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harbourslighthouse · 12 days ago

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Asphalt In My Lungs (Jason Todd x F!Reader)

Summary: It's been six years since the death of the second Robin, your Robin, and you're twenty-one and barely getting by. When a certain person's phone calls stop, you're forced to drag yourself out of your head and pay a visit to a man you didn't think you'd see ever again. You can barely stand the colour red.

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There are mentions/implications of past abuse & neglect, so be wary of that if that is an issue for you. The story itself is mildly angsty, but it's not severely depressing. You don't necessarily need to read it for future stories, but it does give a lot of information about the reader and sort of 'sets the tone' of things.

For just a little context, I take different details from different mediums of the DC universe. I use aspects from the animated movies, the Christopher Nolan films, and the Arkham video games. Don't regard my stories as 100% canon compliant.

I hope you enjoy, it is a bit of a long one, but I put my heart and soul into this as it's one of my first stories that I'm publishing here.

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It’s 2005, and since you can remember, Gotham City has been made of barbed wire and blood. It crawls like something alive, writhing with sin and grime. The Wayne Enterprises tower sits in the center of Miagani Island, a pulsing beam of light that’s meant to mean something, yet those who live in the darkest slums see it only as a mocking sentinel glowing down on them.

You wonder if Bruce should have made a symbol of good out of his own name, instead of creating the masked entity: the Batman.

Maybe then, he would have done something.

You know the darkness that seeps out of Gotham intimately. Born and bred on Miagani Island—the most urban of the three islands—you grew up in a desolate street, in a desolate house. The school you went to was just as dull, with teachers that hated their jobs, and school kids that shoved each other off slides and dunked heads down toilets. You remained a hidden thing, invisible to most.

Gotham City remains a corrupted landmark on the map, often pointed at with the resolute statement, ‘That place? We can’t possibly live there. It’s filthy and the crime rate is insane.’ If anyone asked you, as a Gothamite yourself, if it was worth the ridiculously low rent prices, you’d shake them by their shoulders, shove them towards their car, and tell them to drive away as far as possible.

Yet, you can’t bring yourself to hate the city. You’ve seen its most hideous parts; the trash littered alleyways with burning barrels and tents made of scrap fabric and metal; the rat infested houses along the edge of the Narrows that are half crumbling into the murky water that surrounds the small isle; gang spots stained with blood after a deal goes wrong. Gotham City is many things to many people, but it’s different for you.

Gotham City, to you, is made of memories.

As a young child, you hadn’t been blessed with a sweet home full of warmth and love, the kind you see in the sitcoms that only aired at specific times. Not that you watched much of those, anyway. No, yours had been an empty echo of bitterness and split lips. Yours had buried a hole in your chest as something ugly and not worth thinking about, something scabbed over or fully scarred. So you only remember parts of it on the worst of days, when you’re paralysed by something you can’t name.

Shouting rings from the open window, and there’s a dull pang of surprise that there isn’t a jagged hole in the glass. By now, they start throwing mugs, or plates. Whatever is closest.

Your back digs into the screen door, and you pull your knees up to your chest as you sit and wait on the porch. They locked the door, and there’s no other way for you to slip into your room. The window out back is too high for you to reach, and your arms aren’t strong enough to push yourself up to the windowsill.

You’re not sure when the dull emptiness had begun to set in, but even at this age, you know violence and normalcy should not co-exist together. But, you’re only fourteen. There’s not much that you can do.

A glass shatters, the shrill noise making you flinch. It’s the first of many broken pieces of porcelain, so you haul yourself up onto your feet with a silent huff, feeling the burn of tears. You slip your backpack over your shoulder again, and hop down the wooden steps.

The street is mostly empty. Trash flutters out from underneath parked cars, and the smell of dust and exhaust fumes is thick and heavy. You walk with steady steps, although your gaze keeps falling to the brick-laid sidewalk. There’s a horrible pressure in your chest, like something has lodged itself into the space between your lungs. You count the crosses on your sneakers and pray that they stop shouting soon, so that you can come back home before it’s dark.

Memories are often distorted the older you get. It’s usually the cloudy, grey days that render you in bed for hours. Laying amongst rumpled bed sheets with your hair still styled from the day before, your mind casts a line back into the past, hoping to reel in some sort of closure that you’ve been chasing for years.

You’re not sure why, but during these days when you can’t get out of bed, and your eyes flicker across the gritty texture of your ceiling, you often think about the second home you were introduced to—a home that was given to you when your hand slipped into that of a billionaire celebrity’s, whose eyes held secrets.

The muted sound of gravel crunching seems louder than your heartbeat as the car pulls into a broad driveway. You lean to the side, temple pressed against the car window, and your lungs clench in awe.

Large and imposing, a stately mansion made of pale brown bricks, numerous windows, and pointed roofs, sits as a giant backdrop of wealth amongst the vibrant green lawns that stretch onward for miles. You blink rapidly, hand curling around the metal door handle as the engine becomes silent. You climb out slowly, the chill air pushing against your cheeks. Your worn shoes are thin at the bottom, and you can feel the pressure of gravel and pebbles against your heels, but you can’t seem to care as you numbly walk closer to the entrance of the mansion. The structure towers above you, and you can’t help but wonder if it’s as intimidating on the inside as it is on the outside. It reminds you of all the large estates you’d seen in the history books (ones that hadn’t been scribbled over with sharpie).

The butler, or Alfred, as you’ve come to know, strides past you with his measured steps, and opens the double doors made of wood as dark as dirt. He waits patiently inside, grey eyes cast over your awe-struck face. He nods his head, urging you to step across the threshold.

Swallowing thickly, you walk past him and feel the air in your lungs escape in a silent gasp. Thick, velvet carpet cushions your feet and stretches down a large hall, hiding away wooden floorboards that shine as if wet. Gilded paintings are hung on either walls, portraits and landscapes in oils. Vases sit neatly on tables with clusters of flowers, and a chandelier hangs above the room in glittering crystal and electric candles.

You’re sure if you could see yourself, you’d be amused at the slack-jaw expression on your face as your eyes trace across the dark, polished interior of the house, sliding along the gleaming banisters of the grand staircase that must lead to even more exuberant displays of wealth. Was the owner a king? Or perhaps a lord from the 1700s? You nearly forgot all about the man that had smiled at you a day ago, and that you’d meet him again today.

You hear Alfred clear his throat from behind you, and you swivel towards him, hands awkwardly clasped at your middle as if you’d been caught in the act of something. Your heart flutters as his eyes crease with a silent smile, and he strides past you through an arched doorway, and you follow quietly behind, unaware of just how different things will be from now on.

You wonder if there’s something you’re searching for in that memory, with how many times you come back to it, but as the days stretch in a linear line of routines and phone calls, you shove it to the far side of the shelf, where it remains stationary and covered in dust.

If you’re being honest with yourself, the state you’re in emotionally isn’t stable. You’re very good at hiding it, though memories and heartache trail after you like rumours, wrapping around your throat some days and sending unshed tears to gather in your eyes. Despite those days, you have a life that you can’t ignore or leave behind. You have a regular job as a secretary—nothing fancy—and interestingly, you can’t bring yourself to complain about it. You assist a defense attorney in the Department of Justice, and you’ve found that law, despite what many say, is quite entertaining to someone who isn’t directly involved with the legal proceedings.

And you’ve made some friends, although you’re not sure if it’s an official thing or something you’ve decided on your own. Commissioner Gordon is kind to you, tilts his head when he sees you sitting at your desk, and gives you a mustached smile, auburn hair curling around the corners of his lips. He once brought you a coffee, tired eyes glancing your way with a softly spoken greeting. You wonder if he noticed the way you’d been able to smile after feeling like your face had gone numb. You wonder if he remembers how you looked six years ago in a purple and yellow suit.

The trek back to your apartment is notorious for bringing up unwanted snippets of a life long-gone. You see Bruce’s face in the passing men in business suits and finely tailored coats. Reflections of grey-haired gentlemen makes you think of Alfred with his creased eyes and dry, sarcastic humour. The occasional red sweater nearly sends you choking on air as flashes of a boy embellished with wonder and pride strikes your mind viciously.

Alfred leads you into a kitchen, and again, you are in awe of the gleaming tiles beneath your feet, the pristine cupboards with glass fronts that let you see the polished crockery inside. As Alfred disappears into the hall outside again with a gentle instruction for you to stay put, you stand idly at the end of a long, white-washed table that gives you the impression of a beach-house dining room. It then strikes you that there’s probably a grand dining room elsewhere in the mansion.

A rustling sound scratches at your ears and you turn just to see a second doorway at the opposite side of the room creak open—a doorway that blends seamlessly into the tan coloured wall. You’re rendered dumbly staring at a boy around your age, whose own eyes stare back at you in silent shock. In his arms, he cradles a packet of crackers and…a loaf of sliced bread.

Your gaze flicks between the contents in his arms and his widened eyes, before you clear your throat awkwardly and flick your hand in a tiny wave.

“Hi,” you say quietly, and you wonder if the words are loud enough to even reach him.

Your voice seems to snap him out of his surprise, and he blinks rapidly, straightening.

“Hello,” he says in a voice that sounds forcefully deep, as if he were trying to sound bigger, stronger than what he looks. He’s tiny. Thin and bony, short even. You wonder if he actually is near your age, or much younger.

Thick, black hair shifts atop of his head as he glances swiftly around the room, as if searching for someone else to explain your sudden appearance. Then he looks back at you with eyes that seem largely intelligent, yet skeptical, and you get the impression he’s silently sizing you up, or studying you. What he intends to find, you don’t know.

You step back as he resolutely shuffles the crackers and bread in his arms to better fit in his hold, and makes his way to you, socked feet padding across the tiles. Watching mutely, he drops the items on the table with little care, the bread falling lopsided with a squishy thud. He turns to you fully and sticks his pale hand out to you.

“I’m Jason Todd,” he says stiffly, jade-coloured eyes flickering across your profile.

You glance at his hand with bated breath, noticing the red sweater he’s wearing has sleeves that are too long and cover most of his hand other than his fingers.

Hesitantly, you curl your hand around his, palm to fabric, and shake it with little strength or enthusiasm. Like a wide-eyed deer, you feel as if you’ve met a grinning wolf with eyes that are kinder than what nature usually permits.

You smile weakly and give him your name.

That memory leaves you with something throttling your heart, until you’re sure you might just pass out on the side of the street. That’s never happened before, but there’s always the possibility.

Usually, you’re able to reign in these flashes of the past, and you’re largely successful as the days go by. Yet, when your phone lights up with a buzz, and you see the familiar name ‘Grayson’ pop up, you’re left standing in square one again with shaky fingers and burning eyes.

You’ve read countless messages from Dick, sent during the early morning hours or late in the afternoon. You figure it aligns with his schedule in Bludhaven. The young, twenty-four year old is adamant, ever since you left the manor three years ago, at eighteen, to remain in contact with you no matter what. You haven’t been able to escape his ceaseless concern over your whereabouts, the not-so-subtle questions about your well-being.

It’s funny to you, considering he hadn’t been the most emotionally stable person either, especially when, at fourteen, you and Jason became Batman’s well-known sidekicks, Batgirl and Robin. He had been eighteen, angry, and reckless, going off on his own to make a name for himself that isn’t weighted down by Bruce’s shadow. Yet now, despite owning your own place, securing a stable job, and regularly keeping up with normal adult responsibilities, the older man refuses to ease his worry over you. You know the truth.

He’s afraid of the grief you carry.

You wonder if he’s even aware of his own grief, seeing as all he does is care about yours. You don’t have the heart to tell him to let it go, to give you space—you’re sure that he needs the weekly phone calls more than you do. So, you let him text, call, facetime. Sometimes you’re in the middle of grocery shopping when your phone vibrates with his name rolling across the screen in bright letters, ‘Dick Grayson is calling…’

And sometimes he says something that has you clenching your teeth, staring off at something if only to keep the burn behind your eyes minimal. He’s a trigger for many of these memory flashes that don’t ease the thing inside your chest that’s wailing.

‘I saw this girl the other day that looked like Batgirl and I wondered if I’d been taken back in time, y’know? And—yeah, it was so strange…but then I was like, no—that makes no sense—she’s in Gotham, not here in Bludhaven, but like…she was decked out in purple and yellow, and I thought of you…’

Your ears have started ringing, drowning out the rest of Dick’s monologue; purple and yellow. Purple and yellow. That was Batgirl’s thing. That was your thing. Or, at least, it had been.

You glance down at the pair of latex gloves you clutch in your hand. The material is bright yellow, shiny in the light. Grimacing, you look at Bruce and sigh.

“B…?”

A low hum is given in response, an acknowledgement of your pending question. You’ve grown used to Bruce’s minimal communication. The husky words said in a gruff voice, the clipped instructions, the low grunts.

“Does it have to be bright purple and yellow?” Your voice is quiet, a little unsure. Years of shouting and backhanded slaps after a question still leaves you cautious. Afraid.

The dark-haired man turns in his chair, sharp eyes sliding your way. You stand awkwardly, almost timid. You see the same softening around his eyes, the same flash of gentleness you’d seen when he found you hiding behind a filthy dumpster on a cold Tuesday night.

“Yes,” he says flatly, and the single word lingers with something trailing behind it, as if there’s more that he wants to say. You wait patiently with raised brows, but he doesn’t say anything more, and turns his attention back to the glowing monitors, eyes flitting across blue-lettered reports and images.

You stand there with nothing else to say, the roof of the Batcave seemingly constrictive and as dark as a hole in the ground, the metal tiles under your feet empty and expansive.

There isn’t a sting travelling across your cheek. There’s no screamed curses and insults thrown your way, simply because you asked a question. Yet, why does it feel as if you’ve been kicked in the gut? Was his answer not enough? Surely it is—it’s better than what you used to receive from the people who were meant to love you.

You tug the gloves onto your hands, shimming your fingers into the right places, and glance down at your mustard-yellow boots. You’ll simply have to make do.

You’re snapped out of your thoughts when an elderly lady nudges your arm, murmuring a small ‘excuse me’ as she leans over to grab a container of mozzarella balls.

“Oh,” you mumble, smiling apologetically as you move out of the way. “Sorry, that’s—sorry.”

You hear Dick’s faint voice call your name, and you bring your phone back up to your ear again, answering his questions with a quiet tone, walking away from the aisle of cheese and other dairy products.

For what it’s worth…those aren’t even the worst kinds of memories you have. No, the worst are of the boy shrouded in glory, the second Robin—Jason Todd.

Jason Todd had been the first thing to make sense in your life, which was strange, considering most of your life had been an abstract mess of scraped knees, broken plates, and late nights shooting hoops in the neighbourhood basketball court. A life that Jason knew very well, too.

Perhaps it was the shared trauma of broken families that brought you closer together; sealed the both of you in a wordless acknowledgement that said, ‘I see you.’ Either way, the both of you acted as a crutch for the other, and you try to forget it as you stand in empty elevators, on the edge of the curb for a taxi cab, when you see a little boy with raven-feathered hair on the street.

Oh, Jason. You were everything, is all that you can bring yourself to think some days, when the noise of the city becomes unbearable and you simply have to shove towels inside the gaps in the windowsill—if only to muffle the noise and silence the screaming police sirens.

Those are the days when you’re tempted to leave Gotham entirely, if only to run away from whatever thing is haunting you. Sometimes, in the shadowy darkness of the night, as you lay in bed with the covers drawn to your chin, you wonder if it’s Jason you see at the end of the bed. Small as he was, quiet, and vibrating with a passion that burned bright red. Then you blink and realise you’d only been imagining the straight slope of his nose or the curve of his eyelashes.

“It’s entirely unfair,” you mumble, hands in your lap as you sit cross-legged in the centre of Jason’s room.

Surrounded by scattered CDs, you hear the floorboards creak as Jason moves around the edge of his bed, carrying a pile of books to the empty bookcase. You were helping him sort out the books and CDs he’s been collecting.

“What?” He scoffs with a grin that pulls more to the right than the left. “You’re jealous of boys and their ‘long eyelashes’?”

You can’t help but smile at his mocking tone, the way he teases you as if you’ve known each other for longer than just a few months. Jade-green eyes glance at you briefly.

Rolling your eyes, you sigh defeatedly with dropped shoulders. “Yes, because you all have such long, luscious lashes. Meanwhile, mine are just average.”

Jason slides his pile of books into their designated spots, paper pressed against wood panels, and turns to you. Stepping over the littered CD cases, he crouches directly in front of you, and your breath catches.

“I’m tellin’ you right now, nothing about you is average,” he says, and you can barely breathe with how intently he’s looking at you, and suddenly, it’s like you’re staring into the heart of Gotham. Broken and marred, bloodied and bruised, and yet still so irrevocably beautiful and worth everything.

Well, you once thought that Gotham’s heart was worth everything. Now, you’re not so sure. You lost the clearest piece of love to you on the planet, a boy wrapped in barbed wire with a grin as infectious as a disease.

You wonder sometimes if you’re the only one who feels Jason’s absence as strongly. The emptiness that lingers where his laugh used to echo is so heavy, you’re sure it’s formed a presence of its own. Did his ghost haunt Dick as it did you? Did Dick check over his shoulder and blink rapidly whenever he saw a young boy wearing a red hoodie? Did he have to mutter to himself in the kitchen, pleading with himself to get over what used to be? Or were you the only one?

And what about Bruce? Does the man who once held a broken, fifteen year old boy—who believed in everything the Batman stands for—reduce himself to a mess every night?

Just the thought of Bruce sends a sick sense of bitterness churning in your gut, which you feel entirely guilty for. You know what happened wasn’t Bruce’s fault. You know that he did everything he could. Yet, when you think too hard about what it was like on the day he came back with nothing but red eyes, a clipped utterance, and no Jason…you have to run to the bathroom to empty out the contents of your stomach in the toilet. It’s embarrassing and leaves your cheeks burning with shame.

You should be over this by now. It’s been six years.

Memory is a fickle thing, regardless of time. It chooses when to be heard and when to remain dormant. You’re stuck in an endless cycle of paralyzing remembrance and constant avoidance. Weeks go by without incident, only for a month to trap you inside your head with memories of a broken past. Then the cycle repeats.

Despite this, you’ve learnt to cope with the past like a sailor does with the roughened sea. Although, you’re sure you’re more akin to a sailor stranded in a raging tempest. You ride each wave of nausea-inducing memory, all whilst clinging to the barest strip of wood—Dick Grayson and his ever-present concern, Alfred’s occasional query of your wellbeing, Bruce’s own sanity, the job you have, and the sickening feeling that you can’t let Jason see you like this, despite him not being here in the first place.

You’re drowning in grief, and you know it.

And so you’re not sure what exactly happened between April and June of 2005, but you know Dick’s phone calls stopped almost entirely for three whole months. You only called once, in carefully concealed panic, when you realised he hadn’t called you in two weeks.

“Hi, sorry. I know I don’t usually call, but you haven’t—”

“No, no, don’t—uh—don’t apologise. I’m—yeah. I'm sorry, that’s my bad. Should’ve let you know. Things have just been busy, honey.”

“...That’s all it is? Just been busy?”

“Yeah, I promise. Everything’s okay.”

“Okay…well, I’m glad you’re okay then…”

The phone call had been short and it had put you on edge. Dick doesn’t let phone calls end abruptly—instead, he takes his time to explain things or rambles about topics you’re not very interested in. But you don’t push or prod, mostly because you have the suspicion it has to do with his life of vigilantism—the one you left behind five years ago.

Leaving that life behind had been easy. Jason’s death meant the death of Robin. It meant the death of Batgirl, too. Although, your death had been inward and known by very few people.

July comes by, only a week passes where Dick calls you consistently, and then it’s back to radio silence. The importance of his phone calls is viciously realised, but you don’t have the heart to admit it. Dick Grayson has been your crutch for the last three years, and you’re inexplicably starving for the care he manages to give you through his calls.

Taking it upon yourself to find out what’s going on, you decide to drive to the Manor. You crank up the radio as loud as you can, the car rattling with noise as you cruise across the bridge that leads to the mainland. If you’re alone with nothing but silence and your thoughts, you’ll probably turn back the other way. It had been hard enough to convince yourself to grab your keys off the kitchen counter.

The Manor is just as grand as you remember it, if not a little weathered by time—brown against the blue sky, like a giant boulder sitting in the center of a vibrant green landscape that stretches flatly like a canvas before reaching a thin treeline of woods. Gravel crunches under tires, and the car’s engine rumbles before fading into silence. Blinking, you’re fourteen again as your hand wraps around the door handle, and you step out into the frigid air.

Tugging your coat closer to your frame, you take measured steps up the driveway, glancing at the neatly pruned hedges that cluster beneath some of the large, lower windows, and the copper-leaved tree that’s remained the same for the last decade—sitting resolutely to the left of the estate and hiding away pale-brown bricks and frosted glass panes.

The double doors, the colour of dirt, are the only thing between you and something that leaves behind a bitter taste in your mouth. Gripping the heavy, bronze door knocker, you thud it against the door three times, before stepping back as if burned by the metal.

You’ve forgotten Alfred’s punctuality, because it’s only seconds before the doors silently groan open in the way that only heavy things do, and you’re met with grey, creased eyes that glue to you with reserved surprise.

Lips twitching into a weak smile, you say quietly, “Hi, Alfred.”

The stoic butler ushers you in quickly, a welcoming and familiar hand pressed lightly against your back to lead you across the threshold. He gestures to your coat, but you look at his wrinkled face and shake your head, something inside you breaking in half, but you don’t know what it is.

“That’s okay, Alfred,” you say gently, “I just—I’m here to talk…to Bruce. Is he down in the cave?”

Alfred nods his head, walking past you towards the parlour room. You follow behind quietly.

“He is, indeed. Might I ask why you’ve come?”

You glance his way to see him already looking at you, eyes the colour of iron flickering across your face as you both step into the parlour. It’s cold you notice, and the room is dim.

“I, um…” you’re not sure how to word this—how could you possibly say, ‘I’m getting separation anxiety because Dick isn’t calling me and I want to know why’?

“Just want to ask him if there’s something important going on…Dick’s been busier than usual,” is what you settle with, and Alfred accepts it with nothing but a simple nod, and no further questions. You appreciate Alfred’s uncanny ability to brush off any form of curiosity.

The parlour room remains the same, with only a few, small changes. You’re sure that the two leather couches have been reupholstered; shinier and a richer shade of brown. Vases full of flowers are placed neatly beneath the colonial windows which are framed by thick curtains the colour of moss. Usually the bouquets consisted of lilies, but now they’re tulips. The persian carpet stretches across the polished floorboards, softening the sound of your shoes, and the mounted electrical lights are unlit, surrounded by clusters of gilded paintings.

Passing under an arched entranceway, you walk into a familiar, adjacent room, where bookcases line the walls with glass doors, and an old grand piano sits as the centerpiece of it all. Sleek, black, and with keys open to the cool air that drifts in through an open window.

Alfred looks your way with a careful glance, and says in a mild tone that’s not meant to be accusing.

“Do you still remember?”

You wish you could tell him that you remember everything. Would it be ill of you to break down and spill your guts out to the man who’d patched you up more times than you can count? Who stitched torn skin back together again while you bit down on a piece of leather? Not that you needed it, anyway.

No, you think to yourself. Alfred does not need to see me that way, either.

You smile softly and bob your head. “Yes, I remember.”

His thin lips quirk ever-so slightly, and he nods curtly. With his hands clasped neatly behind his back, he turns and leaves the room without another word, leaving you behind with your heartbeat pounding inside your ribcage like a panicked bird.

Glancing down at the gleaming keys, you lift your hand to hover above them with the intent to replicate a familiar tune. Your fingers are shaking violently, and for a moment, all you can hear is the blood rushing inside your ears, before you swallow thickly, and press your fingertips down on the cool ivory-coated wood.

The melody is quiet, the pressure of your fingers not great enough to make it echo. Instead, it reminds you of the faint call of birds outside, the ones you’d see flying down from the trees to the lawn, picking at the grass.

A low creak deep inside the house reverberates through the room, and the centre bookcase dislodges from the wall with a scrape. You stagger back a step as the bookcase swings outward like a door—the books and the nick-nacks remaining stationary inside the shelves, a feat you had never decided to investigate.

Your pulse flutters in your neck, and you unclench your jaw. Teeth aching, you look down the shadowed staircase that the bookcase had revealed. Entering the Batcave had been so normal to you, three years ago, and now, your stomach churns as if the bats that hang from the cave’s ceiling are living inside your gut.

With a deep sigh and a shift of your feet, you take the steps down. The air is noticeably cooler, but damp, as if leftover mist was hanging in the air and brushing against your cheeks. You had realised, at fourteen, that it’s because there is mist in the air, courtesy of the waterfalls that rush from the ceiling like jets of water from a spout. You clench your fists by your sides to stop your hands from shaking.

Reaching the bottom, you walk slowly across the metal floor of the first and main platform. Glancing to your left, monitors that curve at the sides glow brightly around sleek desks; news channels play from the ones mounted higher above, police scanners from different units below, and open windows of various different tabs on the ones below that. To your right, you spare a very brief look at the cylinder cases that display various suits. One scorched and shredded suit in particular sends bile rising up your throat, and you instantly tear your gaze away.

Hopping down a small set of steps to the second platform, your footsteps echo as you pass the several medical cots neatly placed in rows, the smell of antiseptic light in the air from countless injuries tended to on the white cotton mattresses. It lingers, and your throat tightens at the memory of sitting on the edge of one of the cots, legs dangling, and wincing whenever Alfred passed a needle through your skin. Blinking and burying the memory down, you quickly shuffle past and stop at the top of another flight of stairs.

This one leads to the third and last level of the Batcave that acts as two main things: Bruce’s main monitor that only he can use, and the Batmobile’s, quote on quote, ‘garage’. Looking down at the platform below, you hesitate. Currently, the Batmobile isn’t in sight, instead hidden beneath the platform to make room for two large monitor screens mounted to a desk, where a broad shouldered man sits.

Any courage that you might have had before is shattered in an instant. How do you possibly speak into the empty, moist air of the cave without your voice cracking like a pubescent teen’s? How can you possibly ask Bruce Wayne anything when you haven’t spoken to him in over a year?

And then you remember the cost of the gasoline you pumped into your car, and the fear that’s lodged itself inside your ribcage because Dick hasn’t been calling you as often as he did. Are you afraid for Dick, or are you afraid of a change in routine?

You inhale sharply through your nose, the air chilling the inside of your lungs. Petrichor hangs in the air, and although the scent is usually soothing, nothing seems to quieten the thundering beat of your heart.

“You know I’m here,” you say from atop the stairs, and your voice echoes like a ripple in still water.

Bruce barely shifts in his chair, rectangular glasses sitting on the high ridge of his nose. That’s new.

“Why?” Comes his gruff response…that's not new.

You inhale deeply, steeling your nerves as you descend the staircase. You know this man, he’s not a stranger. Oh, what a lie that is.

“Dick’s been busy,” you say, hating how your voice sounds so loud in the emptiness of the cave.

Bruce doesn’t look at you, but instead his eyes flick over the text on the monitor screens, and you can feel yourself shrivelling inside, and you’re no longer twenty-one, but fifteen and choking on grief.

“Bruce, what’s been going on?”

The tone of your voice is only slightly firmer, because you really can’t stand being here for much longer.

A rough exhalation of air meets you, wide shoulders rolling stiffly before he finally turns to you, the chair squeaking quietly. For the first time in over a year, you meet familiar eyes the colour of gunmetal-blue, and feel something crash down on you heavily.

“Nothing,” he says lowly, and the gravel of his voice echoes out clearly through the cave. The rush of the waterfalls is nowhere near as loud as the thin humming of blood in your ears.

“Things have been the same as always—”

“That’s not true,” you interject, surprising yourself even with the severity you push out.

His sharp brows knit together, and he goes to say your name in what you’re sure would have been a stern tone, but you don’t let him utter even the first syllable out.

“Dick calls me all the time,” you say, raising a loose hand, “and now he’s barely been able to call me twice. It’s not normal, and I want to know why he’s so busy. Last time we spoke, he said he’s been helping you.”

Shockingly, you watch as Bruce takes his glasses off and rubs a harsh hand over his face. You notice now that his jaw is covered in dark stubble, instead of being clean shaven. Now that you see him fully, you notice just how tired he seems, and something other than the panicked bird in your chest comes to life.

Something’s wrong.

Watching the creases in his forehead deepen, as if he’s thinking about something severely upsetting, you wait with your feet glued to the floor. Not even seconds ago, you felt the urgent need to flee, as if your skeleton could not remain still for another second, but now, it’s as if gravity has latched an even tighter hand around your ankles, keeping you firmly in place.

If Bruce is…ruffled by whatever thing is going on, you need to know. You have to know, even if it has nothing to do with you. The thought confuses you; caring about Bruce’s issues hasn’t been at the top of your agenda for three years.

“Someone new has come to Gotham,” Bruce finally says, and his voice is quieter than before.

Immediately, you frown. “Who?”

Bruce stands with a near silent huff, as if his muscles are aching and it’s getting the best of him, and he starts ascending the stairs up to the first platform. You’ve known since you were fourteen that he wants you to follow him.

“He showed up three months ago.” Well, that checks out with the cessation of Dick’s phone calls.

Walking up the three flights of stairs, you trail behind Bruce as he makes his way up to the curved monitors, falling heavily into one of the rolling chairs. You eye him curiously, your pulse fluttering with anxiety as the keyboard clicks and clacks beneath his swift fingers.

An image pops up on the screen, and you squint at a blurred image of a man seated on a motorcycle. You can just make out the train tracks that run through the ground and the station's arched ceiling made of steel beams and glass.

Your frown deepens. “What is….?”

Bruce doesn’t pay you any mind, instead typing quickly again. The image’s resolution refreshes, and you can see much clearer. Your head tilts with further intrigue as you notice the red helmet the biker wears, but it looks nothing like a motorcycle helmet—no, it’s smooth and sleek, with gleaming white eyes instead of a visor.

“Well…” you say slowly, “what’s so special about him that it’s got you and Dick working so hard?”

Bruce clicks another key, and you realise that it’s not an image, but a video. You hear the masked man call out, voice deep and heavy.

“You haven’t lost your touch!”

The man’s voice is nearly drowned out entirely at the end by a train as it roars past, hiding the biker from view completely. Bruce pauses the video.

Your confusion only heightens, and a dull burn of frustration settles in your chest because why can’t Bruce just tell you instead of forcing you to figure it out on your own?

“I don’t understand,” you sigh, glancing at Bruce’s profile. Gosh, he looks terrible.

Bruce remains quiet, a deep exhale passing through his nose as he types again, the sound echoing in your ears louder than it should. The video replays, this time without the overlaying noise of the train.

You haven’t lost your touch, Bruce!”

A pang of shock shoots through you, brows raising. You look to Bruce, searching for an answer in his silence. This unknown man, wearing a strange helmet, knows who the Batman is? That’s…disastrous.

You’re not prepared for Bruce to stand, nor for him to walk past you to the other side of the platform where the cylinder glass cases are. You swallow thickly, eyes flickering between the wide line of his shoulders and the case he approaches. Remaining in place, you don’t dare say anything, instead waiting for him to speak.

Bruce says your name, and you feel your heart drop to your stomach with a heavy thud.

He’s standing in front of the torn and shredded suit you’d barely been able to look at for more than a second when you came down here in the first place.

He’s looking at Jason’s suit.

Your voice trembles. “B?”

“It’s him.”

You’re shaking your head before he even finishes his sentence. No, no, no.

“Bruce, stop—”

“He’s trained,” Bruce continues, paying your increasing panic no mind. He only stares at his reflection in the glass, as if he could find something that would solve all of this. As if there’s an answer to the guilt you can see so plainly in front of you.

“He knows things that only a Robin would know.”

You can feel the inside of your elbows burning, your fingers violently shaking at your sides. You can’t bring yourself to say anything, but you’re desperate to scream.

You’re insane. You’ve gone insane!

“Things…only Jason would know.”

You break. “Stop, Bruce. He’s dead. He’s dead.”

Bruce turns, eyes snapping to you with intensity. You can’t pin-point the emotion in his face—you almost never could before—and your hand presses to your chest where your heart thunders against muscle and bone.

This had been a terrible mistake. You should never have come back here.

“If this…if this is what you’re saying to help you sleep at night…” you warn, but the strength of your voice is barely there, wobbling like laminated paper. “Then that’s fine, but don’t…don’t you dare bring me into it.”

Bruce regards you with a calculating look, as if mentally pinpointing all the parts of you that are breaking. How dare he say such a ridiculous, cruel thing? After six years? Six years of pretending that everything’s okay?

You hear him say your name lowly again, and you shake your head, pointing a trembling finger at him.

“It’s been six years, Bruce. You held him. This—this man,” you glance briefly behind you at the monitor, lifting a weak hand, “he’s probably just some—some guy that’s smarter than everyone else.”

Even you know how unlikely that is, but you can’t hear anything over your pulse and the overwhelming panic that’s clawing at the lining of your stomach.

Bruce sighs deeply, the rough sound grating at your ears. You should have just waited for things to blow over. Dick would have started calling you again, and you’d never have asked what was happening—never would have stepped back into this second home of yours that’s far too empty.

“I wouldn’t have told you if I wasn’t sure,” Bruce says, and his voice comes out quietly, as if he’s finally realising the damage he’s causing you in this moment.

“He’s dead,” you hiss, your voice catching. Your cheeks are wet, and you don’t remember when you started crying—you shouldn’t be. Not in front of Bruce.

“There’s a way to bring people back…”

You’re shaking your head again, trying to suck air back into your chest, if only for your heart to stop thudding against your ribcage like it’s trapped.

But he won’t stop talking. “It’s called the Lazar—”

“Stop,” you gasp, hands clamping over your ears.

As if you’d inhaled concrete into your lungs, you can barely breathe, and you can almost imagine the taste of asphalt on your tongue—no, that’s the blood from your bitten tongue.

You stagger back a step, feeling as if everything around you is spinning. Gunmetal-blue eyes stare at you with concealed concern, flickering across your face. Your gaze falls on the case behind him, the shredded red and yellow fabric that taunts you, and all you can remember is the heat of the explosion.

Your legs give out. Your head hits the floor before Bruce can get to you.

Your name is whispered urgently, and your consciousness returns to you in slow blinks as you wake up. Someone’s shaking your shoulder, fingers gripping the edge of your sleeve.

Pale moonlight illuminates the jade-green eyes that blink down at you, and you groan, pushing your palm against Jason’s cheek and away from you. It’s the middle of the night and you were sleeping so well.

“What?” You grumble as you throw your arm across your face, and you hear his quiet breath.

“You gotta see something.”

Dropping your arm, your bleary eyes glare at him tiredly. It’s the first night you’ve had in ages that doesn’t involve swinging from one rooftop to the next, and he wants you to get up and see something? Is he serious?

Jason tilts his head, his lopsided smile curling his lips.

“C’mon,” he murmurs, nudging his head to the side. A small gesture for you to get up and follow him. Indulge him in whatever nighttime adventure he has planned.

Glancing between him, the digital clock on your nightstand that winks 1.34 AM at you, and your open door…you huff and fling your duvet off of you.

“If this is something stupid…”

“It’s not,” Jason assures you with a sigh, socked feet silent along the hardwood floor.

Trailing behind Jason and yawning into your elbow, the two of you silently make your way up marble staircases and down empty hallways. The third level of the manor is mostly bare, sparse pieces of furniture hidden behind white sheets like dormant ghosts, and as well trained as you both are to remain silent, your footsteps echo in the emptiness.

“Jason, what exactly—”

He cuts off your whisper with a shush, a single finger pressed to his lips. He places a hand on your shoulder, the weight heavy and warm, and nudges you into the largest hall on the level. It’s noticeably brighter, the windows devoid of curtains and letting the moonlight spill against the floor in giant rectangles.

Typically, this room is used for wrestling, floor mats splayed across the hardwood floor that isn’t as shiny as the lower floors. You follow Jason as he crosses the room, his raven-feathered hair ruffled.

Crouching beside him at one of the windows, you notice the glass pane has been pushed open, and the telescope Bruce bought for Jason’s birthday is propped against the windowsill. Usually, Alfred insists that the windows are kept closed during the night, as the last time one was left open, a bat had come into the manor and had remained chained to the ceiling for the better part of a week.

You frown with intrigue as Jason peers into the telescope. He glances at you, bobbing his head for you to do the same. Jason watches you carefully as you lean forward, fingers pressing lightly against the scope as you look through the glass.

As bright as an orb of lightning, the moon greets you in a stunning vision of magnified quality. Your breath leaves you in a quiet gasp, and you trace the grey lines that make up the craters that crack through the moon’s surface. It’s as if the moon were made of glowing glass, and the craters were the product of golf balls smashing into it.

You pull away, and find that Jason is already looking at you. A wide grin creeps across your face.

“It’s amazing,” you murmur quietly, and your initial grogginess has already begun to dissipate.

Jason’s dark lashes flicker, and he smiles. The right side of his mouth is always higher than the left, and you've always loved the deep commas around the corners of his lips.

“Thought you might like it,” he says, keeping his voice low.

For a moment, you’re suspended in his gaze, watching the minuscule movement of his eyes as they trace your features and the smile that remains on your face. He's calm, in this moment. The opposite of what he has been for the last few weeks, and you relish in it.

“Thank you for showing me.”

Jason’s lips curve upward farther, the creases around his eyes deepening like he's proud.

“...Even though you woke me up at an ungodly time.”

Your shoulder is pushed back lightly by his hand, and you laugh with a quiet breath, hearing his own chuckles reverberate next to you.

“Yeah, whatever,” he mumbles, his voice carrying his smile audibly.

You lean forward again, quinting through the eyepiece. You’ve never been able to see the moon this close, and you never even dreamed that you would. The only thing that ever came close to this was the printed images in the library books at the school you once went to.

“It’s so—” your words die when you lean back again, finding the space beside you empty. The warmth of his body absent, as if he had never been there in the first place.

Blinking, your head swivels around, and confusion settles in your chest. Where’d he go?

“Jason?”

Standing to your feet, your fingers idly rub at your arm as you look around the large hall. You look in the shadows, but you find nothing there. There’s only you and the sound of your breathing, the floormats suddenly uncomfortably soft beneath your feet, as if you might just fall through them.

He couldn’t have left the room so quickly, could he?

The light in the room dims, and you glance behind you through the window. Dark clouds slither across the moon, and something cold wraps around your lungs.

You spin, gaze frantically searching.

“Jason?” You call out, not bothering to hide the volume of your voice in the quiet manor. “Jason!?”

There’s nothing but noise in your ears, muffled and warped. The darkness of your closed eyelids is the only thing that greets you, and a pounding in the back of your skull and a singular sentence.

Where’s Jason? Where’s Jason? Where’s Jason?

Your eyes fling open and you shoot upright, gasping.

Jason’s here.

Thank you for reading! God bless! :]

#jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd/reader #jason todd/you #red hood x reader #red hood/reader #red hood #jason todd #arkham universe #batman: under the red hood #dcu #dc comics #dc universe #jason todd fanfiction #jason todd imagine

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fatedtime · 9 months ago

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I know there’s a lot of people talking about the culture conflict between Toshiro and Laios, but I think it’s important to acknowledge the class conflict between them too. Mayor’s child or not, Laios is still from the boonies, while Toshiro is waited on hand and foot by a flock of women his family employs to serve his needs. This has 100% stifled Toshiro’s ability to communicate with others, to the point where acknowledging his retainers and thanking them for their efforts is shown as a huge point of growth.

Meanwhile, Laios’s bumbling nature towards Toshiro’s boundaries is very much informed by his lack of knowledge of other people and places. He knows how much it hurt him to see his sister rejected by people whose insular attitudes made her powers frightening to them, so he tries to express overtures of friendship towards Toshiro by being so interested in him that it comes off as frightening instead. While he means well, his lack of knowledge on how to interact with people who are different from him puts Toshiro in a weird spot, and this lack of knowledge isn’t just the autism — it’s where he was born and raised. And it’s something real kids from rural areas go through when they enter more urban spaces. The sorts of social manners that are appropriate there aren’t appropriate elsewhere, and they get seen as… well. Inelegant. Pushy.

If Laios had gotten Hien’s name wrong, she would have decked him. But because it was Toshiro, whose upbringing didn’t give him any conflict resolution skills (because he’s around people who have to bend to his needs*) he doesn’t know how to sort things out with Laios, and grows to resent him. It’s not just the culture, it’s the place he occupies class-wise.

That’s part of why I love Toshiro’s arc — if this was just a culture conflict where Laios commits microagressions against him, as I’ve mostly seen it put, him ultimately learning a lesson would be pretty weird. But it’s not. His upbringing as a noble lord’s son in a BONKERS family has given him certain issues… and Laios helps him confront that, so he can live without regrets.

(*please note, this is a massive oversimplification of what the hell is going on with Toshiro Nakamoto. i just didn't want to write a book.)

#dungeon meshi #toshiro nakamoto #laios touden #also I know that it’s partially because the anime hasn’t gotten there yet #but it’s really weird to me that the microagression conversation is around toshiro and laios #when nothing has suggested the dm world has any real concept of whiteness or white colonialism #laios doesn’t have inherent social power and the reason toshiro doesn’t correct him isn’t because Laios’s whiteness puts him in danger #not that i don't think these differences are worth talking about it's just a lot of the conversation seems to be really loaded #in ways they... aren't in the story????? and also i think strips away some of toshiro's unique situation #there IS a character laios is extremely weird towards that fits that criteria though #and I’m curious how people will respond to that

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irontragedyreview · 8 months ago

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People who are saying "you can't criticize Horikoshi, it's his story and he can do whatever he wants", etc. Yeah, it's his story but he's made it public so I can do whatever I want and if I want to be a bitch and I call hi, mediocre I’ll do it. Like I love Naruto with all my heart and I have defended Kishimoto over certain criticisms in relation to female characters, etc. I have also criticized him for the absolute shit that Boruto is, even considering that as a manga Boruto isn’t 100% his work considering that at the beginning he was involved in the movie but on the manga he was only a supervisor. What I'm trying to get It’s that if you believe that just because a mangaka creates a story it should be free from criticism then you aren’t ready to get involved with any type of media or sincerely the public believes that consuming a movie, book, etc. means being a passive subject without critical thinking.

That being said, Horikoshi largely deserves as much criticism as he can get because these chapters were truly a shit show since this last arc began. Let's just start listing first, AFO vs Endeavor and every hero in existence was too long and repeated for a large number of chapters the formula "villain takes the advantage, heroes take the advantage, the villain takes the advantage again and finally wins and move on to something else", all of this perhaps understandable to give some prominence to characters who were forgotten for entire arcs.

Shouto and his arc plus his relationship with Dabi, Shouto had a very interesting arc and incredibly much material to exploit but his arc and his relationship with Dabi never managed to take off because he was so tied to Endeavor that the interactions between them felt empty.

Ochako and Toga were honestly the only thing that was worth it, you could see the commitment to giving them both a great moment and the way she wanted to approach Toga and truly have a conversation. The only thing I can criticize about their ending is that obviously there is no completely satisfactory closure in giving Toga an answer to what happens next, apart from Ochako's offer of understanding, there is no easy way out of what the other heroes will do, therefore which I can’t criticize her for not giving an answer to a complicated situation in this way.

Also Horikoshi added things to his story that in the end he didn’t finish closing or that surely even if he touched them again it would no longer make sense, what happened to Spinner? What happened to everything about heteromorphic discrimination? I have to believe that everything is fixed by the good heart of Shoji telling Spinner that his way of doing things only makes the "achievements" of equality go backwards by giving them a bad image. In other words, we know that quirk society is discriminatory, especially in less urbanized towns, that those heteromorphs who reach places of power are the least and no real change has been achieved, but of course the victims of discrimination have to keep quiet and be good. So, maybe in the future they will no longer be discriminated. I'm going to be fair here, touching on issues like discrimination is complex, but putting an idea like this in the manga and then going for a simplistic or rather completely ignored resolution, because while a person may not share Spinner's actions, it’s understandable why he does it and simply saying that you have to be better because then people will see that you are good and not discriminate against you is stupid, Horikoshi covered a topic that he honestly didn’t know how to deal with or wasn’t interested in doing so.

Kurogiri/Shirakumo being just a plot device for Aizawa and being resolved in 5 panels, I'm going to be understanding and say that this arc had the least to explore, but in the end it was meh. Tbh I'm not going to criticize this because it is so empty of content that it is no longer worth criticizing it.

About Tomura and Izuku, the truth is what can I say the most that I haven't said in previous posts? from all the fights or confrontations it’s the most ignored, neglected and rushed of all, we don't know anything about them other than loose panels for a whole year, they barely interact and now Tomura dies, Izuku is "well, I honestly don't give a damn and I want you dead", if no one who has followed these two characters realizes the damage that this chapter has done to their conclusions then I'm not going to explain it. If Horikoshi felt incapable or was tired of his story he could have ended it with something else, however perhaps this was always the plan, we are talking about a guy who said that the second movie was the end of his manga,that is Midoriya without quirk giving it to his childhood bully. It's obvious that he doesn't care about Izuku as a character and I think he did care about Tomura but he didn't know what to do with him, which is why we have this ending.

Final note for any comments I may surely receive for calling bk a childhood bully. Don't waste your time replying, commenting or trying to argue, Horikoshi took it upon himself to make bk a gary stu who never faces real consequences for his actions (dying is not a sign of karma) and his abuse is never treated seriously by the author, because his victim never reflects on himself, which is ironic considering how many BK fans recognize that Midoriya has self-esteem problems, contempt, and poor self-care but do not recognize BK's role in this or minimize it.

#izuku midoriya #tenko shimura #shigaraki tomura #ochako uraraka #toga himiko #bnha critical #bnha 423 #shoto todoroki #dabi #touya todoroki

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modernidolater · 5 months ago

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🎃Wheel of Halloween🎃

There's a post of a tweet saying that every 31st of the month should be a Halloween, and you know what? I'm a Halloween Witch. I'm an Idolater. I'm an urban techno witch who lives an air conditioned life, can't stand nature bigger than a park or local landscaping, and hates leaving the city except to drive to another damn city.

I have been struggling to connect to the Wheel of the Year or the Solstices/Equinoxes for freaking years.

But a cycle of Halloweens?

That.

That I can fucking do.

So, without further ado, I present the shit I will be actually celebrating. Ya don't have to join me, but I will be posting about it for those that wanna follow along, with options and cutouts for those who don't want to or can't do the more party elements.

With luck, I'll pick up on August 31st and go from there, if not, I'll start with actual Halloween.

Halloween

October 31st

It's muthafucking Halloween. I have ideas and will post about them more as we get closer, but you know what this one is.

New Year's Eve

December 31st

This one actually also exists, but I have plans for tying it to the January 31st one to bookend the year. The primary purpose of this Eve is gratitude and sharing the good things from the year before, casting off the trappings of the old year, and to bring the new one in with luck and prosperity.

Candle's Eve

January 31st

One month from the casting out of the old year, it's time to set things for the new. Cleansing and cleaning, setting intentions (not resolutions) for the year to come, making the Mask of the Year to call on who I aspire to be, burning the intentions set last year with last years candle, and blessing a candle to burn this years intentions next year are all features. Food and drink suggestions available when I actually post this up.

Hallow Ides

March 31st

Couple of these have fun names, and this is one of them. It's a party holiday, involving a picnic and a special cake/cupcakes/muffins.

The costume element is that I'll swap clothes or looks with someone I'm celebrating with (or dress up as someone else if celebrating solo).

There's a drinking element (non-alcoholic is fine) that results in a stack o' good luck charms.

And for my trick, I can and will sing the filthiest songs, tell the dirtiest jokes, read a romance novel or erotica, just go ham on the bawdy shit.

Alternatives for ace and non-sexing folk will be forthcoming in the relevant post, but it's my damn Wheel and I'm doing bawdy shit for myself.

Blessed Eve

May 31st

Not a bonfire person, but I'm definitely gonna have a cookout and grill up some burgers! Also a neat drink and cookies that both double as offerings!

Flower masks and crowns are involved to hide from the spring spirits that might fux me upa.

There's a Blessing Bouquet that goes up early, is used to exorcise and re-bless my property/house, and then is ceremonially burned.

An ash blessing to seal the prosperity into my house ties the whole thing off.

Fortune's Eve

July 31st

This one pretty heavily revolves around a ritual game of betting and chance that I came up with based on a cool concept tied into the holiday I'm aiming at. Game generates lucky candy and a good luck charm.

Hella apples involved including a ceremonial apple and cider. Veils worn for the blindness of luck, and a strong theme of having a game day.

Neewollah

August 31st

I'm actually pretty stoked for this one, and will do a more expansive post on it later this week. I really hope I can pull this together in time this year.

Idea is a bit Opposite Day, a bit of LiarWeen vibe.

Trick the cosmos into taking away the bad shit and giving me good shit through a ritual lying ceremony, wearing a mask of duality to further confuse the issue. Ritual ash anointing to lock things down and ensure I get the stuff I want and ward off the shit I got rid of.

Candy (obvs) but I (and anyone celebrating with me) has to ask, and the person giving it has to make a point of saying no...while forking over.

And of course, games like Never Have I Ever or Two Truths & A Lie, drinking optional. (I will...probably...drink. Just saying.)

Where's the Eighth One?

Wheel has eight Sabbats, yeah?

In the grand tradition of the Satanist/Luciferian practices I stuck with for so long, Number 8 is my Birthday.

Or yours, if you decide to try this.

I'll decide what I wanna do about Birthday when I get there. You do you, tho.

And That's The Wheel of Halloween!

So yes, some of those are closer to recognizable Sabbats. Some of them are so far off that they're not in the same neighborhood. Spoiler: the ones you don't recognize are based (very, very loosely) on Roman festivals that occur in the corresponding month.

Why Roman?

Cause they had a religious festival for everything, there's records I can squint at, and they had a strong mystery tradition that plays well with my schtick.

I am not a dedicated Rome fanby, to be clear, the empire is just very much gone, very well attested, and I can most likely swipe the shape of their shit without worrying about stepping on anyone.

And even then, I'm mixing time periods, even up to hijacking Medieval Xtian shit where and when I see fit. Cause I was baptized Catholic, and that shit is my culture to use.

Neewollah Posting Hopefully Soon! Stay Tuned!

And of course, feel free to reach out for asks, questions, and readings if ya want 'em.

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xpuigc-bloc · 6 months ago

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COLOSSAL

Design History Illustration Social Issues

A Rare Cross-Section Illustration Reveals the Infamous Happenings of Kowloon Walled City

GRACE EBERT

All images courtesy of Greg Jensen

At its height in the 1990s, Kowloon Walled City in Hong Kong housed about 50,000 people. Its population is unremarkable for small cities, but what set Kowloon apart from others of its size was its density. Spanning only 2.6 hectares, the tiny enclave contained 1,255,000 people per square kilometer, making it the densest city in the world. For context, New York City boasts about 11,300 per square kilometer, while Manila, the most highly concentrated municipality today, tops out at about 42,000.

Kowloon was built as a small military fort around the turn of the 20th century. When the Chinese and English governments abandoned it after World War II, the area attracted refugees and people in search of affordable housing. With no single architect, the urban center continued to grow as people stacked buildings on top of one another and tucked new structures in between existing ones to accommodate the growing population without expanding beyond the original fort’s border.

With only a small pocket of community space at the center, Kowloon quickly morphed into a labyrinth of shops, services, and apartments connected by narrow stairs and passageways through the buildings. Rather than navigate the city through alleys and streets, residents traversed the structures using slim corridors that always seemed to morph, an experience that caused many to refer to Kowloon as “a living organism.”

The city devolved into a slum with crime and poor living conditions and was razed in 1994. Before demolition, though, a team of Japanese researchers meticulously documented the architectural marvel, which had become a sort of cyberpunk icon that even inspired a gritty arcade as tribute.

For a now out-of-print book titled Kowloon City: An Illustrated Guide, artist Hitomi Terasawa drew a meticulous cross-sectioned rendering of the urban phenomenon to preserve its memory. The massive panorama peers into the compact neighborhood, glimpsing narrow dance halls, laundry dangling from balconies, and entire factories tucked inside cramped quarters.

Thanks to psychologist Greg Jensen, we now have a stunning high-resolution scan of Terasawa’s illustration complete with annotations and diagramming. It’s worth viewing the full panorama in its entirety to zoom in on all the details of this infamous city. And, for photos of Kowloon and its inhabitants, check out this incredibly informative video detailing its history.

COLOSSAL

#colossal #Kowloon Walled City #Greg Jensen #ilustration painter #original art #artist painter #art #xpuigc

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myfearless-love · 24 days ago

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Do you have stuff other than too well tangled? A master list or something? When I have time (not sitting at work) I will definitely read your longer works. I just wanted to see what else you had too.

Hi there!

I do have a masterlist! All links lead to AO3:

The Knots That Bind Us - Complete, one-shot

Summary

England's most notorious rake has traded debauchery for daddy duty—and surprisingly loves it. Between his newborn daughter, his always-active son, and his quick-witted wife, Killian Jones discovers that domestic chaos might just be his most thrilling adventure yet. An epilogue to "Too Well Tangled"

Untie My Silhouette - Complete

Summary

Emma Swan feels like she's in a rut and after spending the last day of December alone and in self-pity, she decides she needs some changes in her life. A New Year's resolution list might do the trick and she intends to keep to every item she scribbled down. Killian Jones thinks Emma's just as perfect as she is, so when he gets his hands on her list it seems like a good idea to propose a bet to her. Especially when in turn, he gets to spend more time with her. But the stakes aren't low, they'll use everything in order to win - and for the other to lose.

Swan of the Lake - WIP

Summary

While searching for her past filled with mysteries and legends, Emma Nolan loses her present in an unfortunate accident. The man rushing to save her is no prince charming, and he must realize soon enough that the girl, who has no idea who she is, awakens instincts and desires in him that he had long since buried deep within his soul. But who exactly is she? What if her memories come back? Will she remember anything at all?

The Wildest Place You Run - WIP

Summary

In a world where vampires, werewolves, mages, and elves once hid in the shadows, the Guild's strict laws couldn't contain the rebellion brewing among them. When the supernatural beings' secret spilled into the open during a disastrous clash with humans, Emma Swan loses her love in the chaos. Months later, as she grapples with the aftermath, a mysterious figure creeps into her life, bringing with him secrets darker than a vampire's night and a situation that's more twisted than an elf's dance.

Fields of Freedom - Complete, two-shot

Summary

In a twist that even her inner circle couldn't predict, Emma abandons the urban hustle for the enchanting embrace of farm life, spurred by an unexpected inheritance. Armed with determination but little agrarian know-how, she enlists the help of her mysterious neighbor, Killian Jones. What starts as a simple offer of farming expertise blossoms into a harvest of support that neither Emma nor Killian saw coming. Turns out, amid the sprawling fields, it's Killian who secretly yearns for a helping hand in the delicate dance of life.

as the crow flies - Complete, one-shot

Summary

Emma is avoiding him. He tries to recollect what happened two nights ago when they managed to return from the past, but he can’t recall saying or doing anything foolish that might have caused her to run from him like this. -------------------------------------- She is avoiding Killian. Sort of. But not in the way she did after returning from New York. She has a plan and she can't have Killian's perceptiveness ruin this for her. He will understand. (Post 3x22 without Marian and Frozen)

Recipe for Disaster - Complete, one-shot

Summary

Due to a family feud, Emma Swan is forced to move in with her closest and only friend's much-hated cousin, Killian Jones, but he devises a scheme for them to play the happy couple in order to give them a reason to move in together. Emma agrees in exchange for Killian taking her to different places where she could meet new people and make friends. So, where does the issue begin?

Tasted Sunshine - Complete, one-shot

Summary

Even after all they’ve been through, she’s still getting used to how easy it is to just be with him because they’re not just sex, the usual urge to run away after a night full of pleasure never crosses her mind when she’s with him. Set in an undefined timeline of the series.

Hearts Like Wildflowers - Complete, one-shot

Summary

He danced with the shadows until she waltzed into his life, armed with her untamed blonde curls and a feisty attitude. Even on this godforsaken island, she's the spark that turns his existence into a lively soiree. (Canon Divergent from 3x06)

A Trip to Your Heart - Complete, one-shot

Summary

Emma Swan is forging a devious plan to save the sanity of her best friend, Mary Margaret, or at least to stop her form quoting those stupid swashbuckling pirate tales. The core of her plan is to hunt down and neutralize the internet famous writer, dashingpiratecaptain aka Killian Jones. But soon her ideas go down the drain, because she certainly hasn’t counted on developing feelings for the man whose entire writing career she is about to destroy. (Written for Captain Swan Little Bang on Tumblr).

something so magic about you - Complete, one-shot

Summary

Emma Swan just found the perfect gift for Mary Margaret's birthday. The only problem? A blue-eyed stranger with a ridiculously attractive face and accent just stole it from right under her nose. Modern AU. Captain Swan.

#cs #captain swan #cs ff #masterlist #killian jones #emma swan #emma x killian #captain hook #once upon a time #ouat ff #ouat #ask Niki

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why-am-i-not-fictional · 9 months ago

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Things to script - nature or status of realities

This is something I recently started inputting into my DRs to make them better and safe. I got much help from ChatGPT too to categorize all these things. I wanted to share it with you guys too :) feel free to use anything for your scripts. Happy Shifting!!!

All of the below discriminations does not exist in any of my DRs

Misogyny

Racism

Homophobia

Transphobia

Classism

Ableism

Ageism

Xenophobia

Islamophobia

Anti-Semitism

Colorism

Nationalism

Casteism

Environmental injustice

Sexism

Sizeism

Religious discrimination

Ethnic discrimination

Discrimination based on immigration status

Discrimination based on language

Discrimination based on nationality

Discrimination based on indigenous status

Discrimination based on political beliefs

Discrimination based on marital status

Discrimination based on parental status

Discrimination based on veteran status

Discrimination based on HIV/AIDS status

Discrimination based on neurodiversity

Discrimination based on mental health status

Discrimination based on physical appearance

Discrimination based on cultural practices

Discrimination based on regional or geographical origin

Discrimination based on caste or social status

Discrimination based on educational background

Discrimination based on housing status

Discrimination based on criminal record

Discrimination based on economic status

Discrimination based on access to healthcare

Discrimination based on access to education

Discrimination based on access to employment opportunities

All of the below issues have been solved many years ago and they do not exist in the times of any of my DRs

Poverty

Economic inequality

Environmental degradation

Climate change

Pollution

Deforestation

Political instability

Armed conflicts

Civil wars

Humanitarian crises

Global health challenges

Infectious diseases

Pandemics

Inadequate healthcare systems

Lack of access to essential medicines

Educational disparities

Limited access to quality education

Illiteracy

Child labor

Child marriage

Gender inequality

Women's rights violations

Child labor

Human trafficking

Forced labor

Modern slavery

Corruption

Lack of transparency

Ineffective governance

Authoritarian regimes

Suppression of free speech

Violations of human rights

Arbitrary detention

Torture

Persecution

Indigenous rights violations

Land grabs

Cultural appropriation

Technological and digital divides

Ethical dilemmas in technology

Privacy concerns

Data breaches

Cybersecurity threats

Food insecurity

Malnutrition

Water scarcity

Access to clean water

Sanitation issues

Homelessness

Housing affordability

Urbanization challenges

Aging population

Elder abuse

Mental health stigma

Lack of access to mental health services

Substance abuse

Addiction

Disability rights violations

Accessibility barriers

Stigmatization of disabilities

LGBTQ+ rights violations

Discrimination based on sexual orientation

Discrimination based on gender identity

Family rejection

Reproductive rights violations

Access to reproductive healthcare

Maternal mortality

Child mortality

Access to clean energy

Energy poverty

Fossil fuel dependence

Renewable energy transition challenges

Wildlife conservation

Endangered species protection

Animal rights violations

All the DRs I shift to are abundant of the following things

Compassion

Empathy

Cooperation

Collaboration

Sustainability

Environmental stewardship

Peacebuilding

Conflict resolution

Dialogue

Reconciliation

Education

Knowledge-sharing

Critical thinking

Cultural diversity

Cultural respect

Inclusivity

Equality

Justice

Ethical leadership

Integrity

Accountability

Service to others

Health promotion

Well-being

Healthcare access

Mental health support

Social support systems

Innovation

Creativity

Social justice

Fairness

Equity

Human rights

Freedom of expression

Freedom of assembly

Democratic governance

Rule of law

Transparency

Accountability mechanisms

Community empowerment

Grassroots activism

Civic engagement

Volunteerism

Philanthropy

Sustainable development

Responsible consumption

Renewable energy adoption

Conservation

Biodiversity protection

Animal welfare

Gender equality

Women's empowerment

LGBTQ+ rights

Disability rights

Indigenous rights

Racial equity

Anti-discrimination policies

Social welfare programs

Poverty alleviation

Economic empowerment

Access to education

Access to clean water

Sanitation infrastructure

Housing rights

Food security

Global cooperation

International aid and development

Humanitarian assistance

Conflict prevention

Diplomacy

Multilateralism

Solidarity

Tolerance

Forgiveness

Resilience

All of the DRs I shift into are currently successfully overcoming the following challenges as they rise

Sustaining Progress: Maintaining the momentum of positive change and preventing regression into previous discriminatory attitudes and practices.

Ensuring Equity: Addressing lingering disparities and ensuring that the benefits of progress are equitably distributed across all communities.

Adapting to Changing Circumstances: Remaining flexible and responsive to evolving societal needs, dynamics, and challenges over time.

Balancing Interests: Navigating competing interests, values, and priorities among diverse stakeholders in society.

Preventing Backlash: Mitigating potential backlash from individuals or groups who may resist or oppose efforts to eliminate discrimination and promote positive change.

Addressing Unforeseen Consequences: Anticipating and addressing unintended consequences or side effects of interventions aimed at addressing societal issues.

Managing Complexity: Dealing with the complexity of interconnected social, economic, political, and environmental systems, which may require interdisciplinary approaches and collaboration.

Maintaining Engagement: Sustaining public engagement, participation, and support for ongoing efforts to promote equality, justice, and well-being.

Ensuring Accountability: Holding individuals, institutions, and governments accountable for upholding principles of fairness, transparency, and ethical conduct.

Resisting Entrenched Power Structures: Challenging and dismantling entrenched power structures, systems of privilege, and institutionalized forms of discrimination.

Addressing Global Challenges: Collaborating internationally to address global challenges such as climate change, inequality, and conflict, which require coordinated action across borders.

Cultural Sensitivity: Respecting and accommodating diverse cultural norms, values, and perspectives while promoting universal principles of human rights and equality.

Managing Resources: Efficiently allocating resources and managing competing demands to sustain progress and address ongoing needs in society.

Promoting Inclusivity: Ensuring that marginalized or vulnerable groups are included in decision-making processes and benefit from positive changes in society.

Building Trust: Fostering trust, cooperation, and solidarity among individuals, communities, and institutions to sustain positive social transformation.

Addressing New Challenges: Remaining vigilant and adaptive to emerging challenges and threats to equality, justice, and well-being in an ever-changing world.

#reality shifting #desired reality #reality shift #shifting community #shifting motivation #shiftblr #shifting consciousness #shifters #shifting script #scripting

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rabbitcruiser · 5 months ago

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International Day of The World's Indigenous People

The International Day of the World’s Indigenous People on August 9 pays tribute to the indigenous communities of the world. The latest data reveals that there are about 370 to 500 million indigenous people living in 90 countries. These communities are noted to have their own unique set of languages, traditions, cultures, and governing systems. For many indigenous groups, the systems that their ancestors have followed for centuries have stood the test of time by serving them with positive outcomes to date. Many indigenous people’s special bond and connection with nature have also led to the protection of the general environment. However, on the other side, several indigenous communities face difficulties due to a central government’s covert and overt attempts to control their lives. This has led to indigenous people’s rights violations where they would have otherwise ensured peaceful and harmonious lives for them.

History of International Day of The World's Indigenous People

The first International Day of the World’s Indigenous People was officially celebrated in August 1995. The day had been brought into existence when the 49/214 resolution was passed by the U.N. General Assembly on December 23, 1994. August 9 was chosen as the commemorative date because that was when the first meeting of the U.N. Working Group on Indigenous Populations of the Sub-Commission on the Promotion and Protection of Human Rights was held. Every year, the day is honored by governments and organizations holding education forums and conferences to meet and discuss the social issues faced by indigenous groups worldwide. People are also given information on any ongoing and/or upcoming activities and projects that are being undertaken to help the target communities. Every year, the theme changes to shed light on a pressing topic, and the theme for the year 2021 was ‘Leaving no one behind: Indigenous peoples and the call for a new social contract.’

The social contract theme is a call for accountability in the general populations’ interaction with the indigenous communities and their resources. Over the years, many indigenous groups have found themselves to be on a disadvantageous terrain in the face of urban development projects that have destroyed and denigrated their lands and territories. The central governments and builders involved in such projects never sought permission from or even spoke with the indigenous communities before they took the developmental steps. Organizations and agencies like the U.N. and UNESCO have made efforts for constitutional/legislative reforms for dominant indigenous groups. Yet, the efforts must be focussed on bringing everyone together in the cause, leaving none behind.

International Day of The World's Indigenous People timeline

1982 First U.N. Meeting on Indigenous People

The U.N. holds the first meeting on indigenous people by forming the U.N. Working Group on Indigenous Populations of the Sub-Commission on the Promotion and Protection of Human Rights.

1995 International Day of the World’s Indigenous People

The first International Day of the World’s Indigenous People is celebrated by the U.N. General Assembly.

2005 - 2015 Indigenous People’s Decade

The U.N. proclaims 2005 to 2015 to be the ‘Decade of Action and Dignity’ for the indigenous communities.

2019 Indigenous Languages Year

After a startling 2016 report on the danger of more than 2,000 indigenous becoming extinct, the U.N. declares 2019 to be the International Year of Indigenous Languages in order to create awareness.

How To Observe International Day of the World’s Indigenous People

Learn about indigenous groups

Learn an indigenous language

Stand by indigenous groups

History related to indigenous people is always interesting to read and learn about. They have their own sets of beliefs, customs, languages, and cultures. Their daily lifestyles are also often connected with nature, be it animals, trees, certain plants, or lakes/rivers.

The U.N. declared the years 2022 to 2032 the decade for indigenous languages. The goal is to bring to attention the dying languages, since most of them are not taught in schools or are used by the general public. Losing a language is losing an important facet of the history and culture of a people.

The best way to celebrate this day and the rest of the year is by vowing to stand by indigenous groups. The indigenous people have the right to freely choose however they wish to live, much like any other living being on this planet. Protecting their rights also in turn protects your rights in the long run.

5 Interesting Facts About Indigenous People

80% of the world’s biodiversity

4,000 indigenous languages

High poverty rates

Short life spans

Leaders in protecting the environment

Around 80% of the world’s biodiversity is in places where indigenous groups are living.

The 5,000 indigenous communities in the world are credited with having about 4,000 languages.

While the indigenous communities account for only 5% of the world’s population, they make up 15% of the world population that is living in poverty.

Indigenous communities, due to a lack of awareness, have shorter life spans as they die of preventable diseases like malaria and H.I.V.

Studies have shown that the fauna and flora, and biodiversity thrive and flourish where indigenous people reside.

Why International Day of the World’s Indigenous People is Important

It’s a celebration of indigenous people

It’s a celebration of indigenous languages

It’s a celebration of the freedom to live

Indigenous people form an essential and crucial part of not only our planet’s history, but also how human beings have come to make systems to lead fruitful lives. The indigenous people’s cultures, customs, and traditions are interesting to learn about for their uniqueness and for what they teach us about the universe and the bigger picture.

Language, at its core, builds the identity of a people. The involvement of the different phonetics, grammar rules, and formal/informal styles can tell one a lot about where a community has come from, and how their history has shaped them. The same is the case with indigenous languages. The problem lies in their endangerment, and this is why we must strive to preserve them.

The freedom to practice our rights on a piece of land that has shaped our communities for centuries should not be taken away from anyone. The freedom to practice our customs, traditions, and general lifestyles is another important aspect of living a worthwhile life. For these very reasons and many others, we should join indigenous people in their right to live and flourish however they like.

Source

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ieatmoonrocks · 6 months ago

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MHA DR-Self Hero Profile

(I'm not an artist but I tried ;~; )

Hero Name: Impulse

Considering MHA's fantastical laws of physics and such, I'm taking some liberties here, I know EMP's don't necessarily work this way :)

Quirk: Electro-Magnetic Pulse (EMP)

I can use and manipulate EMP’s to affect anything that can use or run on electricity to my will. At some point I learn to control biological tissue by manipulating electrical signals in the cells. I can do anything from diagnosing issues in electronics to accessing any information (even the most confidential) as long as it’s on the device or connected to the internet in any way. Firewalls and encryption can take a bit longer to navigate through, but in general are no issue. No trace is left behind; my activities cannot be traced, even if I pull up the information on a computer for others to see. I can interface with tech and view everything in my head, so battery usage in devices is minimal due to there being no need for screens or physical input. Outside electrical sources are not needed to manipulate most objects.

Skills:

Some of these skills are gained and perfected in my time at UA.

Parkour:

Agility and Speed: Enhances my ability to move rapidly through urban environments, chase villains, or reach areas inaccessible by conventional means.

Escape and Evasion: Allows me to evade capture or dangerous situations.

Rescue Operations: Facilitates swift navigation in disaster zones.

Skateboarding: Translates into Hoverboard use

Quick Transportation: Provides a fast and agile mode of transportation, allowing me to cover ground quickly.

Enhanced Maneuverability: Helps me perform sharp turns and evasive maneuvers during pursuits or escapes.

Combat Utility: The board can be used as a tool in combat, either as a weapon or a shield.

Krav Maga:

Self-Defense: Equips me with practical combat skills to neutralize threats quickly and effectively.

Close-Combat Proficiency: Enhances my ability to handle hand-to-hand combat situations.

Situational Awareness: Trains me to remain vigilant and responsive to immediate threats.

Electronics and Programming:

Tech Control: Allows me to interface with and control technology.

Hacking: Enables me to hack into security systems, disable electronic traps, or access critical information.

Repair and Modification: Equips me with the skills to repair damaged tech or modify devices on the fly.

Cybersecurity:

Counter-Hacking: Allows me to defend against cyber-attacks from villains.

Data Protection: Ensures the safety of personal and mission-related data.

Tech Defense: Helps me implement security measures on their own devices.

Neurobiology:

Safe Manipulation: Enables me to manipulate biological electrical signals safely.

Medical Assistance: Provides the knowledge to offer medical aid, such as stabilizing heartbeats or alleviating pain.

Enhanced Strategy: Offers insight into how opponents' nervous systems function, aiding in the development of effective, non-lethal combat strategies.

Tactical Thinking and Strategy:

Mission Planning: Helps me develop effective plans for complex missions.

Adaptability: Equips me to adjust strategies quickly in response to changing conditions or unexpected challenges.

Team Coordination: Enhances my ability to work with and lead teams, coordinating actions and resources.

Leadership and Communication:

Team Leadership: Prepares me to lead teams of other heroes or rescue personnel, making critical decisions under pressure.

Public Interaction: Equips me to communicate with the public, media, and authorities.

Conflict Resolution: Enhances my ability to de-escalate situations and resolve conflicts peacefully when possible.

First Aid and Emergency Response:

Medical Assistance: Allows me to provide critical care in the field, stabilizing injured individuals until they can receive professional treatment.

Disaster Response: Equips me to manage disaster scenarios, providing aid, organizing evacuations, and ensuring public safety.

Self-Care: Enables me to tend to my own injuries during missions.

Support Items:

Smart Visor:

Augmented Reality Interface: Displays real-time information overlay, including maps, data streams, and tactical readouts, directly in the user’s field of vision.

Enhanced Vision Modes: Includes night vision, thermal imaging, and x-ray vision.

Universal Integration: Can connect to any electronic device or network within range.

Communication Hub: Functions as a secure communication device.

Mental Command: Responds to mental commands for hands-free operation.

Insulation: Protects against electronic surges.

Retractable Smart Wires:

Grappling hooks: Equipped with small yet extremely strong and durable grappling hooks that can latch on to most surfaces, or grip to self when wire is wrapped around an object.

Electric Conductivity: Can channel the user's EMP directly through the cables.

Durable and Flexible: Made from a thin high-strength, flexible material that can withstand extreme conditions and physical stress. Made from a Material that while remaining flexible, does not tangle with itself.

Automatic Retraction: Retracts into a compact, portable spool when not in use.

Variable Length: Length can be adjusted as needed, extending up to several yards.

Collapsible Hoverboard:

Folding Mechanism: Folds down from the size of a skateboard deck into a compact, pocket sized form.

Electric Propulsion: Uses a high-efficiency electromagnetic propulsion system for smooth and silent movement, easily controlled by the user’s quirk.

Remote Summoning: Can be summoned to the user’s location.

Stability and Control: Features advanced gyroscopic stabilization for smooth rides over various terrains.

Speed and Maneuverability: Capable of high speeds and sharp turns.

Pocket Tech:

Micro Bugs

Micro Cameras

Micro Drones

Mini Bombs

Costume:

Sneakers:

Shock-Absorbing Soles: Provides superior cushioning to absorb impact during high-speed movements and long jumps.

Conductive Fabric: Allows me to channel EMP.

Magnetic Traction Pads: Ensures superior grip on the hoverboard, maintaining stability.

Lightweight and Breathable: Keeps the feet cool and dry, enhancing comfort and reducing fatigue during long missions.

Reinforced Toe and Heel Caps: Provides extra protection against impacts and enhances durability.

Socks:

Conductive Fibers: Allows me to channel EMP.

Moisture-Wicking Fabric: Keeps feet dry and comfortable.

Compression Zones: Provides targeted compression to support key areas of the foot and ankle, improving blood circulation and reducing fatigue.

Shock-Absorbing Padding: Enhances comfort by absorbing impact and reducing stress on the feet.

Antimicrobial Treatment: Prevents the growth of odor-causing bacteria, keeping the socks fresh and hygienic.

Seamless Construction: Reduces friction and prevents blisters.

Thermoregulatory Properties: Keeps feet warm in cold conditions and cool in hot conditions.

Reinforced Arch Support: Provides additional support to the arch, enhancing stability and reducing the risk of injuries.

Pants:

Durable Fabric: Provides protection against wear and tear.

Conductive Threading: Allows me to channel EMP.

Moisture-Wicking and Breathable: Keeps me cool and dry.

Reinforced Knees and Seat: Provides extra durability and protection.

Flexible: Ensures a comfortable fit that adapts to my movements, providing flexibility and reducing restrictions.

Multiple Pockets: Provides ample storage space for tools, gadgets, and personal items.

Thermoregulatory Properties: Keeps me warm in cold conditions and cool in hot conditions.

Harness:

Durable Material: Ensures the harness can withstand the rigors of combat and daily use.

Ergonomic Design: Provides comfort and support during prolonged wear, distributing weight evenly.

Adjustable Fit: Provides a customizable fit, ensuring the harness stays secure and comfortable.

Attachment Points: Allows me to attach additional gear, tools, or accessories.

Quick-Release Buckles: Ensures the harness can be easily and quickly donned or doffed.

Integrated Power Conduits: Allows me to channel EMP, enhancing my ability to manipulate the smart cables.

Reflective and High-Visibility Elements: Increases visibility in low-light conditions, ensuring I can be seen by allies and avoid hazards.

Shirt:

Conductive Fabric: Allows me to channel EMP.

Moisture-Wicking and Breathable: Keeps me cool and dry.

Compression Zones: Provides support to key muscle groups, improving blood circulation and reducing muscle fatigue.

Reinforced Seams: Enhances durability and prevents tearing.

Thermoregulatory Properties: Keeps me warm in cold conditions and cool in hot conditions.

Flexible and Stretchable: Ensures a snug fit that moves with my body, providing full range of motion and reducing restrictions.

Antimicrobial Treatment: Prevents the growth of odor-causing bacteria, keeping the shirt fresh and hygienic.

Gloves:

Conductive Fabric: Allows me to channel EMP.

Ergonomic Design: Provides a natural fit that reduces hand fatigue and enhances dexterity.

Reinforced Palms and Fingers: Offers extra protection against abrasion and impact.

Touchscreen Compatibility: Allows me to interact with touchscreen devices if needed.

Breathable and Moisture-Wicking: Keeps hands cool and dry by allowing sweat to evaporate quickly.

Adjustable Wrist Straps: Provides a secure fit, ensuring the gloves stay in place.

Shock-Absorbing Padding: Reduces impact and vibration, protecting the hands.

Antimicrobial Treatment: Prevents the growth of odor-causing bacteria, keeping the gloves fresh and hygienic.

Jacket:

Insulated Fabric: Provides superior warmth without adding bulk.

Waterproof and Windproof Outer Layer: Protects against rain, snow, and wind.

Conductive Threading: Allows me to channel EMP.

Heated Panels: Integrated heating elements providing adjustable warmth on demand.

Breathable and Moisture-Wicking: Keeps me dry and comfortable by drawing sweat away from the skin.

Adjustable Hood: Provides additional warmth and protection, and can be removed when not needed.

Multiple Pockets: Provides ample storage space for tools, gadgets, and personal items.

Reinforced Seams and Elbows: Enhances durability and provides extra protection in high-stress areas.

Reflective Elements: Increases visibility in low-light conditions, ensuring I can be seen by allies and avoid hazards.

Stealth Version:

Light-Absorbing Fabric: Reduces visibility by minimizing light reflection.

Sound-Dampening Fabric: Reduces noise generated by movement.

Minimalistic Design: Reduces the risk of snagging or catching on obstacles, ensuring smooth and silent movement.

Hood and Mask: Provides additional concealment.

+1 Brownie point if you read this whole thing :)

#bog is shifting #reality shifting #shiftblr #shifting #shifting realities #desired reality #reality shifter #reality shift #mha dr #mha #my hero academia #bogs mha dr

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townpostin · 5 months ago

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Saryu Roy Pushes for Resolution Repeal to Aid Jamshedpur Ownership Rights

MLA seeks cancellation of 2018 revenue department order hindering residents’ property rights Jamshedpur East MLA Saryu Roy advocates for repealing a government resolution to facilitate ownership rights for local residents. JAMSHEDPUR – Jamshedpur East MLA Saryu Roy has called for the cancellation of Jharkhand Government’s Revenue Department Resolution 817/Ra, issued in 2018, to clear the path for…

#जनजीवन #Jamshedpur East constituency news #Jamshedpur land ownership issues #Jamshedpur property rights #Jharkhand Assembly debates #Jharkhand government policies #Jharkhand urban development #Life #Resolution 817/Ra repeal #Saryu Roy MLA initiatives #slum dwellers&039; rights Jamshedpur #urban property challenges India

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texasobserver · 1 year ago

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“The Long Road to a Juneteenth Museum” by James Rusell, from the January/February 2024 issue of Texas Observer Magazine:

(Museum renderings courtesy BIG)

When Fort Worth activist Opal Lee was invited in 2021 to stand alongside President Joe Biden as he signed the bill making Juneteenth a federal holiday, “I could’ve done a holy dance,” the 97-year-old told the Texas Observer recently. “But the kids said they didn’t want me twerking.”

Dancing—and twerking—aside, Lee is clearly used to ambitious projects. She’s often referred to as the grandmother of Juneteenth, mostly because of her 1,400-mile walk, Fort Worth to Washington, D.C., September 2016 to January 2017, seeking recognition for the day that has come to represent freedom for American Blacks. Although the Emancipation Proclamation took effect in 1863, slaves couldn’t be freed where the countryside was still under Confederate control. That ended in Texas on June 19, 1865, when Union troops arrived in Galveston and brought the news.

The latest project of Lee and her allies, to create a museum in Fort Worth honoring Juneteenth, is turning out to be equally ambitious. What began as a modest collection in a small house in the neighborhood where Lee grew up has become a key part of an effort to revitalize Fort Worth’s Historic Southside neighborhood. The most recent and much grander incarnation of the museum is due to open in 2025.

Along the way, the honors paid to Lee—a Nobel Peace Prize nomination, a painting of Lee for the National Portrait Gallery, and the Emmy Award-winning documentary Opal’s Walk for Freedom (2022)—have helped bring attention to that neighborhood, just as they did to the Juneteenth campaign. But tragedy and poverty have held hands there for a long time, and revitalization efforts sometimes find tough sledding.

Lee’s roots run deep into the soil of the Southside and into personal memories of another June 19. On that day in 1939, a mob of racists—about 500 people, according to the Fort Worth Star-Telegram—raided the house there that Lee, her parents, and two brothers, had recently moved into. The family promptly moved out.

A portrait of Opal Lee from the National Portrait Gallery (Courtesy of Talley Dunn Gallery)

The raid was traumatic. Lee told the Star-Telegram in 2003 that afterward her family was “homeless and then living in houses so ramshackle they were impossible to keep clean.” The experience led her to become first an advocate for affordable housing and later an activist regarding homelessness, hunger, and Juneteenth.

Eighty years after the raid, another violent incident a few blocks away would inspire a new generation of Southside activists.

Lee, a retired elementary school teacher and counselor in the Fort Worth school district, also spearheaded the rebuilding of the Metroplex Food Bank (now the Community Food Bank), founded the urban Opal’s Farm, and served on numerous local boards, including the Tarrant Black Historical and Genealogical Society.

Through all that time, she worked to draw attention to Juneteenth. “She was always teaching about Juneteenth” in middle school, said Sedrick Huckaby, the Fort Worth artist who painted Lee for the National Portrait Gallery. “She was always teaching about our heritage and about taking pride in who you are.” Allies like the late Rev. Dr. Ron Myers, a Mississippi doctor and minister, lobbied legislatures across the country and in 1997 helped pass a congressional joint resolution recognizing the holiday. Lee worked on building local support.

In 2014, on the 150th anniversary of Juneteenth, she asked friends and family to donate to a celebration of that, in lieu of buying presents on her birthday. A story in Fort Worth Weekly called her “part grandma, part General Patton” in leading the effort. Two years later, she was putting on her walking shoes for her own personal march on Washington. “If a lady in tennis shoes walked to Washington, D.C, maybe people would pay attention,” she said in her deep, raspy voice, recalling her motivations for the trek. It took another four years after her walk, but the national holiday happened.

Juneteenth has been celebrated by Black Americans for more than 100 years, including in Fort Worth. Texas was the first to designate it a state holiday, in 1980. Since 2020, 26 states, propelled by the murders of Black citizens George Floyd and Breonna Taylor at the hands of police, have followed Texas’ lead, according to the Pew Research Center.

In Fort Worth, Lee and volunteer Don Williams had been working for years to gather artifacts related to local Black history and Juneteenth, including paintings by local Black artist Manet Harrison Fowler, scrapbooks chronicling local Juneteenth celebrations, and memorabilia from the locally filmed movie Miss Juneteenth. Lee inherited a house from her late husband Dale, a retired school district principal, and turned it into the first version of the Juneteenth museum. It housed the growing collection and hosted multiple Juneteenth events and, at one point, computer classes.

While the collection grew, the building, run by volunteers, was deteriorating. Like most public places, it closed in 2020 as COVID-19 spread. After the pandemic, it did not reopen, and the collection was moved out. Then early on the morning of January 11, 2023, it caught on fire. The remains were demolished to make way for the new museum.

Around 2019, Lee, granddaughter Dione Sims, and former Fort Worth Chamber of Commerce executive Jarred Howard had started talking about the possibility of a new Juneteenth Museum. They began buying land around the site of the old house. Howard long had a vision to help his old stomping grounds and wanted to both commemorate the holiday and spur economic development. Well acquainted with developers and architects from his Chamber days, he solicited requests for proposals for a building that could meet those goals. First, local architect Paul Dennehy designed a five-story building with a gallery, event space, and residences. In early 2020 it was pitched to neighborhood association leaders. Too tall, they said, and out of step with the neighborhood. In 2021, local architects Bennett Partners produced a plan for a playful mixed-use campus, estimated to cost about $30 million to build.

In 2022, a new plan, bigger in scope than Lee could have imagined two decades ago, was unveiled. The current proposal is for a 5-acre complex housing a National Juneteenth Museum, with a theater, restaurant, art galleries, and a “business incubator” space to spur Southside entrepreneurship, designed by the internationally renowned architecture firm Bjarke Ingels Group (BIG). The price tag is an estimated $70 million. So far, the nonprofit National Juneteenth Museum, formed in 2020, has raised about $30 million of that, mostly from major donors and foundations, Lee said.

Douglass Alligood, a partner at BIG and the chief architect of the currently planned museum, got an earful during his field work on the project, including from Lee’s friends and supporters. In multiple visits, he met with Lee as well as neighborhood leaders. The conclusion: The museum had to represent the community and not be divorced from it.

“We were inspired by the neighborhood typology—the homes that feature historic gabled silhouettes and protruding porches, also known in context as a ‘shotgun’ house,” he said. “Neighborhood groups and community members found that, together, the BIG and KAI Enterprises [the local architecture firm] design teams demonstrate a deep understanding of the Juneteenth story and commitment to work with the local community to celebrate the holiday’s history and local culture of the Historic Southside.”

Eleven rectangular glass-clad building segments, with peaks and valleys of varying heights, will create a star-shaped courtyard in the middle. “The ‘new star,’ the nova star represents a new chapter for the African-Americans looking ahead towards a more just future,” Alligood said.

Fine, locals said, but what people there really need is a grocery store.

It was a cold morning in early October, and Patrice Jones needed help unloading herbs. She was in the courtyard of Connex, a new three-story business and retail complex about two blocks from the planned site of the museum. Jones and a group of volunteers, mostly in their 20s and 30s, from Southside Community Gardens, are planting their 79th and 80th backyard vegetable gardens in the neighborhood, she said proudly. It’s pick-up day for those who’ve already established gardens.

The initiative is part of the larger By Any Means 104 effort, named for the 76104 zip code, and co-founded by Jones in 2020. The group’s focus on local issues includes addressing the lack of fresh food in the area instead of waiting for a grocery store. Jones, a feisty advocate and former claims adjuster, has run it full time since 2021. If the city can’t get them a grocery store, she said, they’ll teach residents to grow their own food.

The Juneteenth Museum is important, Jones said, between handing out herbs and greeting volunteers. But in her circles, she said, people also ask, “Can we get a health clinic? Can we get a pharmacy?” And of course, “Can we get a grocery store?”

According to a 2018 University of Texas Southwestern Medical Center report, the 76104 zip code has the lowest life expectancy rate in Texas and a high maternal mortality rate. It’s also a victim of what Jones calls “food apartheid,” a term she prefers to “food desert,” an indicator of an area with little access to fresh foods. Desert implies it’s natural; apartheid, she said, is an intentional act. She blames city government and its white-dominated culture.

But hunger is not a sufficient reason for a grocery chain to decide where to open a store, even if it could be part of a historical complex.

Grocery store owners “use different metrics,” including population density, said Stacy Marshall, president of Southeast Fort Worth, Inc., an economic development group. “We can’t yet make a compelling case.” The area needs more housing, he said. “Build density—rooftops—and grocery stores come.”

Marshall is a force in bringing new development to the southeast part of the city, a large historically and ethnically diverse area that includes the Historic Southside.

Since he took the job a decade ago, “development has gone gangbusters,” he said. But development has also brought gentrification: “It’s so expensive to purchase dirt here and get a single-family home,” he said. One Dallas real estate firm put together a $70 million deal for a mixed-use development in the area, but it has stalled.

The Juneteenth museum site is within the Evans-Rosedale urban village, a city designation focused on bringing investment to the area. It’s seeing an uptick in interest from developers, but nowhere near what’s been promised by local officials.

“There have been attempts in the past. There’s the Evans Avenue Plaza, but most people don’t know about it,” said Bob Ray Sanders, communications director for the Fort Worth Black Chamber of Commerce. The plaza, also part of the Evans-Rosedale village, is meant to be a community gathering space and includes a new library. About a mile away is the Hazel Harvey Peace Center for Neighborhoods, which houses numerous city offices.

Many of the neighborhood’s nagging problems date to the mid-20th century, when integration meant, ironically, the loss of many black-owned businesses, while highway construction—as it did in many American cities—cut off Fort Worth’s Black community from downtown and wealthier neighborhoods. “By doing that, people on the Westside [turned] a blind eye to people on the Eastside,” Sanders said.

Housing construction seems to be picking up, mostly on an infill basis. But while developers are buying homes, Marshall said, they are mostly sitting on them and waiting until they can get higher prices.

Longtime assistant city manager Fernando Costa said development work in historic urban districts presents more challenges than creating new neighborhoods from pastureland. Beyond the physical complications of older infrastructure, historic preservation concerns and, often, environmental problems left over from earlier development, Costa said, such projects “require getting existing neighborhood involvement.”

There’s also the issue of crime. According to the Fort Worth Police Department, nearly 560 crimes were reported in the 76104 zip code between mid-May and late November 2023. Assault, larceny, drug and alcohol violations, and vehicle break-ins made up more than three-quarters of the reports. That’s compared to 165 in the same time period in the mostly-white, wealthy 76109 zip code in West Fort Worth.

In the early morning of October 12, 2019, white police officer Aaron Dean, responding to a welfare check at the house, killed 28-year Black woman Atatiana Jefferson, who was playing video games with her nephew. Dean was later found guilty of manslaughter and sentenced to 11 years in prison.

Jefferson’s murder lit a fire under a younger generation of activists who aren’t waiting for change, such as Jones, who also worked to get police accountability in response to the murder, and Angela Mack, whose doctoral thesis is about Jefferson and the neighborhood.

“I’m a good, ol’ fashioned Funkytown Black nerd,” said Mack, an instructor in the comparative race and ethnic studies department at Texas Christian University, where she received her doctorate in English rhetoric.

After Jefferson’s murder, Mack changed her thesis topic to address that tragedy. She saw that, between her mother and the national media, two different stories were being told.

“When we’re thinking about the Southside, we think about Fairmount and the Medical District in terms of revitalization. But when you cross the highway, you’re in an area with crime and poverty,” she said, drinking a latte at Black Coffee, one of the few coffee shops in the area. “When people [look] at the community, people are looking at what’s not here. It’s a deficit model of communication instead of seeing the good that’s here.

“I’m not anti-development,” she said, but economic development shouldn’t be the museum’s purpose.

“When you’re building something, it should not be [a question of] how many people we employ, but how does it help define the Southside? The development will come. I’m concerned about who controls the narrative,” she said. “The main focus should be how does this speak about our history and heritage.”

Jones also worries that history will be lost. She’s afraid that rising property values will push out poor people.

Sims has heard those concerns before. Property taxes go up with any new development, she said. And everyone’s going to complain, even if they want change.

When the museum opens in 2025, Lee just wants to make sure she’s there to see it.

“I’m looking forward to it,” she said. She’d be 99. “I hope I’m still here.”

#black history #Black History Month #Texas #texas history #fort worth #north texas #juneteenth #museum #museums

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dailyanarchistposts · 4 months ago

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I.5.2 Why are confederations of participatory communities needed?

Since not all issues are local, the community assemblies will also elect mandated and recallable delegates to the larger-scale units of self-government in order to address issues affecting urban districts, the city or town as a whole, the county, the bio-region, and ultimately the entire planet. Thus the assemblies will confederate at several levels in order to develop and co-ordinate common policies to deal with common problems. In the words of the CNT’s resolution on libertarian communism:

“The inhabitants of a commune are to debate among themselves their internal problems … Federations are to deliberate over major problems affecting a country or province and all communes are to be represented at their reunions and assemblies, thereby enabling their delegates to convey the democratic viewpoint of their respective communes. “If, say, roads have to be built to link villages of a county or any matter arises to do with transportation and exchange of produce between agricultural and industrial counties, then naturally every commune which is implicated will have its right to have its say. “On matters of a regional nature, it is the duty of the regional federation to implement agreements which will represent the sovereign will of all the region’s inhabitants. So the starting point is the individual, moving on through the commune, to the federation and right on up finally to the confederation. “Similarly, discussion of all problems of a national nature shall follow a like pattern … “ [quoted by Jose Peirats, The CNT in the Spanish Revolution, p. 107]

In other words, the commune “cannot any longer acknowledge any superior: that, above it, there cannot be anything, save the interests of the Federation, freely embraced by itself in concert with other Communes.” [Kropotkin, No Gods, No Masters, vol. 1, p. 259]

Federalism is applicable at all levels of society. As Kropotkin pointed out, anarchists “understand that if no central government was needed to rule the independent communes, if national government is thrown overboard and national unity is obtained by free federation, then a central municipal government becomes equally useless and noxious. The same federative principle would do within the commune.” [Anarchism, pp. 163–164] Thus the whole of society would be a free federation, from the local community right up to the global level. And this free federation would be based squarely on the autonomy and self-government of local groups. With federalism, co-operation replaces coercion.

This need for co-operation does not imply a centralised body. To exercise your autonomy by joining self-managing organisations and, therefore, agreeing to abide by the decisions you help make is not a denial of that autonomy (unlike joining a hierarchical structure, where you forsake autonomy within the organisation). In a centralised system, we must stress, power rests at the top and the role of those below is simply to obey (it matters not if those with the power are elected or not, the principle is the same). In a federal system, power is not delegated into the hands of a few (obviously a “federal” government or state is a centralised system). Decisions in a federal system are made at the base of the organisation and flow upwards so ensuring that power remains decentralised in the hands of all. Working together to solve common problems and organise common efforts to reach common goals is not centralisation and those who confuse the two make a serious error — they fail to understand the different relations of authority each generates and confuse obedience with co-operation.

As in the economic federation of syndicates, the lower levels will control the higher, thus eliminating the current pre-emptive powers of centralised government hierarchies. Delegates to higher-level co-ordinating councils or conferences will be instructed, at every level of confederation, by the assemblies they come from on how to deal with any issues. These instructions will be binding, committing delegates to a framework of policies within which they must act and providing for their recall and the nullification of their decisions if they fail to carry out their mandates. Delegates may be selected by election and/or sortition (i.e. random selection by lot, as for jury duty currently). As Murray Bookchin argued:

“A confederalist view involves a clear distinction between policy making and the co-ordination and execution of adopted policies. Policy making is exclusively the right of popular community assemblies based on the practices of participatory democracy. Administration and co-ordination are the responsibility of confederal councils, which become the means for interlinking villages, towns, neighbourhoods, and cities into confederal networks. Power flows from the bottom up instead of from the top down, and in confederations, the flow of power from the bottom up diminishes with the scope of the federal council ranging territorially from localities to regions and from regions to ever-broader territorial areas.” [From Urbanisation to Cities, p. 253]

Thus the people will have the final word on policy, which is the essence of self-government, and each citizen will have his or her turn to participate in the co-ordination of public affairs. In other words, self-government will be the people themselves organised in their community assemblies and their confederal co-ordinating councils, with any delegates limited to implementing policy formulated by the people. Such policies will still be subject to approval by the neighbourhood and community assemblies through their right to recall their delegates and revoke their decisions. Needless to say, the higher the confederation the less often it would meet and the less it would have to consider in terms of issues to decide. On such a level, only the most general issues and decisions could be reached (in effect, only guidelines which the member confederations would apply as they saw fit).

In such a system there will, undoubtedly, be the need for certain individuals to be allocated certain tasks to do. We stress the word “tasks” because their work is essentially administrative in nature, without power. For example, an individual or a group of individuals may be elected to look into alternative power supplies for a community and report back on what they discover. They cannot impose their decision onto the community as they do not have the power to do so. They simply present their findings to the body which had mandated them. These findings are not a law which the electors are required to follow, but a series of suggestions and information from which the assembled people chose what they think is best. Or, to use another example, someone may be elected to overlook the installation of a selected power supply but the decision on what power supply to use and which specific project to implement has been decided upon by the whole community. Similarly with any delegate elected to a confederal council.

The scales and levels of confederation can only be worked out in practice. In general, it would be safe to say that confederations would be needed on a wide scale, starting with towns and cities and then moving onto regional and other levels. No village, town or city could be self-sufficient nor would desire to be — communication and links with other places are part and parcel of life and anarchists have no desire to retreat back into an isolated form of localism:

“No community can hope to achieve economic autarchy, nor should it try to do so. Economically, the wide range of resources that are needed to make many of our widely used goods preclude self-enclosed insularity and parochialism. Far from being a liability, this interdependence among communities and regions can well be regarded as an asset — culturally as well as politically … Divested of the cultural cross-fertilisation that is often a product of economic intercourse, the municipality tends to shrink into itself and disappear into its own civic privatism. Shared needs and resources imply the existence of sharing and, with sharing, communication, rejuvenation by new ideas, and a wider social horizon that yields a wider sensibility to new experiences.” [Bookchin, Op. Cit., p. 237]

Combined with this consideration, we must also raise the issue of economies of scale. A given level of confederation may be required to make certain social and economic services efficient (we are thinking of economies of scale for such social needs as universities, hospitals, and cultural institutions). While every commune may have a doctor, nursery, local communal stores and small-scale workplaces, not all can have a university, hospital, factories and so forth. These would be organised on a wider level, so necessitating the appropriate confederation to exist to manage them. Ties between bio-regions or larger territories based on the distribution of such things as geographically concentrated mineral deposits, climate dependent crops, and production facilities that are most efficient when concentrated in one area will unite communities confederally on the basis of common material needs as well as values.

This means that the scale and level of the confederations created by the communes will be varied and extensive. It would be hard to generalise about them, particularly as different confederations will exist for different tasks and interests. Moreover, any system of communes would start off based on the existing villages, towns and cities of capitalism. That is unavoidable and will, of course, help determine the initial scale and level of confederations.

In urban areas, the town or city would have to be broken down into confederations and these confederations would constitute the town or city assembly of delegates. Given a huge city like London, New York or Mexico City it would be impossible to organise in any other way. Smaller towns would probably be able to have simpler confederations. We must stress that few, if any, anarchists consider it desirable to have huge cities in a free society and one of the major tasks of social transformation will be to break the metropolis into smaller units, integrated with the local environment. However, a social revolution will take place in these vast metropolises and so we have to take them into account in our discussion.

In summary, the size and scale of confederations will depend on practical considerations, based on what people found were optimal sizes for their neighbourhood assemblies and the needs of co-operation between them, towns, cities, regions and so on. We cannot, and have no wish, to predict the development of a free society. Therefore the scale and levels of confederation will be decided by those actually creating an anarchist world although it is almost certain that levels of confederation would be dependent on the number of delegates required. After a certain number, the confederation assembly may became difficult to manage, so implying that another level of confederation is required. This would, undoubtedly, be the base for determining the scale and level of confederation, ensuring that any confederal assembly can actually manage its activities and remain under the control of lower levels.

Finally, confederations are required to ensure solidarity can be expressed in the unlikely situation of local oppression. After all, history is full of local communities which have been oppressive to minorities within them (most obviously, the American South) and so confederation is required so that members of any such minority can appeal for help and mutual aid to end its domination. Equally, though, confederation is needed to ensure that local communes can experiment and try out new ideas without having to wait until the majority agree to it as would be required in a centralised system.

Thus confederations of communes are required to co-ordinate joint activity and discuss common issues and interests. It is also required to protect individual, community and social freedom as well as allowing social experimentation and protecting the distinctiveness, dignity, freedom and self-management of communities and so society as a whole. Thus “socialism is federalist” and “true federalism, the political organisation of socialism, will be attained only when these popular grass-roots institutions [namely, “communes, industrial and agricultural associations”] are organised in progressive stages from the bottom up.” [Bakunin, Bakunin on Anarchism, p. 402]

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