Posted 2 weeks ago

To the End, Against Odds Uncounted


It was Sarah Rogers’ mama who first told her about Lucy Stone, about No Irish Need Apply and the radical notion that a man could drink at whatever water fountain he damn well pleased. It was Sarah Rogers’ mama who first tucked fingers, dry from industrial kitchen soap, under Sarah’s chin and held it high, then taught her to keep it there. Who taught her to say ma’am and choose good Scotch and love God and speak loudly. To walk straight-backed through crowds of men in silk suits whose accents spoke of Princeton, not Wexford’s Irish Sea and a long boat ride next to vomiting children. To grow into an adult with the strength to plant her heels in the earth and make it move around her.

Sarah Rogers was three months pregnant when she donned trousers and stood on a cold Manhattan sidewalk with a sign that read Mr. President, Give Women the Vote! while street urchins threw pebbles to the encouragement of the police. She didn’t stop rattling the cage that minimum wage had built, not when they threw her in jail, not when Mr. Cunningham threatened to fire her from the hospital, not when she miscarried the son she’d named Junior the same month her husband went off to war.

Joseph Rogers got dead of mustard gas in the trenches with the 107th the same year the war ended, the same year he came home on leave and got Sarah pregnant with Steve.  And so it was she who worked the long shift, who moved them from the lower east side to Brooklyn after giving birth in a sweltering hospital room to a child with weak lungs and thin limbs.

It was Sarah who put her hand in that of her six-year-old son’s and marched down to the landlord, standing all of five foot two inches and informing him that he if he got handsy again, she would meet him at the door with a pistol. Who told Steve that if the Brewster woman sneered at him to keep his chin up, if her son hit him to keep his nose clean, and if the father came within five feet of him to run. She taught him how to form his little hand into a fist, taught him her stubbornness but not her cynicism. Taught him to believe in his country. To pray and to steer clear of the men who claimed they could see God. To say No, sir to liquor because his ma could make better in her own damn bathtub if she chose.

Steve’s ma took him to the talkies when he was nine, but it wasn’t near the fun they had their first time at Ebbets Field. The Dodgers would make history in 1947, but neither of them knew it then, and spent the noon chowing down on hotdogs and jeering at the Yankees.

“We’ll win next time,” ma promised him. 

She was loud and lovely and spirited until times got rough and her face grew thin, hair graying while Steve took himself to school, pulled a blanket over her when she collapsed exhausted on her bed, and fed her when her wrists got too thin.

Steve was fourteen and Sarah Rogers was standing on streets again, face lined and lungs weak but grip just as sure on her thin signboard, this time chanting No Evictions! as the rent war spilled from the Bronx into Borough Park. Steve came home from school each day to hear people like his mother called radical, along with the thousands of others threatening to go on strike.

But she didn’t strike, because TB wouldn’t have gone on strike along with her.

Then one day she came home with a cough, and she was gone.

Steve was almost fifteen when he stood up to Moe Jenkins in the orphanage, and befriended the army brat with the lazy smile who had pulled Moe off of Steve and socked him one. 

It was Bucky who first lied their way onto the Cyclone, Coney Island packed to the gills as he lied about their ages and their parents and their height and He’s as tall as me sir, honest, he’s just got this awful hunch. It was Bucky who hauled Steve upright when he staggered off to throw up, pocket 50 cents lighter and grin unrepentant.

Steve was sixteen when they got stinking drunk off bathtub gin, clambering passed the Do Not Enter sign on the rooftop to sit with legs dangling toward the bright city below. Bucky talked about leaving, maybe spending a quarter to hop on a train headed west and find their fortune, maybe Steve could join the Federal Art Project, maybe someone would let him paint buildings or draw posters and maybe they would have heat this winter.

Then they came down at dawn to help Mr. O’Byrne carry his milk up the stairs again.

Sarah Rogers was five years in the ground when they let Steve into City College. They told him he had soared past the grade requirements and wouldn’t have to pay a single cent, not like the working class that spent their nights in class and their days digging ditches for the WPA. So Steve signed up for night classes and spent the days copying comic books for 50 cents per hour to afford the texts and pencils and meals and subway fare he could barely pay for anyway.

It was Steve who knelt in church each week, mother’s Bible in his hand and prayers on his lips. Who sat in class each day and drew posters for the peace protests that would get his classmates expelled, and illustrations for the discontented voices that burst from their quarterlies. He debated anti-militaristic policy with the Jewish Socialists and ate lunch with the American Communists as the student body’s far-left radicalism spread to newspaper infamy.

You can love your country all you want, pal, one kid told him around a cigar. In his arms were stacks of pamphlets emblazoned with hammer and sickle. You just trust in it a little too goddamn much.

But they were all idealists at heart, Steve knew.

It was sweltering the day Steve turned twenty, too hot for sandlot baseball, too hot to move. He sat with Bucky in the theater, watching a Garbo movie three times in a row just to bask in the precious air conditioning. Steve talked about the trade union and how an alumnus had given Steve his old pin.  It read I am a Guttersnipe! I fight fascism! and had been banned from campus for four years.

Bucky told him just not to get himself killed.

In May 1941, late on rent and having begged off of work, they snuck over the back fence to sit on the bleachers at Flatbush in patched trousers, to watch a Dodgers game they hadn’t paid for, and used the last of their change to buy overpriced hotdogs from a grouchy man with an apron and a paunch.

“Next year for sure,” said Bucky, spitting spectacularly in the direction of a few riotous Phillies fans.

That December there was an announcement on the five and dime tabletop radio, and everything changed.

By the time Steve was ready to turn twenty-five, he had committed five counts of fraud punishable by as many years in prison, because he had no right to sit at home while a giant loomed in the East, no right at all.

By the time he had become Private Rogers, he had disobeyed the direct order of his drill sergeant to capture a flag and win a free ride. He was insubordinate to a Colonel in a time of war, for no more than a hope of a prayer that his best friend was still alive.

Then there was a plane, and nothing.

Bucky Barnes was sixty-eight years in the ground when Steve Rogers lead a ragtag team of misfits into a vigilante fight, seventy when he sat with hands neatly folded in front of him and said With respect, sir, to the men in suits and their sureness that he had too much of a stick up his ass to do anything but walk the damn line.


Posted 2 weeks ago

Why Thor is Not A Fucking Idiot (A Comprehensive Post)



Right, so idiot!Thor comes from two places, as far as I can tell. One being that he’s a huge blond muscled brash jock type who started out in the movie Thor acting arrogant and foolish, and clearly was/is not particularly academic or interested in intellectual pursuits over other, more exciting pursuits, like hitting stuff with Mjolnir. 

The other is his fish-out-of-water behavior that we see mostly in Thor and a little bit in Avengers, and a lot of the things discussed here actually also apply to Steve Rogers as well.

So, jerk!Thor from the beginning of the movie. He’s a giant spoiled brat, basically, and the instant he gets it demonstrated to him that he’s wrong and that his actions have consequences, he changes the way he acts, thinks, everything. He doesn’t learn from being lectured, he learns from observing. Aside from the obvious fact that not being an academic doesn’t make you stupid, being a dumb arrogant bastard at first doesn’t mean he’s a peabrain either.

Loki obviously thinks so, and I get where he’s coming from, but Loki’s a well-read, presumably bookish master of magic, and he STILL is a dumbfuck who thinks mass genocide of his own people will make his Odin!daddy love him, so he’s not exactly got any room to lecture.

They’re, like, Gods who give birth to horses and shit. I’m pretty sure humility lessons (and demonstrations!) were far and few between.

Now, fish-out-of-water!Thor.

I mentioned this being somewhat similar to Steve’s situation. And if you will allow me to digress for a moment, it is. It has less of a basis in film canon than Thor’s reactions to modern human life, but still.

When we first see Steve after he has committed to the mission, here is what he is doing: Holding and reading a briefing pad/tablet/holographic whatever (that doesn’t even exist properly IRL) about Bruce Banner, and riding in the (quin?)jet. Here is what he is not doing: Shrieking about confusing technology and throwing the thing to the floor, while curling up into a small ball and weeping because the (quin)jet looks weird. 

Here’s what Steve probably remembers from the 1940’s: His desegregated military squad. His squad in the midst of an escape picking up Tesseract-charged weapons and being all LOL WHAT DOES THIS DO and IDK BRO TRY SHOOTING IT and OH WOW THAT WORKS I GUESS and not a single one of them standing around clutching at their pearls and crying OH MY LAWD, I DON’T RECOGNIZE THIS ADVANCED TECHNOLOGY. The Tesseract itself, which was not exactly as common as a newspaper from the corner stand, but when he saw bits of technology that used its energy lying around, recognized it, picked it up and put it in his pocket for Howard to analyze later. Peggy Carter as a formidable and respectable military personnel and human being. The crazyass weird science chamber thing Howard Stark built for him for Project Rebirth, that he climbed into without barely looking twice at the fucking thing or asking about it even though he likely never saw anything like it in his life. Gigantic tanks the size of the fucking Egyptian pyramids. Glancing at the map in Zola’s lab and immediately memorizing where all of the pins were. Howard Stark trying to create flying cars. Weirdass mechanical weapons and soldiers and air ships under the command of the Red Skull. The world’s only chunk of Vibranium, which he then immediately appropriates for his own use. Movie screens. Radios. Telephones. 

Here’s what we see in Avengers: Steve using outdated references, and missing some modern ones, as well as failing to understand Tony Stark-level science.  Here’s what we also see:  Steve taking  in the invisible flying aircraft carrier with no more or less surprise than anyone else.  In fact, he calmly hands Fury a $10 bill.

Here’s what Steve is almost never, ever shown as being: Slow on the uptake or shocked at new tech.

And so, back to Thor – yeah, we see him Majorly Not Understanding Shit and it’s fucking hilarious and I love it. And he definitely got into more misunderstandings and shit that a quieter, more analytical person might have. He walks into a pet store and asks for a horse or a cat large enough to ride, walks into traffic, smashes cups on the floor, and can’t pronounce “Hubble.” 

And me, I think about Asgard and go, wow, I don’t actually know what that thing attached to the Bifrost was. Like, it was a giant gold spinny ball with a pointy thing and it went WHIRR and ZOOM and the Asgardians would think I was the stupidest person ever to exist ever. I mean, if I suddenly woke up there I’d walk into a shop and ask if they had a car or a bicycle, probably, and they’d be all LOL WUT NO HAVE THIS GIANT CAT ACTUALLY, WE RIDE THEM HERE. In fact, let’s talk about Freyja. Freyja of ancient Norse legend right out of the same place as Thor, who FUCKING RIDES. A. CHARIOT. DRAWN. BY. CATS.

And Mjolnir? I would pronounce it exactly like Darcy, which was “myow-myow” and probably sounded like the funniest shit ever when Thor heard it because it’s Mjolnir, duh, everyone knows what Mjolnir is.

If I may make a brief comparison, I was raised in New York and then went to school in Hong Kong. In Hong Kong restaurants, they serve you shitty tea with your bowls and utensils, and it’s used to wash stuff in, like chopsticks, before the meal.

When I first got there, I drank it.

And all of my friends were like UM. ER. UH. And, you know, it was really really funny and I laughed a lot, but, yeah, hi, that’s what Thor’s experiencing on Earth. WHY DO THEY LOOK AT HIM ODDLY WHEN HE ASKS FOR A NEW DRINK? HE WANTS ONE AND HE ASKED FOR IT THE WAY HE ALWAYS DOES THESE HUMANS ARE SO ODD WHY DO THEY NOT WANT HIM TO HAVE A NEW COFFEE (and so forth).

My long, rambling point is that it’s not a sign of small intelligence to look like an idiot in the face of culture clash. (I mean, I’m not saying that I’m super smart or anything, but yeah.)

And so I thought I would list out a few scenes from the movies that illustrate my point.

His first scene on Earth, Darcy tazes him. Now, he obviously doesn’t know what it is or can do to him, but he instantly knows it’s a weapon. “You dare threaten me, Thor, with so puny a weapon as that?” And hey, he might have known exactly how powerful it was – but at that point he didn’t realize he was human yet, not really, and so rightly expected it couldn’t touch him. Besides which, he doesn’t act as if Darcy is some crazy Lightning Sorceress or something.

He says to Jane that “science and magic are one and the same” where he comes from, but doesn’t go around proclaiming object/people “magic this” or “magic that” as a habit. He understands that they have tools he does not recognize.

He gets in Jane’s car without freaking out and touching everything like a hyper 5-year-old. 

He (watches Jane make and) helps serve pancakes to Selvig and Darcy. Clearly, he can be around kitchen appliances without 1) exploding them, 2) yelling at them, 3) hitting them with Mjolnir.

And when Selvig comes to get Thor from captivity, all “DONALD! DONALD I’M TAKING YOU HOME!” Thor gets it. He got the hint. Most importantly, he knows how to keep his mouth the fuck shut and doesn’t blabber and bellow indiscriminately at inopportune times. He just doesn’t.

He doesn’t run right into the SHIELD encampment with a big battle cry either – he puts something dark on to blend into the night, and sneaks in until he can’t sneak anymore. Could Natasha or Clint or even Steve done it with more sneaking and less smashing? For fucking sure, but he’s not so pigheaded as to not realize his own limits.

Even when going to Jotunheim, he knew he had the power to take on the Frost Giants. Not the presence of mind to realize that his companions couldn’t, but he himself had the skills to back up his big talk.

This is demonstrated absolutely nowhere better than when the Destroyer comes to town.

“Thor’s going to fight with us!” Volstagg (?) says.

And Thor says, no, he’ll only get in the way and get one of them killed. He knows his new human limits, and he is neither so arrogant nor so pig-headed as to ignore that knowledge. He removes himself purposely from the glorious battle because it’s logical.

And Loki, well. Loki outsmarts Thor a hell of a lot. But the majority of that stems from Thor’s continual willingness to trust and love his brother, and think the best of him.

So, Avengers.

I haven’t the faintest flipping clue how Thor managed to find the one ship that was transporting his brother – was he keeping track of SHIELD? Does he have a Loki homing beacon? – but not only does he find them, march in and drag Loki out, but he knows Loki is being manipulated.

“Who controls the would-be king?”

This photo has nothing to do with anything IDK

Now, for all we know Odin could have sat him down and taught him this, sure, but just as likely not.

On top of which he now knows what it’s like to be at least a little wise.

“The throne would suit you ill.” / “In my youth I called it war.”

Thor doesn’t understand flying monkeys? Well, Coulson doesn’t understand bilgesnipe.

Thor, on the bridge of the Helicarrier for what we have to assume is the first time ever, does not run around squawking at the NINE KAJILLION COMPUTERS THERE and booming things like WHAT MAGIC IS THIS LET ME HIT IT WITH MY HAMMER FOR FUN BECAUSE CLEARLY IT IS SORCERY.

He knows that Iron Man is Tony and Hulk is Bruce, which seems like the biggest NO DUH ever but THIS IS THE LEVEL PEOPLE WRITE HIM AT IN FIC, OKAY. THIS. LEVEL. OF. DUMB.  And I don’t even mean bad writers. Good writers, you guys. Good writers with excellent prose and plotting and characterization write him as a frothing child.

And he doesn’t instantly try to beat the shit out of Hulk, he tries talking him down and getting through to Bruce, quite possibly because he knows he can’t beat him in a prolonged fight.  I’m not sure that a good military leader – even a good bash-‘em-up solo fighter – can survive if he’s incapable of adapting, learning, and strategy to some extent. He listens to strategy, too – or at least, listened to Steve when the time came.

He also really, really does not ever a single fucking time see something  strange going on and bellow, “IS THIS AN EARTH CUSTOM?” and then try to do it too.


At all.

And he’s seen, like, Bruce turn green and wreck shit.

So, to conclude, Thor is: A puppy. Mildly block-headed. Not bookish. Brash and more about action than talk.

Thor is not: Droolingly stupid. A hyper 5-month-old who understands nothing and screams at everything. Prone to automatically assume any and all technology is magic. Incapable of speaking quietly.

So, er. Yeah! :D?

PS: A really awesome article I ran into – interpret at your own will, but still worth discussing – is how Loki is an allegory for internalized racism.

At the very least, I would like to state this as fact: The problem wasn’t that no one told Loki, “We love you in spite of being a Frost Giant” enough.  The problem was that no one told Loki, “There is nothing wrong with being a Frost Giant.”

Reblogging an old rant of mine, because I have been reading some new fic and very sadly have to report that it is still applicable.

Posted 3 weeks ago


The history of Xorn explained by Curt Franklin and artist Chris Haley

But comics aren’t inaccessible, and absurd storytelling doesn’t turn off new readers.

(Source: astonishingx)

Posted 3 weeks ago




kelly sue celebrates passover the #teamhawkguy way

Hate to say it, but she’s no Kate Bishop.

Don’t you sass me, child. 

I’m a 42 year old mother of 2. Yesterday, I *slept in* until 4:30am, got my babies up and fed, planned an Easter brunch menu, finished a batch of rewrites, worked all day writing more comics than you, managed to sneak in 30 minutes on the treadmill and a quick shower before grabbing my hilarious and brilliant husband, two amazing children and double-batch potluck dish and heading to a seder at the home of two of our best friends, where I *rocked* playing with my daughter and her new bow & arrow out on the porch.  

Kate Bishop is great. I love Kate. But she’s a fiction, sweetheart, and she’s no fucking me. 

And Kelly Sue kicks another ass.

Posted 2 months ago



Now who’s a name dropper, Stephen?

Posted 2 months ago


Shirley Grant Management : Mason Fleisher on set of his new Comedy Central promos with Tom Hiddleston as Loki from Thor: The Dark World!

Posted 2 months ago
Will your employers provide you with a free Xbone since Tomb Raider is only going to be on that platform?
Anonymous asked


No, I already have one, and I just heard about the exclusive about an hour ago. :(

Wait, what? New Tomb Raider is Xbox-exclusive?

My Taco Bell PS4 is sad…

Posted 2 months ago


We all have a story to tell. Share yours with The Outrider Review. We bring together the stories, art, and souls of the LGBTQ community to help spread understanding and connection.

I know this wouldn’t work for everyone but kind of a lovely thought!

I wish transition came with a light show, the destruction of a few hundred Daleks, and a full life to live as our real selves…



We all have a story to tell. Share yours with The Outrider Review. We bring together the stories, art, and souls of the LGBTQ community to help spread understanding and connection.

I know this wouldn’t work for everyone but kind of a lovely thought!

I wish transition came with a light show, the destruction of a few hundred Daleks, and a full life to live as our real selves…

Posted 2 months ago
The thing about Mrs. Doubtfire though is the character isn't supposed to be trans; nor is it purporting trans stereotypes really. It's a guy in drag trying to get closer to his kids. If you're gonna claim that's transmisogynistic, you might as well do the same for drag performers in general
Anonymous asked



dont wory i do. like 95% of drag queens are terrible people who throw slurs around and appropriate all sorts of cultural stuff. Hell, a ton of drag personas also throw around casual ableism, addiction as a source of amusement, low respect towards sex workers, etc. Drag culture is incredibly toxic.

I understand the character is not meant to be trans, but it relies on trans stereotypes for jokes throughout the film. And the film knowingly utilizes attitudes belittling trans women as a selling point.

No disrespect intended to the recently deceased, but I’ve always felt similarly about Mrs. Doubtfire. I have no doubt (haha) that Williams and the producers *meant* well, but it always came across as unfunny, and trying for humor at the expense of others (“lol look at this idiot in the dress that thinks he knows how to be a woman!”) Ugh.

I adore Robin Williams. I think he was nearly always very, very funny, exceptionally clever, and a master of both scripted and improvisational comedy. His comedic timing was second possibly only to Bill Cosby, and he exceeds Jim Carrey on his best day for use of voice and mannerisms in his work.

Mrs. Doubtfire is a terribly offensive film. It’s built on a transphobic joke, and is painfully misogynistic to boot. It’s the worst film Robin Williams ever acted in that I’ve seen, and the one glaring blemish on an otherwise stellar career.

So of course it’s the most-aired movie in America.

Posted 2 months ago



"Don’t say you hate your fam-" No.

"Omg you should love your fami-" No.

"Be grateful they’re your famil-" No.

If you have been bullied, hit, teased, put down, hurt, lied to, or hated by your own family; you don’t need to justify how you feel. You don’t need to explain yourself. You are allowed to hate a family member or dislike a family member if they’ve given you a reason to.

This is so fucking important.