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"After talk"

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need to put them in more mundane life activities

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More of my Marigami Vamp!gami AU

Poor Adrien was just making an observation 😔🥀

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Zoe and Chloe judging their mom’s fashion show.

It’s been a while since I’ve draw these two😌

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Hi guys, just like Chloe in her calling, I'm not dead!

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New fixation unlocked: Her Calling

Please have these very bad whiteboard doodles I made in the middle of the night

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Oh I'm absolutely honored buddy, thank you

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finished fixing and rewriting some plot holes of 'A past she detested, a present she didn't want to deal with and a future she didn't know.' aka the senior au so do check it out thank you :)

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The rewrite has been going well so before i update it, here's a quick sneak peak

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Feels sacreligious to do this but hey! Have some oc x stolas. More info down below where I ramble on and on about my little take on Hellaverse and why heaven is the way it is and how this affects everything.

Meet Mik'hael but down here, most would call him Hale.

A once holy being, now imp. Not only does he scrape at the bottom of hell, he lives it with a mind that doesn't belong.

Hale is a weary thing. Worn thin by the weight of The War—an ancient battle that not even the damned can truly recall, but one whose scars stretch far beyond the heavens. Once, he was an archangel, a blade in the hand of God.

Now, his wings have been clipped, and he moves through the worn streets of each ring like a ghost of what was once whole. The memory of his former life haunts him, a flickering light in the dark, reminding him of a home that may exist no more.

Years ago, The War shattered Heaven. It was a war no mortal should know of, a war hidden behind now closed gates and forgotten oaths. With Archangel Mik’hael among the last to fall.

His death, along with many others, broke The divine order, leaving a void in the heavens that would never heal. The gates, once a symbol of purity and grace, now stand with a different sheen, their brilliant shine clouded by the hands of those who should never have touched such sacred ground.

Heaven, as it once was, is gone.

And yet, Hale remains.

He should be like any other hellborn, tiny, insignificant and forgotten by the world he once knew.

But he is not.

Not fully at least.

Hale’s soul and body is a shattered reflection of what he once was, and while he is left lost in the world around him, there is one thing leading him through the darkness—the belief in his Father, the God who once held Heaven in His hands.

Even now, in the wake of never knowing what truly happened to his home, Hale clings to that belief. His Father may be silent, His voice lost and unheard due to the distance of worlds but Hale knows He must still be watching over him.

The faith is a bitter thing, a hollow thing. But it is the only thing that has kept him from succumbing completely to the despair of Hell.

There must be a reason he was cast here. Something greater for him to find—something buried deep in the vast pain of this wasteland, something that calls to him in the dark. He could only hope it is his Father's wish that left him here.

At least, that's what he tries to convince himself. Then when times are tough, he remembers them. He remembers the light, the purity, the love that once filled the heavens. And it aches inside him, like an old wound that festers for so long you would think it was an infection.

And then, in the silence of night, when the winds howl and the false moon stares back at him, Hale feels something else. A presence. One that watches from the shadows, patient, observant.

It speaks to him in quiet whispers, like the soft rustle of wings in the distance. It is a presence that does not demand, but waits, as though it knows Hale’s heart better than he knows it himself.

Something in it pulls at him, a tug in his chest that calls him towards the unknown. A feeling that transcends the bitter wrong of his soul, a longing for something more.

Like the home he hasn't felt in years.

Perhaps it is a sign. The first flicker of something he has been waiting for all his life. For even as his heart aches for a Heaven lost, he wonders...

No, to wonder for more is something he doesn't have the right to have.

(But maybe, it is something that calls to him like the softest brush of feathers against scales, a love that speaks of wings, of skies, and of a dawn that he has not seen in a long, long time.)

And so, even as the suffering of Hell rage around him, Hale holds on to the one thing that has never faltered—the fragile belief that, somewhere out there, something greater than himself is awaiting.

He simply has to wait.

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Quick Adrien and Chloe dynamics in her callingn

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Something I’ve noticed is that leftist movements tend to turn practical, thought out tactics that were part of a larger plan for liberation, and remove them from their context. Then we often use these tactics as symbolic ways to mark our distaste for empire and harken back to older movements. However, these tactics are often already accounted for by the system, and sometimes are actively encouraged as ways to harm our people and defang our processes.

Here is an example;

In the Civil Rights struggle, getting arrested en mass was seen as an important part of the process of freedom. The civil rights leaders realized that the areas they were in did not have large enough jails to confine them all, and that if they filled the jails up, the police simply could not confine everyone else in the movement. Getting arrested in coordinated ways was a noble and helpful sacrifice that kept your brothers and sisters from getting arrested. Due to less strict sentencing at the time, and the ability of the movement to scare the police into releasing people, getting arrested often wasn’t the utterly disabling and free-life ending process it is today. (That’s not to say getting arrested was easy on people; the police brutality of the time was incredibly intense.)

Those who spent time in jail were given almost a reverent status. That had gone through much suffering to keep others from the same fate. Often, their ability to taking confinement completely off the table for the rest of the activists is precisely what allowed for certain other actions to be successful. Paying for legal defense and moderate bail costs was something of a drain on the movements scant, resources but it could often be worth it due to the role arrests played.

However, the state responded to this, and turned it to their benefit. The next fifty years saw a prison boom. Now, economically deprived small towns were made to bid and beg for prisons to be built in there areas; not only to lock people up, but also because working at the prison was presented as one of the only jobs left in rural America. Additionally, thisdrove the labor minded population to be further in conflict with other movements in some areas.

As the capacity of the government to capture and confine increased, the capacity of the movement to fill up the jails and prevent further arrests did not. Now, the system was hungry for more and more bodies for its endless rooms. It further instilled and mechanized the capacity of prisons to force labor, undercutting labor movements. Sentences became longer, parole became stricter, fines and restitutions increased to exorbitant amounts. Those who went in for petty arrests often never came out.

But, the feeling that getting arrested was a noble and venerable goal did not leave the movement. Some transitioned tactics; instead of filling up the jails to allow others to act without recourse, they sought to get arrested in test cases, as they had seen work occasionally before. But this too became more and more difficult, as the legal system realized it did not have to play by its own rules. Slowly but surely, the legal mythology that because it is written and because it is fair, it will be ruled so, began to overtake the minds of activists; even as they failed time and time again to win this way, they still threw countless of their friends into the mouth of the enemy, and condemned them to life in prison.

Even this had become a shadow of itself by the 2000s and 2010s. Arrest became an aesthetic goal instead of a practical one. The most radical in the movements were culturally encouraged to throw their lives away for petty protests that none would see, and would have no material impact on the operations of the system of dominion. The reality that getting kettled at a non violent protest could land you with the same jail time as a political assassination did not dawn upon these activists until long after hey were already in jail, and already disconnected from the movement. Their friends would gather all their meager savings towards bail funds, oftentimes going into debt, or otherwise extracting money from the rest of the marginalized communities supportive of the activism. Those funds would then go to the government in the form of bail, and then right back towards operating the same policing systems that targeted them. In this way, the main economic output of the leftists movement of the time was to fund the very systems of policing that they sought to destroy; and to get themselves and each other locked in cages in the process. Instead of developing practical systems of change, radicals were taught to emulate key aspects of the tactics of prior generations that had specifically been recuperated into the goals of the state.

Those who saw the futility in this were readily pushed towards the defanged and self acknowledged pointless marches of the nonviolent liberal movement, which never had any goal other than to once again emulate the visual aesthetics and personal emotional fulfillment of past movements.

We see this pattern play out all the time. People insisting on the radical importance of a leftist print newspaper in a time when print journalism is dead. A fetishization of industrial unionism in a town where no factory has been for three generations. Arguments over whether to support long defunct governments and long dead leaders for some tactical benefit which will never arise from reality.

It is long past time for us to realize that the process of achieving human liberation does not come from symbolic actions, nor from following the playbook of past movements. We must learn our history, yes, but not to emulate it; instead we must learn it to understand its failures and its successes, and, most importantly, how our movement ancestors interacted with the material conditions of their time to create multifaceted plans that met the needs of their people and made successful guerrilla war upon dominion.

We need to imagine ways of making change that are suited to the times that we are living in, the problems we face, and the opportunities that we have. This utterly necessitates that we get deeply embedded into the places and communities around us, that we listen with open ears to the problems our people are facing, and that we fold those ever more towards opportunities of liberation and care for one another.

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If i was a gay male whenever my girl friends come down the stairs in a gown id say oh my goddess in the softest voice you can imagine and itll light up their day and make all of us squee but im a woman whos attracted to women so ill just build them a chair or whatever im supposed to do. #BUTCHES WHO SQUEE

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this one goes out to a certain middle schooler who wouldve been eviscerated on the spot by woke miraculous

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sasharcy

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I know this has probably been done before but I wanted to do my take

Also, cause I wanted to clear up a lil misconception about my AU, there is no reversed crush, the first few works I did of the swap aren't canon to my AU

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Minecraft au but make it Amphibia

Anne is the builder/pvp

Sasha is the miner/pvp

Marcy is the redstone/builder

Sprig is the miner/builder

Polly is the pvp/adventurer

Grime is the pvp/veteran

Hoppop is the adventurer/newbie

Olivia is the redstone/veteran

Yunaan is the builder/newbie

Andrias is the adventurer/veteran

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The threat was loud and clear: Report your so-called “DEI” employees or else. What exactly “DEIA or similar ideologies” means is up in the air, but the message was out there. And so was the email address of the DEIA snitching hotline. Fake emails quickly started to roll in. ‘I don’t care, fuck these McCarthyite bastards,” one BlueSky user said, with an screenshot attached of an email to the hotline where he ironically reported Donald Trump and JD Vance for being “put in their positions solely because of their race and/or gender despite the fact that they are wholly unqualified for their jobs and, in some cases, have criminal records.” “Anyone have a script to fire off a billion e-mails an hour??” another user asked in the replies. “Anyone can email anything of any size even if it crashes the site,” one X user noted. The scope and effectiveness of this latest phase of Trump’s anti-DEI crusade remains to be seen.