#fuck glee

[mdverse]

happy 10 years of being married to them <3

[justgleekout]

I mean… literally… with this pic going round, how could I not?

[bizarrelittlemew]

Stede is a cool pirate 😌 (x)

[nessiesgf]

god i love this show

[yameoto]

scumbag fuck but i swear that she’s not

she's so good to me, and nobody else

supernatural!au quinn masterpost

big sis. roadhead. barfight. somno.

“yeah, well maybe i don’t want to spend my life hunting monsters til' i'm fucking eighty, quinn!” quinn gives you the most unimpressed look of her life, because seriously? the two of you aren't living til' you're eighty, anyways. “yeah, well tough shit, baby sis.” she jerks the wheel just a little sharper than she should, like a fucking ass. "you run away again and i'll tie your tight-ass up and cram you in the boot, you hear me?"

backstory

▸ born in a supremely episcopalian, puritan household, LUCY QUINN FABRAY is the first daughter of russell fabray, famous preacherman in the deep south. when her mother, judy fabray, bursts into flames at the hands of a devil, above the cot of her baby sister, russell turns back to the hunting life, for good; taking his two girls' along with him.

▸ quinn's baby sister was dropped off on the fabray's doorstep when quinn was 4. russell believes she was ���sent by the angels’, and the second coming of jesus.

▸ russell's cover as a travelling preacherman, and the long nature of certain hunts, meant he often left his girls’ to live alone for long stretches of time. for most of their lives, quinn has taken sole responsibility of the care of her baby sister. cooking, cleaning, the whole nines. from the moment russell thrust the infant into quinn’s arms as they fled from the fire, quinn has formed her entire identity around being her baby sisters’ protector.

“but daaaddd..” quinn can't help it. the baby is swaddled up in cloth, eyes blinking guilessely up at her, because apparently she's its ‘big sister.’ it’s been quiet since it came 'home’. a good girl. almost too good, her mom says. and yeah, okay. maybe it really is a gift from the angels. quinn doesn’t know what it has to do with sunday school, but she knows one thing; she’s jealous. she wants to be cooed over and coddled and called sent by the heavens like she used to do (but the way her dad says it this time sounds different. like he means it more, or something). besides, she doesn’t want to share her toys with a stupid new baby. “lucy, enough. good girls don’t whinge. say something nice, or don’t say it at all.” quinn opens her mouth to protest, before deflating on the stern look on her father's face. “i guess it’s kinda cute.” quinn huffs, blowing air out of rosy cheeks, golden curls framing her face like she’s been ripped right from some old romantic painting of a cherub. quinn reaches out, gingerly prodding the baby’s cheek. it makes an indistinct babbling sound, little arms reaching upwards. “looks like she likes you, honey.” comes russell’s deep rumble, overlooking the scene, expression unreadable. “really?” quinn perks up, because the prospect of being the only one this dumb baby likes makes it a little less dumb in her books—before she catches herself. crosses her arms. “well, i don’t care.” except she’s crawled over to sit beside the baby’s cot anyways. she asks, eventually “..can i hold her, daddy?”

▸ quinn has hunted from an early age, russell bringing her out on hunts to ‘watch’ as early as six years old, in order to familiarise his child with the supernatural in order to better protect herself and her younger sister better. quinn was 12 years old when allowed on her first, proper hunt. russell never allowed them to hunt individually, even in early adulthood.

▸ russell fabray originally never intended for his daughters to hunt, as he wanted to keep them ‘pure’ as possible. quinn, however, snuck into her fathers’ car when he was going out for a hunt one too many times (with her oblivious baby sister towed along, of course).

▸ for long, long hunts, russell would drop his children off a motel or at a fellow hunters’ house for extended periods, in which they would be enrolled at the local school for 1-6 months. quinn flourished, adopting the head bitch role like a second skin. even took up cheerleading. quinn enjoyed these brief stints of normalcy (and gratuitous popularity) though she would never admit it.

"hi, baby sis.” quinn gives you a fond hair ruffle as she passes you by, and you swat her wrist away, scowling at the retreating form of your older sister. you're just glad she didn't pinch your cheek or anything. that would be lame. though, what's totally lamer, is the slackjawed look your potential new friend is giving you right now. “your sister is quinn fabray?” the girl gapes. “the quinn fabray?” you stare back, uncomprehending. “um. last time i checked. yeah?” “instant head bitch, prom queen shoein, second coming of jesus, quinn fabray? because, like, everybody’s been waiting for chiara’s epic downfall, ‘cause everyone knows she’s a hypocrite and also a major slut, and then your sister strutted in the lunchroom on her first day and—“ you tuned out five seconds ago. is this a dream? this feels like a dream. the two of you have only been in town for four months! you didn’t know quinn was fucking notorious, or something. most demons’ or talkative monsters just dub you as those fabray brats and are done with that. this is entirely uncharted waters for eighth-grade you. you take one glance back, because you’ve got to be missing something. in your head, you’re thinking more like; too-lazy-to-clean-the-toothpaste-tube-and-lets-it-harden-into-something-disgustingly-crusty quinn fabray? takes-five-years-in-the-shower-and-uses-all-the-last-body-wash-and-fills-it-up-with-water-before-it’s-your-turn quinn fabray? your annoying, overprotective, (admittedly badass) older sister, quinn fabray? you've seen her, sure. sashaying down the hallways, blonde hair tight in a highpony, in a cheerleading uniform—which was so fucking weird the first time and you don't think you'll ever get used to it. not because you've never seen quinn in skimpy clothing before (whenever dad needs her to charm the wits out of some sorry sucker), but never like this. never, so.. normal. even if she's got this glint in her eyes that you recognise when she's facing off bloody wendigos; except its period 3 bell in some bumfuck town in the middle of ohio. it suits her, you think; normal. like she has eyes at the back of her head or something, midway down the hallway, quinn turns around and meets your gaze. her mouth changes, from that sweet, sweet smile disguising the devil underneath you've seen her wear nowadays, into that warm, fond grin she reserves only for you, with a flash of her canines and a subtle wink she learned when the two of you would play pranks on dad, in the early years. you shoot her a brazen middle finger for her troubles, and she just throws her head back and laughs, airy and breathy and carefree. you suppress the instinctive urge to return it with a grin, as you both go opposite ways, new spring in both steps. the quinn fabray. yeah, right. that's just your big sister.

▸ when quinn was 22, her baby sister got into stanford on full scholarship, abandoning the hunting life for a normal one. this led to a huge blow-up argument which escalated until they both went radio silent, for two years. stems from their intense sibling codependency, and the fact quinn, as her ‘protector’, derived all meaning from caring for her sister—and thus didn’t know what the hell she was good for, without her. this is the same reason quinn keeps to hunting. even beyond the whole, family first, ‘it’s in your blood’ schtick. there is nothing else that she knows.

facts.

▸ quinn's episcopolian upbringing means she has extensive biblical knowledge, especially due to being so exposed to her father. she is family-first, always.

▸ quinn wears a cross necklace around her neck that she never takes off, as her baby sister gifted it to her, on one of many christmases spent just the two of them, when russell left them alone for two weeks in a motel room.

▸ quinn had lingering faith in god, though moreso for it represented her idyllic childhood and a time in which she lived in relative normalcy. she is now a heretic. not a skeptic, a heretic.

“i thought you were saving this for dad..?” quinn, 12 mumbles, sleepily lifting her head from the shitty motel couch. she frowns, as you, 8, crawl up on the cushions to face her. your form is illuminated by the christmas lights she stole from the house down the street, while you were sleeping. “dad’s not here. you are,” you point out, as if it’s as simple as that. maybe it is. “i warded it. kinda.” your brows knit, sitting cross-legged in front of her as you hold up the necklace, shifting as if embarrassed. “i dunno. i jus' followed a few things i saw when i was snooping through dad’s journal. they probably don’t work, but..” they don't. she knows, just from running a finger over the silver emblem of the cross, that it's virtually useless. she couldn't give less of a fuck. instead, she turns, hands gathering up her hair and pushing it upwards, exposing the pale expanse of her nape. "put it on for me?" she asks, after a moments' silence, not even scolding you for, first of all; looking at dad's journal (big nono). secondly; trying your hand at an ancient, potentially town-levleling rite you can't even read properly because you wanted to give her a christmas present. who does that? (her baby sister, that's who. and the thought swells quinn with pride and a curshing wave of love, even though she knows she should be a good big sister and tell you off). except, she can't. not when your fingers so cautious, so soft—unweathered by the callouses of hunting life, the grooves of clutching a knife to your chest, unfamiliar with the cold metal of a trigger guard. she savours your softness. drinks it in, in a way she already knows is greedy but she can't help it, and in the moment you finish clumsily clasping it around her neck, she turns and flings her arms around you and tucks you close to her chest. nose burrowing into the familiar, earthy scent of your sweatdamp locks and promises to mom and to god that'll she'll take care of you for as long as she fucking lives. "i'm never taking it off, ever. i swear, lil' sis." "..never ever?" "never fucking ever."

▸ since losing her faith, quinn wears the cross necklace inverted. it is symbolic of her devotion—not to god—but to her sister.

▸ nobody calls quinn ‘lucy’ except for her father. this is because judy named her, and he clutches onto his wife through quinn. quinn goes by her middle name for the same reason.

▸ russell used to keep quinn's hair long as a child, for the same reason that she reminded him of judy, and preserve his eldests' semblance of innocence. quinn now regularly hacks it off to various lengths for practicality's sake.

OVERARCHING PLOT CONTEXT (SPN S1-5): follows the canon trajectory of spn seasons 1-5. angels/demons working together in order to break the seals, free lucifer and jumpstart the apocalypse. quinn is the vessel for michael, and her baby sister is the vessel for lucifer.

her baby sister was not sent by the angels, but was in fact delivered by azazel, the same demon who killed their mother. russell fabray, rather than being a voice/prophet of god, he has been obliviously consorting with devils, disguised as angels, who have been using him and his children to bring about the apocalypse.

to be finished.

[inkedinserendipity]

murderbot network effect spoilers under the cut. i am so serious.

CHEWING AND SCREAMING AND GNAWING AT THE BARS OF MY CAGE!!!!

one of my favorite freaking things about this whole book is murderbot's squad trying to protect it. and it just has no idea what to do with that. murderbot goes "i'll go alone" and art goes "you will not go alone" and murderbot goes "fuck you art" and art goes "i can't lose you too"

and murderbot goes ?????

and i went !!!!!!

god i had to put the book down and scream. when i read that.

plus it was directly preceded by murderbot's entire crew being like "hey chucklefuck. we're going with you. your veto powers have been revoked." beginning with thiago! who murderbot is still convinced doesn't like it!!

side note because this is constantly funny: murderbot will assume you don't like it while admiring you as a person. and then it would die for you. and then if you express any sort of reciprocal loyalty it rears back like it's been bit by a snake

which is especially funny from people like arada, who could not be further from a snake if they tried

GOD IT'S JUST. the loyalty. it's the *clenches fist* it's the it's the

it's the way art showed its crew pictures of murderbot. they recognized it by its face!! it's the way as soon as iris knew that was peri's secunit they started to hope they'd be rescued!! it's the way art must have talked about murderbot to its crew, because art made a friend!

it's the way that and okay i know this is for the long post where i ramble about wells's craft but it's the way that the character development and relationships are so rewarding if you think through the implications. because on the surface the moment of secunit 3 commenting that "transport is very angry" when trying to evacuate its crew so that it can negotiate with the hostiles is like, yeah, it just got its crew back, i'd be pissed too.

but then you take a step back and go oh, the reason it wants its crew back right now and sounds very angry rather than relieved is because murderbot is down there. and it wants to vacate the planet. so that it can bomb the shit out of the planet. because murderbot is its friend.

and then you have a moment of oh that's really sweet and also fucking terrifying?? your nickname is "peri"? why are you actually frightening???

GOD! FUCK!!

SCREAMING AND GNAWING!!

AND ALSO JUST, this book in particular is everything i freaking wanted from this series. a culmination of all the connections murderbot's made: its crew, its friend art - and the loyalty it's inspired entirely unintentionally. and i was so fucking happy to just have art and murderbot on a mission together, learning how to be friends despite both being absolute assholes who couldn't communicate to save their own lives. but then i got the small hints of art actually talking about murderbot, and trusting it (and vice versa), and then i got a fucking rescue mission that these idiots are about to stage, and god. it's wish fulfillment in a book. this book is everything i could have wanted and i am not exaggerating one bit.

when i realized murderbot was about to get dropped and have to be rescued i lost my goddamn mind. it's just. wells knows exactly what is gratifying for a reader. she did not rush this story because she knows what she's doing with delayed gratification, and i'm so happy she kept this plotline in her back pocket until book six because that makes it so much sweeter. the marination, the fucking - the character development, guys, it's so good.

i will be back. when i have read more pages of this book i will be back. i am just at the beginning of the rescue attempt. no spoilers! or i'll cry! on you!

[fadeintoyou1993]

RACHEL & SANTANA GLEE | 3.08

[receivedhope]

[thegayisveryreal]

what is faberry, you ask? what is faberry if not the very definition of pining and yearning and the guilt of religious trauma and repression and heteronormativity being pushed down our throats to make us believe that these two girls should not be together simply because they are meant to clash over the same bland unseasoned tofu of a boy who can’t get over himself when the very reality is that the two of them have always seen each other, understood each other, and are inexplicably entangled in each other’s stories where one can not begin or end without the other? what is faberry if not two girls who were meant to be nothing more than rivals but ended up being *everything* to each other? what is faberry if not stolen moments in empty bathrooms and hallways where phrases such as “you’re a very pretty girl, Quinn. the prettiest girl I’ve ever met, but you’re a lot more than that” and “I’m not mad at you. all you did is what I wasn’t brave enough to do, tell the truth” and “do you have any idea know how much you mean to me?” and “when you were singing that song, it was to finn and only finn, right?” and “I know everyone expects us to be enemies and be in competition but…I don’t hate you” and “you don’t belong here, Rachel. and you can’t hate me from helping to send you on your way” and “ask for a gardenia. with a, with a light green ribbon wrapped around it to match her eyes” and “I wanted to thank you, actually. for keeping me from doing something stupid. something I would have regretted my entire life” are thrown about as if they are not declarations of love being reaffirmed over and over again? what is faberry if not a personal hell that I can never escape because I am constantly reminded of the lengths they would go, best every obstacle in their way for each other even though they were only meant to be two people who passed each other by in life but ended up being two people that were destined to love each other in every life, in every universe?

[antlersaint]

thinking about quinn slipping into subspace because you're fucking her so good.

you're propped up on your elbow next to her in bed, her face tucked against your throat and your hand working between her thighs. things were going about how they normally did, quinn murmuring quiet encouragements into your ear. little "there you go, baby"'s and whatnot. but this time, there's an unusual fuzz at the edges of her mind—something she doesn't care to pay attention to until your fingers are curling a certain way, pushing deep, and her head completely empties.

you pause at the high pitched whine that's heard, backing away concerned you'd hurt her, but you don't get far before quinn's arms are shooting out to loop around your neck and pull you back to her, hips rolling down onto your hand with more whines and whimpers. you take the hint, resuming the previous pace; still a little confused at the sudden switch up, but definitely not complaining. you've never seen her like this. a loud, gasping, babbling mess. it's hot, watching someone usually so in control lose themselves.

she keeps trying to form words, stuttering around simple syllables before giving up. you take quickly to the opposite role, lips brushing against her head when you speak into her hair. "i've got you, it's okay princess. yeah, good girl," (quinn is so, so weak for that). "taking it so well for me. fuck, look at you."

her thighs clamp down around your hand, orgasm hitting her like a train. it might genuinely be the best she's ever felt, eyes rolling back, lashes fluttering and back arching. you lead her through it as gently as possible, cleaning her up and bringing her some water afterward. it takes maybe thirty minutes before she's fully come down from it, a little disoriented from the whole thing; and when quinn meets your gaze, loving but equally smug, she scowls, hitting you (lightly) on the shoulder. "shut up. if you even—"

you cut her off with a kiss, gentle and sweet. oh, how she hates how soft you've made her.

[harmless-variety-of-garden-snake]

You Came In Like a Fire, Burned All I Ever Knew

A long time ago (like five weeks) I went into @exhaustedpirate's inbox with an idea for a fic based on the fact that there's a couple of photos that they reblogged of Orville Peck that we both thought were Oliver Stark for a second. I finally finished it! I finished it a while ago, actually, but I didn't get a chance to edit until this last weekend. Josh Russo drags him out to a club for a Heroes and Villains night, talks some sense into him, and chases off patrons who think that Buck is everyone's favorite gay singing cowboy. At home, Buck listens to the music of said cowboy, gets real sad, and texts Tommy. It's mostly going to be on AO3, because it's almost 6k words. You can find that here.

When someone knocks on Buck’s door at 7 PM on a Friday, he doesn't expect it to be Josh. He definitely doesn't expect it to be Josh in a costume that makes him look sort of like a leather Bond villain with a mask.

“We're going out,” Josh says, pressing a mask to Buck’s chest. “To a club. Because your sister brought eight dozen scones to the office today, and you're fucking up my diet.”

Buck takes the mask and looks over his shoulder where he has a pie crust rolled out. “Okay, but—”

“That looks like something that I can put in the fridge while you put on something that makes you look like a hero or villain, because that's the event,” Josh says, pushing his way past Buck.

He chews on his bottom lip for a second. “Okay, but just—don’t handle the dough too much.”

Josh throws a dismissive wave over his shoulder. “I watch Bake Off, I know.”

Buck goes upstairs and stares at his clothes for a long time. He pulls out a pair of black jeans, a Batman logo shirt that Chris had gotten him, and a black button up. It's the closest he can get to a costume with zero notice unless he wants to break out his cowboy costume from Halloween. But thinking about that makes his skin itch from phantom boils and that feeling he gets when he wants to text Tommy.

When he's done getting dressed, he goes downstairs and sees that Josh is eating a spoonful of raw cookie dough and tapping at his phone.

“I don't want to hear it, I know the risks,” Josh says before Buck can speak. He looks up at Buck and makes a face. “God, you look like every guy I used to hook up with in college who would pretend I didn't exist after.”

Buck smooths his hands over the shirt and shrugs. “I'd have talked to you after.”

“That an offer?” Josh teases, his eyes already back on his phone.

“No,” Buck says with an apologetic shrug. “I don't think I really want to hook up with anyone right now.”

Josh tosses the spoon in the sink. “Yeah, but you can't chain yourself to an oven for the rest of your life. So let's go. I give you full permission to ditch me for a hookup, which is big of me.”

“Thanks?” Buck toys with the mask before putting it on. “How do I look?”

“Devastatingly handsome,” Josh says with a sigh. “Come on, you fucking disaster.”

There's an Uber downstairs already waiting for them, and Buck texts Maddie to find out if she put Josh up to this.

Maddie Uhhh NO because otherwise I would be there, too. Have fun ♥️

“So this is just because of the scones?” he asks, and Josh turns his head slowly to stare at him.

“No, Buck, this is not ‘just because of the scones,’” he says, an eerie calm to his voice. “It's also because of the cookies, cakes, pies, tarts, biscuits, pastas, loaves, bread, and pastries that have appeared in the break room at my job almost every single day for weeks. I have gained four pounds, it would've been more, but I've had to start going to the gym a lot. So I am going to get you laid or at least get you to stop using flour as a coping mechanism. Why couldn't you just start doing K or doomscroll TikTok like everyone else?”

Buck ignores the steadily rising eyebrows of the Uber driver in the rearview mirror. “I—I just miss talking to him. But he doesn't want me to, or he'd be here.”

“Not how that works, but we'll get there,” Josh says, patting his knee. “I need alcohol first. And a bear to squeeze after.”

“You're into bears?”

Josh shrugs. “I'm into everything. Aren't you?”

Buck considers it for a moment. “I haven't really thought about it.”

“Jesus chr—at least tell me you've been watching porn,” Josh whines, and Buck shrugs. “For fuck’s sake. I will tip you double if you get us to this club in the next five minutes.”

–

It is fun being out with Josh, who orders them drinks and scares off a guy who greets Buck by squeezing his waist and scaring the shit out of him. They dance a little bit, but it's nothing crazy. They keep a respectable amount of space between their bodies and are dancing more with the crowd than anything else. Buck even finds himself laughing more than once, losing himself in the music and wondering if he should've been going to clubs all along. It's fun, even though he isn't looking to take anyone home.

A guy comes up behind him and he's a solid weight but not quite tall enough that Buck thinks he's anything but a stranger. He must be cute, though, based on the encouraging thumbs up he gets from Josh. Buck leans into the body against his and dances the rest of the song, but when he gets turned and almost kissed, he apologizes and backs off.

“Sorry, I'm with someone!” he shouts over the music, and the guy—who is really hot—shrugs before disappearing into the crowd.

“Yeah, okay, now we need to talk,” Josh says in his ear, grabbing him by the wrist.

They end up in a corner with new drinks while Buck spills the entire story, from the anniversary dinner to the break up, and Josh looks more and more confused as he talks.

“Wait, so you guys just didn't talk about your relationship the entire time you were together?” he asks.

“I mean, we made plans, just for dates and stuff.” Buck shrugs. “I don't know, I kind of liked not having to talk about everything I did wrong that made everyone walk away from me. I thought maybe it meant he might…not.”

Josh groans and takes a long sip of his drink. “Okay, so the fact that he also seemed comfortable with this—to the point where you didn't know he was ever engaged to a woman—didn’t make you think that maybe he also had a luggage carousel full of baggage?”

Buck pokes at the ice in his drink with the cocktail stirrer. “I dunno. I just liked being around him so much, I didn't really think about any of that.”

“Well, of course you liked being around him, you guys spent six months going on dates and fucking like what I imagine to be two extremely buff and athletic rabbits.” Josh pauses. “Okay, sidebar: is he as hung as he seems?”

He flushes and reflexively looks around like someone he knows might pop up and hear him talk about his ex’s dick, because he'd been yelled at a lot by his friends while they were together. “It's—yeah. I mean, I don't know how he seems—”

“Bullshit, but continue.”

“—but there was, like, a long adjustment period,” Buck admits, then frowns. “No pun intended, I guess. I don't know, but he wouldn't let me bottom for the first month and a half until I, uh, got used to everything.”

Josh presses a hand to his chest and sighs. “Be still my beating vagina.”

[justgleekout]

Staying over to my parents’ house is… an experience… Behold! My childhood bedroom:

[achaotichuman]

Cassian strikes me as the kind of guy who would physically overpower Nesta in order to cake her face at their wedding.

[actuallyredrobin]

alright. i can’t hold my silence any longer. i’m going to say it.

when Nightwing drives the batmobile he plays the glee cover of somebody that i used to know

every. damn. time.

[twopercentboy]

no, y'know what? as much as Josh's conversation with Buck in e6 was important, and he made some good points, I take strong issue with the qualifiers of "pre-Glee" and "post-Glee" world. that is the most insane thing to use as an indicator of queer acceptance, and at it's core, it's Ryan Murphy giving himself way too much credit.

and even if we look at it from outside the meta and from a character perspective, it's stupid! like, sure, I can understand that Josh was probably going for a more light hearted thing to use as an indicator, but Glee is so irrelevant in this scenario, especially when you consider that we're talking about Tommy in this specific context.

we know that right before season 1 takes place Tommy was only just starting to accept himself. we know right before season 1 he just ended his years long relationship with Abby. we also know that the seasons take place roughly at the time of premiere, so season 1 is set in 2018. that is already 3 years "post Glee"—even more if we go from initial release date—so this qualifier is already incredibly irrelevant to Tommy's story and the point Josh was trying to make. Not only that, but we know Tommy is around Abby's age! Meaning he was never part of the target audience for Glee and neither were his peers. Glee did absolutely jack shit for his journey to self or peer acceptance.

you know what is relevant to Tommy's journey? The repeal of Don't Ask, Don't Tell. Y'know what probably actually helped kick him into self acceptance? The nationwide legalization of gay marriage that happened less than 3 years before season 1.

the issue I have is we know, we know, that Tommy is around Abby's age, meaning he was born in the mid to late 70s and he grew up watching the AIDS epidemic happen. he grew up during that time in our history, when we were ostracized and dying by the hundreds. to boil down the lives and experiences of queer elders, which is what Tommy would be were he real, into "pre-Glee" and "post-Glee" is just so,,, disgusting to me. there's a dozen other notable events and indicators of our acceptance, and to choose Glee of all things is not only a slap in the face, but so fucking egotistical of Ryan Murphy.

I understand that Glee was a phenomenon and that it did help queer acceptance to a certain degree, but using it in this context, where it's so wholly irrelevant to the characters involved and feels like it was only used to stroke the ego of Ryan Murphy? I don't know! I just think they should've used something else, something more relevant, like, oh I don't know, the Obama administration legalizing gay marriage! they could've easily used "pre-obama" and "post-obama" and it would've suited the situation better, and actually been relevant to all characters involved!

I just really have a bone to pick with so many things in that episode in regards to 911's queer characters, but I think this is the one that really pisses me off.

[will-schuester-hate-blog]

glee gets 1 fuck who gets to say it