#i am suddenly remembering that post about being mexican american

[thingswhatareawesome]

¨

[secretjules]

♥Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ♥ 𝕸𝖞 𝕭𝖑𝖔𝖌!! ♥Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ♥

You feel the rough patter of rain against your skin, each drop a cool kiss from the sky. Beneath you, the cold stone floor presses into your arms, its chill seeping into your skin. It's dark and chilly and... wait a minute, HUHH?? You were just in your room! How did you get here!? You lift your gaze to a small, dimly lit cottage, tendrils of smoke curling from its chimney into the twilight sky. Suddenly, an unseen force stirs within you, and you find yourself rising, your steps guided by an invisible hand toward the cottage. Each footfall feels dreamlike, as if your body moves with a will of its own, drawn irresistibly to the warm glow ahead. You open the door, enveloped by the warmth of the... LIBRARY?!? It's huge inside compared to outside, what kind of place is this??! "Yoo hoo! Welcome to my bookshop, I'm Jules. Have a seat!"

★about me; I'm Jules (she/her), I'm currently a student with a lot of downtime, and I love to daydream! My favorite seasons are summer and winter and I have no idea what I'm doing w/ my life but I'm happy to be here :) I also suffer from severe writers block but bear with me, I love to write I swear.

★about my blog;

My blog is both nsfw and sfw. Nsfw posts will have warnings on them of course. MDNI, goes without saying. Remember, I CANNOT control your media consumption but please heed my rules with respect :D also make sure you read the warnings on my works before you read, you never know. You might dislike the content!

I am no professional writer so if you see any spelling and grammar mistakes that slipped through my editing phases, please let me know!!

I mainly write afab readers for my nsfw works, but try to stick to gender neutral pronouns. Occasionally I'll use fem pronouns if the story calls for it. As for race, I am Mexican-American so on occasion I'll write a blurb or two with a reader who is Latin (mostly Mexican). I'll gladly write for amab reader and other races, just specify in your ask!

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And lastly, I don't write for OC's nor do I write my own OC's. If anything I'd only post blurbs or "sneak peeks" of characters from personal stories I've been cultivating on my own. I.e my pen name (Jules) came from my written character "Julienne Fontana" who is a main character in a post-apocalyptic book I started writing at the beginning of the year. (its a WIP)

★¸.•☆•.¸★ ★⡀.•☆•.★

★Stuff I write for;

(I want to expand my fandoms so this list will eventually grow)

Obey me: Shall we Date? - (still finishing the game)

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★¸.•☆•.¸★ ★⡀.•☆•.★ masterlist... here! || request status... open ||

[ruby-whistler]

a lot of people seem to have the attitude "he should've just let them had what they wanted!" when it comes to technoblade and dream both going against l'manberg, and absolutely no offense, but that seems... so awfully naive to me?

[ /dsmp /rp | the other reason why l'manberg deserved to fall ]

it looks like people automatically assume "what they wanted" was good, and that everything would've been fine if it wasn't for techno and dream being in the way. so let's look at what the leaders they fought against actually wanted, shall we?

let's start at the beginning, then.

wilbur (all names in this essay refer to the characters) made l'manberg after he failed to take control of the economy by making a capitalist empire based on lies, rumors and theft.

we're starting off strong, i see.

he referred to tommy as someone to mould or build upon multiple times, saying he is naive and calling it a good thing, even mentioning people like tubbo or fundy as the "a lot of tommyinnits" he could use take advantage of for his plans. these were people who were the most useful in terms of being hardworking and passionate, and arguably the most easily manipulated.

...cool. this still doesn't tell us what he wanted to do with l'manberg, but it gives us a sense of this guy's moral compass and honesty.

wilbur, to his soldiers at least, says that he made l'manberg for freedom and protection. ...freedom to steal from people? protection from... everyone except the guy who wants to exploit them?

yeah no, i'm not trusting anything he says.

let's turn to what wilbur said out of character about the motives with which wilbur the character created l'manberg.

"you could create something that you believe is worth having power over, and because you want to have power over it, everyone else will believe it's important, even though it's not." [ link ]

...alright, well that sorts out that question i suppose.

wilbur after his revival says that l'manberg was a "useful tool" that did what it was supposed to do; it divided. since naturally i'm not going to take his words at face value if it would kill me, let's turn back to what wilbur was actually saying and doing back when he made l'manberg, because maybe his memory has just faded, right?

*rewatching the vod* is he. is he quoting tr*mp's speech about building a wall and "making the mexicans pay for it" while being openly xenophobic towards the people who originally lived in the lands and building a giant wall?

ooo boy. cc!wilbur knew what he was doing, wasn't he?

see, if you rewatch the vods and look at them as satire on american propaganda (including the hamilton references) everything starts to fall into place.

but hey, l'manberg changed, right? it grew into something more than that initial quest for glory... right? i mean, the l'manberg government wasn't even corrupt up until schlatt's reign, right?

*laughs* no.

let's fast-forward.

l'manberg... hadn't done much after the revolution. it was just a safe space, but not really. people are living just as they did before, and neither wilbur nor l'manberg really changed much.

wilbur doesn't like that, and that is clear from what happens next.

Wilbur: “Tommy, we need power.”

Tommy: “Yeah?”

Wilbur: “I’ve tried – I spoke to Fundy and Tubbo yesterday, I told them how I didn’t like the civil war they were having, you know the fights that were going on.”

Tommy: “Yeah, that huge war in our name, yeah.”

Wilbur: “I told them I wasn’t happy with it, I told them to stop. Do you remember when you started getting angry at Dream, and I tried to control you, and you ignored me? …Yeah. See, this is the thing. Tommy, I…I led the revolution, right, but the issue is, is that I sort of became the de facto President, but no one listens to me. No one cares about mine – or your – power. No one cares! To us, we may be in anarchy, you know?”

alright, so a) wilbur dislikes anarchy, that's a good thing to remember for later, b) he's pissed off that people aren't listening to him (and tommy, but he definitely just added that on to make him care about the subject) and he can't "control" them c) he sees more power as a solution. well... maybe he just doesn't want people to fight, right? he's talking about a civil war he couldn't stop, after all.

Wilbur: “We can either, Tommy, right – we can either become a dictatorship, okay…we can just suddenly decide, ‘right, we’re in charge,’ and we just start – we start asserting our dominance. Now the key thing to being a dictator, is we need to control the center of power…so we get an army going –”

Tommy: “What is the center of power? Is it like some cube, or like an orb?”

Wilbur: “The army! The army! The banks, you know? We take control of those, and then people will do exactly as we say, right? That’s the dictatorship route, right. The other route is the democracy route. Now, this route’s gonna be slightly harder, but I have a plan. So I was thinking…what better way of making people believe that you’re in charge than by having them vote for you, right?”

so, wilbur was thinking of getting "an army going" to "control the center of power" and to "take control" of "the banks". he saw this as a valid solution to people not bending to his authority.

then he turned to election fraud instead, which he puts as straight-up manipulation of his people into believing he isn't a dictator.

...what. i'm not going to praise him for that decision, that's not even the bare minimum - he's still being a prick and showing just how much he actually doesn't care about what the "people he claims to care about" (cc!wilbur's words again) want.

but let's get back to the point; so, according to all of the current evidence, what did wilbur want?

wilbur wanted glory, power and division, to be able to enforce his authority and take control of his people.

...this is what people are saying dream shouldn't have stood up against in his land and "left them alone". that is what people are saying he should've "let wilbur have" in the home he worked to protect and build for the people he cared about - and keep in mind the dream smp was pretty much an anarchy back then.

this was willbur's intentions, and the first instinct of a lot of people was to paint dream as the tyrant. that just doesn't sit right with me, i'll be honest with you.

what about techno, then?

well, new l'manberg was ruled by tubbo, who was only doing his best - truly doing his best to turn wilbur's lies into a reality. no corruption, no conflict, only a home.

but tubbo was not ever actually in charge, was he?

let's talk about post-16th quackity.

i remember the second tubbo livestream i ever saw live was him rebuilding the crater; putting up grass blocks over the top, with quackity and fundy helping him out. it was when quackity first proposed the idea of getting rid of techno.

tubbo didn't want conflict, and he disagreed at first because it went against his ideals and his morals.

that didn't pan out well for him - and i think that's enough evidence quackity was pulling the strings of the cabinet, if you take into consideration the propaganda, riling up, and overall vengefulness that we suddenly seemed to be working with.

quackity's words didn't speak louder than his actions, but they are still interesting to note; "bring this country to power" being a common theme in his motivation for getting techno and dream "out of the way".

so quackity wanted power as well, and this desire only grew as it was taken further from his reach, but ever since the 16th, it has been very prominent in the way he instructed the new l'manberg government.

techno, the local anarchist who fought (only) oppressive governments that hurt people, was supposed to not do doomsday and "leave l'manberg alone", while what quackity wanted was nothing else than to turn l'manberg back into a tool of power and control.

i'm beginning to see a pattern here.

i am all for giving people the benefit of the doubt, really; but the constant glorification of a revolution leader who did everything for his own power and benefit, and a "secretary" that committed multiple war crimes and literally harmed and manipulated innocents in his quest for power; plus the instantaneous villainization of those who stood as obstacles in their path, is a bit too much even for this fandom's standards, even for me.

i get wilbur and quackity are both silver-tongued bastards able to shift the narrative in their favor, but the grudges people will hold against characters that fight against them and the measures to which they'll reach in order to defend them is wild.

it's not as easy as "they should've let l'manberg be". the people leading l'manberg were far from innocent and had sinister intentions.

[princessnijireiki]

wait okay so I def have been hearing & absorbing criticism from other Latines & Latin American ppl about Encanto bc imo it was still very nice, aesthetically beautiful, and better than I was expecting from Disney, but yeah, white writers & directors & producers, obvs Lin has only written 1.5 musicals in his life and keeps remixing them for everything else he's hired for (Encanto is just surprising bc it's one of his most successful executions, I think he def detracted from & held back Moana's potential a LOT), and as soon as they announced Encanto my first thought was, "were no Colombian songwriters available?" bc besides him being under contract... VERY weird that he is the one size fits all "It Boy™️" for white Hollywood's take on Latin rep rn

which is to say: I am open to less than glowing reviews of it!

HOWEVER, I saw a FB post on my feed from somebody complaining abt not liking the story or songs, but being like, "I loved seeing representation for all my AfroLatinx friends & family, though!" and it irked the shit out of me, and I couldn't place why... girl... I just remembered lmao.

first of all, no she's not Hispanic, so yes that was irritating, idk that she has any Latino family in the first place. secondly, yes she adored Hamilton.

thirdly... THIRDLY. I tend to forget she did this because it was in fucking sane & completely out of left field. she's the one who asked me both to brainstorm a "nonappropriative way" to do a Día de Muertos taco themed birthday party for one of her now-ex friends... and no I am not Mexican... and no it did not occur to her to just serve tacos without doing an ethnic "theme" complete w Party City type decor & costumes. and also asked me to translate a list of chores for that same ex-friend's new maid into Spanish bc she hired someone who didn't speak English (likely to be exploitatively cheap!) and did not herself speak Spanish... which is an INSANE ASK OFF TOP, RIGHT. but Y'ALL. to this day she has yet to hear me ever speak Spanish in front of her!!! she has never heard ANYBODY in my family speak Spanish!!! she assumed I spoke Spanish, was fluent, was open to that crazy fucking request, and that I SPECIFICALLY would have strong vocab skills in fucking cleaning products & bullying minimum wage employees.

I've talked about that incident on here before tbh just because every time I remember it it pisses me off AND bewilders me bc she would rightfully be fucking offended if I said, "oh we're doing a costumed sushi, samurai & Shinto funeral themed party lol" or "oh you definitely know how to say 'scrub the shit out from under the rim of the toilet & wash my dirty panties on 'sanitize' mode, oh also you get one unpaid 15min break' in Japanese, right?" ...and bc she's Black this weird ass fucking behavioral issue of hers is also not sth that came up in Black cultural discussions, bc of COURSE that racism is not directed towards herself or the aspects of MY identity that WE have in common. but when your baseline interactions are not fucked up in that specific way (until they suddenly are), it feels really weird to get the "nice" liberal "progressive" version of being called a fucking wetback by someone you considered a friend.

and anyway yeah she don't like Encanto but she's claiming all the Black rep + not a peep on the Indigenous rep, political backdrop, narratives of trauma, the artistic context it functions within, etc (and to top it all off Yes: she graduated w a whole history degree, Yes: she literally used to work doing historical reenactments alongside Native reenactors + costumed conquistadors in one of the local Spanish cities, and Yes: she still has a job in the history & education field).

and yk, this is one of those things where as a post it started out about Encanto & the importance of #ownvoices creation AND intracommunity convos re: critique of our own cultural works outside of a white, colonial, and/or xenophobic gaze, plus, like... general things people do that piss me off lol. but the post is ending on this note instead:

in 2022 I need to get used to the idea of not only continuing to assert boundaries over how I'm treated going forward— because at my big age now, I would never let that shit fly again, but my whole life, I've endured a LOT of shitty one-sided friendships just because I didn't know I didn't HAVE to LET people treat me bad... and there was never any shortage of people who WOULDN'T have done that to me, but that internal weakness & vulnerability, like that lack of self respect + enforcing standards of that respect from others, both attracts people who like you not having strong boundaries, AND it mentally closes you off to being open to relationships that DON'T look that way, because you think it's normal to endure physical cruelty or being demeaned or being expected to demean YOURSELF to access or deserve love or companionship.

but I also need to get more & more accustomed to stepping on toes in a very big way in order to do it. like in a very permanent, soccer cleats to the instep kind of way. because it's EASY to do that with people you don't give a shit about. who have no power over you, or whose treatment you aren't numb to (tbh FB is mostly sth I use for family, so the fact that this is usually background noise should tell you she's not the only person I need to remove from my friends list lol) or who you aren't clinging to out of some unaddressed desperation, loneliness, or needing closure, hesitation to abandon invested time (sunk cost fallacy...) or just being too afraid to confront the fact that someone you'd never do that to treats you badly BECAUSE they think of you exactly as badly as they act.

but no matter what reason you have for not having done it sooner... it feels silly the first time you accept a small frivolous thing like a cartoon can be a catalyst... but even if the last fucking straw is something stupid, that camel's back ain't any less broken. so it's a hard life skill. but I accept that I need to put loyalty to MYSELF over unearned loyalty to others, especially if that loyalty was spat on, exploited, and abused. and that includes the process of getting comfortable with hurting people's feelings when you tell them no & walk away.

but YEAH whew it's surreal to process that the last nail in the coffin of resentment that this friendship is being buried in is a fairly mild post about a Disney cartoon, specifically because 1) I've spent a long time (on this website specifically, actually) learning how to outsmart my ADHD by verbalizing my anger in longform stream of consciousness until I remember what dots to connect, and it clicks— can't do that on Twitter, baby— and 2) because in the years I've known this person, I've done a lot of self-work on self-valuation (ironically: a narrative theme of Encanto), and that means the cartoon post SHOULD have bothered me BECAUSE not only is it a friendship I've outgrown, I am & always have been worth more than being treated like that. so now the next step is I just gotta get used to making that the other person's problem, because it's damn sure not mine.

[everyhowlmarksthedead]

❛ I'M GONNA PROTECT YOU ❜

with Angel Reyes, and reader as Che ‘Taza’ Romero' daughter.

Request: Oooh Could it be where you are a younger sibling to one of the guys or a daughter to either the older three? And you and Angel are somewhat good friends? Well one day you are alone at your house and you hear a noise outside and it freaks you out so you grab your gun and call your brother/dad and they are busy at the moment but they send Angel to check it out and he comes and turns out it's someone trying to break in. Anyway the guy runs away and it ends in some Smut? Then your relative comes!

BY @firebenderwolf

Warnings: brief violence described, I think.

Word count: about 1.8k

Aurora says: I wrote it listening a cover of ‘La Llorona’, by Natalia Doco, so I recommend you to listen this song while you read it. This writing hasn't been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I'm sorry about that!

Gif credits: @angels-reyes

Masterlist.

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The barks coming from the open field, next to the barns, suddenly wakes you up. Your dogs never barks in the middle of the night. You don't give them much importance, lying back on bed again, until they start to howl. Getting up and sticking your head closer to the window, you find some big figures cutting part of the wire fence with a pair of shears. Grabbing your phone, you call your father while leading your feet to his room, to grab the gun under his pillow. A nine millimeters semi automatic, enough to chase them away. Taking off the safety and raising your arms to the high of your eyes, you hang up the call. Probably, Taza will be at Vicki's house getting drunk with Bishop and Tranq, so you type Angel's number by heart. Going downstairs, your eyes looking straight forward, trying to make the least noise possible while you hear the howls and barks getting louder.

“Angel, there's two guys trying to come into my house, and my dad doesn't answer”.

“I'm going, mami. Hide and don' fuckin' move”.

The adrenaline was running through your body, and until you listened to his voice, you didn't notice that you were actually terrified. Gulping, you just hope that they don't hurt your animals. Keeping your phone muttered in a pocket, you hold the gun with both hands. The logic act would be calling the cops, but that is not an option for someone like you, nor your father. Crossing the huge and open living room, you decide to hide yourself into a wardrobe behind a folding screen that your great-grandfather made with his own hands.

Your heart races jumping inside your chest when you are able to hear their voices. Mexicans with a terrible american accent. Sticking your left ear to the door, you try to glimpse if you know them. And it is possible. Biting your bottom lip really nervous, you begin to text your father telling him what's happening, until your body shakes violently when a lot of small glasses fall to the floor after a heavy racket. The thieves are now entering into your house. And actually, they're not going to find anything. Your father is too intelligent to keep his money and valuables belongings inside there. But you're actually terrified because, yes, you know how to fire a gun; but you have never done it to defend yourself. And the only thing you can do right now is to wait. Your father is also coming with the older part of the crew after reading your text messages.

The barks outside don't cease, but your dogs are locked taking care of the animals, and you prefer it. You don't want them to get hurt. And the different noises of more glasses crashing, and different pieces of furniture falling to the floor are turning you anxious. The tears filling up your eyes and your shaky breathing don't help to stay calmed. Resting your back against the wall, with the gun raised to the door, you think that you are ready to fire it as soon as someone opens it.

Gulping a bunch of saliva, when you stop to hear them whispering curses in spanish after some minutes, the heavy steps upstairs call your attention; as the continues buzz of an engine getting closer to the ranch, speeding up in the moment it crosses the main fence. In complete silence, you step out from the wardrobe, with your trembling fingers securing the weapon between them. Checking that there's no one around you, your feet run to the main door to open it. Angel is already there. Without taking off the helmet, the man passes you away with his own gun lifted up in front of his dark eyes. Following him to the stairs, each other take up a side of the wall, waiting for them to go downstairs. The first one appears asking the other to leave, after not finding anything, but before he can warn his sidekick, Angel is already pointing at him, making him a sign to stay silent.

“Mario, where are you?” You hear from the top.

Taking off the gun from the thief's hands, you leave it over the table. But making a false move, the mexican manages to punch Angel, starting to wrestle with him.

“RUN, ANTONIO! MAYA—MAYANS ARE HERE!”

Your mind goes blank by the shock of seeing him fighting, and the weapon sliding itself over the floor, in the meantime the other man runs away jumping through a window and using the bindweeds around the house as stairs. Watching how the other tries to beat the oldest Reyes, you point at them with trembling hands.

“Leave him, pend—”.

Because of the nerves running through your veins, your forefinger presses the trigger shooting the thief by his back. A painful grunt floods the living room. Angel pushes him away, while the mexican writhes between tears and growls. Grabbing the gun from your hands, to not fire anyone else, your friend places an arm over your shoulders to turn you, giving your back to the thief. At the moment he tries to fight again, almost standing up, Angel shoots him again. Twice. Straight to the chest. Clinged to his body, you can't help but break into cries, hiding your face in his neck.

“Look at me… Look at me. Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He mumbles, leaving away the weapon, so he can cup your cheek in his hands.

You just nod swallowing, feeling his lips pressed on your forehead, before stretching an arm to the wall to turn on the lights.

“Com'ere, baby”. He says, urging you to slightly jump into him, wrapping your legs around his waist.

Your tears wet the franel shirt he's wearing inconsolably, leading his steps to the kitchen, away from the dead body staining the floor with the blood gushing out of it. Helping you to sit over the island in the middle of the place, Angel hurries up to bring you a glass of water, not knowing how to calm you down more than with leaving some caresses in your hair. You try to swallow but your throat is hermetically closed, coughing some times, while the salty tears keep flowing onto your lips.

“Did I… Did I ki—killed him?”

“No, no, no”. He says, putting the ringed fingers by both sides of your face, affected deeply by the look of horror in your orbs. “I did it, okay? You hear me? I did it”.

You know him from seven years ago, having a special connection from the beginning. You have been through a lot of shit together, but you never expected something like that happening. Putting the glass away from your trembling fingers, Angel holds you against his body, tightly hugging you, trying to make you feel somewhat better while the crew come to the ranch.

“Please… Stop crying… It's okay”. He mutters with a broken voice, not used to feel you so terrified. “I'm here, baby… I'm gonna protect you”.

“I'm sor—sorry, Angel”.

“Don' be silly. You don' have to be sorry 'bout nothing”. He chuckles softly, leaving a kiss on your right cheek. “Am your superhero, remember?”

The Reyes finally breathes when he hears you laughing with a low, low tone.

“I would never let anyone hurt you”. Sticking his forehead on yours, he closes his eyes for a second, feeling how your fingers get intertwined in his shirt.

You just nod, trying to catch back your breath, almost drinking his. The strokes by his thumbs over your skin helps to maintain a calmed pulse, beating your heart with a low pace; only focused on his touches. Your mind plays a dirt trick on you, making you lean forward some inches until his lips are being pressed by yours. But Angel isn't surprised, and doesn't have any intention to pull himself away, strengthening his fingers on your neck. Your mouths look like two pieces from a puzzle, destined to fit perfectly. Settling himself between your legs to be closer, your hands travel to the back of his head, as your lips start to move softly, tasting every single inch of his. Sliding his tongue inside your mouth to find yours, you can't help but feel a mix of feelings about it. Now you are confused about the fact that you don't know if you're doing it because of the horror lived, or because you really wanted to do it since long ago.

Running out of air, Angel continues kissing your cheek up to your temple with short and gentle gestures, clinging his arms around your body. You have never felt so serene, even if there's a dead body in the middle of your living room and the buzz of some engines are getting louder. He is warm, and seems like he smells better than never, resting your face on his chest with closed eyes. Angel's heart beat is like a hypnotic melody that could make you fall asleep just like that, as if you two were completely alone and you haven't been about to kill a man, for the first time, some minutes ago.

“BAB—HOLY SHIT! BABY! BABY, WHERE ARE YOU?”

As soon as Angel pulls away himself from you, your legs jump down to the floor, running to the place where your father's voice comes from. Your body collides with his surrounding him, breaking in crying again when you feel him finally holding you. Bishop, Tranq and Riz are also there, examining the man lying on the floor with no breath of life in him.

“¿Estás bien? ¿Estás herida, mi amor?” (Are you okay? Are you hurt?) Taza is desperate, looking at you with reddened eyes as you nod in silence. “What happened?”

“There were two men. This… son of a bitch's name is Mario. The other ran away by a window. Antonio, I think he said”. Angel explains under the gaze from his brothers. “Man… they knew where they were getting into”.

“Why?” Bishop asks.

“They knew we are Mayans”. Angel shakes his head slightly, rubbing his forehead with two fingers. “And they were mexicans”.

“I think I know him”. Tranq is squatted close to the dead body, narrowing his eyes as he studies his face. “Vatos or Coyotes, I am not sure, Bishop”.

“Figure it out and put in on the table”. Taza demands with the rage consuming him, hugging you tightly under his arms.

“Let's go”. Bishop moves his head to the main door, making the others know that they must go. “Angel, calls the guys. Take care of the trash”.

“Come here, mi vida”. Your father whispers carrying you into his arms upstairs, not wanting you to continue there. “We're going to take some clothes and leave to the club, okay?”

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[alatismeni-theitsa]

Thanks for bringing the racebending to my attention. I never considered that it was harmful towards the origin culture. I considered that it was kind of strong to claim that sort of race thing in a way, but maybe that comes from the more.. christianity? view of where there isnt a direct way that God looks, except any way the person perceives. That's probably what I thought, too, until just now reading your answer to someone else. So.. it's not okay? 1/?

I honestly want to understand as my perspective on this now changes. It makes total sense why it would be entitled of someone to do such a thing, and how it's inconsiderate of the actual origin culture that the deities come from now that I'm thinking about it in this way. So again thank you for bringing this up and answering that other anon. I have some things to revise in my head on this, as I honor Apollo and Hermes, I want to make sure that I get accurate and do my research.

I really enjoy being able to read your experiences and I think it's important as, someone outside the culture, gets to experience and understand more to be as accurate and non... whats the word... inappropriate with representing such a thing, I guess I can say. If that makes sense.__________________________________________________________

Thank you for sending a message and for listening to the opinion of Greek people. (I am not the only one with that opinion, many of my 500 followers also share the same ideas.) Anyways prepare yourself for a looooooong analysis! So, get under comfy blankets and take your tea/coffee next to you!

To begin with, there are Greeks that don’t mind but those are usually Greeks who have close contact with the American way of thinking through social media. Or some that don’t care because the approach our mythology in a kinda superficial way? I am not saying this to offend any Greeks who don’t mind the racebending. Every Greek has the right to have a relationship with their culture according to their own standards. Those people who think racebending is ok are usually no less patriots than the ones who do. However, those who don’t mind the race bending are extremely rare to find. 

If I go to my 50 y/o aunt and announce to her that foreigners depict Demeter as Black she is gonna lose her mind. I have also asked the opinion of Greeks who are not into social media or groups where Greek mythology is discussed by foreigners. When they were informed of the racebending the first thing they said was “but... why??” and they couldn’t fathom how this could help anyone. The second thing they say is “But the Gods are white!” explaining that our ancestor have depicted them as Caucasian for centuries and we, as Greeks, know no other depiction of them.

I assure you, it has nothing to do with white superiority - which is a myth anyways. Greeks can be perfectly racist to people who are pastry white :P If you racebended the gods into any other race, we would still have a problem. It’s all a matter of respecting iconography and tradition. It would be ignorant of even us Greeks to change the depiction of the gods when our ancestors were very clear in their art about their race. It was also clear in antiquity that the gods had bodies. I am in another computer and I cannot access my files, but I had a file for a philosopher who tried to argue against the public opinion that the gods didn’t have bodies. But the majority of ancient Greeks believed that the gods had a physical presence.

Also, race matters for Greeks as it does for most of other cultures. You expect Nigerian deities to look like the average Nigerian, yes? Because they were created by a homogenous Black population. You think the same for Indian and Chinese deities, yes? It makes sense for deities and public figures from a certain culture to look like the people of that culture. I think it’s common sense. Turning an old Nigerian deity into a Chinese, would’t represent the Nigerian people any more. For similar reasons, we don’t want our important heritage figures changed. (In case a warrior was described as Black African in our ancient texts, then of course we wouldn’t have a problem with keeping that figure Black).

You are correct when saying that the race bending comes from a Christian point of view. I think many hellenic polytheists/pagans/wiccans haven't managed to escape the Christian logic. In Christianity we have accepted for many centuries that saints and important figures would be viewed with different races, so people can come closer to them. For example, there is a Chinese, Native American, Mexican (different tribes), Black Jesus etc. Most of the times they are also dressed in the traditional regalia of the respective culture. It's a thing for the last 200 years at least. 

Even Greeks depicted Jesus kinda white (he has an olive skin complexionand brown hair, which is closer to the Greek standards). And this happened since the Byzantine Empire. We even call the Virgin Mary "Mother of all Greeks" (apparently Mary has a particular interest in our nation xD) We have made her into a Greek mum. But we kinda have the freedom to do this because Christianity is an international religion which is alive for the last 2.000 years, so these changes come organically.

On the contrary, almost nobody has worshipped the Greek gods since 500 AC. The religion was been dead for almost 2.000 years, until Western classicists made it a popular. Now people who have no actual contact with the Greek culture start worshiping those gods. Don’t get me wrong, I believe any foreigner can worship the Greek gods! The thing is that most of the foreign worshippers don’t see the Greek gods as part of the culture that created them, because of the Americanization of the gods in the media and the complete stripping of the Greek elements from them.

But gods are still part of the Greeks’ heritage. Many ancient traditions and myths have kept from the ancient years, we have the names of gods and the gods are still used as symbols here. Our culture hasn’t died, as many westerners (perhaps subconciously) believe. It is alive and evolving, despite foreigners usually ignoring us. So, the ideas about our ancient religion have been involving with us, becoming part of our national identity in a unique way. 

After 2.000 years of the religion’s “death”, foreigners become enamored with Greece again. But not our Greece. They become enamored with a part of our culture that hasn’t existed in millenia. They study the culture only till the Roman years and then they skip 2.000 years of evolving cultural identity and go straight to the 21st century western (west Europe/America) ideals and societies.

You can only imagine how it seems to us Greeks, when foreigners suddenly remember us again and, on top of that, they don’t become part of our culture but they insist that a part of our culture (in its ancient form) becomes tailored to their own standards. And now foreigners ingore our own point of view, because, as they have done the last 2.000 years, they keep on ignoring us :P (I mean they as a people, greatly generalizing here). Please see that post for how disconnected a Greek feels about the modern Greek religion, and the analysis that comes with it. (Link)

Similarly, imagine if suddenly the Nigerian culture became a trend in Greece and now some Greeks become interesting in the old (almost dead to Nigeria) worship of Orishas. And now they want to depict the Orishas as White, because they, themselves are white and maybe white deities reflect better the racial situation in Greece. Wouldn’t that be disrespectful, though? Not only because the Black becomes White, but because we would take an inactive worship from the Nigerians and add our own politics to it.

Our situation is also kind of special because for the last centuries every country that has become interested in our culture has abused it. They have stolen antiquities from us and northwestern Europe but also in the US have no problem having those stolen artifacts and displaying them. There is a tradition of foreigners claiming to “love” Greece but they are really in love with our ancient aesthetic and they don’t give a shit about the Greeks who preserve the culture and even die to protect their antiquities. 

So we are used to this kind of treatment and it hurts extra when it’s happening again. But we are also desensitized. For some reason a person can be dressed as a Greek deity for Halloween and we won’t bat an eye. At the same time, I see people from other cultures defending the importance of their figures, when foreigners dress up as them for fun. 

I don’t understand how we consider this disrespectful for any other culture but if it’s the Greek we don’t care. Why could this be? Perhaps because many Greeks have come to see their own culture as public property. Perhaps because it is what the prominent international media tells us and maybe because we are used to selling our culture for profit (we are a tourist country) and we only see it as merchandise. 

Let me add I am not only fascinated by my own cultures but also cultures around the world. It makes no sense to me that people want Gods of color and their only solution is to make the Greek gods Black. Have we forgotten the numerous rich cultures of Asia and Africa?? There are a ton of deities there who, if you want to draw Afrocentric art for example, will be great inspiration! It reminds me of a publishing house which put POC in the covers of western classic books (thus kinda turning the white main characters into POC only in the cover) while not promoting books from POC or books featuring POC. I think it’s counterproductive.

I think that’s all I have to say for now! Feel free to ask more questions if I haven’t covered you! And if you have more thoughts you can drop them in my ask box.

Also, one question for you before you leave. You mentioned “I considered that it was kind of strong to claim that sort of race thing in a way”. Can you explain to me why? I would like to understand better people who think this way. Then maybe I could explain more effectively to them that their race bending practice isn’t as helpful as they think it is.

P.S. Even saying “races” of people exist is considered deeply racist in Greece (and Europe). I mention that as potential food of thought. For us there are only hues of skin colors, not races, so our social politics are different. 

[lessthanthreeman]

Personal Post

I just wanted to write this because it’s been on my mind and I find it frustrating how few resources there seem to be about it. With Cinco de Mayo coming up, and Latino media being all around, I’m reminded that I’m technically of mixed descent, which to be clear, I’m pretty proud of. I was raised by my mother and her side of the family who are white through and through so for a majority of my life that’s what I identified as and where a lot of my mannerisms and cultural understanding comes from. I imagine it was probably for the best, particularly growing up on Long Island, especially considering I am VERY white passing.

I never met my father (who was Puerto Rican [though later DNA tests on myself reveal that genetically speaking he was predominantly Spanish, so white Hispanic)] and have no desire to. Literally, the extent of my knowledge about him is that he was ethnically Puerto Rican to some capacity. I genuinely believed that women just got immaculately pregnant on their own until I was 7 as I just assumed I didn’t have a father (it’s somewhat embarrassing to admit, even if I was young and how was I supposed to know? I didn’t understand what was so special about the story of Mary for a long time to put it mildly.).

I remember the night I found out so vividly. I was at a sports practice and the kids were talking about their dads. I proclaimed that I didn’t have one. One of the older kids informed me that that was impossible. I was honestly offended and went to our coach, who I assume didn’t know how to respond or why I would even ask (I don’t blame him), so he told me that I definitely have a father. Again, outraged, when I got back home I asked my mother about it who told me that I did have a father.I asked “Well if I have a father, that means I must be half something else” as she had grown up telling me her half and that the other half was “American” because I was born in America (lmao). She told me that I was Puerto Rican, which I didn’t have a problem with. I didn’t even know where that was (and I guess by some technicalities, she wasn’t wrong in saying I was “American”, just “American Territory”) so that was of little impact to me. I was furious that whoever my father was chose to have no part in my life and I felt nothing but bitterness, so when she asked if I wanted to know more about him, I said no. I still like to keep it that way if I’m being honest. I am still bitter and if the little snippets I’ve heard in hushed tones from my other family is any indication, I don’t want to know more about him even if I wasn’t.

So, I continued to consider myself exclusively white because that’s what other people considered me, that’s how I was raised, that’s what I look like and likely subconsciously because I was bitter and it did benefit me on some level. As it turns out though, my mother has a thing for Hispanic guys (a little weird I guess, maybe a bit fetishistic [I don’t know the extent and I don’t want to know so I can’t say for certain], but good for her I suppose) and she soon after got involved with another guy, my now pseudo-step father in all but legality really. He’s of Mexican and Puerto Rican descent, his father lived in Mexico (and has since gone back of his own volition), his mother (IIRC) lived in Puerto Rico, etc. He’s not deeply associated with his roots, he’s definitely “assimilated” having grown up in New York and California. He speaks broken Spanish, perfect English, and really is an American through and through, save for some more traditional cultural vestiges (which isn’t bad to be clear). He loves chihuahuas, sombreros, maracas, Mexican cuisine, Speedy Gonzalez etc. It’s somewhat superficial and a bit stereotypical, but I understand why he feels a connection to it as a very American man. It’s an easy way for him to very clearly connect to his roots, even if they’re not pieces of great cultural significance. Whether or not it’s problematic, I’m glad it gives him some of the connection he wants to his culture and it makes him proud.

Growing up around him and his kids, I felt a bit like an outsider, and I’ll probably admit, initially I was arrogant. I grew up being an only child (which definitely was a big shift to begin with) and couple that with the fact that I was still at that time an academic golden child in traditionally very (BIG quotes here) “polite” (Read: white) environments, I didn’t really jive with my brothers for a long time. As things went on though, I had my golden kid breaking point, crashed out a bit, eventually my mom moved in with him bringing me in tow, and I mellowed out a bit as I got over some teenage angst. During that time, I never fully connected with the heritage because it wasn’t mine, I’m not Mexican, but I understood and appreciated it. I can earnestly say, it is one of the cultures that I am the most fascinated and captivated by. I can go on and on and wax poetic about the historical achievements of Native peoples of Central America, their food, their ability to weather adversity, and their faith that things will get better. The culture is so much deeper than the “illegal immigrants” and cartel ties that we’re constantly shown in media, and I’m glad that to an extent things are slowly shifting to show the humanity of the people. But anyway, tangents aside, I’m still very culturally white and white passing, albeit with a better understanding of Latino cultures.

As more and more time goes on though, I am starting to feel like I’m a bit disconnected from a part of my culture and heritage, but I feel uncomfortable claiming it. Not because I don’t want people to know that I’m Hispanic, I have no issue with that, in fact I love whipping out that I’m sleeper Hispanic with a Hispanic family when people think they’re safe to be a little racist with me before I call them out on it. The reason is just because I don’t feel Hispanic enough and I’m too white, and it’s something I’ve struggled with for a while, but it becomes more and more obvious to me as time goes on. I understand that this is a really common issue for people of mixed races, particularly for those with mixed heritage upbringings. They feel adrift between two worlds and people are always looking for a way to categorize them into their preexisting schemas of how we view race in America. Some of what these people say when I’m looking for it resonates with me, but a lot of it also doesn’t. It’s not because my life is harder or I’m special or anything, but it is a very particularly niche scenario. I grew up almost exclusively white, it’s difficult for me to convince a lot of people that I’m more than white, I grew up with white privilege, and I never really had a Hispanic/Latino experience.

I want to be clear, this isn’t me crying about being white, particularly also being male, cis, and generally het. It’s been a privilege for sure that’s opened up a lot of doors that wouldn’t have otherwise been open to me, I’m sure, and I wish I could extend those same rights, opportunities, and safeties to everybody. That said, I feel like a complete outsider to those roots and feel dirty claiming them. Like I’m taking it away, diluting, or appropriating those cultural celebrations from the people who really deserve them. My experiences with the people and the culture is that they’re ecstatic to share it and have people take an interest in it. It’s generally very inclusive, friendly, and they love to treat you (or at least me as a very small boyish looking man) like family. It’s genuinely awesome. I can’t not think of myself as the generic white dude who works a boring office job and says every Spanish word with the whitest accent possible (to be clear I do work an office job, but I do a pretty solid job of pronunciation with EXCELLENT R rolls, trills, etc.) invading a space not made for me.

It’s a really complex topic, one that’s hard to fully articulate, which is what I’ve seen is a consistent thread in writings from mixed race individuals talking about their experiences. I’m friends with a surprisingly large amount of white passing Puerto Rican mixed race people and you’d think I’d talk about it more with them, but no. I probably should, but it’s a personal and somewhat intimate topic to just suddenly spring on people. For now though, I suppose I’m content to observe and appreciate Latin-X culture and people “from a distance” and amplify their voices as much as I can as a white passer.

[shuuos]

tag game!!!

i got tagged by @fandomfishbish !!!!!! :D :D :D

tag game rules: answer 30 questions and tag 20 blogs you are contractually obligated to know better !!!

here are the questions and answers !!!

Name/Nickname: bo !!! i may snatch the name kiki too idk it’s cute tho

Gender: fuck uh good question. idk like it’s related to feminity in the way a dog is related to a wolf but that’s abt it

Star sign: pisces hell yeah!!! i looked up my star chart and immediately forgot so pls don’t ask!!!!!!

Height: 5���3″ and fuck all my friends who are taller than me /j

Time: uhhh mountain standard time if i remember right?

Birthday: march 17!!!

Favorite bands: suddenly i have forgotten every band except for fall out boy ngkcsnkl

Favorite solo artist: JUST ONE?? god uhhhh cavetown maybe?? dodie??? idk man there’s too many good artists out there!!!!!

Song stuck in my head: rät by penelope scott sdncfdkn the animatic vibes are too immaculate

Last movie: god wait i remember give me a second uhhhh GUARDIANS OF THE GALAXY 2 I THINK

Last show: the umbrella academy bc my sister and i are still trying to binge watch it (and failing to get past the third episode orz we’re too sleeby)

When did I create this blog: ok let’s see i was in 7th grade i think so like.... sometime in late 2014-early 2015 i think?? idk i just know i was in middle school

What do I post: sometimes art, sometimes music, sometimes shitposts or other extremely good posts!!!

Last thing I googled: ancient girl names bc i’ve made yet another oc rip

Do I get asks: no :(

Why I chose my url: uhhh back when i was on deviantart i wanted a ~cool~ username, and i could have sworn i saw this on a username list but i can’t find it anymore so i guess i just made it up!!!!

How many blogs do I follow: 3599 holy shit

How many followers I have: 375 which is actually a lot more than i expected tbh

Average hours of sleep: about 12 hours on a good day, 4 on a bad one, i’d say?? usually i get 6-8 tho

Lucky number: 3, i guess?? that’s always what i’ve defaulted to anyway!!!

Instruments: i can play the ukulele and technically the piano but only by ear,,

What am I wearing: uhhhh shorts and the big star wars shirt my 8th grade homeroom teacher gave me for field day (i don’t watch star wars but we wanted a team uniform and her husband was a geek so she had a lot of shirts to spare sngckjfd)

Dream job: i’ve always imagined that being a freelance artist would be nice!! i don’t think i’m rlly made for capitalism tho i’d rather just run off into the woods and look at clouds

Dream trip: uhhh europe maybe?? i wanna see my friends over there,, or maybe a cross-country road trip????? idk i’ve never really thought abt this?

Last book I read: ,,,,,,, the angel experiment bc i needed to do research for some ocs

Favorite food: mmmmmmmm i’m gonna have to go with pan de dulce bc fuck yeah. sweets and bread.

Nationality: uhhh mexican-american on my mom’s side and venezuelan on my dad’s!!!

Favorite song: wh. why would you ask me this. i’m just gonna pick a song out of my spotify playlist and go: absolutely smitten by dodie HELL YEAH THAT’S A GOOD ONE!!!

Top three fictional universes: hmmm these aren’t in order at all but i’m gonna go with: maximum ride bc winge and also the pseudoscience is just vague enough where u can go buckwild with worldbuilding and i love it, revue starlight bc GOD the uniforms the stage girls wear are so fucking cool and i would kill to own one, and animal crossing bc it’s chill heart emoji

What is something you like about yourself?: if we’re talking physically, my hair is very soft and fluffy and it’s very nice, but if u mean like personality-wise, i am the funniest bitch in this house /lh

ok tag time!!!! unfortunately i have eggs eye and tea so i’m mostly gonna tag my friends and people i’ve generally talked to before:

@homotankki @aviandalek @maxtothemax @no1fan15 @procrastinatorkimberlygrey @autisticfang oh god i don’t talk to that many people uhhh if u see this feel free to use me as an excuse to answer these questions??? if u want???? there’s probably more people i wanted to tag but i have bad memory and Cannot remember

[christarango]

I Interviewed the Guy Who Went Into a Museum & "Vandalized" a Picasso.

    In 2012, a man in a suit entered the Menil Collection in Houston, Texas.  That man was Uriel Landeros, a self proclaimed artist and a student at the University of Houston.   A cell phone video captured his visit to the prestigious musuem and was posted on YouTube the same day. The video quickly went viral and set the "Art World" on fire.  That's because Mr. Landeros brazenly walked up to Pablo Picasso's 1929 painting, "Woman in a Red Armchair" and spray painted directly onto the priceless piece of art.  In just a few seconds, the Picasso was altered, hanging there with a mysterious image of a bull and the word "Conquista" spray painted across the surface.  "Conquista" is a Spanish word that means "conquest" or "to conquer".  But why?  What did it mean?  The incident pissed off plenty of people worldwide and started heated debates about the true value of "art".  I had the opportunity to catch up with the artist..  vandal.. visionary.. terrorist.  or whatever it is you choose to call him.  

CT:  Who are you, where are you from?

UL:  I am CONQUISTA, the kid who conquered Picasso, but the name my father gave me is Uriel Landeros.  I was born in South Texas in the city of Edinburg, located in the Rio Grande Valley, but I consider Houston my second home because I went to art school there.  I am a Native/Mexican American.

CT:  As an artist, can you describe the work that you create?

UL:  The Majority of my work comes from my dreams and the subconscious, that other spiritual realm that most people don’t pay attention to.  I try to write down all of my dreams and create images from them. I also use all forms of meditation to influence my work, from fasting, sun gazing, prayer and psychedelic rituals. This is the spiritual side of my work but I also spend a lot of time watching news and current events, not only on TV & newspapers but also the Internet. I compare articles from different countries, independent and mainstream newspapers and bring about a conclusion of closer truth, and then I create political art from this. I try to create a voice that is a little rawer with truth trough my images; I stopped making art years ago though all I make now is art history. But both my spiritual and political work is intertwined. The world is one, everything is connected.

CT:  How did the concept to "destroy" a Picasso piece come about? Was it carefully planned or was it spontaneous?

UL:  The year 2012 was very chaotic for America and for the world, Like I said my work is influenced from all this mayhem, I meditated for so long trying to come up with an image of power and symbology. The image of the Conquista in particular came directly from a lucid dream. Once I obtained the image of the bullfighter slaying the golden bull with the all Seeing Eye, I began to plan the heist. It took about 2 months to completely plan everything; I drew blueprints, counted guards, created exit strategies, etc. It was like a hacker stealing classified information. My plan was never to destroy the Picasso painting, if I wanted to destroy it I would have slashed it with a knife or poured acid on it. The whole point was to leave a message to create a voice and spark another fire against this NEW WORLD ORDER. Believe me I know about paint, I am a professional; I knew that the painting would be easily restored.

CT:  Obviously you pissed off a lot of people. At the same time you suddenly had lots of attention on you & your work. Was that the idea from the beginning or did it accidentally happen that way?

UL:  Not everyone was pissed off, some people were very happy with what I did, many strangers clapped @ my actions & and continue to do so. Most of the people who were hating on me where so called “artists” who have never been able to break the veil of success. I did not know the future, I did not know that galleries would take interest in my art, especially not the world renown museum “The Palace of Fine Arts, MACG” in Mexico city.  When those things began to happen, I was skeptical because I thought that the museum and galleries were working with the F.B.I. and U.S. Marshalls.  But after some research I found out those opportunities were legit, so I welcomed them.  This helped me spread the message further. CT:  What's the deal with your solo art show in Houston following the incident? Apparently you were on a live video feed from Mexico. Can you tell me about that? Also, I heard some of your own artwork was destroyed.

UL:  James Art Gallery gave me a solo show in Houston; James Perez has been a friend of mine for several years. Ironically the title of the show was “ Houston, we have a problem”.  We promoted the event saying that I was going to show up at the event, I had been a fugitive for several months & already there was a $15,000 reward for me, so I knew that the cops were going to show up, but we tricked those pigs.  As you know I was there but through live video feed “Skype”.  I was logged in from an ice cream shop in Monterrey, Mexico.  I gave several interviews and said hello to all the people that attended the show.  My work was not destroyed, James and me invited all the local graffiti writers we could find and let them tag whatever they wanted on several of my paintings. The whole point of this was to show the art community that art is not about paintings but rather the message. Fuck the paintings, this is what Picasso would say “Art is a lie that enables us to see truth” For example The Guernica was not about making a pretty painting but rather transmitting the message of the horrors of genocide and war. Art is a weapon, painting and drawing is secondary to the true purpose of the art tool.  So I don’t care if people tag or graffiti my work, what matters is the message I convey. 

CT:  I definitely feel like you have a message that you're trying to convey. What are you all about, what's all this about?

UL:  First of all fuck the NEW WORLD ORDER, once more; I did this for the people who are tired of being treated like slaves. The Conquista was an artistic metaphor with much symbology.  A lot of the art community successfully digested the message although the reactions were diverse. I stenciled a bullfighter killing a bull with the word Conquista below it with spray paint in color gold on a 1929 Picasso painting. It was a lot of work to pull the heist but all the details are another story.  This graffiti was a form of protest/activism against the government and the corrupt church, who continue to abuse their power of imperial rape. A way to tell the people conquer your fear and stand up for injustice. There was much civil unrest all around the globe in the year 2012, the year of the conquista.  Remember the Occupy movement?  The anonymous organization, the immigrant protests in Arizona, and Wikileaks?  And even after I turned myself in to the authorities, it continued with Edward Snowden and the unraveling of the N.S.A. surveillance, abusing their power to infringe in our privacy. The word Conquista is my artist name, it is also the Spanish word for conquer, in reference to the conquistadores and the Spanish inquisition, the biggest unrecognized genocide in the world, because of gold and greed, “Capitalism in its cradle”. Those who converted the natives into Christianity through murder and rape, those same characters who are now looked upon like heroes such as Christopher Columbus. The word Conquista is also in reference to so many innocent kids who got raped by priest who went unpunished because pope Benedict XVI protected them by sending them to the Vatican and granting them political asylum. This was so controversial that the pope had to resign. Conquista is also in reference to the immigration reform and the dream act that president Obama promised and never fulfilled. My people my culture and my family is bullied around society because of the color of our skin because of racism and discrimination. Just look at the laws in Arizona, its as if its still the 1960s in that state. Discriminating against immigrants when in fact the only non-immigrants are the natives/Hispanics, my people. Nobody ever asked any conquistador for a passport or green card, how was this fucking hypocrisy born?  What the fuck is going on? All this seems like a big joke, nobody in power cares to make a positive difference; they are worried about policing the world and selling guns. This is the history that I have begun to convert into my story. The majority of native culture/archeology is now displayed in museums throughout Europe as trophies of genocide, and thus disables the Hispanic community to truly understand their history & culture, because that art is not in its native land. I cannot bring back all the art that was stolen by the conquistadors but I can create new history. New art, so that is what I did for my people. The golden bull represents the stock market, wall street, gold, money being idolized, The federal reserve, the biggest deceiving ponzi scheme that enslaves us all, and the president & government working for wall street banksters instead of the people. The golden bull also represents Picasso “ the Art Beast”, he who understood that art is not a painting or a drawing but rather a political tool to educate and influence the form of thinking of the masses. I am the bullfighter inspired by Picasso to use the art tool, doing the daring move to kill the golden beast. Conquering Picasso in his own game. Fighting against this whole corrupt system. The bullfighting culture and Picasso are both originally from Spain and this is the irony of a Native Mexican American conquering a Spaniard.

CT:  Whoa, thats heavy.  You were just released from jail for what you did, that's fucking crazy.  How long were you locked up?

UL:  I was in prison for 21 months, almost 2 years.

CT:  What were you thinking about while in prison? Any new concepts or artwork created during that time?

UL:  I was a prisoner before I went to prison, but it was in that dark cold place, in that cage, when I was hungry, when I meditated, that I understood what freedom was.  If your mind is free they can never imprison you. The power of the third eye is limitless, the universe is born from it. I created over 100 paintings and thousands of drawings. I will soon publish all these works online and I will exhibit them in a prison series for my next Art show. My force of creation has only gotten stronger.

CT:  What's next for you?

UL:  I am organizing my next event.  I will soon publish the date and details.  I am also in the process of publishing a book about the entire story, all the things I could not say because of lawful repercussions, how I pulled the heist (it was some oceans 11 shit) and also my life as a fugitive.

CT:  How can we follow you and see how this evolves?

UL:  I’m always accessible through Facebook that is the social media of my choice, but I also have twitter, instagram, pinterest, photobucket, vine, we heart it and email of course. Or just watch the news or Google me.

CT:  Best of luck to you!  Anything else you want to add?

UL:  Yea I just want to give a shout out to everyone out there trying to provoke and stimulate a positive change in the world, all those free hugs people, all the honest police and every activist who has put their life in danger for the benefit of the community, especially Edward Snowden, thank you.

[x-spooks]

Just Right. (Got7 AU) Ep. 1

This is going to be a tugboat of a love storyline. Your name is Inez-Mi. Your stage name is Nyx. You’re the newest member of an existing K-Pop girl group, Goddess, who happens to be under JYP. You’re replacing the leader who left abruptly and under shh, shh, circumstances. This is my first post so if you have questions/concerns/comments please fell free. 

Sweat ran trails down the curvature of your neck, disappearing under the collar of your plain black T. It clung to your tacky skin leaving nothing to the imagination. Your chest heaved as your lungs were forced to take sharp scorching breaths. You were definitely questioning your sanity as you stared at your reflection and those of your fellow members. You weren't Asian slim. You weren't build for show. You weren't quite athletic either. Nope. You were comparing yourself to the 4'10" to 5'5", 90 to 100lbs, flawless Koreans, Chinese, and Japanese dolls. The instructor snapped his fingers. "Nyx, you're delayed half a step." He voiced annoyed in Hangul. "I'll improve." You breathed. Your smoky gray eyes met his black ones. You lowered your gaze and bowed deeply.  He narrowed his eyes while a hiss of disbelief left his thin lips. Mister Cho had made his disapproval painfully clear. Specially in front of your fellow members and the big wigs.  If it wasn't for your father's reputation and name you would've bounced after two days. But you were a Moon. A daughter of an Idol turned famous producer/Actor who gave his free time to excel a company he was a board member to, JYP Entertainment.  You rose from your bow.  "Again." Mister Cho demanded. Over dramatized groans filled the practice room. A Korean member, Song-I, mouthed a few curses about you being a foreigner and something about choking you to death.  A laugh busted from your pouters lip. You weren't one to flex, but you wouldn't take anything physical from anyone specially Song-I dramatic whiny no having ass.  "Moon Inez-Mi!" Mister Cho yelled. "Are you wasting all of our time?" Your laugh died in the back of your throat at hearing your full name, "No, Sir." You military straightened your spine.  "Everyone dismissed expect Nyx." He growled with impatience, "You stay here until you get it right."  You nodded refusing to get upset. You bit hard on your inner lip until you tasted iron. You waited until everyone was long gone before you let your frustration leave you. Your lungs took in a long stinging pull of air. Instead of trying to break your knuckles against the wall of mirrors, You counted backwards from hundred letting your breath leave your chest slowly.  After a good five minutes, You walked over to the sound system and snatched up the remote. You stabbed the play button. Music pumped out of the giant speakers arranged in the far corners. You started to do the mind numbingly simple steps. You felt like such a sale out to your gender. Women in history fought tooth and nail to not be seen as walking sex and how you were flushing their progress down the toilet.  With every movement your voluminous curves gave way more than your full Asian members.  You needed to talk to your Dad.  You shoved all those thoughts aside and focused on the task at hand. Listening closely to the music you continued to dance. You sighed at your reflection after dancing to the same track fifteen times. But You finally got the timing right. Your hands found your slim waist. You did a side turn. You stared at your side profile through the mirrors. Your butt and bust were big even with the tight sports wear. You kinda wished you took after your dad more. But your mom's Mesoamerican/north-western European genes were definitely dominate at least in you.  Your eyes were large, circular with smoky gray iris and a deep double lid. Your  skin tone was pale with pink undertones. A body that definitely had a Mexican flare. You did have your dad's full pouty lips, delicate nose and his cheek bones.  You shook your head. "Fuck this." You sighed in English. You weren't ever going to be one of them. Movement caught your attention. You assumed it was your Dad checking in. He did it from time to time making all the other girls swoon. You let out another sigh, before masking your frustration. "Dad, your avid admirer are not here." Your perfect pitched Hangul voice was stinky with sweet sarcasm.  "Dad?"  Through the mirror, your eyes settled on a much younger man. He was handsome in a classic Korean drama way. It was then you noticed a few other guys staring in at you over his broad shoulders. They were all handsome in their own right. Your face went from white to scarlet in your embarrassment. You bowed deeply as you turned to face them. You tried to recall their names. "Please. Forgive my tone." You rose as she spoke in Hangul. K-Drama onyx eyes were cold as he took you in. You forced your expression to stay neutral. "I did not mean to be disrespectful." You tacked on. "Moon's daughter?" The tallest one asked not to you, but to K-Drama who had casually leaned in the door jam.  He nodded slowly with a blank expression, but his eyes were steady and unyielding.  Had you pissed him off before?  "You must need the room." You forced yourself to blink so you wouldn't be staring at their stunning faces. GOT7, you suddenly remembered. "Please excuse me. I will leave you be." You rushed over to the equipment stand and set the remote back.  "I heard you can do gymnastics?" One asked in perfect English.  You glanced over your shoulder and nodded slightly, "I did participate when I was younger." You confessed in Hangul as you turned towards the sound of a masculine voice. Mark. Of course, you would remember the only American other than yourself. Well that was a lie you had a duel citizenship. He slipped past K-Drama and did a front aerial like it was as easy as touching his toes. He landed a few feet away from you.  A smile took over your features as you gently clapped. Your embarrassment started to melt away. You took a good four steps forward and force your body to preform a back flip. You landed it out of pure muscle memory. You even did the proper posture for sticking it. You shook her head at your silliness. "I am Goddess's Nyx." You bowed again. A few loose strands of navy blue hair fell into your eyes and framed your face. You rose to see the members who were in the hall were now in the dance studio. K-drama didn't budge. He was still leaning against the width of the door observing.

Mark's smile could be heard in his voice as he introduced the members that were present. "The one still in the doorway is Jinyoung. Yugyeom is the tall one. That's Jackson."

You slightly bowed your head to Jinyoung and Yugyeom. 

When your eyes moved to Jackson, he did a front flip so strong he landed in the super hero pose. 

A genuine laugh left you as you slow clapped, "I wager your admirers appreciate it extremely." She teased in Hangul.

"You know it." He smiled as he rose from his stance. 

K-drama aka Jinyoung voice killed the mood, "Mark." 

"Hmm?" Mark glanced over to the door.

Jinyoung made the slightest motions that you barely see out from the corner of your eye.

"Are you following me?" You were suddenly distracted by the sting of annoyance in your older brother and New Manager of Goddess, voice as it seeped into the dance studio from the hall.  "Why would I follow you?" A deep male voice countered with venom sharpening his every syllable. "I belong here. You. You're just the spoiled brat to a withered idol who hasn't got it through his thick skull his time has long since past." Jinyoung slammed the door. Not only shutting himself out into the hall, but also silencing the argument.  "I don't know who that is, but they're in for a rude awakening." You dropped your beyond proper Hangul and picked up your American English. You started for the door. "That's our leader." Mark offered slightly annoyed himself.  You stopped in mid-step. "What?" You glanced over to him.  "Let me apology for him. JB and your Father aren't fans of each other." He offered hesitantly.  "It boiled over today." Jackson offered.  Your eyes went to Jackson then to the door while you wondered what had happened between JB and your dad. Everyone loved your dad or so you thought.  A sharp clap gathered all of their attention, "While they finish their yelling contest let's see who can land the most moves." Yugyeom suggested in Hangul, "I'll keep score."  "I'm in." Jackson and Mark said in unison. Their attention moved to you once you didn’t say anything. Jackson started to do a pleading puppy dog thing with his face. Mark smiled the sweetest smile and Yugyeom was laying the aegyo on thick. You playfully rolled your eyes while shaking your head. "The one with the least amounts of completions must purchase ice cream." You challenged in Hangul as you walked to the far side of the room. Sounds of agreement shot into the air.  "Are we to perform the exact combination or a particular combination we have the most success with?" You called over your shoulder. "Best at." They agreed.  "No simple combinations." You shot out in a playfully stern tone. You turned your back to the wall. You only had to wait a few seconds for Jackson and Mark to be next to you. "Ladies before gentlemen." You smiled. You took in a deep breath and made your Nikes do a few quick steps to get momentum. You forced your body to do a roundoff back tuck. You stuck it only to be abruptly face to face with a man who was beyond pissed. Your light eyes quickly took in his features. Two beauty marks above his left eye. His handsome features were set in a brooding expression. You would bet he always looked slightly intimidating. The little girl in you was instantly attracted. Like how you would fall for the rich bad boy in all those mangas you read in your pre-teens.  You saw your brother was shoulder to shoulder with him from your peripheral. Well, as close as a 6'3" could be to a 5'11".  You smiled a polite smile, but blatantly ignoring their combined attitude and turned on the heels of your Nikes. "Who proceeding?" "Inez-Mi." Your brothers voice was firm. "Il-Gun." You turned to face him but continued walking backwards towards Mark and Jackson.  "Its time to go." He spoke in Hangul through clenched teeth.  You didn't stop walking, "Sweet, smooth, satisfying ice cream is the reward." You voiced in Hangul as you felt the wall at your back. You leaned against it in a relaxed pose. You looked to Mark and Jackson then simply motioned for the next one to go.  They didnt budge. You looked to the man next to your brother. You tried to keep your face neutral. His dark gaze locked onto her gray ones. If looks could kill. His kicked out chin and grimacing lips would make anyone with sense scurry.  But did you have any? Nope. Your American arrogance kicked in. "Most honorable Lim Jae-Beom," You said in your sweetest Hangul tone, "you're going to receive lock jaw if you keep clenching your teeth and pushing out your chin like such." Your foreigner feature were set in a concerned expression. Mark, Jackson, and Yugyeom burst out laughing but quickly zipped their lips under JBs murderous stare. Jinyoung disguised his laugh as an awkward cough somewhere out of sight.  "Now!" Gun snapped.  You leaned off the wall unfazed by his anger and started towards them. You turned on your heels but continued to walk backwards "Forfeit means you owe me bubble tea." You smiled speaking English to Mark, Jackson and Yugyeom. Jackson confirmed with a kind expression. Mark flashed his famous smile and nodded. Yugyeom was red from trying to hold in his laughter. You turned and stopped in your steps. You were a few feet from the brooding twins. You bowed to JB and Gun, "It was a honor to meet you and please excuse my disobedience I did not mean to be disrespectful," You slowly rose with a soft demeanor. You turned at the waist slightly and waved goodbye at the guys. You even made a point to wave to Jinyoung who was casually sitting on the couch behind JB and Gun. His view point was perfect, you thought. He could watch everything unfold without being in the line of fire. You went out into the hall but before Gun shut the door behind him. You heard JB’s deep voice ask, "Why is she speaking like she's a descendant of royalty?" He was definitely angry. You laughed walking ahead of your brother. "Inez," Guns voice filled the hall, "this isn't funny." He growled, "Pissing off JB isn't worth the headache nor the ear full you're going to get from Dad. You need to learn your place." You rolled your eyes hard. "I can't comprehend the reason why?" Your voice caught some of his sassy tone. "Your my Guardian when father is not hovering. So would it not be you who receives father's wrath for not keeping me in my quote unquote place." The squeaking of his teeth grinding meant you had gone too far. "It's on Goddess' schedule for you to get ready for a radio interview." He talked through his teeth.  You stopped in your steps until Gun was beside you, "I’m sorry." Your dared a glance up to Guns’ profile. "I did not intend to shove back so hard." An angry smile took hold of his intimidation features. "Dad didn't risk his neck and name for you to fuck this up. You are now the newest member and Leader of Goddess." He started walking so fast that you could barely keep up. "Start acting like it." You wanted to lash out. To scream at him that you had avoided the Idol path with college and spending time in the state's with our mom. But it wouldn't help you. You would come across as whiney, pathetic, and unmanageable. Gun was right, anyways. Their dad found a way to make lemonade out of a scandalous situation. A situation that was being covered up even within JYP Entertainment. Only the higher ups knew what happened and they weren't talking.  All you were privy to was you were Goddess' Hail Mary pass. JYP Entertainment was going to drop the girl group, when your dad made the move to drag his 'multi-talented' daughter into the mix.  You rolled your eyes hard as you remembered the press release.  You were so lost in thought, you bashed into a slim, tall figure as you rounded the corner, "Excuse me," you bowed your head. "My apologies." Your embarrassment was written on your face as your eyes gazed up to a pair of grey, blue irises.  "No," The well dressed man paused once he saw Gun. He sized him up with a cold expression, "Excuse me. I'm late and wasn't paying attention." His voice was lighter than You would have guessed. He bowed while side stepping. "Its all for show." An amused smile tugged on your lips as you spoke English. Your eyes settled on his handsome face as he rose.  "Nyx?" He asked with a spark of recognition in his eye and finger gun pointing at you. You nodded with a kind smile. You thought of Got7 and remembered Mark and Jackson weren’t the only regular English speaker. "Bam Bam?" You countered. You definitely liked how his expression reflect his mood. There was no way he was Korean.  A cocky smirk took over his full lips.  "You might want to count to ten and mentally prepare yourself." You commented with some regret lingering in your voice.  He arched a well manicured brow in confusion while losing his smile. "I might've," you paused thinking of a nice way to say you straight out disrespected his leader, "danced on JB’s last nerve." His full lips broke into a grin, "No worries." He laughed, "we do it all the time-" "BamBam." Gun voiced annoyed clearly ready to get out of here. He bowed his head in the slightest way. You sighed under your breath, "Gun-Hulk Smash." You felt Guns grip on your wrist. You had to resist ripping it out of his hand. You glanced down at your combined flesh. You were unimpressed. You softened your expression when your eyes found BamBam. "I am behind in my schedule as well it was a pleasure to make your acquaintance," you spoke in Hangul as you bowed again. "Good luck."  Gun started walking while pulling you with him. "You too," BamBam smiled a kind smile that reached his eyes. His expression soured at Gun as you was tugged away. Once you two made it to the elevator, you tore your wrist from his grasp. Your light eyes narrowed as you stabbed your index finger into the up arrow. You wanted to say something, anything clever to make it clear he wasn't your guys Father, but nothing came to mind.  The elevator dinged open.  You got in after Gun. You went to the buttons and poked the floor you needed. While the doors were shutting you saw BamBam watching you two. You smiled a polite smile and waved. 

[ashleychristina73]

I really need for y'all to stop blaming Black Panther 4 being more successful than your own movie

How about we leave the vilification of Black Panther and black people's support of Black Panther in 2018. Black panther did so well because black people as a whole came together and supported it. No matter where we were from. whether we were afro-latinas, Africans, African Americans, afro-Irish, afro-cuban, afro-indian and etc. it didn't matter we all came together to support a movie featuring predominantly dark skin black people.

Not to mention the fact that some of the movies that you guys are flaming didn't do as well as they should have because black people didn't support them as much as black panther are actually doing quite well. For instance Aquaman is doing exceptionally well. As of January 2nd 2019 Aquaman has grossed 846.3 million worldwide. So these Aquaman deserves more support post are absolutely ridiculous. Aquaman is doing amazing right now. People seem to love the movie it seems to only get good reviews. Y'all are honestly just looking for a reason to blame black people for something.

Now as for movies like Coco and crazy Rich Asians that is still not black people's fault. Like I said in the beginning black panther did so well because black people supported it. I remember when Coco first came out I'm afro-latina and I barely heard any Hispanic people talking about that movie whether they were Mexican or not. I also remember when crazy Rich Asians came out and I remember that most of the posts that I saw talking about crazy Rich Asians we're coming from non asians. There were barely any Asian people talking about supporting this movie. I barely saw any post saying that everybody who identified as Spanish or Hispanic no matter where they're from should go and see Coco. Like I did for Black Panther. And that is not black people's fault.

Coco only made 154.4 million worldwide. Crazy Rich Asians only made 238 million. Maybe instead of blaming the lack of success of your own movies on black people and black panther you should ask yourselves why didn't Asian people come out and support crazy Rich Asians like black people did? Why didn't Hispanic people and people of Spanish descent and anyone who identifies as Spanish come out and support Coco like black people? Our movie did so well because we supported it. And from that support we have started a movement. now film companies are busting their asses to put black people in their movies because they now see that when black people have proper representation we will come out in droves to support.

I am a huge believer in supporting all people of color and I absolutely adore Constance Wu and Jason Momoa. And when Coco,Aquaman and crazy Rich Asians came out I had and still have every intention of seeing them but I'm tired of y'all trying to act like black people should feel bad for supporting our own movies. I'm tired of y'all trying to Guilt us supporting your movies just because your people won't. If you want something you have to fight for it. That's something that black people we have known since forever. I think some of y'all need to start realizing that too.

For example the movie Ghost in the Shell didn't really make that much but one thing I will always remember about that movie is the way in which so many Asian people supported the whitewashing of an Asian character. I also remember how so many people of color especially black people came together and complained and protested the white washing of the movie on the behalf of Asian people and we ended up looking stupid. We cannot fight your battles for you. We can be allies and help you fight but we cannot fight your battles for you. The first step to changing things like this is to fight. You have to show companies that you will not support ,financially, colorism anymore. Black people have been fighting for representation and fighting just to be able to live and not get killed for years and years and years. Y'all need to do the same thing. Why do you think that suddenly so many companies in the west and oversees all around the world are starting to include darker skin tones in their shade ranges? why do you think that so many movies are starting to include darker people? Because they now see that failing to do so can and WILL lose them money.

EDIT: and for the record I'm not looking for an amen corner. I don't give a f*** whether or not you agree with me or not. So if you start some sort of argument with me over my opinion be well aware that you will be arguing by yourself. I dont care. Also if you were not one of the people making those type of posts then this post is obviously not aimed at you. Reading is fundamental people. I

[bountyofbeads]

I became an asylum officer to help people. Now I put them back in harm’s way.

https://wapo.st/2M7qGOS

I became an asylum officer to help people. Now I put them back in harm’s way.

By Charles Tjersland Jr. | Published July 19 at 10:30 AM ET | Washington Post |

Posted July 21, 2019 |

For asylum officers like me, this spring was a demoralizing time. The Trump administration was rolling out the Migrant Protection Protocols, a policy that allowed immigrants to wait in the United States while we processed their cases — provided that they were likely to be harmed in Mexico. But the standards for demonstrating this are almost impossibly tough. When I went to San Ysidro, Calif., this spring to conduct interviews for this program, I spoke with people whose heartbreaking stories, I knew, wouldn’t be good enough.

I met a man who looked so hungry and miserable that I gave him half my lunch, as he told me about being kidnapped on his way north. He didn’t qualify. I met a woman who had been forced into prostitution by a cartel in the red-light district in Tijuana; she had to go back to Mexico, too. A family who’d been pulled off a train and robbed was allowed to stay, but only because the husband remembered that the perpetrators had been wearing police uniforms. Overall, the proceedings felt like a sick joke.

When I started working as an asylum officer more than 26 years ago, it seemed like a dream job. At the time, hundreds of thousands of Central Americans were fleeing horrific political repression by their governments, which had the backing of the United States. I was a law student in Washington, working at an aid center for recent immigrants. Most of my friends and colleagues were pretty skeptical of the federal government. But I thought that this could be a way to help people, while fighting for what I thought America should be: a beacon of freedom, offering refuge to those in need.

The Trump administration’s policies have turned the process into a Kafkaesque nightmare. My colleagues and I have interviewed thousands of asylum seekers from Guatemala, El Salvador and Honduras and told them that they had to return to Mexico while their cases were processed — knowing all the while that they might be kidnapped, assaulted or killed. Under MPP, also known as “Remain in Mexico,” we’re not allowed to let them stay here. We’re forced to put them back in danger.

This is how the system was designed to work: When people encounter immigration authorities at the southern border and ask for asylum, they’re supposed to be interviewed by an asylum officer like me, who assesses whether their case should get a full hearing. Before turning someone away, we’re meant to ensure that we’re not sending them someplace where they’ll be persecuted.

Since January, the process instead goes like this: After a cursory interview by Border Patrol agents (who have not been trained to elicit or assess testimony), migrants are issued a slip of paper with the date of their next appointment and told to go back to the other side of the border until then. After weeks of being on the road, exhausted, maybe sick, maybe traveling with their children, they’re so dazed and bewildered that they comply without protest.

Some people are asked if they fear returning to Mexico and answer yes, or they speak up of their own accord. (Border Patrol does not always ask.) Technically, there is a path to obtain temporary protection in the United States. First, though, they must pass the MPP interview. This is nothing like the due process that they’d ordinarily receive. In a normal asylum hearing, we determine if there’s a “reasonable possibility” or a “well-founded fear” of harm in their country of origin. Usually, the applicants have had some time to learn about the proceedings and collect their thoughts; they have an attorney present and the ability to appeal a negative decision. In MPP interviews, though, people rarely have a lawyer, and we use a “clear probability of harm” standard, which is much higher. The criteria are ridiculously narrow, and harm has to be on “protected grounds.” Being threatened or robbed or beaten up isn’t enough — the persecution would have to occur on the grounds of their country of origin, sexuality or religion, for example, or at the hands of state actors. Positive determinations in the MPP process amount to only a few percent, at most.

It’s awful to try to conduct these interviews with people who don’t know what’s happening to them. Often, they’ve already been waiting for weeks to be processed by immigration authorities, preparing to explain their situation in their home country — and suddenly, they’re being questioned about their time in Mexico. They have no idea what to say or how to articulate their fear in a way that will pass muster. Some of them have yet to learn what we already know: that the shelters are overcrowded, with little access to medical care or legal services, and are frequently targeted by thieves and kidnappers. There’s no way asylum seekers could feel safe in Mexico: According to the State Department, Central American gangs have spread deeper into the country, threatening the people who’d fled them. In 2017, 5,824 crimes were reported against migrants in just five of Mexico’s 31 states, and of these, only 1 percent were resolved by the Mexican authorities.

Colleagues of mine have reported feeling pressured by supervisors to say it is safe for migrants to return to Mexico. I had to fight on behalf of a man and his teenage son who’d been attacked at knifepoint. The son recognized their assailants: Days earlier, they’d been standing across the street, watching the migrant shelter. At the time, the strangers had asked him and his father where they were from, and when they answered that they were Honduran, told them to “Get out of here.” My supervisors claimed that it wasn’t certain they were assaulted because they were Honduran. “There aren’t magic words,” I argued. “The circumstantial evidence is clear.” An asylum system that was originally designed to ensure migrants are safe from harm now seems set up to turn away as many people as possible. The Trump administration regards the asylum process as a “loophole” in our country’s immigration system — as itself illegitimate.

As of late June, more than 15,000 people, nearly a third of them children, have been sent back to Ciudad Juarez, Tijuana and Mexicali. That number is expected to grow to 60,000 by the end of next month. Meanwhile, Mexico is turning back thousands of people approaching its southern border with Guatemala, and the Trump administration wants to impose even more restrictions: Under a new “third country rule,” people crossing through another country en route to the United States must apply for protection there first. Otherwise, they will be ineligible for asylum here.

These new policies make a mockery of our mission. The roughly 600-strong asylum officer corps was founded to identify bona fide refugees and protect them, and to combat any fraud and abuse of the system. We exist to ensure that the United States doesn’t renege on its international treaty obligations or commit a grievous human rights abuse by returning people to places where their freedom or lives are in jeopardy. For decades, one principle has been drummed into us: People have basic human rights, and when they come to our borders, they deserve due process and to be treated with dignity and respect. The things we’re being asked to do today fly in the face of everything we stand for.

People don’t have a right to asylum, sight unseen, but under international human rights law and our own immigration laws, they have the right to seek it. They have the right to knock on the door and say, “Help, a wolf is chasing me, let me in!” When that happens, we’re supposed to give them food and drink, and to let them sit by the fire and tell their story — and if it’s true that they’re in danger, we are supposed to give them shelter. It’s wrong to block their way and force them to wait on the front step, while we decide if we’re ready to listen.

[kindabraveandlittlestupid]

I have been thinking on the topic of immigration again lately watching things play out to the south with the separation of families and conservative farmers/fishermen suddenly realizing the people who work for them are usually undocumented and suffering financially from their own stupidity. I am not without empathy for what they are going through as no one wins in this scenario but I remember driving up to Chico or down to LA and seeing Farmers For Trump signs. A year later hearing them complain that they don't have a workforce to pick their crops and the food was rotting under the sun. Call it Karma, Irony or whatever; the fact is the United States relies on immigrants and South American Workers to get shit done. We tighten the border, act like spoiled 1st world assholes and then wonder why our food prices spike when no one steps up to fill those formly filled jobs before the workers were deported. I am clearly ranting...

This post if anything is the truth about Immigrants in America and more importantly how we as born citizens should look to people who wish to join us in this country. If you were to ask me when I was younger if I worried about Latinos dominating the California culture I would say yes. A language I don't know, customs that would override some of my own, and I am not a big fan of the music but now? Since I grown up, explored the world and realized I am not immortal and will not be around forever? I am perfectly ok with it. In fact, I can not think of a life without the various cultures who influence my California life. I imagine no Mexican food or Korean food or any ______ food not being part of my diet. I think about the customs shared/explored between people and how they have grown/evolved. I am not against some cultural appropriation because too some extent that is also participating in, sharing and enjoying the diversity of those cultures which is to a degree appropriation. I enjoyed watching this evolution evolve in Halloween where this really Americanized Holiday started mixed more and more with Day of the Dead and honestly it's awesome. The influence becomes stronger and it's not overriding one thing for another but instead of mixing into something new that celebrates both cultures. I am ranting again...

The point is I can see myself falling in love with anyone regardless of where they are born. I don’t care if my son or daughter has fair skin or green eyes like me. Even if I did end up having white kids I know down the line they will fall in love with someone else who will speak another language and come from a community that has a different history then my own. It doesn't bother me one bit to know that California pushes towards a bilingual society because when I do meet Latino Americans who are immigrants I meet them halfway speaking what Spanish I know and they speak what English they know so we can communicate. These people are not illegal immigrants, they are not undocumented workers to me, no, they are Aspiring Americans who want to be apart of our society and make a life for themselves with us. Aspiring doesn't make them The Other, if anything I have found those who move from other places have a great love and affection for America then most Americans actually do. So we should all try to become more like these Aspiring Americans, be decent to one another and allow those who WANT to move here to become part of the fabric of this great nation.

Regards, Michael California

P.S. Lets make that the new word for immigrants. Not Undocumented. Not Foreign. Not Illegal. But Aspiring Americans. I feel like that has all the positivity behind who they want to be.

[comedicreliefonlyworkswhenfunny]

hi just wanted to pop by and say thanks for the addition to my post.

I saw the post three different times and every time I was like:

"Man, if I 'just Googled' something every time I wrote, I wouldn't get any writing done."

Also I've been horribly misled by some sources I've got via googling in addition to just?? Not being able to find out the content I'm looking for.

Yeah, man, I spent hours looking at fish diagrams and how bones/muscles work in reference to wings, but those were topics that I chose to look at. If I had to spend hours of research on top of hours of fic writing, I would never get anything done???

And you know what? I've seen some people honestly and genuinely search and study shit about gay culture, despite not having a connection to the LGBT community and it was so... bland... awful... I hated it.

I hated seeing a depiction that was supposed to represent (me) targeted at people who were (not me), and I feel like that's something that most if not all minorities experience?

I don't want a cishet writer to talk about how important being gay is like it's the character's only trait.

I don't want a trans person questioning their identity and being met with transphobia.

I don't want to think about how it's legal in tons of countries for me to be murdered for my identity and sexuality.

I don't want to think about the systematic issues of my own country, let alone one that I can't do anything about, because sometimes that shit gets debilitating.

And you know, I feel like that applies to a lot of people who are in any minority.

No one wants to see their trauma written by someone who doesn't understand it just for like brownie points, and, unlike Hollywood studios, fanfiction is for fans, by fans. No one is getting paid. People aren't going to widespread pick up biases from reading a few Americanized fics.

Do I think that poc characters need more rep? Yeah. I'd love to see more well written poc characters alongside more well written trans and gay characters.

But it's also like?

Most of us aren't writing fics about Japanese media for the sake of Japanese people. We're not trying to represent them as a nation or highlight their heritage or

Like honestly? I feel like Japanese fan writers probably do the same thing to American media, and Spanish people do it to Japanese media, and Mexican people do it to American media, and gay people do it to het media-

We're all just writing what we know, imagining the world the way we see it.

Like, if Japanese people don't feel the need to shove their culture into every work of art they create, then why does that suddenly change when someone else is writing (assuming they're writing respectfully)? I've read doujinshis where the m/m couple had what I'd typically view as a "Westernized wedding." I've seen anime made in Japan where they celebrate Christmas and eat burgers and-

Like

Idk there are so many reasons that I could defend, so I did and still am jumping around like a pinball. However, at its base, fanfiction is free. No one is entitled to anything. And it's awful yeah there are some shitty racist, sexist, homophobic, transphobic, misogynistic fics out there I bet, but you know what?? Just don't read them. Tell your friends not to read them. If you're that desperate write a comment about why said fic is a misrepresentation of whatever it's about, but like

Writers who pour hours of their time into a piece that no one asked for aren't demons if they forget that ASL means American Sign Language or that dollars/pounds/euros whatever aren't used world wide.

Like, man, I can barely remember what a meter is. Just because Japan uses meters and yen, doesn't mean that I should have an 'inches to meters' and a 'dollars to yen' tab open on my browser at all times so that I can write or read media that was written by people like me?

I've heard of so many different ways that schools are done like state by state, leg alone country by country. Half the time, my schools/activities/whatever aren't even Americanized they're just whatever narratively fits the plot holes I'm trying to cover up.

[back-and-totheleft]

Stone, cold sober

Re-telling the story of September 11 with a measured hand and lightness of touch hithertoo unhinted at, director Oliver Stone proves a more serious thinker than his paranoia-soaked canon would suggest. Here, he explains how his experiences as a soldier in Vietnam framed his outlook on life and art.

The introductory handshake comes with an additional squeeze of the wrist and a roguish smile.

“You’re Irish. I can tell.”

No. Your correspondent hasn’t been transported back to a disco in the 1970s. Instead, she’s in New York’s Regency Hotel meeting Oliver Stone. That twinkling opening gambit has brought about a Proustian rush of wayward tabloid headlines. I remember that idiotic book on the making of Natural Born Killers, with its scurrilous tales of loose ladies, psilocybin mushrooms and cocaine abuse. I recall that story about the director commandeering the Warners corporate jet to do peyote in the Mexican desert while making The Doors. I remember too how the set of Alexander reputedly became an extravagant saturnalia. Sure enough, I can effortlessly picture this man partying down with Colin Farrell, a duel study in swaggering Dionysian charm.

Though Stone insists his appetite for debauchery has been greatly exaggerated, he’s always owned up to unruly habits. Yes, he does have a fondness for marijuana dating back to time spent on the frontline in Vietnam. He has also ‘expanded his consciousness’ with the occasional psychedelic. But driving offences from last year and 1999 have, he claims, more to do with pre-diabetic medication unwisely knocked back with alcohol than exotic marching powders.

Still, it’s an impressively scandalous record for a man of his years. Stone is 60 now, though you’d say he were a decade younger if you suddenly spied him on the street. In person he’s imperturbably casual, far more relaxed than the ‘madman’ headlines might lead one to suppose. His glowing tan is offset by a bright yellow polo shirt and he sits way, way back in his chair holding your gaze all the while.

Accommodating and easy in his manner, you’d be hard-pressed to identify this individual as Oliver Stone – Controversial Filmmaker. That is, nevertheless, to whom we speak. Stone boasts a fearsomely uncompromising reputation as a screenwriter and director. Throughout the ‘80s when the post-classical frisson of counter-cultural Hollywood had fizzled and poachers died off or turned gamekeeper, only Stone kept the faith, authoring politically conscious cinema at a time when the Academy was honouring Driving Miss Daisy.

His screenplay for rapper’s favourite Scarface set the frenzied pace and ultra-violent tone that would later characterise his visual style. But Stone was too engaged with the world to become the new Brian De Palma. Salvador, his first major film as director, probed the gulf between the ideals of American foreign policy and realpolitik. Platoon, Wall Street, JFK and Nixon would further confirm his interest in micro and macro conspiracies and establish him as an outlaw auteur.

Though he’s now rueful about being stereotyped or “pinned like a butterfly”, he was a good sport about it, appearing as a conspiracy nut in Dave and Wild Palms.

“You know, I’ve never really regarded myself as a political filmmaker”, he tells me. “I consider myself a dramatist. I always get involved with people more than the politics. With the movie JFK, for example, the book by Jim Garrison had a lot of theory. I was more interested in making him part of that story. And Oswald fascinated me. If you watch that film it is really a trail of people played by great actors. Nixon, despite the whiff of conspiracy, is truly a psychological portrait of a man. Many people in the right wing thought it would be a hatchet job but I really made him apathetic. I refuse to be pigeon holed. I am not a political guy. I don’t go to rallies. I am not an activist. I don’t have the time because I’m busy being a writer.”

He may deny the role of agitator, but his opinions, both off and onscreen suggest otherwise. His most recent work in the documentary sector includes Persona Non Grata, an examination of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, and two features about Cuban president Fidel Castro, Comandante and Looking for Fidel. (Stone has described himself as a friend and an admirer.)

He has, before now, referred to the events of September 11th as a ‘revolt’ and expressed an interest in the work of Richard Clarke, the former White House counter-terrorism advisor whose book Against All Enemies accuses the Bush administration of ignoring the al-Qaeda threat, then linking the group to Iraq, contrary to all evidence.

“We Vietnam vets, in particular, found it very difficult”, says Stone. “We had the backing of the world in Afghanistan. We were rounding up the main suspects. Then we go into Iraq with no support. Militarily, it was stupid. It was overreaching. And any American who travels can tell you how the rest of the world is resentful. What the hell are we doing in Iraq when the enemy was 4000 al-Qaeda fighters in Afghanistan?”

When it was announced last summer that Stone would direct World Trade Centre, a film focusing on ‘first response’ police officers trapped by the Twin Towers collapse, many eyebrows were raised. “To allow this poisoned and deranged mind… (to recreate 9/11) in the likeness of his vile fantasies is beyond obscene,” raged one conservative commentator. But World Trade Center, it transpires, is Stone’s least obvious work even by his own consistently innovative standards. The towers do not fall back and to the left. There is no grand plot or secret ruling elite. “This is not a political film in any sense”, insists Stone. “It harks back to Platoon in that respect. In Vietnam, we didn’t sit around talking about LBJ. And the truth is, I don’t think we can say for sure what happened during 9/11. We spent more investigating Bill Clinton’s blowjobs than the destruction of the World Trade Centre. Whatever was going on in the background, if you look at the forest through the trees, it seems to me that what has happened since is far worse than what happened that day. So the politics and conspiracies behind that day, whatever they may be, are not as relevant as where we are now.” Completely eschewing polemic, the movie instead offers a heartfelt portrait of ordinary fellows on the front line. Stone’s traditional constituency are, needless to say, horrified, and assorted doublespeak statements have been issued attacking World Trade Center as “non-conspiratorial lies.”

John Conner, a leading voice in the Christian branch of the 9/11 Truth Movement, went so far as to ask the following– “Was Stone used by the Illuminati as an unknowing pawn to whitewash the 9/11 conspiracy theories to the masses? Was he approached with the project and coerced into a commitment to occupy his time in attempts to thwart any other 9/11 angle from being used? Is Stone a pawn in the game? Perhaps Stone didn’t know at the time, and found out too late.”

Oddly, however, like Paul Greengrass’ United 93, Stone’s film has found champions from either end of America’s bipolar political spectrum, often the same folks who had previously dismissed him as a pinko malcontent. L. Brent Bozell III, the president of the conservative Media Research Center and founder of the Parents Television Council — a latter day Mary Whitehouse in trousers — called it “a masterpiece” and sent an e-mail message to 400,000 people saying, “Go see this film.” Cal Thomas, the right-wing syndicated columnist and contributor to The Last Word, wrote that it was “one of the greatest pro-American, pro-family, pro-faith, pro-male, flag-waving, God Bless America films you will ever see.”

“I just felt this was a great story dying to be told,” explains Stone. “It may not be like anything I have done before, but Heaven And Earth wasn’t like anything I had done before. Nor was U Turn or Natural Born Killers. I do jump around and each film is a different style. This isn’t like United 93 which was a brilliant piece of vérité. This is more like a classic John Ford, William Wyler or even Frank Capra film. Against tremendous odds this rescue takes place. This has the traditional Hollywood tropes of emotional connection to four main characters from the working class.

"I would love to bring Hollywood back to that, making films where people actually work for a living, not sit around making things happen with a remote control like that Adam Sandler film. Born On The Fourth Of July was blue-collar. So was Any Given Sunday. Although it’s about elite athletes, it was about work. They had to punish their bodies for their lifestyle.”

A marriage of disaster movie and combat zone drama, World Trade Centre follows Port Authority officers Sergeant John Mc Loughlin (Nicolas Cage) and Will Jimeno (Michael Pena) on a doomed rescue mission into the Twin Towers. On September 12th, they were among the last survivors to be pulled from the rubble. Though the original script by newcomer Andrea Berloff read like a relocation of Beckett’s Endgame, Stone has widened the remit to include the rescuers and the anxious wives at home. As a director noted for working within a decidedly masculine milieu, was it a challenge to represent domesticity, I wonder.

“Oh yes,” he admits. “That was a big challenge. On the surface this is a very simple story of catastrophe and rescue and heroism. But if you go beyond the cliché it is very fresh. Everything the rescuers did was dangerous. We assume rescues just happen, but it is hard work. These men really crawled into places where they thought they would die. It took hours to get them out. I tried to show some of that digging. But an even bigger cliché in these circumstances is the waiting housewife. Actually, it goes further than that. Each of these women died that day. They sit there as the hours pass and the only news is no survivors. You knew no one would come out of there. The buildings were so pancaked. So it was like death for them. I wanted to portray that. I wanted them smelling the sheets from the previous night where they had slept. Again it’s a cliché but the idea was to take the cliché and make it fresh.”

Another subplot concentrates on Staff Sergeant Dave Karnes (Michael Shannon) a Christian marine in Wilton, Connecticut, who watches events on TV and tells his colleagues that America is now at war. Once he decides that God wants him to go to New York he heads to Ground Zero with a flashlight and eventually hears the two cops in the debris. A postscript before the final credits informs us that Kearns has since served two tours of duty in Iraq.

“It’s a remarkable and weird story,” Stone admits. “But that’s how it happened. I also think Kearns represents a significant sector of the American population when he says, ‘We’re going to need some good men to avenge this’. For many people, revenge was their first thought.”

And there you have it. For all the pigeonholing as a conspiracy theorist, facts are of paramount importance to Stone. He spent two-and-a-half years researching JFK. He spent three years immersed in Persian history for the much-maligned Alexander. It was a labour of love and the ill-tempered critical reception seems to have cut to the quick.

“I’m a historical dramatist,” he explains. “I wasn’t a Kennedy assassination junkie at the time, nor was I a 9/11 junkie. But I love the past. It hurts when I read someone claiming that I’ve fabricated something. But then you make a film like Alexander and scholars say you have it right, but critics say it’s all wrong.”

Similarly, while Stone has been at pains to represent those involved in the World Trade Centre disaster as faithfully as possible, he has not been able to quell dissent completely. The widow of Dominick Pezzulo – a cop portrayed in the film - has accused Jimeno and McLoughlin of cashing in on the tragedy by selling their story to Paramount. There have also been mutterings about the film being too soon.

“I know,” nods Stone. “But I honestly think it is the right time. The Killing Fields was made five years after those events in Cambodia. During World War II, Hollywood made propaganda films. Casablanca, made in 1941, takes a very anti Nazi position even before we declared war. The Vietnam movies took longer to make, but life goes faster now. I would say to you the consequences of 9/11 are so bad that we better look back now and understand what happened on that day. When you leave it too long, events become mythologized. Watching Pearl Harbor, you’d think we won that battle. This is the epicentre of 9/11, but there are many stories that still need to be told.”

Though personal and more modest in scope than the $63 million budget might suggest, the director does hope that his intense focus on McLoughlin and Jimeno has a wider relevance.

“They did not have a clue as to what was happening,” he says. “They knew it was a terrorist attack but there was no discussion of politics. They’re cops. They are far more likely to talk about pop culture, whether it is Starsky And Hutch or GI Jane. It wasn’t Bergman down in that hole.

So I am not claiming this movie will answer all the questions. But let’s say you go to a psychiatrist and all your life you have been repressed because you were raped when you where 14. Perhaps the psychiatrist says, ‘Let’s go back to that day’. They make you remember that day and it changes all the defences you had built up. So perhaps by undoing the screw, the secret at the beginning, you can take some of the armour off.”

The events of 9/11 may be difficult to disentangle, but no more so than the filmmaker himself. Born in New York City to a Jewish father and Catholic mother, William Oliver Stone was raised Episcopalian by way of compromise. His parents divorced after his father, a conservative Republican, conducted various extra-marital affairs with family friends. Young Oliver spent much of his subsequent childhood in splendid isolation between private schools and five star hotels - ‘a cartoonish Little Lord Fauntleroy’ by his own account.

Still, Stone needs neither bullfighting nor marlin fishing to confirm his Hemingwayesque credentials as an artist. He attended Yale and dropped out twice before enlisting to fight as an Infantryman in Vietnam. Mixing with the lower orders and smoking pot soon transformed the spoiled youngster into a military hero. He was wounded twice in action and received the Bronze Star with ”V” device signifying valor for “extraordinary acts of courage under fire,” and the Purple Heart with one Oak Leaf Cluster.

Soon after the war, he was arrested at the US-Mexico border for possession of marijuana. His father bailed him out but the experience served to radicalise him. Later, meeting understandably embittered veterans such as Ron Kovic pushed Stone further to the left.

He has, however, wooed Hollywood despite the often overtly political nature of his films. He won his first Academy Award as the screenwriter of Midnight Express and has been further honoured for directing Platoon and Born On The Fourth Of July.

Now, after World Trade Centre, has attention and lavish praise from the likes of Bill O’Reilly turned his head? Not bloody likely.

“People are people,” he tells me. “I think people have to take care of themselves and their families first. But there are bigger questions now. The ecological movement want us to clean up, but how can that work when there is always the issue of jobs? It’s a very selfish world and avarice triumphs over the green imperative. After Katrina, there was a tremendous outpouring of help. That was also true when the tsunami hit Indonesia. People are very generous in America and there are some very fine Americans. Unfortunately, a lot of them don’t have passports. Most of them don’t know where Iraq is. And a lot think al Qaeda and Iraq are the same thing. There’s a problem with the education levels. American television keeps people trapped. The news is very superficial and mostly filled with advertisements and rapes and murders. If you travel in the country and you stay in the smaller places you find very limited resources. If America spent the same amount of money as we spend on embassies and CIA stations around the world on our major cities with the goal of helping bring those cities to a way of life that was democratic and economically viable, we would have a tremendous success in this country. Instead, we have an international presence and I don’t know if it is worth it. All we are doing is promoting a system which is now suspect all over the world. We have broken our constitution repeatedly since 2001.”

He smiles cynically.

“I don’t think pictures of soldiers pointing their naked dicks in Abu Ghraib has helped us at a local level either.”

He’s still got it.

-Tara Brady, “Stone cold sober,” HotPress, Sept 19 2006 [x]

[lavenderprose]

Fic: Those Bright-Eyed Boys

Title: Those Bright-Eyed Boys Author(s): Lavenderprose Rating: T Summary: Yuuri has no idea how he came to be surrounded by so many different kinds of love.

Notes: Written for Victuuri week Day #1, with the Yuuri prompt: Confessions. Will be cross-posted to AO3 at some point, but not right now because I’m barely getting this in before the day is over and mama needs to slEEP.

Just so y’all know, there’s some past Chuchuyuu (Yuuri/Phichit) in this, but it’s mostly just them being incredibly loving and supporting friends and Yuuri being very deeply an happily in love with his fiance, Viktor Nikiforov.

So, Yuuri's alcohol tolerance is…pretty good. Like, there are several Russians in this club right now and he's keeping up with them pretty well. Is that a stereotype? He isn't sure, but they aren't so different—these people learned to drink on spirits, same as Yuuri did. He and Phichit ran bad, bad vodka through a Brita filter and put it in water bottles and carried them in coat pockets to parties where they mixed it with punch, orange juice, coconut Margarita mix—anything cloyingly sweet that would mask the taste. Something that wouldn't taste horrible if it came back out the same way it went in. It took a lot of trial and error to figure out where their limits laid, and sometimes Yuuri still fucks up. Getting wine drunk at the 2015 banquet is still at the tippy top of his list of Worst things I've ever done, literally, ever. He was hungover for three days and spent most of the flight home wrapped around the airplane toilet to the point where a man who Yuuri is pretty sure was an air marshal asked him where his parents were.

Because Yuuri didn't and still doesn't look twenty-four. The same ageless quality is the reason Phichit started wearing eyeliner.

But yeah. Yuuri Katsuki? Pretty accomplished drinker. Not exactly something he'd tell his parents or the Japanese press, but not exactly something he's ashamed  of either.

So when he shouts, "I'm not drunk!" in Viktor's ear as they're dancing, Viktor laughs and probably doesn't believe him, but Yuuri is telling the truth.

"Look, okay—so, okay—my twenty-first birthday, Phichit and I got, like…oh boy, tequila? And there was a worm in it. I'm not even kidding, it was a real worm—"

"Mexican Town is a wild fucking place," Phichit says, appearing suddenly at Yuuri's back. This club is playing mostly American pop music for some reason, so with Phichit there it feels almost exactly like old times. The song is periodically telling everyone to make their hands clap.

"Phichit, tell Viktor I'm not drunk," Yuuri says to his friend, leaning back against him and turning his head to yell against Phichit's face. Phichit is familiar and soft and smells like the apartment Yuuri moved out of over a year ago. Viktor is kind and laughing and there is a look on his face like the first time he saw Yuuri do Eros.

"Yuuri still has his shirt on," Phichit tells Viktor, now essentially wrapped about Yuuri like some sort of large and friendly snake. "So he's not drunk. You don't know what drunk looks like until you've seen Yuuri after eating a tequila worm."

"We split it," Yuuri insists, tugging on Viktor's shirt until he's pressing against his front, still laughing. Yuuri laughs with him because he's so happy. He just won silver at the Grand Prix Final, he's engaged to Viktor Nikiforov (Who's beautiful and amazingly kind and very good to him and also: the love of Yuuri's life) and his very best friend in the whole wide world was here to see all of it happen. "I only had half. I was drunk for two days."

"I saw God," Phichit adds, and then screams because the song has changed and it's one of those songs that Yuuri will forever associate with half-remembered nights in the basement of a club on Michigan Avenue, riding home slumped across Phichit's lap with slim fingers combing his hair back and giggling, the smell of forty degrees in Michigan in February. "Yuuri! This is our song! Viktor, this is mine and Yuuri's song! This was the first American song I heard!"

"I'll let you have him for it, then," Viktor says. "I'm going to get some water." He looks so happy. Yuuri can't deal with it. He kisses him, his fiancé, and then twirls around into Phichit, who laughs and wraps his arms around him and swings him around. Their hair is still slicked back from the free skate earlier. Phichit is sort of unbearably handsome with his hair combed back that way, his kind and expressive eyes with a fine outline of his usual black liner.

"I'm so happy for you," Phichit gushes, tilting him backwards. "You're engaged! You're going to be married, Yuuri!" He says something in Thai that is probably congratulatory.

"I know," Yuuri laughs. Phichit straightens him back up and they spin. Dancing with Phichit feels familiar, and good, and nice after all of the (Wonderful, frightening, sublime) excitement and strangeness of the last few weeks. If Viktor's fresh perspective and new love is the compass Yuuri needs to find within himself a better and happier person, then Phichit's comfort and reassurance is the path that Yuuri will follow towards it.

As the song ends, Yuuri kisses Phichit, smiling against his lips. It's something he's done hundreds of times. Phichit smiles back at him when he pulls away.

"I love you," Yuuri tells him, wondering if a simple three words can convey the depth of feeling he has for his best friend.

"I love you too," Phichit tells him, eyes kind and soft. "And I'm…so glad that you finally found someone who can love you the way you want to be loved. I want you to be so happy, Yuuri."

The sting of happy tears builds up behind Yuuri's eyes and in his throat. Thickly, he says, "I am happy. I don't think I've ever been this happy."

"Good," Phichit says, wrapping his arms tight around Yuuri's shoulders.

They pull away when the jostling of the crowd grows too violent, and by unspoken agreement Yuuri trips his way towards where Viktor disappeared to while Phichit spins back into the crowd, engulfed in moments. Yuuri finds Viktor on a barstool slightly removed from the dancefloor and somehow, probably because the floors of this place are their own special hazard, crashes between his spread knees. Viktor bursts out laughing and catches him by the fabric over his shoulder.

"Here, darling, drink this," Viktor says, handing him a large and full glass of water. There is another glass, half-full, by his elbow.

Yuuri takes the glass and downs half of it in one go, not realizing how parched he was until the cool water hit the back of his throat. Viktor stops him from drinking too much of it at once, taking his wrist in hand and gently maneuvering the glass back onto the bar and Yuuri to lean against his chest.

"Really, I swear, I'm not drunk," Yuuri mumbles against his shoulder. Viktor's hand is big and warm on his back, reassuring. "The universe is just conspiring to make you think I am." He turns his face into Viktor's neck, inhales the smell of his cologne and feels happiness trickle up and down his spine. Tomorrow is the gala, when they will debut their partner skate and Yuuri will fulfill a lifelong fantasy in front of hundreds of people. Skating on the same ice as Viktor Nikiforov. Skating with Viktor Nikiforov, dancing beside each other.

Viktor kisses the top of his head. "I believe you."

Yuuri grumbles and turns around, leaning back between Viktor's thighs with the edge of the seat digging into his back. Viktor wraps his arms around his waist, chin hooked over his shoulder, and Yuuri has never felt so warm and loved as he does in that moment. He feels wanton with it, like a slut—but only for affection, and only from Viktor Nikiforov.

"I haven't seen you dance like that since the Gala," Viktor murmurs in his ear.

"Hm," Yuuri hums, tilting his head to the side. "Phichit's the person I learned all of that from." That and a pole dancing teacher named Moxie whose class Phichit had dragged him to half a dozen times his last year in Detroit, but it'll be a cold day in Hell (Or a warm day in Siberia) before Viktor learns that particular tidbit.

Viktor presses a long, hot kiss to Yuuri's cheek. "I think you must have had a love affair with our friend Mr. Chulanont."

Yuuri stiffens immediately, spinning back around in the circle of Viktor's arms. "I—Viktor, I would never—"

"Oh, Yuuri, no," Viktor presses a hand to his face, shaking his head. "I didn't mean it that way, love. I meant—I don't know what I meant, sometimes I speak without thinking." He presses a kiss to Yuuri's forehead, gentler than the one previous.

Yuuri closes his eyes and bites his lip, drops his hands to Viktor's lap. This is his fiancé, the man he's going to marry. Doesn't he deserve to have full disclosure? Even though the idea of telling him some of these things makes Yuuri's anxiety spike, his blood pressure double, his palms sweat? How will Viktor feel, knowing that Yuuri is routinely alone with a man whose bed he frequented for longer than he and Viktor have known each other?

"I wouldn't really call it a love affair," Yuuri mumbles, playing with the buttons on Viktor's shirt.

"You don't have to tell me," Viktor says. His hand goes to Yuuri's chin, tilting it up. "It's okay, darling."

Goddamn it. What is it about this man and making him cry? Yuuri is beginning to think that he's cursing himself to a life of weepiness, marrying Viktor. He'll be buried under pillows daily, just fucking sobbing, and Viktor will have people over and be forced to say Oh, that's just my husband, he's a bit emotional—don't slip in the puddles.

"Phichit isn't like that," Yuuri says quickly, just to get it out before he thinks better of it. "We—you should probably know that we…before I met you, before I moved back to Japan, we were—having sex. A lot. And we didn't really, um, break up. I just—I moved back to Japan and that was, um, now things ended. But we were never—we didn't date. Phichit doesn't, um, do romance, I guess? He's the friendliest person I know, the best friend I have, and he's—I know he loves me, but not…not like that." He reaches up and straightens out Viktor's collar for the utter lack of anything else to do with his hands. "I didn't know how to tell you. I'm sorry I didn't before."

Viktor's hand trails up his back, fingers against the dip of his spine. When Yuuri chances an upward glance, Viktor's eyes are soft, the line of his mouth gentle. He asks, "Did you love him?" in a way that says he might be, in an odd way, commiserating with Yuuri. Like he is speaking not as Yuuri's fiancé, but as a person who understands what it is to have felt for someone something that they couldn't return. Yuuri doesn't know how he got in this situation. He has gone from admiring Viktor Nikiforov from afar, knowing all the while that he would probably never even hold a full conversation with the man, to standing between his knees in a crowded bar, Viktor's promise on his finger and blue eyes boring into him, asking to be his confidant.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" Yuuri whispers.

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't." Viktor's forehead touches his, their eyes now too close together to focus. An elephant could run through the room, and Yuuri would have been none the wiser. If he looked up in a moment and realized that the world had come to a calamitous end around them, he might not even be concerned. Viktor's breath is on his lips, telling him, "I want to know everything about you. Even the parts you don't like to think about. That way, I can think about them for you—and love them, even though you can't."

There go the tears. The first one drops down his cheek. The second sneaks into the crease of his nose and stays there, gross and wet and uncomfortable.

"I did," Yuuri whispers. He licks a third tear off of his lips, tasting salt. "There was a while where I thought…maybe I could be happy. Just being around him, being affected by his presence, his…happiness. Because I didn't think that I would ever get anything better than that—someone who made me feel happy, and took me to bed, and felt about me the same way I felt about them. Two out of three wasn't bad, you know?"

"Did you tell him this?"

"No," Yuuri snorts. "I knew how he was. One of the first things he told me was that he didn't understand people getting married and only being with one person their entire lives. Phichit wants to meet people and make them his friends and have a big group of people that he loves and supports, not just one person. He wants to…roll around in bed with handsome men and not feel obligated to call the next morning. He loves people. He's kind, and someday he'll probably settle down in an apartment with a few friends and he'll be happy like that. But I don't see him ever devoting himself to one person. Not in the way I've always seen myself doing. Not the way I want to do with you."

Viktor kisses him then, not to interrupt but to agree—to tell Yuuri that yes, that's what he wants too, that he isn't alone. Yuuri loves him, God he loves him.

"Don’t think less of him," Yuuri implores.

"How could I?" Viktor murmurs. Their hands lace together; Viktor brings his mouth to Yuuri's ring. He's only had that ring for three days and already, he thinks he might die if he lost it. "He loved you until I could."

Yuuri wraps his arms around Viktor's shoulders and presses his hot face into his neck, weeping. "I love you." There's a woman behind Viktor who probably can't speak English and looks pretty alarmed at this red-faced crying man hanging off her seat neighbor, but she seems disinclined to comment. Yuuri closes his eyes and breathes.

"I love you too," Viktor says, kissing his neck, cheek, ear, hair. "My Yuuri. My darling."

He eventually pulls away and drinks the other half of that glass of water. The music is still pounding, and the tears gave him a headache and he's starving, but he thinks this might be one of the best nights of his life.

"Heeey!" Phichit crashes through the crowd, dragging along an unfamiliar man by the hand. The unfamiliar man is taller than even Viktor, Mediterranean with a slightly homely face but piercing blue eyes that make him strangely beautiful, and a friendly, uninhibited expression. Phichit gestures to him, somehow using the same hand he's holding onto him with. "I found you guys! This is Thomas."

"Tomás," corrects the man in a kind tone, obviously unconcerned. He probably wouldn't be able to pronounce Phichit's name either; Yuuri couldn't his first hundred or so tries.

"Right! Sorry." Phichit points to Yuuri. "This is Yuuri, my best friend."

"Hi," Yuuri says, falling back in shyness now that he has more water in his belly than vodka, still feeling the residual tear trails on his cheeks.

"And this is his fiancé, Viktor." Viktor and Tomás shake hands, both exchanging accented greetings. "Yuuri's the silver medalist, and Viktor's his coach. They just got engaged the other day." To Viktor and Yuuri, he says, "Tomás was telling me that his friend runs a tapas bar not far from here, and that she'll give us half off our food if we show her Yuuri's medal."

"You could show her your engagement ring instead," Tomás says, gesturing to the ring on Yuuri's finger. "A medal, an engagement, both are to be celebrated. Congratulations!"

"Thank you," Yuuri says. To Viktor, he says, "I'm starved, what about you?"

"Always in the mood for tapas," Vikor says, nudging Yuuri the barest minimum of distance away to stand up. He waves a hand towards Tomás. "Lead the way."

They gather Mila and Otabek on the way out, and Viktor ends up at the front of the group, probably telling his life story to Tomás as they walk because that's just what he does. In about ten minutes, Tomás' friend the bar owner is going to recognize Viktor from one of his international ads and he's going to spend twenty minutes signing autographs and taking pictures, but for right now he's just being the friendly person he naturally is.

"Are you okay?" Phichit asks, walking beside him at the back of the group. He hand goes to Yuuri's elbow. "You look like you've been crying?"

"I'm fine," Yuuri says, and means it for once. He lets a smile break across his face. "I'm…the best I've ever been, I think."

Phichit's eyes dart over his face, examining, then breaks out in a smile of his own. "Same. I fucking love Spain."

"Well, it beats Downriver," Yuuri says.

They laugh. Yuuri doesn't know how he got so lucky, to be surrounded by so many different types of love.