The biggest warmongering race of Aliens declare war on the local Galaxy cluster. The opposing group of peace-loving Aliens, who had befriended most Alien races, are finally forced to reveal their secret weapon, a ‘classified’ species called Humans, and their tenacity as persistence predators.

“Ma’am. The V’afinog leader has sent a message.”

Rahn closes all six of her eyes, heart sinking into her thorax. A fine tremor starts in her vestigial wings. “So it’s true. They’ve returned to their bloodthirsty crusade.”

Undan nods miserably. The holo-pad in his hands shows the details of the crisis; six ships already attached to the planet holding their Boundary Station. A thousand V’afinog are holding the planet hostage. It’s only a matter of time before they assume complete control of the Boundary Station and can open the relay of shields between their galaxy and Rahn’s.

Rahn doesn’t bother with denial. Yes, there’s supposed to be a treaty between their Galaxies. Yes, the V’afinog are breaking that treaty and risking every trade agreement that keeps them alive in their barren corner of the universe. Yes, it’s beyond imagination, beyond comprehension.

But it’s happening. 

She makes a conscious effort to hold her wings still. “The Station?”

“Still unbreached,” Undan reports. He twists the pad around so she can see the glowing red dots that mark the V’afinog troops. “However, they’re making short work of our shields. Ma’am, I don’t think we have a choice. They’re too fast.”

“On my grandmother’s wings,” Rahn whispers. This is the worst possible scenario, a scenario so awful that there is only one course of action left. “All these years holding them back wasted because those bloodthirsty lizards can’t keep a single promise.”

Undan’s wings flutter uncomfortably. He doesn’t need to ask who this new they are. “Our relations with them are quite good, ma’am. I don’t think there’s too much cause for alarm. They’ll help us.”

Rahn stares at him in horror. “Undan, you befriended one, didn’t you?”

“That’s not– I’m just saying they’ll help–”

Keep reading

No Heroes Here

Summary: Daz was raised by a hero. That’s probably why she isn’t one.

—————————————————————

The lip isn’t split so badly that she needs stitches, so Daz sorts through the kit on the counter for a thin bandage. She gingerly presses it over the wound and studies the results. If she can get the swelling to go down, she’ll be able to tell her work that it’s a cold sore. Embarrassing, but safe.

Ha.

Safe.

She sweeps the last of the blood-soaked pads of gauze into the bathroom trash before limping back out into the bedroom. Lumps of shredded fabric litter the carpet, blood-soaked and already dry and flaking. Her mask is torn nearly in half down the ridge of the nose piece. Not salvageable. This costume will need to go in the trash too. Once her cracked ribs let her bend over anyway.

Daz’ stomach growls just as she’s trying to figure out how she’s going to climb into bed with her hip freshly popped back into socket. Maybe if she sort of flops over onto the duvet and rolls…? Her stomach growls again and she scowls down at it. Between sleeping and eating, she knows which she’d prefer. But she’s hardly going to heal running on fumes. “Fine.” She leaves her room to go to the kitchen and stops in her tracks.

There’s a ghost sitting at the kitchen table.

“Not tonight,” Daz says. She reaches out for the doorframe blindly, unable to take her eyes off the man in front of her. It’s the same damn shirt as that day, the same dress pants–! “Please, please not today.”

Her father doesn’t hear her. He carefully flips a page of the binder in front of him, head moving as he slowly reads each line. It’s dark in her apartment, too dark to read, but her father isn’t squinting. It was sunny the day he read that paper and he wasn’t here at her table. He was at his own table, her mother next to him, waiting for Daz to come down for breakfast.

Daz squeezes her eyes shut. She doesn’t need this today. She’d hoped her powers were too exhausted from the fight to do this. Usually, she can control them so that the past whispers answers to her, locations and dates and witnesses, bits of information that she can process and use. This is…it’s cruel.

And she’s doing it to herself.

Keep reading

You were once the demon king. “Defeated” by the hero, you went into hiding to pursue a simpler life. Today the “hero” has appeared, threatening you family to pay tribute, not realizing who you actually are. Today you show them what happens when you have something worth fighting to protect.

You are told at seven that you won’t ever do anything good in your life. You grow up knowing that it doesn’t matter that you help your younger sister make her letters properly or that you’re the one who stays up late with mother when too many custom orders come through the tailor shop. It doesn’t matter that you don’t want to hurt anyone or control anyone or anything of the sort. It doesn’t matter that your name means Light in your mother’s native language because as soon as they realize that you’re the Demon King, no one ever calls your name again.

You are chased out of your village the moment your powers bloom at fifteen years old, and the skies turn black with your fear. A rock hits you between your shoulder blades just as you make it to the main road and you stumble, falling to your knees in a mud puddle at the very moment the skies open up.

“She’s cursing us!” the midwife who delivered you screams over the thunder. “She’s damning us with her!”

Your mother is crying, but she doesn’t raise a hand to help you. She did everything she could, keeping your Role a secret all these years. She won’t risk anymore with another little girl to take care of.

No one tells you that you have a choice. No kind stranger drags you out of the rain and into the warmth of their home where a wise sage tells you it is not how we are born, but what choices we make.

Instead, you take the little pack your mother hid for you in the depths of the forest and sling it over your shoulder. There’s money, provisions, and more wraps to cover the evil mark on your left bicep.

“Your destiny will find you,” your mother told you only hours ago. “I forgive you for it.”

She meant the words as a comfort, but you only heard condemnation in it. Without having killed so much as a fly, she is already blessing you with forgiveness.

Keep reading

Heartbreaking news out of north Gaza today

We write to inform you that renowned journalist Ismail Al-Ghoul and cameraman Ramy El-Rifi of Al-Jazeera were murdered just a few hours ago by the occupation. They were going out to document the scene of another bombing attack, when they were deliberately targeted by the occupation. Footage provided by journalist Osama Al-Ashi in the immediate aftermath of the attack shows that Ismail and Ramy were murdered with targeted precision weaponry, meaning the occupation watched them, waited for them, and executed them in cold blood (warning: graphic footage).

Ismail and Ramy have been documenting the genocide at immense personal cost since the 7th of October 2023. They were previously kidnapped and tortured by the occupation, but survived and continued to remain in north Gaza and document crimes against humanity. They have had many narrow escapes, and today, the occupation was finally successful in its illegal goal of assassinating these prominent journalists.

When western journalists hand-wave their suppression of the IOF’s atrocities in Gaza by claiming no journalists are “allowed” in to report, remember these men. Remind them of these men. These men who lost friends and loved ones, who suffered immensely, and yet chose to remain and continue documenting the genocide against their people. They join the ranks of more than 150 Gazan journalists who were murdered by the occupation to hide its crimes and retaliate for speaking the truth.

حسبنا الله و نعم الوكيل

أنا لله و أنا اليه رجعون

God suffices us and he is the best disposer of affairs. We belong to God and to Him we shall return.

Keep fighting for Gaza. Don’t stop talking about north Gaza.

According to the Palestinian Prisoner’s Club, the occupation released the prisoner Moaziz Abayat after several months of detention, where he was subjected to a systematic assassination attempt during his time in “Ofer” Prison.

He faced systematic and brutal assaults that included the breaking of all his limbs, visible in circulating videos, and he was left without treatment until his liberation.

It is worth noting that Moaziz is the nephew of martyr Hussein Abayat, who was martyred 24 years ago in 2000 during the Second Intifada. His uncle was one of the early founder’s of Al-Aqsa Martyrs’ Brigades in the southern West Bank and became one of the occupation’s most wanted resistance fighters due to his executing of several significant resistance operations which killed and wounded many zionist soldiers.

After receiving treatment for the first time since his abduction, the barbaric torture Moaziz endured and witnessed at the hands of zionist soldiers has become even clearer in a video where he is heard saying,

“They killed me…put me in a bag, in a black bag. I have been martyred…”

Resistance News Network

▶️ Tens of thousands of Yemenis gathered in the capital Sanaa for the 40th consecutive Friday to express solidarity with the Palestinian people.

#WeAreAllGaza

5 things you need to know about the genocide in the DRC

Free Congo

art by the.gauntlets

gofundme for the family

Zionism is nazism. How can someone watch KIDS burn and die, yet still defend a terrorist country like Israel? How? How can you be a human at this point? How are you a human? You're not.

I don't even have words to describe my rage for those who support a genocide. Fucking disgraces.

Of course you don’t. Free college might hinder the school-to-prison pipeline your  prison owning donors depend on

👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆👆

welp;

Actual quote, in context:

“I believe that we should make community college free. We should have debt-free college if you got to a public college or university. You should not have to borrow a dime to pay tuition… I disagree with free college for everybody. I don’t think taxpayers should be paying to send Donald Trump’s kids to college.“ [video link]

Don’t spread misinformation just to fit a narrative, Clinton is advocating for there to be a cap on who gets free college so that the government doesn’t have to subsidize the education of people with enough disposable income to pay for it themselves. The plan she’s proposing would have a better chance of being passed, is more cost-effective, and still opens up higher education to low-income individuals who previously couldn’t afford it. 

the op lagonegirl literally ended up being a russian psyop im losing my mind

Reblogging this as an example of what the Russian interference here on tumblr was. I have seen some people in the past days casting doubts on Tumblr because the blogs that were banned had social justice content. 

But that was the point exactly. They posted some real things and a lot of half-truths that would appeal to the kind of politics on here and therefore spread disinformation to discourage us from participating in stopping Trump through the only option we had. I’m glad tumblr left these posts up so we could see for ourselves. 

I don’t know if it actually worked on anyone, I hope we all remember to check our sources before making our decisions, but life is short and maybe some people didn’t.  There are plenty of real social justice blogs available still, so I hope we will follow those instead.

Reblogging this now. Because some of you think that a leftist space can be trusted. They can’t. Lagonegirl posted content that had nothing to do with politics, it made her seem like a real person.

She was not. There were SO many posts by her that got big numbers and most of them were fine. That was an illusion so that when she posted things like this it might not click like it would if it were loudly pro- Trump.

You see a blog that is leftist but only critical of the more “safe bet” cookie cutter candidate and has very little to say about the obviously right wing, objectively worse for everything you stand for candidate?

Be on guard.

If you're darker than a certain shade you can't have justified rage because you were hurt, all your rage is 'savage' and 'primal'. You're only allowed to cry and die, never strike back

Doctors should snark at each other more, be a bit mean. Not for no reason, mind you. But if five doctors blow me off about symptoms and doctor number six FINALLY runs actual tests and gets a diagnosis, I think it should be Doctor Six's right to call up the other five and tell them they're lazy pieces of shit. That should be socially encouraged. Those first five doctors clearly can't listen to patients, but maybe another doctor might finally get to them.

@sar-soor @heba-20

@90-ghost @soon-palestine

@ibtisams

I am Mohammed Almanasra, 32 years old, married, and a father of three children: Abdulrahman, 6 years old, Sarah, 4 years old, and Lina, 3 years old.

My story began with the loss of my parents and four of my sisters who were bombed and lost their lives along with their children after the events of October 7 and the severe war on Gaza. Now, my wife, children, and I are displaced, without parents or siblings, living with our little cat that we embrace among us.

Recently, I moved to the south of the Gaza Strip, fearing for the lives of my children. We left behind our memories and our new home, for which we had not finished paying the installments, in addition to losing my job. Currently, I live in a tent that does not protect me from the heat of summer or the cold of winter, and without the minimum necessary livinng basics including water, food medical care, clothe and even bedding .

I suffer from a chronic asthma and severe attacks from tightness and an extreme allergy in the ear and I need medicine that are not available, or very expensive .

Under these difficult circumstances, after five attempts at displacement and narrowly escaping death from the bombing, I am trying with all my might to protect my family, the most precious thing I have.

My dreams were shattered, and my house was destroyed, and I found myself living in a tent no larger than 4 square metres. My work turned from a tailor to a street vendor in order to barely buy a few crumbs of bread to feed my children.

Look at what happened to my children because of the intense heat and the insects that thrive in the summer season. Every day, I take them to the hospital to treat them due to poisonous insect bites. I implore every kind-hearted soul to help me protect my children.

My son, Abdul Rahman, has a deep passion for playing football and is a devoted fan of Real Madrid. He always dreamed of playing football at his school, but the war prevented this dream from coming true.

Where are you, Real Madrid fans ?

Help Abdul Rahman achieve his dream.

Every donation will make an enormous difference in helping me save my family.

I feel very sad and embarrassed to ask for help, but I have no other options left. I know that this request is difficult, but I also know that there is still humanity and living consciences and I believe in miracles.

Your support during this extremely difficult time will give us hope in the midst of devastation and despair.

If you have any inquiries or questions, feel free to ask me, please!

@communistchilchuck 🫶🇵🇸

@nabulsi

@sayruq

@communistchilchuck @90-ghost @sar-soor @fairuzfan @ibtisams @fallahifag @vakarians-babe @palipunk @palestinecharitycommissionsassoc @stil-lindigo @vakarian-shepard @northgazaupdates

@faggotfungus @ghost-and-a-half @three-croissants

Sincere greetings & thanks

Mohammed & the family