#we won't survive it

[goldenpinof]

I am not ready for the quiff with his blonde hair. It’s gonna be POWERFUL.

we need "how to survive amazingphil's blonde quiff: a manual" asap!!

[amaltheas-garden]

when u point out Dany having the power of god x3 to destroy any city she doesn't like might be a bad thing and probably won't be rewarded by the narrative

targies: noooo it will be fine because Dany would NEVER do that she's just too fundamentally GOOD to ever be corrupted by unlimited power 🙃 source: trust me bro

apparently the theme of asoiaf is absolute power is good, actually, we just need to make sure the *right* people have it 😇

[never-looked-so-good]

i really need to see the whole fit

📷 @/leclercsupportsystemm

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The girls are plottinggggg

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: not gonna even acknowledge the time break between chappies... all i'm gonna say happy cassian chappie ! <3! i hope u all enjoy it mwah thank u for reading

word count: 3.8k

synopsis: Adjusting to life in Velaris means learning to train with new, friendly faces. A tentative friendship forms. Azriel keeps his distance.

CHAPTER NINE :: FRIENDS (IN OTHER PLACES)

Whoosh.

Training staff gripped tightly in your calloused hands, you swing with a muscle memory built over decades, the stick whistling as it cuts through the air with deadly precision. Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard.

You're going through the motions. A simple warm-up, running a drill that you've done enough times you could probably do it in your sleep. The movements are familiar, easy. Routine.

If you close your eyes, you could almost imagine you're still in Exordor.

Except... there's no familiar wind current to perform its melody in the early morning, dancing through the mountainside trees. No frozen chill to the air around you. No crunch of snow beneath your feet to throw your balance. No bound chest to chafe your skin.

No looking over your shoulder in pure panic at every unexpected noise.

Well, not quite that last one. It's a habit you're dedicated to breaking for the sake of your shot nerves — but evidently failing, considering how you straighten up and whip around when the door leading out to the training ring shudders open.

You hold your breath on instinct and clutch the training staff tighter.

Stepping out into the early morning air, the dawn still unbroken, is another Illyrian warrior.

Mother, how many of them were there around here?

You hadn't got to meet anyone else after that encounter on the balcony, almost exactly one week ago. Hadn't exactly wanted to either.

You hadn't even wanted to see Azriel again so soon after the churning, sickening twist of emotions you had barely managed to stumble through after your severe reawakening.

He hadn't come to see you.

You hadn't asked.

Besides Madja, Rhysand was the only new face you had come to know. He had taken to coming by your room a couple times over the week, checking on the progress of your healing, particularly sympathetic on the state of your wings. Revealed his own with a polite flourish.

He was... different than you were expecting. Perhaps you were learning that rumours are not everything — certainly it's clear that there is more to Rhysand than what first appears.

As Highlord, he had to discuss your potential living situations once you were healed enough to leave the infirmary.

I meant what I said. He had said, violet eyes kind as he hovered at the end of your bed. You're no prisoner here. You'll be free to go wherever you wish, even back to Exordor if that's what you decide.

And if I don't? You had whispered, your gaze fixed on the fine sheets of the bed. If I decide that... I have no home there anymore?

Then you'll have a home here. For as long as you would like.

And though it overrode every single instinct you had learned to trust, everything that had kept you alive this long, you chose to take his word for it.

Rhys said no harm would befall you in Velaris and you would be welcome here for as long as wanted.

But... that didn't mean you were exactly looking to make new friends.

Staring the newcomer that enters the balcony with much less grace than that of usual Illyrians, you watch him closely, not quite daring to take a breath.

At a first glance, you had thought it might be Azriel—heart leaping up your throat—but that was quickly washed away. Something in you knew from the hair standing up on the nape of your neck, before you even saw him properly, that this male was utterly unfamiliar to you.

He's taller, you realise. His hair is a longer and he doesn't quite move with the grace of the Shadowsinger — though, perhaps you are just so unused to seeing a male so relaxed. So caught off guard, in fact, that when he turns he gives a little yelp in surprise.

"Fuck!" He says, one of his large hands jumping out and clenching into a fist —his whole body switching to a fighting stance, you realise— before he relaxes again. His fist uncurls into a less threatening open palm.

"I- sorry, just didn't realise anyone else was out here." His fighting stance melts away, open palm still extended. He gives what you think might be a friendly smile.

You don't respond, only gripping the training staff a little tighter. Every hackle is raised, the hair on the back of your neck prickling, and your entire body winding itself up to prepare to fight, if it comes down to it.

The male seems to realise this as his next move is to raise both hands, palms out, the universal signal for surrender. They're large, tanned, and void of the scars you've come to know on Azriel.

However, where there are usually shimmering cobalt blue siphons, this newcomer has dazzling ruby red ones instead. You count each of his. Seven.

Your throat tightens — like all of Illyria, you've heard of this warrior too. The Lord of Bloodshed.

He doesn't exactly look so fearsome at the moment, his expression easy-going, even friendly, from behind his raised hands.

He seems to be waiting for you to make a move or to speak but after a moment, he realises neither are going to happen.

"Rhys said there might be another Illyrian around." He says, taking a tentative step forward, in the direction of the training ring, letting his hands drop to his side. You notice how he tucks his wings in a little more, like he might be trying to be respectable. Polite.

He's watching you closely. "Didn't mention you were a female, though."

Instinct makes you want to sneer in response — the only time Illyrian males bother bring up the differences in sex is to make some nasty comment about the biological weakness of females.

Not born to be warriors. They spit. Fragility is bred into them from the moment they're conceived. Breakable. Less than. A female in the training ring has as much place does as a male does in the kitchen.

But this male... says female in a way you've never quite heard before. As though he's somewhere closer to awe.

"My name is Cassian," The male introduces himself, his tentative steps becoming more of a stroll as he wanders across to the weapons stand. He eyes them halfheartedly, his focus still on you.

He turns lightly, tucking in one of his wings to peer back at you. "And yours is...?"

You still haven't moved, only tracking his movements with a slight shift of your eyes. Part of you wonders if he already knows your name and he's simply being polite.

Cassian nods as though you've spoken, despite the fact you haven't made a sound.

"Okay, not a big talker, I get it." He dips his head in a little nod, giving you an easy smile, then a quick wink. "Promise I don't bite."

No reaction. You’re not entirely sure if that’s a joke or not.

Either way, Cassian turns and focuses on his selection, pulling one of the training staffs off the weapons rack into his strong, sure grip.

Despite Rhysand's promise, your heart begins to rabbit wildly.

You wonder if this is some sickening game of cat and mouse—if he's perhaps going to tire you out before he selects his true weapon. If he wants you to know he can best you, even without a blade at his disposal.

You're a decent fighter—hell, a great one even—but you know better than to expect to come out on top against the Lord of Bloodshed.

You finally force yourself to move; shifting your feet to face him, you sink into a fighting stance, staff poised to face him, prepared to bare your teeth.

Cassian blinks. It takes another moment for him to realise that none of his friendliness is working to thaw your iciness. He quickly sets the training staff back down with a clatter, raising his hands once more.

"Woah," He says, giving a small shake of his head. "Not looking to fight. Unless you and I are in that ring—" He gestures to the training ring behind him. "I will never try to fight you. And... I hope you can say the same for me."

You don't even realise you've released your breath until you deflate a little, relief coming in small, incremental waves.

He doesn't want to fight. There's no proving yourself, at least not today.

Maybe some day in the near future, he'll demand you get in the ring to earn your space here—because that was the first thing you ever learned as an Illyrian warrior. But not today.

Reluctant and relieved all at once, you lower your training staff.

Your hesitance or silence doesn't seem to hinder Cassian. In fact, he smiles at the motion.

He's quite handsome, you note. In that rugged way, not quite so classically handsome as Azriel. The unexpected thought makes you flush. You shake it away with a shiver.

"You have your reasons for your unease I bet," Cassian continues, his hands drifting back to his sides. His wings have begun to spread out a little more, as if relaxing.

"And if you want me to piss off, I certainly will. My goal is not to make you uncomfortable in the slightest. But... well, I do have just one question."

He pauses, as if waiting for something. Permission, you realise faintly, which surprises you enough that you give a rather jerky nod, permitting him to ask his question.

A brilliant smile spreads across Cassian's face. "Did you really stab Azriel with a fork?"

The question takes you by utter surprise, fresh bewilderment rippling across your features. You shift back almost awkwardly, stepping out of your fighting stance. The memory from months ago rises up inside, the first meeting in your lonely shelter.

How did he know that? He could he know that?

"I—" You trip over the words, not entirely sure how to answer the question. You can't quite tell why he's asking—is he assessing you as a threat? Your voice is tentative and guarded as you murmur out, "...yes?"

You don't think it would've mattered how you answered truly, as the moment you confirm it, Cassian roars in laughter, his head thrown back and his hand clutching his belly. He laughs loudly for a moment, shaking his head with a fond smile.

"Holy shit, I thought Rhys was kidding! Cauldron, what I would've given to see that." His hazel eyes glitter brightly, as though he's excited. "Was he surprised? I bet he was. Where did you stab him?"

His easy tone, like he's talking to an old friend, takes you back. You find yourself responding with an unexpected ease. Looking back on it now, it is a little funny.

"He was," You nod, nearly smiling at Cassian's enthusiasm. Your lips twitch and you gesture to your neck, somewhat awkwardly, miming the motion. "In the neck."

Cassian laughs again. "Oh, and I bet he'd deny the whole thing if it ever came up."

You don't know quite what to say to that—Azriel hadn't ever brought it up and you certainly weren't going to remind him of it. You tilt your head to the side a bit, an unknown feeling making itself known in the pit of your stomach. An anxiety of an entirely different kind.

The male before you is not an enemy. He's not an ally either... and you can't understand what he gains from talking to you.

You can't even fathom the idea that he might just want to be your friend.

So, you turn. Tighten your grip and resume the exercise that had been interrupted. Muscles groan as you work through their achiness, slowly becoming warmer as the hot blood pumps around your body.

Despite what Madja had said a week ago on that balcony, today was actually the first morning you were allowed to train.

For the last seven days, the exercise you were restricted to was mere stretches; only enough to ensure each of your wings could extend fully and that your limbs could move without serious cause for concern.

It had driven you stir crazy.

The only time you ever skipped so many days without training was during your cycle—something you had mercifully missed the end of this time around, hidden away in your unconsciousness.

So, at the first opportunity, when you rose from your bed this morning and Madja hadn't given you that pointed stare and instead gave you directions, you had found the training area. Began with old routines, if only for the fact you don't know who you are when you're not training.

Inhaling now, the wood of the training staff creaks beneath your iron grip. You're trying desperately to use it as a tether, to some semblance of normal for yourself. It's difficult when there's so many changes lurking.

The solid stone makes you sturdier than before. There's no snow beneath your feet to sink your boots into, to find your balance on. But your injuries aren't entirely healed either.

The pain is not fresh but it's still hindering enough to be a nuisance. Your left ear still twinges from time to time—sometimes it seems to hum so loudly you can't hear clearly, others it dulls altogether. Neither are particularly pleasant to experience.

Pain, however, you have plenty of experience in. Gritting your teeth and pushing through it is practically standard for the Illyrian way; especially when you know your body. You know how much it can take. You know it's been through worse.

But the pesky problem with your ear keeps you off balance, just enough that it shows in your motions.

You keep stumbling around like a goddamn fledgling with every new attempt, footing clumsy, which makes you burn in humiliation because that's what you learn first. It's impossible not to feel unendingly frustrated as decades of training all get shifted slightly to the left.

It doesn't help either that there's still those holes in the edges of your wings.

Fae healing is incredibly advanced but even so, there is only so much magic can do.

Lacerations can be healed, stabs and slices stitched up with ease — but a hole, torn forcibly in and through the delicate flesh of Illyrian wings? You know that you should be thanking the Mother that they even still work in their complete capacity.

The skin around where the stakes had been forced is puckered and stiff, whitened by the scar tissue and trauma. It had been sickening the first time you had curled them close around you and realised with a faint horror that you could technically see through them — a irregular circular gash preserved in either wing of how you'd been pinned down.

The air passes through them as you shift, causing an uneasy shiver. They don't catch on the wind quite the same as they did before.

You haven't taken to the skies yet. You're torn between your eagerness to fly again, to prove to yourself that they can still, and the sinking fear that that's something new you'll have to relearn as well.

So, instead, you run through the training drill for the nth time, trying to get back in sync with your own body. Trying to push past where it seems to falter and trying and failing to not care that your wavering movements now have an audience.

Watching him subtly out the corner of your eye, Cassian appears to be running drills of his own, a gentle warmup. He stretches his toned arms above his head, the motions limber and easy. Briefly, your mind wanders to Azriel's own morning training —never mind that you did have experience training with him over many mornings — and the most peculiar fluster flows through you.

You bite your cheek and rein in your drifting thoughts, gripping the staff tighter.

Strike. Twist. Bend. Strike, twice as hard. Your left eardrum squeals, jumping abruptly in volume at the motions, and though you manage to contain yourself to a wince, your twist goes off kilter.

Your wings stretch out to counterbalance but they don't catch the wind as well as you're used to. Your feet stumble to realign and all you can think is how fucking easy it would be decimate you in a fight in that second.

Something awful starts to grow in your throat and it takes a full moment to realise its the urge to cry, clawing up your throat.

You inhale shakily, eyes fixed on the stone beneath you, and will them away. You weren't a crier — but then again, never had you ever felt quite so utterly hopeless as you were right now.

You've always had this—always had the fight from within your bones, always had your body, always relied on your dexterity to push you forward.

Shadow covers the stone before you. Your head shoots ups, that same panic you can't shake jolting in your chest.

"Hi." Cassian says, giving a little two-fingered salute. He smiles kindly. "Cassian. We met maybe, uh, 5 minutes ago? Remember that?"

You blink at him, not even noticing how the distraction sends away the urge to cry. Swallowing thickly, you give a tentative nod.

"Fantastic. Great memory." His smile melts into a grin and though it sounds like he's teasing, you don't exactly feel like it you who's being made fun of. "I— I have no doubt you're an excellent fighter, especially considering you managed to land a hit on a warrior such as Azriel."

Cassian seems to hear his words only after he's said them and gives a minuscule frown. "Wait, don't tell him I said that. He'll never let me live it down."

When you don't react in amusement as he was aiming for, Cassian changes his tone again, more serious this time.

"Look, I might not be exactly sure what happened that meant you ended up here. I know it might not seem like a welcome change of pace but— well- and what I mean to say is— I can see your missteps."

The admittance of your failings makes humiliation swell up within you. You avert your eyes. Cassian, aware of his awful blunder, barrels on.

"But I can see you're getting your feet again." He adds, softer than before. "After whatever happened to you and your wings, I can tell you're already doing better than most Illyrians would. I also know that everything is easier with a little support."

Your gaze tugs back to Cassian's face as his sentence ends, the offer within it leaving you momentarily dazed. He wants... to help you?

You open your mouth to say just that—but instead, say, "They... didn't tell you?"

Something foreign yanks on your heartstrings. You can't say you had expected privacy, not when Rhysand was already generously providing you with both medical aid and a place to lay low and recover. You were in no position to ask for more.

Suddenly, you become hyper aware of your wings and their gaping, obvious scars to pair with the thin white lines of the lashes adorned across them. You rein them back self-consciously, keeping them tucked close against your back. There's relief in that simple motion alone.

"It is not their story to tell." Cassian nods, grave and serious. "And, just as important, sharing it is not a requirement to be allow yourself a little support."

You don't have to tell him, if you don't want to.

Before you, an Illyrian male, like so many that you've detested all your miserable life, and he doesn't know a thing about you. He doesn't get to know what happened unless you decide to tell him.

You taste his words, mulling them over in your mind as you try to figure out what he means. In the heart of it, you can't understand what he truly stands to gain from this offer of support.

"What... kind of support?" You question warily.

Unthinkingly, your grip tightens on the training staff once more—a knee-jerk reaction to the idea of baring your vulnerabilities. It had been well-trained out of you. Connections of any kind risked exposure... and well, the one time in your life you had given it a go, it had only been proven true.

"Whatever you wish." Cassian grins, as if pleased you had asked that exact question. He tucks a stray piece of hair behind his ear and rattles off his list easily, with a slight shrug of his armoured shoulders. "Friendship? Training? Someone to listen when you need it or to drink your sorrows with? I've had plentiful practice with all."

He sends you another wink, teasing and easy like everything else about him. It's disarming actually, just how different he is from what you had been expecting from only the rumours around Exordor. Lord of Bloodshed. He's so...casual.

After another beat of silence, Cassian clears his throat when it becomes clear you aren't exactly jumping onto any of his initial offers. The caginess you exude is palpable and something ragged in Cassian's chest tears wider at whatever his mind conjures up about what might be lurking your past.

True to his word, Rhys hadn't delved into your story or how you came to end up here at the House of Wind.

All Cassian knew for sure is that Azriel had talked of training with a bastard some months ago and now, you were here. A female warrior from Exordor.

Cassian thinks that Azriel likely would've mentioned it if the bastard he was working with was female—but he hadn't. There's much more to your story, he can tell, and it seems to ripple from the edges of your wary, dangerous form at just a glance. Almost a full picture for him to realise, to see clearly.

But... these things were earned.

If Cassian wanted to be your friend, to know your story, he would do it the honourable and hard way.

He would become someone that you could trust in this new, unfamiliar place and he knew it was possible because what Cassian knew lay within him was reflected in you. The one clear part of the picture.

A warrior who knows themselves best when they're fighting.

"Train with me. Please." Cassian tries once more, ready to relent if it was too much, too soon. "There is a lot we can teach each other, I'm sure."

That seems to catch you by surprise, your brows jumping a fraction up your face. You school the expression away quickly but not before Cassian catches it. He nods.

"What do you say?" Cassian grins again, holding out his hand, palm up. Nonthreatening as can be. "Friends? Allies? Reluctant rooftop sharers? I'll take any happily."

You eye his hand, that still cautious air in your gaze, but Cassian can see as something settles within you. Tentatively, you reach forward and put your hand in his, giving it an awkward, stilted shake.

"I'll take allies for now," You say, somewhat demurely. It's taking a mountain load of trust for you to do so, Cassian knows. He does not take that trust lightly.

Cassian grins. "Allies it is."

[NEXT PART: SHADOWS]

tags below!

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@waytoomanyteenagefeels @idkitsem @illyrianbitch @jeweline16 @fightmedraco

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@shinyghosteclipse @randombibitch @itsjustwinter @emryb @books-all-the-way13

@thatsassyhufflepuff @rem-ie

[joe-fuckingtwice-toye]

the guy was sitting opposite and then decided “i'm sitting too far from my crush” and moved

[short-wooloo]

I hope the leftists are happy

Because no one else will be

Ukraine is fucked, Palestine is fucked, the rights of women minorities and queers are fucked, the world is going to move closer and closer to massive wars and environmental catastrophe

And American democracy....

If we make it through this, we will only do so at heavy cost, a lot of us won't make it through this, and it will take decades to get back to a place even close to what we were at, and in some cases there will be no going back

From the bottom of my heart, fuck you and I hope there is a hell, you belong in it

[flamingpudding]

Fictober23 Prompt: 23 - "No, you won't understand, ever."

Fandom: DPxDC

Rating: T

Warnings: Mentions of experimentation, death, and torture as well as mentions of character death

A/N: Well… this turned out not like I originally wanted it to go. It was once again a self runner while writing. I also advise to have read Prompt 13 before, since this is kind of like a continuation of it.

Duke was worried. Danny hadn't been to school for a couple of days now. That was not a good sign. The library incident had only happened a week ago and Duke had made leaps in his friendship with Danny because of it. The other Meta had opened up to him, well sort of, there was still a lot Duke was aware that he didn't know. But that was beside the point. Point was Duke had now a valid friendship with Daniel 'Danny' Nightingale, one that allowed him to be very worried right now.

Which led to him asking their teachers to give Duke all the materials Danny had missed out on for the promise that he would bring this to Danny's home. This was also how Duke got Danny's address. Even with their budding and reinforced friendship, Danny had pretty much avoided telling or showing Duke where he lived.

This was his chance now. No he was not going to allow any of his siblings to install any sort of heavy surveillance in or around his friends apartment that would breach privacy rules, but he would allow Babs and Tim to keep an eye on any surveillance camera already in existence. It was nice knowing that his family had his back when it came to the safety of his meta friend, but as it was with his family, if not watched they would end up on the side of extreme measures a little too quickly.

Now he understood why they said not to tell Bruce about his friend's status yet. That would have made it worse. Not that his siblings sometimes also already tended to reach into that dangerous area between still okay and too far into paranoia.

Either way Duke was now standing before his friend's registered apartment, schoolwork in hand and ready to knock on the door only for his stomach to drop when he realized that the door was not locked and a gap wide open. It wasn't like Danny lived in Crime Alley but the area he lived in was still not that safe to just leave your door unlocked.

His worries doubled.

After the library incident, Danny had told him about his situation a little. He lived alone separated from his sister, his only family left, in Gotham. He was forced into hiding after a severe incident in his home town through which he lost his parents. Because these Guy's in White still kept their eyes on his friends and sister he couldn't even risk getting into contact with them. Leaving Danny completely alone.

Duke hated that, to think that because of his Meta powers Danny was forced into such an extreme situation. He had wanted to explain to Danny that there were rights in place to protect him but the other Meta had changed the topic too quickly for Duke to bring it up. Explaining just a little bit who these GIW, Guy's in White, were. Though for some reason he couldn't believe that that's what these people were really called, he didn't press further.

Danny was still not opening up to him completely about the entirety of his situation or who these GIW people really were but he had shared enough for Duke to give his family an incentive to look into these people. He knew they had found out some things about this group of people but Duke had yet to take a closer look into that file and the power point Tim had apparently prepared on that whole topic alone.

Either way the door was open and unlocked, Danny hadn't come to school for several days either now too and Duke was worried! Excuse him for only knocking once while shouting Danny's name before just stepping into the apartment when he did not get an immediate answer.

"Danny?!"

He shouted once more once inside and taking a couple steps in he stopped appropriately when he heard a weird squishy sound under his feet. Looking down he realized he stepped into what looked like green goop.

"What is…"

He looked at it closer and then noticed that the green goop was also glowing and spread around the floor in a way you find blood in horror movies. Duke swallowed and placed the schoolwork in hand on the hall table before carefully continuing his way into the apartment, following the green goop.

"Hey Danny? Say something if you are here?" Maybe Duke should have taken Dicks offer to get driven to this apartment, if there was an intruder in his friend's apartment then Duke would at least have some sort of backup. He looked around the place though and nothing indicated an intruder or that a struggle had happened here. So maybe the green goop was just that green goop. Maybe Danny just spilled one of his science projects?

But the moment he reached the main living area he threw all these hopeful thoughts out of the window.

"Danny!"

He rushed to his friend's side having found him sitting against his living room wall. A bigger green puddle of goop was on the ground before Danny and a lot of it appeared to be smeared on his hands and forearms. The shirt he was wearing was clearly ripped and in tears and there appeared to be a wound on Danny's leg, leaking a mix of green and red blood.

The other meta had his head resting on his knees not at all reacting to Duke's calls and light touches to the shoulder. "Danny, hey, Danny? Comeon, can you hear me?"

He started to look around, wondering if Danny had a medkit anywhere in his apartment. He was already fumbling to get his phone out when the other suddenly slapped it out of his hand, glowing green eyes glaring at Duke. "Don't call anyone."

"Okay, but then at least tell me where your medkit is." Duke cooperated, he could find another way to contact his siblings later, for now Danny's health took priority and Danny clearly did not want for duke to call anyone additionally to help.

"It will heal by tomorrow." The other meta stubbornly said but that didn't help Duke's worry.

"It might heal by than but it still hurts doesn't it? So where is-"

"Just let it go!" Danny hissed burying his face in his knees again and Duke sighed.

"Danny, please."

"No." Duke let out another sigh at his friends refusal, and here he thought his friendship with was making progress.

"Can you at least tell me what happened? You didn't come to school and I got worried that these Guy's-"

"They didn't catch me." Danny cut him off once again and Duke felt some of his worry replaced with relief, but there was still a lot left. Before he could voice his next question Danny continued to muttered something, barely loud enough for Duke to hear.

"They killed him." Danny sounded so defeated and his voice was shaking slightly. Duke instinctively reached out a hand. "They killed him, I barely managed to get his core out of there but once I got here it broke anyway. I thought they didn't have a facility here but they have, there were so many and I only got one of them out and yet he still died and…."

"Hey, hey, hey, slow down. Danny, what are you talking about?" Whatever relief Duke had previously felt it vanished in an instant when Danny had muttered the first three words. He could only image the worst of things and from the sounds of it there was something, a facility that did something to Metas like Danny.

"The GIW built an experimentation facility here. They are resuming their damned experiments here." Dukes eyes narrowed. Not for long, he thought, once his family knew where they were that place would be raised to the ground in no time.

"Danny, can you tell me where that place is?" Probably not the best of times to ask his friend this but Duke would make sure that someone was going to take care of that place and that all the Metas there were going to be saved.

"It's no use. You won't be able to do anything." Danny instead muttered and Duke tightened his hold on the others shoulder, trying to make it as comforting of a touch as possible.

"Danny there are Meta rights, laws that protect us. Please, give me the location and I will make sure that someone is going to take care of it." That someone being his family, that he could promise his friend.

Instead of the trust he hoped Danny would give him, the other slapped his hand away and glared at him heatedly. "No! That won't work!"

"I know its, scary and I understand that it's probably hard to trust-"

"It won't work! It never will for us! We are not protected by law!"

"Danny, you are protected by law! The Meta rights are there to pro-"

"I AM NOT A META!" Danny suddenly burst out springing to his feet and distancing himself from Duke, his eyes glowing a vivid green. "I am not a Meta. I am not protected by your damned law, nore are the others! They can hunt us, experiment on us, hurt us and no one will give a good damn about it because we don't count as sentient!"

The other was breathing heavily and Duke couldn't help but get up and reach out in worry once more. Everything Danny had said was still running though his head and he wasn't sure what to make of it, but what he was sure about was that his friend needed help.

"Danny, it's okay. How about you explain it to me? Why wouldn't the Meta rights protect you? What makes you so different? I am I will be able to understand once you explain it to me and then we-"

"No. No, you won't understand, ever." Once again Danny sounded so defeated that Duke really wanted to just grab his friend and hug him. But instead he watched his friend closely, noticing how he clutched at his left wrist, for the first time Duke noticed the Lichtenberg scarring that was running up the other's arms from his hand peeking out between the tears of Danny's shirt. "You won't understand what it means for the law to declare your existence as illegal, to be trapped in their facility, to only be a number to get experimented on, to only be a number among many, to not be seen as sentient, to-"

Duke didn't care anymore as he lunged forward pulling the other into a hug. Ever since the library incident he had known that Danny needed help. He had assumed Danny was a Meta in hiding but it seemed his friends situation was so much worse than he originally thought.

"I will help you, I promise. We will free the others and then get rid whatever law declares you as an illegal existence." He pulled back enough to force Danny to look at him, seeing how the other was staring at him with suspicion and distrust but also there was hope in the others now blue eyes. "Explain it all to me Danny, I promise, Meta or not, I will find a way to help you."

[cruyuu]

Kudos to Gege for killing me and delivering sukuita content in canon for sukuita week. I am literally going insane and can't even function

[unforth]

We are one Iowa caucus into the absolute shitshow that is going to be the US 2024 elections, and I'm already sick of seeing takes downplaying the risk that Trump and his fascist followers represent.

Look. Around 1900, my mother's grandparents immigrated to the Lower East Side of New York City. They brought with them children born in Europe (Poland? Ukraine? which country they were in depends on what year we're talking about) - we're not 100% sure they were THEIR children, even, but there were three, and they were young, and they came. But my great-grandparents had siblings, parents, cousins, uncles, aunts, huge families. And while my understanding is that an attempt was made to convince those folks to move to the US, none of them ultimately opted to.

They all kept in touch as they were able, exchanging letters and pictures, but through World War 1, through the 20s, through the Great Depression, through the worsening situation in Europe in the 1930s, my entire extended family who chose not to immigrate...continued to stay.

I think we all know how this story ends.

I have an entire family photo album of people whose names I will never know, because after every single one of them died in the Holocaust, my great-grandparents and grandparents couldn't bear to even label them. And they were PEOPLE, poor, vibrant, eager to maintain connections with their loved ones abroad. One was a Klezmer musician, and we have photos of him with all the different instruments he played. They're so real on the page, and they all ended in ashes.

And you know how that started? Fascism started with every inch allowed, with every well-intentioned moderate who tried to maintain a middle position even as the whole ground shifted right beneath their feet and even "middle" became extreme, every "no that change isn't coming fast enough, I want instant full improvement NOW" liberal who felt that doing nothing was better than accepting a slower improvement in the (truly awful!) post-World War 1 living situation in Germany.

Most of the members of my extended family also downplayed the risks. They never imagined that the worst could happen to them. They never fathomed how bad things could become.

And now I have their example always before me to know and to scream:

I KNOW HOW BAD THINGS CAN BECOME. I KNOW WHAT HAPPENED TO MY FAMILY THEN.

I WILL NOT LET THAT HAPPEN TO MY FAMILY NOW.

People look at me like I'm crazy when I say I've got our passports ready (and have had since before the 2020 election).

Look. I don't know what will happen if Trump is elected, but there's a very real possibility he will, and he's been extremely clear about saying what he'll do. He did a lot of the things he said he'd do last time. I expect he'll continue to do the things he says he'll do. And the things he say he'll do will lead to the deaths of more people than we can imagine - in the US, in Palestine, throughout the world.

Don't tell me there's a middle ground here. Don't tell me I'm over-reacting. Don't tell me the worst won't happen. Don't tell me the risk is mild. Don't tell me we're safe.

We. Are. Not. Safe.

The lives of dozens, hundreds, of members of family were lost in the 1940s amid the horrifying statistic "6,000,000 dead Jews."

I will not let my life (as a Jew), my wife's life (as a disabled woman), my son's life (as a biracial boy), my daughter's life (as a biracial trans girl), be part of the statistics that come from our a second Trump presidency.

If you won't vote like YOUR life depends on it, vote like someone ELSE'S life depends on it, because IT DOES.

And if you can't even do that much, at least shut the fuck up and stop spreading your poison around. You're wrong. The danger is real. Downplaying it now won't make your conscience feel any clearer when it actually happens, and comforting everyone else downplaying it will just make you that much more complicit.

[rabid-dog-steve-horn]

[insomnya777]

they're filming the next life series like right now. like Right Now. they're making alliances that are gonna change our brain chemistry entirely!!!!! they're doing things that are going to make us go INSANE!!!! they're talking right now. they're interacting. they're playing the game. maybe someone's died already. maybe there's a full-fledged server war going on. we don't know. we won't know until friday and that is KILLING me

[transmechanicus]

Really fucked up that two ppl can care about each other and make their best efforts to communicate and still end up hurting each other so badly they cannot stand to be in the same room.

[uncanny-tranny]

And another thing that gets me about the human condition is how we weren't even meant to survive this world alone - humans with humans. We chose to trust certain animals, to nourish them, to be symbiotic with them, to love them like we love ourselves. I think a lot of people talk about how selfish it is for humans to take advantage of animals, but I think that's too simplistic. It's closer to friendship - if you do not foster the relationship, then it simply won't go anywhere, and I think the implication that animals can't ever know anything for themselves, for their survival, is also human-centric and selfish (selfishness not inherently being a bad thing).

It's just nice to know that we want to be around people - we want to be around comfort and security and safety so much that we now have animals by our side. Every time I cuddle with my cat, I think that we weren't meant to survive this world alone; she is shaped to fit in my chest, and my arms were made to wrap around her.

[pharawee]

[flashhwing]

I understand not liking all of Harris's policies. I understand not wanting her as president. I understand believing she will not improve things for the vast majority of people. what I don't understand is looking at the two choices we have and choosing to focus on how much she will not help, because if we're honest at worst she will maintain status quo, whereas Trump is vying to make it worse. like at a certain point you gotta man up and understand that sometimes you're not voting for who wins but rather who loses. why would you rather Harris lose than Trump