#five dollar bling

[prettylittlethingswithcrystal]

[poetlcs]

every time I watch a doco about the bling ring they have a section where they try and convince the audience these celebrities ARE victim and we SHOULD feel sorry for them. and to some degree that is true their safety was compromised they were robbed ect. but on the other hand, paris hilton was robbed like FIVE times before she even realised thousands of dollars worth of stuff/cash was missing. i mean come on

[casspurrjoybell-17]

Hart and Hunter - Chapter 3- Part 1

*Warning Adult Content*

Julian Hart

"Who was that?" I ask when Dane gets off the phone.

"Stephanie Wong," he says, swiping a hand over a chin rough with two days' growth of stubble.

"Someone broke into her shop last night and stole some things."

"Our thief?" I ask, perking up.

Across from me, Ingrid looks up from her toaster waffles.

She'd taken a keen interest in our detective business and offered to help however she could to earn her keep.

"Seems like it," Dane says.

"What will we do?" I ask.

Dane finishes a bite of waffle and takes a gulp of coffee before he speaks, probably giving himself time to think.

"We do our job," he says at last.

"We investigate."

After convincing Ingrid to stay home and practice for her first meeting with the orchestra, Dane and I drive into town.

Stephanie greets us when we arrive, wrapped in a loose cardigan and hugging herself against a nerve-induced chill.

Her shop is only a short distance down the street from the spot Dane and I had staked out the night before last, though the area is far more charming in the daytime.

Trees line the sidewalks, their leaves just turning from summer's green to autumn's brighter colors and rustic brick and wood facades define the historic buildings.

Usually, the large glass windows of the store-front displays are full of choice tourist-bait but recently they've been empty or papered over, no one wants to tempt the thief.

In the distance, the mountains rise, their tops capped with the remnants of last year's snow.

Per Dane's instructions, Stephanie has kept her store closed and held off on calling the police, leaving the scene undisturbed.

She lets us in with her key, pushing open the old-fashioned door, painted bright red and shakes her head.

"Who robs a thrift-shop?" she complains, waving a hand at the confines of her store.

She wears comfortable slacks and slip-on shoes and her casual attire reminds me that a lot of the shop-owners see their business as a second home.

The sense of violation probably hurts more than the relatively minor financial loss.

"And who steals costume jewelry?"

She leads us through the small, cluttered store to a glass display case.

It's intact but the sliding side panel is open and the case is empty.

"Maybe the thief didn't know the jewelry was fake," Dane suggests.

Stephanie laughs.

"I think he'd know."

She pulls out her phone and shows us a picture.

It's the display case, full of obviously fake jewelry... gaudy baubles, rhinestones, plastic painted to look like pearls and gold.

"I get a lot of customers who want costume pieces for Halloween, so I try to bulk up on the fake bling this time of year," she says.

"None of this was valuable?" Dane asks.

Stephanie shrugs.

"Doing inventory in a thrift-shop is a pain in the ass. Unless it's something really special, I just take pictures when I change the display. I don't even know exactly what was in there but none of it was worth more than five dollars."

"What else is missing?" I ask, scanning the shop.

There's a little of everything... furniture, lamps, books, framed pictures, knickknacks, kitchenware, toys, clothing and accessories.

Never having had much interest in antiques, I have no idea what's treasure and what's trash.

"Nothing," Stephanie says.

"At least, nothing I've noticed so far. All the valuable stuff is accounted for."

"Does that camera work?" Dane asks, pointing to a small security feature mounted in the corner.

Stephanie shakes her head.

"I wish. It was a donation but it's broken so I couldn't sell it. I stuck it up there for effect."

She nods and takes a breath.

"I just wish I could do more to help."

"Actually..." Dane rubs the back of his neck.

"There is something you could do. Would you mind if we have a look around in private? We'll leave the scene as-is."

Stephanie frowns but nods.

"Sure. I'll head over to Danny's for a coffee. You two want anything?"

Dane shakes his head but I pull a ten from my wallet and hand it over.

"Sure. I'll have a latte and a scone. He'll have an iced espresso."

Stephanie blinks, probably not having expected us to take her up on the offer but murmurs her agreement and departs.

"Julian, the client is supposed to pay us, remember?" Dane grumbles.

"Business expense," I counter.

"We need to eat."

"We just ate."

I roll my eyes.

"Fine. I did it to buy us more time. I happen to know Steph takes her coffee plain... she'd be in and out of there in two minutes. Meanwhile, that place makes a great latte but it takes about a century to get your order. And don't even ask about their espresso machine."

Dane's gaze sharpens.

"Okay, good thinking. What did you have in mind?"

Blushing like a teenager in love at his praise, I gesture around us.

"Do you know how hard it is to pick up a single, accurate, focused impression in a place like this? It's full of previously owned things, all of which hold at least a small trace of their previous owner's energy. It's a psychic nightmare. I need to concentrate and I do that best alone. Well, alone except for you."

Dane shifts his weight as if he'd like to argue but nods.

"How can I help?"

I wave him off.

"I don't know... do your werewolf thing. Sniff around."

He still gets jumpy when I use my abilities.

He's witnessed me react badly to a reading in the past but I have much better control now that I know I'm Fae.

It's actually the 'Fae' part that bothers him, he thinks that me using my abilities will lead to me disappearing into thin air, never to return.

I suppose I can't blame him, since I did disappear for six months a while back.

I tend to forget, since for me it was only three days.

Time is weird in Faerie.

"I'll be fine," I say.

"Stop worrying. I got this."

He gives me a look but goes about his own business.

From previous experience, I doubt he'll find anything... our thief hasn't left so much as a crumb behind so far.

Then again, I doubt I'll find much, either but I still want to try.

I begin by shutting my eyes and taking a few slow, deep breaths, focusing my awareness and clearing my mind... techniques I'd honed when I thought I was just a guy with an unusual gift.

When my mind is still, ready and receptive as blank paper, I open myself to impressions and let my senses expand.

A kaleidoscopic swirl of sensation washes over me, as if I've stepped from a quiet place into the world's noisiest restaurant.

My ears ring with phantom sounds, images flash before my eyes as if on a screen, a medley of smells assaults my nose and ghostly touches make my skin crawl.

For a moment, I'm nearly overwhelmed, I can't differentiate between one impression and another and my senses begin to register the over-stimulation as pain.

Forcing myself to take a careful, deep breath, I relax and, little by little, the chaos calms.

I allow myself a smile, there was a time I wouldn't have dared open myself to impressions in a place like this.

I'd have left with nothing but a psychic hangover and a massive migraine.

Now... like I told Dane... I got this.

[the-firebird69]

Gene Simmons was talking to us about Bling and getting more rings and the company that was doing it doesn't want to do it pretty much at all and it's it's a competition thing we think and it is but it's stupid because we end up doing it and you find out they're doing it for other bands already and it's kind of evil but they're free to do it but to turn other people down is not so bright unfortunes and we don't like that nobody does but he plays the big order and I'm telling people because time left is already bothering him and he placed an order for plenty of stuff what you guys usually fight over he just bought online and it was a big order dollar value and he has money and you spent it not all of it but give me an idea that's gratuity and give him several Jets whole bunch of the fastest car on earth like 5 million Corvettes the car and a casino to be built in Las Vegas that has 10,000 rooms and like five floors it's all kiss orientated and we struck a bunch of deals too for cosplay because kiss is known as the superhero band and it is they have a superhero guitar practice guitar and they have superhero outfits and we're replicating them and they're real and who's authenticating them. So once again as our son and daughter say we're putting it out because the clones are at them other people are ordering and yeah he ordered big trucks one mile and tractors and dozers the dozers are one mile too now these are a bit different those are one mile and the blade is about half mile and these are 1 mile and the blade is 1 mile wide it's a half mile high and it can push it and can push whatever you can put behind it concrete dirt rocks it's an intense machine and you'll love it and it's as powerful as the 5 Mile of yours and we're getting tons of orders the big trucks are a mile but they fit another big truck in it that's how big the bed is and it can carry half a big truck weight and to be honest the big truck weighs a lot really really heavy it is very very heavy and the rubber is special everything about it is special high-tech on a low-tech type vehicle but it moves fast it goes about 300 mph and it's considered to be armor by you guys it's more armored than your armored trucks it's about 3 ft thick steel in most places to get into the control room you need to have special keys I need to have five people with the keys or you can't get in and you have a control deck like Star Trek. I'm going through it now huge orders coming in from all the bosses so thanks for something anything for the order and says well they do it every time we had to let you know and I don't know what he's ferocity is now but boy got right on it so yeah I did so I can fly some s*** fresh out of the pooper so they aren't right on me but they're on me and now it's spreading out then they can see him he's going to have a bad day Gene Simmons says.

So today is going well so far and the bosses are spreading it out and see what he bought and they're amazed a lot of half tracks some of them are very big and yes Hera is making huge ones they like a half mile high and you guys are still like a quarter mile and say what are you doing that for who the hell drives in those things but us okay so he gets it and is making some huge ones Mile high and 2 mi long roughly they're gigantic and yeah they're investigating offshore of fort Myers do you think there's a ship there it's a huge deal was they look like they're special ships or something. Is laughing saying they're probably normal and this is the one in Independence Day 2 he almost get sick and he says we're bunch of weird people.

Going on now

Thor Freya

[writer59january13]

Loving my refurbished fifteen inch mid 2015 Macbook Pro

A lightning fast machine purchased three days ago now comfortably nestling with said technological wonder,

where outside a cold wind howls measuring windchill factor of five below

allowing, enabling and providing me an opportunity to create virtual reality issuing veritable deathblow

to any brave soul daring to weather the onset of cold air masses associated with atmospheric winds nsync with planetary earthflow spinning on axis

roughly 1,000 miles per hour and whipping approximately 67,000 miles per hour

around nearest star.

Courtesy Paul Reader exhibiting gentility, honesty, integrity... and his co-workers at Mac Mojo, a small business 319 2nd Ave, Phoenixville, PA 19460, I relish (cuz hunger equals the best pickle) surfing the Internet with nary a hitch, nor experiencing that odious spinning pinwheel/beach ball.

Upon acquiring said computer (Retina, 15-inch, Mid 2015) facilitated, linkedin, routed... to the webbed wide world courtesy wireless fidelity after plunking down five hundred and eighty dollars, yours truly exalts after waking second perusing favorite (poetry) websites jumpstarting/kickstarting, googling... byte size tidbits to incorporate within latest literary endeavor.

So much for initial starry eyed burst

regarding what promises

to materialize into a rambling, dodging, and affording

reasonable rhyme, nevertheless afflicted with...

mine winkin and blinkin mind nod yet awake, nor insights keen,

asper ho hum

fee fie foe fum bling

writer's block as usual,

this (day-glo bull leave me you) mid morning, (November nineteenth two thousand and twenty two),

mine myopic brown marbled occipital orbs fixate upon eye opening/closing

lone blinking cursor - hooping such intense stare will magically glean a divine comedy, or even mediocre

shaky spear writ tragedy, none the less letting thoughts glom (cess) pool like into some elusive essence, finding me madly chasing

(feebly, lamely, and ridiculously likened to a teen

age paramour) intriguing, nattering, and wordlessly spellbinding notion all the way to Abilene, perhaps metamorphosing into a topnotch poem (ska lean), swiftly tailored harried

style even out rivaling the best newsy Lake Woebegone Norwegian bachelor farmer fabulist (linkedin to hearty

robust Nordic European)

scribes, that juiced might earn me some crisp legal tender green, yet impetus to write, NOT predicated on ramping up checking account, which primary queen tis essential money source of mine to pay bills appears extremely lean, and thus apologize if any hint of desperation (PULL EASE pledge to Matthew Scott Harris charity) seeps extemporaneously typing this poetic expression, when financial resources picked bone dry clean, and me fanciful thoughts cannot help wishing for miraculous intervention tub bring, a raft of smiley faces tomb eye gentle mien such as receiving an anonymous bajillion dollars donated (tummy) from tennis scene legend

(in her own mind) aery Billie Jean King, whose near exhaustive earnings -

at least compared to thy germane mein kampf (accrued during - her magical mist starry re:us horse sing around)

strawberry fields forever hay day with tangerine trees, and marmalade skies completing tennis (tense) backdrop against engendered match with the late Bobby Riggs.

[transmissionsfromthebattlefield]

In other news, I bought a original copy of Captain Beefheart’s Trout Mask Replica for $5 today. Beat up, but still incredible to find and now own! So that’s something.

[tatestrinkets-blog]

Visit my site to browse all the beautiful bling! You’ll be surprised with what just $5.00 can get you!

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Want even MORE free bling? Start your own business with Paparazzi! Not only do you get 45% commission with no quota, but if you start this month, you get  FREE items in your kit!

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Feel free to contact me with any questions or if I can help you with your shopping, partying, or new business! I’d be more than happy to help you get your start!

[barnesbabee]

collab || J.Y

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴅᴀʏ 2 - ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ ᴍ.ʟɪꜱᴛ

Summary: Two famous porn stars have a fun collab together.

Pairing: Jeong Yunho x gn!reader

Words: Just enough

⚠ although there is no mention of gender, the reader wears makeup and lingerie, so if you are uncomfortable with that, don't read  ⚠

As Yunho dried his hair with a small towel, he heard the familiar ding sound from his social media. He had just finished uploading the edited version of his live stream, so it wasn't unusual for him to be contacted by a bunch of people right after, however, he didn't expect to see you.

You weren't well known in the porn scenario, as you were fairly new and the competition was vast, but your 'Around The World' series had become a huge success and a major hit for its originality.

Yunho was quite a fan of the series, so when he saw your message, his fingers were crossed.

Y/N: Hello! My name is Y/N, I'm not sure if you know my work, but I am a porn star that is currently doing a series called 'Around The World' where I... well, fuck people all around the world. My next stop is South Korea and I have seen your work before and I think our style is very similar and I would love to do a collab with you! Feel free to check out my work on my page, I hope to hear from you soon! xoxo

The tall man squealed like a high schooler getting a text from his crush, he's always wanted a collab and now he was about to get one in one of the biggest series of the moment!

Yunhxxx: Hello Y/N! I am aware of your series and I am a fan! I would love to do the collab with you! I'll send you my number so we can talk about the details more comfortably :)

Part of your anxiousness died down at his response. Most porn stars were very polite and kind in front of the camera, and in business discussion, all for that quick buck, but you'd find, with your series, that a lot of them were just assholes with a huge ego. You had a good feeling about Yunho, but you didn't want to get your hopes up and then be disappointed.

The arrangements didn't take long, as you were both excited for the collab to happen, making it very easy to communicate. Yunho was kind enough to offer his own home for you to sleep in, arguing that 'whoever fucks me gets to sleep in my house for free'.

Yunho spent the weekend preparing everything for your arrival on Monday morning: he cleaned his whole house, stocked his fridge and cabinets with all sorts of food, and sanitized every toy of his. By the time he received your 'I'm on my way!' text, his house was the cleanest it had ever been.

The man showered, put on his best cologne, and applied some dark eyeshadow under his eyes. As he stood in front of the closet in his briefs only, he wondered what he should go for. A sophisticated look? A sexy look? An outlaw-looking look? He wanted something to get you immediately attracted to him. Yunho wanted to make you feel good, not to make you act as if you felt good.

Ultimately he chose a black button-up and black suit pants. He decorated his long fingers (that he had come to learn was something many people liked about him) and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.

Yunho was aware of his innocent appearance. He had had his cheeks squeezed one too many times, so he caught on quickly. However, the man loved to play with his looks. He loved to make people wonder what kind of person he was, with a cute face, yet an intimidating look.

Before he knew it, his doorbell rang. Yunho took one last look in the mirror, just to make sure everything was in its place and walked towards the door. The first hello wasn't awkward at all, as you'd already had a few zoom calls to discuss what would happen in your collab, just to make sure there were no misunderstandings.

Once you stepped in with your suitcase, you couldn't help but notice how neat, modern, and well decorated his house was. The walls were white with big windows, and the furniture was a mix of grey, light blue, and white. Yunho lead you to the guest room where you'd be staying, and it was a lot nicer than you expected. The bed was high and large, the duvet was grey with a bunch of fluffy white and red pillows decorating it. In front of the bed was a modern black vanity with lightbulbs around the squared mirror, and against the wall in front of the door was a black, sliding door wardrobe, with a large, orange, and red abstract painting of a couple. His house looked simple yet classy, with just the right amount of colour and decoration. You took a look at him, his dark look contrasting the house.

"You already got prepared?"

Yunho looked a little puzzled for a second, but then understood. "Oh! Oh no, you've just arrived, you must be tired! This is just... how I dress?" He said, feeling a little embarrassed.

You took a good look at his outfit.

"You always dress like that? Wow..."

Yunho's cheeks became a little red at the comment, and he stumbled over his words as he thanked you. He was used to receiving compliments when he had his clothes off, but with clothes on? Not so much... Before closing the door, Yunho told you to feel at home, and that when you were ready you could start setting everything up in the room he used to shoot.

The man had never felt that nervous, so when he finally closed the door, he immediately headed to his living room, and found the whiskey bottle he kept for emergencies. He poured a generous glass and sat on the couch, scrolling through his phone as he waited for you.

You were pretty much used to the routine, and since you had a stopover in a neighboring country and spent the night there, the trip hadn't been too tiring. You sat on the very convenient vanity and re-did your makeup. You liked to match your look to your type of content, so you went for a dark look: dark purple lipstick, a heavy, black smokey eye, and loads of mascara. You made sure to apply a lot, so it would run down your face and give the viewers the fucked out look they loved to see.

The lingerie matched your makeup: black lace lingerie with some bling here and there, and a garter belt to accessorize. You grabbed your robe from your suitcase and exited the room.

"Yunho?" You called, peeking your head from behind the wall.

"Hm?"

His eyes widened when he looked up. You were completely different from the person he had met.

"I am ready if you are!"

He nodded and stood up, downing the rest of his 2nd whiskey cup in one go. Yunho took you upstairs and opened the door to his 'studio'.

In the center of the room was a carpet, and a big, empty space behind it.

"I usually move the bed or the couch over there, depending on what I want to do that day. I found that it was easier to move the furniture than the whole set up." He explained, pointing at the empty space.

Against the wall, opposite of you, there was a bed, much like the one on your bedroom, and a nice, black leather couch. Beside you there was a closet, where Yunho kept all his toys, accessories, and streaming outfits. Other than that it was just the usual setup: a desk with a computer, professional lights, and a camera.

Yunho walked over to the couch and moved it with ease to the empty space.

"So we've already decided?" You asked.

The man smirked as if simply entering the room turned him into a completely different person.

"I already have everything planned out for you dear, it would be rude to have my guests work."

You blushed slightly, and sat on the couch, waiting for the green light.

You watched as he opened the closet, displaying his wide collection. He picked a bunch of stuff that he set on top of a towel on the floor.

"Alright, that's about it."

You cocked your head to the side, in confusion.

"You're not getting dressed?"

Yunho reached for the choker he had brought and softly placed it around your neck, tying it just tight enough. He hooked his finger on the big metal ring on the front and tugged on it. You followed his silent command and knelt on the ground, in front of the couch.

"I'm already dressed, for the concept we're gonna try."

You were getting curious and excited. You stayed still as he started up the live stream. Yunho turned on the lights, set up the camera, and pressed 'Start Live Video'. The screen counted down from five, until the live started.

Yunho sat on the couch behind you, and placed his large hand on your head.

The man smirked as soon as the comments started raining.

There was a mixture of fuck yeah's and happy cheers as they recognized Yunho, and became excited for what was to come. The live was obviously happening on your account, although you would always split the tips with the person you worked with.

"Hello," Yunho started, and you let him take the lead "welcome to the 24th edition of Around The World, I am today's guest, and we have such a great show for you today, don't we?"

Yunho tugged on your hair, making you wince. You looked at the camera and nodded.

The 30 dollar donation ding sounded, announcing that someone had made a request.

'Make her sit on your thigh'

You let Yunho take the lead once more, hooking his finger on your choker's hoop and pulling you up, to sit on his thigh. You hummed as you rolled your hips, causing friction between your core and his thigh. Your hand ran along his torso, feeling the fabric of his shirt.

"He has too many clothes, don't you think?" You asked the camera, in a flirty tone.

There was a rain of comments agreeing with you, and you immediately got to work, unbuttoning his shirt slowly. His dick print was already very visible in his pants, and you could now understand why he wanted to wear that look.

You removed his shirt, slowly and teasingly, as the viewers praised Yunho's toned body.

The male hooked his finger on your underwear and snapped it against your skin. Your little whimper at the sudden pain made him smirk.

Yunho ran his hands along your body, making you shiver from the cold metal of his rings.

Tips and donations rained down with many requests, and so you went back on the floor and laid your head on Yunho's thigh, your face mere inches away from his hard-on. You perked your ass up and traced the shape of his cock with your finger.

"What do you think? Should we reward them?" Yunho asked, petting your head as he stared into the camera.

As expected, everyone gave you the green light to continue, so you slowly opened his fly, to find he had no underwear on. You freed him from his pants, gripping his length in your hand. You kept eye contact with the male, and although you were a professional, you were always nervous when you had to take dicks on the bigger side.

You spat on his tip, and played with his cock for a second, before slowly inserting it in your mouth. Yunho groaned and threw his head back, taking in the warmth of your mouth. His hand was tangled in your hear, gripping it and tugging on it from time to time.

"Shit, you're doing so good..."

Yunho was very vocal, to your (and the viewer's) pleasure.

The 50$ notification ding sounded, and a message played right after.

'bby I wanna see you jump on his cock'

Yunho smirked and gripped your hair, in a firm, yet not painful way. He swiped his thumb across your bottom lip, cleaning the remaining saliva.

"Hmm, you know what, so do I."

You stripped from your underwear, in a sensual way for the viewers (and Yunho) to enjoy.

Yunho slapped his thigh, and you climbed onto his lap, slowly but surely sinking down on his length. You gripped onto his shoulders for stability and groaned as every inch of his cock disappeared inside of you.

His hands gripped your ass, spreading your cheeks in a beautiful way for the camera to see. The male helped you, as you rode him, not only by holding your hips and guiding you, but also by snapping his hips up against yours. Filthy slapping sounds along with the mixture of your moans echoed in the room, and the donations were reaching their peak.

"F-fuck baby you're s-so good, you're doing so well."

You gripped his shoulders harder, as his praises drew you closer and closer to your edge.

"They're c-close! Should we l-let them cum?"

It was impressive how professional Yunho was. How he looked so immersed in you, so tired and fucked out, with his fringe sticking to his forehead and eyes burning into your soul, yet he didn't forget to interact with the viewers.

There were many people leaning towards yes, begging to hear the way you sounded as you came, and so he worked hard until you screamed his name and tightened around his cock. He let you rest and recompose for a second, but the way you clenched around him made it impossible for him to hold it in any longer.

"Shit, get on the ground."

You gladly complied, and got on your knees for him, immediately sticking out your tongue, as you could predict what would come after.

Yunho jerked himself off to your fucked out face, and soon a string of curses came out of his mouth, as he spilled all over your face. He smirked and wiped some of his cum off of your face with his thumb.

"Say ah, pretty baby."

You smiled and opened your mouth. He inserted his finger in your mouth and you happily licked it clean.

Yunho cupped your face with his hand, and smiled.

"You behaved so well, I might have to reward you again."

His head tilted to the side, pointing to the couch, and you followed. You sat down on the couch, and Yunho knelt in front of you. His arms wrapped around your thighs and pulled you forward, so your hole would be of easy access to him.

The man teased you, as his tongue danced around your hole, not quite getting where you wanted him. You rolled your hips up, earning a slap to your inner thigh.

He looked up at you, with a hint of darkness in his eyes.

"Behave."

It didn't take long for you to get what you wanted, as he started tongue fucking you, with the help of his fingers. You gripped his hair, and your back arched as your high approached once more.

You came quickly, with his tongue still inside you, and he held your trembling legs and body, to keep you stable.

He didn't move for a second, giving you time to breathe and rest. After you had recomposed yourself, he helped you up, and the two of you shared a heated kiss, Yunho's hands never leaving your ass, that he definitely had a fixation with.

You finished the stream by thanking the viewers and donors and shut everything off. Once everything was done, you sighed and plopped onto the couch.

"Do you not want to shower?" Yunho questioned, as he saw the mess in your face and body.

You chuckled.

"Yes I do, very much, but I'm so fucked out..."

Yunho very kindly scooped you up.

"Well, I wouldn't want my guest to work too hard, I'll help you out."

[evco-productions]

Why the Success of “Everything Everywhere All at Once” (2022) Is Concerning

If you haven’t seen Everything Everywhere All at Once, you’ve probably at least heard of it, because it’s one of this year’s most talked about movies so far. There’s a lot of reasons why, but perhaps the biggest reason of all is that this movie is the independent film studio A24’s first movie to ever reach 100 million dollars at the global box office.

That sounds pretty great, I hear you say. How on earth could this be concerning?

Well, believe it or not, every film studio was once a small studio…or, at least, smaller than they are now. And it’s pretty common knowledge that the smaller a studio is, the more bold and creative the artists working for that studio will be allowed to be. There was once a time when your average Disney-produced movie was just as much about originality and unique artistic voices as it was about making money.

Well, for the last decade or so, A24 has been one of those small studios who champions new voices with unique, often risky ideas for movies. If you’re unfamiliar with A24’s entire lineup of movies, I encourage you to go look it up—you will be hard-pressed to find a more diverse list—The Bling Ring, The Spectacular Now, Locke, Laggies, A Most Violent Year, Son of a Gun, Barely Lethal, End of the Tour, Mississippi Grind, Room, Ex Machina, Free Fire, Green Room, Good Time, Lady Bird, Disaster Artist, Last Movie Star, Hot Summer Nights, The Florida Project, The Killing of a Sacred Deer, Eighth Grade, Slice, Mid90s, Never Goin’ Back, Under the Silver Lake, Lighthouse, Uncut Gems, The Green Knight, Val, X, Everything Everywhere…I could go on forever, the point is, these are all really unique and vastly different movies.

The ones I just listed are all the ones I’ve currently seen. Do I love all of them? No. I don’t even like some of them, but almost all of them have at least one scene or other aspect that stood out to me and has stuck with me since I watched it. In my opinion, Never Goin’ Back is not a good movie, but it is a weird freaking movie and a couple of those especially weird scenes still pop into my head once in a while even though it’s been years since I watched it. Meanwhile, how many movies have I seen between then and now that I’ve completely forgotten? A good handful, that’s for sure.

I’m going to such great lengths to establish how A24 fits into the contemporary film world and how its movies have affected me personally because for the first time ever I suddenly have reason to worry it won’t always be this way. With Everything Everywhere, A24 has its first 100-million-dollar movie. I don’t think it is unrealistic or unnecessary to start asking ourselves: are they going to want to repeat this phenomenon? What lengths are they going to be willing to go to repeat this phenomenon? Are they going to start saying “no” to movies that, five years ago, they would have said “yes” to do, on the basis that they don’t believe those movies will make them 100 million more dollars?

While A24 movies are mostly offbeat and arthouse-y it’s not entirely impossible to predict which of their movies might make more money or at least generate more conversation. Uncut Gems was a rare example of Adam Sandler straying from comedy, and as has happened before, that got people talking about his underappreciated dramatic talent. Everything Everywhere may be a trippy, unusual experience, but at its core, it’s just a multiverse movie, and thanks to Spider-Man: No Way Home and other recent Marvel releases, the multiverse is a hot concept right now.

It’s just not difficult for me to imagine the leaders of A24 picking and choosing what projects to fund with the mindset of “what will make us more successful?” as opposed to “what deserves a chance based on creativity and originality?” I just want this studio to always be a small studio, and I’m not sure that’s going to be possible. The next several years will slowly but surely reveal their true intentions, I think.

What do you think? Am I being paranoid? Let me know if you feel so inclined.

[2want2believe]

Winchester Mystery House

Sarah Lockwood Winchester, née Pardee, was born in New Haven, CT in 1839. In her Earthly years, she amassed a shit ton of wealth following the death of her husband, William Wirt Winchester, and even managed to nab a 50% holding in his company, Winchester Repeating Arms Company, a popular manufacturer of repeater rifles. 

Anyway, the happy couple were married in 1862. And shortly thereafter they had tried to procreate, but their only daughter, Annie, had died ten days after birth of marasmus, a severe form of malnutrition that is typically seen in children with severe bouts of diarrhea. Remember, in the 1800s something as simple as diarrhea could have wiped you from the mortal realm. 

But let’s jump ahead to March of 1881, when William Wirt Winchester passed way from a bout with tuberculosis, leaving our girl Sarah with a fortune of $20 million (roughly $520 million in 2021 dollars). Plus, her holding in the Winchester Repeating Arms Company created an income of $1,000 a day, which is nearly $26,000 in current cash. 

So, how did Winchester spend her fortune? Did she purchase fur coats? Exotic animals? Fancy bling-bling? No, instead she commissioned the construction of a Queen Anne Style Victorian mansion in San Jose, CA that is now known as the Winchester Mystery House. 

Legend has it, the grief-stricken widow had visited a Boston-based medium, who claims to have spoken to her late husband who spiritually advised her to sell their property in New Haven and head out west to endlessly build a home for herself and the spirits of those who were killed by the hands of Winchester Rifles. According to this otherworldly advice, this would be the only way to appease the spirits who were ripped from this world way too early by Winchester’s riles. 

In 1884, she ended up in San Jose, California where Sarah had come across an unfinished farmhouse and used this land to complete her masterpiece. Winchester ordered constant “around-the-clock” construction of new rooms, stairways to nowhere, hidden rooms, trap doors, secret passage ways, a skylight in the floor, spider-web windows, doors that open to blank walls, a door on the second floor that opens to a drop, and even glass windows designed by Louis Comfort Tiffany, of Tiffany & Company fame. 

Carpenters worked on the house all day and all night, hammering away with seemingly no endgame in sight. Word on the street is that when news of Sarah’s death caught attention of the working crew on shift the morning of September 5, 1922, they immediately quit, leaving their half-eaten sandwiches and half-hammered nails sticking out of the walls. 

At one point, the home was seven stories tall, but a 1906 earthquake had toppled some of the mansion, resulting in the current layout, which now stands at 4 stories. The rooms that were damaged by the quake were never repaired and just simply boarded off. 

Facts about the Winchester Mystery House:

There are roughly 161 rooms

There are about 40 bedrooms (Winchester would sleep in a different room each night to confuse spirits)

Despite numerous bathrooms, there was only one single working toilet for Winchester (just like the bedroom switching, other bathrooms were decoys to confuse the spirits)

The house is known for its stained glass windows and other fancy adornments

As previously mentioned, Winchester utilized the labyrinth-like design intentionally to confuse the spirits of her whereabouts. However, circulating rumors suggest that Sarah Winchester left behind clues that she may have been a member of a secret society. The house is riddled with mysterious symbols that many suggest point to secrets that have yet to be solved. It seems that Winchester was obsessed with the number 13. Many of the windows have 13 panes, many stairwells contain 13 steps, and some rooms even have 13 windows. Plus, her last will and testament contained 13 parts.

Or, perhaps, Sarah may have just become overrun with grief and descended into undiagnosed madness. Following her husband’s death and sojourn to San Jose, she became a well-known recluse who very rarely left the house. Her only contact with others included hired servants who lived on the third floor, her many contractors, and her niece. Winchester typically denied entrance to anyone who showed up at the front door, including Teddy Roosevelt. 

She even had a séance room which she used to communicate with the dead. She insisted to be the only person to enter this room. Two years following her death, legendary escape artist Harry Houdini visited the mansion to conduct a midnight séance. It’s said that Houdini held the séance in a room now known as the Witch’s Cap, which he believed may have been the same room Winchester used. The Witch’s Cap was an unfinished room located in the south wing that had a cone-shaped ceiling that sort of resembled the shape of a witch’s cap. 

Anyway, Houdini was a huge skeptic of the spiritualism movement that arose in the years following the Civil War. It’s said that many people, seemingly mostly women, became intoxicated with the idea that they could communicate with their dead husband, child, etc. Post-Civil War America was a hotbed for this movement due to families wanting to communicate with those who were killed in action. The movement continued to be popular well into the 20th century. 

Since Houdini had believed the spiritualism movement to be hogwash, he became very active in disproving mediums, clairvoyants, and other individuals who claimed to have precognitive abilities. When the story of angry spirits roaming the halls of Winchester Manor caught Houdini’s attention, he went to the Winchester Mansion to disprove this belief. Following the séance, Houdini remained very mum on the details about what he had experienced, leading many to believe that he did in fact contact the dead. 

Following Sarah Winchester’s death, appraisers deemed the mansion to be  “worthless” due to damage from the 1906 earthquake, its unfinished design, and elaborate layout. Despite this, the house was sold at auction to an investor for $135,000, who then began conducting tours of the mansion about five months following Winchester’s death. 

Today, you can still tour the mansion. Over the years, tour guides have cited that the mansion’s third story appears to be the most haunted, which is where a number of the hired servants had resided. Doors can often be heard opening and closing whenever there does not seem to be any other people around. 

Was Sarah Lockwood Winchester visited by the restless spirits who died at the hands of her late husband’s rifles? Was Harry Houdini the key to solving this mystery? Or, was this all hogwash? The world may never know. 

[221castiel]

Yesterday - Chapter One

Master Post // AO3

-

He isn't exactly sure why he wants it so badly, his own parents were only married for five years before Mary had died and even then it was only a year later when John had stopped wearing his ring. Opting to instead leave it some drawer filled with other forgotten items; pennies and keys with no purpose other than to collect dust. Cas's parents had divorced when he was nineteen. Something that had become a long legal battle over every little thing, the house, the kids, every single piece of silverware that filled the kitchen.

Marriage had never been a permanent thing in either of their lives, and yet, Dean wanted it. He wanted it the same way he wanted the sun to set every night and rise every morning. He wanted to whisper each vow as he stared into Cas's vibrant eyes, to feel the other's lips as they kissed for the first time as a married couple. Dean wouldn't consider himself a romantic, he was just as happy to stay at home and watch Game of Thrones as he would be going on an over planned date, and yet, he wanted every sappy moment he would roll his eyes at growing up. The first dance, shoving cake in each other's faces, the perfect ring, which Dean had quickly learned is something far easier said than done.

It had taken months of stopping at the mall's jewelry store, sorting through each shipment of new rings before he'd finally found the perfect one.

"Holy shit," Charlie cries, her nose only inches from the glass case that she'd lent over, "that's a lot of bling." Dean nods, a grin tugging at his lips. Charlie's excitement was contagious, warming his chest as she continued to study the ring. He had a ring. He was going to propose. It was happening. "Seriously dude," Charlie continues in the same raised voice, "Marline Monroe would be jealous of this."

"Well could you keep it down," Dean teases, as one of the workers behind the counter gives them a side glance that he's frankly too excited to care about. "Or at least let me buy the ring before you get us kicked out."

Charlie looks up, a wide smile across her face. Her bright hair had been pulled back in a ponytail though through the workday it had begun to fall out and now framed her face in small strands. "Sorry," Charlie whispers, a grin still spread across her lips. She stands up properly and adjusts her walmart vest that she'd draped over her arm. "I'm just so excited for you- and jealous of Cas."

"I'll buy you one next."

"I'm holding you to that," Charlie teases, causing Dean to roll his eyes.

She looks back to the glass case and Dean steps forward looking over her shoulder at the rings that fill it, his gaze immediately finding the ring he'd spent the past weeks looking at. The band itself is silver, the center lined with small diamonds, while the edges were carved with a leaf like pattern. In the center a large diamond sat, catching the store's bright light and reflecting it in small shimmers. "Do you think he's going to like it?" Dean whispers. He'd been sure Cas would, but now he couldn't kick the tug in his stomach, the thought that maybe he's better off saving for a little longer, buying one a little bit more expensive or with a bigger diamond.

"He's going to love it," Charlie replies.

Dean looks up as Charlie goes silent, meeting her concerned gaze. Her lips pressed in a tight line, eyes darting over Dean's face, eyebrows knit together, her whole expression weighs on him. He already knows he doesn't want to hear whatever she has to say. Is it too late to walk away?

Despite the sudden dread that weighs on his shoulders, Charlie continues speaking. "Look," she begins, "I want to be all supportive and stuff, I really do, but how the hell can you afford this, it's gotta be more than you and Cas make in a month."

"I've been savin'"

"For what the past century?"

"Three years and just under ten months," Dean corrects. He shrugs his shoulders looking back down to the ring. "But who really keeps track of that crap."

Dean shoves his hand into his jean pockets, pressing his lips together as he looks across the rings. He can feel Charlie's eyes burning against the side of his head, but he refuses to meet them, he already knows the expression that would sit across her face, concentrated and curious, trying to figure out Dean's exact thoughts.

Charlie takes a small step closer, and Dean doesn't move, continuing to study a rose gold ring that holds a dark blue jewel in the center. "Dean," Charlie says, her voice low and gentle. "You know Cas would be just as happy with a cheaper ring, something you can actually afford."

"Cas would be happy with a fuckin' ring pop," Dean grumbles. "Doesn't mean I can't buy him something better."

"Could you push a side your prince charming complex for five minutes, and not make the most financially stupid decision of your life?"

Dean looks back to the silver ring. He knows Charlie's right, hell the thought has been in the back of his mind since he'd begun saving, putting every extra penny or dollar won during a game of pool, aside. They could pay off almost two months of their health insurance, fix their bathroom sink, save the money for if an emergency came. Dean could think of a million different things the money could go towards. Things Cas, who was far too selfless for his own good, would want the money to go towards, yet Dean couldn't bring himself to do it.

"Charlie-"

"You can't-"

"No," Dean insists, looking back to the other. "I'm going to do it."

Charlie's expression softens her lips tugging into a gentle smile. A gesture that's so simple yet seems to lift whatever weight that'd been resting across Dean's shoulders, easing his breathing, and allowing him to return the smile. "He's going to love it," Charlie says.

"I hope so."

-

His feet ache as he doesn't so much as walk down the apartment building's hallway but drag himself, the dim lights above casting shadows over the dingy hallway walls. Stopping at his apartment Dean pulls the keys from his pocket, the sound of fighting from the neighbours clear through the thin walls.

Fuck people. After a six hour morning shift at Walmart followed by a five hour shift at McDonald's filled with bitchy people and forced smiles, Dean was done with people. Especially loud neighbours that spent nights fighting until they broke up, only to get back together a few days later. If he had to listen to make up sex even once that night he was complaining to the landlord.

A loud crash comes from their neighbours and Dean sighs. Maybe he'd prefer the makeup sex over hate sex.

He finally manages to unlock the door and step into his apartment where he's immediately met by silence, the main room of the apartment -a small joint living room and kitchen- dimly lit by the living room table lamp. Though other than the lamp and a few dirty dishes there was no sign of anyone else. Not that Dean minds, it gives him a moment to breath. A moment to catch his thoughts and relax.

After dropping his things onto the kitchen chair Dean goes to get a glass of water, though his attention quickly changes as he stops at the kitchen counter where papers were spread out. A mix of bills and lined papers that were covered in Cas's neat writing.

Across the top of one page the words, Next Month's Budget, had been printed. Various numbers were printed underneath as Cas balanced out their income, trying to figure out how they could buy new light bulbs while saving money for Jack's birthday. He feels sick just looking at the numbers.

He already knew everything on the page. There were no surprises, medical insurance took out most of his income, car insurance took what was left. Everything Cas made was spent on food and rent, making sure the heat stayed on the months they really needed it and that water came when they stepped in the shower. There was close to nothing left.

He already knew that.

And yet he feels sick.

He flips the page over to read the back, though he doesn't get more than a glance before the sound of footsteps comes, followed by Jack's voice, "dad!"

Dean turns at the sound, forcing a smile across his face as Jack comes running towards him, a wide smile across the child's and his arms out for Dean to pick him up. "Hey kid," Dean hums, picking Jack and resting him against his hip. "Did you have a good day?"

"So good!" Jack cries, wrapping his arms around Dean's neck in an awkward half hug, causing a genuine smile to tug at Dean's lips. A warmth spreading across his chest that has him gripping Jack together as the child buries his face into Dean's neck.

"So good, huh?"

"So so good!"

Dean laughs, smiling down at Jack. "What made it so good?"

"We goed to the park," Jack says, burying his face further into the crook of Dean's neck where he rubbed his nose much to Dean's disgust, then made a soft sniffle. "And- and drawed."

"All while you're sick?"

"I'm not sick!"

"He's been refusing to take the cold medication," Cas says, Dean's gaze immediately darting up at the sound of Cas's low voice. He stood at the entrance of their hallway wearing one of Dean's AC/DC shirts, his dark hair tousled with strands overlapping one another or simply sticking out in random directions as a small smile rests across his face that Dean returns. How couldn't he. When his boyfriend was standing there looking gorgeous even with his messy hair and slightly darkened eyes from lack of sleep. Boyfriend- hopefully soon to be fiance.

"I don't want it," Jack grumbles. Dean looks back down to the pouty expression that now rests across Jack's face, his bottom lip puckered out, and eyes pleading. Something that only makes Dean's smile grow. "It's bad, I want ice cream!"

"How about you take the medicine," Dean offers, "and I'll get you some ice cream, deal?"

Jack stares back for a moment, bottom lip still puckered out as he gives a firm nod. "Deal."

After Jack runs off to the bathroom, Dean grabs a bowl from the cabinet filling it up with a few spoonfuls of vanilla ice cream before he walks out of the kitchen. He makes his way down the small hallway and into Jack's room where he finds Jack standing on his bed while Cas helps him get into his superman pajamas.

"Superman?" Dean hums as he steps into the room, careful not to break any of the toys that scatter the floor. "Batman's way cooler."

"See Daddy," Jack cries to Cas, "I telled you! I telled you!"

"I know Bee," Cas replies as he helps Jack slide his arms through the shirt's holes. "But they need to be washed."

"I want them now!"

"You can have them tomorrow night."

"Tonight you'll just have to be lame Superman," Dean teases as he takes a seat on Jack's bed. He knows it's not a good time, Cas is obviously tired, and Jack is starting to get sick, something that always leaves him a little more sensitive, but he can't help himself. He knows it's worth it when Cas sends him a glare, an expression that Dean finds far cuter than he ever should.

"Daddy!" Jack cries, Burying his face into Cas's chest as Cas wraps his arms around the child and rubs small circles into his back.

Cas leans down pressing a kiss to Jack's head. "It's okay Bee," He whispers gently, though when he looks back up the glare he gives Dean is anything but that. "You're provoking him," Cas whispers.

He definitely was.

"Am not," Dean replies in a similar low tone. Cas's eyes narrow, and Dean sighs. "Let me fix it."

It takes a few minutes for Dean to calm Jack down, between a mix of apologies and promises that Superman was in fact a very cool super hero, and in fact almost as cool as Batman. By the time he does, Jack is more than happy to eat his almost melted ice cream, then receive a piggy back ride to the bathroom where he brushes his teeth, and continues to tell Dean about his day. Specifically about the squirrel he'd seen at the park and the tv shows he'd watched in the morning. Finally after a long conversation about a show Dean's never even heard of, Dean manages to get Jack into bed, whispering a goodnight before he goes to flick off the lights.

He reaches out to the light switch, his finger grazing it before he hesitates, looking back at Jack.

Even in the single bed Jack looks small, far too small for a four year old. The doctors had insisted it was fine, a common side effect to a chronic illness, nothing anyone could fix, and yet Dean couldn't help but feel guilty. A weight in his stomach as if he'd swallowed lead, he wanted to fix it so bad, wanted to make sure Jack was never going to be anything but okay. He wanted to fix it no matter how many times he was told he couldn't, and he knew Cas felt the same way.

Jack made a small sniffle then his eyes fluttered open, meeting Dean's stare. "Dad?" Jack whispers, his voice sounding more nasally than before.

"Yah?"

"I love you."

"I love you too," Dean whispers back, a small smile tugging at his lips as he flips the light switch.

After stepping out of Jack's room, Dean takes a deep breath allowing himself a second to calm his heart before he walks into his own bedroom, finding it empty. The living room and kitchen is exactly the same as when he first got home, the lamp still dimly glowing, dirty dishes and papers still scattering the surfaces. The only difference is that the porch door had been propped open, letting the night air linger through the living room

Dean walks across the livingroom and to the porch doorway, where he leans his shoulder. An easy smile spreads across his face as he watches Cas stand over one of the many plant pots that cover their tiny porch.

With a pair of scissors in hand Cas carefully looks over the pot of Marigolds, cutting off any leaves that had begun to wither and letting them fall off the porch and onto the street below. A concentrated expression rests across Cas's features as inspects the plants, his lips pressed in a tight line and eyes narrowed, his fingers working carefully. How Cas had the patience to watch something grow, to care for something so frequently, Dean would never know.

"It's cold," Dean finally says, stepping onto the deck. Cas doesn't look up and instead picks up his watering can, tilting it over to let the water soak the marigolds. "Do you need a coat?"

"I'm fine."

"You won't be saying that when you're sick."

"I won't get sick."

"Just cause you don't get cold doesn't mean you can't get sick," Dean mumbles.

Cas looks up, the smallest smile tugging at his lips as he tilts his head to right, a small action that always brings a warmth to Dean's chest. A comforting feeling that leaves him wanting more, one more look of Cas's eyes, one more touch of his fingers that were surely frozen from the chilled wind, one more second of just being with the other.

"Dean," Cas insists in his usual gravelly, monotone voice. "I am fine."

Despite Cas's arguments Dean tugs the first sleeve of his jacket off and then the second, the evening air immediately freezing against his bare arms. "Comeon angel," Dean says, offering his jacket. "Humor me."

Cas narrows his eyes, but still takes the jacket from Dean's hand and pulls it around himself before turning back to the plants. Dean leans against the deck railing no longer trying to speak and instead watches as Cas works his way from plant to plant, trimming leaves, and drizzling them with water. He can hear the distant sound of voices in the streets below, some kind of fight that could be just heard over the ambulance sirens from a few blocks away, both noises that occur far more frequently than Dean would ever like.

Maybe it wasn't a good time to buy an engagement ring, maybe they'd be better off saving to move to a different apartment. Somewhere nicer, where kids didn't walk in the middle of the streets because it was safer than walking near the alleyways, or near parks that weren't filled with used needles and other things that had Dean caring Jack rather then letting the child walk (though honestly Dean wasn't sure if Chicago had any parks not like that). Maybe they'd be better off buying light bulbs or saving for the over the top birthday Dean knew Cas wanted Jack to have.

Saving it would be the best choice, yet Dean couldn't bring himself to not picture the ring. To not imagine how Cas's eyes would light up as Dean opened the box, he'd say yes, Dean had never been so certain of anything in his life. Cas would say yes, and then they'd kiss, holding onto one another as if it was their last moments alive.

"Do you regret anything?" Dean suddenly says, his mind spinning with too many what ifs to stop himself.

Cas pauses for a second, before he continues inspecting the small tomato plant that had just begun to sprout. "No," Cas replies, his voice steady, though Dean can hear something else in it, hesitation, maybe worry, "do you?"

"No- yah- I mean, I don't know," Dean shoves his hands into his jeans pocket, trying to warm them from the numb feeling that had quickly begun to grow. The fighting down below had stopped though the ambulance's sirens continues to blare and for a moment Dean let's that fill the silence as he tries to sort his thoughts. "I think I'd've liked to try harder at school, maybe got a degree in mechanics, something that'd make us money." He pauses, looking down to his shoes, it's easier than looking at Cas as he admits his defeats. "We could have a nicer apartment."

"I like our apartment," Cas replies.

"The neighbors suck," Dean says, "We've got the Joker and Harley Quinn on one side and a fuckin' hooker on the other."

"Meg is a respectable woman."

A smile tugs at Dean's lips. "Yah well most apartments have nice chicks."

"Dean," at the sudden softness in Cas's voice, Dean looks up, his eyes meeting the other's. Cas places his watering can down and steps forward. "Are you alright?"

"Yah." Cas gives the smallest tilt of his head, a crease forming between his eyebrows as his gaze darts down Dean. Dean pushes himself from the railing and raises his arm, lacing his fingers with Cas's. "Really, angel," Dean continues, pulling Cas into his arms, "I'm fine."

Cas wraps his arms around Dean's neck, resting his chin against Dean's shoulder. Even with the help of his jacket Cas feels frozen as Dean wraps his arms around the other's waist, Dean's fingers grazing the frozen skin from under Cas's t-shirt. "Dean," Cas says, his voice louder in the suddenly silent night. "You are allowed to talk to me."

"I'm just thinkin'" Dean replies. He holds Cas closer to his chest hoping that it will keep the other warm, and rests his chin against Cas's shoulder. "Worryin' about Jack, money, the future, that kind've crap," Dean says. "Things are just goin' to get more expensive."

"I understand your concerns," Cas replies. Dean tilts his head as the other talks, pressing a kiss to Cas's neck, followed by a second, the kiss so soft and gentle Dean's lips just ghost the frozen skin. "But Jack will be starting school soon and when that happens I'll discuss working more hours with Crowley. We will figure it out."

"I'm worried about you," Dean whispers, something which was only half true.

He was worried with every beat of his heart that he could never give Cas what he deserved. That one day Cas would realize he deserved better and walk out. Dean wasn't worried about Cas, Cas could handle himself, he was worried the day Cas would realize he was worth more.

Dean was worried that one day he would be left with nothing but a broken heart for memories, and the feeling of sorrow to wash it out.

"Dean," Cas whispers, "there's no reason to worry about me." Dean presses another kiss to Cas's neck and slowly let's his fingers travel down the other's back, tracing the curve of Cas's spine. "Please don't worry about me." The thought of arguing crosses Dean's mind but instead of trying he buries his nose into the crook of Cas's neck as Cas's grip around him tightens.

It was moments like this that left Dean holding Cas closer, clinging onto every second as if it would be his last with the other. When they were alone in the dark, only lit by the decks faded orange light, and the world around them had gone silent as if to give them one moment alone. It was simple moments like this that left Dean out of breath, and at a complete loss of words, unable to describe just how in love he was with Castiel Novak.

Slowly, humming softly, Dean removes one hand from Cas's back and laces the fingers of his right hand with Cas's left. "Here comes the sun," Dean begins barely above a whisper, swaying softly, an action Cas mimics.

"And I say," Dean sings softly, "it's alright."

"Little darling, it's been a long cold lonely winter," Dean continues, his voice hanging through the silent night, only broken by their footsteps as they move across the deck. "Little darling, it seems like years since it's been here." Cas's lips press lightly to Dean's neck and he replies by giving Cas's hand a gentle squeeze, it's all he can manage. Any words would ruin the moment, nothing he could say would be as gentle as them swaying, sharing one another's warmth as the wind continues to blow.

"Here comes the sun, do, do, do. Here comes the sun, and I say," Dean sings, "it's alright."

They continue to dance as the song goes on, footsteps heavy, and their swaying half a beat off. Cas's fingers are still frozen against his, and Dean's own arms had long ago become numb, and yet it's perfect.

Dean wouldn't trade it for a second of perfection. The breathless feeling leaving him light, his heart pounding constantly in his chest yet always one beat not enough. It's impossible to breathe properly when all his senses are heightened on one thing.

Cas.

By the time the song comes to an end and their slow dance has stopped, Cas's eyes were on Dean's, the normally vivid blue casted in shadows by the deck's light. Cas's hand moves from where it rests on Dean's shoulder and to his cheek, the contact so light Cas's fingers barely grazes Dean's skin. "I love you," Dean whispers, because he isn't good with words, he never has been, and that's the only thing he can think of that can even remotely describe how he feels.

"I love you too," Cas replies. He leans forwards pressing his lips to Dean's for a slow kiss that has Dean's heart somewhere between racing and stopping, tearing all the air from his lungs. When they pull away, their lips still grazing, there's only one thing Dean's sure of; he's going to marry the love of his life.

[1zashreena1]

Princess Gets A Shot -21

18+, m/f, technically OCxDiego Jimenez [Power]

Summary:  Diego requests backup and then it turns out that backup really was needed. 

WARNINGS: Ridiculous descriptions and ‘the code is more like guidelines’ outlook on grammar. Is it OOC if the character was given essentially zero development in canon???

Gun violence, Soft Murder Panther, the L word, come eating, pussy eating, ass eating, look, everything gets eaten here, Diego being Diego, plus size woman+fit man, actual anal, feeeeeeeels

A/N:  Princess took on a life of her own and has essentially become an OC. There are infrequent mentions of her description (specifically as plus size) and her actual name in later pieces (its Bicki). She started as self-insert so she looks like me (plus size, white, short, blue eyes, curly hair). If that is not your thing, I totally understand. And do not feel obligated to read this, I will not be offended!

I’m not a fan of “plot” so be aware that most of this series is just meandering through their relationship, angst-fluff-smut whiplash style. But with dick jokes.

TAGLIST: @chelsfic​​​ ​ @symbiont13​​​ ​ @nicke0115​​​ ​​ @bunnykjm​​​ ​ @rosee-sensuelle​​​ ​ @girlpornparadise​​​ ​ @mandoplease​​​ ​ @heresathreebee​​​ ​ @xxsteph-enrixx​​​ ​ @jetiikad​​​ ​ @joalsglasses​​​ ​ @mutantcookiesecrets​​​ ​ @demoncatstone​​​ ​ @squidlywiddly87​​​ ​ @lockedoutofmyotherblog​​​ ​ @poeedamerons​​​ ​ @xxidontwikeitxx​​  @kid-from-new-zealand​​ @fleurfatale89​​ @allalngthewtchtower​​

Its 11:52am when you start shutting down your computer this Friday. Coworkers start chuckling and you roll your eyes, you know what's coming next. Tremaine pops around the shared wall of your cubicles to grin manically.

"You have the longest dick appointments ever." She waggles both eyebrows excessively and you laugh.

"Its not a dick appointment. I got a ring, bitch." You flap your left hand around in retort and she giggles madly. Your cell chirps and she makes a stern face.

"You better not be late. I bet he'll withhold punishment!" She cackles and disappears behind the felted wall to your snorts. 

You grab your stuff and pull the phone out of your purse to check the text.

Take your fiancé to work day?

Increasingly, Diego has been giving you more and more access to the business. He uses literal names and real dollar amounts in conversation, its actually a little fascinating how well he manages an outfit so vast. You ask questions and sometimes help him with spreadsheets or schedules. Its all very professional and you love the contrast of how he runs the business versus his reputation. 

Whatever meeting he has tonight must be more social than business if he feels comfortable enough to take you along. You trust Diego and his men to keep you safe.

What's the dress code?

You have an extensive wardrobe now, so some guidance might be helpful.

Typical club

Attached is a picture of a dark, deep, forest green suit.

Your stomach drops and your blood pressure rises. He's gonna look so fucking good.

Uhhhh. Just fucking tell me what you want me to wear

Melted my brain you ridiculous man

Sure, it feeds his ego, but its the truth. He's so hot that sometimes you don't know what to do with yourself.

The gray dress. Black shoes. Got jewelry here for you

…..no panties😛🐈

Aww yiss, you laugh to yourself. 

New bling AND head?????? Goddamn bby

Don't worry, you'll earn it

You don't know if you should be amused or worried. Guess I'll find out.

---------------------------

The new jewelry is a pair of very long sapphire chandelier earrings and a matching anklet. The bright blue sparkles like fire against your fair skin and makes your eyes pop. You've never known another man with such style sense. 

You're standing in front of his dresser mirror admiring the earrings as they brush the top of your cleavage when Diego calls you.

"Come here, Princess. I'll give you a hand." His raspy voice never fails to give you goosebumps. When you turn around Diego is kneeling on the rug holding the anklet. Its not the first time he has helped you dress, but something about it is vaguely suspicious. Those chocolate eyes are too smirky.

You step forward and offer your right foot. While Diego fastens the band of blue stones you stroke over some newly emerging silver at his temples with a fingertip. You're so enamored with the distinguished look that it startles you when his fingers brush your inner thighs. In less than a moment Diego has his hand buried in your crotch, fingers finding your folds, and then the middle sinks into you to the knuckle. 

"Aiiieee!" You yelp, completely unprepared for this development but not exactly surprised. That single finger is hot and thick, he manages to circle your cervix fleetingly. 

"Good girl." Diego purrs.

You involuntarily clench tight even as you glare down at him. 

"The fuck. You couldn't warn me first?" Your snarl is undermined by breathlessness as your hips roll for more. Its infuriating and amazing how quickly this man can wreck you.

"Princess." He chides quietly, "I had to check that you followed my orders like an obedient little girl." He smiles widely, clearly pleased with the both of you. Your heart trips and you curl fingers over his shoulder for balance as the heel of his palm grinds your clit. He goes on tauntingly, "Don't show this pretty pussy to anyone else tonight and you'll get a very big reward."

"Asshole. Fuck you." You moan. The dual stimulation is winding you up quickly. You gasp with disappointment when Diego pulls his hand away but it turns into a whine as you watch him suck your flavor off of his own digit. 

He pulls the middle finger out of his mouth with a pop. "You will."

------------------------

The club is packed but some lackey already has a VIP booth ready for Mr. Jimenez. A huge hand lands on your lower back to usher you along, its a very couple-y move. When you sink into the plush seating Diego sits practically on top of you and wraps an arm around your shoulders. Something is definitely up here.

"So, you wanna tell me what's going on tonight?" You whisper, face buried in his neck to ensure you can be heard over the music. 

Diego orders drinks, you're sure its something nasty for him and fruity for you, before turning your way. The hand on your shoulder is petting you.

"I have a new distributor as part of the side deal terms. I cannot shoot her without ruining the deal and we need this deal. But she doesn't take no for an answer. And while I respect her ambition, it is becoming… problematic." Diego scans the club as he speaks, decidedly not looking at you. 

Oh really?

"Diego Jimenez. Are you uncomfortable with a woman hitting on you??" You ask incredulously. You're trying not to laugh because he clearly is. 

Diego turns to glare down at you and if you were anyone else it would have the intended effect. You just smile beautifically. 

"I gave you my word, did I not?" Diego huffs dramatically and glances down at your ring. Oh, baby. "And I don't like her." He shudders.

"I trust you, Diego. I wouldn't have said yes if I didn't." You intone gently. Whatever your man needs, you'll do your best to give it to him. 

"Good. Now be possessive. She seems to respect women more than men. And I am not bringing my sister into this, it is ours." Diego mutters as he spots a small group of women coming in from the back. Ours? Without Alicia?? That really means behind her back. Diego, what are you doing?

You lean back casually and cross your legs. If Diego wants a calmly confident woman to belong to, then that is what he'll get.

Julio lets the tall, muscular woman in front lead the group into the booth where they sit across from you. She looks Diego up and down boldly, then licks her lips. You laugh outright and it draws her attention. 

"I'm Liz. And you are…?" She leans forward to assess you. Its supposed to be intimidating but you're unconcerned. Her brown eyes are sharp, they alight on your ring as you sip your drink lazily.

"Princess." You smile without it meeting your eyes, its the icy one you reserve for frenemies and men you would enjoy hurting. Liz cocks her head and blinks, you've managed to surprise her.

"So the rumors are true. Didn't peg you as the type to settle down." You can feel Diego stiffen next to you with her reply as she turns back to him. You want to hate her, you really do, but that was a good one. That feeling remedies itself with her next words, "Although. That is more, a lot more, than I would have expected." She gauges your body and sniffs in disapproval. 

The jab at your size isn't new. Or particularly innovative either. While you're certainly not amused, Diego, on the other hand, has become deathly still. You transfer the drink to your right hand and slide the left over his thigh so your fingertips slip between his legs. He is like a statue under you, so incredibly tense. 

"Nothing he can't handle." You sleaze, arching a brow at her flat chest. Gradually, Diego eases while Liz snorts and rolls her eyes.

"How did you do?" Diego drawls, leaning forward to rest elbows on his knees without displacing your grip. Its a casual display of his comfort with you touching him. 

"Its all spoken for. I need another load plus thirty percent. Baltimore is hungry." Liz decides to ignore you entirely. Victory. 

"I'll give you twenty-five, you'll give me ten percent more of the profit." Diego continues without her agreement, "You're ambitious, but don't bite off more than you can chew." He dismisses Liz with a wave and you can tell that irritates her. 

"Oh, don't worry, I don't bite the pretty ones." She is smarmy and leering. She doesn't even have any style.

"How boring." You purse your lips and look unimpressed. 

"Sí. Truly." Diego huffs as he adjusts his jacket to settle back into the cushions, and further into your side. He crosses an ankle over his knee and smiles into your hair. You maintain eye contact with a silently seething Liz as she rises to leave with her girls. 

Licking your lips, you slide your hand higher until you're cupping Diego through his pants and squeeze gently. Her eyes widen, then narrow with his relaxing posture as Diego melts into your public groping. She stomps off and the girls follow, one looking over her shoulder to watch you two hungrily. Something about the girl looks familiar but you can't place it.

You wait until they fade into the crowd, then turn to Diego….

Who is slouching blissfully with your dick massage. The sight makes you laugh, its adorable in a kinky way. He smiles slowly, obviously pleased with your performance. 

"Perfect little Princess. You are a very good Bad Girl." Diego praises you with a low rumble. He really does look so good in this new suit. His gray shirt matches your dress, he picked it specifically to look like a matched set. A subtle sign of your status together. You're leaning in for a kiss when you hear a muffled popping sound.

Diego lurches forward to crush you to his chest and you can feel Julio at your back suddenly.

Its gunfire.

Julio picks you up around the waist and hauls you over Diego’s head and the back of the sofa to go over the railing and into Bastian's waiting hands. Diego pushes your weight up with him, then dives over, too. Bastian is dragging you toward a hallway by the time you register the location change. Your head whips around to locate Diego, left hand reaching out for him. Diego takes two huge strides to press up against you, Julio is on his back. 

Another round of shots echoes in the club as people scream and panic. Its chaos, you can't tell where the bullets are coming from in your adrenaline rush and the enclosed space.

"Go, go now!" The gravelly command lengthens Bastian's strides until you pop out a side door into an alley. Manuela is outside, waving you to the Escalade. Bastian releases you to go around to the driver's side and Diego pushes you forward. You get the back door open just in time for Diego to shove you again so you land on the floor. Curling up, you give them room to climb in, too. Diego slides into the seat above you and covers you with his body, Julio layers on top of your fiancé and slams the door. Gunfire pops off outside in the alley, far too close for comfort. Manuela is still getting in the front when Bastian tears off.

"What the fuck!" You yelp angrily. As the SUV turns out of the alley, Diego tucks your head down further and Manuela returns fire. More shots plunk into the bulletproof body of the Escalade above your head and the window on the other side shatters to rain glass down over Julio. Diego growls ferociously and you reach back to grab his collar while hissing, "Stay down!"

You're not losing him. You refuse. 

"Everyone's behind us, full coverage! Two more blocks and we're out, boss!" Bastian hollers as he weaves through traffic. 

You keep your grip on Diego. Nothing happens for another few minutes, then Bastian whips around a corner and into the underground garage. You recognize it from the road noise and so does Diego, he sags onto you. The car screeches to a halt and everyone starts pouring out. Julio slides out the passenger side behind you and Diego crawls over you to open the door above your head and tumble out.

You lay there for a minute, shaking. Looking up reveals his men receiving orders and Manuela reloading. A large number of cartel members are guarding the closed garage door and more are headed upstairs to sweep the penthouse. 

Slowly, you climb out, unnoticed in the commotion. You take stock of the damage, dozens of holes and indentations mar the black bodywork. Some are right where your head was. Too close.

It enrages you.

"AhhhhhHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!" You scream at maximum volume and kick the door shut with enough force to rock the heavy vehicle. The heel of your shoe snaps off to remain embedded in the metal. The garage echoes your fury and nothing else as it fades to silence.

You whip around to face Diego and his men. Everyone is frozen in place, not a single muscle tics. Your fiancé is staring at you with huge eyes.

"Kill. Her." You growl. Your shoes get ripped off and flung away with extreme force. Your voice is wrecked from the berserker scream, you sound demonic as you stalk up to him and grab his shirt. "Kill. Her!" You repeat at a higher volume. Diego squints down at you in obvious concern.

"Do you think the shooting started right after she left BY ACCIDENT?!?" You are heedless of your audience, caring only for Diego's attention. Big hands come up to your forearms, trying to calm you against your will. He watches you closely as you pant, you know your face is red because you can hear your own pulse. You go to break away and his grip turns to steel. Diego slams you back against the door you kicked closed and pins you to the ruined metal by your wrists and hips.

Your anger morphs into fear which then fades into arousal as you feel the raw power of his body, Diego is holding your wrists so tightly it hurts. Quaking, you slowly look up to meet his eyes. The bearded jaw is tense, a muscle in his cheek jumps, and his eyes are burning. But it isn't rage you see in that smolder.

"Leave us. Now!" Diego barks ferociously. Underlings scatter but your attention is captured by the powerful man you agreed to marry. He leans in close, stealing your breath, to whisper, "If I bring her to you, will you do it?"

Will you? Would you really kill somebody?

They tried to kill me.

"Yes, baby." Your voice is low but even. Your nerves may be shattered but your resolve is solid.

Diego moans roughly, his face screwed up in a flood of emotions, then dives down to take your mouth. You open wide but can do nothing else. Body limp in his hold, you don't even want to do anything. His tongue slides on yours and he tastes like dark liquor and desperation. The beard rubs your sensitive skin raw as your mouth is seized, it ignites a fire so hot that you rub your thighs together pathetically. Diego is the only person to whom you have ever wanted to just submit. 

The level of trust you place in this man is monumental.

He releases your hands and steps back decisively. The sudden lack of support makes you stumble before catching yourself with a hold in his shirt. You blink dazedly, "Wha??"

Diego grips the back of your neck and steers you to the elevator. The doors open and Julio steps out with an appraising look.

"All clear. Bastian stayed upstairs, I'll take over down here. Gordita." He nods to you affectionately.

"Thank you." Your gratitude is deep and Julio smiles softly. Diego pulls you into the elevator and jabs the door close button. When you turn around to look at him you can see his big body shaking faintly.

"Baby." You breathe and reach for him. Diego allows you to fold him down into your embrace and winds those long arms around you. Its not often that Diego requires reassurance or displays contrition.

"This is my fault, Princess. And I will fix it." The dark voice in your ear is dripping with danger. Your stroke over his hair while he nuzzles into your neck, those huge hands tight on your waist.

"You didn't know. I think I was the target the whole time, despite being virtually unknown. And I agreed to come, if I had declined you wouldn't have pushed me." You squeeze his broad shoulders and kiss his jaw. 

"You could have died." He whispers softly. There is real fear in his voice, his defeated posture. It breaks your heart when he croaks, "I cannot lose you."

"But I didn't. You protected me, like I trust you to do. And I could die at any time. Car crashes, freak accidents, medical emergencies, anything could happen." You reason logically. Its probably not helpful in this moment, but its just how you are.

"Fine. Fair. Now stop." Diego mutters, not pleased with your sensibility. "I misjudged. It won't happen again."

You bury your nose in his shirt to inhale, his scent calms your nerves. "I broke a shoe. It probably will happen again."

Diego absolutely loses it and collapses onto you. His rasping howls of laughter are endearing and you giggle with him. His weight makes you hunch over a bit and your cleavage jiggles with his convulsions. Diego buries his face in your ample bust and continues laughing madly. 

When the elevator opens to Bastian's anxious face he just shakes his head at how weird you two are. 

------------------------

Your laughter dissolves into tears the instant you cross the threshold to the bedroom. The adrenaline is bleeding away and you feel numb. Your hands shake so badly that you can't get undressed. Stumbling into the bathroom, you stand in the middle of the room crying against your will while Diego starts the shower. He pops out from behind the clear divider wall and strides right up to you, dripping wet and uncaring. 

"Princess." He sighs deeply and strips the dress up over your head, dropping it to the floor. Your hands stroke over his gleaming chest, reminding yourself that he's okay, Diego is whole and unharmed. You lean your forehead on his chest and sigh as he unhooks your bra, it drops to the floor at your feet and Diego goes to kick it away… only for the strap to get caught on his toes, forcing him to flick his foot in ever more violent movements until the offending garment is flung off through the doorway and into the bedroom.

"Fucking bras." He mutters angrily. 

Your peals of laughter echo in the tiled room. 

"Remember what I said about the adrenaline mix being different when we used the handcuffs?" Your speech pattern is stilted from your jaw shaking violently. Diego's big hands come up to cup your breasts, thumbs rubbing back and forth over your nipples hypnotically. Gradually, slowly, your body melts into him, his bigger frame taking your weight with ease. Your voice is even choppier this time, "I'll adj-j-just."

"I know you will, Princess." Diego murmurs into your hair. Nipples now pebbled from the gentle torture, he moves on to new territory, specifically your ass. Diego grips huge handfuls of squishy flesh and kneads, lifting you to your toes. You moan into his chest, rubbing your skin on his. Backing up, he pulls you along with him, "Here, come."

Bracing your hands on those magnificent biceps, you let your fiancé manhandle you (mostly) softly. Diego backs into the shower and you're swept along with him. His hands glide higher, over your waist to settle around your upper abdomen just under your chest, and then he lifts. 

"Eep!" Your tiny squawk is met with a husky chuckle as Diego perches you on the seat in the back of the shower. The tile isn't slippery with condensation yet and you're still too short to hit the high ceiling, so you can stand easily. Conveniently, Diego's face is just above your crotch. 

"Turn around." He rumbles. The dark eyes looking up at you are black with hunger. Diego licks his lips obscenely and you whine with want. You have no idea what he's going to do and you want it desperately. The tile is cold on your nipples and you shiver violently. "Now be a good girl and show Diego that pussy."

Its been well over a year, mutual confessions of love, international travel, an engagement ring, and he can still flame your face and melt you with mere words. Your feet spread automatically and you sink your back to poke your ass out. Heat washes over your core and you realize that Diego is inhaling your scent. His groan of pleasure makes you drip. Huge hands climb your inner thighs to pull your pussy wide open to his inspection. 

Its both humiliating and excruciatingly exciting to be in this position, precarious enough that you're cautious about moving, completely exposed, all you can really do is take whatever he gives you. One large finger bumps your clit minutely and you squeak, then he uses two fingers placed on either side to retract your hood. The direct pressure of tiny circles on your clit is electrifying, but the addition of a hot tongue leisurely lapping over your entrance liquefies your knees. You're so wet that its audible over the sound of the shower.

"Baby…" You sound like a phone sex operator and it bolsters your courage a tiny bit. "Fuck, I love your tongue."

"Mmmm." Diego's growl is almost sensory overload. He licks every inch he can reach while never faltering on your clit. You can feel his nose sliding between your cheeks and it is enticing. You must have quivered if his next words are any indication, "I'll take this fat ass, too, little girl."

And he does. His right hand spreads you wide and he licks up over your asshole, the beard scrapes your pussy deliciously raw as you keen wordlessly. Diego dives back down to spread your slick higher with each lap. The textural contrasts are driving you insane. That sinful tongue presses into you with each pass, deeper and deeper until the tip dips inside. 

Everything fades away for a moment and the only thing you know is Diego between your legs. He moans and presses further, it feels indescribable. You’ve tried anal before with fingers, it was uncomfortable and did nothing for your orgasm. This feels completely different. Your hands flail, then the left reaches behind you to thread fingers into his hair. The engagement ring catches and pulls a little, making Diego jerk and sigh. Fucker has a commitment kink, the thought makes you choke.

The growl from behind you rolls up your spine and directly into your brain. Diego changes tactics to reach around your front and rub your clit the same way you do, but never stops fucking your ass with his tongue.

"I want," you whine into the wall, hips jerking. Diego rubs the goatee harder. You suck in a shuddering breath, "Wanna come. With some part of, of you. Fuck! Inside me. In-inside. Please." Your plea is met with an appreciative rumble that makes your eyes roll back. Your begging continues, "Anything, fuck, baby, please. Please please."

Diego pulls back to sink teeth into the left globe of your ass. Your yelp is muffled, but still ridiculously high pitched. He pets over your posterior, then you feel slippery fingers where the tongue was only moments ago. 

"That can be arranged, Princess. Anything...huh? What about anywhere?" His breathless taunt gives you pause. One well lubed finger presses against your rear and you truly do want it. You already feel loose and pliant, buzzing with endorphins. Swallowing hard, you nod tightly.

"Yeah." The tiny squeak of submission makes your predator practically vibrate. Diego pushes gently, you can feel the slick of lubricant, both natural and artificial, everywhere. The pressure pulses gently, each push just a tiny bit more intrusive, until the tip of his finger is inside your ass. 

"Fuck, bonita. Such a good little Princess." The rough praise only loosens you further, but you squirm with the new and odd sensations. "So tight," he continues with a groan, "You let Diego fuck this fat ass? Huh? Take it like a good girl?"

"Yeah, yeah. Oh my god, fuck." At this point you might agree to anything as long as he makes you come. Your back sags further and you gasp as his thick finger sinks in to the knuckle. Its a lot and you freeze for a moment. Diego holds steady, letting you breathe and assess. When no protest occurs to you, he resumes rubbing your clit and Oh holy fuckin' shit.

You know its only one finger, but he feels huge to your inexperienced body. Full and stretched, not in pain, necessarily, but you can't say its comfortable, precisely. What you can say is that it drives you wild to be pinned to the wall and pleasured almost forcefully. Your entire pelvis is trembling tautly, you can feel the orgasm welling up, building ever higher. Tears escape and your mouth goes without your consent. "Please, oh fuck. Pleasepleaseplease, yeah baby. Yeah. I want it. I want." 

"Pretty Princess. Go on. Come for Diego while he fucks both your holes." The finger in your ass rotates as he repositions his hand, there's a brush of contact to your folds, and then, Fuuuuuck, then two fingers slide home in your pussy.

Your entire consciousness collapses down to your core and then snaps. Waves of contractions so strong that they make your abdomen spasm wash over you. You clamp down on every part of him that's inside you and wail. The ecstasy is only compounded by your every sense being overfilled with Diego.

"Yes, mi amor. Come for me. Come all over your Diego." The possessive tone is gratifying as Diego rides you out. Your legs shake, then buckle, your upper ass lands on his broad shoulder and Diego is quick to extract his right hand. The feeling of his finger withdrawing rapidly is intensely weird. The left hand abandons your clit to catch you in the chest, allowing your limp form to slide down his front. His hard cock leaves a sticky trail up your asscrack before it comes to rest poking into your lower back. Your legs are still wobbly and you hang onto his thick forearm for balance.

"Oh god. What the fuck. What. The. Fuck." You ramble. Did I really just come with his finger up my ass??

"Bend over." The strained rumble comes as Diego is lowering your hands to the bench, folding you in half. You teeter briefly, but manage to keep your balance. Diego grips your hips sternly and thrusts his dick between your cheeks.

"Uhh, what. You're not gonna, I don't think I can take-" 

"Relax." Diego chuckles, but it is definitely strained. Those big hands squeeze meaningfully when you lean away tensely. Diego continues thrusting in long, lazy strokes as he growls, "Come on your back. Wanna see this pretty ass covered in my come."

Oh. Okay then. Your brain is too scrambled to be concerned. It only takes a dozen or so strokes before Diego is snarling and snapping behind you, painting your butt and back white. 

"Ahhh, yesss. My good girl. Perfect little Princess." He slaps your ass to produce a jiggle and you crash forward into the wall. Diego flops onto the bench beside you and pulls your cooked spaghetti form into his lap. His come smears between your back and his front, Eww.

You start giggling again. 

"Now what?" Diego asks wryly. He's limp beneath you, that big body twitching periodically. You take in his huge feet below your dangling ones, his long legs melted under your weight. The broad chest rises and falls rapidly, it jostles you gently, he's still recovering. His scratchy chin lands on your right shoulder and Diego lolls his face into your hair. Your fingers lace with his and rest on your rounded belly.

"You're so nasty." You chortle. "I fuckin' love it."

[vosuth]

*Not mine, just sharing*

——————

I was people watching at the Starbucks when they sat down across from me. Their hair was yellow; not blonde, but Crayola-crayon yellow, the kind of yellow kids use to draw the sun. Their eyes were pale, one pale green and one pale brown. They smiled, showing bright, even teeth. They knew why I was here. This was where you came to make a deal.

"Why Starbucks?" I asked.

They shrugged. "Cream and bread and honey. And I've come to enjoy the iced coffees as well. But mostly, for folks like yourself." They leaned forward. They smelt of cream and bread and honey. "But you didn't come here for that. You came here because you need-"

"Cash." I said firmly.

They leaned back, disappointment playing across sharply defined features. "Just... cash." They heaved a melodramatic sigh, shaking their head. "You could wish for anything, anything at all-"

"Cash." I repeated. And then, "It's not for me. I've got a friend that's in trouble, and- and I've heard stories about how you've helped others before. Cash will be fine."

They leaned back then, face returning to a neutral, vaguely bemused look. Intent without being focused on anything in particular. "So. Cash. Well, for all your memories of before you were two, I would offer-"

"My name."

The fairy paused, and then leaned forward. "Your name."

"One of them. My middle name. But it's what everyone called me growing up."

A long pause, as I met those pale, mismatched eyes. "For a calling name, I will offer five-hundred thousand dollars."

I pretended to think for a moment, and then nodded. We extended our hands, and shook. "Done." I said.

My phone made a quiet 'bling'. "Done," they said, looking with undisguised hunger and lust.

"Done."

They leaned forward, theatrically cupping a hand around one pointed ear.

I whispered, "John."

They closed their eyes, inhaling sharply through the nose, as if savoring a glass of wine.

And then their eyes popped open.

"Mary-Anne!" the barrista called. I stood up, walked over to pick up my drink. By the time I'd returned, their eyes were slightly bulged out, one hand at their throat. "What-"

"I haven't been John for at least three years."

Pure hatred blazed in their eyes. "Dead name."

I nodded, smiling. "Yep. Makes me uncomfortable, but worse than iron for you."

"Take it back-"

I shook my head. "Why should I? It was a bargain fairly struck."

Desperation began to creep onto those sharp features. "Anything. Just take it back."

I pretended to think for a moment. "You will forswear vengeance or offers of aid to me and mine. You will not, by word or deed, allow another to learn of what has transpired here." I leaned in close to whisper. "You will take the loss, and move on like a big boy."

They sputtered, choking and gasping. Dishwater brown began to wash into their hair, rising from the ends and creeping towards the roots. The whites of their eyes began to deepen, first golden, and then fading. Their teeth were sharper, and gnashed in anger and fear and pain. "Done!" they croaked, and seized my hand.

"Done." I agreed, shaking it.

"Done." They leaned back in the chair, taking a deep, gasping breath. I offered my coffee, sympathetically. "I know it sucks to have a dead name."

For a moment, they only stared at me in wonder, before accepting the coffee. "How many?" they asked, after a contemplative moment.

"You're the sixth."

They stared in wonder for a moment, before giving a brief bark of laugh, and standing to depart. "Good hunting."

[reggiejworkshop]

The Warners Get the Boot (Chapter 2 of 2)

Summary: When the Warner's find out their show might be rebooted, they head to Mr. Plotz's office for some answers. What they find out is... interesting to say the least

Chapter length: 

5,173

Link to the original story here: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/12851058/2/The-Warners-Get-the-Boot

xxxxxxxx

"Well let's say the new show could cater more to your likes! What do you three like?" Terry proposed.

Without hesitation, the Warners gave their own personal suggestions on what they though would make the show great. Unfortunately, all of them chose to speak at the same time. So the resulting response sounded like this. "BlbalbaDonknottsBblblqldFfoodfadInifneyellowpolkadotbikininlkgknknlkMichelphifferrfskgslknglshruqhjqrjhMelGibson…!"

"One at a time! One at a time!" Plotz ordered them. The Warners obediently piped up, their mouths frozen wide open. The CEO pointed at the middle sibling. "Wakko?"

"Yes!" Wakko cheered. Yakko and Dot grumbled as their younger brother jumped onto the seat cushions. He was rarely picked first. "How about some more chases scenes, movie parodies, uncanny celebrity cameos, and maybe some new songs?!"

"See there you go! I love the way you think!" Terry shot his finger at him.

"Try living with him, you'll change your mind pretty quick" Dot retorted. Wakko stuck his tongue at her.

"And well… I never felt we did enough episodes with Ms. Nurse" Wakko admitted, giving a sly wink at his older brother.

"You know me all too well little bro" Yakko responded.

"Unfortunately" Dot sighed. The two executives pursed their lips in uncomfortable frowns.

"Uhh… yeah, about that." Terry interjected. "We were actually planning on giving Nurse a little less screen time. And you kids will have to cut back on the compliments" He winced his fingers on the word 'compliments'. The Warner brothers' smiles slowly melted away. He might as well have told them Santa had given them coal for Christmas.

"But why?" Wakko asked with a pained moan.

"Well, we want the show to appeal to a more female crowd" said Terry. This had gotten Dot's attention as she scooted forward in her seat.

"But Nurse is already appealing!" Yakko answered. He and his brother's eyebrows waggled.

"I don't think you understand, we want it be less offensive towards women. And with Nurse, we can't really do that"

"What are you talking about?" Wakko asked. Gillman cleared his throat.

"She's a character simply used as a curvaceous piece of eye candy for men to ogle at." he replied.

"Thank you!" Dot threw up her hands. "That's what I've been trying to say to them for years!"

"And we've haven't been listening to you, for years!" Yakko replied back, much to Dot's annoyance.

"But we don't see her that way!" Wakko got up from the couch. "She's good looking, and tall, and uh, what else is she Yakko?"

"She's nice and interesting, and Uh... Stimulating?" Yakko scratched his head.

"Oh yeah, she's stimulating alright!" Wakko gave a sly nod. Dot shook her head at her brother's fruitless debate.

"Not even going to acknowledge she has a high IQ are you?" she muttered.

"True, you don't see her that way…" Terry continued speaking when Gillman turned on a slide projector. He pointed it at a blank screen near one of walls. "But these clips appear otherwise"

What followed on screen was a serious of archive footage from the show. Each one involved Yakko's various encounters with women. Yakko fondly remembered each and every one. But the way they appeared here, they suddenly didn't seem so flattering.

"Hello Nurse!"

"Wait till were alone"

"Don't run! I've had my shots this time!"

"Hellooo, Nurse!"

"Come on one more romp! I'll even get in front this time!" After that last line, Gillman stopped the projector.

"But, your taking those out of context! It was all in good fun!" Yakko protested. Terry shook his head.

"What you may consider 'good fun' may not be fun to some people, and the last thing we'll want is for you to be accused as a well, you know"

"No! A what?" Yakko grabbed a cup of water from Plotz's desk. He took a sip when Gillman came over and lifted up Yakko's ear.

"A sex offender" he whispered. Gilman received a spray full of water that lasted five seconds. Coughing, Yakko dropped his cup.

"Who didn't see that joke coming?" Dot said to no one.

"What?! This is Yakko Warner you're talking about not Yakko Weinstein!" Yakko yelled at him.

"Calm down Yakko! You know how important it is to appeal to a wider demographic! " Plotz scolded him.

"But Plotz…" Yakko began to complain. Plotz wasn't seriously considering this was he?

"But nothing! You want your show revived don't you?"

Frowning, Yakko pondered this for a moment. Ogling the female species was part of who he was, and now he'd have to downplay it? They might as well recast him with SpongeBob. As much as he didn't want to do it, he didn't want to ruin this opportunity for his siblings.

"Well, I guess you can't have your cake and eat it too." He said half heartily, plopping himself back on the couch.

"Thank you, glad we can all be a little flexible here." Terry stated.

"Hey, if it keeps my brothers from acting like pigs, I'm good" said Dot. Smiling, she rested a hand behind her head. Wakko on the other hand was far from satisfied.

"But, Yakko saying 'Hello Nurse' is his thing! Just like 'Faboo' is mine! And Dot, yours is…"

"Boys?

"See?"

"Yeah, about those catch phrases, you might want to switch them up every now and then. Find some new ones." Terry interjected.

"Excuse me?" Dot asked. She was no longer smiling.

"What's wrong with the ones they use?" Plotz asked, arching an eyebrow at Terry.

"Well, they're fine and all but, don't you think they're a tad bit dated?"

Plotz opened his mouth to answer when Yakko cut him off.

"Please, they're not as dated as Buster Bunny's stuff, I'm surprised he still gets royalties from his!" Yakko scoffed.

"What were his go to catchphrases again?" Dot asked.

"Hiya Toonsters! It's the 90's!" Yakko responded in an uncanny impression of Buster. He then smacked his head when realized what he said. "Oh shoot."

Out of nowhere, Buster Bunny appeared from behind the couch, his gloved hand held out. Yakko's grudgingly took two dollars from his pocket and gave it to him.

"Thank you!" Buster replied before vanishing within the seat cushions. Wakko peered inside them. The rabbit was nowhere to be found.

"What do he and Babs do nowadays?" he wondered.

"Let's stay focused here please; it's time to move to the next addition of the show." Terry announced with a quick snap of his fingers. "Gilman..."

Right on cue, Gillman ripped off his business attire, revealing a tacky golden sweat suit underneath. His puffy pants were barely hanging up by the enormous wrestler belt around his waist. The initials W.B. were bedazzled on the belt buckle with ruby rhinestones.

The Warners couldn't decide what was more painful, the blinding glare from the sparkling sliver bling around Gillman's neck, or the following words that came out of his mouth. "We need you dawgs to be crunk for the new kids, ya dig?"

Yakko rubbed his brow while his siblings shook their heads. It was definitely the latter.

"Can you repeat that in English? We don't speak Cringense" said Dot.

"Look, we want to make sure you three make a perfect transition to the 21st century. Appeal to today's modern crowd." Terry explained.

"But kids have always liked us. And we like kids!" Dot replied. Her older brother blew a kiss.

"Goodnight everybody!" Yakko froze in a horrible realization. "What am I saying?!"

"Here's the thing, you three haven't been in steady rotation ever since Donald Trump had hair. Most kids today have heard of you, but they don't know about you!" said Terry. It was an admittedly true statement.

"But, what about our cult following?" Dot asked. Terry waved her off with a scoff.

"Eh! Cult groups are a niche crowd. They'll will only get you so far"

"What about the Hub…?" Wakko asked before both siblings placed a hand on his mouth.

"Wakko, we agreed to never acknowledge that channel ever again" Yakko warned sternly. Terry shook his head before adjusting his glasses.

"Gillman, help me out here" he said.

"You three love music and dancing right?!" the second executive spoke up.

"Yeah?" said Wakko. The trio perked their heads up in anticipation. This seemed promising.

"Well, you'll love this! It 'll give your new show a funky fresh jizzam!" Gillman pressed a button on a nearby laptop before restarting the projector. "Let's drop that beat!"

Dubstep music blared from the laptop speakers at full blast. The Warner's pulled and gripped at their aching ears. The bass rumbled the ground beneath them, vibrating the couch. On screen, archive footage of the Warners dancing in various episodes, were unfittingly synced up to the music. Some of the clips were repeated with quick cut edits, while others were marred by bright flashing lights. Tongue hanging and drooling, Wakko droned as his eyes flickered from epileptic inducing effects.

"Forget the Pokémon shock. This is Warner Shock!" Yakko strained, holding his pounding head. Gilman started shuffling his feet against the synthesized swoops and sleek drum sounds. His gut jiggled to the fuzzy bass line. The pudgy man slid over to Yakko, his arms popping and locking to the beat.

"Come on Yakko! Drop it like it hot!" he goaded. Yakko pulled out an anvil and raised it above Gilman's head.

"The only thing I'm dropping is this if you keep talking like that!" he warned. The man wisely stepped away before looking at Dot.

"What about you? Know how to twerk?" he asked. The youngest sibling gasped in offense.

"Yeah, I don't do that" Dot spat back.

"Oh no…?" Terry responded. He pressed another button on the projector. The music stopped. On screen was one of the Warners old routines, the three of them were sitting around a campfire.

"I got the beans" said Yakko.

"I got the ketchup" said Wakko. Dot pulled her ears; she knew her line came next.

"I got the buuunnns" The music kicked back in at a deafening roar. On screen Dot's butt shaking started repeating in a continuous loop, creating the obscene illusion of her twerking.

"That's taken out of context!" Dot screamed.

"Doesn't feel good now does it, sis?!" Yakko yelled over the music. Suddenly all three Wanrers appeared on screen, and somehow all of them were edited so they were twerking at the same time. With the seizure inducing colors strobing on screen, the trio writhed in agony at what they saw. To make matter worse, the song transformed into remixed dubstep version of the theme song. It went about as well as one would expect.

"Ii-i-i—i-it's time for animaniac- acs –acs ac sacs! And we-ee-e-e—ee- zany to the max, max, max…" the voices of three stuttering robots sang. The Warners own voices were barely recognizable underneath the slick production and excessive auto tune.

"Make it stop!" Yakko and Dot screamed. Wakko came to rescue when he whipped out his trusty mallet. The song blared on.

"…While B-b-bill Clinton plays the sax! Sax! Were A-a-a-a animaniacs! Gilman 34 remix what! Meet Pinky and the…"

Thwack! Thwam!

In two swings, both the projector and laptop were crumpled into piles of rubble. The song whirred down to a stop. Happy sighs came from his siblings.

"Sweet release" Dot moaned.

"Wakko! Put that thing away!" Plotz broke the welcome silence, as he pulled wads of cotton from his ears.

"Sorry" Wakko tucked his mallet away with a guilty frown.

"This was a rental" Gillman whimpered, tossing bits of the broken projector on the floor. Terry shifted in his shoes. He gave his glasses another tug.

"Okay, so… we'll work on the music and dance thing." Terry stated, trying to get the meeting back on track. "What about social media? What do you kids prefer, Tumblr or Twitter?"

"Whichever one has less annoying people?" Yakko answered.

"Okay, so Instagram it is!" said Gillman, who started typing away on a smartphone "What type of hashtags would you like for your account?"

The trio gave each other confused looks.

"What's Instagram?" asked Dot. The two executives responded with a few confused looks of their own.

"Have you three been living under a rock?"

"Actually a water tower to be exact." Yakko stated flatly.

"Now, we'll also need to update your outfits" said Terry.

"What's wrong with the ones they have?" Plotz asked impatiently. The Warners threw their heads back in relief. Finally, someone one else was on their side for once. So they thought.

"Nothing, if you forget the fact that they're all half naked."

The Warners looked down at themselves. Each of their faces crinkled with confusion. They were far from bashful about their appearance. No one ever made an issue about Wakko not wearing pants, nor was there one on Dot and Yakko not wearing shirts.

"What's wrong with being naked?" Wakko asked innocently. Yakko rose his hand to say something, but then he stopped himself.

"Animals are naked" said Gillman.

"But we are animals! Aren't we?"

"Anthromorphic animals, there's a difference. And gratuitous nudity is something we can't let kids be influenced by." Terry explained as if any of this made sense. Gillman came forward with a small box of clothes.

"Just peep out these kicking thread-" the executive stopped mid sentence when the anvil reappeared in Yakko's hand. "I mean, just try these clothes on."

Yakko put the away the anvil with a smile. Within a second, the Warners had their new outfits on. And in less than a second, they voiced their opinions.

"Wow, nothing says zany to the max like stainless leather jackets and tie dye shirts!" Yakko exclaimed, sarcasm bleeding into his voice.

Wakko, who now sported a pair of red yoga pants, pointed at the brown shoes he wore.

"What kind of shoes are these?" he asked.

"Alligator shoes" Gilman replied. Wakko politely placed the shoes back in the box.

"You shouldn't take an alligator's stuff, it's not nice!" he told him. A blank stare was Gilman's response.

"Hot pink sequins?! Did Lady gaga design this?!" Dot complained. She pulled at the tattered blouse underneath her burlap vest. She wouldn't be caught dead wearing something like this in public. "Can't I just ditch the shirt?!"

"But then that would reveal your underage chest" Terry warned. "Censors wouldn't want that!"

"Please tell me there's a gas leak in this room." She moaned at Wakko.

"I think they're confusing kids with the special people on Deviantart." Her brother commented.

"Oh that's nice! Real nice!" Yakko chucked the heavy jacket to the floor. He flung the shirt off to the side. Out of all the Warners, his tolerance level was being pushed to its limit. "You change our clothes, our music, and even our catch phrases! I bet we can't even use violence deal with our specials friends!"

"Actually you can." Terry smiled, tugging at his sun glasses.

"What?!" The trio yelped in excitement. Finally something they could agree on!

"Despite what censors think, People aren't really affected by cartoon violence. The cartoonier, the funnier" He shoved Gillman in front of them. "Here, have a go at him"

"Wait, what?!" Gillman freaked out.

Wham!

Wakko pounded him out with his mallet in less than a second. The sound of the impact was sweet and satisfying. Gilman dizzily fumbled on the floor, a nice lump growing on his bald spot.

"Let me try!" Dot took out her trusty medieval mace. She swung it.

Clang!

Stars swirling his eyes, the executive's lump grew in size. Gillman barely had time to react when Yakko whipped out his anvil just for the heck of it.

Thud!

A glittering gold pancake that was the executive crept out from underneath the anvil.

"Hey, that was kind of fun!" Dot smiled.

"Goody…" Gillman moaned, his entire body unfolding like a stretched accordion.

"See, now were talking!" Yakko agreed.

"Can we have a go at you?!" Wakko eagerly raised his mallet at the skinnier executive. Terry threw up his hands, backing away from him.

"No thanks. Kids, I like your raw enthusiasm" Terry said. He folded his arms together. "But…"

"Oh no!" Yakko whimpered. Of course, there was a catch.

"There will also be a series of checks and balances."

"We know how to do our own accounting thank you very much" Dot spat in defense.

"No, for every episode you have to resort to your "special friend' antics, you also have to include a brief PSA."

Yakko could feel his own eye twitch. Behind him, Dot smacked her forehead while Wakko whacked himself with his own mallet."Uh…Were not exactly the PSA type…" said Yakko.

"What about that Wheel of Morality bit?" Plotz interrupted. Yakko gave him a side glare.

"Thank you, Plotz" he ground his teeth.

"Actually, that's not too far from what we had in mind. You spin the wheel to reveal the lesson of the day, then proceed with the episode to learn said lesson."

"Didn't this kind stuff get old after Tiny Toons did it?" Wakko muttered.

"It was old before Tiny Toons did it" Dot spat back.

"Censors won't really care about the violence as long there's a point to it. Preferably once with a slight liberal tone." Terry answered.

"That explains Seth McFarlane" Yakko retorted. "So what was the point of wailing on Gilligan here?" He asked, jutting a thumb into the taller executive's gut.

"Well… um" Terry was at a loss for words. He reached for something behind him. In his hands was a large clear bowl filled with smalls strands of paper. "Why don't you check out some these lessons we've drafted to find out?"

"Thanks, Terry…" Gilman answered with a scowl.

"Each strip of paper has an important lesson printed on the back. They're true to life, and could provide a lot of potentially zany material." The executive lifted up his sunglasses to wink at them. Yakko smiled back, resisting the urge to flip the bird. He gingerly picked up one of the small strips inside.

"You're lucky you have pretty eyes" Dot said with little interest. She was far too annoyed to bother flirting with him. She and Wakko pulled a few strips from the bowl as well.

"Don't let idiots play with dynamite?" Yakko read aloud. "Well that's, uh... decent"

But the more the trio sorted through the strips, the less promising they became.

"Always remember to take your clothes off before you put them in washer machine?" Wakko read. "Huh?"

"If you ever meet someone you don't like, you can always change them" Dot chucked the strip she'd read. "What the-?! What kind of lessons are these?!"

"Dry yourself off before running into an electricity plant?!" Yakko read, anger taking over his voice. "Are these important lessons for kids, or for people like Ralph the Guard?!"

"But even Ralph has common sense! What little there is" Dot spat. Wakko reeled back in shock when he read the next one.

"It's not a good idea to snort cinnamon and soda while you're constipated?!"He glared at his older brother. "You said you wouldn't tell anybody about that!"

"I didn't!" Yakko pleaded. Gillman suddenly shoved his smart phone right into his brother's face.

"Hey if you do it again, make it a viral video! Kids love that!" he exclaimed. Yakko clenched his fists, this had gone on far enough.

"Alright, that's it!" Yakko swapped the phone out of his hands. "I've crossed many lines in the past, and will cross many more in the future, but this one I will not!"

"Yakko! All of you! What is wrong with you three?!" Plotz scolded. The Warners turned to the annoyed CEO sitting behind the desk. They were too distraught to notice he'd barely talked this whole time until now. But it was time to stop. Wakko climbed on the table and grabbed Plotz by the shirt.

"T.P! Don't make them do this!" He begged. The CEO hastily peeled him off.

"Why should I do that?!" Plotz spat back. Wakko and his siblings backed away from him, disbelief and horror contorting their faces.

"Do we have break out landing lights to your brain? We think this idea horrible!" Dot screeched at him.

"So what?! You kids don't run the show, you just star in it! If your show gets you back in limelight, it brings in better ratings for us! And don't you three want that?"

"Mr. Plotz! We'd rather spend another 50 years locked in the water tower than this!" Yakko pleaded.

"Yakko, please!" Plotz scoffed. The short man got down from his chair and brushed him aside. "This is fantastic gentlemen!" he called to the two executives. All three of the Warners jaws dropped at the same time. Both Terry and Gillman graciously accepted the handshakes from the CEO. While Plotz's back was turned, Terry looked right into their eyes.

"It pays to be flexible" Terry uttered softly. The Warners quivered at the smug smile he gave them.

"No! We're ruined!" Dot sobbed, burying her head into Yakko's chest.

"What's gonna happen to us Yakko?" Wakko stared up at his older brother.

"Best case scenario, we'll have to move to Canada and change our names to Mud, Mudd, and Muddy" said Yakko.

"I'm just glad I had the honor of meeting some brilliant geniuses, like yourselves." Plotz said as he patted both men on the back.

"Well I wouldn't consider us geniuses" Gillman gloated, flaunting one of his silver necklaces.

Yakko repeatedly slammed his head on Plotz's desk. Wakko gnawed at his hat while Dot curled up into a fetal position whispering to herself. "This is a dream, this is only a dream…"

Mr. Plotz was hopelessly hooked, and there was nothing they could do about it.

"So I take it's a yes for show? Come on! Be honest" Terry gushed in a phony attempt to sound humble. The Warners shivered as they witnessed Plotz giggle with uncontrollable excitement. Finally, Plotz cleared his throat. His joyous mood taken down by several notches.

"You know what I really think? This reminds me of an old show. Ghostbusters was it? There was nice crew, just like you two called Q5. They made some changes to appeal to the TV viewing crowd."

Plotz paced around the two men, keeping his voice at a low volume. A rarity for him.

"Changed some voices, added new characters, even gave em a cute little sidekick. It was the whole hip and fresh package!"

Seeing the CEO this upbeat and calm was really unnerving. The Warners had no idea where Plotz was going was this, but they remained silent.

"And you know what happened to that show?" Plotz stopped just inches from Terry's feet. The executive's smile weakened by a few notches.

"What?" he asked softly. Within less than a second, Mr. Plotz's face was as red as the tie on his shirt.

"IT GOT CANCELED!"

Plotz's loud shriek made the Warners jump. His sudden release of anger also knocked the two men off their feet. Terry's sunglasses fell to the floor. One of lenses popped out on impact. When he reached for them, Plotz's stood right on top of them.

"Mr. Plotz, what…?" a finger to his face cut him off. He backed off.

"You hack wits actually think this is what kids want?! You think I'd want to waste my hard earned money on this?! Horrible music?!" Plotz yelled at the top of his lungs, stepping over the broken laptop on the floor. "PSA's?!" He kicked aside the bowl of lessons before his eye level met with Gilman's gaudy wrestler belt. Plotz swiped it from his waist. "And ridiculous clothing!"

"Mr. Plotz, kids don't know any better! Many shows been redone this way!" Gilman pleaded. The burly executive trembled in his tighty whities. He attempted to pull his pants back up, when Plotz flung the belt right at his head. The belt buckle clocked his balding noggin "Ouch!"

"And guess how many of them hold up! None of them do!" Plotz growled. Ditching the pants, Gillman scampered behind Terry, who was now shaking and sweating.

"B-buts sir, I-I think should y-y-ou really reconsider this decis…" the shorter executive fumbled with his words before he was cut off again.

"After that horrible presentation?! You think I care what you bloated introverts think?!" Plotz marched towards them. Terry and Gillman wisely started backing away from him, and made their way to the front door.

"Bu-bu-butt the show! Without this reboot, I-it will be just m-memory!" Terry stuttered, failing to regain his composure. Plotz grabbed Gillman's pants off the floor and wrung them in his hands.

"Then maybe that's what thier show should stay as! A good memory!" Pants in hand, Plotz repeatedly swiped at Terry's head, the puffy clothing slapping him with every word. "Not some trendy, brainless, half baked, stupid, idiotic, pandering, dated! Bull! pockey!"

The last swipe made Terry and Gillman stumble onto the floor in the middle of the doorway. The CEO stood over the trembling men.

"I-I-If w-we don't do this, well b-b-b-e making the biggest mmmmistake of our c-careers!" Terry pleaded. The confident swagger in his voice vanished.

"We? There is no we! The only mistake I see, was letting you two in my office! Now get out! Out! Out OUT!"

Both Terry and Gillman were gone by the second "out!", their terrified screams fading down the hallway. Plotz barged into the doorway and chucked the pants in their direction.

"And take these pants back to the 90's where you found them!"

On that final note, he slammed the door. It echoed on impact.

Silence was all that could be heard now, that and Plotz's breathing. Slack jawed and bug eyed, the Warners stared at him, unable to comprehend what at what they just witnessed.

The CEO marched away from the door, breathing heavily through his nostrils. He stopped right in front of the Warners, an indignant frown on his face. But the corners of his mouth began to creak upward. Then he burst into laughter.

"What just happened?" Yakko spoke up, his beady eyes widening.

"You…" Plotz pointed at his head red nose before exploding into a uproarious fit of howling and coughing. It didn't take long for the others to realize what had just occurred. The flustered gazes from the trio turned to furious glares as the plump CEO slumped against the couch, burying his hearty chortles within the seat cushions. When he finally stopped, he wiped a tear from his eye.

"You set us up!" Dot shrieked!

"You mean this whole thing was fake?" Wakko asked. His fists clenched together.

"No, those hacks were real alright, and I've dealt with plenty others like them" Plotz confessed. A few chuckles sprinkled every other word. "I can't believe you three thought I was serious! Oh, this made my day!"

Yakko's brow furrowed at seeing his regular adversary laughing at him. But after a few seconds, a smile of admiration replaced his furious glare. The same happened to his siblings as well. As much as they hated to admit it, he'd gotten them alright. Anyone that managed to do that deserved credit.

"You're a cruel man Plotz, and that was a cruel joke" the eldest Warner answered. He planted a sloppy kiss on one of his cheeks. "And I like it! I guess after twenty years we finally rubbed off on you!"

"Agh! Don't ruin my moment!" the flustered CEO rubbed his cheeks.

"You know maybe it's for best" said Dot. "Our show is better as good memory."

"Wait, a minute! Plotz, said our show was good memory?" Wakko spoke up.

"Yes. So what?" Plotz crossed his arms.

"But Mr. Plotz, You never say anything good about us!" Yakko and Dot's faces brightened at their brother's observation.

"Well, I uh…" Plotz stammered, his face blushing a bright shade of pink. He hadn't realized in his fit of rage he'd said more than he intended.

"Oh Mr. Plotz, did you just compliment us?" Yakko asked. A wide grin stretched across his face.

"I- I did no such thing!" The CEO dodged his question. He immediately started pushing them to the door. "Now get out of here before I get Ralph!"

"Suuure, Of course you realize, I'm going to have to get you back now" Yakko said with a smirk.

"I look forward to it." Mr. Plotz replied. Sarcasm bit into his voice. "Now get out!"

With a swift yank, the door closed. The click of a lock followed a second later. Dot and Wakko peeked through the keyhole to see Plotz strutting back to his desk, a written piece of paper taped to his back. When they read what it said, they glared at their older brother.

"A 'kick me' sign? Really Yakko?" Dot shook her head. Yakko shrugged.

"Hey the story's over, it's all I could think of."

xxxxxxxx

I hope you all enjoyed this. Sorry if it came off as a little too preachy. To be honest, my feelings were more mixed about the show being rebooted back when I wrote this. On one hand, I'm very excited to have one my favorite shows brought back. But on the other hand, I can't ignore that most reboots tend to fall in two categories: it become an unrecognizable mess that fails to attract old or new fans, or its pale attempt at trying to recreate the magic the original had. But if  reboots like the new Looney Tunes show on HBO Max managed to actually look good, then that makes me a bit more optimsistic.

Oh yeah, one more thing. The Q5 and Ghostbusters bit is actually true. It was classic example of network interference messing with a good show. If you want to find more about it, I'd recommend the documentary "The Heroes of Ghostbusters". Or if your lazy like me, just check out Phelous ripping on them in his YouTube video: The Real Ghostbusters: The Bad Episodes watch?v=OW51PDa_puE&t=1717s

[copperboompaparazzijewelry]

“Fairytale Meadow” purple and silver necklace set with matching earrings. Visit the Copper Boom Jewelry store or join me for Facebook Live.