sunrise-lemon-bar

This is my main blog where likes, reblogs, and asks come from. Find my writing on @moonfall-wreckage and my prompts on @willa-whumps

[sunrise-lemon-bar]

Feeling inspired to do a hero whump series during Whumpril that I've been mulling on for a little while.

Premise: Hero tracks down a Supervillain that is killing retired heroes and finds out abruptly that he's taken on more than he can chew when it's revealed the Supervillain just wanted Hero.

Interact with this post if you want to be on the taglist, lovelies! I'll be publishing thru my writing blog @moonfall-wreckage.

Update: the masterlist can be found here as I start to publish pieces they will be added.

[sunrise-lemon-bar]

Writer's block, you fiend! Release me!

[goddesstrolls]

For all your blorbo microwaving needs

[cyberpunkpavlichenko]

Generative AI and the artist discussion is such a distraction from AI’s military and police applications or its role in automating hiring discrimination.

[mysterycat-official]

I lowkey hate when programs talk to me in a friendly way. "don't worry, nearly there!" Shut up. It should say "loading 64.3% completed. Do not turn off device" and absolutely nothing else. You arent my friend you are computer. Act like it

[gauntletqueen]

@alexmey-does-an-arts Correct.

[survivesurvivingwhump]

Whumpee who has a teammate that reminds them superficially of Whumper and has to deal with the fact that they’re afraid of their friend who hasn’t done anything to them

god i love this. i have a thread like this in my fic history rhymes and digging into this is one of the things i'm the most excited for down the line. this got a little long :)

--

"it isn't your fault."

teammate looks at whumpee strangely, not understanding what they're talking about. whumpee didn't say anything before that, didn't preface this with anything. the energy in the room feels strange and heavy. sad.

"i know you've noticed it," whumpee goes on. "the way that i... when you.... yeah."

that's not any less vague than their opener, but teammate knows, this time, exactly what they're talking about. of course they've noticed, of course they have. whumpee.. flinches. they've flinched a lot since whumper, of course, but not like this. not like they do with teammate. they flinch consistently with teammate, shy away from them, their breathing picks up when teammate is near. unlike the rest of them, teammate doesn't try to comfort them anymore, not after the first couple of times.

"yeah," teammate says. they try to keep their voice neutral. they try not to sound hurt or confused or upset, though they've felt all of those things in spades. they weren't the closest on the team before this, but they were- they were close. they trusted each other. and now it's just them that whumpee is like this with.

they've seen whumpee clinging to the others, is the thing. confiding in them. just sitting on the couch watching tv. they've even seen them sleeping in bed with someone else a few times, when they've been up at night wandering around, kept up by their own troubles. it's made their chest throb to see that. they'd- it's not their place. they don't get to decide how whumpee heals. they don't get to force themself into a role that whumpee doesn't want them in. but... but they'd be lying if they said that they didn't wish it was their door whumpee came to when they felt unsafe. it would be something they could do to help their friend. there was nothing they could do before, nothing they could do when whumper was- but there's nothing they can do now, either, apparently.

"it's not your fault," whumpee repeats. they're not looking teammate in the eye. "i just- you deserve to know. because you... the way that i- look you just- you look like them. that's all."

"i look like..."

"like whumper. yeah."

teammate hadn't thought about it. they really hadn't. not until now. but as soon as whumpee says it, they can see it so clearly. they really, really do. fuck. fuck, they really do. they look like whumper.

they look like their friend's rapist.

"and i've been just hoping it would stop, that it would just go away, but it hasn't, and i just didn't want you to think you were doing anything wrong."

it's.... that's really fucking sweet, is what that is. teammate stares at whumpee, eyes wide and their heart feeling bruised in their chest. "i'm...." all they can think of to say is, "i'm sorry."

"it's not your fault."

"no, i just- i'm sorry that you have to live with that reminder. that's all. i wish i could... i don't know. if there is anything i can ever do, just tell me. i can dye my hair, i can cut it, not much i can do about most of... me, i guess, but. if you ever want me to, i'll try something. whatever i can."

now whumpee looks at them. the expression on their face is unreadable.

"there's one thing, actually," whumpee says. "one thing i'd- one thing i want you to try, if that's okay?"

whatever it is, teammate knows that they're immediately going to agree. change their hair, get a half dozen facial piercings, whatever it is, they'll do it.

"i- will you hug me? i think... i might flinch. but i... i don't want you to stop. i just. i want to see. i..." whumpee breathes in deeply, their shoulders rising and falling. caretaker just watches, speechless. "i miss you. so, uh. do you think you could? maybe?"

[friendsandfoood]

Caretaker and Whumpee decide to set up camp for the night. They talk, laugh, and eat the preserved food in their bags. When the conversation lulls, Caretaker gets up to get more fire wood. Whumpee is left alone at the campsite.

Whumpee is only alone for a minute, poking at the dying fire, when a branch snaps behind them. They spin around, the air stolen from their lungs. Behind them are Whumper's henchmen emerging from the shadows. Whumpee backs away, their lungs burning for air. They gasp.

"CA-"

A large hand clasps over Whumpee's mouth, another arm pinning their arms to their side. One of the henchmen is holding Whumpee tight to their chest. Their grip tightens with every thrash and kick Whumpee gives. Whumpee screams until their throat feels raw, the sound smothered by the henchman's hand.

One of Whumper's closest allies steps out of the darkness, a smirk stretching across their lips. Whumpee trembles but tries to keep a cold stare.

"You really thought you could get away, didn't you?" they say, their voice cool and low. Whumper's ally looks at the man holding Whumpee. "Tie them up, won't you? Gag them so they don't wake up the whole forest. I'll go looking for Caretaker. They wouldn't have wondered too far."

[raven-outlaw]

Soul of Metal pt 6

The first few days I waited. Every morning I expected him to call me to his desk to tell me the work was finished. To tell me the voices would stop, that he found a solution.

Instead he gave us orders - more deliveries. A week passed, then two, then many.

I stopped counting. The voices never left and life continued on.

Some nights they were whispers, sometimes screams. Some nights the voices came paired with visions - visions of  red hair, people laughing, at times they felt close enough to touch. Over time…they seemed less scary.

Master always seemed busy. He would smile the same reassuring smile. The same calm voice as he walked to and from his desk.

"Soon, Twenty-One."

Always soon, and never today. Never tomorrow, just soon. I wanted to believe him.

I did.

But every time he said it, something twisted inside me. A feeling I did not understand. My purpose is to protect him. I did protect him so why wasn’t he helping me? I just want some relief. I just want the voices to stop.

Then something darker. Sometimes it felt like he was watching me, as if  he could tell when the voices became too loud. Like he was waiting to see if I  staggered.

I stopped pressing my hands against my head. He always smiled when he noticed. As if my suffering reminded him of something important, like he was enjoying a secret.

I hated that feeling. I hated myself for feeling it.

Master had created me, protected me, given me purpose. Hadn't he?

Yet every night the voices grew louder, and every morning his promise sounded emptier. Each time we left for a delivery, hope had become something sharp. Something painful. Something that hurt more than despair.

I started wishing that something would happen, like someone or something would try and attack our caravan. If something were to happen…and it came down to me to save his life…maybe I would step aside. I hated myself for thinking that way, I would be going against my purpose if I stepped aside. I would have to save him.

Finally my last delivery came. 

Master watched us load up his caravan outside of his workshop. Biggest Brother pointed and gave direction to the rest of us, Sister helped me lift the really heavy chests. She was always so nice to me. 

We packed the caravan full of chests, Biggest Brother set the team of horses and we were off. 

Every step felt heavy. We had traveled through dozens of villages. They all looked the same after a while. Stone roads. Wooden fences. Smoke rising from chimneys. 

But this place felt different, and with each step I noticed the voices got louder and louder. There was a woman laughing. Men shouting. Children running and playing.

I should have been looking for threats, but instead my eyes were wandering.

There was a bakery, nothing special. There was a well where children ran around.

A narrow alley between two buildings - I knew that alley.

The realization stopped me cold.

I knew it. I had never been here before, had I?

The voices surged - vision flashed through my mind. A younger man laughing as he stumbled from that alley carrying mugs of ale, spilling as he ran. A red haired woman grabbed his arm and softly scolded him. They were laughing together as they sat together in the alley. Then darkness. The vision vanished like smoke in the wind.

"Twenty-One." Biggest Boomed.

I looked up. The formation had continued without me, and I was left standing in front of a small group of people. Human and elf families staring at me in marvel and fearful awe. 

I gave a half hearted wave then turned and hurried to catch up. As I ran  my attention remained fixed on the village. Every building felt familiar. Every street. Every corner. As if I had walked these roads a thousand times. As if I had belonged here.

The delivery took us to the town square where an impressive stone fountain sprang out and ran cold water peacefully. A tall man in very expensive clothes stood near it, waiting to accept the delivery. Master began speaking with the merchant while my brothers and sister spread out around him.

Standing guard. Watching. Waiting. I should have done the same. Instead, something cut through the noise. For the first time in months all the voices stopped.

I heard singing. Soft, faint. A woman's voice, the sound froze me where I stood. The song - I knew the song. I had heard it before, in dreams…in memories.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Hiii :)

I don't know if you wrote anything like this before, but is it possible to have a hurt villain x caretaker hero?

Btw i read a lot of your posts and I love everything you write.

"Look what the rats dragged in," the villain said. "Do you have a medical license to go with that cape?"

The hero's brow furrowed, taking in the sight of the villain, imobiilised against the bed. The prison medical bay had been emptied except for them. And the villain...

"Bloody hell."

"You should see the other guys."

"I did," the hero said. "They took me by the morgue first before they'd let me in. Something, something, you're still dangerous even when you're incapacitated. You know. Because I have such a poor understanding of what you're capable of."

The villain smiled, cracking their lip open again, fresh blood welling up. Their teeth were already stained with gore they hadn't had the chance to clean away.

The hero moved over to them to get a closer look, gaze roaming over the splatterings of blood and the visible signs of injury. Bruises. Swelling. A nasty gash along their cheek.

"You want to tell me what happened?" the hero asked.

"There's video footage. They record everything in here."

"I'm not interested in the video footage, I'm interested in talking to you. I'm going to sit you up, is that okay?"

The villain's gaze moved over to them in turn. Beneath the carnage, the fearsome threat of violence, the villain looked tired. Thinner than when the hero had last seen them. Like some vital essence of them was being slowly leeched away.

"If I say no?"

"I'll do my best to treat you laying down. Wait. How are your ribs? Can you even sit?"

"You could just let me die."

The hero's stomach squirmed, revulsion rising in their chest at the thought.

The villain's mouth twitched in another mirthless smile. Their fingers flickered, an indication that the hero could adjust the mechanical bed. The hero pressed the button, taking a moment to steady themselves as the villain's upper body carefully rose. Their eyes squeezed shut in pain.

The hero's eyes narrowed, hand going tentatively to the villain's torso, inching their shirt up. The bruises beneath the material were even more livid than the ones on their face.

"These are broken," the hero said.

"They're just ribs."

"Not if they puncture-" The hero caught themselves. They exhaled a breath through their teeth. When they glanced up, the villain's gaze was on them, with no pretense.

The hero's heartbeat quickened. They had to resist the stupid urge to reach out, less professionally, to cup the villain's face.

"Alright," the hero said, softly, instead. "I'm going to do what I can and clean you off. I'll get you some water for your mouth. Rinse and spit so I can check your teeth. Does that sound good?"

"You're a living saint." The villain's voice was just as soft, and infinitely more bitter.

"...And I'll get some pain meds."

The hero felt the villain watching them as they moved around the room, gathering the necessary supplies. When they looked back, though, the villain's attention was always idly elsewhere. The ceiling. The wall. The restraints keeping them strapped down like an apex predator inclined to rampage.

When the hero returned, the villain sipped the water, rinsed and spat the blood away without sending it at the hero's face. They let the hero dab at their body with a warm damp cloth, apply disinfectant, bandages and the like as needed.

That was something.

"Do you want to die?" the hero asked, quietly.

The villain laughed.

"Is that funny?" the hero asked, next.

"If you were going to kill me, conqueror, I wouldn't be in this hell hole."

"And if you wanted to die, I suppose," the hero said, "you could have let them kill you instead of fighting back."

"I wasn't going to be finished off by rats. That's just embarrassing."

"How's the pain now?"

"Fighting you was worse."

"I'm sorry I haven't visited," the hero said, tone as gentle as their hands.

The villain scowled, laughter dying. They looked like they wanted to say something, then didn't.

"They want to put you in solitary for this. I'll talk to the warden," the hero said. "You didn't start the fight. You shouldn't be punished for it."

"I shouldn't be punished for murder, hero mine? What are you punishing me for then?"

"I'm not - I -" The hero floundered, then closed their mouth.

They focused on the things they could treat. The wounds they could keep from festering.

"It wasn't meant as punishment," the hero said. "I just had to stop you."

"And they just had to keep me alive," the villain said. "Prod me and poke me and take my blood and my hair and whatever else that so fascinates them about their most valuable asset. Two wrongs do, as ever, make a right."

The hero tensed, gaze cutting up to the villain's face.

The villain smiled at them, blissfully, as the pain medication finally seemed to begin to take effect. Their usually sharp eyes turned cloudier, if no less deadly for being a poisonous fog instead of a blade.

"...you wanted them to call me," the hero said. "You knew they'd be too scared to get close enough to give you even basic first aid."

And knew, too, that the warden would never simply let them die in a fight, or by the hand of a guard, no matter how many other inmates they took out.

The villain blew a kiss their way, and closed their eyes.

"You always care so damn much," they said, voice turning a little slurred. "Care enough to keep me yourself, won't you?"

When the villain drifted off in front of them, pain medication aside, the hero knew they hadn't slept properly for months. Likely not since their capture.

The hero swallowed.

They reached out, brushing their fingers carefully along the less bruised half of the villain's face.

Unconscious, they didn't seem so terrifying a thing. They didn't seem unstoppable at all.

"I'll talk to the warden," the hero murmured, though the villain couldn't hear them. "None of them will ever hurt you again."

But, unstoppable, the villain was.

The hero kept their vigil.

[yagamimi-aka-mimi-deactivated20]

tweet

Something like this would be so colossally helpful. I'm sick and tired of trying to research specific clothing from any given culture and being met with either racist stereotypical costumes worn by yt people or ai generated garbage nonsense, and trying to be hyper specific with searches yields fuck all. Like I generally just cannot trust the legitimacy of most search results at this point. It's extremely frustrating. If there are good resources for this then they're buried deep under all the other bullshit, and idk where to start looking.

[ama-kitkat123]

>:)c

May I present to you, nationalclothing.org?

It doesn't have everything, but it's still my first source when researching traditional clothing from other cultures.

[penanatomy-studies]

There's also this resource on historical fashion: Claire’s Historical Fashion Reference & Resources

[zheida]

another addition as far as physical media goes there is the encyclopedia of national dress (that i still need to buy myself bc this kind of thing is super important to my sort of fantasy designing) but yes i do agree i wish there was EVEN MORE documentation on this

[iascus]

Reblogging to spread awareness

[my-art-tutorial-blog]

the goldmine folks

[sandandglass]

Donald Trump gets attacked by an eagle.

This eagle truly represents America. What a majestic symbol.

[lukcskywalkcrs]

It’s only fitting that this gets reblogged today

[rinokami]

This is the only eagle that deserves reblogging on the 4th

[tenderwhumps]

my love language is giving a character severe internal injuries and having them near death in a hospital bed while their loved one cries and strokes their hair

[hurt-comfort-my-beloved]

character b’s eyes crack open to the feeling of a gentle hand in their hair. “…what? Character a?” They whisper.

“yeah, kid, I’m here.” They sound suspiciously shaky.

“you…you’re crying?” Character b asks.

character a hesitates, not knowing what to say. “I’m alright, kid. It’s okay,” they say as tears trail down their cheeks.

character b leans their head into character A’s hand. “…tired.”

Character A’s face crumples as character b’s eyes drift shut. “Please, kid…” character a says to no one, their voice cracking.

“please don’t leave me.”

[sixty-silver-wishes]

sorry america but you’ve been really mean. and I don’t want to go to your birthday party in two days

[sixty-silver-wishes]

so this post has blown up; turns out a lot of people feel the same way I do. If you're feeling conflicted or upset over 4th of July, I've compiled a list of educational resources and charities, both regarding US and international issues, which you can look into if you'd like. Issues here include humanitarian aid to Gaza, Ukraine, and the Caribbean, as well as reproductive, LGBT, BIPOC, and disability rights in the US.

[sixty-silver-wishes]

woke up and saw people were reblogging this again. anyway, yeah. america is still being really mean and I do not want to go to its birthday party today

if you would like to spite the really mean people even more today, consider donating to raices con voz. they're a student-led organization in los angeles, who deliver food and essential supplies to immigrant families who can't leave their homes due to the ICE raids. More information about them here

EDIT: Had to fix the link! please reblog this version instead

[sixty-silver-wishes]

another year of not wanting to go to america's birthday party in two days. because it's really mean. so we should help the people that america is being really mean to

in keeping with tradition, here is a link to unicef's fund for emergency health supplies and services for survivors of the venezuela earthquakes.

here is another link for manos in action, an organization that delivers supplies, such as food and childcare items, to latin american immigrants in central florida. I've participated in one of their local food drives; they're great. if you're not local to central florida, you can always donate money.

the other links are still available too, so feel free to check those out!

[cam1lla]

“Authors should not be ALLOWED to write about–” you are an anti-intellectual and functionally a conservative

“This book should be taken off of shelves for featuring–” you are an anti-intellectual and functionally a conservative

“Schools shouldn’t teach this book in class because–” you are an anti-intellectual and functionally a conservative

“Nobody actually likes or wants to read classics because they’re–” you are an anti-intellectual and an idiot

“I only read YA fantasy books because every classic novel or work of literary fiction is problematic and features–” you are an anti-intellectual and you are robbing yourself of the full richness of the human experience.

[moonshinemagpie]

"you are functionally a conservative" is such a good and clarifying insult

Literally right after I saw this post, I saw another post in a discord chat for BOOK EDITORS in which an outspokenly liberal editor talked about how Nabokov should have never been published because he wrote about p*dophiles and described women's bodies in ways that made her uncomfortable. She described his writing as "objectively terrible" and said she wanted to burn his books. And other editors were bringing up classics they didn't like and talking about how they wanted to throw them in the trash. This wasn't like a light "unpopular opinion!" conversation. This was actual book editors talking about how books should be destroyed and censored.

There is something so scary and toxic in global culture right now. The revival of fascism is influencing everyone's mindset and approach to art, regardless of where they fall on the political spectrum.

I see far more books being censored today than when I was a kid. Librarians handed me The Catcher in the Rye, The Sexual Politics of Meat, and Animal Farm when I was literally 8-11. My mom would never have taken a book away from me. I read everything from the Tao Te Ching to the Qur'an to atheist texts under my desk at school. Teachers thought nothing of it or encouraged it. Books seemed universally acknowledged as sacrosanct to me.

Now I can't find any adults who don't hesitate or want to make exceptions when it comes to censorship. Even the most liberal social activist librarians I know go, "well except for book X..."

Functionally conservative. It's so important to have the language to express that.

[cam1lla]

Thank you for this addition!

[ollieofthebeholder]

I did a report on book banning once.

Actually, I did reports on book banning three separate times with three separate teachers, with three separate sets of parameters so I was able to write about the same topic in different ways, but this is specifically about the report I did in university. The actual specs for the report included that we were supposed to complete some kind of study or poll (this was not a science class). I put the questions out on a couple of forums I belonged to at the time and asked a few IRL friends as well. A lot of the questions were standard for this sort of thing, I think - were you ever assigned to read a banned book, did you ever read banned books on your own, did you read/were you assigned them BECAUSE they were banned or did you find out about them being banned later, what's your opinion on banning books, etc.

But there was one question I asked that ended up reshaping the entire thrust of my presentation: "Are there any books that you think SHOULD be banned, and if so, why?"

Here's the thing. Most of the forums I was posting on were fan spaces for a book series that, at the time, was one of the most banned/challenged books out there. It's a fandom that I have since entirely distanced myself from, that I one hundred percent do not recommend to anyone, that I will actively attempt to dissuade people from reading or talking about, and that I would like to not be popular anymore. I'm sure most of you reading this can guess which one I'm talking about (I won't name it or go into specifics because I don't want to trip any filters unnecessarily). But it was KNOWN that these books were banned in a lot of places. A lot of people wore the "I read banned books" badge with pride. I fully expected that the answer to that question would be a resounding "no" from the forums, and that I'd maybe get a few affirmative answers from one of the other spaces.

I was shocked. Not only did a lot of people come back with either "not exactly but I think we should keep [author] or [book] out of the hands of children" or "yes, [book]/anything by [author] should be banned because XYZPDQ", but not a single person who responded gave me the same answer. The only one I remember - keep in mind it's been almost twenty years - was that one person specifically said The Bone Collector, and for the "why do you think it should be banned" question, they only said, "No. I'm not explaining it. It's too horrible to even think about. Just believe me when I say nobody should ever be allowed to read this book."

I highlighted that last comment in my presentation, along with several other of my "favorite" official reasons for banning books - the Alabama school board that banned The Diary of Anne Frank in 1984 because it was "a real downer", the district that removed A Raisin in the Sun because it was "pornographic", the library that took Charlie and the Chocolate Factory out of circulation because it "might be hurtful to children without parents", and things of that nature - and pointed out that all of these were the same thing. This was somebody saying "I don't like this, therefore nobody should read it, and I shouldn't have to explain why." I also pointed out that if you can't give a good reason, the whole thing falls apart, and then I quoted "Smut" by Tom Lehrer:

All books can be indecent books, Though recent books are bolder, For filth, I'm glad to say, Is in the mind of the beholder. When correctly viewed, Everything is lewd. I can tell you things about Peter Pan And the Wizard of Oz - THERE'S a dirty old man...

Go back to that paragraph I mentioned earlier, about those books that I no longer recommend to anyone. Notice how I phrased that. I don't recommend them. I will tell you all the reasons why I don't think you should buy them. I will tell you all the problems with the author, with the franchise, with the writing. I wish they were out of print, I wish they were deeply unpopular, I wish nobody would ever read them again.

But I still won't advocate for banning them.

It's so easy to twist a justification. Look at what I quoted up there! A Raisin in the Sun was banned for being "pornographic". One of the websites I used as a source responded to that accusation with "Did they read the same play I did?" At the time, I thought the comment was funny. Now, twenty years later, I realize: It was a buzzword. It was a convenient label. At the time of the challenge, just saying "it's pornographic" was enough. Obviously you're not some kind of sicko who wants to hear about all the pornographic details, are you? Freak! That's pornography! And they're teaching it in schools! We should get rid of it!

A Raisin in the Sun, for anyone who didn't study it at any point or read it (or watch the movie, which was very good), is a play/movie about a black family in Chicago in the 1960s. The family matriarch has been in domestic service for years, but she's just received a very large insurance payment from her husband's death and is retiring. Wanting to give her family, especially her young grandson, a better life, she goes out and buys a house...in an otherwise exclusively white neighborhood. The head of the homeowner's association (essentially) comes to visit them and offers to pay them a substantial amount of money to not move into the neighborhood, because segregation isn't officially a thing and they can't legally stop them from moving in, but they don't want them there. There's a lot more that goes on in the play, and I highly recommend you go and read it, but the point is that there is nothing sexual or titillating in the entire thing. The closest we get is a scene where the daughter (Beneatha, a college student) is gifted a traditional African dress from her boyfriend, who's Nigerian, and he shows her how to put it on over the clothes she's already wearing, and maybe the scene where the daughter-in-law (Ruth, a laundress) accidentally reveals that, having found out she's pregnant, she's planning to have an abortion rather than bring another child into the world/have another mouth to feed.

It's not pornographic. But someone didn't want it taught in schools, so they called it that to get it banned.

It's so easy to twist labels. If you, a liberal, agree that books with X trait are okay to ban, the people who don't want books to exist will find a way to say they have X trait, and then what are you going to do, admit that you like that sort of thing? Sicko! Freak! Pervert!

You don't have to like the book, or the author, or the topic. But if you're advocating for banning them entirely, you're functionally a conservative.

[embroid-away]

What If: Captain America Were Revived Today? #44 (April 1983) by Peter B. Gillis and Sal Buscema; Original Image by John Romita Sr.

In this What If? Marvel tale, Captain America is unfrozen in 1983 rather than the 1960s. Without the leadership of Steve Rogers, The Avengers disband. Meanwhile, a Captain America imposter, who calls himself a “real American,” has decided to use his newfound influential media status to publicly support a National Identity Card to “deal with illegal aliens,” to suggest that members of civil rights groups “ought to think seriously as to whether or not their actions contribute to the strengthening of communist enemies,” and declare that if those groups tear the country apart with protests, martial law is justified “for the peace to find a solution.”

Neighborhoods with large black populations (e.g., Harlem) are walled off and forced into poverty, and one character even mentions that Jewish people are being “put back into camps.” The right-wing politicians make sure that things like this aren’t shown on television, keeping the majority of the American public ignorant of the horrors committed with their indifferent support. The public are simultaneously told that with some sacrifices, America can be free once again. The fake Captain America confronts a group of peaceful protestors, and he is shot by a sniper (in what reads like an inside job), allowing the police to have “reason” to attack the protestors. The imposter does not die and instead uses the attack to provide more reason for the violent crackdown against protesting groups.

When the true Captain America is unfrozen, he is horrified to see what America has become, especially with his emblem stamped all over it. He immediately seeks out the resistance forces (who clearly represent the Black Panther Party) and joins their cause, stating that "the wrongs [he’s] seen will take much more than one man to right – but [he’s] got a name to clear, a costume to unsoil– and a country to die for!!”

By the time Steve joins them, the resistance only has one chance left to stop the American downfall: a political convention where the “America First” party will be able to secure its support to sweep the national elections and allow them “to return America to the pure and great nation [the] forefathers envisioned.”

The resistance strikes just as the convention begins. The Captain America imposter is no match in a fight against the true Captain America – especially against a Steve Rogers who’s fucking pissed. (“Get up so I can knock you down!!”)

With the imposter knocked unconscious, Captain America addresses the convention crowd, warning that an America that does not represent all its people does not deserve to exist at all; that liberty can be “as easily snuffed out [in America] as in Nazi Germany” and “as a people, we are no different from them.”

The crowd realizes that the man speaking before them is the true Captain America and cheers. Captain America holds his hand up and silences them, stating that he will not allow them the chance to simply replace one idol with another. He alone can’t undo the horrible damage, and he pleads that there’s still a chance for the people to “find America once again.”

Fascism doesn’t change its tune, just its singers.

A 2021 Marvel Trumps Hate ( @marveltrumpshate ) commission, completed on 22-count aida cloth with embroidery floss and watercolors on a 9” diameter bamboo hoop.

[nerdylizard5]

“Patriotism has never been about pretending our nation is without flaws. Patriotism is every act of righteous dissent, it is every march led under the heavy sun, it is every protest held a decade before its time. It is precisely because we love this nation that we will not leave it.”

I wasn’t gonna post anything for the Fourth but Mamdani is genuinely inspiring and this is an incredible speech. Acknowledging the evil and wrongdoing and harm in this country and its history but also the good it can be. With all the evil I’m not particularly proud to be USAmerican but this is genuinely inspiring and encouraging.

[leonardcohenofficial]

(1852) Frederick Douglass, "What, To The Slave, Is The Fourth Of July" •

On July 5, 1852, Frederick Douglass was invited to address the citizens of his hometown, Rochester, New York. Whatever the expectations of h

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