DETAILS:So, on Parks, the cast always seems to be having a ton of fun.
Adam Scott:You don't have fun at work? You work for Details. You sit around and talk about hot dudes like Channing Tatum. That guy looks like he was sculpted out of ivory. If they made casts of asses to sell at adult stores for people to have sex with, they would use his ass. Sorry for everything I just said.
We were discussing homosexuality because of an allusion to it in the book we were reading, and several boys made comments such as, “That’s disgusting.” We got into the debate and eventually a boy admitted that he was terrified/disgusted when he was once sharing a taxi and the other male passenger made a pass at him.
The lightbulb went off. “Oh,” I said. “I get it. See, you are afraid, because for the first time in your life you have found yourself a victim of unwanted sexual advances by someone who has the physical ability to use force against you.” The boy nodded and shuddered visibly.
“But,” I continued. “As a woman, you learn to live with that from the time you are fourteen, and it never stops. We live with that fear every day of our lives. Every man walking through the parking garage the same time you are is either just a harmless stranger or a potential rapist. Every time.”
The girls in the room nodded, agreeing. The boys seemed genuinely shocked.
“So think about that the next time you hit on a girl. Maybe, like you in the taxi, she doesn’t actually want you to.”
“I want to live in a world where little girls are not pinkified, but where little girls who like pink are not punished for it, either. We can certainly talk about the social pressures surrounding gender roles, and the concerns that people have when they see girls and young women who appear to be forced into performances of femininity by the society around them, but let’s stop acting like they have no agency and free will. Let’s stop acting like women who choose to be feminine are somehow colluders, betraying the movement, bamboozled into thinking that they want to be feminine. Let’s stop denying women their own autonomy by telling them that their expressions of femininity are bad and wrong.
Antifemininity is misogynist. What you are saying when you engage in this type of rhetoric is that you think things traditionally associated with women are wrong. Which is misogynist. By telling feminine women that they don’t belong in the feminist movement, you are reinforcing the idea that to be feminine and a woman is wrong, that women who want to be taken seriously need to be more masculine, because most people view gender presentation in binary ways. This rewards the ‘one of the boys’ type rhetoric I encounter all over the place from self-avowed feminists who seem to think that bashing on women is a good way to prove how serious they are when it comes to caring about women and bringing men into the feminist movement.”— Get Your Anti-Femininity Out Of My Feminism by s.e. smith (via nerdiestofbears)
The thing about the word “Nigger” that we’re coming to realize with Rick Santorum’s telling slip-of-tongue is how it truly operates.
Nigger is not, like people commonly believe, just a rude way of referring to a black person. It isn’t simply a bastardization of the Spanish “Negro”.
It is a leveler. An oral devastation of sorts. A place-putting, a head-bower.
I truly realized the power of “Nigger” when a friend of mine took me to her friend’s house where she lived with husband and his two buddies. They were skinheads who were obviously not happy with my being there.
One of them was watching “Hitch”, featuring Will Smith. Will Smith, for those who don’t know, is an enormously successful and rich black Hollywood actor whose career spans decades. This skinhead more than likely didn’t past high school and lived in a trailer park, playing video games, getting high, and shooting BB guns at beer cans all day. When asked about what he was watching by someone else in the house, he said “The movie with that nigger Will Smith.”
With that, they switched stations. The skinhead was no longer a lower-class white male with little education and bleak prospects. Will Smith ceased to be an accomplished prosperous man with the world as his oyster. Will Smith was just a nigger, and the skinhead could laugh and spit on that, easily.
When I got home I hid in my closet and cried. Cried not because it hurt my feelings but because no matter what I did, how hard I worked, how far I went, I was always going to just be a “Nigger” to some. An uppity bitch leaving her station.
That is the true nature of anti-black racism in this country. Even one of the men who lynched Emmett Till said himself that he had “no problem with niggers”, he wasn’t a bully. He just liked them “in their place”. In our place, under your boot, quiet and castrated and cowed, right whitey? President Obama was a nigger who stepped out of his place, and Rick Santorum was more than eager to remind him of this sin.
“Nice to meet you. So you’re the one who has sex with my brother.”
Yes, because that’s EXACTLY where your mind goes when you meet your sibling’s significant other. I know that’s exactly what went through my head when I met my brother’s wife (then girlfriend).
This really. I have to say, I was surprised with the proliferation of a fanon Cooper who freely commented on Blaine’s sex life. I thought ‘wow, people must be much cooler than me’. Because whenever I think about my siblings having sex I invariably curl up in a ball of discomfort, let alone make JOKES about it.
I think that fanon!Cooper just = mouthpiece for fandom
ETA: I’m not even disturbed about the reality of my brother having a sex life, but that’s just not where my mind goes. Like…why on earth would it??
My brother has had sex in the house while I’m home, not 10 feet from where I’m sitting. So now everytime I see his girlfriend (well, ex-girlfriend now) all I can think is, “They had sex they had sex they had sex GOD DAMNIT WHY STOP PICTURING IT.”
I think it depends on how sex-positive of a house you grow up in? Like, we all watch True Blood together. And my brother and I talk about sexual times with our ex-girlfriends, and share failboaty sexual stories. I had this huge, in-depth conversation about lesbian sex with my mother one afternoon. Like, honestly, just sitting in the living room drinking tea talking about technique. I also know literally EVERY FRIEND I’VE EVER HAD thinks this is weird, so. There’s that.
“I am going to shortly abandon any and all attempts to call their relationship a “gay subtext” because this shit is on the surface now, and every time they hold hands, one of my homophobic bullies is magically punched in the face. I want it, and I want it right now. Willow/Tara for LIFE, I swear.”—
“Can I has that?” Blaine asks, pointing to a box of Lucky Charms sitting on the shelf.
Blaine kicks Cooper in the thighs a couple more times before he points again, this time to box of Trix. “Can I has that?”
“No,” Cooper replies again with a heavy sigh, pushing the shopping cart slowly down the aisle with his four year old brother continually swinging his legs back and forth and kicking him. Why his mother needed these groceries right away when she had to take their sister to some girly dance class thing, Cooper really doesn’t understand, but there was clearly no arguing with her.
Blaine makes a particularly exasperated face and falls forward dramatically against Cooper’s chest. “What can I has?”
“According to Mom’s list… you can have Bran Flakes.”
“Ewwww!” Blaine’s little face scrunches up in disgust and his hands come up to cover his cheeks, making it impossible for Cooper not to laugh. Blaine pouts, even though he knows it’ll do no good, and just looks around some more instead of arguing. That’s when he sees him— the most prettiest boy he’s ever seen in his whole life. The little boy is in a cart a little farther down the aisle, playing with a stuffed cat while his mommy gets stuff from the shelves. Blaine thinks his bowtie makes him look very handsome. When the little boy looks up, Blaine waves and smiles at him, causing the little boy to duck his head back down and his cheeks get all pink. Blaine thinks it’s adorable. “Can I has him?” he mutters in awe.
Cooper raises an eyebrow and looks over his shoulder, laughing brightly when he sees the little boy smiling back at his brother. “I don’t think his mom would like that very much. She’d probably miss him. Who knows though… maybe someday.”
“Alright,” Blaine says, still staring intently at the other boy. “I think I’ll like someday.”
I feel like the years surrounding now will be known as the time in history of a dark ages of backlash. Kids are going to do reports on the people who were fighting for respect, for solidarity and equality, and how when they started to gain a voice and footing, they were pushed back out of fear, anger and cruelty. I want this to be the time that kids look at their grandparents in confusion about, wondering how anyone could have thought like that. I want this to be a part of history our future is ashamed of.
Blaine is a pastor’s son and Kurt works at the dining hall at his church camp
PG (I know, sigh, it was going to be porn but then plot)
Blaine hummed quietly as he straightened the stack of hymnals on the pew, smiling to himself as he stood up and brushed off his slacks, smoothing down his bow tie and making his way down the center aisle towards the back of the chapel.
I'm writing this thing, in which Kurt is buying porn
Also Kurt has a werewolf fetish. It’ll make sense when it’s done, I promise. :)
An excerpt of Finn being Finn:
Finn told him once, wide-eyed and hushed-voice, like he was imparting the world’s best kept secret, that there was one issue behind the counter at the Rite Aid. If you asked the counter clerk (“Tony, not Jake. Jake’s a douchebag. Puck says he cards for beer every time.” ) he’d slip you this month’s – no werewolves, but lots of men. Apparently it was for women. Finn claimed they sold a lot during hunting season.
Kurt wasn’t really sure how to feel about a) that knowledge itself, or b) that Finn seemed to know so much about straight female-targeted porn.
I like writing Finn, usually. I’m finding it hard to get the right balance between bite and sympathy with Santana, probably because I don’t write as her much, which is a shame.