#just made me feel like I was courting constant burnout

[bougiebutchbitch]

comic concept from popular fandom that loads of people are interested in: this does not bring joy

comic concept from far less popular fandom that WAY fewer people are interested in: this one brings joy?????

why, brain. every time.

[temper-temper]

It’s Me Birthday

I was going to draw a cute lil picture but due to a lil bit of art burnout I wasn’t able to- so instead I’m gonna write a bit of an update of my life by looking back at the past year since my last birthday.

Last year at this time I was working a job that made me miserable and wondering what I was doing with my life. It was a few months after meeting Flash, Flux, and Guru (Dawn and Doe too!) and I had just gotten back into military history- something I felt for a long time was wrong and bad for me to be into. I ended up quitting that job and starting a job that is my favorite to this day (though sadly I moved and couldn’t keep the job) and getting closer to a lot of people I’ve met through this community.

The people I’ve met here- like Silver, Doe, Daw, Flash, Ally, Flux, Guru, Summer, Aw0, Captain Molasses, Saryn ( and Fly Guy through him), Sugar, TechBro, Dainty, Paint, Dark, and so so many more- helped me so much in being comfortable and confident in who I am. They have been a constant supportive force in my life since I’ve opened myself up to them here and helped me through one of the hardest transitioning periods in my life.

In this time I’ve moved states, starting a new job, started a new Church, started a new relationship, and started being unapologetically me and I have my amazing friends to thank for helping me get to this point!

I also need to sing raises to God because where I was just s year ago was a place that looking back on it I really wasn’t happy- I didn’t know it myself but He did. I was around people who put me down (mostly those old jobs) and made me feel I wasn’t good enough and an idiot and now I’m around people who love and value me! Only God could of so perfectly brought me from where I was to where I am now.

I gotta give special thanks to a few key players in helping me out over these last few months and if you aren’t in the list don’t think that doesn’t mean I don’t value you! I think I means we need to chat more! Seriously, feel free to dm me! :3

Doe: Honey- thank you. You were the first I came to when I realized what I did and you were so patient with me, you gave me a distraction and an ear to listen while I was figuring life out. You never said “oh do this” or “do that” just listened and held me to my decision. You even gave me the kick to tell Guru how I felt!

Flux: You stayed up with me in late night calls- helping me process everything when my world was falling a part. You helped me understand my feelings and realize that feeling my feelings was okay. You’ve been the big brother I always wanted and it was so nice to bound with you while we courted out S/Os. I’m grateful for you being there when I was so scared.

Ally: You ALSO helped me understand my feelings and understand that it’s okay to feel my feelings. You sat with me while I toiled with anger and sadness; and you vented back to me your own. You have been steadfast in your support and love for me and I’m grateful to have a friend like that- you also have been nothing but supportive of me and Guru and always know what to say when I need it. Yeah misses “you are cute,” I see you

Flash: Fella you started it all! You brought me to these friendships. Your a quite strong wall of support for us and I just hope I can be one back to you. You remind me repeatedly “is this under God?” And it’s great to have a friend like that. Your a great artist and I’m glad to have you as a friend- we gotta do more with Fell and Celeste!

SilverWing: Honey get OVER HERE! You’ve been so supportive and kind to me in your feral way and I love it. It’s so nice having someone in my life who wants to pop off about the interests I thought for YEARS I wasn’t allowed to have. We don’t talk as much as I do some others on this list but we don’t have to either. Just vibes all the time 😎

Dawn: We don’t talk that much but I can always trust you. No doubt you are my friend and that being around you is always a blast. Your art is amazing and I do hope we can grow closer- but we really don’t need to, it’s just vibes all the time and I’m grateful for you.

Dainty: Girly we may not be extremely close or whatever but ASSDSDSD YOU ASADSF!! Always supportive and kind to me, always saying nice stuff about me!! You are really awesome thanks for bring my friend!

Dark: Dark, you know well by now I call you my dad. You have been in my life since I was 16 and have supported me though so much- you watched me grow up and grow into my own and I do hope I made you proud. When you saw all that stuff happening with me you stepped up to help me in your amazing Dark way and I’m so grateful for it and you. I just wish I knew how to return the favor. Please don’t undervalue yourself of your art- you are a huge inspiration to me and I don’t want you to leave my life. I trust you.

Guru: Well honey it’s your turn now. I’ve been writing this for the 30 min.

You have had such a healthy and happy impact on my life. You support me and love me just the way I am! You are an amazing and godly man that I can say wholeheartedly I love. You were part of why I got back into the military and you’ve been so crazy supportive in that time I really needed it. I’m so glad we grew closer and you ended up catching feelings for me like I did you. Having a great Christian man by my side is nothing short of amazing and the fact that on top of it all you are handsome, outgoing, well rounded, bubbly/friendly, understanding, and patients. You are the whole package as they say.

I love you hun and don’t you forget it

but honestly I love everyone I mentioned- thank you guys (and so many more) for being in my life ❤️

[arionwind]

So there's a trend I've been seeing, well for a while, but lately it's been grating on me especially hard with regards to the Crimew No-Fly List "hack". It's that genre of post that, often angrily, but sometimes just condescendingly/disappointingly tells people that they aren't taking a topic seriously enough or focusing on the correct part of it. I wanna break down just why I am find it so upsetting, and this event is an exceptional case study for it.

Because on the surface, it's entirely understandable. This is public-facing evidence in the government's own hand of a staggering litany of human rights abuses that really does deserve more in-depth discussion than it has been getting. People are absolutely justified in feeling frustrated that more discussion hasn't spawned at all social levels about this and while it's natural to cry out asking why that isn't happening, I think there's a few points that need to be kept in consideration.

A lot of us have been, in one way or another, dealing with this for years. Part of the horror of the No-Fly list is the sheer scale of it - so many people have been and continue to be harmed by their baseless inclusion on the list that it is difficult to even conceptualize how much pain has been inflicted, and that does matter. And I promise you, every single person on that list knows how big a deal both the list itself and this latest (though not the first) leak of it is.

The people on the list know. Their families know. For those lucky and brave enough to try and fight their inclusion in court, their legal teams know. All these people know, viscerally, how wretched this list is and have been bearing up under its weight for years, only talking to the select few they trust. My partner has been open about their inclusion, but I also have professional ties to people who have worked on cases trying to get names removed. Attempting to talk about their work publicly results in harassment by law enforcement and, if kept up, inclusion on the same or similar watch lists.

The angry calls for greater discussion will certainly cross the dashboards of people who are treating this whole thing like a silly meme, but it's also going to hit those of us who have been not discussing but living this constant pressing horror for years now. Hearing people say that, because we are enjoying some levity being injected into this constant source of suffering in our lives we don't "really give half a fuck about tearing down imperialism and colonization" or that we are "laughing and not actually caring" is gut-wrenching. Especially when it comes from people who also regularly talk about the need to avoid activist burnout or for marginalized people to care for themselves.

But I get the impulse to lash out like that. I have had to write and rewrite this very post more times than I can count now to cut out angry and inflammatory phrasing on my own end. And I know that, both in personal posts in the past and in reblogs, I often still fall prey to that thinking of "this is (rightly, justifiably) upsetting so I am going to lash out at people who don't seem to care".

But in this introspective moment, I am trying to stay aware (and want to try to stay aware in the future when I am tempted) that at least some of the people reblogging and posting these things are also hurting and responding to that. And while my first impulse is to cast aspersions on the people hurting me (even in this sentence I had to stop myself from slyly giving an "example" of what I would say if I wanted to lash out and thus satisfying that spiteful desire without admitting to it), I'm also trying to keep in mind my goal here.

I am hoping that at least a few people who have made (or at least reblogged onto my dash) these furious posts - both about this and other issues - will also consider what it is they are trying to accomplish. I also (again) want to keep in mind that I and people like me who are hurt by these posts aren't the only ones impacted by the No-Fly list. That people making these angry posts can be too, and as such I don't want to say that their justified expressions of frustration and rage need to be made more palatable, because they don't.

I do need to point out, though, that I've found the best way to start a discussion of a topic on the internet is to start discussing it in an open medium where others can join in. And when I look in the notes of the inflammatory calls for discussion (or even just awareness), I mostly see people talking about the call itself.

And there's nothing wrong with being angry and wanting to vent. There's not even anything wrong with being angry and wanting to vent in a public space where others can commiserate with you and help you feel less alone. But it *is* going to be much better for everyone - yourself included - if calls for awareness focus on calling for awareness and venting frustrations focus on venting in ways that don't further compound frustrations. Because looking at the notes of all of these more furious posts on these topics, I cannot imagine the constant fighting the OPs wind up doing feels soothing.

[iwa1zumis]

“i love you and i like you”: passion and burnout in Haikyuu!! 

tw: discussions of self harm, anxiety, burnout and breakdowns. 

spoilers for the whole manga!! 

okay this is probably gnna be jflkafjdklfj all over the place, but i’ve been thinking a lot lately about the difference between loving and liking something, and how haikyuu emphasises the importance of both those feelings being present when pursuing a passion. 

a quick look at google (and i KNOW my college professors are cringing away in horror victor frankenstein-style @ my use of google definitions but jflajfsdk bear with me!!) demonstrates how often the concepts of love and like are conflated, with love her being framed as a sort of deeper or more intense like: “to like or enjoy very much” to be specific. but personally i’ve always thought there’s something a bit misleading about that kind of definition, since its absolutely possible to love something or someone without necessarily liking them. to take a personal example: i love debate. i debated through middle and high school, made captain of the debate team, and was constantly travelling to and fro for different tournaments. even before i started to debate formally i’d jump at the chance to do mini-debates in class, argue with and rebut parents and friends over meals and causal conversation.... you get the idea. i loved debate, and still love it dearly, but i honestly don’t think i particularly liked it much. tournaments would always fill me with the most INSANE kind of stress, i’d barely eat or sleep in the days leading up to a meet, and i’ve had more muffled bathroom breakdowns in between rebuttals than i can count. after my final year of high school, i decided against joining the debate at university. i knew that if i were to retain ANY love for the activity going into the future, i had to force myself to take a break. 

so what does this solipsistic tangent have to do with haikyuu, you ask? well i have no doubt that a vast majority of the players in the series love volleyball. they’re dedicated and passionate about it. they hunger for the chance to be put on the court. but do they like to play? 

1. oikawa: “i forgot that volleyball can be fun” 

ofc i wouldn’t be an oikawa stan worth my salt if i didn’t start this off with the (grand) king himself!! imo one of the reasons why oikawa is such a popular and well-loved character is his constant determination to keep moving forward and playing, even in the face of seemingly insurmountable opponents and adversities (”never forget my worthless pride”, anyone?). inevitably, all the hard work and practise he put into his craft has left him with a very carefully constructed, put together playstyle-- he’s the kind of player who knows how to bring the best out of each and every teammate on the court because of the amount of time he spends observing them and playing with them. it’s an outlook and playstyle best encapsulated in his now iconic line during the second karasuno v seijoh match: 

“Talent is something you make bloom, instinct is something you polish!” 

in my opinion the word “polish” it super significant here-- it explicitly singles out the years and years of hard work that set a foundation for his talent and instinct to shine. 

but what happens when they don’t shine? there’s no denying that oikawa is an incredibly skilled and intuitive player (something that hinata’s acknowledgment of him as the “great king” to kageyama’s “king” immediately sets out) but oikawa himself is acutely aware of the fact that he can never quite measure up to his long-time rival ushijima or his immensely talented protege kageyama. oikawa’s self described strategy to deal with opponents is to: 

“Hit it until it breaks” 

but what happens when hitting something again and again with your carefully honed, “polished” skills yields no results? imo there’s a very clear binary mentality drawn here-- either you hit it and it breaks, asserting your superiority; or you hit it and it doesn’t break, enforcing your inferiority. with each perceived loss against ushijima and kageyama, oikawa’s internalized logic holds his own weakness up to his own face, shaking his faith in himself as a player. if you’ll pardon the on-the-nose-metaphor: the whole “hitting it till it breaks” strategy is a two-way street, and oikawa has been hitting himself, metaphorically speaking, for a very long time. i have no doubt that he loved volleyball, passionately, through middle and high school. but with his inferiority complex growing in the face of constantly refuted results, i think he slowly began to like it less and less. 

so how does oikawa get his groove back? to answer that, we’ll have to turn to the post-timeskip chapters, particularly the two chapters that deal with oikawa and hinata’s unexpected meeting in Rio (372 and 373 for anyone curious!). while reminiscing with hinata over dinner, oikawa finally reveals the event that made him want to play volleyball (as a setter, to be exact)-- as a child, he watched veteran setter jose blanco step into a game and

“... inconspicuously help[ed] the ace get his bearings again... and then simply left the court.” 

oikawa’s reaction to blanco’s playstyle might just be one of my favourite panels in the chapter for how it conveys so much with such little space: 

the stammer of “i-i--”, which suggests a sense of resolve and determination forming in real time, finally coalesces into the determined declaration of “i wanna be a setter too!” what i took from this is that oikawa’s admiration for-- and liking of-- blanco expresses itself in the agency with which he makes his choice, in this case, actively deciding to be a setter so that he can support players on the court like blanco did. the liking that oikawa has here is therefore inherently linked to the agency and freedom he feels here-- freedom to choose his position, and how he wants his volleyball career to develop. 

this recollection of his childhood memories, and the subsequent game of beach volleyball that oikawa and hinata play afterwards, essentially push oikawa back into the mental and physical space of a child or beginner, as the manga demonstrates with panels of oikawa being forced to ditch his usual carefully developed, polished playstyle to learn the ropes of beach volleyball: 

ultimately concluding with the beautiful panel transition of oikawa, as a child AND adult, celebrating after a successful play: 

“It reminds me that-- I forgot that-- volleyball is fun.”

in a different country, playing a familiar game by slightly different rules and led back into the mentality and freedom of a novice after years of careful development, oikawa rediscovers his liking for the game. 

2. kageyama: “when you get strong, someone stronger will rise to meet you” 

moving on to the king of the court himself!! i’d argue that kageyama’s childhood memories and experiences of volleyball function almost oppositely to oikawa’s-- while oikawa has to re-access the sensation of being a beginner again to like the game along with loving it, kageyama’s process of coming to like and love volleyball come from moving away from his early experiences and into a new phase of playing-- specifically, his partnership with hinata. 

one of kageyama’s defining features is his individualism-- he’s both skilled and solitary enough to prefer to, as he puts it, “play every single position on the court”. notably, he wants to become a setter because: 

“[it’s] the one that touches the ball the most.”

in fact, i’d argue that kageyama’s “king of the court” attitude that he was known for in middle school is an extension of this individualistic mindset: he holds himself to extremely high standards, and expects his team-mates (as extensions of himself) to meet those very same standards. the similarities between his internal monologue and his commands to kindaichi in these two panels, for example, are strikingly, visibly similar: 

there’s that near-identical intonation of “move faster, jump higher!” that implies that the way he treats his teammates is just an extension of how he treats himself-- a deeply self-critical, miserable way, as it turns out. it’s telling that for the first few chapters of a manga in which characters’ eyes literally light up when they’re happy, passionate or excited, kageyama’s eyes are drawn as pitch black, even while he’s playing. 

imo the reason why hinata’s appearance, and their later partnership, is so significant for kageyama’s personal development is because he can’t treat hinata like an extension of himself. hinata challenges him and his preconcieved notions of the sport at every turn: first with his lightning-fast reflexes and raw intuition, and then with his determination to hit kageyama’s toss no matter what. in fact, the first time that kageyama’s eyes light up in the manga is, you guessed it, when he and hinata first pull off a successful “freak quick”: 

during the post-timeskip chapters we’re introduced to kageyama’s backstory in much greater detail: the way in which his grandfather fostered his passion for volleyball and the timing with which his grandfather’s illness and later death left kageyama increasingly alienated, thus further enforcing his individualist mentality. but what the chapter also gave us was an explicit confirmation of a theme that had been built up from the very beginning of the story, when kageyama’s grandfather tells him: 

“when you get really strong, i promise someone stronger will rise to meet you”

i’ve seen translations of the line that use both “meet” and “challenge”, and personally i’d have to say that i prefer “challenge” for what it implies-- even before hinata got strong enough to actually meet kageyama halfway he challenged him to move away from his pre-established mindset of doing everything himself, and into one where he actually comes to enjoy-- and like-- volleyball. 

3. hirugami: “maybe you’ve just had your fill”

hirugami’s case is kind of a strange one-- unlike oikawa and kageyama he’s not a major character, and his relationship with volleyball only gets a single backstory chapter as opposed to a series-long arc. but i personally ADORE his mini-arc for the things it has to say about burnout, passion and moving on. 

hirugami is introduced as the youngest member of a volleyball family-- his parents, older brother and older sister all play the sport. when explaining how he began to play himself, hirugami says: 

“... naturally, i started to play too. because i was good at it, and it was fun.” 

imo there are a lot of really interesting things to pick apart with this phrasing: the “naturally” implies a foregone conclusion but also a degree of passivity, like he himself recognises that he was swept up in his family’s influence. the “it was fun” coming AFTER “because i was good for it” also implies a degree of correlation, as though if he didn’t have the aptitude, he wouldn’t enjoy the game (a mindset markedly different to both oikawa and kageyama). as hirugami gets older, this correlation of being good ----> having fun ----> being able to play begins to reverse, and therefore manifest in increasingly self destructive ways: 

the main impetus for hirugami has now become not wanting to lose, which therefore requires a degree of heightened practise and self discipline in order to achieve. notably, having fun has been reduced to an afterthought, a state that might be achieved if he wins. 

the correlation of “winning” and “being good” is a slipperly slope to go down, though, something that becomes especially apparent after hirugami’s team lose a game. the frustration of being unable to reach his goal of winning manifests itself as not being “good enough”-- acting on this, hirugami seeks to punish himself for “messing up”: 

the close up panel of hirugami’s “confession” after hoshiumi confronts him hits particularly hard because it taps into a feeling that i’m sure almost all of us have felt at one point or another-- the realisation that something you once both loved AND liked is now only bringing you misery: 

ironically, it’s actually this acknowledgement of “not really liking volleyball that much” that acts as a catalyst for hirugami’s recovery from burnout. hoshiumi’s acknowledgement of, and reply to, hirugami’s state is seemingly simple but deeply freeing: 

and honestly, why not just quit? there’s nothing tethering hirugami to volleyball, certainly nothing as serious as life or death. personally my favourite part of this panel is hoshiumi’s description of volleyball as food from which hoshiumi has “eaten his fill”-- a lovely metaphor that re-contextualizes what could be seen as “time wasted” into something productive and indeed nourishing. 

when we check up on hirugami post time-skip, we find out that he has indeed quit playing volleyball in favour of going to veterinary school, but he’s seen watching the game between the jackals and adlers on his phone with an eager, fond smile on his face, implying that it was the act of moving away from the table (so to speak) after eating his fill that let him still hold on to a love and passion for the game, even though he is now interacting with it as a spectator instead of a player. and indeed that might just be why i love hirugami’s arc so much-- with it, haikyuu tells us that sometimes passion’s don’t need to be re-ignited in the same way. while oikawa and kageyama rediscover their love for, and liking of, the game through a return to childhood and the arrival of a new partner respectively, hirugami’s journey away from burnout comes from recognizing that he can step away from the volleyball court, and that the love and like will still remain. 

[shyvioletcat]

Could you do a rowaelin angst prompt like thing where aelin dies giving birth to their second or third child and becomes a ghost that follows them around? Idk how to explain it very well at the moment... but it's obviously an angst prompt. Love you AND your writing!

Well, well, well anon… Thank you for making me cry at least three times while writing this. At one point I couldn’t see the screen. *WARNING* Major character death ahead… 

My hand was forced. But I still apologise. This is a long son of a bitch too.

~~~~~

Rowan held his new born daughter in his arms, the world quiet and still. She was so tiny, so perfect. But it did nothing to soothe the expanse of darkness within him that threatened to swallow him whole.

“Rowan.”

It was Yrene. He’d heard her approach but he didn’t look up from the squirming infant in his arms. Because if he did…

“Rowan, I just need to check her over. It will only take me a few minutes then I will bring her right back to you.” Yrene’s voice was so soft and quiet, as if speaking to him in any other manner might shatter him entirely. And it just might.

Rowan drew in a shuddering breath, feeling his will slipping. His daughter cried out her body moving involuntarily. She was minutes old, she knew nothing of the world. He envied her ignorance.

“Only a few moments,” Yrene said again.

Rowan complied, treating the request as a command, like a good soldier.

All of a sudden he wasn’t in Orynth, he was is Mistward in that dingy old room, fire roaring to help Aelin keep warm after her burnout.

I don’t want your pity she had said to him and then told him why.

Like a good soldierRowan had told her. He had meant every one of those words to her.

Rowan looked at his empty hands where his daughter had been. It was then that he saw the small crescent shaped imprints in his palms. They weren’t from his own nails, they were from hers… She had gripped his hands so hard as she made him promise her, as if the drop of healing power within knew what none of them had, she made him promise.

“You save him Rowan. If you have to save one of us, you save him.”

They had been so sure that it was a boy. The dream Rowan had had all those years ago as he searched for his mate had been right for their first two children and they had blissfully assumed he would be right again this time. And then it would be another daughter and then at least one, that would be a true surprise. They had quietly laughed about it over so many nights. Aelin had called him a seer and Rowan had flicked her nose and kissed her which only made her laugh, a wicked and joyous sound. Something he would never hear again.

Rowan turned around to face the bed where she lay, cold and unmoving. Someone had laid one of their blankets over her, just above her shoulders exposed. Rowan understood the sentiment but the blanket was useless, not when Aelin’s raging wildfire had burnt out, never to be kindled again.

Aelin was dead. Rowan’s mate, his wife, his love, was dead.

Rowan stumbled to the edge of the bed, falling to his knees beside it. He brushed Aelin’s hair away from her face, her skin already so cold and her face draining of colour. It was as if she had thrown every last part of her into saving their child. If there was one thing Aelin loved more than him it was their children. She loved them fiercely with every part of her burning heart and soul.

A broken sob cracked from his chest, the sound coming from the shreds of his broken soul, so devoid of anything now that the mating bond had been irrevocably severed. Then he said one word, so mournful and shattered that all those in the room began to weep at the sound.

“Fireheart.”

~~~~~

Fireheart…

Aelin felt warm as she slowly opened her eyes. It felt so strange after being so, so cold. Instinctively her hands went to her stomach and found it to be entirely flat. Panic gripped her and she sat up.

“Fireheart.”

Aelin’s whole body stilled. She had not heard that voice in so long.

“Mother?”

Aelin was enclosed in a warm embrace, so familiar and comforting. She’d never forget the strong arms of her Father and how they felt as they held her and kept her safe from the world.

He let her go and Aelin took in the smiling faces of her parents. They were smiling but Aelin could read the sadness in their faces, the unshed tears in their eyes.

“I’m not supposed to be here,” Aelin whispered.

“I know, Aelin,” her father said, his hand reaching for hers.

It came back to her, in flashes and moments.

Pain pulled her from her sleep, or maybe it had been her essence of healing power telling her something was wrong. Very wrong. Rowan was already awake and she murmured his name as he assessed her. When he pulled back the blankets that’s when she saw the blood.

Using the same portal they had used to bring in the Wolf Tribe in the final battle Rowan brought Yrene to Orynth. They had agreed the portals were only to be used in emergencies. This was most definitely an emergency. Despite the late hour Yrene arrived clear eyed and wholly awake.

“Just so you know, you’ve interrupted our first night alone in months,” Yrene said as she rolled up her sleeves.

Aelin huffed a laugh, grateful for Yrene’s attempt to lift the mood.

“You’re not missing much,” Aelin said, her voice trembling as much as her body.

Yrene snorted at that. “Alright let’s see what is going on here.”

Hours passed and Aelin had been in constant pain, she was feeling herself grow weaker by the minute.

Her fae hearing picked up Yrene’s whispers. “There’s too much blood. I can’t stop it.”

Aelin turned to Rowan, his face was stricken. She could feel his fear as though it was her own. She took his hand, another contraction ripping at her body as she locked eyes with her mate. This was different to the births of her other two children and it scared her.

“You save him Rowan. If it comes down to it you save him.”

Aelin could feel her fingernails biting into Rowan’s palm but he didn’t flinch. He only nodded once.

I understand, his eyes said to her…

“I’m not meant to be here.” They memories blurred and Aelin shook her head. The hand that was not held by her father flew to Aelin’s chest. It felt, hollow, empty. She reached for Rowan, reached for the mating bond, but neither were there. Aelin cried out, a sound of true heartbreak. Again she reached for Rowan, hoping desperately that some thread remained to bring her back. There was nothing. Instead a scene opened before her, Rowan knelt beside their bed, whispering things she could not hear. He knelt besides her lifeless body, tears streaming down his face.

Aelin’s own cheeks were wet with tears as his voice became clearer.

“I kept my promise Aelin, our child is alive. I hope you can hear me from wherever you are because it was a little girl, not a boy like we thought it would be,” Rowan said.

Then Yrene was beside him, handing him a bundle. Instinctively Aelin moved forward, wanting to see what she had not been able to while she was living. The face of her daughter. Rowan cradled her to his chest her perfect face peeking through the blankets, her eyes were open and she saw those Ashryver eyes search her father’s face. Rowan let out a shuddering breath.

“I know I promised to find you, to rip through all the hells until we were together again. But I can’t right now, Fireheart. She needs me, Elsie and Finn. They all need me. Terrasen needs me. If I left themnow you would find me yourself and kick my ass for good measure. So I won’t leave them yet, any of them. But we will be together again. To whatever end.”

Aelin let her heavy tears fall, the pain unbearable. She felt as if she was being torn to pieces. Her children motherless. Her country without a Queen. What had she done to cause this?

“It wasn’t your fault, Fireheart,” Her mother said, reading her thoughts. “You did nothing to cause this and you could do nothing to stop it. Sometimes life is cruel.”

Aelin turned away from her husband to look at her mother and her father. They understood what it was to be taken from a child too early, they knew her pain.

“Will you come, we’ve been waiting for you?” Evalin held her hand out to her daughter, beckoning and hopeful.

Aelin turned back to Rowan weeping unabashedly, tears staining the white blanket that kept they’re newborn daughter warm. Once again Aelin felt torn, even in death she could not rest.

“I can’t,” Aelin said. “Not yet.”

Rhoe nodded. “We understand.”

Aelin’s parents walked away from her, fading away into a white light. She wasn’t sad to see them go, she would see them again. And soon.

~~~~~

It had been weeks and still Rowan hadn’t named their daughter. They had been so sure it was a boy they hadn’t come up with any names for a girl. Rowan had been in a haze since her death, barely functioning. He cared for their children and that was about it. Aelin was flattered that he grieved so deeply but she wanted to smack him on the back of the head for leaving their daughter nameless.

Elide and Aedion were effectively leading the country as Rowan kept to their, now his, private quarters. All of the court visited him, helped him, helped Elspeth and Finnian as they grieved too. Aelin watched, but most of all her new daughter. She was so small, it made Aelin’s heart ache that she couldn’t hold her, feel the smoothness of her cheeks, the softness of her hair. Aelin knew what she would call her. She would call her Alora. It was a name from a book she had read when she was younger. Aelin had loved the name, she didn’t know why, and it fit her daughter somehow. It meant light, and that’s what she was. A light in the darkness.

The babe stirred in her sleep, eyes blinking open. She’d been asleep for only minutes. Her mouth opened and she wailed and Rowan was by her side a moment later. Aelin watched as Rowan picked her up shushing her quietly.

“I have you, my little one. I have you,” Rowan murmured as he rested his daughter on his chest. Rowan paced and bounced, but still she cried. “I know. I know. I miss her too.”

Rowan hummed, a lullaby he sang to all their children. Aelin knew he wasn’t singing the words because he was too overcome with emotions right now. The baby stopped crying, soothed by that ancient melody.

“I’m sorry,” Rowan whispered. “I’m sorry I haven’t given you a name. I’m sorry your mother isn’t here, she would love you with all her heart. I’m sorry I’m not more.”

Aelin’s heart ached. Rowan was still selling himself short, always doubting his worth. If Aelin could she would contradict him, kiss him until he agreed with her. But she couldn’t.

She tried to reach for him, her chest still hollow from that severed bond, but still she tried.

“Alora, Alora, Alora,” Aelin said over and, hoping by some grace Rowan would hear her.

Alora Alora Alora.

Rowan tilted his head as though he was listening for something.

Alora…

He looked down at the baby and Aelin held her breath.

“Alora,” Rowan whispered. “I love you, Alora.”

~~~~~

The years went on and still Aelin watched.

She saw Alora take her first steps walking between Elsie and Finn as Rowan cheered, pure joy on his face.

But he scowled as she said her first word. It was Fen, as in Uncle Fenrys. Aelin had laughed but sobered when she saw tears lining Fenrys’ eyes. By far Fenrys was Alora’s favourite. Aelin loved to watch them play when he was in his wolf form. He would snarl at her and she’d snarl right back, her four teeth bared.

Her older siblings adored her. One of them always seemed to be by her side, holding her hand or carrying her. If it wasn’t one of them it was a member of her court. Initially Aelin had tensed when Lorcan had taken her into his arms after she had wandered away from her sister who was meant to be watching her. But there was a gentleness to him that calmed her anxieties. Alora had grabbed at his long hair and he had let her.

The day her powers manifested Rowan had cried. She had been playing with Lysandra and Elide, they chased her and Alora chased them back. Lysandra had evaded Alora again by she stumbled as her foot caught on the floor. Entirely encased in ice. Everyone had gaped but Alora clapped her hands excitedly, entirely too proud at herself. Rowan looked on from where he sat, a tear rolling down his cheek. Aelin wiped her own away.

Alora grew and grew and Aelin could only watch as she became more beautiful by the day. By some cruel joke, maybe lingering from the damned gods Aelin had banished, Alora was a twin to Aelin. Same hair and eyes, almost identical face. Sometimes Aelin saw the way Rowan’s heart twisted in pain. He didn’t begrudge her or love her any less for it. If anything it was a beautiful reminder of his lost love.

Aelin watched as Alora fell in love and had her heart broken, a few times. Rowan was there for her holding her as she cried, threaten to rip arms off and freeze favoured appendages of the culprits. That made Alora and Aelin laugh. Fussy fae bastard.

Elspeth came of age, and after travelling and taking time for herself she assumed the throne and Rowan stepped down. Alora went travelling as well, visiting cousins in Wendlyn and Doranelle, making friends wherever she went. Such a bright light, people couldn’t keep away. Aelin wept when she found her mate in Doranelle. A brash young boy who would grate on everyone and give Fenrys and Aedion a run for their money. But Alora loved him and he adored her, so Aelin was happy.

Years passed, families were had, friends passed. Each one Aelin would greet and usher on, telling them that she would follow soon. She had someone in particular she was waiting for.

~~~~~

Rowan started to become weary of the world, his long years finally catching up to him. His sole joy were his children and grandchildren but it was almost time. It was Alora who told him to go. She was pregnant with her third child and she was sitting quietly with Rowan in his private room. She closed her book and sighed heavily.

“Papa,” Alora said and Rowan looked at her, “I think it is time for you to go.”

Rowan straightened at her words and went to say something but Alora raised her hand to stop him.

“We are all happy and content. We are safe and you have raised us in love and kindness. But I think it is time you soul was whole again.”

Aelin’s hands were on her chest, over that emptiness that was a constant dull ache.

Rowan nodded. “I will wait for this baby and then I will make plans.”

~~~~~

Rowan kept true to his word. Alora welcomed a healthy baby girl, as Rowan took her into his arms for the first time Alora told him her name.

“Rowenna. For you, Papa,” Alora’s weary voice whispered.

Aelin couldn’t tell who was crying harder, herself or Rowan.

Soon after he packed up his things, put his affairs in order and farewelled his loved ones. He left on a ship, arriving in Wendlyn a while later. Aelin was with him every step of the way as he trekked to the ruin’s of Mala’s temple. Where he had brought her all those years ago, to help her.

Rowan laid down on the broken stones and let out a heavy sigh. “I’m coming, Fireheart.”

Aelin placed her hands on Rowan’s chest even though he could not feel them. His breathing slowed and he placed his hands over his heart where Aelin’s hands were as if he knew. Aelin watched as Rowan breathing stopped, the light going from his features. She waited, prayed. Prayed to the Sun-goddess that she had banished but had left Aelin with a kindness that gave her a life with Rowan. Aelin begged for one last kindness. For her mate to find her once more. Although she could not feel it she knew Rowan’s body had gone cold, but he still wasn’t with her. The tears she had fought to keep at bay fell as Aelin began to despair that this may be her punishment for her wickedness. To be like Elena, always banished from her mate.

Aelin looked at Rowan’s handsome face, the face she had once hated but had come to love so fiercely.

“Find me, Buzzard,” Aelin whispered, her voice wavering. “You must come find me.”

Then Aelin heard a voice, the voice of her husband, her mate, the love who had made her want to live.

“Fireheart.”

Aelin stood and saw him there. Then they were in each other’s arms, lips pressed together in a sweet reunion they had waited life times for.

“I knew you were with me,” Rowan whispered leaning his forehead against hers. “I knew you would always be with me.”

That hollowness in her chest began to fill, the mating bond flowing freely between them once more. Aelin sighed at the feeling, she felt whole again.

“Will you come with me?” Aelin asked as she interlaced their fingers together.

“Where?” Rowan asked back.

Aelin shrugged. “I’m not sure. But I do not fear it as long as you’re with me.”

Rowan smiled and raised her hand to his lips.

“To whatever end, Aelin.”

“To whatever end.”

Then hand in hand they walked until the bright light enveloped them, caressing them like warm summer breeze and welcomed them into the beyond.

~~~~~

Tag: @fucking-winchester-trash // @literary-licorice // @galyxsy // @tangledraysofsunshine // @highqueenofelfhame // @3am-reading // @soup-that-is-too-hawt // @aelinfire-bringer // @nalgenewhore // @highladyofthesith // @http-itsrebecca // @sleep-and-books // @average-girl-at-best // @alifletcher2012 // @westofmoon // @sleeping-and-books // @ttakeitbacknoww // @armixers-unite // @mariamuses // @chocolate-eating-bitch-queen // @velarian-trash // @queenofxhearts // @princess-galathynius // @heroesofterrasen // @ladyofstoriesandmusic // @empire-of-wildfire // @camerooonchiu // @crackedship // @lowhangingtreebranches // @over300books // @yourwhisperingshadows // @thesirenwashere // @tswaney17 // @impossiblescissorspeachpaper // @cat5313 // @judelovescardan // @flowerspringsea // @chaoticskyy // @the-regal-warrior // @starseternalnighttriumphant

[dfpbetrayed-blog]

A Year of #MeToo Exhausted Women—And Renewed Our Collective Hope

Last week, Bloomberg published a weird statistic. By their count, at least 425 people—nearly all of them men—had been accused of sexual misconduct since the publication of sexual assault and rape accusations against Harvey Weinstein in The New York Times a year ago. Bloomberg called the figure “conservative,” clarifying that it only accounts for accusations described in the media against “prominent” people (their analysis is based on news headlines reporting on accused people) . What’s more interesting is that the figure—accompanied in Bloomberg’s reporting by graphs showing the popularity of the “#MeToo” hashtag and the frequency of sexual assault stories in the media over the past 12 months (disregarding the movement’s previous origins, when it was begun by Tarana Burke in 2006)—reflects a pointed understanding of the events of the past year. In Bloomberg’s view, the #MeToo movement that has exposed massive numbers of sexual assault and harassment allegations can be seen as a quantifiable trend, able to be captured as a data set and documented on a scorecard of lost male power.

The focus on once-invulnerable men brought down within big-paycheck industries by public airing of their own behavior—makes for a compelling story: that of men’s dramatic falls from grace. For survivors of sexual violence, the past year has meant something very different. In the wake of the Weinstein allegations, many of those survivors, who are overwhelmingly women, felt a renewed license and urgency to discuss their own experiences of sexual harassment, sexual assault, and rape in the service of positive social change.

I witnessed women’s eagerness to tell their own stories intimately last October, when I created a Google spreadsheet that I titled “Shitty Media Men” and made it available for women in my industry to anonymously document their experiences of rape, assault, and harassment. The document sparked controversy, and I was eventually forced to make my identity public in an essay for The Cut under threat of doxxing.

While the #MeToo movement led to a reckoning in several high-profile industries, as the Bloomberg story indicates, it also reverberated in blue-collar workforces that are not typical sites of media attention, including the Ford Motor Company plants in Chicago, where women workers raised the alarm about pervasive misconduct, and the fast food workers at McDonald’s restaurants nationwide who went on strike to demand an end to the sexual harassment they face.

This hasn’t exactly been easy for many of the people who have come forward, and those who have privately contended with the constant news cycle rooted in rape and sexual harassment and assault. The glut of assault stories and recounted trauma has placed a strain both on survivors’ resources and on advocates’ energy. “I’ve basically had a video of my rape playing on repeat in my head for the past year,” one friend told me, echoing a sentiment I’ve heard from many survivors both in my personal life and in my reporting. “That part doesn’t feel empowering. It feels oppressive.” Over the past year, the National Sexual Assault Hotline, a crisis line for survivors of sexual violence, has seen a 30 percent increase in calls. The hotline had the busiest day in its 24-year history on September 28, the day after Dr. Christine Blasey Ford’s testimony before the Senate Judiciary Committee.

For many who work as organizers, activists, providers of resources for victims, or public commentators, the continual public focus on testimonies of sexual assault has at times been vexing, re-traumatizing, and otherwise difficult to endure. When I spoke to a number of public feminist activists, writers, and #MeToo voices over the phone this weekend, one word they all used was “exhausted.” They were exhausted, they told me, by continued sexist disbelief of survivors, and by powerful men’s indifference to survivor’s pain. Most of all, they were exhausted by the ordeal of listening to survivors’ stories—hearing and thinking about sexual assault consistently for a year.

Many of the women I spoke to were survivors who have uncomfortably recognized elements of their own rapes and assaults in the stories, often detailed, that are shared with them by friends and sources, or which they read about in the media. This is what happens when you hear a large number of sexual assault stories: Other people’s traumas become your own.

Jessica Valenti, the author and founder of the feminist media site Feministing, told me that she’s coping with the barrage of sexual assault stories by cultivating a kind of selective unfeeling. “It’s just an overwhelm of pain, and I’m at the point where my brain has enacted this sort of protective measure for me to be able to get through the day.” She said that the feeling reminded her of her emotional response when she gave birth to her daughter three months early. “We weren’t sure she was going to live. I developed this intense detachment that later turned into PTSD. That’s how I feel now.”

I can relate to Valenti’s self-defensive numbness—in part because the whole of the suffering that the #MeToo movement seeks to make consequential is just too big to comprehend. My mind stretches to collapse trying to get around the breadth of it. Take Bloomberg’s “conservative” number of 425 accused perpetrators. How many victims is that? They don’t say. How many moments of shame or fear is it? How much embarrassment and anxiety has been felt? How many flashbacks videos played in the mind? How much lost time and lost potential? You can’t get your head around it. It feels too devastating to try.

When I talked to Soraya Chemaly, the media critic and author of Rage Becomes Her: The Power of Women’s Anger, she cautioned me against despair. “Exhaustion is a tool,” she told me. “They use it to deplete us, to wear us out.” She was talking about the Republican Senators who pushed the multiply accused sexual assault perpetrator Brett Kavanaugh through to the Supreme Court, but she could have been talking about the forces of misogyny and inequality that women face in general.

I think she’s right—among those who advocate for justice, exhaustion, numbness, and the desire to protect ourselves from pain can lead to the collapse of the fight, if people need to make the choice to opt out. It can help the forces of inequality prop themselves up and become stronger. But the alternative is for feminists to shoulder on through all the exhaustion, pain, and disappointment of doing this work. If we do that, we risk doing our enemies’ work for them: We could destroy ourselves. Activists have long cautioned against the personal toll that their work takes on them, emphasizing that, because their work often requires them to expose themselves to brutality, that they should guard against symptoms of anxiety and PTSD. Research backs them up: A recent study of surviving ACT UP New York members found that nearly 20 percent experience current symptoms of PTSD. “I wish feminists had a structured way—like some sort of tag team—of passing the baton periodically,” Chemaly said, “to take care of ourselves and avoid burnout or despair.” We laughed, but she was only half-joking.

Chemaly stressed that #MeToo is not unprecedented—that it in fact has what she called a “hashtag genealogy” of feminist first-person popular movements meant to help ameliorate the norms around sexual violence and sexual harassment. She mentioned 2014’s #YesAllWomen, a viral campaign that highlighted the prevalence of sexual harassment and assault, and #NotOkay, the hashtag that arose in 2016 following the release of Donald Trump’s Access Hollywood tape, in which the then-candidate could be heard bragging about sexual assault.

The fight, Chemaly reminded me, is an old one, and other feminists I spoke to also pointed out that #MeToo is part of a much longer tradition—and that this sense of exhaustion that many feminists are feeling is as old as organized feminism itself. Women have been telling stories of assault and misconduct for so long, in different forms and in different settings for decades, recounting our traumas in public over and over again: The plight of women who face violence by men was made a part of the public conversation in the suffrage movement, in the temperance movement, and in 19th-century discussions of women’s introductions into industrial employment in places like the Lowell mills.

Mariame Kaba, the educator and organizer whose nonprofit advocacy group Survived and Punished works to free incarcerated victims of sexual and domestic violence, compared #MeToo’s utilization of women’s first-person testimonies to “consciousness-raising,” an organizing tactic that originated in the second-wave feminist movement of the late 1960s and 1970s. Consciousness-raising consisted of small, in-person groups of women who met in kitchens, coffee shops, and university classrooms to discuss the impact of sexism in their own lives. The aim was to detect commonalities and patterns among women’s experiences, and, as the name suggests, to “raise consciousness”—that is, ideate how to apply feminist ideas to their own daily lives. The major groups fizzled out in the mid-1970s, but the tradition of speaking out about one’s own life as a way to move forward collectively lived on—as is very visible on social media in campaigns like #MeToo.

Consciousness-raising and tactics like it have always frustrated feminists, too. “Even back in the second wave, they realized that consciousness-raising wasn’t enough,” Kaba told me. Talking about the problems that sexism posed in their lives and identifying these problems as gendered made individual women feel better by giving them strength, community, and the knowledge that they were not alone. But it did not change their lived circumstances, nor prevent the same standing prejudices and inequalities that affected them from future suffering—it was therapeutic, Kaba told me, but it wasn’t the same as political organizing. The philosopher bell hooks summed up the complaints this way: “Feminist consciousness-raising has not significantly pushed women in the direction of revolutionary politics.”

At an academic conference called “Me Too and Epistemic Injustice” that I attended at the CUNY Graduate Center this past weekend, the CUNY philosophy professor Miranda Fricker put it this way: #MeToo, she says, has changed what she calls the “credibility climate”—the movement has advanced avenues for victims of sexual violence to be believed, both by institutions responsible for investigating allegations and by the people around them. But even when allegations are taken seriously or proven in this new credibility climate, the resulting knowledge—that the accused person has committed a sexual assault, that the accusing person was a victim of it—is not seen as a reason for corrective and rehabilitative action from those in power. Basically, Fricker posits that #MeToo means that more survivors are being believed when they come forward with allegations of sexual harassment and assault. That doesn’t mean that the people or institutions that they come forward to are doing anything about it.

The gulf between the emotionality of women’s testimony and the failure of that testimony to affect a change in their lived circumstances has been one of the most searing things that #MeToo has forced us to confront. Women can tell our stories of assault, rape, and harassment all we want. It will not matter if those in power do not want it to. I didn’t feel this way at the beginning of the movement, when powerful men appeared to be losing their stature and their reputations under the force of women’s testimony. It did not feel good to see these men punished, exactly, but it felt good to see women’s voices mattering, their testimonies given credence, and their experiences granted consequence. But a year in, when the predictable comebacks of predators have been launched, legal consequences have been few and far between, and the self-pitying essays by predators have been published—when the knowledge that a multiply accused sexual assaulter sits in the White House and another one has been rewarded with a seat on the Supreme Court—it is hard not to feel despondent, hard not to feel that women telling our stories has failed to effect the change we hoped that it would.

The visible effect is not on the structures of patriarchy, which remain intact, and not in the distribution of political, economic, and social power, which is still disproportionately held by men. The most visible effect is that we—feminists, women, and people who have experienced sexual violence—are all very tired. Maybe it’s counterintuitive to say that the feminists I spoke to all gave me a great deal of hope for the future of #MeToo and the wider feminist movement. All of them were angry, burdened by grief over what sexual assault survivors have endured, afraid of a future in which women’s rights will be eroded further, and, yes, exhausted. They were all also determined, more alert to the challenges facing the movement, and more defiant and tenacious in the face of them.

It is useful to remember that even if consciousness-raising isn’t sufficient for social change, it is always a prerequisite. If we cannot name our oppression—if we cannot articulate the violence that has been done to us—it will be impossible to fight against it, or to prevent it from happening again. If women did not talk about our problems, we would not have domestic violence shelters, women’s self-defense classes, the criminalization of marital rape, legal prohibition against sexual harassment in the workplace, nor popular understandings of date rape, victim-blaming, and slut-shaming.

At one point in our conversation, Kaba told me that she hoped the movement would help feminists “collectivize our suffering, and collectivize our care”—to become more alert both to the ways that those around us have hurt, and more alert to how we can lift one another up. In #MeToo’s sharing of grief, and collective demand for change, this is already happening.

[nonationundercanadia]

CW: fascism, nazi march, violence, death, racism, antisemitism, trump, food, KKK, guns, terrorism

X X X

This is long but it's great food for thought about the revolution.

From a comrade who was on the ground in Cville:

I have avoided being tactical up til now because I figured people needed some time. but I think it's time, or well anyway, it's on my mind and I think I have a clear picture of what's going on now.

first, politically and socially, here's what's been going on the past few days very rapidly—

we all know that trump's half assed condemnation of white supremacist organizations means nothing, his own father was a known klansman & it wouldn't surprise me if he were too. he was merely put in a position where he had to say something, and he did so in the most evasive and grating way possible.

I'm not sure if it's on the news yet, because a lot I've been avoiding it, but the justice department is going to be seeking terrorism charges against the attacker. this is obviously not because of the goodness of the administration's collective (and non-existent) heart, its purely political, and it's especially important because hitler did the same thing.

donald trump rode these people into office, he emboldened them, he contributed to (not caused, but that's for later) a rise in their numbers and visibility, he leveraged their rage and that is why he is in the white house after one of, if not the single most, contentious elections in our country's history. he appointed people like bannon to his inner circle, he winked at them, and signaled to them that he was their guy at every turn. the charge of white supremacy is one that has followed him his entire political career.

but now he has real power, and since that has happened, he has made moves to distance himself from them. it's been too slow, but now it is nearly complete.

saturday, his dog came off the chain and killed someone. and that wouldn't bother him so much if it didn't happen in front of cameras in a way that is very difficult to wave away or deny. because it's not the first time they've killed people, it's just the first time it happened on a live stream in broad daylight in a crowd of thousands. it made noise. too much for him to drown out.

so what does the administration do? it seeks terrorism charges. it comes down hard, it shoots its rabid dog and throws the monsters that made them (and that they made in turn) under the bus.

this is why I referenced hitler. when you have real power, you don't need the brown shirts anymore, so you get rid of them. they've become a liability to him now.

believe me, they agree with me on that. cucked again. they're enraged.

what I haven't decided is if this means we can expect them to regroup and act out like a cornered animal, or whether they'll retreat to lick that wound for awhile.

what I do know is this. there were roughly one thousand white supremacists in charlottesville on saturday, and obviously not everyone made it. there are estimated to be roughly three thousand ISIS fighters globally, total.

you see where I'm going with this?

they are enraged, they are armed, they are willing and eager to kill.

meanwhile, while I have been dealing with centrist trash and the usual reactionaries spouting off nonsense and what, to them, surely sounds like logic, I have seen people waking up.

I have seen people who identified as pacifists realizing that that doesn't apply to nazis, I have seen people who I have never seen post politically condemn them and praise those who fought them, I have seen people who voted for trump feel shame and begin to grapple with what they have done and resolve to make it right. dr cornel west told the washington post and the new york times and anyone who would listen that without "the anarchists and antifascists" he and other clergy would be dead. he literally said the word anarchists. correctly.

today I saw an antifa flag raised on a very official flag pole in front of a city court house, with the blessing of the mayor, and a crowd of very normal looking people cheering.

this is a P I V O T A L moment. there are many of them throughout history, but this is one of them. undeniably. we are in an incredible position to radicalize people, a position that I genuinely believe we have not been in a hundred years at least, if ever.

it only enrages me that this is what it took. both because it took such tragedy, but also because I know, y'all know, and I'm sure heather heyer knew, that had it not been a white woman, killed by a white man, the response wouldn't have been the same. we cannot let her death, and the invisible deaths of all that came before her, be in vain.

so what now?

we all know that there will be a "before charlottesville" and "after charlottesville", in the hearts of those who saw it, in the way we do organizing, in the way they do, and in the way the police prepare and respond. I'm not totally sure what all of those moving pieces will look like, but I think we can expect escalation, because this was nothing if not a blood soaked line in the sand.

I have long said that literally the three single most important things we can be doing are:

✓community defense: arm ourselves, patrol, have an alert system, train in firearms and hand to hand combat and situational awareness and tech security and medical aid

✓community infrastructure/sovereignty: food, clothing, shelter, and other resources. this means community care and outreach, this means food shares and gardens and clothing swaps and rides and babysitting, a childcare collective, this means a community pharmacy, this means relying on ourselves absolutely as much as possible for everything we need

✓community education: this means radicalizing people as well as continuing our own radical education. this means workshops, seminars, salons and book clubs. this means making radical theory accessible, this means making it palpable (and liberation should be the most palpable thing in the world).

while the last two are the most ongoing, the most tedious, the most important to foundation, it's that first one that has just become imperative. it is absolutely time to prepare. we are not yet ready for what is coming, but we will be. arm yourselves, train yourselves, ready yourselves, harden yourselves (without losing your heart).

different people among you will be cut out for different pieces of this work. that is okay, we need all of you. do not judge people doing a different work than you are. this process is involved and constant. do not question the commitment of your comrades in different fields, who excel at different things. respect a diversity of tactics. respect people taking self-care breaks. take them yourself, please, because burnout is real, and capitalism keeps coming. it is not enough to come together over our political proclivities and shared rage, we must be friends, community, family. we have to respect and love each other. we have to laugh together.

if you are new here, we welcome you, there is plenty of work to be done. ask me about it, and I'll point you to it.

this won't be an easy task. the fact of the matter is that fascism is on the rise globally, and as we slide further into the throes of climate change the conditions will only ripen. resource collapse, economic collapse, war, famine, and the fall of nations. it's all coming, and before it kills us or turns hollywood dramatic, it will quietly give way to fascism. it's coming. this is the consequence of end stage capitalism, of deregulation. we are slouching toward entropy, and we have to be prepared.

we are on the cusp of choosing, as a nation, and a planet, whether the future will be one of oppression or liberation, fascism or collectivism. we do get a choice, but it's going to get dark, it's going to get bloody, and you have to dig in.

that's it. that's all I got. turn this into pasta if you wanna.

from Leftist Feminism