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chaiaurchaandni · 6 months

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white american liberals love seeing poc as victims who constantly have to beg for a shred of white liberals' attention so they may throw some solidarity our way. the moment we refuse to audition for their sympathy and instead empower ourselves to fight back directly against our oppressors, these same liberals are not so comfortable with the idea of us as victims or innocents - how dare we resist or have our own agency? if a poc takes up a rifle after seeing their entire family be killed, and then is bombed by the killers for fighting back against the killers, then is that poc a victim? oh but how could they be? - they had a gun. the gun becomes our symbol of liberation and hope, not mindless vengeance, but as a means for the destruction of the power structures that our oppressor rests on. stop prefacing your support of poc with condemnations of our resistance. negotiations will never free oppressed people because our oppressors do not have a conscience. you cannot reason with somebody who thinks you are inherently worth less. resistance is the only way forward.

remember that the violence of the oppressed is in no way morally equivalent to the violence of the oppressor. and the oppressed do not have to justify the means of our resistance to the oppressors / the sympathizers of the oppressors.

#white ppl will say some braindead neutral shit like violence is bad !! and think ok enough activism for the day #had to write this after seeing some idiot white man write an article about how resistance movements should be held accountable #like shut the fuck up #people who have never lived in your shoes will tell you what to do in your life. how ridiculous #theyre like oh i wouldnt have dome it like tjat . ok? i would. i am doing it like that #i will never condemn resistance to colonialism and occupation and imperialism #most of all i will never condemn any act of aggression against the terrorist gov of the usa the uk and also the eu #to hell with all the bastards who seek to destroy our people #resistance forever #free palestine #glory to the martyrs #long live the resistance #viva la revolution #black panthers #palestinian resistance #kashmiri resistance #kurdish resistance #baloch resistance #algerian resistance #indian resistance #indigenous resistance #indigenous sovereignty #zapatistas #zapatismo #neo zapatismo

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indigo-ghost-girl · 3 months

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Dear my government.

Let's say you do win. Let's say the Palestinian people are erased from the face of the earth.

What are you left with? A world full of people who watched it happen live. A world full of angry, sad, furious people.

People who didn't even know Gaza existed before you all decided to become even more of a cartoon villain.

People who remember the names of the marters out of spite. Who cook the food of their culture in their memory.

And once it is over? Who is left to be mad at? Who is not a planes trip away. Who is already struggling in an unfair system?

So I leave you with this one question.

Do you want a revolution?

No? Then grow a heart and a spine.

Ceasefire now.

#Free Gaza #palistine #ceasfire now #congratulations #you have given me a purpose #Viva la revolution

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banana-babies · 8 months

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youtube

#solarpunk #video #viva la revolution #history #Youtube

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gbee-writes · 1 year

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Viva La Revolution

Chapter one

Tw: Death mention, funeral, corrupt agency, torture, imprisonment, borderline dissociation

---

There was only numb anymore.

Hero had been to plenty of funerals in her time, plenty of close friends gone, and after years of it she couldn’t help but feel hollow in that damn church hall. This was what it was to be a hero in this city.

When she first joined her agency she had been full of vigor and passion. The injuries used to be laughed off in the cafe. Everyone did it; everyone but the older heroes. Hero used to be baffled by their behavior towards the medical mishaps.

What were broken ribs if a dangerous criminal was now behind bars?

What was a major concussion when the death weapons were disabled?

What were the third degree burns?

What were the vicious lacerations?

What was she if not a martyr?

The head of the agency droned on about sacrifice and dedication. “Other Hero was a true hero, he was a man of strength and protection and love.” Hero let out the tiniest huff. As if the head knew anything about her friend.

As if it weren’t his fault Other Hero was in a casket.

Heroes never made it past their fifties. Hero hadn’t noticed at first but she certainly took note after trying to reach out to old retired heroes for advice. She had found that there wasn’t any.

No retired saviors from the city; no true elders to nurture the youths taking over their roles. It hadn’t taken much digging to find out why. Her contract had said it all. Heroes in this city signed their lives away.

She had seen Other Hero’s death from a mile away of course. The week before his final battle they had tea together and she could see how worn down he was. His final words to her drifted through her muddy thoughts.

“I think it’s time for me to rest, Hero.” He had said it with a haunting melancholy. “I’ll miss these tea times.”

Her hands tightened on the skirts of her black dress. Now that she was considered a ‘senior hero’ she finally understood why none of them laughed at the injuries with the fresh meat.

Hero’s body had been ripped apart and forced back together so many times in her long stint as a hero that no part of it felt right. Her knees cracked as she walked, her hands lost objects unless she held them in death grips, her back ached to no end, her mind was too slow in the worst of times.

One injury became two, then three dozen, then four hundred, thousands if you lasted long enough, and all of them came with residual effects.

Retirement would be a dream but no hero retired. If that dotted line was graced with your signature, you weren’t allowed to leave the agency until you were put six feet under. If there was enough of you to do that.

Some of her past partners had tried and they were hunted down and brought back with great prejudice. A few had tried to go over to the other side. Those few were labeled as the highest ranked criminals; kill on sight.

None were still there.

Of her original team, Hero and Sidekick were the only ones left. She could tell Sidekick was close to taking the only way out too.

This wasn’t how she thought her life would go.

Hero thought that by then she would be happily married with a few kids, maybe a grandchild or two as she was pushing fifty, but instead she was bunked with Sidekick in a crappy apartment so the new recruits could get the better accommodations and think they were in good hands.

She was yanked out of her thoughts by Sidekick giving her a gentle nudge. Hero blinked for a moment before realizing it was her turn to speak. Her agency approved note cards were pulled from her pocket.

Up at the podium she could see every person there. The higher ups who were only there to save face, the new recruits shaken, the old heroes with relief on their faces.

Several people jumped when she cleared her throat. “Thank you all for coming.” The camera she had to pretend didn’t exist broadcast her words across the city. “Other Hero was one of my closest friends. We’d defended the city together for nearly two decades and through it all I always admired his conviction to keep fighting.”

Her eyes trailed to the head of the agency. The man who continued to trap young powered kids into lifelong torture with no remorse. ‘For the greater good’ was his motto.

Fire burned in her chest. She was tired of feeling numb, tired of watching her friends let the villains kill them so they could rest. Her cards crumpled in her fists.

“Until the brutal working conditions took that away from him.”

Murmurs spread through the crowd. Head leaned forward, his mask of somber respect replaced with a barely controlled warning.

Hero didn’t care anymore. “Other Hero went the way so many others of us go; letting villains kill us so we can finally get the rest we deserve. We don’t get retirement, or vacations, or break days!”

The other older heroes in the room shouted confirmations. At the realization that he was just about to lose control, Head gestured for Hero to be removed from the spotlight.

She was grabbed from behind and put in power suppressant cuffs. As she was dragged down Sidekick shot to his feet. “We break ourselves with no guarantee of proper medical care! We sacrifice ourselves with no hesitation and are given nothing in return!”

His voice was followed by another, a hero called Fire-bird. “We are not machines or tools, we are people!” Some of the younger heroes joined in the shouts. “We deserve rights, and we won’t stand for less anymore! All heroes strike!”

“Strike! STRIKE! STRIKE!” The chant covered Head’s desperate attempts to calm the situation. Hero felt a wave of satisfaction even as she was dragged from view, probably to be thrown in a cell for inciting rebellion.

---

Week two.

At least Hero was pretty sure it was the start of the second week. Head had visited her cell every day, and today was no exception. His face was twisted in a dangerous snarl.

“The mess you’ve started is getting worse.” He growled out. “People are dying without their heroes.”

Guilt threatened to break her. She hadn’t wanted that. Without the heroes who was stopping the villains? She hadn’t been thinking; she had been in the throws of grief!

A blow to her ribs brought her attention back to Head. “More of my younger recruits are joining this stupid strike!” Another blow to her face.

Hero tried to blink out the spots in her vision but he’d broken her nose the day before and it was stinging fiercely. Her chest heaved painfully; broken ribs from the third day.

Was she going to die trapped there? Beaten to a pulp as punishment for wanting better? Hero bit her tongue as Head slammed his fists into her aching body over and over again. She thought she’d experienced hell before but this...

The weaker part of Hero wished the black on the edges of her vision would take over. Shame mixed with the guilt. She didn’t deserve to black out. People were dying because of her.

Loud thuds and shouts made there way through the door. Head stopped his attack. Both of them stared at the exit, waiting.

Silence.

Hero glanced at Head and saw the fear in his eyes. She looked back to the door.

The quiet was electric with tension. Her nerves were on fire.

Suddenly the door flew off its hinges and smashed a dent in the wall behind her. Silhouetted by the frame was Sidekick, hands held out where the door used to be, and Villain. Hero’s eyes widened.

Her Villain and Sidekick? Together?!

Villain took in the scene rapidly. “You’ve been beating her?” There was a dangerous possessiveness in his voice. A dark chuckle made Head flinch. “Oh naughty naughty. I’m the only one allowed to wail on her.”

Everything moved so quickly Hero struggled to keep up. Head was knocked to the wall just like the door, Villain slamming full force after him. She was scooped up by Sidekick.

“What-”

“Hang on, I’ll get you to our med-base. Villain will take care of that-” Sidekick stopped himself with a growl. “Damned man put the whole complex on lock down so he could keep the rest of the heroes trapped here. I wanted to bust in the first day but Supervillain wanted to get the public on our side before we tried anything.”

Hero gasped out as Sidekick jumped down a full flight of stairs and jolted her numerous injuries. “The people-” She wheezed a bit. “We have to stop the strike, the villains-”

“Aren’t going on rampages. Turns out when you fight the same people for decades they get attached a bit. Most of them took up our mantle in support of our strike.”

“They what?”

Sidekick smiled down at her. “They took our places. When you want to inspire you do a damn good job of it.” Hero’s brain reeled. Head had said that people were dying in the streets, villains killing unstopped, mass chaos!

He seemed to understand her wordless bafflement. “I don’t know what Head told you but the city’s been safer than it has been in years.”

----

I might continue this if people are interested. I had ideas for later scenes but this is as far as I had for this section? Sorry if the ending isn’t great, I had trouble with that.

Edit: continuing this

First | Previous | Next Chapter-list Master-list

#My writing #hero and villain #hero x sidekick #villain #corrupt agency #don't know how to tag lmao #tw torture #tw death #tw funeral #Viva La Revolution #<-- title

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blissmontage · 1 month

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I’m gonna let you in on a little secret: Joe Biden is just as dangerous for oppressed nationalities living in the United States as Trump.

#bliss.txt #fuck Joe Biden #fuck Trump #viva la revolution #long live communism #communism

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avenger-hawk · 2 months

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Hello, do you think Sasuke loved Sakura as a child? It is written in the databook that she filled his lonely existence with love,it's just that in the manga and anime I didn't notice this love, maybe I misunderstood

Hello, I don't think so. Databooks are full of fanservice-y information that aren't confirmed by anything happened in the story. I'm not saying he hated her or smth but he didn't care about her during academy and when Team 7 was formed he was pissed off at her when she talked shit against N*ruto. With time he changed his mind ofc, appreciating her ability and considering her a good comrade and precious friend. But it's nothing more than this, everything else is fanservice.

my antiSS/Sak tag.

#anti-sasusaku #anti-sakura #vivalarevolution: refuse/resist #viva la revolution #I don't follow new stuff anymore and while I hate SS and everything forcing Sak towards Sasuke #I try to not think about it.

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theworkshopmann · 1 year

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Viva La Revolution

Type: Taunt

Class: Spy

Accepted in game: No

This taunt was made by Steam user Coolchou Zhao. Posted on April 15th 2023, you can vote for this right here!

#Viva La Revolution #taunt #tf2 workshop #the workshop mann #tf2 #Team Fortress 2 #tf2 spy #the spy #red spy #blu spy

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trials-of-apollo-my-beloved · 1 year

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A Single Moment

Trials of Apollo Fanfiction

They were literally in the eye of the storm, and there was no question what would come after. What they were doing wasn’t a foray into the unknown; every single one of them had thousands of years to explore all possible outcomes, and every single one of them had come to the realization that there were only two: success or death

The air crackled and sizzled with anticipation. They were literally in the eye of the storm, and there was no question what would come after. What they were doing wasn’t a foray into the unknown; every single one of them had thousands of years to explore all possible outcomes, and every single one of them had come to the realization that there were only two: success or death.

The sky distorted above Apollo and he readied his arm. Every action meant the difference between success and the other thing that hung at the end of every argument over this revolution. There was no room for error.

Apollo saw Artemis ready her bow in his peripheral, then the sky exploded. Moving faster than lighting Apollo stepped to the side and slammed his bow into the ground with Artemis in a morbid sort of dance.

The lightning struck their bows as expected and they yanked them from the ground in unison. Apollo only had to wait an agonizing second before the plan took effect.

Olympus disappeared in a blanket of shadow that had nothing to do with the smell of smoke. All lights snuffed out from the shallow roots of laurels trees to the reaching hand of the tallest marble statue. Painting the palace of the gods the inky black of its forefathers Zeus so despised.

But Apollo didn’t have time to admire the poetry of the scene. He had his part to contribute. With great effort, he sent single waves of light through Hades’ darkness. Each tendril shining directly into each soldiers’ eye, lighting the way for the rebel’s armies alone.

He felt sweat begin to form on his brow.He wished Hades could let up a bit on the darkness's pressure, but he understood his uncle couldn’t go easier on Apollo without making it easier for Zeus to see and better identify his primary targets.

There was a brief millisecond of complete silence filled only with the lighting of match so silent Apollo was sure only he and Artemis would have been able to hear it, then the lighting returned, with the added deafening sound of thunder. Booming thunder ricocheted around Olympus like Zeus was attempting to use echolocation to identify the traitors.

Apollo didn’t doubt his father would likely soon resort to that if they gave him the chance because it seemed, even under Zues lightning strikes coloring the sky a sickly shade of blue, Hades’ shadows kept the ground opaquely obscured even from the eyes of the king of the gods.

Quickly assessing the situation Apollo decided it was time for him to make his solo move in this gamble. Summoning all his willpower he used his true form to transport himself into Zeus’ throne room.

This was by far the riskiest part of their whole plan. This was the signal for the troops to charge, to tell them that everything was in place; it would likely be the only communication possible between the whole of the rebellion forces until they were able to take Zeus and his deafening thunder off the playing table.

Apollo would also be teleported to Zeus directly, but the main point of it was the signal. If not for that they wouldn’t have risked the second of light that would make their position visible to Zeus. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too consequential, but all that relied on what Apollo was about to do.

Apollo landed silently, arrow notched, in the throne room behind Hera. Hera who was locked in a practically skin tight cage of pure divine electricity. Her face was drenched in exhaustion and from what Apollo could see her eyes were rolling wildly in her head from the pain.

He could feel electricity coursing through the ground like a live wire. If Aphrodite and Hermes had won the argument about including demigods in the battle they all would have been fried to a crisp.

Apollo felt a moment of guilt. He knew personally that one of Zeus’ cages could be the most painful thing even for an immortal experience, and what he was about to do would further Hera’s pain to an unfathomable degree.

He was allowed this fleeting moment of contemplation by the second reason they didn’t include demigods in the battle; buying time. Zeus would predict the rebels to have at least some demigods, and since he couldn’t see the gods he truly wished to strike down, Zeus would attack in a sure fire way to eliminate some of the rebel forces. For example to cleanse the mortals that weren’t there he was taking removing the oxygen from the air.

Zeus finished his move and in a rush the stakes crashed down on Apollo and the thought that if he succeeded this pain would be all Hera would have to endure for a long time and he took aim. Apollo fired his arrow directly through Hera’s heart and into Zeus.

This had been the part of the plan with the least conjecture. Apollo was to appear behind Hera, who Zeus would obviously contain to take off the playing field, so him thinking Hera incapacitated he would be busy looking everywhere for every possible threat, except at her, because in his mind she was no longer a threat.

That would open up the opportunity for Apollo to appear behind her in secret and at the very least slow Zeus down for the next step. Apollo would do this by firing his arrows through Hera at Zeus.

This strategy was tailored to incapacitate Zeus specifically, and the only one the rebel’s had managed to come up with over their months of planning. Apollo would fire his arrows, tainted with every poison potent enough to harm even an immortal body, directly through Hera’s heart. The god of poetry would kill Zues using arrows fired through the heart of the goddess of marriage, his wife who he had betrayed the sanctity of his marriage with over, and over, and over again.

The fates were suckers for ironic deaths, and such an offering could not be resisted. It was all but agreed, even against Zeus, the arrows would at least slow him down, giving the plan a second to commence.

It turned out Hephaestus didn’t need a second.

Flames spread across the ceiling of the throne room in a wave, and what Zeus had no doubt dismissed as a simple rouge flame, blossomed, cranked up hot enough to hit marble’s melting point.

Apollo continued to fire his arrows through a sobbing Hera, but felt himself tense up. What if something went wrong now? What if the net didn’t activate? What if Britomartis and Athena messed something up?

But as Athena would scold Apollo after this all went down, he should have had faith in her.

While the dome ceiling burnt above it a tapestry depicting Olympus’ recent, “glories” hung. Athena had presented the tapestry to Olympus as a show of victory and a tribute to Zeus’ effective rulership several months ago. The tapestry, whilst appearing as a simple piece of fine art, was actually a net made of special material made to react to extreme heat, that Athena had teamed up with Britomartis to design.

When the ropes suspending it in the sky interacted with Hapheastus’ fire they were supposed loosen their ties and come falling to the ground, entrapping everything in sight with a strength comparable to that of the ocean.

Time seemed to freeze when the first rope caught fire. As if somewhere, Kronos’ scattered being sensed what was happening and stopped to laugh.

Then the net fell to the ground like stalactites, propelled by the force of the falling sections of ceiling. The center of it hit the ground and bunched like bat wings, pulling its way around Apollo’s father, who was spitting curses and trying to escape his throne. That was the last thing Apollo saw before the rest of the ceiling collapsed on him and a screaming Hera.

The force of the impact shouldn’t have been enough to fell Apollo, but it did nonetheless. He chalked it up to the sheer poetry of his father’s empire literally collapsing on top of him overwhelming his senses.

When he regained his motor functions he started frantically boroughing his way out of the rubble. When he emerged he raced over to the nearest bit of shifting marble, he started digging, hoping to confirm the plans success and Zues’ entrapment, instead he was met with a haggard Hera, her face covered in dust and ichor.

Apollo paused then helped her out. He scanned the rest of the ruins, Hades’ shadows were waning. Whether that be because of something happening in the main battle requiring Hades’ full attention, or simply the excitement of the moment clouding his control, Apollo didn’t know or care which. Either were resulting in a fault in their defenses.

Apollo faltered when he spotted a large chunk of marble fell flat and melted at the edges. He teleported over and flung to the side, underneath was Zeus, his skin bulging as fought back against his bonds tightening with his movement.

Apollo’s breath caught in throat. It worked. At least for now they had successfully ambushed Olympus’s remaining forces and incapacitated Zeus. Apollo allowed himself a breath, the oxygen was back.

He found himself blinking stupidly at his father's struggling form. The sight was abysmally familiar and snapped him out of his reverie. They might have won the battle so far, but there was still a lot that needed to be done, and before all that they had to make sure Zeus didn’t escape his bonds.

Still, as Apollo held his Father down he felt more hopeful than he ever had before.

#Trials of Apollo fanfiction #Viva la revolution #An Pjo Apollo overthrows Zeus fic #I wrote this because TSATS pissed me off #I had to channel my rage

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