#too late to awaken

[berlinauslander]

Zizek on Woke Culture:

And it is exactly the same with much of the ongoing woke' movement: they awaken us (to the horrors of racism and sexism) precisely to enable us to go on sleeping, that is, ignoring the true roots and depth of racial and sexual trauma.

The paradox here is that this sleep is not a passive withdrawal from reality: it functions as frantic activity. How are we to understand this? On today's market, we find a whole series of products deprived of their malignant property: coffee without caffeine, cream without fat, beer without alcohol... And the list goes on: virtual sex as sex without sex, the art of expert administration as politics without politics, up to today's tolerant liberal multiculturalism as an experience of other deprived of its disturbing Otherness. We should add to this list another key figure from our cultural space: a decaffeinated protester, a sleeping 'woke' protester who says all the right things, but somehow deprives them of their critical edge. He is horrified by global warming and by the war in Ukraine, he fights sexism and racism, he demands radical social change, and everyone is invited to join in, to participate in the big sentiment of global solidarity, which means: you are not required to change your life (perhaps just give to a charity here and there), you go on with your career, you are ruthlessly competitive, but you are on the right side... To paraphrase the title of Ben Burgis's book, 11s the agents of cancel culture are 'comedians while the world burns': far from being 'too radical', their imposition of new rules is an exemplary case of pseudo-activity, of how to make sure that nothing really changes by pretending to act frantically.

In order to resist the temptations of woke culture, every authentic Leftist should put on the wall above his or her bed or table the opening paragraph of Oscar Wilde's The Soul of Man under Socialism, in which he points out that it is much more easy to have sympathy with suffering than it is to have sympathy with thought : People

"find themselves surrounded by hideous poverty, by hideous ugliness, by hideous starvation. It is inevitable that they should be strongly moved by all this... Accordingly, with admirable, though misdirected intentions, they very seriously and very sentimentally set themselves to the task of remedying the evils that they see. But their remedies do not cure the disease: they merely prolong it. Indeed, their remedies are part of the dis-ease... The proper aim is to try and reconstruct society on such a basis that poverty will be impossible. And the altruistic virtues have really prevented the carrying out of this aim... It is immoral to use private property in order to alleviate the horrible evils that result from the institution of private property."

The last sentence provides a concise formula of what is wrong with a pan-humanitarian approach, as epitomized by the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. It is not enough just to point out that the Gates charity is based on brutal business practices - one should go a step further and denounce its ideological founda-tions. The title of Sama Naami's collection of essays, Refusal of Respect: Why We Should Not Respect Foreign Cultures. Ours Included, 6 hits the nail on the head; this is the only authentic stance. Gates's charity implies the following variation on Naami's formula: respect all cultures, your own and others. The Rightist nationalist version is: respect your own culture and despise others, which are inferior to it. The politically correct formula is: respect other cultures, but despise your own, which is racist and colonialist (that's why politically correct woke culture is always anti-Eurocentric). The correct Leftist stance is: bring out the hidden antagonisms of your own culture, link it to the antagonisms of other cultures, and then engage in a common struggle between those who fight here, against the oppression and domination at work in our own culture, and those who do the same in other cultures around the world. The words of Lilla Watson, a Murri (Australian Aboriginal) artist and activist, to a rich white compassionate liberal tell it all: If you have come here to help me, then don't waste your time. But if you have come here because your liberation is bound up with mine, then come, let us work together.' 117

What this means is something which may sound shocking, but it is worth insisting on it: you don't have to respect or love immigrants - what you have to do is to change the situation so that they will not have to be immigrants in the first place. The citizen of a developed country who wants to lower immigration levels, and is ready to do something so that migrants don't have to go to a country that they mostly don't even like, is much better than a humanitarian who preaches openness to immigrants while silently participating in the economic and political practices that brought to ruin the countries where the immigrants are coming from. The problem with the ongoing culture wars is that both sides ignore this need to change the basic situation, which is why we shouldn't be surprised to find that the reluctance of the American and European new Right (as well as some of the Left) to support Ukraine clearly echoes the Russian position - they are on the same side of the global culture wars.

[princenotsocharming]

Morning after an absolutely innocent sleepover at Harrington's... Billy will totally stay for breakfast.. or will he?

(closeups under the cut)

[skatingbi]

So hear me out on my headcanon guys:

Sanji with heterochromia (i cant spell that fuckin word man..) where one eye is blue and another is brown. He always hides the blue eye.

The first one to notice is Zoro, who is immediantly like "holy shit youre eyes are pretty" and sanji is like "what the FUCK"

Actually fuck it im gonna write about this nobody can stop me.

Sometimes, on lonley nights in the gallery, when Sanji is busy prepping, he looks in the reflection of his knife. Underneath the frizzy mess of a fringe that is part of his hair reveals the blue eye he struggles looking at. He stares, scrutinizing that light blue in the gleam of his knife gripped tightly in his hand. He looks away to force his attention back on prep work. His hands are always slightly unsteady after those moments. He always ends up with a cut on his hand one way or another on those nights.

When Sanji was a kid, his brothers would use his heterochromia as a weapon against him. He was the freak with two colored eyes. They would say his blue eye was creepy, too. Not only was he weak but also too different to be called their brother.

When you're a kid, you take these insults to heart. Eventually, when you're barely into adulthood, they'll still plague you. They become a part of you, just like how Zeff's teachings became a part of Sanji.

Judge looked at his eyes with disgust masked by indifference. It was another reason for Sanji to assume why he was the failure. The outcast. The runt of the litter.

His mother had blue eyes. She always claimed Sanji got his blue eye from her because her father had heterochromia, too. That was the only time little Sanji felt normal. When she died, Sanji started to grow out his hair to hide the only thing he had left of her: her eyes.

Now, Sanji still hides her eyes from view. Realistically, Sanji is fully aware that none of the crew would give a rats ass what he looked like. Regardless, old habits die hard. He feels safe under the mask he made for himself. As he goes about preparing lunch, perhaps grilled sea king again with how luffy is always eager to fight those things, he lets his mind wander to his eyes more. While hands expertly move through his knife like an extension of his body, he thinks about the mess of blond hair that's always in the way. He'd never admit it out loud, but his hair actually bothers him. Since it started growing out, it gets everywhere; his mouth, in his eyes, and tangled in the buttons of his shirt. Is sanji happy with his longer hair? Absolutely. It's a nusiance to leave it down constantly, though.

As he's thinking this, he's blowing the fringe of hair covering his face out of the way every so often so it stops tickling his nose. He continues to evenly slice through a portion of sea king meat until somebody, Nami he realizes immediantly, speaks up.

"Do you need a hair tie, sanji?" Nami asks sweetly. Her smile is radiant, as always, while she looks up from the map shes been studying. Sanji didnt even realize Nami came in and made the kitchen table into a study until now, but he doesnt dwell on it. Nami is welcome in his kitchen, after all.

"Oh no, thank you, Nami-swan! I think I just need a haircut soon," Sanji lies as he's moving through the kitchen. He gives Nami a quick smile before turning back to the meat on the cutting board and avoids Nami's gaze under the disguise of being busy. His lie wasn't as believable as he wanted it to be, especially when he's stumbling over his words while he is usually eloquent with them towards Nami and Robin.

"But until then, you should take one! I probably have hundreds lying around my room anyways," She says. It's a peace offering designed to be in Sanji's language of communication. It secretly says he's getting that hairtie whether he wants it or not, and Sanji is weak enough to accept the offering. He takes the hair tie with a grateful smile, wrapping it around his wrist and going back to his current task. Nami and Sanji work in comfortable silence after that, but the hair tie weighs on his wrist like a weighted bracelet.

A few days pass by. Through every single one, he stares at the hair tie in the morning. He really should tie his hair back. It reaches his shoulders for gods sake, and it keeps getting in his mouth - but that small part of him that clings onto grief like its all that he knows refuses to. He doesn't think he can bring himself to share the only part of himself that he truly loves deep down. What if the crew really thinks it's weird? What if his brothers are right?

These what if's roam in the back of his mind. They lurk just beneath the surface like an unknown predator hidden in murky water. He ignores it along with the anxiety that crawls up his throat every time he looks at his wrist.

Then, a week passes by. Now he's in his kitchen making a simple breakfast for his nakama. Franky, in particular, will enjoy this since his tastes lie within American style food most of the time. He focuses on seasoning the eggs, some of them cooked differently to cater to everyone's tastes. While he goes through the familiar and therapeutic motions of cooking, the door opens to reveal an annoying head of mossy hair and the steady noise of three swords bumping each other at the hip.

" Oi, go to sleep in your own bunk. I dont need you stinkin' up my kitchen while im trying to work." He utters without looking up from the stove.

"Why can't I just sleep here shit cook?" Zoro grunts. Sanji hears him shuffle around on the gallery's couch behind him. He's probably lying down, or maybe he'll sleep sitting up again, or maybe he'll watch Sanji cook. That's the most irritating one, which usually ends up with them fighting out on the deck one way or another.

"Because youre fuckin' annoying, get out."

"The hell I am, I'm taking a nap here."

"Oh my - You know what?" Sanji whips around to glare at Zoro, making sure the knife he was using is now in his hand to point at the source of his ire, "Fine, but if I hear a single snore out of you I'm kicking you into the ocean!" He threatens and turns around to finish up with breakfast. By now, all he has left is pancakes. The batter was prepped earlier, so now it's just focusing on pouring evenly. It's task that's menial but still important to him regardless.

His hair is covering his face too much. He tries to shake his head to flip it to the side. It falls back to where it was before he can pick the bowl of batter back up. He brushes it over his shoulder, and it simply flows back over it. He blows his hair out of the way, a classic move, but not even that works and he's slamming the bowl down on the counter before he can even stop himself and walks away from his work to grab the hairtie from around his wrist. In a few fluid motions, he ties his hair back haphazardly into a poor attempt at a low bun, but it's out of his face, and now he can focus.

He's too deep in concentration to even remember that he has heterochromia in the first place. Cooking lowers his guard unlike anything else in the world. The gallery acts like a safe space and cooking is his comfort. He still forgets, too, while calling for Zoro to get his lazy ass up to help since he's decided to loiter in his kitchen.

"Hey moss, if you're gonna laze around my kitchen, set the table for me." His request demand is met with a middle finger, which Sanji gladly returns as he walks over to the couch to kick Zoro on the stomach. The half asleep annoyance is now suddenly alert and glares at Sanji for a moment before it's quickly replaced with a look Sanji has yet to add to his mental notes he likes to call "Marimo Dictionary". Zoro's eyebrows are slightly raised, and his eyes glitter with something Sanji rarely sees. He's never been able to place a name on that look. Now he's confused. "What? Dont give me that youre tired crap youre not fuckin 10." He says.

Zoro is still looking at him, though, and now Sanji looks back with confusion because what the fuck is he-

Oh. His eyes.

Shit.

Sanji rips the hairtie out of his hair at light speed, probably pulling a few strands out by accident in the process but he could honestly care less when theres something more important. Like whatever the fuck just happened.

Before he can turn away and go set the table himself to distance himself from the marimo, Zoro's hand moves suddenly to grab his wrist, stopping him from running away.

"Wait, wait, hold on," Zoro pleads. And what the fuck. Zoro has never said anything like that and its fucking with Sanji's head because what the fuck. "You...uh." He continues in his signature graceless way. "Your eyes..." He pauses after that, sitting up and looking at Sanji, but not just looking, he's looking.

"Marimo," Sanji's own voice is riddled with anxiety with how shaky it is now. "Let me go dumbass," He demands but it could have been mistaken for him begging with how much he's struggling to keep himself together.

He's anticipating the worst. He knows what he's expecting. Sanji has experienced it countless times before, and he's aware he will again right now while a pancake is probably burning on the pan for all he knows.

It doesnt.

Zoro is looking at him still, maintaining eye contact but also darting between both eyes. He's looking at him like those golden eyes are looking into his soul and its too much.

It's too much because Zoro's response is uncharacteristically soft in so many ways. Zoro speaks to him like he's speaking with reverence, "Your eyes are beautiful."

Sanji shatters on the gallery floor there. His soul is bare for Zoro to see suddenly and that terrifies Sanji. Nobody has ever told him he's beautiful. Especially his eyes. He yanks his wrist from Zoro's grasp and speed walks to the stove to turn it off and remove the burnt pancake from the pan. He doesnt respond. He cant, not when his heart flutters when it should have been anchored down by rejection.

Then, Sanji walks up to Zoro, grabs onto both his shoulders, pushes him out the gallery door with surprisingly little resistance, and slams it shut. He leans against the door, sliding down until he's sitting on the floor with his head tucked between his knees. His face is burning and his face is probably red like a tomato right now. He stares at the ground with wide eyes and a weirdly giddy feeling in his chest and stomach nearly akin to happiness but also dangerously close to feeling freaked the hell out.

"What the fuck."

[caluette]

the truth

[melatien]

tiny yoichi (unwillingly) lures out soldiers by being his helplessness little self so his brother can strike

[delta-piscium]

Eddie does become quite famous for his music and that means he sometimes has to go to these mind numbing events where people will sneer at him until they recognize who he is, then they’ll suddenly pretend they’re old friends, they’ll ask for concert tickets and backstage passes

he mostly hates them but whenever Steve is able to come he’s so god damn excited. Steve’s parents used to drag him along to their business events and even though it’s different industries it’s all the same. Steve knows these crowds, he grew up with them and they bring out the bitchiest upper middle class version of him, a Steve who has passive aggression and faux politeness down to an art

Eddie will watch on in delighted awe as his husband, all while smiling mildly and sipping wine, destroys people. just cuts into them and also making everything sound nice, innocuous. Most of them don’t even realize it’s happening they just suddenly find themselves gaping, searching for words, as they’re backed into a corner

and Steve will look at them, tilt his head and wait them out, but before they get the chance to backtrack he’ll hum, shrug and walk away, Eddie on his heel asking if he wants to get out of there, like right now? or maybe find a bathroom?

[luchitohamilton]

🥴🥴🥴.

[seabugsbaby]

There is a dream and it sleeps in me

Keeps me awake in the night

Crying, “Set me free”

And I wake every night

Crying, “Set me free”

Mitski - Abbey

[daily-hanamura]

[bloodymarymorstan]

Obsessed with the Doctor being exclusively into women for over 2000 years and then taking one look at young Isaac Newton of all people and being like "oh wow ok nevermind"

[arrozconlecheeee]

“I been waiting for the right time

To let you know that I been lookin' for you all of my life”

[berlinauslander]

Zizek on cancel culture: "Cancel culture with its implicit paranoia is a desperate (and obviously inefficient) attempt to compensate for the actual troubles and tragedies faced by LGBT + individ-uals, the violence and exclusion to which they are permanently subjected. The answer to this violence cannot be a retreat into a cultural fortress, a pseudo 'safe space' whose discursive fanaticism leaves intact and even strengthens the resistance of the majority to it." "At its worst, cancel culture has a distinctly fundamentalist tone - a particular thing that you said or did can be unexpectedly elevated into the universal status of an unforgivable mistake.

This means that a particular case (an expression you used, for example) is condemned not because it doesn't fit same clear universal rule; rather, a new spin is given to the universality itself."

[the-priestess-of-dawn]

Been thinking about a postgame scenario that goes in a direction I don't think canon would ever take in a million years, but like... I think it could be really compelling...

And that's the idea of Chrom becoming Plegia's king after Grima's defeat. And specifically giving up his claim to Ylisse's throne to do it (leaving it to Lucina when she's old enough).

Because here's the thing... The game ends with Grima's defeat/Robin's return in the sacrifice ending. It doesn't address what happens to Plegia at all, and while I personally maintain that Aversa is the most qualified candidate to rule, her canon ending provides that she goes back to the village she was born in. So, fine. Let's give her that.

But SOMEONE has to do SOMETHING because realistically, Plegia is in dire straits. Validar, the king and the leader of the Grimleal, is dead. He gave, like, ALL of Plegia's resources to the Ylissean League (well, okay, we don't know how much, if any, he left in reserve, but... He really needed Walhart gone and it's not like he had any reason to think that anyone would need resources once Grima was running around, so... chances are good there's little to nothing left in the wake of the averted apocalypse). And the population has been utterly devastated, because not only did people (exactly how many is unclear, but presumably it took more than just a couple) have to sacrifice themselves to renew the fell dragon's power, but Grima was also spawning Grimleal onto their back at the final battle. Their losses are so immense...

So first of all, Chrom is definitely responsible for taking all their resources and setting half of them on fire (Now to be fair, Flavia and Basilio are also responsible, but... Idk, I kinda feel like they'd bicker with each other over who has to do the crappy parts of the job and then agree that they should just ask Chrom if he can do it. Like "Haha, if you didn't want to deal with thieves ambushing the Longfort to steal construction supplies, you shouldn't have gone and beaten me at the last tournament!" "Oh, shut up. Let's see if Chrom can send his thief friend over to talk these guys down. Or kill them, whichever." I mean, Chrom is always going to be their guy who knows a guy.) There's just no way Chrom would abandon the surviving Plegians who need help anyway, but especially not when he knows the war with Valm would've ended before it could begin without them.

Of course, there's the historical hostility between Ylisse and Plegia to consider, but... If anyone's protesting, it's probably the Ylisseans. Because the survivng Plegians, uh... probably were never Grima's most devoted followers in the first place (if you really wanted to give Grima your life, you'd rush to the front of the line at the Dragon's Table, right?) and even if they used to consider themselves true Grimleal, the religion's leadership is destroyed, and—for the purpose of this scenario, I'm considering it post-sacrifice ending—the fell dragon is gone and not coming back. These people narrowly avoided becoming Grima's breakfast or Grima's meat shields. They all almost certainly know someone who wasn't as lucky. And the one who saved them... Well, it was Chrom, wasn't it? Because he believed in humanity enough to challenge the concept of fate, a fate that the people of Plegia were surely taught was inescapable. Despite their history with Ylisse, it's hardly unreasonable for them to see Chrom as a savior to them specifically. The second coming of the Hero-King who ought for the lives of all humans, really.

And yeah, I'm going here... Chrom is Marth's descendant. Marth was Altean. Former Altea is is modern Plegia, so technically, the people can argue that he's actually theirs.

Doesn't it sort of make sense, even? Plegia is ruined, the god to whom the theocracy was devoted killed. "What we need is to restore the glory of ancient Altea!" And who better to help them than Chrom, Marth's successor in blood and in spirit?

But Chrom would frown and say no. Of course he's going to help them restore their country to prosperity—or at least to independent, peaceful functioning. But king? Sheesh, that's going too far. Come on guys, you don't really want that. Besides, he's already ruling Ylisse...

Except, he's not ruling it as Exalt. At least, not at first he's not. He forswore the title when he started his rule and in canon he is only official welcomed as Exalt after Grima's defeat. But what if he just... continued to not accept it. It's not like he ever wanted to be Exalt. He only has the right to rule because Emmeryn died—because he failed to protect her. It has nothing to do with any of his successes.

But if the Plegians made him their king, then it would be because of his own accomplishments.

And in a way I also can't help but find it heartwarming, because it was the Plegian people who got him to truly understand Emmeryn's ideals. He wanted peace, he wanted to follow her path, but it wasn't until the Plegians took her sacrifice for the peace offer it was and refused to continue fighting Ylisse that Chrom was finally able to comprehend what it meant that Emmeryn believed that all people wanted the same thing, that peace is something for everyone and not just purehearted saints like her who would never hurt a fly. So wouldn't it be sweet to expand on that existing connection? For the people who once bore a grudge against him and his nation to say, actually, our home is your home and you belong with us... For Chrom to reach back and decide that these are his people and that he will protect them...

Especially because that's what he's always done for Robin. Your father doesn't get to determine your path for you, your past doesn't dictate your future, you always have a place beside me because we are two halves of a greater whole. This AU is definitely a chrobin AU, because when Robin gets back I want them to rule at his side (after all, I do have feelings about Grima's loyalty to a people who have been praying to them to end their suffering for a thousand years).

Now, I do think that Chrom would never leave Ylisse while little Lucina was still growing up, but... Honestly it would probably take quite some time to establish a castle for Plegia's new ruler anyway (especially if they go super hard on the Altean revival theme and want it to be IN former Altean territory, which has become the "border wastes" and undoubtedly needs some help... But EVERYWHERE in Plegia needs help, so what better time to give the land some attention?) So when Lucina is an adult she can take over as Ylisse's true Exalt, and Chrom can focus his efforts on the other side of the border. I think he'd still be awkward about the whole thing, approaching it like "Well, I guess I'm here if you all still want me..." but Robin's there to give him confidence and the people there are SO excited for their hero to come and live with them and together they all usher in a new era of peace and prosperity as Ylisse and Plegia themselves become like two halves of a greater whole.

[mariigoldzz]

why do some people hate botw zelda for being "annoying" just imagine if you were in her place she was a teenage girl with the world's fate on her shoulders😡

[toyboy-molloy]

me, looking at the case notes: ok so where do we go next? maybe my companion has some helpful hints

watson: I’m hungry

me: thanks john

[paunchsalazar]

Fire Emblem Awakening families in my play through…