nerdy white dudes


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Peter will probably never get used to having MJ in his bed. Not even in a just-had-sex way. In a chilling-on-top-of-the-covers way. She’s lying down on her stomach, laptop open in front of her, feet in the hair. A rebel strand of hair falls in front of her eyes, no matter how many times she blows it away. She’s beautiful. Peter has always known that she is. He has eyes and a brain, after all, and MJ is super attractive, no doubt. But like this, soft and unguarded, a pencil stuck between her teeth, she’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. On earth or otherwise. And he’s been in space. He knows his shit.

“Michelle Jones is taken,” she tells him, not looking up from her screen.

He’s sitting in the floor, working on his suit and pretending like he isn’t distracted every five seconds by her long legs. It’s the middle of summer and she’s only wearing shorts. He’s so distracted.

“Maybe add an initial, Michael B. Jordan style? Michelle J. Jones?”

She wrinkles her nose, unconvinced. Too deep in her thoughts to insult him about his dumb idea, though, which shows how much she cares about the thing. Her first proper job as an actress, paid and everything, one-way ticket to the actors guild. Except some white actress from the 70s stole her name. The drama.

“Don’t like the alliteration,” she answers. “It won’t roll on the tongue of whoever will announce my Oscar.”

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ktrosesworld  asked:

I truly am enjoying your current love affair with our glorious dork Chris from Learners :)

I read somewhere that David found it puzzling anyone would find the character attractive. I think he was shooting for mouth-breathing dork mannerisms. Or maybe, on the opposite spectrum, perhaps his father?

But … I don’t know. I put myself in the driver’s seat in my mind, out of curiosity.

At first look, I might guffaw internally, and think “Heh. What a nerdy white dude.”

After one lesson I’d think “Nerdy brit, but he’s easy to talk to.” We’d bond talking about religion, but he wouldn’t chide me for backsliding. I’d make fun of his music, and he would shyly do the same.

At lesson two, I might actually put on some perfume and lipstick. He would wheeze because he’s allergic to it. We’d stop at a fast food place and I would wash it off. When I went back in the car, he would be quiet with embarrassment, but I would say silly, slightly saucy things to get his mind off it. When he laughed, I’d compliment him on his glasses. He would blush since he thought I was joking. He would compliment me on my sweater. I’d say it’s not as stylin’ as his polar fleece. He’d blush so beautifully I would nearly sideswipe a parked car for looking. He would be too nice about it.

At lesson three, I’d wear a dress printed with tiny flowers, and have my hair down, and no perfume, just lotion. I’d be nervous now, because I thought of him for the last couple of days. His hair would be different. Most noticeably, his glasses would be gone. “Can you see?” I’d ask. He would tell me he’s wearing contacts. It was highway driving day, so he would take me down long, relatively empty country roads. I’d be nervous since the roads are narrow and I had to drive fast, but he would talk me through it, his voice gentle and smooth as satin ribbon. My long hair would begin to bother me. He would offer me his pen to put it up. I would put it in a tight knot at the top of my head. He would chuckle, and ask me whether the bun gets a lot of channels. I’d ask him what he means. He would point at it and say “Antenna.” I would respond “All the premium channels. Even the naughty ones.” He would flush and rub his eyes. When I gave him a side long look, his eyes would be red. “Are you okay?” I’d say, and nearly drive off the road and into a copse of trees. He would grab the steering wheel and tell me it was the contacts, and the irritation is why he never wore them. “Take them off!” I’d say, going into the parking lot of a roadside diner before he could stop me. “Why’d you stop?” he would ask. “Because I don’t want you poking your eye out,” I’d say. He would pull the contact lens holder from his pocket and remove them. He’d blink and open his eyes wide. “That feels so good,” he’d say, then look at me. “Why did you put them on if they hurt your eyes?,” I’d ask, then start the car. He would stare at his hands as I drove back more confidently than before. “I thought you were being funny about my glasses,” he would say. I’d shake my head and smile. “Not the least bit. You’re lovely-” I would stiffen, since I meant to say the glasses were lovely. Despite my slip up, he would smile enough to light the inside of the car. I wouldn’t correct my comment. This time, he’d ask me what music I like, and play it. I’d steal his dashboard smurf as I got out of the car, since it was the last lesson I could afford.

He would call me, later, but I wouldn’t answer. He would leave a message.

“Thou shalt not steal, young lady,” he would say into my voicemail, but there would be amusement in his voice. “Rock smurf needs to come home.”

I would call back, and just as soon as he answered, I would say. “But he likes it here. I fed him blueberries and the Beatles.”

“I confess, he doesn’t get much of the former here,” he would say. “Plenty of the latter. Maybe too much.”

“Then maybe we can feed him something different. My friend gave me some tickets to Vampire Weekend. He might love them.”

He would be silent for a couple of agonizing seconds. “Really?” he’d say.

“You don’t like them?” I’d say.

“They’re good. You want to go to a rock concert, with me?”

“With both of you. But mostly you, yes.”

He’d laugh, then say “Yeah. I’d love to, if you don’t mind being with a total nerd while around all those young, hip people.”

“We’ll be two unhip people, dancing side stage.”

“Side stage?”

“My friend works in radio. He’s a pip.”

Then, we would talk for hours, about everything. My job, our families. Our irrational fears. Our experiences, or lack thereof. I would dare to call him the next day, fearing he’d think me a clingy woman, but doing it anyway since I had thought of him and smiled all day. He would confess he was going to call me if I didn’t call him. In two days, we’d meet at the concert. He would wear a dark blue button up shirt and jeans. I’d be in velvet skinnies and a sequined tank top. He wouldn’t drink, despite the free booze backstage. I wouldn’t drink in solidarity. He would dance like a madman, smiling wide, his glasses flashing in the lights. I would stare, and slip my hand into his in a quiet moment. He would hold it tight, caressing my skin with his thumb. He wouldn’t let go. During a slower song, he would dare to put his arm around my waist. I would lean into him. He would nuzzle my temple. By the second encore, I’d be desperately, wildly in love.

Needless to say, Chris is a beautiful character.

anonymous asked:

Oh man. I once was accosted by a nerdy white dude who tried, at great length, to explain not only why the prequels sucked, but why Luke and Leia should have been Obi Wan’s and Padme’s kids. All I had to say was that Obi Wan was a monk who always put the Jedi order first and that would be an affront to his character and the dude got all .... you right #fakenerdboys. Either way, it’s a theory that prequel haters like because it means they can ignore Anakin, who they hate, in favor of Obi Wan.

it’s really funny because if that was true it would invalidate the ending of ESB/ROTJ and fuck up the most iconic reveal in cinema history, but y’kno….. prequels suck!!!!!

anonymous asked:

are you anti dylan o'brien now that he's a white boy being considered for spider man lol

nobody has a problem with the actors being “considered” the problem is in the fact that people love superhero movies, they give us the chance to see regular people do amazing things and also backflips and even though superhero movies come from a place of fantasy, people still want to see themselves represented, people want to see a person who looks like them or who is like them do these amazing things and also backflips.

if a fictional world made up of pseudoscience, genetically enhanced super beings and demi gods is a bunch of straight white guys named chris running around in spandex and this fictional world you love is completely void of women and people of color and disabled people and queer people, and you sit here with no rejection towards that, it says a lot about you. 

do i get bummed out when white actors take roles that were meant to be played by poc? do i get mad when i remember white actors will ALWAYS be the first choice? no matter what? yes 

do i get bummed out when directors and film producers decide not to make a character queer in a movie adaption of something (book/play/comic/whatever) where the same character is in fact canonly queer? and has been for years? bc all of a sudden the characters queerness isn’t “important to the story” but the heterosexual makeouts are a turning point in the character arc? yes do i get mad that queer characters just can’t simply exist the way a straight character can bc queer characters seem to always need a “purpose” that goes beyond saving the world from fucking aliens? 

am i anti any actor or actress who i like in other roles and from what i know about them as a person? no

do i think dylan o’brien deserves to play roles in major movies bc he’s a talented actor? yes

do i want to see the third spiderman origin story since i’ve been alive complete with a nerdy white dude outcast and a spider bite to the back of the neck? NO!!!!!!!  

would i like to see more representation? for myself? for my friends? for young people who feel lost and want to see that they’re not alone by buying a 12 dollar movie ticket and seeing someone like them on the screen for once? of course 

if you can’t stand a fictional world where there’s a black johnny storm or a black captain america or a spiderman who isn’t white or a muslim natasha romanoff? or an asexual female spy in general? who’s story isn’t focused around her sexuality? a native american steve rogers? or a disabled protagonist or a queer leading man or a lesbian who you’re not set up to hate from the very first moment you see her or actual bisexual representation or female friendships that don’t revolve around men and the fucking banishment of love triangles across the board, what does that say about you living in reality? if you can’t handle diversity in fiction, you’re obviously a big shithead in real life. 

and i don’t think i or anyone else who doesn’t agree with where the casting seems to be going deserves passive aggressive messages like this so take your “lol” somewhere else bc it’s not gonna work here. 

I’m completely out of sympathy for straight white nerdy dudes who are frustrated that they can’t get laid and act like this is the most difficult and critical social issue of our time. And I have zero patience for their demands that women in general, and feminism in particular, take on solving their “nerd dudes lack of sex” problem their a primary objective. I just don’t give a shit about their plight, frankly. I really don’t.

the reason why so many people are reacting to that picture of Banksy is that banksy purposefully used the anonymity gimmick to make him seem more anti-establishment, this lead to many people believing and supporting him because they assumed he could have represented people of color or women. Where as he could have easily just said that he was a white dude who supported poc struggles, he indulged in the fantasy that he could be “anybody”.

 and when it turns out he’s part of the establishment and has been using his disguise to mask the voices of people of color by painting over their tagging and using their image to make broad statements, of course they’re going to be disgusted, ESPECIALLY now that he’s using commercial icons to profit off of which is pretty much the definition of capitalism. 

settle down white boys ur not as oppressed as you think you are just because people get upset when you turn out to be culturally appropriating lime-lighters. Like, “oh no just goes to show you tumblr has a problem with white guys with an education” uh… well of all the bad things to happen to white guys with an education you all should just be happy it’s confined to just a bunch of teenagers going “lmao, you look like my dad” at them and not arrests, death and obscurity. 

like listen folks, I’m just someone who blogs about snes games and comics and I randomly decided to upload a picture I found of banksy because I thought it was a bit absurd that he looks like everyone’s dad, not my fault so many people thought to reblog it, I don’t have a ton of followers who reblog everything I do to make this happen, they just all felt some kind of sense of betrayl that the fine arts world has once again favoured the voice of a nerdy white dude over the millions of poc and women who have been saying the same thing for years.

you know its really sad because when i was younger i really looked up to joss whedon because he created some of my favorite stories and characters that shaped the person i grew up to be and now, almost ironically, as an adult i’ve grown to realize that he’s nothing but a typical nerdy white dude who thinks hes the second coming of jesus and is stuck writing the same stories/tropes over and over and spewing NiceGuy bullshit while trying to suck his own dick

I love my German professor so much she’s like 22 and has a half shaved head and a nose ring, and like 80% of my German class is these boring fuck boys and… anyway, today we were talking about East Germany vs west Germany and the fall of the Berlin Wall and how obviously berlin’s experiment w communism wasn’t successful, and these pasty nerdy white dudes are like “FUCK communism! god bless America! USA! usa! usa!” and then one of them was like “do you know what they had in west Germany? FREEDOM!” I was sooo annoyed, but my professor straight up called him out! she was like “uh actually no, what they had was CAPITALISM!” like… damn… u tell em… it’s impossible to be truly free under capitalism… auf Wiedersehen!