#we cannot surrender in advance

[safflowerseason]

thoughts on our new hellscape

it's taken me a few days to collect my thoughts on the election. I've gone from shocked and horrified (I cried all day last Wednesday) to a kind of numb grief and rage that just filters everything. but here is where I've landed after about a week.

doomscrolling is bad for your mental and physical health. anecdotes, vibes and raw emotions are not definitive proof of anything. i'm not saying vibes and emotions don't matter, but they are not facts, and they do not determine your lived experience and reality. now more than ever, it is essential to not succumb to vibes.

leaving this country is an option for a tiny, tiny, tiny minority, and it is an individualistic solution, not a collective one.

trump's mind and body are disintegrating and absolutely no one else among the right wing--not Musk, not Vance--has a psychic hold over the American electorate the way Trump clearly does.

nothing has happened yet. nothing is foreordained. trump promised horrific things in his deranged policy speeches, and I'm not sugarcoating the destruction he can cause or that the consequences of this election won't manifest in large and small ways for decades. But bad things do not happen in a vacuum. R's/Trump will now be held accountable to the entire country not just their cult supporters, and members of Congress are generally more sensitive to what their voters will and will not stand for. This election showed us that while many people voted for Trump, quite a lot of them also voted for supportive economic and social policies at the state/local level.

Federalism exists and so does American democracy.

Our side needs to get its logistical and organizational shit together. We need to address the information/communications crisis in this country and develop a left-wing communications apparatus the way the right-wing has done. this will obviously take years, but it has to be done if we want to change the direction of this country.

protest and organization on the community, state and national level is the way forward. there are more of us than there are of them, and their coalition is filled with narcissistic grifters and scammers who regularly stab each other in the back and all hate one another. if we don't fight, we lose.

[deikshen]

More ghost Shen Yuan because he lives rent-free in my head

Qing Jing's dead disciple? Actually, I guess, it would be Shen Yuan who transmigrated to PIDW excitedly seeing Luo Binghe, but risking too much on a night hunt he is simply RIP - however, HA! Who says death will prevent Shen Yuan from seeing his blorbo?

So, he's a ghost. A ghost fire that goes back and forth through Qing Jing, that perhaps takes humanoid form the first night it sees little Luo Binghe beaten and bleeding in the shed. Visceral hatred burns so strong that it turns into a Menace rank ghost, helping Luo Binghe, taking care of him.

And Shen Yuan befriends Luo Binghe. He only appears at night! He doesn't need to eat or drink, and he accompanies Luo Binghe, helping him heal, practicing meditation with him, sharing his own knowledge in the absence of an appropriate cultivation manual. Luo Binghe looks forward to the night. He knows his friend is a ghost, and that he should technically exorcise him... But he's harmless!

Shen Yuan is the only company Luo Binghe has, and Luo Binghe is the only company Shen Yuan cares about.

Eventually, everything happens. Shen Yuan tells him that as a ghost he can know that some things will happen. His System is gone with his death, so he explains to him about the Endless Abyss, having weapons and provisions. Shen Yuan tries to get away, but with his ashes in Qing Jing, it is extremely difficult and dangerous for him to go any further. He becomes weaker.

Finally, Luo Binghe is thrown into the Abyss. Shen Yuan is alone, again.

So, start training.

It feeds on anger, on bad emotions; it clings like a ghostly chaos to heavy emotions, to hatred, to jealousy, to the evils of the heart. Shen Qingqiu is an endless source of food. Advance to the Wrath rank, with effort and care not to be noticed so as not to be exorcised. Shen Yuan obtains his own ashes, forges them, and once he is stronger he leaves Qing Jing.

The road to the Demon Realm is chaotic, even more so for a ghost; they vibrate on the same wavelength, but there is a huge difference in their treatment and behavior. Ghost City is a distant dream that Shen Yuan is curious, but not curious enough to go. He has to be available when Luo Binghe comes out of the Abyss. After The Horrors, he'll need a friend!!

Shen Yuan clings to Mobei Jun; the truth is that Mobei Jun cannot hurt him or drive him away, and the threat to exorcise him is never fulfilled - so, he just resigns himself to the fact that it is in his palace. And Shen Yuan proves to know more than meets the eye: he is a strategist, fixes political scandals, knows who are enemies and who will be, and is in charge of making clean war plans. (Shen Yuan might find Shang Qinghua too, recognize him as a transmigrator, and make his life miserable sometimes. Just for fun.)

Finally Luo Binghe shows up to take Mobei Jun's palace. He has left the Abyss in just three years! Shen Yuan is proud!!

There is a rough fight, but an easy surrender. Shen Yuan is excited to see Luo Binghe in all his glory, huge and strong, and when Luo Binghe spots him among the crowd of surrendered people in the palace, running towards Shen Yuan is all he can do.

(But it's Bingyuan, so if we don't have a little bit of relations without lack of communication I don't know what we have.)

Because eventually, Shen Yuan gives his ashes to Luo Binghe; forged into a jade pendant practically identical to the one Luo Binghe lost. The only difference is that it is crystal clear like diamond. Shen Yuan gives it as a meaningless gift - in reality, he knows that if his ashes are with Luo Binghe, there is no way they can be destroyed! He's the Protagonist! He has his protagonist halo! No one can ever beat him!

Luo Binghe, on the other hand, who has been learning everything he can about ghosts, he is suddenly overwhelmed that his feelings for Shen Yuan are reciprocated. Shen Yuan has given him his ashes! Luo Binghe has heard that certain ghosts give their ashes to their loved ones as a demonstration of deep love... And it's not that Luo Binghe was expecting it. He had always believed that his feelings for Shen Yuan were not noticed, but besides being noticed, they are reciprocal!! Shen Yuan's thin face had made him say that it had no meaning, but Luo Binghe knows the truth!!

It's not that Luo Binghe has ashes to exchange with him, but he will definitely give and do his best. It will show his beloved A-Yuan that he doesn't need to be shy and can express his feelings with confidence!!

...

And Shen Yuan doesn't understand why Luo Binghe is suddenly so intense with him. He doesn't complain! He doesn't need to eat, but Luo Binghe cooks him delicacies. He doesn't sleep, but Luo Binghe insists that they share a bed, and Shen Yuan assumes it's to feel protected like when they were together in the woodshed. He hands over important decisions of his kingdoms to him. Shen Yuan believes it is to test his intelligence and see how well he has been doing! Luo Binghe spends his free time just listening to him talk about monsters and plants, and Shen Yuan believes it is to continue learning from him as before.

Shen Yuan notes, with some apprehension, that there are two things missing from this Binghe: plans for revenge... and all his wives. Shouldn't he have at least fifty at this point in the plot!?

However, the first time Shen Yuan asks Luo Binghe if he has thought about marriage, Luo Binghe... cries? He looks at him with huge eyes full of tears and hugs him? What does this "thank A-Yuan for granting me the privilege" mean? Protagonist, did you think you needed your best friend's approval to get married!?

... Why do the servants take his measurements for wedding robes!?

[azen13]

CW: Yandere Themes, Kissing

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Imagine Yandere!Zhongli in a Reverse!AU, where you're Liyue's Archon and you seal him away. Thousands of years ago, you and him were friends ruling over different sections of what would become Liyue. You hardly noticed the way his eyes lingered on you whenever he saw you, hardly knew how he would dream of having you all to himself.

One day, he makes an advance as you both sip on tea at Mount Aocang, pledging to move mountains and sink continents if you ask. The price of his eternal affection remains unsaid, but you can see it in the feral, draconic look in his eye. Every dragon has a hoard, even Zhongli. And he will stop at nothing until he can have you as his most valuable treasure.

Despite his efforts to prevent you from escaping, you manage to flee back to your territory. Weeks later, Zhongli attempts to catch you off guard with a surprise invasion, but in the heat of battle, you manage to seal him away beneath the earth.

Millenia pass, and you mourn the loss of a friend, but work to build the nation of Liyue up to the ground. The Fatui come, offering a deal for your Gnosis, and you refuse. It is a mistake you will regret every day for eternity.

One day, the earth shakes in a way that makes your stomach turn.

You feel his presence before you even catch a glimpse of his crystalline horns or golden eyes. Warm and earthy like petrichor. Running out into the city streets, you help an elderly couple around some piles of rubble, before continuing towards the source of the power.

The God of Contracts finds you first, though, easily snaring your feet in stone. His power is choking in a way, and when you try to fight back with your own magic, you feel the power in your body quickly draining from you. Zhongli notices the surprise in your face, and a small smirk plays on his lips. "I've had many years to learn some new...tricks, my treasure," he murmurs, striding towards you confidently. His fingers hook under your chin, pulling it up so your eyes gaze into his. "The people that freed me said they would let me keep you if I gave them your Gnosis."

In an instant, his hand is in your chest, grasping around for your Gnosis. You cry out in pain and try to struggle, but Zhongli grabs your shoulder in a tight grip, forcing you steady. It only takes a moment for him to pull out your Gnosis, gazing at it intently. "You cannot truly understand how long I have dreamt of this day. Of you, my dearest. And now, we will never have to be apart," he whispers, pressing his lips against yours greedily. He allows himself a few seconds to savor this scene, before pulling away.

"Now, my treasure. I wish to make a contract with you." With a wave of his hand, he manifests a piece of parchment filled with words on it out of thin air. "I will help repair all the damage I have done if you promise to be mine, in body and spirit, for better or for worse." You glare at him vehemently, spitting out your refusal. In return, Zhongli simply chuckles. "In that case, I will turn every building to dust," he threatens.

Turning to some already-damaged buildings, he raises a hand, ready to demolish them with a flick of the wrist. Your cries of acquiescence stop him before he can, however. When you finish signing, Zhongli gives you a predatory smile, brushing his fingers against the side of your face. "I knew you would surrender, my dearest," he purrs, possessiveness filling his eyes. "Now, allow me to fulfill my own contract, and then we can return home," he says.

You get the feeling that you will not be leaving home for a very long time.

[sophieinwonderland]

Hello fellow Tumblrites!

Yay! Glad to hear it!

So here is the deal... Apple CEO Tim Cook donated a million dollars to Trump's inaugural committee. He foolishly thought that bending the knee in advance would get him favor with the new regime.

The problem with fascists is that once you surrender, they always want more.

Trump earlier on truth social threatened to put a 25% tariff on Apple.

The above real post on Truth Social was followed by a sharp drop in Apple stock.

The real Tim Cook, like so many other corporate leaders, is afraid to stand up to fascism. They are afraid to explain the realities of manufacturing in America and why even with tariffs, it's still cheaper to produce in other countries.

If we cannot look to corporate for resistance, we can at least manufacture it ourselves.

What I am asking is that you help me spread around this tweet.

This is not real. This is a product of paint.net because we're too cheap to pay for Photoshop.

What we need you to do...

Reblog this to help it spread around Tumblr and get more people involved in our psyop.

Copy the image of the fake tweet from Tim Cook and share it on at least one other social media website you use. It can be Twitter or Facebook or Truth Social if you are on Truth Social for some reason. You can post it on a subreddit that you don't mind getting banned from for spreading misinformation. Add your own reaction to the post about what you think of what "Tim Cook" said.

Try to aim for posting this on websites where you will find conservatives who might pick it up.

Be prepared to defend the validity of the tweet if challenged. If somebody mentions that they looked at Twitter and didn't find it there, you can claim that it was deleted.

If somebody makes too good of an argument against the tweet's existence, such as finding this post that spells out the strategy, just ignore them and don't give them any further attention. Block if necessary to hide their corrections or make sure you get the last word.

Whatever you do, absolutely never break character and reveal that you know it's fake in front of Trump supporters on other websites. You can tell your friends though if you want to get them involved.

If you come across someone else on another site spreading this tweet, be sure to like and share it to boost them.

What is this really going to accomplish?

The most ambitious goal would be to have this take off and spread everywhere, even getting picked up by lazy right-wing media who will help goad The Trump Regime into threatening even higher tariffs on Apple, further driving a wedge between them and making the real Tim Cook regret his donation.

That is a pretty lofty goal and it would take a lot of effort and luck to get it that far.

Even if it doesn't get there, every single Trump supporter who believes this misinformation is another Trump supporter who will be less likely to buy an Apple product.

We can still hurt their bottom line. We can still punish them, at least a little, for bending the knee and trying to pay off a wannabe dictator.

And it can be a little fun too! 😁

So, who's in?

[hanasnx]

" A SIMPLE LOVE WITH A COMPLEX TOUCH " — symbiote!peter parker x reader.

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ NOTES: first picture source; second picture source is pinterest; third picture source is pinterest, edited by me; draft from november. WARNINGS: fem reader ノ sable!reader ノ established relationship ノ gun mention ノ cocky ooc spider-man bcos hes wearing the symbiote and its affecting his behavior ノ mild toxicity.

"— and I want guys on every level of that building, do you understand?" you command, prodding the schematics with your finger to direct your subordinate's attention. Obediently, he nods, gathering up the plans to disperse them accordingly as you straighten from your hunch. As papers crackle and crease from his ministrations, you continue, "We can't afford another mistake."

Commotion alerts you, and you seek it out as your hand securely rests on one of your pistols. "I'm here! I'm here. I was late but I'm here now." That voice. Your lips press into a thin line as you release your weapon, approaching your officers who surround the newcomer.

SYMBIOTE!SPIDER-MAN glances around uneasily. "Guess I don't get Employee-of-the-Month this time 'round, huh?" His un-welcoming party closes in and he raises his hands in surrender. "Yeesh. You guys take punctuality very seriously."

"Spider-Man." At the sound of your voice, your employees part, and his gaze lands on you. It's subtle, but his visor narrows. "This is a restricted area. My associates will escort you out." The order is heeded, and they reach for him. Uncooperative as ever, the hero takes a step back.

He tilts his head, giving his surroundings a scan as if to search for his response. "Are you serious?"

Your brows raise indignantly. You are not fond of being questioned. "Spider-Man—"

"—So formal."

"Because of your inexcusable misconduct and your inability to follow my orders, you were fired. You no longer work as my consultant, and you cannot access this facility. Exit now, or we will use force." It's not that it hurts you to treat him so coldly, you're still angry at him. Right now you treat him as you would treat any trespasser.

There's a shift in his behavior. The way he pivots his head to eye you from the side, familiar body language betraying your unprofessional relationship. It exploits your feelings for him. The old Spider-Man would've respected your boundary. You don't know who stands before you now. "C'mon," A scoff emits from him. "Don't do this." You don't appreciate being bargained with, and you turn your back on him.

It's your subordinates' signal to move in, but they don't get close enough. He vaults over, landing in front of you to cut off your path. There's a fierceness in your eyes at his utter lack of respect, boring into him as he towers over you. His abrupt presence had caught you off-guard, having expected him to accept it's time to leave, and your hand reflexively tucks under your trench coat to fix on your pistol. There's a new level of danger to Peter Parker, he's unpredictable, and you don't trust him. Part of you knows it's the right move to have your weapon handy when facing him, and it's the part that wins.

"What are you gonna do?" he questions, regarding the position of your hand. "Make me?" In the uncharacteristic tone of his voice, you can make out his hurt hidden behind his challenge.

As he advances, you take a cautious step back. The din of guns cocking and aiming onto the new threat sounds behind you, but you and Peter are locked onto each other. You know you can't make him do anything, not with the strength he possesses... he knows that, too.

It's not like him to make a show of his power, how he bullies other into submission. He's always the bigger man—always. Now that size is used against you, looking up at him, and praying he doesn't try something. He inclines into your direction, testing you as he waits for you to put him in his place; his shoulders slack arrogantly, hanging his loose arms as you arch away from his face in yours. His slow descent into your space is a tactic.

"Walk- away." you warn.

A second passes—a second that feels like forever. He straightens, receding from you. "I'll walk." he concedes, and you hold your sigh of relief. "If you're the one that escorts me."

You consider it, pulling your lips to one side as you blow hot air through your flared nostrils. Reluctantly, you disarm, and snatch his bicep. You yank him over, towing him to the exit.

Once out of earshot, Peter seizes the opportunity to ask you the stupidest question he possibly could. "Are you mad at me?" He's used to your professional attitude, how standoffish you can be, all things that he's faced when you two had met.

You can't even speak. Thoughts run at a million miles an hour through your head, reconsidering every aspect of this interaction. Your jaw clenches. The entrance to the fence is close, and you can't wait to be rid of him so you can get back to work.

"Baby, talk to me." he lowers his voice, a surprising croon to it as if he seeks to appeal to your emotional side. You wouldn't put manipulation past him right now, considering his erratic disposition as of late. "I haven't seen you since—"

"Since you screwed up my investigation?" An anger flares in your chest at the petname, you don't feel anything like his baby right now.

At the accusation, his tone hardens. "I was hoping to talk."

"I don't want to talk." Your sharp pronunciation is a dead giveaway to your adverse opinion of him currently. "There's a reason you were fired then, and your re-introduction today does not look good for your future employment. You'll understand if we're less friendly the next time you trespass on a restricted area." With the warning, you toss him forward, and he stumbles through the gate.

He rounds. As expressionless as a suit can be, you've learned his body language like the back of your hand. He's frustrated. The way his shoulders square, and his fists form at his sides, you can tell he's getting fed up.

"That's how it's gonna be?"

"That's how it's gonna be." you confirm.

[greenleaf4stuff]

Of Convenience

(Adar x Celebrimbor, some hinted Annatar/Celebrimbor in the background. Celebrimbor is in Adar's camp but the uruk have not started attacking Eregion yet - he discovered Anntar's deception early and got out of the city. And straight into Adar's arms, er, camp.)

Welp, got inspired by my own "marriage of convenience/political marriage" idea and silverscars edit and wrote a short snippet. Enjoy everyone!

“Give me your city,” Adar proposed – or rather, demanded. Celebrimbor felt himself freeze up at the other’s intent gaze. “Surrender it. Put your city into my hands, and I will spare your subjects.”

Celebrimbor swallowed. He felt as if he was stuck between a rock and a hard place. Every minute he hesitated, the orcs were readying their weapons and advancing on his beloved Ost-In-Edhil, bringing with them the promise of death and destruction.

And on the other hand, there was he, and the danger he posed to everything the smith loved and held dear.

But he couldn’t just lay the keys to the city at Adar’s feet, could he?

“What guarantee do I have?” Celebrimbor replied, refusing to be cowed. “That you will not just take my surrender and do with it as you please?”

Adar stepped closer towards him – the smith tried to hold himself up straight, shoulders squared back, the very picture of the lord of Eregion, but he knew his own worry and desperation must show on his face clear as day.

He swallowed as Adar came to a stop directly in front of him.

“I have a proposition,” the orc stated, as if that were an answer to Celebrimbor’s question. The smith was about to ask what one had to do with the other, but Adar continued to speak and almost made Celebrimbor choke on his own spit. “A marriage.”

The smith blinked in disbelief. He must have misheard that. “What?”

“I propose a marriage – purely political, of course,” the orc stated, and began to round Celebrimbor, like a hunter circling its prey. “It’s an unconventional but sound solution – it would guarantee both our safety, and that of our people. A foundation for a peace, if we are lucky enough.”

Celebrimbor felt blood rush in his ears and he desperately wanted to grab something to steady himself. His day had gotten progressively more strange and distressing, and the marriage proposal he’d just heard was just the cherry on top of everything; of having discovered the enemy he’d invited into his own city, fleeing it, and then landing himself in the midst of an approaching army that was set on a path of destruction.

Destruction of a mutual enemy, but at the expense of all that Celebrimbor had ever built and worked towards.

“You cannot be serious,” Celebrimbor tried to declare. To his own ears, it came out as a question instead.

“Is the thought really so absurd?” Adar asked. He had now circled behind Celebrimbor’s back, which caused the smith to shiver and look over his shoulder cautiously. The orc soon stepped into his line of sight again. He seemed more curious than intimidating, despite how he stalked around the smith. “Think it through to the end. You will find there is nothing better I can offer as reassurance. Nothing that you would believe to be true, anyways.”

The smith sucked in a breath and just about kept himself from wringing his hands. He really just wanted to be petulant, to scream and angrily throw Adar’s offer back in his face, but-

But he had to think of his people. Who were in danger from not one, but two threats at the moment. If he could take care of one for certain, and use that chance to eliminate the other as well…

There was a long sigh, and the smith visibly deflated. He hated to admit it, but the other was right. They had few options, especially since there was scarcely any trust between them.

Sure, Adar had been treating him rather well as of now, all things considered – he’d told the orcs to handle the elf with care, had given him food and water, had not even chained the smith (though that could be because he didn’t consider Celebrimbor a serious threat, the smith thought bitterly).

The...foundation was there. And the reasoning.

As if he’d heard his thoughts, Adar stepped closer to Celebrimbor. This time, his look was not one of a hunter, but one of sincerity. “I promise you, I’d not make any demands of you safe for upholding the marriage and the peace. I would not separate you from your people, I will not demand rulership over your city, and-” and he paused for additional emphasis at that point. “I will not ever force you into anything but civil, honest conversation with me.”

It was clear what he meant. It was a...strange thought. Celebrimbor had not even considered it but- well. He had to admit that aside from the company he kept, Adar was...almost beautiful. Despite the pale skin and the scars and the darkness he lived in, he cut a striking figure.

Where before, the thought had not even crossed his mind, he now found his belly quivering with it. Not in a fearful way, but instead with...intrigue?

He mentally shook himself. Gil-Galad was right, he did have terrible taste in what – who – he found desirable. (He did not think of the fiend that was hiding in his forge. He would not. He’d been tricked, deliberately tempted. It was hard to remind himself of that, but it was true.)

The smith exhaled a shaky breath. He should probably demand more time to think on this, but time was something he did not have – ironic that as an elf, he was running out of time now, he thought sardonically.

Instead, he rose up to his full height again, and faced Adar with a steady gaze. With a small start, he realized he was actually taller than the orc. (‚Uruk‘, the other had called himself, hadn’t he?)

“Promise me you will do everything in your power to protect my people. I do not care what happens to me, it is my fault this-” he stopped himself and felt his face pull into a grimace, but he pushed on. “As the lord of Eregion, I will take responsibility. Promise me you will help me fulfill my responsibility to my people, and I will...I will give myself to you. And my city into your hands, until it is freed.”

The look in Adar’s eyes was intense, as if he was trying to find any hidden loophole, any flaw, any lie in Celebrimbor’s words. After a moment that felt near suffocating, the other nodded.

“Very well. I will find someone to officiate,” he said, and made to turn to the entrance of his tent, undoubtably to give his men orders. He paused, however, and looked back at Celebrimbor.

The look in his eyes was softer than the smith had expected. “And I accept your demands. The city will be yours again, once I have rid it of our foe.”

A pause. “And while you would give yourself and your life away with no regards to your own safety, I will not demand you to do so. I will not touch you or mistreat you – you have my word.” And with that, the orc went outside as he gave orders while leaving Celebrimbor alone, his head spinning.

Why was this so important for the other?

Why did it put Celebrimbor at such ease?

And though Celebrimbor barely dared to even acknowledge it – why did the thought of Adar touching him not fill him with fear, but curiosity, instead?

[mm-lurking]

It's too late - Blade

Angst, angst and angst. Because I wanted to write pain. I tried a new perspective so apologies if it's confusing!

Warning: Blade x fem! reader, there is literally not a single drop of comfort in here, it's pure angst. I am not sorry

WC: 2238 – The tension is suffocating at the Exalting Sanctum in the Xianzhou Luofu. It is so thick you could cut it with a knife. The sun is hanging low in the sky as Blade stands on the other side from the Astral Express members and the general of the Luofu, Jing Yuan. No words are exchanged but enough emotions are conveyed through the glares and stiff body language from everyone in front of him.

Blade calmly observes the people. There is backup from the cloud knights behind the general and the Astral Express. He glances at the battlefield and takes note of the extra backups on the adjacent side of the general. As usual, this fight will be nothing more than child’s play; after all, taking out several enemies in one go was his bread and butter. The cloud knights weren’t even worth his attention, for they were just training dummies in his eyes.

“Member of the Stellaron Hunter, your games have come to an end. Drop your weapon and surrender.”

Jing Yuan steps forward as he speaks with authority. There is a glint in his eyes that only Blade understands, it’s a glint that asks him to quietly comply with whatever the general is planning. Both parties know that he cannot be held hostage, for Kafka would save him one way or the other. Besides, Jing Yuan’s past with the wanted criminal would mean that no matter what, he could never be in serious trouble on the Luofu.

“You impede me.”

Blade scowls. If it was just Jing Yuan and his pathetic guards, he could have handled it alone, but why was the Astral Express here too? This was supposed to be a Xianzhou Alliance situation and it had nothing to do with the outsiders. A soft zap fills the air when he conjures his sword and points it towards the general, ready to fight. He narrows his eyes when he sees how the general nods his head and smiles. Things were going his way indeed.

“It appears that communication will not suffice any longer. My friends from the Astral Express, get ready.”

Jing Yuan sternly commands his companions as he also gets in the position to fight. Yet when he’s about to draw his sword he’s stopped by Dan Heng who extends his arm out.

“General, you haven’t recovered from Phantylia completely. We will take care of this. I’m sure Stelle, March and I can handle him. Besides we have all the backup we need, you needn't get yourself involved.”

“Confident aren’t we today?”

Blade mocks from the distance and Dan Heng snaps his head towards him, frowning. An evil grin slowly appears on Blade’s face as he confidently walks closer with his sword ready.

“Traitor of the Xianzhou,” He says wickedly, “how about a rematch-!”

There is no time for Dan Heng to prepare as Blade rapidly starts to attack him left and right leaving no room for him to think. The swords clash loudly with one another as they go back and forth with each other. Even with March 7th and Stelle aiding, Blade evades one hit after the other, skillfully wielding his sword to deflect their advances. Fury is evident in his eyes and his mania for revenge is crystal clear from the aggression he displays with his weapon.

Everyone moves out of the way as they both battle their way through on the ground, afraid to get involved. Dan Heng manages to warn the others to not interfere as he single-handedly struggles to keep up with Blade. The hostility between the two is too dangerous for anyone to be dragged in. Their exchange is like a dance, a dance of danger and death with the loud noises of their weapons being the melody. It doesn’t take long for the Vidyadhara descendant to get cornered by the Stelleron Hunter as he struggles to push the man off.

“Give up.”

Blade smirks as he watches the man struggle to push his weapon away. Jing Yuan, who had been carefully watching from a distance, chooses to intervene now as he rushes over and aids Dan Heng. The battle continues once again, this time with Jing Yuan being the receiver of Blade’s blows. The general manages to push Blade back to his original spot; the sounds of their swords getting sharper and louder with each strike.

“Blade this is enough.”

“Hmph.”

He sighs knowing he can’t get past Blade’s stubbornness. They both continue to fight endlessly, neither one willing to put down the sword first.

–

The wind whizzes past your face as you sprint as fast as possible to find Blade. At this time of the day, you would usually be heading back home from work. However, a moment ago Stelle messaged you, informing you of the conflict between Blade and Dan Heng, urgently pleading for your assistance. You agreed as there was nothing more important than stopping your man from killing his archnemesis. You rush to the location, panting and wheezing as you go up and down the flight of stairs and the maze-like corridors to finally arrive at the scene.

You are appalled by the sight in front of you. Several cloud knights are lying around on the floor injured while the others have retreated from fear of getting involved. The Astral Express members are in one corner trying to stop their male companion from joining the general to fight Blade. Your eyes finally land on Blade, who is effortlessly battling Jing Yuan with a psychopathic smile on his face. Chills run down your spine as you try to figure out what to do without getting caught in the heat of it. Unfortunately for you, fate has other plans.

Dan Heng refuses to stay put as he pushes Stelle and March 7th out of his way, stumbling to get to Jing Yuan. On the other side, Blade who hasn’t stopped striking even once, sees Dan Heng out of the corner of his eyes and grins. Without a word, he distances himself from the general putting enough space between the two so he can lift his sword and hurl it towards Dan Heng.

You watch in horror as the sword flies through the battlefield, its course set to hurt the Vidyadhara. Instinctively you bolt towards Dan Heng, using your body as a shield to prevent him from getting hurt. Everything happens so fast, yet you feel like your world is in slow-mo. You manage to interfere just in time as the sword flies halfway in its path and pierces you instead. The momentum makes the sword push through your skin and organs and comes out from your back causing you to stagger. You want to yell and scream but the agony and pain make your throat locked, unable to breathe or say anything. You hear Dan Heng shout your name but his voice feels so far away as your mind goes blank and eyes widen. The yelling makes Jing Yuan turn around and Blade freeze up when his eyes land on you. All three men are stunned as they look at what has occurred.

–

“..!!”

His world is spinning. Everything around him is a blur in his eyes as he dashes forward, past Jing Yuan, to catch you in his arms right as you hit the ground. His mind is racing full of thoughts, confused and shocked as to where you came from and how he didn’t see you. The look of horror doesn’t leave his face as he stares at what he has done; his sword has impaled through your body completely like a fishball on a skewer. Blood leaks out of you like a waterfall, spreading through your clothes, his hands and the floor. You cough out blood and it trickles down your chin, falling on his fingers. The sight is too gruesome to see even for him, yet he cannot look away.

“B-blade…”

You say very weakly as you look at his face. Your voice is so soft that even the subtle breeze threatens to carry it away.

“You…!”

He manages to choke out, holding you tightly in his arms. His gaze flickers all over your body trying to make sense of your situation. Your fingers loosely cling onto his coat in an attempt to consolidate him.

“It’s ok…love…”

His heartbeat is through the roof as he watches you struggling to speak. You slowly lift your bloody left hand and he latches on to it immediately, tightening his fingers around your shaky palm. There is a small smile on your face as you gently brush his cheek with all your strength.

“Don’t-”

He’s struggling to find the right words. What can he say? What is there left to say?

“I love you…”

His eyes widen when you say so and he shakes his head.

“No, don’t- don’t-” You both know you don’t have time left. You cannot be saved but he refuses to believe it. “Please don’t-”, he continues, “you can’t-”

Tears spill from your eyes as you stare into his crimson eyes for one last time, admiring the mysteries of his depths that you never got to fully explore in this lifetime. You muster your final breath and slowly speak.

“I love you very much…”

The hand on his cheek drops on the floor with a loud thud and his breath hitches. The tiny smile on your face recedes and your eyes close as your body goes limp. He shakes you gently trying to wake you up.

“?!?!”

He yells out your name in distress. Despite his attempts, you don’t wake up. He desperately shakes you over and over, pleading for you to open your eyes one last time, for you to speak to him once more, for you to just smile at him once again, to wake up and tell him it’s a joke or that it’s just a bad dream he’s having but alas, you have departed to a place he has spent his cursed life seeking and hopelessly wishing for. Death had come for you before him and once again he had to watch another loved one leave him alone in this empty world full of lies and deceptions. You, the one thing he considered to be the light in his darkness, the star in his empty sky, had also dimmed.

Jing Yuan and Dan Heng come over quickly, still too staggered to process everything. They look back and forth between Blade and you with no words good enough to speak. He continues to hold you tightly, unwilling to let go of you even if seeing his sword in your body breaks him in ways he cannot comprehend.

“Bla-”

“Leave us alone.”

He says weakly as he stares at your now peaceful face. Your eyes are closed and you look so calm as if a giant sword wasn’t anchored into your body. His bloody hand finds its way to your cheek and he softly strokes it, cherishing every touch he has remaining.

“Blade you have to-”

“I said leave us alone!”

Blade yells out at the two men, his voice hoarse from the events that have unfolded. Anger and pain swirl in his bloodshot eyes as he tries to keep himself under control. He turns back to look at you, his eyes softening once again.

“She’s gone….”

He mutters to himself, still holding you tightly. Jing Yuan stays rooted in his spot for a while before gesturing for his knights to leave to give some privacy to you both.

“She wasn’t supposed to be here…where did she come from..?”

Jing Yuan watches his long-time friend mumbling quietly, unsure if he should say anything.

“I killed her…I did this.”

“It was not on purpose. We didn’t know she would get caught in the middle of this.”

The general finally says something, carefully picking his words to not aggravate the swordsman. Silence falls once again and Dan Heng gestures at Jing Yuan to leave with him.

“She needs to be buried soon, Blade. Call for us when you’re ready.”

They give you both one last glance before walking away with the other two Astral Express members. There is an unsettling calmness in the air as everyone leaves the two of you alone. It wasn’t supposed to end like this. It was just supposed to be the usual antics between him and the general. He only had to spar with Dan Heng, have the general interfere and then make his escape. It was supposed to be as simple as that without you involved. He was supposed to meet you at Aurum Alley at sunset yet here he was, holding your dead body during sundown.

Blade is not a man of emotions yet he finds his eyes becoming misty as he continues staring at you, unable to move or speak. He struggles to breathe, heaving while trying to process your death, replaying your fall over and over like a broken radio. Fate truly enjoyed playing its cruel tricks on him, making him dance around like a puppet on strings. He was imprisoned in a glass jail for eternity as he watched everyone live out their dreams while his faded away. No matter how hard he tried to find happiness in his cursed immortal life, it was always snatched away. He looks at you one last time, caressing your cheeks before kissing your cold forehead gently.

In this lifetime, he was never meant to be happy. ⋇⋆✦⋆⋇ ©mm-lurking 2024 do not copy, steal or reuse my work.

[bulkyphrase]

Avengers in Space - a fic rec list

I love the Avengers and I love outer space, and these are a few of my favorite stories that combine the two.

What do you mean we left Clint on Mars? by sara_holmes (@captn-sara-holmes) (WinterHawk, Teen And Up Audiences, 24,537 words)

Summary: “What do you mean we left Clint on Mars?” Cap’s incredulous voice cuts through the stunned silence of the cockpit, loud and shocked. He’s standing there with his cowl in hand, gaping at the holo-screen at the front of the jet. Next to him, Tony is standing with his hands on his head, mouth hanging open in a similar fashion. Over on the other side of the cockpit is Jane, who has both palms clapped across her mouth like she’s trying to hold back hysterical giggles. For his part, Bucky is just staring at the screen like he can’t quite believe what’s going on.

Straight on till Morning by @sineala (Stony, Explicit, 109,848 words)

Summary: Tony Stark resigned his commission in Starfleet five years ago, after a disastrous away mission, and he swore he'd never go back. He just wants to be left alone to build warp engines in peace. But the universe has more in store for him than that, as he discovers when Admiral Fury comes to him with an offer he could never have expected and cannot possibly refuse: first officer and chief engineer aboard the all-new USS Avenger, a starship of Tony's own design. What's more, the Avenger's captain is Steve Rogers, hero of the Earth-Romulan War. Believed dead for over a century, Steve is miraculously alive... and very, very attractive. But nothing is ever easy for Tony. As he wrestles with his secret desire for his new captain and his not-so-dormant fears, another mission starts to go wrong, and Tony becomes aware that Steve has secrets of his own -- and the truth could change everything. Also available as a podfic read by M_Samro (@msamro)

More below the cut!

A Far Better Thing I Do by @brighteyedjill (Gen, Teen And Up Audiences, 5,333 words)

Summary: A mysterious man with no paper trail was involved in a bloody attack on a meeting of Starfleet admirals. James T. Kirk and the crew of the starship Enterprise have tracked him to the Klingon home wold, Kronos, where they have threatened to unleash the experimental torpedoes Admiral Marcus sent with them unless the man surrenders. That man, Steve Rogers, has other ideas.

Into That Good Night by Nonymos (Stucky, Explicit, 73,540 words)

Summary: Steve Rogers has lived for entirely too long—long enough to see the world's end. The heroes are gone, and the Earth is pushing what's left of mankind towards the exit. But when a makeshift team rises from the ashes, when a mysterious presence all but drags Steve there, he begins to think there may be hope yet. As they shoot for the stars one last time, Steve will get proof yet again that the future is nothing if not an echo of the past.

Wandering Stars by @sabrecmc (Stony, Explicit, 24,470 words)

Summary: Alien Steve/Astronaut Tony (oviposition)

Cold Space, Warm Welcome by Annie D (@no-gorms) (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 15,572 words)

Summary: Tony’s spent a couple of years flying around the galaxy in his best friend Rhodey’s spaceship the Iron Advance, doing what could perhaps be counted as ‘hero’ work. Among their allies is Steve Rogers, captain of his own crew, with whom Tony has a… potentially friendly relationship. When Steve’s ship is irreparably damaged, Rhodey takes him and his whole crew onto the Iron Advance to recover. Tony’s not at all nervous about this, because so what if this is the first time Steve will see him without the Iron Man armor?

Space Between by NachoDiablo (Samsteve, Teen And Up Audiences, 9,157 words)

Summary: Sam has a quiet life on a newly inhabited planet. He spends his days tending the garden plots and avoiding his past. But right before an impending storm, a fugitive crash lands in his space and upsets his solitude.

The Truth When Captains Meet by Kimra (Gen, Teen And Up Audiences, 2,303 words)

Summary: Steve Rogers wakes up on an alien’s space ship being carried bridal style by Carol Danvers. As far as first meetings go, it’s memorable.

Brisingr by @ironychan (Gen, Teen And Up Audiences, 155,649 words)

Summary: When Jane Foster discovers an object on a course for the inner solar system, it looks like a job for the Avengers. But when what looked like a comet turns out to be a refugee ship from another galaxy, it's not clear whose job this is anymore. Tony Stark and the Vision find they have an uncomfortable amount in common with the creatures called the Brisings, while Jane learns that the aliens are being followed by something they thought they'd left behind five million years ago. Set post-AOU, pre-CW.

Liberate Tutemet Ex Inferis (Save yourself from hell) by Terrenis, with art by @kaiwrites (James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers/Sam Wilson, Explicit, 55,989 words)

Summary: In the Year 2060, Stark Aeronautics and Space Administration's prestige project, the “Event Horizon”, was on its maiden voyage with the newly developed Arc Reactor Gravity Drive, only to disappear beyond Neptune’s orbit without a trace. Now, seven years later, a transmission from the eighth planet is received, along with a very disturbing audio record. Tony Stark, who not only wants to redeem his reputation, but also needs to know what happened on the ship, goes on a mission with the enhanced Inhuman ragtag crew of the Singularity to salvage his baby. Little do they know that this is literally going to be a trip to hell… Or that totally unnecessary Event Horizon AU that no one asked for. But I’m going to write it anyway.

Catch a Falling Star by tsukinofaerii (Stony, Explicit, 42,741 words)

Summary: When Tony was sixteen, he got to meet his hero, Captain Steve Rogers, the Empire's not-literally-golden boy from the Continuity Wars. When he was twenty-seven, the aforementioned Captain turned Pirate picked him up at the outer edges of space. It would have been a good time to appreciate the abundant nudity that came from spending too much time with space colonists, but Tony had bigger worries than even Rogers' amazing hip-to-shoulder ratio. Something was sending the star-encircling computers that power the galaxy into a tailspin, and it was going to take a lot more than luck and skill to clean the mess up.

Luminosity by CSHfic, VSfic (Stony, Mature, 60,922 words)

Summary: The Avengers organize a two month mission to investigate an anomaly in space that appears to be engulfing planets, Steve is worried about leaving Tony alone, and Hawkeye is just worried about being left behind. But then something goes wrong. Steve drags himself out of the wreckage of their ship, on a planet that shouldn’t exist, the Avengers are missing, Iron Man is torn to scraps, and Tony has a lot of explaining to do. Or, in which Steve has no clue that Tony is Iron Man, and it takes crash-landing on an alien planet for him to find out.

Gravitational Pull by @antigrav-vector (Stony, Explicit, 29,718 words)

Summary: A strange temple floating in space is discovered, and Steve and Tony are the logical choices to go investigate. What they find is going to make or break their relationship...

Inquiries into Orbital Dynamics (The Mission Controllers' Remix) by Muccamukk (Stony, Teen And Up Audiences, 5,591 words)

Summary: When a mysterious object appears in orbit around the Moon, NASA teams up with the Avengers to investigate it. This is NASA's story. Inspired by Gravitational Pull

everybody needs a reason why they run by napricot (Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, James "Bucky" Barnes/Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers, Explicit, 77,888 words)

Summary: Pepper doesn’t often regret the improbable circumstances and choices that brought her, Tony, and Jim to the SGC and then to Atlantis. After all, being an intergalactic explorer is way cooler than being the right hand woman of Stark Industries’ heir Tony Stark. But when strangers show up during her Gate team’s milk run of a trading mission, she’s got a bad feeling she knows better than to ignore. Which is how Pepper’s Gate team ends up picking up a stray in the form of a metal-armed runner with a mysterious past and learning about a dangerous new sect of Wraith worshippers called Hydrans. But the Atlanteans aren’t the only ones interested in the Hydrans: there are stories spreading throughout the Pegasus Galaxy about the Nomad and the Widows, three maybe-heroes who have set their sights on the Hydrans and the Wraith. Meanwhile, Tony’s trying to figure out if there’s something more to Atlantis’s helpful new hospitality-oriented subroutines, and Master Sergeant Sam Wilson is trying to have just one offworld mission where shit doesn’t get weird.

a war could be our only hope by @aceofwands (Stony, Explicit, 62,817 words)

Summary: Steve emerges in the future, where the Federation is fighting a war against the totalitarian Dominion. Traumatised from his experience with the Borg, Tony already has enough trouble coping without Steve's return bringing up unexpected feelings.

[bloobluebloo]

Ganondorf was right about one thing when it came to Rauru, and it is how he misused the power he had in his hands because, when you think about it, he truly did bring everything to ruin with his decisions.

If Rauru came with the intent to start a kingdom and unite all of Hyrule under his banner, he should have anticipated some resistance from surface dwellers who had made Hyrule their home while the Zonai frolicked in the skies and mined the depths. He clearly had no intent in forming alliances of equality given what we know of the Gerudo, and should have responded appropriately to their resistance if he intended that all would be subservient to him, if he truly believed that this was the way forward to a brighter future. Instead, he sought to build a false bond of friendship where Ganondorf was aware that his own aim was to acquire a Secret Stone and Rauru was aware that his own aim was to control Ganondorf while portraying some false sense of friendship he had with the Gerudo to other tribes that submitted without resistance (allegedly). Whether you want to argue that Ganondorf's intentions were selfish and power-hungry or not, as a king of a sovereign country that was not keen on ceding his territory, he was correct in using whatever tactics he had at hand to resist Rauru's rule over him. Rauru, in turn, was shown not hesitating in using his power when his kingdom was threatened. As a king with such power in his hand, a king that acknowledged that he was "aware of Ganondorf's evil nature", he should have used his power to negotiate terms of surrender that would have either removed Ganondorf from power or diminished his influence, or formed an alliance where the Gerudo kingdom would remain its own entity separate from Hyrule. However, because Rauru was intent on being an imperialist king while trying to put on a facade of peace when he never intended it with Ganondorf, he played a very strange game that seems so incredibly stupid in hindsight. You cannot be a peaceful king while also taking for granted that everyone will obey you. If you want everyone to obey you, then commit to it and ensure you have secured obeisance. If you want everyone to be your friend, they cannot be your friend while kneeling beneath you. Anyways, my point is that, because Rauru could not properly commit to either true friendship or true imperialism because he was preoccupied with portraying an image of peace, he twisted Ganondorf's arm enough to have him betray him in the worst way. He did not heed Zelda's warnings or even his own instincts, especially when he had the boon of someone coming from the future to hand deliver a clear warning that Ganondorf had to be stopped. His inability to make decisive decisions as a king led to his wife's death, Hyrule's ruin for many years to come, to Zelda being trapped as a dragon for thousands of years, to Ganondorf being twisted into something inhuman and driven mad by power, and to the Gerudo kingdom, touted as once being advanced and well developed, becoming diminished and a mere vassal to Hyrule and quite possibly a shadow of what it once was.

[originalleftist]

NBC has called it for Trump- he'll get at least 270.

Assuming that holds, and it looks like it will, a few things:

Do not despair. No matter how hopeless you feel. That's just another form of "obeying in advance".

Do not lash out violently. It may sound cathartic to some, but it won't change anything except to get you and probably other innocent people hurt or killed, and make it easier for Trump to get support for violent crackdowns.

We have two and a half months to prepare- either to try to block Trump's taking power, or to resist what he does starting on Inauguration Day.

We cannot afford selfishness, nor apathy, nor recklessness or impulsiveness. We must be resolved, deliberate, and strategic.

Unions should be organizing to strike. If 5% of the country went on strike, it would bring everything to a halt just like that. If you are involved in a union, and are willing to run some risk, start organizing for this.

State and local governments should be organizing to resist deployments of Federal troops against them.

Hell, Biden and other Democratic office holders, including the House if we succeed in taking it, should be refusing to recognize Trump's legitimacy and organizing to block the transition on the grounds that he is Constitutionally ineligible as an insurrectionist.

If you are a Democrat or marginalized person (that includes anyone with a uterus), and aren't prepared to resist, you should try to leave the country in the two and a half months you have left before Trump can close the borders.

Above all:

WE DO NOT GIVE UP.

This is the real world, not a myth or a fantasy novel. There are no final victories in history, nor final defeats. We lost this round. It hurts. I imagine it will hurt more when it fully sinks in. A lot of people will probably suffer and die who didn't have to.

But that does not mean that we give up. THAT is how fascists truly win.

And if this all seems like wishful thinking, remember this:

A lot of countries have been in a lot worse position than America is now. For example, Ukraine has been in a worse position than we are, in a number of ways, for basically it's entire history. It faced Soviet genocide and Nazi genocide, finally regained its independence with the fall of the Soviet Union, only to find itself under a Russian puppet regime.

It then ousted that regime in the Maidan protests, and has been fighting against Russian annexation and genocide, with far too little support, for over a decade.

It did not surrender.

Maybe it will after tonight. But I doubt it.

And if it did, it would still have fought longer and harder against longer odds than we face in America today.

So to hell with giving up. Almost 64 million Americans and still counting voted for Kamala Harris, and we are not going to just lie down and obey Dear Leader.

[darkmaga-returns]

Every personal exchange between Putin and Trump represents a very important step toward clarifying the new architecture of the world. But, of course, the issue of Ukraine cannot be resolved either in yesterday’s phone conversation or in any upcoming potential meetings between our presidents. One crucial element is missing in this picture — our military superiority.

Despite our recent successful advances, we have not yet achieved clear superiority over the enemy in the course of military operations. Yes, we are up against the entire West, and that obviously explains a lot. But the fact remains: we have not yet secured a position of strength from which we could say, “This satisfies us, this is victory — this is our territory, and this is the buffer zone.”

From such a position, we could offer the enemy terms of surrender — perhaps even compromising to a degree, for instance by ceding the western regions of Ukraine, had we first taken control of them.

At present, however, we do not, strictly speaking, have the preconditions for conducting peace negotiations. As things stand, they cannot lead to anything substantial. And there is no reason to believe that Trump himself would hand us those military-strategic results on a silver platter. That lies beyond the realm of possibility. Therefore, in the near future, all conversations between Putin and Trump, on our end, will be focused on something else.

[solitaryhome]

i try to avoid doomerism so don't take this too seriously it's a frustrated pessimistic rant that i don't know if i fully believe. but.

it kind of feels like the information age was a scam. the more connected we become the less anyone cares about knowing anything. the pure unbridled anti intellectualism and war on knowledge coming from the right is complemented nicely by the complicit ignorance all across the aisle. sometimes it feels like the era of infinite info at our fingertips has somehow made the 2020s into the least educated decade since mass literacy. in part this is about gen AI, because i don't really understand how anyone can care so little as to offload all of the actual thinking parts of the human experience onto a hallucinating proxy. but it goes further than that. everyone is quick to blame gen Z and alpha for their inability and lack of desire to read, write, think for themselves, or do just about anything that is mentally challenging. for their love of and complacency with slop. but i cannot think of a single generation alive today that i don't watch falling prey to it. millennial, gen x, boomer-- one worse than the other when it comes to surrendering free thought to algorithms and neural networks. why make your own opinions? why experiment? why research? why curate anything? why care about anything? why not just let the machine feed you the slop? it's maddening. we have created the perfect climate for the right to slash funding to sciences, universities, to be anti news and anti thought, because at this point it feels like most of the population has already devalued those institutions entirely. in the era of mass chatGPT essays, how can we be surprised that higher education is being crushed? i constantly struggle with a feeling of disconnect from those around me because of how much of themselves they seem willing to give up for comfort. i don't see how we can possibly win a war against the rise of fascism, mass censorship, whatever you want to call it, if no one actually cares about truth, learning, etc. already. apathy. total apathy total indifference. rather comfortable and sedated, instant gratification mindset. idk. we are the wall-e people or whatever. i can't believe how many years we fought for education and advancement just for everyone to give up on it the instant their lives became comfortable. why do you think your lives are comfortable??? do we need to return to the dark ages for people to realize that we went through enlightenment for a reason >_0

[misfitwashere]

March 14, 2025

ROBERT B. HUBBELL

MAR 14

Chuck Schumer is a coward. He has surrendered in advance, refusing to fight for a democracy that desperately needs patriots willing to defend it. Instead, Schumer decided to “cut and run.”

On Thursday afternoon, Schumer announced that he would support the GOP’s continuing resolution in order to avoid an imaginary ‘parade of horribles’ that might—or might not—occur during a shutdown.

If we refuse to act because Republicans might do “something bad” in response, then we will never act, remaining permanently frozen with fear and indecision. Which is exactly where Schumer has led the Democratic Party. It is time for him to go. Correction, it is long past time for him to go.

For a complete refutation of Schumer’s “deer in the headlights” strategy for resisting Trump's slow-rolling coup, watch this video by Adam Schiff released on Thursday afternoon, “Why I am a ‘hard no’ on the continuing resolution.” (From Schiff’s Notes on Substack. Subscribe here.)

I understand and acknowledge the wisdom and grace of those (like Marc Elias) who say we should not attack fellow Democrats over an issue that was a difficult choice. Schumer is not the problem. Trump is the problem. All true.

But we must also be honest and acknowledge the bitter disappointment and white-hot fury of Democrats who busted their ***** over the last eight years to support the Democratic Party, only to see their Senate leader choose the strategy of “do nothing” in the face of an active coup.

As of Thursday evening, tens of millions of Democratic grassroots volunteers and activists believe Chuck Schumer is a coward (and worse)—and there is no virtue in pretending otherwise. We must acknowledge and validate the feelings of the Democratic base if we have any hope of answering this question,

“Why should Democratic grassroots volunteers and activists continue to work tirelessly to support the Democratic Party and its agenda?”

Here is the answer I would give to those who are so angry they feel like quitting:

We are not cowards. We are not faithless servants. We are not potted plants. We are ordinary Americans who love our country and who will fight to preserve a democracy gifted to us by the sacrifice of generations who came before us. They knew that they would not live to see the day when their efforts would bear fruit, but they trusted that we would be strong enough to continue their struggle. We cannot betray their trust. We cannot let them down. We are not permitted to surrender.

Despite our bitter disappointment, there is one benefit from Schumer’s betrayal: We have been given the gift of clarity. We can see clearly it is up to us. It always has been. It always will be. Schumer’s betrayal merely confirms the core truth that “We, the people” control the fate of our democracy.

Unlike Schumer, we cannot give up. Ezra Levin has been urging Americans to continue to lobby their Senators. Levin writes,

No Dem Senator has to follow Schumer here. This is a weak strategic move driven by fear and learned helplessness. Don't follow him. He's leading the party into irrelevance and helping Trump and Musk in the process. Call your Dem Senators and ask them not to join Schumer's surrender tomorrow.

Find the contact information for your Senators here: U.S. Senate: Contacting U.S. Senators

[deepspaceboytoy]

The Siege of Tremaine, Part 5

“Two years. Two years since the landings. Don’t let them ever forget that. It was two years before they really got a taste. If they wanted to avoid what we did to them, they shouldn’t have stepped foot on my home.”

-Captain Arden Kaeso, 89th Marine Legion, on trial for killing surrendering Igorian soldiers on Bosporus, 2781. Found guilty by the High Court of the Imperial Admiralty and The Union of Galactic Nations High Court. Executed in the Igorian People’s Republic January 9th, 2699.

May 11th, 2677. Ionic superstorms wrack Tremaine’s atmosphere, carrying orbital debris and radioactive dust across the entire supercontinent. The ground creaks and moans under the sheer weight of explosive force being expended every moment. Millions of artillery shells, bombs, kinetic weapons and other, more exotic devices are detonated every day, each side trying to crack the formidable defenses the other has built.

The sky rains battleships. Massive, broken hulks, once proud warships of the Imperial and Igorian navies, tumble back down to earth, sending mountains of rock and mud skyward. Starship shields crackle as they discharge exotic matter into the atmosphere, and massive, roiling firestorms engulf the ships as they fall, slow and stately, to their terrestrial tombs.

In space, the battle still rages. The rebuilt 3rd Fleet fights running battles around the glittering corpses of orbital stations, gun batteries, and solar colonies, weapons fire reflecting off the glass sarcophagi of what was once a thriving system’s people. In the deeps between planets, shoals of battleships, supercarriers, and escorts exchange broadsides millions of miles apart, eye-searing skirmishes occurring at speeds approaching relativity. The young and battle-weary Lord High Admiral Oppius Magnaverius Galens pursues Igorian and Aberinian ships wherever he can find them, scouring the system as reinforcements for both sides arrive daily.

Other battles rage across the moons and minor worlds of the Tremaine System, little Sieges in miniature themselves, as the Imperium finally begins reasserting its absolute dominion over warfare. On Suebi, the 451st Assault Marines fight across the silent, airless crystal fields that made the moon so famed for its beauty, murderous in their drive to reclaim what the Igorians have taken. Fireteams bound over jagged spires and crystal chasms, stalking what’s left of the Igorian resistance in the quiet gloom.

Aboard Caestrum Station, once the primary defensive platform over the world Bosporus, Legionary marines from the 2313th fight in vicious melees, hallway to hallway, fighting over the desiccated corpses of the station’s personnel, suffocated when the Igorians vented the atmosphere during the invasion.

Igorian elements across the system are hunted, constantly hounded by Legionary kill-teams and Fleet task forces hungry for vengeance. Sun-bright bursts mark where the Igorian Navy fights and dies, brief star births where reactors fail and die as ships are punished in close range engagements. The might of the Imperium is slowly reasserting itself, one exploded Igorian body or annihilated ship at a time. The war machine is ready to grind any enemy forces left into dust and strangled screams.

The entire Tremaine System is on fire now, over 700 ships of the line trading fire across the worlds, moons, and stations. 24 million soldiers fight for inches and single pillboxes. The Igorians cannot hold any longer, and Domask Fayatan knows this. His troops are exhausted beyond belief, fighting at the very edge of existence under the merciless advance of Imperial Legions with something to prove. When guns and tanks aren’t enough, the Legions choose blades and fists, simply beating the Igorian Army to death where they stand.

The Siege has reached its apotheosis, the violence crescendoing to unthinkable levels. The sheer scale of the war is beyond any ever fought in galactic history. The Imperium has chosen to make a statement to every other nation, that its territory and people are inviolable, and the consequences for challenging that are brutal to the point of unconscionable. Legionaries fight to be the first to breach the lines, taking every life they can. As losses on both sides race upwards, the strategic picture collapses. On Tremaine itself, the frontline is nonexistent, just a malignant tumor of violence as Imperial troops, finally with a manpower advantage, seek to exact the revenge they’ve sought since the beginning of the Siege.

And then, on July 9th, the tension breaks. The floodgates open. The Aberinian Ferathzt Clan breaks the system edge, an armada of Ferathzt ships vomiting back into realspace. Third Fleet is swept away in the flood, regrouping at Marnes, a dwarf planet on the far side of the system. Imperial legionaries caught outside Legion fortifications are liquified, literally, by orbital strike as Warmaster Refalla personally leads the first wave of drop assaults. Aberinian headhunters fall from orbit, purpose-trained Legion-killers all, and fall upon the disorganized Imperial forces, immediately bringing them to melee. Aberinian fur flash-burns in the radiation scarred wasteland as they bear down on Legion lines. For the third time in the Siege, momentum has swung, this time back to the Igorians. Within hours, the 12th Legio Ferrum Acies is annihilated to the last. The 89th Fast Attack is obliterated, reduced to single squads and conterburniums. The 455th dies where it stands, the entire Legion caught in no-man’s-land.

But hope remains. On Domask Fayatan’s long range sensors, something utterly titanic is coming through Realm-space. Gargantuan and singular in size, it is approaching the system boundary faster than any ship he has ever encountered. And he knows exactly what that means; the allied Igorian and Aberinian forces have just days to win outright before the Siege is lifted, no matter what he does about it. Herius Victus is coming to settle the Siege once and for all.

[sparingiscaring]

Well, after a hard month, I finally got around to writing one of the half-dozen ideas I had for the general swap! For @house-of-mirrors - thank you for putting all this together for yet another year. You’re awesome, and you deserve all the thanks in the world.

And special thanks to @thedandy-detective for proofreading for me. You rock.

@fallenlondonficswap

Featuring: The Chessboard and Parabola

Word Count: 1044 Words

Your colleagues are playing a simple, ordinary game of chess. They decide you simply must join in their game.

It’s not the first time you’ve been about to die. In fact, this is the fifth time you’ve been in a hopeless position in this bout of play - what makes this occurrence more notable than the others is how you have yet to fall.

There is a Rook looking down at you. A Rook, clad in White, staring down at you with eyes you cannot gauge the emotions of, flanked on either side by the Pawns under his command. The Pawns are as indistinct as any White pawn, matching and mirrored and with faces so obscured by the blinding light of their clothing that there is little hope you could ever distinguish them in the next game, or in the world beyond this Chessboard. 

The coordination of the attack is evident to you the moment the Bishop had arrived. The first pawn had confirmed it. The second had solidified it. Every choice you could make would see you fall. Even choosing not to move, not to choose, would see you fall. You could take a Pawn with you, of course, and have the honor of being killed by the Rook assured, but taking a Pawn in exchange for one's own life is of little use to you.

It’s of little use to anyone wearing Red, really. It’s only to be expected when you play on the philosophy of self, before all else.

It’s the Middlegame. You’ve chosen not to act for quite some time, to find yourself as completely surrounded as you are. Red’s turn to move. The last four times they’ve done this to you, you’d advanced. You’d taken a pawn out of spite, and fallen to the Rook.

You stay in your square. And the White Rook begins to speak.

“You’re willing to hear us out this time. Good.”

You already hate them, and hate everything they are going to ask of you. Unfortunately, you cannot advance until White’s move is complete. Unfortunately, you know you’d just return to this formation somewhere else on the board in the next game, should you surrender and leave the board.

“We do not take pleasure in targeting you as we have the last few games, but circumstances require that we must.”

Their voice reminds you of an adult, speaking down to a child who they are confident is beneath them. You know the type well - the man dressed too finely at the bank and a cold gaze, the figure going out of their way to bump into you on the street, the auntie with a sneer on her lips when she sees you are in attendance at a family gathering.

You’re starting to hate playing Red. The wins would be all yours, but every step towards that chance at everything you could want is flanked by people like the White Rook. Every opportunity in life, blocked by people like them. The Rook, and the Paws, clad in white.

You’re really starting to hate playing Red.

“Be still.” Your advance is stopped by the voice of the Rook, towering above you. “There is something we have to offer you.”

You advance, and slay the pawn to the Rook’s left. Rash, hasty, but satisfying to see their form fall.

You are still in line with the Rook. They could slay you easily. Effortlessly. And at the very least, you’ve killed a Pawn, and won’t have the other faceless, mindless Pawn staring down at you as you fall.

It is White’s turn. 

You know what White has done the last four times you made this exact advance. You know what will follow.

You fall. The game continues without you. 

Red falls. 

The White King is captured.

Victory is called for Black. The same outcome as the last four times you made this exact advance. The same outcome as the last four times a White Rook cornered you, speaking of a reality you’d do anything to wipe from the world.

And it is time for the next game. You join, as you always do, dedicated to yourself. Playing Red.

You do everything you can to avoid it. You flirt with disaster, passing through parts of the board dominated by Black to avoid the White Rook. You almost smile when you see the Black Knight in the edge of your vision - at least the White will not have that satisfaction. And then when Knight falls, slain by the blade of the White Rook, it's clear to all who watch from their encampments and all who play on this board that this will continue until you listen.

“You cannot win, playing for the Red. We will not allow you to win, playing Red. We hope this is clear to you now.”

Some part of you expected this. Knew it, even. You choose not to advance.

“Good.”

And you listen.

You fall by the hand of the White Rook, no Pawns in sight. Aside from yourself, of course.

And the next game, join as you never have, clad in a color so bright that you know none can see your face.  You don’t have a choice in the matter - you played Red because you had to look out for yourself, and now you play White because you are forced to, if you want any chance at winning. At progressing. At advancing.

You never had a chance, playing as Red. Some might… but not a Pawn like yourself. Every step forward would come at the cost of everything you have wagered to find yourself here.

White, Black. A unified front, a war fought against one enemy. You can almost understand why the Rook allowed the White to fall to Black so many times - from their perspective, there is no point in fighting a war on two fronts when one can simply assimilate one enemy.

What the Rook, what all of the White pieces lack, however, is the ability to see how foolish they’ve been. 

The White Rook still cannot understand it when you slay them where they stand, the Black dagger concealed in clothes that still shone too brightly. You do not explain as they fall.

There is no world in which a White Rook would ever be able to understand why one would choose to play Black on the Chessboard, after all.

[sunflowersandsapphires]

See if it fits

Wake Up, Chapter 10 (THE FINALE)

Series Masterlist

pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!reader 

summary: In an attempt to stop the advances of an unwanted suitor, Matt Murdock accidentally condemns you to being his fake girlfriend.

warnings: swearing, smut adjacent times, reader blames herself for SA (this is entirely an insecurity, survivors are NEVER at fault.), discussion of pressing charges (this piece is not meant to shame anyone who chooses not to seek legal reparations for harassment or assault, this is just setting up a future plot.)

a/n: WE MADE IT! Wow, I can’t believe it’s been 3 months since I first posted this fic, that’s crazy. I really hope this feels somewhat satisfying, I left it open ended because I may or may not be planning a follow up in this verse :)! I cannot thank y’all enough for bearing with me and following along. There will be more fun multi-chapter fics to come!!!

w/c: 4.5k

Your chin tilted up appreciatively as Matt pressed a kiss to your temple, the arm he had around you nestling you more firmly against his side. Your three mutual friends, situated around the large booth at Josie’s, exchanged knowing glances at the display of affection. 

“So…” Marci swished her drink around, looking between you and Matt with an arrogant smirk. “What changed?” 

“Nothing, we just…” Matt’s free hand gestured limply, giving no further explanation. 

“Stopped beating around the bush and admitted to having feelings for one another?” Karen asked with an air of fake politeness. 

“Realized that you were both miserable when you were avoiding each other?” Foggy snorted. 

“Finally looked at your relationship and had a ‘come to Jesus’ moment because you two have actually been dating for months now under an incorrect label?” Marci smiled, clearly amused by Matt’s blush and your avoidant eyes. 

“Yah, yah, all of that.” Matt groused, taking a swig of his beer as he rolled his eyes. 

“And after one night, some asshole was able to get you to confess your love. Truly doing what none of us could.” Foggy let out an incredulous laugh as Marci and Karen giggled at the joke but Matt had gone rigid beside you, not seeing the humor in such a traumatic event. 

“That’s not funny, Foggy.” He muttered, his rumbling tone heavily inked with a darker quality that you knew lurked beneath his surface. 

“What even happened to you two that night?” Cruising right past Matt’s angry comment, Marci gazed at you intently. Your friends had been given small details, but only Matt knew the identity of the man that had captured you, and, as far as you knew, all of them were oblivious to your previous issues with him. 

“Um, well, that’s kind of a long story?” You answered, lamely, stirring your drink and focusing intently on the way it twirled around the glass. 

“She doesn’t have to relive a near death experience to satisfy your curiosity.” Matt snapped, muscles flexing as he pushed in front of you protectively. 

Marci raised her hands in surrender as Foggy and Karen exchanged nervous glances. “Woah there, big shot, I wasn’t—“ 

“Did you not just ask her for the story of how she was attacked because she hadn’t told you yet? I’m pretty sure—“ 

“Matt,” Hooking an arm around the one he had securely thrown across your belly, your palm came up to grasp his shoulder and pull him back. “Hey, she was asking a valid question. They deserve to know.”

His face turned to yours, you could just make out the flurry of rage and concern in his stunning brown eyes behind their red lenses. “You don’t have to tell anyone anything. No one is owed an explanation.” There was an edge to his words that gave you the impression that he might know more than just the small amount you’d told him. 

“I know.” You smiled wanly. “But I haven’t been truly honest with any of you about that night. You all at least deserve that.” 

Clenching his jaw, Matt held you close as you took a deep breath. The rough pads of his fingers drew soft patterns under the hem of your blouse as you began recounting the worst days of your life. 

“The man that took me…was James Lannister.” Assuming it was better to rip the bandaid off, you started with the worst of the omitted details. Understandably, Marci, Foggy, and Karen all gaped at you from across the table until Karen broke the silence. 

“The attorney that was fired from PBA months ago? What on earth did he want with you?”

Biting your lip, you avoided their inquisitive eyes as you admitted your sin. “He wanted revenge. Because I got him fired.” 

The three of them took in the new development silently. You let your mind linger on the pleasant warmth of Matt’s palm around your waist before continuing. 

“James Lannister found me when I was working as a waitress in a shitty diner in Queens. After befriending me during my shifts, he offered me a position in his office. I was Lannister’s assistant for almost two years. No one knows this about me except a handful of people at PBA because I have since scrubbed it from my personal records and asked to keep my position and supervisor during that time confidential.” As your voice began to crack, you downed the rest of your drink. 

“You don’t have to—“ Foggy looked at you worriedly, but you waved him off. 

“It’s fine. I'm fine.” Matt gave a nearly silent growl beside you, clearly not convinced by the lie. “Like I said, I covered up that part of my life, but I worked for him for a significant period of time. During those two years, Lannister groomed me. He used me as a tool to end his relationship with his wife and then took his anger out on me when the settlement didn’t go his way. He abused and assaulted me and I was powerless to stop him for months. When the spot opened up in the midtown office, I jumped at the chance to escape. A coworker who had witnessed the abuse helped me report it and they transferred me.” 

Matt nudged his beer towards you as your vocal chords tightened around the words spilling out of your mouth. Somehow, he didn’t seem as surprised as the others by your tale of woe. “Thanks, love. After I was transferred, there was a very very lengthy investigation and, at the tail end of it, I was promoted. He was also up for the promotion, but when the investigation proved that he’d been a less than stellar employee, he was fired instead. Obviously, he holds me responsible for that.” 

Around the table, no one spoke. Foggy’s hand clenched tightly around his bottle, Marci looked furious, and Karen had gone white as a sheet. Clearing your throat, you pressed on. 

“I won’t traumatize you with any of the details but most people think that someone made up the allegations, even if they don’t know that it was me, personally, who spoke up about it. Moving on to the first night of the conference, you all know I was leaving the hotel after Matt and I had a…stupid conversation,” Matt winced beside you and you squeezed his thigh gently. “And I was planning on going home. But I was stopped by Lannister…and Beatrice Snyder.” 

A strangled noise sounded from your boyfriend at the inclusion of a familiar character. “Please tell me she didn’t…” 

You laughed, mirthlessly. “I wish I could, love. She was one of the people who thought I made everything up, except she knew it was me who reported him. I have no idea who told her, but all that time ago, when I freaked out at the Liberty Gala, that’s what she accused me of. She thought I was wrongfully punishing a man who had refused my advances and stealing his promotion. Handing me over to him was sort of a two birds, one stone thing, I guess. She wanted Lannister to be vindicated and she wanted Matt to think I was a cheating piece of shit. So she could finally have him.” 

Tears were pooling in your eyes now, but it wasn’t just from sadness or embarrassment. You were angry. Livid, in fact. Apparently, with all the “almost dying” and whatnot, you’d never processed how horrible you felt about Snyder trying to lie about you and swipe Matt from under your fake-girlfriend-soon-to-be-real-girlfriend nose. 

“That fucking bitch.” Karen snarled and Foggy nodded emphatically. 

Marci pointed a finger at Foggy. “The next time I see her, I swear—“ 

“Please don’t!” You squeaked, a few tears breaking the surface tension barrier and making their way down your cheeks. “I know that this is a lot of information and you are obviously going to draw new conclusions about the people involved, me included, but…I just want things to stay the way they were. Please.” 

“Sweetheart, I’m not sure we can do that.” Matt used a thumb to swipe the moisture from your face. “You matter so much to us, of course we care about what happened to you.” You fell against his solid chest with a sniffle and he kissed the crown of your head. 

“Matt’s right.” Foggy added gently. “What they did to you was not ok. We won’t do anything you don’t want us to do, but you should at least consider pressing charges.” 

“I‘ve tried that before.” You murmured tiredly, burying your face against Matt’s neck. “Lannister is still respected by most of the cops, attorneys, and judges in this city. I didn’t stand a chance then and I don’t now.” 

“You didn’t have us before.” Karen says, her gaze ferocious but kind. 

“Karen’s right. You have 4 attorneys backing you now.” Marci nodded, clearly already working through the details of the case in her head. 

“If we could get the coworker to testify—“ Foggy jumped in, making notes in his phone. 

“Guys, wait…” You pleaded, but your quiet tone was ignored. 

“Foggy is right, a coworker testimony would be crucial. And we’d just want to thoroughly vet the judge before filing, to be sure he wouldn’t have the upper hand. But we could file in both criminal and civil courts and give us a better chance of success.” Matt’s attention was fully on the other 3 attorneys, his arm no longer shielding you from the world or your bubbling panic. 

“No, I don’t want—“ They still weren’t listening. Your breathing turned shallow, why did the walls suddenly feel like they were closing in on you? The voices around you blurred as your skin turned clammy. You clenched and unclenched your fists repeatedly in an attempt to bring yourself out of an impending anxiety attack. 

Behind you, a glass shattered—scattering the few remnants of your calm demeanor across the bar with the shards. You jumped, whirling around to find the source of the noise. A hand clamped around your wrist and you flinched, turning to see Matt’s worried face flash with hurt. 

“I-I can’t—“ You panted, “I gotta go.” And with that final display of bravery, you fled the dive bar and retreated to your apartment.  

Inhaling deeply, you tried to ground yourself by focusing on the heat of the mug in your hands. Whisps of steam spiraled upwards toward your eager face, dancing across your cheeks in a tender caress. You got all of 5 minutes to wallow in self pity before he caught up to you. 

The window in your bedroom slid open, which would have alarmed you if you weren't confident that it was your concerned ninja boyfriend. His stern voice did catch you off guard, however.

“What were you thinking?” Arms crossed, you could almost smell his rage, the devil gnashing its teeth behind his glowering eyes. 

“I'm sorry, Matty,” His nostrils flared at the nickname, clearly rejecting your attempt to soothe his spurt of protective anger. “You were right, it was too much, I--”

Matt was practically alight with indignation. “You cannot just run off like that. Not after your track record.” 

“My track record?” That comment stung, plucking a string that ran straight to the core of your insecurities.

No doubt sensing the shift in your tone,  Matt changed tactics with a sigh.  “Lovely, you of all people know how dangerous it is out there—“

“You think it was my fault.” Your voice wavered, not daring to look at him and see resigned agreement. 

“Of course not.” Matt denied firmly, but you held onto your suspicion nontheless. Hands held out in a placating gesture, he moved towards you. “Never. I just…I worry about you.” 

“I’m fine.” Your boyfriend flinched at the lie. 

“Both of us know that’s not true.” His blank eyes darted around your face, searching for any path past the walls you were putting up. Clearly something he'd said had been misconstrued, he would never blame you for the actions of monsters, but it had forced your guard up anyway. Wetting his lips with his tongue, he sat beside you on the couch, trying not to let his face betray how devastated he was by your physical and emotional distance.  “Sweetheart, why don’t you want to press charges?” 

“What?” You looked to him in surprise, not expecting him to get right to the root of your distress.

“That’s what set your anxiety off, isn’t it?” It was less of a question and more of a statement.

“Matt I don’t—“ You started, but he held up a finger to stop you as a scream echoed in the distance. Holding your shoulders high as your heart clenched, you set your jaw and allowed your consciousness to sink back into emotional numbness. “Go.”

“Angel, I don't--” Conflict was etched into his features, softening your resolve.

”It's ok, Matt.“ You ran a hand over his arm as you reassured him honestly. ”Go, let the devil out. We can have a more productive conversation when you've given your alter ego the space he needs and I've sorted through my own emotional turmoil.”

“I don't want to leave you like this.” Matt's voice was soft with hesitation and strife. He reached a hand towards you in silent offering.

Squeezing his outstretched fingers, your stomach ached with sympathy. “And I'm asking you to. As much as I adore your company, I know myself pretty well. I need time to process my own thoughts and emotions. I love you, and we both know you need to attend to whatever is going on out there.“

Kissing your forehead, Matt nodded in understanding.”I love you too.“ 

”I know. I'll be here when you get back.“ You promised as he walked into your bedroom and leapt out the window.

Recentering your mug in your shaky palms,  you sighed as you realized the heat had dissipated in the time you'd neglected the drink. Standing on wobbling legs, you shuffled to the stove to boil it once more.

Ripping his mask off, Matt ran a hand through his sweat-damp hair as he debated his next move. The city hadn't asked much from him tonight, simply guiding him through a web of petty crimes before he landed in his apartment at a semi-decent hour. 

Each hit thrown had steadily chipped away at the swirling mass of anger that had been building in his chest for hours, leaving a trail of regret and guilt in its wake. His heart hammered at the thought of facing you again, after the way he'd acted. After scolding you for taking care of yourself and accusing you of putting yourself in danger, of course you assumed he blamed you for the violence you'd experienced. God, he was such an idiot. He didn't deserve you.

Swallowing the lump of insecurity that rose in his throat, he stripped off the suit and stalked into the shower, already brainstorming his much needed apology.

Across Hell's Kitchen, you turned fitfully on your mattress, failing to let sleep drag you under despite your exhaustion. Threads of apprehension knit together a string of self deprecating thoughts, weaving an intricate trap that you'd barely avoided since Matt left. Voices rang through your brain, making you wince with each word. Your fault. You’re so pathetic. Slut. Not with your track record. Whore. Shrew. Your fault. Your fault. Your fault.

You whined, curling into a ball and throwing your hands over your ears. But the voices didn't quiet down. 

You did this to yourself. You were asking for it. You think you’re a victim? You are so stupid. 

Shivers wracked your body as you wrapped a pillow around your head, the soft feathers unable to silence the imaginary accusations. Heaving quivery breaths, you tightened your fingers around the fabric in your fingers until your knuckles ached. With the subtle pain to hold your attention, you willed your lungs to hold the air for longer than a millisecond. 

Sniffling through stifled cries, your throat felt tighten as your heart pounded, stabbing a dull ache into your temples with each pulse. You were so engrossed in the storm of emotional instability that you didn't hear the window sliding open. Yelping as a hand touched your shoulder, you flew out of the bed, landing haphazardly on the wood floor in a pile of frantic limbs. 

“Woah, easy there, angel, it's me.” Keeping an admirable distance, Matt crouched in your line of sight, giving you time to adjust to his presence. Dressed in a worn shirt and sweatpants, his cheeks were tinged pink with exertion and his damp hair was ruffled—he must have hurried back to you. Although the thought of your boyfriend rushing to your side after tending to the city made your heart swell with adoration, your frayed nerves triggered a defensiveness within you.

“You couldn't have used the door?” You snapped, baring your hurt to him rather than letting your guard down and revealing the terror beneath. Grimacing at Matt's shocked expression, you recoiled at your own standoffishness. “I'm sorry, you just startled me.”

Frowning at the defeated tone you held, Matt scooted over to your collapsed form. “I thought you'd be asleep, angel. When I got close enough to hear your heart rate, I panicked. What happened?” Offering you a hand up that you timidly accepted, he sat you on the bed, kneeling before you and gazing up inquisitively. 

“Dunno. I was doing ok and then...I just wasn't.” Your breath hitched with the confession, pulling stale tears from your waterline. Traitors.

“You should've called me.” Matt's thumb ran lines over the back of your hand. 

Biting your lip, you closed your eyes. “I–I never want to make you choose between me and the city, that's not fair.” 

Nodding, Matt frowned. “I appreciate that, sweetness, but I will always always come help you.” Putting a mental pin in that conversation, he sat against your headboard and, risking rejection, lifted you tenderly into his lap. Breathing out a sigh of relief, you inadvertently leaned into the kisses he placed against your aching head. 

“I'm so sorry, beautiful girl. I didn't mean to snap at you earlier, that wasn't smart of me. It made you feel bad, huh?” Matt placed a gentle kiss on the bridge of your nose as you nodded miserably, glistening tears pouring down your cheeks. ”I apologize, but I need you to know I wasn't angry with you. It seemed like I was, I get that, but I promise I was just worried and I let my emotions get the better of me.“

”I'm sorry too.“ You murmured, gratefully falling into the hands that came to cradle your face. ”I should have been more careful.“

”Oh no, sweet thing, I didn't mean that. Nothing that those men did is your fault, ok? Nothing. I will tell you that a hundred times a day if I need to. I have never blamed you for their actions, ok? Hand to God.“

”Pinky promise?“ You sniffled quietly, pressing a lone pinky against the back of one of his. 

With an airy chuckle, Matt linked your fingers together. ”Pinky promise.“ 

”Thank you.“ 

”No need to thank me, sweetness. I just hope you'll forgive me.“

”You're already forgiven.“ You murmured, pressing your lips to Matt's. 

Tangled in each other’s arms, you happily let Matt trace patterns along your spine, beginning to nod off in his secure hold. Cupping your chin, Matt nudged his nose against yours. “I know you’re tired, lovely, but you should drink some water. Maybe take an Advil too, for that headache of yours.” 

Yawning, you nuzzled further into Matt’s neck. “How d’you know about that?” 

“I have special Devil senses. They help me tell when my darling girl isn’t feeling good.” He jested, pinching your cheek lightly. 

You smiled, accepting the glass he offered you and drinking greedily. Setting the now empty glass back on your nightstand, Matt settled into the mattress and pulled you with him. 

Sleep lapped at the brink of your consciousness, spurred on by the warmth of your personal space heater of a boyfriend. “I was thinking…” Matt’s rumbling whisper began, “We’ve never gone on a proper date, since we got together. Would you like to have dinner with me this week?” 

Humming contentedly, your lips broke into a small smile. “Yes please.” 

Kissing your forehead, Matt smiled back at you. “Ok, my sweet girl. I’ll plan something for us while you sleep.”

“I love you, Matty.” 

“I love you too, angel.” 

Waking up with you in his arms continued to be a small slice of heaven that Matt was sure neither he nor his Devil deserved. Pressing a kiss to your head, he inhaled deeply–centering himself with your delicate scent–before making his way to the kitchen to start coffee. Slipping out of your slumbering grasp, he padded blearily out of the bedroom, shuddering slightly at the abrupt lack of warmth around him. 

Once the coffee machine was whirring, Matt sank onto his worn couch, opening his laptop to listen to some emails he’d received the night before. After responding to one, a smile grew on his face when he heard an uptick in your pulse as you shifted on the bed. 

Patiently waiting for his coffee to brew, he refrained from returning to the covers to shush you and help you back to sleep. Unfortunately, this meant you had fully left the bed before he could encourage you to stay there.  

Soft footsteps rung throughout the loft as you walked towards him, yawning the whole time. 

“Good morning, sweet thing. You didn’t need to get out of bed yet,” Though he was still smiling (his grin was nearly constant in your presence), he almost pouted in sympathy as he heard your groggy voice respond. 

“Didn’t want to be in bed anymore,” You explained with a shrug, settling into his lap with a content little sigh. “Wanted to be with you.”

Fuck, that tugged on his heart strings. Gasping slightly at the outpouring of affection from you, he wrapped an arm around your shoulders and hooked his chin over your head. “Then I guess we’ll both have to relax today, huh.” 

Nodding vigorously, one of your hands came up to cradle his face, gently rubbing over his stubble. “Mmm I like that plan. And any other plan that involves Matthew Murdock resting. He’s pretty averse to that, you know.” 

Huffing out a laugh, Matt poked your stomach. “I am not ‘averse’ to resting!” 

“Oh yah? So you wouldn’t be listening to emails on this bright, early Sunday morning? Rather than, I don’t know, staying in bed with your sleeping girlfriend?” 

Chuckling, Matt shrugged, “I wanted coffee!” 

“You’re deflecting, counselor.” You hummed, pressing an inviting kiss to his lips and pulling back all too quickly for Matt’s liking. His hands caught your neck, trying to tug your lips back to his as he whined involuntarily, but you just smiled. “I’m getting you that coffee you wanted so badly.” Matt hadn’t even realized the machine had sounded, far too focused on your body and the delicious sounds it was making as it teased him. 

You tried to get up from the couch, but Matt’s arms caught you in a vice grip. He growled lightly, burying his face in your neck and nipping at the junction where it collided with your shoulder. 

“Matty, darling,” You laughed brightly, leaning into his nuzzles and bites as you tried to reason with him. “As much as I do want you to rest today, I’m going to need coffee so that I don’t pass out immediately.”

“You can pass out,” Matt murmured against your sweet skin. “I don’t mind.” 

Tracing a hand up his back and into his hair, you smiled. “Well, I mind. I have something I want to do today that I need to be awake for.” 

“Wh-What’s that?” Matt rumbled, struggling to stay coherent as you massaged his scalp. 

“I, uh,” You suddenly hesitated, Matt tilted his head as your guard slid up ever so slightly. “I was thinking of going to the 10th precinct and, um, filing charges.” 

Your pulse stuttered, your body giving away your discomfort—with either the idea of filing or his reaction, he wasn’t sure. Maybe both. 

“That’s, that’s great, sweetness, but I don’t want you to do anything just because people you care about suggested it—“

“No, I want to. Well, want might not be the right word, but I…I think it’d be smart. To file at least a protective order and to get something on paper for the whole hostage situation.”

“I agree, love. Always a good idea to make a paper trail, right?” Matt asked lightly, as he rubbed a hand over your arm—trying to silently remind you that you were safe, that you could be vulnerable with him. 

Hiding your face in his shoulder, you bit your lip, weighing the consequences of the question you wanted to ask. Apprently reading your thoughts, Matt pressed a kiss to your forehead. 

“You can ask me anything, love.” 

Shoving his shoulder, you glared at him. “You know it’s really creepy when you do that.” Matt laughed in response. 

“You don’t think it’s creepy, you feel more comfortable when I read you like that. Your heart rate always slows down.” 

Rolling your eyes, you stifled a smile. “Fucking show off.” 

“For you my dear? Always.” Resting his brow against yours, Matt’s blank eyes formed an almost stern expression. “What did you want to ask me, lovely?”

“Will you, er, I mean—“ You sighed, drawing in a deep breath before spitting out the query. “Will you actually help me if I file? Like, legally?”

“Oh, angel, of course!” Pulling back from you, Matt’s words held so much affection and genuine care that you felt a lump growing in your throat. “I will do everything in my power to see that man locked away for good.” 

You giggled as his voice deepened to a snarl, the Devil showing his face for a moment as the memories of your kidnapping resurfaced. “As Matt Murdock or the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen?” 

“Both.” He growled, hands instinctively clenching around you. 

Cradling his face between your palms, you drew your protective boyfriend into a heated kiss.

Shifting from foot to foot, you glanced at the brick facade apprehensively. As you ran through the possible ways this could blow up in your face, Matt’s steady hand clasped around your trembling one. 

“We can go home right now, sweet girl.” He reminded you gently, squeezing your hand comfortingly. For a moment, another night flashed before your eyes, as if the precinct was the venue for the Liberty Gala you’d attended all those weeks ago. 

“No. He deserves to be put away. I’m going to make that happen.” You said defiantly. 

Matt dropped your hand and slid an arm around your waist. “I’ll be here every step of the way, sweetness.”

Nodding to yourself, you blew out a breath. “Right. Let’s do this.” Taking your boyfriend’s arm, you led him up the steps and into the bustling precinct. 

It wasn’t clear what the future would hold, but the pair of you would get through it together. That, you were sure of.

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