Intersectionality – specifically, the intersection of feminism and race as it pertains to Black women – has become a bit of a Tumblr buzzphrase that is generally applied to major social issues. But it has a real and important place in fandom as well, and while that is generally accepted on the surface, it has come to mean (to folks to don’t actually get it) simply acknowledging the existence of Black women.
Here’s the thing, though. Intersectionality isn’t white women reblogging photos of black women with the caption “omg so beautiful!” It isn’t fancasting Lupita in everything or having “poc” headcanons of white characters. It doesn’t even necessarily mean supporting existing Black women characters (though that’s a start). Those things are inclusive, but they’re not necessarily intersectional.
To understand the intersectionality of feminism and race in media (and, by extension, fandom), one must understand the fundamental differences between what is considered empowering for white women vs. what is empowering for Black women. (Hint: due to many years of dehumanization of Black women while white women have been portrayed as The Ideal, these two perceptions are almost diametrically opposite.)
Take the Strong Woman who isn’t there to be loved. White women love this trope, because white women in media are so often primarily seen as love interests. I can understand how that can be frustrating, and how it can be refreshing to see, say, Furiosa in Mad Max. But – and this is important – the Strong Woman trope, applied to a Black woman, reads entirely differently, and to ignore that ignores intersectionality altogether.
Black women have almost never been the ones who need protecting in media. Black women aren’t sick and tired of always being love interests. The Strong Independent Woman (thanks in part to fandom repeatedly using the term to try and keep women of color in their romance-free place) has become virtually a slur when it comes to Black women in media in the same way the Damsel in Distress makes white women’s skin crawl. If you care about intersectionality at all, it’s important to understand that. The experience of Black women in media is the Bizarro World version of white women’s experience.
Most “inclusive” feminists can see the disparity between Scarlett O'Hara and Mammy, and (I hope) understand that Mammy was dehumanized and otherized. The Scarlett and Mammy trope lives on today, with only the most un-PC parts of the Mammy character removed. Otherizing Black women is not yet widely considered un-PC. It still continues in the media we consume every day. And just because they’re often glorified for being so strong, so tough, and so independent it doesn’t make it OK.
Abbie Mills is a tough, independent badass – but Katrina embodied “womanhood,” precious and pure. Michonne is a tough, independent badass – but Jessie embodies “womanhood.” And on and on.
It has been said so many times, but it hardly ever seems to sink in: It is progressive and feminist for Black women to be the precious ones, the love interests, the damsels who need saving.
So if you instinctively ask why a Black woman can’t just be strong or get upset if she is “reduced to a love interest,” allowed the kind of romantic storyline you take for granted and spit on, the answer is: Your brand of feminism doesn’t apply here.
And, you know, that doesn’t negate that brand of feminism. Intersectionality (of all kinds) asks you to look at feminism as something that is complex, not a set of one-size-fits-all rules.
As much as I love Instagram and blogging and social media in general, I still have great appreciation for more old school ways of documenting things. The process of writing something down on actual paper and taping photos into a journal is os satisfying, and when you actually fill up that book and finish it, the gratification you feel is even greater. That’s why I carry my black moleskin journal with me everywhere, along with a little pack of fine tip markers, tape and my polaroid. Whether I’m downtown Toronto at a cafe or on a beach in Cannes, I want to be able to snap a quick photo, save any receipts, flyers or other items and write about it right away. So far I have finished one book and am halfway through another, but someday I hope to have a library filled with black moleskins that document every moment of my life.
Since most of my journal pages are about my travels, I decided it be fitting to share some photos of them on here. I’ll shut up now and let the photos do the talking since, you know, they’re worth 1000 words and all.
mature (This is the rating. Warning: The actual drabble is very immature.)
word count: 978
Another installment of the ot4 email chain. Three emails where Niall screams about: being jealous of Steve Aoki’s friendship with Louis, the beautiful black and white photo of Louis on his Instagram clearly taken by Harry, and Louis’ dog.
Also includes: jokes about dog poo (obviously), Harry’s red coat, dogs Liam doesn’t Instagram, and much more!
Wordplay prompt: Scream
This is part of a prompt challenge that a group of us are participating in for the prompt “Scream”. To read the other amazing fics that were written by the others on this prompt, you can click here and to see all fics written as part of the challenge, you can click here.
“Damn Barnes, you had some good taste” Tony said let out a wolf whistle. Tony and Natasha had been helping Bucky and Steve sort through the Smithsonian storage for anything they could keep. Tony had been the one to find the scrapbook and had been idly flipping through the pages while the others actually worked, “can’t believe you passed up a girl like this for Rogers”
A girl smiled shyly up from the page in front of him. Dark painted lips were curved into a soft smile and her short blonde hair was sleek and combed delicately across her forehead. The old black and white of the photo didn’t do much to hide the deep blush in her cheeks.
The others gathered around trying to get a glimpse of the mystery girl. When Bucky was finally able to peer over Stark’s shoulder he practically choked.
“Ho-lee shit” He said scrambling to take the book from Tony’s hands, “Mary an Joseph we are so lucky nobody found this,” he said finally pulling the book from Tony.
“What?” Stark said, smirking “no need to be ashamed of a girl like that.”
Buck’s cheeks grew ruddy, “it’s not that,” he stammered, “I mean she’s not…um she wasn’t…”
“Oh my god,” Natasha said, her eyes dancing with glee as she looked at the photo, “you can’t be serious James.”
Before Bucky could respond Steve came sauntering back in “hey guys, the lady up front says we only got ten minutes so we better pack it up for today,” his eyebrows furrowed in confusion at Bucky’s wide eyes and Natasha practically doubled over with laughter, “uh what did I miss.”
“Apparently some inside joke between assassins about Barnes’ mystery girl.”
“Wha-” the blond was interrupted by the scrapbook shoved into his chest by a positively red Bucky.
Steve gaped as he look at the girl “oh Jesus Mary and Joseph,” he murmured as Bucky nodded solemnly beside him.
“Okay seriously what’s the big deal. It’s just a picture of a pretty girl, what are you all freaking out about?”
“You think she’s pretty Stark?” Natasha asked slyly.
Tony rolled his eyes, “yes Natasha, I’m engaged, not blind. I just want to know who the hell she is!”
“’S not a girl,” Steve choked out, avoiding Tony’s eyes, “it’s uh….it’s me.”
the silence that landed over the cramped unit was practically palpable.
“What?” Tony deadpanned, his eyes flickering between the two blushing men.
Steve let out a long breath, “two men bein together back then was more than just frowned upon Stark, it was illegal. And y'know sometimes we just wanted to go out and be a normal couple.”
Tony lunged for the book tearing it out of Steve’s lax grip. His eyes flickered between the man before him the pretty girl in the picture. His eyes widened as he was able to pick out the familiar face, “holy shit"he breathed.
"It wasn’t so hard back then,” Bucky said scratching his neck awkwardly, “Stevie was small enough to be passed off as a dame no problem. We got the make up and clothes from my sisters on the nights we wanted to go dancing or something.”
“So,” Steve said to Tony, a smirk pulling at his lips, “you think I’m pretty?”
“Oh my GOD.”
Grunge expectations: deep lyrics.. Angry sad men and women..doc martens..flannel..nirvana 4ever..black n white photo..
Grunge reality: dave grohl aka mister bear lumberjack man..eddie vedder dancing?¿ flailing off the stage?¿ chRis cOrnHoLe..kurt cobain you mean actual kitten.. Splashing poopcans.. Layne hedgehog staley.. I hAvent sHOWERED IN 4 WEEKS JeRry cAntRELL.. EVEN FLOOWW THoUghTs sURPRISE LiEk HER ASS FLIES
A/N: Life, family, the holidays, and other projects have kept me preoccupied and have dwindled away much time since my last KC drabble. *cries* That being said, I listened to “Give Me Love” by Ed Sheeran the other day and found myself drowning with Klaroline feels and inspiration (not to mention actual time to write fic). Anyway, I hope you like it. Enjoy.
xx Ashlee Bree
Love Like Her
A thousand years crinkled past him like the unraveling of a musty, mutinous, yellowing and indecipherable, distressed scroll of parchment. The passage of time blurred language into numbers. Marred black-and-white photos with red scribbles and ink. Dotted the ‘eyes’ of affection with triangles, not hearts. Confused certainty with mystery. Stored a catalogue of faces and places—all of those precious, painful stories packed into vertical, horizontal, or diagonal lines—deep into the crevasses of a forgotten page until they compressed into nothing more than shadow-petal ghosts then faded away one letter…one moment…one person at a time.
As a man, he was oxymoron personified: Old yet young. Charismatic and cultured, but shackled in fur-fang savagery. Wise in many regards, but still so clueless. Dumb, dumb, dumb.
The funnel clouds of his life pummeled him relentlessly. He trudged, day to day, through the thick precipitation of hell itself.
He was trapped in this vicious cyclone all alone. Without promise. Without hope of a searching hand that’d bust through the blackness, and wrench him free.
Who was Klaus Mikaelson, after all, if not the devil’s chosen sufferer? Who was he, if not his favorite tainted, unwanted, miserable beast?
Despite all the bleak edges on this man’s parchment, however, and in lieu of all the tattered scraps which left behind proof of a wearying existence blotted with war and betrayal and anguish and disappointment, only one prayer managed to escape the barred threshold of his heart’s lips in a thousand years. One—in all that time.
And when his heart finally blurted the prayer out loud, the words tumbled forward in a whispered plea:
Per @fortiesandfostering request. Top photo is Charlie and The Cat fighting over the prime spot (and the cat is losing).
I kinda feel like several of us fumblers have the same fat black and white cat (though admittedly mine might be the fattest). She’s actually lost a few pounds the last year or so, may be closer to a svelte 20 lbs. :-)
I Still Abhor Cas’s New Trench Coat, and here’s why:
This has been bothering me forever, and I just had to make a project of it. As I was looking at pictures for reference, I became more and more convinced that they were trying to “upgrade” the look by making it more contemporary with the single-breast coat, slimmer pants, and new tie, but somehow I think the whole combination just tanked. It seems that the older coat is still the fan favorite because when Misha wears a trench coat for photo ops during conventions, he wears the older ensemble. I was really hoping Lucifer possessing Cas would bring upon a wardrobe change. Maybe not as drastic as the white suit in 5x04 that Lucifer!Sam wore, but for example, a BLACK double-breasted trench coat? with a black tie? Unfortunately, that does not seem to be in the works. :’( Maybe a wardrobe upgrade can be the gift from Sam & Dean after Cas comes back? A Hunter Uniform? Leather Jacket? I can still dream.
I apologize for the markings from my dying Copic markers especially on the new trench color. I would LOVE to transition to drawing on tablets, if only I could afford it…