#and i love uma shes one of the white women i like

[rwrbmovie]

BTS of #RWRBMovie: Uma Thurman as Ellen Claremont + her accent (under the cut)

>> BTS: Taylor on working with Uma

via Variety:

In McQuiston’s novel, Claremont reads as an alternate reality version of Hillary Clinton, but López strove to differentiate the character from current female politicians. “So many women in politics are asked, it seems, to sacrifice whatever their idea of femininity is in favor of an exchange for power,” he says. “It was so important to me that this was a woman who could hold both things — that she could be a powerful woman who also presented her own femininity in the world without apologies.”

From Gay Times:

For López, it was important to cast an actor who “you would actually vote for president”. “We did a list of all the people that we thought would work in this role and Uma was always at the top of it,” he reveals. “We sent her the script and she wanted to meet with me, which was great for me! I figured, even if she doesn’t do the movie I get to have a Zoom with Uma Thurman.”  Thurman was heavily involved in the creative process from the beginning, arriving at her and Lopez’s first meeting with “so many thoughts about the character”. “She had actually studied the script. We both realised that we were interested in the same thing,” continues Lopez, which was telling the story of a woman who is the president and a mother, “who is powerful but retains her sense of femininity”. The director highlights the harmful trope “in American culture” of women in power being “asked to deny their femininity”. “Both Uma and I were interested in creating a woman on-screen who did not feel like she had to make that sacrifice,” he says. “Once we realised that we wanted the same thing, it became very easy for her to say yes, which I’m grateful for.” 

ML via Collider:

From the day I first encountered her, as a moviegoer, I’ve just loved her. It was a real blessing to have her there with us. She came to this film with the exact same set of desires for the character that I had. We had a lot of conversations about how, in American politics, women in power often have to sacrifice their understanding of their own femininity, in order to attain and hold onto power. What was most important to her and I was that Ellen can both be powerful and maintain her definition of femininity for herself. I included Uma in conversations about costume design, production design, and of the oval office set. When she walked onto the set, I have never encountered a more prepared actor. She understood, implicitly. She already understood why every piece of furniture was chosen for her. She understood why every article of clothing was there. It was a master class in prepared acting. She really rose, and she brought everybody’s game up.

ML via OutSFL:

I adore her [Uma Thurman]. She was so very happy to be in this movie, which was so wonderful. She really understood Ellen. She and I had so many wonderful conversations about her before production. I involved her in a lot of costume design decisions. She was really wanting to understand this woman holistically.

>> UMA'S ACCENT

via Variety:

“Red, White & Royal Blue” was already a few weeks into production in the U.K. when Thurman reached out to Lopéz so the director could hear her perform as Alex’s mother, President Ellen Claremont, for the first time. McQuiston envisioned Claremont as a fiery Democrat from Texas, so Thurman worked with dialect coach Tim Monich on a buttery Texas drawl that has become one of the standout features of the film. “And I was like, ‘Uma, it sounds great,’” López says of their first Zoom conference. “And she says, ‘Are you sure?’ And I’m like, ‘I think so.’ But I was also very distracted. Then she gets on set and I finally listen to her. I’m like, Okay, we’re good, we’re good. We’re very, very good.”

ML via Windy City Times:

Uma came in so prepared and so eager to be there. She was happy to be a part of it and we just had the best time with her. It was a very happy set and that is thanks to Uma in many ways, too. 

#rwrbedit #rwrb movie #red white and royal blue #rwrbsource #uma thurman #ellen #taylor zakhar perez #tzp #bts #rwrb bts #rwrbbts #*

[starrylayle]

The SGE Movie —> Racism, anti-Semitism and More.

^^^

Holy fuck there is so much shit to unpack here it’s not even funny.

Okay, starting with the casting.

Will you guys shut the FUCK up about Agatha being Black. Sofia Wylie’s beginning to see the comments and she even had to make a statement about it. I understand people’s concern over Agatha’s self-image issues being cut out and how, visually speaking, she seamlessly fits in with the Evers. Yes, that part is frustrating — I wish the directors had made more of an effort to make Agatha stand out — perhaps being too masculine, too goth, too scruffy, or etc.

So many of you guys say that the solution to this, to Agatha’s ‘ugly’ arc was too cast a white actress. First of, all those fancasts y’all are choosing are fucking models — so no, the problem is not Sofia Wylie being too pretty, it’s about her being Black.

Second of all, if a non-conventionally attractive woman of colour had been cast as Agatha, I just KNOW there would have been even more racist backlash. Like, idk know what kind of world y’all are living in… but u do realise being white is a big part of the beauty standard? So many women of colour feel ugly just coz they are woc and surrounded by skinny white girls. (btw this is not me saying that white people can’t have self image issues — they def can — but with woc it is more of a racist systemic issue).

Again, just to reiterate, the directors/crew could have made more of an effort to make Agatha stand out, visually and personality wise — like they did when she was in Gavaldon. However, they were too busy making sure that Agatha looked like the pure embodiment of beauty and femininity in every shot, so a lot of that story arc was sacrificed. BUT, as unfortunate as that decision was, it was not because Agatha was Black. Far from it, actually.

Before I move on to the anti-Semitism, I just wanna talk about Anadil’s casting briefly. Would have I preferred for her to be cast by an Albino actress? Absolutely. Albino actors deserve more representation. Look, the casting directors did try, they set out a casting call for teenage actresses with albinism but couldn’t find any. Perhaps an argument could be made that they could have tried harder, which is fair. However, most of the people I see complaining about Anadil’s casting, fancast a white, non-albino actress in place. How is that any better? IMO, that’s far worse — as it would seem like that the casting directors would have gone with what seemed ‘close enough’ and providing zero representation. I’m happy with Anadil’s casting and loved Demi’s performance (wishing she had more lines tbh 😭😭). I hope that in the next movie, now that more people will know about it, they can hire an Albino actress for another role? (Perhaps Princess Uma? That would be cool).

Okay, now moving onto the antisemitism. Why — just why did they do that. In case you didn’t realise, as Sophie was turning into a witch and becoming more ‘evil’, she basically she became an anti-Semitic caricature. This is 2022 — I thought we had left the whole ‘evil is when long crooked nose’. Look, I’m not Jewish, but as some one from a middle-eastern background, I remember watching this moment with my family (who have long crooked noses btw) and we all cringed. This is 2022, why the fuck did they decide keep that anti-Semitic stereotype, I don’t know, but we have to hold the crew accountable.

I don’t know if this was Soman’s decision as I don’t remember it being in the books — however either way they could have easily just made sophie turn old and stuff. (Actually, now that I think about, that could be bordering ageism. Why does evilness have to be depicted through physical appearance anyway? Is there no other way to portray evil? Man, we are really screwed up as a society.)

Anyways — Can we please not be racists/anti-semites/bigots? Please?

#the school for good and evil #sge movie #school for good and evil #sge #agatha of woods beyond #sophie of the woods beyond #representation #the school for good and evil movie #my stuff #racism #sofia wylie #if you were one of those people I discussed #please don’t attack me #just take the time to reflect on why you feel the way you do #anyways #tagatha #just in case #sge movie spoilers

[what-if-nct]

i’m probably going to get so much hate for saying this but, i don’t think changing ariel to be black was necessary tbh-

i wish they kept ariel white and then introduced a black character as a friend or something — but not like the token black friend like how shows like the proud family (for example) did to dijonay but a character that has a personality and an engaging backstory.

i would imagine a black girl with gradient pink hair with natural big curls that would go up to about her shoulders, wears purple bra and fins and would love to sing since her family were a tree of talents with her little brother being a math genius, her big sister being a great cook, her mother being a great dancer and her father being an awesome actor. they’re like one of the most famous families under the sea making them the same level as ariel since she’s also quite well known in the sea universe.

and then ariel- idk- gets tired of people seeing her as a celebrity and wants to be seen as a normal fish until she meets the black girl, that we’re going to call sasha, and they could relate to each other to what they had went through.

yeah i can sense the black twitter from here but before people say anything, i am actually black myself so i’m saying what i think should happen since it was supposed to “retell” the story of a princess in life action

(lol i’m scared)

I understand where you're coming from and actually the Little Mermaid cartoon series had a black mermaid who was deaf. Also I'd say Dijonay was less a token black character cause it is a mainly black cast she is more so like the personification of every black stereotype in one, plus the colorism in the proud family but we're not going to get into that. I'd say Andre from victorious was a token black character.

I personally feel it doesn't matter either way, like if they made Ariel White, Black, Latina, Asian, Polynesian it's really not a big deal and doesn't matter either way. Any choice is a good choice and I think Halle was chosen for her talent and also she has a very ethereal Disney princess face, But I remember watching Brandy's Cinderella, I had the vhs and me and my sister would always watch it in our playroom. And I think it is just nice to see classic Disney princesses in different ethnicities.

And the interesting thing is in the Brandy version, Cinderella was black, The prince was Filipino, and his parents were black and white and the stepmother was white but had one black daughter and one white daughter and as a kid I never even questioned it at all, it didn't matter, and I think getting to that place of anyone can be anyone and race not even be included in the deciding factor is a great place to be.

Disney even did this with the descendants, they decided to make Cruella black and her son Carlos was mixed. , and Ursla's daughter Uma was black, they didn't need to but it was just a nice choice. But with all of the white princesses except for Merida they're not attached to a specific culture, there stories are very adaptable to anyone. But with Pocahontas, Jasmine, Mulan, Tiana, and Moana their stories are tied to their culture, even Merida, her story is very tied to her culture as well. So obviously they shouldn't change in the live action version.

Also Toni Braxton played Belle in the beauty in the beast on broadway and Keke Palmer played Cinderella on broadway because they were just the best women for the part and I think that's all that should matter. Like when people were upset that Zendeya was MJ in spiderman when I can tell you she was simply the best woman for the part, Zendaya is such a great actress, I think it's just something that really doesn't matter and is just a nice choice.

But I do agree that there should just be more well rounded black characters and even more princesses of color I know disney releases a new disney princess every five or six years but give us more princesses of color, a princess from Brazil, from India, and more asian, Black, native and middle eastern princesses who don't have to fight or spend most of the movie as a damn frog, let them just , be pretty and sing to animals too. I'd also love that.

#not nct

[jeffstincotingz]

Happy birthday, Uma Karuna Thurman.

Jeff Stinco meeting Uma Thurman while he is dressed up like her character, Beatrix Kiddo from Kill Bill, is the most wholesome thing you will ever see on Tumblr. Spoiler warning now, it never happened, unfortunately.

If only there was a Jeff Stinco version of Kill Bill that was made about Jeff Stinco killing only just men with beards with his guitar and he saves the women and children from dying and they just survive the entire movie to the end of it all, I will so love to see that film once it finally hit theaters soon. It would be called Kill The Beard.

Just imagine dressing up as your favourite actor or actress from a movie they were on, you meet them for the first time, you finally get hugged by them, and you most certainly will get your autograph signed by them. That would so cool for you to do in real life!

Jeff Stinco dressed up like Uma Thurman's character in Kill Bill while meeting the Uma Thurman herself and hugging it out with her, is the most down to earth, and the most wholesome thing anyone should always do when they meet their favourite movie star for the first time.

It sucks that the image she posted to her Instagram account came in black and white, so I couldn't find a colourised version of the photo of Jeff and Uma together. Same goes for the one when they were younger and they were holding a koala bear in both of their hands.

Either way, I still love this image dearly close to my heart (I'm referring to the second one) and it's the best photo edit Noku Pireleis can ever make. Very iconic, right?????

Anyways, here is a height comparison made for Jeff and Uma. You will be so shocked and surprised to find out that she is way more taller than him:

Just adding this awesome video at the end of the post, if you want to see a better understanding of what I'm talking about here :) Enjoy!!!!!

#jeff stinco #jeff stinco is beautiful #make jeff stinco a singer again #if there's a bearded man in the photo replace him with jeff stinco #happy birthday uma thurman #uma thurman

[scenics]

do you think kill bill is worth watching? i want to watch it because of chiaki kuriyama's character but i really hate that director... and i'm also worried about the handling of asian characters

i used to like that movie when i was younger but then i grew up and realized how fucked up it was. every person of color in the movie is a plot device meant to be brutally killed by the pure white woman savior. it’s also just weird to me that the movies been glorified as a classic martial arts revenge movie w pure use of an asian backdrop and the classic white woman as the pure heroine?? pretty white girl goes to asia to learn and discover and take??? sound familiar???? i’d say just watch for lucy liu and chiaki kuriyama they’re great in the movie !!!! it’ll be a 20 minute movie if u just skip every scene that doesn’t have them (and don’t watch lucy’s death scene it’s just...)

#asks #also a great score and music place unfortunately #and i love uma shes one of the white women i like

[jadelynlace]

ink drinker / modern vikings au, Ivar x F!Reader

author’s note: long story short, I wrote this series but used an OFC that I use for most of my longer series. many thanks to @victoria-styles for her suggestion of making it a reader / Y/N story. major plot tweaks as well.

synopsis: Ivar was only meant to be a friend with benefits, but he caught feelings for his older brother’s best friend: you.

pairing: Ivar x Reader

✎

“Not into the million dollar bullshit?” You heard a voice beckon from behind you, stepping forwards with a light to start the cigarette that hung between your Oxford red stained lips.

“Crawling through the depths of hell sounds more pleasant than being here,” You grumbled back through the cloud of grey smoke slipping past your lips. You watched the figure next to you light up his own cigarette, taking note at how his fingers curled around the stick as he laughed with your words. “I’m only here to calm Hvitserk,”

“And he’s not even here,” He said back with a laugh, blue eyes peeking to grab at yours.

“Structure fire across town,” You tell him. “Told him that if he’s so inclined he can bring the truck over here and spray the party with the water,” Ivar laughed at that.

“Fuck, you clean up nice. And I love a woman in uniform,” He teases, smirking as you do too. It went silent for a second between you two, sticks of chemicals on your lips as his eyes did not miss the way your dress hugged at your body, how your stilettos were secured around your ankles. He couldn’t pull his mind back quickly enough before he was imagining them over his shoulders, your lips that curled around the filter and how they might look around his cock. How you were the first person who gave him complete reign over the ink he was going to forever mark your body with.

“Let’s just say I’d rather slice my own tongue off and choke on it than admit to that, actually wearing something other than the blues, and enjoying it,” You groan as the man next to you laughs, a sick snicker coming from his lips and you find yourself smiling too. “But you don’t clean up half bad yourself, Ivar,” You tease back as your eyes catch sight of the roll of his sleeves, how he maneuvers the buttons and pulls the white fabric back to show the first indications of sleeved out arms.

“Where do you want to go?” Ivar asks, taking the cigarette from his mouth to stub.

“Excuse me?”

“I didn’t think I fucking stuttered,” He started in challenge. “You said you didn’t want to be here, so where would you like to go?” He asks a quick swipe of his tongue over his lips as he cocks his head to the side awaiting your answer.

“Alright, Ragnarsson, you’re fucking on,” You laugh back, crushing your own stick with the spike of your heel as you follow him.

*

Hvitserk was a man who took most things with a grain of salt, others came with a few shots of whiskey. He had seen the darker side of humanity, and you were right there with him when he did. Your interest in becoming certified for emergency medicine had followed you since your high school graduation, and you were right on the top of the sign up sheet when class enrolled. And you stayed on top when your graduated. Company firings and how it lead to short staffing, moving of some onto better things lead to an opening you leapt on and found yourself paired with a paramedic with blonde hair and a smile that could cause most of the human population to smile back. It did not take long for a friendship to strike up, even outside of the station and the blazing sirens. His humor, his companionship kept you sane, kept the darkness of the horrid calls at bay, you two grew close, quickly.

Even if company policy allowed the romantic attachments between co-workers, you still couldn’t find yourself catching some sort of feeling to Hvitserk. He was a friend, your best, and it was left at that. You trusted him with your life, you’d gladly lay on the stretcher and head into the emergency room as long as he was the paramedic who was treating you.

Sigurd came next in the line of his brothers, an obsession with music, and nothing but the best that world could offer. He had an artistic hand, Hvitserk drove you towards his place of employment for permanent artwork to your liking and that was how you met Ivar. He watched you tip toe through his portfolio, but if Sigurd had talent, then Ivar was a God. You had never seen such movement on skin where he would trace his ink. You didn’t want to pull a design off of the internet and ask Ivar to put in on you, it seemed almost rude, instead you told him where you wanted it, and told him to go crazy. He looked at you in such a way, thinking you were joking. Perhaps too un-educated in the world of tattoos, but you held your ground and he was proud of such a feat.

Work was all too consuming, trying to leave space for time other than the blood pressure cuffs and patient history. You’d spend time out on town with Hvitserk, his brothers soon in tow, a party of their own that they could become. You were shocked Hvitserk hadn’t caught on, that none of them had, how long you had been spreading your legs for Ivar in secret. Petty bantering between the two of you, the others making bets to see whom would kill whom first, but that chatter went towards the foreplay that would follow you two into the bedroom. The most shock you came to realize was how Ivar was always there in the morning—it took a lot of you to convince him to leave, but he always mumbled something about five more minutes just for holding you.

Perhaps it was how your days were spent doused in testosterone, one of the three women of the entire station, entire company, leaving you to be able to handle yourself around men with egos far bigger than the dicks they would carry. That was how you were so seamlessly integrated into the Ragnarsson brother’s, struck up like the sister they never got. That was how Ivar found himself thinking about you far more than a friend with or without benefits would, how tightly you snug around his cock, how you look and sounded when you came for him, how you had pulled more from him than any other woman he had slept with. How you made him feel appreciated and not like a man who needed to navigate himself with his dick to get what women he wanted. How you didn’t toss him to the side after the first fuck. You drove him crazy and he didn’t have the words to admit to it.

“If I hear a grumble from you one more time Ivar, I am going to kick you out of the shop,” Sigurd spoke from his spot at the front desk, thumbing through a magazine of industry products as Ivar hissed a curse at him in reply. “What the fuck is you problem?”

“Y/N,” Ivar answered all too quickly.

“What? She hurt your ego too bad last time we were out? Didn’t stroke it enough to your liking?” Sigurd teased.

“No,” Ivar said. “She didn’t stroke me enough to my liking,” But Ivar said the words far too quickly before he could catch them.

“Are you fucking her?” Sigurd said, sitting up in his chair. “You two are fucking?” He laughed.

“Shut up,” Ivar grumbled, a toss of his pencil flying to grace the space Sigurd was at.

“She cut your dick off? That the issue?” He teased. “Hvitserk’s going to go ape-shit, dude,”

“That’s why we’re not telling him yet, right Sigurd?” Ivar said “Right, Sigurd?” He repeated with an extended finger at his brother.

“How long have you two been fucking—I need to know that, for science, and because I am still in shock. How did you—her? She’s too good for you Ivar, you have to be careful there,”

“Two years,” Ivar remarked and Sigurd nearly fell out of his chair.

“Fuck! You ask her out yet?”

“We’re not talking about this—or telling anyone else, right?” Ivar said again.

“Yes, sir,” Sigurd nodded, a fake salute from his hand as his mind was still scrambled.

“Don’t call me sir,” Ivar snapped.

“Yes ma’am,”

*

You’d never forget the call that came through dispatch a month after you and Ivar had started to screw around more often than fuck buddies would. The address sounded familiar, but Hvitserk was the one who made the connection it was the shop. Ink Drinker was a parlor bathed in black; walls and dark floors that made the rooms look like they never ended. The art displayed belonged to that of Ivar, of Sigurd, of the few others who came and went for their tattoo work. The owner had wooden sculptures of his own to line the spaces, but you had only ever seen the man through his social media.

You feared suddenly something happening to Ivar, or Sigurd, readying yourself for the sight that may hold them there, but it wasn’t them. A patron had passed out to the sight of the needles, sending Ivar to sour his entire mood at the weakness for something he found so simple. His flash of anger changed suddenly when you and his brother showed up, jumping from the rig in full expectance to see either sibling in a bloody mess after fighting to their death.

“I called and specifically asked for Hvitserk Ragnarsson and his partner,” Sigurd teased as the teenager came too, apologizing and still paying Ivar for the appointment he was too scared to cancel.

“I was hoping it would be a trauma call, you finally snapping and kicking Ivar’s ass,” You answered back, smirking at Ivar as he rolled his eyes in distaste. Ivar’s eyes climbed your whole body as you worked, the uniform marking your hierarchy and importance as you took the patient to the hospital. His text message not ten minutes later almost made you head back just to smack him.

“You’re keeping the uniform on next time we fuck.”

Tags:

@smileysam13579 @dreamtherapy @heisentwerk  @angelofthenightposts @ill-skillsgard @youaremyfamiliar @unbetaedimagines @kathryn-jane @readsalot73 @skrsgardspam @lihikainanea @victoria-styles @queen-sarang   @anastasiaskarsgard @andmyannabellee @youbloodymadgenius @apenas-mais-uma-pessoa @walkxthexmoon  @flowers-in-your-hayr @peachyboneless @heavenly1927 @theanxietyqueen17 @trip2themoon

#modern vikings #modern vikings au #modern vikings fanfiction #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar lothbrok fanfiction #modern ivar lothbrok #modern ivar ragnarsson #ivar ragnarsson #ivar ragnarsson fanfiction #ivar ragnarsson smut #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar x reader #ivar x you #ivar x y/n #ivar au #hvitserk #hvitserk fanfiction #modern hvitserk #hvitserk au #hvitserk ragnarsson #sigurd #modern sigurd #sigurd snake in the eye #modern Sigurd Ragnarsson #sigurd ragnarsson

[tigers-eyes-26]

3

Warning: The first people who interact with Panchito and Jose are racist. Yes hanging around people because they are “exotic” is a form of racism.

Disclaimer: I do not know Spanish or Portuguese ( I do know Tagalog and English) I do not have a deep knowledge of small towns in Mexico and Rio Brazil. I have read a few fan translated comics of Ze Carioca. There isn’t a lot of extra things about Panchito so my headcannon/AU is that he is a rancher on a small ranch town. This isn’t my best work. I just wanted to write out how Panchito and Jose met Donald in college. This is just for fun. 

************************************************************************************

“Sorry, no espanyol”

“but I’m speaking English!?!?”

The girls walked away faster as if they didn’t hear him.

The rooster slumped. He shuffled his cowboy boots. Was coming to the United States a mistake? No, he bunched his callused hands into a fist. No, he can’t let his familia down. He clasped his overall straps and flipped his head back to face the sun. He felt the sun fill him with family pride. He could imagine his family cheering him on with gritos. Unbeknownst to him he was cheering out loud. Everyone in the collage lawn walked away annoyed by the joyful noise. Everyone but a white Duck. He saw the exchange and felt the pain of not being understood. The Roosters cowboy country style reminded him of time spent on his grandma’s farm. This was someone that he had something in common with.

After getting to know Donald, Panchito was amazed at all the places he has been. Panchito was born and raised on his Papa’s ranch just like his Papa and his Abuelos before him. He had what would be considered adventures but only in his hometown. He was the star of the town rodeo, he fought off wolfs from his cows, he was the youngest deputy in town because of his skills with pistols and rope. Going to college in the USA was the farthest he had gone from home. He never thought about what was in Africa, or China, or Greenland. He enjoyed listening to Donald’s adventures he learned a lot about the world around him from Donald. Donald had a lot to learn from Panchito as well. Donald had been to Mexico, but He was just a visitor. Panchito also taught him the music styles, dance styles, dating, words, everything he enjoyed about Mexican culture was joyfully shared.

************************************************************************************

Jose had girls around him constantly. he was confused. At home he had to fight and beg and scheme for women to notice him. He was confused about US culture, but no one explained it to him. He would ask the girls questions and they would just laugh and say, “I love the way you speak!” He knew they didn’t really care for him. He started to distance himself from them until his heart yearned for human interaction. He was an entertainer by heart and therefor would entertain them to a point.

There was one event that made him the most confused about the USA. A girl took him to see a Football game. He loved Football! He would play all the time with his chums in Brazil. He would try every year to sneak into the big Football games. He got ready for the game by dressing up in his football jersey. There were men with big shoulder pads and helmets. What were they? The entertainment? He finally realized they were the players. “Ah the USA must be really concerned with safety eh?” Then he saw the “ball”. “QUE!? That thing can’t even roll!” Then the player where holding the ball with their hands!?? “Onde já se viu uma coisa dessas?” He couldn’t stand it. He needed answers and these girls were not giving him answers! He stormed out of the game.

Why did he come here? He loved Brazil! Things made sense in Rio. He missed everything about home. He missed the constant music that flowed though out the streets of his little burgo. Jose was looking at his feet but only now he realized he was taping his foot. Oh! there was music playing. He could hear a quiet guitar playing outside the arena. He followed it. There was a white duck sitting under a tree playing.

Jose cleared his throat, “excuse me, you are very good.”

“Thanks.” The Duck said flatly and continued strumming.

Undeterred Jose sat on the opposite side of the tree from the Duck. Jose looked around to see if anyone was walking by. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an umbrella. “Mind if I -as you say- ‘jam’ with you?” the Duck just hummed. Jose put the umbrella to his lips and produced a flute sound to compliment the guitar.

Donald didn’t remember if the Parrot had a flute with him or not. He continued to strum while he peaked around the tree to see the Parrot was blowing on an umbrella. Upon closer inspection there was no holes on the umbrella, so the only explanation was, “Magic!”

The strumming and flouting stopped. Jose stood up quickly, “Magic? Hahah no, my friend, Magic isn’t real.” Jose was sweating and nervous laughing. he spoke quickly. “This, this is just a, what do you say? A novelty toy.” Jose moved the umbrella round so Donald couldn’t get a closer look at it.  Donald snatched it out of Jose’s hands and inspected it. An alarm was going off in Jose head. He had told his Avo he wouldn’t expose the family. Not everyone took kindly to magic. Jose dove for the umbrella. They tussled each swiping and snatching and hitting and pulling and pushing and reaching. Finally, Donald had pinned Jose to the ground one hand still held the umbrella. “Ha! No holes it has to be Magic!”

Jose could see he was out matched, he turned to his other tactic begging “Please please! I beg of you don’t take it! It’s a gift from my Avo! She would kill me! Please! It’s not that great anyways!”

Donald let Jose up. “It’s alright calm down, I just wanted to see.” He handed the umbrella back.

Jose hugged the umbrella tight.

Donald rubbed the back of his neck. “Sooooo your Avo gave it to you?”

Jose looked at Donald dubiously.

Donald held up his hands non threateningly “Hey, I’ve been around magic since I was born.”

“O que? You a magic user too?”

Donald shrugged, “Na I don’t like to use it that much, much rather use my fists.” Donald flashed a smile at Jose and continued “But if it wasn’t for magic my uncle, grandma and grandma would have been dead years ago.”

Jose loosened up. “ah just like my Avo made herself poção de remédio.” Jose mimicked making a potion.

“Ya…. That kinda stuff is not for me.” He looked at the umbrella. “So how does this one work.”

“Oh that’s easy,” Jose took the umbrella and held it like a guitar. “Just think of the tune in your head and let it flow to the umbrella.” Jose started a strumming motion and the sound of a guitar flowed out of the umbrella.

“Woah! Let me try!” Jose handed the umbrella over. Donald held his fingers like he would on the frets of the guitar and strummed the invisible strings. A strum came out. “Now this is magic I can get into.”

Donald’s cool and aloof persona melted around Jose and Panchito. Jose felt it a relief he could talk to Donald about a part of his life he didn’t usually share. Heck he hadn’t even told Nestor, his best friend, but then again Nestor was a superstitious sort. He felt like he could talk to Donald about anything. More importantly he felt he could ask Donald anything.

“You are… wise, Yes?”

Donald shrugged. “It depends.”

“Why do they name the Football here Football? They don’t use their feet!”

Donald laughed but tried to explain to the best of his ability. These friends taught each other much. Eventually Jose learned to enchant Donald’s hat into an accordion. They got to know each other more than just what country they hailed from and shared a dream to become famous for the music they poured their souls into.  

#donald duck #dt17 #ducktales17 #The Three Caballeros #jose carioca #panchito romero miguel junipero francisco quintero gonzalez #college #ze carioca #magic

[darling-i-read-it]

Supposed Fiancé Part 4 (FINALE)

Mob AU

Series Masterlist  

Al Pacino x reader, Robert De Niro x reader, also including Uma Thurman, Emilia Clarke and Rachel Weisz

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: multiple people dying, crying, being shot, blood, cops, crime, guns, killing in a church (i think thats it but if it isn’t let me know! 

Author’s Note: DUDE! I’m so happy with how this ended. I really hope you guys like it too! If you made it this far I am super thankful because I loved this whole series. If you enjoyed it my ‘City Corner’ series is similar! Thank you loves and enjoy this blasphemy 

I’m using the actors to play a role I have created. This is not based off of real life. 

Songs: while writing the series i listened to ‘numb’ by meg myers and ‘pretend you don’t see her’ by the latin casino all stars 

(not my gif)

You couldn’t believe you were here. You couldn’t believe that somehow the world had made it to this moment without combusting from confusion because you very clearly were confused. 

You looked in the mirror at yourself but it didn’t look like yourself. You didn’t know who was in the mirror right now. It certainly wasn’t anybody you knew.

“You look stunning,” Rachel whispered. She fluffed up your wedding dress and you shook your head, looking over at you.

“You look stunning,” Rachel whispered. She fluffed up your wedding dress and you shook your head, looking over at you.

“So do you,” you told her. It was the truth. She was wearing a white gown that looks vastly different from yours. In picking out the bridesmaids dresses you picked all white so Al got the message you didn’t care about the wedding as he might. 

“Are you ready?”

“No.” 

Your mind lingered on the kiss you had with Bobby the night before. You hadn’t been able to think of much else. When you were a kid you never imagined on your wedding day you would be anything else but in love. Now here you were, staring at a stranger in the mirror, wearing a dress you didn’t pick out and thinking about the lips of a man who was not waiting for you at the end of the aisle.

You picked up the bottom of your much to heavy dress and walked toward the door.

“You’re going to do fine,” Rachel promised. You shook your head, swallowing hard. What did this wedding mean? The death of the women you were? Anyone you wanted to be? A loving family?

“I wish I was marrying you,” you said in all earnestness. You at least liked Rachel. She laughed.

“We had this conversation.” She looked over at you. “Are you thinking about Bobby De Niro?” she asked. You nodded.

“I think I love him,” you said weakly. She pursed her lips.

“I’m sorry.” 

She had to go and walk down the aisle before you. 

You stood at the back and the traditional bride song started to play on the piano. You took a deep breath and started the much to long walk down the white carpet. The place at least looked nice. Al looked ruggish at the end of it, like he didn’t quite belong. He even looked drunk.

You glanced at all the eyes on you. Your family wasn’t there, they had gotten rid of you when you first started stripping. You hadn’t even told them. You didn’t know anyone there but Rachel. Your eyes scanned for Bobby even though you knew you wouldn’t find him. 

Still, you hoped.

You came up empty.

You got to the arch and stood underneath it, facing Al. He gave you a shrug and a smile. You gave him a weak one in return. 

The man between you started to speak but you turned him out. You repeated the words back to him absentmindedly.

“If there is anyone who would like to protest this marriage please say so now or forever hold your peace,” were the only words you caught. You wanted to raise your hand. You did not. 

Bobby did not burst through the church doors. 

You were alone, a girl and her hopes gone.

“Do you take this lawful-”

“I do,” you said meekly. 

“Do you-”

“I do,” Al said. 

“You may kiss the bride.” 

You kissed him and he kissed you and that was that. The words ‘i now pronounce you husband and wife’ hung in the air. You were a wife the second your lips left his.

You put a smile on your face and Al grabbed your hand, turning to the crowd. 

When you took a step forward the church doors burst open. Your eyes went wide and the crowd stopped cheering. 

“Shit, did you kiss already?” Bobby asked. You looked around and nodded quietly. The doors swang shut behind him. 

“Yeah,” you said dumbly.

“Fuck.”

Al had the heart to laugh. 

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” Al asked. Bobby gestured to his wrist watch. 

“The watch is off. I meant to be here a few minutes earlier but as you can see-” 

“You’re late,” you said. He nodded, gesturing to you as you finished his sentence. Al grabbed your hand tighter and raised it.

“Any delusion you have about my wife will be your end,” Al said. 

“That was cheesy,” you whispered.

“Shut the fuck up.”

The doors opened again and Uma walked in, holding a gun in her hand. She pointed it at Bobby angrily.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” Al screamed. “This is my wedding!” 

“He was supposed to be at the cafe!” she screamed back, her voice breaking half way through the sentence. 

“He was supposed to be dead before the wedding!” You turned to Al.

“You sent Uma to kill him?” you asked, breathless. Al let go of your hand angrily and threw his hands up.

“You never would have known.” 

“You don’t think I would have found out?!” Uma raised her gun and people started to scatter, screaming. Eventually mostly everyone had left the room out of this door or another, except a few key players. 

“Don’t Uma,” you said. Bobby pulled a gun out of his pocket and pointed it at her. Al pulled a gun out of his suit and pointed it at Bobby. You pulled a gun out from under your dress and pointed it at Al.

“Were you going to leave that there for when I took off the garter?” You shrugged.

“I hadn’t decided,” you admitted. In the corner of the room stood Emilia, holding up a phone and recording the whole thing. She was hidden behind a large pot of flowers. They smelled terrible. 

“She was at the bar last night boss,” Uma said to Al, gesturing with her gun a bit at you. Al turned to you.

“You were at the bar?”

“So what if I was?!” 

“It was the night before our wedding!” 

You focused back on the gun on Bobby rather than fighting with your new husband.

“I’m sorry De Niro,” Uma whispered. Rachel shot before anyone else and no one else pulled the trigger. Everyone watched as Uma fell to the ground. Rachel walked out of the corner, lowering her gun. 

“Rach-” you started until another shot echoed in the room and Rachel fell to the ground. You and Al both let out a gasp of surprise as she fell to the ground beside Uma who dropped her gun, dying on the ground. 

You picked up your dress and ran over to Rachel, past Al and past Bobby. You skidded on the ground, her white dress already seeping with blood from her chest. You grabbed her hand and shook your head, already feeling the tears prickle at your eyes.

“Rachel,” you whispered and she looked up at you, a smile on her face. It was a ghost of a smile but it had emotion behind it. Love. You looked down at her. She struggled to say anything and you leaned down, putting your ear to her mouth.

“Be happy,” she muttered. You heard her last breath. You let out a sob and clutched her red stained dress. She had been the only thing about Al you had ever liked. 

You looked down at her and with your fingers you shut her eyes, brushing a piece of hair out of her face. You stood up and grabbed Uma’s gun, shooting her twice in the chest. Just to make sure she was dead. 

You looked up at Al and Bobby, wiping the tears from your face. 

You started to say something when Emilia came out from the corner, holding her phone up and her gun to all three of you as well. You didn’t even bother raising your own gun.

“I have all of that on this phone,” she said, voice shaky. She pointed the gun at Al and walked over to him. “You're under arrest.”

“Just me?” Al scoffed.

“I haven’t watched these two murder anyone. I saw you murder someone in the back of your casino. Other than that, I have papers that tie you to a drug trade and other organized crimes,” she said. 

“You’re welcome,” Bobby said. 

“You broke into my house?” Emilia asked.

“No,” he lied

“Drop your gun.” He did as he was told and Bobby dropped him as well, fear of being arrested getting to him.

Emilia put her phone in her pocket and got out her cuffs and put them on Al. 

“I don’t get a off because it’s my wedding day?” he joked, full aware that he would be out of jail whenever he pleased.

You raised your gun and walked over to the arch. 

Bobby watched you, your once white dress now stained with blotched red, drag on the ground. A cold stone look on your face you held your gun to your husband. 

Emilia fumbled for her gun but you pointed it at her, making her stop.

“Back up,” you said. She moved a step back. 

“Don’t,” Al whispered. 

You fired three shots, each hitting him in the chest. He fell to the ground under the arch you had just gotten married underneath. You walked up to him and looked down at his body, gurgling, bloody.

“You should have married a different stripper,” you hissed. 

He went limp. You turned to Emilia.

“I’ll give you what you want to get him under more charges. He was shot by Uma. I cried over my husband.” You raised your gun to her. “I’ll always know where you find you. Otherwise.”

She gulped and you took the gun from her pocket, tossing it toward Bobby. 

“You have all that on video up until I committed any crimes.” She looked down at Al. He had been the subject. He had been the one she wanted.

“Alright,” she muttered. She pulled out her card and handed it to you. “Call me soon.” 

She stepped over Al and walked back down the aisle, standing over Uma and Rachel, out of the church doors, blood still sprayed on her white button up. 

You looked up at Bobby.

“I just inherited a lot of money and a very big business I don’t know how to run,” you whispered. He chuckled, gesturing to the bodies around the room.

“Would you like some help?” 

You shrugged.

“If you can spare it.” 

--

Two Months Later 

“The box is over there!” you called, pointing behind the bar counter. Bobby nodded, walking behind it and picking it up. 

“This is the box of alcohol,” he said. You stood up, putting a hand on your back.

“Is it? Where did I put my wedding dress then?” 

“The one you’re going to marry me in or the one you married Al in?” You scoffed and turned all the way over to him. 

“I threw that mess out the second we got home that day. It had my best friends, my husband's hitwoman and my husband's blood on it,” you said. “My actual wedding dress is around here somewhere. I’ll find it. In the meantime do not open any other box, it’s bad luck.”

“Oh did Al see your dress before the wedding day?” You looked up.

“He bought it.” 

He scoffed and walked over to you, kissing you gently. You put your hands around his waist and pulled him closer to you, pulling away after a moment.

“Have you called Emilia this month?” you whispered.

“You can do it.” You hit his arm.

“I did it last month.”

“It isn’t my fault you killed your husband.”

“When are you going to stop making that joke?” you asked. He shrugged.

“Go put the open sign on and head to the casino before someone else takes it over.” You nodded and gave him a peck on the lips.

“No one wants to challenge the De Niros hot shot.” 

He watched you turn the sign over and give him a wave before going across the street and then out of sight. People stopped quickly in their cars so they didn’t hit you. Pedestrians gave you a bubble of space as you passed. 

#mob au #robert de niro x reader #mafia au

[pecocotte]

Gaga, Gwen Stefani, Fergie and third wave feminism

Using Female Empowerment as a Cover Story for Whiteness and Racial Hierarchy in Pop Culture: Interrogating the Intersections of Racial Appropriation and Feminist Discourse in the Performances of Fergie, Gwen Stefani, and Lady Gaga

Rebecca Lynne Clark Mane 2012

So today’s post is the first part of a summary of PhD Rebecca Lynne Clark Mane published in 2012 (I think she was not PhD yet), her dissertation is really fascinating but also 300 pages so this first post will be a definition of the first key term of her dissertation: The third wave feminist Icon and I will try to do a second post on her argument on racial appropriation.

So the make her argument she defines the feminist icon of the third wave in popular music and uses Fergie, Gwen Stefani and Lady Gaga as example. Although in her dissertation she uses those examples to demonstrate how those icons are using racial symbolism to assert white domination I will for now only focus on her definition of powerful woman.

Again, her definition may be controversial and many can find it incorrect, but she does not defend that those particular artists or acts are feminist rather that they symbolize powerful women and that they symbolise some ideals of the third wave. But is it undeniable this era’s media offers this image of sexy powerful kickass women such as: hit girl in the movie Kick-ass, Uma Thurman in Kill Bill or Lara Croft.  Not to forget that the three artists did take distance from the term feminist on several occasions, in an interview Lady Gaga mentioned that she could not be feminist since she love men -as if it could prevent being a feminist-, but she later stated that she indeed as a feminist but a very feminine one. Gwen Stefani said she believed in all the main feminist ideas but she was not one. This detachment from the term ‘feminism’ is called ‘postfeminism’ many feel that the main goal of feminism have been achieved, therefore feminism is no longer required and the remaining one are ‘crazy’ (I have simplified) not to be mixed up with another ‘postfeminism’ which defines the idea that the world is no longer binary and that femininity and masculinity are no longer notion that defines individuals.

Where the author claims that those artists are feminist icons even though many may disagree, she defines feminism as powerful girly femininity juxtaposed with toughness and strength, women in charge, and sexually public/open– all circulate under the sign of female empowerment and/or feminism even if they are not universally sanctioned as such by popular opinion. Again the main objective is to observe how feminism is used as tool to hide/forgive racism not whether or not those are ‘good’ or ‘bad’ feminist.

For her the 3rd wave fem. Is defined through four main ideas:

1.       Hyperfeminine

First she has to be ultra-feminine, she likes ‘girly’ stuff (the colour pink, crochet, makeup,..) and there is no shame anymore. It is a reaction to the second wave, where girly was prohibited, anything considered as feminine was forbidden, in order to be taken seriously women had to have manly interest, otherwise they would have been considered weak. One should not have to be masculine in order to be powerful or respected, it is a sort o reappropriation of their feminity, and the three artist have all jungled between feminine attire and masculine, Fergie was even compared to a tomboy and Gaga did a photoshoot in drag, a critic even said about Gaga ‘her make-up, outfits, hair are all monstrous deformations, for the most part, of the normative idea(l)s of female beauty.”

2.       Kick ass

The comportment has evolved we now seek for strong, ready to fight women. People rejoice in seeing women being violent Uma Thurman, Lara croft… Breaks the narrative of the submissive broken woman. Often seeking revenge film theorist Jacinda Read explain the ‘rape revenge’ narrative, the hero after a rape undergoes a transformation and seeks -a violent- revenge with which she often gets away with, almost any film that shows women beating up and triumphing over men can be read, according to Read, through the rape revenge narrative. Toughness is a characteristic of the new feminist persona, and the use of tough girl images is quite prevalent in the performances of Fergie, Gwen Stefani and Lady Gaga. Through stylistic devices such as “chola” fashion, rap, street style, and the use violence in videos such as Stefani’s “Hollaback Girl” and Fergie’s “London Bridge,” these performers produce an image of toughness. Lady Gaga has also taken up the images of toughness in the prison scenes of her video “Telephone,” through the gun-wielding militarized images in “Alejandro,” and in her biker-gang in “Judas.” More particularly, many of Lady Gaga’s videos represent the feminist revenge narrative, she routinely kills men out of revenge as in “Paparazzi” and “Bad Romance,”

3.       Public sexuality:

Again it is a response two second wave feminism which promoted prudishness, shyness humility, mostly because the main idea at that time was to be liberated from the objectification and sexualisation of women especially in the media, but some went to an extreme of almost ‘anti-sex’ saying that any heterosexual relation presents gender inequality, where male domination takes its origin. Third wave still acknowledges that objectification but refuses to be censured and on the contrary take possession of their sexuality and exposes it, celebrating pleasures, and also reclaiming its power. Reclamation of the words ‘slut’ and ‘whore’ (riot Grrls’). Rejection of paternalism “What women need from feminism, according to Baumgardner and Richards, is not protection “from men or porn” but rather to be given the “same protections men enjoy in the eyes of the law.””. Women ought to be free and not judged or punished for their sexuality. Lady Gaga also centres sexuality in her videos and performances, and erotic clothing, dance, and displays. Fergie was dismissed by feminist music critic Ann Powers writes: “As humps-baring Fergie … proves, women also seem more willing than ever to participate in their own objectification.”  fans have defended Fergie’s “look-at-me” sexuality as self-aware, it’s a way of reclaiming their body and sexuality. But again the debate is still going one on that matter and there is are complex and fine lines between slut-shaming, being sexy/sexually active, being objectified, self-respect -and the judgement other have when they use that word-, and who is to say what is right or wrong, there is no norm, no law and what may be right for one may not be for another.

4.       Drive for power:

Role of leadership, especially in male dominated environment. They are figure of ambition, authority and leadership. Closely linked to toughness, they have the ability to project authority. They are model, they encourage women to succeed in the current system so that later they can take power in politics and business for an equal pay. Those three artists are really successful, both Fergie and Gwen were the only girl in a boy band, and both had successful solo careers. Also, Gwen Stefani has her own clothing line L.A.M.B.

To summarise the third wave icon is sexy and feminine, yet tough and powerful.

[blogadrianaleite-blog]

Dona Maria e a Força da Palavra DONA MARIA AND THE FORCE OF THE WORD

DONA MARIA E A FORÇA DA PALAVRA

REMAKE

 Dona Maria seria uma das mais surpreendentes mulheres que conheci, talvez até admirasse... Se não fosse uma chata!!

Ela é uma das pessoas do qual eu me arrependo muito de não tê-la mandado tomar no cu aos gritos, e jogado pra cima dela, tudo que estivesse ao meu alcance. A velha testava a minha paciência, me enchia o saco.

Eu paciente, escutando, escutando...

Seu papo arrogante, suas “análises” sobre mim.

Ela era do interior do nordeste brasileiro, não sei qual estado.

Como ela mesmo dizia, seu pai era um negão. E sua mãe uma branca desbotada. Porém muito bonita.

Seu pai era um “selvagem”. Ela dizia que foi obrigada a assistir o irmão sendo surrado no café da manhã, por ele não ter dado o bom dia para cada um que estava na mesa. Disciplina militar em casa. Embora fosse fazendeiro.

Por causa da miscigenação, seu avô, tão branco quanto a sua filha, mãe de Dona Maria, não tinha amor pelos netos mulatos.

Já o avô paterno de Dona Maria foi escravo.

Na minha juventude, conheci mulheres, a maioria vindas do interior, que foram obrigadas a se casarem.

Dona Maria foi uma delas.

Foi obrigada a se casar com um homem que lhe causava asco.

Três anos de casamento, três filhos.

Ao perceber que sua vida, onde estava e como, se afundaria cada vez mais na infelicidade, fugiu para o Rio de Janeiro.

Aqui, já se encontrava alguns de seus irmãos. Todos queriam mandá-la de volta.

Apenas um lhe deu apoio e acolhimento.

O seu irmão caçula.

Como ela mesmo disse, era o irmão que ela mais amava. O amigo de fé, farra, de bons e maus momentos.

Um dia ele se casou. Passado alguns meses. A família foi convidada para um churrasco na casa dele.

Ela, para relembrar os tempos de solteirice e farra dos dois, preparou uma caipirinha caprichada, toda orgulhosa ofereceu ao irmão.

Ele delicadamente recusou. Alegando que não bebia mais, pois além de ser casado, ele em breve seria pai. Sua esposa estava grávida.

Quando ela me contou a forma de como reagiu a recusa do seu melhor irmão e amigo, vi que aquela mulher tinha problemas. Talvez, nesse momento, ela já fosse ou seria em breve uma escrava da bebida.

 Dona Maria, aqui no Rio, casou-se com um velho, como ela disse, endinheirado.

Morreu e lhe deixou tudo.

Falava dos seus amigos do clube, num tempo que clube não era coisa de classe média, era coisa de ricos e milionários.

Das pulseiras de ouro e cordões que usava. Das viagens que fez.

Viúva, ela sempre me falava de uma “amiga” companheira de viagem, bonita e muito inteligente. Como todos os outros, despareceram quando ela torrou toda a sua fortuna.

“Eu achava que meu dinheiro nunca acabaria.”

Mas acabou, os amigos ricos, parceiros de clube sumiram e essa “amiga” também.

Garota, não tinha maldade, não pescava o texto subentendido da sua narrativa.

Foi Rosa, uma mulher do “ramo” que me falou, assim que a viu.

Seu corte de cabelo, suas roupas, seu andar:

_Adriana, essa velha é sapatão!

 Bem, assim que ela ouviu a recusa do irmão em beber a caipirinha. Ela rebateu:

_Não dou um ano pra você está morto!

Am??

O quê?

Como??!!

O seu melhor irmão, o seu melhor amigo, o único que a apoiou quando fugiu de um casamento arranjado e infeliz, o seu parceiro?

Ela fala isso pra ele, simplesmente por ele ter recusado a beber sua caipirinha?

 O velho, não deixou apenas dinheiro pra D. Maria. Ele deixou para ela o legado dos estudos e cursos que ele a obrigou a fazer, enquanto eram casados. D. Maria falava inglês, espanhol e tinha curso de cozinha internacional.

Pobre, não ficou desamparada. Começou a trabalhar para ricos, principalmente estrangeiros, que vinham ao Brasil a trabalho.

Como ela não teve pena de condenar o irmão por ele ter recusado a beber uma caipirinha, talvez esse fosse o primeiro sintoma da sua devoção/escravidão à bebida.

Seu vício em álcool, coisa que ela nunca assumiu, pois sempre dizia que poderia parar de beber quando bem quisesse, fez com que ela pouco a pouco se queimasse com as madames do Rio de Janeiro.

No seu último emprego para esses milionários, foi demitida ao cair na piscina da mansão, totalmente bêbada de calcinha e sutiã.

A decadência foi tanto, que ela foi para lá em casa, como empregada doméstica.

Vendo que a mulher se embriagava quase todo dia, meu pai a levou pra cuidar do sítio que a família tinha. Longe de qualquer bar, boteco, de tudo.

Ela bebia álcool doméstico com açúcar...

E seu irmão.

Pobre irmão de Dona Maria.

Morreu a exatos um ano depois, por causa de um tumor no cérebro.

Ela me dizia que quase enlouqueceu após a sua morte...

DONA MARIA AND THE FORCE OF THE WORD Remake

Dona Maria would be one of the most amazing women I've ever met, perhaps even admired... If it wasn't a pain in the ass! She's one of the people I really regret not having to take her ass screaming, and thrown up to her, everything in my power. The old lady tested my patience, filled my balls. I patient, listening, listening... Your arrogant talk, your "analysis" about me. She was from the interior of northeastern Brazil, I don't know what state. As she herself said, her father was a. And your mother a faded white. But very pretty. Your father was a savage. She said she was forced to watch her brother get beaten up for breakfast because he didn't say good morning to everyone at the table. Military discipline at home. Although he was a farmer. Because of the miscegenation, her grandfather, as white as her daughter, mother of Dona Maria, had no love for mulatto grandchildren. Dona Maria's paternal grandfather was a slave. In my youth, I met women, mostly from the countryside, who were forced to marry. Ms. Maria was one of them. She was forced to marry a man who made her ass. Three years of marriage, three kids. Realizing that his life, where he was and how, would sink more and more into unhappiness, he fled to Rio de Janeiro. Here, there were already some of his brothers. Everyone wanted to send her back. Only one gave him support and welcome. Your little brother. As she said herself, she was the brother she loved the most. The friend of faith, spree, good times and good. One day he got married. After a few months. The family was invited to a barbecue at his house. She, to recall the times of bachelorhood and spree of the two, prepared a neat caipirinha, all proud offered to her brother. He delicately refused. Claiming that he did not drink anymore, because in addition to being married, he would soon be a father. Your wife was pregnant. When she told me how she reacted to her best brother and friend's refusal, I saw that that woman was in trouble. Maybe, by now, she was already or would soon be a slave to drink.

Dona Maria, here in Rio, married an old man, as she said, moneyed. He died and left him everything. He was talking about his friends at the club, at a time when club wasn't a middle-class thing, it was a rich and millionaire thing. The gold bracelets and laces he wore. From the trips you've made. Widow, she always told me of a "friend" traveling companion, beautiful and very intelligent. Like everyone else, they disappeared when she toasted her entire fortune. "I thought my money would never run out." But it's over, rich friends, club partners are gone, and so is that "friend." Girl, there was no evil, i didn't catch the implied text of your narrative. It was Rosa, a woman from the branch who spoke to me as soon as she saw her. Your haircut, your clothes, your walk: _Adriana, that old lady is a dyke!

Well, as soon as she heard her brother's refusal to drink the caipirinha. She countered: _Não'll give you a year to be dead! Am?? What is it? As??!! Your best brother, your best friend, the only one who supported you when you ran away from an arranged, unhappy marriage, your partner? She tells him that, simply because he refused to drink his caipirinha?

The old man didn't just leave money for D. Maria. He left her the legacy of the studies and courses he forced her to take while they were married. D. Maria spoke English, Spanish and had an international cuisine course. Poor, she wasn't left out. He began working for the rich, mainly foreigners, who came to Brazil for work. Since she was not sorry to condemn her brother for refusing to drink a caipirinha, perhaps this was the first symptom of his devotion/slavery to drink. Her alcohol addiction, which she never assumed, because she always said she could stop drinking whenever she wanted, caused her to gradually burn with the ladies of Rio de Janeiro. In her last job for these millionaires, she was fired when she fell into the mansion pool, totally drunk in panties and a bra. The decay was so much, she went to the house as a maid. Seeing that the woman got drunk almost every day, my father took her to take care of the place the family had. Away from any bar, pub, everything. She drank domestic alcohol with sugar... And your brother. Poor brother of Dona Maria. He died exactly a year later from a brain tumor. She told me she almost went crazy after her death...

#woords #tale #real tale #fact #curse #cursed #palavras #casamento #vida na roça #maria #caso real #praga #maldição #família #irmãos #brothers

[askauradonprep]

Wrestling AU Headcanons

Okay, I’m on break from grad school and the holidays are over and my grandparents have left so I have free time again! Let’s do this.

Today’s wrestling AU day. You want head canons or got asks that are relevant? Hit up my ask box! This AU is about this as a Descendants AU, rather than a crossover (so not the variation with the Wrestling Inspiration post with all the WWE, AEW and indie guys on it). If you want to ask questions about the inspiration post though (like why someone was inspired by someone) ask away. And feel free to ask about anyone I didn’t include in that post. Post is here:

https://askauradonprep.tumblr.com/post/186333866234/wrestling-inspiration

- The promotion is called Auradon Elite Wrestling. Yes, I know that shortens to AEW. That was an intentional reference on @riottbliss‘s part when she came up with the name for her stuff and I liked it and am using it. The one on the Isle was called Lost Kids Wrestling (again, named by @riottbliss ) but well...with the barrier down and the kids going to Auradon Prep, that promotion’s folded.

- It was named Auradon Elite Wrestling because it started as the school’s wrestling team. Then they started booking their own matches and selling tickets. Since they were the children of royalty (or at least nobility/major society figures) they called it ‘Auradon Elite’. They thought people might get a kick out of seeing these society kids throw down.

- The Isle kids started in Gaston’s fight club. People started making bets and they got to take home a cut of that cash. It was one of the only quick, relatively reliable ways to get money so a lot of them ended up there. It...focused more on creative brutality than on any actual technical skill and injuries were a lot worse.

- I feel like combining the promotions really challenged both the Auradon and Isle kids. Technical skills wise, the Auradon kids were MUCH better wrestlers. This is largely because they had access to coaches, access to more wrestling content like DVDs and matches to watch, proper diets, medical care, training facilities and things like that, but it was undeniable. The Isle kids on the other hand were fearless and willing to try anything, match gimmick wise and character wise. They were also more creative and cut better promos because their trash talk was better. Getting together really pushed both of them to do better.

- They love doing crossover events with other promotions running around Auradon. It’s just a matter of booking. Because they have so many girls though, any promotion they cross with needs to BRING IT with their women’s division.

- Unlike other promotions, where champions decorate the side plates, this promotion has the champion decorate the belts. Evie has so much spare leather lying around 4 Hearts that she doesn’t mind. Mal usually goes for purple with green accents and metallics, probably with a dragon somewhere. Evie’s are blue and red and usually have gemstones on them (courtesy of Doug’s family). Uma’s are typically teal, white, and purple and have designs hinting at water or piracy. That ‘wave that curls like a tentacle’ she likes is often a motif.

- Entrances include but are not limited to: 1) Rotten to the Core - Mal, Carlos, Jay

2) Night Falls’ instrumental - Evie

3) What’s My Name - Uma

4) The instrumental for It’s Goin’ Down is used for most of Uma’s crew.

5) Pirate’s Life for Me - Harry

6) Queen of Mean - Audrey. This one is also often used for heel turns.

- There isn’t much creative control on the talent’s part, but there’s often lots of pitching and fine tuning with the talent and a lot of the time creative is flexible for what the wrestlers want to do.

- AEW is full of rich kids so it wasn’t so much of an issue before, but the kids from the Isle kinda necessitated (in Ben’s mind) a company policy paying for travel, accommodation and health insurance. Because Ben isn’t an asshole.

- TITLES

1) Men’s Tag Team Champions - Herkie and Aziz

2) Mixed Tag Team Champions - Uma and Harry

3) Women’s Tag Team Champions - Maddy and Ginny (these two also have a habit of sharing any singles championships they win - why yes, once they got to Auradon, they WERE LayCool fans, how’d you guess?)

4) Men’s Universal Champion (their men’s world title) - Gil

5) Men’s Intercontinental Champion - Chad

6) Women’s Universal Champion (their women’s world title) - Lonnie

7) Women’s Intercontinental Champion - Freddie

8) Hardcore Championship - Mal (adopted from Lost Kids Wrestling, if you don’t think Mal loves hardcore matches you’re wrong)

9) Spotlight Championship - Evie. This title has two rules. 1) Each contest for it must be under a match gimmick that is different from a standard singles match. 2) The gimmicks cannot be done twice in a row.

10) Intergender Championship - Jay

11) Cruiserweight Championship (this title can be contested for by a guy or a girl)  - Carlos

12) Intergender Tag Team Championship - Ruby and Anxelin

[edream93]

ngl i thought the scene with harry and audrey was cute but its a seriously bad look that it could be implied he gets with her instead of uma when you consider that he always had interest in uma - a dark skinned black girl - only to go for audrey.

Don’t get me wrong, anon. I will stan Audrey and Sarah Jeffery all day! I love the character and the actress seems great! And Queen of Mean is definitely a bop!

But as you mentioned, it’s the implication behind it all, specifically in the movie of Uma being a darker skin black girl being the only one who doesn’t have a CLEAR romantic interest despite the chemistry that she and Harry had in D2 when even freaking Doug who only has about five lines in the entire movie, maybe 15 total in the series, has a song basically dedicated to him. Again, I’m always riding the Huma train but I seriously shouldn’t have to slow down, zoom in, or constantly repeat scenes to catch little hand touches between Harry and Uma. Don’t get me wrong, the touches and hugs and everything in D3 are super cute between them and I still internally squeal when I see a post about it on here but there’s so much ambiguity while every other of the big female characters gets a clear romantic instance in the movie that isn’t later played off as a joke. 

Now maybe they’re trying to show that Uma is a “strong independent black woman who don’t need no man” but the strong black woman stereotype is so damaging because 1.) it makes black women feel like they have to sacrifice themselves constantly for the sake of others, all in the name of being “strong” and 2.) the media has used this excuse so many times to not give a black woman a healthy romantic relationship. Like honestly, I don’t care who you ship Uma with at this point. To be honest, I’ve been kind of interested in seeing what a Harry/Uma/Audrey story would be like. I just want our girl to be loved and cherished like she deserves, partly for such an awesome character but mostly so that other little black girls who look like her know that they are worthy of that too. Obviously that doesn’t always mean romantic love but again, it’s a repeated problem in media and especially in most, if not all, Disney Channel Original Movies that the black girl, especially if she’s not racially ambiguous/white passing doesn’t have a clear love interest or romantic interest at all.

Like I’m actually trying to think of a DCOM other than maybe the Proud Family movie where a black girl of China’s skin tone or darker had a serious love interest. Maybe High School Musical. I’ll admit that I haven’t watched that movie in a while but even the black girl in that movie I feel like it was just a “Oh I’m the sassy black friend of the main female protagonist and it’s going to be implied that I’m with the friend of the main male protagonist”.

Anyway, let me stop. As someone in their late twenties, this is less frustration at D3 or even Disney Channel but more so frustration at the movie and TV industries in general. If you enjoyed D3 and/or liked the Audrey/Harry thing then that’s fine. It’s not my place to stop you and again, as stated in a previous post it doesn’t make you a bad person. It’s a difference in ships but I also think it’s super important for members of any fandom to be aware of our biases and why often times it’s the black female characters or darker skinned women of color who are often not represented romantically in the original canon and in the fandom as well.

#disney descendants #uma descendants #audrey descendants #edream93 answers

[griffinsandpeacocks]

Loony Two’s Writing Challenge Prompt 1: The Captain’s Heart

  Adam sighed as he walked off L’appel de L’océan, his pride and joy, well except Ben, but as far as earthly possession’s went his ship was his one true love. Ben was his son and Adam loved him more than anyone else on the earth. Since Belle had passed away Ben was really the only person he had outside the crew. He sighs as he goes about the dock his First Mate had taken Ben and he was making sure the ship was fully supplied and stocked before they left again, though first Adam would need to find them a job to do. So while Jean showed Ben the ins and outs of managing L’apple de L’Ocean, Adam was walking abroad the boards of the dock looking about for his typical contacts that gathered information on jobs. 

“Oiy, Adam, over ‘ere!” A loud voice calls. Adam looks over to see it’s the dock master Uma, who’d taken over for her father some years ago, and had a rather aggressive temperament due to her mother who’d run off into the sea or so her father claimed. She was a fine Dockmaster, and she had her own ship and crew so Adam felt no urge to argue given she kept everything inline, at least here at the docks. 

“Yes, Uma? Is there something I can help with?” Adam asks and she snickers, she nods and waves him closer as she turns to start walking away. Adam jogs up and starts walking by her, she’s roughly Ben’s age but he had known her for quite some time, her age wasn’t an issue, some might think her gender was, her First Mate was quick to deal with those fools though, luckily she kept him restrained for the most part. Harry was hot tempered and given what Adam knew of the Captain that was his father it was no small wonder he was.

“Depends on if you find his pay well enough worth it. He says he’s never been out to sea it makes him nervous supposedly like setting foot into a kingdom as an opposing Lord. His words too, I can take you to meet him if you’re interested in the job?” Uma says and Adam shrugs. 

“Depends on the pay but I’ll transport him wherever he’d like to go so long as the pay justifies the distance.” Adam says and she nods and leads him to a seedier bar on the docks and they go to a dim corner where a candle burns a blue flame and a sullen looking man sits playing with a small blue stone he glances there  way and pulls up a neutral face as he sits up hand closing around the stone.

“Dockmaster.” He greets looking wearily at Adam. Uma takes a seat and Adam follows suit the stranger wears dark colors and was on the paler side, his eyes catch Adam though, they seem to shift between blue and grey. 

“Hades. This is Adam Florian. He’s Captain of L’apple de L’ocean. He’s looking for a new job for his ship and crew and he’s been known to help transport people as well as cargo. He might take your job, I’ll leave you two to talk it over. Play nice on my docks.” She walks away and Hades looks at Adam with a curious look. He rolls the stone through his fingers and takes a deep breath.

“So she found a french man... Great...” Hades sighs looking around nervously it would seem but Adam can see this man isn’t nervous though he should be in this bar. Though the man’s name and choice to remark on his nationality makes Adam twitch.

“Is that a problem?” He asks and Hades shakes his head, then shrugs.

“Depends, it could be good or bad. are you superstitious?” Hades asks and Adam scoffs shaking his head grinning.

“Most sailors tend to be. Depends... Are you asking if I refuse to go to certain ports and waters, or are you asking if I believe in the Underworld?” Adam asks and Hades glares and his eyes flicker a fiery blue.

“Don’t mock me, Florian, you were cursed to be a Beast, I’ve been to the Moors, that fay was a grudge bearing hypocrite but if you don’t temper that pride you’ll end up pissing off another fay, or someone worse.” Hades growls and Adam straightens in his seat paling. 

“Alright... You’re well informed.” Adam says and Hades chuckles.

“I never forget a name. She was gloating how you’d be doomed to a beast forever as you were such an arrogant ass and now that your appearance matched your heart you’d be beastly forever and blah de dah... I was there for... A vacation from my duties. I’m going there to pick up my daughter. I need your help to go there so I can meet her, and get back safely.” Hades says Adam pursed his lips and leans in.

“You mean to tell me you’re The Hades and what, your daughter is in danger from who, your wife?” Adam asks incredulous and Hades laughs and smiles all white teeth and fire in his eyes. 

“No! Well, yes I am The King of The Underworld, but Perse wouldn’t hurt anyone I care about, not intentionally. Hera on the other hand... I’m married thus she thinks I should look no where but at my wife. She’s a testy one got angry being married to my pig brother. Can’t blame her but I’m already not the favorite in Olympus, I don’t need more reason for them to lash out at me.” Hades says leaning back in his chair his hair spills out of his hood and Adam notes it’s bone white. 

“Alright... Hades... I’ll humor you. I can take you to the Moors. What can we expect if we do catch attention?” Adam asks and Hades looks pale and he shrugs. He looks down and then to the side.

“That I’m afraid I don’t know. I can tell you I don’t want to go out on a ship but Poseidon agreed I could use the seas to hide Mal for a bit as that is his dominion, I just need to tell him the ship he needs to keep afloat. I’m not looking forward to this; I’ve never been out to sea. Only crossed the five Infernal rivers... I might be able to swim but I’ve never enjoyed being on large bodies of water. So my job for you captain is to get me to the Moors, then get me and Mal to Taenarum, well the cape near it... Mal and I can get to the gate I’ll take her through from there.” Hades says and Adam sees the man shift his gaze and clutch tighter to his stone. 

“Hades... Odd to see you here.” A smooth voice says and Adam glanced over to see a large tan man slide into a seat at the table hair a smooth rich brunette and sees how Hades goes rigid. 

“I came to visit Poseidon. So I’m securing a Captain and his ship to get out to sea. He insisted I come and see his newest daughter.” Hades says smooth and nonchalant. Zeus snickers and looks Hades over.

“A bold choice for him, why weren’t you at Olympus when he brought her?” He asks and Adam gets an odd itch to hit the man something in his general demeanor and bearing bothered him. 

“I was away looking into several natural disasters that could lead to an influx to my kingdom. So Adam, I’ve got plenty of wealth to give you and your crew if you could be so kind as to get me out to him?” Hades asks and Adam nods sensing Hades wants out of the conversation.

“Aye we can cast off once my son and quarter master get back after making sure we’re seaworthy. Knowing Lumiere he’ll have the ship ready in the morning and no later unless heaven and hell move to stop him, even then he’s a tenacious man, he’ll get around it.” Adam says rising and Hades nods.

“Then I’ll meet you on the docks later.” He says and Adam nods and leaves hearing bits of the conversation as he goes he can tell Hades is uncomfortable and he almost wants to stay at the least to encourage the other to be some semblance of polite. He hears several remarks on how Hades must not be very welcome here and a few more... Cutting comments on Hades in general.

It’s a couple hours later and Adam is walking back from a tavern further inland after a nice hot meal and some revelry with s few crewmen. He’s sees a few women in rather revealing dresses and passes by not interested in what they’re selling. They flirt with him but none follow, until he passes a darker alley and a lone woman steps out smiling at him with painted rose red lips.

“Hello there handsome... Care for a bit of rest and relaxation?” She purrs and he paused, she’s blocking his path forward and he sighs.

“I’m sorry mademoiselle, but I’ve a heart for only one mistress and that’s the sea. Might I pass?” He asks and she pouts.

“A handsome man like you doesn’t want any company?” She teases moving in closer and Adam moves back to a wall and leans back and away from the woman.

“I’d rather not. I’m not interested I’m afraid, my wife though she passed still holds my heart and interest.” Adam says getting agitated he fights to hold his temper down. He holds his hands up and gently keeps her at arms length.

“Ah, but surely you’ve desires? You’d deny yourself that comfort?” She asks pouting and He grits his teeth.

“Ma’am, I am sorry to tell you but you’d not get a response from me, only my Belle could. If you’ll excuse me I’ve a crew to check on aboard my ship.” Adam says and she pouts and moves back hands sliding to her hips as he turns he doesn’t expect the sudden pain in his shoulder, he bellows in rage some of the lingering Beast comes out in the roar and he turns sharply nails darkening as they lengthen to claws.

“I suggest you halt there Missy, you see I need his help and I’m not above a bit of violence tonight.” Hades says and Adam looks to see the dark stone alight in fire in Hades’ hand Adam snarls as the woman runs off and Hades grabs his arms quenches the flames and pulls Adam along through twisting paths until they’re at the docks. Uma is walking but stops staring at them. Hades speaks first.

“He got stabbed, can you help him?” He asks Uma nods and starts using her rarely used magic to treat the stab first washing it then healing it. Adam relaxes slowly and smiles at her.

“Thank you Uma, and thank you for getting me out of that Hades.” He says Hades shrugs awkward with praise he looks away. Uma helps Adam stand from the barrel he’d been sat on as Hades manhandled him. 

“So, you got uncomfortable need any other help or is it just to the Moors than the little cape of Greece?” Adam asks and Hades sighs.

“Just that... L’appel de L’ocean, right? She’s yours?” Hades asks and Adam grins wide, his kingdom and castle.

“Yes, she’s my soul, Belle’s got my heart unless she wills it to another.” Adam says and Hades paused remembering Adam’s comment to the harlot.

“She was your wife. I’m sorry for your loss.” Hades says and Adam shrugs looking at the gold band at his hand.

“She left this world a couple years ago. No need to feel sorry for me. Just kindly don’t mention it around Ben. He still misses her, I do too I won’t lie but seeing that look on his face isn’t something I like seeing.” Adam says and a man walks up long black hair and a wide grin on his face as he does a spin and flourished bow to Uma then looks at Hades.

“Hello, Dockmaster! Lovely to see you! Alright Hades, you said this was important and Hera can’t find out until you know she can look after herself so... What ship am I paying special attention to?” He asks and Adam realizes this must be Poseidon. 

“L’appel de L’ocean. It’s Adam Florian’s ship.” Hades says gesturing to the Captain and the tall tan man glances to Adam and grins.

“You’re the one that has that white stallion Phillip! Aye you’ve my word the waters will be fine and fair for your voyage. Also I’ll apologize in advance for how terribly Hades is gonna handle this.” Poseidon says and Adam chuckles as Hades shooed the other away.

The next morning Hades is near the ship looking at it nervously and he boards looking unsteady on his feet and the crew all grins and teases good naturally as they bustle about getting the ship  ready to cast off. Adam watches the sick look on Hades only get worse the further they get out until Hades is retching off the side of the ship. 

Adam hands off the wheel to Ben and goes and grabs Hades by the arm and moves him with him as he does several tasks with some of the crew who give sympathetic smiles to Hades who just tries to focus on breathing and some of the things Adam shows him. Eventually Adam has Hades actually walking the ship though he wobbles a bit he isn’t stumbling like he’s drunk and isn’t as constantly sick. 

Ben’s a great help side tracking the god and having him tell him stories of Greek myth and legend though eventually as well studied as Ben is it leads to questions that Hades wanted to avoid. He’d been spinning tales most of the day non-busy crew members would stop and listen making comments on the stories and Hades views on them. Ben grows curious and asks about the Titans and Hades goes green.

“Yes... They exist... Thankfully locked in Tartarus. I...” He turns lurching to the side of the ship and retching gasping as his head and eyes are swimming and the voices in his ears are screaming and the water below isn’t helping it’s dark and he starts shivering. Adam asks Lumiere to make some ginger tea and pulls Hades to his quarters and has him focus on knot work as typically it helped him to focus on something with his hands if he felt unwell. He talks with Hades trying to keep his mind preoccupied and Ben comes down with the tea looking sheepish.

“Don’t worry about it. Bad memories haunt you, it’s the way it is.” Hades says shrugging and Ben nods eyes growing distant and Hades winced and asks if Ben had heard of Icarus and launches into the tale when Ben shakes his head looking curious.

The next few days it’s Hades moving about trying to not get sick and the crew giving him things to do to keep him somewhat okay rather than full blown seasick. It’s only a few more days when Ben decides he’ll start an old song he used to hear constantly. It brings smiles to the crew who join in and soon everyone but Hades and Adam are singing. Eventually the crew and Ben go silent pointedly staring up at Adam who’s at the helm manning the wheel and staring forward. Hades is near him staring at the setting sun though now he’s looking over curious. Adam sighs before taking a deep breath.

“Tout seul, Tu t'en iras tout seul, Coeur ouvert, A l'univers, Poursuis ta quete, Sans regarder derriere, N'attends pas, Que le jour se leve..” Adam sings the crew and Ben smile as they burst into the next verse Adam smiling as he sings along and Hades watches smiling softly himself enjoying the way Adam looks so peaceful though how and why the man loves being out on open water Hades will never understand. The french words sound nice and Hades watches Adam admiring the man as he watches him sing. He can’t stay on his feet the sway of the ship makes him unsteady and he’d learned that just makes him sicker so he sits on a crate and crosses his arms over the banister watching the sun sink into the ocean and listening to the song until he falls asleep smiling. 

Adam later carries the sleeping god to the quarters he’s bunked in and lays him down smiling as a hand snags his the half asleep man mummers something in greek goes bright red and lets him go his eyes going wide as he quickly rolls over and covers his head with his pillow. 

“I’ll just assume it was a compliment.” Adam chuckles and goes to walk out as Hades grumbles into his pillow is hair flickering at the ends with blue flame. “Please don’t light my ship on fire.” He calls shutting the door on a muffled scream into the earlier mentioned pillow.  He chuckles as he goes to his own quarters and Hades smiles softly into the pillow. Maybe, this, wasn’t so bad. Adam laid down and chuckles the misgivings about the job at the starts gone. He almost looks forward to the next couple of days. Both men fall asleep smiling.

#writing prompt #loonytwowritingchallenge #Celine Dion I believe in You #hades/beast #decendants hades #Live action Adam #fanfiction #decendants fanfiction #PTSD #Hades is a broken soul #Mal if you squint #Ben as the sweetheart he is #Phillip mentioned #Zeus is an ahole and Poseidon is only a lill better

[bittysvalentines]

You Shine in What I Am / Mas Brilhas No Que Sou

From: @aceinhyperspace

To: @sailorsav

Fic Summary: When Whiskey turns 18 years old, he receives his Gift. But what is he supposed to do with Love? No Content Warnings. General tags: Gen (no pairing); Asexual Whiskey; Eric Bittle; Magic Au; Message: I was so happy to see that I got your gift! Your magic AUs are some of my favourite fics and when I saw that Asexual Whiskey is your jam, I just KNEW what I was going to be writing about. I hope you enjoy!!

Connor knew what love was long before he knew he was ace. It was six year olds holding hands and twelve year olds sneaking kisses because they wanted to be grown up. It was the women in movies, pining after men and demanding roses. It was his teammates in the locker room, talking about bases and the girls they wanted to hook up with after games.

Connor knew that love was something physical and scary and frankly, he wanted no part of it.

Thankfully as everyone in his grade crept closer to their 18th birthdays, the “plant boy” jokes wound down. There was much more interesting news as people got their letters.

“I can’t believe Lauren got metal-bending and I got nothing,” Adriana complained one day at lunch, sprawled on the floor of the hallway outside their 5th period class.

“You know the Guild doesn’t actually call it metal-bending.” Whiskey said into his sandwich.

Adriana rolled her eyes so violently, her head moved as well, dragging her tightly coiled hair across the linoleum. “Ugh, you nerd. That’s not the point. Pretty white girl, I wear bows even on days where there’s no football games, Lauren. She gets to manipulate metal, Connor Whisk. Me-tal.”

“We don’t get a choice, Adri. And frankly, I’ll be thrilled when I get my letter and the Guild tells me ‘Hey, Connor, you’re off the hook. Go play hockey and don’t worry about accidentally setting your college dorm room on fire with this super exciting new superpower you manifested.’”

“Give Peder a break. He’s doing much better now.”

“Yeah, whatever, Adri.”

That evening when he got home, his mother was already at the kitchen table, Skyping her sister in Brasil, hands elegantly shaping the lump of clay spinning on the wheel.

Connor loved watching his mother work- ancient techniques interacting seamlessly with her magic. Her deep brown hands skimmed the edges of the vase, feeling for form sleeping inside the unshapen material. She once told him that her Gift was so much more than moving dirt around. From the rock beds lining the back of their desert home to the red dust she could sweep away with the movement of her hand, Ana Maria Francisca da Silva Whisk saw potential. She saw the shape of things that had been and were meant to be.

“I think I always knew,” She told him a couple years ago, combing her fingers through his hair, loose and chestnut colored, like his father. “Your avô had a farm when I was little. He couldn’t keep me out of the animal pens! He and my mother would lose sight of me for a minute, and they’d find me pelado como Adão e Eva-

“Mãe!”

“-sitting in the middle of the pigs, covered head to toe in mud.” She laughed and laughed.

That day, Connor didn’t feel much like laughing.

“Mamãe?”

“Si, meu amor?”

“Do you see anything in me?”

“O que você quer dizer?” His mother stopped the wheel and looked directly at him. Her eyes were dark, warm.

“I guess…” He stopped, unsure of the words. “I guess I’m worried.”

“Your letter?”

“Sim.”

She took a deep breath, the fine grey dust covering her hands loosening, gently floating to the floor. “Is that it?”

“I don’t know. I’m just ready for highschool to be over. Jake decided to spend all of bio making uncreative jokes about cellular reproduction. And how my gift would be to clone myself.”

“Meu amor, when we spoke about you coming out, I did tell you to be prepared. People can be cruel.”

“Okay, but I thought you meant that about the bi part, not the ace part.”

A small smile flickered across his mother’s lips. Her hand reached out to touch his cheek gently. “I just want things to be easy for you.”

“Eu sei, mamãe.” Connor sighed. “I guess I wanted to know that I’ll be something more than the weird kid.”

“Meu filho. You are so much more than I can tell you. I get glimpses of the man you will be and can only be proud.”

“Ugh, gross mom.” Connor complained, his voice rising in pitch, swatting her hand away.   

“Ah! Sem graça! Deixe seu mãe dá amor quando ela pode. Amanhã você vai ficar uma homem grande!”  

“Mom!” He ran off, and his mother tossed bits of clay at his retreating back.  

-------

Connor had to fight to open his eyes the next morning.

His eighteenth birthday. The day he would receive his Gift.

His feet couldn’t even lift off the ground as he drug himself down the hall towards the kitchen.

Please don’t let it be clones. Please don’t let it be clones.

It wouldn’t be clones, Connor reasoned with himself. His whole family had natural gifts or no gifts at all. If he was lucky, maybe he’d be like his father and oldest sister, who got to live life normally. That way he could focus on hockey and school and not worry about things exploding like Peder. His oldest brother’s pyrokinesis was the coolest thing ever for approximately five minutes.

He stood in the doorway, the glass door separating the kitchen from the rest of the house an immovable barrier. He couldn’t do this. He couldn’t do this.

“Meu amor, vem aqui,” his mother called gently from inside. Her black eyes, sometimes so disarming, were as soft as he ever had seen them. Using all of his strength, he turned the handle and stepped inside.

As soon as he crossed the threshold, his mother stepped forward and wrapped him in her arms. “Voce ‘sta pronto?”

“Nunca.”

“Whatever it is, you can always decline, okay? There is no shame in that.” Her chin rested gently on his shoulder. When had he gotten so much taller than her? She’d always been a towering figure in the family, carrying them through.

“Okay.”

She stepped back, pulling the letter from her work apron. He took it with trepidation, carefully tearing the seal and unfolding the heavy paper.

After a few moments, most of which the words on the page didn’t register, he spoke.

“I… I think... the Guild sent the wrong thing, Mamae.”

“They’re just messengers. You know they have no control over what manifests.” His mother responded, hands already buried in the clay lumped on the wheel of the kitchen nook. “Deixa eu ver.”

His mother’s hand left gray fingerprints on the paper, but she didn’t seem to notice as her eyes scanned the letter.

“Amor.”

“Yes, mom?”

“Nao, not you amor. Amor amor.”

“I think it’s a mistake.” Connor whispered. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

Love magic.

For him.

Connor Whisk, asexual extraordinaire, whose longest relationship was with the Shane Doan jersey pinned lovingly to his bedroom wall.

Love magic.

“Connor Silva Whisk.” The letter gently thwapped across the back of his head. “I raised you better than that. Now, if you don’t want it, that’s your decision to make. But what can you do with love? That is a very stupid question.”

Fast forward six years and behold: Whiskey, collegiate hockey champion, in possession of a liberal arts degree, bartending license, and a certificate in business administration, still has no idea.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The day that Whiskey meets Eric Bittle, the lights go out.

No, seriously. The lights are actually out.

“I’m so sorry! That just, happens sometimes? I’m workin’ on it. Oh Lord. There is nothing worse than these delicate wire light bulbs, one short and they’re toast! I am so sorry. You know, they make LED versions of these now? Not that I’m telling you how to run your business but-”

Whiskey only stares at the man in front of him, blonde and tanned from the summer sun, already on his knees gingerly picking up shards of glass with his bare hands, words running at a thousand miles an hour.

Poetry, early readers, maybe a teacher? Needs something smoky to drink… whiskey… no, red wine. I have the perfect Zin in the back.

His quick scan of the other man’s desires only takes a second or two. His needs sit close to the surface, close enough that he was probably on his way to ask Whiskey himself.

“If you want to help, at least use a broom. I don’t need to clean up your blood too.” Whiskey says from behind the bar.

The young man freezes, hands already filled with glass. “Well, I suppose that would make much more sense.”

“Yeah, probably,” Whiskey says. He reaches out with a metal bucket. “Here.”

The glass clinks as it’s dropped into the bucket.

“I really am sorry about that. I’m Eric. Eric Bittle. I live up on the third floor. And uh, I have a gift for electricity. Well. Usually. Sometimes unfamiliar systems don’t react well to my emotions. Have you read that fantastic book by Derek Nurse? That’s what caused this whole mess in the first place.”

“Connor Whisk. People call me Whiskey.”

Somehow, even after their disaster of a first meeting, Eric becomes a staple of Whiskey’s bookstore-slash-bar. Most nights find Eric in the corner sofa, a glass of red wine in hand, grading papers for the kids he student teaches.

On a slow night, Whiskey sits next to him, reading through new releases he wants to stock.

Eric’s head hits the back of the sofa.

“Why can’t I just become an electrician?”

Whiskey snorts. “That’d be too predictable. Also, you clearly adore children. You’ll make a great teacher.”

“You’ve never seen me with a child in your life, Connor.” Eric groans.

“Trust me, I just know.”

Not that Whiskey was ever planning on telling him how.

------

The day that Whiskey meets Jack Zimmerman, the lights go off again.

This time metaphorically.

It’s a busy Wednesday night, which puts it right between a quiet Saturday and an overwhelming Monday. Ford and Tango from upstairs are arguing over a game of scrabble; Ransom laughs at them from above his post-rotation beer, hand on Holster’s knee. Dex and Bitty are finishing a diagram of the best way to rewire the bar lights to save energy while still providing ample lighting. Nurse helps stack chairs after his poetry reading. A couple other folks float in and out of the store, occasionally stopping to ask a question. And Whiskey is hovering around all of them, making sure everyone is satisfied.

The seating area is small, so when a stupidly handsome man wearing a godawful black tracksuit walks in, everyone notices.

Grad student… maybe? He’s here for history? Queer Theory? Well, he’ll get more of the latter, but he’ll see that out soon enough. No alcohol. I’ll make some tea in the back after I check in with everyone.

“Excuse me?” Eric leans forward, bridge of his nose crinkled in interest.

“What?” Whiskey asks, picking up the empty glasses on the low coffee table.

“You just started talking about Queer Theory and tea?” Eric says. “I wasn’t hallucinating was I?”

Dex shakes his head. “Nope, I heard it too.”

Whiskey’s stomach drops. “Uh, nothing, just restocking the shelves.”

“If you say so.” Eric is completely unconvinced, but is too polite to push the subject in public.

Yellow.

The echo of desire floats from among the shelves. The new customer’s hands rest on a book, the cover a bright canary, and Whiskey smiles.

With that, he leaves Eric to his drink to help the customers that are reclining against the bar.

About 5 minutes later, the customer had taken a seat at one of the couches in the reading corner, setting the book on the coffee table between him and Bitty.

“Do you mind?” Whiskey, hears him ask. Bittle’s face is flushed.

“Not at all! On second thought, let me move my mess so you don’t have to be competing with… whatever this book is-” Eric waves animatedly at the pile that had been forming in front of him.

Whiskey barely restrains himself from snorting.

Bittle hurriedly shoves his work into a stack and then escapes to the bar counter, “Good Lord, it’s a good thing that man dresses like a russian mobster because if he paired his face with nice clothes, it’d be over for the rest of us.

Ford, two seats down, snorts into her coffee mug.

“This is a small shop, Bits.” Whiskey laughs, “Careful with the volume.”

“Honey, this is New England. I travelled 3,000 miles to be unabashedly loud and gay. This is a queer bookstore for God’s sake.”

“You can say what you want, just know that the object of your unabashedness can probably hear you,” Whiskey says.

They look over to the man in the corner and sure enough, his eyes are on the both of them, a deep furrow in the middle. The intensity of his gaze and the concerned frown on his lips seem to indicate anger. But Connor feels something else.

It hadn’t been the book.

Oh.

OH.

Yellow.

It smells like Quebec in the summer (had he ever been to Quebec?), and feels like a long car trip, singing into the wind, stealing ears of corn from the farmer’s field, grilling it over a campfire at night. There is expensive whiskey and cheap beer on his lips, elation.

Yellow like the afternoon sun reflecting against the pond in winter. Blinding and exhilarating, flying with no sense of direction and no hope of stopping.

“You.” Whiskey whispers.

He can’t hear if Eric responds, his head still filled with desires not his own. It takes him another moment to come into the present, shaking his head subtly to remove the extra noise.

“Connor? Are you alright?” Eric says, gently laying a hand on his arm.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just caught up for a moment.”

“You sure?”

“Just a side effect. I try not to go that deeply but some people suck me in.”

“Oh I knew it! You are a telepath!” Eric whispers excitedly. “Did I tell you my PawPaw once-”

Whiskey cuts Eric off, running an embarrassed hand through his hair. “No, no. I definitely can’t read people’s minds. But, uhhh. I can see what they… love?”

Eric’s eyes widened. “My Lord.” There’s a reverent sparkle in them that Whiskey can’t explain. “You have a Love Gift. That’s something special. Much more special than electricity.”

Whiskey rolls his eyes. “Sure. Really special. I can’t do anything but tell what drink someone wants before they order.”

“It’s a real shame you think that way, Connor.” Eric shakes his head. “Well, now I know how you’ve managed to draw us all here like flies to a sty.”

“Isn’t it flies to honey-”

“Think about it. All of us were floating around, not from the same place or backgrounds. Some with gifts and many without, but now we’re here. Together. That’s because of you.”

Eric saunters back to the couch, oblivious to the distress rising in Whiskey’s chest.

“Hey, Ford. You mind watching front of house for a second?” Connor manages to say before he loses his breath completely, slipping into the back room before receiving a response.

The phone is clammy in his hands, but, like clockwork, she picks up on the second ring.

“Amor?”

“Mom.

“Que está acontecendo, filho? Você ‘tá no trabalho?”

“Mom, I did it again.”

There’s no sound on the other end of the phone for a brief moment. When his mother’s voice comes back on the line, he feels his breath release.

“Okay, I can talk now. Tell me everything.”

“Well, there’s a group of people that come to the store a lot. And I like them, mom. I like all of them. But Eric-”

“That’s the Southern boy, right?”

“Yes Mom, but Eric found out about my Gift today. And he said that everyone is here because of me. It’s my fault. It’s like college all over again.”

“Did he say he didn’t want to be there?”

“No but-”

“Did he say anything about being in love with you- romantically I mean.”

“No, that’s not-”

“Then this doesn’t sound anything like what happened back then.”

Connor takes a few deep breaths. “Mom, I don’t know what to do with this Gift,” he barely whispers into the phone.

A few more seconds pass.

“This may not be my place. You are a grown man now and can make your own decisions. But my love? You need to get your head out of your ass.”  

Whiskey stops, shocked. “What?”

The voice on the line is firm, like the earth she manipulates. “I am your mother. I would give you the world, make it kind and easy. But I can’t. You told me, all of seventeen shaking years old that you were bisexual and ace and I let you make the choice to tell others on your own. You received your Gift and kept it on your own. And then when you transferred out east and graduated and started your own business- you did that on your own too. If you want to live the rest of your life away from others, separated by your fear, that is a choice you also make on your own.”

A deep sigh breaks the tension across the line and when his mother speaks again, her tone is gentle.

“I am here for you now, whatever you need, but that won’t always be true. What happened in college was awful, amor. Love magic is a powerful, dangerous thing. But you are not that scared young boy anymore. You are building a new home with new people. And that requires you to love, filho. Love. Love yourself and others and let them love you too.”

Whiskey feels the wet lines running down his cheeks before he realizes he’s crying.

“Thank you mom. I love you.”

“Eu te amo também. Agora, faz uma decisão. E chama-me mais frequente, eu sinto falta da sua voz.”   

When Connor comes out of the back room a couple minutes later, he does so with his Gift wide open. And the hearts of the people in the space are so bright, he can’t even see the lights.

#whiskey #fanfiction #bittysvalentines #bv2019 #omgcp

[dxscxndxnts]

hmmmpt @ people still saying uma doesn't need a man but i havent seen a post where someone says that about mal who gets shipped with legit everyone. people love the "friends turned to more" trope and we have a straight up example of this in front of our eyeballs with uma and harry with the books and d2 but somehow everyone wants marry? i never understand people shipping characters who hate each other. like shipping rey and kylo ren when you have the cuteness of rey and finn?! maybe its just me

Dear Sweet Anon, I want to personally thank you, from the bottom of my heart, for this TEA!

What’s interesting is that, after branching out to different fandoms, I’ve found that Uma is not the only one subject to this kind of treatment. The other main example I’m thinking of at the moment is Josie McCoy from Riverdale. People love to say “This Black Female Character needs to stay single to show that she is an independent woman and black girls/women need to see that on television” and then they call themselves #woke for thinking like that but it’s actually a very backwards way of thinking.

Yes, black female characters should be empowered and strong to show well for the audience, but this is possible without denying them the simple pleasures in life like a significant other. When people say the above bs about characters like Uma and Josie, I’m just like “bruh they can be strong AND date someone?” Like y’all tryna tell me that a sword-wielding badass and a sassy show-stopping soloist don’t got gentleman callers lining up for them? Yeah, bye Felicia.

I’ve said this once and I’ll say it as many times as I need to:

Uma may not NEED a man, but she sure as hell can WANT one! (and we know damn well that she can get one)

Here’s the thing with shipping people who hate each other: If there is a writer who can make a good enemies-to-friends-to-lovers plotline, I say go for it. We love a good tension filled fic or dramatic movie. However, ships like Marry, that have no build up and no real backing besides a cast-made story that is about as valid as my headcanon that Gil has always wanted a pet turtle, are not my cup of tea. 

What really irks me is the fact that Marry is actually kinda popular, especially with the younger kids. They say “omg they date irl so they HAVE to date in the movie” bc they don’t know any better. It’s not even that they wanna see vicious Mal and throat-slitting Harry. They just wanna see caring Thomas and sweet Dove (I’ve deduced this after reading some Marry fics and being like…wut????) I also have this little theory that this a bit of white-washing in action (I think), where you ship the hot guy with the character you identify with/look like/love the most. Here’s the thing: I look at Marry and I look at Hevie or Harlos and I’m like “Wow they all got similar amounts of screen time yet Marry is a genuine threat to Bal and Huma.” Like Harry flirts with everybody as a scare tactic to show dominance and all these kiddies bother to say “uwu so in luuuv” when he threatens to hurt Mal just bc he touched her hair with a pointy object? Yeah, I’m gasping from the tension (not).

Then there’s this double-standard bullshit where they say “Yas Mal x Harry for lyfe” and then they immediately say “omg Ben and Mal are totes cute #trueloves.” Seeing as those are the two major male contenders for Uma as well, I’m just sitting here like…da fuk? Mal can’t have anything and everyone! This is again that self-projection of one’s self on that character they most identify with/look like/have as a fav. Hell, let Uma be happy! (Now I want someone to write a cute and/or domestic and/or sexy Ben x Uma x Harry fic just so I can enjoy it in spite).

Anon, let me assure you that YOU ARE NOT THE ONLY ONE! You’ll find tons of Descendants fans on Tumblr who cannot stand Marry, and we will all write essays (just like the one above) on precisely why. It’s not just because we love Huma (which we do), it’s also because we appreciate Ben’s sweet little heart AND we know a potentially bad situation when we see one.

Alright, hope you enjoyed my rant. Thanks for leaving an ask!

#descendants #descendants 2 #descendants 3 #disney descendants #uma descendants #uma daughter of ursula #Uma deserves beTTER #anti-marry #harry hook #huma

[1dreality]

Why The Normalization of Stan Culture is Unhealthy

How a tweet about Ariana Grande made me realize the extent of harm this subculture has done.

Haaniyah Angus

FollowJan 27

The way in which pop culture is consumed in the 2010s is unlike anything else we have witnessed since the dawn of pop culture itself. Social media has created a hyperreality wherein the distance between regular individuals and their idols is slowly shortening, or at least appearing to. This is most obviously seen within ‘stan Twitter’, a section of Twitter dedicated to celebrities even to the most harmful lengths.

I want to make myself clear here: I don’t hate stans or stan Twitter. Throughout my teenage years, I was part of this subculture in various ways, whether it be K-Pop, One Direction, Justin Bieber, 5SOS and — ironically enough — Ariana Grande. Through ‘standoms’ I was able to meet people and make friends in a way I couldn’t in real life. I felt as if I were part of a community, that I finally belonged. But, as I got older, I realized the obsession I had wasn’t healthy, and that’s why I worry about the direction that many young people seem to be heading in. Their dedication to strangers in order to boost their own self-esteem feels almost like a car crash ready to happen and, for some, it already has.

But, though this is undoubtedly a phenomenon of the social media era, in order to understand what stan Twitter is and its origin, we need to travel back to a time before Twitter even existed.

Currently, on Urban Dictionary, a stan is defined as an overzealous maniacal fan for any celebrity or athlete, stemming from Eminem’s 2002 hit, Stan. In the video, Stan wants Eminem to make contact with him but Eminem doesn’t reply to his letters and, due to this, Stan thinks he has been ignored. As revenge, Stan ties up his own girlfriend, stows her in his trunk, drives along a rain-soaked highway and drives off a bridge. Eminem gets around to responding and says how thankful he is for the support, only to understand that Stan is obsessed with him and then, finally, to connect the dots and realize that he’s the man who killed his girlfriend.

What many psychological professionals would describe this as is a parasocial relationship. This is not a made up disorder nor an armchair diagnosis, but simply the definition to a relationship many people have with famous figures. Parasocial relationships are one-sided dynamics in which energy, interest and time are extended towards the object of obsession whilst they (commonly a celebrity) remain ignorant of the existence of the other.

But, though critics and think piece writers often frame them as a symptom of young people’s generational rot, behaviours such as this are not new in the slightest. Before the boom of social media, obsessive fans had existed for a long, long time — such as during the Roman reign, where people collected gladiators’ sweat out of admiration; or the Victorian era, when hordes of fans forced author Arthur Conan Doyle to revive his star character, Sherlock Holmes. The Beatles had a superfan plotting to murder John Lennon, Michael Jackson had to prove that he didn’t impregnate a stalker, and Uma Thurman received a card from a fan that had a drawing of an open grave, a headstone and a man standing on the edge of a razor blade.

This is not an exclusively Western phenomenon either. In Korea, this type of idolatry exists heavily within the K-Pop industry. Sasaeng fans are over-obsessive fans of musical idols, to the point that they engage in stalking. According to Yahoo Lifestyle, Korean idols have been filmed, had their phones wiretapped, and even had fans breaking into their homes.

What makes this new era of ‘stalker fans’ different, in my opinion, is the admiration that seems to be growing towards such behaviours. Today, even as a joke, the terminology of ‘stalker fan’ or ‘stan’ has been the latest object of amelioration — where a word’s negative meaning is elevated to a positive one.

Last year when culture writer Wanna Thompson received a hateful DM from rapper Nicki Minaj and decided to share it, the following backlash shone a light for many in regards to this behaviour. Minaj clapped back at a comment Thompson had made on her Twitter account and Thompson brought it to her timeline, shocked that a celebrity of that magnitude could do such a thing. According to an interview with the New York Times, Wanna received hateful messages via Twitter, Instagram, Facebook and even email; including insults to her infant daughter and suicide bait. The majority of these hateful words came from stans, who seemed to have a soldier-like sense of duty to protect Minaj. It was as if they would do anything for their idol.

Though Wanna and Nicki’s beef was recent and particularly notorious, one could pick any of all the major stan groups and they’d find that they all exhibit this need to protect their idols from critique, even when it is valid. Which brings me to the point of this article.

We need to talk about Ariana Grande.

It was last week when Grande released her song ‘7 Rings’ and, as a longtime fan of the 25-year-old star, I was ecstatic. I loved the song and felt like she was finally blossoming into the artist she could always be. That was until it was rightfully pointed out to me that Ariana was walking along a tightrope that many young white pop stars toe — and often fall off of. Like many ex-child stars before her, Ariana was rebelling against her ‘good girl’ image by appropriating Black culture.

As stated by writer Erin Dyana:

Viewing her 7 Rings video after seeing her come up in real time throughout the years has left a bizarre taste in my mouth and I’m not sure if there’s anything that can cleanse my palate of it. The video has quite literally glamorized a trap house (something she wouldn’t know anything about) while she raps in an airy voice about buying weave, being rich, and having a “stacked” ass (a lie). These lyrics and visuals aren’t fitting and belong to a Black woman, period. It’s inauthentic and corny to me that she felt the need to cherry pick from Black culture to make something that’ll sell and get clicks.

As much as I love Grande, I couldn’t ignore this issue, which has plagued Black culture for years. The more I listened to 7 Rings, the more I understood why it made people, specifically Black women uncomfortable. While I wasn’t the most damning critic of Grande’s song, I immediately got pushback for suggesting that those who dislike it weren’t in the wrong. Historically white pop stars have been able to cross genres (pop to trap, in Grande’s case) while Black singers haven’t.

I was noticing that anytime someone dared speak about Grande, they were silenced by her fans and stans alike, even though some of the people criticizing Ariana might have disliked her already, or been indifferent to her, many of us truly loved her music. Though stan Twitter might have you thinking otherwise, critical consumption doesn’t negate enjoyment. I and many others are perfectly able to spot the problematic aspects of music, writing and film whilst still having fun with it. Critical thinking only makes our experience richer, and definitely doesn’t mean that we hate an artist for making mistakes.

The drama culminated when people noticed that Ariana herself was liking tweets defending 7 Rings, its music video and the genre choice. I find that, when celebrities try to defend themselves against valid critiques such as cultural appropriation, it does more harm than good. This self-victimization causes the stans to be even more defensive and thus lash out against anyone critiquing their idol. Grande seemingly felt attacked or felt that these critics — mainly Black women — were harassing her. Her fans didn’t just internalize those feelings as their own but, of course, felt the need to defend Ariana by attacking anyone who dared criticize her.

I probably wouldn’t be paying as much attention to this if I hadn’t been also a victim of the harassment her stans were dishing out online. What sparked it, you may ask! I had simply tweeted a ‘judgemental’ reaction image in response to Ariana’s Instagram story. In it, it seemed that someone had jokingly written in their Insta-story: You like my hair? Gee, thanks just bought it” *kissing emoji*!!!! white women talking about their weaves is how we’re going to solve racism. Grande then proceeded to repost that story, thanking the OP for praise, even though it was clearly a mockery of that line.

As I mentioned earlier, I’d already gotten pushback from Ariana’s stans, and I didn’t care if people got mad at me. I would have continued on not caring but, after that tweet started circulating, it got to a point where my direct messages started blowing up with fans threatening me and telling me to delete it or else. I didn’t pay them any mind since I felt that there was no reason to take their threats seriously. However, come the next morning I woke and saw that my Twitter account had been suspended. It didn’t take long for me to realize that I had been falsely reported by stans in order to get the tweet taken down.

You see, Twitter’s reporting system is beyond repair. Reports are evaluated by algorithms, making it ridiculously easy for abusive accounts to skirt suspension by misspelling slurs, and even easier for ill-intentioned people to ‘game’ the system by mass-reporting innocent users. I only got a tenth of the backlash that Thompson received from Minaj fans and yet my Twitter account, a platform on which I had built a following of 12,000 and which held contacts throughout various industries was gone. Not only that but, once I tweeted on my new account that I had been suspended unfairly, stans started to mock me and say that I deserved it for posting that tweet. A tweet that simply reacted to a foolish post of Grande’s — which, mind you, she acknowledged as such and took down.

But why do these things happen? Why do hordes of fans maliciously attack critics? Why do ‘stans’ behave in such an obsessive manner? Some say that social media is to blame and that isn’t a completely ludicrous view. As stated earlier, stans existed long before the age of the Internet, but the anonymity and the mass reach of social media allow their harassment and stalking to be extremely harmful while sheltering them from consequences. You can’t get a restraining order against an anonymous person who could use various accounts to stalk you. If stans are harassing those critiquing their favourite celebrity, blocks may prove futile, as they could make uncountable new accounts, and online harassment may continue until the aggressors get bored or the target finally gives in and deletes their account, whatever happens first.

I want to be positive when it comes to stans, I want to say hey! let these kids do what they want and oh, they’ll grow out of it, but I’m worried it may be too late. These stans have projected their own self-esteem issues and insecurities upon celebrities that make them feel whole. I know this because I did this, and many of my friends did this. Maybe obsessive fanaticism is an inescapable part of growing up, and maybe stans will come across this article and drag me for it. They will say that I’m being extra and that I just want clicks but — while I do want clicks, that’s why we’re all here, right? — I am genuinely worried. What was seen as fringe behaviour before — the invasion of privacy, obsessive fantasies, aggression and possessiveness, absolute disregard for others’ wellbeing — seems to be expected now in order to be “a true fan”. I’m worried that this has become the new norm for celebrity culture, and that the popularization of ‘standom’ has cemented this behaviour for years to come.

Edited By: Andrea Merodeadora

#fandom culture #stan culture #excellent article on the phenomenon!!