#finally put into words why pithy phrases like make me so uncomfortable

[koshercosplay]

I don't trust that the people who advocate for direct resistance against the super-rich are actually capable of recognizing their targets

I see so many posts that joke about "going back to the old days when people just burned down the rich people's houses and killed the wealthy and redistributed their riches" oh you mean like Literal Pogroms?

like there's been a very clear pattern throughout history of the working people seeking retribution getting quickly redirected by the rich into targeting Jews as the real root cause of society's problems and hoarding wealth that rightfully belongs to the people

idk maybe this is just my anxious fear-mongering brain but like so much of this rhetoric around trying to "take back our rightful wealth" or whatever feels so close to what would be said to whip up a mob and justify a pogrom

and considering how much antisemitism there is on the left (and the right, but that's a different post), I can't help but wonder how long it would take for people to get swept up by the same exact antisemitism and start targeting jews, not even realizing they've fallen into the same trap that has been set for centuries by the same class of rich people trying to save their own asses

and people are just so ready and eager to target jews that it works

so remember folks. if someone starts to claim that the real source of everyone's problems is the historically persecuted minority, maybe give yourself a second to think: who does this redirection benefit?

[weepylucifer]

for @electricpentacle​: 36: “Don’t move, it’ll be okay.”

Spoilers for Picard finale, proceed with caution!!

Hugh strongly disliked regeneration.

He was thankfully past that phase where he had to plug himself into a charger at night. He slept in a bed, like a person, now, and only some of his implants got plugged into anything. Still, blacking out for hours on end, surrendering control of his body to a daily fit of unconsciousness, made him vaguely uncomfortable at the best of times. He much preferred being up and about. So when he woke up with no memory of having gotten horizontal and a sudden, searing, encompassing pain coursing through him as he attempted to move, his mind immediately jumped to the worst conclusion, every xB’s nightmare. Oh shit, they’re scrapping me for parts.

He had to get out of here, wherever here was. He was not restrained. Foolish of them, giving Hugh a chance to escape. He tried to sit up - again the pain - but he had to be more than the pain - it drove tears to his eyes, wrung an animal sound from his throat, somewhere between a cry and a whimper - no time for that now -

Suddenly there was a shape blocking out the light, a silhouette, someone... and hands, hands on Hugh, not hurting, not yet, but restraining, pressing him back down.

Hugh wasn’t a fighter, hated the concept, but... rats, the Romulans called them, him and all the xB. Cornered, a rat would fight. Even though it hurt like a thousand red-hot needles, he brought his arm up to shield himself against the intruder. None of his remaining implants were weaponized (which was a good thing, Hugh barely knew which end of a phaser to point where) but he could kick and scratch and bite and

“Please, calm yourself,” urged a vaguely familiar voice above him. “Please, you’re hurting yourself. Shh. Don’t move, it’ll be okay.”

“You’re going to take me apart!” How was any of this okay?

“Oh... no, my friend, I’d never. I pledged myself to your cause.”

The word friend broke through the daze, that and how sincerely shocked the voice sounded. Hugh blinked, breathed, attempted to assess. His artificial eye was swimmy, only slowly coming back online. He tried to squint the natural one and discern the shape above him. He knew that person.

Ah. A lithe frame, long strands of hair, high cheekbones, the tips of pointed ears, concerned eyes peering down at him from under elegantly slanted eyebrows. Attractive, Hugh’s mind supplied, a useless assessment. Mouthy Romulan.

“Elnor?”

Elnor gave him a shaky smile. “You’re finally awake.”

With his vision clearing as pain ebbed away, Hugh looked from Elnor to his surroundings. He was in his own bed, in his own room. Oh yes, he had a bedroom on a Borg cube now. Living space carved out on a Borg cube, where no organic living was supposed to happen, was by nature sparse, impersonal, and Hugh’s attempts to make the room his own in the past had yielded... mixed results. There was his desk and work station, where he performed impromptu maintenance on his implants, there were pictures on the walls of his friends, (the crew from his original cube, the very first xBs, Geordi at their latest meeting), there was the little rainbow flag that Geordi had gifted him for his last naming day. Little touches of color against the oppressive dark of the walls, but Hugh liked to think he’d managed to impress his personality on the formerly Collective-dominated space.

How had he gotten here? Had Elnor... brought him here? But how would Elnor know where he lived?

Hugh noticed that Elnor was squeezing his hand. Rather tightly, too. “Where... what happened?”

Elnor’s eyes turned wide and distant as he was reliving the memory. “You got stabbed. The Zhat Vash agent...”

“Yes, yes. After.” Hugh remembered being stabbed. Remembered Narissa slaughtering his people, innocents, only just on the cusp of finding back to themselves. All that potential, so many healed and vibrant lives in potentia, snuffed out and tossed away like so much garbage. This was how they perceived his people. This was how they’d always treat his people. How’s that for a lost cause?

“Seven of Nine, she put you in a... she called it an alcove,” Elnor said. “For a while you stood and healed, like the inactive drones we saw. It made me feel a bit uncomfortable. Then she had me take you here. It’s better. You are crying.”

“Seven is here?” Hugh raised a hand - it was weak, it was trembling, he’d lost a lot of blood, apparently he’d brushed up against death - and wiped his eyes. He wanted to get to the bottom of what had transpired here, learn why Seven was here, how many xB had survived, what he could do next, how he could help next - but he also wanted to cry. To mourn those he’d failed to protect in any substantial way. A good cry can work wonders - that was one of the pithy Geordi wisdoms he’d gotten over the years. But he also wanted to move on already, to get back to work.

“How long was I out? What else was going on?”

Elnor cocked his head. The movement caused a strand of his hair to shift from its queue. So long, Hugh’s mind supplied. Nice to put my hands in there, potentially. He dismissed it. Individuality meant untidy thinking, sometimes. Thoughts drifted, got hung up on matters that were irrelevant.

“A lot,” Elnor was saying. “I think Soji almost destroyed the world, but then she reconsidered. The cube is stranded now. Picard was dead, but he’s now recovering. There are no more Zhat Vash here. I’m sorry, I don’t know how many xBs are still alive, but they’re attempting to fix everything here. The Synths over at the settlement have started talking to the Federation...”

“Hold on a moment.” Hugh raised a hand and waved it weakly. “Synths? Dr. Asha almost destroyed the world? They stranded the Artifact? Picard was dead? How did I miss all this?”

Elnor was still holding his other hand. Now he gave it a few pats, seemingly absentminded, not even noticing he was doing it. “You had to heal for a while. Seven says it was to be expected, since you’ve not been Borg for so long. But now you’re awake.” Elnor let out a long, shaky exhale. His shoulders slumped. Whatever had gone on lately, it was evident that Elnor had been through a lot. “Now you’re awake.”

“Hey now,” Hugh murmured, squeezing Elnor’s hand back briefly. The guy liked physical contact, right? Hugh seemed to remember this. He sat up a little - it was already much easier now - and reached out for a one-armed hug.

Elnor reciprocated with enthusiasm, throwing both arms around Hugh and holding on for dear life. It was a tight squeeze, and another burst of pain echoed through Hugh’s body, but it passed, and he appreciated all the rest of it. Elnor was a warm weight pressed against him, solid, grounding, comforting, and he even allowed Hugh to rest his head on his shoulder for a moment. This was a good hug.

Would be nice... him and me like this, Hugh thought. Would be nice to see if he kisses as good as he hugs. Need only move a slight bit... Again, there was very little telling where that had come from. Hugh shook his head and broke away from the immediate contact. Elnor’s arms slipped off him, resting to both sides of him on the bed, still close, still warm, still bracing.

“We should get going on,” Hugh said. “I should talk to Seven, find out what exactly I missed.”

Elnor nodded. “She stayed on the station. I can take you there. The Synths let us come and go as we please now.”

Synths, huh. Hugh flicked his eyes shut for a moment. He had opposed the Synth ban when it had happened, out of principle, even as the phrase Soong-type android was still, even all these years after Lore, liable to give him a tension headache.

“But I feel discomfort,” Elnor continued. Ah, something something absolute candour.

Hugh tried to shift away from him. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“Not with you,” Elnor clarified. “But today... these previous days have been... so much. And I felt wonder, and joy, and fear, and grief, and I thought you were dead, and we all almost died, and Picard actually died, although he’s doing much better already. And it’s a long walk from here to the station and I’m not sure you can do it yet. And I’d like to... sit, here, if that’s okay. We can still go later, right?”

Hugh raised an eyebrow. “You’d like to... just sit here?”

Elnor nodded. “Please. I like to see... I pledged myself to you, and it’s good to see you alive. I like to look... at you.” This truth came haltingly, with Elnor’s eyes downcast in what seemed like sudden shyness.

Hm, Hugh thought, filing that observation away for later. “Not much to look at here, but sure. We can take a moment.”

Somehow, their hands had enjoined again.