maked men

I love how the Brazilian lyrics to “The Mob Song” in Disney’s Beauty and the Beast throw shade at toxic masculinity.

In Portuguese Gaston’s lines

So it’s time to take some action, boys!
It’s time to follow me!

were translated as 

Quem for homem vai ter que lutar!
Terá que me seguir!

which pretty much translates as 

Anyone who’s a “real” man will have to fight and follow me!

In other words, the villager’s toxic need to prove they’re macho men makes them easily exploitable and leads them to get hurt (or killed). 

Because they care so much about being seen as masculine, all it takes to control them is to put their masculinity into question and give them an ultimatum: if you don’t do this thing then you’re not a real man.

And that’s all it takes. 

Gaston really didn’t need to say anything else, because according to toxic masculinity, being seen as even remotely feminine is unacceptable.



P.S. Literally translated the lines are

Anyone who’s a man will have to fight!
Will have to follow me!

anonymous asked:

Sexuality IS a choice! I misspelled. My apologies. Sexuality is a choice and it always has been. I should know I'm highly educated in these matters. There is no such thing as a gay gene. I don't believe there is such a thing as "straight" women or "bisexual" women at all. If so-called "bisexual" women had an ounce of sexual politics they would stop having sex with men and make a positive choice to identify as a Lesbian. I have such sympathy for these poor misguided women.

I don’t want your sympathy, I don’t need your sympathy, and you need to stop sending your gross opinions to my blog because I don’t want them

Men have it easy
Don’t disagree
It makes me queasy
Because Men really can’t see

Women give birth
The most painful experience
I’m sure it’s hell on earth
Women are mysterious

They bleed for a week
And men are scared of them
Just nod and agree that’s the technique
But they are a gem

Women full of fun and love
Caring and sweet
Have to be sent from above
I can feel the heat

Then you get on there bad side
It’s all over now
I gotta hide
She’s angry and i don’t know how

A women can destroy a man
Independent, fearless beings
Our whole lifespan
Men should be kneeling
-Tyler Pilackas

anonymous asked:

"It's just some scratches"

I never thought that all of the stories that my Nona used to tell me growing up were true. I always just thought that werewolves and banshees and evil fox spirits were things of make believe. For years, men that changed into wolves were things of my dreams.

That is until I met Peter Hale. I’d come into contact with him on several occasions, but none like tonight. Tonight I was running through the reserves, like a did every Friday night. The trail that I usually ran was closed off, forcing me to run a unfamiliar one. This one was harder, tiring me out faster than usual. I stopped near an old stump of a tree to catch my breath.

I knew someone was lurking around me when I first heard the twigs snapping. I tried to assure myself that it was a bunny or a squirrel. But the sounds became louder and I could hear heavy breathing and even when I called out, there wasn’t an answer.

Finally I took off running, not sure where I was heading. I tried to look all around to see my assailant, but all I heard was my heavy breathing. But suddenly ahead a pair big read eyes stood out against the darkness. I skidded to a stop before turn to run a different way. The red eyes were faster than me and were blocking my path once again. I tired several more times, before the red eyes formed a shape. The shape drew closer and closer until it was standing in front of me.

It was hideous. A larger wolflike figure, but stood on two legs instead of four. As the moon light shone one the creature I could make out the facial features of it. It had an uncanny resemblance to Peter. He titled his hand to the side at me, almost like he knew me before raising his claw or hand or whatever and clawed at me. I raised my arm to block my face, his talons scratching until my forearm. I stumbled to the forest floor, before scrambling to my feet ignoring the stabbing pain in my arm and running until I could see the street lights in the parking lot of the Beacon Hills Reserves.

The doctors nor my parents believe my story and were convinced I’d had some kind psychotic break. So I kept my mouth shut after that. I didn’t tell anyone not even my school friends and no one asked me about the mysterious looking scratch marks on my arm. That is until Stiles Stilinski asked me. I had only talked to him once or twice since we’d gone to school together, but the day after this all happened he spoke on me.

“What happened to your arm?” He asked, a curious look on his face.

I looked down at my arm, the wound healing quite nicely. “It’s just some scratches.”

I shrugged, but Stiles was persistent. “You weren’t out in the woods by some coincidence a few night ago, were you?”

Possible fic thoughts...

So this has been in my folder for a while, it’s amusing, sets us up for more fluffy stuff. Anyone have any interest in seeing this fleshed out? My spring break is coming up soon…

“I don’t care. Weddings freak me out. I escaped HYDRA only to be harassed by a cavalcade of aunties. At least I could punch the Nazis.” Buck adds forlornly, kicking his feet up over the back of the couch.

Snuggling deeper into his sleeping bag, Steve cackles.  “But Sam’s aunts are so nice.”

“You’re just saying that because they fed you.”

He’s not wrong.

“Is this what you do with your lives?” Tony sounds disgusted from the doorway. Buck gives him the finger, but Steve replies, “One of these days you’re gonna regret coming in without knocking.”

“Nah. You guys are never gonna bone and I wouldn’t mind watching that anyway.”

Both men make noises of protests from their nests in the living room, but they’re too comfortable to do anything about it.

“I need your help.”

“Beg pardon,” Buck says incredulously.

“You heard me, assassin burrito. Unroll. We gotta chat. You too, Grandpa.”

Begrudgingly, the guys wriggle from their cocoons and pull on hoodies instead, then head up to Tony’s.

“Still don’t understand why we couldn’t have done this downstairs,” Steve gripes and Bucky’s drowning in a mug of coffee but he grunts his agreement.

“Because you two freak me out in your natural habitat. I can’t decide whether you’re going to fuck or hibernate.”

Steve’s face turns red. Bucky rolls his eyes.

“What do you want, Stark?”

“Hear you went to Sam’s cousin’s wedding together.”

“Not like… together together,” Steve clarifies haltingly. He and Sam are friends, and Bucky and Sam are something Steve does not entirely understand, and the three of them had had a surprisingly good and unsurprisingly raucous time at the celebration.

Tony stares at him. Mutters under his breath, “Coulda fooled me,” but then louder says, “I’ve got a potential investor in Chicago. He hates me.”

Steve smirks. “Oh. Great. Got that covered then.”

“Investor for what?” Bucky mutters.

“The program I was telling you about.”

“What program?” Steve asks.

Both Tony and Bucky ignore him.

“He going to be in Chicago next week for a conference with some people that could convince him to spend his money anywhere, with anyone. I need you two to convince him that it should be with me.”

“Why should it be with you?” Steve mutters, but Bucky says, “OK. What does that have to do with the wedding?”

“He’s gay.”

“And?”

“It would be in our favor for him to feel in good company.”

“You want us to gay our way into this guy’s bank account,” Buck states dryly.

“No,” Tony clarifies. “I want you to gay his bank account into my bank account.”

“There are so many things wrong with this I don’t even know where to start,” Steve protests.

Tony checks the time on his phone. “Well, get on it because I have another meeting in ten minutes.”

“We know nothing about this guy.”

“JARVIS’ll brief you on the ride over.”

“And your project? How can we market something we don’t know about?”

“Barnes knows enough.”

“That’s - I -”

“Rogers, I really don’t have time for this.”

“So like,” Buck interrupts. “How gay?”

“Huh?” Steve says, but Tony grins.

“Told him you were childhood sweethearts.”

“You WHAT?”

“Who does he think we are?”

“Oh he knows exactly who you are, Steve-o. Both of you.” he waves absently. “Knows the whole…Cap and best friend story that everyone tells. I just…extrapolated. A little.”

Steve huffs. “This is ridiculous.”

“I house you. You owe me.”

“You’re a bajillionaire!” he protests.

Buck stuffs his hands in his pockets, sniffing hard. “I’m in. If you are.”

Steve’s so fucking surprised he says, “Ok.”

Remember, if you’re a man who happens to have a vagina you’re still a man. Nothing can change that. Those signs are wrong. And people trying to assign you the label of ‘women’ for having a vagina are wrong.

You are male and you look super cute today.