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rosie-b · 4 months

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Centuries Overdue

Summary:

Long ago, an evil Darkness spread across Europe, claiming the lives of many in the magic community. Trained by Plagg himself, Adrien made it his mission to stop the Darkness before it snuffed out the lives of more Mages and Talents, as it did to his own parents. Though he seemed to succeed in his mission, the pages of his old journals tell a different tale.

In the modern world, Marinette is a fashion student, working at a small library for the summer to earn extra credit. She’s never believed in magic before, but when she finds the old Agreste journals in her library, her beliefs about reality begin to crumble. Determined to find the truth, both about magic and the unsolved death of one Adrien Agreste, Marinette begins on a journey that will eventually lead her deep into the city’s catacombs, where an ancient force sleeps, but is ready to awaken once more…

Read chapter 1 on AO3 or below! I hope you enjoy 💕

Excerpt from the eighth journal of Adrien Agreste, written at Sassolungo Castle in Italy, on the first of November 1809.

There are times when I think myself unfit to be called a Traveler, much less an Adventurer, for my Heart longs for the feeling of Home above all these foreign cliffs and castles. Still, at times like this I am reminded of how necessary my Travels are and why I must continue them.

At first, my only desire was to honor my Parents. That was the Feeling, the unabating Urge, which drove me to the treacherous Forests of the Harz Mountains, to the Supljara Cave, and to even the farthest reaches of Europe, but with Time’s passing a new Desire grows within me.

There is something wild growing in the Darkness; when I close my Eyes I can feel it growing. It is a most disturbing Feeling, and one I am not alone in noticing. The Mages of Tikki and Plagg have felt it also, and have noted its Growth. It cares not for the Moon, nor the Stars, nor the Sun, but its Presence continues to spread unchecked at all times.

I fear if we do not find its cause ere the spring festivals’ start, it will prove too powerful to be Destroyed, and so I have made it my business to uncover its Secrets. This Darkening is surely a sign of a stronger, more sinister Magic, and I fear that there are things darker and still more guileful to come of it. I must make all Haste to prevent its growth, which is why I must journey to the edges of Light, to the place where my parents died…

_-*-_ _-*-_ _-*-_ _-*-_

It was Marinette’s first day at work.

The small library was much bigger than Marinette had expected, or at least it felt that way. In half an hour’s worth of shelf reading, she’d only gotten through four shelves, not nearly as many as she’d hoped to check. She had decided to blame it on the call numbers; the way they were printed on the books varied depending on when they had been added to the collection, and she was finding that made older ones difficult to read. Those numbers, written in fading black ink directly on the books’ covers, were the hardest to make out, and she’d wasted several minutes trying to tell 8s and 6s apart.

But it was almost time for her lunch break, so Marinette jotted down her progress on the chart the head librarian had given her and returned to the circulation desk, where an old man was insisting that the new computers did not work, or if they did, they were far too confusing for an eighty-year-old to understand.

“I’m just trying to log into my email account, but I can’t even find the right button to turn the thing on,” the man said, tapping his cane on the floor emphatically.

“I can help with that!” Marinette folded her paper and set it down. “If you’ll just lead me to the computer you were using, I can get you signed in, no problem!”

The other library intern, whose lunch break came just before Marinette’s, smiled gratefully at her. She grinned back. Some people didn’t like this part of the job, but to Marinette it didn’t seem so bad. Then again, it was only her first day as an intern.

“Oh, thank you!” The man seemed very relieved, and he slowly began making his way over to the computers. He lowered himself into the third chair from the left with a heavy sigh. “I’ve already tried jiggling the mouse, but I don’t know if it’s even connected, because nothing’s happening.”

Marinette frowned and glanced at the monitor. The power button was hidden at the back of the screen, so she carefully turned the monitor around to check. As she thought, the button wasn’t glowing. She pressed it once and waited for it to turn green, and within seconds, the monitor was displaying its login screen.

“There you go, sir. Log in as a guest and let me know if you have problems getting to your email. Okay?”

The man smiled and clapped his hands together, knocking over his wooden cane. “Thank yo— oh! Thank you again, miss,” he laughed as Marinette picked up the cane and handed it to him. “Don’t know why they’re hiding the important buttons behind the screen these days. Made me look like a fool, didn’t it?”

Marinette smiled. “It just takes a while to get used to. And don’t worry, I was happy to help!”

The old man waved as Marinette turned to walk back to the desk.

That wasn’t so bad, she thought cheerfully. At least I’m doing some things right at this job.

Marinette Dupain-Cheng was not a librarian, nor did she have any intention of becoming one. But it was summer break, and she wanted to get a head start on internship credits for university. All the fashion houses in Paris had already chosen interns; luckily, it didn’t matter where the internship was as long as it provided some of the same skills working at a fashion house would, which this position did. It wasn’t even hard to get, since most people looking to work at a library applied to the François-Mitterrand Library, ignoring this smaller location, which was a mere municipal library not part of the BnF. The position paid decently well, and it guaranteed Marinette the extra credit she needed to give her a boost at university.

I already have a robust resume anyway, she had told herself when she’d been debating whether to apply to the little Bourgeois Library or not. Being Jagged Stone’s favorite costume and album designer has to count for something! And my designs have been featured in Style Queen a few times, too. Next year, I can have my pick of Paris’ fashion houses to work at.

It was time for Marinette’s lunch break, so she clocked out and grabbed the lunch her mother had packed. Normally, she would have gone somewhere else to make the most of her break, but she wanted to explore the library a bit more. There were lots of rooms on both levels of the renovated building, and she wanted to be able to guide patrons to the right section of books when they asked without getting lost.

With this in mind, Marinette finished her reheated croque monsieur and ventured off to explore. There were still forty minutes left of her break according to the new watch on her wrist — plenty of time to acquaint herself with the building.

The children’s area was downstairs, a colorful section full of picture books, games, movies, audiobooks, and bright-colored bean bag chairs. It wasn’t as full as it usually was, the children’s librarian said, but on weekends especially there were dozens of children and parents at a time filling the area.

On the far side of the basement was the young adult area. It hadn’t been renovated along with the rest of the building, and the gray shelves of books, old video games, DVDs, and three comic books looked unappealing to Marinette, and apparently to the rest of the young adult population, as there was only one person in the area. They sat in the lone, wooden chair by the poster advertising the youth group’s fall meeting schedule, looking at something on their laptop.

Marinette squinted as she made out the lone tuft of white hair on top of the visitor’s head. At least they’re young at heart, she thought with a shrug.

Back upstairs, there were three big rooms and one smaller one, with a central area where the laptop and computer desks sat, as well as the circulation desk, several sofas, and wood tables with cushioned chairs. Then, the three larger connected rooms — the North room held the nonfiction area, the West held fiction, and the East room had everything from large print to a kindle station to an open dictionary.

The last room Marinette visited was the smallest. It had a red carpet, large south-facing windows, a wooden globe atop a low shelf of foreign-language books, and a small, one-sided shelf of old, leather books facing the sun. On the other side of the shelf, there was a lone, wooden table in front of one red velvet chair.

Marinette walked around the room, gave the globe a couple spins, and stood by the central shelf to examine the books. A golden metal sign on it read that these were part of a special collection, and were not able to be checked out, although anyone could read them while within the library. They’d been donated by the Bourgeois family at the start of the library’s usage, and had remained there ever since.

But there weren’t any more librarians in the Bourgeois family; they had moved on to politics halfway through the last century and hadn’t looked back. Marinette supposed they were happy being richer, but a single library donation in the 1800s wasn’t enough charity work to persuade her to vote for Mayor Bourgeois in the upcoming election.

Marinette looked closer at the collection of books. Was it just her, or did it look like the old books were rusting? Small piles of red dust sat at the edges of the shelves, and the spines of many of the books were cracked, allowing her to see the threads that were binding them together.

She gingerly picked a book off the shelf, noting the cloud of dust it created; the way the spine threatened to crack in two at her touch; the brittle, yellow pages; and, with a look of disgust, the way it seemed to instantly suck all the moisture from her skin.

She immediately put the book back. Her hands were now covered in red dust from the cover.

Marinette rubbed her fingertips together, trying to get the dust off, but it seemed to have sunk deep into the lines of her skin.

Wonderful.

Marinette headed to the bathroom and washed her hands (and then washed them again when the dust didn’t come off the first time). Her break was almost over, anyway, so she might as well head back to the desk. Before she did, she stopped in the South room one more time, looking for the name of the book’s publisher so she could know who was responsible for her mishap.

The Journals of Adrien Agreste, vol. 3, read the half-attached spine of the book, which apparently had no publisher and was more of a diary than anything else.

Well, who would put that in a library? Marinette wondered. No wonder you can’t check it out. The first thing anyone would do with it after they left the building would be toss it in the trash just to spare future patrons.

And she walked back to the desk, taking long, confident strides and silently cursing this Adrien person for writing in books that would fall apart so easily. She wouldn’t be returning to that room anytime soon.

_-*-_ _-*-_ _-*-_ _-*-_

Excerpt from the eighth journal of Adrien Agreste, written in Munich, Bavaria, on the fourth of November 1809.

Being an Orphan is less tragic than one might expect. It puts me in good company, and it guarantees a kind of Sympathy from most people I meet. Emphasizing the sorrowful Look of a young Orphan helped me secure many a meal when I was younger and traveling, often Alone, back to Plagg’s cave after my parents’ death. Nevertheless, when I am by myself, I am struck by the Guilt and Sorrow I felt on the day I lost them… Some wounds take too long to heal.

Since to the best of my Memory I have never written about the Disaster before in these journals, I suppose I should put it here. It wouldn’t do to let it be forgotten, after all, and it may aid me in recalling the Dangers of Blå Jungfrun, the destination of this journey.

My mother’s Spirit was more adventurous than my father’s; the voyage to Blå Jungfrun was her Idea. There used to be a circle of Mages on the island, but an inhospitable Darkness drove them out. My mother wanted to see if, since much Time had passed since then, the island was safe once more, and she planned to do this using her Talent. My father was against the idea at first, arguing that neither of them had the ability to use Magic, only to detect and defend it through their Talents.

At that time, it was unknown to me that I had a Mage’s Gift, not the simpler Talent my parents had. They were afraid of the dangers Mages face, and tried to spare me from Harm by holding the knowledge of my magic back from me. Untrained as I was, I could not even sense Magic, and I was completely dependent on my parents to sniff out Curses and other Evils for me. My father mentioned this, too, but my mother was unswayed.

To her sensible mind, the Talents of my parents were more than enough to protect themselves and me from lurking Dangers. And no-one had visited Blå Jungfrun in nearly a century. Whatever Darkness once lived there, it had nothing to sustain it. Surely, it must be dead, she told my father.

Wanting to please his wife, and trusting in her own trust, he agreed to take me to Blå Jungfrun, island of the Blue Maiden.

The journey through Sweden was pleasant from what I remember. There are two groups of Mages in the South of that country, Ravlunda’s group being the largest. I plan to stop there on my own journey, which I pray will not be as ill-fated as my parents’ was.

Departing for Blå Jungfrun from Oskarshamn, my parents took a small boat, protected by Charms given to them by the Mages of Ravlunda. I went with them, and my clothes were similarly protected by Charms for extra safety, while my parents did not wear charms on theirs. There was one Mage from Oskarshamn who came with us, and she had the foresight to wear already-charmed clothing. That is how she and I escaped from the Dark Island.

The Island itself is nothing special. There are trees and rocks covering a large hill, which is otherwise barren. The locals have long feared that place, and call it the Mountain of Witches. They are not far off, except in time, since the Mages have long abandoned it.

The Ocean’s strange waves had floated the Boat a little way from the Shore; since there was no dock to tie our boat to, this had been expected. My parents and the Mage waded out to the boat where I still was, having spent less than five minutes on Shore, and that is when the Darkness struck.

It had sensed our Presence, and gathered into a Storm, fully visible even to me, and too powerful to be banished by the Mage. It was all she could do to keep the boat, and me in it, afloat as it threatened to capsize and was pulled still further out. By now my parents had to swim, their feet unable to touch ground under the water, and the Mage as well. I was frightened and did not know what to do, though I strove with all my might to row the boat back to my parents, and all the while the Darkness was growing until at last a Tendril reached out from the storm and dragged my mother fully under the waves.

My father dove in after her, thinking to save her, as the Mage climbed into the boat and cast a protective Spell just strong enough to create a sphere of safety in the Storm. We searched and searched as the Storm raged on, hoping to find my parents resurfaced, or to see their forms in the water and haul them into the Boat. But they were forever lost to the Darkness. We never found them, and for our own safety, the Mage determined that we must head away from the Island, which was the only place the Darkness seemed to draw power from.

I went back to Plagg’s cave, which is hidden in the Harz mountains, and stayed with the Mages there until I was old enough to take up my parents’ mission and travel again, recording the Darkness, keeping peace between Mages as their countries went to war again and again, and eventually learning of the Magic that was hidden inside me.

I have been lucky enough to take lessons from Plagg himself during his visits to the Cave, however impossible to understand and often of little help to a peaceful traveler like myself said Lessons are.

But now, if the Darkness is spreading, then I will need all the spells he taught me and more.

As I set out to the Blue Maiden, I plan for my journey to be a slow one. This is only in part due to the Ocean not being safe during winter. I will stay in Bavaria for a while and take lessons from the Mages of Mullo. Then I will move on to Leipzig and Berlin, should the fighting (for there is always War now) allow it, and finally to Świnoujście and from there to Sweden. Along the way, I hope to gather a small group of stout-hearted Mages to aid me in my Fight.

I must take the Time to carefully prepare to face whatever twisted Mage is at the heart of this Darkness, for I grow ever surer that there is one. Darkness does not move on its own, but it relies on Servants to work for it.

Let those Servants beware, for if I find them, I will not show them Mercy.

Author’s note: This is the first chapter of my fic for the @mlbigbang!! There are eight chapters total and I’ll be updating weekly, on Thursdays. I’d like to thank all the mods for helping this event go smoothly, my three beta readers (Angel, Helios, and my sister @poorschilpad) for keeping me on track, and my two amazing artists, @acise and @nireu-art for their crazy cool work. You guys are the best! 💕

#ml fanfic #rosie-b writing #miraculous ladybug #ml au #centuries overdue #i do recommend viewing it on ao3 because i used a super cool work skin so it looks superior to this version

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mostmagical · 3 months

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i wish i had the time and energy to become a fantastic artist because i just. need to show my mutuals the pictures they create in my head when i read their works.

#like.. all of them.#I have to use my words instead but like. IT DOESN’T FEEL LIKE ENOUGH #specifically right now i’m being haunted by nemali’s in pursuit of the uneatable and rosie-b’s centuries overdue #THE CATACOMBS…#i can see everything #anyway if you’re reading my tags read those fics #that’s an order 🫵

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creatediana · 4 months

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"Just One of Those Things" - lyrics to a jazz standard by American songwriter Cole Porter (1891–1964), famously performed by artists such as Frank Sinatra, Ella Fitzgerald, Blossom Dearie, et cetera.

#influences #i think of cole porter as one of the best jazz poets. sorry but his lyrics are so perfectly metrical it drives me CRAZY #i purposefully broke up every line where it became catalectic bc emphasizing those breaks is. so fun #cole porter #jazz #song lyrics #poetry #twentieth century #and since this is queued for new year's eve... i hope you're all out there having your just-one-of-those-things tonight #have fun go crazy get wild it's just one of those things #fun fact this is my first time putting straight-up song lyrics in my influences tag but it's kinda long overdue #but im going to be very select when i do post song lyrics on this blog. they cant just be song lyrics i like #but song lyrics i enjoy in the same way i enjoy poetry #this may be (and is) a very unpopular opinion but i do not think songwriting has very much in common w writing poetry #by necessity that is. and that is bc ive never been able to write songs #for some of us they can be very very very different skills #the modern arts of music and poetry are very diverged from each other in terms of what it takes to write a good song or a good poem #they are NOT as overlapped as some ppl try to make it seem sometimes #it's not like drawing versus painting anymore it's more like drawing versus sculpting #ps my favorite version of this song is blossom dearie's

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reginrokkr · 4 months

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@apocryphis asked: Their steps resonate like echoes in a holy cathedral; only for the deafening, suffocating silence to smother them a split second after. As dragon and seraphim emerge from the bowels of the serpent, Enkanomiya welcomes them with perfect and utter stillness. Slowly, the sovereign advances, until he reaches the edge of the precipice ahead. Beyond lie islands abandoned, floating in eternal mist; a ceiling of rock and stone casting eternal darkness. The dragon's eyes take it all in, the desolate landscape, majestic still in its immobility, its prison of silence, obscurity like the last blanket of comfort afforded to his banished kin.

Herein lies Enkanomiya, the sunken kingdom; and last repose of the dragonheirs of the depths.

Neuvillette exhales a shaky sigh, barely aware of Dainsleif's presence at his back. So very deep down under the sea, the echoes of the depths resonate within his very core, silent, yet forceful as rogue waves crashing against the hull of doomed ships during a storm. "Forgive me." He finally mutters at his companion's address, eyes closing so as to ward off intrusive memories seeking to ebb at his mind before he grants them permission to. "This place is charged with memories and emotions... I need a moment to adjust." But that is not the whole truth, is it -- hydro is not the only vector welcoming him in those lands like earth craving water after a draught. Deep within his soul, dormant nature stirs - ancient and ferocious, proud and regal even in its downfall. The dragon of water has come home; and to him, Enkanomiya signs the somber hymn of long fallen kin.

Even amidst all his efforts, images slip past - humans and vishaps clawing at one another's throats, each fighting for survival; an artificial light, burning and blinding his retinas; newborn vishaps growing into elements that were never meant to be theirs, freezing and electrifying their vulnerable minds into frenzy; starvation, torture, a laboratory, pain, fury and despair beyond measure. "For as long as I can remember, a part of my consciousness has always been tied to this place... I know not whether I was born here or elsewhere, but... though human-born I was, my memory was always tethered to theirs." The sovereigns murmurs. At his side, Dainsleif's aura may very well be the last tether he has to the present, before getting swept by the tide of memories. "Have I failed them?" His voice is barely a whisper now - he who commands justice and order, a judge and ruler - and perhaps, one day, an executioner. "I am their sovereign... and yet, in five hundred years, I have never gone to rescue them... however few of us are left."

Land of the white night reveals itself before the eyes of the ancient with Hyperion standing proud and high farther from where they stand shining like the artificial sun it is. Now a no man's land that long ago it has been abandoned by following generations of people who once used to be part of the unified civilization in the Era of the Saints, before the Apocalypse struck Teyvat and with it, gods ceased to answer the prayers of the humans. Not only that, but these in particular, most of them turned into ghostfire phantasms, were denied return to the so-called world shaped to allow human life to prosper and locked to coexist with the Abyss in a similar manner as Khaenri'ah did— and to forever war against vishaps whose rest was perturbed by the coming of creations of the god they have come to despise so. Not without reason, for it was by his hand that their kings have fallen one by one, fated to wither away until naught but a shadowy reminiscence of their previous existence is left in the hearts of those who laments their loss— soon to rebirth.

This is only the second time Dáinsleif has ever stepped on holy grounds to the vishaps, not prompted by the necessity to perform the ritual to ensure the survival of the island above, but by his own suggestion to the sovereign of all waters to come visit it at the notion that never before he came. From what little this fallen seraphim can offer him, leading him to some semblance of home that the land of the midnight sun might be to a bleeding heart that has an unequivocally grander connection to this land that he may have with Fontaine.

Ironically, there is some semblance of familiarity within him upon stepping these grounds, too. A more spiritual one he fails to make connection with, tied exclusively with that elusive destiny he has encountered in a moment of being completely at a loss after losing it all. The shape his fate takes after, and a name to go with that represents immense importance to ancients of old that no longer live here, that one day he would like to investigate more about: Ouroboros— perhaps a topic to ask Leviathan himself about, for as far as he's concerned that is no dragon, but a serpent. Even yet, one of the philosophies he reminisces the eidolons murmuring about in hushed whispers when Evernight falls is that dragons and serpents have little to differ about.

Dáinsleif cannot begin to imagine what the coming to Enkanomiya must suppose to Neuvillette's psyche— what memories might return to him in full strength and what sentiments and echoes he must feel and hear the same from these poisoned waters. Sensing his paralysis, his name slips past roseate lips not with the intent to startle him, but to rouse him back to awareness and, if an emotional whirlpool made its way to his very core, give him the strength to emerge from it victorious and not let waters drown the dragon that has authority over them, of all beings.

To Neuvillette's apology, a gentle shake of his head is offered to dispel all enormity of guilt he shouldn't feel. Crystalline blues gaze upon Helios, making a mental note to shut it off at the closest opportunity to spare the draconic rex and all vishaps that are left wandering this soil. For there is no meaning in keeping an artificial sun alight when it has already served its purpose, completely meaningless now that only those whom even know about the existence of this fragment of a fallen civilization and their way to its grounds come here. His gaze returns to Leviathan as he speaks further, glacial sapphires narrowing gentle and compassionate to allow him to express himself in a moment where he needs it most— and when, perhaps, he didn't have a chance to yet.

◜According to scriptures of the ancients that were forced to conceal and leave behind, should they desire to return to the surface, your rebirth in human form was anticipated.◞ He reminisces as much from reading the collection of books that he was requested to retrieve, and, eventually, their completion would become the Sun and Moon collection. ◜Because part of the vishaps had undergone adaptation in mutating their original element for another, provoked and holding no other solution but adapt to their circumstances and do so naturally, you would be unable to be born as a fully-fledged dragon. I ignore how old these scriptures are, but I can attest with entire confidence that they predate the end of the Archon War in Inazuman lands.◞

Celestial azures widen when Leviathan questions himself if he has failed the vishaps and with it, his own heart drops to the pit of his stomach. Stellar pupils quiver within their depths as his eyes narrow, a crease makes its way betwixt fair brows before albescent lashes flutter close as the same question echoes within the recesses of seraphim's broken mind, in his voice, worth all the times he ever questioned himself the same.

At least one of them still has a chance.

◜Too many times to remember have I asked myself the same.◞ Albescent lashes flutter open a tad to reveal quivering, sapphire irises. ◜Even if I am fighting to protect the honor and dignity of my knights, and of the people I sword protection… "Have I failed them?" Would it have been better if only I joined the Abyss Order? Are my actions contributing to the prolongation of their suffering, of those who still exist as hilichurls or otherwise after five hundred years? I was supposed to protect all of them, but I was useless to stand against the gods that brought destruction and desolation to Khaenri'ah.◞ Starlight-kissed strands sway gently with another shake of his head, before Dáinsleif turns fully to look at Neuvillette. ◜Even if things may look presently bleak to you... you are different. There are vishaps scattered wide in these lands, waiting for the return of their kings. Having you back, sensing that your authority is complete and that you are healthy, even if limited to a human form... there is no other light of hope that could shine brighter to them. This light is what they seek.◞

Dáinsleif turns to the precipice thereafter and walks a couple of steps farther and closer to its edge. Celestial eyes close anew to focus as sapphire flames answer his call immediately, engulfing his form entirely so he can fly forward a couple of meters. He turns again, gloved hand extends towards Neuvillette in invitation to follow. ◜Long enough they have dwelt in darkness without their king, but you can interrupt that time with your presence now and bring them hope that they may live at peace knowing that they have guidance now— O' Leviathan.◞

#apocryphis #◟༺✦༻◞ may your sorrow be washed away with tides deliverance; o' mighty dragon ┊neuvillette → apocryphis.┊#◟༺✦༻◞ let luminous feathers dance under sapphire rain of justice┊dáinsleif × neuvillette.┊#◟༺✦༻◞ what use has the veil of falsehood? ┊ask.┊#◟༺✦༻◞ sapphire flames in their wake ┊ic.┊#◟༺✦༻◞ τόμος θ: Λυκόφως οι θεοί που πέφτουν┊advent of ragnarök.┊#I ranted at you on D.iscord already about this but #I stan for Dain empathizing greatly with Neuvi's grief #because he experienced and still experience something akin #but under his own circumstances #but at the same time being strong #and giving /Neuvi/ strength to continue #to go meet the vishaps #and to give /him/ hope that even if 5 centuries later #he's in time #overdue perhaps in his mind #but that even if it's this long after the vishaps appreciate his return 😔

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waterfall-ambience · 2 years

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tfw you have an oc voice claim specifically for the evil version of a character who is only introduced several years into the storyline and not their regular voice. hell !!!!

#thank you patrick pedraza for doing scaramouche's eng voice i am now going to voice claim this performance for globeland eidolon #bc yeah im just taking back my interpretation of s8 ex for oc purposes and using the most s8 ex character ever for their voice #meanwhile idk for damien vexx and captain luna LOL #damien is somewhere in the 'antony del rio teen boy voice' zone (pit kiu / kyle she-ra)#but slightly to the left and i cant really describe how. their voice is a bit higher and has a 'clearer' sound i think #i have NO idea what luna sounds like. you'd think by now i'd have some sort of idea considering that damien and eidolon are clones of him #but alas. no. the defining factor really is age. luna needs to sound more mature (30s) but also a century overdue for retirement #i need to find that somehow

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kenbaltyu · 11 months

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Killers of the Flower Moon [2023]

#“In the 1920s #members of the Osage Nation in Oklahoma were the wealthiest people per capita in the country #because oil had been discovered #under their land. Then #one by one #they began to die under mysterious circumstances. Killers of the Flower Moon tells the story of one of #away during the same period #this critical chapter has long been erased from our nation’s history books. A century after these crimes #we #have tried to shine a light on the true story. Killers was filmed in Oklahoma in the very places where these events took place #and several #Osages whose relatives perished appeared in the film. It is an American crime story that is less about who did it than who didn’t do it. It #is about widespread complicity. And ultimately #it is about a reckoning with our past that is long overdue.” — David Grann #KillersOfTheFlowerMoon will exclusively be in theatres from @paramountpics and @appletv this October. It’s a project I am very proud to be #part of and I cannot wait to share it with you all.

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anistarrose · 2 months

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gnashing my teeth. the nested time loops in taz balance. the final cycle of the stolen century, they believe the grand relics are their bitter victory — their long overdue key to never letting the loop restart, never forcing them to do this all over again. they believe that with this sacrifice, they finally have the cycles conquered — and then, what do our heroes do, but lose their memories? they have to start from square one. relearn who they are. rebuild their bonds with each other that spent a whole century cultivating.

us, the audience, who are starting the podcast with episode one — we missed that story the first time you lived it. the first time you told it.

so, tell us again.

tell us how you met each other, tell us about your job. tell us the the destruction that no one but you survived, tell us about the way it shaped you. tell us all the hidden depths of the mongoose — tell us about your friends, the two lovers who cheated death together. tell us how you grew closer, throughout all of this.

tell us about the person who saw all of existence, who glimpsed the meaning of it all. tell us about the restless souls, the dissatisfaction — and how you reached out to that person at the center of it. tell us about a kingdom of robots. tell us, maybe don't admit it quite yet, but show us: the three of you growing closer still.

tell us a story about a time loop in a time loop in a time loop. where the apocalypse never ends, but your death never sticks. tell us how it affected you — for your actions to have no consequence, until they did. tell us how you'd do anything to stop the cataclysm, to break the loop, and tell us how for that, you were judged. tell us how you did good recklessly.

and tell us about the twins, tell us about the liches, about what you're willing to sacrifice. tell us how you leapt into danger to save a friend. tell us how you let yourself be saved. tell us everything you've finally had time to (re)-learn: how to care for each other and be cared for. tell us how you learnt to trust. tell us how, finally, you remember the mistakes you made last time.

we, the audience, missed that story the first time you told it. we need you to tell it again — but this time, this one special time, you'll have a shot at a better ending.

so tell us this story about time loops. tell us this story about stories.

#taz #taz balance #taz balance spoilers #ipre #thb #taz meta #yes i'm still emotionally recovering from the “over and over” poem i reblogged the other day #can you tell? can you tell what it made me think of?

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poetskings · 11 days

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@jegulus-microfic | April 18: sock | 1.6k

James is sexiled and decides to spend time with Regulus.

There’s a sock on the door knob.

It’s been a long day and James is tired and there’s a fucking sock on the door knob and if he listens close enough he can hear soft grunts.

He’s happy for Sirius and Remus, really, he is, he just wishes that they’d fuck at Remus’ every now and then, and at least keep it to the bedroom.

Sirius and James share a college flat with Peter, Marlene and Lily, so there aren’t many options when they’re all out. Today, James knows that Peter and Lily have chess club, and Marlene’s training for the women’s boat race, so it’s only him who’d be around.

He sighs and turns around, sending Regulus a text as he goes.

Been sexiled – your dorm free?

He’s walking before he’s received a response – he’s almost positive that the answer will be ‘yes’, and he hasn’t seen Regulus in a week, so they’re long overdue a catch up.

Their friendship was one of the more unexpected things to come out of Regulus bucking centuries of Black tradition and instead following in his brother’s footsteps, choosing Cambridge over Oxford. He settled in nicely to Corpus Christi, flying through his first few years as a history undergraduate while Sirius and James chose Trinity instead.

It took a while but slowly and tentatively Sirius and Regulus attempted to heal their relationship, strained by Regulus’ years at Harrow after Sirius packed up and left when he was sixteen, dropping out and enrolling at a local state school instead. They’re much better now; their barbs at each other aren’t quite as jagged. There’s love there, now, rather than just animosity.

As Regulus and Sirius attempted to mend their relationship, James and Remus had been called in early on to mediate, or sometimes it was Regulus’ friends, Evan and Barty, or even Pandora. From those early tentative meetings in neutral territory, new and interesting friendships bloomed, most of all between Regulus and James.

From early study sessions, it evolved into coffee dates and library outings, and when Remus and Sirius sorted their shit out it became even more frequent – the pair never make James feel like a third wheel, but nonetheless they deserve time to themselves, even if James would prefer for them not to fuck on every and any available surface in their dorm.

Regulus is a comforting presence for James; he doesn’t demand anything of him. James is naturally an extrovert; always the centre of a room, but sometimes he needs to recharge, and Regulus lets him do that. He reminds James of calm waters on a spring day, and whenever James needs to quiet his mind, he finds the youngest Black. He only hopes he offers Regulus some of the same comfort in return.

That, and maybe something more. Maybe he hopes that one day there’s a sock on his door knob, and that the reason is Regulus..

James is drawn out of his thoughts as his phone dings.

Sure – text me when you’re here, will come meet you

It’s a five-minute walk but James makes it there in two, calling Regulus to get him to buzz him in. He’s a familiar figure amongst the second years at Corpus, and he’s pretty sure a few of them will have also texted the youngest Black to alert him to James’ presence.

The college door opens and Regulus emerges, dressed in sweatpants and a Trinity rowing sweatshirt that James left last time he was over. He’s so lovely, James thinks, an impulse he doesn’t know how to control; isn’t sure he wants to control it.

“Sexiled, huh?” Regulus holds the door open as James steps through, falling into step with each other and walking up a flight of stairs to reach Regulus’ dorm. It’s empty, although that isn’t uncommon for Regulus. Barty and Evan hold unsociable hours, and Regulus, Pandora and Dorcas have a frankly insane amount of extracurriculars to attend, so they’re rarely together.

“There was a sock on the front door and I’m pretty sure I could hear noises so I didn’t want to risk it,” James says, settling himself in the kitchen, finding Regulus’ mug and a new one with a deer in glasses; a ‘congratulations’ for James’ performance in the inter-college boat races that’s become a permanent fixture in Regulus’ dorm.

He locates the teabags; Yorkshire for James, organic for Regulus, before turning back to the mugs.

“I don’t blame you – those two seem to spend more time fucking than not – it’s a minor miracle they get any work done,” Regulus chuckles, gently bumping James’ hip to get to the fridge, taking out his oat milk and James’ rice milk.

They settle into the routine like it’s second nature; they’re familiar with each other in a way that’s almost intimate. They stand together waiting for the kettle to boil, perhaps a bit too close for it to be entirely platonic, but James isn’t going to move away if Regulus doesn’t.

He always feels like they’re teetering on the edge of something more than what they are, something better, but for all of James’ bravery, he isn’t sure how to make the next move, and he doesn’t want to wreck this peace that Regulus and his brother have been working so hard on.

“So, how was your day?” Regulus asks, tilting his head to better look at James. He looks unbelievably soft in James’ jumper and James thinks that if he just moves his pinkie he can link it with Regulus’.

“Exhausting. I had rowing first thing and a few readings to do for my supervision that I’d completely missed,” James sighs. He loves his degree but he’s never been as organised as Regulus, who seems to have work done almost before it’s set. “Also, I spent a solid ten minutes looking for that jumper.”

A light blush creeps up Regulus’ cheeks at that. “Sorry, you left it here after practice last week so I washed it but completely forgot to text you.”

A smile falls across James’ face. “You’re fine, Reg, and besides, it suits you. I guess I should get myself a Corpus one to match, huh?” He smirks as the red of Regulus’ cheeks becomes more pronounced.

The kettle whistles and Regulus turns away from James to fill their cups. “James Potter, behave yourself.” He hip checks James again, this time with a bit more force. Except he doesn’t move back. He stays there, leaning against James, and James feels like his entire body’s a livewire.

The tightrope they’re walking is getting more taut, and James finds himself eager for the fall.

“But Regulus, dearest, where’s the fun in that?” He leans forward, entirely too close for it to be platonic, and Regulus is turning, turning-

“Ow! Fuck!” James forgot about the fact that Regulus was holding a kettle of boiling water, and he’s paying for that now. Water splashes over the counter as Regulus rushes to put the kettle down, taking James’ hand and leading him over to the tap.

He turns the cold water tap on, letting it flow over their entwined hands. He is too still, too silent, and James wants to go back to where they were. He wants the tightrope back. He wants to fall.

He can be brave, he thinks, if it means he gets to have something with Regulus.

Regulus is staring intently at their entwined hands, like it’s the most fascinating thing in the universe, and James breaks the silence.

“Reg-”

“What are we doing, James? We’ve been tiptoeing around each other for weeks and it’s driving me insane and I want to be around you all the time and I think I’m already half in love with you so I’d love if you can clear up what this is,” he states, false bravado injected into his tone, but James can hear the tremors. He’s so nervous, but so brave. Regulus Black, the Lion Heart.

It takes a while for the words to register in James’ head.

Oh.

James removes his hand from the running water, ignoring the slight sting and the inevitable burn that will be left. He cups Regulus’ cheek, forcing the younger boy to look at him. Regulus is terrified, but so hopeful.

“Reg, I- I want-” James runs his hand through his hair in frustration. He can’t get his words out.

“Jamie?” Regulus’ voice is so soft, as though he’s worried he’ll scare James off, and the only thing James can do is kiss him.

Regulus’ lips are rough, a bit chapped from where he nibbles on them when he’s nervous. He tastes of tea and cinnamon and James wants to devour him. There is nothing soft about it. James’ tongue darts out, soothing Regulus’ lips, and the younger boy lets out a moan that’s pure filth and ecstasy and James is falling, falling, fallen.

He wants to do this forever.

His hands find their way to Regulus’ waist, tracing the skin underneath the Trinity sweater that’s been driving James insane since he first saw Regulus wearing it. It’s his, it’s him.

They break apart to breathe and James attaches his lips to Regulus’ neck, marking, claiming. He can’t think beyond this moment, beyond the boy in front of him.

“Jamie, we should- we need to-” he cuts himself off, broken sighs escaping his lips as he tangles his hands in James’ hair.

James reluctantly removes himself from Regulus’ neck, taking the boy’s face in his hands. “Do you want this, Reg? Do you want me?”

Regulus’ eyes trace James’ face, and whatever he sees softens him.

“Always, Jamie.” And James is lost.

They’ll talk about it later, as the sunlight paints the walls of Regulus’ room, but this is enough for now. For ever.

And if Barty finds a sock on the door knob when he comes back from the library, well, that’s between him and Regulus.

#jegulus #regulus black #James potter #starchaser #marauders #marauders era #sunseeker #jegulus microfic #dead gay wizards #si writes #will I ever figure out how to write a microfic that's actually micro? doubtful.

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ode2rin · 10 months

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all my love

pairing. itoshi rin x gn!reader

genre. fluff, slightly suggestive (towards the end) | established relationship | new boyfriend!rin

in which: new boyfriend rin struggles to keep his affection within the delicate bounds of too much and too soon.

“he’s beefing with a phone now?”

“he’s beefing with anyone - anything, it’s actually a bit concerning at this point.”

“guys, stop. he can hear us, you know.”

itoshi rin sure does hear bachira, chigiri, and isagi talk shit about how he’s holding his phone tightly while glaring at the little screen. for once, rin paid them no mind and simply rolled his eyes. seemingly more focused on what is happening in his phone, or rather, what he is waiting to happen in his phone.

it’s stupid, he knows. he actually feels like he’s 18 again, back when he was pining on you so hard that he waited a whole day before you asked him to hang out. now at 23, after what felt like a whole century (he’s being dramatic) of wishing you were his, the day finally came.

and once again, he’s here sitting, impatiently waiting for your updates about your silly grocery shopping you told him about just an hour ago. he wanted to tell you to wait, and that he’d come with you after practice. but before he could even send the message, he caught himself showing what he would call, for a lack of better term, lukewarm ‘feelings’ (it’s clinginess, he just doesn’t want to say the word himself, it’s distasteful in his own tongue).

he’s not clingy. he’s not needy. he doesn’t need to see you all the time. he doesn’t need to hear your voice or even receive a foolish text message from you. it’s not like he’s going mad about it this instant if you don’t update him.

that's beneath him — or at least he firmly believes so before refreshing his notifications for the nth time for your long overdue text.

he could just text you first, right? to tell you how he hopes ego gets an urgent call from whoever, allowing them to leave practice earlier. tell you how desperately he wishes the earth would spin faster until he sees you again. and most importantly, tell you that he misses you, and he wants to see you despite staying over just a day ago for your weekly date.

after all, you're together now. he could simply just text you and let you know. what's the worst that could happen?

well, you might think he's being too much (he reached that conclusion on his own), and it might throw you off a bit — which is probably the last thing rin would want to happen.

it’s too much, and too soon. no matter how long he had known it would be you for him, it doesn’t change the fact that the two of you are new to this.

it has been nearly three months since you made it official for him, yet he’s still uncertain whether the length of your relationship could gravitate the spontaneity of him showing up to your place unannounced, or if he could ask you to stay the night after your weekly date, heck he doesn’t even know if could say those three damn words whenever he feels like it.

rin fears of overwhelming you. he can try and deny, but rin harbors big feelings that for as long as he could remember, stayed dormant for his own good. but now that you’re here, he’s afraid of putting it all out there for you.

rin thinks, or at least how he treats it, that your relationship is a new form of delicate. something he would need to handle with care, something he needs to approach slowly, even when all he wants is to give you all that he is— the good and even the bad that he would make better, just for you.

this is new and delicate. you are delicate.

and rin knows his hands have never been known for their ability to handle something so precious.

sighing in defeat, rin threw his phone inside his gym bag, but as he was about to leave the locker room, he heard the faint buzz coming from his phone.

it was faint, barely detectable to some. but for someone who had been waiting for it for a whole damn hour, it felt like an angel whispered in rin's ear, letting him know that someone from above took pity on him.

“damn, that was fast. did you guys see that?”

bachira wasn’t lying. rin did turn to pick up his phone from his bag as quickly as one would turn when someone yelled ‘fire’. and for it, bachira received his second (it’s 2 pm, two is still a merciful number) glare of the day for pointing out his patheticness.

hastily, rin opened your conversation to be greeted by a photo of two different brands of protein powder followed by a harmless question from you, yet it almost burned him.

it’s your break, right? just wanted to ask you which would you prefer. i’m getting one of each for you to try if you can’t reply right away :D

fuck what he thought, he needs to see you – and he will.

rin almost clicked the call button just to tell you he loves you. all because of some protein powder. just because you're so thoughtful and kind to him, it's downright unbelievable. he needs to hear your voice so he can process how real it is that you are his.

rin glanced at the clock of his phone. four more hours ‘til he’s free. four more dreadful hours, he can make do.

just before he got called by his team, rin quickly typed a reply to you.

Right one. Thank you :)

on the other end of the texting, you almost dropped both brands from your hands into your cart as you stared at rin's reply, particularly to the emoji he sent.

is this my boyfriend? you thought with a bemused grin. shaking your head, you placed his choice in your cart. you'd tease him about it when you saw him this saturday.

little did you know, even before saturday arrived, rin would be standing in front of you, hours after your last conversation. he was dressed in his sweats, wearing a white shirt, and had his gym bag slung across his chest. his hair seemed still damp from the shower, and as he looked at you, it was as though he just realized he had come here on his own.

“rin? what are you doing here?” you ask, breaking the silence first.

it was only after your question that rin realized he had more pressing matters to face than letting his eyes wander around you in your pajamas.

“i…” fuck. this is torture, and he curses himself for not finding the right words, “i wanted to see you.”

“you want to see me,” you echoed.

“is that fine?” rin’s voice came out strained with uncertainty.

a soft smile crossed your face, and you nodded. “of course…” you answered, “do you want to come in?”

rin nodded and slowly walked towards the entrance of your home, letting himself in as he dropped his bag on the floor. he still hadn't met your eye, reluctant to face what he might see in them.

instead, he indulged in the way you looked, seemingly so soft and warm to the touch in your flowing pajamas. his hands ached and itched with the urge to hold you close against him.

but he can’t – it was too much, too soon.

“you can come here anytime you want,” you said, pulling rin out of his thoughts.

taken aback, rin took a few seconds to process what you said. “it’s not… too much?”

curious as to why he would ask that, you gave him a bashful smile. “it’s you, baby. why would it be?”

and just like that, rin cast aside all of his hesitancy at the sound of your words, as if they were the green light signifying him to let go of the brakes holding his own affection.

rin took a step closer to you until you were inches away from him. your curious eyes followed every movement he made. curiosity immediately turned to bewilderment when you felt one of rin's firm hands on your waist, pulling you closer to him. his other hand settled in the curve of your neck below your jaw, gently guiding your face to meet his.

“how about when i hold you like this? still not too much?” rin's voice sounded hoarse, an octave lower. his hands roamed around your back, gently caressing your clothed skin.

“no…” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper.

rin exhaled with your response, the scent of fresh mint wafting around your face. his hand on your neck climbed up until you felt his thumb caressing the side of your lip.

“and if i tell you i love you— perhaps a little too much. how 'bout that? does that bother you?”

so, this is what it is about.

feeling bolder than you were minutes ago, you caught rin's hand, enclosing it with your smaller ones as you guided it to your lips, leaving a featherlight kiss on his knuckles.

smiling up to him, you say, “never. i think i’ll love that.”

as the moment lingered in suspended anticipation, rin wasn’t able to suppress it any longer. he closed the distance between your lips with an urgency that bordered on desperation. the kiss was more than a mere meeting of lips; it was a collision of hearts.

his lips molded against yours, and his touch was not just gentle, but also fervent, as if trying to give you all that he is, without any reservation. his hands, once hesitant, now found their place on your waist, pulling you even closer to him, feeling the warmth of your body against his. his fingers traced a delicate path along your spine, memorizing every curve, every contour, as if etching your presence in his memory.

as the kiss deepened, a soft sigh of contentment escaped your lips, inviting rin to explore further. he took the invitation, his tongue gently parting your lips to taste you more, more, and more. because just when he thought it was too much, it was apparently not enough. he needed more – touch you more.

when you both finally pulled apart, your breaths were intertwined, and your gazes locked. with a shy smile playing on your lips, still breathless and flushed, you ask, “and if i ask you to stay the night, is that too much?”

rin smiled, teal-eyes reflecting a glassy glint, “no,” he whispered, “i think i’ll love that, too.”

and rin also thinks he wouldn't mind being clingy and admitting he's needy if it's you— only when it's you.

because with you, he's not reminded that he was less, nor plagued that he might be too much.

to you, all of him was just the right amount of love.

note. i don’t know what this is but i miss him so i hope it’s something. if you’re new here, i am crazy about itoshi rin.

another note. new!bf rin here !

#☁️ my ode to you #itoshi rin x reader #itoshi rin #itoshi rin fluff #itoshi rin x y/n #blue lock x reader #blue lock imagines #blue lock fluff #bllk x reader #bllk imagines #rin itoshi x reader #rin itoshi

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acise · 4 months

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Centuries Overdue

Here's the full piece from the sneak peak of the @mlbigbang! Illustrated for the upcoming chapter (releasing Thursday) of Centuries Overdue written by the amazing @rosie-b !!!

#centuries overdue

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rosie-b · 2 months

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Centuries Overdue

Chapter 9: Epilogue

This is it; the last chapter is finally here!! Thanks again to everyone at @mlbigbang for making this story possible :D

Without further ado, I hope you enjoy the epilogue!

Several months later, Marinette was leading Adrien back to the Clockwise Fox from the library where her journey had started. In the time since their newsworthy escape from the catacombs, they’d become fast friends, and Marinette had even convinced Adrien to enroll in a university course he was interested in.

“You know, I still can’t believe Gimmi used their own power to erase the Bourgeois family’s memory of magic,” Adrien said as they reached the cafe door.

“Well, it worked so poorly that they didn’t try it again,” Marinette commented. “Gave them delusions of grandeur and now we have the prissiest mayor’s daughter in France! You’d think she was a princess with how she acts.”

“Well, I hope we don’t need another rebellion,” Adrien said. “The last one was more than enough for me.”

“You weren’t even directly in it,” Marinette pointed out. “But I agree. Luckily, Chloe only thinks she’s powerful enough to warrant one, and France is pretty much married to democracy now.”

“That’s one good change,” Adrien agreed. “Among many, of course! I still can’t believe how good pizza is! And airplanes might not be as fun as I thought they would be, but they’re quite handy for traveling. Vast improvement on riding horseback, let me tell you,” he said, earning a side glance from one of the baristas.

They placed their orders at the counter and waited for their drinks to come.

Adrien noticed Marinette giving him an odd look and raised his eyebrow. “What is it?”

“Oh, nothing,” she said. “Have you been speaking to Alix a lot lately?”

Adrien tilted his head. “No, why?”

Marinette laughed. “I guess I’m just paranoid about it. You ordered the exact same drink I did the first time I came here.”

Adrien blinked. “Is that bad?”

“Just embarrassing,” she admitted as their drinks came and she led him back to their usual table. “I ordered it in the middle of the summer.”

Adrien looked at the steaming hot cup of mocha in his hands. “I see,” he said with a giggle.

Marinette scowled. “Don’t be mean to me or I’ll be mean right back, shortie!” She blushed as the people at the neighboring table clearly overheard.

“Shortie? I’m injured, Marinette! After all, I am still taller than you are, so I think that insult doesn’t hold water.”

“Oh, you’re only taller by a few inches. And since I’m very short, that makes you short, as well,” Marinette retorted.

“Hey! I used to be tall, you know. I was taller than Napoleon,” Adrien squawked.

“And nowadays, people call him short. So maybe your argument is the one that doesn’t hold water,” Marinette pointed out with a grin.

Adrien sulked as he took a sip of his mocha. “So rude,” he muttered.

Marinette hummed and sent him a smile, letting him know she was sorry. “You know, Adrien, you might be short now, but I still think you’re handsome.”

Adrien blushed a fiery red. “And I, you, uh, beautiful, that is!” He giggled and took another sip of his drink.

“Wow, get a room,” Alix teased as she passed by their table with a set of dirty plates.

Marinette blushed. “You don’t know what that means yet, do you?” she asked nervously.

Adrien groaned. “Actually, I think I have been spending too much time with Alix, after all,” he said. “Because yes, I understood that reference.”

“And I understand that one,” Marinette said with a smile. “Did Nino convince you to watch the American movies with him?”

Adrien nodded. “They were quite inaccurate, if you ask me. Have the wrong kind of magic entirely.”

“Then what do you say we come back here tonight for the right kind?”

Alix whistled as she passed by them again. “In public, Marinette? You get it, girl!”

Marinette dropped her head onto the table.

“You know what I mean,” she groaned. “Stop being mean to me!”

“Yeah, back off or she’ll be mean right back, Alix,” Adrien warned playfully.

“Yeah, you don’t want to see me be mean, Alix, I’m better at it than you,” Marinette said, lifting her head and giving a not-so-menacing glare (her hair was plastered to her forehead now and she was sure she looked like a lame copy of Medusa).

“Message received,” Alix said with a smirk. “I’ll leave you two lovebirds alone then!”

She walked back into the kitchen without cleaning any more tables.

“I think she came out here just to make fun of us,” Adrien observed.

“I agree,” Marinette said. “Do you want to get out of here?”

He grinned. “I’ll go wherever you do, Marinette.”

She hid her blush in the last drops of her coffee and led him outside.

As they walked back to their new apartment together (they’d agreed that it would be far easier to share one until Alya’s spell had enough time to settle and Adrien applying for one wouldn’t risk his status as a French citizen), Adrien’s hand brushed against hers. Marinette struggled to control the grin on her face and took the hint, grabbing his hand and swinging it as they kept walking.

They passed by the park Adrien said he’d been able to somewhat recognize from before, and he tugged lightly on her hand.

“Marinette, do you feel like spending some time in the park together?” he asked, looking at her with a slightly nervous expression.

She hummed and nodded. “Sure. You know I never mind doing things together with you.”

Adrien blushed. “That’s good, because you’ve had to do a lot of them. You, Alya, and Alix are almost singularly responsible for me surviving the twenty-first century. Triply responsible, I suppose.” He hesitated, and Marinette squeezed his hand to let him know he could ask whatever it was that was bugging him. “Is it too much? Do you want me to try moving out on my own? I’m pretty sure Alya said it should be okay by now, so if you want me gone, just tell me and I will go.”

Marinette’s heart twinged painfully. “Do you want to move out? I mean, I completely understand, of course, and I can just invite Alya to fill the empty room, but you know you don’t have to, right? I like having you around, Adrien,” she admitted, feeling like a shy schoolgirl all over again.

Adrien smiled at her. “I like having you around, too, Marinette. I just don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. But if you’re sure, then I’d like to stay.”

“Of course,” Marinette said. “Stay as long as you’d like!”

“Careful, I might just take you up on that,” Adrien laughed. “And you’ll be stuck with me forever.”

Marinette stopped walking.

Adrien turned to her, looking concerned. “Marinette? Did you not mean it? I, I’m sorry, I’ll just—”

“I want you around forever,” she said, cutting him off.

“Pardon?”

“Adrien, I— I think I want you to be around forever.”

“We can try, but I really don’t want to live that long; three centuries is good enough for me,” he joked.

Marinette’s lips twitched. “Don’t distract me! Adrien, I’ve realized something important that I should tell you.”

His face immediately became serious. “What is it?”

Marinette groaned. “Not like that! It’s just— just— I like you, Adrien. You’re tied with Alya for best friend now, but I think… I think I’d like to try something other than being like this. Platonic,” she said, gesturing between the two of them. “Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Adrien nodded cautiously. “I hope I do, Marinette. Because I feel something else for you, too, and I don’t want to be alone in feeling it.”

“Me, neither,” Marinette said. And then, just to check, she asked, “So, do you want to make this into a date? We can go bird watching, or get ice cream, or just sit on the bench for a while, whatever! Or if not, that’s fine, too!”

She was about to start panicking, and Adrien must have known it, because he took both her hands together and pressed a gentle kiss to them. “I would love to,” he told her. “I love to do anything, everything, as long as it’s with you.”

Marinette smiled up at him, relief in her eyes.

“Promise?”

“Promise,” Adrien said, smiling.

“Good,” Marinette said. “Because I love doing everything with you, too.”

Adrien couldn’t stop himself from hugging her at that. “I’m so glad we met,” he whispered into her hair.

Marinette smiled and pulled him closer. “Me, too,” she confessed. “It was just a few centuries overdue.”

#ao3 links at the top #centuries overdue #ml fanfic #rosie-b writing #ml au #adrinette #lovesquare #love square #miraculous ladybug

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fairuzfan · 6 months

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im trying to ask all different kids of accounts bc i can't get one solid answer - how would u specifically define zionist? do you think the people who are currently israelis (and are not west bank settlers, may they all be tried for their crimes) should be able to live in a decolonized palestine?

I had to take a couple of days mostly because I was trying to find a single concise answer for you in a citation. Before I give you a definition of a Zionist, I must first describe what Zionism and it's implications are. Here is Ismail Zayid's "Zionism, the myth and the reality" (click).

The very first couple of paragraphs of the book, he says:

Zionism, as a modern political creed, grew in close association with three interacting major forces which exercised a profound influence on the character and nature of the Zionist movement, resulting in three basic qualities characterizing this movement, namely: settler colonialism, expansionism and racism.

The first of the three major forces was the growth, in the nineteenth century, of European colonialism and imperialism and the expansion of the colonial settler regimes. The alliance made between Zionism and European colonialism is clearly attested to by both sides, identifying reciprocal benefits in the alliance. Herzl, in his "Der Judenstat," expressed clearly both the racist nature of Zionism as well as its role as a settler colonial outpost: "We should, there, form a portion of the rampart of Europe against Asia, an outpost of civilization as opposed to barbarism. We should, as a neutral state, remain in contact with all Europe, which would have to guarantee our existence."

There's more in the book that I can't type up lol, but in essence a Zionist subscribes to the idea of Zionism itself, and insists on the establishment of a settler colonial entity whether passively or actively.

Zionism is a settler colonialist movement, as stated by the founder of the movement for Zionism, Theodore Herzel (quoted above in the smalltext). It modeled itself after much of the European colonialist strategies, enforcing borders and nationalities on a previously border-lose world. I mention the making of borders as a fundamental part of colonialism because by rejection of those borders as a concept, we start to imagine the world in a post-colonial universe. Sherene Seikaly makes this point in her book "Men of Capital" in the introductory chapter:

But in such a search, it is almost inevitable that nationalism—its “lack,” its “strength,” or its “weakness”—will stand as a metonym for politics. In some renditions, the weakness of normative nationalism—a “political deficiency” and a lack of a national “spirit”—resulted in, as the leading historian of collaboration continues to argue, the catastrophe of 1948. In response, scholars have documented a national project among the Palestinians. This work is invaluable and has shifted the terms of debate as well as our understanding of the social and cultural geography of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries in Palestine. However, to continue reveling in the marriage between national consciousness and politics reifies colonial epistemologies. Moving beyond nationalism as both the means and ends of politics is long overdue. Certainly, nationalism was one aspect of subjectivity formation, but it was not the only way to make politics. What I seek to destabilize here is not whether Palestinians were sufficiently national, but to ask why that sufficiency and/or its lack continues to be the measuring stick for whether people can remain on the land they resided on for centuries. Must people’s investment in the random and shifting borders that imperial and colonial officials drew determine their status? Are there other ways to think about politics outside, beside, underneath, and alongside this national prism?

I've said this multiple times before on this blog in different ways, but I'll state outright: I reject the notion of nationalism as a way for us to authenticate Palestinians' claim to the land they've lived on for centuries, as Seikaly mentions. Zionism's core goal is the establishment of such borders is aligned with European colonialism's core goals: division of the world so that they may categorize itself within the world's hierarchy.

Now, the core saying in the Free Palestine movement you often hear is "From the River to the Sea." This, basically, is a rejection of the establishment of those borders as a necessity for the Palestinians to be recognized. Zionism relies on border-making for it to be an actual thing. Without borders, Zionism would not exist. Which is why the "Balfour Declaration," that had essentially districted and redistributed Palestine is often referenced by both Zionists and antiZionists. Balfour, a well known racist and antisemite, had advocated for the establishment of a "Jewish State" not because he really cared what happened to either party — but specifically so that he could get the Jewish people of Europe.... out of Europe.

Seikaly mentions this in "Men of Capital":

However, we should qualify its meaning to get at the specific condition of Palestinian invisibility in colonial epistemologies. Zionists of the late nineteenth century did not imagine that there were no people on the land of Palestine, but rather that they were not a people. Theodor Herzl described a set of caricatures that inhabited what he called the land of Israel: the wealthy effendis who could be had for a price and the remaining impoverished peasants who could be smoothly removed without incident. These people were a motley crew without anything defining or unifying them. Zionists from various political leanings did not share Herzl’s confidence that the people who lived in Palestine would not be attached enough to its land to resist their displacement. However, the Zionist emphasis on the lack of a politically coherent and distinct people in Palestine who deserved to make claims to the land on which they had resided for hundreds of years would continue apace. The caricatures of the effendi and the peasant, as well as the depiction of the Palestinians as insufficiently rooted, continue to have currency. In the meantime, Zionists were hard at work shaping a cohesive settlement community around a new ethno-national understanding of what it meant to be Jewish. They called themselves the Yishuv. Zionism promised Jews who had suffered religious, political, and racial persecution for centuries in Europe that they could finally become European but only by leaving Europe. Anti-Semitism and Zionism had one thing in common: the belief that Jews could never assimilate in Europe. The process of becoming European by realizing a settler colony would be an abundant source of persecution: For the Palestinians it entails ongoing erasure; for the eastern (Mizrahi) Jews who did not fit the Ashkenazi (European) mold, it has meant decades of marginalization; and for the Ashkenazi, it required killing centuries of tradition, language, and culture to fit the template of the new Jew.

So now you know that Zionism is, at it's core the establishment of borders to reinforce itself as a colonialist entity — thereby enforcing a separation between the colonized and the colonizer that can seem material, but is, in fact, immaterial. Zionists are people who ascribe to the ideology that a Settler Colonial "Jewish State" must exist, and that its establishment is necessary for whatever reason, thereby enacting those borders and displacing the indigenous populations. But what does a post-colonialist society look like if we no longer have these regional borders and nationalism as we've come to understand it?

Palestinians argue for the Right to Return to their homes. I have family members that cannot see the places they were born in because they were kicked out and not allowed to return. I think, for these people especially, it's only natural that they be allowed to return.

You ask if people who are currently live in Israel should be able to live in a decolonized Palestine. Short answer: yes. Of course. There is no reason to reject these people who are willing to live in a decolonized Palestine.

Long answer: still yes but I'm going to re contextualize it a little.

We've established that a decolonized Palestine is one in which borders are irrelevant, as is the current version of nationalism, and no need for categorization. In a decolonized Palestine, as long as you are not a perpetrator of a "crime" (I put that in quotations because of the current colonial implications, but I lack a better word for it) that makes you — and not your grandparent/parent — directly responsible for colonization — like as you mention, settlers who violently expelled Palestinians — and willing to participate in a Palestinian society in which there is equality of all peoples regardless of race, ethnicity, economic status, or religion, then it is possible to become Palestinian.

Israelis are all, to a certain extent, culpable in colonization. There are antiZionist Israelis, but nevertheless, it doesn't change the fact that they are settled on land that was acquired violently. Of course, the same can be said for many USAmericans. To a certain extent, I am a settler in Turtle Island despite being a refugee. I willingly participate in a colony, whether I actually agree with it or not.

I think from hereon, to live in Decolonized Palestine as well as a Decolonized Turtle Island, we must make the reparations necessary to the communities who have suffered systematic violence at the hands of the colonial entity to truly live in a post-colonial world. You might be asking how I think that's going to be conducted — I am not sure. But what I do know is that living without borders — or in other words living without colonialist labels and all sorts hierarchies that arise — will require a reframing of the understanding of our world as well as how we interact with each other in it.

#palestine #gaza

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gay-dorito-dust · 4 months

Note

Okay wait! Luke and y/n sneaking out of their cabins to go to their hiding spot to watch the stars while kissing and cuddling.

Being a Demi-god didn’t allow for you to experience many of the oftentimes mundane or meaningful moments in life, especially when you were thrusted into life threatening quests for godly parents that probably didn’t care to even remember any of your or your half siblings names; never less remember to claim them unless it proved beneficial for their own agenda.

However there was one exception to this answer his name was Luke Castellan. The goddess Aphrodite must’ve took pity on you by sending the charming and dashing son of Hermes your way, allowing you to befriend and then later on, fall in love with him and you’ve never been more happier then you were whenever you were with Luke Castellan.

Or Golden Boy as you’ve playfully called him, much to his dismay but the small smile that’d tug at lips told you otherwise.

As ironic as it might sound but any moment you got with Luke felt like pure magic with the way they make your insides grow homely and warm like a hearth, warming you throughout your entire body as your face was stuck in a perpetual state of dopey and lovesick.

Tonight was no different then any other night as you and Luke -hand in hand- ventured from the beds of your respective cabins and began making your way towards the lake all the while poorly concealing your bouts of laughter, some would manage to slip out now and then but you couldn’t help it! It had been awhile since you and Luke had some time to spend together, especially not without your siblings and or friends coming to get either of you to settle some disputes, and then not see each other until you were all called to the dinning pavilion; but even then you were seated at your tables, still unable to see each other.

To say that this moment was long overdue for both of you was the understatement of the century.

‘I don’t think that I’ll ever get over how beautiful the stars really are.’ You told Luke in awe, completely captivated by the starry sky that hung over camp.

‘That’s what I always say to myself whenever I get to see you.’ Luke says as he then drew your back until you were was fully pressed against his chest, solely for the fact that he could comfortably put his head upon your shoulder and rest his cheek to yours, humming in content when satisfied with the end result.

You snorted, readjusting the blanket you had brought with you to keep warm from the cold breeze that would occur every so often. ‘Yeah, I’m sure you do golden boy.’ You chuckled upon hearing Luke groan dramatically, only to then squeal in surprise when you felt him burrow his head into your neck, the ends of his hair kissed your skin with the weight of a feather while his own lips coated your neck in kisses of his own before stoping. ‘Don’t you ever get bored of calling me that? Golden boy?’ He asks and you moved your head to press a kiss against his hair. ‘Nope,’ you chirped, pressing another kiss but this time to his nose when Luke lifted his head from your neck to look you in the eye, ‘I for one think it suits you.’ You added, flashing him a cheeky smile.

‘I do often think about you, you know, in the same way you spoke about the beauty of the stars just now.’ Luke confessed and you felt your breath catch in your throat.

‘I didn’t say any-‘

‘You didn’t need to.’ Luke cuts you off. ‘I’d like to think the reason I know you as well as I do is because you hold the other half of my soul, as I hold the other half of yours.’ He says softly as his eyes then looked up to the stars in a form of hope, stars that now twinkled within his eyes as though they had finally broken free from the veil of endless hopelessness that often came with being a half-blood. ‘I also wonder that if I’m another lifetime, another universe where we’re not cursed to be demi-gods….If that’s even plausible.’ He adds sarcastically, his features contorted in pain and anger before it all faded away as quickly as it came. ‘If we ever get to find each other again or are destined to wonder our entire lives, lost in the hope of trying to fill the void we’re seemingly born with from this lifetime.’

You wordlessly buried yourself into his neck, pressing soft kisses there in hopes of soothing him somewhat. ‘I’m sure we find each other, no I’m certain that we find each other.’ You murmured reassuringly, feeling his arms tighten on your waist. ‘You wanna know why?’ Luke looked away from the stars to look at you, intrigued. ‘Why?’ You moved yourself from your cosy place against his chest, causing him to whine at the loss of your warmth, only to stop upon feeling you hold either sides of his face between your hands; caressing his cheeks as you stared lovingly into his eyes as he welcomed your touch by sinking into it.

‘Because what we do in this lifetime will echo throughout the others, we defy the gods today and we will defy the gods in every single lifetime afterwards.’ You said, pressing your forehead against his as you moved one of your hands from Luke’s cheek to hold him by the back of his neck, fingers toying with the hair there. ‘The same can be said for when we love each other as much as we do right now, we will always find ourselves falling in love with each other in the other lifetimes too.’ You pressed a kiss to his scar before continuing. ‘For we’re fated to be soulmates, even if means having the odds stacked against us, we’ll always find each other again. No matter what.’

Luke stared at you for a while before he pressed his lips against yours passionately, his hands keeping you close to him as he poured everything he had into the kiss, not so secretly wishing that you were right about your love echoing throughout all your other lifetimes, to the point it disrupts their originally intended fates to pursue one another, not caring how long it would take because you both knew that the wait would’ve been entirely worth it.

#pjo x reader #pjo imagines #pjo imagine #pjo fanfic #pjo tv show #pjo series #percy jackson and the olympians #luke castellan x you #luke castellan fluff #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan imagines #luke castellan fanfic

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the-cat-and-the-birdie · 7 months

Text

It's time y'all.

Let's talk about HOBIE & RACE

- It is not problematic to say that Hobie would display black solidarity by finding black women in specific attractive.

- It is not problematic to say that Hobie would possibly like a partner who could understand his experiences with racism.

- It is not problematic to say he would possibly like a partner who understands how to take care of his hair, or shares the same hair texture.

- It is not problematic to say that Hobie would find beauty in features specific to the black race - when we have been told those features are undesirable in every way for centuries.

We gotta talk about how Colorblindness is forced on Black Characters - Hobie in Specific

Y'all - it's time we have a VERY VERY overdue conversation about Hobie Brown and Race.

Because it is a necessary one.

Hobie Brown, The Black!Reader, & Representation -

aka Black people are not Colorblind - and neither is Hobie Brown -

[let Diane hop on the mic right quick Chile]

Stop acting like Black Fictional Characters would be colorblind.

Black people can't be colorblind, because our color is weaponized against us from birth. We HAVE to see race - because we have to protect ourselves and know our own history

So when we decide to make spaces specifically for us - spaces where black people and black women in specific can be desired and uplifted, I don't see why people have a problem with it.

Hobie Brown loves, yes. But he also lives in 1978. Racial segregation was outlawed in his country in 1965.

Hobie Brown loves, but he's also a black guy who grew up under racial segregation and racism. He's a black guy who fights cops.

The Writers made Spiderpunk - The Spiderperson who fights oppressive cops - black for a REASON.

The Writers chose to have a black guy save Miles for a REASON. To uplift black people.

Writers here on Tumblr made Black!Readers black for same reason.

If Black Lives Matter doesn't mean White Lives Don't Matter -

Then 'Hobie Brown finds black chicks especially attractive' DOESN'T mean 'white women are unattractive'. This isn't about y'all.

And even for the people that say Hobie would like ONLY black people - okay??? They can say that - it's a literal headcanon.

It's not true if you don't want it to be. You don't have to believe it.

But seeing Black people be protective of a black character, and making black content for other black fans - and then saying 'what - stop that. that's wrong. break this up so I can join'

BEFORE you question why they do it - NOT COOL.

That's like asking for more Captain America in Black Panther. Like ?????

That's like hearing a Riot Grrrl say 'All the women to the front!!' and going 'Uhh, all genders are equal, why can't the men stand in the front too?'

Like yes, all genders are equal. But also - This isn't about them. It's about representation.

Stop preaching equality when we're asking for representation.

Cause there are dozens, hundreds, of white characters who only have white on-screen romances.

And their fandoms do not write black!readers. They do not care enough to say 'oh the show isn't representing this, let us do it.'

The media nor the fandom represent black women. They are an afterthought, always.

And you never see posts for them like -

'Dean Winchester loves black women. Dean Winchester loves latinas -'

When it's a white character only dating white women, with xReaders that always imply whiteness, y'all never call for diversity. At all.

You wouldn't make this post for Miguel.

But when it's a black character and someone suggests they only date black women, or people begin to write xReaders that imply blackness instead of your default-

Suddenly you care about diversity.

Because the first time, you're not represented.

Because let's be honest. Let's be real. No one is writing Hobie x White!Reader. Barely anyone is writing Hobie x Latina!Reader.

It's the Black!Reader you have a problem with. Let's just say it.

Allow black people to have their space, without unfairly calling for 'diversity'.

(aka the right to access to black safe spaces, comfort characters, and labor)

Hobie is an attractive, educated black guy who fights and protects people from the aggressors we ourselves genuinely fear everyday.

He is a character like we've never had before. He has so much emotional weight to us.

Let us enjoy him as we please. We aren't hurting anyone else.

We're just not catering to you. We don't have to.

If a black person wants to center Hobie's love on Black people, they have the right.

And I'm not saying you can't write him with a race neutral or even a White!Reader. Go ahead and write that if you want but just know-

1) If you want to write him with an explicitly white or non-black reader - you should approach the topic of race. You should approach and mention the cultural differences. Him going through racism. Don't erase that because you think it makes your writing ugly or sad.

And if you don't put it in, your erasing the reality and black experience because you find something wrong or uncomfortable about it.

2) If you want to write a race neutral reader - make sure they're really race neutral. Don't include details about hair texture, hairstyle, or skin color.

3) If you are asking black writers for requests - do not get mad if they make the request Black.

You cannot get mad at a black writer for interjecting their own experience when writing about a black character. You're basically asking them to strip their blackness from their writing so you can enjoy it more.

Why should they have to second guess and dial back their blackness when we're expected to do that everywhere? If they want to take a break, and write Black!Readers they can.

3) Understand that the black people are going to keep their safe spaces. And they're going to keep Hobie in their corner.

Because honestly, and I'm going to put this brazenly:

Hobie Brown as a character - and what he represents - means more to black fans than it does nonblack fans.

Does that mean he doesn't matter to y'all? No, not at all. Hobie absolutely holds real emotional weight and meaning to you on multiple levels.

But please understand, for black people - we connect to Hobie on an emotional, often trauma-fueled front.

One that you'll never understand.

There is a level that we connect with him on that nonblack people can't. As a dark skinned black guy, a black guy with natural hair, an alt black guy,

As a black guy who has canonically faced police brutality on-screen

To you, this screenshot is most likely Hobie flipping the camera off, edgy and punk. It's funny, tongue in check. ACAB and all that.

To us, this screenshot is of Hobie - a low income black guy - being physically restrained by police and refusing to stop even when they're taking his mugshot. It's a black guy openly flipping off the police and fighting them off and refusing to go down no matter how much they beat him and he's winning YES

After so many videos over SO many years of cops doing that to black men and them.. not winning.

And them just dying and us having to watch. And add another name to list.

When you see his laces, you most likely think ACAB.

When we see his laces, we see that he's a black man who took on a cop and lived to tell the tale. Which is a RARITY.

Because many of them lose the battle.

For us, the context and connection are completely different.

Fanfiction may just be a way for you to kiss up on random characters or comfort yourself, but for us - that's not the case.

For us, fanfiction is a way to show our experiences and features in a media and world that has collectively ignored them. Shunned them, called them ugly.

Maybe make a post or send an ask to a creator - and ask what Black!Readers mean for them, why they find it important.

Hobie Brown likes Black Girls.

He finds them beautiful. He likes wide lips and broad noses and kinky hair. He loves melanin, and brown skin in the sunlight, and seeing a them in a silk bonnet in the morning.

He loves not having to explain his culture, sharing coconut oil and shea butter. He likes seeing waist beads. He likes people who speak AAVE, with twang in their talk.

He likes ghetto black girls with the acrylic nails. He likes Stallions 6 foot tall. He likes masc girls. And fem ones. He loves black nonbinary people because we do not have to cosign to colonialist ideas of gender. And he loves him some black men too - a good fade will make him go crazy, he loves men with long locs and pretty smiles.

Hobie Brown finds the beauty in Black People that have been erased and demonized again and again by White Society.

Hobie Brown holds blackness dear. And he wants black people to do well.

Hobie Brown loves Black People. Hobie Brown loves Black Girls.

And that's on, what?

This has been a PSA from Diane Pastors. Y'all stay blessed out there 😌💗

Anyway what y'all wearing to carnival since we going to carnival and cropover and labor day with Hobie and bringing out all the flags. 🇧🇧🇧🇧 I'm bringing him to cropover in Barbados yeah I said it we're all going to carnival with him.

#spiderman #spider man #marvel #across the spiderverse #atsv #hobie brown #spider punk #spiderpunk #racism #antiblackness #antiblack #anti black #hobie x reader #hobie x black!reader #Hobie x you #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x black!reader #hobie brown x you

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robertreich · 3 months

Video

youtube

The Silent Revolution in American Economics

I don't think you're expecting what I'm about to say, because I have never seen anything like this in fifty years in politics.

For decades I've been sounding an alarm about how our economy has become increasingly rigged for the rich. I've watched it get worse under both Republicans and Democrats, but what President Biden has done in his first term gives me hope I haven't felt in years. It’s a complete sea change.

Here are three key areas where Biden is fundamentally reshaping our economy to make it better for working people.

#1 Trade and industrial policy

Biden is breaking with decades of reliance on free-trade deals and free-market philosophies. He’s instead focusing on domestic policies designed to revive American manufacturing and fortify our own supply chains.

Take three of his signature pieces of legislation so far — the Inflation Reduction Act, the CHIPS Act, and his infrastructure package. This flood of government investment has brought about a new wave in American manufacturing.

Unlike Trump, who just levied tariffs on Chinese imports and used it as a campaign slogan, Biden is actually investing in America’s manufacturing capacity so we don’t have to rely on China in the first place.

He’s turning the tide against deals made by previous administrations, both Democratic and Republican, that helped Wall Street but ended up costing American jobs and lowering American wages.

#2 Monopoly power

Biden is the first president in living memory to take on big monopolies.

Giant firms have come to dominate almost every industry. Four beef packers now control over 80 percent of the market, domestic air travel is dominated by four airlines, and most Americans have no real choice of internet providers.

In a monopolized economy, corporate profits rise, consumers pay higher prices, and workers’ wages shrink.

But under the Biden, the Federal Trade Commission and the Antitrust Division of the Justice Department have become the most aggressive monopoly fighters in more than a half century. They’re going after Amazon and Google, Ticketmaster and Live Nation, JetBlue and Spirit, and a wide range of other giant corporations.

#3 Labor

Biden is also the most pro-union president I’ve ever seen.

A big reason for the surge in workers organizing and striking for higher wages is the pro-labor course Biden is charting.

The Reagan years blew in a typhoon of union busting across America. Corporations routinely sunk unions and fired workers who attempted to form them. They offshored production or moved to so-called “right-to-work” states that enacted laws making it hard to form unions.

Even though Democratic presidents promised labor law reforms that would strengthen unions, they didn’t follow through. But under Joe Biden, organized labor has received a vital lifeboat. Unionizing has been protected and encouraged. Biden is even the first sitting president to walk a picket line.

Biden’s National Labor Relations Board is stemming the tide of unfair labor practices, requiring companies to bargain with their employees, speeding the period between union petitions and elections, and making it harder to fire workers for organizing.

Americans have every reason to be outraged at how decades of policies that prioritized corporations over people have thrown our economy off-keel.

But these three waves of change — a worker-centered trade and industrial policy, strong anti-monopoly enforcement, and moves to strengthen labor unions — are navigating towards a more equitable economy.

It’s a sea change that’s long overdue.

#youtube #Joe Biden #politics #economics #video #videos

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