#char. study .

[satsuha]

valerio for 60min challenge

[katsutacle]

Screw it (more bachi posts out the wazoo)

[tacticalgrandma]

I just think it’s so fascinating how the manifestation of Darkness the Witness gave us, that it viewed as this ultimate enticement, as “salvation,” was Stasis. Beyond Light associates it with control and obsession. And then in Lightfall we find Strand and it’s about letting go, accepting, moving. Osiris and Nimbus talk about how we were drained using Strand when we tried to grasp it tightly, how it only truly came to us when we let ourselves flow with the river. And the Witness did not know about Strand! It literally destroyed its defenses!

Just man. The Witness valuing control above all else, chasing and obsessing over the Traveler to finally control it. After an expansion where Nimbus and Osiris learn to grieve by not fighting the current, not trying to force themselves to be healed when they’re not. Where Caiatl watches her father’s obsession finally consume him and makes her peace.

Anyway just thinking about Savathun saying the Witness “gives [Darkness] a wicked shape” and appreciating how she read this eldritch horror for filth a whole year ago

[kirbychar]

👆 packing peanut

[bunnakit]

something something tharn being unable to tell phaya he loves him out loud because it would put him in danger so he uses his body to say the words he doesn't dare

[chaosnojutsu]

i’m thinking about how devastating it must have been for shikadai to find out that boruto cheated in the exams.

put yourself in his shoes.

there’s already a lot of pressure— everyone is watching, this is broadcast on international television, family from out of town is here, everyone knows who your parents are, both your parents were promoted quickly so you’re projected to follow in their footsteps— and on top of that, literally anything is possible at the exams. underdogs rise, prodigies fall, nations attack, some competitors find new friends or rivals or enemies, and yet some find love. that’s the epic love story you grew up hearing about your parents. there’s no telling who you’ll fight today or how they’ll fit into your story. and maybe those thoughts briefly surface as your first competitor steps into the ring, a feisty blonde from suna, and it almost seems as if history might repeat itself. but maybe that last thought never occurs at all because you’re already weighted with the other pressures and you’re in the zone because you have to win.

and then in the next round you’re set to battle one of your best friends. coincidentally, the hokage’s son. there are already minor political implications if you beat him, but you’ve been advised to fight with everything you’ve got, and you’re determined to do so. whether that’s good enough to win or not, you can say it was your best effort. besides, what’s a fair fight between friends?

and then, ironically, history does repeat itself as you forfeit like your father. you pulled out all the stops and really put on an impressive display of skill, but at the end of the day boruto is still stronger. you’ve heard your father speak of his friendship and professional relationship with naruto, and though it’s never been explicitly said, you understand that being friends with boruto means your relationship will mirror that of your fathers. you have a responsibility as boruto’s friend to maintain an implicit level of trust and use that bond to keep his head screwed on. all that so he can do things his way, which would be so much more of a drag if boruto’s way weren’t so mesmerizing. every word teems with authentic conviction and heart, and he’s so damn inspiring that, yeah, if boruto continuing to make the world a better place means shouldering some extra responsibility, you’ll do that. because that’s what friends do for each other.

and then in his moment of triumph, when you could not be any more proud of your unconventional but unfathomably brilliant best friend, you find out he won by cheating.

and this glorious moment is forever stained as your stomach drops and the vision shatters and you realize that everything today could have been— a meeting with someone extraordinary for the first time, a chance to truly fight your weird cousin, a hard-won promotion to make mom and dad proud and stick it to the cranky clan elders, a level-up in missions for your team— was ruined by your best friend.

surely boruto wouldn’t do that to you. then again, he did it to sarada. are you and he closer than he and sarada? regardless, would he have the nerve to betray you?

and when you finally get the chance to tearfully face him and ask upfront if he cheated during your fight, he won’t even clearly answer you.

and in a cruel twist of fate history repeats itself again, and like your father you are the sole candidate promoted. a tainted honor granted in memory of a victory you didn’t secure. and now that stupid vest collects dust in your bedroom because the only way to reshape its connotation in your head is to debut it once the rest of your team has earned theirs, and your annoying old relatives ask every day why you don’t wear the damn vest, and there are so many more important things going on in the village but that is all anyone is worried about as far as you’re concerned. you could have gone into politics like the elders wanted and avoided this altogether. but you wanted to be a shinobi. you’ve made your bed and now you must lie in it.

and time heals your wounds, and that deep trust is slowly rebuilt, and of course you eventually dust off your vest and zip it on for the first time, but you can never really look at boruto the same way.

[carsthatnevermadeitetc]

Citroën Concept Chariot, 2023. Created for the upcoming movie, Asterix & Obelix: The Middle Kingdom. The concept is based on the 2CV as part of Citroën’s partnership with the film. Pierre Leclercq, Citroën’s Global Design Director, said: “The encounter between these two legends of French culture was nothing short of extraordinary. There has been a bond of sincerity and mutual respect between the Citroën and the Asterix movie teams since the beginning. We were presented with this incredible opportunity to create and build a concept chariot from scratch, and we had the most amazing time working on this project. The result is an ode to the 2CV, the legendary car which represents Citroën in all its glory.”  

[wnterslder]

🥲 i love the idea of bucky going back to his roots , remembering his family , his culture , indulging himself into books and music and always ever the student

[georgierre]

non-filipino f1 fans will never get how filos can immediately understand bianca bustamante's character when u realize what schools she studied in (it's assumption and UST, this is public knowledge)

[kerorowhump]

ive talked in the past about keroro's desire to keep things as they are, static, because it's the only way he can have both keron and earth, but while rewatching ep140b I realized it shows the opposite side of this struggle

that no matter his efforts, it's a futile attempt and nothing is improving because everything is staying exactly the same. he spent a week racking his brain for a solution but the episode ends by showing us that he doesn't find one. could it be because the whole time he was fighting alone?

(his voice breaks in the first screenshot...) this to me feels like the same motivation he would have for invading. wanting to leave a mark, making something of yourself, mattering.

chibikero is in shadow, like the gunpla's shadow. he's not real anymore but he represents all the expectations and lost potential on his shoulders. while the small gunpla is in light like keroro. that's the reality of it. but that's also how he feels. small. he hasn't achieved any of his goals. he hasn't lived up to anything he said he would, everything he based his identity on. he's a "pitiful invader". his desire to matter perfectly encapsulates his abandonment issues too.

this collection will outlive him. it will speak of his greatness when he's gone. it's as much his identity as the invasion. it's also his tomb in the exact same way.

he's so happy for a moment organizing his whole collection on the shelves that he thought were gonna solve everything, enjoying the moment as it was, but in the end nothing changed.

is it because he's expendable? easily replaceable, like by a clone? is it because he doesn't see his own worth, so he has to get some (the keron star, his collection, the invasion)? because if he's not useful, he'll be thrown out? or because he doesn't want to be forgotten and left behind?

and yet

he remains insignificant and his fight is fruitless.

[lovebugcody]

i wonder how many times my face has appeared throughout history. who i am the doppelgänger of. who came before me and what life they lived. did they love features i cannot stand? or did they hold the same insecurities as i do.

i wonder who loved my face before it was mine. who saw the face i now carry and loved it until death.

i wonder if those people, who loved my face before i took my claim over it, looked alike to each other. or if they held no similarities beside loving the previous owner of my features.

and if they looked alike, who now holds that face? does that make them my soulmate? someone predetermined by history to fall for the features that make me, as i am destined to fall for theirs?

[charcubed]

the problem with that man is that he's obsessed with two things: not explaining and not spoiling. so he just answers everything with the most surface level shit cause he has this "think for yourself" attitude. which i would love. if the internet wasn't filled with people averse to thinking and who love not connecting the dots on purpose. like yeah i know that ox are the first earthly pleasure which were followed by others. 95% of the internet doesn't. ON PURPOSE.

[ben-affleck-smoking.jpeg]

Honestly anon, I tip my hat to you because this helps me a little bit. Just a little bit, to fathom what the fuck he's on about and what his potential reasoning is for it. I mean, I'm still frustrated beyond belief by his whole shtick and think it's unnecessary/irresponsible, but I do appreciate you giving me a somewhat plausible explanation so I can have a posited reason for his behavior to wrap my head around.

The thing is, like... People are stupid.

And/or: people are, historically, so determined to project what they want onto a piece of media (while being hellbent on arguing their right to do so while arguing their "interpretations" should remain unencumbered and unexamined) that they're not interested in seeing what it's theoretically or probably actually doing.

So there are 2 ways this shit is gonna go at this point in my opinion (and it's only been a month since season 2 came out so this shit can probably get even more stark before season 3! Yippee!):

Aziraphale and Crowley DON'T fuck on screen. Neil Gaiman is in fact addicted to the praise of very online ace people and so he has internalized that he can't "ruin their rep." Oh, you say you saw subtext in HIS season 2? Surely not. There was/is no erotic or sexual subtext in Ba Sing Se. To be clear, this would be the cowardly homophobic option whether people think it is or not, in part because of the thematic relevance and subtext now attached to them as of season 2 that begs follow-through (which exists despite his pedantic carefully-worded tumblr posts right now), and in part because if we had to see Newt and Anathema fuck then there is no legitimate reason that Aziraphale and Crowley should not get to do the same in light of the subtext. Period. And media doesn't exist in a vacuum. Sorry not sorry.

Aziraphale and Crowley DO fuck on screen. All of the ace people who have read into Neil's several pedantic and carefully-worded posts and engagement for years then become loudly devastated and angry that "their rep" has been destroyed with "no warning." A new term of "acebaiting" probably enters the cultural lexicon. Extremely online carnage occurs, etc. And frankly? At this point I'd (already) be inclined to say Neil would not be entirely blameless for it because of the way he's now acting while needlessly engaging directly with some of the discourse. The majority of the onus would be on the people who assume that he is confirming or defending the unequivocal canonical validity of their ace readings, because he's technically done nothing of the sort. But while he looooves to post and engage in the manners of those technicalities, at this point he can't be oblivious to how legions of inane people end up being like "soooo true Mr. Gaiman, romance doesn't have to be sexual <3" and he just lets them think that constitutes a promise that these characters will never be openly sexual. So if they think that for years, and then the characters fuck (as they should)? Madness will descend, and part of it – not all of it by far, but part of it – will be on him. Because there's no point or purpose in him acting like this other than he gets a kick out of it. He is now openly playing stupid games post-season 2 and will win stupid prizes.

Secret third thing is that Aziraphale and Crowley ambiguously fuck – Schrödinger's fade-to-black potential sex that we just don't see, if you will – in an effort to satisfy all parties, but that is filed under a variation of version 1 in my opinion. It'll still be lowkey homophobic and purity-culture-coded at the end of the day if there's room for ambiguity and people can erase the fact that they fucked if they prefer to do so.

Anyway. The thing is that if he wants people to think for themselves and connect the dots on their own, then pretending as if the dots don't even exist by ignoring them through omission and acting deliberately obtuse with surface level responses does not inspire people to look for or continue to argue for those dots and their depth. But it sure as HELL inspires stupid people to make leaps of logic and say things like "ummm Neil Gaiman already said nothing is sexual about the ox scene soooo if you're arguing otherwise you're being aphobic." Which is exhausting and infuriating and, again, stupid lol.

And that's certainly not entirely Neil's fault! He's NOT responsible for people being stupid. But he is responsible for making things deliberately confusing because he feels clever and maybe wants to challenge everyone else to be clever without openly saying that in so many words – if that is indeed what he's doing.

And if he's not gonna explain anything sufficiently then he shouldn't be engaging with shit like this at all because people then take his deliberate selective lack of explanation as tacit evidence that there must be nothing to explain.

At the end of the day, I'm personally not interested in dissecting the tea leaves of his posts to guess at the fullness of what he truly thinks. I see the subtext and themes in his work, and either he placed them there and sees them too or he didn't/doesn't. If he sees them but doesn't want to talk about them on main for whatever reason then I have no qualms about saying that that's weird behavior. And I also have no qualms about saying that – based on season 2 – Aziraphale and Crowley should fuck in season 3. Ultimately, while his pedantic posts and the resulting discourse raise my blood pressure, I don't need his permission to know the truth of that.

[ihotchner]

there was nothing nikolai loves more than ravka.

since he was a child, hidden in vasily’s shadow and the weakly-hidden truth of his patronage, the only thing he had to escape to were the villages. the farming villages surrounding os alta were more home to him in his developing years than the hallways lining the grand palace could ever hope to be.

he’d had a knack for sneaking out of the castle through passages and hidden tunnels from generations of paranoid monarchs. quick to lose, and less likely to be missed, nikolai found solace in being unknown. the unknown prince, an unknown child, and best of all, unknowingly missing from court.

the villages that lined the outer parts of the gersky prospect were humble, and taught lessons to nikolai that he’d never learn in the stiff classrooms of teachers that cared not for his education. he learned to earn his keep, working hard to pay back minor debts from when he played card games with the other farmers. on the off chance he’d lose—which was hardly ever once he learned how to play the game—he always made good on his promises of working in the fields the next sunrise.

nikolai adores ravka, can feel it in his bones that this is where he is meant to live and rule.

just the same way he knows that you are the one he wants to do it with.

you’d met him as sturmhond, in his many years across the true sea, and your wit and clever thinking had drawn him to you immediately. you were always thinking on your feet, with a sharp tongue, and an even sharper blade. unfortunately, you’d threatened him with it more times than he could count on both hands. fortunately, he thought you looked absolutely breathtaking every time you did it.

you made him shy. in a way that was rare for him, he thought of every word he would say to you, careful in their meanings and thoughtful to how you could take them. he wanted you to know he cared for you, yet was afraid to completely show his hand. he’d been known to hold his cards too close to his heart, and he wanted to go all in for you.

there was nothing nikolai loved more than ravka. nothing, except you.

ʚ reblogs greatly appreciated! ɞ

[fadedpath]

Emre Hawke vs. the Fade

I.

The Inquisitor was taking too long; Hawke knew he should be more sympathetic. This was a hard decision to make, ultimately letting the one chosen be the one who died in the Fade of all places. Alistair remained quiet. Perhaps he was aware he might be the one to go, readying himself for the inevitable after all the Grey Wardens were guilty for, be it their fault or not. Hawke was just impatient. His eyes kept darting from between the advancing fear demon to the Inquisitor, fingers flexing in irritation.

❛ Maker's blood—Go! Talk about having no time and you sit there on your hands. ❜ His outburst had two sets of surprised eyes on him, but he did not wait for an answer nor an argument. Already moving, running backwards as he spoke: ❛ Tell Varric… I'm sorry. ❜ He turned back around, hearing the call from the Inquisitor, Hawke only ran faster. Taking his staff from his back, he sprinted up a small outcropping and lunged for the demon. Blade side down, he landed right on top of its head, digging in deep as the creature thrashed about below him trying in vain to throw him off. ❛ Always hated spiders, ❜ he growled out, bringing forth a shock wave of force energy rippling through from his hands right through to the body underneath.

Somewhere behind him, the two left and the rift closed. Even as the demon was on its last leg, Hawke knew for better or for worse, he was stuck here for a little bit longer.

II.

He remained sitting atop the corpse for a long while after, though the passage of time felt off here still. It could have been seconds, minutes, or even hours at this point. Hawke remained, watching where the rift was once forced open, but no one came back. Whatever the Inquisitor did before, he could not do so again. Expectantly, Hawke was dead to them all now, he could only guess. One of the demon's many limbs jerked and Hawke twisted the blade of his staff deeper into the skull, churning what constituted as brain matter about, until it stopped kicking.

The Maker was having a difficult time killing him it seemed, and Hawke wondered if he was at all mad about that. First the Arishok blade right through the stomach, then Meredith, now the Fade and its very own demon. It was more surprising that Hawke felt at all surprised about any of this—by now, he should have been expecting yet another life ending event to be not so life ending after all.

A leg twitched. Hawke twisted the blade that much deeper.

III.

His mind said days had already passed, it reasoned with itself the only way that it knew how, but there was no change within him nor the Fade to say it was true. The color green was starting to get on his nerves though. Ugly, puke-looking color that made his stomach churn at the sight, and it was the very backdrop for this place. Green rocks. Green sky. Green water. Green spirits. Green mist. Green. Green. Green.

Hawke had abandoned the corpse within those days ( or was it hours? weeks maybe? ) to set out through the Fade, searching for an exit of some kind. Could be anything at this point: another rift, an eluvian, even a damn dreaming mage who could have blipped inside here for just a second and Hawke could jump the poor sod to get dragged right back out alongside them. He did not care if it was probably impossible. Impossible meant nothing to him at this point. It was the hope that kept his legs steady and his walk continuous.

A familiar rock formation appeared in the distance and his frown deepened. Circles, was it now? Green circles. Green rocks. Bah. Get a new gimmick.

IV.

Dreams were not really dreams when a mage slept fitfully and rather physically within the Fade. Nightmares seemed more the common occurrence as Hawke bedded down each moment he felt the inkling of tiredness come over him after walking for so long. With the horridly green sky ever-unchanging, he had his own clock to decide when for him ( one that was slowly becoming ruined by the minute… Day? ). No blanket, no pillow, he huddled beside a rock with crossed arms and tried to rest. His mind would never give him such…

The nightmares were odd regardless as they started with him waking up as if he had only been dreaming his imprisonment. Sometimes within Skyhold, sometimes within Kirkwall, or even the inn room he left Fenris in, but it was always empty. Bereft of life, he walked through deserted streets that only had remnants of what should have been there; trash in corners, a discarded sword in a practice ring, even a used bed with a melted candle right beside it. But people were gone. Even animals and the breath of wind had seemingly vanished. As if everything was in stasis, Hawke walked the streets, dread mounting until he finally woke up to the same green sky.

Heart racing, breath short, he stood up from his spot and glanced around, seeing if anything was there but even the Fade stood just as empty, just as still.

V.

❛ So…you do anything for fun around here? ❜ Hawke asked one of the orange spirits he had seen, as he sat upon a discarded nightstand that was perhaps something of value to the spirit nearby it. And yet, it said nothing but hovered in the air with arms outstretched. ❛ At least you're not green. ❜ The spirit turned and Hawke could have sworn it was looking at him before it turned back around.

With a sigh, he pushed off of the nightstand and continued walking. His rest was finished for the time being.

VI.

Demons were easy to avoid in the Fade, until they weren't. Often they were drawn to the bright tears he had come across—the ones he was certain were the Inquisitor's problem that were scattered throughout Thedas. Hawke flirted with the idea of sprinting towards one and jumping through, ignoring the droves of demons that would have had something to say about it first. But that was all, just an idea. Even as he looked on in the distance, watching as demon after demon entered Thedas only to get slaughtered the moment they appeared. The rift would grow brighter then, until it disappeared, only leaving a small scar in the green mist behind.

It was the excess demons that were the issue for Hawke. The ones who were too slow in getting through the rift the first time around, enraged and seemingly confused by it, until one caught sight of Hawke. When one was aware, the others turned like clockwork. The rift easily forgotten about now, as the delectable mage was more appealing, and closer. Hawke ran once, but they pursued without any break to it. Never did he lose them, never could he. Thus, instead, he fought.

He rationed his lyrium, keeping to smaller spells as a result, but that only meant the fights lasted longer and became more dangerous. Often he resorted to the physical, thankful that years of honing that aspect alongside his magic was paying off. He came away from these fights with mere scratches or burns that healed with time. But one particularly dicey fight had him limping away, a deep gash seen down his side and cut into the outside of his thigh.

Clothes bloodied, he had to hunker down in one place for far too long to let it heal. There was only so much he could do to help it along, with fevered temperatures and a persistent scab breakages, Hawke got to know the rock he perched himself on more than he had known any other place inside the Fade. It was still green and he hated it despite the splashes of red he left behind. But it kept him hidden and for that he had to relent in his hatred for just a little while.

VII.

The air felt calm. As if no longer did the Fade swirl into an torrent every so often, calling the demons forth to ravage and rage. Instead, it remained undisturbed. Everything about the Fade was hard to describe, this was too. As Hawke sat on a rock, taking a break to dwell in his frustrations at finding nothing, the shift around him was palpable. He sat up a bit straighter, looking around himself with a puzzled frown deepening upon his weathered features, but came across nothing.

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. And it was not the nothing of a pause, waiting to erupt into something. No, the swelling had gone down. In a way, it all seemed less…angry. There was nothing. No spirits, no demons lurking in the distance, and it had been a while since he actually saw a tear in the sky. In fact, he was unsure when the last time he saw one was to bring forth the demons like a vacuum ready to regurgitate them into Thedas. No, there was nothing. Somehow that nothingness brought with it anxiety in him, as the twisting of his gut and the speed of his heart rate forced him to take a couple deep breaths.

Nothing he could handle, but that nothing was in the Fade. There was always something. But there was nothing.

There was nothing.

Hawke slid off the rock and began to walk, faster this time ignoring the limp he acquired from his recent ( old? ) wound. There was never just nothing in the Fade. Something big was bound to happen and he needed to get out.

VIII.

Nothing still. He walked, his leg burned, it felt as if the cut had split open again from the stress put upon it. But there was nothing. He did not rest, he did not sleep, he walked. Walked through the nothingness. Walked despite the pain. Walked despite the panic that surged up within him, threatening nausea.

But he kept going. He had to keep going. Teeth gritted, eyes forward, he walked on.

IX.

There was something. In the distance. Hawke's eyes narrowed, his walk slowed. Was it a mirror? No, not just. It looked familiar. He had seen something like this before, inside of Merrill's little house in the alienage of Kirkwall. She had a mirror just like it. Walking closer, but keeping his distance by feet away, he stared at the eluvian with something akin to relief ( so mixed in exhaustion, anger, and pain, it became muddled and all that came out of him as he stopped was a huffed exhale ).

It was Merrill's. It had to be, it held the same halla at the top, with its root-like golden embellishments that almost blocked half of it off. He could not see himself within the reflection, but he had a feeling it was not working. Merrill's frustrations with hers came into the forefront of his mind, how she tried so hard to reactivate it, but never did she manage. She restored it, but was unable to get it to work to find out the secrets it may have held, and it looked exactly like what he saw now. A foggy mirror, grayed out and closed. He almost did not trust it… What was it doing here now, of all places? Was it even possible?

Instead of going up to it, Hawke took his seat where he stood and watched it. If it was real, it would not disappear over time. Right? Tired shoulders hunched, mage staff laid across his lap, Hawke's eyes remained steadfast upon the eluvian.

X.

The eluvian had not changed. It had not moved either. Instead, it stayed just as Hawke did. He slept for a time, that much he knew. The nightmares were far too jarring for him to forget, even as he woke with a start and a sore neck. Sleeping where he sat had its pitfalls, Hawke had come to know well as he rubbed the knots forming in his muscles. But even as he woke, he studied the eluvian to judge if it had moved or turned on at the least, before noting a negative for both. He yawned and rubbed his weary eyes, scratchy with sleep.

There was a trick. There was always a trick. It took a moment, but soon enough he was using his staff to stand up and get closer to the eluvian. Wary and frowning. First, his hand reached out to press hesitant fingertips to the grayed out mirror, but nothing happened. Second, he did the same, but with magic as if that held the key, but still there was nothing. Third, this time he used the fresh blood from the wound on his side and pressed it to the mirror. There was a spark that had his hand flinching back, but still, it remained grayed out.

Hawke stared blankly at the eluvian before it finally hit him. Crumbling, sore knees hitting the ground, a dry sob ripped out of a sore, unused throat. His fist smashed against the mirror, but it did nothing but bruise his own flesh. Still, there was nothing. Nothing. Maker…absolutely nothing. He was sick of that word just as he was sick of the color green.

XI.

He was huddled in front of the eluvian, his back towards it as he hugged his staff. The wretched feeling had stopped hours ago, or was it days? Maybe it was weeks or even months. Perhaps years at this point. He felt a heaviness in his body as if it was supposed to be aging, but instead he remained in this odd state that only the Fade made sense of. Instead, his face was blank and his eyes listless as he stared ahead of him, eyesight blurring when they stared at nothing. The green warped together into something more unsightly, but he did not have the energy to remark upon it.

His eyes closed and a sigh escaped. He needed to think. If he wanted to get out, he had to think. But the hopelessness of his situation invaded steadily, taking over every last bit of positive thought in his mind.

What is the point? They all think you're dead already…

XII.

An orange spirit hovered close by, staring at Hawke and Hawke at it. It looked familiar, but Hawke could not say what set off that feeling in his mind as there were no distinctive features about it. The Fade was the one place to go to for spirits, this one could be among the many and not the one he saw years ago ( no, no, months. Days…? ). Yet it did nothing but stare at him within that familiar silence. Hawke knew that a lot of spirits were often curious, not at all hostile, and when one became a changing force within the Fade, he was bound to attract something to follow him along to see what all the fuss was about.

Yet its stare was getting on his nerves, like it was pricking the back of his head incessantly. His patience shorted out long ago, and in its place was a temper he quite hated ( feeling the bubbling rage swell within his chest like a foreign body ). Swallowing, he looked down, curling closer to himself with his back still against the eluvian. If the spirit was not going to go away, he would simply ignore it until it did. He had nothing else to do, and neither did it coincidentally.

It stayed. Hawke tried to avoid looking at it, but it was hard when it stayed right in front of him. Giving up with a huff, he stared back with a furrowed brow. ❛ What? ❜ No reply. Hawke frowned, stretching out his wounded leg with a minor hiss through his teeth from the sharp pain that ran up his side. ❛ Do you know how to work these things? ❜ Hawke jabbed a thumb over his shoulder at the eluvian behind him and the spirit moved its head slowly to stare now at it instead of him. ❛ I'm not gonna do anything else until this thing gets turned on. So either leave and find a new person to stare at for your entertainment, or help me out. ❜

Still, no reply. Hawke's thumb curled before his hand dropped to the ground. ❛ Yeah, yeah, why bother, right? Might as well start getting to know each other since it's looking like this will be my new home right alongside you. How's that sound? ❜ No change, no reply. ❛ I didn't like the idea either. You can take it up with management, or whatever you got here. The Black City, you ever been? Looked at it so often in this sky of yours, it's losing its awe-power. ❜ Hawke huffed a laugh, but the spirit continued staring at the eluvian, thus his laugh turned into a grumble.

❛ Pretty sure spirits are able to talk. ❜ But as he said that, the spirit moved forward to the eluvian. Closer now, its arm lifting but no hand could be seen at the end of it. ❛ So, do you have an idea? ❜ A second passed. It had to be a second, as the backing behind Hawke vanished and without that support, he tumbled backward with a surprised yelp. He did not stop, he did not hit the rocky ground like he expected. Instead, he passed through something cold before falling flat onto his back upon wooden, creaking floorboards. Breath knocked out of him, but the warm lights against his eyelids were something else.

Was it a dream, or was he truly back? A rather familiar scream from a woman erupted forth, piercing eardrums that were quite used to the silence of the Fade. Hawke cringed, his eyes opened to see Merrill's shocked face looking down at him. She said something, there was panic in her wide eyes, but he did not care right now. Instead, Hawke grinned lazily, eyesight tunneling.

He was home. Well and truly home.

Hawke - 4… the Maker - 0…

[f1ghtsoftly]

Im being real I only want to organize with other women but my interest in like passing laws vs direct action is literally zero.

Laws are helpful, but they are ultimately reformist. I think, coming out of the 20th century a major takeaway I had is that women need to build things that cannot be taken away from us (basically separatism). Abortion should have never been a debate, it’s a right, if a government tries to legislate that then it is illegitimate. Women’s work should be paid. Women should run households. No women should be forced to live under constant threat of rape or battery. Sex is about love and connection not about owning someone (or their children). None of these things are complicated. Women understand this reality intuitively. It is men who do not. By asking rather than taking-we in turn legitimate this source of power but, men should not hold power over women. It is illegitimate.

The biggest failure, in my opinion, of second wave feminism in the US is it could not reproduce itself. I agree with Federici’s assessment that “Wages for Housework” (or some variation) is one of the biggest tasks left undone. By and large child production in the US remains a task for the nuclear family, ensuring patriarchy will live on for another generation and another generation of adult women will suffer inside of it. We can remedy this by creating intentional communities of women by women, raising our own wages and collectively supporting each other through family creation and in the workplace.

Furthermore, I really strongly encourage women to stop supporting causes, political movements or organizations that refuse to prioritize women’s issues. This is particularly relevant in the realm of foreign policy. I find it repulsive how many self styled radical feminists turn around and support US imperial projects abroad. We must reshape the way we organize the production of commodities if we are to liberate women. That means *not* supporting the imperialist powers in their quest to secure new markets and create sources of cheap labor+raw materials. Women’s piss poor wages in garment factories in Bangladesh is directly related to the strength of the conservative patriarchy in Bangladesh. Subsistance farmers in Brazil and South Asia need women to produce a large workforce as cheaply as possible, they accomplish this through patriarchal marriage and religion. The US forced it’s way into Eastern Europe to secure new markets and access to raw materials and the looting of the Soviet State saw the largest entrance of women into the sex trade in world history. Im not saying be uncritical about places like Iran, China or Russia, but I am saying be mindful of what exactly the person speaking intends to do about it. Global revolution is different than a proxy war between US+friends, solidarity with striking workers is different than Sanctions and Embargos which starve women and children. NGO’s operate in the interest of their donors, whoever they happen to be. Both horrors can be true and we must develop the capacity to see all of them-so that our intention to help does not untinentionally prolong the suffering of our global sisters. I cannot be more adamant that vigorous opposition to imperialism, vigorous opposition to the US government and her military is the absolute best way those of us living in the west can support women globally.

Many women are fooled by the belief that this is impractical and centering women and demanding real, revolutionary change is hopeless but allow me to ask you this, how many women have lived and died under this current regime? How many women have given their lives, have devoted themselves entirely to women’s advancement? We have made small gains-but it is not nearly commiserate to the effort we have put into achieving them. We are staring down the barrel of a new age, one where women’s bodies can be spliced and sold like pieces of meat. One where religious fundamentalism will remain a dominant global force. One where women can look forward to lives as drudges, whores or wives living with back to back pregnancies, constantly under the boot of men. Is that the world we want? Is that the world women have worked so hard to achieve?

We need a more radical, more prideful strategy befitting our dignity and in line with what we deserve. We deserve so much more than concessions. We deserve freedom and the fruits of our labor.

So please, consider that it is ok for you to be the main character in this story and stop lending your time, support and energy to causes that do not center women’s experiences. I don’t care if you’re “also lgbtq” or also a “poc” or also “colonized”. You’re suffering more than a man is, women deserve to be at the forefront of every single social movement, not a supporting role, a woman unfairly in prison is just as significant as her male counterpart. Lesbians get beat up and preyed on by homophobic men just as much, if not more, then gay men do. Women suffer worse under occupying armies, women suffer worse under sanctions, women suffer worse in post colonial political chaos then men do.

You matter just as much as they do and you need to *leave* if they do not recognize that. You will never lose by recognizing your worth.

[kishidoodle]

My Garma hot take for the day is that his what-if older version from Gihren's Greed is handsome af and I wish it appeared in other things