#independence hall

[warpedwings]

Misha Collins - Independence Hall, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, October 2025

[c0mmencement]

On Jan 22, 2026, the National Parks Service was directed to remove the George Washington slavery exhibits at Independence Hall in Philadelphia.

Today, on President’s Day, local organizers convened to protest this act and install their own informational exhibits.

After the local organizers dispersed, a woman stayed behind to continue reading our nation’s history of slavery to the crowds gathered to see the Liberty Bell.

I’m proud of Philadelphia.

[rwrb4life]

No thanks, we'll run this ourselves

The summer heat in Philadelphia on the Fourth of July was a heavy, relentless thing, thick with the scent of street vendors, asphalt, and history. Alex Claremont-Diaz stood on the brick plaza outside Independence Hall, sunglasses pushed up into his wild curls, looking up at the iconic white steeple against the brilliant blue sky.

He was practically vibrating with patriotic energy. He wore a slightly faded vintage denim jacket over a plain white t-shirt, and his phone was already gripped firmly in his hand, FaceTime ringing.

The screen flickered, and Henry’s face appeared. The contrast was immediate. Henry was sitting on the teal sofa back in their air-conditioned Brooklyn brownstone, looking cool, crisp, and entirely unbothered in a lightweight linen shirt. David the beagle was lazily draped across his lap like a heavy, snoring blanket.

"Happy Independence Day, Your Royal Highness!" Alex yelled into the microphone, deliberately loud enough to make a passing family in matching American flag t-shirts turn and grin. "I am standing at the literal birthplace of the modern free world, and you are missing it."

Henry sighed, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward in that familiar, devastating way. "Yes, hello, Alex. Happy Birthday to your loud, chaotic country. Please lower your voice; I can hear the phantom echoes of George Washington’s ego through the speaker."

"Oh, come on! It’s July Fourth, 2026! It’s the big two-five-oh, baby! The Semiquincentennial!" Alex panned the camera around, showing the historic cobblestones and the crowd of tourists waiting in line for the tour. "You should be here. You should be immersing yourself in the beautiful, poetic irony of the son of the British monarch standing exactly where we handed your great-great-great-great-grandpappy his eviction notice."

"First of all," Henry said, adjusting the phone as David shifted on his lap, "it’s George the Third, and we’ve quite moved past the tenant disputes. Second of all, it is currently ninety-five degrees in Philadelphia with eighty percent humidity. I am a delicate English flower, Alex. I would simply liquefy on the steps."

"You're a coward, Wales," Alex teased, leaning against a black iron railing. "You just can't handle the raw, unadulterated taste of liberty. I’m about to go see the Declaration of Independence. The actual parchment. I might just look at it and whisper 'History, huh?' really softly so Thomas Jefferson can hear me."

Henry let out a soft, huffing laugh, leaning back into the cushions. "I’m sure Mr. Jefferson would be thrilled by your reverence. Though, if I recall my history correctly, the actual signing took place over several months, and the vote was on the second of July."

"Do not historical-fact-check me on America's birthday, Hen. That is a federal offense," Alex retorted, though his eyes were completely soft, a blinding smile taking over his face. "Seriously, though. The energy here is insane. There’s a guy playing the fife down the street. A fife, Henry! You love weird old instruments."

"A fife is just a high-pitched tin whistle with a military complex, love," Henry countered smoothly, but the warmth in his eyes gave him away completely. He traced a finger idly over his own gold wedding band. "But I am glad you're having fun. Take pictures. Don't pick a fight with the park rangers about constitutional interpretations."

"I make no promises. If they misinterpret the Federalist Papers on the tour, I'm legally obligated to intervene," Alex said. He looked down at the screen, his tone shifting from manic teasing to something quiet and fiercely affectionate. "Miss you, though. It’s less fun bragging about beating the redcoats when my favorite redcoat isn't here to look pretty and offended."

Henry’s expression softened entirely, the playful shield dropping. "I miss you too, Alex. Hurry back. I’ve ordered takeout from that diner you like, and I promises to let you wear your ridiculous eagle socks without making fun of you."

"Deal," Alex grinned, checking his watch as the tour group started to move. "Alright, I gotta go stand in the room where it happened. Drink some iced tea or something. Celebrate a little."

"I shall drink an exceptionally British cup of hot Earl Grey in protest," Henry said. "Goodbye, Alex."

"Bye, baby."

Alex hung up, sliding the phone into his pocket. He took a deep breath of the hot, historic Philadelphia air, a sudden wave of absolute certainty washing over him. The blueprint of his life had started right here in these old brick buildings, but the best part of his own history was waiting for him back in New York.

Alex had just pocketed his phone and was about to blend into the crowd moving toward the heavy wooden doors of Independence Hall when a sharp, authoritative voice pierced through the ambient noise of the plaza.

"Alex? Alex Claremont-Diaz?"

Alex froze. Turning around, he saw a woman in a crisp navy blazer and an official National Park Service badge hurrying toward him. His brain quickly scrambled to put a name to the face—think, Alex, think—and hit gold. It was Representative Clara Evans of Pennsylvania, a staunch ally of his mother's administration, who was currently flanking the Mayor of Philadelphia on a temporary, bunting-draped stage erected at the center of the plaza.

"I knew that curls-and-denim combo looked familiar," Congresswoman Evans said, beaming as she gripped his hand in a firm handshake. "What on earth are you doing hiding out in the crowd? It’s the Semiquincentennial!"

"Just playing tourist, Congresswoman," Alex said, flashing his most disarming, campaign-trail smile. "Wanted to experience the birthplace of democracy without the motorcade."

"Nonsense," she said, already hooking her arm through his and expertly steering him toward the steps of the stage. "The crowd is getting restless waiting for the parade to start, and the Mayor just finished a twenty-minute speech on city sewage infrastructure. We need some energy. You're giving a few remarks."

"Wait, Congresswoman, I don't have anything prepared—"

"You're a Claremont-Diaz, Alex. You breathe in prose," she said, practically pushing him up the wooden steps and straight toward the microphone.

The announcer’s voice boomed over the loudspeakers: "Ladies and gentlemen, a special surprise guest for our Fourth of July celebration... First Son, Alex Claremont-Diaz!"

The crowd of thousands erupted. The sheer volume of the cheers hit Alex like a physical wave, the heavy Philadelphia heat suddenly amplified by the glare of the stage lights. He looked out at the sea of American flags, miniature lawn chairs, and sweaty, smiling faces.

He didn't have a script, but he did have a phone in his pocket full of freshly generated adrenaline and a very specific target.

Alex gripped the sides of the podium, leaning into the microphone with a grin that was pure, mischievous energy.

"Wow. Happy Fourth of July, Philadelphia!" Alex shouted, waiting for the roar to die down. "I have to be honest with you all—I didn't plan on speaking today. I came here today as a proud American citizen to pay my respects to the absolute bravest, most revolutionary thinkers in human history. Men who looked at the most powerful empire on earth and said, 'No thanks, we'll run this ourselves.'"

The crowd cheered. Alex raised a hand, his eyes sparkling with a wicked sudden thought.

"And speaking of the British Empire," Alex continued, his voice dropping into a conspiratorial tone that immediately had the audience leaning in. "I actually tried to bring a piece of it with me today. As some of you might know, I am legally obligated to share a brownstone with a certain British prince."

A wave of laughter and delighted cheers rippled through the plaza.

"Yeah, him," Alex chuckled, shaking his head. "I begged him to come today. I told him, 'Henry, it’s the two-hundred-and-fiftieth anniversary of the greatest eviction notice ever served. Come touch the bricks. Smell the freedom.' And you know what he told me?"

Alex leaned down, mimicking Henry’s crisp, clipped BBC accent perfectly. "'Alex, it is ninety-five degrees in Pennsylvania. I am a delicate English flower and I shall simply liquefy on the cobblestones.'"

The crowd absolutely lost it. People were doubled over, clapping and cheering.

"I’m serious!" Alex said, throwing his hands up. "The man is currently sitting in New York in full air-conditioning, drinking hot Earl Grey tea in literal, quiet protest of our independence. I told him he was a coward. I told him he couldn't handle the raw, unadulterated taste of liberty—which, to be fair, mostly tastes like street vendor soft pretzels and soft drinks today."

Alex paused, letting the laughter echo off the historic brick of Independence Hall. His smile softened, just a fraction, the sharp teasing melting into something deeply grounded.

"But in all seriousness," Alex said, his voice carrying across the plaza with a steady, fierce resonance. "What happened in that building behind me two hundred and fifty years ago wasn't just about breaking away from a crown. It was about the radical idea that we have the right to write our own history. That our lives, our futures, and our happiness shouldn't be dictated by ancient blueprints, but by the choices we make today."

He looked out at the crowd, his heart swelling.

"So, whether you are celebrating with a fife-and-drum band here in Philly, or you're stubbornly drinking hot tea in a cool room to honor George the Third—today is about freedom. It's about making our own history. The best kind."

Alex raised his fist, the crowd roaring its approval. "Thank you, Philly! Have a great Fourth!"

As the applause thundered around him and Congresswoman Evans patted him on the back, Alex slid his hand into his pocket. He pulled out his phone, quickly typing out a text as he walked off the stage.

Alex: Just told ten thousand people in Philadelphia that you are a delicate English flower who is afraid of humidity. Henry (replying instantly): I am blocking your number, Alexander.

[rabbitcruiser]

The first formal public readings of the Declaration of Independence of the United States took place on July 8, 1776 in Philadelphia by John Nixon in the yard of Independence Hall.

[starriverdreamer]

[silliestcolressfan]

bro wants in

[prettypinkprincessy]

trip to philly

04.11.24

photos by me 🪽

[18thcentury]

"while he was away being a daddy at Congress...." was something I almost included in this essay I'm currently writing.

Anyway here's pics of Independence Hall 10-26-2023