I Watch This Video At Least Twice A Day! So Much Talent All In One And I Agree With The Smashing Young

I watch this video at least twice a day! So much talent all in one and I agree with the smashing young Cab Calloway he is definitely fine as wine

The blessed time of Cab Calloway of his orchestra and his extraordinary dancers.

(Put on sound)

white coded fics be like: “he runs his fingers through your long silky hair, massaging your scalp until you fall into a deep slumber”

my black ass, my head wrap, and my bonnet:

My personal thoughts on Black x Readers as an African American

You know something that I constantly wonder about? How most (insert character here) x Black!Reader's are usually dark smut fics.

Like I go to look for a fluffy fic and all I find is y/n getting railed in their sleep non-consensually! These stories always have a bittersweet twisted ending. Now if that's your thing go off but NOT IN EVERY S I N G L E STORY! You don't look up x black!reader smut non-con you just look up x black!reader and that's all that's there.

In my experience of searching AND I HAVE BEEN SEARCHING, most of the time the fic doesn't even mention the reader being black or only gives like 1 description like "y/n's luscious black curls" AND THAT'S IT!

Most of the time the tag x Black!reader feels more like just a tag to get reads rather than an actual attempt at creating more representation!

The thing that I think gets under my skin the most is the fact that most of the stories are FULL of stereotypes about African Americans! The tags almost always have the Daddy kink, choking kink, spit kink, Drug use, toxic relationships, abuse of some sort! Or there are like 40 tags of black Y/n getting SPECIFICALLY violently fucked!

OR the story points out how y/n "picked out her huge afro and put on her large hoop earrings" or "y/n put on their Air Jordans and went to see their baby daddy for the child support that he owes" (I'M SERIOUS)!

I just wish that there was more appropriate representation in the x reader community rather than the few good stories that we are given. BECAUSE TRUST ME there are some really good cute ones that have fluff or romantic smut or getting railed BUT that's not the WHOLE DAMN STORY (and even if it is it's done in a respectful manner!)but there are so few.

And I can already here the argument "WELL, WHY DON'T YOU CREATE SOME REPRESENTATION YoURSeLf!" I will. Not much will change if I only complain about it and I am aware of that BUT it is not my responsibility to create every peice of representation that appropriately represents my community.

One peice of positive representation versus 100 peices of "representation" can only change but so much.

But then again that's why I'm writing this post if I want to see change the first thing I have to do is at least bring attention to what I see as the issue.

But what are your thoughts on the issue?

I feel like I’ve read ever Austin Butler x Black reader posts and I need more like I’m sorry but I need it

That part 😂

Scotty is make a copy of your key crazy

"How did you get in my house?" Scotty fiddles with her hands before smiling "you gave me a key you don't remember?" "Girl I ain't give you no key to my goddamn house"

Small Heath's Mud

summary: Grace goes to intimidate Tommy's misstress but Y/N is not going to fall for it.

pairing: Tommy Shelby x Black Fem! Reader

warnings: mentions of cheating, angst, racism. +18 MINORS DNI

word count: 1.253

A/N: The prompt "when he calls, he calls for me and not for you" was requested by @cillmequick (i deleted your ask, Alex, i'm sorry 😂). For all the Grace lovers out there, this story ain't for you.

Kate popped her head inside Y/N’s office in the time that it was supposed to be lunch break.

“There’s a woman here to see you.” The assistant announced.

“Tell her to wait.” Y/N replied with a sigh. She really needed at least half an hour to recollect before going back to the hecticness of her job.

“She’s white, Ms. Y/N.” Kate delivered in an almost apologetic tone.

Y/N’s brows furrowed, both concern and curiosity washing over her. She did have white clients but most of those women sent their servants to make their requests, too afraid of setting foot in a black owned business themselves. There were three bold exceptions though: Polly Gray, Ada Thorne and Linda Shelby. But if it were any of them, or the even the white servants from the scared posh ladies, Kate wouldn’t be acting so conspicuously.

“Did she say her name?” Y/N asked.

“No.”

Y/N counted three heartbeats after Kate’s answer and in an impulse, she declared:

“Sent her in.”

Her legs started to quiver in anticipation, which prompt a malaise to arise in her stomach, but she stomped her right hand, that was closed into a tight fist, onto the table, furious with her own weakness. The only way to face the situation was with her head held high.

The door opened again, fully this time, and in the frame a blonde and pretty woman started to face her.

“What can I help you with?” Y/N inquired the woman, analysing her from head to toe.

She had a soft face that could sway men from their feet and even softer hands that showed no trace of dirt or callouses in them.

The woman didn’t dignify Y/N with an answer. Instead, she reached inside the purse she was carrying and took a brown envelop out of it. She walked a few steps until the table that separated them both and deposited the object on it.

“I believe it will be enough.” The woman stated, assured of herself.

Y/N blinked, not impressed by the theatrics. The blonde beauty had a stiff posture that denoted arrogance and she seemed to wear the sentiment as a cloak. But it wasn’t lost to Y/N, that some uncomfortableness hung around her too. Almost like, whatever that was, it hurt her to do it.

“Why don’t you lay out to me what exactly do you wish for. Then we can talk about prices.” Y/N tried a new approach, prying for a tangible answer.

“I don’t want a fucking dress. I want you to stay away from my husband.” The words left the woman’s mouth like a slap and Y/N squinted her eyes, confused for a few moments with the declaration. But a light bulb lit inside her brain, and she finally caught grasp of the context she was in.

“Mrs. Shelby.” Y/N announced, trying to fit the image of the woman in front of her with the overhead descriptions.

‘Fuck’ She also thought. ‘The woman discovered the affair.’

Oddly enough, the malaise she previously felt didn’t came back. She was in a rather calm state, considering the circumstances, and not in the slightest frightened. Bewildered with her own boldness, she giggled. Fright was probably what Grace had hoped for.

“Then you wasted your time coming down here, Mrs. Shelby.” Y/N put forth, voice as saccharine as molasses and a smile as sharp as a dagger.

There was a pause, similar to a musical interlude, before Grace straightened even more her spine and exclaimed with venom:

“I’m not here to play games. Take the money and leave.”

Y/N had to hold herself from spatting out a curse. The woman was standing inside the shop Y/N had worked earnestly for years to build, and due to some caprice, she dared walk in and make demands?

“Do you have any suggestion as to where should I go?” Tommy says New York is a beautiful place.” Y/N challenged, anger boiling her blood.

The question hit Grace like a punch and the mixture of surprise and heartbreak present in her expression, certainly caused by the mention of the place of her “honeymoon”, almost melted Y/N’s heart. Almost.

“I don’t care where you go.” Grace began to say in a wobbled voice “as long as it’s far away from here. Besides, I'm handing you more money than what you are accustomed to.”

There was a definitive tone in her sentence, as if she had settled the agreement, but Y/N caught herself on an odd implication that hung in the air.

“I’m very pleased with your offer, Mrs. Shelby.” No, she wasn’t. “You’re such a kind soul, but I can’t accept it because I do not wish to go anywhere.”

She would have stopped there, but that insinuation still clogged the atmosphere, hazing her senses, so she added:

“And contrary to what you seem to believe, I'm not fucking your husband for money. I do so simply because I want to.”

Her heart pounded heavily on her chest, weighing her down. Of course, that in this irish princess head, Tommy Shelby would only take a woman like her if she was a whore. God forbid him to actually enjoy her company.

Grace squinted her eyes, accessing Y/N’s figure in disbelief. It was probably too much for her brain to process.

“I would appreciate if you...” Y/N began to say, eager to expel the woman from her shop but Grace interrupted:

“You know, I came here heartbroken and sad but at the same time resigned. I can deal with unfaithfulness. But, ” The other woman smirked in the middle of her sentence. “the one who’s actually worth pitying is you. You’re fucking him because you want to.” She mocked. “The poor thing is in love.”

Y/N was about to open her mouth and counter argument, but Grace continued:

“Well darling, I've got some news for you. You’re never going to be Mrs. Shelby.”

She had a triumphal aura while she pronounced that emphatically, like she had hit an epiphany. And, like she finally managed to humiliate Y/N the way she planned all along.

Y/N wouldn’t lie to herself and say that it didn’t sting. Tommy’s ambition aimed places where she could never set foot. But the sense of rejection came more from the injustice of it all than a genuine desire to marry Tommy. In a perfect world, no one would get to dictate who she would choose to attach herself with in matrimony.

“You know,” She began to explain, mimicking Grace. “sometimes, Tommy gets tired from work or bored from all the meeting and then he calls. But when he calls, he calls for me and not for you.” She stated plainly, recalling a habit of Tommy that had become now part of her routine.

“What you fail to see Grace, is that me and Tommy grew up in the same dirty streets. The mud that covers every building, every car, every horse in Small Heat, is the same one that is under our nails, and we can’t for the love of God wash out.” She paused, took a deep breath while panting and then carried on: “This is something that you’ll never understand.”

As if on cue, the phone in the left corner of the room began to ring, and with the perfect timing Y/N laughed.

Face red and hot like a pepper, Grace recollected her envelop and stomped out of the room, knocking the door loudly behind her.

Y/N sat on her chair, suddenly tired from the altercation.

Taglist: @zablife @runnning-outof-time @look-at-the-soul @raincoffeeandfandoms @cillmequick @moral-terpitude @dandelionprints @0shewrites0 @midnightmagpiemama @quarterpastmidnight (let me know if you want to be added for future tommy fics!)

A/N: Tell me what you think of the story, folks! Anon asks are more than welcome ☺

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