#walking around like fucking quasimodo over here

[disengaged]

sexy armpit bruise gang rise up

[random-imagines-blog]

Get Hurt {Dean Winchester x Reader}

Requested by:  @fandomofyourchoice-89​ Wordcount: 3973 Summary: Arguing with Dean is never fun. Getting into an accident after you leave said argument is even worse. But such things can have a silver lining. Notes: Some swearing.

You might have offered a lot of things to Dean Winchester, but your freedom was not one of those things. A bit of flesh here, a bit of blood there was one thing, but letting him dictate who you am allowed to talk to - and when? That was asking too much of you. When you woke up to a good morning text from the bartender you were chatting with the night before, you had been feeling pretty on top of the world. It was nice to have a little bit of positive attention, even if it wasn’t exactly from the person you were hoping to have it from. Dean may know monsters, but he couldn’t pick up on your feelings, even from a foot away. He snatched the phone out of your hand to see who the text was from, joking that it was probably from your mom, but when he saw the unfamiliar number, he went from teasing to overprotective. That was not the Dean that you liked to see. He was treating you like you were his car, when someone else was trying to get in the driver’s seat.

“I don’t need to justify myself to you of all people!” You said, wrinkling your nose as you pulled on your sweater for the day. The weather outside wasn’t at the point of frightful, but it was still chilly for the early fall. It helped you to feel less exposed to Dean’s eyes as well, which was good with how sharp they were being today.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Dean shot back. You looked over at Sam, hoping for some sort of aid, but there was nothing there. The tall moose of a man just disappeared into the small bathroom, closing the door behind him. On one hand, that was a smart move. Your fights with Dean were known to be explosive, though they didn’t happen very often. It was usually just sarcastic comments. But no amount of sass was enough to express your anger today. You were not in the mood to deal with this shit. Not today, and not ever. On the other, it was annoying. You could really use the back up.

“It means that you don’t get to lecture me about a single text message, when you’re the one who always goes home with the bartenders, the single moms, who even knows anymore. Any woman gives you a pretty smile and you swoon off into the sunset, leaving Sam and I behind. And you’re giving me hell over a single text? Really?”

“I don’t sleep with every girl, and it shouldn’t matter! I work hard, I deserve to have a little fun.”

“The fact that you don’t think I work hard enough to exchange numbers with one guy is insulting, Winchester. Downright insulting. You threw your coat on over your sweater, given the weather - and you just wanted to have as much of your clothes on as possible. And there was good reason for that. “You know that vacation that I’ve been talking about taking? I’m leaving today. Right now, actually. Goodbye to your storm cloud, hello sunny California.”

“You don’t get to walk away like this,” Dean said, going to the door that lead to the outside world, and folded his arms. “We have a lot of work to do in this area, Bobby said-”

“Then you better get to it then, shouldn’t you? No time to waste. Not for Dean, the hard working man! And since I hardly do anything, according to you, I should leave. I wouldn’t want to be a hindrance to your greatness!”

In response to this, all that you got was silence. You threw your bag over your shoulder, and put your helmet under your arm, ready to leave. Your bike was calling you, and you were looking forward to the dust blowing under your tires back out on the open road. The problem was that Dean still wasn’t moving.

“Get out of my way, Winchester,” You said, reverting to last names. That tended to be how you reacted when angry at him.

“No,” He said, his biceps flexing beneath the flannel shirt that was keeping him warm. “You know that we need you-”

“And I need away from you!” You shouted, exasperated. “Either you are going to move from that door, or so help me, I’m going to call the police on your credit card scams.”

It was one of the few threats that you had under your belt. Sure, he and Sam would get booked and it would take a couple of hours for Bobby to talk them out of it, but that was a couple of hours horribly wasted.

“Fine, leave, just walk away,” Dean’s deep voice seemed to go even deeper as he moved away from the door.

“Fuck you,” You said, giving him the finger as you walked out of the motel room. It felt good to leave that negativity behind. That overbearing feeling that made you feel as if Dean only saw you as a little sister, rather than as the capable woman that you knew you were. Actually, it was like he didn’t see you as a woman at all, which was hurtful. You’ve loved him so long and-

And you were going to leave that behind, just for a little while. You would come back eventually. The Winchester charm always got to you, the same way that it did for every other woman that Dean talked to. It was the shy, stoic nature behind those green eyes. The way that he quietly seemed to look into your soul, and never had a complaint about what was found.

Think of the palm trees that you were going to see. Think of the beaches, the waves rolling on the sand. Think of being able to lay out and feel the sun on your skin. You could order fruity alcohol drinks from hot waiters wearing only their bathing suits. Maybe you’ll even spot a Kardashian, which you could rub into Dean’s face. You could roll over and say, “Ha, Dean, I spotted her first!”

Except for the fact that Dean wouldn’t be there. It was just as much a break from him as it was a break from the hunt.

You got onto your bike, put the helmet atop your head, and backed away from the black impala as quickly as you could. You refused to look back. That would just be giving Dean satisfaction that you were having second thoughts.

You turned out of the motel and ended up on a long stretch of road that lead west. That was exactly the way that you wanted to go. There weren’t many people about, considering this wasn’t one of the big highways though that would be coming soon.

You slowed down as you saw a shadow dart out across the road, coming from one of the patches of trees. It startled you enough that you lost your balance on the bike, and it started to wobble beneath you. You braced yourself for the crash as the bike finally decided which side it was going to fall on, and you skidded off of the concrete onto the brush by the side of the road. All you can remember is trying to make sure the bike didn’t land too hard on your leg, for it could easily break it.

-

When you came to, you were hearing arguing. The familiar sound of Dean’s voice. “Leave Sammy alone,” You groaned, before opening your eyes. Instead of the expected scene of a motel room, you were surprised to see that you were in a hospital bed. And instead of Dean arguing with his brother, it was a small woman in scrubs that was giving Dean hell.

You remembered everything in that instant, and reached up to touch your head, expecting the worst case scenario. You were anticipating blood or bruises or waking up with a huge bulging eye like Quasimodo in the Disney film. Your chin was a bit tender, since that part hadn’t been entirely covered by the helmet, but the rest of your face felt fine. Dean was watching over you with those stern eyes of his, and suddenly you wished that you were ugly. Then he wouldn’t give you shit for leaving because you already suffered the consequences.

“Don’t start,” You said, looking at him before turning your attention to the Doctor. Or nurse, you couldn’t quite tell. “I definitely feel the effects of the painkillers so I don’t really know what’s wrong.”

The doctor went into professional mode, coming to your side and checking the IV bag that was giving you fluids. “I’m Dr. Williams, you’re in the Kansas Medical Center, and you’re going to be just fine, first and foremost. You did break two of your ribs, but neither ended up piercing any organs. You did fracture your femur and patella, though with some physiotherapy once the cast is off, you should be back to normal, unless you were running marathons.”

“Not quite,” You said, breathing out in relief. Though that did make you well aware of the odd feeling in your chest. Those pesky broken ribs, no doubt.

The doctor left the room after giving you another sweep, and an idea of how long you may have to be in the hospital for. Another night of observation, then she wanted to have you come in for physiotherapy. You said you would, though no doubt you would be back on the road before then, and doing your own exercises. This wasn’t the first time that you’ve broken a bone, though it was the first time it happened outside of a hunt. You figured you knew enough to take care of it on your own.

“What, because I left you had to argue with the Doctor too? Your temper knows no bounds, Winchester,” You said to Dean once Sam stepped out to get some coffee. Dean looked far from amused at that. “Did our insurance scam not go through?”

“This isn’t a joke,” Dean said, closing the door to your private room. That alone told you that the insurance went through. There’s no way that they would put you in a room like this unless they were getting the big bucks. American Medical Care at it’s finest. “You were an inch away from puncturing a lung. If the farmer didn’t see you wipe out-”

“Yeah, well, I’m sure that being friends with angels had a hand in that,” You leaned back against the pillow rather than attempted to sit up. Dean came to stand at the end of the bed, and clenched his fists around the bars at the end of it. “Look, I don’t know how they got a hold of you, or what you think you’re doing, but I’m still taking off to California. Just ... bring my bike to Bobby’s and I’ll fix it when I get back. I’ll just fly, or bus as soon as I can sit up properly.”

“The hell you are,” He raised his voice at you. He hadn’t straight up yelled at you like that in quite some time, even while he was angry. It was startling. “We are all sticking around here, and you are going to listen to the Doctor’s orders.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” You muttered. No Winchester was good at following orders, not even from a well-meaning Doctor. And because of how much time you’ve spent around them, you might as well have been one.

“Excuse me?” He asked, quick to hear your words.

“You’re not well known for following anyone’s orders, Winchester. You just like giving them out, even when completely unwarranted. Like right now,” You glared at him. “Did you just come here to tell me more about what I should and shouldn’t do? To gloat? Just tell me what you want from me, so that we can move on, honestly. This is getting old.”

“I want you to be safe!” He said, his hands tightening around the rails, the knuckles turning white. “I don’t want you off with some random guy, and I don’t want you alone in California and I don’t want you to crash your stupid damn bike on a country road!”

“Why do you think that I can’t take care of myself? We’ve been hunting together for years now!”

The look in his eye after I said this made me sink a little into myself. They say the road to hell is paved with good intentions. And the hurt that he was feeling made me understand that he was leaving no bit of road unpaved.

“You ended up in the hospital because you ran away,” Dean said, leaning down low, hanging his head so that you could no longer see his expression. That didn’t mean that the pain was invisible, though. “And I’m the one that made you do that.”

“And if I died, you would blame yourself,” You sighed, catching his line of thinking. “But I’m okay. I’m always okay.” You would have gone to the other end of the bed and touched his hand if you could. You could feel the anger and the guilt radiating off of him, like black lines in an anime show. But the discomfort, and pain which was starting to come through despite the meds, was making you stay where you were. “Alright, I have an idea.”

He lifted his head slightly at that, his eyes wide and glistening like a Disney princess. The great Dean Winchester, crying?

“Buy me a burger, bring it back here and we’ll have a dinner and talk - actually talk, not yell at each other this time, okay?”

-

After you were released from the hospital, limping on a cast that was a huge hindrance, things began to change. You couldn’t tell if it was from guilt or because Dean actually wanted to take care of you. But you let him do whatever it was that he wanted to do, because it was the only way for him to cope with what had happened. You and Sam had talked about it late one night when Dean was out to get you your favorite burger, and both agreed that it was best to let this run it’s course, unless he got entirely overbearing again. It was bound to happen sooner or later though. He had already offered to carry you to Baby on more than one occasion rather than let you hobble.

“Dean,” You groaned for the second time that day, though you were definitely blushing more this time. It was a good thing that he couldn’t see through the bathroom door. He was just on the other side of it, so he could hear you, though. “I can bathe by myself. You’re just getting perverted now.”

“I just want to help,” He said, being able to hear that stupid damn smirk on his face. God, he was irresistible. Even you had to admit that it had  been nice to have him pamper you. But now he was wanting to help you wash in the bath while your cast had to be raised up on the edge of the tub. It had been a little difficult to get in and out of lately.

You wrapped the robe tighter around your body. “If I agree...” You said, coyly, biting on your lip, fingers against the lock. “Do you promise that you won’t look.”

“Depends,” He said, and you saw the door physically move, like he was leaning against it. “Are there going to be bubbles to help cover you up?”

You looked behind you at the bathtub that was about half full. You had a small pile of bathbombs that you bought online to at least try to make the experience a little better. It took a lot longer to get in and out of the bath, so you might as well make it as pretty as possible. “There might be a few bubbles, but the water will be colored,” You admitted. It would hide some parts of your body pretty well. But others would be sticking out.  

“I promise I’ll try my best,” was all that Dean had to offer.

“Okay just umm - just give me a second, alright?” You unlocked the door to the bathroom, then attempted to take a step backwards, but pushed a little too roughly on your casted foot. A sharp pain went through your leg and you cursed yourself for being so stupid.

“Are you alright?” Dean asked, his ears catching onto that.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a minute, alright?”  You called out. You took off the robe, and grabbed the towel instead. You wrapped it around your body in a way that it would be easy to take off once you were ready to sink down into the water. What you really needed help with was keeping your balance as you went down, since you had to keep one leg up. Even then, you had it wrapped in cellophane so it wasn’t as likely to get wet. You definitely regretted taking off the way that you did.

You put your good foot into the water, then crouched down, attempting to go on your own as far as you could, but you felt yourself wobbling. You had to put your casted leg on the ground outside of the tub again. You didn’t trust yourself not to fall. Holding the towel tightly against your chest, you finally said, “Okay, I need help. But don’t look, okay?”

The door slowly opened and Dean came inside, one hand covering his eyes and the other reaching out to try to grab a hold of something. He himself nearly tripped on the small carpet and you had to hold your hand out to steady him. You sighed, wondering if he was being this bad on purpose. “Alright, just hold my hand and help me get down, yeah?”

Dean could at least do this. As you got closer to the water, you slid your towel off with the hand that Dean wasn’t holding, and tossed it outside of the tub.

“What was that?” He questioned right away.

“My towel,” You admitted to him. “So keep your damn eyes closed.”

“Eyes closed. Scout’s honor.”

“As if you were a scout.”

You balanced your bad leg on top of the lip of the bathtub so it was jutting out. It was a bit awkward but once you were sitting in the tub, and leaned back, it was a lot better. You sighed contently, then realized that Dean was still holding onto your hand. You quickly snatched it out of his grip then closed the shower curtain on him so he couldn’t see anything anyway. “I’m all sorted, thanks.”

“No problem,” He said from the other side of the curtain. You waited for him to leave but you didn’t hear any footsteps, nor the bathroom door open and close. But what you did see was one side of the curtain moving slightly, as if it were being pulled ever so slowly.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

“Can’t blame a man for trying,” He chuckled, the curtain falling back into position. “I never ... really apologized for making you run away. And causing all of this.”

“You could never make me do anything. And you didn’t cause this. The stupid farmer who didn’t mind his chickens did,” You wrinkled your nose, thinking about how tempted you were to sue that guy. “Though I will accept your apology about being a jerk. And a bitch.”

“Hey,” He said. You heard the toilet cover flip down, and Dean had the audacity to sit on it. The nerve! Although ... it was actually really sweet that he was in here, making sure that you didn’t have to bathe alone. “I might have been being stubborn, but I had a point. That bartender was a jerk. He was giving his number to everyone with a pulse.”

“So what if he was? It’s not your job to tell me who I can and can’t see. And if I do end up getting hurt, then it’s on him, and it shouldn’t be me that you get mad at.”a

“I wasn’t mad at you,” He said, and you could hear him tensing. The water was moving in small ripples around your body, and it was the only thing causing sound. “I was mad at myself for not telling you sooner.”

“Telling me what?”

“That I care about you.”

This was getting to be a  bit too much for you handle. You put your hands on either side of the tub, took in a deep breath, then lowered yourself into the purple-colored water. It smelled strongly of lavender with jasmine, and the scent had filled your nose just as you slipped under the water. You didn’t open your eyes, you just went under to cool the feeling of your cheeks burning. Even the warm water was cooler than that. When  you rose yourself up, you saw to your dismay that Dean was peeking around the side of the curtain. But at least his eyes were on yours, rather than on any part of your body. And that everything you didn’t want him to see was covered by the colored water and the bubbles that came with it.

“What are you doing?” You said, moving your hands to cover yourself up further.

“You didn’t reply.”

“Did I have to? I would think that my actions over the last few months in particular spoke enough for me.”

Dean stepped back, the curtain moving into it’s usual position, but you still didn’t relax. “It’s really hard to have this conversation when you’re naked.”

“Shouldn’t have started it then,” You grumbled, but you couldn’t even find yourself getting mad. Dean cared about you. That was something that he didn’t say to many people. If he did express that - holy shit, were you ever in. Neither of you spoke for the next ten minutes. Instead, you just focused on yourself, washing your body and your hair. As far as you could tell, Dean didn’t peek again, but remained on his seat on the porcelain throne. “I’m going to need some help up, if that’s alright,” You said, once you’ve finished.

“Yeah,” He said. “Eyes are covered.”

You pulled the plug on the bath, and watched as Dean’s strong arm came through the curtain, holding his hand down low to grasp yours. You took it, and slowly, with the help of his sturdiness, got back onto your good foot, the other still being supported by the side of the bathtub. “Do you think you could...” You were about to ask him for your towel but he took  his hand away from you before you could finish your sentence. Instead of getting handed a towel, the curtain opened and revealed Dean holding open your robe. He no longer had his hand over his eyes like a child, but he was facing the opposite way, eyes closed. You smiled, thinking about how sweet he was being.

And hoping it would last after you healed up properly.

[spnsmile]

Final Monday: Profound Bond

for #SPNstayAtHome Challenge by @helianthus21 @bend-me-shape-me @pray4jensen ❤ with beautiful art from @verobatto-angelxhunter  here!  ❤

When almost everyone—demons included— all but told Dean that his angel is the hottest, most devastatingly handsome angel in the face of the seven seas, he not only believed them, but he’s secretly and most exclusively Cas’ number one fan.

Cas is really the looker and even without all the buzzing acclaims from hell and earth, Dean’s already smitten from the start. Cas’ vessel is naturally attractive and really stands out with that crazy dominant eyebrow, lightning in a bottle blue eyes, cutting jaws and regal high-cheek bones— but more than the vessel, it’s the insane hot angel beneath trench coat that makes his insides swoon.

Dean can’t explain it—every time Castiel just goes all out wrecking doors, walls, even smashing on cars and smite a whole pack of demons and monsters alike in a blink of an eye— now that—that is really hot!

So he doesn’t blame them from noticing his strapping companion, he actually isn’t that surprised when someone approaches them one day to scout Cas to be a model while they are in a middle of a Djinn case.

“Dean is my model,” replies the angel with that dorky side tilt, getting Dean’s stomach to flutter.

“No, Cas he meant uh, you know… they wanna take pictures of you, you posting like Mr. Calendar,”

“Why?” Cas says sharply.

Dean tries his best to explain but at the end of the day, and because they still need to monitor the case on a closer level, they agreed with talent scout to have a screen testing the next day. Dean was also asked but he politely declined. The worse thing he can land himself in as a hunter is to be under the public scrutiny who will follow his every movement.

Cas on the other hand has a lesser risk because Cas doesn’t care. The angel is an enigma and can get himself out of situations with one flap of his wings.

So here they are, just another day with another case inside a studio with Dean trying to focus his attention to any supernatural occurrence around, but really the only supernatural thing happening at the moment will be Castiel half-naked in a setup of white clouds and overcast skies for of a Bruce Almighty segment.

And Cas’ theme?

Angels.

Dean still can’t stop laughing at the irony and kept the hilarity of knowing how no one is capable of cracking any expression from the angel’s stony face.

It was all fun at first when Castiel was dragged away and Dean was hollering when he spoke to Sam over the phone about the developments of the Djinn case preying on dreamers in the modelling agency that has killed two victims so far. He waited for Cas to come out imagining the long white toga the angel would be wearing like one of those pictures of angels with harps. Cas hates those representations and Dean can’t wait to bawl his eyes out laughing.

Meanwhile, Dean smiles and winks at beautiful models passing by and to his credit, they all give him a disgusted look. Oh well. No one likes the police these days.

He was busy ogling at himself in one of those giant reflectors when Castiel’s team came out. Dean was ready to make fun of him imagining Cas finally in proper angel dress— only to get a slap in the face when he sees Castiel stripped off his trench coat and toga—but was wearing a blue tight jean showing a well-shaped round ass and loose white button-down shirt where the barest of holy skin is peeking.

[sexy Cas art here]

Dean gasps, electric shock hitting him straight to Manhattan because holy fuck this isn’t what he was expecting—what the hell happened to the angel theme?

It didn’t help that almost everyone has the same reaction and if the photographer wasn’t there barking his directions, Dean’s sure Castiel will be smothered to death.

“That magazine is going to be sold out.” Says one of the crew guys standing behind the lighting next to Dean, “I’ve never seen anyone so… cute and hot and…” a struggle for the right words then— “divine. How does he do that?”

“Exists?” Dean drawls with arms tightly crossed on his chest. The crew guy beside him snorts.

“He can easily get followers and we need models with huge fan base online, you know, free advertising.”

Dean half-rolled his eyes at the crew member mesmerized by the amateur model. Half an hour later, green eyes following Castiel’s every movement in the middle of a battlefield of flashing cameras and light reflectors, of smothering group of stylists with powders ready at hand and demanding photographers asking for a ridiculous mood board— and what’s with all those hands touching Castiel?

Dean can’t help feeling sour every time the assistant manager runs to Cas’ side just to dust his shoulder, open his collar more or when he simply tilts Castiel’s jaw the right way—Dean is livid—who touches his angel so casually with grubby hands!?

And he’s beyond control when he sees the man opening Castiel’s button-down wider like—just strip them out stop teasing! Dean finds himself shrinking to the wall while murmuring curses and snapping on the phone every time Sam calls. They have work to do and Sam’s been constantly asking for updates while he works the field over the victim’s family for any lead to follow and Dean only has eyes for his angel being instructed by the photographer. Cas was bewildered at first with all the goading and salacious comments, Dean cringing for his friend. Castiel looked miffed at some point, but Dean can’t go to his side yet. If he does, he might grab him and leave the premises and that’s not being professional.

They need to find the Djinn among these people soon.

Standing in the sideline watching his friend try different angle that surprisingly fits him— except the photographer is losing his patience with the dorky angel who doesn’t understand structure and context—

“This is like a dance, move those sexy hips, give me suave look, pout lips— that’s grumpy, baby—give me seduction—yes those blues, seduce me— seduce me, don’t murder me! That’s it, you got this sweetheart, make me melt with that look! Melt me—melt—where are you going—?”

“You said melt you—I” he raises a hand—

Dean nearly jumps from the wall to stop Cas smiting any hollering directors but then—

“Go back in position, sweetheart, don’t make me lose all my hair where you can’t see them—okay, look devious—devious—don’t frown— imagine a blade in your hand. Now that’s fantastic, a tilt of the head? Adorable, now quit that, we’re aiming for sex appeal! Now make me want to have you—pout those sexy lips—pout, pucker them—forward—no, don’t slump forward you’re not Quasimodo’

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“Give me passion—give me something you want so badly!”

Castiel glances at Dean.

“He’s not bad,” Dean grunts to himself as he meets the blue eyes. Castiel pulls back and stares up the sky. Dean doesn’t know what he sees there but the sigh that came out is drawn long.

When the photographer exhaustingly shouted five minutes break, Dean watches Cas get crowded by the stylists to one corner, hearing them praise the angel about not sweating and giving him googly eyes.

Dean leaves the room and heads straight to the vending machine stations. He was just about to push for a coke when two members of the crew stop beside him to use the next vending machine supplying chocolate bars. Dean would have ignored them except one of them says Cas’ fake agent name.

“Wright? Got everything wrong. Yeah, he got the face but he’s so stupid. Giovanni’s giving all the best instructions and the model just stands there like a wall. Doesn’t even bat an eyelid, he’s like a hammer, at least a hammer is lethal, that Wright guy doesn’t know any instructions.”

“You know what they say about pretty faces, they lack a brain.” says his companion. They snicker and press for chocolate bars.

Dean remains silent as two cokes slide down the port with clanking sounds. He bends to take them quietly.

“The bar is stuck,” says one of the crew members.

“Don’t add to my shit day, it’s a long day already with that useless model—” A loud crashing sound breaks in the corridor as Dean slams his fist on the metal side of the machine. The chocolate bars fall on the slot with the crew’s mouth hanging open.

“Your bars.” He says, walking away but not without leaving a huge dent on the corner of the machine. He hears the whispers after him, the comments about the public property but Dean doesn’t care. He could easily smash their faces but he’s not that violent.

He gotta get Cas out of there.

Speaking of the angel, Cas is immediately in his space the moment Dean returns in the studio.

“Dean,” he says in his usual gravely voice, “where did you go? Are you okay?”

“Hey, how’s the pretty model?” Dean dismisses him as he let his eyes roam the model’s gorgeous new look as he hands Cas his coke. “You don’t look bad, Cas, you’re killing it there.” Actually, killing them, he adds thoughtfully.

Castiel raises a hand to reach the refreshment, but he ends up pulling Dean’s other hand.

“Thank you, now why is your hand hurt?” blue eyes stare at him dead in the eyes. That kind that really goes straight to your soul.

Dean swallows hard. He can never understand why Castiel cares so much. He’s spent years without anyone watching his back and now he’s got his own angel. Dean really doesn’t know who to thank for that.

“Nothing,” Dean tries to pull his hand to no avail, “The vending machine was broken, had to get my money’s worth,”

“I don’t think that is a good displace of a public officer,” Castiel raises it closer to his lips and kisses the pain away.

“An angel would know, huh?” Dean sighs upon feeling Castiel’s grace smoothen the slight tingling pain and pulls his hand back once Castiel lets him. Castiel’s eyes are still intent on him.

“What’s the development with the Djinn?”

“Uh… yeah, Sam’s on it and since you’re playing the sexy bait—”

“I don’t think any Djinn would find me appealing,” Castiel confesses and it’s too adorable not to take the chance to tease so Dean grins.

“Oh, come on, who knows? You might marry one someday?”

“Angels don’t marry.”

“Sure, they don’t, they also don’t do modelling,”

 “Well, I’m not attracting them right now as I am anyone in this place, I’m failing you, Dean, I’m sorry.”

“Are you kidding? You’re like hot captain garrison out there—very good mood play with the face, it’s so uh—angelically unreadable, and nice button toss,” Dean reaches a hand to Castiel’s collar and in swift movements, because his hands have been itching, he buttons it all the way up Castiel’s throat. “Let’s just not show too much when your off-duty.”

“Off-duty?”

“Off—like uh turn off the sense responsibility?”

“I see,” Castiel narrows his eyes. “The basic human response when feeling lethargic. Indifference to things that do not directly harm them. I am not that. I am feeling quite fit, in fact, even when my thighs can’t freely move from this…  suffocating jeans,”

They both look down the angel’s thighs and Dean licks his lips. When opportunity just presents itself, who is he to deny himself the pleasure? But then—

“It’s impossible to get in that dress alone—Cas did they—?”

“I ripped two pairs,” Castiel says quietly. Dean stops, eyes wide.

“W-what?”

“I tried putting them on my own, they won’t fit. I tore them to shreds whenever I pull it up, so they had to help me,”

Dean makes a face, “Yep, dorky Hercules,”

“I don’t understand that reference.”

“Sam ripped his jeans once too,” Dean smiles from ear to ear, “We were digging and he’s so tall and his jeans are frigging tight and he bents down and—" he makes a tearing sound which makes Castiel slowly smile.

“That I understand.”

Dean laughs.

“You do. Look, Cas, I know the photographer’s being a hard dick on you…but it’s not your fault you can’t understand the references because we’re the ones not adjusting to you… now look here, buddy… you can’t trick a fish to climb a tree so it’s okay to just be you…um… you get what I mean?”

Castiel is still smiling softly. “I understand you are trying to comfort me,”

Dean shrugs. “Is it working?”

Castiel tips his head, “Have you been a model, Dean?”

“I’ve been everywhere,” Dean tells him mysteriously and gives his friend a pat on the shoulders, “So later you’ll go get em, little tiger,”

Castiel nods

“Excuse me, Mr Wright?” they both turn to a young lady in a black crew shirt with a clipboard is standing behind the angel. “We need to set up your wings for the next op,”

“Set up my wings?” Castiel quickly turns at Dean and if that doesn’t get the hunter to act quickly, nothing will. He immediately holds Castiel’s shoulder and tightened his grip so his friend doesn’t interrupt.

“Where is it? I’m going to help him,”

“There’s really no need, we have plenty of staff—"

“I insist,” Dean gives her his most brilliant flashing smile and she quickly points the direction of the props room. Dean drags Castiel there.

Dean picks up a fake white wing with wires and holsters and shows it to Cas who easily frowns who presses it back to Dean’s hands.

“I have wings,”

“Yeah, not like you can let people see the shadow flip-flap thing, okay?”

“Flip flap thing?” Castiel repeats uncertainly, eyebrows raising. Dean shrugs.

“You know, making your ginormous shadow show in the flashing lights—you can’t do that. They want a model and yeah, they need to do marketing, but not that kind. No flip-flap of wings,” Dean throws the wings back at the table.

“I will use my wings I just have to contain my power so it doesn’t break into its real form.”

“You can do that?”

“I can do anything.” Castiel’s eyes suddenly glow without warning and Dean steps back as Castiel raises his magnificent wings with the cracking sparks of fluorescent lamp and there is Castiel, the angel of the lord, in all his glory and dorkiness included max out—Dean’s eyes reflect and behold its beauty. Until the power steadily holds and shrinks down to a fitting one enough at least to make him fit a door.

The power in the air subsides and Dean realizes how he is holding his breath. The beauty of his friend did not strike him in its real essence until now—where Castiel is actually bare in front of him with his black wings’ appearance. He exhales and stands next to the angel where he can see his wings.

It strikes Dean yet again how Castiel is an angel. But every time he looks at his friend, in this form, in this vessel, he's just ultimately... Cas. 

"That's fucking hot, Cas,"

Castiel smiles all gummily. "Thank you, Dean."

“Can mortal eyes see this now?”

“Yes,"

Dean whistles. Then there's that question that's been itching to be said, a question Dean knows won't leave him in peace if he doesn't ask now. Because it's now or never.

“Uh...Cas...can I touch it?”

Castiel's glance is an automatic sharp look that Dean can describe as a shock, but then the angel nods slightly without looking at him. He doesn’t reach. Something about Castiel’s reaction is bugging him.

“Are you sure I can?”

“Yes, please."

Dean takes him to his word and runs his fingers on the wings, his fingers sinking on the soft feathers like it’s made of cloud. Castiel trembles under his touch with a slight moan escaping his lips. Dean stares and sees the tip of Castiel’s ears are red.

"It's beautiful..." Dean licks his lips, "Cas... you... you're truly magnificent, have I told you that?"

"Not in so many words," Castiel doesn't look at him.

Dean just knows he is also having a mental breakdown.

“C-Cas?”

“It’s fine,” the angel whispers, head bent. “Just a little… it’s never been touched by human hands.”

Dean wavers on the spot and takes steps back in shock.

“Y-you mean—I’m the first one—I’m your first?!”

Castiel glances over his shoulder, his eyes leveled. He nods. "What's mine is yours, Dean. I'm yours."

Dean Winchester's head is a puddle melted and stirred by none other than the hottest angel in the garrison. He wants to tell Castiel never to say something like that- not when they are in a room alone because Dean is only a man- instead, he pulls Cas into a deep kiss. It's unexpected and truly catching them both in surprise, but when Castiel doesn't pull, Dean sighs and holds Castiel's shoulders steady. He doesn't know if he can tell Castiel that, but Cas is one of the best kissers he knows attributed to the pizzaman. 

To Dean's delight, Castiel kisses him back. It's swift and lingering when Cas bites his bottom lip and runs their tongue together in a dance. He never thought he'd be kissing Cas like this. Then there's the noise Cas makes, especially when Dean runs his palms on the smooth surface of his chest. Dean pulls only to breathe because angels don't do that, the moment he does, Castiel is there capturing his mouth in another heated kiss and Dean drowns in him.

Castiel is absurdly hot. All the bumps and contours his palm lands into, Dean can't help getting electrified. He knows he is getting hard and there's only one thing left to do- he slips his right knee between Castiel's legs and grinds his steadily hardening groin on Castiel's thighs. The sensation is instantaneous and Castiel doesn't let up. The angel kisses him between the soft moan and sighs that all can Dean do is cling tight on the angel's hipbones. He wants to do many things to Cas aside from pressing hard on him with hands roaming all sacred places that make Cas catch his breath too. He wants to tell Cas to take them away but the thought of his brother facing a Djinn stops all his thoughts.

But he promises himself he will take this. He and Cas, later, tonight, they will have this.

Dean pulls back knowing anyone can come to get the model and when he did, Castiel flaps his wings demandingly, frowning at Dean's withdrawal. Dean doesn't know what to say to that so instead, he soothes the angel by running his hands on the smooth surface of the wings. He sees Castiel's eyes droop, sees the contortion of eyebrows leaving the heavenly forehead, knows that Cas is relaxing under his care. There's a long sigh when Dean is done and he stares at his shaking hands next.

“Dean, can you stay beside me,” Castiel says looking slightly put out and Dean quickly steps right into his space and stares Castiel in the eyes. Castiel doesn't even question the kiss. Dean thinks they still need to talk about it later. For now...

“What’s up?”

“I don’t want anyone else touching it,” Castiel says deadly serious. Dean is about to point to himself but the angel holds his gaze and adds, “Except you.”

Dean wants to hide his face somewhere.

“Dean, are you okay? Your face is red—Dean?” Dean turns away from the angel, body reaching boiling point if he thinks more about what else Castiel is allowing him to do when his phone rings. Still a little shaken, he answers softly only to be greeted by his impatient brother—

“Dammit, Dean! I’ve been trying to reach you for a full ten minutes! I got the Djinn in the warehouse—you may want to help me out! And stop making a pass at Cas! Now is not that time!”

So the kiss was only ten minutes?

“I’m not making a pass, give me the location, bitch,” Dean listens carefully and once he’s done, he turns to the angel apologetically. Castiel’s expression turns serious.

“I understand, we are here for a case, after all, I am sorry my job is in your way.”

Dean stares at him in awe.

“Cas, you’re not a real model, we’re ditching this job!”

There’s a beat.

“Oh.”

They were just about to leave the building when Castiel remembers to get his trench coat. Making a side trip back to the changing areas, Dean meets Sam halfway who informs him the Djinn has been taken care of no thanks to Dean daydreaming about his model boyfriend.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“Anyway, where’s Cas?”

There’s a scream from the changing room.

The Winchesters exchanged glances and together they run inside to find Castiel standing in the middle of the room wings spread out and on his hands is the talent scout they’ve spoken to yesterday. Dean’s mind reels—is this another Djinn?

No, that’s human!

“Hey, Cas—no, no we don’t smite talent scouts!” Dean hurries beside the angel, firm grasp on his arm as he tugs it back, causing the talent scout to fall on the floor coughing. Sam is beside him at once while Dean deals with the hot-headed-angel. “Cas, what the hell!”

“He says he wants you,” Castiel growls back, pure anger hatred in his eyes.

“What?”

“He says he wants to take you and you have given me permission to defend myself

Dean throws the talent scout a dirty look. “What exactly did you say to him?

“I said I wanted to recruit you, okay?”

“Not your exact words,” Dean narrows his eyes. The talent scout grimaces.

“I said I want you, that’s it, is it hard to understand? I want him too,” the talent points at Sam while massaging his throat, “You brothers would make the best boxer models,”

Dean blinks at Sam who stares back in disgust.

“No, thanks,” his brother says, “not my dream come true.”

“Might be mine,” Dean turns to the agent, “Okay, dude, here’s the thing—we’re done being models and frankly, it’s not even the safest job. Now leave Cas alone too, he’s cut for it, but not for us...”

“What made you choose him anyway?” Sam wants to know. Dean throws his brother an incredulous look.

“The man was smiling like a real angel when I saw him, of course, I’d recruit him.”

And Dean looks back to when it was before the scout approached them, he and Castiel standing side by side and talking about the most mundane things Dean has done that day. It’s weird because not once has Castiel said about not understanding reference when the topic is about Dean.

Castiel gets him. Dean is his reference. It makes sense.

Sliding an arm around Castiel’s shoulder, he pulls him closer and smiles.

“Come on, Cas, time to go home.”

Castiel slowly looks at him, really looks deep inside his soul, and the angel smiles—and Dean’s glad he can crack that from such a handsome face.

“Yes, Dean.”❤

-end- ao3- ❤

Thank you for giving us this escape during quarantine! We enjoyed it! :)

[wildflowerirwin]

Runnin’ Just in Case - a.i. (2)

Chapter 1  Fic Playlist

Summary: It wasn’t love he was chasing, but he’s running just in case.

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: this chappie gets filthy: daddy kink, unprotected sex, dirty talk (everything I wish I was doing with Ashton)

Words: a whopping 3.5k

The next morning, Ashton woke up to something tickling his feet. He pulled the blankets back and looked down at his feet to see a fat tabby cat licking his toe. “Little too kinky for me, mate.” Ashton said to the cat before getting up. The cat meowed back at him and jumped off the bed. “You’re a friendly fucker, aren’t you?” Ashton mumbled as he pulled his jeans on. He tugged his shirt on and slipped his boots on before walking out of his room, the cat following behind him.

“Morning, Ashton.” Evelyn smiled at Ashton as he came into the dining room.

“Good morning. This cat has been following me all morning.” Ashton said, taking a seat at the table.

“That’s Willie Nelson, he was Bethany’s first purchase with a credit card.” Evelyn patted her lap gently, the cat jumping up quickly.

“Willie Nelson, eh?” Ashton chuckled.

“Hey, dipshit, stop trying to eat my quesadillas!” Bethany yelled from the kitchen. Ashton craned his neck and peeked into the kitchen, watching as Michael reached for Bethany’s food.

“I just want a small bite.” Michael whined, wrapping his arms around Bethany’s waist. She squealed softly as Michael spun her around and pinned her between the cabinets and himself. He smirked down at her as he took a bite of her quesadilla.

“You’re a dick.” Bethany giggled and poked his stomach to push him away. Michael chuckled and grabbed the pan, bringing it out to the dining room.

“Morning, new guy.” Michael smiled and sat at the table. “Have a quesadilla.”

“Uh, thanks.” Ashton said, grabbing a quesadilla slice. “So, have you and Bethany been dating long?”

“Excuse me?” Bethany asked, looking at Ashton. “You think I would date this literal child?”

“I’m older than you, Bethany.” Michael rolled his eyes.

“By a month.” Bethany huffed, sitting at the table. “Willie, come here.” Bethany snapped her fingers and Willie Nelson hopped up on the table. Bethany pulled a piece of chicken out of her quesadilla and set it on the table for him.

“Bethany and I are for sure not dating. She’s like a sister to me, I could never date her.” Michael said.

“You wish I would date you. I’m so great.” Bethany giggled.

“Yeah, you’re something.” Michael rolled his eyes.

“Anyways.” Evelyn cleared her throat. “Why don’t y’all take Ashton out on the 4-Wheelers and show him around the ranch? He’ll need to get familiar with the land.”

“That sounds great. I think Calum is almost done milking the cows, he can join us.” Bethany smiled.

“He’s out there by himself?” Ashton asked.

“He’s sort of a cow whisperer. They misbehave if he’s with other people.” Evelyn explained.

“I’ve been kicked in the ribs countless times.” Michael said, standing up. “Let’s go.” Ashton got up and followed Michael out of the house, Bethany trailing behind them and Willie Nelson trailing behind her. The three of them walked down to the large red barn where Calum was letting the cows back out into the fenced in enclosure.

“Morning, Cal.” Michael said, walking into the milk house.

“Morning.” Calum mused, closing the gate behind the cows.

“We’re gonna take Ashton around the ranch on the 4-Wheelers.” Bethany smiled.

“That sounds like fun.” Calum smiled. “Where are we startin’?”

“The machine shed so we can get the 4-Wheelers, obviously.” Michael laughed and started walking to the large garage. Bethany grabbed a set of keys and handed it to Ashton.

“These go with the red one over there.” She said, pulling the keys back before Ashton could grab them. “That 4-Wheeler belonged to my dad. If you do anything reckless with it, or cause damage in any way, you will be terminated immediately. And, I don’t mean fired.” She stared at him, her blue eyes turning icy.

“O-Okay, I’ll go easy.” Ashton swallowed hard and carefully took the keys. Bethany turned around and walked toward a bright orange 4-Wheeler. Ashton chewed on his lip and walked to the red one, climbing on.

“She actually will kill you, if you do anything to that ATV.” Calum whispered.

“Is it weird that I’m a little turned on by that?” Ashton whispered back and Calum laughed.

“Yes.” He continued laughing as he started his own 4-Wheeler. Ashton chuckled and started the 4-Wheeler, making eye contact with Bethany. She stared at him as she rode out of the garage and onto the gravel path. The four of them rode side by side through the path before stopping at the pigpen.

“Justin Bieber is looking fatter today.” Mike commented, looking at the large pig.

“You named a pig after Justin Bieber?” Ashton asked, looking at the three of them, to which they all nodded.

“Have you ever read a single article about him? He’s a pig.” Bethany said, hopping over the electric wire, Calum quick on her heels. She walked toward the shelter and refilled the trough with milk and spoiled food from the shed.

“It takes two people to do that?” Ashton asked, turning to Michael.

“No, but Bethany’s nervous to be in the pigpen alone. You know, pigs will eat anything. Humans included.” Michael said, watching Calum and Bethany walk back. “Basically, she’s scared of being eaten alive by the pigs.”

“As everyone should be. You remember the guy from Farlington who got a chunk of his leg bit off by his pigs.” Bethany said, getting back on her 4-Wheeler.

“Anyways,” Calum started. “Justin Bieber is our lead sperm producer. All the pigs in there are his offspring, minus the big mama laying in that patch of mud.”

“That pig there looks deformed.” Ashton said, pointing to a small pig in the shelter.

“That’s Quasimodo. He’s got scoliosis, so he’s got a hump.” Mike said. “We’re gonna eat him soon.”

“Y’all are gonna eat him. I’m gonna give him a funeral, like he deserves.” Bethany said, riding off in front of everyone, the rest following. They stopped in a pasture where horses were grazing.

“This is one of two horse pastures.” Calum said. “The other is on the other end of the property.”

“Mine and Luke’s horses are out here. They don’t get along with the other horses, so they’re exiled out here.” Bethany said.

“Where is Luke today?” Ashton asked.

“He’s got his own farm to worry about. He usually comes in the afternoon.” Mike explained, turning off his 4-Wheeler. Ashton nodded and did the same, getting off his own.

“This is my horse, Faith Hill. And, Luke’s horse, Tim McGraw.” Bethany smiled and rubbed the nose of her horse.

“Are these horses mates?” Ashton asked.

“No, they despise each other.” Calum chuckled. “They just don’t fight each other like they do with the other horses.”

“A horse is only as temperamental as their rider.” Mike said, smirking at Bethany.

“No wonder your horse is a dick.” Bethany said, crossing her arms.

“Let’s keep moving. Tim McGraw looks like he wants to kick someone in the stomach.” Calum said, getting on his 4-Wheeler. The four of them rode off, stopping at the cows, goats, sheep, and alpacas before reaching the other horse pasture. Ashton got off his 4-Wheeler and looked out at the creek running through the pasture and then out at the horizon.

“I bet you never get used to this view.” Ashton mused, awestruck by the country.

“I wouldn’t give up this view for anything.” Bethany smiled, hopping off her 4-Wheeler, Calum and Michael doing the same.

“There’s no place better.” Calum grinned, walking over to a black stallion. “Wouldn’t you agree, Garth Brooks?”

“Are all of the horses named after celebrities?” Ashton asked, turning to look at the horses.

“The horses, yes.” Michael nodded. “Calum’s is Garth Brooks, mine is Dolly Parton.” He chuckled and walked over to the golden horse.

“That auburn one is my mom’s horse, Jo Dee Messina. The sad gray one was my dad’s horse, Toby Keith.” Bethany pointed as she named.

“What about that one with the braided mane?” Ashton asked, pointing to the horse drinking from the creek.

“That one doesn’t have a name yet. Dave was the only one he’d get close to, so we haven’t been able to do much with him.” Calum sighed. Ashton nodded and slowly walked toward the horse.

“You look like a Billy Currington to me.” Ashton smiled, holding his hand out to the horse. He stared at Ashton’s hand for a solid minute before getting close enough to sniff him. Everyone watched in stunned silence as the horse nuzzled its nose against Ashton’s palm. “Billy Currington, for sure.” Ashton smiled, scratching the horse’s neck gently.

“What the actual fuck.” Bethany said, her jaw dropping.

“I have a way with horses.” Ashton chuckled and picked an apple from the ground, feeding it to Billy Currington.

“Not gonna say that turns me on, but I’m feeling some type of way right now.” Bethany said, getting back on her 4-Wheeler.

“God, Bethany, shut up.” Michael laughed, getting on his.

“You guys go on.” Ashton laughed softly. “Billy and I are gonna hang out for a bit.”

“You gonna be able to find your way to the house?” Calum asked.

“I can see the house from here, I’ve got it.” Ashton smiled. “Thanks, though.” Calum nodded and climbed onto his 4-Wheeler, riding away with Michael and Bethany.

By the time Ashton got back to the house, Luke had shown up at the house. “I hear you got the stubborn one to eat out of your hand.” Luke smiled at him.

“More than that.” Ashton smiled. “We rode down the road a ways to the lake.” Ashton said and Evelyn choked a little on her water.

“You went to the lake?” She looked at him.

“Ashton, you can never go back to the lake.” Mike looked at him, shaking his head. “That’s Atkins’ land.”

“Who?” Ashton asked, furrowing his eyebrows.

“We’ve been rivals for over 150 years. If they find out one of ours was on their land, they’d literally sue us. You have to avoid them and their property at all costs.” Bethany explained.

“Oh.. Okay.” Ashton nodded. Evelyn sighed softly and stood up from her barstool.

“I need to make a pie for tonight.” She walked away from the group to the kitchen.

“There’s a barn dance tonight in town.” Calum looked at Ashton. “Did your old town have barn dances?”

“No, but the town over did. I’ve only been to a handful.”

“Well, you’ll go to a lot more out here.” Luke said, nodding slowly. “We usually ride our horses in because cops don’t care if you’re on a horse while drunk.”

“We typically get absolutely trashed at barn dances.” Calum chuckled.

“Barn dances here have a DJ, so the music is a little higher quality. The older generations are bitter that we don’t have an actual band anymore, but I prefer the DJ.” Bethany smiled, nudging Michael.

“Does that mean you’re the DJ?” Ashton chuckled, looking at Michael.

“That’s right, I am. I take requests for only a dollar fifty.”

“He takes mine for free.” Bethany giggled softly and leaned into him.

“Are y’all sure you’re not dating?” Ashton raised an eyebrow at the two of them.

“Hundred percent.” Bethany nodded, kissing Michael’s cheek before walking down the hall to her room.

After dinner was eaten and dishes were done, everyone walked down to the horse pastures. Luke and Bethany going the opposite way. “So, what do you think of Ashton?” Luke asked her as they walked.

“I know what you’re on about, and you need to stop.” Bethany warned, crossing her arms.

“I see the way you look at him, buddy. You like him.” Luke smirked, bumping his elbow into hers.

“I do not like him.” Bethany denied, staring straight ahead.

“Bethany, it’s okay to like him. He’s a pretty cool guy.” Luke shrugged. “You know, he plays guitar and drums?”

“Why are you telling me that?” She asked, finally looking at him.

“Because, I know you have a thing for musicians.” Luke smirked.

“You’re literally so annoying.” Bethany groaned, grabbing the saddle for her horse.

“I think you should fuck him.” Luke shrugged, grabbing his own.

“Lucas!” Bethany gasped, throwing a brush at him. “What is wrong with you?”

“What?” Luke laughed and rubbed his arm where the brush hit. “It’s been a while since you’ve been thoroughly fucked, and it shows.”

“Oh, my God. Stop talking before I actually murder you.” Bethany shook her head and tightened the saddle on Faith Hill.

“Just keep it in mind.” Luke smiled and did the same for Tim McGraw. The two of them rode out to the others on the gravel road.

“Bethany, you look ready to commit a crime.” Calum chuckled, riding up next to her.

“Luke told me that I haven’t been thoroughly fucked lately and suggested I fuck Ashton, so I am ready to commit a crime. The crime is murder.” Bethany said, huffing quietly.

“Well, he’s right about you not being thoroughly fucked. However, I think it’s a little soon to be fucking the new farmhand.” Calum nodded.

“God, why do you guys think I haven’t been fucked?” Bethany rolled her eyes.

“Because, you’re so agitated all the time. If you’ve been fucked, you’d be nicer to us.” Calum shrugged.

“You’ve just added yourself to my kill list.” Bethany scoffed, riding faster. The group eventually made it into town and to the barn on the outskirts. They tied their horses to the post and walked inside, Michael immediately going to the stage. Bethany walked to the bar and poured herself a drink.

“What are you drinking?” Ashton asked, standing next to her.

“Bourbon. Want a glass?” She looked up at him, her world melting as her eyes met his.

“I’d love one.” Ashton grinned, his dimples on prominent display to her. Bethany sucked in a breath as she poured another cup full, handing it to Ashton. He took it and looked down at her once more. “A toast.. To you, and your mother, for letting me into your ranch family.”

“Hear, hear.” Bethany smiled, tapping the edge of her cup against his. They both drank, downing their drinks. “So, you’re a drinker?” She smirked up at him.

“I can handle my liquor, if that’s what you’re asking.” Ashton chuckled. Bethany smiled at him before being pulled into the crowd by Calum.

“Mike’s playing our song.” Calum grinned as Come a Little Closer by Dierks Bentley began playing throughout the barn. Bethany giggled softly and held Calum’s hand in hers, placing the other on his shoulder. The two of them danced across the dancefloor, Bethany giggling as Calum stumbled every now and then. Ashton watched them carefully, another drink finding it’s way into his hand.

“Can I cut in?” Ashton approached them as the song came to an end.

“Of course.” Calum smirked at Bethany as he handed her over to Ashton.

“I hope you’re a better dancer than Calum.” Bethany smiled and held Ashton’s hand in her much smaller one.

“I’d like to say I am, but I do have quite a bit of bourbon in me right now.” He chuckled, bringing his hand to her waist and pulling her body closer to his. Bethany smiled and placed her hand on his shoulder as the soul settling chords of Billy Currington echoed from the speakers.

“How fitting.” Bethany giggled and moved in sync with Ashton.

I must be doin' somethin’ right

I just heard you sigh

You leaned into my kiss and closed those deep blue need you eyes

Don't know what I did to earn a love like this, but baby I

Must be doin' somethin’ right

Ashton sung the words quietly into Bethany’s ear as they moved, one step forward and two steps back. Bethany looked up at Ashton, their eyes meeting and the world melting away around them. The icy blue that Ashton had seen in the machine shed had disappeared and was replaced by an ocean, tempting him deeper and deeper into the unknown, until his lips met hers. Bethany’s fingers wound their way into Ashton’s hair as his hand on her waist traveled down, slipping under the hem of her cotton shirt. Their lips moved against each other as if it was the last touch they’d receive. “Follow me.” Bethany mumbled, lacing her fingers with Ashton’s and pulling him out of the barn.

“Where are we going?” He asked, glancing back at the barn.

“Just come with me.” Bethany bit her lip and pulled Ashton through the trees to an abandoned milk house.

“Is this where you’re going to murder me?” Ashton joked, following her inside.

“Not even close.” Bethany giggled and pulled him into another kiss. Ashton brought his hands to her thighs and lifted her up, pressing her body against the nearest wall. His lips found her neck as her fingers tangled in his curls. She let out a quiet moan as his teeth sunk into her skin ever so lightly. “Fuck..” Bethany whimpered, tugging at his hair. Ashton smirked against her skin and pulled back just enough to pull her t-shirt over her head.

“Gonna be a good girl for me?” Ashton mused, trailing his fingertips down her chest to her stomach to the top of her shorts. Bethany nodded, her breathing picking up as her heart raced. “Let me hear you, baby girl.” Ashton looked at her, his eyes darkening.

“Yes, daddy, I’ll be good.” Bethany gasped softly as Ashton set her down, the smirk not leaving his face. He unbuttoned her shorts and pulled them down swiftly. “You’re still wearing too much.” Bethany whined as she bunched up the hem of his shirt. Ashton chuckled to himself and pulled his shirt over his head, Bethany’s eyes landing on his toned chest. “Jesus, fuck..” Bethany mumbled, getting on her knees in front of him.

“Didn’t even have to ask.” Ashton chuckled. “You are gonna be a good girl.” he smirked, unbuttoning his own pants and pushing them down. Bethany licked her lips as she pulled Ashton’s boxers down, her lips immediately wrapping around the tip of his cock. “Ohh, yes.” Ashton sucked in a breath as he gripped Bethany’s hair, pulling it into a makeshift ponytail. “Take daddy’s cock.” Bethany moaned around him as she lowered her head, taking more of him into her mouth. She looked up at him from under her lashes as she bobbed her head against him, taking more each time. “Yes, fuck, that’s it..” Ashton groaned, his head lulling back. Bethany hummed and cupped his balls in her hand as she hollowed her cheeks. “Shit..” Ashton groaned, pulling her mouth off of his throbbing cock.

“What’s wrong?” Bethany looked up at him, afraid she had done something wrong.

“I’m gonna cum if you keep that up, but I’m not cumming until my cock is buried in your pretty pussy.” Ashton bit his lip and pulled Bethany up, bending her over the metal sink. Bethany gasped as Ashton’s palm connected with the skin of her ass.

“Daddy..” She whined, bucking her hips back against his hand. Ashton chuckled from behind her and pulled her lace panties down, letting them fall to her ankles with her shorts. He pushed her legs apart with his knee and rubbed the tip of his cock against her heat, pushing just the tip into the warm embrace. “More, daddy, please.” Bethany whined, her hands gripping the edge of the sink.

“Because you asked nicely.” Ashton smirked, filling her completely.

“Oh, God, fuck..” Bethany moaned, bucking her hips back against his.

“You like that, baby girl?” Ashton bit his lip and dug his fingers into her hips.

“Mhm.” Bethany hummed.

“Use your words.” Ashton demanded, sending his palm into the flesh of her ass once more.

“Yes! Yes, daddy, I love it.” Bethany moaned as Ashton began thrusting at a quick pace. Bethany’s moans grew louder as Ashton’s thrusts grew harder.

“Such a pretty pussy.” Ashton grunted, pulling her hips back against his roughly. “Can’t wait to fill your pussy with my cum.”

“Yes, daddy, make me your fucktoy.” Bethany moaned loudly, her manicured nails scraping against the rusty metal of the sink. “God, I’m so close.” She whimpered, her eyes squeezing closed.

“Cum on daddy’s cock. Wanna feel you, baby.” Ashton groaned, his fingers finding her clit.

“Ah, fuck!” Bethany gasped, her legs shaking as her high washed over her. “Oh, God, daddy!” She whined, her hand gripping his wrist as he continued to thrust faster.

“Ready to take daddy’s cum? Gonna let me fill your pretty pussy?” Ashton moaned, his fingers pressing harder into her skin, surely leaving bruises.

“Yes, daddy. Fill my pussy.” Bethany moaned out. Ashton grunted and stilled behind her as he released into her, his load coating her walls.

“Mm, fuck.. Your pussy takes my cum so well.” Ashton groaned lowly, slowly pulling out. He watched as his load dripped from her aching core. “Fuck, baby girl..” Ashton bit his lip as he pulled her panties and shorts up. “Want you to go back to the dance with my cum leaking from your cunt.” Ashton whispered in her ear.

“Yes, daddy..” Bethany moaned softly and buttoned her shorts. Ashton smirked to himself and pulled his jeans and boxers, tucking himself into the confining material. Bethany pulled her shirt back on and turned to face Ashton as he pulled on his own. She giggled quietly as she pulled him into a slow kiss.

“You’re so fucking beautiful, Beth.” Ashton whispered, his lips brushing against hers as she pulled away from him.

“What did you call me?” She looked up at him, the moment suddenly fleeting.

“Beth?” Ashton looked down at her, confusion lacing its way onto his features.

“I-I have to go..” Bethany stuttered, quickly running out of the milk house, Ashton following after her.

“Wait!” He called, but he was too late. She was already on Faith Hill and riding into the darkness.

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[until-theend-oftheline]

Outcast - Part 5: Paris Burning

Pairing: Jefferson x Reader

Warnings: Witch burning (sorta), PTSD, Rapey asshole Frollo. Character deaths.

Word Count: 1700ish

A/N: This is for @thorne93’s challenge and my prompts were: Pink - Reader is having a bad day/week/month - Character is there to make it worse or better AND Bridal wreath - “How about you fuck off?”

Thanks to @thorne93 for betaing this one for me also.

***My fics are not to be saved nor posted on any other sites without my express written permission.***

Outcast Masterlist

Jefferson wasn’t really sure how long you sat holding each other like that, but he knew that it wasn’t long enough. His body ached for yours the be close to his again when you pulled away smiling sweetly at him.

“Come,” you held out your hand to him, feeling the butterflies in your stomach when he took it without hesitation. He wiped the tears from his eyes trusting you completely to lead him to the ends of the world if you wanted to. You didn’t. Instead you led him to the balcony climbing the rails much to his protest.

“It’s fine,” you laughed, tugging his hat a little. “You got your hat to save us right? Not that we need it to fall through.”

Your teasing, made him roll his eyes but he still followed you to sit next to you. The view was impressive he would give you that, but it would still be impressive behind the safety of the railing.

“Frollo went crazy when he found out that I escaped,” you spoke quietly, restarting your story and instantly Jefferson’s hand found yours again. You loved him for that. His touch gave you the strength you needed to carry on.

“He hunted down my people. Locked them up. Those of us that weren’t hiding over there,” you pointed towards the cemetery. “We had this underground small city almost called The Court of Miracles. It’s how we were safe from men like him. Not this time however. When he couldn’t get to us, he got to the people that normally took us in. He burned down houses sometimes with people inside.”

Jefferson saw the way you looked into the distance and heard the way your voice started to tremor. He knew you were blaming yourself just like he had earlier. He wasn’t having it.

“It wasn’t your fault. Nothing that happened. It was on him,” Jefferson gently, but firmly reminded you. You smiled sadly, giving his hand a small squeeze.

“If I hadn’t have hid…” you started and Jefferson shook his head.

“You don’t know. You can’t know. A guy like that. The entire city might still have burned,” he said quietly and you nodded.

“It did. He tricked Quasi into thinking he knew where I was. So he came to see me. To warn me. Frollo followed him and he locked all the gypsies up. He put me on the pire claiming I was a witch,” you continued your story, smiling sadly at the confused look on Jefferson’s face.

“What does a witch have to do with him being insane and burning people?” he asked and you sighed.

“In my time. In this world. Magic was seen as wicked. All magic. Thousands of women were burned and drowned even if they had no magic. That’s how it disappeared from the world I think. People got scared to use it and it was forgotten.” Jefferson wore a look of disgust as you told him this and he couldn’t wait to leave this place. As bad as Regina was at least she had never been that insane and she was getting better. Storybrooke wasn’t that bad of a home he thought, smiling a little thinking getting back from this journey it might become better still. Grace would like you. He knew it.

“He tied Quasi up here.” You pointed to the balcony and the pillars behind you. Your motion tore Jefferson from his thoughts and he noticed you had started shaking. He, careful not to look down as he moved, shifted a little closer to you so your side was pressed against his with your hands still linked resting on your thigh.

“Frollo he… He told me to marry him. Share his bed. If I did I would be spared from the flames.” You felt Jefferson tense up next to you and you looked up into his eyes. “I spat in his face.”

A proud smile spread across Jefferson’s face. He still wanted to kill the guy even if he knew he was already dead, but you standing up for yourself was even better. Your strength and courage was admirable and one of the things Jefferson was falling for the hardest.

“I still feel the flames on my skin and the smoke going into my lungs.” Your eyes pooled with tears as you rested your head against Jefferson’s shoulder overlooking the city. “I don’t remember much after that. I remember Quasi swinging down and lifting me free. I remember the city catching fire and it looked like a sea of flames beneath us when Frollo followed him up here. I remember them fighting. I remember falling but I never hit the flames. A portal opened beneath me and when I woke up I was in Atlantis.”

You felt Jefferson’s arm around you, pulling you closer. Keeping you as if he was afraid you would fall and disappear once again.

“How?”

“I have no idea…” you began before a voice sounded beside you.

“We do…”

You screamed in surprise and Jefferson acted quickly, pulling you off the rail with him and shoving you behind his back. His eyes however was as wide as yours watching the odd sight of three very much alive gargoyles hopping towards you.

“What the hell is that?” Jefferson asked, emphasizing “that”, but before you could once again claim your ignorance the little round one spoke.

“We are gargoyles. I’m Hugo. That’s Victor and Laverne,” he explained, getting up close to Jefferson staring him down. Jefferson wasn’t quite sure what to make of the statue glaring at him but he didn’t like it one bit.

“Quasimodo brought us to life,” the tall one explained. “He passed on peacefully decades ago, but his magic still lingers.”

Jefferson wanted to protest and pull you back behind him when you stepped forward with a curious expression on your face. He however knew you well enough to know that would only get him punched so he stayed close to you instead.

“Magic? Quasi didn’t have magic,” you insisted and the female gargoyle smiled.

“He didn’t know he did for a long time. We never told him that him giving us life meant that he did. We thought he knew,” she explained, hanging her head. Apparently rocks could have regret too, you thought.

“He was the product of true love,” Victor explained. “A savior. He rebuild this city after it burned. He watched over it.”

“Frollo?” you asked and Laverne took your hand, to ease your mind.

“He fell. Burning with the old city. With Quasi’s help new leaders rose. The city was reborn. His magic was unstable though. Opening the portal was his fear of losing you. He never figured out how to bring you back,” she spoke sadly.

“I was trapped under a spell in Atlantis for decades until I met a mermaid who freed me. Ariel,” you explained to the Gargoyles and Jefferson that stayed close against you, his arm resting comfortably around your waist. “It wasn’t Quasi’s fault. He saved my life.”

You looked up at Jefferson who smiled down at you, giving you the courage to move on. “She brought me to the enchanted forest. I was searching for a way home when Regina’s spell trapped us all.”

You spend a few hours in the bell tower, sitting with Jefferson listening to the gargoyles tell you of your friend’s life. He never stopped searching for you but near the end he found peace. He learned a way to look into your future using an earring you lost. The gargoyles didn’t know what he saw, but whatever it was had made him happy. Laverne had handed you a folded up drawing he made, before you left with Jefferson, thanking them for showing you their secret.

Jefferson was quiet when the two of you walked out of the cathedral. He kept his hand in yours but his mind was a million miles away. The two of you slipped through the square and down to the river by the old docks where Jefferson could work the magic of the hat without anyone seeing.

“Are you ready to go home?” was the first thing he said to you since the two of you were alone in the bell tower. You frowned stepping in front of him blocking him from throwing his hat.

“In a minute. What’s on your mind, Jefferson?” you asked softly, taking the hat from him and putting in on the ground next to you. You took both his hands in yours looking up into his eyes, trying to will him to talk.

“I’m sorry. I said I’d take you anywhere, but going back in time to see your friend… I don’t know how to do that,” he spoke quietly and you smiled. You truly had underestimated his kindness when you first met. He was nothing like you thought him to be but everything you didn’t know you wanted.

“It doesn’t matter,” you insisted but Jefferson didn’t feel any better. He wanted you with him and if he couldn’t take you back you wouldn’t stay. The bell ringer’s prophecy told him as much.

“The drawing…” he started and you finally understood. You shook your head affectionately, giving his hands a squeeze.

“The drawing won’t show me going back. It will show me moving forward,” you explained smiling at the confusion on Jefferson’s face.

“How do you know?” he asked, sadness still lacing his eyes.

“Because I know Quasi. My happiness would be enough for him to be happy,” you answered, letting go of Jefferson’s hands surprising him by wrapping your arms around his neck. It didn’t take long for him to respond and his hands came to rest on your hips as he looked down into your eyes.

Hope was starting to return to him but he still couldn’t let go completely. “Don’t you want to look?”

“No. I don’t want to see my future,” you answered, standing so close to him your breath warmed his lips. “I’d rather live it.”

You pressed your lips against his and Jefferson closed his eyes, pulling you closely against him. For all you had both been through, you had still found each other. You had found love across worlds and times. A true love that was going to last for the rest of your lifetime.

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[blackleatherjacketz]

Fast and Loose

(Gifs aren’t mine)

I’ve reached 400+ Followers❤️💖💙

Here is a Rosa/Negan Fic as promised. Thank you for all of your love and support!!!!

Rosa Diaz (Brooklyn 99) x Negan (The Walking Dead)

What if Rosa was alone at the end of the world, and ran into Negan? 

Warnings: NSFW, Negan Swearing, Negan trying his best to intimidate the great and powerful Rosa Diaz, Lucille, Theft, Rosa insulting Dwight and Simon

Tags: @sonnshineandrainbows @chelseafartnoise @acutecupidity @mblaqgi @destiel-lover321 @collette04 @dramaqueenarg @skittle479 @space-carisi @firedav2k18 @haleyea @negans-network

Rosa sits alone at the end of a long table, the sole of her boot resting on the chair next to her hip. She had been waiting for what seemed like hours for the next person to come in and talk to her, but it may as well have been minutes, or weeks. The clock on the wall had clearly run out of batteries, and she knew this ‘hurry up and wait’ tactic all too well. She had used it on her suspects a thousand times.

The only door to the room opens as a man finally walks in. He twirls a baseball bat around his hips, chuckling slyly as he steps closer. A black leather jacket wraps around his tall yet slender frame, gray jeans covering his long legs with a belt that had long since reached its last notch. From the looks of it, he had been struggling just as much as she had these past few years.

“So, you’re my little thief, huh?” His smile is malevolent, delicious as it spreads across a set of perfect white teeth. “Damn, were those tomatoes and loaves of bread really worth it?”

Oh no, he’s gorgeous; that smile, his stature, those eyes… play it cool, Rosa, play it cool. It’s probably just been too long since you’ve had any human contact. It has nothing to do with him; nothing to do with him at all.

He hits the table with his baseball bat, doing his best to frighten her as a sexy sneer paints his face. Something about him reminds her of Adrian, a wild and unnamable madness lighting up his eyes. She feels the same pull she did with him, that primal urge to crash into him until there is nothing left but skin and sweat. That urge to smack his face and pull his hair, to bite his lips and rip off his clothes. She has the urge to feel something good, and that’s entirely new for her since the world had turned upside down.

“I thought we had a pretty good perimeter set up around here, but apparently that wasn’t good enough.” He saunters over and sits on the table in front of her. “You seem to have no problem sneaking in here in the middle of the night and taking all of my shit!” He tosses the baseball bat in the air and grabs it at the base with a gloved hand.

“Now, I know Fat Joey has a lot to learn, and he could be a little more spry, but he’s loyal, and when he and Arat brought you to my attention, I almost had a mind to put you in the hole.” He sets the bat down on the table next to him.

“Why are you only wearing one glove?” She smirks, chuckling under her breath.

He raises his eyebrows, exasperated by her reaction.

“I was gonna steal some of your guns, and one of your motorcycles, too, until you guys stopped me.” She looks up at him and grabs the bat, twisting it around in a circle to get a better look at the barbed wire wound around it. “It’s pretty dope that your head of security is a woman, and a woman of color, too.” She nods in approval and leans back in her seat, folding her hands behind her head.

The man furrows his brow. He looks at her, then at his glove. He looks at the bat, then back at Rosa. This man has never been cut off before.

“Did you… do you know who I am?” He picks up the bat and stands up.

“Nope.” She looks aimlessly around the room, leaning back even further. “But I bet you’re in charge because you came in after Quasimodo and Wyatt Earp; who are shit interrogators, by the way.”

She takes in a deep breath and looks at him. “Can I have my stuff back now?”

“Your stuff?” He swallows hard and forces a smile, his jugular vein distending against his leather jacket.

She can tell that she’s starting to push his buttons, to really get under his skin. She can tell that losing control of the situation is a new and unwelcome experience for him; that he must be used to instilling fear into others, and not the other way around. She wonders if it’s exciting him as much as it’s exciting her.

“Your stuff?” He grabs her by the jacket and shoves her up against the wall. “’Your stuff’ belongs to me, now.”

Ah, there it is. He looks even hotter when he’s angry. Rosa smiles as he grips her clothes tighter, peering into her eyes. He bites his lip as he takes her in, fighting for dominance as he tries his best to psyche her out.

“Yeah, I don’t think so.” She grabs the knife from his holster and presses it against his throat.

“Holy shit! Okay! Yeah! You got me!” He lets go of her jacket, raising both hands in surrender. “I messed with the wrong bitch today, didn’t I?” He chuckles and tilts his head sideways as she moves the knife upwards, inspecting his throat.

“Shut up.” She orders, tracing her fingertips down the shell of his ear.

“You like to be in charge, baby? That’s fine.” He laughs, a drop of blood dripping down his Adam’s apple.

“I’m always in charge.” Rosa walks forward, backing the man against the table as the knife threatens to break more skin. She unzips his leather jacket and unfastens it’s belt.

“Oh shit, are you serious?” The man stops as the table hits just below his knees, forcing him to sit down. “I mean, I was going to try to work up to this a little later, but you’re already rip roaring, ready to go, aren’t you? Goddamn, I love a woman who takes charge! They’re hard to…”

“You talk too much.” Rosa drops the knife and pushes him onto his back. She climbs on top of him, grabbing his chin and pushes it upward. “Has anyone ever told you that?” She opens her mouth and licks the blood off his neck, leaving a trail of moisture up his throat and chin before reaching his mouth.

His flavor hits her like a tsunami; a mixture of beer and salt washing over her as she pulls his jacket off his arms. She keeps her mouth on his, licking and biting as she rips his white t-shirt in half. God, he looks so fucking good. She hears the baseball bat roll off the table and onto floor as she removes her own jacket and t-shirt. How is it that they were wearing the exact same outfit?

She smoothes her palms up the length of his chest, making him groan as she grinds into his hips. She can feel how big he is as she rocks back and forth, her full and hungry lips curling into a smile for the first time in months. She keeps her eyes on his ruggedly handsome face as this beautiful monster submits to her. What a good little boy.

He growls as she scratches him, staring up at her with teary and grateful eyes. He lifts his hands up to touch her breasts, but is quickly rejected as she swats them away.

“Not yet.” She teases, undoing his belt and zipper.

He laughs and runs a hand over his face, glancing down as she makes quick work of undressing the rest of his body. “Jesus, you’re feisty!” He lifts his hips so she can pull his jeans down to his ankles.

“Holy shit.” She whispers under her breath, staring at his erection. Holy shit! What in the world? She’d never seen anything so big before. Maybe that’s why he carries that stupid bat around with him, as a constant metaphor for his giant dick.

She licks her lips and finishes undressing herself, unable to climb back on top of him fast enough. She sets her hips just above his cock, letting his tip slide in between her cheeks as she teases him with her soaking wet junction.

She leans forward and pulls his head back by his hair. “Are you going to be good and do as I say?”

“Fuck yes!” He shouts, smiling as she pulls his hair even tighter. He wants to trail his hands up her ass, to feel the smooth skin above her thighs, but is afraid of what she might do if he tries. That fear makes his dick twitch and grow even more in between her rhythmically clenching cheeks.

“Good.” She slaps his face as hard as she can, grabbing his bearded chin with her tiny fingers. She sloppily licks his lips before rocking her hips on top of him. Closing her eyes, she relishes in the sensation of his skin sliding against hers, that thick and swollen member entering her, inch by monstrous inch.

“Mmm…” He hums, feeling her squeeze herself around him. He takes a chance and ghosts his fingertips on top of her thighs, causing the fine hair to stand on end under his digits. “Where have you been all my life?” He squeezes her tightly.

“New York.” She whispers, bouncing up and down on him like a pogo stick. She lets go of his chin and scratches white lines down his chest as she increases her pace; the sound of skin slapping against skin echoing against the walls of the interrogation room.

“Oh yeah, baby. Ride me until you come all over me.” He whispers, his voice a husky gray.

Rosa clenches down around him. She squeezes and relaxes as she sits back down, feeling him hit that spot each time she takes a seat. She holds onto him for dear life as she feels those waves of pleasure begin to flood over her faster and faster. Shifting her direction from up and down to side to side, she shimmies her hips in an almost circular motion.

“Christ almighty, you’re gonna make me come first, is that what you want?” He sits up on his elbows and stares at her salacious movements. His hands creep up her thighs again and pull her hips into his, forcing himself inside her so deep and so fast that her eyes roll back into her head.

The warmth of him inside her threatens to send her to Nirvana much sooner than she’s used to. Seven years without sex seemed to have made her a thousand times more sensitive than she was before. Maybe it was the time that had lapsed, or maybe this guy and his big scary dick had something to do with it. She groans idly as she rides him on this tidal wave of bliss. His big strong hands pull her ass down onto him as he pierces her cervix again and again.

“Oh my god, I’m going to come,” She whispers, feeling his balls hit her backside as she tightens up around him. “Oh my god!” She scratches her nails down his chest again, this time drawing more blood from his tanned and weathered skin. “Fuck!”

She throws her head back in ecstasy as her orgasm paralyzes her, forcing her entire body to stiffen up before falling limply on top of him.

“God, me too.” He whispers, lazily twitching and spasming inside of her. “Shit.” He thrusts himself inside of her a few more time before his thighs begin to shake.

He exhales slowly as she lay down on top of him, nestling into his neck. “Sweetheart, you sure know your way around a dick.” He runs a hand through her hair and kisses her forehead.

“Yeah. Can I have my stuff back now?”

[atleastputinsomeeffortinuroc]

Rant/Review: Ready Player One --aka-- Just Watch Wrinkle in Time Instead...

I don’t usually hate movies. 

I know that seems backwards considering that this blog is me complaining and ranting incoherently about movies I don’t like, but very few movies leave me seething. Even all of the Detective Conan movies, which are mostly terrible pieces of garbage, I don’t necessarily hate. Red Crimson Letters is a terrible waste of time and energy, but I wasn’t insulted or felt talked down to. It was just a really bad movie I wanted to talk about.

In my life, there have only been three movies who have truly enraged me. “Batman v Superman,” “Joy,” and “War for the Planet of the Apes.” 

Objectively, there are aspects that are genuinely good in all of them and are definitely better than I probably give them credit for...but I doubt it, but they just flare up an anger in me for one reason or another. They’re permanently on my “fuck that movie” list. And now…now there’s another entrant to that prestigious list.

Ready Player One.

My GOD. THIS was the book everyone’s been talking about? THIS is supposed to be the fucking bible of pop culture?! THIS MOVIE?! THE ONE THAT UNIRONICALLY HAS THE PHRASE SPOKEN BY HUMAN VOCAL CHORDS “FANBOYS ALWAYS KNOW A HATER?!!” ARE YOU GUYS--…ok. Ok, I need to calm down. 

There are several, several, SEVERAL parts about this movie that don’t work, and I could go into a lot of the problems, but instead I’m going to try to talk about three aspects of the film. And for the sake of me not swearing up and down, we’re not going to talk about that godawful dialogue. Just know that it sucks.)

1) The ham-fisted arc

2) The protagonist and his trophy waifu

3) References over content

There are spoilers ahead, and I’m going to write this with the assumption that you’ve already seen the movie. If you haven’t, you’ve been warned. Anywho, let’s get started. Put on some “a-ha,” break your nostalgia goggles and join me as we go down this road where I collectively shit over Spielberg’s attempt to adapt a supposed “beloved classic.” (CAN YOU TELL I’M MAD?!)

1)     The arc

Here’s the thing with arcs in narratives, and more specifically films. 

They need to feel earned. 

Your central character has gone through a life-altering change or point of view since the beginning of the film due to the adventures and trials had throughout the film. Good examples include “Mad Max: Fury Road” where Max finally lets others into his life and sees the value in not going through life alone as described by the part where he donates his own blood and tells Furiosa his name. Another good example is actually from the Oscar nominee Spielberg had LITERALLY LAST YEAR, “The Post.” In it, Kay Graham finally put her foot down and shows authority by stepping out of her comfort zone to release the Pentagon Papers—damn what the powers that be say. This is important to any narrative because it shows the flaws of your characters through their insecurities and hesitations to make them human rather than movie characters. Even if you have paragon characters like Superman, Wonder Woman, or Batman, they still have to overcome some kind of personal issue that is keeping them from achieving what they’ve wanted.

Now, if you look over to the main character, you can see that his arc was…what is it that was his arc? 

He’s…he’s the same at the beginning as he was at the end. 

“OH BUT HE HAS A PENTHOUSE AT THE END,” yeah that’s not a change. One could argue that the (even though the catalyst for change has no fucking relation to it) arc is about unplugging and enjoying the real world. The bits at the end with Easter Egg man where he starts going on and on and on about how he missed reality or something, and the VERY BRIEF bits at the beginning where you see people all over the VR systems, one of which is the mother neglecting a fire in the house and one where an Asian man almost commits suicide after losing all of his stuff in the game (it’s played for comedy, so THAT’S also pretty fun, because it’s not like Japanese suicide rates are a serious issue or anything OH WAIT.) So it’s about being close to reality and unplugging. Ok. Coolio.

But here’s the thing, similar to “War for the Planet of the Apes”…YOU HAVEN’T EARNED IT. There are brief moments where it kind of alludes to it (see the middle challenge with ‘oh yes, I should have kissed the girl during the Shining’ and the small bit at the middle where the main two are sitting there and the main dude has ONE HALF-ASSED LINE about how “it’s nice here. It’s slower,”) but that’s IT. It doesn’t actually give you a reason to think that staying in the Oasis and avoiding reality is a BAD thing. Sure you have abusive father obsessed with getting high scores but he’s just one dimensional asshole dad who dies and you don’t give a shit about it one second later after his parental figures are killed. 

There are no real CONSEQUENCES to spending too much time in the Oasis, it’s just because he’s good at the game. And if there are, they sure as hell aren’t focused on in favor of mindless spectacle (which looks REALLY BAD by the way. I know it’s supposed to look fake because video game, but do the main characters have to use the ugliest models in existence?!) As such, the ending and central arc of learning is lost.

So what’s the arc? Well…there is none. Nothing is really learned, nothing is really gained that MATTERS aside from the keys to Willy Wonka’s goddamn chocolate factory. 

Z or Perzival or Wade or generic-white-gamer-boy learns all of fucking NOTHING by the end. (As such, it makes the ending where he says “EVERYONE HAS TO BE OFF ON TUESDAYS AND THURSDAYS” come off as BULLshit.)

But no, this is clearly the Spielberg classic. It’s not like Indiana Jones learned anything in the Last Crusade as a character only he totally fucking DID, HE LEARNED TO RESPECT AND LOVE HIS FATHER WHO HE PREVIOUSLY DESPISED AND THE IMPORTANCE OF—sorry. Sorry I’m getting a bit mad again.

Anywho, due to a lack of a real arc, it makes you think that the entire fucking plot was pointless. It was just inevitable that the good guy win because…well he’s the main character. He doesn’t say anything about anything but is instead dumb fluff, which would be fine…but here’s the thing. It also affects the main characters. And it affects them HARD.

2)     Tweedledee and Tweedledumbass

The two main characters have no personality or character due to this lack of an arc.

The main man, Wade, his personality is…what exactly? He’s just generic hero-boy who is obsessed with the 80s. “He’s like a regular Star-Lord!” I hear you say, only he totally fucking isn’t. Starlord has baggage, has character has points and instances that stretch BEYOND just quoting 80’s movie and saying the actual phrase that a screenwriter actually wrote down and didn’t immediately delete that went “FANBOYS ALWAYS KNOW A HATER” NO I AM NOT OVER IT.

...Point is, the references don’t make Star-Lord who he is, it’s the character of Peter Quill himself. Cocky, brash, and in many ways, a child running from his past. 

As for Wade, he’s got nothing. I’ve looked over this sometimes, depending on the writing or the situation, so maybe it wouldn’t bother me so much, but the actor who plays him isn’t doing a good job. I know I don’t talk about acting a lot, but the man…the man is just whining through his lines. He comes off as insufferable with his needless 80’s knowledge that I was genuinely rooting for the one-dimensional villain to kill that fucking brat.

Then we have Artemis or Samantha or Sam or its-the-pixie-cut-rebel-chick.  

There are several scenes that are etched into my brain now (including a FUCKING NUT-SHOT AND A PASSWORD FOR A HUMAN ADULT THAT IS “B055MAN69.” IN A SPIELBERG MOVIE. THE MAN WHO MADE INDIANA JONES AND SCHINDLER’S LIST.), but one of the big ones is the final image of the film in which the main character in his 80’s man-boy cave spins around with his beautiful woman sitting in his lap as they suck face as the line “reality is pretty awesome anyway” or something like that. Aside from the main character not earning that statement as previously stated…fucking let’s look at it for what it is.

The man just won a real-life walking-talking waifu. A trophy wife that he wins at the end of the game.

She’s what probably made me see through the movie the most honestly. She makes this big fucking deal about “oh, but I’m not who you think I am on the outside, I’m not pretty” and then when you go outside to the real world, of course she’s the fucking gorgeous Hollywood white girl—she just has a goddamn birthmark on her eye to be her “blemish.”

“Oh but she’s insecure about it,” I hear you say--I’m sorry, but you mean to tell me NOBODY told her she’s fine and beautiful with the eye-mark BEFORE Wade? You mean to tell me she’s insecure, but not insecure enough to feel the need to buy fucking MAKE-UP!? I’m not saying that she needs it, I’m saying that the character’s central flaw is the WEAKEST FUCKIN FLAW I HAVE EVER SEEN. YOU WANNA CHANGE THE GAME, QUASIMODO THAT SHIT. 

THEN, and this part was just fucking HILARIOUS to me, she mentions about how the ioi company fucking KILLED HER FATHER in a workshop and she has to stop him for revenge…and then it’s totally dropped. Like it’s never mentioned by the end. At all. She chucks a grenade into Mechagodzilla to kill the bossman but fuck me if it ain’t satisfying and adds physically NOTHING to her character.

Her character exists for one purpose. She is the love interest who sets the main character off on his journey. Nothing more. And I say that, because SHE’S THE CATALYST FOR HIM FINDING THE FIRST KEY. She tells him something that reminds him of something that solves the puzzle. And what’s more, I am willing to bet that THAT’S the reason they kept her Hollywood pretty. Because you need to have an attractive romantic love interest to keep the audience pleased. 

Now apparently, she does more in the movie than she does in the book. And that’s great. That’s super. She’s the one breaking in to destroy the d20 of doom. Hell yeah I guess. But I also don’t care. You wanna know why? BECAUSE I AM NOT READING THE BOOK. Superficial changes that improve certain aspects doesn’t make the movie better than it is. It’s like polishing a fucking turd. Yeah, it’s nicer than what you had, but you are still making me hold this piece of dogshit.

They don’t have characters. They don’t have chemistry BECAUSE they don’t have characters. It’s a fucking wash.

3) Drowning in References

But now we talk about the big one. The big fucking thing that everyone and their mother is obsessing about this movie over. And the thing that has gotten me from not liking this movie to fucking DESPISING it.

The references.

To quote from people who will be seeing the movie in the theater *ahem*...

“OHMYGOD IS THAT TRACER?! OH AND IT’S HARLEY AND THE JOKER! OH! OH! OH! IRON GIANT! HALO! BORDERLANDS! BACK TO THE FUTURE! BATMAN—FUCKING IT’S THE BATMAN! THEY MENTIONED THRILLER! THAT’S PRINCE! STREET FIGHTER! MECHA-GODZILLA FIGHTING GUNDAM! MINECRAFT! NINJA TURTLES! FAST TIMES AT RIDGEMONT HIGH! STAR TREK! FIREFLY! THE SHINING! IT’S FUCKING CHUCKY!!!”

…Ok? So what?

Not to be a snob, but seriously—so what? Why does it matter?

Listen, I like crossovers too. I remember the Avengers and what a big goddamn deal it was, and how it made everyone’s jaw drop to the ground, and how in some ways, it still does. But whereas with those it felt organic, Ready Player One with its ninety thousand references felt…empty.

I’m going to bring out two comparisons to the table that do the same thing that Ready Player One did, “Who Framed Rodger Rabbit?” and “Wreck-It Ralph.” Both had pop-culture icons throughout them. One had all of the classic cartoons all spliced together—where you saw Daffy Duck and Donald Duck in the same shot having a dual piano-off. One of them had all of these video game characters that you loved and embraced since you were a kid, running around and hanging out ala “Toy Story.” These big names are all in the background, just like Ready Player One, but they’re clearly different in terms of execution. Why is that?

Well it’s because the movies weren’t reliant on them. Sure, Rodger Rabbit had fun moments with these big names, but if you took them out and animated totally new characters with similar personalities, what would you lose? Nothing. The plot is the same, the dynamics are the same, and it can still be seen as a salute to the classic animations from back in the day to also an allegory for the Jim Crowe era just as the book intentionally was. Same goes for Wreck-it Ralph, the character goes through a fundamental change that has him accepting who he is and how “there’s nobody else I’d rather be, than me” ALL THE WHILE paying respects to classic arcade video games.

The same can’t be said for Ready Player One. The instant you take away the pop-culture references, the movie loses its protective suit of armor to reveal it’s about…nothing. 

It is. 

Nothing. 

The generic quest, the generic corporate baddie, the generic love interest, the main character has nothing to say, and the conflict is revealed to be flat—nothing about it sticks out or makes an impression.

And if you fail to make an impression without a fucking suit pop-culture references then, well, if I may use a pop-culture quote myself...“If you’re nothing without the suit, then you shouldn’t have it.”

Plain and simple.

But then…there’s the one thing I can’t really debate. 

“It’s just fun though, right?”

Yeah sure. I’ll admit around that third act, even though it was long overdrawn, I had fun watching the violence and references I understood while they blasted “We’re Not Gonna Take It” in the background.

But y’know what? It was just about as enjoyable as seeing someone adapt a piece of shitty fanfiction, because both have one thing in common for everything that they do: It’s just there for fan service. If you make the statement “well the Oasis is cool,” then you’ve clearly missed the point because you don’t like the movie, you like it’s gimmick. And it’s gimmick exists—it’s called VR Chat.

Meanwhile, screenwriters of different backgrounds, ethnicities, genders and religions from everywhere across the world are actually putting EFFORT into their screenwriting and directing. And while their action scenes for their blockbuster idea may not be perfect, they at least tried and did something new with it.

I went to see “Wrinkle in Time” today after I’d seen Ready Player One yesterday, needing to see literally anything good. And yeah, it’s not perfect. It’s got some stilted dialogue and some questionable acting on nearly all fronts at points and the conflict can be about as cliched as you can imagine, but the visuals, the costume design—you could tell everyone cared and put a goddamn effort into everything put forth. It’s much more gorgeous than the downright UGLY CG that was in the Oasis world in Ready Player One, and I guarantee you nobody had the phrase “B055MAN69” anywhere. It didn’t pander to kids or guys who wanted to feel validated for knowing a couple references. It wanted to tell the story of fighting back evil and hatred by embracing love. It’s cheesy and sappy…but fuck me, if it didn’t try to say something while having fun.

But fuck that movie right? We have Iron Giant fighting Mechagodzilla. 

If you have that, then why bother putting in effort?

That’s what kills me. It’s lazy and people praise it because it just stuck pop-culture words in a fucking blender. Don’t call it innovative. Don’t call it original. Don’t call it anything than what it is.

80’s. Prepubescent. Fucking. Fanfiction.

You can love it and enjoy it if you want, I mean I don’t like not liking movies. It sucks. And in some aspects, I can see why you can if you turn your brain off but…I’m not gonna lie, to see this get away with murder insults me.

Listen, I love Spielberg. There is nobody I respect more in the business. His work in AI, and the reason why he did so to keep a dying friend’s vision alive will always keep him as one of my personal heroes but…sometimes you gotta call people out when they make shit. And I am.

I don’t care what anyone says, don’t see Ready Player One. Watch something worthwhile. Go to Netflix and watch “Stranger Things” if you’ve got that need for an 80′s kick, or hell--”Blade Runner 2049″ is a visual goddamn MARVEL. Go see “The Post” or “Jaws” if you want some good Spielberg. Just PLEASE! Go see something that isn’t just a bunch of references that almost feel as though it’s a remake of “ctrl+alt+del.” 

(Random aside, people have told me to read the original book...but if that fucking thing is ANYTHING like this movie, I’d rather BURN IT than let it get one inch into my house. So no, I’m not going to read the book even if there are claims that it’s “better.” (Even though I believe that it’s impossible to say a book is better than it’s adaptation or vice versa because it’s two different mediums and as such it’s hardly fair, but that’s a whole other thing.) Point is, I’ve never been more turned off to a book in my godddamned life and I ain’t gonna bother.)

[thecorteztwins]

✍️ Toad with an acolyte that might like him?

(using WATXM so the first-gen Acolytes and second-gen ones can be on the same squad! Also assuming this is for @toadlingscentral. I also wasn’t clear on what “might like him” meant so I went with friendships.)Toad neverbeen lucky enough to know other physically mutated types. Okay, technically there was Blob, but…Fred still looked human. Not a type of human that other humansliked, but still…better fat than a freak.After he’d joined the Acolytes, however, he’d been introduced to Seamus Mellencamp (no codename) and Mortimer Everett (alias Barnacle), both of them physically mutated in…less than attractive ways…and had found companions in them both. Of course, Toad wasn’t friends with themjust for that, he was sure they’d have gotten along fine anyway(especially Barn, he was really nice—and his real name was Mortimertoo!) but  there was a certain unspoken sense of solidarity betweenthem. Without ever having had to talk about it, they knew theyshared certain experiences, certain feelings, certain realities. Theyall understood what it was like to be like them in a way that the others,even the kindest, just couldn’t comprehend. Indeed, Toad actually wondered ifthese two didn’t have it worse than he did. Mellencamp looked even more inhuman than Toad did, frighteningly so, and poor Barn…his mutation had given him dry cracked scabby crusts and scars all over his skin, not to mention a big lumpy abscess that hung over one eye, rendering him half-blind. To top it all off, he also had a speech impediment, possibly from having crusts and scars on the inside too. So yeah, it was hard not for Toad to feel a certain connection with these guys.Not that the other Acolytes were all bad either. Some were bullies, like the Kleinstocks—though atleast unlike Fabian, they didn’t seem to hate him for how he looked,they were just jerks—and some, like Senyaka, were just plainscary….but Milan was great. He looked totally human, but he was a big nerd who the others picked on a lot. This and a shared love of technology connected him and Mort.Amelia Voght was nice enough if not exactly his friend, and Scannerand Neophyte seemed as unsure and nervous as he often was, seen them, and he saw them bossed around and picked on too.And, of course, Anne Marie. She had been the first Acolyte he met, and his first friend among them. She’d always been nice to him, and she never flinched when looking at him, nevergave any sign she was looking at anything strange, be it disgust orpity or the natural nervousness that an appearance like his couldinstinctively incite in people not because they were bad or hatedhim, but just because…people weren’t supposed to look like him.Barnacle had been the one to explain why most people were like that.”It’s called kkkst the Uncanny Valley,” he said, “You and—kkkst—I, we look human, but not human enough. It hits a weird part of the brain that–-kkkst–unnerves people even more than monsters do. That’s why clownsand puppets—kkkst— scare people. They look SIMILAR to humans but withsomething just ‘off’.”He paused to take a drink of water; Barn had to do that a lot when he talked. Then he continued,“They use that in–kkkst–movies, to make people creeped out instead of just ‘oh shit a scary—kkkst—monster!’ like when they see someone like Mellencamp.”Barn paused again, and then finished, “”It’s natural instinct, everyone–kkkst— has it.“Idunno, man Anne Marie doesn’t,” replied Mort, “But that girl ain’t got a lot of anyinstinct, I don’t think”He liked her a lot, she was just a bit…screw loose. But in a good way.

“Shefeels bad for you,” said Mellencamp, putting his claws lightly on Mort’s arm, as if delivering some painful news, which he was,”Some people—especiallywomen—they’ve got this Quasimodo complex. They pity us, they wantto be that one special person who sees past our looks, but theydon’t, not really. They can’t. Like Barn says, it’s instinct. Evensomebody blind wouldn’t like us once they touched us—they can 'see’with their hands, you know. ““Anne Marie’s 'bout as subtle as anaxe to the head”, said Mort,”If she thought we was ugly monsters,she’d say so.”“Kkkkst—she has!” Barnacle exclaimed.

“What?” Mort’s jaw dropped, “You sure you ain’t mixin her up with the OTHER Cortez?”“Fabian?” said Barnacle, “kkkkst—No, he’s—kkkst—cool. As cool as anyone can be, But his sister—well, like you said, blunt as a—kkkst– axe to the head.You’re telling me she really hasn’t said anything to you?”“No! Whatdid she say to you?!”“Well, she walked right up to me when we met and said wow, you look like amonster!” Mellencamp told him, his voice full of understandable resentment.“She started–-kkkst– trying to touch my lump,” Barnacle bemoaned, referring to his forehead abscess, “Like I’m a zooexhibit. The others at least give me a little—kkkst-–respect.”Mortcouldn’t believe what he was hearing. Anne Marie? The sweetest girl inthe world? Scary, sure, but sweet. There must be some kind of misunderstanding. He’d try to clear it up–he didn’t want his friends to fight, and he especially didn’t want these two guys to feel bad! Because boy, he knew what that was like.***”Anne Marie?” Mort asked timidly as he approached her. She was lying on her back on the grass, pedaling her feet in the air, bouncing a ball of them.”Hey, Anne Marie, can I ask ya something? Am I…do you think…am I ugly?””Yeah!” said Anne Marie, without hesitancy, and without cruelty, just casual simplicity, as if he asked if she’d like a soda. As earlier, his jaw dropped. He couldn’t believe it. He hadn’t wanted to believe it. He always usually assumed people thought he was hideous to start, but he’d come to think Anne Marie was different…and that made it hurt so much more than when people like her brother said it. Because Fabian, he was a douchebag in general, but Anne Marie…she was a nice person.So if even nice people thought he was ugly…Tears began to well in his eyes, but it had been a long time since he’dever cried in front of anyone, so he  wouldn’t start now. Without another word, he hopped away fastas his legs could carry him.Anne Marie, oblivious, got to her feet and began bouncing the ball off her knees***Later that week, Mort ventured into the kitchen when Chrome and Frenzy were having a conversation. Usually, Mort just tuned out their discussions like everyone else did. He could seldom follow what they were saying. Mort was not dumb at all, buttheir kind of smart was very different than his kind of smart. He couldn’t help picking up, however, that they were talking about looks, and how people were treated because of them, and he began to listen despite himself. They were saying stuff about…how beauty wasin the eye of the beholder, you aren’t entitled to have people findyou attractive, but also how people see beauty was shaped by a verybigoted culture hence the existing standing of beauty and how thatshould be questioned…“But ultimately, isn’t that juststill playing into the dominant paradigm?” said Chrome, pointing a finger as if to illustrate some invisible diagram,“Like,okay, let’s say the powers that be say that brunettes are ugly andblondes are the best. If the brunettes go, hey, you know what,brunette is beautiful, then they’re still playing the game, they’restill supporting the idea that beauty matters at all. When a lot ofpeople say “fuck your beauty standards” what they actually meanis “include me in them” rather than dismantle them altogether,which is what SHOULD be done. We’re so entrenched in this system,this way of thinking, that we’re trying to get a piece of the piewhen the pie itself is rotten.”“I agree with your pointin theory,” Frenzy returned, “but in the real world, beauty DOES matter in society, and peoplenot considered part of the pretty pie are getting treated like shit forit—-namely, people of color, transgender and gender-nonformingfolks, the disabled, the physically mutated, none of which YOU are, soforgive me if I think it’s really easy for you to say that beautyjust shouldn’t matter to anyone when you have the privilege of it notaffecting you in the first place.”“You know what, that’s a really fairpoint, excellent point,” Chrome admitted, “So, with that in mind, what would you think of—”“She’s right!”Mort burst out without realizing he was even talking until it was too late, throwing his arms up, “You have no idea what it’s like! Either ofyou!”Both of them stared at him, and Mort felt himself shrink. He seldom spoke to either of these Acolytes at all. They were intimidating people. Frenzy was was even bigger than Anne Marie, andunlike Anne Marie, she NEVER looked friendly. Chrome was scary in hisown way too—not because he was big, he was tall but he was as skinny as Mort— because he….he was very handsome, Toad thought, not like amusclebound meathead like the other men here, but like a willowymodel, with a strange sort of striking beauty. And he was…he wasn’tmean in the way like Fabian or the Kleinstocks were, but he was always arguing withpeople, and he always seemed to be right. It made Mort uncomfortable,he didn’t like the conflict, and he didn’t want to ever risk being onthe end of that kind of tongue-lashing. To his surprise though,neither of them told him to shut up. They looked expectant.“Go on,”said Chrome after a moment.“…go on?” Mort squeaked, confused.“Your opinion is relevant”,said Frenzy, “We’d like to hear it.”“I…I…I don’t have an opinion,I just…I just…later!”And he hopped away again.***The next day, as timidly as he had approached Anne Marie, he hobbled up to Chrome in the hallway.“Um, chrome?”Chrome looked at him.“You’re…you’refriends with Anne Marie, right?”Chrome nodded.“Does she….does she think I’mugly?”“Best way to know is to ask her,” Chrome answered, “Anne Marie doesn’t lie. Don’t thinkshe can.”“Yeah, I…I know,” Mort hung his head, “I did ask her.”Chrome regarded Toad thoughtfully for a moment, then asked, “She said said yes, didn’t she?”Toad nodded.“And she probably said it realcasual-like, like it was the simplest thing in the world, am Iright?”Toad nodded again, head still down. Chrome nodded too, but it was more of a thinking nod, and he curled his long thin fingers around his jutting chin as he did. Then he put his hands out in a ‘hear me out’ kind of gesture, his tone matching,“Okay, so—here’s a little thing that’s differentabout Anne Marie. When most people say ugly, they mean bad. Uglinessis culturally linked to evil and inferiority in our society. Like,it’s no fuckin’ coincidence that light skin and straight hair, aka traits associated with white people, getconsidered the prettiest, y'know? And when people say you’re fat,they don’t mean it the same as “you’ve got green eyes” like just another physical trait, they meanyou’re gluttonous and lazy and probably really stupid and gross. All this stuff attached to it. So,you know what Anne Marie means when she says you’re ugly?”Mort whimpered, afraid to hear.“She just means you’re ugly. She doesn’t have avalue judgement attached to it. She doesn’t think ugly things arebad. You know what I was saying, about how we need to embrace aworldview in which beauty, be it societally defined beauty or our ownpersonal definition, does not matter beyond who you’re choosing to fuck? Anne Marie is already doingthat and she ain’t even trying. You know what she means when she saysyou’re ugly? Just that she wouldn’t sleep with you.  Andshe doesn’t wanna sleep with MOST guys, so don’t go feeling specialfor that.”Mort looked up at last,  “But…Barnacle and Mellencamp…”Chrome winced, “Oh yeah, that. Yeah, even I wanted to slap her for that one, though I gotta respect her candor—or I would, if it was something I thought she tried at instead of just, like I said, how she is. But yeah, no, those guys, if they’re mad at her, they got every right. Her delivery is totally disrespectful, she has no idea how her wordsaffect people and she should really fucking work on that. So I’m notgonna tell you, oh, you can’t be hurt because she didn’t mean to hurtyou. Someone fucking opens a door into my nose, doesn’t matter ifthey didnt mean to, it HURTS. But what I mean is…the real reasonsyou might feel bad when people say ugly, because of all the things theyMEAN by it—that you’re bad or inferior or not worthy of love orwhatever—they aren’t attached to it when she says it. She just sayswhat she sees.”“I just…I thought she liked me?”“You think saying you’re ugly means she doesn’t like you? Anne Marie loveslots of ugly things!” Chrome threw his long skinny arms out the sides for emphasis, “Man this one time she showed me these weird newts, and she said they were so ugly, and shesaid it the way most people say cute! Look, I’m not gonna tell you how tofeel, or what to do. That’s your choice. Just, if I were in your shoes–flippers, whatever—I’d go back to her and ask the right questions thistime. For your sake, man.”***”Anne Marie?”Mort had poked his head into her room. She was on her bed, curling in on herself, trying to bite the waistband of her underwear.“Uh huh?” she said, continuing her attempts.“Do you…like me?”“Yeah!” she said happily.“Are wefriends?”“Yeah!”“Would you…ever have sex with me?” He didn’t WANT her too, and he didn’t want her to think he wanted her to, but he remembered what Chrome had said about that, so….“Nope!”“DoI…gross you out?”“Nah!”“But I’m ugly?”“Yeah.”“Isthat…bad?”“Nah” she sat upright properly and beamed at him, “You’re really good.”Mort smiled back at her,

“Youknow, you’re really good too.”

[write-my-dreams]

JayTim Day 2: Sunburn

Title: Sunburns 

Author: write-my-dreams

Pairing: JayTim

Warning: None

Rating: PG

Summary: Jason decides that he and Tim need to get away from Gotham and go to the beach. Whether he has to kidnap his lover to get him away from work or not.

Read at Ao3

Tim frowned down at his case notes. He’d spent hours collecting information, hacking, and analyzing everything. What did that leave him with? A fat lot of nothing. He only had rumors still about the kidnapping ring tied up with genetic experimentation. What was he missing? Why couldn’t he find anything concrete? Tim groped for his coffee mug without looking away from the notes. There had to be some detail he hadn’t seen yet. He found the mug, raising it to his lips. Yuck, nothing but ice cold grounds.

“I wondered when you’d notice your coffee had gone cold.” 

Tim glanced back to see Jason leaning against the living room wall. He blinked slowly then did a second scan of his boyfriend. “Jay, what… what are you wearing?” 

“Beach outfit.” Jason wore red swim shorts, a tank top proclaiming “Losers Only Live Once” and then an obnoxious “I <3 RR” baseball cap. He grinned, holding up an oversized beach bag and umbrella. “Forget the coffee, baby bird. Brush your teeth and get changed. I’m taking you to the beach before you turn into Quasimodo. You’ve spent at least four hours hunched over your desk.” 

Tim put the mug down. “Jason, this is an important case. I can’t just leave my work so I can spend the day at the beach. I have to figure this out!”

“You expect to find a breakthrough in your next pot of coffee? Tim, I’ve been watching you. All you’ve done is scowl, go through far too much coffee, and work on those eye bags. Now get your pretty little ass up out of the chair and into some swim trunks. We’re going to a nice, sandy beach because we need a break from all the shit going on around here. You have three minutes to get ready or I’m kidnapping you and taking you to the beach.” 

Tim’s eyes narrowed. Jason was serious about this. He glanced down at the case file again, still reluctant to up and leave his work behind. Bruce wouldn’t do it. He would persevere until he found the clues he needed no matter how much coffee he had to go through or how exhausted he was. Then he would act. Tim knew he and Bruce shared the same obsession about their cases, but he was trying to be less of a workaholic for Jason’s sake. “I’ll come with you if that hat stays here.” Where had Jason gotten such a hat and what possessed him to put it on willingly? Had he lost a bet with Roy? 

Jason laughed. “I wanted to see the look on your face. Now up. Your three minute countdown starts now.” 

Tim got out of the chair and stretched. “Just us at the beach?”

“Just us.”

“Good.” Tim kissed his cheek. Jason’s smile made his agreement worthwhile. He’d have to set him straight in the car though. Worse people than the Red Hood had tried to kidnap him before, either as Tim Drake or Red Robin. Just because they were a couple didn’t mean that Jason had an advantage over him. 

Tim stirred as a warm hand shook his shoulder. “Tim? We’re here. I can set up the umbrella and the beach blanket if you want to sleep more.” 

It took a few moments for Tim’s mind to catch up. He must have fallen asleep during their debate about if it was possible for Jason to kidnap him. It’d evolved into a discussion of Red Hood versus Red Robin, and then Tim remembered laying his head against the window… “Red Robin would,” he yawned, “still win.” He unbuckled his seatbelt and rubbed his eyes.

Jason snorted. “You’re still thinking about that?”

“I am.”

“Fine, it’s a challenge then. I’m going to kidnap you one day.” Jason got out of the car and opened the trunk to pull out the beach bag. Tim followed him. “Take the umbrella. And put on some sunblock so you don’t turn into a lobster. Fuck, the glare off your legs is going to blind me. You’ve got the pale, pasty nerd look going on.” He laughed and dodged Tim’s playful strike with the umbrella. 

Tim rolled his eyes. “Please. You’re not much darker than I am.” He could push the kidnapping topic further, but decided to let it drop. For now. They kicked off their shoes once they reached the sand. Couples and groups were clustered around the beach space closest to the parking lot or food vendors. Go a little further away in either direction and it was easy to find a peaceful spot. Tim picked a direction and soon found a good place. Close to the water, no shrieking children nearby. Just some teenage girls a few feet away who looked at Jason like he was the Messiah. Tim would have to show them who Jason belonged to. “How about here?”

“Looks good.” Jason dropped the beach bag onto the sand. Tim set up the umbrella while Jason rolled out the blanket, putting their towels on it. “Shirt off. I’ll help you with sunblock.”

Tim tugged off his shirt and sat down with his back to Jason. The girls were whispering to each other and being none too subtle in their blatant admiration. He lifted up his hair so Jason could get the back of his neck then took over to apply sunblock to his chest, arms, and legs. “What’s the worst sunburn you’ve ever gotten before?”

“Glove burn. My fingertips and forearms burned while the part of my hand covered by the glove stayed white. Yours?” 

Tim snorted as he pictured it. “Mine’s the classic ‘farmer’ tan. I fell asleep in the backyard reading. Everything covered by my shirt was white but the rest was red.” He twisted around to face Jason. “Your turn. Try not to make the girls behind us faint when you take off your shirt.” 

Jason grinned. “I am pretty sexy aren’t I?” He waved at the girls, who blushed, but didn’t look away for too long when the shirt came off. 

Tim couldn’t resist kissing him. “You are.” He moved to stand behind Jason. He was sorely tempted to write “Mine” in sunblock on his back, but imagined it wouldn’t go over too well.

Once both were thoroughly protected against the sun Jason tugged him towards the water. “Join me for a swim?”

Tim smoothed Jason’s hair down. As promised, the offensive hat hadn’t come to the beach with them. “Sure. Promise you’ll never wear an I <3 RR hat again though.”

Jason laughed. “Deal.” Without warning he grabbed Tim by the waist and flung him over his shoulder. 

“Jason!” Tim shrieked. The girls were now giggling at them. “Don’t you dare throw me in the water!” He pounded on his back, swearing viciously when Jason ran towards the waves instead of listening. “I’ll—!” A thorough dunking cut him off. Spluttering, Tim surfaced to glare at his boyfriend. “You,” he hissed.  “You are in so much trouble.”

“Only if you catch me.” Jason tripped him back into the water. Laughing, he danced out of reach when Tim lunged at him. “Come get me, Timmy!” He splashed away so Tim could chase after him. Jason relied on strength and intimidation to get his way. Smaller than his elder brothers, Tim used speed and skill. So while Jason was stronger it didn’t stop Tim from tackling him off a sandbar and into an oncoming wave. Jason snagged him by the waist and rolled them under the water, playfully pinning Tim to the sand and kissing him before bringing them up to the surface. “I’ve caught you now.”

Tim raised an eyebrow. “Or do I have you?” He playfully pinched Jason’s nipple then shoved him back into the water. 

After swimming and walking the beach they returned to their spot for a drink. Jason rummaged in the bag to pull out his wallet. “I’m going to get us some ice cream. You want some?”

“Sure.” Tim scrubbed his body with his towel. “I’ll sit here and wait for you.” He flopped back on the blanket. He hadn’t wanted to admit it but he was feeling tired. The impromptu nap in the car hadn’t been enough for him. He’d close his eyes for a couple minutes while Jason waited in line… 

That Evening

“I’m glad you suggested we go to the beach today.” Tim squeezed Jason’s hand. “It was a lot of fun. I guess I needed something like that. Even though I did get a pretty awful sunburn.” He made a face as he looked at his sunburnt right hand and wrist. He’d shifted in his sleep and thrown his arm out from under the cover of the umbrella. “Also sorry for falling asleep on our beach date.”

Jason shook his head. “Don’t. You needed the rest.” He opened the trunk to put the beach bag back in, taking the umbrella from Tim. “So… back home? I imagine you’re ready to get back to your case.”

Honestly, Tim wasn’t quite ready to end this day yet. “Why don’t we go out for dinner first? Then we can head back to Gotham and I can work on the case again.” He had, at least, sent his information over to Bruce before leaving with Jason. He didn’t know if Bruce had gotten the breakthrough Tim hadn’t. Jason had confiscated his phone as soon as they got in the car.

“Sounds good. Wait, turn around.”

“Huh?”

“Turn around.”

Tim shrugged and obeyed. He glanced back when Jason whistled. “I just suggested we go on a dinner date and you’re whistling over my ass like some pervert?”

“I’m your boyfriend. I have a right to admire your ass. Which, for the record, I was not doing. Look at your legs. The backs of them are bright red. Think Red Robin red.” 

Tim frowned and twisted to see what Jason was talking about. Shit. It was his own stupid fault for only putting sunblock on once rather than reapplying after being in the water. While his brothers tanned, Tim always burned. “Great. Now I have two burns while you don’t have anything.” He huffed and turned to give Jason an accusing onceover. 

Jason patted Tim’s back. “I’ll rub aloe on you. And tease you about your lame burns,” he added as he slapped Tim’s ass.

“You’re a jerk.”

“Your jerk.”

Tim couldn’t deny that.      

Note:

Jason and Tim’s sunburns are based off of personal experiences. I did have a very unfortunate glove tan after biking and when I was younger, I fell asleep at the beach and had my arm out on the sand. My sister and I are masters at getting really awkward/ridiculous sunburns.

[ruffoverthinksthings]

God Help The Outcasts (Part 2): The Monster

“Jesus Christ, you’re an even uglier motherfucker in person than you are on TV!” is Claudine’s first reaction to meeting Quasimodo in person.

Quasimodo’s reply to that is to smile, and say, “Yeah, the make-up artists here in Auradon are real miracle workers.”

Claudine is initially incredibly distrustful of Quasimodo, both for his physical appearance (“the uglier the mug, the meaner the motherfucker” is a very reliable rule of thumb on the Isle), and how Frollo framed him as someone who would “betray those who cared and loved him for years, all for the sake of a demonic temptress who poisoned his mind, clouding it with lust and sweet lies.”

(“Did you even understand all the claims he was making? As in, knew the meaning of all the words he was throwing about?” Esmeralda thought of asking once.

“Hell no, but it sounded confusing and terrifying, a combination you learn to fear pretty quick,” Claudine replied.)

It doesn’t help that, as a break from his usual work of being a paid public speaker and a frequent accomplice of Esmeralda in all her political activities, he’s taking the time to help Claudine and the “Third Wave” VKs adjust to life in Auradon.

This entails both being their Remedial Goodness Teacher (filling all the desks in a class with only one teacher is a never-fail recipe for trouble), and being their legal guardian, as Ben already has his hands full being legally responsible for the Rotten Four, plus Freddie, CJ, and Zevon.

(In the case of the latter two, they’re on parole, or under a special manhunt lead by Ben.)

Because of the prior successes of the first two waves of VKs brought over to Auradon, the Third Wave is a LOT more expansive, requiring both good attendance, keeping up a certain grade point average, and “(Relatively) Good Behaviour” in Auradon Prep, alongside participating in at least one after-school activity that forces them to interact with, help, and try to integrate with the larger community outside the walls of the school.

Because she has experience talking to people, is one of the most well-spoken and literate of the VKs, and is one of the most conventionally attractive next to Evie, Claudine often ends up as the representative of the VKs alongside Quasimodo, being the one to shake hands and smile for the camera, sit in at meetings beside him, and be the speaker for all of her fellow VKs.

This all actually goes well and good for the first two weeks, when the media has eyes, interest, and most importantly, cameras and live feeds on the various programs, everyone doing their damndest to give the best shots they can and show that the VKs and the residents of Auradon ARE playing nice with each other, and can get along.

It all steadily starts to collapse as the media moves back to adorable puppies and kittens, the exploits of romantic couples from the non-royal classes going through their respective movie-esque adventures as their relationships develop, and the less serious and very topical, frivolous political scandals going on about Auradon.

(“Breaking News: The Quarterly Lace and Silk Union’s Meeting In Jeopardy as Organizers Unable to Decide What Colour the Linens Should Be!”)

Claudine steadily starts to see the ugliness and the plasticity behind Auradon’s sunny, happy facade, realizes that so many of these people are suffering just as much as the people on the Isle just in completely different ways, and gets absolutely disgusted by how willfully ignorant they are or how even they, the oppressed and suffering, decide to play it off as “complaining too much about nothing,” to outright encouraging them to just accept it as a part of their life, and that they should even be thankful for the fact that it is incredibly difficult for them and their children to get off the farm and into higher education.

“Just think of what Auradon would be like if we didn’t have you and our families tilling the fields, pouring all our love and hard work into growing the food on everyone’s tables!”

It doesn’t disgust her just yet to positive action, as it just reinforces her belief that the world is a completely shallow, awful, judgmental place where everyone’s lying to everyone, sunny smiles and good behaviour are only for not getting thrown onto the Isle or suffering Maleficent’s wrath; people talk bad about you behind your back all the time; and beauty really is only skin deep as she meets plenty of attractive people just as petty and ugly as she is on the inside.

“The only difference between us is, I’ll happily admit I’m a bitch, they keep on believing they’re perfect little angels who can do no wrong.”

It bothers her even more that Quasimodo is still so incredibly nice and kind in the face of all this plasticity and insults, the odd mean-spirited joke or unintentional insensitivity as these past two decades have done him no favours.

He never gets angry, he ignores them, and like with Claudine’s first meeting, he joins in with the joking at his expense.

Meanwhile, Claudine is constantly firing jabs back, spends quite a lot of time on her new phone thinking up the worst and most vicious burns to her various “Pharisees” both online and offline, and happily “flies her bitch flag high” because it means she’s not hypocritical like they are.

It all comes to a head when during a speech at a big community event at a Christian church, an ill-timed joke from the MC and a sleepless night spent in Flitter wars combine, and Claudine explodes in a flood of vitriol and hatred, teaching many young children and AKs an entire dictionary’s worth of “colourful language” before giving them a handful of visual references for rude gestures before the Royal Guard finally succeed in hauling her off the stage.

(As with my fanfic Reunions, hauling away an actor, and hauling away an actual violent, angry, and dangerous individual are two VERY different things.)

Fittingly enough, Claudine and Quasimodo end up locked together in the office of the priest.

“I’m not apologizing for anything I said back there, if that’s what you’re going to ask me to do,” Claudine asks as she perches on the desk.

“Is this the kind of person you want to be, Claudine?” Quasimodo asks quietly.

“No, as a matter of fact, I didn’t want to be the daughter of holier than thou horndog, only here because your new king wanted to do something different,” Claudine snaps.

“I don’t mean your past, Claudine,” Quasimodo said. “I mean now, and your future—do you always want to be like what other people think you are, a ‘bitch’?”

“To be fair, it seems to be as set in stone for them as the original Ten Commandments! Don’t want to make so many people look stupid by proving their stupid-ass biases dead wrong, wouldn’t I? That’d be mean!”

“This is your chance to turn to ‘Good,’ Claudine!” Quasimodo cries. Quietly, he adds, “Please, don’t waste it—you may not ever get another chance.”

Claudine scowls as her hands ball into fists and shake once more. “I have tried ‘Good’ before, alright? I spent the first ten years of my life, doing everything I could to be the most saintly person I could be on that hellhole on the Isle.

“And what did it get me?

“A father that stopped loving me the moment Mother Nature signed me up for a monthly subscription to Satan’s Waterfall. Getting humiliated, bullied, and shunned by pretty much everyone but the crazies in my father’s congregation. Did what every ‘Good Christian’ should and tried to turn someone to the light, and ended up almost getting burned alive for it.

“And I only got out of that fire because of all the exercise I had climbing up and back down those fucking bell towers, each and every single day, like a Good Little Christian Girl.”

“I am done, trying to be good, alright…?” Claudine said, raising a shaking finger at Quasimodo. “All the ‘good’ trying to be ‘good for goodness sake’ has brought me is a super-sized personal hell in a handbasket.”

“Auradon is different,” Quasimodo said. “Believe me: they’ll come around, you just have to try.”

“And what in the hell am I supposed do to try and change these people’s minds?!”

“You act good, and you try not to do evil, until they realize they were wrong.”

“So what, I’m just supposed not deck someone for talking smack about me right in front of my face, let them humiliate me like the Pharisees did JC, before they rile everyone up, put me through a phony trial, and convince the masses to nail me to a fucking cross?!”

Quasimodo nodded. “Yes. But without the crucifixion part.”

“This fucking sucks!” Claudine cries as she throws her hands up in the air. “I’m the victim here, they’re the ones at fault for letting the Isle exist in the first place—hell, they were probably the people that probably voted ‘Aye’ as soon as the question came up!

“How come I have to bust my ass trying to prove I’m not a hell-raising, home-wrecking, 2nd-Deadly-Sin-Tempting succubus when they’re the ones that made me who I was in the first place?!”

Quasimodo shrugged. “I’m sorry, Claudine, that’s just how the world works,” he says sadly. “But, if it worked for someone like me”--he gestured to his face--”it’ll work for you, right…?”

Claudine stared at him, before she dropped her hands, and a look of pure, absolute hopelessness coming over her face. “You know what? Fuck it,” she says, all the bite and the sarcasm gone from her voice—now, she just sounds tired. “Fuck it, fuck this whole ‘Villain Kid Rescue and Reformation’ Program, send my apologies to Big Ben, I’m fucking done.”

Quasimodo got up and walked over to her. “Claudine, you can’t just quit now--”

“And why shouldn’t I?!” Claudine cries, her voice choked, her eyes watering. “Why shouldn’t I quit when there isn’t a light at the end of this fucking tunnel, it’s just a giant ‘Maybe’?! What’s gonna happen if no one changes their mind, huh? What’s gonna happen to me, when I bust my ass and give everything I have trying to be ‘Good’ again, but it just turns out once more that my all just wasn’t good enough?!”

Tears started streaming down her cheeks. “What will I have, when I have nothing left to give, I have nowhere to turn to, and have no one but myself…?” she whispered.

Quasimodo smiled and opened his arms. “You’ll have me,” he said softly. “And Esmeralda. And Madellaine, and Phoebus, and Zephyr, and Ben, and all the other people here in Auradon who want you to stay, who will stand by your side, who believe—no, who know you’re not like your father, at all!

“Claudine… you’re not a monster… you’re a person, just like me.”

Claudine just stares at him, eyes blurred and red from crying, hiccuping and sniffling from the snot clogging her nose.

“Do you need a hug?” Quasimodo asked.

Claudine lunges for him and wraps her arms tight around him. As she buries her face into his shoulder, she shouts, “Don’t tell anyone about this, or you’re dead, you hear me? Dead!”

Quasimodo just smiles and hugs her right back.

“I won’t,” he says. “I promise.”

[princessnijireiki]

like honestly, I obvs fully support ppl who choose not to medicate, bc side effects are rough as hell, and CAN kill creativity/mood/etc. (even for non psych meds— on oral HBC, I could get my physical pain manageable, but was deeply apathetic abt a lot of stuff, like getting off oral hormones felt like gaining my creativity & my true self BACK; and I don't have that problem on injectable HBC, even tho it's fairly notorious for triggering/exacerbating a LOT of other ppl's depression) and even with meds, I believe in lowest effective dosages— liberal prescription, I hate conservative rx practices making ppl "prove"/"earn" effective medication… but patients self determining their effective & functional zone & not OVER-dosing w. medicine but real talk: I hate NT/healthy ppl talking abt sugar pills, big pharma conspiracies, water/yoga/exercise, happy lights, side effects, &c &c bc like no shit I'm not thoroughly & deeply dependent on my expensive ass daily combo of medications carefully balanced out to keep side effects manageable for fucking funsies I just hate being sick/crazy/in pain WORSE so like… we all make choices every fucking day, barbara. nobody actually likes sweet & low better than sugar, but some ppl have fucking diabetes. sweet & low is gross as shit but it's not as gross as passing out in walmart & needing toes amputated from unstable blood sugar lvls. like no… I just like the side effects as a hobby… I have never ever contemplated apple cider vinegar before!!! wow!!! like actually no duh!!! I have CONSIDERED a life w/o side effects in the same way as I CONSIDER ppl talking abt the Healing Power of positive thinking— call me when the FDA can figure that shit out & when blue cross blue shield will cover it for me. but then those same ppl gush over whatever that fucking "When I Am Dead, You'll All See" suicide show is on netflix & jack off to van gogh suffering & that one movie where the dude falls in love with daenerys but NobleTragic™ choises to die instead of Live As A Cripple (which, in all fairness: shit is real & up for each person to determine for themselves re: livable vs. unlivable suffering… but healthy ppl are always like "OH NOOOO I'll just DIE I GUESS"/"it's good quasimodo offed himself, what kind of LIFE wld he have had if he'd LIVED," etc.), but then turn around and buy frida kahlo shirts at forever 21 & tell sick ppl they feel inconvenienced by having to see or deal with irl, "have you tried turmeric, lemon juice in your eyes… a muzzle???" it's truly wild like some of y'all are rly OUT HERE like this, hale & healthy & pushing whole grains on ppl who will Never Get "Better" like oatmeal will make folks walk again. like what is it like to believe in magic (in a young girl's heart)? bc ngl it seems fucking nice, but I don't live w. peter pan & the darlings where thinking a wonderful thought makes me fly. no. I need tricyclics to block my nerves & get me out of bed, hormones to stop organs from sabotaging my brain, and amphetamines to stop my brain from sabotaging my organs. tell tinkerbell to get on my level or get out of my way.

[samcatthorne]

Disney, 11

Okay. This one was a bit easier. Ready?

11. Evil Queen (Enchanted) Have I ever mentioned that I absolutely LOVE Susan Sarandon? She’s obviously having SO much fucking fun, and she takes over every scene she’s in. Watching her be sassy, even as a ginormous dragon, is just so much fun every time I see this movie.

10. Horned King (The Black Cauldron) This movie scared the ever-loving shit out of me as a kid, and the Horned King is solely to blame for that. His visage gave me actual nightmares, but I would always come back for more. He was the reason for that, too. Guess I just really liked getting the piss scared out of me.

9. Moana (Moana) Sort of a stagnant character storywise. She doesn’t really learn any lessons or anything. I mean...she learns how to sail. But despite that, she’s still pretty fun to watch. This is Disney’s first attempt at a movie based entirely around Polynesian culture, and I’d call it a success. Moana is a great character to look up to, and that’s what she’s for.

8. Hades (Hercules) James Woods is a fucking mastermind. Like, holy crap! He is SO FREAKING FUNNY!!

7. Kida (Atlantis: The Lost Empire) This is already an underrated movie with perhaps one of the most underrated Disney princesses of all time. This woman is freaking amazing!

6. Maui (Moana) Dwayne Johnson. That is all.

5. Mulan (Mulan) Easily one of the most feminist Disney princesses--hell, possibly one of the most feminist Disney CHARACTERS--ever, even today. The whole character arc is hers, the story is hers, the romance is almost literally an afterthought. She herself is instrumental in saving not just a country, but an entire EMPIRE (remember, historical China didn’t look back then the way it does now). Sure, she has Mushu try and “teach” her how to act like a man, but all of the respect she gains is entirely of her own doing. It’s not because she acted like a man, it’s because she proved herself as a soldier. I had so many feminine Disney heroes in the 90′s, and the list only grows from here.

4. Megara (Hercules) Another snubbed Disney princess. Megara is freaking amazing! While she does get all lovesick in the second half, the entire first half of the movie, she is the voice of every feminist ever.

“I’m a damsel. I’m in distress. I can handle this. Have a nice day!”

“Well, you know how men are: they think no means yes, and ‘get lost’ means ‘take me, I’m yours.’“

Also, her backstory is really fucking tragic. Like, holy shit. She got fucking JIPPED. Like, I don’t know who that guy was, but fuck him. Fuck him hard.

3. Quasimodo (The Hunchback of Notre Dame) Another tragic character, and an ACTUAL victim of Stockholm Syndrome. >.> His entire life, he’s been told his appearance would cause people to hate him, and his first experience in the outside world proves that notion right. That humiliation scene still makes me cry every time. You understand everything he experiences, from the terror of the outside to the wonder and awe when he first meets Esmeralda. He just wanted to be treated like a person, and even as a kid, that was all I ever wanted for him.

2. Esmeralda (The Hunchback of Notre Dame) Speaking of Esmeralda! If there is anyone I think deserves to be a Disney princess more than anyone else, it is this lady right here. She embodies everything a little girl should want to be: equality, justice, strength, confidence. She is more than capable of holding her own. The movie paints her as an object to be desired only when being shown from the point of view of the men who want her. The man she actually does end up falling for, she falls for as an equal. He doesn’t see her as something to be protected (other than Frollo’s persecution, but that’s an enemy far too big for her to take on alone, and even then it’s just as one of an entire people that needs to be defended). Poor Quasi gets his heart broken, but by the end, he realizes that she’s not an object to be claimed; she’s her own person and should be treated as such. Once he comes to terms with that, he not only accepts her love for someone else, but they remain friends even into the nonexistent sequel that doesn’t exist because it was a piece of shit and completely doesn’t understand what made the first one so great.

Can you taste the salt?

Here’s another list of Honorable Mentions:

Baymax (Big Hero 6) Ba-la-la-la!

Claude Frollo (The Hunchback of Notre Dame) This movie did NOT hold back on its warnings against persecution in the name of religion and sexuality. Like, holy hell.

WALL E (WALL E) Second best mostly-silent love story Disney has ever made.

Lilo and Stitch (Lilo & Stitch) Gotta put these two together. They’re a team! Also, I am ALWAYS up for an Elvis soundtrack.

Kronk (The Emperor’s New Groove) Patrick Warburton is a funny, funny man.

Yzma (The Emperor’s New Groove) She has got to be one of the funniest fem baddies I’ve ever seen.

Gurgi (The Black Cauldron) Am I the only one who’s NOT annoyed by him? I get the voice, but...he’s just such a sweetie. And his was the first onscreen death I actually comprehended and mourned. (And, yes, that’s including the upcoming one. Don’t judge me.)

Genie (Aladdin) Had to put Robin Williams on here. Comedy will never be the same without him. And this movie is strong evidence of that.

Mufasa (The Lion King) Like I said, don’t judge me. As a kid, my puny brain just figured he was taking a nap or something. Idk.

Still, now that I do understand what’s going on, I freaking bawl my eyes out. Seriously. It’s actually worse now than it was back then. I cry at his death almost as bad as I cry at John Coffey’s death in The Green Mile. It’s that bad.

And finally, my number one favorite Disney character is...

1. James Pleiades Hawkins (Treasure Planet) BEST MOVIE EVER!!! I will fight for this movie until my last goddamn breath. First of all, juvenile delinquent character who actually gets in trouble with the law. Doesn’t end up with a love interest. Character arc is entirely based around dealing with his father leaving. Not dying. LEAVING!! He just up and walked out on Jim and his mom, and he doesn’t come back. There’s no sudden reunion or last sacrifice or “Hey! He was secretly trying to protect you this whole time!” Nope. He just left. And Jim’s character arc is coming to terms with that, and finding a healthy way to deal with his emotions.

Not only that, but his relationship with Long John Silver is given new dimension like I haven’t seen before or since.

This movie is an underrated gem, from its characters to its story to visuals (god those visuals!!!). Everything about it is amazing!!

Also, I had a crush on Jim and his rat tail braid until I was 18 and learned he was only 15 and it started to feel weird. XD

[mysteryfanfictheatre3000]

Back to the Frollo, Epilogue

Warning: I’m dying.

EPILOGUE It had been a productive day at the Palace of Justice. Using his trademark methods to make people talk, Claude Frollo finally got all the necessary information out of Esmeralda. Now, he could finally apprehend that gypsy villain and make him pay for his crimes.

I don’t even want to know what he did to poor Esmeralda. That poor woman. She needs a hug.

However, the man was nowhere to be found. Patience...He'll show his face again...He'll truly regret he tangled with Claude Frollo! Esmeralda had left town. For reasons of his own, Claude decided to let her go. Little does she know that she's being used. If I know her, she'll go directly to that gypsy 'king'. And I'll be ready for them all...

Wait, what? Okay, so Esme’s fine, which is good because she’s awesome and deserves happiness. But how is she being used, exactly? Is Malus the “king?” Because I thought that was Clopin anyway. Eh, whatever. Like this author knows or cares.

He then focused on Renée de Chateaupers. Poor child...losing her parents...then her brothers. At least she has Phoebus... Phoebus had managed to pick up the pieces of his life and return to his job as caretaker of the d'Arcy estate. For some odd reason, Claude had offered Phoebus his old post as Captain of the Guard.

Here’s to hoping the events of the first movie play out again, except this time Danisha and Frollo both die. Let Quasi push Frollo into lava, and let Esmeralda kill Danisha. I’d pay to read that!

Even the King made some noises about the possibility of appointing Phoebus to a plum position within the Royal Army, but Phoebus politely refused. As he told Claude, "With all due respects, sir, I feel I need to be with Renée." Claude agreed; Renée had not fully recovered from the loss of her brother.

Okay, so Phoebus’s life isn’t that bad, and Esme’s okay. This is ending better than I figured it would.

Quasimodo had taken up American dialect. He found it amusing to recite the poetry of the American Heartland; somehow, Claude couldn't help but smile at his young charge's new-found hobby. It was Danisha who uncovered that talent -- she should be here, now, listening to Quasimodo imitate the perfect Hoosier twang and drawl.

Wait, so Danisha isn’t the one narrating this? What?

And what's become of Claude's postmodern American lady? She stays in touch with Her Man whenever she can, sending him notes and little gifts to amuse him. He unlocked the drawer that contained mementos of her; he took out that curious sterling silver device. Hmm...I wonder what she's doing now...

Ah, self-indulgent narration telling the audience how great you are. Right.

Claude Frollo then took something else from the drawer. I had meant to give this to her before she left. Well...my work is complete, and I would like to see her again. After all, she did invite me to Thanksgiving dinner... Claude Frollo stood in the center of his study, pushed a red button, and, in a flash of white light, he was gone...

Come ON! Just when I thought this piece of trash was over it spouts another head like a Hydra and attacks me once again! Just end already!

ŽŽ€€€€€€ Where am I? Claude Frollo found himself walking down a now-quiet hallway of a 20th Century American high school. It was nearly four o'clock; school had been out for over an hour. If I had made this trip earlier, I'd be up to my neck in boisterous adolescents! A delighted smile spread across his face as climbed the stairs to her classroom. Hmm...she must be working late. How many times have I told her not to work so hard. She should take her own advice. Now, which one is her room?

Why do I have a feeling random old men wandering the hallways of a school would raise eyebrows? Even if the day is technically over sports are still practicing, clubs are still going on, etc.

Claude Frollo found the door unlocked, the room empty, papers and books neatly piled on her desk. I told her to keep her door locked...Why, ANYONE could simply walk in and...Ah, what is this? Claude picked up a book then sat on a nearby table and started to read. She should be here soon....

She’s probably gone home, seeing as school’s been out for an hour now, and Danisha doesn’t seem responsible enough to actually grade papers or do any work.

****** What a way to start a weekend! I knew this would happen! Stupid copier! I tried to get a jump start on the upcoming work week: finish grading papers, copying work for lessons. I wanted this extended weekend to be as carefree as possible

Like she cares enough about her job to put any weekend effort in anyway.

Besides, this was one Thanksgiving I didn't have to cook everything! Fern had invited me to share dinner with her; Jacki would be there, along with Kyle and his girlfriend. The photocopier kept jamming on me; I'd thought this would be a quick job then I'd be out the door. Just need to get this paper unstuck...Oh no!...Hope I didn't break a nail...Finally got that job done!

Because the audience cares about Danisha’s photocopier issues. This is just more aimless filler to make this thing longer.

I took the elevator back to the third floor. Nearly everyone was gone –– except me. Pack up everything and go home! I wonder if Claude got my message to come this weekend? This should be fun... I walked into my room, and was taken by surprise. Claude Frollo! In my classroom!

Uuuuuuugggggggghhhhhhh.

I immediately put down my stack of papers and threw my arms around him. "Honey! I wasn't expecting you until later this evening. Claude kissed my lips and said, "My darling, I was so anxious to see you, and I wanted this to be a surprise." We kissed each other again; then, Claude surveyed my room. "Charming classroom, Danisha," he favorably assessed. "It's well-organized, attractive..."

I find that hard to believe, seeing as she slacked off all summer instead of putting it together.

[long, boring passage about Jehan, cut for time]

"He's in Italy -- Venezia -- of all places! Apparently, Jehan is quite taken with her, or is it she with him..." I could only comment, "So, Jehan Frollo's found himself a 'sugarmama'." Claude broke down in laughter as he removed his hat and cloak. I then asked about Esmeralda. Claude sighed as he began building a cozy fire. "My dear, I gave that gypsy witch the...what's that expression?" He snapped his fingers as he recalled, "The 'works'!" A wicked smile spread across his face as Claude continued, "I had her revealing things that she'd long forgotten."

WHAT THE FUCK. STOP. I DON’T NEED DETAILS OF THIS. STOP. NO. Have you ever heard that scene in the Star Wars radio drama where Vader brutally tortures Leia until she’s crying on the floor? It was super uncomfortable and hard to listen to. And that’s how I feel right now.

He then went on and explained how he had let Esmeralda go, all in a carefully orchestrated plot to finally capture the man who nearly killed Claude that winter. "I wish you luck, sugar", I said tenderly, kissing his cheek.

There’s gonna be a sequel, isn’t there? Crap.

He then asked me about our exposé, a written account of what really happened that night following the Feast of Fools. "I already have the initial installment in print, detailing how Malus, and that other man, drugged you, and fell for that imposter's scam. I've read Jules' confession, and all I can say is this –– The people of Paris will be totally blown away when they read this."

Ah, the good old “Frollo did nothing wrong and it was an imposter the whole time” theory that makes no goddamn sense.

Claude then kissed me as he sneaked a few pecans while I was putting a pie together. "I knew I could count on you to set the record straight." He then paused, shifted his eyes from side to side, while slowly chewing on a pecan. "Mmm...these are very good", said Claude, adding, "I hope you are baking two pies." "Two pies? You plan on doin' some damage tomorrow?", I asked playfully. Claude Frollo then looked at me with sultry eyes and said in a seductive voice, "Now, Nisha, I had hoped to have a little taste tonight..."

Negative two billion, people.

He flashed a dazzling smile at me as I went to the freezer and produced another pie. "This", I said, indicating the frozen pie, "is for tomorrow. All I have to do is bake it." Claude smiled again as I sashayed over to him, refilled his wine glass, and said in my own deep, sultry voice, "This", pointing to the freshly-assembled pie, "is for tonight...afterwards..."

Negative three billion.

Claude's hand caressed my thigh as he asked, "After what, precious love?" I kissed him deeply, then cooingly replied, "You know what I mean, sugarbritches."

I can physically feel myself dying. I’m withering away.

****** Later that evening, Claude and I shared pecan pie and hot coffee. It sure is good having him with here with me. Claude then produced something he had nearly forgotten to give to give to me. It looked like lace –– crocheted lace. But this was unlike any lace I've ever seen. "Jehan 416 brought this back from his first trip to Italy. He said the nuns do the most exquisite lacework." Claude handed me the lace, adding, "Since you are intrigued by the needlearts, I'd thought you'd like it." I examined this 500-year-old work of textile art, then embraced Claude Frollo and expressed my gratitude.

I don’t care. Stop.

Afterwards, Claude Frollo took a deep breath, gazed into my eyes and said, "Darling Nisha! When you show how grateful you are, you do so with such style!" That said, we soon embarked on another night of passion and romance. He always does such nice things for me. I wonder what he'll give me for Christmas? Hmmm...I wonder if Claude will like the Christmas present I bought him...sure glad I called that order in early. He's gonna be REALLY surprised!

THE END

THANKS BE TO GOD. Let me check the author’s page to make sure I got it all- HOLY HELL THERE ARE OVER THIRTY ONESHOTS, A DECADE’S WORTH OF FANFICTION AND MANY LONG SEQUELS! Kyrie elision. 

[the-wandering-platypus]

Rant #3 : WTF is wrong with the love story in It??

Spoiler alerts ahead. Also TW for child and domestic abuse. 

TL;DR: love triangle between girl, chubby boy, and speech impediment boy. Chubby boy literally got the same treatment as Quasimodo, and does not “get the girl” even though the plot pushes them together. Reason? Chubby guy is fat, whereas speech impediment guy has his impediment disappearing from time to time so it’s “less annoying”.

So I just went and saw the movie It, and it was shit to my opinion. I’m not to going to talk about the lack of actual scary content and the veeeerrrryyyyyyyyyy predictable plot, but rather I will rant about the infuriating love triangle because it is incredibly dumb and fatphobic. Fair warning that since the character development in this movie is about as big as my love for Stephen King (and King is a racist piece of trash that does not deserve the attention he gets), I do not remember any name and so I will make do with nicknames.

SO. Love triangle is between the only woman in the group, the chubby guy, and the main character with speech impediment. So chubby guy is new in the school and no one is nice to him (because obviously he is chubby, so he is awkward, shy, and loves books. Chubby guys cannot be anything else eh....), but love interest decides to be nice, signes her yearbook and they bond over their secret love of a music band. So that’s all great, but since we have Shitty Plot Fairy™ writing this movie, chubby guys HAS to fall in love with love interest because ONE nice action OBVIOUSLY means that she wants to make out with you. Plus it is obviously IMPOSSIBLE for a boy and a girl (they’re around 13 mind you) to be just friends!!! Soooo chubby guys does what every movie hero does to show their love: they write an anonymous poem. Fast forward many clown apparitions, speech impediment guy meets love interest in a very normal way, aka he sees her in a flash of white light as she smiles and walk slowly. Everyday stuff. So now we know that out of all the guys, at least two of them are infatuated with the only girl, just because she did ONE nice thing for them (she bought stuff for speech impediment guy or something like this). I would like to remind that they are all around 13 years old, but again how can a boy and a girl be just friend??? I mean... a nice gesture OBVIOUSLY implies that she wants to be with you right?????

So after several cringey sex jokes and more clowns, all the boys and love interest are swimming in the lake in their underwear. I’m going to forget the moment where EVERY boy are looking at the girl while she sunbathes because again, they are all attracted to her since she is a girl, so they have to drool over her (again 13 or so year old) boobs. But in this moment we have very poorly acted flirty looks between chubby guy, love interest, and speech impediment guy. But because speech impediment guy is not fat, he is confident and can actually compliment her whereas chubby guy is fat so he is shy. Results: +2 points for speech impediment guy in romance.

So now here is the list of wtf moments where the plot pushes chubby guy and love interest together, yet Shitty Plot Fairy™ decided that she should go with the speech impediment guy instead:

She finds the anonymous poem and loves it

She talks about poems to speech impediment guy, but he doesn’t seem to understand what she talks about, and she looks genuinely disappointed.

After one clown attack, she goes for chubby guy to get comfort, but apparently realizes he’s fat so she just put her hand on his shoulder and goes for a hug with speech impediment guy. 

Love interest is captured by clown, but thanks to Shitty Plot Fairy™ she is not killed unlike literally all the other kids, but rather put in a transe-like state thingy (no explanation about that so don’t look for one). And I’m not joking when I say that the only way to wake her up is a “true love kiss” situation, where chubby guys decides to bypass consent and kiss her. She wakes up and realizes omg you’re the one writing the poem! Aww so cute !! but you’re still fat so I’m just going to hug you.

At the end after the “amazing” battle against clown, they all leave except Speech Impediment guy and love interest, where they just talk and he runs after her to kiss her *eyeroll for the millionth time*. But Shitty Plot Fairy™ made sure that Speech impediment guy lost his impediment earlier during a very courageous speech. Because apparently you can’t be a strong leader with a speech impediment, and love interest cannot possibly fall in love with a handicapped guy unless it’s curable.........

In the end, chubby guy was literally Quasimodo’ed : the plot put beautiful girl and fat guy in a position so that they would finish together, but a wild beautiful boy appears and hey fuck all logic and the beginning of the plot you’re going to be with him now. It infuriates me that the SOLE AND ONLY reason they’re not together is because he’s fat. There are no other logical explanation if we follow the shitty plot. 

Now even if they had finished together it would still be a shitty movie in my opinion, because there are A LOT more problems (whitewashing, sexualization of kids, terrible characters, questionable acting, ...). But this unnecessary love subplot annoyed me more than anything because the writers didn’t even follow their own shitty plot rules for the sole reason that the character is fat so he can’t possibly have the happy ending. 

So there is nothing worth saving in the movie, which annoys me because the only interesting thing in this movie was the kid’s relationships with their respective parents. It would have been interesting to see the dichotomy between the imagined fear created by Pennywise, and the real fear that is child abuse; and as such they could realize that they don’t fear clown because they faced worse in their own homes.... But hey instead we have a shitty development, with clown disappearing for what I call Carebear reasons: “we are stronger together!!!! We are not afraid of you anymore because reasons!!!! We are just kids yet we found out where the meanie lives !!!! Basically we won because we are a bunch of white kids that are cast are losers but bullying is bad so redemption arc.

So save yourself the trouble, this movie is shit (again in my opinion), and exhibits blatant fatphobia, sexism, racism, and misogyny.

[silverclaw2968]

Seriously, why do all my Starbucks trips end up being philosophical?

I mean it. Every time I go, I end up pondering some deep subjects. Last time, I was thinking about my relationship with my dad. This time, I was talking to my friend Josh.

Now, I have mixed feelings about Josh. One the one hand, he’s been a great friend to me, helping me get my head out of my ass when no one else seems able to. He and I have fun together, him coaching me on how to play Bloodborne, and me talking to him about story ideas. The list goes on, but today saw the other side of my feelings.

I just learned that he was... intimate with my girlfriend. She would go to him every time I was distant, emotionally or physically (which often meant both). Naturally, I don’t like that at all. But I can’t blame her. Lately, I’ve been trying to see things from her point of view. And now that I am, honestly, not only would I have dumped me, I would have called the police on myself given some of the things I have done. And he’s been giving her more affection than I have for a long time now. Plus, they attended high school together and had some feelings that can’t be explained. I know that sounds like bullshit to you, reader, but I’ve seen them together. And I believe it completely.

But Josh seems to be able to understand what I’m going through. Maybe it’s because we both had similar outlooks, where all we wanted to do was give up. Where we placed blame on everyone and everything but ourselves. Hell, there was even a point I was blaming video games for my behavior! But no matter the reason, Josh has been patient (as he can be - I can be extremely difficult to work with) with me, and in turn, I’ve learned to open up to him.

Today, he and I walked around, with me asking various nearby businesses if they were hiring. Some said no, three said yes. I’m going in tomorrow to deliver applications and resumes. Afterwards, Josh and I sat in the nearby Starbucks. Originally, I wanted to go over a tabletop RPG called Of Dreams and Magic (if you know what that is, I applaud you. Seriously - I am impressed), but both of us could tell that I was... I needed to open up. And once Josh asked if I had anything I wanted to tell him, the floodgates opened.

I told him about how I feel I’m not doing enough around the house and in the relationship, and how it’s bothering me. And what bothers me more is that I’m not lifting a damn finger to do anything. Strength shouldn’t be an issue here - I should just go and do it, seeing how much my girlfriend means to me. But there’s that voice that only depression can deliver, telling me that I’ll fail. That it’s not what I want. That I just want to go live with my family, turning into the proverbial bird in a golden cage. And what scares me most? These days, I can’t tell the difference where the voice of the depression ends, and my own voice begins.

I told him about a nightmare I had last night, a nightmare where my dad was teaching me how to drive his old car. It was a 1993 Pathfinder, navy blue and a black leather interior that would make a biker gang proud. I hadn’t even left the driveway when a massive boa constrictor fifty feet long with a head the size of a crocodile’s slithered up, using its teeth to grip the corner of the passenger seat door and rip it open. It then slithered in, asking questions about the car and commenting how cool of a ride it was. And it wasn’t speaking in that way the movies make it out, where they hold out the “s” sound of every word. This spoke in two voices combined that terrified me. My dad, and an ex-friend of mine, Nathan. Something about hearing those two voices, together, talking about the exact same subject - fuck, the same damn words - made me want to run until my feet were bloody stumps. But I sat there, frozen, until it’s forked tongue flicked across my arm. Forget all that of a snake’s tongue being smooth - this felt like getting a harsh cut from a freshly sharpened kitchen knife. I bolted, only to stop when I heard the snake demand where I was going, like I had no right to leave. I turned slowly, and asked, in that calm way that you get when you’re completely and utterly terrified, for the snake to leave. It refused, biting down on my arm. There wasn’t a sickening crunch, no hiss, no blood except for a little trickle. Just pain flaring up my arm, worse than anything I’ve ever felt. I wasn’t scared at that point. I was in a rage that would have made Hulk and Doomsday trade high fives. I started punching the snake repeatedly, screaming until my voice wasn’t even human. And that’s when I woke up.

I told him how I didn’t feel strong these days, that I was worried that I wouldn’t be able to follow through on the promises that I made my girlfriend. When we first started dating, I had a fire in me that pushed me to be the best I could be. To provide the best for her. But somewhere along the way, that fire died. And I don’t think it was any one thing that did it, but a multitude of things. I remember that seeing my girlfriend cut and how her depression wreaked havoc with her personal life made me doubt myself, doubt that I could make a difference in her life. I remember that seeing my grades fall at the university for another time, and having to withdraw for a second time, made me shocked senseless. Shocked that I had messed up so badly. And after the shock came the guilt. I could have done something to make things better. I could have made a difference. But now I never will. That was what my depression tells me, and continues telling me to this day. Remember how Judge Frollo was an asshole to Quasimodo in The Hunchback of Notre Dame? Yeah, my depression is Frollo, and I’m Quasimodo.

I need coffee badly. Starbucks. Sucks being broke, but saving up the money will be worth it, especially if I can start going to therapy again. I forgot to mention - I finally got an appointment with a therapist. It’s tomorrow at 9 AM. I already have a list written down of everything that I need to talk about, and I’ll be taking notes on what I need to do next.

[mysteryfanfictheatre3000]

Back to the Frollo, Chapter 20

Warning: More racism. Seriously. They call Esmeralda “g*psy vermin” in paragraph 2 of this. It’s repulsive. 

Claude escorted me up to the belltower, while Quasimodo took Renee on a little tour of Notre Dame. We both endeavored to keep our amusement in check, but as soon as we reached the top, Claude Frollo fell to the floor, convulsing with uproarious laughter. "My darling", he said between deep, throaty chuckles, "that was one of your best performances. The way you dispatched that gypsy vermin!"

The sheer amount of pure, unashamed racism in this story is physically making me sick. This author is a terrible human being.

The melee between Esmeralda and myself became the talk of Paris; Claude didn't even try to stop me from my 'big payback'. Esmeralda was now locked away deep in the dungeons of the Palace of Justice. Claude would later interrogate her on the whereabouts of Malus' accomplice. I knew Claude had 'special' methods for making people talk, and I never questioned those methods.

Holy FUCK. This just gets worse and worse. When did this stop being a creepy romance story and start being a story about how Esmeralda is tortured?!

Hmmm --- 'cruel and unusual punishment' --- a lot of folks in my time would say, "Bring back the rack!"

I literally cannot talk more about how this author is a horrible human being. Blaming the victim of harassment, attempted rape and attempted homicide is so unbelievably wrong on so many levels, and I cannot stress that enough.

Claude caught me trying not to laugh. He held my hand and asked me, "Oh Danisha, dearest...Do you have to leave? I thought we could enjoy an extra week together, what with things turning out as they did." He leaned over and kissed my mouth, then, pulled something from his pocket. It was the pager.

Because what’s funnier than torturing an innocent girl?!

"I know you have responsibilities at home, but, no matter."

What responsibility?! She was able to leave her home for 2 solid months to go on a joyride to the past. Even if she’s a teacher, the summer isn’t just free time, it’s classroom-setting up, lesson-planning time. Danisha is just ignoring all her responsibilities, why should it change now?

Claude sighed as I pulled my own pager from my purse. "We still have this; we're not that isolated.", I said, returning the kiss. Claude Frollo smiled and asked, "Do you remember when you received this little device?" I nodded, replying, "Do I ever! And I thought everything was a dream! Then..." Claude finished my sentence, "Strange things began to happen..."

We don’t care. Why is this dragged out for so long? They’ve gotten together, Esmeralda’s been (wrongfully) assaulted and captured, and Malus is dead. The drama is over. Who cares about these jerks anymore?

************************* Was it all a dream? A summertime fantasy? An hallucination brought on by too much exposure to Midwestern heat and humidity? I threw myself back into work and routine. Jacki had already returned to graduate school, and Kyle started his sophomore year at Ball State. I'll never forget Claude's expression when Kyle said he wanted to "be a teacher, just like Ma." I supposed Claude had hoped Kyle would go into law; after all, as Claude told me, "I had hoped to act as his mentor." Yeah...right. Like Kyle's going to travel back in time just to start a law career. That would never happen -- could it?

I mean, yeah, this story is dumb enough that it could happen.

I was beginning to wonder if I dreamed it all. But I still had the sterling silver key, and the tapestry which hung on my living-room wall. Many of my friends kept asking, "Where did you get that?" I just said, "A friend gave it to me." Whenever I looked at the tapestry, I wondered if Claude Frollo and I would ever cross paths agaim.

It’s “again.” PROOFREAD YOUR WORK. And hopefully you don’t, because I hate you both.

Fern seldom mentioned our trip to medieval Paris; I guess she didn't want to upset me, seeing how painful it was for me to say me final good-byes to Claude. Oh well, as Claude always says, no matter.

final?! She has weekends and holidays off, and there’s always next summer!

As I said, I threw myself back into my old routine. Everything seemed to go smoothly; I was beginning to put Claude Frollo's memory 'on the back burner'. Then very odd things began to happen to me.

Of course they did, because this story has to go on even longer!

Fern and I made our annual visit to the State Fair, taking in all the agricultural and industrial achievements. Naturally, I wanted to see the farm animals. Fern left me to get us some lemonade, saying, "Why don't you mosey into the draft horse barn; I'll meet you in front ot the Percherons." I wandered up and down the aisles, marvelling at the Belgians, the Clydesdales, and, my favorites, the Percherons. One particular animal seemed peculiarly friendly as I petted his nose. Hey, this one looks like Snowball...

Ughhhhhh. Here we go.

A young man who was standing nearby spoke; his French-accented voice sounded awfully familiar. "You know, my brother owns such an animal. Fabulous black stallion."

A French guy has a brother who owns a horse? That’s sure strange!

Something about the man's voice clicked. I wheeled around but saw no one but Fern, who was carrying two lemonades. "It ain't the fair without a lemonade shake-up", she said as she handed over a cup. "Damn good-lookin' animal!", was all Fern said as she studied the stallion.Down in September, my old car gave out on me; I had no choice but to buy another. I finally chose a late model Camry, recently repainted a lovely shade of violet. When I picked up my car, the mechanic told me, "My master...I mean, my boss made sure everything was in working order."

If this is Quasimodo, which I’m sure it is, because this author is bad at subtlety, he should really be more careful. Normal people don’t refer to their “master” ever.

I didn't get a good look at the young mechanic as I replied, "Thanks..." Then I noticed something else as I examined the inside. "What is this?", I asked, pointing to the violet button under the dash. "Oh that", said the mechanic, "My master...I mean my boss said to give you this." He handed me a glossy booklet entitled, Traveling Tips. But this doesn't tell me about the button; and, I have all the travel books I need. "Wait a minute!", I called to the mechanic, who had already left the garage. I caught a glimpse of him as he crossed the parking lot. He was deformed, with a humped back, and walked with a slight limp. This is getting too weird...but that guy can't be Quasi...

I don’t understand this. Are all these characters somehow traveling to the future just because they like Danisha and want her back soooooo very much? How does Quasimodo know who Danisha is, which car is hers, how to install time-travel buttons, and how to pass as a mechanic? The fact that he’s portrayed as a stupid man-child only makes this weirder.

Yet, the oddest occurence was when I finally received that curious device; then, HE showed up on my doorstep.

Come oooooooooonnnn. Just let this stupid, racist mess end already.

It was the day of homecoming; I was looking forward to the pep rally and parade that afternoon. In the evening, Fern and I would attend the football game. The day started out as any other Friday. I joined my co-workers for our usual 'whoopee-it's-Friday' coffee hour.

Can teachers just take random weekly coffee hours? Don’t they have classes, and papers to grade and copies to make and so on?

The early morning conversation centered around the rally and parade. Just before my first class, I checked my message box. There was the usual stuff: attendance reports, minutes from a departmental meeting, booklists - and something else: A small box wrapped in shiny purple paper and tied with a black velvet ribbon. I thought it was an early birthday present, so I locked the package in my car until school ended.

Who let a random elderly priest into a school to slip a message into a teacher’s mailbox? And how did Frollo know how to get to said school?

After the rally and parade, I unlocked the glove compartment and removed the package. I untied the ribbon and, very carefully, removed the paper. I cautiously opened the box and took out what looked like a pocket pager - but this was unlike any pager I've ever seen. It was about the size of a poker deck, but not as thick. It was of the most exqusite sterling silver, with tiny amethysts encircling the front and edges. I flipped it open; there was array of buttons, and a screen.

Frollo somehow knew how to find a magic time-travel pager? This story makes less and less sense at it rambles along.

Immediately, the pager flashed brightly and beeped loudly; a message began to scroll across the screen.

This will make the trip that much faster! I love you.Hugs and Kisses, Claude. Claude Frollo? How can this be?

Well, gee, I don’t know. Maybe you’re just a horrible writer who can’t have historical accuracy or any sort of consistency in your work?

I gasped with the sudden realization that THAT'S what he meant by, "We'll see each other again." Maybe that mechanic was Quasi. Then again, this could be just another hallucination; after all, I was tired and stressed-out. I put the pager back in it's box and went home. Maybe Fern knows something about this...

Why does Fern care so much about these two idiots’ relationship? Why is this even important to her? Her level of involvement is getting weird.

I said I'd meet Fern at the gate around seven; maybe we can get a good seat. This ought to be an interesting game...even if I do hate football...

Why are so excited about homecoming if you hate football? Why are you even here, then? Teachers aren’t like, required, to go. My mother was a teacher and she almost never went. I quickly showered and changed into my 'spirit' clothes: blue jeans and my black-and-orange high school sweatshirt. I even tied my hair with black and orange ribbons. I had just turned out a few lights and headed for the back door when I heard the front doorbell. Now who can that be? I'm almost out the door, for goodness sake...

Frollo, I bet. Somehow.

Visibly annoyed at having to postpone my departure, I turned on the front porch light and opened the door. At once, my annoyance turned to sheer delight and utter surprise when my eyes met those of Claude Frollo. He smiled at me then began to speak. "I hope I didn't come at a bad time. I know you have plans for the evening, but I had to see you, my love."

Of course. I don’t know why I was expecting anything better.

[long passage about them making out, cut for time and also because ew]

This is just gross at this point. Disgusting, stupid, unnecessary… I could go on.

Now, I was too ecstatic from seeing Claude Frollo, again, in the flesh; I never noticed what he was wearing. "Hey, baby", I said as I stepped back to admire his fabulous ensemble. Oh my goodness! Check out sexy Claude Frollo!

Remember how I said every time I see Claude Frollo described as sexy, I lose a little bit of my will to live? Well, my will to live right now is right about zero.

Claude was clad in tight - they looked as if they were sprayed on - black leather pants and matching vest, a purple silk shirt, black velvet cloak, and, of course, that famous triangular hat. "Ooh, Claude", I cooed, my eyes taking in every detail. "You sure are looking mighty fine." Mmmm...I like the way the leather hugs every contour of his glorious body...those pants are really fitting...in ALL the right places!

Now it’s negative one.

Claude Frollo, smiling broadly, again took me in his arms, kissed me deeply, then said, "I'm glad you approve." He laughed when he kissed me again, then modeled that fabulous outfit, saying, "Jacqueline showed me a picture of this in...what is that publication...GQ? If I remember correctly, you fantasized about me wearing this very ensemble."

Negative two.

Claude smiled again as his hand caressed my waist and back. I turned on a few lights; Claude favorably assessed my living room. "Charming home", he said; his eyes falling on the tapestry. "I see you've put this in a prominent spot", Claude said, feeling the softness of the fabric. I said nothing as I watched him move about the room, his eyes taking in everything. He stopped then looked quizzically at me.

We still haven’t discussed how he got here.

"What's this? A chilly October night, and no fire." "But Claude, I'm going out. I have to meet Fern at the field..." My voice was silenced by Claude's lips. Mmm...it's so good to have him here with me... Claude continued to caress me then said, "My darling, I had hoped to spend a quiet evening with you." He kissed me again, then smiled and asked, "Now where is that delightful 20th Century music?" I complied and tuned the radio to my favorite urban station. Then, something in the back of my mind snapped. Hold it! How did he get here?

You didn’t think to ask this question before?! How did Danisha even live this long with only half a neuron to her name?

Claude must've sensed what I was thinking for he immediately reached in his cloak and pulled out what looked like that pager -- it was identical! "Jacqueline is so brilliant, my dear", he began. "She managed to make this little device right after you left. You see", he flipped open the pager and continued, "these buttons allow us to contact each other any time we want." He then pointed out a red button.

Jacki’s brilliance knows no bounds, and the fact that she’s not using this skill to help the world or make money makes me think she’s being forced to use it for evil purposes such as this by Fern. Jacki and Esmeralda are the real victims here.

"This is an emergency button. It allows its owner to instantly transport him or herself to the desired time period. I had Jehan test it with Jacqueline back in August." Claude then smiled, adding, "Isn't that ingenious? I can visit you whenever I want, as you can visit me."So...that man at the fair...it was Jehan Frollo!

And Jehan was totally okay traveling to the 20th century. It’s not like he would be completely bemused, alarmed, and endangered by the new technology, or at the very least curious. But yeah, of course the only thing he did was hang out with a horse. And if this emergency button lets them transport themselves effortlessly, why did Danisha need to use the car at the beginning of this story if she had the pager?

I immediately rifled through my purse and took out my pager. "So that's why you sent this -- to keep in touch", I told him. I threw my arms around him and exclaimed, "Claude Frollo, if you aren't the sweetest man...I love you!"

Yes. Sweet. Sweet in that he’s a racist, murderous, homicidal, genocidal, rapist maniac!

Claude returned my kiss, then said, "And, dear Nisha, I hope you like the vehicle. I thought the color would please you." My eyes widened. "YOU found that car? I supposed you arranged to have that button installed. Wait a minute...", I said, just now recalling that mysterious mechanic. Claude smiled again. "Yes, my dearest. That was Quasimodo. I thought he'd like a special treat -- to visit your time, albeit briefly.

And again, like Jehan, do nothing of note but meet Danisha for less than a minute. Sidenote: how can they control where and when they go? Is there a little dial that can change the time and place? Can one use this as a teleportation device by changing the time to one second earlier and the place to, say, NYC, and just pop up there? Because that would be a way more useful thing to do with this miracle device than have this stupid summer fling between these two unlikable idiots.

Let's say it's a 'thank you' gift for being so kind to him. He talks of little else these days." I then asked him about the de Chateaupers children: Jules and Renee. "They are well and adjusting quite nicely. Mme. d'Arcy has found them a place; Jules is working in the stables and Renee has taken up sewing. The girl is rather gifted." He smiled again, then said, "I didn't come here to discuss other people. I thought..." Well, it is getting late...guess I'll call Fern...looks like my previous plans have fallen through...HE'S here...that's all that matters.

So the de Chateaupers are happy, but what about Esmeralda? Is she still being tortured?!

"Umm...Claude?", I began, my hands caressing his slender waist, "Why don't you start a cozy fire while I call Fern. I guess I can skip homecoming this year." Claude looked puzzled. Once again, I had to explain another 20th Century American custom. "But won't you miss seeing your old classmates?", Claude asked as he built the fire. "There'll be other games; I can see old school chums anytime. Besides...I hate football."Claude burst into laughter as he removed his hat and cloak. Oh, Claude! Now I can REALLY feast my eyes on all your leather-clad glory...baby, you sure look good!

Why is that funny? Also, my will to live is at -5 now. Thanks.

A roaring fire, a bottle of my best California Zinfandel, and mellow, yet, sultry music, set the stage for a perfect romantic evening. And just when I thought it was all a dream. Mmm...it feels so good to hold him again, kiss him, hear that deep, manly voice. I sure like the way this leather feels...the way these pants hug his long legs...Oops...I didn't mean for my hand to go...there! "Oooh, my love", Claude moaned softly as he returned my every caress.

Negative ten. Hope you’re happy.

Suddenly, Claude asked, "My dear, what is that song?" It was Adina Howard's Freak Like Me; both the rhythms and the lyrics were rather sensual. "I think it sort of fits. You know, how I feel about you", I told him. Claude, still kissing and caressing every inch of me, softly chuckled and said, "Darling, I would hardly call you a 'freak'."

Well, I would! If the Frollo fetish wasn’t enough, the racism is!

"Baby, what else would describe how I feel! I guess I'm just 'freaky' over Claude Frollo." Claude Frollo laughed again, saying, "Well, Danisha dearest, if you want to go about and call yourself 'Frollo's Freak', I'm not about to stop you." I kissed him back. "Honey, from this day on, at least in your little circle of ladies, my code name will be 'FrolloFreak'. How does that grab you?"

Oh dear God almighty. This is just outright admitting that this character is a shameless self-insert, the story is a wish-fulfillment fantasy and the author is PROUD of it! We all knew that, of course, but outright saying it is another thing!

Claude smiled broadly, kissed me deeply, then said in a wildly seductive voice, "If that is what you want...mmm...Speaking of 'grabbing' things..." And with that, he took my hand and placed it on a special spot that he knew I loved to caress -- the inside of his slim thigh.

Negative twenty!

At last, Claude and I were together again. It would be like this for many days and nights to come.... ********** Claude walked me to my car as he voiced small protests. "I don't see why you can't stay at least another day. After all, this has been a trying week." He was referring to the tragedy of Jules' death. "Claude", I tried to reason, "you know very well I have responsibilities at home.

Responsibilities you consistently ignore in favor of stupid romances. Also, jumping timelines again!

Besides, you want me to write up that account of what really went down that night after the Festival." Claude Frollo nodded sadly as he handed me a some papers. "Oh well...no matter. You'll return to me someday." He smiled, then added, "Oh yes. Jules dictated this to Jehan the day Jehan found him. It's a confession of sorts, explaining Malus' role in the plot to destroy me, and how Malus died."

Like we care at all.

That's right...I never learned what really happened to Malus...finally, I'll know everything... Claude continued to give me instructions as I unlocked the car. "Of all people, Nisha, I'm leaving it up to you to tell the world the truth." He then kissed me goodbye, then mounted Snowball. "I shall leave you now, my love. I've found it far too painful to watch you depart." Claude blew me a kiss, then rode away. I wanted to cry, but, just as he said, we'll see each other again -- and again.

Negative fifty! My will to live is at negative goddamn fifty!

I locked Jules' paper in the glove box, then started the engine. Just as before, I looked back one more time to see Claude riding away in the distance. I floored the accelerator and depressed the violet button underneath the dash... Ah, home again! It's been a long weekend...hmm...what day is it? Saturday?! Glad I had someone cover for me at work. Look at the mail! Hey, what's this? A card? Looks like...Claude Frollo's handwriting! Aww...this is so sweet.

My Darling Danisha, Thank you for a wonderful weekend. I regret that things did not work out for the best. But at least I did get to see you, my darling. Make sure to get some rest. I love you so. A Thousand Kisses, Claude Frollo.

I have this sneaky feeling I'll see him again. Only then, it'll be under more pleasant circumstances! Hmm...now where did I put that catalog from Christy's..Ah! Here it is! Now...wonder if Claude will like this...oh my!...that IS kind of sexy!

NEGATIVE ONE BILLION.