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Sep. 21st, 2007 10:26 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
nilchanceI have issues. And I have neeeeeeds.
I was actually pumped to hear the S3 spoilers about the boys meeting up with two new female characters, because, hi! Femslash for the show! More het! There is no downside here. I was even, more the fool me, kinda hoping that the female hunter character might have visible strength. I'm not asking for a weightlifter here, but maybe the physique of a runner or a swimmer. I was even thinking that maybe Kripke and co might take the opportunity to incorporate more people of color into the show. (And yeah, I know that SPN is actually more diverse than most of TV.)
Yeah, um, not so much. And I understand, it's TV, they're playing to Peoria, whatever. We're in a country where America Ferrera and Sara Ramirez are considered fat. It's a TV culture where the average-looking guy is always special and gets the hot girl, and the reverse (like Ugly Betty) is revolutionary. That's how we roll.
But y'know what? I'm still cranky. I want to see more characters like Lenore or Ellen. I want to see a female hunter who looks like she could fuck your shit up and then go eat some pie. I want to see Sarah Connor doing pullups on her bed. I want belly-padding and wide hips and full cheeks and big butts, more cushion for the pushin', women built for comfort and not for speed.
I want OFC fic! Smut with Dean with curved women whose bellies and thighs are soft enough to cushion his head, who get doublechins when they giggle and who don't fuck around with salad. A big, bold Earth Mama who wears bright colors and probably has to stand on an applebox to make out with either of them, but who won't take any shit. A Rubenesque lush lady who wears red lipstick and high heels and has awesome cleavage, and who struts over and buys Sam tequila. Mmmmm.
I was actually pumped to hear the S3 spoilers about the boys meeting up with two new female characters, because, hi! Femslash for the show! More het! There is no downside here. I was even, more the fool me, kinda hoping that the female hunter character might have visible strength. I'm not asking for a weightlifter here, but maybe the physique of a runner or a swimmer. I was even thinking that maybe Kripke and co might take the opportunity to incorporate more people of color into the show. (And yeah, I know that SPN is actually more diverse than most of TV.)
Yeah, um, not so much. And I understand, it's TV, they're playing to Peoria, whatever. We're in a country where America Ferrera and Sara Ramirez are considered fat. It's a TV culture where the average-looking guy is always special and gets the hot girl, and the reverse (like Ugly Betty) is revolutionary. That's how we roll.
But y'know what? I'm still cranky. I want to see more characters like Lenore or Ellen. I want to see a female hunter who looks like she could fuck your shit up and then go eat some pie. I want to see Sarah Connor doing pullups on her bed. I want belly-padding and wide hips and full cheeks and big butts, more cushion for the pushin', women built for comfort and not for speed.
I want OFC fic! Smut with Dean with curved women whose bellies and thighs are soft enough to cushion his head, who get doublechins when they giggle and who don't fuck around with salad. A big, bold Earth Mama who wears bright colors and probably has to stand on an applebox to make out with either of them, but who won't take any shit. A Rubenesque lush lady who wears red lipstick and high heels and has awesome cleavage, and who struts over and buys Sam tequila. Mmmmm.
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no subject
Date: 2007-09-21 06:35 pm (UTC)...
Lupe nods and turns back to the film. The boy is still staring at her, trying to be inconspicuous about it, but she can see out of the corner of her eye - his eyes keep flicking from her hips to her tits to the curve of her lips and back again. Fuckin' out-of-towner, this one.
She clears her throat, and he colors and turns away, scrubbing a hand through his hair.
The movement makes his shirt pulls tight over his shoulders. Out-of-towner, but he's strong. Put together right. And shit, he's got hands as big as her head.
She hums under her breath, smiles a little. She's about done with the fiche anyway.
He starts when she touches his elbow, skin hot through his shirt. "It's all yours," she says, pitching her voice low, and she grins when he stutters his thanks.
There are a couple of chairs, worn and well-loved, sitting across the aisle from the microfiche, and she settles in one, pulling a magazine from the periodical rack and watching him. He can't concentrate on whatever he's doing - she highly doubts he's looking up his Abuela's wedding announcement, like she had been - because he keeps giving her sidelong glances.