#portuguese radio stations

[apptworadioapps]

Portugal Radio Stations FM & AM + Radio Online - (Radio Android Application 🇵🇹📻)

 Sure, here's an article about radio stations in Portugal:

Portugal is a country with a vibrant and diverse radio scene, offering a wide range of stations catering to different tastes and interests. From music to news, talk shows to sports coverage, there is something for everyone on the airwaves.

One of the most popular radio stations in Portugal is RFM, which plays a mix of contemporary pop, rock, and dance music. With a youthful and energetic vibe, RFM has a loyal following among younger listeners and is known for its lively morning show, hosted by popular personalities Pedro Fernandes and Mariana Alvim.

Another top station is Comercial, which has been on the air for over 40 years and is known for its mix of music and talk shows. The station's flagship program, "Manhãs da Comercial," is hosted by popular DJs Pedro Ribeiro, Vanda Miranda, and Nuno Markl, and features a mix of music, comedy, and interviews with celebrities and other notable figures.

For those who prefer classical music, Antena 2 is a must-listen. Operated by Portugal's national broadcaster, RTP, Antena 2 features a mix of classical music, jazz, and other genres, as well as programs dedicated to the arts and culture.

For news and current affairs, TSF is a go-to station. With a focus on in-depth reporting and analysis, TSF covers national and international news, politics, and business, as well as providing coverage of major events and breaking news.

Sports fans have plenty of options as well, with stations like Rádio Renascença and Antena 1 providing comprehensive coverage of football (soccer) and other sports. Rádio Renascença, in particular, is known for its coverage of the Portuguese football league, as well as its insightful analysis and commentary.

These are just a few examples of the many radio stations available in Portugal. Whether you're looking for music, news, talk shows, or sports coverage, there is a station out there for you. So tune in, and discover the vibrant world of Portuguese radio!

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[elegantgothicoctopi]

twink brain (periodically): Mundial-Ronaldinho-Soccer-64.flv

There are entire world cup matches I remember word for word over the radio in my vavu's Astrovan and the whole family going ham everytime.

[savebylou]

Appreciation post of Louis in LATAM.

A while back did a post about Louis going to see fans after the shows. I want to do a similar thing but about Louis in LATAM.

For me what Louis did in LATAM was a huge deal. Going to 3 different countries and plan so many interviews, to see as many fans as possible is not something common that international artists do in LATAM (for what I had seen).

Even this journalist & Louis talks about it how this kind of promo is inusual (transcript here):

What Louis did is not that usual as it used to be in the music industry. Maybe because times had change and the promo of music is different now, the budget is different etc.

Louis had said over a few interviews how he thought for a while to come to LATAM to thank the support and see the fans. Yes he is also promoting the tour but he could easily choose to just do the shows and that is it, but he pick the difficult option.

I mean difficult option because there is a lot that Louis has to do in order to make the interviews happened and see the fans. I will first talk about the interview aspect and then the fan aspect.

For the interviews he is doing between 6 to 10 interviews aprox. for each country, between 10 to 30 min each, is a full day of press. Even if he could feel tired of traveling, etc., he still managed to bring his best energy, he was so sweet and attentive with the journalists, doesn't matter if the questions were repetitive he always tried to answer the best he can and be present, show that he cares and he acknowledge the love he has for the fans in that specific country. The journalists have said only positive things about their experiences interviewing Louis.

Is a lot of work he had put on those interviews and is not easy, not to mention the few interviews that are live stream where he had to be so ready to answer because everyone was watching him.

During the interviews he asked for recommendations so he can learn more about the culture of each country, he also tried to learn a few words in Portuguese so he can say different things to fans in the shows in Brasil, he also spoke in Spanish and Guaraní.

We got so many interviews and even a few answer we already knew we also got new content of Louis' thought process in music & other topics. I find it fascinating learning more things about his perspective as an artist an as a person in general.

Now for the fans aspect, besides the press day on the same day he took time out of his day to do meet & greets with fans and also took pictures with fans outside of the radio stations and hotels. Even if Louis loves the fans, it also takes a lot of effort mentally and emotionally to to show love and smile to fans, to be kind, attentive even if is for just a second, because this moments will live in the memory of fans forever.

There is a lot of: travel, social interactions, people wanting his attention, fans yelling his name, asking for an autograph, wanted to touch him or be close to him, show him phones so he takes a picture, everyone filming every move he takes. It's a lot of love but also a lot of chaos and it can be overwhelming specially after a break when he was living his normal life. But even it's a lot to take in, Louis did the extra effort so fans felt seen and special.

I try to remind myself this, because I often see the fans interactions and feel happy that he is seeing so much support but I put in the back of my mind the effort that Louis needs to do personally to be in that mental space to give the best of him.

I'm thankful for Louis and his kind heart that wanted to show love for LATAM, makes me cry everytime I think about it. He comes from another place around the world where is totally different how the fans are and he still loves and appreciates the passion and excitement from fans of LATAM countries.

I also very thankful that the fans welcome Louis with so much love and excitement, making Louis feel special and make him notice how much support he has around the world. It makes me so happy that he is appreciating this moment without a show, realising that people want to see him, that he is noticing again of how meaningful his music is and the impact he has in so many lives.

I'm so glad Louis came to Brasil, Chile and Argentina. I hope he does similar things in other countries in the future.

What Louis did is not something we see often, there are not a lot of artists that go above and beyond to make fans feel special, he made a huge effort and he always try to see as many fans as possible in different countries. He is an amazing artist but also a very kind human that understand how meaningful this actions are to fans, we are very lucky to have an artist like Louis.

[film-classics]

Carmen Miranda - The Brazilian Bombshell

Carmen Miranda (born Maria do Carmo Miranda da Cunha in Marco de Canaveses, Porto on February 9, 1909) was a Portuguese-born Brazilian singer. Nicknamed "The Brazilian Bombshell", she was known for her sass and signature fruit hat outfit that she wore in her American films.

Miranda was introduced to a composer while working at her family's inn, and she soon recorded her first single ("Não vá Simbora") in 1929.  She then signed a two-year contract with Rádio Mayrink Veiga, the most popular Brazilian station of the 1930s. Her rise to stardom in Brazil was linked to the growth of a native style of music: the samba.

At the invitation of US show business impresario, Lee Shubert, who saw her perform in Rio's Cassino da Urca, she came to Broadway and starred in hit musicals: The Streets of Paris and Sons o' Fun.

Her fame grew quickly, and she was formally presented to President Franklin D. Roosevelt at a White House banquet shortly after her arrival in the US.

When news of Broadway's latest star (known as the Brazilian Bombshell) reached Hollywood, Twentieth Century-Fox offered her a contract in 1941. Her most memorable film performances are in the musical numbers of films such as Week-End in Havana (1941) and The Gang's All Here (1943).

After World War II, Miranda's films at Fox were produced in black-and-white, indicative of Hollywood's diminishing interest in her. As a result, Miranda decided to produce her own films to limited success. Although her film career was faltering, her musical career remained solid and she was still a popular nightclub attraction. She continued to tour the US, Europe, and Latin America.

After filming a segment for the NBC variety series The Jimmy Durante Show, where complained of feeling unwell, she died at home in Beverly Hills, California from a heart attack. She was 46 years old.

Legacy:

Was the first contract singer in Brazilian radio history; subsequently, the highest-paid radio singer in Brazil in the 1930s

Chosen by former Brazilian president Getúlio Vargas as a goodwill ambassador in the United States in 1939

Was the first Latin American star to have a block in the forecourt of Grauman’s Chinese Theatre in 1941

Was Hollywood's highest-paid entertainer and the top female taxpayer in the US in 1945, earning more than $200,000 that year

Has a museum in Rio de Janeiro, Museu Carmen Miranda, established in her honor in 1976

Received the Ordem do Infante Dom Henrique Grande Oficial, a Portuguese order of knighthood, in 1995

Has a square in Hollywood named Carmen Miranda Square with a ceremony headed by honorary mayor of Hollywood Johnny Grant and attended by Brazilian consul general Jorió Gama in 1998

Was one of 500 stars nominated for the American Film Institute's 50 greatest screen legends in 1999

Honored by the Museum of Modern Art in Rio de Janeiro in 2005 and the Latin America Memorial in São Paulo in 2006 with a Carmen Miranda Forever exhibit to commemorate the 50th anniversary of her death

Bestowed the Ordem do Mérito Cultural by the Ministry of Culture of Brazil in 2009

Was a part of a set of commemorative US Postal Service Latin Music Legends stamps, painted by Rafael Lopez, in 2011

Commemorated in the 2016 Summer Olympics closing ceremony with a tribute

Honored with a Google Doodle on her 108th birthday in 2017

Was the first South American honored with a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame at 6262 Hollywood Boulevard for motion picture

[rook-of-the-woods]

woah rook wrote something

crazy I know. Uhhh yeah I like it so. Here. Feast my beloved followers

TW// implied end of world, missiles, apocalypse

No one expected Armageddon to come. It wouldn’t have been as devastating if they did. So when missiles rained down upon humanity, all they could do was watch and wait until it was their turn. Warnings blared across every television and radio station. Phones beeped and buzzed the impending doom loud enough to drown out the sirens.

Across the world, people left their places of work, rushing home. They picked up their children from school and went home. There, they huddled together. Tears streaked down cheeks and whispered prayers filled the air. If their gods were listening, they did not intervene.

Families who normally found themselves at odds reconciled and parents held their children close. Spouses and siblings all sitting together, watching the sky slowly turn an unnatural orange as the last parts of the day made one more spectacular sunset. In other places, darkness and night was all anyone knew as they stood watch through the night and into the morning, waiting for the end. 

So many mouths all forming the same words. In every language, in every place, humanity was united in its love. I love you. 我爱你. Te amo. मुझे तुमसे प्यार है. Je t’aime. Я тебя люблю. أحبك. আমি তোমাকে ভালোবাসি. 

How many times can one say I love you before the world ends? How many times will it take to believe? How much does it really matter, in the end. Maybe it never did. Maybe it’s all that matters.

For the briefest amount of time, all anyone could imagine was just one more moment. One more moment. Just one more. Let me hold onto them and this world for just a moment more.

Some closed their eyes, others watched the missiles get closer and closer. Everyone murmured their last. I love you. 我爱你. Te amo. मुझे तुमसे प्यार है. Je t’aime. Я тебя люблю. أحبك. আমি তোমাকে ভালোবাসি. Eu te amo. میں تم سے پیار کرتا ہوں. 愛してます

For all humanity's brief existence in the universe, the thousands of years it took to develop, it all ends so quickly. 

Languages (In order):

English, Simplified Chinese, Spanish, Hindi, French, Russian, Arabic, Bangala, Portuguese, Urdu, Japanese

[enam3l]

love, lola / chapter seven / banana and the band (5.6k)

Summer is in full swing. As pregnancy occupies your time, Eddie finds his own groove. But will it lead him to a future without you?

a/n: happy ending eventually, slow burn, will they won't they, a lil angsty but never mean eddie! tw: if pregnancy details and adoption

ok guys if you hadn't been wondering where this story was going, i think this chapter might give you a clue! we are really getting going now.

series masterlist / follow #enam3l love lola for instant updates / my other work / now available to read on AO3!

comment for tag list. requests open for prequel stories.

The summer of '86 was so far, looking pretty sweet for Eddie Munson; a striking contrast to the events of the spring. On top of being a high school graduate, Eddie was now gainfully employed at The Hideout. Once graduating, for the first time in his life, he'd found himself swimming in free time. No school to waste his time, his drug dealing hat hung up and unfortunately, Corroded Coffin disbanded. The other guys occupied with summer jobs or preparations for leaving Hawkins behind for college. Adventures which were not on the horizon for the likes of himself.

Then, there were only so many times he could interrupt Steve and Robin at Family Video. Eddie had already been scolded for messing with Steve's precious returns piles and Keith was threatening a Munson-ban. As for the kids, they already had so much of their childhood stolen, Eddie wanted them to have the summer to reclaim some. The lanky presence of a twenty year old former drug dealer didn't aid that - which had became painfully obvious when he'd been mistaken for Dustin's dad by the shop assistant at 7/11. And of course there was you. 

Now, you did have the same endless free time as Eddie, yet he was terrified of imposing. Whereas previously, spending countless hours together wasting away the summer months had been second nature, it was no longer. The feelings Eddie first noticed when he was fourteen were bubbling back up to the surface with vengeance. During adolescence it had been easy to coexist with the love he held because being in your warm presence was all he'd known. The blissful ignorance of youth meant he hadn't quite grappled with the overwhelming nature of love. Then during those peak years of realisation from eighteen onwards, you hadn't been there.

The distance college provided was Eddie's saving grace. Allowing him to compartmentalise his feelings towards you and store them in a locked box in the attic of his mind. Two years later, you've now returned. Bursting through the attic hatch, wielding bolt cutters to break open the industrial chains he'd put on that dusty box to keep it sealed. Unwittingly you've now unleashed a lifetime of all consuming love. The kind that has Eddie no longer knowing how to be normal around you. Bubbles fizz in his stomach in your presence, pressure rising to the point he fears the cork will pop and every soppy thought will flow from his mouth. Like a lovesick teenager he feels his palms sweat as his uncontrollable hand itches to take yours. So if anything, Eddie needs something to occupy not only his time but his mind. Something to prevent the impulses that zap through him. 

So that's where Eddie found that for once, the universe offered him a sprinkle of luck. On a summer evening as he nursed a beer, longingly watching you twirl around with Robin, he was propositioned. From behind the bar, Carl, the owner of The Hideout croaked. 

'So, Munson, now you're a free man, take it you been finding yourself with a lotta time on ya hands?'

Eddie scoffs and nods, he doesn't know the half hour of it. Yesterday he took apart and reassembled Wayne's radio just for something to do - it now only plays stations in what they think is Portuguese. 

'Well, can always do with extra hands round here, man...' Carl shrugs. 

Eddie whips his head round, raising an eyebrow. 

'Carl, let's be serious, we both know I am not twenty one, right?' 

Carl cracks up. 

'No shit, kid. You don't think I can tell a Sharpie job on an ID?'

They both laugh, he'd lost the flawless looking fake ID you'd made for him whilst you'd been away. Resulting in him feebly attempting forgery. He quickly realised that fake IDs and forgery were not something he could add to his portfolio of criminal services a long with dealing. 

'Not gonna get your ass shut down for having someone underage kid working?' Eddie asks. Carl shakes his head. 

'Hell no, you think they send agents to check in at this shit hole? Pretty sure we're on file as going out of business a decade ago. Nah, man, your only problem would be Chief Hopper and he'd let it slide for you, right?'

Eddie mulls it over. It's the best offer he's been given... the only offer he's been given. He could get a few drinks for free, maybe use the stage and equipment to practice, see a few gigs. Do anything other than obsess over you. 

'Yeah, yeah, Hopper would be cool. What would you have me doing? Need some muscle on the door,' Eddie smirks, flexing his lean arms like Popeye. 

'Sure, I'll call you if the stray cats outside get rowdy... I was thinking more like the bar. Means I can stay in the office, means the girls we already got on the bar have someone to look out for em, plus you know all the wiring and shit better than me. Can sort all that out for the bands?'

Carl sees the smile spread across Eddie's face and offers out a hand. 

'We got a deal, Munson?'

Eddie's ringed hand grips Carl's aged tattooed one. 

'Fuck yeah.'  

By August you're four months pregnant and every morning is a nauseating guessing game even without the morning sickness. 

Once the creeping morning light wakes you, a ritual that started at the beginning of summer, starts. Five deep breaths, eyes squeeze shut, then you raise your duvet, open your eyes and see if over night your stomach has miraculously blown up like a balloon. Then you convince yourself that sight deceives you and obsessively probe your stomach to see if it feels rounder than last night. All this plotting and secrecy was pointless if your body betrayed you, the bump appearing and giving it away like a pointing neon sign. But thankfully, the universe had granted you a sliver of luck and the bump was barely bigger than the aftermath of a large dinner. Nothing anyone would notice. Nothing Eddie would notice. 

Still, there were other factors you constantly feared would give up the game. You wondered if anyone noticed your reluctance to enter the pool all summer. Both Gran's and Steve's remained untouched by yourself despite numerous days spent lounging around it with your friends. 

'The baby can't drown when it's inside you,' Steve had snorted. 

You knew that, having approached pregnancy as you would a school test. Meticulously revising in attempt to make pregnancy appear as something to learn about and not something happening to you. Swimming was listed as a pregnancy safe exercise. But you're sure the subjects tested weren't in a pool with a gaggle of sun drunk teenage boys and a lanky best friend who insisted on hurling you around. You don't believe it would be best pleased to find itself wobbling around on Eddie's shoulders as you wrestled Robin on top of Steve. Plus, wearing a swim suit that exposed your stomach, highlighting it to the world, felt like tempting fate. And a shallow lovesick part of you didn't want Eddie to see you in a bikini, skin exposed, unless you looked perfect. 

The other glaring giveaway was you weren't drinking and what was summer without boozy evenings with friends? This all became even trickier now Eddie was behind the bar at The Hideout. No longer could you pretend there was rum hiding in your coke when you were ordering from him. Luckily, Steve was a true friend and stepped up. A true friend who had never drank so much in his life. Making sure to always drink your decoy or order on your behalf. You were glad Eddie had got the job, had something to motivate him and get up for. The downside was now he was the Hideout's resident eye candy. Every night out you were forced to witnessed the girls flocking to the bar and pawing at him. Big lashes batting at him, asking for their fourth drink in the last hour; pouting that they'd spilt their previous glass. Infuriatingly, despite being a goof, Eddie was painstakingly charming; something he failed to realise. His natural charisma oozing as he smirked at the girls needing a replacement, 

'Oh it just fell out of your hand? Well we can't be having that, doll. 'Pose you want the same again?'

You watched the girls fluster, knees buckling and not just from the booze and heels, a reaction you'd had a plenty. It only grew worse once they found out he was talented eye-candy as they caught him on stage doing sound checks or providing back up when a band's guitarist had one too many.  The kicker was the female clientele of the Hideout were exactly what you'd imagined his type to be. Buxom heavy metal cover girls with smouldering eyes and a music taste much more in tune with his. A lethal combination of heartbreak, jealousy and fury bubbled inside, only aided by raging pregnancy hormones and again without alcohol to numb the pain. Your only comfort was Steve's protective reaction where he would slide you a warm hand to squeeze. 

That warm hand was there again when you finally caved and went to get your first scan.  Admittedly, you should've already had one but you had buried yourself in denial. Not wanting to hear that tiny pulsing which would cause you to crash land into reality. But at twenty weeks, you knew you had to, it would be irresponsible not to. The adoption agency you had been in contact with needed to know a due date and ideally a scan for prospective parents. It made you feel a little queasy, the thought of the now banana sized being inside you getting advertised. A little grainy picture used to grab the attention of the highest bidder, like a used goods flier pinned to a bulletin board at the grocery store. What could you do though? That was the process, this is what you had to do.

The appointment came round on the 22nd August, a Friday which was far too sunny when you felt so blue. Not even the air conditioning of Steve's BMW could prevent the sweat that beaded on your forehead; a mixture of anxiety and the abnormally warm summer. The car was silent in anticipation, thick with the looming sense of how real the situation you'd gotten yourself in was about to become. You stare at the backs of your moral supporters' heads. Gran staring wistfully at the blur of orange, blue and green outside. Steve's gaze fixated on the road as his knuckles whitened with his grip on the wheel. The blaring WHAM! tape a stark contrast to the somber mood. 

Steve's hand gripped yours in support as you reclined on the bed in anticipation for the nurse. Gran's firm on your shoulder. The two people who you knew were going to keep you grounded until this blip in your life was over. The nervous energy was interrupted by the chirping of the nurse. 

'Hi, Miss Y/L/N?' you nod, 'good morning! How we feeling today? Excited? Nervous?' 

You could tell she was good at her job, had mastered the art of talking to ease people. 

'How about you, Mom or I guess Grandma now? And Dad to be?' 

Gran winces. Steve's breath hitches. Oh crap, you think, I'm about to foil up this poor woman's routine. One top of that, the message that no one was going to become anything other than what they already were, clearly hadn't been passed on. The three of you look between each other grimacing. Your voice croaks nervously. 

'Oh urm, this is actually my Gran... and he's not the father...'

Steve gives an awkwardly cheerful salute 'Just a good friend.'

The nurse clearly looks as if she's about to say something nice but you have one final blow. 

'And, urm...' you squirm on the squeaking bed, 'I'm not keeping it. The baby - sorry. They're getting adopted.' 

For the first time, her kind smile falters as she flusters on her word. 

'Oh - oh god. I'm so sorry! There's usually a note and - oh, my apologies... well... shall we make sure they're all okay in there?'

You nod, making sure to put on a big smile to ease the nurse so she can get back into her rhythm. Carefully you roll your top up to reveal your belly... or lack there of. 

'I... don't really have a bump? Is that normal? Are they okay?' 

The nurse is quick to reassure, 'Don't worry! Bump size is different for everyone. Nothing to worry about but we'll double check, alright?'

Both Gran and Steve offer another soothing squeeze. Brandishing the gel, you’re given a warning.

‘Okay, hon, now this will be cold. You ready?’

You nod but the response is quickly cut off as the thick gel hits your stomach like ice sludge. An involuntary squeal escapes. Steve let’s out a snigger at your response and is met by glares from every woman in the room.

‘It’s not that bad, surely?’ He attempts to crack. 

The unamused look on your face should’ve warned him not to push it. Quickly, your free hand swipes up a glob of the gel and slathers it on Steve’s exposed forearm. The squeak that escapes him is far more girlish than you ever could’ve produced. You smirk at his frown. How was this the response from a man who has been mauled by inter-dimensional creatures? Gran and the nurse cackle as he untwines his fingers from yours to rub at the frozen patch of skin.

‘Ok… point proven,’ he sulks. 

After reapplying the gel, you all watch with bated breath as the scanner makes contact with your stomach. The smooth surface glides over the skin, searching. No one in the room dares to exhale. Now, your mind races with potential problems. You feel foolish for not being more concerned about the lack of bump. Despite everything, despite the colossal detour this baby has taken your life on, you want it to be there. You want it to be okay. 

The sonogram screen looks nothing but like static to you. Jarring flickers of black and white. Nothing your eyes can recognise as a life form. It's all silent. 

Then finally, a soft pulsing begins to echo out of the tinny speakers. The two hands digging into your skin finally relax a little. 

'There we go,' the nurse beams, 'looks like we have a little burrower on our hands.' 

The image stills and she pauses over the right spot. It's not exactly a breathtaking picture of what grows inside you. The edges are fuzzy, it's abstract. Like an impressionist painting of life. 

'C-could you point it out... I'm not sure where they are on screen,' your voice is laced with embarrassment. As if not being able to instantly recognise the baby made you a bad mother. But I'm not a mother, I'm not going to be you have to remind yourself. 

A blue gloved finger outlines a section on screen. 

'Oh,' you gasp. It's so obvious now she shows you. 'A little banana.' The internal musing manages to pass your lips and three sets of eyes look at you confused. 

'That's what the book said,' you stutter, 'by twenty weeks they'd be the size of a banana...' 

The nurse chuckles along with Gran as Steve remains fascinated by the little wiggling form on screen. 

'Yeah, that's about right,' the nurse adds, 'although I would say this is quite a little banana, but...'

She scans back over again to be sure, 'a very healthy little one!'

Gran leans presses a kiss to the side of your head. 

'I knew it, it's all okay in there. You've done good,' as it did when you were small, her voice still soothes you like nothing else. 

The question you've been dreading finally comes. 

'So, Y/N, would you like to know the baby's gender?' The nurse smiles. Before you can stop yourself and compose a more succinct answer you blurt out,

'No!' 

You're met back with surprised and alarmed blinking eyes. The nurse, Steve and Gran looking between each other to work out what just happened. 

'The adoption agency don't require it. Just as long as they're healthy. That's all, that's fine,' you attempt to reason. Gran tucks a finger under your chin, her sharp eyes analysing your own. 

'Are you sure you don't want to know darling?' She drawls out the 'sure' for emphasis. 

'I'm sure. We're done.' 

In the car home you feel embarrassed by your sharpness over the gender. Again you travel in awkward silence. One of the more exciting parts of pregnancy for most, just an uncomfortable experience for you. The open window causes the printed sonogram picture to flutter between your fingers. The motion causing the black and white haze to dance around like it had on screen. As if your banana size baby was hopping around. You wonder if they will start to bop around inside you, the nurse said they should start to move anytime now. Will they stay a little burrower or would they become a relentless little wriggler? Eddie's baby would definitely be a wriggler. You pinch your thigh for that thought. Thoughts like that now intrude daily, as if your own mind is trying to torture you. It's why you didn't want to know the gender.

The last thing you needed was another sliver of information that could paint a fantasy for you. Your imagination would only take the gender and run with it. It would allow you to truly picture the baby. What they'd look like, who they'd be or all the things they could've been had they been Eddie's. It feels cruel to say and it's why you didn't explain in the hospital room, but you don't want to humanise the baby. The more you pretend this is nothing more than a project or a transaction, the easier this will be. Already your heart hurts too much. 

Over at The Hideout, Eddie squints in concentration, pushing escaping strands of hair out of his face. Sweat drips down his neck, skin exposed due to the ponytail. The stage lights are hot on him as he toys with the wiring for the amps and speaker system.  All day he's spent setting the place up for a big gig. A few repeat guests supporting a once regular band that had gathered a lot of heat. Setting this night up made Eddie, for the first time, feel important and valued. A sensation that sent electric bolts through his body and not in the same way as earlier when an old wire sparked.

For a rundown bar in a dead end town, The Hideout had garnered a cult venue status for metal and rock bands dotted between Hawkins and Indianapolis. The headliners Kraven were familiar to Eddie, having played a few of the same shows as Corroded Coffin. More rock than metal but still good, very good. They had garnered a big hype, getting shows at real venues in the city and those getting rave reviews in magazines and the paper. Eddie had been pretty surprised they'd been down to come back to The Hideout for the end of summer event he'd organised. Carl had been impressed with his ability with the bar, quick to let Eddie become his right hand man. The ultimate approval was now getting granted permission to throw his very own event. 

'Shit, bro. You fuckin set all this shit up already?' Taylor, the lead of Kraven appeared beside Eddie. Tanned skin littered with tattoos and messy waved bleach white hair; the perfect image of a rockstar. 

'Um yeah, pretty much. It was no problem...' Eddie shrugs. 

'Wicked, thanks dude. So, you still playin yourself?' Taylor asks casually as he strolls over to his guitar. Fingers artfully tuning it. 

'No, not really. Band kinda broke up. They're all off to college and shit.' 

Eddie feels a little embarrassed under Taylor's confident gaze. Embarrassed to admit his band had fallen apart to someone whose was thriving. 

'Damn fuckin shame!' Taylor bellows into the microphone. His impressive voice echoing through the empty venue. 'You guys were pretty sick, y'know? Especially you bro. Fucking shredder!'

For a different reason now, Eddie blushes with embarrassment. But this time because someone like Taylor thinks he's talented. Thinks he hadn't just wasted his time with music. 

'Oh, shit, well... thanks! Means a lo-'

'Wanna play with us tonight?' Taylor casually asks like it's nothing. He must notice the bafflement in Eddie's face so he continues. 

'We're a man down. Lead guitarist ain't here. Was gonna just cover myself but... dunno, think it would pretty hardcore if you filled in?' 

Eddie feels his jaw drop; now he's really flattered. The thought is nerve wracking but god, did he miss performing. 

'Fuck... are you sure? I mean I don't even know your stuff?'

Taylor scoffs, 'Fuck yeah. Look you'd be doing us a favour and you're good, you'll pick it up easy over practice.'

The electricity running through Eddie increases tenfold. Who is he to refuse a guy as cool as Taylor? Plus, a desperate part in the back of his mind whispers a fantasy of you swooning seeing him on stage again for the first time in years. 

As the stage lights came on, Eddie desperately resisted the temptation to rub his eyes; now lined in perfectly smudged black kohl. The Kraven look was a little different to Corroded Coffin's, more Studio 54 than biker bar. The rest of the band all exposed glittering skin, tight leather and mesh. After rehearsals, Eddie had gone back to the house to rummage for anything that fit the brief. His chosen look of skin tight shredded black jeans, home cut vest and leather jacket was met with approval. 

'Let me just add the finishing touches,' the drummer's girlfriend had said. 

She sat Eddie down, hovering over his lap as she artfully smudged the liner. Her eyes fixated on his own whilst smearing a layer of glitter over it. The intimacy of his pre-show rehearsal caused his imagination to picture you instead. When he closed his eyes it was you straddling his lap, soft fingertips sweeping on his eyelids and wishing him words of encouragement. Just as he had in the dressing room, Eddie stood on stage wondering what you'd think. Would you like this new look? Would you find it hot? He knows you like Bowie. Then there were other concerns, you hadn't seen him play since you'd left for New York. He's pretty sure he became a much better musician since then. Losing himself in Corroded Coffin in a desperate attempt to fill the void you left. Eddie prays you like this. Prays you enjoy watching him perform. 

The spiralling thoughts are knocked out of Eddie as Taylor strums the first note on his guitar and the performance begins. 

When the stage lights illuminate the figures on stage, you cough up your swig of cranberry juice. There is one guitarist up there who you definitely recognise. You'd arrived with the gang earlier, excited for the evening Eddie had worked hard organising. He'd miraculously left out the part where he would be performing himself. Steve pats your back from your choking whilst the rest of the group gawp. 

'What the fuck?!' Robin shouts, 'is that Eddie?'

You nod feebly, still speechless. This band looked like a real band, Eddie looked like a star. Even from where you all huddled in your usual booth you could see him oozing effortless swagger. 

'Did you know he was playing tonight?' Nancy asks in bafflement. 

'No,' you reply meekly, 'not a clue...'

You hadn't seen Eddie play since you left for college. It appeared in the meantime he'd gotten even better. Argyle was up and rallying you all. 

'Dudes, this is fuckin sweet! Come on we gotta go up there!' 

Everyone was quick to file out the booth, weaving into the crowd to get closer to the stage. As if Eddie's guitar was a siren's call, you found yourself following them until a tug at your sleeve pulls you back. 

Steve frowns, 'what are you doing? Are you sure that's safe?'

'I don't want to miss it! It'll look weird if I'm not there as well,' you're sure your voice whines like a teenager. 

'Yeah but...' Steve's eyes full of worry flicker down to your stomach. 

'It'll be okay, you'll stay with me right?' A dramatic sigh signals you've won the argument. 

'Yes, fine, of course I will.'

Steve firmly grips your hand, shielding you as he pushes through the crowd until he finds the others. 

Only a few rows back from the stage, you now see Eddie fully. 

Framing his dark chocolate eyes are smudges of eyeliner and glitter that reflects the colourful lights. The make up makes his eyes even more intense. The two orbs seem to find you in the crowd and light up. Their magnetism making you feel like you're the only one in the room. His ringed fingers move faster and in more intricate ways than you've ever seen him do before. Fuck, Eddie was always a talented musician but he'd improved tenfold in the last two years. Not just him, however, the whole band look professional. All the members in perfect harmony. The songs not just covers or tunes thrown together in a garage, they're hits. You have no idea how Eddie has ended up a part of them, whoever they are but they're electrifying.  

It's not just you who thinks so. The whole crowd moves like a wave, losing themselves in the music. In the corner of your eye you see Robin, Jonathan and Argyle's hair whipping round wildly. The sheer energy in the room makes the air thick and sticky. You can't help the way your eyes fixate on the beads of sweat trickling down Eddie's thick neck, over his collar bone, past his pecks and disappearing under his vest. This was torturous. As the band stop whilst the lead singer talks, you watch as Eddie removes his leather jacket. Strong but lean arms revealed. 

When the band start back up a gasp sticks in your throat as he begins a solo. Damp curls falling as he concentrates on the notes he plays. Veins flexing under the taught porcelain skin of his arms. Like the rest of the crowd you scream. A family of bats dancing. You're unable to ignore the volume of female voices joining in on the cheering. Your blood boils with envy that others should be looking at your Eddie and thinking thoughts that slip out when you're alone in bed. You can't believe he's real. Yet, he is and painfully, he isn't yours. There's a room full of women here who he could go home with. Who aren't his best friend. Who aren't pregnant. 

When they finally finish and file off the stage, Eddie's heart is still going like a jackhammer. Adrenaline from performing still coursing through his veins. Holy fuck he'd missed this. The other factor causing his pulse to race is raw jealousy. The entire show his eyes burnt at the spot where Steve's arm was wrapped tight around you. Large hand possessively gripping your shoulder, tucking you in beside him. That is not right, Eddie fumes, Steve isn't your protector or comfort, that's his role. 

Congratulatory claps on his back shake Eddie out of his sulk. The guys from Kraven flocking round him. 

'Eddie, bro that was fucking hardcore!'

'You're a lifesaver, dude, honestly!'

'You were on fire out there, my man!'

Eddie's cheeks flush with the praise from people he can't believe like him - think that he is talented. 

'Oh, urm, thank you!' He stutters, 'thanks for letting me play! Look, I'm just gonna to see my friends, caught them in the crowd. I'll see you in a minute?' 

The guys nod. 

'No worries, bro. Just come back to the dressing room when you're done!' Taylor shouts after him as Eddie throws a thumbs up. Quick to run back into the bar and find you. 

It takes Eddie a matter of seconds to spot you in the crowd. He's certain even if this were Madison Square Garden and he was blindfolded, he'd find you. 

'Sweetheart!' He bellows over the chattering crowds and pulsing speakers. 

Instantly your head whips round to see him, stood there in all his sweat covered glory. You're quick to slip out of Steve's arms and run into Eddie's. 

'Ah I'm sweaty I don't wanna get you-' his protests are cut off as you slam into him. Oblivious and uncaring of his damp skin, you wrap your arms around his neck. Instinctively your fingers finding the damp curls at the back of his neck. He indulges and wraps his own tightly round your waist. 

'Teddy, you were so fucking amazing,' you pull back so you can swat at his exposed chest from the sagging vest. 'Why didn't you tell me you were playing!'

Eddie chuckles at your childish frown and pout. His now calloused finger reaches to smooth down the line in your furrowed brow. 

'Wasn't planned, sweets. They were a man down so I guess surprise...'

You let your fingers linger on his chest. Running your tips round over the hot smooth skin, a move that feels too intimate but you can't resist. It takes all of Eddie's strength not to groan at the feeling. He wonders if you feel how hard his heart beats under your touch. Wonders if you realise you're the cause. 

'You were amazing. I mean, you always were but... now. That was something else! How could you keep that from me!'

His cheeks flush at your compliments. They feel so much more meaningful leaving your lips. 

'You really think so?' He mumbles, 'guess I had a lot of time on my hands without you...'

The words pierce your heart. You knew the feeling, days became endless without Eddie. You didn't realise he'd felt the same through those two years. Pulling him back into a hug, you bury your face into the crook of his neck. It smells like sweat, smoke and his aftershave but it's all Eddie. It's home. 

'I'm sorry,' you whisper. Your lips move against his skin and he lets himself pretend it's almost a kiss. He closes his eyes in bliss having you close like this. One arm pulling you tight against him, fingers trailing up your spine. The other wrapped round your shoulder, his tired hands running through your soft locks. Eddie sees how far he can push his luck as he presses his lips and nose to the crown of your head. Inhaling your smell whilst lightly pressing a kiss. 

Back in the dressing room, Eddie is surprised to find the band gathered as if they're holding a meeting. A bizarre contrast to see such animated people wear such serious expressions. 

'Eddie, hey! Come sit,' Taylor waves him over, pointing to a chair.  

He sits down and looks around at the other guys awkwardly. All their eyes on him. It feels like a very strange AA meeting. 

'So... you guys good? Happy with the show?' He asks to try and break the tension. 

Keith the drummer chirps up. 

'Yeah bro, we're good, real good. The show was sick. That's what we wanted to talk about actually...'

Keith nods to Taylor as if to signal for him to go on. 

'Look, Eddie, I'll be real with you. Kraven, we're doing well. It's not been announced yet but... we're signed. We've been working on a debut album for a few months...'

Eddie's eyes widen. It does make sense, he wonders why they hadn't said though. 

'Shit, guys, that's awesome. Well done-'

Taylor cuts Eddie off. 

'That's not all... we may have come with ulterior motives. Our lead guitarist, tonight wasn't just a one off. He quit...'

Eddie's mouth forms a little 'O'. 

'He decided going pro, it wasn't for him. It's cool. So we've been looking for a new lead. Then you called offering the gig and it was like, fuckin' serendipity. We all remembered how hardcore you were with your band.'

The rest of the band nod whilst Eddie's brain feels like it's about to malfunction. 

'W-what are you guys saying?' He stumbles out. 

'Well... we knew you were talented. Then tonight just proved our theory correct. Eddie, bro... we want you to join the band.'

For the first time in his life, Eddie Munson might be speechless. The silence is filled then by Spike their bass player. 

'I know this sounds fuckin batshit brother but we were so good out there, together. You're better than this place, too talented to just be managing a bar in a random ass town. You could be doing the real thing with us, man. We've been out in Cali recording...'

Eddie scans the room, at the pleading faces before him. This feels like a dream. This can't be happening, shit like this is from movies, they don't happen to Eddie the freak Munson. And California? That's like a million miles away. He's barely left the state. It's a million miles away from you. From that New York plan he'd wishfully proposed. But then, what else does he really have? He can't just tag along on your life forever. Taylor coughs, interrupting his freak out. 

'So, what do you say, dude... wanna be Kraven's lead guitar?'

tag list: @tlclick73 @probablyin-bed @fangirling-4-ever @booksarekindaneat @azydrateanatomy @sadbitchfangirl @fluffybunnyu @big-ope-vibes @beam86 @midnightsgetawaycar @stevieharringtonswife

[momo-de-avis]

Did you know that, following the success of the absolute panic created by Orson Welles’ famous radio broadcast of H.G. Wells’ War of the Worlds, Portugal did the same not one, but twice?

It’s 1958. Of all Radio Broadcasts, it’s the Catholic one that will stir the pot. In Rádio Renascença, known for being both a very Catholic radio station and the one that gave the second signal of the Revolution on the 25th of April, there was a guy who decided to repeat Welles’ feat. He went so hard in this, he borrowed sounds from Paramount studios after meticulously writing the script for this.

Inevitably, when he broadcasted the dramatisation of his own reinterpretation of War of the Worlds, instant panic settled. Here is how the 25th of May, 1958 broadcast started:

Ladies and gentlemen: we interrupt our programme of light orchestras to communicate a special news from the International Agency Press. At 7:15PM, Dr Jorge da Fonseca, of the Braga Observatory, claims to have observed several incandescent gas explosions, occuring at regular intervals on planet Mars.

The spectroscope indicates that this gas is hydrogen and it is moving towards the Earth at a tremendous velocity. Professor Manuel Franco, of the Cascais Astronomical Observatory, confirms the observation made by Dr Jorge da Fonseca and describes the phenomenon as a “blast of blue flames fired by a weapon”.

It then goes on to inform that these same Martians are now invading the country, starting with Lisbon, and will soon start conquering many other European capitals. This, the broadcaster informs, is confirmed by the “Ministry of Internal Relations”.

The broadcast should have lasted until 10.15 PM; it was abruptly interrupted at 9.45. There were calls made to every police station and fire department in the country. A man walked into Renascença with a gun and threatened the broadcasters. Several called threatening with violence. Many women fainted. In some towns, people left their homes screaming. That night, traffic bottled up several highways.

Inevitably, the author would be visited by PIDE (the dictatorship’s State Police) a week later, and had him arrested for three hours while he was questioned. He was forced to give up the names of all involved, including their addresses and names of everyone in their families, and was then warned that, were he to repeat the feat, he would be arrested at António Maria Cardoso (arguably the worst prison in Lisbon) and would not leave next time.

The funniest thing is that, in 1958, as throughout the dictatorship, there was a Censorship department. Nothing could be published or see the light of day without going through a Censor and several other authorities. In Rádio Renascença’s case, not only was the broadcast previously approved by the censorship department, it was also by its resident censor, who was a priest.

And to make matters even funnier, the broadcast was announced via a warning, that explicitly stated that this was a work of fiction. Still, nobody listened, and it seems nobody realised that there never existed, and still doesn’t, an Observatory in Braga, nor in Cascais, as there was never a Ministry of Internal Relations.

Then we skip to 1988. You would think people have learn their lesson. It’s the 80s: Portugal has just left a nearly half-a-decade long dictatorship, it’s experiencing freedom of press for the first time, and one guy decides now is the right time to try and do the same thing the first one did: follow Welles’ footsteps and recreate a dramatisation of an alien invasion.

EXCEPT it goes buckwild AGAIN.

This time, several newspapers in Braga, where this happened, warned several days ahead that this was going to happen, and that it was a work of fiction. Then, by complete coincidence, it happened that, on the day of the broadcast, the Portuguese Red Cross was doing a drill in the middle of the city, simulating a multiple-vehicle car-crash.

People fled to Porto and Spain, but because one of Braga’s main arteries was shut down for the drill, every road was jam-packed with traffic. A few hours later, rumour got out that 500 people had died from the event (the martian invasion, not the panic).

Several branches of the army were actually told to be on the lookout, and GNR went out into the woods in search for the alleged spacecraft from Mars. Two fire engines got lost searching for the aliens. Hundreds of people went out to fill up their tanks with gas, queueing up for hours. One football match was interrupted by the frantic, panicking wives of the players, who entered the field to get them home. One pregnant woman appears to have been induced from the sheer panic. In one café, the owner just dipped and left the customers there. One inhabitant left his home to fight off the martians... with his vacuum cleaner. At the same time, eight hours after the broadcast, the alleged spot where the martians had landed was PACKED with people who thought “I gotta see this”.

They had to specify several times after the event that this was a work of fiction and apologise for the panic. Literally the same event 30 years apart and nobody learnt.

[monstersinthecosmos]

September 24, 1973

The guy working at the desk at his hotel only speaks a little English, but they communicate well enough for him to write down the address of the train station on a piece of paper. Daniel rubs at the back of his neck, twitchy and impatient, even though the sun is up.

Slept a little bit. Kept some food down, but he’s uncomfortably bloated now. He shifts his weight as he waits for the concierge to call him a taxi, and can’t remember when was the last time he fucking took a shit.

Hates his fucking body all of a sudden.

A few minutes later he’s outside, lighting a cigarette and leaning against the wall of the hotel as he waits for the taxi. Closing his eyes against the sun, feeling the warmth on his face. It feels good, even though he’s beginning to resent it. Feels safe. He could fall asleep, just like this, standing up.

He digs Lestat’s watch out of his pocket again, flips it open. Ornate thing. Antique. He tries to wind it but nothing happens, and he can’t help wondering when it stopped. It’s stuck on 3:59. 

Maybe if things calm down, if he thinks he can stay in one place for a few days, he can get someone to fix it.

Lestat is still down there, Daniel thinks. He pictures it, wonders if Lestat sleeps curled up like a person, on flat on his back like a corpse. He thinks of that fucked up house and all those books, and has so many questions to ask. 

The taxi driver speaks even less English than the concierge, but Daniel is able to show him the note. Friendly as he nods, and gestures towards the trunk, but Daniel keeps his bag with him, in his lap in the back seat, hugging it as they pull out. 

He slumps against the door, his temple leaning into the window. The driver has talk radio on and Daniel can’t make out a word of it, which is… relaxing. Sun beats down through the glass, baking him. Feels safe. Moving, in the sun. Warm now.

Eyes close. Too tired to be scared. He’s not sure how far away the train station is, but maybe it’s okay to sleep for the car ride.

Armand knew that Louis would kill all those other vampires. They’re people, Daniel wants to scream. He can imagine himself down there, beneath the theatre, holding the yellow dress. They’re still people. The image of the theater is so vivid now, knowing what Armand looks like. Shorter than he imagined, but he holds the entire room hostage with his presence.

Daniel doesn’t understand why Louis stayed with him.

He killed your wife. She was your daughter.

The taxi hits a bump and Daniel gasps awake.

Unsure where he is, can’t remember anything except he’s got to get away, keep moving moving moving. The sky is too open through the window, and he can see water, and the cables of a suspension bridge blurring by. He sits up, rubbing at his chest, feeling his heart racing through his t-shirt.

He’s back in San Francisco. On the Golden Gate. Louis’s voice spills from the car radio.

Daniel shouts. He tells the driver to stop, but the man just glances at him in the rearview, perplexed. No English. Daniel’s hand leaves a smudge on the window and he considers throwing himself out of the car.

“They’ll find me here,” he shouts. “I left California, Louis will know. They’ll find me, they’ll know!!”

The driver slows. Not to stop, but to adjust to the flow of traffic. He snaps at Daniel in Portuguese, and his ears ring.

Armand is gonna fucking kill me.

He’s sweating, reaching for the door handle, but as the car slows he gets a better look at the outside.

Red bridge but… it’s not San Francisco. It’s not. It’s not.

He turns around in the seat, looking out the back window. Doesn’t see the skyline. His stomach cramps and his vision doubles.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. Lip quivering. He twists back to sit correctly. Hugs his bag to his chest. The driver narrows his eyes, and Daniel holds up his hands in apology. “Sorry,” he says again. He doesn’t know any Portuguese but he attempts a quick “Lo siento,” just in case. 

Their eyes stay locked for a moment. Finally the driver nods. He shrugs, mutters to himself. Looks back to the road.

Daniel tilts his head against the glass, trying to see up to the top. 

Just a red bridge. He’s in Lisbon. He remembers that. He flew to Lisbon.

He’ll take a train next. Just take off into Europe and see what happens. Trains don’t seem safer but he wonders if he should try take one overnight. That way he can keep moving. Won’t have to stop. 

That guy told him about the Midnight Sun one time. It’s almost winter, though, it’s not going to work. In fact, it would be the opposite soon. Dangerous.

Anyway. That guy got locked up, he was crazy. 

Daniel isn’t crazy. 

[previous day] | [next day]

[4town4lyfe]

feelings in the cabin chapter 3 - reflections in the tracks

clarifying things, this story is in imanis pov

my age 4 the band

jesse - 26

aaron z - 23

aaron t - 22

robaire - 21

imani - 21 (ignore the 22 in ch 1 LOL little mess there)

tae young - 18 ( he is also lack toes intallerants T-T)

Aaron Z is referred to as 'Z'

Aaron T is referred to as 'T'

i decided to just use t and z bc i was scared it would be confusing and i also got confused XD

SEVENTEEN is a kpop group and so is SHINee

spoiler translationnnn "por favor fale comigo" means please talk to me

i am definitely not finishing this b4 the end of the month LOL

ok plz read and leave comments k bye

After driving for a bit and accidentally getting Robaire and Z into SHINee and SEVENTEEN, we make it back to the cabin. I get out of the van first, followed by Robaire, then Z. 

Robaire grabs the drinks that he talked about before, he must have bought them when me and Z were shopping. My mind suddenly reminds me of that flustering moment we shared, making me feel frustrated with myself. I'm in a loving relationship, I shouldn’t be feeling how I am about this. 

But, wouldn’t anyone feel flustered if that happened to them? That’s my justification. As Robaire goes inside, assumingly to put the drinks away and hopefully tell the guys to come and help, me and Z grab our fair share of groceries before heading inside as Jesse opens the front door for us, only wearing a jacket, although I can’t scold him, this stuff is getting heavy. 

Me and Z make our way to the kitchen to place the bags down as Taeyoung and T head outside, thankfully bundled up. The two of them, along with Jesse, come back inside with the rest of the groceries, joining us in the kitchen. 

The six of us put everything away in the fridge, cupboards, and pantry. With all of us, it’s a fairly easy task, and we finish rather quickly. I grab the big bag of Doritos that I got for myself, and head to the living room as everyone else grabs their own snacks and follows suit. T stands in front of me, no snacks in hand. 

I assume he wants some of my chips, but then I remember him telling me he wanted to talk before we left, and he looked oddly serious. “Imani, can you come here?” He asks, and I unflatteringly shove some chips in my mouth before getting up. He gently grabs my hand, leading me to our room. 

“Ey! What are y’all ‘bout to do?” Robaire shouts out in a suggestive tone, making me shake my head. 

“Just start the movie!” T responds back as we turn the corner to the hallway and disappear from their sight. He pushes our bedroom door open, letting me go in first before cutting the light on. I sit down on the bed as he shuts the door and he sits beside me, the radio I brought playing nonstop Christmas music saving us from an awkward silence.

“What’s up? Are you okay?” I tilt my head, turning to him with a slightly concerned expression.

He sighs, shaking his head. “I’m okay, but are you?” Okay… what’s going on?

“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?” I ask, my voice laced with confusion as he grabs my hands, holding them in his own. “On the way here, when you came back from the gas station, you… were crying.” He reminds me.

Oh, that. “Uhm, yeah. Uh, it was just these two fans, they thought I was Robaire at first, they didn’t seem to like me much.”  I half explain.

“What did they do?” He asks, concern etched on his face, making my heart melt. Gosh, I love him. “Uhhh..” I begin fiddling with his ring. 

“They didn’t really do much. They were just kinda mean, and…” I stop, genuinely trying to recall, but then I remember the event, making me grimace, I don’t really want to bring it up to him.

“They… just said some mean stuff. You know I’m sensitive. They just wanted to see Robaire, that’s all.” I try to explain without saying too much, but he obviously knows that isn’t the full story.

“Meu amor. Por favor fale comigo.” He pleads, making me look away. He just had to switch to Portuguese, just to make me give up, but I won’t.

“I-I am! They just thought I was Robaire and they were a little upset that he wasn’t with me. Apparently I shouldn’t be in the band because I’m a girl.” I say with a chuckle, beginning to find it a bit amusing.

“And maybe they brought up what happened on my birthday for some reason.” I mutter under my breath, but he, with his super hearing, heard every word.

“They what?” He exclaims, letting my hands go to throw his hands in the air in annoyance. “It’s not a big deal. I was just feeling a bit emotional that day anyways. It’s in the past, babe.” I try to make him see that the memory doesn’t affect me anymore, although it does, in ways more than one.

“Imani, you know I’d never do anything to hurt you, right?” He asks, referring to the non consensual kiss he received from our ex manager. I know it wasn’t his fault, he just naturally attracts people, it’s his silliness and charm. I know he loves me. I know that.

So why did it hurt so bad? I saw it with my own eyes, I saw her kiss him, and he pushed her away just as quick as everything went down.

“Yeah, I know.” I simply respond as he pulls me in for a tight hug. He gives the best hugs, he’s just the best. He pulls away, giving me a peck on the lips before we hear a knock on the door. We both stand up and walk to the door, it’s Z. His gaze goes to me, staring for a bit before looking at T.

“We’re watching Home Alone. Are yall okay?” He asks, his trademark stoic voice barely  showing emotion, although we’ve known him long enough to know that he’s not some heartless robot, so don’t worry, he’s concerned, just on the inside.

“Yup, we were just talking.” T nods, his usual cheerful demeanor coming back, although a flicker of… something in his eye as he looks at Z, I can’t put my finger on it, doesn’t go unnoticed by me as the three of us walk back out to the living room. 

I grab, well, snatch my chip bag from Robaire's hands, that little heckler stole my spot, before sitting down on the spot on the couch that Jesse was lounging on, pushing his legs away to make space, earning a glare from him. “Sorry grandpa!” I say with a grin, plopping down in the empty spot, before T sits to my left, and Z joins, sitting on my right.

Me and Z haven’t said much since the whole thing at the store, so it’s a tiny bit awkward at the moment. He leans back, crossing his arms, seeming intrigued by the classic movie we watch all the time each year, but lowkey, I am too. I catch him glancing at me every once in a while, so I assume he wants some chips.

“You want some?” I ask, tilting the bag toward him, but he turns his head to me, simply shaking his head no before turning back to watch the movie. “I want some, I want some!” T jokingly whines, and I happily tilt the bag in his direction, though I end up just leaving the bag between our legs, just in case he wants more.

“Man, I wish I was in that family.” We hear Taeyoung say, making us chuckle. “Why?” Jesse asks with a grin. “Just look at that house! All that food! I’d be like,” He makes a cute face, puppy eyes and all. “Omma! Can I please stay at cousin Kevin's house tonight?”

“Dude, we can make that here! We just have frozen stuff.” Robaire chimes in, making Taeyoung remember that we just majorly stocked up, and since they brought me along to shop, I may or may not have bought a bunch of junk.

“Oh. Em. Gee. You’re totally right!” Taeyoung practically jumps off the couch and heads to the kitchen, and I decide to come along with him, suddenly having a taste for that ice cream that Kevin is chowing down on. “Tae, look.” I bring him over to the freezer, opening it and showing him the multiple options of ice cream. I may have gotten a lot but, there are six of us, it’ll run out quickly. Vanilla, strawberry, chocolate, mint chocolate chip, moose tracks, coffee, cherry, so many more. We have a big sized freezer, so it’ll be okay.

As he excitedly pulls out the moose tracks, I head over to a cupboard and grab chocolate sauce, caramel sauce, and mini marshmallows, setting them down on the counter. He brings the ice cream over and sets it beside our ingredients for sweetness galore. I grab two bowls, setting them down as Taeyoung gets a scooper and puts it down.

Jesse comes in, wanting to join in. He grabs the pista ice cream, making me grimace.

“Pista… I got that for you, by the way.” He's the only one who actually enjoys it. “Yep, thanks pookie.” He says, making me wheeze. 

“Did you just call me pookie?” I clutch my stomach, trying not to laugh. “Yes I did. Everyone keeps saying it so I’m joining in.” He walks over to me and Taeyoung, grabbing another bowl and the scooper from the counter, giving himself two scoops and going to rinse the scooper off for us, putting it back down and getting a spoon.

“Bye, pookies!” He calls out before walking out. “Bye…” Me and Taeyoung say in unison, looking at each other and laughing. “I didn’t teach him that word!” Taeyoung exclaims, putting his hands up before scooping us up some moose tracks, two scoops each. I grab the chocolate sauce, being generous with it, a big helping for both as Taeyoung gives us caramel sauce, being equally generous.

I open up the bag of marshmallows, pouring them into our bowls, making our dreams complete. “Wow.” I step back, putting my hands on my hips and admiring our work.

“This is gonna be so good!” Taeyoung grabs two spoons, giving me the smaller one, aw, little bro knows me well.

We grab our bowls and walk back into the living room, sitting back down in our seats. I immediately slam down on my sweet treat, but also taking my time and savoring it. I can see Z side eyeing me as if he wouldn’t scarf this down, and he so would. Well, maybe not with all the extraness. 

The movie goes on, the vanilla ice cream runs out very quickly. We get to the point of the movie where Kevin hears his mother, runs out and sees no one. Then, he finally gets to her. They hug, how cute. The moment just… makes me feel bittersweet.

Yeah, his mom seems a little harsh in the beginning, and even forgets him at home. Okay, this isn’t sounding too good. But, she tried to get home as soon as possible and was so happy that he was safe. She apologized too. For everything. She meant it.

She truly cares about her child.

“Oh my gosh, Imani! No way you’re crying at Home Alone!” I hear Jesse shout out, and I realize I’m full on sobbing. I quickly wipe my tears away, feeling a little embarrassed. I can hear everyone chuckling, well, all except Z.

“Ah, she will cry at every movie, cut her some slack!” Robaire says, hopefully knowing why I’m really crying. I feel a hand patting my back, the hand of Z. I look over at him with a small but grateful smile. 

“Ha ha, yeah.” I try to play off as I don’t care as I stand up, getting Taeyoungs bowl with my own as he is now in the bathroom and will definitely be a while. I head to the kitchen, rinsing our bowls and putting them in the dishwasher, shutting it with a sigh.

It’s late now, not late enough for me to sleep but I’m not really feeling like staying up. I walk back into the living room to grab my bag of chips, and I notice that T and Z are gone. Robaire is on his phone and Jesse is somehow knocked out cold despite me being gone for like two minutes. 

Maybe T is in our room… I head to the bedroom, pushing open the door and fully expecting to see him in bed or whatever, but he’s not there?

“Why didn’t Imani tell me?” I hear T… from Z's room?

[purrple-sectors]

Catching up on formula e because I finally had the time (studying maths is pain), and hearing the commentators talking about António Félix da Costa, just unloacked a piece of lore on my brain from a video I stumbled across recently, that I'm not sure if its general knowledge (bc it's in portuguese) so I'm sharing

So António shared some stories with a big portuguese radio station (RFM) some time ago, one of them was that after he won the championship in Belgium he recieved a call from the portuguese president to congratulate him, in the most unconventional place ever, in the freaking toilet, so yea if you werent aware now you know that António received a call from Marcelo Rebelo de Sousa, the man himself in the bathroom lmao

[jonnylovers-in-neverland]

Jon and Chris being interviewed for a Portuguese radio station backstage | 17.05.2023 | [x] 

[apptworadioapps]

Radio Portugal FM & AM + Radio Online + (Radio Android Application 🇵🇹📻)

Portugal has a vibrant and diverse radio landscape, with stations catering to a wide range of tastes and interests. From music and entertainment to news and current affairs, there is a Portuguese radio station for everyone.

One of the most popular radio stations in Portugal is Radio Comercial. Operating since 1979, Radio Comercial is a commercial radio station that plays a variety of music genres, including pop, rock, and Portuguese music. The station also features popular radio personalities and comedy skits, making it a go-to destination for entertainment.

Another major radio station in Portugal is Rádio Renascença. Founded in 1936, Rádio Renascença is a news and current affairs station that covers both national and international news. The station also features analysis and commentary on political and social issues, making it a must-listen for those interested in Portuguese politics and society.

For those interested in sports, Antena 1 is a popular choice. Part of the national broadcaster RTP, Antena 1 provides live coverage of major sporting events, including football matches, as well as sports news and analysis.

In addition to these major broadcasters, Portugal is also home to a thriving community radio sector. Community radio stations are run by volunteers and often focus on local issues and perspectives. These stations can be a great way to discover new music and get involved with local communities.

Some popular community radio stations in Portugal include Rádio Clube de Monsanto, which focuses on Portuguese music and culture, and Rádio Alvor FM, which provides coverage of local news and events in the Algarve region.

No matter what your interests or preferences, there is sure to be a radio station in Portugal that suits your needs. With a diverse range of broadcasters and programming, Portuguese radio is a dynamic and engaging part of the country's media landscape. So why not tune in today and discover the best of what Portuguese radio has to offer?

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[hatari-translations]

i remember seeing on the news that portugal's minister of culture was concerned about the government's lack of care since they lowered the mandatory portuguese songs that play on the radio from 30% to 25% [or something similar? i wasn't paying much attention at the time but it stuck] and i wanted to know if iceland had anything similar

follow up question, have u ever coincidentally heard hatari play on the radio ?

I don’t know of Iceland having anything like that, as in a mandatory proportion of Icelandic songs on the radio, though there are various laws about the state broadcaster requiring it to produce original Icelandic material and such. The Icelandic music scene is pretty big for the size of the country but I have a hard time imagining a radio station managing to play 25% or 30% Icelandic artists.

That said, I don’t listen to the radio much - I pretty much only hear it while on the bus or in a car with somebody else. I’m pretty sure I have heard Hatari on the radio on the bus sometime, though.

[mariacallous]

On the evening of Jan. 8, U.S. President Joe Biden took to Twitter to condemn an invasion of government buildings by a violent mob. Hours after a crowd vandalized the National Congress, Supreme Court, and presidential palace in Brasília, the official @POTUS account bashed the “assault on democracy and on the peaceful transfer of power in Brazil.”

It all felt like déjà vu. Almost to the day, Brazil was seeing a remake of the Jan. 6, 2021, storming of the U.S. Capitol, which sought to prevent Congress from certifying Biden’s 2020 election victory. A day after Brazil’s insurrection, Biden called new Brazilian President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva to convey his “unwavering support” for the country’s democracy. The two decided to meet in Washington in February and are convening on Friday.

Now, together at the White House, Biden and Lula must face the uncomfortable reality that the two insurrections that sought to overturn their respective election victories are parts of the same plot. What’s more, Brazil’s iteration would likely never have occurred had the United States not experienced what it did on Jan. 6, 2021. The two attacks were in many ways fueled by U.S. social media companies’ reluctance to police disinformation related to the election results—and Brazil’s was empowered by the U.S. justice system’s failure so far to hold former U.S. President Donald Trump to account. Though Biden was not involved personally in either riot, as U.S. president he has a unique responsibility to help Lula combat anti-democratic forces in Brazil.

Trump’s Big Lie—which falsely claims that he won the 2020 U.S. presidential election and more generally that recent U.S. elections have been riddled with fraud—did not start after the 2020 election. Trump has promulgated the narrative since 2016. “I won the popular vote if you deduct the millions of people who voted illegally,” he tweeted just 19 days after being elected via the Electoral College (but losing the popular vote).

Since the 2021 insurrection, Trump’s claims have emboldened far-right politicians all over the world. In June of that year, Israeli Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu tried to undermine a vote that gave power to the opposition by saying, “We are witnessing the greatest election fraud in the history of the country.” His narrative included a conspiracy about a so-called deep state and calling the media a “propaganda machine enlisted in favor of the left.” That same month, Peruvian presidential candidate Keiko Fujimori promoted her own Big Lie about election fraud while she delayed conceding to Pedro Castillo (who would later be ousted by Peru’s Congress).

But nowhere was Trump’s Big Lie replicated as eagerly as in Brazil. Former President Jair Bolsonaro copied so many of Trump’s rhetorical tactics to undermine trust in elections that they sounded almost like a Portuguese-language dubbing of the U.S. president. After his inauguration in 2019, Bolsonaro claimed that he had won the election by a bigger margin than he had in reality. And ahead of last October’s contest against Lula, Bolsonaro’s administration promoted—and then pushed for a behind-the-scenes investigation of—bogus claims of widespread fraud in Brazil’s electronic voting system. Bolsonaro’s allies even made a last-minute attempt to halt the Oct. 30 runoff vote by claiming that Brazil’s electoral court was preventing radio stations from airing the same number of ads for Lula’s and Bolsonaro’s parties—a Brazilian version of Trump’s “Stop the Count.”

It’s no accident that Brazil’s insurrection so closely mirrored the one in the United States. The far-right movements in the two countries are deeply interconnected.

Ties between the Bolsonaro family and Trump aides date back to 2018. That year, Eduardo Bolsonaro—the former president’s third son and a member of Brazil’s Chamber of Deputies—met with former Trump strategist Steve Bannon and soon after became the South American representative of the Movement, a coalition of far-right extremists in Europe and Latin America that Bannon had founded. In a September 2022 interview with BBC News Brazil, Bannon praised the then-Brazilian president’s expertise in engaging his supporters through social media and said both he and Eduardo have “charisma” that is lacking in U.S. politics. He also acknowledged that he spent a lot of his time “talking backstage” with the Bolsonaros during the 2022 Brazilian presidential campaign. Two of Bolsonaro’s other sons, Carlos and Flávio, are also deeply involved in the former president’s political enterprise; Carlos manages his social media profiles.

Since Bannon and Eduardo Bolsonaro met, Eduardo has spent a great deal of time in the United States, meeting at least 80 times with members of the U.S. far right. He was even in Washington in the days before and after Jan. 6, 2021. The grounds for his visit are still not clear; at the time, the Brazilian Embassy in Washington said the foreign ministry was not aware of the trip. While in Washington in January 2021, Eduardo met with Trump’s daughter Ivanka and her husband, Jared Kushner, as well as MyPillow CEO Mike Lindell, who is reported to have suggested that Trump should declare martial law to stay in power.

The elder Bolsonaro, for his part, did not condemn the attempted U.S. insurrection, stating that “there were people who voted three, four times, dead people who voted,” which is false. He used Trump’s Big Lie to say Brazil needed paper ballots in its own elections, otherwise “we [in Brazil] will have a problem worse than the United States.”

After Bolsonaro’s family and close allies helped spread Trump’s Big Lie, key actors in the “Stop the Steal” campaign also planted the seeds of mistrust in Brazil’s electoral system.

In August 2021, Eduardo was a keynote speaker at an event Lindell hosted in Sioux Falls, South Dakota, where the businessman promised he would reveal proof of election fraud in 2020. (His attempt to do so failed miserably.) On stage, Eduardo attacked Brazil’s electronic voting system, saying, “You dial the number of your candidate and pray to God that your vote will be correctly counted.” Bannon, who was sitting by his side, then claimed that the 2022 Brazilian election would be “the second most important in the world and the most important of all time in South America. Bolsonaro will win unless it is stolen by, guess what, the machines.”

Bannon was among the first to call on Bolsonaro not to concede to Lula last October; he did so on a Gettr livestream just hours after results showed Bolsonaro’s defeat. Bolsonaro never conceded—and remained publicly silent for 44 hours after the election results were announced while his supporters violently blocked roads and camped in front of military premises. He did not condemn them and left the country for Florida two days before the end of his term.

Now, as Lula and Biden meet, Bolsonaro remains in the United States. And with the news that the former Brazilian president recently applied for a six-month U.S. tourist visa, his presence is becoming more uncomfortable for the U.S. political establishment. Several House Democrats have called for the Biden administration to order Bolsonaro out of country, as more information surfaces about his role in a wider plot to subvert Brazil’s election. While Brazilian authorities have so far said there are no grounds to request Bolsonaro’s extradition, recent developments in ongoing investigations into the Jan. 8 attacks have placed Bolsonaro at the heart of a plot to overturn last October’s election results.

Apparently seeking to make a comeback as the darling of the extreme right, Bolsonaro spoke at an event at a Trump golf course in Miami last Friday hosted by the far-right organization Turning Point USA. Some of Bolsonaro’s most prominent Brazilian supporters, such as YouTuber Allan dos Santos and businessman Paulo Figueiredo—once a business partner of Trump in Rio de Janeiro—are also based in the United States, engaging in Portuguese-language disinformation campaigns aimed at Brazilian audiences from U.S. soil.

The Biden administration has a responsibility to help fight ongoing threats to Brazil’s democracy. Many of the people spreading disinformation in Brazil are based in the United States—Bolsonaro included. They have also mostly spread their lies on U.S.-run social media sites—platforms that suffer a lack of oversight due to Washington’s failures to pass substantive tech regulations. Finally, and perhaps most importantly, the continued failure to hold Trump legally accountable for the U.S. Capitol riot sends the message that anyone can use the Big Lie as a valid political strategy and get away with it.

The Biden administration must take a decisive stance on these issues. U.S. and Brazilian authorities should coordinate on not only Bolsonaro’s status but his supporters’ actions in U.S. territory. One U.S. law makes it a crime to organize or help an attempt to overthrow a government. But it is unclear whether this could apply to Bolsonaro and his followers. Can repeating a false claim about the legitimacy of an election be framed as an attempt to overthrow a government?

The White House should also pressure U.S. social media companies to better moderate foreign-language content and engage with foreign authorities on how best to curb threats to democracy in other countries. Research shows that Silicon Valley has failed to properly combat election-related disinformation in non-English languages. The bulk of Meta’s 2022 election-monitoring resources, for example, were geared toward the U.S. midterms, despite the Meta-owned WhatsApp having been central to the spread of election-related falsehoods in countries such as Brazil.

Finally, the U.S. Justice Department’s investigations into Trump must move forward. While Biden has rightly stayed away from the investigations to avoid the suggestion of political interference—and should continue to do so—their slow pace has cast doubt on whether justice will be achieved at all, particularly as Trump campaigns for the 2024 U.S. presidential election amid growing calls to “move on.” To the outside world, the message so far is that the main culprit of Jan. 6, 2021, is getting away with it—and political forces in Brazil are watching attentively.

The Brazilian justice system, by contrast, has moved more swiftly in the wake of the Jan. 8 attacks to combat anti-democratic forces. The day of the invasion, Lula ordered federal security services to intervene in Brasília. A few weeks later, Lula fired the head of the army who resisted punishing a military officer with close ties to Bolsonaro who is under investigation.

These steps notwithstanding, bilateral collaboration between Biden and Lula is essential to protect democracies worldwide. Today, the two leaders’ response must be strong and their message clear: We will not let the Big Lie become the new normal. Democracy will win.

[aboutanancientenquiry]

Travels with Herodotus

“ The Observer  Ryszard Kapuściński

Review

Lessons of the Histories

In Travels with Herodotus, the late, great Polish writer Ryszard Kapuscinski weaves epic stories into his own reportage to stunning effect, says Stephen Smith

Stephen Smith

Sun 17 Jun 2007 00.41 BST

Travels with Herodotus by Ryszard Kapuscinski Allen Lane £20, pp275

With Agatha Christie, you know you're off and running when the first stiff turns up in the library, harbinger of a terrible body count. In the case of Ian McEwan, it's a hint of transgressive how's-your-father. Aficionados of Ryszard Kapuscinski, the late grandmaster of reportage, know to hug themselves in anticipation when the following conditions obtain: our man is the last European left in a sweltering hellhole, a wretched government is on its last legs and about to give way to packs of marauding goons and all contact with the outside world has been lost. This was the scene of the Polish writer and journalist's gripping Another Day of Life (1975). He was the only foreign correspondent in the Angolan capital, Luanda, as the Portuguese colonialists fled and rival militias closed in on the abandoned city. In his suffocating hotel, Kapuscinski sweats and frets, a Kafka of the tropics. If the book had been any more tightly wound, it would have turned back into wood pulp in your trembling fingers.

Open Kapuscinski's Imperium (1994), an account of his travels through the collapsing Soviet Union, and you may well be met with a passage like this one, describing the airport at Yerevan in Armenia as 'hundreds, thousands of people' awake to another day of waiting in vain for a seat on a plane, any plane. 'How long have they been sleeping here? Well, some not so long; this is only their first night. And those over there, the crumpled up, unshaven, unkempt ones? Those - a week. And those others one cannot even get closer to because they stink so terribly? Those - a month.'

Travels with Herodotus, which has been published in English following Kapuscinski's death earlier this year, will not disappoint his admirers. We are with the indefatigable reporter in Congo in 1960. 'There is no functioning radio station, no government. I am trying to get out of here - but how? The closest airport is closed. The roads (now in the rainy season) are swamped, the ship that once plied the River Congo has long ceased to do so.' Bliss! You know that by the time you finish Travels with Herodotus, you'll be shaking your own gnawed fingernails from its pages. Once again we have before us the strangely cheering image of the lonely news agency man from eastern Europe endlessly chastising himself for the gaps in his knowledge rather than giving himself credit for what he has learnt the hard way. As before, the roving reporter is bowed down beneath his own bodyweight in books, including the Histories of Herodotus, the ancient Greek who opened the young Kapuscinski's eyes to the world. The great traveller of antiquity, he says, was 'someone who always had many questions and was ready to wander thousands of kilometres to find an answer to any one of them'. Kapuscinski could be writing about himself, of course.

A much-travelled journeyman who came to book-writing in mid-career, Kapuscinski also invites comparison with fellow Pole Joseph Conrad and mention of the author of The Secret Agent leads us to the ticklish issue of Kapuscinski the spy. He was named as a former communist operative after his death. He had allegedly collaborated with the party in Poland in return for the rare licence he enjoyed to travel to the outside world - 'to cross the border', as he puts it. To which one can only say that if it is true, a 'deal' of this kind is what one would expect the authorities to have insisted on. What matters is how Kapuscinski observed his side of the bargain, and that was to publish The Emperor (1978). Ostensibly an account of Haile Selassie's court in Ethiopia and its hysterical feudalism, it was read in his native Poland as a mordant if samizdat commentary on matters closer to home.

Frankly, anyone who was paying attention will know the reporter's dispatches were the flimsiest cover for his 'product', as the spymasters call it. What was encrypted in them was Kapuscinski's humanity. Somehow, he crosses Ethiopia with a local driver who knows only two English expressions: 'Problem' and 'No problem'. How do the pair communicate? Kapuscinski relies on the 'tradecraft' of his own extraordinary empathy. 'Everything speaks; the expression of the face and eyes, the gestures of the hand and movements of the body ... dozens of other transmitters, amplifiers and mufflers which together make up an individual being.'

It may seem perverse to recommend Travels with Herodotus for the beach. But if you haven't encountered Kapuscinski before, you'll be pleasantly surprised by how much satisfaction, as well as salience, there is to be found in this perfect discomfort read.

· Stephen Smith is the culture correspondent of BBC Newsnight

Three to read

Reportage

Imperium by Ryszard Kapuscinski

The journalist's personal portrait of the life and death of the USSR, 1939 to 1991.

Dispatches by Michael Herr

Frontline reports from the madness and mayhem of the Vietnam War.

All the Wrong Places by James Fenton

Powerful examination of South East Asian politics, from the fall of Saigon to the Philippines under Marcos.”

Source: https://www.theguardian.com/books/2007/jun/17/travel.travelbooks

[whileiamdying]

Rita Lee, Brazil’s long-reigning Queen of Rock, dies 

Brazil’s president declares three days of mourning after country’s long-reigning ‘Queen of Rock’ dies at 75.

Rita Lee Jones, Brazil’s million-selling “Queen of Rock” who gained an international following through her colorful and candid style and such hits as “Ovelha Negra,” “Mania de Você” and “Now Only Missing You,” has died at 75.

Known as Rita Lee, she died at her home in Sao Paulo on Monday evening, according to a statement posted to her official Instagram account.

A cause of death wasn’t immediately disclosed. She had retired from stage performances in the early 2010s in what she later attributed to physical frailty, and was diagnosed in 2021 with lung cancer, though her son announced a year later that she had defeated the illness.

With a career spanning six decades, the Sao Paulo native left a lasting mark with her irreverence, creativity and compositions containing messages that helped introduce Brazilian society to feminism, while also candidly addressing her struggles with drug abuse.

Although she regarded her voice as “weak and a little out of tune,′ like a sparrow’s, she enjoyed a long run of top-selling albums, including “Rita Lee” and “Rita Lee & Roberto de Carvalho,” and dozens of her songs were featured in widely watched telenovelas in Latin America. The behemoth television network Globo used her rendition of the song “Poison Weed” in three of its programs.

“I was not born to get married and wash underwear. I wanted the same freedom as the boys who used to play in the street with their toy cars,” she told the Brazilian edition of Rolling Stone in 2008. “When I got into music, I realized that the 'machos' reigned absolute, even more in rock music. ‘Wow’, I said, ‘this is where I’m going to let my fangs out and, literally, give them a hard time.’”

She was a singer and songwriter praised for her versatility, playing at least five instruments: drums, guitar, piano, harmonica and autoharp. She was also one of the first Brazilian musicians to record with an electric guitar.

Eventually, her popularity extended beyond Brazil. She performed in Portugal, England, Spain, France and Germany. In 1988, the British newspaper Daily Mirror revealed that then-Prince Charles admired her song “Lança Perfume” and considered her his favorite singer. She won a Latin Grammy in the best Portuguese language album category in 2001, for her album “3001."

Rita Lee rose to fame with the group Os Mutantes (The Mutants), starting in 1966. Colors and creativity, as well as irony and irreverence, were Lee’s trademarks from the start, evident in the flamboyant costumes she wore in her shows. By the mid-1970s, after selling 200,000 copies of the album “Forbidden Fruit,” Lee began to be called the “queen of rock” on the music scene. Hits on “Forbidden Fruit” include “Now Only Missing You” and “Ovelha Negra,” long played on radio stations and Brazilian soap operas.

She was one of the first public figures in Brazil to popularize feminist themes, such as infusing the lyrics of her 1979 song “Mania de Voce” (Mania for You) with female sexuality and pleasure. Similar songs followed, such as “Amor e Sexo” (Love and Sex), which contrasted the two in detail and “Lança Perfume” (Spray Perfume), an ode to unbridled hedonism.

Later in life, she became a vegan and animal rights activist. For decades, she kept her hair bright red and often wore matching lenses, a popular look that she discarded in recent years as she allowed her gray to grow out. She resolved in 2015 to reinvent herself as a white butterfly.

In her autobiography, published the following year, she didn’t shy from describing the sexual abuse she suffered as a child at the hands of a man who had come to fix her mother’s sewing machine.

She also referred to herself as a “rebel” and “hippie communist," and wrote of sneaking out the windows of her house as a teenager to play, being arrested for possession of marijuana, and her multiple stints in rehab clinics for drugs and alcohol.

“I recognize that my best songs were written in an altered state, and my worst too. I only regret my delay in realizing that the ‘medicine’ had long since expired,” she wrote. “My generation suffered the claustrophobia of a brutal dictatorship, and using drugs was a way to breathe airs of freedom.”

In an interview with the television program "Fantastico" in 2020, she explained that physical frailty had prompted her to leave the stage eight years earlier.

“Getting old, for me, was a surprise, because I’ve never been old in my life,” she told the show. “I was left wanting to live my old age away from the stage, without sharing it with the public.”

President Luiz Inácio Lula da Silva declared three days of mourning and lamented the loss of “one of the biggest and most brilliant names in Brazilian music.” He praised on his official Twitter profile “an artist ahead of her time,” and her sense of humor.

She is survived by her three children and her husband, with whom she shared a 44-year musical partnership. In 2021, they released a new song, "Change," together, and a remix of some of the singer’s biggest hits.

Years before, she imagined her future death, as if prophesying:

“I will be in heaven,” she wrote, “with my soul present playing my autoharp and singing to God, ‘Thank you, Lord, finally sedated.’ Epitaph: She was never a good example, but she was good people.”