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Guitar legend Carlos Santana is recovering after he collapsed on stage during a concert near Detroit on Tuesday night.
The 74-year-old musician was performing at Pine Knob Music Theatre in Clarkston, Michigan, when he collapsed.
Maria, Maria is one of the soundtracks that accompanied a huge period of change in my life. Wishing him all the best.
#pine#knob#carlos santana#maria maria#detroit#sant.ana#blues#supernatural#columbia records#arista records#mexican restaurants#mamacita#best wishes#santana: maria maria
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//I hate my friend for making me watch glee for a lot of reasons but especially bc a relationship dynamic on the show is now making me want hellsa to have or to have had a dynamic like that
#fucking sant.ana and britt.any is actually kinda golden#like I absolutely want hellsa to have an INCREDIBLY dumb woman she hooks up with#but like there's secrecy and stuff bc reasons#OOC
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since it’s late at night i’m gonna be spicy
sant.ana lopez did not suffer through getting outed and questioning herself for 2.5 years before coming out canonically as a lesbian for people to manipulate her into something else bc “the show wanted something else” or “i just don’t see her that way”
she’s a lesbian harold get over it
#𝐢. i think dogs should vote. ────── ooc.#happy pride month reminder 🥰#stop erasing who she is bc of ur weird ship fantasies simply accept that she’s a lesbian#or perish by my blade
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i would like to personally thank one ms sant.ana lo.pez for this second bout of muse.
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from : @awesomegaydar // i just CACKLED BUT ALSO CAN U BELIEVE SANT.ANA LOPEZ ROCKED. QUINN FABRAY’S WORLD.
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plotting/permanent starter call for cha.to sant.ana from d.c comics as interpreted by me, based mostly on film, headcanons, and comics. mutuals may like this post as a request for me to come and im you about interactions, send memes, and post starters for you as i like!
information/verses page.
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im broken but ill try
His mother told him, “Please be good for the nice man,” or lady, and he was every time.
San.tana wasn’t one to complain nor was he one to even speak much. He simply nodded or shook his head, and shaking his head wasn’t often either. He couldn’t but help to feel as if his mother was doing the right thing and that he was helping. She never hurt him and always hugged him and told him that she loved him. San.tana loved her too. It had always been that way.
But he could see it behind her eyes that this was wrong. That this was something shameful. She was going through a lot. If it was shameful, San.tana didn’t care. It got under his skin and rearranged his nerves but he didn’t care. And if it felt like his bones were being extracted from him, that was only better. It eased his mind when he was doing the things that he didn’t understand. When playtime made him numb.
His mother was going through a lot. She had a similar job. They lived in a small one room house, shack, whatever it could be called. Even so, it wasn’t horrible. They usually had food and had beds and a quiet life in Me.xico. They lived near a larger city where they would go sometimes to parties of his mothers friends. They would make a lot of money that way. San.tana would get more bruises but he blamed himself.
Eventually his mother and him raised enough to buy a bigger house. To him it was no different than their other albeit it was now in the outskirts closer to the city and in a nicer neighbourhood. He got nicer clothing too, to ‘fit in’, his mother told him. However San.tana never really felt comfortable in them. He felt they weren’t boy clothes too much with how short the shorts were and how skimpy the tops.
But Sa.ntana never complained. However, he got little formal education even now. He was too old, his mother told him—even if he was only six, a ripe age to go into school. She was convinced he was a ripe age for other matters already engaged in. She said he knew all he needed to know about the world to make it like she did herself.
San.tana listened to her. And he listened to her when she would start crying and apologising to him, hugging him so tightly he was sure that any bones left inside of him had snapped and would need removal as well. But he allowed her to, whispering that he didn’t understand why she was apologising and crying and to stop—and she’d only cry harder.
One night his mother took him to a party. However, this time, she left him there. He figured that was alright. He knew what to do.
It began to happen. After sitting around for a little while and watching some men get close around some white lines, they turned to him. And they took him as if he was theirs and did weird things but he’d went through it before. Lines of white was messily put on him and they got close and smelled it and it disappeared. That was always weird to him. And then they started touching his chest and one yanked his hair and it hurt because his hair was thick but he didn’t exclaim. And then they began real playtime and it hurt but he didn’t scream or cry or shout.
He would always be a good boy for them.
Sant.ana watched a couple of the men eventually leave out the front door. It was a slow draining progress. They were all loopy and loud and eventually stumbled their way out past piles of bottles and heaps of trash. He laid there, bright auburn eyes trailing after them. He expected his mother to walk in any moment now and get him. But she didn’t.
San.tana heard the man speak to him. Hardly. He still watched the door. Something about his mother never coming back. He didn’t take time to look at him before his hair was grabbed again and his head was shoved back against the table. At this he finally whimpered. It wasn’t often he was hurt, and if he was it was apologised for. He looked back at the man who wasn’t apologising and frowned up at him.
Things like, “you’re mine now, don’t you know that” and “can’t you speak?” But San.tana didn’t speak and simply stared. He figured this was a game but he didn’t like it.
He went to sit up and as he did the man seemed to panic a little, shoving him back down on his back and grabbing a bottle that had fallen from the table earlier and shattered on the floor but it’s remaining neck. He demanded he stay down and Sa.ntana didn’t listen. He wasn’t scared of a prop, didn’t know why he’d grabbed it.
Even as his heart raced, he hopped off the table to his right. The man snarled and smacked him in the face with the bottle. San.tana didn’t feel it at first, the glass halve embedding under his left eye, junction and scarring his flesh. He stumbled into the back of the couch and turned to the man who seemed surprised he’d ‘missed’, whatever his target was to do. San.tana stared at him a moment more before grabbing his clothes from the floor and managing to stumble to the door.
The man began to yell at him, and grabbed something else from the table he’d seen before. It was black and short and looked like a L and San.tana had seen one before but never asked what it was. He bolted out of the door before he could learn and as he began to trip down the stairwell, he man still in pursuit, he saw them.
The police.
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//talking about g.lee with a friend and I am once again asking
where’s hellsa’s dumb girlfriend that is generally a good person that hellsa makes out with and fucks in secret bc she is conflicted about the relationship and ends up pushing her away and lashing out and it’s just a lot
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