#we should all learn labor history in schools but of course

[just-rogi]

“I DO NOT DREAM OF LABOR” this “LATE STAGE CAPITALIST BRAINROT” that- well I do. I do dream of labor. Idleness makes my hands buzz and my eyes glaze over. Of course I enjoy rest (what little of it I get with my job) but ultimately, yes, I do dream of labor. Labor is what I dream of most in fact-

I dream of creating : of having time to knit and sew and embroider my own garments, rather than let my yarn collect dust in my closet. I dream of creating poetry and art and spending hours illustrating something beautiful and having the time and energy to focus only on that.

I dream of biking the back roads of my town with my brother again collecting litter that we see and filling up plastic bags to sort into recycling and trash (two summers ago was the last time we biked together- the litter is building up now in the ditches).

I dream of tilling the soil in my mothers garden and watering the tomatoes and peppers and zucchini and Persian squash in the garden until I can harvest it. I dream of watering my neighbors garden and feeding her chickens every morning and every evening while they are away on vacation for a week. I dream of driving to my grandmothers house twice a week and bringing her fresh fruit bread and vegetables and cooking for her while she sits in the sun eating tomato salad I made.

I dream of mowing my mothers lawn and making my brother lunch and baking treats for the teachers room at work.

I dream of academia and dedicating hours to research to archaeology and anthropology and spending long hours on dig sites and in the lab as that was when I was the happiest in college.

I am one of the few people who can say that I really, truly, from the bottom of my heart, love my job and come home from work feeling a sense of fulfillment and pride in my work. I am a teacher and I dream of spending hours teaching children to read, teaching ancient civ and history, of reading texts on effecting teaching methods and finding interesting assignments for them. I dream of teaching them to draw during their free periods. I dream of taking them to the library to practice reading and language comprehension skills- of taking the time to sit with middle schoolers with learning disabilities and dedicate my time and energy to teaching them how to be functional adults and making their lives better. I dream of labor, yes, and I would bet that most of the tiktok communists who say “I do not dream of labor” fucking do to.

Labor is fulfilling. Humans dream to create and do something worthwhile- otherwise we lose our minds! But we are at such a late stage capitalism here in the west (specifically America) that we associate labor with exploitative labor.

I love my job- but I do not dream of skipping my lunch break. I do not dream of working 8:45-4:00. I do not dream of staying after work until 4:35 unpaid. I do not dream of small classrooms with little supplies. I do not dream of understaffed schools and overstuffed classrooms forcing teachers to stretch themselves too to pick up the slack. I do not dream of sending emails after working hours. I do not dream of forty minute unpaid commute due to dysfunctional public transport. I do not dream of coming home and crying from stress every night. I do not dream of my feet and ankles swelling and hurting so badly after a full day of work that all I can do when I get home is shower and sleep with my feet elevated to lessen the pain enough to slip my shoes on the next day. I do not dream of the pay being such that I have to live with four roomates in the city I live in, AS A CITY EMPLOYEE!!! IM A FUCKING PUBLIC SERVANT!! I WORK FOR THE CITY BUT DONT GET PAID ENOUGH TO LIVE IN THE CITY!!

I do dream of labor fuck I love labor but exploitation has made me resent work which I should love, and has taken up so much of my time that I have no energy to garden or to clean the roads or to knit gifts for friends and family anymore. I know that there are people who dream of being truck drivers and baristas and grocery store employees. I know that there are people who would feel fulfilled by being garbage men and construction workers and dishwashers, but who can’t because the abuse would kill them and the hours are too long.

I dream of labor I’m a world where I am not abused and where all my basic needs are met - I dream of labor in a world where labor isn’t the price of being alive, but rather one of the many joys of it.

#idk idk I’m not a philosopher or an economist #I don’t know shit #communism #i do not dream of labor #capitalist society #socialism #communist theory #labor #marxism #marxist leninist

[writingwithcolor]

Do small hints of a character’s Jewishness work, or do more harm than good?

@oatily asked:

I’m writing a HP fanfic and the mc has a Jewish friend. He’s really politically active, the one who radicalizes mc on stuff like the oppression of werewolves, the slave labor of house elves etc. Generally really smart passionate guy. I grew up atheist and pretty much completely outside of religion. I think I would need to take multiple college courses to fully understand any religion, but I still want to provide good rep. I’ve read a lot of Shira’s blog, but are there any subtle ways to include his faith without having an in depth understanding of the religion? Or should I just not mention his faith at all if I do not completely understanding the details of Judaism? I’m willing to put in the time to research ,and I already have quite a bit, but I think it would take me years and many classes before I felt proficient in my understanding. I guess my question is: Is it enough to put in small hints like the character eats kosher and goes home for Jewish holidays or does only mentioning these surface level things do more harm than good?

WWC NOTE: this question was answered to fill a gap in coding questions around Jewish characters, and it just so happened to be about HP fic. We at WWC, including specifically the Jewish team, do not condone the TERF-ness (or racism, anti-semitism, transphobia, or fatphobia) of JKR. We hope that the principles we used to answer this post will be useful for writers of other fandoms and for original fiction as well.

Mentioning surface level things is fine if they’re the right surface level things.

For example, someone who “goes home for Chanukah” is clearly only going home because that’s when the Christian-rooted school calendar says there’s a holiday, but if someone went home for new year’s (Rosh Hashanah) or Yom Kippur in the fall, or for their family’s Passover seder in the spring, that would feel accurate.

One way you could make sure that your surface level mentions are the right details to add rather than subtract verisimilitude, is to trade beta-readings with a Jewish friend and ask specifically for suggestions of places in the story where the little mentions would make sense. For example, if they’re in a history class and the teacher is talking about a particular time in history when we weren’t allowed in England, the kid might chuckle aside to his friend “my ancestors weren’t even allowed here that year.”

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/History_of_the_Jews_in_England

(Or less depressing, “oh hey, that’s the same year my folks came here from Russia/Germany/whatever”)

Kids in that series are also sometimes around the right age to become b’nei mitzvah, or to have had that just happen, so “and now on top of all these spells I have to learn my Torah portion?” or to mention some amusing incident that happened at his bar mitzvah reception if it was a couple of years ago, that’s another way to throw in a casual reference. If the kid is magic-born maybe the kiddush cup or fancy pen or whatever that his parents gave him for his bar mitzvah has magic properties. Come to think of it, going home over the weekend for his little sister’s bat mitzvah would be another good thing to work in, speaking of that age.

--Shira

How does the character's faith shape his passion for social justice?

Hello 😊 I love the sound of your activist Jewish character and the fact that the character’s existence actually addresses some of the problems with the source material.

The word you’re looking for is Tikkun Olam, an important Jewish middah (value) that translates to ‘healing the world’. One way to include the character’s faith in the story is to lean into how it shapes his passion for social justice:

· Does he have a particular rabbi or other spiritual leader who is his Tikkun Olam inspo? For example, my brother is Orthodox and vegan, and he loves to quote Rav Kook, a 19th/20thC rabbi and advocate for environmental justice and animal rights, as they exist in Jewish thought.

· Does he have a chavruta (Torah study buddy) and is he learning something that supports his views on discrimination?

· Were his ancestors activists at key moments in Jewish or world history?

As for other aspects of Jewish identity, there is actually already a fanfic about this, so I would recommend starting there. Again, not sharing this in support of JKR’s views – see below – but the fandom belongs to the fans, not the author.

- Shoshi

What does the character do on Saturdays?

I think the key to a lot of other questions about this character is going to be, “What does he do on Saturdays?” That is to say, what denomination is this kid from and how observant is he personally? This may only directly come into play if you’re specifically writing a scene stated to occur on a Saturday, but it’ll inform what mentions of Jewishness even make sense for his character. So let’s think through Jewish life at Hogwarts for a moment:

Denomination:

Are there enough Jewish students that they have a weekly visiting rabbi holding services on campus? Do Jewish students go off-campus to services at Temple Beth Anakim or Congregation Adath Kesem (Reform and Orthodox respectively) in Hogsmeade (I just made them up)? If so, an Orthodox or Masorti group of kids might go to Hogsmeade before dinner Friday and not come back until Saturday night, and thus be missing from action that took place in between, while a Reform group might only be away from Hoqwarts for an hour and a half Friday evening. Or he might choose not to go at all, either because he’s from a secular or non-observant family, or because he’s not comfortable in services for reasons of his own, or because the plot needs him around, in which case maybe pretending to be sick to get out of going to services without raising attention could give him some rounded characterization.

Observance:

As ever a quick reminder that denominational affiliation and personal observance are related but not 1-1 correlated. A character who regularly attends Orthodox or Masorti services might not personally have a problem writing, using money, or doing other activities that observant Jews typically avoid on Shabbat, or they might do them but have Feelings about it, or they might scrupulously avoid them. A character who regularly attends Reform services may not have an inner conflict about doing these things on Shabbat, but they might be sick and tired of being judged by more observant Jews about it--or they might be more personally observant and have to defend that practice around other Reform students.

Now, I’m not saying you have to include a detailed examination of your character’s inner feelings around their Shabbat observance in order to have them pop into the plot, say “Hi, house elves should have rights, see ya later,” but knowing the answer to this will help you come up with what does fit in your plot as far as what’s actually Jewish about your Jewish character.

You offered some beginning thoughts about this, but here are some additional quick questions about Jewish life at Hogwarts:

Does your character keep kosher? Where does kosher food at Hogwarts come from? Does the castle kitchen have a separate kitchen where specially-trained house elves prepare meals for the Jewish students? Is it apparated in from outside? Is it the same, better, or worse than the non-kosher alternatives? If he doesn’t keep kosher, does he have feelings about it? Does he joke about kashrut while eating a cheeseburger (have house elves heard of cheeseburgers?) or does he eat his black bean burger on a separate plate while wishing it tasted as good as your main character’s cheeseburger smells?

Shira mentioned b’nai mitzvah; If your story takes place in year 1, 2, or 3, your Jewish character is not only learning the difference between leviOsa and levioSA, they’re also learning how to decode and pronounce a not-insignificant portion of Hebrew scripture, as well as chant it according to a pre-medieval system of musical notation. Who are they studying with, and when do they practice? If they’re older, then did your main character come to their Jewish friend’s bar mitzvah? Why or why not?

Shoshi mentioned continuing Jewish education and connection: aside from the technical study, how does your character study Jewish history and culture, that he can draw on it to power his progressive politics? A chavruta would be another Jewish student they meet with specifically to study Jewish text, while a Jewish professor might be a role model or may be teaching them extra subjects on the side.

Ultimately, though, what hints you drop that reveal your character’s Jewishness are going to get easier to figure out when you can be confident answering what does your character do on Saturdays.

- Meir

#Asks #jewish #coding #Jewish coding #religion coding

[kemetic-dreams]

WHEN YOU KILL TEN MILLION AFRICANS YOU AREN’T CALLED ‘HITLER’

Take a look at this picture. Do you know who it is?

Most people haven’t heard of him.

But you should have. When you see his face or hear his name you should get as sick in your stomach as when you read about Mussolini or Hitler or see one of their pictures. You see, he killed over 10 million people in the Congo.

His name is King Leopold II of Belgium. He “owned” the Congo during his reign as the constitutional monarch of Belgium. After several failed colonial attempts in Asia and Africa, he settled on the Congo. He “bought” it and enslaved its people, turning the entire country into his own personal slave plantation. He disguised his business transactions as “philanthropic” and “scientific” efforts under the banner of the International African Society. He used their enslaved labor to extract Congolese resources and services. His reign was enforced through work camps, body mutilations, executions, torture, and his private army.

Most of us – I don’t yet know an approximate percentage but I fear its extremely high – aren’t taught about him in school. We don’t hear about him in the media. He’s not part of the widely repeated narrative of oppression (which includes things like the Holocaust during World War II). He’s part of a long history of colonialism, imperialism, slavery and genocide in Africa that would clash with the social construction of the white supremacist narrative in our schools. It doesn’t fit neatly into a capitalist curriculum. Making overtly racist remarks is (sometimes) frowned upon in polite society, but it’s quite fine not to talk about genocides in Africa perpetrated by

European capitalist monarchs . Mark Twain wrote a satire about Leopold called King Leopold’s soliloquy; a defense of his Congo rule, where he mocked the King’s defense of his reign of terror, largely through Leopold’s own words. It’s 49 pages long. Mark Twain is a popular author for American public schools. But like most political authors, we will often read some of their least political writings or read them without learning why the author wrote them (Orwell’s Animal Farm for example serves to re-inforce American anti-Socialist propaganda, but Orwell was an anti-capitalist revolutionary of a different kind – this is never pointed out). We can read about Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer, but King Leopold’s Soliloquy isn’t on the reading list. This isn’t by accident. Reading lists are created by boards of education in order to prepare students to follow orders and endure boredom well. From the point of view of the Education Department, Africans have no history.

When we learn about Africa, we learn about a caricaturized Egypt, about the (but never its causes), about the surface level effects of the slave trade, and maybe about South African Apartheid (which of course now is long, long over). We also see lots of pictures of starving children on Christian Ministry commercials, we see safaris on animal shows, and we see pictures of deserts in films and movies. But we don’t learn about the Great African War or Leopold’s Reign of Terror during the Congolese Genocide. Nor do we learn about what the United States has done in Iraq and Afghanistan, potentially killing in upwards of 5-7 million people from bombs, sanctions, disease and starvation. Body counts are important. And we don’t count Afghans, Iraqis, or Congolese.

There’s a Wikipedia page called “Genocides in History”. The Congolese Genocide isn’t included. The Congo is mentioned though. What’s now called the Democratic Republic of the Congo is listed in reference to the Second Congo War (also called Africa’s World War and the Great War of Africa), where both sides of the multinational conflict hunted down Bambenga and ate them. Cannibalism and slavery are horrendous evils which must be entered into history and talked about for sure, but I couldn’t help thinking whose interests were served when the only mention of the Congo on the page was in reference to multi-national incidents where a tiny minority of people were  eating each other (completely devoid of the conditions which created the conflict no less). Stories which support the white supremacist narrative about the subhumanness of people in Africa are allowed to be entered into the records of history. The white guy who turned the Congo into his own personal part-plantation, part-concentration camp, part-Christian ministry and killed 10 to 15 million Conglese people in the process doesn’t make the cut.

You see, when you kill ten million Africans, you aren’t called ‘Hitler’. That is, your name doesn’t come to symbolize the living incarnation of evil. Your name and your picture don’t produce fear, hatred, and sorrow. Your victims aren’t talked about and your name isn’t remembered.

Leopold was just one part of thousands of things that helped construct white supremacy as both an ideological narrative and material reality. Of course I don’t want to pretend that in the Congo he was the source of all evil. He had generals, and foot soldiers, and managers who did his bidding and enforced his laws. It was a system. But that doesn’t negate the need to talk about the individuals who are symbolic of the system. But we don’t even get that. And since it isn’t talked about, what capitalism did to Africa, all the privileges that rich white people gained from the Congolese genocide are hidden. The victims of imperialism are made, like they usually are, invisible.

#congolese #belgium&039;s king philippe sends &039;regrets&039; to congo for leopold ii atrocities - cnn #africa #african #hitler #bambenga #second congo war #genocides #imperialism #kemetic dreas #christians #christian terrorists #catholic #slavery #religious tolerance

[skylarmoon71]

Leonardo x Reader- Oneshot (TMNT 2014/2016)

So in honor of black history month, I decided to write this Fanfiction. 

As a black woman, it is important to recognize and be proud of who I am. And to all the beautiful black women out there, be proud and thankful for all we’ve achieved. I hope my readers will enjoy this little fiction as much as I liked writing it. There is also a little information about my hometown in this.

Enjoy!! 

"Hey Leo did I leave my.."

"Right here."

Leo was holding your pack of hair ties in his hand. He smiled, and you flushed, taking it with a small thanks.

"You saved my life, I always lose these. Just bought them too." You were so excited for the movie night yesterday that you came right from the store with everything that you shop for that evening. So of course when you got home and couldn't find them, you assumed you left it with the turtles.

"Alright guys quit flirting." Raph buzzed passed, and at that moment you were thankful for your dark skin, because it would be that more embarrassing if Leo could see you blush. Leo brushed off the comment, just shrugging his brother off.

"Don't mind him, he's just mad cause Mikey beat him again in Mario Kart." you giggle, following Leo to the living room.

Easy days like this were nice. Saturdays were what you looked forward to. Friday nights you'd all get together and watch a movie, and Saturdays were reserved for pure relaxation. You moved over taking a seat next to Mikey, and his grin grew wide as he looked at you. You smiled, despite your slight confusion. "Do I have something on my face?" you chuckle.

"Nah brah, it's just your hair." your eyes widened, and you reached over wondering if maybe it was getting unruly again. "Oh crap is it crazy!" you asked, self consciously. You had it loose today, curls falling at the sides. It was puffy and curly at the same time. Almost like a kinky afro. Generally you'd pull your hair back in a high bun, or even a side one. But you couldn't find your ties earlier, and you were really not feeling it to comb through it today.

"Are you kidding! Your hair is amazing, everytime you come it's like in a different style." This time, you were surely blushing. "O-Oh..thank you..." It was no secret that you had untamed hair. You loved it though. Growing up there were people that made you feel a bit insecure about it. Most of the kids at your school had such tamed and straight hair, while you had curly kinky locks. At times it was a challenge styling it, and it did take a while on most days just to get it under control, but it's what made you, you. Your hair was your heritage, your strength.

Leo was watching you from his spot, and he couldn't help but agree with Mikey. It wasn't just your hair that was different, it was everything. He remembered the first time he asked Master Splinter about the differences in humans. He was a kid, probably nine or ten. He didn't know much but what he'd seen Donnie show him when they'd sneak to the surface to peek through the drains.

Looking back he realized just how everyone varied. Hair, skin, eyes. It was so fascinating to him. He loved it all. The diversity, to him it was incredible. As sad as humanity was sometimes, there were occasions that they would surprise him. The world was far from perfect, but there were moments where unity just inspired him to fight harder for the citizens.

You were a clear example of that. Meeting you was not just eye opening but also educational. He'd forever be willing to learn new cultures. So whenever you gave him or his brothers a small history lesson when they questioned something you did or said, he found that he was that more intrigued by you. They'd known you for just a few months, yet it felt like years of friendship. They were still learning more about you, everyday. Now that he thought about it, you weren't born in New York.

"(Y/N), you said you were born in the Caribbean right?"

The way your face spark to life never fails to make his heart pick up.

"That's right, I'm surprised you remembered that. Think I told Mikey the second time we met. He wanted to know why I talked so funny."

"Yeah, what was the name of your country again." Raph questioned from across the room. He was presently doing pull ups on the metal bar.

"Trinidad and Tobago. That's where I was raised, I moved here with my parents four years ago."

"Dude say that thing you did last time." Mikey called excitedly. You rolled your eyes.

"What thing?" Leo asked curiously.

"The way they say what's up is so cool. (Y/N) says it's english but it sounds completely different."

Now Leo really wanted to hear. His sapphire gaze turned on you, and you nibbled on your lip.

"I-It's isn't anything great it's just a greeting."

"I'd like to hear, if you don't mind of course."

You didn't mind at all. Leo was your weakness.

"Wais de scene."

"Seee!! You can't tell me that's english!"

Mikey was jumping up off the chair laughing and now so were you.

"You sounded different too." Leo notes. Your accent was different from the New York drawl he used too. It was nice.

"Can you tell us more." He really did love to learn, and maybe just between him, he kind of liked your native tongue.

~~~~~~

The boys were on patrol, so you figured you'd have more time to yourself. You opted for taking a shower. You'd gotten out a few minutes ago and now you were spraying your hair with olive oil as you ran your fingers through the curls. Your hand shifted to the small container of hair food, dipping in and placing it on your scalp, making sure to get it through the roots. You were glad Leo placed this mirror in his room. You had no idea why though. He didn't seem like the self absorbed type.

"I knew it would come in handy." His voice startled you a little. He closed the door on entry, and you dropped your hands. "H-Hey, I'm sorry I didn't think you guys would be back yet. I wasnt messing with your stuff or anything I just need to use the mirror and yours is so big so I thought why not and I-"

"You don't have to explain yourself, I asked Donnie to set it up here for you." you raised an eyebrow in surprise.

"Really?"

"Yeah, you're here a lot, and I know girls like styling their hair. I was hoping I'd finally get to see you actually doing it. I've always been curious about how you get it to look so beautiful."

He really did know what to say to make your heart flutter.

Damn that smooth talker.

"Gosh, are you guys on a mission to embarrass me today, you've been complimenting me since this morning and it isn't even my birthday. " you pulled your hair up into a high bun, reaching for a hair tie to keep it in place.

"Wait!" you froze, looking at him.

"S-Sorry I just...I like the way it looks when you leave it down. It's so puffy, kind of cute..." his words trailed off, and you slowly dropped your hand.

"W-Well I guess if you like it then I don't mind. " you couldn't maintain eye contact, so you turned to the items in front of you. Closing the lids of both hair products, you shift over to the sink you wash your hands from the oily substance. When you were done, you reached for the hand cloth, before you could grab it, Leo was behind you, and his hand rested gently over your palm. Your body stilled, pulse increasing.

"Leo.." it was said with so much uncertainty. You weren't sure how things got to this, heck, you weren't expecting it, but you weren't complaining. His hands ran down your arms slowly. With your back still facing him, there wasn't much you could do but hope your breathing wasn't too labored. You'd spent so long trying to keep your feelings for him under wraps. If nothing but to ensure you didn't risk your friendship. Right now though, friendship was far from your thoughts.

"I wasn't being completely forward earlier, it isn't just your hair that's beautiful. " Your heart gave a thump, and when he urged you around slowly, you couldn't bring yourself to look away from him. "Your hair, skin, eyes, lips.." the last word was said longingly, and you swallowed the lump in your throat. "It's a challenge for me sometimes, I envy Mikey's ability to just say what's on his mind. I can barely look at you for too long, otherwise I'm afraid how much harder it'll be for me to hold back." So he was holding back too, geez, and here you thought this attraction was purely one sided.

"What if I..don't want you to hold back Leo.." His blue eyes glimmered, and you swore your knees would buckle just from the intensity of his stare. His hand raised to your cheek, and you released a sigh. How many times did you imagine this scenario in your head. Hundreds? Maybe thousands.

"Then I won't." he closed the space with those three words, and you leaned into it. Leo's arms were secured around your waist as his soft lips covered your own. Your hands gripped at his shoulders, and you tried to keep them from venturing. If they strayed, you weren't sure you'd be able to trust yourself not to grope every inch of his taunt muscular body. The kiss started off slow, innocent even. It was your first one together. You were both trying to savor it. Having longed for this, it felt like a dream.

After a few moments, that tentative demeanor changed to one of dominance and hunger, one that needed to be satisfied. Leo backed you up, not breaking the kiss for even a mere second. Leo's hand around your waist moved to the small of your back, and you gasped when it landed on your butt. He heard the sound, pulling back.

"Should..I..stop.." he forced out between pants. You shook your head, diving back in. Leo groaned, giving your cheek an appreciative squeeze. The action made you open your mouth, and his tongue slipped in. You moaned, and Leo took another step forward, this time he turned, and you let out a soft sound when he fell back in the bed, pulling you with him. He barely seemed affected, taken by the sensations.

You straddled his body, parting to admire his hazed look. Your chest was still heaving, and you wanted nothing more than to join your lips again, but you just liked looking at him. Those azure orbs that were almost penetrating you. His hand ran up your thigh, and he smirked at the way you bit down on your lip.

"Did I mention that I like chocolate?"

You giggle, "I sort of figured it out hotshot." you snark back. You squeaked when he suddenly switched positions. You were now bound to the bed, literally. He pinned both your wrists, that confident smile never leaving.

"I also like being in control." That comment did wild things to your body. You didn't mind at all. He pressed into you, and you whimpered needy. "L-Leo.." you wanted him, needed him now.

"Don't worry, I'd never leave you all hot and bothered, no matter how arousing it is to watch."

"Stop talking and kiss me!"

"So bossy." He taunted.

"Leo!"

He leaned down, giving your neck a soft kiss.

"Save your voice, you're gonna need it."

You gulped, and Leo took your breath away before you could fully think about it.

You were in store for a very...busy night.

#tmnt leonardo #leo x reader #love #culture #diversity #blackhistorymonth #black appreciation #cute #hair #afro #raphael #tmnt donatello #michelangelo #splinter #new york #africanroots #beauty #confessions #new relationship #friends to lovers #friendship #lair #Heroes

[faraway-wanderer]

BOOKS BY ASIAN AUTHORS MASTERLIST #stopasianhate

In light of recent events and the growing anti- Asian hate in the US and UK over the course of the pandemic I wanted to put together a masterlist of books by Asian authors. Obviously, it’s not extensive and there are HUNDREDS out there, but supporting art by Asian creators is a way of showing support; read their stories, educate ourselves. It goes without saying that we should all be putting effort into reading stories of POC and by POC because even through fiction we’re learning about different cultures, countries and heritages. So here’s some books to start with by Asian authors!

Here is a link also for resources to educate and petitions to sign (especially if you don’t read haha). It’s important that we educate ourselves and uplift Asian voices right now. Your anti-racism has to include every minority that faces it.

https://anti-asianviolenceresources.carrd.co/

for UK peeps, this is a good read: We may not hear about the anti Asian racism happening here, but it is definitely happening. https://www.harpersbazaar.com/uk/culture/culture-news/a35692226/its-time-we-stopped-downplaying-the-uks-anti-asian-racism/

 THE BOOKS:

·         War Cross- Marie Lu ( the worldbuilding in this is IMMENSE.)

For the millions who log in every day, Warcross isn’t just a game—it’s a way of life. The obsession started ten years ago and its fan base now spans the globe, some eager to escape from reality and others hoping to make a profit. 

·         Star Daughter- Shveta Thakrar

A beautiful story about a girl who is half human and half star, and she must go to the celestial court to try to save her father after he has fallen ill. And before she knows it, she is taking part in a magical competition that she must win!

·         These Violent Delights- Chloe Gong (I told my little sister to read this book yesterday bc she has a thing for a Leo as Romeo- so if you want deadly good looking Romeos, badass Juliet’s and to learn about 1920s Shanghai- this is for you.)

The year is 1926, and Shanghai hums to the tune of debauchery. A blood feud between two gangs runs the streets red, leaving the city helpless in the grip of chaos. A Romeo and Juliet retelling.

·         The Poppy War- R.F Kuang (My fave fantasy series just fyi- it’s soul crushing in the best way. Rebecca Kuang is a god of an author).

A brilliantly imaginative talent makes her exciting debut with this epic historical military fantasy, inspired by the bloody history of China’s twentieth century and filled with treachery and magic, in the tradition of Ken Liu’s Grace of Kings and N.K. Jemisin’s Inheritance Trilogy.

·         Loveboat Taipei-  Abigail Hing Wen  (Really heartwarming and insightful!)

When eighteen-year-old Ever Wong’s parents send her from Ohio to Taiwan to study Mandarin for the summer, she finds herself thrust among the very over-achieving kids her parents have always wanted her to be, including Rick Woo, the Yale-bound prodigy profiled in the Chinese newspapers since they were nine—and her parents’ yardstick for her never-measuring-up life.

·         Sorcerer to the Crown- Zen Cho (if anyone is looking for another Howl’s Moving Castle, look no further than this book)

At his wit’s end, Zacharias Wythe, freed slave, eminently proficient magician, and Sorcerer Royal of the Unnatural Philosophers—one of the most respected organizations throughout all of Britain—ventures to the border of Fairyland to discover why England’s magical stocks are drying up.

·         Emergency Contact- Mary H.K. Choi (very wholesome and fun rom-com!)

For Penny Lee high school was a total nonevent. When she heads to college in Austin, Texas, to learn how to become a writer, it’s seventy-nine miles and a zillion light years away from everything she can’t wait to leave behind.

 ·         Jade City- Fonda Lee (I am reading this currently and can I just say- I think everyone who loves fantasy and blood feuds in a story should read this.)

JADE CITY is a gripping Godfather-esque saga of intergenerational blood feuds, vicious politics, magic, and kungfu. The Kaul family is one of two crime syndicates that control the island of Kekon. It's the only place in the world that produces rare magical jade, which grants those with the right training and heritage superhuman abilities.

 ·         A Pho Love Story- Loan Le

When Dimple Met Rishi meets Ugly Delicious in this funny, smart romantic comedy, in which two Vietnamese-American teens fall in love and must navigate their newfound relationship amid their families’ age-old feud about their competing, neighbouring restaurants.

·         Rebelwing- Andrea Tang

Business is booming for Prudence Wu. A black-market-media smuggler and scholarship student at the prestigious New Columbia Preparatory Academy, Pru is lucky to live in the Barricade Coalition where she is free to study, read, watch, and listen to whatever she wants.

·         Wings of the Locust- Joel Donato Ching Jacob

Tuan escapes his mundane and mediocre existence when he is apprenticed to Muhen, a charming barangay wiseman. But, as he delves deeper into the craft of a mambabarang and its applications in espionage, sabotage and assassination, the young apprentice is overcome by conflicting emotions that cause him to question his new life.

 ·         The Travelling Cat Chronicles- Hiro Arikawa

Sometimes you have to leave behind everything you know to find the place you truly belong...

Nana the cat is on a road trip. He is not sure where he's going or why, but it means that he gets to sit in the front seat of a silver van with his beloved owner, Satoru. 

 ·         Super Fake Love Song- David Yoon

From the bestselling author of Frankly in Love comes a contemporary YA rom-com where a case of mistaken identity kicks off a string of (fake) events that just may lead to (real) love.

  ·         Parachutes- Kelly Yang

Speak enters the world of Gossip Girl in this modern immigrant story from New York Times bestselling author Kelly Yang about two girls navigating wealth, power, friendship, and trauma.

·         The Grace of Kings- Ken Liu ( One of the Time 100 Best Fantasy Books Of All Time!)

Two men rebel together against tyranny—and then become rivals—in this first sweeping book of an epic fantasy series from Ken Liu, recipient of Hugo, Nebula, and World Fantasy awards.

·         Wicked Fox- Kat Cho

A fresh and addictive fantasy-romance set in modern-day Seoul.

 ·         Descendant of the Crane- Joan He

In this shimmering Chinese-inspired fantasy, debut author Joan He introduces a determined and vulnerable young heroine struggling to do right in a world brimming with deception.

 ·         Pachinko- Min Jin Lee

Richly told and profoundly moving, Pachinko is a story of love, sacrifice, ambition, and loyalty. From bustling street markets to the halls of Japan's finest universities to the pachinko parlors of the criminal underworld, Lee's complex and passionate characters--strong, stubborn women, devoted sisters and sons, fathers shaken by moral crisis--survive and thrive against the indifferent arc of history.

·         America is in the Heart- Carlos Bulosan

First published in 1946, this autobiography of the well known Filipino poet describes his boyhood in the Philippines, his voyage to America, and his years of hardship and despair as an itinerant laborer following the harvest trail in the rural West.

 ·         Days of Distraction- Alexandra Chang

A wry, tender portrait of a young woman — finally free to decide her own path, but unsure if she knows herself well enough to choose wisely—from a captivating new literary voice.

·         The Astonishing Colour of After Emily X.R Pan

Alternating between real and magic, past and present, friendship and romance, hope and despair, The Astonishing Color of After is a novel about finding oneself through family history, art, grief, and love. 

·         The Gilded Wolves- Roshani Chokshi

It's 1889. The city is on the cusp of industry and power, and the Exposition Universelle has breathed new life into the streets and dredged up ancient secrets. Here, no one keeps tabs on dark truths better than treasure-hunter and wealthy hotelier Séverin Montagnet-Alarie. When the elite, ever-powerful Order of Babel coerces him to help them on a mission, Séverin is offered a treasure that he never imagined: his true inheritance.

·         When Dimple met Rishi- Sandhya Menon

Dimple and Rishi may think they have each other figured out. But when opposites clash, love works hard to prove itself in the most unexpected ways.

·         On Earth we’re briefly Gorgeous- Ocean Vuong

Poet Ocean Vuong's debut novel is a shattering portrait of a family, a first love, and the redemptive power of storytelling.

·         Fierce Fairytales- Nikita Gill

Complete with beautifully hand-drawn illustrations by Gill herself, Fierce Fairytales is an empowering collection of poems and stories for a new generation.

 BOOKS BEING RELEASED LATER THIS YEAR TO PREORDER:

·         Counting down with you- Tashie Bhuiyan- 4th May

A reserved Bangladeshi teenager has twenty-eight days to make the biggest decision of her life after agreeing to fake date her school’s resident bad boy.

How do you make one month last a lifetime?

·         Gearbreakers- Zoe Hana Mikuta- June 29th

Two girls on opposite sides of a war discover they're fighting for a common purpose--and falling for each other--in Zoe Hana Mikuta's high-octane debut Gearbreakers, perfect for fans of Pacific Rim, Pierce Brown's Red Rising Saga, and Marie Lu's Legend series

·         XOXO- Axie Oh- 13th July

When a relationship means throwing Jenny’s life off the path she’s spent years mapping out, she’ll have to decide once and for all just how much she’s willing to risk for love.

·         She who became the sun- Shelley Parker-Chan- 20th July

Mulan meets The Song of Achilles in Shelley Parker-Chan's She Who Became the Sun, a bold, queer, and lyrical reimagining of the rise of the founding emperor of the Ming Dynasty from an amazing new voice in literary fantasy.

·         Jade Fire Gold- June C.L Tan- October 12th

Two girls on opposite sides of a war discover they're fighting for a common purpose--and falling for each other--in Zoe Hana Mikuta's high-octane debut Gearbreakers, perfect for fans of Pacific Rim, Pierce Brown's Red Rising Saga, and Marie Lu's Legend series

  Keep sharing, signing petitions and donating where you can. The more people who are actively anti-racist, the better. And if your anti-racism doesn’t include the Asian community then go and educate yourself! BLM wasn’t a trend and neither is this. We have to stand up against white supremacy, and racism and stereotypes and we have to support the communities that need our support. Part of that can include cultivating your reading so you’re reading more diversely and challenging any stereotypes western society may have given you.

 Feel free to reblog and add any more recommendations and resources of course!

#stopasianhate #books by asian authors #anti racism #i'm so sickened by everything that's happening and i hope that this list does encourage people to read books by asian authors!!! #ya #poc authors #fiction #i haven't all of these yet #asian writers #asian authors #masterlist #antiasianracism

[river-bottom-nightmare]

Pepperony Valentine’s Day Fic Exchange

to the wonderful @pepperonyspizza ! i’m not used to writing high school aus, but i tried my best. i hope you enjoy!

It was the start of the school year, and Rhodey could honestly say this was the year he would help Tony blow the gym up. 

“You’re the one in JROTC,” Tony waved his hand around, as if gesturing vaguely to the gymnasium proved his point. “You can’t complain.”

“I am complaining,” Rhodey said. “I am complaining so hard. They said just ‘cause I’ve been in JROTC for three years, I can’t be in tech lab this year. Something about ‘conflict of interest,’ whatever that’s supposed to mean.”

“They’re not letting you take it? Like, at all?”

“Nah,” Rhodey sighed. “They don’t have any control over what classes I take. But the instructor’s got a lot of pull, you know? And he could make my life difficult for the rest of my high school career.”

“If you don’t take tech lab with me,” Tony announced, rounding a curve and nearing their lockers, “I will throw a fit. I will turn the slushie machine in the cafeteria into a hose that will not stop. I will break into the principal’s office and play the Siberian national anthem over the intercom. I will-”

“I know,” Rhodey laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m taking the class.”

“Good,” Tony said, and Rhodey leaned against the lockers to watch Tony struggle with opening the locker. To make up for the trouble Rhodey was having, the universe had decided to give Tony a top locker, and Rhodey was enjoying this immensely.

“You need some help over there?” Rhodey asked, amused, watching as the kid genius propelled himself to his tip-toes with all the energy in his body. He still couldn’t see the locker numbers properly.

“If you’d just let me climb on your shoulders,” Tony said between labored breaths, “we wouldn’t be having this problem right now.”

“Oh no, that would take away my entertainment!”

“You’re the best, Rhodes. Quite literally the most helpful friend.”

“Glad to be of service.”

“Um...excuse me?”

Rhodey turned to see a girl standing near Tony’s locker. She was tall, looking almost shy when she tucked her strawberry blonde hair behind her ear, but there was a steel in her voice that Rhodey wasn’t used to hearing come out of the mouth of a high school kid. 

“That’s my locker,” the girl said, pointing to the locker right underneath Tony’s.

“Yeah, well, I’m a little busy right now,” Tony said, tongue peeking out of his mouth. “I gotta get this open before class starts.”

“You’re not the only one with a class to get to,” she said.

“Well, I was here first.”

“Real mature,” she said, then dropped down to her knees and shoved Tony to the side. Ignoring Tony’s protested shout, she opened her locker smoothly, exchanging a couple books, then shut the door with a click, walking off without glancing back once.

After a minute of silence, Tony turned to Rhodey and said, “Did you see that? Did that just happen.”

“She had a point, y’know.”

“I know she had a point, but she shoved me to the side! I almost fell! Did you see me almost fall?” 

“You didn’t, though, did you?” Rhodey said. “So it doesn’t matter.”

“Thanks for your support, Rhodey,” Tony’s tone was mocking. “I guess I’ll just have to go into battle alone?”

“Battle?”

“War.”

“War?”

“With the girl. She dishonoured me, and now I have to figure out how to open this goddamn locker so I can win my honour back over a period of time that consists of me opening this piece of junk with the best lock-opening skills since, uh, who’s that one famous locksmith?”

“There are famous locksmiths?”

Tony waved his hand. “Of course there are famous locksmiths. Otherwise the famous locks would be stuck every time they needed to be fixed.”

“Your logic astounds me.”

“This is war, Rhodey!”

---

It was midway through the school year, and Rhodey was certain that Tony was losing the war.

The girl, Pepper Potts, had proven herself a formidable component, and Tony-wrangling had turned into a much easier pastime with her around. Initially wanting nothing to do with them, Pepper soon learned the lesson that Rhodey had figured out years ago: you don’t catch the attention of Tony Stark and not end up becoming his friend. Or his enemy, but Rhodey wasn’t sure any sixteen year old should have an “enemy,” no matter what Tony said.

Now, along with their locker espionage and warfare, Rhodey got to witness the absolute delight of Tony staring at Pepper’s chest without a hint of shame, but blushing as red as the colour of their school mascot the minute Pepper smiled at him. Rhodey was seriously considering recording all of this for blackmail material.

He was leaning against the wall near Tony and Pepper’s locker, a place he honestly probably spent more time in than his room. “The bell rings in two minutes,” Rhodey said.

“Shit!” Pepper exclaimed, shoving Tony off her books, where he’d been balancing on one foot, attempting to open his locker blindfolded. “I’m going to be late.”

“Looks like someone’s admitting defeat then, right?” Tony crowed, throwing his arms up in victory.

“No, you moron,” Pepper slapped his arm lightly. “I’m not admitting defeat, but I’m about to mess up my perfect attendance record.”

She rushed through getting her belongings together while Tony rolled his eyes. “Right, I forgot you care about this stuff.”

“I do, Tony. I really do.”

“Well what do you want me to do about it?”

“Here’s a thought,” Rhodey spoke up from the corner, exasperation filling his tone. “How about the two of you, wait for it, switch lockers?”

The two of them looked as if they’d never considered the idea before.

Then, Tony said, “You’re a genius, Rhodeybear!”

“I know,” Rhodey said. 

“I’ll give you my combo after school,” Pepper was walking backward, nearing the end of the hallway, “but if I don’t leave now I really will get a tardy. You two need to get to class.”

“I’ve got a free period,” Rhodey said.

“I’m making myself a free period,” Tony said.

---

“There’s no way she’ll say no!” Tony argued, and Rhodey sighed, putting his head in his hands.

“Tony, that is literally the worst line in the history of pickup lines.”

“You’re wrong, it’s beautiful.”

Sometimes, Rhodey really questioned the quality of his taste in best friends. 

“If you’ve been reading the entire situation wrong,” Rhodey said, “Pepper will slap you.”

“Do you think I’ve been reading the situation wrong?”

Honestly? No. Rhodey was pretty sure organizing Tony’s locker for him and giving him a custom planner for his birthday was Pepper’s way of flirting. Tony had, unfortunately, picked up on it, and the last couple of weeks had been full of Tony raving to Rhodey about how incredible Pepper was.

Rhodey could give Tony an itemized list of reasons why Pepper was incredible, none of them including a freeverse poem about the way she looked when she nibbled on a pencil, but he had to admit, Pepper had been good for him. There had generally been less miniature controlled explosions this year, so now, in May, Rhodey was hoping Tony’s frankly awful plan to ask Pepper would be successful so she would stick around for the near future.

“Oh wait hold on, she’s coming,” Tony said, and sauntered up to the locker, aiming for cool as he always did and ending up about two feet too short (as he always did.) “Pep, I got something for ‘ya.”

“Oh really?” she raised her eyebrows.

Rhodey mentally prepared himself.

“Mhmm. I changed the combination to your locker.” Tony handed Pepper a slip of paper. “Here’s the new one.”

And here it comes, he thought.

“Tony,” Pepper said slowly. “This is your phone number.”

Tony raised his eyebrows, smirking. “Why yes. Yes it is. I’m giving you my phone number. Imagine that.”

Then, enunciating each word as if talking to a toddler, Pepper said, “Tony. I already have your phone number.”

Oh dear God, Rhodey wished he had been recording this. A tremendous oversight on his part, because he was struggling to keep it together.

Tony blinked as if processing, then apparently decided the bluntest approach was the best approach. “Pepper, I’m asking you out.”

Pepper squinted. “Like actually?”

“Yes, Virginia, I’m actually asking you out. That’s what giving people your number means.”

“If I already had your number, though, the action’s redundant.”

“That’s not the poi-Jesus. Pepper. Will you go out with me or not?”

“Yes, Tony. I’ll go out with you,” Pepper said, but before Tony could properly celebrate this moment of elation, she also said, “Now move. You’re in front of my locker.”

Oh yeah, Rhodey could tell Pepper would be staying around for a bit longer. Maybe even more than a bit. And looking at Tony’s surprised blink and offended expression, Rhodey couldn’t find it in himself to be the least bit disappointed.

#well that's that #short and sweet #pepperony #james rhodes #war machine #tony stark #iron man #pepper potts #pepperony fic #pepperony ficlet #pepperony headcanon #james rhodes fic #james rhodes ficlet #james rhodes headcanon #rhodey #rhodey fic #rhodey headcanon #rhodey ficlet #war machine fic #war machine ficlet #war machine headcanon #tony stark fic #tony stark headcanon #tony stark ficlet #iron man fic #iron man ficlet #iron man headcanon #pepper potts fic #pepper potts ficlet #pepper potts headcanon

[justjasonhere]

Course Post 3: Capitalism Classes

https://www.vice.com/en/article/bvndja/amazon-paid-for-a-high-school-course-heres-what-they-teach

This recent article from Vice I discovered a few days ago speaks of how, in 2019, Amazon paid to have a specialized course be taught in a California school with the intention of preparing students for warehouse work. Supposedly, part of the curriculum included units on labor unions, business ethics, mergers & acquisitions, and management, among many other units. In other words, it was described as a very “pro-business” class. Another unit of the class also focused on the Amazon company itself, as well as its history and vision, as well as its intent to motivate “students to participate in this exciting and growing field of e-commerce.”

To say nothing about how transparent this move is with what its true intentions must be, I can only feel a degree of disdain for this. The specific wording of “preparing students for warehouse work” that I copied is, in particular, worrisome. A class like this smells like propaganda to me personally, especially with its unit on the Amazon company itself sounding to me like they intend on presenting a sanitized version of themselves in order to be more appealing to young people, and simultaneously egging the youths of our generation to aspire to be no greater than warehouse workers for the capitalist overlords. If nothing else, as a warehouse worker myself, it should hardly need to be said that warehouse work should not be the height of one’s personal aspirations, as it can be very demanding depending on your assigned position, from demanding a great deal of physicality (one that cannot be maintained the older one gets) and a high stress threshold to keep up with the never-ending incoming and outgoing shipments of mail every single day.

And yet, I cannot help but feel that all the same, a move like this is merely the next step in late-stage capitalism. In an age where many people feel like there are no job prospects, with STEM majors facing intense competition with each other while every other major is left to fend off disdainful sneers from others, corporations have begun to swoop in and reap what society has done to the youth, hoping to capitalize on the latest line of worker bees who have been conditioned to not aspire to anything greater. Perhaps it is especially fitting to describe this as the next step in propaganda, bearing in mind how an Amazon paid class must surely do everything in its power to make itself as appealing and presentable as possible in an attempt to counter the growing surge of social and economic unrest, which has been especially exacerbated by the COVID-19 pandemic that started a mere year after the course had been rolled into the school.

So, it all leaves one to wonder, is this a move that we can expect to be seen in other schools as well? In an era where regulations of the system hold no power over hush money and lobbying, can we truly say that it is unrealistic to imagine a world where schools will prioritize classes focusing on business and commerce over classes over history, humanities, and sciences?

After all, we’ve already reached the point where school boards and politicians don’t even want us learning about the Holocaust and the Civil Rights Movement.

[uboat53]

The greatest moment of The Falcon and the Winter Soldier

I wanted to take a brief moment to talk about the greatest moment from The Falcon and the Winter Soldier in my opinion, why I think it’s the greatest moment, and what that moment means both in the context of the series and in our overall cultural context.

Alert: This post has spoilers for The Falcon and the Winter Soldier, so continue at your own risk.

Cards on the table, the greatest moment in my opinion was the moment when Sam takes Isaiah to the Smithsonian at the end to see his statue in the Captain America exhibit.

This is a powerful moment because one of the key points in the entire series is that African-Americans are made to feel as if they are not welcome in America mainly because their contributions to this country and all of their pain and sacrifice are minimized or entirely forgotten.  The moment when Isaiah sees his statue is a powerful one because so much of the hurt and pain that he feels in his life stems from the very fact that he has been forgotten by his country after sacrificing so much for it.

Isaiah chose to remain hidden for so long in order to avoid the pain of knowing that he has been cast aside from the narrative of history.  It becomes clear in the course of the story that this is not something he is doing because it is the best thing for him, but because he believes the alternatives are worse.  He is stuck in a world that he believes can only hurt him so he chooses the option that allows him to feel as if he is in control and, in order to maintain that sense of control, he even convinces himself that it’s what he wants.

But when Sam brings him to the exhibit, not just by himself but with his grandson, he realizes what it means to be remembered.  Not just remembered, but acknowledged in the fullness of his experience.  To have the country that hurt him and tossed him aside not just remember what he contributed to it, but also to admit what it has done openly and in full.

I think it’s important that people not only watch but also understand this moment for what it is because it’s so vital to the current discussions we’re having about race and history in the United States right now.  So many people deliberately misunderstand movements like Black Lives Matter and the push to remove Confederate monuments as being about erasing history, removing white people from it, or casting white people as the villains of history when they’re actually about fully embracing history.

The addition of the Isaiah statue to the Captain America exhibit is a perfect example of what those of us who support these movements actually want.  Steve Rogers never tortured or experimented on Isaiah and he didn’t lock him away for decades.  He wasn’t even aware that it had happened at the very least until it had all been done.  Yet we cannot fully tell the story of Captain America and the super soldier serum without explaining that the pain and humiliation inflicted on black people was what made it possible for this white person to be a hero.

To acknowledge this isn’t to minimize the heroism of Steve Rogers and everything that he accomplished, but it provides the perspective that even the man who always does what he thinks is right and just even when the consequences are severe for him existed in and perpetuated a system that committed extraordinary injustices.  Even he could only do so much to change the system and even he had his blind spots where he was simply ignorant of injustices because they were a part of the very fabric of the society that formed him.

In the same way, those who call for the removal of Confederate monuments and the teaching of racial history in schools are not trying to cast white people as villains, they are seeking acknowledgement that many of the achievements primarily attributed to white people were achieved with considerable aid from and often much sacrifice on the part of black people.

First, we have to differentiate between public statues and the actual teaching of history.  Public statues don’t teach history, no one learns about history by looking at a statue in a public park.  Public statues glorify parts of history, they tell us that, when we read history, these are the good guys you should try to be like.  Statues of Lincoln, for example, teach you nothing about what he did or the time in which he lived, they are simply a reminder that, when you are reading the history of his time, he is the good guy, the one you should root for and try to be like.

The Confederacy was a grotesque farce of a government and governing philosophy, twisting words to try to justify a horrific system of racial violence and oppression in the name of “freedom”.  Anyone who can’t tell that this isn’t the part of history to be glorified is a person who desperately needs an education in history and probably ethics and morality as well.  But aside from the Confederacy, racial injustice permeates all of the greatest moments and achievements of our society.

George Washington, through his marriage, owned a plantation and slaves that made him wealthy enough to pursue a high-status military career.  Thomas Jefferson sated his sexual appetites with a slave woman even while he declared that all men are created equal and deserving of freedom.  Alexander Hamilton appears to have made a significant chunk of his fortune investing in the slave trade which allowed him to pursue a career in politics.  Even more modern leaders like Franklin D. Roosevelt allowed racist policies like redlining to be written into their greatest achievements such as the Federal Housing Administration.

None of this diminishes the contributions that these men have made to our country and to history in general, but none of these men could have made these contributions the way they did without the effort and sacrifice of countless generations of people of African descent.

To tell their stories without this acknowledgement is erasing history.  To tell the stories of great white people without acknowledging that they couldn’t have achieved what they did without a society that allowed them to exploit the labor and contributions of black people, often with great sacrifice on the part of those black people, is erasing history.

That’s why the moment of Isaiah seeing his statue at the Smithsonian is such a powerful one.  It’s a moment that we hope to achieve for all African-Americans, the moment when the United States acknowledges all of the pain and anguish that it has inflicted and is still inflicting on them and celebrates the contributions that they have made, often unwillingly, to the greatness of this country.

It’s not the end of the story, this story won’t end until this country finally eliminates all of the prejudice and violence that African-Americans face even today and truly makes amends for the centuries of it that have already occurred, but it’s the first step.  As with all addicts, admitting that you have a problem is the first step to recovery, and this is a long addiction that the United States really needs to kick even if the junkies insist that we need to take one more hit.

#the falcon and the winter soldier #captain america and the winter soldier #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #blm #black lives matter #race #social justice #politics

[kyloren]

i was never really into the jonsa ship, but that post of yours has got me really interested... do you have any fave fics of them??

welp, we’re going old-school, lads. prepare for some of my favourite fandom throwbacks well, I failed at that, I put some of the newer things on the list, too

CANON-VERSE:

Now You See Me: Kissed by fire, Ygritte thought to herself, just like me. 

Goodbye Means Going Away (And Going Away Means Forgetting): Memory is unreliable. No one understands this better than Rickon Stark.

Take My Crown Away (Don’t Smile So Sweetly, My Love): A world where everything is easier. Except for those who love, and love too much.

Build a Ladder to the Stars: Jon abandons the Night’s Watch to join Robb’s cause. After rescuing Sansa from King’s Landing, he and Sansa find themselves in a relationship they never saw coming.

A Winter’s Tale: The War of Three Dragons comes to the Vale, bringing Jon Snow and Sansa Stark together once more.

The Winter of Our Discontent: In the end it is Jon and his men of the Night’s Watch who come to take her back to Winterfell.

tell me true (who are you): Ned Stark brought a dark-haired, grey-eyed bastard babe home and called him son. Years later, Jon Targaryen does the same.

Lift Me Like an Olive Branch and Be My Homeward Dove: She never dreams of Jon Snow but in the end he is the one that comes for her under a Targaryen banner, the might of Winterfell and the North behind him with their father’s sword on his back.

The Whispering Ghosts (Left You Out In The Cold): Winter came and brought Jon home. [this is the first Jonsa fic I ever read, boy, did it fuck me up]

A Bronze Crown: In the end there are no knights. In the end Sansa must rescue herself. Based on the prompt: he doesn’t ride to her rescue; she comes north with her granduncle and the armies of the Vale to wage war on the Boltons, save his life and teach his assassins and the Boltons a sharp lesson.

how ruthless are the gentle*: “Yes, I do.” The easiest lie he’s ever told, by far. It came so naturally, he hardly thought of it as false. “She’s easy to love.”

Tell the Ones That Need to Know (We Are Headed North)*: After years of confinement in the Red Keep with Ned prisoner in the black cells, the Dragon Queen comes. With the knowledge that Jon Snow is actually a Targaryen, she agrees to let the Starks return to Winterfell only if Jon marries one of the Stark daughters. Sansa volunteers so they can all go home. Soon she figures out being married to Jon isn’t bad, but it is complicated.

Cripples, Bastards and Broken Things*: We know no King, but the King in the North whose name is Stark. 

Dragons of Red, Dragons of White*: An AU where the Battle of the Trident took place, but just between Rhaegar Targaryen and Robert Baratheon. Their duel and its outcome have ramifications that none could foresee. In the world built afterwards, dragons once again rule and roam Westeros, among them the son of a northern beauty and the king. Prince Jon and his kin, Stark and Targaryen alike, face new challenges from both without and within. Whatever the future holds, the Seven Kingdoms will learn that, whether in a coat of red or a coat of white, a dragon still has claws.

A Knight’s Watch: Jon Snow is forbidden to take the black by his father. Instead he sent to squire for a famous knight, beginning a long arduous journey that causes him to cross paths with characters he never would have. Along the way he learns truths long hidden and discovers love in the most unlikely of places.

The Conquest*: Three hundred years after Aegon the Conqueror built a new empire on the ashes of the Valyrian Freehold the known world is a place of war. The Targaryen Empire is pressed by enemies, the Seven Kingdoms war amongst themselves and forces contrive to pull them all apart.

Live Without Shame: When Catelyn’s treatment of Winterfell’s Bastard unexpectedly softens, Sansa reconsiders her relationship with Jon. But despite the revelations that ensue, Jon must and will always remain Winterfell’s Bastard and suffer its consequences.

The Tempered Kingdoms*:  After years of wars, death, destruction, politics, and White Walkers, a tentative calm has returned to Westeros partially due to the rulership of King Jon and Queen Daenerys. But politics rues its head again as Stannis Baratheon demands his right to rule, while the former Queen Cersei languishes in a cell, plotting her revenge against all who live above her. Sansa Stark is forced to return to King’s Landing after being found by the rumored lovers Jaime Lannister and Brienne of Tarth.

winterbloom: “You’ve traveled a long way for a rumor.” Sansa lives at the Wall under the protection of her brother Jon Snow, but when Sandor Clegane comes looking for her, she and Jon begin to realize that she is not as safe as they once hoped.

As History Changes: Jon agrees to accompany Stannis south to the Vale and he meets a person he did not expect to meet.

hold onto your heart (you’ll keep it safe): When Sansa turns eleven her wrist burns. She excitedly unwraps the cloth guarding her skin, waiting eagerly for the name to finish forming. The dark letters stop after only three and when Sansa leans in closer she realises that she knows that name and she knows that handwriting already.

carve your heart into mine: Sansa spent many evenings sewing her wedding dress by the fire, dreaming of her husband. The gown spilled out of her hands like a silver river, burning brighter from the light of the flames. She had embroidered it with a noble husband in mind, but she wed her lowborn love in the godswood, with snowflakes falling on her veil. 

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE:

Into the Darkness of the Grave: The tragic death of Eddard Stark’s cousin Lyanna brings her estranged son back to Winterfell House, the family’s old plantation home, for her funeral.

The Other Shoe: If anyone had told Sansa Stark that she would be married to Jon Snow, expecting a child with him at the age of nineteen she would have laughed at them. Not because Jon was a bad person, for he had slowly come out of his shell in the past seven years; not because she was young, her parents were married right out of Hogwarts; simply because Sansa Stark seemed to be the anthesis of a happy ending.

several sunlit days: Everyone knows you don’t date Robb Stark’s sisters unless you want to spend your days avoiding hexes and angry bludgers shot at your head. Too bad Jon’s traitorous feelings could care less.

the unexpected champion: Jon must swim to The Black Lake and retrieve something *cough* Sansa *cough* stolen from him. This task makes him realize who he should invite to the Yule Ball.

Where Did You Sleep Last Night: Sansa needs a new guitarist, Jon needs a new band, and the two of them definitely don’t need each other.

and labor till the work is done: Stark Industries is a family legacy she was hoping to avoid: Robb is a project manager, grooming to eventually be a partner, Arya is a summer intern with Bran sure to follow next year and Rickon in another three, and even Jon Snow, who is technically not family but who has been around for as long as Sansa can remember, works as an estimator. But Sansa is not who she was at sixteen or eighteen or even twenty and she’s still in the process of learning what’s truly important, like who she is, who she wants to be, and what kind of people she wants in her life.

One Of The Few Things: Jaime and Sansa spend a lot of time pining over Brienne and Jon together. Sometimes, they actually even do their jobs.

flower shaped heart*: Alayne Stone has lived her whole life in her hidden tower, forbidden by Mother to leave. But she yearns for an adventure like the ones in the songs, so when a man named Jon Snow crashes into her tower and into her life, she seizes the chance. They travel to King’s Landing where the floating lanterns shine each year on her nameday. The new world is exciting and frightening, but Jon Snow is there to guide her every step. He is not nearly as terrible as Mother said men are, though the rest of the world might be. Danger, betrayals, and lies form the steps of their journey as Alayne uncovers terrible secrets.

Crawl up to my Room: Jon left her side after a few moments of silence and she watched him leave with a quiet thought playing in her mind. He was her stepbrother for only a few hours, and she already found herself utterly fascinated and irritated with Jon Stark. 

in the summer, as the lilacs bloom: “You did tech in high school,” Sansa points out. (Yeah, I did tech because you were playing the lead and I was in love with you.) Jon doesn’t tell her that, though. Of course not. Instead he agrees to spend his summer stage managing this passion project of hers, and some trace of his seventeen-year-old self has dried out his throat at the thought of three months’ constant contact with Sansa.

Down from the Mountain: Sansa flies home from college after her older brother Robb, one of the country’s hottest young pitchers, is hurt in a car accident. Robb’s best friend Jon is there to help the Stark family in any way he can.

Little Bed in the Big Woods: “I stared at him for a solid five minutes because he looked like what I imagine god would look like if god was a lumberjack.”

A Game of Stars*: When the Mad Emperor hears that the Starks are Force-sensitive, he discovers the hidden rebel base on Hoth. He sends Jon there with one order: Burn them all. But bring the Stark children to Coruscant. It’s time for the two most powerful Force bloodlines in the galaxy to merge.

I’ll Pack My Goods for the Arkansas Woods*: When Sansa’s brother goes missing, it falls to her to defend the house and the woods against the greed of the Boltons and Freys. All of this would be much easier if she could fight fire with fire, and there’s a saying in the valley: that all the Starks are a little wild, and all the Targaryens are a little mad. Her cousin Jon just happens to be both.

In the Face of Death: On a long list of things Jon never expected, Sansa came top.

United States of Irreversible Oblivion: With the government losing its fight at the northern border, Sansa’s only hope is that one of its soldiers, Office Jon Snow, will return for her and save her from the horrors of a collapsing society.

remember me love when i’m reborn: ‘Longest Night’ has biggest night in hollywood history. “Joffrey wanted someone to make him famous, and as soon as Sansa wrote a movie for him that did just that, he left her in the dirt.”

Hear the Wolf*: The Starks are in Hogwarts. Sansa has to learn to stand up to her ex-boyfriend and Jon has to learn to face his past. They’re determined to do it alone. Will they ever admit they’re stronger together?

Somewhere in the Winter Woods*: Lost on her way to her grandmother’s cabin in the winter woods after running away from home, beautiful young Sansa thinks she’s run into trouble when she crosses a white wolf in the forest. Instead of harming her, the animal guides her to his master, a handsome warrior named Jon who lives in solitude and clothes himself in black.

* marks the ongoing stories. 

#jonsa #jonsa fanfiction #jon x sansa #sansa stark #jon snow #game of thrones #* #anonymous #ask box #in this tag resides fanfiction

[96thdayofrage]

Located a few miles outside of Houston, the discovery of the Sugarland 95 rocked a school district and a community. In 2018, the remains of 95 individuals were unearthed by crews at a construction site for a new school in the Fort Bend Independent School District. The discovery exposed the dark history of Texas and the truth surrounding convict leasing.

“This is a part of history that’s been hidden for so long. This is the truth that we don’t tell”, said Olainu-Alade.

Chassidy Olainu-Alade, is a historian who works at the Fort Bend Independent School District as the Coordinator of Community & Civil Engagement. Olainu-Alade, gave Spectrum News a tour of The Bullhead Camp Cemetery, a historic site recognized by the state of Texas.

Below the service of the cemetery lies the remains, said to be Black prisoners who worked on prison farms through convict leasing. Convict leasing was a law that allowed forced labor among Black men as a punishment if they were convicted of a crime.

The practice of convict leasing was a common in the South after the Civil War, often referred to as a loophole to the 13th Amendment.

“So you’re talking about petty crimes with heavy penalties. Particularly assigned to African American individuals. Not having a job and hanging around. So if you kinda think back, if you’re an enslaved person in 65 [1865] and they were not enslaved, but if you chose not to work on a plantation as a laborer then you were a vagrant and you could be arrested for being a vagrant which would end you up here. Working for the state,” Olainu-Alade. “The land still existed. The crops still existed. So who’s going to work the land? Individuals who were incarcerated and then sent off to work on prison farms, which essentially the exact same plantations that operated prior to the war.”

Upon the groundbreaking discovery, the remains were exhumed for DNA analysis and research in order to learn more about who they were and why they were buried there.

“So when we have these 95 individuals and we say they were a part of the bull head labor camp. That was the labor camp that was established through the use of Black men working in the sugar field. Not only did they endure intense physical labor during their time here. But their causes of death are also indications of the type of life they experienced while here”, said Olainu-Alade

So far, researchers were able to identify 74 of the 95 individuals that include 73 men and one woman, ranging in age from 16 to 60 years old.

Olainu-Alade tells us some of the individuals were chained together using the types of chains that would have been shackled to feet or machinery during that time period.

She believes the discovery should be amplified through-out the course of American History. She went on to say The Bullhead Camp could be used as proof of the hidden truths that has founded the nation.

“There’s 40-years of U.S. history that not only our curriculum fails to address but our textbooks failed to address it. Where is it? And there’s no reference of convict leasing and if there is a reference to prison labor or chain gangs it’s in the wrong historical context. It’s like in the 1930s and 40s but where did that start. It starts right here,” said Olainu-Alade

The Fort Bend Independent School District is leading the charge in teaching a curriculum on the Sugarland 95 and convict leasing in Texas.

“This is a real topic in academia, not just everyday educational systems. But it’s so important because it existed, it occurred. This provides the real life archaeological artifact based, site based learning that is needed to substantiate all of that historical research,“ said Olainu-Alade

The district released its final report on the discovery which breaks down the finding and the three years of research that went along with it. As research continues the 95 unknown graves have been carefully marked in case they are able to identify descendants in the future.

[raz-b-rose]

The Secrets we Share

Part one

This is the second and (for now) final part to this AU. 

11527 words. Enjoy

https://archiveofourown.org/works/21737908/chapters/56487616#workskin

___________________________________________________________

Marinette pulls back from the kiss first, gazing lovingly at Damian. “I love you, sorry again for overreacting” 

“We both have weaknesses, but we have all the time to help each other” Damian kisses her forehead, taking her bag to her room. Marinette only hums in response. 

Marinette couldn't believe the changes in her life in just one week. Master Fu had passed, she was the new supreme Guardian; her parents were proud of her, and she hoped her mother understood when she told them about the wedding. She was raised within the temple's traditions after all, but she had also raised her to carve her own path despite Fu’s desire to raise her as the next supreme. 

Marinette froze for a moment, watching Damian move around her apartment with ease, grinning wildly at the thought of this becoming her everyday life. Her and Damian together, best friends and partners. Partners. Marinette focusses on that word. She thinks about her days as a vigilante. It had been two years since she had last transformed with Tiki, since she had last doned the monacer of Ladybug and assisted others. She feels something bubble up in her chest that almost matches the excitement of her future with Damian. She could become ladybug once again. 

Damina glances behind him to Marinette relaxing to the sight of her smile. She was his retreat from everything crazy and stressful in his life. No matter what happens in the field or on missions, he would always have her to return to. Her smile, her joy, and her kindness will always be there for him. 

“Hey Chéri, I should let you know that we have just one more thing in common” Marinette is still grinning wildly, coming forward to join their hand together. 

“What is that Habibti?” Damian finds himself caught up in her excitement. 

“I used to be a vigilante as well, and I had to quit when I moved here for school, didn’t want to step on any toes, but now I can help again, this is wonderful” 

Damian stiffins, varying images of all the terrible things that could happen to Marinette flying though his mind before settling on Barbra in a wheelchair. His grip tightens his breathing labored. 

“Marinette I-” She simply cups his face, eyes shining in understanding. 

“Because Tikki is effectively immortal, that trait is shared with me when I am transformed with her. There is nothing to worry about.”

“Tikki?” As if responding to the name, the same small red fairy-like creature flies up to his face, almost causing him to go cross eyed. 

“There is nothing to worry about Damian. If anything, Marinette would be better protected than you.”

“How does that work?” Marinette had moved them back to the couch, continuing to smile as though Damian was not in the middle of a panic attack thinking about how she could die horribly. He would love to have her beside him at all times, but maybe not all the time. 

Tikki only grins at him. Damian looks to Marinette to see the grin reflected on her face. They did not see the issue here. Marinette could not be in the field. She must have done community service or something. There is no way his Habibti fought crime as a teenager, right? 

“Because I am immortal, unless something were to happen to my earrings, which would be very challenging to manage mind you, when I share my powers with another that trait is shared with them as well.” 

Damian is still struggling to grasp the calming logic of her statements. “Even if she can’t die she could still be seriously hurt '' Damian doesn't want to be overprotective, but he's going to be overprotective. 

Tikki only shakes her head, the movement soft. “I absorb any damage she takes, for life threatening injuries however, i can only absorb so much,” Damian stops breathing all together, “so she would be left with anything from a bruise to a laceration.”

“Nothing a first aid kit can’t handle.” Marinette appears at his side, handing him a mug of tea. When had she moved and made tea?

“But you could still be-” He starts to argue, but Marinette's change in tone causes him pause to hear her out. 

“Damian, I have been shot on three different occasions, here, here, and here.” She points to her hip, head and finally her heart. Damian followed each movement of her finger with fascinated horror. “I was only left with a bruise for each of them, I will be ok.”

They have a stare off for what feels like hours, Damian can see another creature join the huddle on the couch, but keeps his focus on Marinette. Her eyes aren’t hard, instead they are understanding but she won't back down from this. “I also have healing magic, for the next time you get hurt”

“I don’t get hurt” Damian tries to say with an air of pride, but even to his ears he can hear the weakness of the lie. 

“Yes you do, mister I got shot and didn’t say anything” Marinette gives him a pointed look, before giggling at Damian's crestfallen face. 

“How did you know?”

“Oh please, I have been training with magic since I could walk, specifically that healing magic” She says with a wave of her hand. He closes his eyes, taking multiple deep breaths. 

What are the facts of the situation he has control over? Marinette knows magic. Marinette can bond with an immortal being effectively making her immortal while bonded. Marinette has been shot before. Marinette is here. Marinette had been a vigilante. Marinette had been a good vigilante. Nobody as far as he knew had heard of any such thing from Paris. Marinette is going to be his partner in everything. Everything. Damian opens his eyes to her sky blue ones, relaxing once again into their depths. 

“Ok, but we start slow, I need time to adjust.” She just smiles softly at him, rubbing her hand along his shoulder. 

“Of course Chéri, it's only fair,” Damian relaxes some more, thankful at her cooperation. “You don't know how amazing I am as a vigilante yet” Damian scowls at her, eyes darkening in that competitive way they always do when Marinette goads him on. 

“Is that so” He grins wickedly, carefully placing both of their cups on the coffee table. She eyes him with excited trepidation, waiting for Damian to strike. He glances behind her, tilting his head in confusion, and strikes when she also starts to turn back. 

“Are you as good as you say if you fall for such an easy trick?” He teases while he tickles her, proud at the belly laughs he is eliciting from her. 

“Stop Dami, stop” She squeals, trying desperately to put distance between them, her breaths short and joy filled. 

“I dont think I’m ready to” 

“Dami!” She laughs out, soft pawing at his face, tears of joy mixing with the tear tracks from earlier. With that Final plea, he stops kissing her quickly and gently. He doesn’t need her passing out from lack of oxygen after all. She simply pulls him down into a cuddle, humming contently. Pulling each other close, their warmth mixes together, making for a comfortable nap inducing environment, but both know they can’t take a nap, not yet after all. 

Damian glances over to see Tikki and the other one, sitting cheerfully on the window sill, observing the city streets below. 

“What,” Damian starts to ask Marinette then thinks better of it, after all they were clearly sentient beings capable of holding a conversation. 

“What exactly are you?” He sits up, facing each of the small beings. They glance between each other before coming over to sit on the coffee table. 

“We are called kwami, but to be exact we are the personification of certain ideals or desires.” The small horse looking one answers, licking away at a sugar cube. 

Damian glances to Marinette for clarification. They did answer his question but it left him blind to certain details that Marinette is sure to have. However Tikki is the one to answer his unasked inquiry. 

“We should start at the beginning, as we do with all newcomers to the Order,” Tikki sends a pointed look to Kaalki, who just rolls her eyes before focusing on her meal. 

“There was a woman named Tikki who lived in China during the Xia dynasty. She learned of magic through travelers and taught herself the most powerful form of magic at the time, creation magic. She loved to create new things, especially things to help others.”

“While she was traveling her older sister fell ill to what was an incurable disease at the time.” Marinette laughs softly into her hand as Damian leans forward, grasping his hands in front of his face in total concentration on Tikki’s history lesson. 

“She quickly switched her focus to healing magic, desperate to save her sister's life. During her quest she experimented with imbedding jewelry with healing effects to stop or even just slow the effects of the sickness.”

Tikki leaves the coffee table to continue her story next to Marinette's earrings, touching them softly. “Because of her love to create, her love for her sister, and her desire to heal I was brought into consciousness, a part of her soul, so to speak, being imbedded into the earrings.” 

“I became everything she desired and held dear. I can create as well as heal and was the first miraculous created.” 

“Do you share her memories?” 

“No, I am simply a personification of her will.”

“Is that why you are immortal, you are neither alive or dead?” Marinette is impressed that Damian was able to grasp that truth so quickly. 

“Exactly.” 

“What happened after?” He is not so much as eager to learn what happened, but rather gain the knowledge necessary to join this world of Marinettes. 

“She returned home just as the sickness was taking its final hold, we worked together to heal her, becoming Hóng fūrén.”

“Did she create the rest of the miraculous?”

“No,” Kaalki answers him this time, having finished her sugar cube she settles in on Marinette's other shoulder. “When other magicians learned of what she created, they traveled to her, eager to learn her secrets.”

“The first was a man by the name of Plagg, who had lost a loved one to the same sickness that almost took Tikki’s sister. He had heard of her miracle and hoped that she could return his loved one to him.”

“I hear a but in there,”

“Bringing people back from the dead will always have consequences, as you know” Tikki says gravely, her stare is filled both with pity and resentment. He doesn’t think that the last one is aimed at him however. Marinette stiffins. 

“Damian-”

“We can talk about that later,” She doesn’t look reassured, but nods in acceptance, “Thank you, please continue” Damian reaches up to rub his chest where the sword pierced. There was no scar, but the memory of the pain was enough for Damian.

“Even though they could not help him in his original request, he still desired to learn her new way of magic as well. He then created the ring of destruction, his desire to rid the world of the illness being his main driving force.”

“Each of the Miraculous were created by different magicians and added to the collection. Tikki and Plagg went on to be the founders of the order, seeking to use their magic to help everyone around them.”

“What caused them to hide from the world?”

“A traitor by the name of Jin Yong. He had been unsuccessful in creating anything, much less a Miraculous. He attempted to steal all of them for himself, and killed Plagg in the process.” Marinette always hated this part of the story. 

“By this time Tikki and Plagg had married, and started a family. In her rage, she wielded both the creation and destruction Miraculous. Jin yong was quickly dealt with but her rage still needed an outlet.”

“She unleashed such raw magical power, that she carved up the nearby mountain range. The other magicians feared her, quick to submit themselves to her, and follow any order she had to give. She then declared that from thereforth, all Miraculous would be kept in a box, and named herself as Supreme Guardian, who is the only person capable of opening the box.”

"She then traveled as far west as she could before stopping in what is now Tibet. There she built the temple and erased all traces of the miraculous from the world.”

Marinette plays with her fingers, small tears gathering. Damian rubs small circles in her back, quietly processing what he just heard. That much raw power in the wrong hands could be disastrous. 

“Marinette, is announcing the Order to the world the wisest idea?” He was trying to be gentle, but the idea of being incapable of fighting against such a threat scared him. 

“Yes, Supreme Guardian Tikki also placed a spell over all the miraculous. As long as I know who holds the Miraculous I can order it back to the box. Stealing one is difficult but not impossible. It has happened before.” 

“Damian,” Kaalki draws his attention away, “ Not every Miraculous can manage that kind of power. Not every person can handle that kind of power. Tikki only could because she had created the Miraculous, her bonding with it being much more intimate than can be managed today.” 

Damian frowns in confusion, “So how does this whole bonding thing work anyway?” 

Marinette seems to brighten a little, quick to answer him, “The longer you wear a miraculous the stronger the shared magic between Kwami and human become. You also have to physically fit, spiritually sound and mentally strong to even transform with a Kwami. Anyone can wear a miraculous, but not everyone can wield one.” 

“That makes me feel a little better.”

She giggles softly, sipping her tea softly. Tikki and Kaalki had moved from her shoulders now sitting softly in her lap. Marinette seems to be working herself up to say something, so he waits patiently for her to collect herself. 

“We have had this power that could be shared with the world for centuries, just sitting there in cowardice for what may or may not happen. When Plagg first convinced me to transform with him and take a run on the roof tops, and I stopped a mugging, I knew what I would do with the Order should I end up leading it. I would build a team to help the world.” 

She gives Damian a hard stare, “I will help those who need it.” He can’t help but smile at her and berate himself even further. Her heart is too good, kind, and compassionate. 

“You will accomplish all those things Marinette. I will help you any way I can.” 

“I know. Thank you Damian” Marinette feels a peace within her soul. The Order could look down on a Supreme being in a relationship all they want. She would not be as strong without Damian at her side. 

“So why have I never heard of vigilantes in Paris?” Marinette at least has the gall to look embarrassed. 

“As a part of my training, I would bond with a different miraculous every two weeks. When Plagg talked me into transforming and testing my powers in Paris, instead of at the temple, I loved the rush from pouncing on people and surprising them. Because I had a new look every few weeks, no one ever made the connection.”

“And then she had to start getting her friends in on it too,” Tikki chimes in in exasperation. “It was hard enough keeping her nightly adventures a secret, but adding more people to the mix every few months was getting challenging.” 

“And yet I built myself a good team” Marinette huffs. They went on to bicker about Marinette's youth. Damian can’t help but dread that this would also now be a part of his new life. Kwami everywhere all the time. It would definitely take some adjusting. Damian frowns at his now vibrating phone, the caller ID confusing him even more. Standing he distances himself from the others, not wanting to disturb them with his call. 

“What is it Brown?” She only ever called him when there was a daytime emergency. 

“Damian you need to talk to Tim, this isn't ok.” 

“I don't need to do anything you say” Damian feels his good mood souring quickly. 

“No, Tim is a wreck. You haven't talked to anyone for days.”

“Who I choose to speak to is none of your concern.” Stephanie tries to interrupt him but Damian speaks over her, “I am not responsible for how Drake is feeling”

“You men and hating to talk things out” She snaps, Damian only rolls his eyes, after all just what had he and Marinette been doing for the last hour? 

“There is nothing for us to talk about. He has apologized but the fact of the matter is he doesn't trust me, therefore there is no reason to speak until that is repaired first” Damian clenches his fist at admitting such a thing to Stephanie of all people. 

“Of course he trusts you Damian,” 

“If he truly trusted me, then this would not have happened” The silence on the other end is unsettling, Damian can only stand there, waiting for her to say something, but he knows she can’t find a way to refute his claim. “I believe you have no right to speak to me about such matters as well Brown, last I heard you weren’t even on speaking terms with Drake yourself”

“That was a low blow Damian” She growls out before cursing him out and hanging up. Damian trembles, Stephanie reigniting his original anger from the last week. He jumps a little, meeting Marinette's worried gaze. 

“Damian?” 

“It’s nothing, just Drakes, whatever she is right now, meddling with something she has no right to.” Marinette retakes her seat on the couch. They had talked about themselves, but not how he felt with his family. Clearly it was still unresolved and had led to a lot of stress for all parties. 

“Does Tim do things like this often?” She asks so quietly, that Damian almost missed her question, the roaring in his ears grew louder. 

“Do what?”

“Investigate people?”

“It is his prefered job. He investigates to find all the information so that we don’t have any blank spots.” 

“Then why was his investigation of me bothering you so much? He does it to other people so why can’t he do it to me?” He can tell she is playing devil's advocate, but the question still bothers him. He can feel his anger growing stronger.

“I asked him, and Todd, not to. To meet you like normal people.” She hums, nodding her head slightly in agreement. 

“That request does change everything. And why does that feel like a breach of trust to you?” Damian tightens his fists, a headache coming on from his tightened jaw. Marinette runs her thumb over the back of his hand, that's when he notices her breathing steadily. In, out. In, out. Damian starts to match her pace, his body loosening with each exhale.

“They question every choice I make. Always acting like I’m in danger. However only when I make ‘life changing decisions’” Damian states dryly, “any other time they behave as though they do not care for me.” Marinette only nods, he can tell by the look in her eye that she is processing the information, tucking it away. 

“I know I can be uncommunicative and impersonal at times,” Marinette offers a small smile, “but I thought that I had made headway in building better relationships with my brothers. Don’t tell them this but I do care for them and have come to enjoy their company” 

“This sounds like normal sibling drama then.” Marinette smiles, “No need to be angry. Tim and Jason care too, in their own way. They need to find a different way to show it though, you too mister” She runs her finger down his nose before pecking it quickly.

“I don’t know how to approach them at the moment, but I don’t want to lose them either” Damian confides in her, knowing his vulnerability is safe with her. 

“It doesn’t need to be today Damian, a lot has happened already.” She stands pulling him with her. “But it needs to be soon. It becomes harder the longer you wait.”

“I will Habibti, don’t worry. Thank you.”

“You can talk about anything at any time Damian.” She smiles softly one last time before leading them towards the door. “I am hungry, and i think food would help both of us right now” 

They enjoyed a peaceful meal, phones set on silent, just the two of them ignoring the outside world of responsibilities until a later time. Damian asked more questions, Marinette asked her own in return. The couple shared everything they hadn't before, finding solace in the fact that they truly understood the others' struggles like no one else could. 

The late afternoon sun offered a cozy setting as they returned to Marinette's place, the Kwami glad to be home for free reign once again. And the two of them did what they did best. Separate activities in the same room. 

Marinette returned to her dress, as it was still due for completion that week. Family emergency or not, fashion projects are to be completed. Damian returned to his book, quickly reimmersed in it, but even that couldn't hold off the exhaustion that builds when emotional stress is in play. Damian is stirred from sleep, Marinette giggling at him.

“Hey sleepy head, I think you need to go home to get some proper rest” She places a marker in his book, before walking away. Damian lays there for a few moments adjusting to consciousness. He sits up a little too quickly when he notices the time. He is late for patrol. 

He jumped off the couch, pulling his jacket on in a panic, cursing softly as he gathered the rest of his things. Maeinette wonders over, concerned. 

“Is everything ok? Did something happen?”

“No, nothing like that. I am just late for patrol” Damian pecks her cheek but the touch of her hand stops him at the door. 

“Is that a good idea? You seem really tired.” He kisses her once more, less rushed this time.

“I will be ok. I’ll see you tomorrow, promise” Marinette hugs him tightly before finally letting him leave. She stands at the door for a moment, before turning back to her dress. Damian would be ok, she could feel it. Her gut was almost never wrong anymore, Marinette frowns at her embroidery, almost. 

Tonight was not a good night. Damian scowls into the streets below. The coms were unusually silent. When he had signed onto the comms everyone gave him short crisp answers. His father, he could understand, but Todd and Drake refused to talk to him, and after the fuss Stephanie made, he expected Drake to be grovelling once again. 

“Boys, we got trouble down by the docks, looks like Penguin is making a move.” Oracle informs. Each gave a confirmation before launching to the docks. Damian moved quickly, the thought of Marinette waiting for him at the forefront of his mind more than ever. 

“Robin and Red Hood, come in from the north. Red Robin and I will come in from the west.” Batman orders before going silent once again. Damian is almost to the docks when Red Hood comes up on his right, their paths converging into one. 

“Robin, she got back today right? Did everything go alright?” Damian is caught off guard by his question and almost missteps off the roof. He opens his mouth to respond like he always had when they try to pry, but Marinette's words from that afternoon cause him pause. He needs to find a different way to show that he does care for his brothers. What better way to start then being more open about his life. 

“It went well.” 

Now it was Jason's turn to be surprised. Damian was not one to willingly give information on his personal life. It took poking and prodding with the figurative crowbar to even get him to open his mouth, and even that didn’t always guarantee you'll get what you wanted out of him. 

“That's good to hear.” He could practically feel the tension drain from the coms, Babs mutters a small praise and he winces. He knew they could feel the tension, he felt bad that Babs could as well. “Sorry Oracle”

“Refocus, now that that is out of the way, and then you can talk more.” 

“Yes Ma’am” 

Damian scowls as the distant sound of sirens grows louder. Just what they didn’t need. “Red Robin and I have converged on the smugglers. Some are trying to escape your way, be ready.” 

The boys move faster to intercept before the police arrive. Damian swings down, landing harder than intended on the pavement, bringing five men to an abrupt stop. They are all dressed in beanies and black clothes. A few have traditional guns while the others have spearguns guns.

“Evening boys, would you mind dropping the weapons and surrendering peacefully?” Red Hood saunters in from the rear, catching all the cornered men off guard. With a grunt, they all start to pull their guns. 

Without further words, the boys attack first, subduing the ones with the spearguns first, fearing the nasty wound that could leave more than that of a regular gun. After all, they have dealt with those before. One of the men, after losing his gun, tried to fare in hand to hand combat, Damian simply tripped him, knocking him out cold with an elbow to the throat. Damian turns around to find himself at the end of a gun, and no time to move. 

Red Hood bashes the man in the back of the head with his gun, simply nodding at Damian, who could only sigh in relief. It wasn’t the first time he had been in that sort of situation since meeting Marinette, where all he could think about was how upset and angry she would be to learn how he died. Now that she knew, he wondered if she would be angrier or just heartbroken. 

Red Hood walks over, clapping him firmly on the shoulder. “Not yet Robin, you have plenty of time ahead of you.” Damian glances at him with narrowed eyes, he can feel his mask constrict with the movement. How had he managed to glare 24/7 when he was younger? 

They boys turn at the sound of their family landing behind them. Red Robin fidgets next to the bat, their difference in height would have made it comical if not for the seriousness of the situation. Damian simply nods to him, sending a small smile his way. That was more than enough to show the young man that the blood between them had been cleared. He relaxed immediately, offering his own smirk in return. 

Bruce watched the interaction, glad that the boys had made up in their own way, but couldn’t help the roll of his eyes at the dramatics of it all. But it's your fault that they are terrible at these things his subconscious whispers to him. Bruce scowled at the intrusive thought, his pride making it difficult to admit fault. 

“The police have already started inventory on the unit of drugs they were trying to move into the city. Pick up will be here shortly, Robin come with me to oversee processing of evidence.” Both men set off, Father and Son into the night. 

Batman turns off his comm unit, motioning for Robin to do the same. While Damian’s relationship with Bruce hasn't always been the smoothest, they have both tried. Damian tried to be everything he valued in his Father, and Bruce tried to emulate the things Damian thought of as important. Unfortunately for both of them, that did not include expressing emotions or confrontation into personal issues as priority. 

“I look forward to meeting her.” Damian rolls his eyes at the attempt for normal father son bonding conversations. They had never been Bruce's forte, but he refused to cease the attempts. “She must be a wonderful woman.”

“Wonderful because she caught my attention?” 

“Wonderful because she brings out the best in you.” Bruce smiles, knowing Damian was testing his responses. He may not be the best at conventional relationships, but he picked up a thing or two from Alfred over the years. 

Damian is caught off guard at the response. “The best in me?”

“She must have said something today or performed an action in the past to influence your earlier behavior with your brothers” Damian thinks over his words, realizing the truth within the statement. He grins before voicing his next thought. 

“If she has held such an influence over me for so long, you must be slacking in your abilities, old man” Bruce simply raises his brow, a trade mark look if anyone who knows Batman were to give him one. 

“Maybe” And with that the conversation comes to an end for now, as he turns the comms back on, meeting the commissioner behind the taped off scene. Robin shadows Batman, a working system for the last few years now. Damian however is processing the day while observing the hustle and bustle of the crime scene. Once everything is settled and they are retiring for the night at the cave, suits locked up and equipment put away, Damian sends a small wave to his family before heading back to the city. 

His brain battles with itself before he finally crashes onto his bed, sleep over taking him. The night was a normal one, with the regular adrenaline. No matter how hard he tried to rethink about his afternoon, his body needed to rejuvenate itself. Thinking could wait, recharge could not. 

It is well past twelve when he finally awakens, a small headache at the front of his head. He checks his phone to find a text from Bruce, asking if they would be coming to dinner at the Manor. It was Dicks last night in town before returning to Jump City. 

Damian ended up staring at his phone for over five minutes. Finally he placed a call, hoping she was available. He chuckles as she picks up the phone, her frantic yelps coming over the line.

“Damian finally! Are you ok?”

“Yes Marinette, I am fine.” He laughs.

“Thank goodness, what's up?”

“Would you be available for dinner at the manor tonight?”

“Of course! What time?”

“I’ll pick you up at three-thirty. We usually eat around four.”

“Perfect, I’ll see you soon! Love you!” Before she hangs up he hears her call for Tikki, claiming a need for her opinion on outfits. Laughing one last time, he responds to his father's text before rising to get ready. 

Now that things were mostly patched with Tim and Jason, dinner wasn’t looking to be an uncomfortable affair. He was however still apprehensive to introduce her to his family. But, if she could handle his past confessions, then she could probably handle his family just fine. If she could handle leading a whole organization at twenty-two, she could handle his family. 

After a quick walk for Titus, and running a quick errand, it was finally time to pick up Marinette. As he approaches her building once more, she waits on the sidewalk, eyes peeled for his car. Her face lights up as she spots him, her hair cascading gently around her face, framing her freckles and eyes perfectly. 

“Hey there handsome, did you have a good night?” With the click of her seat belt, Damian returns to the line of cars eager to leave the city.  

“We managed to intercept a shipment of new drugs Penguin was trying to introduce to the city. Not a standard night but not a new scenario” Damian shrugs, not finding it as weird to talk casually about his nightly activities as he thought it would be.

Marinette nods, giving him a weak smile, “That is relieving to hear, I was worried for you”

“I assume that is going to be a standard for us now” Damian scowls, thinking once again about all the horrible what-ifs and undesirable futures. 

“Yes but i feel like it's not that different from other couples” Marinette reaches over to take his hand, Damian notices she's trembling slightly, but decides not to bring attention to it. 

“What do you mean? I believe we are in a unique situation.”

“ Well what about Military, Officers, or any other profession that has a life threatening aspect to it? Any couple apart of those lives worry for safety and health just as much as we are now”

“That is a very true point, however I maintain our uniqueness with that not every couple fights crime as vigilantes together” Damain gives her a quick pointed look before returning his focus to the road. 

“And the average couple can be affected by unexpected injuries or death as well,” Marinette continues as though Damian hadn’t spoken, staring out the window as the grey and muted red buildings turn to a forest of green with the ocean peaking through, “No we are not the different after all” 

Damian doesn't respond for a moment, his mind focussing between her trembling hand, to her hyperfocus on safety and wellbeing standards in other couples, and finally on the scrunching of her face as though she is trying not to cry. 

“Are you trying to reassure me or yourself?” His tone was gentle, and quiet; his brothers would never believe it. Damian no longer had any qualms about having Marinette by his side no matter what. He needed her, just a week of thinking he had lost her, had him in a wreck,. He doesn't know what would happen if he were to actually lose her. 

“Myself,” She continues to stare out the window, but she seemed almost calmer now, “The vigilantism aside, we would have a decreased risk of losing each other, but not a nonexistent risk.” 

Damian knows that she is processing her thoughts, and smiles to himself, waiting patiently. “I love you Damian, it's painful to think about life without you,”

“Then don’t, don’t focus on the what-ifs, the negative possibilities, or the inevitable future.” Marinette finally looks at him then, eyes narrowed but a smile beginning to form, “Focus on today, that we are together”

“Are you trying to reassure me or yourself?” She parrots, giggling at his unimpressed look. “Empathy is so very interesting, we can so clearly see how to reassure someone else of our own fear but struggle with our own advice” 

“Never have more true words been spoken” Damian chuckles, taking her hand in his own, the car settling into silence once more. The calm atmosphere is cracked when Marinette's hands begin to tremble once again.

“Relax, Mari. They will love you”

“Yes but there has been so much drama surrounding myself that I can’t help but be a little more than nervous.” She thinks back to the phone call Damian received yesterday, unsure of how this ‘Brown’ person would receive her. 

“No reason to be unless you are truly uncomfortable with everything that happened? You never did tell me how you felt about all that?”

“Oh yea,” Damian scowls. Of course she forgot this had affected her too. Her own privacy to be exact. “Well is everything cleared up between you guys?”

Now it was Damians turn to be uncomfortable. “We haven't talked, but I let them know I was no longer upset.” Damian mumbles, thankful that he is driving so he had a reason not to meet Marinette's eyes. 

“Hmm, perhaps I should talk to the boys,”

“Why?”

“Well they did listen to my phone call, that is definitely something we need to discuss” Her tone was off. It was like she was trying to sound serious but sarcasm laced ever syllable as well. If he hadn’t glanced at her just then, he would have missed the smirk, now leaving her lips as she tried to school her expression. 

“What are you up too?” 

“I am up to nothing Damian. This is a serious conversation.” Yea no, not even Dick would fall for that. 

“I trust you will tell me what you really want to talk about with them later.” He wouldn’t pry anymore, but he wasn’t going to drop it either. Marinette only smiles softly at him, reaching her hand to trace his jaw line. The action leaving him distracted and hyper aware at the same time. 

“All in good time Love, just trust me on this one.” 

“You play dirty” He growls out, grip tightening around the wheel. Again she laughs, repeating her earlier action. 

“I know you love me” She teases cheekily, before bringing their conversation away from the topic of family and onto miscellaneous, trivial ones. Damian responds idly, enjoying having her back in his presence. Soon they reach the broad gates of Wayne manor, hidden behind the thick foliage making Marinette feel even more like an outsider. 

Damian climbs out of the car, waiting for Marinette to join him at his side. He glances behind him confused when she does not appear. A quick glance shows that she is still in the car, fists clenched as she takes a few deep breaths. Damian waits patiently for her to finish. 

When she finally climbs out of the car, her face shows confidence, while the trembling of her hands betray her nerves. Damian’s larger hand swallows her, Damian likes to think he is absorbing her nerves, and the smile she sends his way almost makes him believe that. 

“Oh I almost forgot” Damian reaches into his pocket, pulling a small box out. Marinette smiles softly at him before giving her hand to him to accept the ring. It is a simple silver band with one small pink stone embedded in the ring. It was perfect for the seamstress, nothing to snag on the fabric. 

“You didn't have to do that Damian”

“You are my fiance and tradition dictates I present you with a ring as a symbol of our status” Marinatte tries not to laugh but fails, breaking down into small giggles. 

“Also,” Damian leads her towards the ‘house’ once more, “I want to see how perceptive my family truly is” 

They walked inside, the liveliness of the manor there, but muted to the back of the house. The couple start to move to the back only to be halted when Damian is tackled to the ground. Marinette can’t help but gasp as he slides back to the front door.

“Uncle Dami! 

Damian carefully sits up, hugging the small girl to his chest. She may only be nine now, but she grew into her tamaranian strength everyday. “Hey there power-pop, stronger than the last time I see.”

The girl giggles, she lifts Damian off the ground, hugging him tightly. “Mom has been training me everyday. I can lift a small car now!” Her eyes are a bright green, alight with an energy that only a child knows. 

“Can you now power-pop? Do you mind putting me down, I would like to introduce you to someone.” Damian gasps for breath, rubbing his side. He was bound to have a few bruises by tonight, as he always did after seeing Mar’i. “This is Marinette.”

Marinette watches in temptation as the girl turns her attention to her. Her posture is relaxed, open and friendly. She was well muscled for her age, and probably the tallest as well, standing close to Marinette's shoulders, who was only 5’3’’. Marinette couldn’t help but love the contrast of her vivid green eyes to her midnight hair and sunset skin tone. She would grow to be a beautiful woman. 

“Hi I’m Mar’i.” She chirps, bouncing a little as she approaches Marinette for a hug. 

“Be gently power-pop, she's not used to your strength.” 

“Ok Uncle Dami.” Marinette gasps a little, if this was gentle, she felt bad for whatever kind of hug Damian received. 

“It’s nice to meet you too Mar’i you want to hear a secret.” The girl's eyes light up at the question. She nods eagerly, leaning in close.

“My friends call me Mari, just like your name.” Marinette whispers, side eyeing Damian with a smirk. He frowns at her, clearly put off by being out of the loop. 

“Really!?”

“Yup, do you think you could help think of another nickname for me?” Marinette continues to whisper. 

“I will think really hard! Do you have any superpowers or are you super cool like my dad?” Before Marinette can answer, a man enters behind her standing behind Mar’i with his hands on her shoulders. 

“Mar’i what have we said about asking those kinds of questions. Not everyone is Meta or comfortable admitting they are Meta. You are free to talk about yourself, but don’t ask those questions.” 

“Sorry Dad, sorry Marinette.” 

“To answer your question Mar’i, no I don't have superpowers, but I can perform magic and have magic friends. Would you like to meet them?” Marinette smiles at the girl, relaxing when the excitement returns to her eyes. 

“Can I? Where are they?” 

Tikki and Kaalki fly out of their hiding places, smiling at the girl as well. She giggles when Mar’i only grows more excited, firing off questions a mile a minute. With a defeated shake of his head, the man holds out his hand to Marinette. 

“Dick Grayson, it's a pleasure to finally meet you.” He moves them off to a sitting area beside the entryway. 

“Marinette Dupain-Cheng, likewise. Your daughter is precious, I can’t imagine how much of a handful she must be though.” 

“You have no idea,” he chuckles with a glance back at his daughter, “Mar’i Grayson if you want to fly, go outside.” 

“Com’on Tikki and Kaalki I want to see how high you can fly!” The adults all show variations of amusement and exasperation at Mar’i’s excitement as she darts out the front door, the kwami close behind. 

The adults left in the room jump, the sound of breaking glass and swearing echoing from down the hall. Dick only pinches the bridge of his nose muttering to himself. “I am so thankful I don’t live here anymore”

Damian only shares a look with Marinette, who is already moving down the hall to investigate. He watches as she takes quick glances at the pictures lining the walls, Alfred putting careful attention into each and everyone. Damian wasn’t fond of pictures, but had realized at a young age that they helped recreate the good memories. 

The sounds of an argument grow as they come closer to the kitchen. Damian knew what kind of scene awaited him behind the swinging door, Marinette however would be horrified. She was as meticulous in the kitchen as she was with her sewing. She cleaned as she went, and put everything away after it was used. Her kitchen was never left with a blemish, and she almost took his head off the first time he tried to help her cook dinner. 

He watched as she pushed open the door, taking in the scene in front of her. Tim stood with his back to her, a handheld broom clenched in his fist as he waved it around to emphasize his words. 

Jason stood glaring on the other side of the kitchen island yelling back. Alfred stood off to the side, exasperated at their antics, choosing to continue cooking, leaving the young men to their own devices. 

“What has Alfred been teaching you?” Jason shouts, gesturing wildly at the broken glass and pasta sauce splatter from floor to counter to ceiling.

“To cook unlike you, at least I can be in the kitchen by myself without it bursting into flames.”

“Yeah because all you know is how to use the microwave.”

“Says the king of microwavable dinners for one”

“Why you-” Jason stops from leaping over the counter at Tim, his eyes widening at the sight of Marinette standing in the doorway. Tim turns in confusion before also freezing in what could be fear or shock, Damian couldn’t tell. 

“Hello Miss Marinette, it is wonderful to meet you after all this time.” Alfred comes over, taking her hand in his own. Marinette smiles at him, his hands are soft, but not as soft as his eyes. If this man was a part of Damian’s family, then she truly had nothing to worry about. 

“I feel the same,” Marinette can feel the love he has for his family. Though he continues to age more each year, he continues to serve them with all the care he can give. “I look forward to getting to know you.” Alfread plays with Marinette’s ring, giving her a mischievous smile before turning back to the stove. 

The boys still hadn’t moved, they stood defensively, waiting for Marinette to strike. From their viewpoint they feel like cornered prey, Marinellte the Lioness, waiting for the proper moment to strike. Both men begin to sweat, the mess quickly forgotten. She gently takes the broom and dustpan from Tim, leaning down to sweep up what she can, thankful that she had not removed her shoes at the door. They watch with trepidation as she cleans their mess, until all sauce she could reach is wiped up and the kitchen just one step back into order as it was before. 

“Alfred, what are you cooking? It smells delicious.” The boys flinch as Marinette finally speaks after the long silence. 

“A simple dish for the boys to learn and Miss Mar’i’s favorite. Spaghetti with corn bread.”

“Wonderful, I have not had many dishes related to American-Italian food, I can’t wait to try it” 

“You can thank the boys here, they did most of the work” Marinette finally turned her full attention towards them, giving them a soft smile. 

“Thank you for cooking dinner for us.” Damian is trying his best to contain his laughter, they could only give her a shaking nod of their heads, eyes still wide. She only continues to smile at them, gently taking the spoon from Alfred. 

“Why don’t I help the boys finish dinner, that way you can relax for the night. Spend some time with Mar’i?” Alfred pats her cheek gently.

“Thank you Miss Marinette, the cornbread is on a timer and the noodles only need to be drained soon, vegetables are also on a timer.” Damian walks with Alfred back down the hall, smiling proudly alongside his grandfather. 

"Those boys are in for a surprise Damian" Alfred chuckles, leaning on Damians arm. 

"She's up to something, that's for sure" with one last backwards glance at the swinging door, Damian leads Alfred to the sitting Area, joining Dick and Bruce in the relaxing environment. 

Back in the kitchen Marinette hums softly, continuing dinner preparations while the boys have tried to distance themselves as far as they possibly can from the young woman. 

Jason sits stiffly on his stool, hands gripping his knees until his knuckles are white. He sends constant glances at the door, wondering if he should run or face her lecture like a man. Her humming was starting to put him on edge. Marinette Dupain-Cheng has not behaved like one would expect in this situation. Jason was flying blind. 

Tim, on the other hand, is trying to control his shaking by sitting with perfect posture for once, hands folded neatly in front of his on the marble top. With a glance you would picture him to be perfectly calm, if it were not for the beads of sweat on his brow or the constant fidgeting with his hands. He too was confused and on edge. He knew few women on a very personal level, and each and every one of them scared him, but at least he knew what to expect. Marinette being completely calm and unreactive left his head spinning. 

Both boys were used to yelling and even fist being thrown. Not gentleness and kindness. Just when the silence was getting too much to bear, she spoke again. 

"I must thank you both, you would have made a paranoid old man feel very justified" she sends another one of those smiles over her shoulder before turning back to the pasta mixture. 

“What?” They echo off each other. 

“My master saw a movie one day where they were listening in on phone calls. After that, he insisted we talked in code with each other when it related to temple business.” Content that the food was good to leave alone for a moment she turns to face the boys, almost laughing at their equally confused and tense facial expressions. 

“Glad we could help?” Tim is at a loss for how to proceed. Damian yelled at them, shouldn’t Marinette too? How would Damian even find someone this polar opposite from him? This must be a mind game, no other explanation. Tim would not lose. 

“Can you please just get this over with, we can take anything you have to say” Jason finally snaps, instantly regretting his tone but he couldn't take the drawn out punishment any longer. Hugging Bruce for twenty-four hours would be preferable to this. 

“And what, Jason, am I getting done and over with?” Damian had mentioned his brothers every so often, only in passing stories or complaints. It was quite easy to see who was who. Jason was known for being a hot head, quick to speak. Tim on the other hand, Damian had bragged about being taller than him, and well, he was clearly the shorter of the two. 

“Yelling at us for everything we did to you.” 

She smirks at them, leaning on her elbows staring at them in such a way they couldn’t help but feel as though she was searching their souls. Maybe she was; they didn’t know what kind of magic she knew afterall. 

“Oh that, I don’t care about that.” She shuts off the timer, removing the bread carefully while the boys processed her words. 

“You-you don’t care that we listened to your phone call?” Tim is the first to speak.

“Or the background check we did on you?”  Jason finishes. The boys relax a little, but again Tim is waiting for the rug to be pulled from under his feet (like that hadn’t been happening since she stepped foot in the kitchen). Jason had stopped looking at the door, hyperfocusing on Marinette body language. She was relaxed, moving about the kitchen like she had cooked within its walls her whole life. 

“Nope.” She says it with such sweet innocence, they obviously had different perceived notions on the seriousness of the topic. 

“Why?” 

“Because it's your job. How many times have you had to do something like this and it helped you save countless lives?” She easily finds the strainer in the first cabinet she checks. 

“Uh,”

“I can say I do not like or prefer my privacy being overstepped, but how can I hold that against you? How can I be upset by something that you do to protect people, especially those you love.” 

“What?” Each boy's response continues to be more intelligent than the last. 

Marinette giggles, “So no I am not mad at you guys for those actions.”

Tim narrows her eyes at her words, “That insinuates that you are upset with us about something.”

“Yes I am saddened by one thing and that is, that you don’t trust Damian.” She has stopped smiling, giving each boy a heartbroken look. She gives them time to think, finishing dinner preparations. 

“Of course we trust him,” Jason starts, offended that she would declare such a thing. Look at them with such disdain and judgment. Who was she to judge him and behave like she knows everything. 

“Yeah, he always has our backs, we would have died more times than we can count if he wasn’t there” Tim is now also on the offensive. Why did he fear her words again? She clearly knew nothing and was only on Damians side, her view of the situation had been tainted. 

Marinette watched each boy express their anger and pain. She sighs a little at their pride, but hopefully this conversation wouldn’t be too painful. 

“You trust him with those things, yes, but do you trust him with his own decisions?” Seeing that they didn’t have an immediate response, she continued on. 

“Have you ever let Damian make any decisions on his own? Even if you knew they could or would result in mistakes?”

“Of course we have, we aren’t Bruce or Alfred after all.” Jason grumbles, still put off by where the conversation was heading. He would rather she had just yelled at them by this point. 

“Then why didn’t you listen to him?” The sound of her stool scraping against the floor sends a feeling of unease through the room. 

“Because we-” Tim falters. “Because we thought we knew best” He finishes weakly.

“We just want to protect him,” Jason adds in defense, “We have been through things like this before. Better safe than sorry.”

“And is it better?” She takes a hold of their left and right hand respectively. “Is it better to lose a relationship with your brother or be there for him when he needs it?” 

She lets them process her words, their eyes are looking anywhere but at her, brows creased with thought and worry. 

“But he could have-” Jason starts angrily before glancing at Tim, the door, then Marinette. Jason couldn’t finish, she might not know, and the last thing he needed was to say something to break them up and get on Damians bad side again. 

“You were afraid he could die again?” The boys wanted to be shocked he told her, but clearly Marinette was a special woman. She squeezes their hands, the boys feeling calm and comfort now instead of anger. 

“We are all human. We all make mistakes,” Tim flinches, “But if we don’t, then how are we supposed to gain knowledge and growth?”

“But some mistakes are irreversible.” Jason mumbles.

“That is true, and those are the most painful.”

“We have made some of those mistakes, and we know how it ends, we can help stop him from living with our regrets” Tim argues, desperate to show Marinette how much good he meant, that he just wanted Damian to stay safe. 

She only smiles, “And that is a desire I never want you guys to push away, but you can’t protect him from everything. You can’t control everything, and you most certainly can’t control another person.”

Jason felt like he was slapped across the face just then. When had he started to behave like Bruce? When had he become so overbearing? 

Tim felt the knots retie in his stomach, and the constriction of his lungs retightened. He didn’t want to be controlling, but he needed to be in control. Now he was frustrated by this clear paradox. 

“Instead,” they focus in on her words, as the tone is a hopeful one, “Share with him your knowledge, give advice when he asks, and most importantly,” They are breathless now, completely captivated by her voice and eyes. Her eyes are intense, clearly this point needs to be taken to heart, while also having a soft edge to them, she isn’t angry, she is patient. 

“Be there for him when he needs you. It is better to have a relationship then a partnership isn’t it?” She waits a beat for her words to sink in before hopping off the stool to finish dinner, leaving the boys to process. 

“Thank you Marinette,” Jason is the first to speak, coming to stand beside her, helping her plate everything. “He picked a good one” She flushes at his words, flattered and embarrassed. The three adults are now content, a relationship of understanding growing between them. 

To bring a sense of normalcy, Jason launches into as many embarrassing stories of Damian he can recount while they finish dinner and set the table next door. Tim chimes in every now and then to correct him, or add detail, but otherwise stays out of the conversation. Marinette laughs heartily at each story, glad that there was still something to learn about Damian. She is glad to finally meet his family, after all she missed her own overseas. 

“And then he comes home with a cow right, don’t know how or where and he refused to tell us.” Marinette giggles at the idea of preteen Damian dragging a cow through the front doors of the Manor. They are walking the halls to retrieve the family for dinner when raised voices from the sitting area give the three adults a sense of urgency. 

Rounding the corner Marinette watches as a blond woman bares down on Damian, her finger in his face. He only looks annoyed, staring her down with narrowed eyes. Rather she would be bearing down if not for the height difference. She was almost standing on her tiptoes to get into Damian’s face. 

“You haven’t changed at all in the last decade!” The woman yells. “Stubborn and wrong to a fault again!” Her face flushed red, muscles tightened and her entire posture tense. 

Damian flinches, his body shifting only the slightest. The only outward sign that what was said hurt him. His arms wrap tighter around his body, spine straight. Marinette narrows her eyes before marching over and pushing herself into the woman's personal space. 

She takes a step back, blinking in surprise at the smaller asian woman invading her space. Her eyes widen when she finally processes who exactly is in front of her. “You-” she snaps her mouth shut however, her sentence unfinished. 

Stephanie is unsure what kind of person she is dealing with. While she stands defensively in front of Damian, her petite stature leaves her confused on whether or not she was truly a threat. However when Stephanie looks her in the eyes, she knows the answer to that question. There is more to her than there seems. Her eyes are hard in the iris, no other sign showed her clear anger at Stephanie. Or was Stephanie imagining the anger? She looked like she was going to cry more than anything.

"Steph that is enough" Tim grabs her hand, pulling her from the room. "Even I know that was uncalled for." She flinches at his quiet anger, bowing her head.Alfred continues to observe his new granddaughter. While she did well to hold herself with dignity, it was clear that she was just as upset as Damian about the words spoken. Marinette sighs deeply before turning to face the occupants of the room. Jason had taken a seat next to Dick at some point, whispering fiercely into his ear, a smug grin on his face. Marinette turns to Bruce, extending her hand. 

“It is a pleasure to finally meet you” 

“Likewise,” Bruce is surprised at the sight of the ring as she pulls her hand back. He was unaware that things between the two were so serious. One glance to Damian solidifies the fact in Bruce's mind. He looked so relaxed and in love, despite the tense situation just moments prior. 

Even as Damian grew up, his tough personality made it difficult for him to let people get close to him, and for people to desire to get close. Bruce thinks Damian never truly realized how lonely that was until he had graduated highschool. He was overjoyed for his son to finally let someone into his heart and to freely give his away. That was a truly proud moment for Bruce. 

“Please continue to stay by Damians side.” He does not quite know why he would request such a thing from her, just that he did not regret asking once he saw the resolve on her face. 

“I can’t imagine leaving him” Bruce nods, glad to hear her words, "and I apologize for the chaos i have brought to your home" 

"My dear, you have done no such thing. Their nightly activities have left them high strung and on edge" Alfred gently reminds her, "They get a little stuck in their heads on occasion" 

Marinette looks like she's about to argue with him, but a gentle touch to her shoulder from Damian has her smiling politely at Alfred instead. 

"Learn to accept you're not responsible for everything" Damian scowls at her, that only has her scowling right back. 

"I was just-" 

"Being ridiculous like always" Damian quickly finishes for her, giving her shoulder another squeeze. 

“What is it, my little bumgorf?" The room turns at the sound of the newcomer, Marinette gasping softly. Her skin was a glowing amber that contrasted like a sunset with her vibrant red hair. Her otherworldly green eyes were bright with joy. Marinette had never seen a more beautiful woman who would honestly make a great model for her line. That skin tone. 

 Dick rises, giving the woman a chaste kiss before settling his arm around her waist. “Marinette I would like you to meet my wife, Kori” 

“Nice to meet you” Marineete once again extends her hand but Kori pulls her into a hug, Marinette laughs. 

“Oh I’m so excited to have you join the family” 

“I can’t wait to get to know everybody”

"Mom, I'm hungry can we please eat now? Mar’i is pouting, both kwami sitting contently on her shoulders. 

"Of course my little bumgorf." The women decide to move to the dining room, the men following behind. Jason claps Damian on the back, pulling him into a hug. 

“Sorry for not trusting you. Marinette is quite the woman and you are very lucky.” Before Damian can respond, he moves ahead, cheeks flushed the slightest. 

“Wow, she can get Jason to apologize willingly” Dick laughs, before following after Jason, “Jay! Come back here” Father and son are left alone in the hall, both slowing their pace the slightest.

“I was unaware things were this serious” 

“She accepted everything about me”

“Everything?”

“She forgave me for my past actions,” Damian hesitates for a moment, but decides to push forward, “She said she loves me no matter what” 

“That is a very special trait to have” with that Bruce leaves, but not before gripping his youngest son's shoulder, the fatherly pride at his growth, both emotionally and physically. He is a fine young man. He can feel the emotions welling up, and quickly makes his leave, not comfortable with the vulnerability he associates with 'mushy' love. 

Damian smiles at his father's retreating figure and chuckles. Some things never change and he is thankful for that. Dinner goes smoothly for the rest of the night, Stephanie making up with the members of the room, the Kwamii introduced and questions answered. Dinner finished and goodbyes exchanged, Marinette promising to visit Kor’i and Mar’i soon. Damian and Marionette find themselves sitting in the car, each processing the night. Marionette seemed content with the outcome of the night humming softly to herself. The moon was still yellow and low in the sky, signifying the night had only begun. 

“So you gonna tell me what you talked to my brothers about?”

“You.”

“What about me?” 

“How sometimes the relationship is more important than the choices the other person makes.” Damian does respond right away after that, eyes narrowed in thought. 

“How did they take that?”

“Very well I think, but change doesn’t happen overnight so I’m sure their first reaction will be an overprotective one for awhile, so please be patient” 

“As long as I have you here to help me, I know I can change too” Marinette sighs happily at that, returning to watching the passing scenery out the window. Marinette watches in fascination as they approach the Wayne Tower in the middle of the city, entering the underground parking garage. Damian pulls into the secret entrance, parking the car in the large makeshift HQ. 

“Wow this is so cool. How does no one know that this is here?”

“We are very careful,” Bruce enters from a side room, already dressed for the night ahead. “Damian why did you bring Marinette here?” Bruce was already fond of his daughter-in-law to be and didn’t want her too close to the vigilante life. 

“I’m going out with you guys” She casually answers while exploring the area, looking at anything and everything. 

“What?” Jason and Tim say at the same time. One sounds incredulous while the other doesn’t seem too surprised. 

“I haven’t been out in so long, I can’t wait” She ignores the mens bewildered stares, looking towards the elevator. “Does that go all the way to the top?” 

“Yes, I’ll take you as soon as I’m ready.”

“Ok” She patiently waits for her love, continuing to examine the central computer station. “Look at this girls, isn’t this amazing. Imagine if we upgraded the temple with this stuff.”

“It would increase our appearance of wealth I guess,” Kalkki sighs, trying to not appear pleased at the obvious wealth her supreme has found herself in. 

“Come Habibti, we won't have all night,” Damian enters again in uniform this time. He wore a simple red and black ensemble, the trim of his cape and belt a muted yellow. His uniform differed from the other Robins with it being a tunic instead of a jumpsuit. His cape also had a hood and easy access to the sword on his lower back.

Marinete giggled all the way up to the top, Damian sending her questioning looks, which only made her laugh harder. Jason and Tim had decided to ride with them, curious as to why Marinette wanted to go to the roof. Exiting outside, Marinette takes a deep breath, enjoying the cityscape against the rising moon. With a quick flick of her fingers, she is engulfed in a deep red light. 

Damian admires her new look unabashedly. She wore what looked like a sleeveless tunic that went to her knees over a fully black bodysuit. Her tunic was red with black spots, trimmed in yellow with matching yellow tinted goggles. Her hair was hidden by the hood of her tunic and she had beautiful translucent wings at her back. 

“We match” She giggles again, dancing over to him on the tip of her toes. 

“At least I’ll know you’re mine” He caresses her face, hand trembling the slightest. Marinette can’t help but find the feel of his glove uncomfortable, clearly it was meant for grip, but she stayed still, letting Damian calm himself before they went out for the night. 

“Now please don’t be mad at me love, but I haven’t done this in so long” She starts after Damian had had his moment, slowly backing away  before taking a full run off the side of the tower. The boys gasp in fear, while Damian takes a deep breath through his nose. She can’t die, she can’t die. She can’t die. The mantra plays heavily in his head when he marches over the side, ready to chase after her. He watches as she free falls, her laugh ringing out through the city, possibly unnerving for the native. But to hear the joy she has behind it, he hopes everyone else is infected by it too. 

Marinette enjoys the feel of the wind around her, the hold gravity has over her stomach. She laughs at the feeling of adrenaline once again in a long time. Man she missed this. Finally she releases her wings, taking off through the Gotham air, dancing between buildings and gargoyles. 

She can feel him coming up behind her and slows herself enough for him to grab her, enjoying the sensation of being in her love's arms while swinging through the air. They touch down on a darkened rooftop, Each catching their breath. 

“You didn’t tell me you were a thrill seeker” He doesn’t sound mad, just reserved to the fact this this would be his life now. The worry and fear for her safety would never go away. But all in all, if it meant her joy and laughter, he would endure. 

“I haven’t free fell in so long, that was amazing!” She is still catching her breath, and still in his arms. As they both level out their breathing, they get lost in the other's gaze. 

“I love you Habibti,” Damian leans down to her, resting his forehead against her own, chuckling at the small antenna in the edge of her hair line. “I love you my little bug”

“And I love you my gorgeous Robin” She rises up to meet his lips, finding her home with him, and content with her choices. Ready to take on the world with him by her side. Partners in everything for the rest of their lives. Till death do they part. 

#daminette #maridami #maribat #marinette dupain cheng #damian wayne

[brandon-kreiner]

How do you become a caricature artist?

A caricaturist is an artist who focuses their talents on portraits or drawings that preposterously represent a person or thing. Professional caricaturists can work for a newspaper or political group, amusement or theme park, magazine company or publisher, private business, party or event planner, or be employed as independent contractors.

Learn the Fundamentals of Drawing & Portrait Art

The word caricature means "loaded portrait." A caricature is an overdone or garish portrait of a person or thing that exaggerates a subject's eccentricities, defects, or distinguishing features but still retains a likeness to the original. They are typically drawn with pencil, crayon, pen, charcoal, or pastels, but caricatures may also be drawn digitally using computer software, like Photoshop CC, Adobe Illustrator, Corel Painter, and ArtRage Studio Pro.

The caricature was used, both drawn and written, early in the 17th century to convey facts or personal beliefs which are frequently repressed or censored. They were also used to mock and ridicule public figures, just like today. Think of that famous caricature of Napoleon Bonaparte by James Gillray, which showed a very short emperor wearing an enormous hat, and as a result, we think of Bonaparte as much quicker than he really was.

Today, the caricature has developed into a form of art that is popular and accepted globally and has continued to poke fun at public figures, including politicians and movie stars. The magazine and newspaper editors happily welcome artists who draw caricatures. Even though they might disagree with the ideology portrayed, they still respect the artists' work and ability to give a humorous slant to a subject.

Magazines like Mad, Time, The New Yorker, US News Report, and more rely on caricature artists to create characters that grab at people's consciences, make the reader laugh, and leave a lasting impression. Because caricatures can be both funny and lifelike, an artist must be part psychologist and part artist who can draw a distorted likeness of a subject and interpret their attitude and personality.

Improve Your Drawing & Communication Skills

An artist must understand anatomy to reference during the drawing phase to create a stylized caricature. Although the final portrait is typically skewed and misshapen, if the anatomy is wrong, the drawing is going to take on an unusual and disjointed appearance, unlike the subject. It's also significant that caricature artists pick out a distinguishing feature in their subject to emphasize, something that makes the subject unique that the artist can then accentuate and play up in his or her drawing. So, observation skills are essential.

Caricature artists must be good at communicating with humor and satire because most caricatures, particularly in the case of editorial cartoons, address potentially controversial topics.

Caricaturists should be good writers, too, as many caricatures will include titles or short dialogue. And, besides having the ability to draw exceptionally well, artists must also understand color and which colors work well together and complement their subject. Understanding advanced drawing skills like perspective, style, gesture, proportions, and composition is also essential to creating a polished caricature. They need to know how clothing fits a subject, add details to hair and body, add in background, and have complete knowledge of any software used to create caricatures digitally, like Adobe Illustrator and Photoshop, or ArtRage natural painting software. At first, most artists rough-sketch their caricatures first using pencil and paper, charcoal, pens, or some other similar medium, so understanding which works well to achieve the desired affect is also crucial.

You do not need any specific training to become a caricaturist. However, to create the professional skillset necessary to break into this competitive field, earning a degree is desirable. If you choose to pursue a degree, a bachelor of arts (BA) with an emphasis in visual arts may be best. There a several US schools that have degrees specifically in illustration and cartooning, and if this is the route you choose, you will graduate with a bachelor of fine arts (BFA). The curriculum is very similar in both programs and includes illustration, design, English, computer graphics, writing, and art. BFA degree programs that emphasize cartooning will also feature classes in the history of cartooning, advertising, storytelling, drawing and perspective, portrait and figure drawing, color theory, and portfolio, and possibly 2D and 3D design.

College programs give students a chance to create a portfolio, find internships, exhibit their work, and find employment after graduation. Additionally, there are online programs, vocational schools, community colleges, and art institutes that offer courses in cartooning.

Refine Your Skills & Develop Your Style

Aspiring caricature artists have to constantly practice their skills. It can take lots of sketches and many versions of the same caricature before it meets your needs or the needs of your employer or client. As you polish and sharpen your skills, you will be able to develop your own style and unique formula for creating caricatures that make you stand out and give you a level of recognition. If you want your work to appear in print, magazines, and newspapers, you can begin by sending samples of your most recent work to local newspapers and magazines. If you choose to work in advertising, then send the work to advertising directors at local ad agencies. Of course, if you plan on being self-published on the Internet, then making your own website, blog, and using other social media outlets such as Instagram, Facebook, Flickr, Google+, Pinterest, and YouTube, or some sites specific to cartoons, such as GoComics and Illustration Friday are all good choices.

It is easier to create or update your portfolio after you have some of your work published, which in turn may help you get a syndicated comic strip. Of course, if you graduated with a degree, you've already created a portfolio. You have probably also created a portfolio of work if you've been freelancing. However, constantly updating samples of your work is essential, as it shows your progress and improvement over time. Without a portfolio that demonstrates your unique style and drawing ability, the world's best resume won't get you hired.

Employers appreciate training and experience when hiring a caricature artist. Previous experience demonstrates to employers that you can generate great work on deadline, that you are dependable and willing to learn. According to a report by the US Bureau of Labor Statistics (BLS), syndication companies vie for newspaper space and want caricature artists that attract subscribers, so artists with a strong following are more competitive and often win out over those without any experience whatsoever. Caricature artists can gain this experience by drawing live people at fairs and carnivals, at weddings and parties, art fairs, and at any event or social function where people gather.

Of course, networking with others in the industry is also important to an aspiring caricature artist's career. There are dozens of associations and organizations across the US offering online workshops and opportunities to network with seasoned professionals. Contacts can also be gained through internships, joining clubs, a personal blog, and working in another department for a local newspaper.

[rametarin]

If I had the power

When I was a kid, I would’ve loved to have some agency, some institutional thing, where I could’ve excelled of my own volition and not my public school’s.

I felt so fucking time locked, gated and frustrated because my teachers were shit at teaching me things, I had no alternative but to age in place and be a subject of both my parents being worthless shitters and my blind state that was legally incapable of helping me get away from parents that didn’t count as abusive.

You know what I would’ve loved? And I know. I know. The practicality and logistics are boggling, but..

I would’ve loved to have some legal, societal, institutional framework that’d allow me to work a gainful employment that my little body could do, be a protected kind of employee, and make money for myself.

Even if it was money that would be scooped up into a magic box of holding by the state and only allowed to me at age 18, adjusted to the cost of the rent of a monthly breadbox apartment in the state, it still would’ve meant that I’d be legally capable of working a little job doing grunt work for adults and disabled people. Even if it was something like working at a cafeteria for an old folks home, or doing work that is too petty to bother automating it just yet.

The entire point of a government watched youth workers program being to allow little shits like me to get around their parents being financially abusive, exploitative monsters the minute they turn 18, so when they turn 18 they can springboard out. Much needed jobs and niches with tedious but taxing work could be done, with the highest oversight to make sure the young person isn’t being exploited.

If we had some sort of automated electric car program that would transport people about like public transportation, like a decentralized bus, that’d mean something like this could be possible. Could even make it like the JROTC program; only allow young people to work after they finish a course signifying they understand their rights well enough to argue them in court and on paper. License them. Prepare them. Set them up with joureymans and apprenticeships for local trade workers so they can learn a skill while their parents are still forced to feed, house and clothe them.

I would’ve adored being able to climb into an electric car in the morning on the weekend, head to work, punch in. Unironically, I was so looking forwards to just.. having that as a teenager, when I’d legally be able to do it.

But my parents fed me a fucking line. And as a teenager I got kind of dead eyed realizing it was all about control. Legal interpersonal control by my parents, legal control and infantilism by the state, and it was justified by the very real, undeniable history of child labor abuses, idealism and aughts.

I was told that I should focus on my shitty schoolwork and that unless I had high test scores, no college would accept me, I’d be forced to do shitty jobs all my life because I couldn’t afford qualifications. The reality was my parents just wanted absolute control over where I was, every second I was a minor. But the minute I turned of-age to drive on my own? They wanted ME to get a job, solely to buy them a new car, drive them around, and be the one paying for THEIR gas. Making me, their fucking teenaged son, the designated chauffeur, gas buyer and car maintenance guy, while denying me the right to fucking USE the car that I was supposed to be paying my family for the right to have.

Yep, paying family. They insisted the only way I was going to get driven to and from work was signing on as the sub-owner to my mother, paying my mother my minimum wage part time dollars, and then only going when, where and why she wanted me to go. Where my use of the car I’d be paying for but not legally have ownership of or in-house respect that it’s mine, would be subject to her control.  I was set up to work for an oppressive household’s benefit while reaping no benefits for my hard work or labors but cupcakes and videogames.

When I think about how much time I’ve been forced to give up, how they deliberately kept me from having any agency over my own life solely to control it in the vacuum of it, how, “lets not let the youth die in chimneys” became used as a way to try and pigeonhole me into tens of thousands to hundreds of thousands of dollars for debt just to justify the existence of a dozen humanities professors tenures, I just get so god damned furious.

I was fucking suffocated by the system and left with no legal options as a minor until I turned 18, and then I was basically a squatting homeless man stuck in a racecar bed because I couldn’t afford to launch, and because my magic free room and board under penalty of law window of time was over, now I was faced with the ultimatum of live in a ditch, or give my family all the money they demanded in order to live there.

I look back on these years of my life, what happened to me to fuck up my finances and my access to a future, and it just makes me borderline murderously angry. I would’ve given anything to have some way, some outlet, some system by which I, as a minor of the US of A, could be gainfully employed at a young age and earn even chicken feed. If I’m being cared for and supplied needs like food, water, electricity and shelter by my parents and have been keeping up with my studies, then holy fuck there’s no excuse to keep me from having a little odd job if I can swing one.

Some medium system that would prevent the government, the market or my parents from exploiting me, that’d still allow me to get acquainted with the employment system. And even more possible now adays with tele-presence! We don’t NEED the exposure risk of minors in dangerous situations; they could pilot roombas and shit on job sites. They could supervise the delivery of packages. They could watch security cams. They could be deputy learners for trades and jobs and all kinds of shit.

There has to be SOME system that would enable the kids that are chomping at the bit to work and make money at a young age without utterly exploiting them. So they can still engage in the capitalist system while enjoying the privileged benefits of being a minor in a functional representative constitutional republic. Some middle ground that can rigidly legally argue for their rights while also protecting them from exploitation even more closely than adults.

I will die on this hill but I do understand the risks of allowing a system to exploit children or leave the elderly without a source of income.

[pierreslittleredblog]

Inside the Eastern Bloc: A Brief History Of The Ex-USSR

“All victories inevitably come at a cost.” ‑ Mikhaïl Gorbachev, HBO Chernobyl

Nikola Tesla Boulevard on a summer evening, Serbia - Photo Source: Pierre (PLRB)

A Tale Of Winners & Losers

Nothing feels more hopeless than a self-destructing world around you. We often forget how easy we have it, snuggled in our cocoons of excessive love and smothering. Sometimes, we need to be remembered who we are and where we come from. Not too long ago did our grandparents struggled and fought for their basic needs. Of course, now, with our technology, we don’t even have to worry about the basic survival priorities of the past. With the simple click of a button, we can have everything delivered to our doorstep without even raising an arm.

 Ah, doesn’t it feel good to taste the sweet fruits of our capitalistic labor? Isn’t it great to be the “winners” of today’s world? Sometimes, we tend to forget that our victories come at a great cost. Sometimes, we forget to humanize our enemies. They too can love, laugh, cry and fear. They too, are humans like us.

Propaganda poster of Yuri Gagarin - Photo Source: @soviet.propaganda on Instagram

Watch Out For The Communist!

Let me ask you a question: How many times have you heard the word “communist” on the news? My guess of your answer is quite a few times. Although rare, sometimes it is used simply to describe the people that identify with the socialist Marxist-Leninist ideology. Most of the time though, it is used as a pure and simple insult. An insult that describes everything we don’t understand, fear, and dislike. 

This exact description though is exactly what our grandparents were told about the red flag-carrying “commies” over in the eastern bloc. When the canons of wars tear through the skies, governments tend to create a sense of unity within their population to, somehow, justify the war on a national scale. They dehumanize their enemies and convince us that we must fear the others, and win this war at all cost (as they did with Vietnam). 

But when we don’t even know who our enemies are, how can we fully grasp what’s at stake?

Propaganda poster of Lenin’s revolution - Photo Source: @comrade_quotes on Instagram

Rise Up, Comrade!

Before getting into the modern Soviet Union (the 1970s-1990s), let’s focus on the beginning. If you went over to the former republics of the Soviet Union in 2021, you would notice how terrible everything looks. Potholes, crumbling buildings, outdated trolleybuses, and subway cars, beaten up Lada’s plowing through knee-deep puddles under the unimpressed look of the driver’s face. 

When you come to witness this spectacle in person, it is easy to assume that the Soviets must’ve had it rough back in the day, and boy you would’ve been right. Once the Tsars were no more, the new Soviet party lead by the revolutionist Vladimir Lenin promised a bright and equal future turned on the workers and the equal distribution of their labor. However, this promise wouldn’t be easy to achieve. What followed afterward were decades and decades of purges, wars, hard work, and brutal leadership by our good ol’ friend Comrade Stalin. Some argue about Uncle Joe’s good intentions, but this is not what I want to focus on. Here I want to talk about the last soviet’s aspirations and dreams, the ones our western leaders promised to crush for our freedom.

Haludovo Palace of Kirk, Croatia - Photo Source: @socmod on Instagram

For The Happiness Of All Mankind

The 1970s was a great time to be a Soviet. If you were a citizen, you would’ve been able to move into brand new apartments, get a stable job in any industry you wish, get all the food you can eat, obtain the diploma you wanted, have access to healthcare, you would even be able to get a brand new Lada, and all for free! Yes, you’ve read that right: for free. 

Communism in the Soviet Union wasn’t about a totalitarian regime and oppressing its citizens (as the western propaganda wants us to believe), it was about universal free access to one’s every need. Now of course there were some questionable policies such as limited free speech and limited access to the outside world beyond the iron curtain (however more and more freedoms were given to the Soviets in the 1980s with the arrival of Mikhail Gorbachev into office). The Soviet Union wasn’t lacking behind in technology either, in fact, it was the world’s second industrial and military superpower back in its heyday! They even sent the world’s first man into space. 

This is what the real Soviet Union was about: unity and comradeship. They truly had a will to build a greater future for humanity and like us today, they had reached such a level of comfort that a bright future was taken for granted by everybody in the USSR. 

However, this candor belief in a great future would suddenly come to a brutal end.

Edge of the Chernobyl Red Forest, Ukraine - Photo Source: Pierre (PLRB)

Porridge With A Side Of Radiation

It’s April 26th, 1986. In a small town of the Ukrainian SSR, citizens are eating breakfast and preparing for yet another routine day. Children are headed to school and parents, to work. Some of them could notice smoke coming out of the industrial site nearby, and others had heard rumors about a possible roof fire that started in the night. 

However, nobody seemingly cared as everybody went on with their day none the wiser. At the same time on the other side of town, ambulances are flying in one by one into the general hospital, carrying firefighters from the smoking site. Nurses run outside and discover men with unusual burns, screaming in pain. Nobody knew what was happening and they all tried to assist them to the best of their knowledge. The citizens didn’t know it yet, but only 3 kilometers away from their homes, the worst nuclear disaster that mankind would ever experience had happened. 

Today, this event is simply known as “Chernobyl”. Of course, back then, they had no clue about what was actually happening, and Soviet bureaucracy would immensely delay the travel of information up to the top state officials. It took them a full 3 days before they evacuated the town of Pripyat, and on the same occasion, creating the famous 30 km exclusion zone (which is still in place today). Of course, by then, it was already too late. Most of the citizens had already received a fatal dose of radiation that would affect their descendants for generations, and make their land uninhabitable for hundreds of years. 

This event was a true shifting point for the USSR, as the Soviet leader Gorbachev took the opportunity for the first time in Soviet history, to be as transparent as possible with its citizens and to the world. He finally admitted that the Soviet Union is about to crash.

Palace of Yugoslavia, Serbia - Photo Source: Pierre (PLRB)

A Russian Traitor

Gorbachev told the shocking truth to its citizens. The country’s banks are empty, and for years the Union was living off the reserves accumulated in the past decades. The Soviet Union wasn’t producing anymore, and instead, became buyers. The self-sustaining system they had built before was no longer in place and everybody would have to brace for the rough years coming ahead.

 This news naturally came as a true shock for the entire population, and suddenly all hopes of a bright future were lost. The citizens learned that the good years are over, and from now on, they should expect misery and poverty. The Cold War and the Afghanistan War had ruined the country’s economy, the former leader Leonid Brezhnev had lost the leadership with his lazy ways and had become too comfortable in his spending. 

However, amid all this chaos and confusion, not a single second did anybody think the Soviet Union would simply collapse and disappear. They truly believed in the strong and powerful nation they had built in the past 69 years, and never imagined one second that it would come to an end. They thought they would simply fight through the rough years and rise again as they had done in the past century. 

One politician though had another idea of how things would turn out. Boris Yeltsin, a man rejected by the Soviet party for having ideas too far away from the communist ideology, was grooming republics for their independence and made deals with the Americans without the knowledge of Mikhail Gorbachev, the leader of the Soviet Party. This is how bad the bureaucracy had gotten. They became so out of touch with their own reality that on December 8th, 1991 the Belovezha Accords were signed by Yeltsin and two other figureheads (without the knowledge of Gorbachev), essentially ending the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.

Soviet mosaic bus stop in Kalmykia, Russia - Photo Source: @realbaldandbankrupt on Instagram

Shock Therapy

It’s Christmas Day, 1991, and the Americans have won. The Soviet Union, which they had fought for decades to end, finally ceased to exist. The dreams that were built, the futures seemingly so bright that was promised to its citizens, all disappeared on that one fateful night. What was a great victory for one side of the world, was a terrible event for the other. They had lost their nation, their future, their security. 

They had now entered a decade of banditry, crime, and chaos. They were living through what we now refer to as “Shock Therapy”. The shift from communism to capitalism was so brutal that there were no more police to ensure safety. No more government to tell you what you can and cannot do. No more authority existed which left space for anarchy. The now ex-Soviet citizens were promised better times with the arrival of democracy but were only betrayed by the incompetence of their new leader that only brought them crime and misery.

Deteriorating children’s playground, Moldova - Photo Source: @kuca_ky_ky on Instagram

Crumbling Streets & Broken Dreams

Nowadays, the cities of the former Soviet Union seem to be nothing else than vast jungles of crumbling concrete. The brutalist blocks that were once the pride of a powerful nation, are now nothing but the symbol of a lost past and broken dreams. Elders remember the good days when they lived in a stable country, and the youth, forever and ever seduced with the exotic lifestyle of the Americans, see no future in their country and only dream about moving to the sunny beaches of California. 

Ironically, the ex-Soviet generation fancies the lifestyle of those who caused their end, but we cannot blame them either. They truly don’t have much of a future in the former eastern bloc, and their old enemies seem to thrive more than ever now that their 20th-century nemesis had been eliminated for good. In the victories we win, we forget to remember the fate of our opposing forces. 

On the surface, it may only seem like we are ending a powerful and evil regime, but underneath the surface, we fail to consider that we are also ending the peace and unity that existed in the nation. 

We must recognize that we are not only ending a government but also all the hopes and dreams attached to it and that sometimes, we must put humanity first and political interests second.

The Genex Tower of Belgrade, Serbia - Photo Source: Pierre (PLRB)

A Word For The End

Thank you for reading my blog post about what I’ve retained from my trip to the former USSR. Please note that this is not meant to take a political side, but only to focus on the human aspect of the events. Either you’re a communist or a capitalist, everybody deserves a future and secure access to food, housing, education, and healthcare. 

I have seen and met people who were deeply saddened by what they went through, and by the loss of their native country. Please remember that the government doesn’t always represent the population. A nation is 1% leaders, 99% normal people trying to make it in the world just like you and me.

If you are interested in learning more about the former Soviet world, I invite you to check out the YouTuber “Bald and Bankrupt”, which explores former USSR republics. He is the one that inspired my trip to the Ukraine last month. 

If you are into music, I suggest you check out “Sovietwave”, which is a musical genre based on the nostalgia of the dreams and aspirations that the soviet people once had.

Thank you for reading and have a good day. 

До свидания!

#ussr #sovietunion #russia #history #communism #socialist #soviet

[mostlysignssomeportents]

College Covid app is a security dumpster-fire

In the early days of the pandemic, the term "contact tracing" vaulted into the public consciousness: that's the shoe-leather- and labor-intensive process whereby skilled  heath experts establish a personal rapport with infected people to establish who they had contact with.

For both good reasons (the scale of the pandemic) and bad ones (tech's epistemological blindness, which insists that all social factors can be ignored in favor of quantifiable ones), there was interest in automating this process and "exposure notification" was born.

The difference is that exposure notification tells you whether your device was near another device whose owner is sick. It doesn't tell you about the circumstances - like, was it one of the people at that eyeball-licking party? Or someone in the next car in a traffic jam?

Exposure notification vaporizes qualitative elements of contact tracing, leaving behind just a quantitative residue of unknown value. There are two big problems with this: first, it might just not be very useful (that's what they learned in Iceland):

https://pluralistic.net/2020/05/12/evil-maid/#fjords

Second: people might be so distrustful of your data-handling processes that they actively subvert the app, meaning there are so many holes in your data that the data-set is useless. That's what happened in Norway.

https://techcrunch.com/2020/06/15/norway-pulls-its-coronavirus-contacts-tracing-app-after-privacy-watchdogs-warning/

The thing is, contact tracing is high-touch/low-tech because it is a social science intervention. Social scientists have always understood that if you only gather the data that's easy to reach, you'll come to bad conclusions skewed by defects in your collection.

A canonical text on this is Clifford Geertz's "Thick Description," where he describes an anthropologist trying to figure out why a subject just winked: is it flirting? Dust in the eye? Something else? The only way to know is to ask: you can't solve this with measurement.

To a first approximation, all the important stuff in our world has an irreducible, vital qualitative dimension. Take copyright exemptions: fair use rules are deliberately qualitative ("Is your use transformative in a way that comments on or criticizes the work it uses?").

These are questions that reflect policy priorities: in the words of the Supreme Court, fair use is the "escape valve" for the First Amendment, the thing that squares exclusive rights for authors with the public's right to free expression.

But the tech and entertainment industry have spent decades trying to jettison this in favor of a purely quantitative measure: it's not fair use if your image incorporates more than X pixels from another, or if your video or sound has more than Y seconds from another work.

This is idiotic. Solving automation challenges by declaring the non-automatable parts to be unimportant is how we get self-driving car assholes saying, "We just need to tell people that they're not allowed to act unpredictably in public."

(BTW, this is all said much better than I can in a superb Communications of the ACM article by Randy Connolly: "Why Computing Belongs Within the Social Sciences.")

https://cacm.acm.org/magazines/2020/8/246368-why-computing-belongs-within-the-social-sciences/fulltext

All of this is a leadup to the story of @Q3w3e3, an anonymous student at Michigan's Albion College, a private uni that reopened after insisting that all students must install a proprietary exposure notification app before returning to campus to lick each other's eyeballs.

Albion paid some grifters to develop this app. Because of course they did. The app is called Aura, and it was created by a company called "Nucleus Careers."

If you're thinking that's a weird name for a public health development company, you're right. They're a recruiting firm, founded this year, "with no apparent history or experience in building or developing healthcare apps."

https://techcrunch.com/2020/08/19/coronavirus-albion-security-flaws-app/

Aura is predictably terrible. As @Q3w3e3 discovered when they audited it, the app stores all the students' location data in an Amazon storage bucket, and comes with the keys to access that data hard-coded into the app.

The app also allows attackers to trivially discover the test status of any registered user. Techcrunch discovered this bug and hypothesizes that they could get the health data for 15,000 people this way. Did someone say HIPAA?

Nucleus Careers refused to talk with Techcrunch's Zack Whittaker about this beyond a few glomarish nonstatements. But the school administration is standing behind the app, threatening to expel students who don't use it.

And this brings us back to the disutility of the denatured quantitative residue of the thick, qualitative process of contact tracing. Many of the students who have the most at risk from using the app are also at the highest risk of contracting the disease.

People struggling with addiction, queer kids who aren't out and have secret partners, people engaged in survival sex-work are all at higher risk of exposure, and they also have the biggest reason NOT to use the app, lest it leak their secrets.

These are the people who you absolutely WANT to include in public health efforts, but that can only happen through noncoercive, personal, high-trust, low-tech interventions.

In other words, Aura isn't just technologically inept, it's also epidemiologically inept. The cliche that "you treasure what you measure" could not be more applicable here.

Look, these students shouldn't even be on campus. Obviously. And even a good contact tracing system would probably mostly serve as a postmortem for analyzing the inevitable conflagration of infection incoming in 3...2...1

But Albion is still a fascinating case-study in the lethal incoherence of the contempt of both managerial and technology circles for "human factors."

At the very least, we should ensure that the lives they will squander through their hubris aren't totally wasted.

#pluralistic

[dwellordream]

“...Historians concur that live-in domestic service was primarily an urban phenomenon in the late nineteenth century. One estimate suggests that between 15 and 30 percent of northeastern city-dwellers hired live-in domestics. The historian David Katzman, who has generated the most refined statistics, demonstrates that even within relative geographical proximity, city-dwellers hired servants more often than did rural dwellers, and city-dwellers with large pools of foreign labor more than city-dwellers without. Nationwide at midcentury there was one domestic servant for every ten families, with a considerably higher ratio in large cities like Boston and New York. 

A greater proportion of Bostonians hired domestic servants than did residents of any other northern city, with 219 servants per thousand families. With traditions of household service born in slavery, even after the Civil War, the South led the nation in its reliance on domestic servants, with Atlanta in 1880 boasting 331 servants per thousand families. Even in the South, though, the difference between city and country was notable, with Atlanta in 1900 hiring four times as many servants per thousand families as in the rest of Georgia. Together these figures suggest the flourishing of an era in the history of Victorianism. It was common for American bourgeois city-dwellers on the Atlantic seaboard, even ones of modest means, to rely on the labor of maids to sustain their households.

Of course, the end of the story is popular cliché. With the opening of more lucrative and less degrading jobs for young women as sales clerks, ‘‘typewriters,’’ and teachers, the ‘‘servant problem’’ became terminal, and by the First World War, American housewives could not depend on the hiring of live-in domestic help to assist them in their housework. It is significant, though, that even when ‘‘necessity’’ suggested the reintegration of daughters into the domestic economy, they were gone for good. The culture had put girls to other uses, from which they would not return to their mothers’ sides.

We still might ask why girls were often excused from domestic labor— especially given the compounding weight of the advice literature recommending otherwise. The answer lies in the increasing role played by daughters and servants in the bourgeois quest for refinement. Even when the gross number of live-in servants declined as production moved out of the home, the hiring of at least one domestic remained a prerequisite for middle-class status. The statistics on who hired servants bear out the middle-classness of this phenomenon, with 65 percent of servants in the Northeast in 1860 working in households with no other servants. In an increasingly mobile and prosperous society, hiring servants was one way to demonstrate standing, a concrete and conspicuous way of demonstrating what you had left behind. 

One historian argues that the cultural importance of servants should be measured in the amount that some less prosperous families were willing to spend to hire them—sometimes as much as one-third of family income. Clearly, the freeing of daughters from steady household work and the hiring of domestic servants of lesser, often foreign, status went in tandem with the changing purpose of the home itself. Eighteenth-century households had required helpers to assist in domestic production. The homes of the mid– nineteenth century elite instead featured housework ‘‘as the creation and maintenance of comfort and appearance,’’ in the words of the historian Christine Stansell. 

As the Beecher sisters observed, families were increasing ‘‘in refinement’’ such that they no longer wished to live in close intimacy with ‘‘uncultured neighbors,’’ far less daughters of foreign shores, who were working as servants. Thus one mill-owning family in rural Vermont made a point of hiring Irish help rather than the daughters of neighboring farmers, who might object to eating in the kitchen and expect to be ‘‘one of the family.’’ Architects reflected such changes by midcentury, such that servants’ quarters were designed as discrete parts of the house, with back stairs and separate entrances. Custom increasingly favored uniforms and servant dining tables in the kitchen. 

At the same time that middle classes aspired to higher standards of comfort and appearance in accordance with new possibilities, women’s primary responsibility shifted from the supervision of a household manufactory to family nurturance, the raising and socializing of children. Much has been written about the evolution of new ideals for motherhood following the American Revolution, as women gained responsibility for raising virtuous citizens. ‘‘Republican mothers’’ shaped new daughters as well as new sons. Initially considered necessary allies in the steady work of processing the stuff of survival, the daughters of middle-class families became themselves the prime products the home produced—the embodiment of the principles of sensibility and refinement. 

Mothers’ new responsibilities did not erase old ones. The historian Jeanne Boydston has appropriately criticized the readiness of her colleagues to mistake the ideology of domesticity for reality, arguing that by no means did the productive work of the home cease with the industrial revolution. Instead, Boydston argues, the emphasis on the emotional task of mothering tended to eclipse from view, but not eliminate, the continued real labor—the making of clothing, the putting up of preserves, the carrying of fuel—still carried on in the middle-class home. She is right in her argument that ‘‘paid domestic workers did not free the mistress of the household from labor.’’ 

But even Boydston acknowledges that domestic servants instead did the work that would have been done by other females in the household—including adult female relatives and daughters. An interesting case in point is the urban family of woman’s rights advocates Henry Blackwell, Lucy Stone, and their daughter Alice Stone Blackwell. As Boydston tells us, Lucy Stone, who was raised on a farm, still kept chickens, worked a garden, and tended a horse and cow, even as she lived a prosperous middle-class existence outside of Boston. Alice Blackwell later remembered that ‘‘she dried all the herbs and put up all the fruits in their season. She made her own yeast, her own bread, her own dried beef, even her own soap.’’ 

In her lively diary, however, Alice Blackwell reports doing little household work. Such chores as emerge in her diary were designed to interrupt her incessant reading, which was thought to be responsible for her bad headaches. Thus her cousin, visiting the household, ‘‘had undertaken to find me something to stop my reading: churning; and I churned in the cellar till the butter came.’’ In fact, advice writers who had failed in their efforts to promote domestic work for daughters on other grounds often focused on the value of domestic labor as a source of exercise. The Beecher sisters observed that if girls did strenuous housework, their parents would be spared the expense of gymnasiums. ‘‘Does it not seem poor economy to pay servants for letting our muscles grow feeble, and then to pay operators to exercise them for us?’’ 

Louisa May Alcott, whose collected opus represents a powerful gloss on the domestic debates of late-Victorianism, repeatedly suggested the healthfulness of housework, ‘‘the best sort of gymnastics for girls,’’ according to Dr. Alec in Eight Cousins. Her Old-Fashioned Girl explicitly contrasts the healthy republican daughter skilled in domestic arts with the languid late-Victorian belle, afflicted with boredom because of her lack of home chores. Mothers undoubtedly continued both to supervise and perform much household maintenance, but they did so assisted by domestics rather than their own daughters. What did middle-class girls do instead of housework? 

This was a question which greatly concerned commentators, who asked, as did Mary Livermore in 1883, ‘‘What shall we do with our daughters?’’ Mary Virginia Terhune, too, lamented the passing of housework as girls’ raison d’être and with it ‘‘that prime need of a human being—something to do.’’ Parents found a range of things for daughters to do, including the ornamental skills of sewing, playing piano, writing and reading associated with self-culture. Increasingly, also, they sent daughters to school. Common schools designed for both sexes did not include sewing. 

In later years, the Beecher sisters observed, ‘‘A girl often can not keep pace with her class, if she gives any time to domestic matters.’’ And they noted, ‘‘Accordingly she is excused from them all during the whole term of her education.’’ Girls themselves noted the increasing power of lessons in any competition with housework. Agnes Hamilton remarked that first her French tutor and then her German homework prevented her from doing her ‘‘share of Monday’s work.’’ It was not long before the work of some girls was reassigned. 

Those who were serious about domestic education, such as a composer of ‘‘An Ideal Education of Girls’’ that appeared in an 1886 issue of Education, suggested, in fact, that this disjunction be acknowledged. A girl should receive the same education as a boy until the age of twelve, its author suggested. At that time a girl should drop out of school for two years and learn the complete running of a household, returning to school only with that formal apprenticeship accomplished. Only such complete separation of activities would allow the household its due.”

- Jane H. Hunter, “Daughters’ Lives and the Work of the Middle-Class Home.” in How Young Ladies Became Girls: The Victorian Origins of American Girlhood

#history #victorian #servants #american #jane h. hunter #how young ladies became girls #class