed before he started to feel like a facsimile of his former self again. Once he did, he ordered Ivan back. Fedyor too.

The two Heartrenders returned to Os Alta five months to the day after first receiving their assignments.

The day of their joint return, he invited them to dine with him in the War Room.

“I wanted to thank you both for the work you have done this winter. It did not go unseen. It will not go unrewarded.” He raised a glass to them.

Fedyor was blushing and cheery, smiling as he chewed his mutton and chased it with his wine. Ivan took a small sip but watched his General from his periphery.

Despite the effectiveness of the hollow, the loneliness was problematic. If felt as if he was built to seek her out. Given time and circumstances, the feeling would become too much to reconcile and he would become burst open again.

The obvious immediate remedy was sex. Pleasure would not fill him up for long but even kvas on an empty stomach could keep you alive in the permafrost.

He thought to take up with a Healer or even a Heartrender — familiar and respectable in the Grisha order. But eventually determined anyone with a Saints-given gift for pulling on his innards was a step backward, not forward.

If that were not enough, taking up with a soldier, even on a casual basis, would undermine his authority and position. That behavior bred gossip and instability in the ranks. This was how Tsars lost their power—slowly seeping out of the seams of their ill-managed exploits.

By default this left him to the pursuit of an otkazat’sya woman. Likely several so as to avoid sticky situations and questions.

And so a couple nights a week, the General would don attire fit for an Os Altan civilian and frequent the city taverns. It was not difficult to cloak himself in shadows to the edges of the Little Palace grounds and pass unnoticed into the city.

He did not wish to pay for the attentions of a woman nor did he want to go about the heady task of wooing one. Relieving tension by creating opportunities for tension was not ideal.

There were a series of short-lived escapades. No one memorable but the experiences were effective nonetheless. The exhausting aspect was hunting for someone suitable for an evening.

In the end it was quite accidentally that he found the most suitable partner with whom he could explore and expend his lust over a longer period of time. A simple barmaid and widow named Inna who rarely left her family-run tavern and who happened to have a small room above the dining hall.

She was easy-going and dark haired. She would have been plain if not for the look she sometimes had in her eyes when she looked at him. There was attraction but there was also a kind of resignation.

They had this in common.

Between them they shared an acquiescence about the hand they had been dealt in life that made them ideal sexual partners. Inna expected nothing and wanted nothing from him that he was not willing to provide.

Inna gave him permission to frequent the tavern so long as he remained discrete. In exchange, Aleksander gave her a fake name with a sparse cover story and for a few nights a week, they fucked like rabbits.

He never stayed the night. She did not ask him.

More often than not he took her from behind, one hand clamped to her hip and the other pulling back on her shoulder, her hair, her throat while she touched herself.

He was generous with her. More than she would ask from him anyway. When he finished quickly, he rarely let a beat pass before he was pulling her back to her knees and licking her to completion. Periodically he would bite her neck or pull on her nipples. They did not kiss.

Excepting of course when she kissed him on the cheek goodbye. It was a friendly thing to do.

Occasionally he gave her a small twitch of his mouth in return.

Inna did not ask for more. This was how they worked.

He did not mean to let it carry on so long with Inna. It was dangerous for many reasons. Both to his station and to her life. Something so casual was not worth the cost to keep for long.

However, now he was not counting time in doses of Alina and the spaces in-between her, time moved quickly once more.

Thoughts of her fell into the shadowed hollow of his chest. Pushed in and forgotten. Suffocated and drowned out. He was a Shadow Summoner after all. He held that ball of dark matter in a lazy swirling mist that pulled in his unwanted things like a celestial black hole at the center of a dying star.

Thoughts of her went in. They did not come back out. This was peace.

It was around that space, that something truly extraordinary occurred: he felt something like contentment for the first time since…well likely since the creation of the Fold.

The unrest born from creating the Fold seemed to be stilled. All of it could be attributed to this careful, internal balancing act: ensuring all his basic needs were met.

The General remained ruthless and decisive on the battlefield, delivering justice and instilling fear in the enemy. He doused his lust between the thighs and lips of a willing and uncomplicated woman.

And, most surprising of all, without meaning to, the General grew a bond with his Heartrenders. Not a close enough relationship to divulge the truth of his nighttime activities in the city, but enough that the periodic joke or personal question was exchanged.

It was sporadic and a little delicate, but he did feel less lonely when Ivan stood by him also seething after another round with the useless Boy King and Fedyor entertained them both stories from the Permafrost or the social structures happening within the Little Palace.

When was the last time he listened to a story for the sake of amusement? He could not remember. The dark archives in his chest might know but he did not attempt to check.

Two years passed in this way. The General visited camps, sent spies into enemy territory and visited Inna when he was back in Os Alta.

Ivan and Fedyor formalized their partnership with a ceremony, Aleksander signed as witness.

The General honored the union by bidding them to move into the Vezda suite. They remained stationed with him in Os Alta when he was not on the move. The suite sat unused for so long. It was only right for his right and left hand to be awarded with such finery.

Following his commission to get the suite ready for their return from a week long leave, the servants cleaning the rooms entrusted the random personal items from the rooms be returned to the General himself.

Funnily enough, had either of his Heartrenders been present that week, he was sure he would never have seen it. Would never have heard a word about it.

Yet it turned up one day. Set on the entry table in the receiving room. One night black, velvet kefta with gold stitching, folded and unworn. On top of it, one silk blue and gold scarf with tattered edges and fading colors.

He paused in his entryway.

His Oprichnik stirred to attention and he quickly closed the door behind him, leaving the guard outside.

His eyes lingered on the scarf. It was something he could not store into the shadowed cache of his chest. Pushed into a void.

He walked through to his War Room quickly, leaving the pile untouched.

The next few hours were spent immersed in missives, strategy and letter writing.

The Secessionist Party had long been gaining traction in West Ravka. This warranted attention not only in the eventuality of a Civil War but also because the party seemed to be stoking prejudice toward Grisha as well.

The General addressed letters to two of his Grisha across the Fold with instructions to gain entry to their meetings and report back.

Sealing the letters, he glanced up at the entry door as if someone called his name. His eyes lingered unseeing as he envisioned the thin scrap of blue fabric, innocently waiting on the other side.

An entire mission to Tsemna was planned from start to finish, down to which soldiers would be sent to answer the reports on Grisha being smuggled through the Fold. He sealed and sent the directives.

He walked with purpose to the entryway to leave his rooms entirely.

A streak of blue stained his periphery.

He touched the door handle.

He dropped his hand and turned, walking back through. A streak of blue for the other eye.

Lunch arrived. The servants left the doors to the entryway ajar. He shifted his chair.

Blue and gold and black neatly folded.

He wiped his mouth and got to his feet. His hands locked behind his back as he stared out the window at the grounds where Summoners trained by the lake.

He turned and walked through the open doors, grabbed the handle to the hall and began his descent to the grounds of the Little Palace.

The Tidemakers and Squallers paused their practice at the sight of The General. He waved a hand indicating they all continue.

After observing for twenty minutes and walking around, he settled on the most advance pair. For them he conjured Shadows held aloft in his palms, “You have one objective, keep my shadows from getting past your guard.”

The Squaller of the pair swallowed but the Tidemaker gave him a wicked smile and nodded.

He battled them six times over the next two hours. Each victory took longer for him to secure. By the third round, he allowed two other pairs to join their ranks against him.

By the fifth round, all the Summoners stood against him. One young Squaller in particular stood out.

He was a small and weedy Zemeni boy who had a way of twisting himself into the gaps left by his teammates and always seemed to deter a shadow when the General was on the cusp of victory.

During one impressive move, the young Squaller dodged a grasping shadow and quickly summoned a gust a wind so hard the General fell back a step and barked a laugh.

“Very well done. What is your name?”

“Kalem, sir.”

“You are very young for one so advanced. How long have you been training?”

The boys hesitated.

“I was brought to the Little Palace just a couple months ago.” The General caught the eye of the Squaller corporal overseeing the training who nodded in confirmation.

“A natural then. Very well done, Kalem. I look forward to our next match.”

He gave the boy a rare kind smile which the boy returned.

“I won’t go easy, sir.” The sheer cheek on the boy had another laugh tripping over his lips. This was a surprising day on several accounts.

“I expect nothing but the best. As you were.”

The loosely held ranks broke and with a firm pat to the shoulder of the Corporal, the General made his way back inside.

He wiped his brow with his handkerchief and smiled at the slight panting caused by his exertion. An Oprichnik opened the door to his rooms and the General’s smile faltered as it landed on the neatly folded scarf.

This thing that could not be shoved into the shadow void.

Tearing his eyes from it, he stalked past and took his seat at his desk where dinner arrived not two hours later.

That evening he waited for nightfall with increased anticipation. When the hour grew late enough, he conjured his shadows and moved through the grounds with ease.

Inna could tell something was different. Her eyes lingered on the General while he drank his kvas slowly and didn’t speak. He waited for her work to be done and when it was, he waited a few minutes before following her up the stairs.

When he entered she took him in with slight hesitation. In turn, his eyes categorized every feature of her face with determination. Her dark hair, her cautious eyes and the way she held her mouth. Poised on the cusp of speaking.

He crossed to her and took her face in both hands. His kissed her mouth. After a couple moments she opened for him.

He took her as a lover might, his tenderness edged with a desperation that felt misplaced to her given the otherwise balanced nature of their arrangement.

When they finished he rolled off her, sweating and panting with a forearm thrown across his eyes.

His chest was pounding.

He lay unmoving while he listened to her shift about the room. The gentle splish of water in the bowl as she was cleaning herself up, the swish of skirts and fabric as she got dressed.

When the movements stopped he stood and began to do the same. Inna took a seat at her vanity, watching her hands. The air thickened with a growing unease.

The General pulled his shirt on, pausing only to press a firm hand back against the pounding in his chest before continuing with his belt.

When he was dressed, she stood.

“I think perhaps this has run its course.” Inna said. She was not unkind. He nodded in agreement.

He kissed her cheek. She squeezed his hands. He left.

When he returned to his rooms, he took in an extra breath before entering.

His eyes fell to the entry table. It was bare.

The pounding in his chest intensified. He squeezed the shadows of the hollow tighter and walked to his room where he fell into a fitful sleep.

The next morning he took his breakfast in the study and when the servant came to collect his tray he stopped her.

“There was a set of items left in the entry yesterday—“

“I apologize, sir. One of the new girls can’t tell her arse from her elbow,” she reddened and clammed up, caught off guard by her own blunder.

The General waved it away, “Where were the items stored?”

“I’ll ask, sir.”

He nodded in dismissal.

Within the hour, the same servant returned, items in hand.

“Just there is fine. That will be all.”

She set them on the end table by his armchair.

He locked the door behind her and after allowing a moment for hesitation, sat in the armchair.

It was a familiar scene. Though the details felt almost deliberately different. It was the height of summer so there was no fire beneath the mantle. No fur draped across this back. The armchair he had a couple winters back was since replaced with a new one.

Aleksander himself felt different now. He hoped that would be enough.

His hand brushed the blue and gold silk and lifted it for inspection.

It did not smell like her as he imagined it might. It smelled woody and stale like the empty cabinet or drawer it lay in for the last fifteen years.

The colors and pattern he remembered well. She had been wearing it around her neck on the first day she appeared on the grounds.

Centuries of waiting for a Sum Summoner, the last hundred sending testers across Ravka, only for the woman herself to appear nearly out of nowhere and present herself to the Shadow Summoner as if the visit had been marked in his calendar all along.

She was a girl of barely twenty then. Powerful and skilled already. It unnerved him how prepared she was for him and how completely out of step he became around her.

She asked him not to reveal her identity to the King. Or to anyone really.

That was fine by him for he wanted to keep her all to himself but why risk it at all coming so close to the Royal family?

To have time with you. She had told him with a laugh, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Saints. How his heart stopped then.

Already enamored. Already pathetic.

The official story if anyone investigated was that she was an ambassador from a sector of the Shu Han/Ravka boarder. Their territory who was exhausted and rundown from the war and she was elected to negotiate peace on behalf of the Ravkan villagers. Ambassador at least explained why she sometimes sat in on meetings in the War Room.

They set her up in the Vezda suite and booked her for nearly every meal in the company of the General. Peace treaties are not resolved quickly and many hours logged was to be expected.

Either way, they did not bring her presence to the attention of the King. He was not considerably observant and her attendance in his Court was as innocuous as the presence of any other Grisha soldier.

Over their meals they discussed the current state of things. The ways in which the world operated in and around the existence of Grisha. She shared with him things she hoped for and strived to change and he probed for information about her beginnings.

Her origins were most mysterious and every time he brought up his questions (who trained her, who raised her, how did she learn she was Grisha, who knew about her outside of himself) she would frown and grow reticent and he would resolve to back down.

In the brightest light of day they disappeared to the forest for hours at a time where they summoned and dueled and acquainted themselves with each other while their lights and shadows weaved around them.

It was three weeks in before he dared to let her discover he was an amplifier. The trepidation on his face brought an adorable twist of confusion to her eyebrows and she asked after if he wished he hadn’t told her.

No, he was fine with her knowing. She did not seem to hunger for power enough that she would kill him and wear his bones to create a brighter beam. She looked very troubled by this statement.

She trailed a hand over the hair falling in his face and assured him that no, she could not ever bring herself to sacrifice him. Not for power or otherwise.

From there they had a free-for-all discussion of Grisha theory, debated amplifiers and motivators and training styles. He told her of Morozova’s creatures to which she looked further troubled and shook her head no. He gave her the journal containing Ilya’s documentation of his experiments and told her to consider seeking one in light of what good could be done for Grisha as opposed to a fear of power-grabbing.

She rolled her eyes at him which he cherished because of the high he felt from their freedom to be direct with each other. The journal was pushed into her hands and she yielded to consider it.

She kissed him first. They stood in the forest and her was hair wild with the humidity generated from her sun beams sizzling off the cool of his shadows and her eyes were bright and he was thinking about what to do with her anymore now he knew she could be like this. Now he knew he could be like this.

She pressed her lips against his.

His thoughts smeared against the walls of his brain and he could not regret the mess she had made of him any more than he could regret his own eagerness in returning her attentions at that moment.

Sweet. She was incredibly sweet with him. That was ultimately what eroded his sensibilities. It was too much kindness showered upon a long blackened soul. He was terrified she would stop.

Ivan remained too close by to not know what was going on between the two Summoners. Though he remained stubbornly stoic, the General could sense his unease. Could sense this was all too delicate, perhaps. He ignored the tensions.

A blissful month was passed in her confidence, making plans for a brighter future, enjoying a laugh over their meals and taking affections from her whenever she offered them. It was her idea to sneak off the grounds and into the city in disguise.

They sat in a pub over a shared pitcher of kvas, playing dice and listening to conversations from the normal otkazat’sya people around them. He felt lighter than he ever had before.

Upon their return to the Little Palace he thanked her with a kiss crushed to her lips within the tree-lined grounds. She pulled him in by the nape of his neck and he lifted her up, coaxing her legs around his waist. Against an ash tree he crowded himself close her, scrabbling for her warmth with a feral desperation that she reveled in.

He pressed his name into her ear. Could no longer bear her to call him by his military title.

When she repeated it back to him, broken over her breath and safely pressed back into the skin of his throat, he closed his eyes and felt the wetness gather in them.

He believes he would have made love to her in the shelter of the ash tree if not for a sound that broke them apart. Someone was hidden close by and she grew shy and kissed him goodnight before disappearing herself.

That evening Aleksander resolved himself to tell her the truth. He would trust her with the truth of himself and his history just as she had trusted him with her identity. Perhaps then she would open up to him about her past. Trust for trust seemed the only way forward. One of them had to make the first move.

Only he could not bring himself to do it.

At least not before she was discovered by his mother. Baghra, his life long antagonist. Baghra who discovered the existence of the Sun Summoner the next day. He wasn’t fully certain how she learned but he could guess it had something to do with that noise in the woods.

The one which interrupted them on what would become their last night together.

The old woman, presumably looking to save the Sun Summoner from the evil clutches of her son, cornered Alina. Baghra showed her the centuries of belongings stored up in the tunnel behind the stables. From Baghra she learned of his age and his transgressions and of the plans he long held for his fictional, fabled, imagined Sun Summoner.

Plans which would never have fit her.

Only he couldn’t tell her. She did not believe him.

Twinges of his betrayal against her saturated their burgeoning connection and he tried to remedy it with his truth. The truth that he did not know anything anymore. That he would not have done to her what he once planned and an earnest request that she just listen.

She was horrified at his lie. Horrified at the army he created in the Fold and repulsed by his designs on her. Was she to be just another of his pawns? Faceless and devoid of humanity in his eyes? Marked by her power and usefulness alone?

His attempt at an explanation did not start well.

Perhaps he felt her betrayal and that only spurred him on to his own sense of betrayal at her hands. Why did she tell him nothing about herself? Should he not have kept this hidden from her considering she could not trust him enough to give him a shred of her life before this? A hint about her beginnings? A clue as to what she wanted with him? How dare she ask more of him when she was not willing to move toward him either?

He made no apologies. He had plotted and he planned for a day when a Sun Summoner arrived and he would not waste a moment attempting to usher the Grisha into a new age. They deserved a swift deliverance.

Not a moment to pause, even at the expense of her wishes and opinions? She had asked him this.

His face hardened at her loss of belief in him and he stated truthfully that he had watched his people suffer long enough.

She disappeared that night. She did not take the help offered by Baghra.

Aleksander sent his mother away for her betrayal. Unable to fully explain to her that she was completely wrong about him. That he had changed. Because the fact was, it could not be possible for him to truly change over the course of some fifty days. His mother likely was right about him anyway and he did not owe her—nor any twenty-something glorified sunbeam—insight into his doubts or beliefs. Nor the gray matter in-between.

The Sun Summoner escaped with the journal in hand, of that he was certain, and he forgot to go looking for it. He ordered her room be closed and locked without permitting anyone further access.

He knew she made off with it because it was a year and some odd months later that she first appeared to him.

Aleksander would have believed he was dead if she told him so. In that moment it seemed like the very thing he wished for most in the world was returned to his side. Wishes such as those are not granted to the living. Nor the living dead which was closer to his state of being.

He could touch her. He did. Laid a palm to her face and closed his eyes in disbelief. Only she responded with a pained look and stepped back and he realized no true paradise of his would begin that way.

The burning of his chest told him what this was and he scoffed in disbelief at the new level of hell that would torment his presence on earth.

She did not know she could do this either. She had said. That she would appear to him. She simply felt a pull in her chest and followed it.

Embarrassment, he realized, ran through them equally and he scrambled inside himself to pull the plug for the sake of them both.

She vanished.

Only he could not shake how or why this new development had occurred. Why after all the time spent burning for her after her immediate departure from him was she suddenly able to appear?

Could he follow through to her as well?

It turned out he could.

This ill-timed discovery was made not five months after the first apparition when he felt a tugging call in his chest and followed it with disgraceful haste.

He found her wrapped in the tight embrace of another man. Her eyes were closed as he pawed at her chest and kissed her neck.

The all-consuming rampage of agony which lit up Aleksander like a flare brought her attention to his appearance. Her eyes flew open.

Her hand was curled lazily to the back of this mans head and Aleksander recognized the amplifier for what it was; pieces of the antlers of a stag encircled her wrist.

An answer, at least, to this nightmare.

Sheer panic and humiliation shone from her eyes until it seemed she too located the off switch within herself. In the next moment he was careening back through himself.

He woke up in his bed still utterly enraged and riddled with an inexplicable grief which made the cavities of his lungs and stomach feel cavernous as he tried to draw breath.

That was the worst one.

That toughened him up as nothing else had since meeting her. Not her leaving, not her abhorrence of his history nor her apparent misery at being tied to him—nothing toughened him so keenly as that singular encounter.

Perhaps it was because it reminded him inescapably of the way he had held her on their last night together. Wrapped up in her body and feeling sure it was his home.

Sure enough that she was his to give her his name and pray to the Saints that he could brand it on every inch of her skin. That she would let him.

Images of another man filling that space between her legs shook him of his idle dreams with the force of being bucked from a horse and thrown into the belly of the Unsea itself.

Unfortunately for them both, these unexpected visits continued this way over the course of the next year until she finally gained enough to control over her end to put a stop to them.

It was for the best. When they saw each other there were only barbs exchanged and the shared hurt which had long passed its expiration date was now a thriving cess-pool of passionate resentment.

The Age of Silence emerged from there and Aleksander spent the better part of ten years on the war front reassuring himself of his own ability to care for the Grisha. Something that someone as young as this Sun Summoner could hardly understand.

He did that until that night when his exhaustion eroded his good senses into gravel. Ten years had not been a bad run.

This was the after.

The blue silk sang its rasp of fibers over his skin as he ran it between his fingers. The carefully constructed world he forged the last two years had severe weak spots.

His chest was still pounding for one thing. This silk talisman in his hands called to everything locked away inside that black hole and the most he could do was try to temper the release.

His Heartrenders were gone and their company would not be here to drive this away.

Inna was a bridge now burned. He had broken a truce with her and it could not be remade.

Finally, this was an event the General knew would not and could not be delayed with an immersion into work.

This lived beyond work. Beyond lust or friendship. Beyond the seemingly never-ending expanse of his loneliness. She and everything he felt for her lived in the Inevitable now. His personal Inevitable.

Perhaps he was beginning to understand.

This Inevitable lived outside the confines of time. It simply was and would be.

The black hole which consumed more and more of his inner being was breaking open. The shadows dissipated and again he simply tried to temper it into a slow release lest he feel that onslaught of emotions and memories too quickly.

Aleksander braced himself for pain.

It did not come.

He felt the shadow of pain. Then a shadow of grief. A shadow of his soul-numbing sadness. They did not consume him as he feared.

He felt a wave of joy too. Contentment and desire. Levity and lust.

He searched himself for what he knew to be at the center of it all, the thing which he wrapped around his end of the tether a couple years ago: his unyielding resentment. Resentment of her for what she did to him. For how she ruined him. Resentment for himself for being unable to overcome it.

What he found there was now a shriveled thing. Something that was once a juicy fat on which he could chew all day was now dry-hardened and tougher than tack. It was a static, uninteresting thing that even his deep-seated grievances could not live on.

Aleksander saw the Inevitable now. He understood it now. At least, partially.

When he grasped the tether that evening after hours spent collecting himself and setting his own expectations, it was with deliberate calm and confidence.

He pulled.

[danganronpa-ps]

[PS] CHAPTER 5 | Execution

CHAPTER 5 EXECUTION - Fuminori Odane. 7/20 students remaining.

Upon feeling Yoshirou embrace him, he tenses, and never relaxes. It's hard for him to do so, after all, knowing who he was and what he's done; he was a murderer through and through, no matter his intention, or his circumstance. A life was ended by his own two hands, and he was getting his due because of it. However, he does, with hesitant motions, return the hug. He feels as if it's more for the sake of doing so rather than to provide comfort or reassurance, because he knows that he can only give so little. Eventually he lets go, and releases himself from this final embrace. It's agonizing, but his inevitable fate was drawing near. He might as well let go on his own accord. Before he's sent off, he looks at everyone. It requires all his strength, but with a final push, he smiles warmly.

"Keep fighting, okay?"

Sketch + Flats: Apple Painting + Shading: Anya

[HOME IS WHERE THE HEART IS]

Before long, Fuminori finds himself enveloped in a cold, suffocating darkness that seemed to press on him from all directions, and fill every part of his body with a sensation of immense heaviness. By all means, he was met face to face with nothing but his own sense of self, but even that was beginning to ebb away with the numbing of his limbs and the fading of his consciousness, leaving behind only the sound of his heart beating wildly against his ears, and the fear that poisoned the blood that coursed through his veins. Perhaps this was what awaited him. Perhaps this was justice. Perhaps this was death. He could do nothing but wait and wonder with what little lucidity he had left, but just as his thoughts began to dissipate into a mere fog,

they suddenly converge, and he wakes up.

The first thing he sees is a blinding light, and the blurry shape of his own hand as he instinctively moves to block it from reaching his eyes. As his senses return to him, he feels his body pressing down against a soft bedding of weeds, and the gentle rays of the sun that shone through the sparsely covered sky, beating down against his being, wrapping him in a comforting blanket of warmth. For a moment, he feels as if he were in a dream, but clarity was next to return, and with it the strength to sit up, skin meeting a gentle breeze thereafter, and eyes, a vast sea of tall grass that swayed in waves with the push of the wind. He looks around, yet strangely, not with fear. The land was unfamiliar to him in every shape and form, but it instilled into him a comfort. A desire. A need to stand.

The horizon expands as he pushes himself to his feet. Now, he sees the subtle rolling of the land, and while abundant with greenery, the distance was another story, barren of anything but the plains the stretched out below him. By all means, there was nowhere to go, but not to Fuminori, for something beyond his sights seemed to pull at him, as if reaching out for an embrace, only to fall short. He’s hesitant; he did not know where to start, after all, and to set off of a journey without direction was something only a fool would do, but the wind then joins in its ushering, blowing past him, behind him, and towards a distant wish.

There’s a moment of doubt, but he eventually turns, and he walks. 

Soon, the sun sets, and the stars begin to shine brilliantly through the thin canopy of clouds while the moon, from the endless void above him, swathes him in its blue glow. Time passes, and his eyelids eventually grow heavy when he comes face to face with inevitable drowsiness, but he doesn’t cease his walking to rest, only pressing forward and onward, up until the sun peeks out from the horizon once again. 

Day. Night. Day. Night.

The scene around Fuminori begins to change, shifting and morphing as if subject to fantasy. The lush green fades into a dusty orange, and from the ground came trees that grew in his wake, sprouting leaves that just as quickly turned red and began to fall off of their branches, trailing behind him like a crimson storm. It’s only a matter of time before every last one falls, and the moment the final leaf leaves its abode, a biting cold quickly fills the air as if on cue.

The vibrant colors vanish under the dust that falls from the sky, which covers the once decorated scenery with a monotonous white. Nothing is spared from the cleansing storm that thickly coats the ground and bare the trees, turning everything into nothing more than dry, hollow shells of what they once were. It’s empty now, more than it ever was, but the farmer continues onward without pause nevertheless, in his persistent search for something in the distance.

Summer. Fall. Winter. Spring.

…

…Huh? How long has it been?

It was only when thousands upon thousands of all sorts of colors bloom from the dirt in the form of equally numerous flowers when reason returns to Fuminori. He pauses all of a sudden for the first time in hours, days, maybe even months, but as soon as he stops letting his legs carry him, it’s as if the blind force possessing him had suddenly left his body. With its departure, all sensation returns, and so does the weight of his journey on his body all at once. 

Suddenly, utter exhaustion and the intense ache of his legs sends him to his knees, while hunger and thirst grip at his being with an iron fist, afflicting him with an indescribable pain. He coughs and heaves as he curls up on the ground; it’s all overwhelming, crippling even. Everything strikes at him all at once and with an engulfing intensity, but it is before he finds himself drowning in this discordant sea that he pulls himself to shore.

He takes a deep breath, slow and steady. 

It sure feels like it, but he knows deep down that it’s not the end of the world. With this thought in tow, he lays there for a moment, maybe two, and then the worst of it subsides, allowing him to stumble back to his feet. He’s barely recovered before he sets his eyes forward, ready to trudge onwards all over again, but this time, something else shows itself to him, appearing in light of his tenacity.

Not so far away, there was a small house, old-seeming but well taken care of, and in front of it six blurry figures, all of which were wholly familiar. 

He runs forward before his thoughts could even begin to catch up to him. In that moment, all becomes clear-- he was chasing his desires, his purpose, his safety, his home. They were what his journey was for, and he was on his final stretch. Of course, how could he not see it? There was nothing more he wanted in the world than to be surrounded by what he loved the most, whether or not life was perfect. Perhaps he had lost sight of this simple philosophy along the way in his pursuit of stability, but now, through unyielding endurance, he is met with it once again. That was all that mattered to Fuminori, who’d suffered in its absence.

The faces of those he cherishes grow clearer when he draws closer. From a few feet away, he could see Naruki and Kayoko wave at him widely, while Kimito, Yoshika and his grandmother stand aside, far more subdued with their actions. In front of them all stands his mother, who remains still, but as soon as Fuminori stumbles over to their doorstep, she opens her arms, and with a big smile, exclaims,

“Welcome home, Fuminori! We all missed you, you know?”

He slows, and stares for a moment in disbelief, before he falls into the arms of his mother without a second thought, closing his eyes as he relaxes into her welcoming embrace. It’s something he missed so, so, dearly. The warmth of family, and the sound of their voices as they greet and tease him all the once; it might’ve been childish for him to call this moment as such, but he was finally home, where he belonged.

He made it.

Bliss graces him for the first time in a long while, and willingly he indulges, starved of anything even close to joy for so long, but before he’s able to fully come to terms with it,

the illusion quickly crumbles as a cold blade pierces his back.

It all happens too fast for him to even cry out, though reality is quick to fall on him as pain contaminates the short-lived joy. He begins to panic, just as anyone would. The arms that were once wrapped around his mother now flail as he grabs at the cloth on her back, and he pulls and pushes, but struggles to escape her grasp. Agony wracks him. Blood begins to fill his lungs and rob him of breath, and it hurts, but nothing stops his desperate attempts to wrench himself away. 

He claws, he twists, he pushes, and he tries his hardest, and yet he’s still weak and unable, even against his mother’s thin arms. Adrenaline does nothing. Resistance does nothing. He can do nothing. His silent gaze then begs the figures standing behind his mother for help, but they only watch, once happy expressions falling into that of resignation.

Indignant, he only continues to fight, but it’s too much. The sting of betrayal, the fear of death, the pounding of his wound, all add to the emotions that begin to mount and burst at the seams, and as tightly wound feelings unfurl into an ugly mess, he chokes out with a feeble breath,

“Why?”

A sudden stillness fills the air. It’s as if his words alone caused time to stop, but the pause does not last, as his mother begins to speak in a way that does not intend to mock, but to comfort.

“Don’t you think it’s about time you rest, Fuminori?”

Rest?

To rest was not what he wanted, he longed to say. He so desperately wished to say that she was wrong, that he could still persist, that he could keep going for all eternity if it meant that they could return to simpler times, but the only sounds that escape his mouth are weak coughs and gurgles. Frustrated, he grits his teeth, trying with all his remaining strength to prove her wrong, but the anger is quick to turn into tears once he realizes that he can’t. It’s stupid. It’s unfair. It’s pathetic, and he curses at himself, but from behind him, his mother’s expression only shifts. 

“…The world is cruel,” she says, “and efforts are not always met with success.” 

Her words are harsh, but her tone is gentle, loving even. She holds Fuminori close, cradling him as if he were still the small child he used to be, but this steady facade is quick to fall apart as her features begin to shake. She lays her head against his shoulder, and with great effort she murmurs, 

“I’m sorry.”

…Ah.

Fuminori was stubborn, but not dumb. He never thought that he would ever have to come face to face with it, and while he had refused to acknowledge it as an end for as long as he’s lived, he knew what this was, in all of its dreadfulness.

This was failure.

Regardless of whether or not Fuminori choses to continue fighting, his body soon refuses to listen to him; his arms fall to his side as the final traces of defiance drain away, and his legs then fail to support his weight despite his protests, causing him to sink to the floor in the arms of his mother, who keeps her hold, slowly lowering herself to the ground with her eldest son slumped over her shoulder. There’s silence, before he hears her begin to weep for him, and eventually, everyone he’s ever loved follow with their own sorrowful wails as they fall to their knees by his side, unable to do anything but watch the boy who’s succumbed to fate’s cruel hand wither away.

In his final moments, Fuminori thinks. He thinks about how he wanted to wipe his loved ones’ tears. He thinks about how he wanted give them a reason to be happy. He thinks about how he wanted to give them everything. He thinks about his many unfulfilled wishes, and his equally plentiful regrets. If he could, he’d chase all of these desires for as long as he had to if it meant that he’d someday come close to a happy ending, but the choice seemed to be his no longer. In the end, it was that of death, in all its finality. 

In his utter powerlessness, Fuminori could do no more but listen to his family’s cries, and lament about how terribile they sounded.

As his vision swims, so do the images in front of him, before they eventually fade along with the flame that one burned brightly within. He dies, but not of his own accord.

Perhaps it’s better this way.

[iamtheotherdarkknight]

Make Right (BruDick RP)

In Response to “It’s Killing Him” 

@notyouraveragedickgrayson

If Bruce had to choose a moment when things really started to fall apart, he’d say was the day he pulled Jason’s still, broken body from the rubble of that abandoned warehouse. That surreal, numbness lifting as Bruce peeled away Jason’s mask to see his face for the last time.

That’s when the pain really hit him.

It was just like watching his mother and father bleed out in an alley - except it hurt so much worse. Maybe it was because parents aren’t supposed to outlive their children… And blood or no blood, Jason was his first child.

Watching strangers lower his boy – his son – into the ground that day is what finally broke him. By the end of the funeral service, it was just him and Alfred. Like it’s always been. And perhaps that has been Bruce’s mistake – maybe this is the way things were supposed to be. Maybe this cruel act was the universe’s way of reminding him of his place. It didn’t matter how long he trained, how much he learned or how many resources he devoted to his mission, he had to walk this path in solitude. ‘… or else…’

That night, Bruce stopped fighting the darkness - the Batman consumed him.

The carnage that followed Jason’s death couldn’t be called justice. Just needless bloodshed that falling short of killing. Violence that knew no shame. Batman wanted the Joker and he didn’t care what he had to do to get him. Batman had to make him hurt the way Bruce hurt. Torture him the way he tortured Jason. And the darkness only crept in further the longer Joker hid. There was nothing left to separate Bruce from the Bat anymore, no anchor. Just all-encompassing rage and an empty pain he prayed never went away. He needed that ache more than he needed food or air; it was the only thing getting him out of bed anymore.

Bruce couldn’t blame Dick for staying away. He deserved better than an emotionally crippled, hypocrite. How could he dare hold Dick accountable for his actions towards Zucco? Bruce knew full well what would happen when he finally found Joker. Arkham wasn’t enough. Blackgate wasn’t enough. Bruce knew that, and still couldn’t stop himself. That was until a young Timothy Jackson Drake appeared at his door, venti Americano in one hand and a tablet with a litany of evidence of Bruce’s double life in the other. More than that, the kid deduced Dick and Jason’s identities as Robins.

It was strange. All the information the young man had amassed over what had to be years – the eerily familiar singlemindedness Tim displayed in his pursuit. And all he wanted to do with it was convince Dick to become Robin again. “Because Gotham needs Batman. And Batman needs Robin.” The words rolled off the boys’ lips like an obvious truth he repeated one to many times. Like all whole world’s issues were nothing more than an uncomplicated problem to be solved over a cup of coffee and a few strokes of the keys.

A petty part of Bruce expected Tim to fall apart after failing to reunite the ‘Dynamic Duo’, Nightwing making it clear that he could never take the Robin mantle again. Imagine the Wayne’s rare look of shock when Tim came down the stairs of the cave, fully fitted in an altered Robin’s uniform. And when Bruce tried to protest, Tim simply shrugged it off and told him it was Nightwing who suggested he take the uniform. Tim would just have to do until Bruce found an adequate replacement… And if he resisted Tim’s help, he’d blow Bruce’s cover right out of the water.

It’s been years since that fateful day. Bruce would have loved to say that in that, he’s gotten better over time. That he had found a way to overcome the wounded savagery that overwhelmed him. That he didn’t slip back into those dark moods and was learning to be whole after having his heart picked apart, racked with guilt, shame and fear he concealed in anger. But that would be a blatant lie and nights like this he just didn’t care enough to keep up the front.

Tonight’s patrol had been taxing for the Bats.

The night ended early with the successful sabotage of Black Mask’s weapon shipment, but the win didn’t come without a fight. Batman had no idea where Sionis found the revenue to hire the mercs he had, but there was no way the people he and Robin encountered on that freight were anything ex-military. If it weren’t for his own decades of experience and Red Robin’s help tonight, the mission would have failed.

Damien left the fight with a concussion, Bruce ordering the boy go upstairs and rest. Tim, per usual, proved more resistant to his first dismissal, but his cracked ribs and broken arm and leg won out in the end. Between that and the three days Tim spent without sleep, operating the Bat near impossible. Not at Bruce was fairing much better. By the time they returned to the cave, the man sported several burns, bruises, and gashes from the explosion. The only way Alfred could get Bruce that stay still long enough to clean and dress the wounds when Bruce was sitting at the computer, typing up the reports for tonight. That was when Bruce saw the comm flash on his screen. The call came from Dick’s encrypted number.

… But he could feel ice in his veins when he heard the voice on the call.

“It’s me.”

And Bruce knew that voice anywhere.

It was a sad fact, but because couldn’t bring himself to open-up to Tim or Damien the way he had with Jason. Bruce had let his guard down with the young man and let himself be a father to him – something he could never bare to be to Dick. He could never presume to fill the void John Grayson left in Dick’s heart when he passed. Seeing Jason grow as an individual and Robin, principled and proud in the face of adversity. It always filled Bruce with pride… Perhaps that’s why seeing Red Hood stand over a fresh corpse, baring the face long dead son left him numb. Seeing that viciousness in Jason, felt like a cruel sick joke. Bruce’s only solace in Jason death was knowing the boy he cared for so much left this world with cleaner hands then him. But seeing Jason returned from the dead to become what felt like a reflection of Bruce’s darkest hours.

I was like he failed to save him all over again.

“Where is he?” Bruce demanded, his voice low and fierce. The logical part of his brain knew better than to think Jason would hurt Dick. In fact, the only person Red Hood hadn’t reconciled with was Batman. But Bruce didn’t always think rationally when it can to his first ward. Jason knew that better than anyone….

“With me and doesn’t wanna talk.” He clarified, adjust his hold Dick’s shaking form. “I’m calling a truce, old man. Let us in.” There was the briefest pause before Bruce overrode the security protocols and allow Jason to enter the cave. Bruce didn’t know could have happen to have Jason, of all people, to knock on his door and call for a truce, but he would be prepared it all the same. In the five minutes in took Jason to traverse the tunnels to central area, Bruce had covered his injuries and erased at trace of weakness. Not that it mattered once Jason ascended the steps to his platform.

Bruce’s stoic façade fell apart the minute his eyes came upon a harrowed Dick, bundled up in Jason’s arms. It’d been months since the he last saw his former ward – the two of them not necessarily on speaking terms. In fact, he and Dick had been on the outs ever since Bruce budded in a case in in Blüdhaven, stating under no uncertain terms what he thought of his ‘partner’, Catalina Flores. The actively avoided one another ever since.

Before Bruce could demand an explanation, Jason locked his green-blue eyes with his silently warning. It was always amazing how the two of them could communicate with out uttering a single word. It was part of the reason they worked so well together. So, when Jason eyes narrowed and gestured past Bruce, the man stepped aside and waited for him on the other side of the room. Once Jason was finished propping Dick in the same chair Bruce had occupied before their arrival. Despite Jason’s best effort, Dick still slumped over the edge like a ragdoll. And he was coming apart at the seams. It’s all Bruce can do, his brain running through every possible scenario, trying to deduce a reason for Dick’s state. Jason could come to him soon enough.

“He a panic attack.” Jason finally explained, his pulling a cigarette out of his pocket, but not reaching for his zippo yet. A nervous tick, just wanting something to chew on while he organized his thoughts.

“…What triggered it?” His mentor asked cautiously, trying to understand. His former ward had attack in the past. Bruce would care for Dick through the worse of them in the beginning, whenever the boy would have a nightmare or close call. But this was the first he’s ever seen the Dick since he became an adult. He was practically catatonic.

“You.” Jason spat out, as if to apply it was obvious. “Like it or not, all of this,” Jason gestured toward Dick. “Is on you.”

Without give Bruce an inch, Jason unloaded, recounting all that Dick confided in him. The young man’s mental health was in shambles and Bruce, whether he realized it or not, had only made it worse pushing Dick away. Especially when Bruce fired Dick. The older man had to admit, he was blinded with anger the night he fired Dick and all but kicked him out of the manor. Anger, and if he were being totally honest, fear. Fear of the unknown as Dick grew into the man, he was becoming, fear for the way he was started to see Dick. Because in all the years he raised Dick, he couldn’t see him as a son. And that terrified him to the core. Bruce had only realized the terrible mistake he made when the heard the Dick pulling out of the driveway for the last time.

And then Jason and the bomb happened…

“Pull your head out of your ass, old man. Your hot-and-cold attitude might work for the ladies, but that man behind me, feels fucked up enough about wanting you without your mile-thick wall of bullshit. And I know you heard me. Now, something has to change because I am not kidding around when I say that this situation, this denial, whatever ego or pride is in the way of you two... its killing him”.

Bruce was at a loss. Looking at Dick again, he felt a surge guilt run through him. Was it his fault that Dick developed this infatuation with him? Did he somehow poison the younger man’s mind and manipulated him -

“Stop, I know what you’re thinking old man. Stop making this about you and just make this right. If either of you were as sick as you think, you won’t be so scared of this.” Jason hissed, making his way to the stairs from where he came. “He’s in your care. Make it right, Bruce.” Jason repeated, warning the older man.

Bruce waited until he couldn’t hear Jason’s footsteps, steeling himself before approaching Dick for the first time in so long. He looked so out of it. Depressed and tired and just… gone. Bruce would have given anything wrap his arm around him like he had back when his thoughts towards Dick were innocent. But right now, it wasn’t about what Bruce wanted. It was about what Dick needed.  So he knelt down on the ground before Dick so they were at eye level. Dicks eyes were downcast, but Bruce didn’t make a thing of it. Just spoke in the clearest voice he could manage, hoping that Dick would respond to him.

“Dick. Can you hear me? Do you know where you are?”

[herrings]

ruins, in manifestation

what he remembers last; the absence of light.

after she left, the harrowing murk of the tunnels caved upon him. as the torchlight melts away, so does pretend heroics. it wilters:  with his lungs, with the dimming hope for escape, with sharena. his fate is inscribed in slabs of oak and ancient history, in the ceaseless barrage against their barrier that returns as a muted echo on his end, and bone-chilling realization. in the crescent moon war, these halls were meant to protect. it’s in gruesome irony, linhardt had thought as he collapses, that they now call for his demise.

he should have said no.

he shouldn’t have agreed to go to the castle; he never wanted to compromise himself for somebody else’s war. he should have been more vocal about his concerns, he should have told her to weigh their priorities.

sharena said she would protect him.

she said so, because she believed them to be friends. she took his hand into hers, pulled the cotton over his eyes, and made him believe, too.

he should have told her: be realistic.

if only he had spoken up, if only he hadn’t let her optimism infect him, if only he declined the sense of justice that stirred within him: they would have been safe, together.

as he feels the last of his breath escape him, linhardt wonders: will his parents know? his mother must be back at the manor, preparing one of those letters he always thought were lame. his father keeps to his duties at the capital, his letters often ignored for greater, self-indulgent pursuits. he should have written back to them.

he should have written back to them.

with his last ounce of strength, as the hammering goes louder and louder, as the haunting echoes of sharena’s cries fill the void, he prays.

goddess,

         GODDESS!

….

      …

he stirs.

his limbs feel like lead. in a less vertiginous condition, he’d say it feels as if he were hit by nosferatu. his vision focuses— unfocuses— bleary as he groggily gazes into nothingness.

“...rena?” he murmurs, words slurred as his head flops to one side. the migraine is back, ramming against his skull. he feels the pressure— everywhere? not just his head, but his entire body twinges in muted agony. as the room swirls, the heir groans as he moves one arm to wipe the drool that’s accumulated at the corner of his lips--

he can’t.

something digs harshly into sensitive skin, causing linhardt to jolt. he falters down with a whine, gritting his teeth as he feels a seething pain emit from his chest. he moves his arm again, stronger this time, attempting to bear through until the ringing of chains clashes against his ears. it signals to him like funeral bells, fills the deafening quiet of the room as he ceases his actions. dread fills the heir’s stomach as he immediately falls rigid in realization-- he’s bound.

his heartbeat quickens, thundering as he feels his chest constrict once more. the heir gasps-- thrashes. metal catches onto thin wrists, his breath speeds as he flails. he tries to kick, tries to throw the entirety of himself forwards in desperate frenzy-- nothing. one last cry from his sore wrists and he stops, sagging back downwards in defeat. his palms tighten to fists, a last resort; silence.

no magic. the severity of the situation creeps upon him; there’s no use in struggling.

a pathetic whimper saturates the chamber as linhardt gives into his bounds. he’s quivering, he’s scared—

of course he is.

he’s never been kidnapped before.         (oh, goddess, he doesn’t even know what to do in this scenario--            does he stay quiet? does he fight his restraints? if his captor came, does he comply? does he play dead?                           no, that’s stupid-- he’s being irrational becuse of the panic-- they know he’s not dead, of course he complies--                            he thinks he needs to pee, would they let him pee? in private, not on himself?  )

his eyes snap open again, wild as they dart across the perimeters. it’s nauseatingly compact, damp-- he recognizes the door before him. his eyes widen as memories fill him: her echoing cries, the crumbling of dust as oak refuses to budge, and salvation that never came as weight began to press onto his lonesome figure.

his heart races--- faster, faster, fasterfasterfaster FASTER---

he’s still here.         here’s still here,                   in the tunnels.

he’s gasping, his hands writhe and he feels faint. he pulls his arms once more against his better judgement, against the fact he knows that he doesn’t harbor the strength to unbound himself and bites back a cry. in his hysteria, linhardt nearly misses it-- a pressure that fights against his chest. it pulses, too, in a different tempo. he chokes, feeling it grow more distinct as his fright begins to double. cold sweat drips down linhardt’s back, creeping down his spine as his breath becomes ragged. his vision quakes, purposely tilted up.

no.

linhardt gives a shaky inhale, then braces himself as he drags his gaze downwards. slowly.

the pulsating grows stronger,              stronger,                 until his eyes fall upon it:

          a red stone,           embedded deep into his chest.  

[shannaraisles]

A Convenient Princess - Chapter 2

The Inquisition has been disbanded. After several years of triumph and loss, Anne Trevelyan has made her decision. If Starkhaven wants a princess, then she will be that princess. Who said anything about love?

[Read on AO3]

Chapter Two

"No, Granger, I will not have people starving purely to provide refreshments for our guests. Revise the menu for the banquet, I am sure the Inquisitor and her companions will have no objection to a simple feast."

The seneschal's jaw seemed to lock in place for a moment as he held his prince's gaze.

"Your highness, there will be many guests of noble heritage at this occasion," he said carefully. "We must show them that the royal palace of Starkhaven is well able to match any court in Thedas."

"Not at the expense of our people," the prince told him. "They know that I am marrying the Herald of Andraste, the chosen of the Maker. They should not expect largess in such a case. Andraste cares as much for the poor as for the rich; I will not insult her Herald by causing harm on a day of joy."

He rose from his seat, nodding to his seneschal.

"See it done, Granger," he ordered. "It will not be long now before you have a princess to serve."

"As your highness wishes."

The seneschal bowed, sensing his dismissal, and stepped away, leaving the prince alone in his study for the time being. From outside came the sound of the bowers being erected in the square for the wedding that would soon take place, punctuated by the chatter of the men and women working together to raise the slats and wind the flowers about them. Starkhaven was already celebrating, in its own way. All they needed now was for the bride to arrive, and the stage would be set for one of the greatest moments of the city's history.

Sebastian Vael, Prince of Starkhaven, let out a slow breath, resting his hands on the stone sill of the window.

"Maker, what am I doing?"

In a matter of days, he would be a married man, taking the next step in his affirmation as the ruler of Starkhaven, on the way to providing a new generation of his family to continue that rule after his death. But once upon a time, he had made a different vow ... a vow to take no bride but Andraste in the service of the Maker. He had turned his back on the other vows he had taken with it not once, but twice, yet this one he had always kept. Until now.

His advisors had brought up the subject of marriage several times in the past few years, but he had always stood resolute against it, planning to nominate an heir at some point in the future. And then had come their abortive attack on Kirkwall during the crisis of Corypheus. With their forces bolstered by the Inquisition, the Kirkwall guard had not only beaten them back, but Sebastian himself had been injured. A few inches to the left, and he would have been dead on the battlefield. For days, he had been feverish as the healers worked to draw him from the precipice of the Void, and upon waking, he had found himself filled with a renewed purpose.

Why had he been brought so close to death in pursuit of justice against the city that had harbored Elthina's killer? Perhaps it was because what he pursued was not justice, but revenge, something the Grand Cleric had never wanted him to take in the first place. The Herald of Andraste, the Inquisitor herself, had sent forces to protect Kirkwall; if she believed his cause to be unjust, how could he argue? She was the Chosen of the Maker's Bride. Her word must be taken as the word of Andraste herself. His duty was to his own city, to give them stability and good governance. He needed a wife, an heir. He needed some way to break off hostilities with Kirkwall that would not result in his own assassination by the nobles who were eager for war.

The solution had been suggested by Flora Harimann, of all people. Though it chafed him to admit it, her support had been invaluable since he had reclaimed his title, and her advice was, more often than not, absolutely correct for the situation presented to her. It was she who had pointed out that if he were to marry the Herald of Andraste, he could assuage his guilt for breaking the last of his Chantry vows and be provided with a cast-iron reason for ending the war with Kirkwall in one fell swoop. That Anne Trevelyan was one of the most sought-after brides in Thedas following the death of Corypheus could not be denied; that mere fact that it was rumored the new Emperor of Orlais was also seeking her hand in marriage simply made his nobles all the more eager to secure the match for Starkhaven. They had openly agreed to the one condition the Inquisition had laid out for them - the cessation of hostilities toward Kirkwall. After all, in return for that one concession, they were getting one of the most respected women in Thedas for their princess, a woman who had connections in every country they could care to name, including Tevinter.

Sebastian let out a sigh, turning away from the window. His eyes fell upon the belt buckle his parents had gifted him when he had first entered the Chantry. Their last gift to him, as it had turned out, though it could be argued that they had saved his life by sending him away. A part of him wished he could have died with them, that he could have been spared the intrigues and schemes of this life. But he had made a choice, and part of that choice had been to accept that he must marry to continue on the line. He could only be thankful that the woman who most suited his needs had been inclined to agree to his suit.

Anne Trevelyan. He had never seen her in person, and the portraits he was certain did not capture her spirit. Reports said that she was beautiful, despite the marring of her form by the elven mage; beautiful and intelligent. Her letters were eloquent and warm in tone, though they had spoken of little but shared interests and hopes for the future. He knew he would have to apply himself to learn more about her when they were, at last, face to face. But the loyalty of her companions spoke well of her - that she could count Divine Victoria as one of her friends was nothing short of admirable. Varric, too; for all that they had been on opposite sides since the beginning of the chaos, Sebastian respected the dwarf, and knew he did not give his friendship unwisely.

Of course, there had been the unexpected objection of Bann Aedan Trevelyan to the proposed match, but it seemed that his objection was more that he expected to gain from his sister's elevation and return to Ostwick than that he thought the marriage unworthy of her. Indeed, Anne's advice to simply ignore her brother had been surprisingly effective. It was sad to think that their family were not close, but not wholly a surprise. Sebastian himself had not had the closest relationship with his own family. He could only hope to do better by his own children.

Still, if everything continued on course, then in a single week, he would be a married man. He would have to indulge that part of himself he had been so scrupulous about ignoring for a decade or more. And if he was honest ... that scared him. He had not been with a woman in all that time, though the temptation had always been there. Could he restrain himself enough? What if he hurt her? He did not think he would be able to live with himself if he gave hurt to the Herald of Andraste. And what of her? Would she be able to engage in such acts without shame or regret? He hated not knowing.

"Your highness!"

Snapping out of his thoughts, Sebastian looked toward the door of the study as it was pushed open to reveal one of his personal guard, a young lad newly given his armor by the name of Drake.

"What is it?"

"News from Kirkwall, Prince Sebastian," the lad said, a little out of breath. "The Inquisitor landed there four days ago, and she's on her way here. Expected to arrive in two days, your highness. Captain Markel told me to tell you quick as I could, ser."

"You've done well, Drake," Sebastian assured the lad with a smile. "It seems our new lady will be with us in good time. Thank you for letting me know."

"Yes, ser!"

Practically vibrating with pride at having delivered his message without incident, young Drake rushed from the room to return to his post once more, leaving the prince to look out toward the bustling square.

So ... Anne was on her way. In a matter of days, he would finally look into her eyes, touch her hand, stand at her side and know her as more than a legend and a kindness in letters. But was he truly ready to make her his bride?

[determinationisnotcrash]

‘Like Gunbuster, but with Dudes’

I wanted to try and capture the passionate, energetic tone of a scene from one of my favourite OVAs in writing, so I attempted it with characters from the GB Discord I’m on.

Kit belongs to @topazshadowwolf

Impact belongs to me.

The scene this is a reference to is this one!

“I-I… I can’t go on…!”

“Impact!?”

The raptor’s jet abruptly halted, formation breaking as Kit unintentionally overtook him in this strange space. Hurriedly fumbling with the controls, the half-Blaster turned on the commlink to reveal his friend huddled in the cockpit, trembling.

Concern for the larger, yet younger skeleton welled up inside him. What had happened to make him break down all of a sudden…!?

Impact’s voice was usually either calm and controlled, or completely over-the-top and bursting with energy. But now… “I can’t do it anymore…! It’s useless… all useless…!”

Flashes of what the Papyrus described to him of his home timeline ran through his mind. It was likely that this wasn’t something sudden – rather, it had been festering inside him ever since he first mutated. “Impact…”

“Even if we succeed in our task, there’s no point to it all! The Ray Empire’s still choking the Earth! With the Emperor hoarding all the power for himself, he could easily rip away everything from us at any moment!”

The beast brought his misshapen forepaws in front of his face, clenching and unclenching them. At the stage he was at now, they could barely be called hands anymore. “I’m trapped in this disgusting body, which could give out and degenerate at any moment! And…!”

He slumped against the controls with a pathetic-sounding ‘thunk’. “There’s no one waiting for me back in my home world! My friends and family are all gone… and there’s nothing I can do about it. With neither past nor future… I may as well just die!”

Kit pressed his paw-like hand against the monitor, as if trying to physically reassure his friend. “Impact… please get yourself together. If this continues, we’re both done for!” As if to emphasise this, the massive aircraft violently rattled, like caught in turbulence. Their enemies had taken advantage of Impact’s hesitation, bombarding the two with relentless attacks.

Regardless of his growing panic, Kit continued, “While you may never be able to return to the past, you don’t know what the future holds yet. You could have the chance to experience more happiness than ever before… but if you can’t take that step forward, you won’t be able to even try!

Now the lights within the craft were starting to flicker. More and more nightmarish shapes were latching onto their vehicles, trying to crush them. “This conflict… it’s grown beyond the scope of a single world. If we let the demons from between dimensions devour any of our worlds… no one will have a future! The entire universe – reality itself – will be eaten up by the Void, and not even Determination will be able to bring it back!”

Impact’s sobbing ceased, his body having gone still. Hope starting to well up inside him, Kit pressed through with his encouragement. “Doc, Sabre, Hikaru, Red… all of them are counting on us to get through this! They chose us to be the ones who would venture through the gap, stop all the demons, and save everyone!

“If we fall here, everything that’s happened up ‘till now… everything that will happen… it’ll all be for nothing! For the sake of our world… for the sake of the people living within it… we need to go on!”

The half-Blaster voice cracked, putting every last drop of his emotion into his plea. “So please, Papyrus…! Fight!”

…

…

…

After what felt like an eternity… Impact rose up. His eyes were filled with resolve. “Kit… I understand. We fight together!”

“Impact…!” Despite the dire situation, the Sans couldn’t help but grin. Eagerly, almost as if on autopilot, his arm shot to the special ‘MODE’ lever. From ‘transport’ mode to ‘battle’ mode! “I’ll focus on the weaponry and energy output. You just do your thing with the controls. I’m behind you all the way, bro!”

Kit’s grin was contagious, a huge toothy smile spreading across the Papyrus raptor’s maw. “Alright…! LET’S DO IT!” With a burst of light, the demons clinging to the planes were blown away! The two vehicles drifted closer to each other, glowing as the fusion sequence started.

As the machines combined, Impact’s thoughts wandered back to his Sans and Undyne. Sans… Undyne… watch me, from wherever you are. I’ll see this battle through to the end. 

The planes underwent several shifts as they merged together, each movement far faster and more complex than the untrained eye could follow. After mere moments, the light disappeared to reveal a humanoid shape. Two flames had united to form an inferno! The True Dimension Knight, warrior of justice! Defender of the innocent! Saviour of all Earths… had finally arrived!

Like moths drawn to a flame, dozens- no, hundreds of skeletal dragon-like demons swarmed towards the steel titan, rushing through the interdimensional space like ravenous sharks in pursuit of their prey.

The Blasters’ response? “Impact, remember the plan. We just need to make it to the centre of the Dimensional Gap. That would be… right past these guys.”

“Kit, shall we use ‘that’?”

Kit let out a genuine chuckle. “Heh, I thought you’d never ask.”

“UUUUUUOOOOOOHHHH---!” A battle roar exploded out of the main pilot as he launched the machine up into the ‘air’.

Within the mechanical knight’s hands, a giant sword materialised! A glowing golden weapon, illuminating the darkest of nights and cleaving through evil!

“ULTIMATEEEE…”

“HEAVEN-MEETS-EARTH…”

“SWOOOOOORD!”

True to the second pilot’s philosophy, the strongest attack came first. The blade of light cleaved through the abominations effortlessly, leaving titanic explosions in its wake. It slowed down in time to reach a floating chunk of rock, using it as a temporary foothold.

Despite the sun’s rays being unable to pierce this space, it nevertheless glinted off the mech’s armour. Its arms folded, announcing to the entire battlefield, “Don’t assume that this Dimension Knight is some random machine! Everyone’s legacy, from the past…”

His brother’s companionship.

Undyne’s fiery passion.

Alphys’ enthusiasm.

Toriel’s and Asgore’s warmth.

The compassion Frisk showed him, even if it was fake.

“Everyone’s dreams, for the future…”

Sabre’s kindness.

Doc’s care.

Red’s support.

Hikaru’s hope.

“THEY ALL LIE WITHIN IIIIIIT!”

The draconic helmet of the suit parted, revealing a mechanical Blaster head. It looked and functioned just like the real thing! An immense beam surged forth from the maw, blowing apart the formless monstrosities in their path with searing, pure magical energy.

A beep on Kit’s monitor alerted him to more danger. “Heads up, Impact!”

“Ah…!” Following his friend’s warning, he turned the mech’s head upwards, the blast coming with it. When he could see the giant meteor-sized ribcage bearing down on him… he had already bisected it. But that wasn’t the end of the demons’ counterattack. This time, Impact’s monitor was the one that flashed with the warning sign. “Kit! Incoming from below!”

“You got it! Beam Spikes, scatter!” The tail of the draconic mech whipped around with a slash, firing out several spikes as it did! With a force rivalling the most powerful of mother nature’s storms, the leviathans rising up from below were rendered harmless pincushions.

All this was enough to even inspire Kit, filling him with the energy to utter another speech of his own. “No matter how thick or smothering the darkness choking this world threatens to become… our hearts will only shine brighter!”

Impact would have given him an affirming pat on the back if he could. “Couldn’t have put it better myself! No matter what gets in our way, we’ll break through!”

As if in response to this challenge, wall-like beasts, living shields approached… their intent to hit them like trucks… but Impact wouldn’t allow that. “ROTATION LASERRR!” In a slick, fluid motion, he threw his shield and fired a sword beam, diffracting it off the spinning shield to slice through them all like butter.

Eager to seize upon this opportunity, he retrieved his weapon and rushed forward… but perhaps, he was a bit too eager. “Impact, pull back! We’re going too fast!”

Hundreds of blasts, made of choking darkness and equal in intensity to their own, obliterated the spot where the Blasters’ mech… used to be. Kit’s warning let Impact pull back just in the nick of time, separating the Dimension Knight into its component aircraft and evading the attacks!

Kit kept watch over the readings on his screens. Dodging everything while setting up a counterattack was a hassle… but pushed onwards by his motivation for a bright future, he could do it. Keeping one eye on the enemies outside, while the other eye on the system inside, he yelled to Impact, “Doesn’t look like the concentrated fire will let up! You know what to do next.”

Within the other aircraft, Impact grinned. If the enemies wouldn’t give them a break… then they would just have to make one! The jets boosted forwards as they re-combined, the humanoid figure already in a battle-ready stance. “HOLY GREATSHIELD!”

The knight charged, thrusting its shield forward as it smashed through the demons like a living battering ram. From a zoomed-out view, it would be as if the off-white clusters of twisted bones and teeth made way before this golden meteor!

Another boast left the pilot’s maw. “You think that’ll be enough to deal with the likes of US!?” Lowering its shield to expose its mouth, another blast from the mech tore through the unholy creatures.

Kit took advantage of this break in the enemies to check his display. “We’re almost at our destination! Just a little more to- WHOA!”

He barely had a second to react before he found himself almost literally holding up the heavens. A titanic planet, covering his entire vision, quickly came down on him. As if the mindless enemies were crowing, ‘There’s more where that came from,’ another living planet of bones and spikes rushed up at the mechanical knight from below!

Even the 250m steel titan started to struggle from this, the joints of its limbs creaking ominously as the pressure intensified… However, in stark contrast, the pilots were more composed than ever. Impact lightly chuckled, carrying the same air as someone who saw mildly interesting sight on a roadtrip. “Who would’ve guessed? That they could even become celestial bodies.”

Kit winked at his co-pilot. “The power of these things is truly astronomical, eh?” The Sans casually pressed a button, producing a blast to hit the ground beneath the mech. It didn’t even scratch the vast object.

“Not bad.”

“However… our own power – that of righteous hearts – is not to be underestimated!” Impact briefly closed his eyes, steadying his breathing… before announcing the mech’s true ultimate technique. “LIMITLESS LIIIIIIIGHT!” The golden glow about the mech intensified further, to almost blinding levels! It even burned his own body, every inch of him sizzling with pain… but for how much Impact was hurting, it hurt their enemies hundreds of times more.

With one last surge of energy, everything in the Blaster duo’s nearby area violently shook, before exploding in a flash of light! When all the smoke and flames cleared… the True Dimension Knight was still standing.

However… so were their enemies. If even one demon was left alive, it could reproduce endlessly and create more spawn. That was why…

“We’ve made it to the core. You ready, Impact?”

“Yes!”

The mech was powered by Light itself. If they overloaded it here, at the centre of the demon’s spawning grounds, it would certainly spell the abominations’ ends.

Kit entered the code for the self-destruct sequence, and the change was almost instantaneous. Unlike the golden, passionate aura that the two pilots could make it exude, it now took on an almost ethereal glow, indicating it wasn’t much longer for this world.

As the glow engulfed its body, it also spread to the space around it. The ghastly, roiling purplish-black of the Void began to clear, peeling away to reveal a pleasant, gentle blue sky beneath.

Kit and Impact couldn’t stay to appreciate the sights, though – it was still unknown what the Light would do to normal creatures. A lone jet, much smaller than the massive crafts that formed the mech, emerged from the Dimension Knight’s chest and sped away.

The remaining hellbeasts shrieked and writhed as they fizzled away into nothingness, like ghouls that vanished with the coming of dawn.

Impact turned his head back, looking for one last time at the remains of the creation that helped carry them so far. “Thank you for everything, Dimension Knight. This is farewell…”

Flying back to the portal from which they entered, the warriors returned towards their world… towards where their friends were waiting.

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Patronscan wants cities to require bars to scan your ID with its service so it can maintain a secret, unaccountable blacklist

Patronscan is the leading provider of ID-scanning/verification services to bars and restaurants, and one of its selling points is that it allows its customers to create shared blacklists of undesirable customers who can then be denied services at every other establishment that uses its services.

Susie Cagle (previously) delves into Patronscan's practices and the risks the company presents to privacy and fairness. For example, Patronscan's database contains the names, addresses and other details of people who patronize LGBTQ bars, or fundraisers for political causes. What's more, Patronscan allows law enforcement to access its records without warrants.

More disturbing is the creation of shared blacklists of undesirable customers: bar staff can block anyone for any reason, and while Patronscan's product allows staff to list a reason ("Assault," "disturbance," "drug possession," "drug trafficking," "fake ID," "fighting," "gang violence," "public intoxication," "sexual assault," "theft") there is no need to provide evidence for these claims, and your due process or right of appeal are based on the company's terms of service, not your constitutional rights. Once you're added to Patronscan's blacklist, you are barred from any participating establishment.

But even if there was some system of private justice you could appeal to, it might not matter: bar staff can also add people to the blacklist and give the reason as "other" or "private" -- 60% of the people blacklisted in Sacramento were blocked for "private" reasons.

This opens up the door to widespread, illegal discrimination by racist, sexist, homophobic or transphobic bar staff, whose blacklistings will ripple out to many other establishments (Patronscan has captured scans from 200,000,000 people in sixty countries).

Patronscan has an aggressive lobbying arm, which has successfully lobbied cities like Pomona and Sacramento to adopt mandatory scanning laws for licensed establishments. Patronscan also deployed its lobbyists to attempt to scuttle a California privacy law that limits the retention and sharing of its data -- the law passed, and Patronscan is currently in violation of it.

Once scanning is in place in a city, it doesn't take long for the databases it creates to swell to terrifying size: in the first five months of 2018, Patronscan scanned 561,087  people in Sacramento -- the latest numbers put Sacramento's population at only 501,901 (!).

There's many reasons to worry about this kind of unaccountable private blacklisting, especially when it deputizes itself to serve as an arm of the state and law-enforcement, the sort of thing that causes real anxiety when it's tried in China. In an environment where immigration status and other basic facts of peoples' lives puts them at risk of loss of liberty, family separation and arbitrary detention, collecting, retaining and sharing data about our everyday activities represents a kind of depraved indifference to the human consequences of the pursuit of profit.

There's also the risk of a breach or leak, or of unethical employees using the company's stored data in unethical ways, from stalking to identity theft. This might be the easiest leverage point for curbing the company's worst practices: simply by creating a breach law that entitled victims to statutory damages from data leaks, states or the feds could make businesses like Patronscan uninsurable unless they drastically curtailed their data collection and retention. With New York and California attempting wide-ranging privacy protections, and with Europe already there, companies like Patronscan might have numbered days: one good lawsuit or enforcement action could trigger insurance audits of their business practices that would force them to enact deep product changes, or forge ahead with no insurance, something that would scare off any investor or shareholder, and pose real hazards for anyone who joins the company's Board of Directors.

There are already businesses that could fill the void if this were to come to pass: Patronscan competitor Idscan.net lets bars verify IDs and keep records on which patrons have been barred from their premises, without sharing or retaining that data (regrettably, Idscan.net is also operating a facial recognition database as part of its product offerings).

https://boingboing.net/2019/06/05/robo-jim-crow.html

[whimpering-hearts]

We've seen yandere 2P Poland but what about yandere 1p Poland?

Dominant Yandere Type: Protective

It should be no surprise that Feliks is a protective-type yandere. After all, he has spent most – if not all – of his life protecting Western Europe from the nefarious and cruel ambitions of eastern nations, such as Mongolia and Russia, and the more southerly Turkey. On top of this, he has acted as a stalwart defender for the rights of others, assisting with America’s bid for independence, as well as other nations’ struggles for freedom, and opening his lands as a safe haven for Jewish persons.

He has also been a staunch supporter of post-Soviet countries – because, like, fuck Ivan, you know? – with special attention paid to Kateryna – because, you know, Ivan totes won’t get off her dick, like, damn boy, give the girl some independence. And, indeed, around his Slavic cousin you’ll find Feliks’ protective nature amplified to the max because, seriously, not everything belongs to you, Ivan, like, please fuck off, ‘kay? Thanks, boo.

With you, Feliks’ protective nature manifests In the following ways:

ღ If he thinks you’re being mistreated in any way, he’ll stand up to the perpetrator without a second thought.

ღ If he thinks anyone has wronged you, he’ll give them an earful. It’s not that he expects you to receive special treatment, but he does expect you to be treated right and fair.

ღ He can and will be absolutely relentless in his pursuit of justice. Remember, during WWII, Polish pilots often lost planes due to pursuing enemy aircraft over the North Sea until they ran out of fuel.

Auxiliary Yandere Type: Clingy

Feliks is used to being surrounded by his loved ones. In his earliest years, it was him and his Slavic relatives. In his mid-years, it was him and Erzsébet. And then, for the longest time, it was him and Toris that faced the world – but the end of WWI led to an increase in conflict between Feliks and his best friend, and Toris’ rejections of proposed reunifications felt like a slap in the face.

Since WWI, Feliks has kept Toris at arm’s length and worked on developing his relationships with others to fill the void left behind. Perhaps the closest he has come to recreating that strong, unyielding bond is with his renewed relationship with Kaz, his “little brother” and the other half of Poland – until you came along.

Once you enter in a relationship with Feliks, be it platonic or romantic, expect excessive demands of your time and attention. Feliks’ primary love language is Quality Time, and spending time with his loved ones is what renews and refreshes the bond he’s forged with them. He doesn’t have to be your only friend – or boyfriend – but he does expect to be your first priority.

Tertiary Yandere Type: Controlling

Feliks doesn’t mean to be controlling and if you accuse him of being such, he’ll adamantly deny it! And while Feliks does not overtly control you through his words, he does covertly control you through his actions. Please him, and you’ll be his best friend, his closest confidant, his most cherished person. Displease him, and you’ll feel it through relational aggression.

He has a very black-and-white way of thinking, with no tolerance for shades of grey, and you’re either with him 100% or you’re against him 100%. This is why he struggles to this day with Toris’ rejection of a reunification – they were supposed to be the very best of friends, like, live together and die together, you know? But, no, someone, like, wanted to move out and shit – lame!

The silent treatment is Feliks’ go-to “punishment” – and, again, I have to emphasize that he doesn’t do it with planned intention. If you’ve hurt his feelings, or slighted him in some way, his natural reaction is to push you away and isolate himself from you for self-protection. But, grovel at his feet, and he’ll forgive you – but never will he forget.

Inferior Yandere Type: Delusional

Feliks isn’t delusional in that he thinks you two are destined to be together – although you do make a hella cute couple, he’s just saying – or in that he overlooks your every flaw. He is, however, delusional in the sense that he holds you to unrealistically high expectations.

Like with his other friends and family, Feliks expects you to agree with him 100% of the time. He expects you to have the exact same values as he does and leaves little room for nuances or exceptions. This is why he and Nataliya are on a cool-off period – she expressed some anti-Western sentiments that made him go, “Bye, Felicia!”

Abhorred Yandere Type: Possessive

Maybe it’s because he’s stood as a natural enemy against nations who think they are someone entitled to other nations – Ivan – but Feliks abhors possessive behavior. Like, have some self-esteem and realize you, like, don’t own a person because that’s slavery – which, bee-tee-dubs, is way out of fashion, Ivan, and looks awful with that haircut.

Thus, while Feliks can be demanding of your time, and while he expects to be your number one priority, he’ll never expect to be your only priority. He wouldn’t dream of giving up his friends or family for anyone, so he’ll never ask you to give up yours. Just make him feel like he’s your favorite and he’ll be happy.

Yandere Behaviors:

ღ Feliks will stalk you on social media – the same as he does with all his friends, because he has to snag that first like – but he won’t stalk you in real life because he’s not a creeper, thanks!

ღ Feliks will not kidnap you because weird much? So, expect a traditional romance built on a strong foundation of friendship.

ღ Feliks will kill if he has to, but only as a last resort and only if the person deserves it (e.g., they attack or physically harm you) because it’s super messy and also, like, way rude. Plus, Kaz gets wicked salty if he finds dead bodies on the property.

ღ Feliks isn’t the type of yandere to punish you beyond the silent treatment, which he inflicts on anyone and everyone who totally deserves it. Hurting you, punishing you, goes against his protective feelings for you and is something that creep Ivan would do.

[televisedbirdwatching]

Getting a Handle on Portland Skateparks with GIS

BACKGROUND:

For the past few months, I’ve been taking courses in Geographic Information Systems (GIS) at Portland Community College. GIS work involves a lot of computer screen time, so I was thankful to have easy access to the Holly Farm skatepark on my way home. Class ended at 9pm, so if I hurried to the park I would have a half hour to skate before the sun fully set behind the hills. These short skate sessions were an important part of my day: after work and class I was thankful for some physical activity and unstructured time.

Holly Farm Skatepark in SW Portland. Photo Skaters for Portland Skateparks. 

I believe skateparks are a crucial recreational resource. Of course, I’m not an impartial judge. For me, close access to the Holly Farm park was something to look forward to after class. But for many others, it’s worth considering that skateparks represent something far more important.

In urban planning language, the term “third places” is used to describe the places in our lives that are not work nor home. Sociologist Ray Oldenburg coined the term in a 1989 book called “The Great Good Place.” He wrote that the neighborhood grocery store, the corner bar, and the coffee shop are the places where ‘weak’ social connections are made, introducing people to community members who would otherwise be strangers (A brief note that ‘weak’ refers to ‘casual’ more than ‘insignificant’). He called third places the “heart of a community’s social vitality,” and foundational to grassroots democracy. Without them, people live isolated lives and take on narrow perspectives.

Much of the dialog on third places focuses on places that are appropriate to the lives of adults. There’s no reason to suspect third places might be any less important to youth. In fact, youth are traditionally excluded from the most common third places (too young to enjoy caffeine, not old enough for bars) leaving them fewer total available third places. In addition, youth contending with urban sprawl may have difficulty accessing third places, even if they exist. Even in 1989, Oldenburg saw that third places were on the decline; in recent years, virtual spaces have filled these voids. This puts youth in a particularly vulnerable position: there were less third places to begin with, there are less now than before, and accessing the few that are left can be challenging.

I’m concerned about youth-appropriate third places in general, and I admit skateparks are only one such place. However, I believe that skateparks offer particular and unique benefits for youth. Skateboarding offers an experience in unstructured play, different from organized sports. Skaters are free to find their own lines in a skatepark, linking features and tricks in a way not enforced (but informed) by the design of the park itself. Skateboarding also teaches youth how to fall and get back up, and fosters obsessive persistence in the pursuit of self-structured goals: many tricks require hundreds of tries for one “make.” Skateboarding is an individual sport at its core, but skateparks are environments where supportive communities can be actualized. Friends give advice and assistance, and skaters learn how to learn from their peers. Not only is there personal satisfaction to be gained from landing a trick, there is also the enthusiasm and encouragement coming from your peers at the park.

A photo from Skate Like A Girl’s yearly competition, Wheels of Fortune. Photo Thrasher Magazine.

Skateboarding can also create support in communities that might face steeper slopes. Skate Like a Girl is a national nonprofit that pushes for a more inclusive skate community and shares the joy of skating with (primarily) womxn-identifying youth. From their website:  "Women and girls who learn how to skateboard learn more than just how to balance; girls who skateboard learn to push their own personal boundaries, test their capabilities and in the process, teach and encourage others. It is our firm belief that these attributes reap rewards outside of the skatepark and our immediate community. Girls and women who believe in themselves are more likely to raise their hand in the classroom, advocate for themselves in the workplace and attract the company of those who respect them.”

Skateparks are a particular type of third place for youth where they can make ‘weak ties’ that become friendships, participate in free, unstructured play, and develop skills and personal attributes that will serve them throughout the course of their lives. In addition, skateboarding has a comparatively low financial barrier to entry than other sports and activities.

Since skateparks are so important, it might be surprising to know that Portland has only eight officially-recognized, public skateparks: one for every 81,000 Portlanders. What might be more surprising is that the city of Portland was (most likely) the first in the world to have a comprehensive Skatepark System Plan. Local nonprofit Skaters for Portland Skateparks began the process in 2001, and legislation was passed in 2005. The plan called for 19 total skateparks of varying size from “neighborhood spots” to a central “destination” skatepark. In the 14 years since, only eight of the 19 have been built.

Skaters for Portland Skateparks’ System Map. Built skateparks in green, planned skateparks in red.

In my GIS class, we were asked to pose a research question, and answer that question with spatial analyses. I wanted to look at the current distribution of skateparks in Portland, and develop a characterization of who does and does not have access to this critical recreational resource. Here are a set of maps that help tell that story.

MAPS:

Borrowing a term from the food justice world, I wanted to create a map of “Skatepark Deserts” in Portland. The first step was creating the dataset- I mapped point features for each skatepark, and included some additional information (if built or planned, if built, what year). Next, I added information from the census bureau showing census tracts in the Portland area. This map was created to show each tract’s distance from a public skatepark. Dark shades of blue are tracts that contain or are within 1 mile of skateparks. Green scrubland represents a 2-mile, semi-accessible radius. Orange areas are “Skatepark Deserts,” more than 2 miles from a recognized skatepark.

Skatepark Deserts in Portland, OR. Map created by me.

If you’re interested in the GIS methodology, here you go. If not, you can skip to the next section. The first category, the darkest blue areas, were created by selecting all tracts that contained one of the skatepark points. The other analyses were performed using the centroids of each tract. For example, the light blue areas are census tracts whose centroid is within a 1 mile buffer of the skatepark point. The green areas, a 2 mile buffer. The desert scrublands are polygons that have at least some area within the 2 mile buffer. The desert sands are polygons that are completely outside the 2 mile buffer.

The first map showed the geographic distribution of skateparks in Portland, but it doesn’t tell a very complete story. I wanted to look at some of the demographic data and develop a fuller picture of who has access to skateparks. I created two maps using the same census tract blocks, but this time displayed them on the basis of poverty rate and median family income. The first map shows the percentage of families living at or below the poverty line: darker colors represent more families experiencing poverty. Census tracts containing skateparks are highlighted. For the most part, skateparks are sited in locations where they serve areas with high poverty rates. The smallest tract poverty rate is Glenhaven park at 11%, but neighbors two tracts with higher poverty rates. Ed Benedict, Luuwit, and Gateway are sited in areas with high poverty rates, between 28 and 30%.

Poverty Rate of skatepark-containing census tracts in Portland. Map created by me.

I also created a map showing median family income in each of these tracts. Darker colors represent greater amounts of income. The average of the median family income of all tracts containing skateparks is roughly $62,000. Southwest Portland is an interesting anomaly: the Holly Farm and Gabriel parks are in areas with close to six-figure median incomes, yet also have 14 and 19% poverty rates.

Median family income of skatepark-containing census tracts in Portland. Map created by me.

More GIS methodology: if you’re interested in the categories I used to classify this data, let me know and I can go into more depth!

So far, Portland has done a good job of siting skateparks in locations where they serve low and middle income communities. However, the Skatepark Desert effect is unresolved. Many areas in far-east Portland and in the downtown area have high poverty rates yet don’t have easy access to a skatepark.

Transit connectivity is an important consideration given the plain fact that school-aged youth are not able to drive. Some families experiencing poverty may be entirely transit dependent. Others may have personal vehicles but not the time to drive children across town. Transit connectivity gives youth the freedom to travel on their own and access third spaces like skateparks freely. I created a transit connectivity score by counting the number of bus lines that intersect a 1-mile radius circle around each skatepark. Assuming one mile is a reasonable distance to travel on a skateboard, the score represents how many buses someone could possibly board. This is another area where Portland does well- there are no values less than 10, and Gateway Park boasts access to 26 bus lines, not including the MAX Light Rail system.

Transit Connectivity of skateparks in Portland. Map created by me.

Finally, although transit connectivity is important, walkability offers an even higher level of access for youth. For this map, I used the same 1-mile buffers but counted the number of schools that lie within each circle. I’ll give Portland a passing score on this metric. Although some skateparks have low scores (Pier Park: 2), there are often other schools just outside the 1-mile radius.

Skateparks and Schools in Portland. Map created by me.

Here again, the skateparks that exist in Portland score well in terms of transit connectivity and proximity to schools, ensuring that youth have easy access to these resources. However, consider the number of schools that are not within the 1-mile circles: the majority of school aged youth are still in a skatepark desert.

Considering these maps together, it’s fair to say that Portland has done a good job, when constructing skateparks, to ensure that they serve low and middle income youth, are transit connected, and close to schools. However, there’s more work to be done. As I mentioned earlier, the city’s 2005 plan called for the construction of 19 skateparks. Skatepark construction hit the ground rolling with five parks in three years: Pier Park (2005), Glenhaven and Holly Farm (2007), Gabriel and Ed Benedict Parks (2008). Skaters for Portland Skateparks write “With the economic downturn in full swing, Portland Parks & Recreation offers that funding is no longer available for additional public skatepark projects within the Skatepark System Plan. Investment and momentum slows for the build up of the remaining 14 prospective skateparks.” The next skatepark wouldn’t be built until 2015 (Alberta), followed closely by Luuwit (2017) and Gateway (2018).

Gateway is Portland’s newest skatepark. Photo Skaters for Portland Skateparks.

Hopefully, we can capitalize on this second swing of skatepark momentum to fill in some of the gaps in the Skatepark Deserts map. One of the most promising proposals for an additional Skatepark is the Steel Bridge skatepark. This skatepark would serve a critical population in the downtown area, developing an urban brownfield currently created by the traffic ramp exit for the west side of the Steel Bridge. Here are some artistic renderings of what the skatepark might look like.

Photos Skaters for Portland Skateparks/Bryce Kanights, Renderings via DAO architecture.

I’m also inspired by the skate community in Boulder, Colorado, where their “Green Block Project” is proving that not every skate spot has to be a large-scale, “destination” park. At Valmont Park in Boulder, there was a large, unused pavilion. Skaters built a partnership with the city and with the University of Colorado Environmental Design program to design a DIY-style skatepark in this space. To quote from this article: "The initial idea of the green block project was to use 'dross-scapes' and otherwise unused land to develop pocket parks and allow the community to be involved in the process," said Raul Pinto with Satellite Boardshop in Boulder. "From students at CU environmental design program to young kids taking part in the construction being supervised by older skate community members, it really was a community effort."

Photos Boulder Daily Camera.

The skatepark features parking blocks, picnic tables, ledges, and other street-style features that allow skaters to practice street-style skills without criminal trespass. All of the features were donated by community members and the park was built and maintained by volunteers, meaning the effective cost to the city was only the cost of granting permission. The Parks Planning manager for the city of Boulder was quoted as saying “This is a perfect example of listening and supporting the community to build a great space for all ages and abilities to participate in a sport that is very popular in our community and especially with teens.”

The Steel Bridge skatepark would serve a critical area of Portland, improving the geographic distribution of skateparks in Portland as well as serving low-income populations. In addition to Steel Bridge, we should also push for the construction of smaller, neighborhood-scale skate spots. For example, even if the Steel Bridge park is completed, there would still remain a sizable skatepark desert for communities living along the I-5 Corridor in North Portland. Perhaps two smaller, Green-Block style spots could be constructed in this area to improve access.

Lately I’ve been spending more time at Ed Benedict park, closer to the Southeast PCC campus. I’ve never seen the park not busy, and I know that for myself and the others who are there, it’s helping meet a need in our lives. Portland Parks and Rec’s 2020 vision goals state: “Portland’s parks, public places, natural areas and recreational opportunities give life and beauty to our city. These essential assets connect people to place, self and others. Portland’s residents will treasure and care for this legacy, building on the past to provide for future generations.” Skateparks are mentioned only once in the 2020 goals: “Develop plans that are flexible and responsive to changing demographics and emerging trends (e. g., skateboards, BMX bikes and dogs).”

Creating these maps was critical to getting a handle on the state of skateparks in Portland. It’s clear we’ve done some things well in the past, and should continue to insist on access for low-income communities, transit connectivity, and school proximity. However, it’s time to take skateparks seriously as the critical recreational resource they are, and resolve some of our skatepark deserts.

[dfroza]

A Letter written to illuminate the truth of the Son

was the clear intent of Paul.

rebirth and eternal life is only possible through Love’s pure truth that fully cleanses the heart from all sin.

Today’s reading of the Scriptures from the New Testament is the 1st chapter of the Letter of Romans:

Paul, a servant of Jesus the Anointed called by God to be His emissary and appointed to tell the good news of the things promised long ago by God, spoken by prophets, and recorded in the Holy Scriptures. All of this good news is about His Son: who was (from a human perspective) born of David’s royal line and ultimately designated to be the true Son of God with power upon His resurrection from the dead by the Spirit of holiness. I am speaking of Jesus, the Anointed One, our Lord.

And here’s what He’s done: He has graced us and sanctioned us as His emissaries whose mission is to spread the one true and obedient faith to all people in the name of Jesus. This includes you: you have been called by Jesus, God’s Anointed.

To all those who are God’s beloved saints in Rome:

May grace and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus, the Anointed One, surround you.

First, I thank my God through Jesus the Anointed for all of you because we are joined by faith as family, and your faith is spreading across the world. For I call God as my witness—whom I worship in my spirit and serve in making known the gospel—He alone knows how often I mention you in my prayers. I find myself constantly praying for you and hoping it’s in God’s will for me to be with you soon. I desperately want to see you so that I can share some gift of the Spirit to strengthen you. Plus I know that when we come together something beautiful will happen as we are encouraged by each other’s faith.

If, my brothers and sisters, you did not already know, my plans were set to meet you in Rome, but time and circumstances have forced every trip to be canceled until now. I have deeply desired to see some good fruit among you just as I have seen with so many non-Jewish believers. You see, I am in tremendous debt to those of various nationalities, from non-Jews to barbarians, from the wisest of the wise to the idle wanderer. So you can imagine how eager I am to join you and to teach the good news in the mighty and diverse city of Rome.

For I am not the least bit embarrassed about the gospel. I won’t shy away from it, because it is God’s power to save every person who believes: first the Jew, and then the non-Jew. You see, in the good news, God’s restorative justice is revealed. And as we will see, it begins with and ends in faith. As the Scripture declares, “By faith the just will obtain life.”

For the wrath of God is breaking through from heaven, opposing all manifestations of ungodliness and wickedness by the people who do wrong to keep God’s truth in check. These people are not ignorant about what can be known of God, because He has shown it to them with great clarity. From the beginning, creation in its magnificence enlightens us to His nature. Creation itself makes His undying power and divine identity clear, even though they are invisible; and it voids the excuses and ignorant claims of these people because, despite the fact that they knew the one true God, they have failed to show the love, honor, and appreciation due to the One who created them! Instead, their lives are consumed by vain thoughts that poison their foolish hearts. They claim to be wise; but they have been exposed as fools, frauds, and con artists— only a fool would trade the splendor and beauty of the immortal God to worship images of the common man or woman, bird or reptile, or the next beast that tromps along.

So God gave them just what their lustful hearts desired. As a result, they violated their bodies and invited shame into their lives. How? By choosing a foolish lie over God’s truth. They gave their lives and devotion to the creature rather than to the Creator Himself, who is blessed forever and ever. Amen. This is why God released them to their own vile pursuits, and this is what happened: they chose sexual counterfeits—women had sexual relations with other women and men committed unnatural, shameful acts because they burned with lust for other men. This sin was rife, and they suffered painful consequences.

Since they had no mind to recognize God, He turned them loose to follow the unseemly designs of their depraved minds and to do things that should not be done. Their days are filled with all sorts of godless living, wicked schemes, greed, hatred, endless desire for more, murder, violence, deceit, and spitefulness. And, as if that were not enough, they are gossiping, slanderous, God-hating, rude, egotistical, smug people who are always coming up with even more dreadful ways to treat one another. They don’t listen to their parents; they lack understanding and character. They are simple-minded, covenant-breaking, heartless, and unmerciful; they are not to be trusted. Despite the fact that they are fully aware that God’s law says this way of life deserves death, they fail to stop. And worse—they applaud others on this destructive path.

The Letter of Romans, Chapter 1 (The Voice)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments is the 20th chapter of the book (scroll) of Isaiah where Isaiah is told to become a physical warning sign of nakedness and shame:

In the year the field commander, sent by King Sargon of Assyria, came to Ashdod and fought and took it, God told Isaiah son of Amoz, “Go, take off your clothes and sandals,” and Isaiah did it, going about naked and barefooted.

Then God said, “Just as my servant Isaiah has walked around town naked and barefooted for three years as a warning sign to Egypt and Ethiopia, so the king of Assyria is going to come and take the Egyptians as captives and the Ethiopians as exiles. He’ll take young and old alike and march them out of there naked and barefooted, exposed to mockery and jeers—the bared buttocks of Egypt on parade! Everyone who has put hope in Ethiopia and expected help from Egypt will be thrown into confusion. Everyone who lives along this coast will say, ‘Look at them! Naked and barefooted, shuffling off to exile! And we thought they were our best hope, that they’d rescue us from the king of Assyria. Now what’s going to happen to us? How are we going to get out of this?’”

The Book (Scroll) of Isaiah, Chapter 20 (The Message)

A link to my personal reading of the Scriptures for monday, june 28 of 2021 with a paired chapter from each Testament of the Bible along with Today’s Proverbs and Psalms

A post by John Parsons that defines our worth in being identified by grace through faith:

One of the main strategies of the devil is to induce a sense of forgetfulness, apathy, and hopelessness... The devil wants you to lose sight of what is real and who you really are. The truth is your weapon against the cascade of lies that pours forth from the world and its princes. The entire venture of teshuvah (repentance) presupposes that you are created "in the image of God," that you are related to him, and therefore you have infinite value and dignity. This is all the more evident in light of the awesome ransom that Yeshua gave to reconcile your soul with God. Therefore hold fast to the truth, friends; "da lifnei mi attah omed" - "know before Whom you stand." Turn to what is real, refuse the lies and despair of this fallen world, and review what will abide the test of Eternity.... [Hebrew for Christians]

6.28.21 • Facebook

and another about how humility is required to see clear:

“Have you not known? Have you not heard? The Eternal One, the LORD, is the Creator of the ends of the earth (בּוֹרֵא קְצוֹת הָאָרֶץ). He does not faint nor grow weary; his understanding is unsearchable. He gives power to the faint, and to him who has no might he increases strength” (Isa. 40:28-29). Human reason has no objection that God can impart strength, but it objects that strength is found in those who are broken and weary – that is, to those mortally wounded in the battle against evil. The principle of the self-life, the ego, religious observance, "doing the law," etc., is a spiritual dead-end. The word is this: God gives strength to the weary, to the faint, to those who are without potency or power. But this means that we first must be emptied, broken, and stripped of our self-sufficiency before the strength of God is manifest in us: "My power is made perfect (τελειοῦται) in weakness" (2 Cor. 12:9).

God's way is first to break us, to make us weaker and weaker, so that he can then fill us with the miraculous divine nature. Like all sacrifices that were brought to the altar, we must pass through death to life by means of our union with the Messiah at the cross... It is only after the cross that it may be said, "It is no longer 'I' who lives; now it is Messiah who lives His life in me." There is indeed strength, power, and victory – but such comes after the cross, after we reckon carnal energy as useless. Not by might, nor by power, but by My Spirit, says Adonai Tzeva’ot (Zech. 4:6).

Where we read, "Messiah who loved me and gave himself for me" (Gal. 2:20), we emphasize the object of God's redeeming love; we stress that this word is being spoken to "me," and that Messiah's love is poured out "for me." But how can we justify doing so, in light of the innumerable souls that have been brought forth in the world? The Mishnah asks, "Why was man created alone?" and answers so that each person must say the world was created for me. "Whoever destroys a soul, it is considered as if he destroyed an entire world; and whoever saves a soul, it is considered as if he saved an entire world..." [Hebrew for Christians]

6.27.21 • Facebook

Today’s message (Days of Praise) from the Institute for Creation Research

June 28, 2021

Abiding Words

“If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.” (John 15:7)

In order for the words of the Lord really to abide in us, it seems clear that we should commit as many of them to memory— not only in our minds but in our hearts—as we possibly can. “Thy word have I hid in mine heart,” the psalmist said, “that I might not sin against thee” (Psalm 119:11).

There are many promises of blessing to those who have God’s Word in their hearts. “For it is a pleasant thing if thou keep them within thee; they shall withal be fitted in thy lips” (Proverbs 22:18). “My son, if thou wilt receive my words, and hide my commandments with thee;...Then shalt thou understand the fear of the LORD, and find the knowledge of God” (Proverbs 2:1, 5).

Both the apostle Paul and the apostle Peter have noted the importance of Scripture memorization. Paul says: “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly in all wisdom; teaching and admonishing one another in psalms and hymns and spiritual songs, singing with grace in your hearts to the Lord” (Colossians 3:16).

Peter’s exhortation is as follows: “This second epistle, beloved, I now write unto you; in both which I stir up your pure minds by way of remembrance: That ye may be mindful of the words which were spoken before by the holy prophets [i.e., the Old Testament Scriptures], and of the commandment of us the apostles of the Lord and Saviour [i.e., the New Testament Scriptures]” (2 Peter 3:1-2). The words “be mindful” mean essentially “recall to mind.”

Since the Scriptures cannot be recalled to mind unless they’ve first been installed in the mind, and since they cannot abide in our hearts unless we first hide them in our hearts, it is surely pleasing and honoring to God that we learn ���by heart” as much of His Word as we can. HMM

A tweet by illumiNations:

@IlluminationsBT: With your prayers and gifts, the ApMa people will gain access to Scripture in their own language!

Learn more at: https://bit.ly/2Sgv9o6

6.28.21 • 12:02pm • Twitter