In one episode of Brooklyn Nine Nine, they talk about how trans people have it difficult in prison. In the very next episode the sentence “Nothing is more attractive in a woman than the clear absence of a penis” is uttered.
It’s almost like B99 is a show made by liberals for liberals and its progressiveness is entirely performative.
Just want to point out since the post kind of glosses over the fact that the last sentence is uttered ironically by a gay character who is trying to pass as straight to distract a guard at a women’s prison. The running joke is that he believes straight people are transphobic and homophobic, so when he tries to pretend to be one, he acts that way. The joke is, no one around him acts like what he’s saying is off, making further commentary on how transphobic and homophobic our society is.
tumblr taking things out of context to vilify something good? its more likely than you think
au where the trojan war is a party menelaus throws to win back his girlfriend who left him for some douchebag and he ropes all his friends into helping him and wacky shenanigans happen and a running gag is that odysseus doesn’t even want to be there he’s got shit to do and at the end he gets stuck in traffic on the way home
“listen, man,” homer says, “i dunno what you want me to tell you. like, i wasn’t even there.”
the cop who smells like bear claw donuts and watering hose plastic slaps his hands flat on the table, toying with the corner of something papery; maybe a folder, or a photo. the cop whose uniform swishes like lycra when he walks–and, though this is just a guess, is probably wearing knock-off ray ban pilot sunglasses that he hasn’t taken off once in his life–leans against the two-way mirror so hard that the buttons on the shoulder of his uniform click against the glass.
“kid, i admire your desire to keep your friends out of trouble,” Donut Mouth says. “but a real house really burned down. people could have died.”
“look at it from our point of view,” Ray Ban suggests. “because from our point of view, it looks like a prank war got out of control and ended in arson. you don’t want arson on your record.”
homer, who has been in this police station since three-thirty in the goddamn morning and is more hungover than he has ever been in his entire fucking life, leans back in his chair and folds his arms over his chest.
“oh, you want me to look at it from your point of view,” he drawls. “nice. real fucking nice.”
the embarrassed pause is enough for homer to gather his wits a little: if he pushes past the pounding in his head he can kind of remember how he got here. he knows that the cops were right; there was definitely a fire, and it was almost definitely the greek alpha sig’s fault, although if you really go all the way back it’s not like they were unprovoked.
he sips at the coffee they’d given him a little while ago. it’s almost cold, but it helps quiet the pounding in his brain. pancakes would have helped more, but he doesn’t think the police station have those on the menu, and even if they do, it isn’t like they’re going to be any good if the quality of their coffee is any indication.
he tries to figure out how long he’s been here, in realtime not drunk time. probably an hour at least. so–that’s one down, and they can only keep him for twenty-four, right?
yeah. he’s pretty sure. so all he has to do is make it twenty-four hours without telling them who actually started the fire but also without being, like, a hostile witness, or whatever. he doesn’t actually know that much about the law, but he remembers that one brooklyn nine nine episode where jake arrested someone too early and they had to find something to charge him with in one day
homer is fairly confident that he can’t get charged with anything he’s done lately, but he does definitely smell like weed, so.
love, justice, and homer all are blind, but none of them are stupid, so he rubs at his eyes and says, “okay. fine. i’ll tell you what i know, but like, most of this is just what i heard. it’s not gonna hold up in court. i mean, i didn’t see anything.”
“obviously,” says Ray Ban.
“what do you mean, ‘obviously’? that’s fucking ableist, man.”
“that’s not what i–”
“roy,” Donut Mouth interrupts, tone a warning. “go on, son.”
“okay,” homer says. he takes a deep breath. “so like–okay, what you have to understand is we’re deep in this war, right? i mean, this has been going on since like, the first toga party of the year, when this transfer kid, paris, hooked up with helen during rush.”
“helen …”
“spartowski.”
“and she is?”
“manny atreus’ girlfriend. or–ex-girlfriend, i guess. she’s alpha delta chi.”
“so manny atreus burned down the trojan house because … his girlfriend cheated on him in paris?”
“what? no. i never said he burned it down, i said the prank war started because his girlfriend cheated on him, and not in paris, with paris.”
“someone’s parents named them paris?”
“i don’t fucking know, man, i didn’t name him. that’s just what he’s called. maybe it’s a family name.”
“sure.”
“my dude, i’m called homer. you think i’m judging people on the weird shit their parents named them?”
Donut Mouth coughs into his hand. “fair point.”
“okay. so: manny said we had to go to war, for like, honor or something, and honestly at first it sounded kind of fun, so we just kind of went with it. but …”
he trails off. august seems like such a long time ago. a whole lifetime. maybe more than one.
“but what?”
homer’s head hurts. he’s so hungover he thinks he can smell beer in his sweat. he can definitely smell weed. it’s going to be a long, long, long day.
“i dunno,” he admits. “i guess things just got–a little out of hand.”
remember that defunct(?) druid quest where you had to get an entire book Illidan wrote and published about how druidism is bullshit just to spite Malfurion
wheres his gnomulitzer (that’s the WoW version of a pulitzer)
Half of me: Blue and Yellow are going to have to confront eons worth of sins, war crimes, prejudice, the creation and enforcement of biological castes, the removal and dismantling of the very notion of consent, their part in upholding the lies that gems are solitary, unchanging, incapable of love or companionship, downplaying gems own physical abilities leading to entire swaths of gem culture untapped, and that’s not even mentioning the eugenics, use of unconventional (by gem standards) weaponry, the corruption weapon. They’re going to have to face the fact that they won’t be able to atone for all of that (especially re: Pearl) even if it turns out that the theory that White Diamond outranks all other diamonds in terms of superiority and my personal theory that Blue and Yellow are off-color diamonds like Pink was is true and that I’m actually spot on about Blue and Yellow not knowing the full extent of the corruption weapon’s effects on gems (as implied by Blue and Yellow thinking that they’d simply killed all the gems on Earth instead of corrupting them). There’s just no way they’re going to get all of the Crystal Gems to trust them just like that, at the very least not without a big rant from Pearl about how they could have just listened to Pink 5700 years ago instead of ignoring her and continuing to expand their genocidal colonialist empire.
When people are born, they have a streak of hair the same color and texture as their soulmate’s natural hair. You are born with a blue streak that floats in the air, and no matter what you do you can’t get it to lay flat on your head.
It’s your first day of kindergarten, and you are screaming. Tears are running down your face, and the day couldn’t get any worse. Your mother is trying to gel your soul streak down, but now it’s just a goopy spike, still sticking straight up, as always. You don’t understand why it’s a problem – your blue spike is super cool. Everyone else’s is black and kinky, blonde and wavy, or brown and bone straight. Yours is blue, and it floats. Your mother has tried everything: barrettes, bobby pins, even the dreaded tight bun, but nothing works. It always wiggles it’s way out, and back into the air. Eventually, she gives up. Thankfully, you have just enough time to rinse the disgusting goop out of your hair, but you have to go to school with it wet. She braids it down your back and leaves the blue streak sticking up, sighing heavily. You’re not sure why she thought she could make it go down today, she never has before.
School is mostly awful. You sit on the bus by yourself, because everyone looks scared of you. The moment you walk in, boys flock to pull your streak. You’ve always drawn extra attention, but nobody’s ever hurt you. Most of the girls want to feel it, and you let them. They’re being gentle and they all think it’s super soft. There were a few in the corner whispering about something though, and at lunch they come tell you that you’re a freak, that you’re destined to be forever alone and die right before your cats eat you, because people don’t have floating blue hair. They just don’t.
Your new friend Sam sticks up for you, and you know then you’ll be friends forever. She screams that your soulmate is gonna be the coolest, prettiest person anyone’s ever seen! She gets in trouble for using her outside voice inside, but she says it was worth it. Those girls were meanies. You really like Sam, even if you don’t understand why she’s sticking up for you. She’s normal. She has pretty black hair styled into poofy pigtails that look like pompoms, and she has a soft blonde streak. No one looks at her funny, no one calls her police car.
Elementary school comes and goes, and you and Sam are as inseparable as the day you met. One of your favorite games is seeing what kinds of stuff you can balance and hand on your hair. The only thing that’s made it sink so far is a dictionary, and it was super heavy. Most of the girls decide Sam is too weird to hang out with too, but she doesn’t mind. It’s way too fun to braid your streak into your hair and watch it all stick up. People are mean every now and then, but Sam has your back.
In middle school, though, something changes. A blonde boy named Nathan asks Sam out, and she says yes. Their streaks match up, so they must be soulmates. Nathan doesn’t like you. He thinks you’re a freak and you’re clingy, and he asks Sam to stop hanging out with you so much. She tells you she won’t, but she does. You understand. She shouldn’t put her soulmate at risk for you, but it still hurts. You sit next to her in class, and she avoids your gaze. She doesn’t sit next to you next year.
You decide it’s time to get rid of the blue streak. That’s what makes you a freak right? You buy some hair dye, it looks close enough to your color, and you pray the dye weighs it down some too. It doesn’t. The dye doesn’t even stay in. When you wash it out, it’s the same menacing electric blue it’s always been, so you make a decision. You cut it off. Your streak is on the top of your head, so it isnt like it’s an easily hideable bald spot. The rest of middle school is filled with beanies and high buns, and for the first time, you get a few friends. They arent great, they plan sleepovers and don’t invite you, but they let you sit with them at lunch and sometimes they even go to the mall with you.
Around 8th grade, you realize that other girls like boys. Like, they like them a lot more than you do. The only thing you’ve noticed about them is they’re rude and forget deodorant most days. You don’t understand why the other girls are so obsessed, but to each their own, you guess. It’s confusing, and you don’t like to think about it, so you don’t.
High school starts, and you’re more alone than ever. Sam broke up with Nathan, but now she’s hanging out with another girl. They’re always holding hands and whispering, and you feel so jealous. One day, you snap. You march right over to her locker, right in front of mystery girl, and ask her. You ask her what happened, why she’s replaced you. You make a pretty big scene in the hallway, but you can’t bring yourself to care. Sam squeezes mystery girl’s hand tighter and it clicks. Mystery girl is her soulmate. You finally see the lock of frizzy black hair right above the girls temple. You run away, tears in your eyes, and you hear someone run after you, but you dont stop. Not until you’re locked safely in a bathroom stall. Sam knocks on the door and asks if you’re alright. You tell her to go away. She doesn’t, she’s always been too stubborn to listen to you. She tells you about your middle school friends, how she thought you’d left her for them. She tells you about the nights she spent crying over her sexuality, and how she didn’t even have her best friend to talk to about it. You unlock the stall door, and step out, a little unsure, but immediately, Sam squeezes the life out of you, wrapping you in the best hug of your life. She missed you as much as you missed her.
After that, you officially meet Mallory – Sam’s soulmate – and you really like her. She’s charming and funny, and she wants to be around you. She doesn’t push you away like Nathan did. She and Sam convince you to grow your soul streak back out, and the rest of high school is so much better. The three of you are attached at the hip, and you don’t even feel like you’re 3rd wheeling.
By the end of freshman year, you understand why you didn’t chase after boys. You’re as gay as Sam, which is to say, incredibly gay. Still you worry. Who in hell would have blue floaty hair? Almost no one dates outside of soul streak matches, because there’s just no reason to. The problem is, no one matches you. Maybe you really are destined to be alone.
In sophomore year, you take an astronomy class, and you fall in love. The stars are beautiful, and you beg your parents for a telescope. Christmas morning, your wish comes true, and you spend night after night staring into the sky, memorizing constellations.
Junior year, the biggest meteor shower in 50 years happens (and it’s right in your neighborhood!). You plan sit until the sun comes up just watching. You forced Sam and Mallory to come too, but they got bored by 11:30 and went home. There was only a meteor every 15 minutes or so, but it was the most exhilarated you’d ever felt. Around 3 am, one meteor looks like it’s getting a little too close for comfort. The sensible part of you is scared – that thing might hit you, or the house – but there was another part that prayed it landed in your yard, even though it’d probably burn up before ever getting here. The thought of an actual meteorite, in your yard was just too exciting. It didn’t land in your yard, but it definitely landed. You felt it in the ground. Naturally, you drove toward the smoke.
It doesn’t take long to find your meteorite, and you hop out of the car, just parking on the curb. You arent really sure how to handle this, and you certainly dont have the proper safety equipment, but you dont care. Off into the field you go, coughing and waving smoke out of your face. After what feels like weeks, you find your meteorite. Well, meteorite isn’t the right word. Whatever the thing was, it wasn’t natural. You stare at it in confusion for a bit, before something pops out. A girl (you think) with blue skin, and blue hair. Floaty blue hair. The only thing out of place is a single lock of brown, behaving itself just as it should. She tumbles out of the spacecraft (?) and shouts “catch me!” as she floats towards you, and you do. “Your planet is so tiny. How do you even handle such a lack of gravity here?”
I knew what would happen from about 4 sentences in, but I don’t friggin’ care!
thisacelovesheadcanons 