This is what it looks like when a community stands up to power. When ICE came for workers, this Minnesota neighborhood said: not today. On a freezing day in Minnesota, ICE agents showed up at a construction site in Chanhassen, intent on making arrests.
Two workers fled upward, trapped on the roof of a half-built house as temperatures plunged below zero. No heat. No shelter. Just wind, ice, and federal agents waiting them out.
And then the community showed up.
Neighbors, workers, organizers — people who understood instinctively that letting someone freeze to make a political point is cruelty, not law enforcement. They brought blankets. Hot drinks. Food. They stood outside in the cold for hours, refusing to leave, refusing to let this end quietly.
While ICE agents lingered below, the crowd did what the state would not: they protected human life. They checked on the workers. They shouted encouragement. They made sure those men were not alone on that roof, isolated and expendable in the eyes of a system that treats immigrant labor as disposable until it decides to punish it.
This is what solidarity looks like in practice. Not slogans. Not hashtags. People physically placing their bodies and time between vulnerable workers and a federal agency that has perfected the art of intimidation.
After nearly two hours, ICE left. The workers came down. One was treated by medics. Both survived the cold. No one was dragged away in handcuffs that day.
It’s worth sitting with that for a moment.
In an era when we’re constantly told resistance is futile, that enforcement is inevitable, that there’s nothing regular people can do — a small group of neighbors proved otherwise. They didn’t need weapons or power. They needed resolve, warmth, and the refusal to look away.
This wasn’t about “open borders” or abstract policy debates. It was about whether we accept a country where men are forced to choose between freezing to death or being detained. It was about whether we let federal agents use weather as a weapon. It was about whether community still means something.
Too often, ICE operates in the shadows — early mornings, isolated workplaces, silence as strategy. What happened in Chanhassen broke that script. It showed what happens when enforcement meets witnesses, when fear meets collective presence.
This is the lesson: solidarity works. It slows cruelty. It saves lives. And it reminds those in power that their authority is not absolute when people decide, together, that enough is enough.
In the dead of winter, a community chose warmth. And that matters more than any press release ever could.
here is the strangest, cruelest thing i've ever written, which includes 4,000 words of violent porn and a fully cited fictive excerpt from the Gray Man's book on fraternity in anglo-saxon poetry. i have not the foggiest idea what i was exorcising, but for freaks of a specific niche, i hope this scratches a particular itch or presses a rarely reached bruise.
complete: knap
old middle english (v): a crest, a hill; to chip or break by a sharp blow, as flint
Gray found him exceptional. Stroking the boy’s filthy curls off his forehead, he asked, “Do you know what’s about to happen?”
Declan didn’t flinch, though it took him a moment to swallow his mouth wet again. “Will you tell me who’s paying you? This seems elaborate.”
Gray shook his head. “I can make you like it, if you want,” he offered.
tags: mountains, brutality, nesting doll trojan horses. please see additional content warnings at the link.
read on ao3
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for whatever reason, this little object completely transfixed and confounded me; i just could not get the beats right, and then the language, and then the beats again. probably the vast majority of those who might be interested in reading it have been subjected to my infinite external processing about it already, and/or have given me notes. huge thanks (in no particular order) to @sonofa-dream, @flightspathfic, @whatimages, @otherparties, and @knucklecurve.
The thing with damians conception is NONEXistent. Talia did want to have Bruces child but CONSENTUALLY and after marriage so they can raise him together and kiss and whatnot
He was a woopsie baby🥰🥰
Timsteph are really cute so just like- food for thought idk
Selina is afro-latina-italian-american
Afro-latina on her mom's side and italian on the Falcone side
Jay and Damian have like this really cute brotherly relationship because jason helped raise damian since he was six
Damian's dads: Bruce but also Dick (Not batcest just his emotional connection to them)
Damian's moms: Talia and Selina
B had unending situationships with both Clark and Selina. And like when Clark settled down with Lois B would get freaky with the two of them until he decided that it does not help his mental stability situation
And idk how much later he got back with Selina and they got married and they kiss
Talia pronounces 'Damian' as 'Dammy-Anne' because if she doesn't then the "Dami means 'of my blood' in arabic" thing doesn't work and I really want it to
The kids bully the living shit out of bruce
He just lets them because he feels like he deserves it (he does)
Dick has crippling ADHD but was only diagnosed in his late twenties
Selinas mom was killed when she was 10 instead of 7, They were really close
Stephanie knows the most random trivia
B hadn't celebrated any jewish holidays since his parents' deaths-- until Tim came along and he wanted to connect with his new son and make him feel at home
On Passover theres an afikoman for every kid (even though some of them are fully grown adults)
They make it a competition of who can find the most afikomans
The Joker can't smell
because chemicals or something idk
Selina protects gothams sex workers and generally gothams women
She also protects the lower class queer crowd because umm corelation
I don't know much about this topic- but OCD Bruce?? my reasoning is 1) that i saw an OCD Drew Tanaka post and it got me thinking 2) his dedication to them rules is kinda...
cass is cryptid on her mother's side. She can actually like blend into shadows
Jason is a single cm taller than Bruce and is drives B mad
to all of you chinese indonesians, and to all of you chinese people that are currently traveling to indonesia, pleaseeee stay safe!
currently, there's been a few provocator going around telling people to k*ll the chinese because of all the protests going around!
they believe that the chinese people are very rich compared to the masses(?) and they don't like that fact, that's why many are trying to attack the chinese.
a few (chinese) students and old people has also gotten hurt because of this provocative sentence being tossed around everywhere. to everyone living in indonesia currently, please don't listen to these people trying to hurt the chinese. we shouldn't attack each other because of something the government did.
our focus should be on the government and the police only! do not attack other citizens! don't make kerusuhan 1998 happen again! stay safe, everyone.
Nemesis (The Man I Miss) | Miguel O'hara x M!BlackCat!Reader (TEASER)
CW: jealousy, violence, brutality, self-loathing, implied depression, possessive relationship
#NSFW, Top!Miguel, Bottom!Reader, hurt/comfort, anti-hero reader, complicated relationships, lonely reader, crook turned hero, reader is a tired guy, mutual pining
- Note: Posting some WIPs I've had laying around for a while while I try to finish up the next HOUND update! Needed a bit of a break from it since it's pretty long, but I hope some teasers make up for the wait. Tysm for reading!
Taking care of Nueva York was exhausting. You were far too used to being the problem rather than the problem-solver. That job reserved itself for the one and only Spiderman–your Spiderman.
At least, you liked to think he was yours.
Knowing my luck, the prick’s run off with his shocking wife or something. The thought plagued your mind too often. And it was true: Spiderman disappeared. He no longer served Nueva York and kept it safe, he no longer caught you with your hand in the cookie jar, he no longer gave chase throughout the city before pinning you down on some rooftop and taking his prize by force. And you liked it–no, you loved it. Fucking with the man who’d always get to fuck you back came to be a part of life you relished.
But now you were alone. Left by yourself to deal with lumbering lizards and giggling goblins while wondering how the fuck you’d ended up as a hero when you were anything but. Even the police couldn’t believe the switch, which caused some problems, and led to less-sexy chases that ended with you getting away no problem.
I wish I had problems. Just one problem, though: Spiderman.
You tossed aside your shiny leathers and collapsed into your bed. He’d never been there, no, but you fantasized about it. You thought about his impossibly wide back and the ripple of taut muscle greeting you in the morning, or maybe his built chest and strong neck–or maybe his handsome face–well, you’d never seen his face, but you had your guesses.
Your chest twinged the slightest bit, somewhere between where your greed and feelings intertwined.
Ugh. You missed him.
–
“Who's that?” Peter remarked as he walked up on Miguel. The lab was dark and dreary, spilling with shades of orange and amber where the blues couldn't reach. And Miguel, the source of the cold, stood in front of the firelight, gazing upon your image in the newscycle.
Miguel frowned. “No one.” But he didn't tuck your image nor the article away.
“Huh, looks like Black Cat. A 2099 Black Cat? Never thought I'd see the day.” Peter hummed and bounced a sleepy Mayday in his arms. “He up to no good?”
“He's up to good,” Miguel bit out. “That's the problem. He doesn't do good.”
“He's sort of an anti-hero these days,” Lyla cut in, blinking into existence on Peter's shoulder like the devil she was. “All thanks to Spiderman's influence–”
“Lyla,” Miguel warned (begged?).
“--aaand their sweet, cute budding romance,” she finished with a dreamy sigh. “Doesn't it just melt your heart?”
–
You pinned him against the wall and let your hands trace through the hard lines of his muscles on your way down to your ultimate prize. Spiderman shuddered and stayed still, much to your surprise, letting you feel him, letting you acknowledge the hardness bulging under your criminal touch. Because he dreamt of this too. Dreamt of you touching him, of you falling down to your knees, your eyes never leaving his masked face even when you pressed a hot, open-mouthed kiss to stretched fabric holding back his filled cock.
“So strong,” you cooed, “but not strong enough to resist, hm?” You sighed and worked him through the fabric with one hand. “Shouldn’t you be stopping the big bad from manhandling you like this, Spidey?”
“Hardly consider you the big bad,” he scoffed back. Spiderman tilted his head back with a choked groan whent hose diamond-tipped clawed gloves dug into his thighs. “Mierda, you–”
“Oh?” You grinned, so cheshire, so in-theme with your persona. “You can stop me any time, no?”
He could’ve. But he didn’t.
–
“A daughter,” you murmured. The flickering images–memories, maybe?–were there, waiting quietly for you, preserved and kept precious in shades of amber. But the scene was so alive; you could feel the stretch of the sun against your gloved touch, you basked in the crisp Spring air of that soccer game, you drowned in the warmth of that father's smile–
Spidey's smile. That was beyond obvious. The mountainous shoulders, the tawny skin, those hands– they belonged to him. Your beast. Your nemesis and lover, the man you hadn’t seen for far too long–
“Because you've been off taking care of a kid?” Your fingers, gentle, feather-light, ghosted across that foreign memory. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?” Who’s your baby mama?
The lab lights stilted and jittered. You snapped from your trance and made for the window you’d come in through, not bothering to see what was happening with your system jammers–you knew Lyla, she knew you, and that made the whole breaking-into-Spiderman’s-base thing more tricky and risky. Your jammer wasn’t fool-proof. It was quite easy to override, actually, but the interference was the difficult thing to detect in the first place. You only thought you’d need a handful of minutes to see your spider, anyway.
But he wasn’t there. Maybe he was off with his little girl.
Something cacophonous and nerve-wracking churned to the sound of warping electricity behind you as you dove from the window and slid down the side of the skyscraper, claws shrieking against metal and glass alike until you could launch off and latch onto a passing hover car. The periphery of your mind swore it saw flashes of orange and yellow, more violent and heavy than the screens you stared at in that dower room, and maybe you might have heard a familiar voice too.
The broad, tiny silhouette standing in that abandoned window gave you much more to think about.
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