#macho men box in pink
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Our Allens <3
How would our boys react to the Barbie Movie?
Warnings: none
♡ Yassine ♡
I imagine that out of the two of you he’d be the first to see the trailer when it comes out.
Like minutes into its release, already in his Youtube recommended
He was well beyond the age of acting like he was too cool for it
It looked fun and right up your alley
You’re busy with work and he doesn’t close your laptop but he holds his phone over it so you can watch
You’re not too happy with the interruption but he just seems so excited, practically buzzing so you take the phone.
2 minutes and 42 seconds later, you’re up on your feet and buzzing with him
He’s quick to sift through your shared closet for things to wear (before everyone else decided to do it)
He’s got some pink dress shirts so he thinks he’ll be fine but you on the other hand
He’s not impressed by the lack of variety
There’s months before the film comes out but no, you need to be prepared and NOW
Practically dragging you to the mall to look for stuff because there is NO WAY you’re going to this film underdressed
He picks a hot pink skirt and white top that he thinks you would look cute in
He’s got surprisingly good taste, let's just say that and before you even open your purse, he’s paid for it.
As the release date gets closer and closer and more trailers come out, he has a new and even more brilliant idea
All black
“If you wanted to go to Oppenheimer instead, you could have said!”
He gasps in offence and pulls out the screen-cap that inspired him
“... also what is Oppenheimer exactly?”
“Yassine, I can’t wear a damn tiara!” “Why not?”
You end up having to wear the tiara
You spend about half an hour taking photos in the Barbie box before doing anything
He doesn’t post anything because he never posts anything but you certainly do and it gets reposted onto the Sevilla instagram because it’s just too darn cute
He cries at the Billie Eilish bit but gets over it quickly so you can jam to the Ice Spice remix together
“I promise you that I’m more of an Allen than a Ken, Angel. I would never believe in patriarchy! And I hate horses!” “...” “Okay I don’t hate horses but you get the idea!”
“So do you want to watch oppenheimer?” “Angel, I still don’t know what that is if I’m being completely honest.”
He thought that Barbenheimer was just a cool reference to how well the film was gonna do
“Why is it such a big deal that they come out at the same time? Mamma Mia and the Dark Knight also came out at the same time and no one said anything about that!”
You do end up watching for the sake of it but he’s not feeling it at all.
“Do you think that Cilian Murphy is more attractive than me?” “He could never.”
He’s quite pleased with that answer and he gets all blushy
He ends up dragging you to the next screen to watch barbie again right after for a ‘palette cleanser’
♡ Abde ♡
You’re definitely the one to push it in this instance
He’s young, like really young, so there is a little bit of an obsession with that macho image
Much less of it since he managed to win you over by letting it go but its still kinda there
Even with that, he may have read a couple of unflattering reviews (obviously from men) so he’s not got the best impression
It doesn’t take you long to convince him at all because the the way your eyes lit up is enough
He loves the idea of you dressing up all cute for it, happily help you pick an outfit but when you bring up the idea of HIM matching you, he’s not so keen
“Come on! What's wrong with a bit of pink? Most designer men’s clothes have a little bit of it!” “Yeah but that's different!” “Sure (!)”
You do manage to get his approval of one pink shirt but he’s a little bit sulky the whole way home and you give him the silent treatment for it
He respects your space but he ends up whining to his brother about it which feels like the biggest mistake when his mum overhears it; more of a blessing in disguise to be honest
“That girl puts up with so much of your nonsense and you can’t even put on a pink shirt for her Barbie thing without adding on even more nonsense? Ya Allah, forgive me I’ve raised a wannabe macho idiot for a son!”
His dad ends up overhearing as well and gets to a stern explanation
“In what world is pink girly? It’s a fucking colour, son. Any ‘man’ that associated a colour with being a girl is a west-washed little boy, you wear little necklaces and get an eyebrow slit but you draw the line at pink? I raised you better than that.”
His brother ends up chiming in too.
“Yeah man, it's a little scummy. It’s a pink shirt and two hours of your time, she used to wear that ugly yellow kit happily to matches AND she watches you play video games for way longer than that, and at least a movie might be more entertaining…”
At first he doesn’t really want to believe anything that they’ve said but he spends the evening pondering over it, only feeling more and more guilty and time passes by
“I’ll just watch it with my friends, it's fine!” but you’re obviously disappointed, he can see it written on your face and you don’t give him time to say anything as you walk away
He spends a good hour going back and forth with you about that, eventually just wrapping you up tight in his arms and apologising over and over again
“Pleeeeeeeeeeaaase take me! It’ll be fun, I swear! I’m a fun guy, am I not?” “You’ve changed your tune.”
“My parents didn’t raise a west-washed little boy, did they?” you don’t know what that means but you can’t really ask with your face pressed up against his neck.
“Should I grow out the eyebrow slit?”
You find the strength to pull away from him with that suggestion, “YES!”
To add to the apology, he lets you do his nails but refuses to let you push at his cuticles
Not that you need to do that anyway because his nails are beautifully shaped and you LOVED being able to paint them
He does indeed make it a fun experience when you go out for it and you get some really cute photos together
He spends a while getting photos of you in the booth on your own because you looked so damn adorable
During the film, he keeps pointing out the outfits he thinks would look good on you… so basically everything.
He’s intrigued by the giant fur coat but you immediately put a stop to that
“But look! it's so-” “Ugly! Looks like a freshly killed polar bear rug!”
By the end of the movie, you're both in tears and he gives you the biggest hug he can manage when you leave the theatre.
Its a genuine eye-opener for him
“I’m such a Ken, anjo!”
It's his awakening: he didn’t really like acting all hard and cool anyway and now he had a better understanding of just how dumb that mentality was.
Constantly talking about “boyfriend-girlfriend” things
You didn’t mind but you wished he would stop referring to it as that because you wanted him in all his glory and you didn’t need to be laughing in the middle of it.
♡ Hakim ♡
Its a cute little moment where you swap phones to show each other the trailers
He’s definitely more intrigued by Oppenheimer but he’s happy to watch barbie with you
Of course, so long as you watch Oppenheimer with him
Like Yassine, well beyond acting too cool for a movie and the colour pink
Your outfits match and are a mix of pink and black so you can really get into the spirit of the occasion
You match clothes quite often but it still makes him smile when you get excited and scan over the outfits
He honestly just liked doing stuff with you and vice versa
He’s not really bothered by what anyone thinks of him anymore
You watch Oppenheimer first and he can’t help but point out the things he told you about when he explained the movie to you
He has some of his own critiques and gripes too
He’s not impressed when he sees the American flag nor is he happy with the nudity but he’s okay with the film, overall.
Surprisingly enough, he was actually quite excited for barbie.
You had explained every little detail from the trailers and the underlying themes and easter eggs and he supposed that at least 1 live adaptation was ready to be faithful
You’re the more energetic watcher while he’s just extremely focused
Like his eyes don’t leave the screen once, he looks to be in deep thought
Although there is some palpable shock when Barbie is called a fascist
You’re worried when he hasn’t said anything by the end of the film, fearing that he was gonna be one of those
“Men really suck, huh?”
Big relief and you agree with a laugh
You spend ages talking about the little intricacies in the movies and the deeper messages, from when you get back into the car and well into the evening
He does post a little thing on his story: a blurry photo of the two of you
His brothers do tease him a little bit but they’d all watched it with their partners too and they were all in agreement: it was fantastic
They acted cool and stoic critics about it on the outside but the excitement on the inside was still evident
You pointed out one of the dresses from the movie that you loved, thinking he wasn’t paying attention but alas
He goes above and beyond to find a replica and eventually just settles on a tailor to make you a custom one
He has your measurements because he’s bought plenty of custom pieces for you already and he wouldn’t stand for anything less than perfection
If he was picky for himself, imagine how h would be for the love of his life
He gets a little slap-happy with it and ends up ordering like 4 custom outfits for you instead of one
He wondered about whether he should save them for special occasions but he concluded that he just couldn’t wait
I imagine you coming back from a long day at work and the outfits are laid out, in their garment bags
You assume that he maybe got himself some new jackets or something because that's pretty common for him
When you unzip the bags and obviously you’re surprised
“Do you like them?” “I mean yeah but… what?”
He can’t wait for you to process anything and he’s hurrying you to try it all on
Obviously you look absolutely stunning and the way he’s looking at you has you all nervous: partly because he always just looked at you like you hung the moon and stars but also you were slightly concerned that he was seconds away from tearing it off you
“Oh god, you’re such a barbie…” he knows exactly how big of a compliment that is, your beloved allen
♡ Nayef ♡
He definitely isn’t at Yassine and Hakim’s point where image isn’t that big of a deal but he’s an absolute sweetheart
Genuinely so positive and joyful, in that sense there’s a unique maturity about him
You call him over to watch the trailer with you and he doesn’t really understand but matches your excitement when you point out the little details
I feel like he would be doing a lot of his own research too, those youtube videos of people analysing the trailer frame-by-frame become his new obsession
I imagine he’d be getting into a lot of arguments on his burner twitter account with the bitter men trying to tear it down
He doesn’t care at all, he’s going to see barbie with you the first chance he gets and he’s going to find a matching outfit somewhere
You assumed he’d just find a pink shirt but no, he spends ages sifting through the internet for a ken inspired outfit that he could replicate and a barbie outfit for you, pink would not suffice on its own, you were gonna go all out with some proper references
He’s definitely the most Allen-esque of the boys, that's for sure
Proudly posts a photo of the pair of you on his story and your matching outfits with the reference on the side
He does get a lot of praise online for it for being so “brave” but he sees it as the bare minimum and doesn’t quite understand why it's such a big deal
Somehow he’s more excited than you at the theatre
And he somehow knows even more finer details than you as well, it’s kind of jarring
He LOVES the music and knows all the lyrics because he’s been listening to the album non-stop
He is in tears from America Ferrara’s beautiful speech
Constantly looking over at you like you’re a champions league trophy
The switch from emotional billie eilish to the upbeat ice spice remix is a bit of a shock but he just goes with it because at the end of the day, he’s having the time of his life with the movie
“You know I would love you no matter what, right?”
“Like you ARE extraordinary and perfect in every way but even if in some bizarro universe where you weren’t, I bet I would still be obsessed with you.”
And you fully believe him because he would drop anything and everything for you, no doubts in your mind whatsoever
I feel like he’d be so cheesy when you leave the theatre, like he’s carrying you to the car bridal style
He would also refer to the deed as “boyfriend-girlfriend stuff” for months
He would be dragged to Oppenheimer with his friends but he comes back home too you and he looks far from impressed
“Well it certainly wasn’t Barbie, I know that much!”
not my usual style but i just thought headcannons would be a better format since i got requests for all of them! i hope u enjoy, lovelies <3
#abde ezzalzouli#ez abde#footballer fic#football fluff#football fanfics#football fanfic#footballer x you#footballer x reader#footballer imagine#morocco#morocco nt#football imagines#football one shot#nayef aguerd#nayef x reader#nayef aguerd x reader#nayef aguerd imagine#footballer fanfiction#hakim ziyech#hakim ziyech x reader#hakim ziyech imagines#hakim ziyech imagine#hakim ziyech x you#hakim ziyech fluff#hakim ziyech fanfics#yassine bounou#yassine bono#yassine bounou x reader#yassine bounou fanfic#yassine bono x reader
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ppl who said Ryan was "too old" are about to be proved wrong by that box office $$$$$ he's about to rake in. he's hilarious and perfect for this role. and also gorgeous??? A TRUE BEAUTY KEN. "I saw a ken face down in the mud and texted Greta a pic with I must tell this man's tale" xD
also there's never a person (until RECENTLY) saying the female actors aren't cast old enough (I'm not taking about Margo). The viral moment a little while ago was when Emmy Rossum was cast as Tom Holland's mom (and it's only because it's Tom hype it was noticed, I love him but still this has been happening since cinema has existed) she's only ten years older than him. That just happened in a Jessica Chastain movie like two years ago and no one said anything. My neices were watching a utube soap and I kid you not the "mom" was the SAME AGE. It's every movie; every show. I'm so happy Halle was cast as Ariel - appropriate age!!!
I understand productions cast older teens/young adults rather than kids because then they can cut corners with union rights/demands like kids needing more breaks and parents on sets and like... basic human decency. also shows like R!verdale have teens sleeping together every weeek and sexy shots yada yada that actual teens WOULD NOT be permitted to do in filming (thank god they have intimacy coordinators now FINALLY). I forget who pointed it out, but you never see a news woman with grey hair. On a man it's distinguished on a woman it's ugly or she's a crone. I'll watch movies where they cast a 30 something woman and make her 50 by graying her hair. Like wtf?
Anytime I'm watching a high school scene with a friend I say "none of those people are high schoolers".
I'm an actor who's repeatedly told I AM LUCKY MY FACE LOOKS YOUNGER THAN I AM. This is going to last me about what 3 years? 2? I was just basically let go from a gig because FB feedback on photos were I looked "too old" for a character and it was because our boss was casting TEENAGERS illegally so yeah, of course I'm going to look about 80 years old (at 31) next to a 13 year old. She said "we're going to cast you as older roles" yeah we NEVER get requests for those. I wonder why.
Okay, sorry for the rant... These reasons are why I'm so happy for Ryan. Prove the haters wrong and hopefully more light is shed on this too old/too young/ageism issue as a whole.
Perfect moments and the movie hasn't even come out:
THE JUST KEN SONG I DIDN'T KNOW WOULD HAPPEN JUST DROPPED?!
He thought of the KEN underwear!!
he's not afraid to poke fun at himself, wear pink a whole movie and funny outfits and dye his hair - so many "action movie" macho men actors would NEVER. this is the same guy from Blade Runner, Drive, The Gray Man (lol for their shoutout to his Ken)
the tassel shaking, "I'll need clicky pen", the changing scenery and outfits montage, rock paper scissors, crossing his fingers when he asks barbie if he can come over xD EVERY MOMENT IS PERFECT.
yeah, sadly ageism is always gonna be a thing with hollywood and especially for women.
i don’t care how old ryan is, he is PERFECT in this role and that’s just judging from the few clips and trailers released. i love seeing all the early reviews saying this will be the role he is remembered for and he steals every scene he’s in 👏👏👏 i’m so excited to see the movie, especially for ryan !!!
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Before It’s Too Late
Fandom: Star Wars
Pairing: Rey x Poe
Summary: "So..." Finn leans into Poe's desk. "Ever planning on asking Rey out?"
Words: 1033
Notes: Modern Setting.
Prompt(s): 14.- Yes. No. I don’t know from @fictober-event
Read @ AO3
"So..." Finn leans into Poe's desk. "Ever planning on asking Rey out?"
Internally, Poe panics. He pretends to stare at his computer screen more than he needs, types a phrase or two of his current work in progress and breathes. "I have no idea what you mean, Finn."
"No?" Finn smirks. "Poe, that nonchalant air may work on others, but not on me. You have been pinning for Rey for a while now, when did it all start, I don't know. But what I do know is that you've been glaring at every man or woman who dares approach her. Do not even get me started on those times she has locked lips with someone who is not you. So, tell me pal, ever planning on doing something, or you're going to be a pinning idiot who waits for the woman to realize that the right one has been in front of her all along?"
Poe stares at the screen, the words blurring into nothingness. He sighs and looks at Finn, "Yeah, okay. I admit it. I'm in love with Rey. But she has never given any signals that she feels anything beyond friendship for me. Am I going to do something... Yes. No. I don't know."
"Maybe you should," Finn says softly, all traces of arrogance and smugness gone. "Listen Poe, I can't tell you a lot, but I'm sure you know that Rey hasn't been very happy lately. Work, family and shit... you know how it goes. But I'm sure she would welcome love with open arms."
"I am not afraid to admit that it scares me." Poe admitted looking outside his office window. "That vulnerability with someone who has my heart already and doesn't know it."
Finn looked quite sympathetic. "Love is being vulnerable Poe. And love means that sometimes you gotta risk thing your heart to win and find that person who you were meant to be with. Don't let this chance pass you by, you know my peanut is a ray of sunshine and she will eventually find someone. I'd rather that someone is you."
"I know," Poe whispered. "But I will not deny that I am afraid. Finn, I've seen the men she goes out with and... I don't fit in. They are always so..."
"Macho man?" Finn shakes his head. "Has it ever occurred to you that maybe that's why her relationships have not worked? I mean, look at Ben Solo, the dude made her cry and rage like any other and I know she was so unhappy, she had to end it to keep herself sane. How that man came out of Senator Organa and Han, I will never know."
Poe doesn't speak, so Finn carries on, "And I would love to see my two best friends be happy." With that, Finn patted Poe's shoulder and left him alone.
**
Poe could not think of anything else for the rest of the day. Finn's words seemed to have been seared in fire in his brain, not to mention, that he was right. Yes, he was afraid of having his heart broken... but what if Rey gave him a chance and they were happy and it was perfect? Well, maybe not perfect, but good and loving? What then?
Making up his mind, he closed his laptop, changes clothes, adds cologne and made his way to the nearest flower shop. Roses were classic and beautiful, but he wanted to give Rey something that reminded him of her, so he picks daisies and forget-me-nots and pink carnations. Buys her a box of expensive chocolate and calls her, it takes her three rings to answer. "Poe! So good to hear from you!"
He grins, "Good to hear from you too, hey, listen Rey... I was wondering if I could go by your apartment and talk?"
"Is everything alright, Poe?"
"Yeah, all good. Just, wanted to talk to you face to face, and no, don't panic, nothing that you did."
"Well, I'm free now if you want to come over."
"Yeah, I'll be there. See you in a bit."
"See you."
He finishes the call and begins making his way to Rey's apartment, all the while doubt creeps in the back of his head. But he doesn't feel bad until he knocks on her door. His mind goes blank the moment when Rey opens the door and beams at him. Fuck, he really is screwed. "Hi," he manages and if his voice is high pitched, well, it's only Rey. "I got you something," he says and offers his gifts.
Rey takes them with a frown, but steps aside to let him in. "You didn't have to bring me anything, Poe."
"I know," he says. "But I wanted to." His heart is going to beat out of his chest, but he knows it's now or never. "Listen Rey, what I'm about to say is a bit hard for me, but I have to say it: I am in love with you. Have been for a while, but I did not want to make a move and have you think I was simply waiting for a turn. I am your friend, always will be regardless of what you say after this. But I have to ask, would you like to go out on a date with me?"
Rey's eyes have grown huge during his speech, but they fill with tears and before he can say something, Rey has jumped into his arms. "Oh thank God!" She laughs. "I thought I was the only one. And yes, Poe, I would love to go out with you."
He breathes a sigh of relief and squeezes Rey tighter against him, "Oh thank God. I thought that I would lose you, and your friendship if I said something. I've seen some things in my days..."
"Well, not this time, Poe. Because I was tossing and turning wondering how it was that I could be an intern for Senator Organa and cut down sexists old dinosaurs but wasn't able to ask the man she liked out for a date."
"Well, we sure make quite a pair, don't we?" He says with a laugh.
Rey kisses his cheek, "Indeed!"
#fictober22#damerey#rey x poe#jedipilot#rey#poe dameron#finn#star wars#star wars fic#au: modern setting
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( o ) goodimpressionofmyself
bro was a design a nature
one a evolution's flukes that'd change the course a the human species for the better. tho his name has been lost to us in the time since the second centennial of his coming, our sources place his ascent sometime in the year 2 AOR, before the advent of the pendulum calendar.
as we hear in the eternally buffering mass, the biochemical onset a puberty introduced into his seed a potent neurotoxin which’d constrict the blood vessels around the brain, leading to high functional autophagy and a sense a prolonged adrenal-hormonal euphoria
it spread through his circle a straight buds at first --brojobs, JO seshes, not gay threeways. the saline properties a vaginal mucus (in which his bitches were always drenched) rendered the toxin inert, so no matter how much pussy he plowed it never crossed over to the fairer sex and his t-girl worship seshes were doomed to wash out with the rattle of a bottle in the moonlamp of estrus. dudes already indiscriminate with their wanton appetites got hit hard, so as the chinese places collapsed, the priapism would a become fatal if they didn't nut every couple hours. the tumescence aching in the fiber a their bones -- eight inches a wood leaded inta ballershorts frothing champagnebottle down their legs
all up and down the ancient east coast, festivals, frat houses, lax circles, the ivied plendor fell to ruin as administrators looked the other way and quietly lamented the insidious influence of administrators. men of sound mind cited phytoestrogens and assorted toxicities in the water supply. crystal healing wine moms knew it was the GMOs, the same ones making all their sons and daughters into horrible amphibious transsexuals. a yiddishman of some renown, rumored to posses unearthly powers of the word, was silently invoked to wallpaper over petty bitchiness, and then the waiter finally came, thank god. the boy’s father can deal with it, certainly. he never lifts a finger
appointments were cancelled. beatings were booked. stern talks were had with severe, business suit clad dads before, in cruel reversals of fate, of which not even homer himself could do justice, they were bent over and fucked without lube, raw dogged in pools a piss and sweat blooms of bloody nut shred between father and son -- mutagenic shadows cast on walls so you couldn't see any a the good shit. gyms across the country saw sharp spikes in fit, newly out daddies who lifted hard in pink thongs, leaving oldschool macho gay men queasy with that fag shit
took over a month before it penetrated into the gay community at large, thanks to the initial outbreak being slowed by its confinement to vacancy and privilege. when fire at last took to the streets, everything decent god fearing americans feared about city life ruptured like a blister on a QB's rank gameday sole. the raunchiest excesses of your father's worst nightmare of a pride parade evoked through LA riot imagery, baby ya could almost hear the congo drums
soft-spoken boys lisping to stevie nicks swelled up into macho tumescent tumors and chuckled like dumbfucks. more leather than a book a elevation’s worth of beef cattle wriggled on an ocean a maggots. dicks were skewered, barbed, wired, shocked and chopped. the neurotoxin, now an airborne contaminant from all the fuck moisture, spread through trenched roid veins, and pillars a torture instruments and rainbow jocks rose to the armpit colored skies. so much interracial gay fucking occurred on live television, a proud rebel and a gentleman, a landowner and brother of the klan, died of a brain aneurysm before he had time to blow his brains out
a state of emergency was finally declared
the mayo clinic -- now 70% female, thanks to unrelated advances in propagandizing -- captured a dull chuckling brah by sticking a bottle a muscle milk under a box propped up on a stick attached to a string
they tried to get him to recite his own name, for the record, and after twenty minutes of listening to him huh? and uhhh? and paw at his dick through his jock, they collected a blood sample by sounding him with a micro-needle pipecleaner syringe
on the genome sequence monitor, the female scientists, all dressed in the height of fashion as large breasted, leather corset-clad porn librarians -- the archetypal state of womanhood freed from the male gaze -- were, thanks to a molecular bio-luminescence associated with necrosis of the effected nucleotides, able to locate genes associated with the following:
propensity for wearing ball caps as shading behavior
ventilatory adaptations such as cutting the sleeves off t-shirts
tolerance for EDM as pack hunter polyrhythms
the shocking link between gym exhibitionism and prostate stimulation!
the alpha female scientist, her feathered bun the most bouffant, her labcoat the most chic and the shiniest, removed her glasses, and exposed her radiantly pancaked cheekbones
ladies
gentleman
silent siblings of the neuter gender
we have located
the basic bro genome
toward the sun, her betas clucked their fingers against their foreheads and imitated trumpets with the rapture of new discovery
as a result of these findings, the women were able to devise anti-bro hormonal sedative weapons. they agitated estrogen molecules into arcs of light, and the stinger of their labias crested out in desert incandescence. when the sun came upon the sand, there was no blood, only scorched earth and smoke
most of the bros were rounded up in these mines and factories, left to toil in the bowels of the vast multi-tiered metropoli erected by the patenting parents to fence the women off from the battering world. the ones that weren’t were placed in bro pads where they could be pacified with electro-diodes and fed peanuts
whenever possible, direct oversight of the horny bros was performed by dudes who carried the strain, but saw little to no hormonal hostilities. they were chill, fun to wedgie, pretty cool as long as they didn’t talk too much. the bros would slobber and nuzzle their handler’s crotches whenever they were brought their daily soy blend, which showed no efficacy in lowering t. to ensure total stability, what with quarterly reports always looming so large, hormones were administered into the administrator's daily supplement trays, and many compliments were given on their skin quality and EQ readouts
at this point the wine moms, wary of having to stand their ground any longer, less they put a rut in the carpet, decided that since the bro phenotype was natural, this was fine. it was fine.
if god wanted them to be geniuses, He wouldn’t have given them balls. i suppose god really must be closer to a woman, i mean does He have balls? no, of course not. He simply needs to think it, and it happens. why, that’s really much more how it is with a woman. really, do we still need to be talking about this?
at last the wine moms would listen because all those annoying white bitches who tried to sell them makeup were going into the sciences and selling makeup to the porn librarians, and now with the men out of the way, they would build a compassionate world where everyone looked and felt good, and there wasn’t any soul-crushing ennui as a result of being doped into submission and atomized into a bipolar role as farmer and consumer of digital micro-product. for in our enlightened moneyless state, we are simply data, and data is patterns. soon we shall perceive the unperceivable, achieve the unachievable. we shall see the shape of nature, the pattern which underlies all patterns, down in our spiraling digital abyss. come with us deeper and deeper down. there is no going back. there is no going back. you can only tunnel further and further down. i promise you, i promise you, strip yourself of everything you think you are, and go back down into the meat flaps, the muddy folds, the white noise lacerating your brain like broken glass, you can dig and dig and dig and one day climb back towards the light
climb back towards the light bro
climb back towards the light
#backwards cap bro#good meathead#big dumbass vibes#no homo bro#all the homo#feels good brah#ripe fuckin jock pits#rank fuckin jock feet#ecological catastrophe#white women problems
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I Learned That From You: Three
Clint looked at the eye searing decorations that covered the drug store and sighed. He was inundated with pink, purple, and red. And that only meant one thing. Valentine’s day was coming.
In another time, he’d have woken up to heart-shaped waffles with meticulously syrup filled dimples. And he’d have opened his lunch box to find heart-shaped sandwiches and a handful of chocolates. And even if he protested and fussed about hating it, in a way, he’d looked forward to it.
It had made you happy. It was a reason to go out of your way to make a fuss. It wasn’t an obligation to you, it was a joy.
He wandered the aisles looking for beer and stopped suddenly in front of a display. Teddy bears, tacky teddy bears with big sad eyes that looked like they’d seen some shit and soft faux fur. The girl he’d known would have loved one. Thought they were so ugly they were cute and given it a name like Bert. That thought made him smile a little. He’d brought you a lot of stuffed animals in apology. In a bid to keep things going just a little longer. To keep this newest night out from being the one that made you leave.
Clint sighed and added one to the cart. Maybe Natasha would like one. At the very least it would probably make her laugh. And that would make him happy. Clint nodded to himself. That was worth it.
_________
By the time Clint made it back to his room with the case of beer he had left for and the teddy bear he hadn’t wanted, the rest of the tower was down in the commons. It was movie night. Someone’s idea about team bonding. Not a horrible idea, sure. But still a level of hell for Clint. If everyone would just watch the movie, it would be fine. But. No one ever did. There was all this side chatter and loud laughter.
Too much for him to sort through and try to understand. So. Clint detoured to Natasha’s room and tucked the teddy bear into the door handle before heading to his own room. He’d just have his own movie night. A couple beers and his Animal House DVD. Or something.
Of course, Clint Already knew he wasn’t really going to watch the movie. He was going to be being a creepy lurker. Looking up things about you… Not. Not invasive things. He just wanted to know that you were safe. And happy.
He wanted you to have all the happiness that he hadn’t given you. All the things he promised you and didn’t deliver. You’d earned it. More than earned it. And he wasn’t even sure why he was so obsessed with you right now. He’d done his little bi-weekly check-in. A cursory glance to make sure your social media accounts stayed active. And that everything was going okay. But. He just… couldn’t look away. The pictures you posted, the ones of you and your dog, made him feel… something. A warmth he’d not felt since, well. Since before you’d left. When you’d told him that you’d always love him but you had to go.
Clint looked at the laptop on his desk and sighed. “I really shouldn’t. I should leave her alone.”
But. Like a Siren was calling him, Clint felt himself drawn slowly forward. And, like he had so many times before, he searched. For you. To make sure, he told himself, that no one was going to use your past with him as a way to hurt you, or himself.
But this time, there was something… new. A dating website profile. It was on a mostly free website, sure. And your profile was pretty basic. There were some photos. Cute photos. Pictures of you hiking. Pictures of you, glasses sliding down your nose as you work on some piece of furniture. Pictures with your dog.
Basic info he already knew. But… you were looking for dating. Friends. Something long term. And Clint swallowed hard. He wanted… Well. He wanted to reach out but. He knew that if he did, at best you’d ignore him.
And Clint took a deep breath. There was only one way to really know you were happy, right? He had to talk to you. Really talk to you.
And before he had a chance to talk himself out of it, he clicked the sign-up button.
________
“I dunno, Rocky,” you sigh. “I don’t think any of these guys are going to be a good fit.”
The dog didn’t bother to even lift his head from his pillow and you smile a little, shaking your head before you look back at your monitor. “Ooo,” you hum, “New message. Let’s see if this one is a hard dick or a flaccid dick.”
But it wasn’t. For once, someone had actually bothered to write a message. And this one… paired with the piercing blue eyes and the strong jaw in the profile picture. Well, you’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t at the very least, perk up a little.
“Hey,” it read, “I’m not sure why they sent you my way… I’m all the way in New York. But, you’re really beautiful. What are you painting?”
The first message you’d gotten that didn’t start with ASL? Or “You’d look good carrying my baby” Maybe there were a few decent men online after all and they hadn’t all been replaced with porn bots.
__________
Clint chewed on his lip. It wasn’t, he knew, too late to stop all of this. Delete this account and pretend that he hadn’t done this.
But.
When his computer chimed, notifying him that he had a message, he took a deep breath. “I’ll get out before I get too deep,” he promised himself. “I just want to know.”
And, when he opened your reply, his heart was pounding. His heart was pounding, his hands were shaking, and all he could do was smile.
“Idaho here,” you’d started, “So I’m not sure either… But. I think I was painting a dresser drawer? I don’t really remember. You’re very handsome, but why aren’t you smiling in your picture? Too macho? ;)”
“Adult braces ;)” Clint replied, wincing. If Bucky ever found out he’d said that, he was dead. Really dead but… You did like a man with a sense of humor.
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Please explain non-binary genders to me in a manner that isn't over simplified... Everything I find is either from a terf bigoted bullshit perspective, or just kind of a vague love is love be a decent human being that does nothing for those of us who try to be decent even when we don't understand.
Okay. So. We need to start with two facts.
Fact the first:
Gender and sex aren’t the same thing. Your biological sex is pretty much controlled by your chromosomes and the development of your body. Now, looking at these in a binary fashion, i.e., people either are one or the other, is an inaccurate oversimplification of things. But that's a bit really why we're here. We're here about gender, which brings us to9
Fact the second:
Gender is a social construct. There’s no specific universal definition for what counts as masculine or feminine or any other gender in the world. That shit varies from culture to culture and from time to time. So anyone who tells you something along the lines of “This is what a Real Man does” or “This is what makes you a Woman” or anything in a similar vein? Look, they’re full of shit, they’re either pushing conservative rhetoric or radfem bullshit, which are really not nearly as far apart as either of the aforementioned groups wants to believe they are.
So! With those two facts in mind, here’s what we get with our current gender situation. White western christian-influenced culture, in which most of us are soaked, pushes the idea that there’s two genders- masculine and feminine, whatever synonyms of the roles you want to take up. They want to take those two roles, cast them as opposing roles, and split up various traits in life by what side they think they should belong to.
This is bullshit on multiple levels.
First of all, those traits are arbitrary. According to society, where do some things fall out? Physical strength is masculine, empathy is feminine. We see confidence as masculine while tact is feminine. And they get ridiculous, too. Wearing pants? Masculine, apparently. Crying? It’s feminine to acknowledge pain of any sore, I guess. There’s whole lists of this sort of thing if you look into it, but the fact is that western society spends a lot of energy reinforcing this idea.
Did I mention this is bullshit?
They’re arbitrary. They shift as time goes on- a hundred years ago, pink was a “stronger color” that fit boys better while blue was “delicate and dainty” and thus obviously a color for girls. Pants were previously only for men.
These fucking ridiculous norms are, then, entirely entirely subjective- and they are weaponized far, far too often by people who want to attack someone who’s not appropriately manly or lady-like for their taste. It was some standard bullshit that got thrown at the Obamas- making fun of Barack for not being Clint Eastwood macho, insulting Michelle as being too manly. (There’s also a fuck ton of racial weight to this specific instance here, too, and I’ll have to admit, I’m not a person qualified to do that justice. Do some research, there’s people who have addressed that aspect of it better than I have.)
So this means that forcing people into these standardized roles isn’t about helping them find self-confidence and who they are, they’re about ensuring obedience. They’re about punishing people for stepping out of line. They’re about reinforcing the strictures that our society wants us to have to spend energy adhering to, making sure that we’re more scared of being out of compliance with society’s expectations than we want to find the truth of the life we should be living.
(Every dude out there who’s blamed feminism because he was angry that his girlfriend didn’t need him to help carry a heavy box for him? Yeah, buddy. That’s you being suckered into thinking the cultural gender “norms” are more important than acknowledging that maybe your girlfriend doesn’t need you to lift boxes and fix leaky pipes, because it’s easier to get angry at feminism for that than to consider what else you can bring to a relationship other than simple mechanical abilities.)
Another reason they’re dumb? Because very, very, very few people are strictly one side of the register or another. Especially when those registers are politicized in their own way- negative gender stereotypes would tell us that traits of femininity make them gossipy, illogical drama queens, but then traits of masculinity make them territorial, egotists who act without thinking, and is there really much of a difference, or is there just something recursive about trying to describe similar traits in different ways to fit what you’re trying to argue?
And I’m not even qualified to get into the idea that a gender binary is a pretty specific idea. There’s other cultures out there that believe in more than just the two. But White western christian-influenced culture had pushed the idea that there’s men and there’s women and that’s all.
And it’s a pretty bullshit idea, at least to me.
Which. Well. I guess finally gets us to the point of your question here. And the answer is that while there’s all that standard, strict arguments of what counts as masculine and feminine up there? There’s also… everything else. Look, I’m not going to say that I have all the answers to everything. I’m not entirely joking when I say things like my gender identity is a vague handwaving motion. It’s something I’m trying to figure out. It’s not something that’s really got a straight answer to it. All I can give you right now is this.
Yeah, my body is pretty masculine looking. Got the beard, got a dick, got all that. But when it comes to all of those traits that are supposed to be masculine and that are supposed to be feminine?
I look at the masculine side of the register. A lot of that doesn’t fit me. A lot of that isn’t things I want to aspire to. There are things that do fit, but looking at them, do I feel there’s something inherently male about them? I don’t think so.
I look at the feminine side of the register. A lot of that doesn’t fit me. A lot of that isn’t things I want to aspire to. There are things that do fit, but looking at them, do I feel there’s something inherently female about them? I don’t think so.
And I think that means the only option I have left is to figure out what a third option is that fits me.
I don’t feel comfortable describing myself as masculine. I don’t feel comfortable describing myself as feminine. So. I have to figure out what I do feel comfortable describing myself as. For the time being, that’s genderqueer. It’s a work in progress, and it may never be something I figure out entirely, and I’m okay with that.
Acknowledging that I don’t know was, in and of itself, kind of a relief.
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Thunder Thighs
Pairing: Dean x Reader
Warnings: Kinda cracky. You’re a bit of a perv. Stitching up an injury.
Word Count: 3000ish.
Summary/Prompt: You’re visiting your friend Jody when two flannel-clad brutes come storming in the door, both bleeding and needing help. You help the shorter one with stitches to his thigh. When Jody and Sam walk in to check on you guys, they were not expecting to find you like that!
A/N: Guess who’s back, back again. By that I mean guess who’s back with a prompt by my girl @divadinag? That’s right, me!
Basically, this is a trash fic with no discernable plot beyond holy shit DEAN HOT.
Ao3 if you prefer
As much as you hate doing the dishes, and that’s why you own a dishwasher, you’re still doing them. Jody cooked for you, saving you from the pseudo-food in your freezer. Plus your mom taught you that manners matter, especially if you’re the guest. It doesn’t help that Jody excused herself to the living room to take a call from the station.
Honestly, it’s her fault. She straight up left you alone with the dishes.
It’s not that bad anyway. Considering you never do your own it’s almost a novelty. The soap Jody has smells like a poor imitation of roses. It’s pink anyway. And the whole thing is keeping you entertained while she's busy. Idle hands are the devils' playthings and all that.
You’re humming to yourself since there’s no music. You’re offended by the lack of a radio or anything but Jody probably didn’t count on being gone this long. Or the fact that you’d start doing chores in her absence. She’s going to smack you upside the head when she gets back but the dishes will be done so you know she’ll be grateful too.
It’s a particularly stirring moment of the tuneless song you’re humming when the back door slams open, “Jody! Little help here!” Two hulking masses of flannel amble in with no consideration for the fact that they are total stranger dangers.
Obviously, you scream.
The noise begins shrill and high pitched. Like how you imagine Macaulay Culkin screams now that he’s come of age. Then it morphs into a roar of attack all without taking a breath.
Of the two men who have burst in unannounced and covered in blood, the taller one scrunches up his entire face. Dramatics aside you’d think the noise is causing more pain than whatever injury he has. The shorter one leans his friend against the wall and then raises his hands in a calming, defensive position, “sweetheart…”
You finally take in some air, by which time Jody has come running in guns blazing. But you’re not some defensive, wilting wallflower. You can look after yourself. You dip your hands into sink again hoping to find a knife or other sharp kitchen implement. What you yank out, dragging a trail of dirty, soapy water with it, is a metal potato masher. Determined to not die like this you do the only that seems reasonable since Jody hasn’t fired a shot yet.
You throw the damn thing.
It spins as it cuts through the air and hits the shorter man square in the face. Success. You’ve fended off your attacker, or at the very least softened him up. Now all you need is some butter and you’re in business.
“Shit!” He growls as he rubs the wet spot on his face while your weapon clatters to the floor.
“Y/N! Y/N! It’s fine.” Jody’s tucking her gun away and stepping between you and the potential murderers, before you attack again. “I know these dummies.”
She throws a pointed look in their direction as you finally feel your heartbeat calm enough to think rationally. “They didn’t knock.” It’s the most important thing your coherent mind wants to say. You’re not crazy, because it’s them who are uncivilized.
She smiles at you like you’re a child but her tone is clearly meant to chastise the lumberjacks behind her. “That’s right they didn’t knock because they were born in a frickin’ barn. Y/N, this is Sam and Dean.”
They’re both introduced together so there’s a solid minute where you’re still not sure which one is which. You only know that collectively they form a duo known as ‘Sam and Dean’. The taller one, all hair in his face, whichever one he is, seems to be struggling to stand straight. Although, considering his height the air might be that much thinner up there.
“Listen, Jody, we’re real sorry to barge in like this but Sam he’s-” it’s the shorter one talking, at least now you know which is which.
Jody takes one look at Sam and her friendly annoyance becomes motherly concern real quick.
“What the hell happened to you guys?” You watch your friend go across the room and eyeball Sam's blood-soaked undershirt. Dean, still watching you with annoyed suspicion in case of more flying utensils, pulls her in to whisper in hushed tones. She pushes him back with an elbow to the ribs, “what am I going to do with you two? Help me get him upstairs.”
“Jody what’s…” you start.
“Y/N I’m sorry maybe it’s best if you went on home?” She doesn’t outrightly say she’s throwing you out but it sure as hell sounds like she’s throwing you out.
Dean chooses then to grit his teeth at Sam’s weight back on his shoulders. You scan his body for the source of the pain and see a sizeable cut in his now red stained jeans.
“At least let me help him with that while you help… um, Sam.”
Dean looks about ready to argue but Jody catches your meaning and rolls her eyes. “So, you’re both hurt?” She sighs like they're both so exhausting although you can read the worry behind it.
“It’s fine, I’m fine. Can you just patch up him please?”
“Sure, I’ll patch him up. While my nice doctor friend takes a look at you.”
Dean doesn’t argue but then Jody has that power over the majority of people she meets. Sheriff or not, she gets her way most of the time.
You follow behind them as Jody carries most of the weight but somehow they manage to get Sam moving. Between the three of them, it’s all limbs and sideways shuffles but they move him upstairs and out of sight.
Everything happened so quickly that the sudden silence of the room now that it’s empty is deafening. There’s scraping furniture and muffled yelling from above while you’re left there staring at your nails.
A minute later and Dean starts hobbling back down the stairs. Apparently, he’s forgotten you’re there because he’s grimacing with every step now that Jody and Sam are gone. It’s only halfway down that he notices you still standing in the middle of the living room and straightens his jaw. “I’m fine by the way."
“You sure look fine,” your arm stiffly points at the dining table. “Sit.”
He grumbles under his breath but still slumps into the chair, Jody and her superpower must be rubbing off on you.
You lean over and use careful, measured touches to peel the frayed denim away from the cut. You don’t normally deal with patients so you’re paying extra attention to the pressure of your fingers. Shooting for gentle. It still has to hurt though. The cut is deeper than it looks. “Dean right?”
“Yeah.” He grinds through clenched teeth.
You stand up swiftly. Quickly enough to give yourself headrush if you weren’t so focused on the task at hand. “The jeans, lose ‘em”.
You don’t hang around to see his mouth twist in confusion. There’s a first aid kit under the sink, god knows what Jody is using upstairs. You know where it is because you’d been here a few months back when Claire cut her hand on something or other. Of course, she’d only needed a bandage at the time but you know it will have the tools you need now. In the past, you’ve never questioned why your friend has such a large at home medical kit. Now you’re guessing evenings like this are why.
When you wander back into the living room with the hefty plastic box in your arms you’re instantly irritated at the sight of Dean still clothed. “Do you need help taking those off?”
There’s a reason you don’t work in clinical or surgery, you have a shitty bedside manner. Though Dean, to his merit, seems to be riling you up extra fast.
“I don’t need to take these off.” For someone who looks like a male stripper he sure is being a brat about taking off his pants.
“That cut needs stitches and I need to see what I’m doing if I’m going to sew you up all pretty. Normally I’d cut them off but I’m guessing you want to be a big boy about this?”
He frowns petulantly, then sighs and finally starts working on his belt and fly.
“Don’t get excited or anything sweetheart. This is strictly professional.” He’s trying to claw back some of whatever macho bravado he thinks he has.
“Don’t fall in love. Got it.” You quip back at him complete with a finger gun. It’s all fun and games anyway. That is until his pants drop.
The guy is handsome. That’s not a question. He’s an Adonis. You don’t need to dwell on the sharpness of his jaw, the emerald hue of his eyes or his lips that are the perfect mathematical curve for kissing the fuck out of.
But the guy almost murdered you tonight, in your mind at least. So, you’d made an effort to not let yourself be distracted by his face. You’d been doing well so far. You hadn’t looked at him much at all, even if you’d thought about it.
At least you hadn't looked until those pants dropped.
It’s hard to pinpoint what makes your throat tighten. Is it his black boxer briefs that leave nothing to the imagination? Probably. The guys got a third arm for crying out loud. And it’s so inappropriate that you’re even noticing but damn, those thighs. He's got those bowed legs, which are hot on a regular day, except Dean also has these thighs that are pure sin. Toned, muscled tree trunks that look like they could slam into you with all the force off…
He whistles, waves a hand to his face and lets a self-satisfied smirk settle on his lips. “I’m up here sweetheart.”
Oh god, you’d been staring. It wasn’t professional but then again your patients are usually a lot less chatty and a hell of a lot less handsome. No one is handsome when they’re dead. It’s not your fault. You’re at Jody’s. You hadn’t been prepared for this.
Somehow you have the gall to act affronted by his accusation, “and your gaping wound is down there genius. I’m a doctor for crying out loud.”
Good. He looks confused like he can’t decide if you’re a pervert or medical professional. The truth is a little of both. It’s hardly your fault that his cut goes all the way up his thigh to the edge of his underwear. Wait, what if it goes further? No. No, it can’t.
Once you open the first aid kit everything flows on autopilot and his dumb half-naked body fades into the background. You know this, it’s as easy as blinking. You sterilize the needle and lay everything out like you're at work. A latex glove gets pulled over each hand and you remind yourself to be careful since he’s still breathing.
"This is going to hurt," you warn him with alcohol in your hand.
“I’ll be fi- shit!” He’s so busy trying to be brave that he doesn’t brace himself for the sting as you clean the cut and blood drying on his skin. His fists clench at his sides but other than that he stays deadly still while you finish.
Then when you're ready to put Humpty Dumpty back together again you find yourself pausing to look down at his leg. You’re too high off the ground to do this without killing your back. You already know that there’s only one solution and as much as you don’t want to you slide to the floor. Resting your knees between his thigh gap, all the better to stitch him up.
Whatever he wants to say he holds in. Thankfully. If you’ve got to ignore being this close to his dick then the least he can do is keep his perfect mouth shut.
It’s a grueling silence at first. You’re not talking because you’re concentrating on how many stitches you want to make. He’s not talking, you imagine because it hurts. It's only after the first few stitches are tied that he’s used to the jab of the needle enough to speak.
“So, you’re a doctor huh? That how you met Jody?”
You’d shrug or laugh if your hands weren’t busy, “I mean, I’m a doctor but not a doctor doctor. We actually met over a dead body.”
He stiffens under your touch and you don’t think it’s because you hit a nerve. Unfortunately, it’s not an unusual reaction when you tell people about your line of work.
“I’m a pathologist. So, I deal exclusively in bodily fluids, specimens, and autopsies. I mean, I’m great at stitching things but my patients are normally pretty stiff.”
He laughs at you and the sound is refreshing. There are no questions about why you’d want to cut open a dead body or how you can stand to do it. “That why you don’t have the whole soothing doctor thing going on?”
“Exactly. I never was a soft touch and cadavers don’t talk back.”
You’re going faster now. He isn’t so tense under your fingers and you’re finding a rhythm.
“I can’t believe I’m nearly finished and you still haven't told me how you got this.”
“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you darlin’”
God knows what it is about the way he says darling but it stops you from sinking the needle into him again, at least for a second. From your kneeling position between his legs, you can’t help but look up at him through your lashes. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and you wonder if you're the only one who can taste your heartbeat.
“Try me.” You don’t even know what you mean when you say it. You don’t even know what you're offering.
Jody does.
“Y/N! Dean! What the hell?”
Jody is standing at the bottom of the stairs with a freshly sewn together Sam, who is better able to support himself on the banister. And they’re both wearing equally shocked looks. All raised eyebrows and open mouths. It’s only when you look up at Dean again and how the green of his eyes has all but disappeared that you understand.
No less than an hour ago Dean burst in as a stranger. Now you're on your knees in front of him while his jeans and belt sit around his ankles. And when you paused to stare into his eyes like a lovesick puppy you rested your hand on his uninjured thigh. Something you’re only noticing as the heat of him seeps into your fingers.
Yeah, you can understand what Jody thinks she's walked in on. You get what this looks like.
“It’s not what it… I just have one more stitch and then he’s free to go.”
Well, now it sounds like you’re the one who orchestrated all this. Like you’re keeping Dean here against his will. He doesn't seem to notice their entrance. Or care. He hasn’t stopped looking at you with this curl to his lips like he thinks the whole thing is so damn funny. He might be right. You’d see the funny side if it wasn’t you on your knees.
You tie and cut the last stitch with Sam and Jody whispering as your soundtrack. As soon as you’re done you jump up and pretend that you don't need to get away from the heat between his thighs.
“I… erm. I need should wrap that up and you need to keep it dry for a few days.”
“Whatever you say doc.”
It’s not fair that he’s so comfortable now. You almost regret stitching him up. Now that Dean isn't in pain he's far more dangerous than when he was busting in the kitchen to kill you.
Jody’s helping Sam to the sofa even though he insists he’s fine and they’re both so there. But Dean's still looking at you like they don't exist.
You pick up the gauze intending to wrap his thigh and realize with him sitting this might be harder than it looks. “Um, can you…?” You point upwards to motion standing without thinking of the consequences.
You bend down again to wrap his thigh only realizing halfway through that because he’s standing you’re now eye level with his dick.
His barely concealed by his underwear dick.
You cut the gauze probably before you should and secure it so you can jump back again. The smile on Jody’s face definitely isn’t making you want to blush. It’s just a dick. Every second person has them. Or at least, that’s what you’re telling yourself.
“Ok, you’re good to go.” You say loudly enough for the room while packing up the first aid kit.
He pulls up his still bloodstained, ripped jeans chuckling to himself, “thanks, doll. Hope I was a better patient than a dead body.”
“Debatable,” you glance at him out the corner of your eye.
He holds a hand to his chest dramatically, still staring at you, as Sam hauls himself up again. “Come on dude, we’ve still got to clean up that thing.”
Dean all but ignores Sam, once again focussing on you. “Right right. I should swing by and see you though? Get these stitches removed by a professional?”
Jody starts pushing Dean out the door, finally sick of them both, “if you wouldn’t mind not accosting my friends. Any more than you already have.”
“I’ll see you in a week! Doctors orders!” you call out from behind Jody. She closes the door giving you a look that’s half warning and half judgment.
You 100% don’t care.
5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage
Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer
#dean x reader#supernatural fanfiction#spn x reader#dean winchester x reader#spn fanfiction#supernatural#spn#spn fanfic#supernatural fanfic#dean winchester#dean winchester x you#dean x you#dean x y/n#kinda cracky
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Dress to Oppress – Walls and Overalls
Today, we unravel the threads of time and tradition, and weave a new norm.
The dilemma of deciding what to wear is universal. But in an age where gender and sex are spectrums rather than definite lines, we must re-examine the stereotypes (‘tom-boy’, ‘slutty’, ‘sanskari’) we have woven with respect to the clothing choices of those around us. Furthermore, questions like “Who wears the pants in your relationship?” only deepen the scars of prejudice, and misguided notions of masculinity and/or power. Such erroneous judgments continue in assigning gender and/or sex to colours. While in the early 20th century, the trade publication Earnshaw’s Infants’ Department, mentioned that “pink, being a more decided and stronger colour, is more suitable for the boy, while blue, which is more delicate and dainty, is prettier for the girl.”, by the 1940s, the tide had turned altogether. However, regardless of this timeline, an earnest plea to the reader would be to leave the rainbow alone.
Then, there are those who advocate ideals of equality and freedom of choice, and admonish men wearing dresses (read Jaden Smith at prom), all in the same breath. Say, if a woman wore a tuxedo to her wedding, one would witness all dainty facades of acceptance and support flying off the shelves. Admittedly, open-mindedness is easier in theory than in practice, and hypocrisy a smoother path to traverse than honesty. The question is- are you willing to take the road less travelled?
Further, dear reader, recall the stunning, overexposed shots of testosterone-fueled, muscled men, armed with spears and shields, skin slick with sweat, clad in plumed helmets and fustanellas (a traditional Greek skirt) in Zack Snyder’s dramatic fictionalized retelling of the Battle of Thermopylae within the Persian Wars. Fixated as you may be on the seeming juxtaposition in the above description, of brave men wearing skirts, I shall clarify, that I speak of the box office success, ‘300’.
Moreover, consider the Scottish, who, in donning the kilt, were concerned with convenience and comfort for their male warriors and employed several practical uses of the garment- apart from shielding one’s body from nature and clothing one’s frame. The kilt could serve as a camping blanket, and was worn over a full-sleeved garment stopping below the waist (léine); loose-fitting, it enabled the wearer to make distant, long marches with agility and to wade through rivers. The upper half could be worn as a cloak over the shoulder, or brought up over the head for protection against the weather. Now, as queer (in more ways than one) as it may seem for some, to witness warriors donning an article of clothing reserved for the ‘weaker’ sex, when you come to think of it, it may be wiser and more comfortable for males to don skirts and females to wear pants, for obvious anatomical reasons.
Having said that, one should be free to clothe themselves as they see fit, regardless of the anatomy of their body. This free will is embodied in Megan Fox’s parenting style, whereby she abstains from enforcing stereotypical dress-codes for her children; in conversation with Jimmy Kimmel, she mentioned how her son, Noah, likes to wear dresses sometimes. Parents all over the world should take notes from the Transformers star, who said, “…there are no rules- you can be whatever you want to be in my house!” Moreover, skirts have made their way into men’s fashion through celebrities; Jared Leto, David Beckham, David Bowie, Jaden Smith, Kanye West and Vin Diesel have all worn skirts proudly.
Why, though, must we view these developments as achievements to be proud of, rather than commonplace occurrences that are treated with normalcy? I suppose we have, indeed, come full circle- where once, Luisa Capetillo and Katherine Hepburn went against the tide and donned trousers, the garment of revolt (the former went to jail for the supposed ‘crime’, though charges were dropped later), the dawn of the twenty first century brings with it the campaign for men to freely wear ‘feminine’ clothes. This is baffling, juxtaposed with the fact that cultures across the world started out with simple, flowy, dress-like garments meant for both the sexes - from the Roman toga, to the Indian lungi, and the Japanese kimono (to name but a few) - which were differentiated and altered into gender-specific clothes. Having said that, the response to the present hue and cry for gender-neutral clothing has not been met satisfactorily; despite the promise of equality, the unisex garment has essentially been of a ‘masculine’ style. Needless to say, we have miles to go in this area.
But clothes aren’t where it all ends; cosmetics form an integral component of fashion trends and the way one wears them (or doesn’t, depending on one’s preferences) reflects a person’s projection of themselves as much as their clothes do. Men have found their footing in the cosmetics industry, debunking the myth that makeup can’t be ‘macho’. This comes amid a larger investigation into traditional gender boundaries in fashion and beauty, alongside the growth of internet-famous beauty fanatics who have built followings via social media. Take, for instance CoverGirl’s latest face, James Charles, 17, a high school senior from Bethlehem, N.Y., with nearly 650,000 followers on Instagram and over 90,000 subscribers on his YouTube channel. Following suit, Maybelline unveiled their first ever male model, Manny Gutierrez, the 25-year-old “beauty boy”, with a whopping 3 million followers on Instagram and 2.1 million YouTube subscribers.
And then there is the eventful history of high-heels. From Medieval Persia to Carrie Bradshaw, the elevated shoe has come a long way. Initially donned by Persian noblemen as riding shoes, the heel enabled a steadier stance so that the rider could shoot his arrow more effectively while standing up in the stirrups. European royals took notice when Persian monarch, Shah Abbas went to tour European courts around the 1500s. And so the Persian style shoes were adopted by the aristocracy who felt it lent their demeanor a masculine edge, until it was eventually taken over by women.
Cut to the present, where more men are adopting the style originally meant for them, dispelling invisible boundaries and gender norms. In 2014, Yanis Marshall auditioned for the talent show Britain’s Got Talent; the part French, part British dancer combined his passion for dance and his undying love for high heels, and along with his two friends Arnaud and Mehdi, won the hearts of everyone who was watching. Sure-footed (in 6-inch heels, no less) and sassy as can be, the trio stunned the crowd and received nothing but adoration and respect from the judges, with their up-beat and bold moves on numbers by the Spice Girls and Beyoncé, among others. When asked why he dances in high heels, Yanis replied with the same answer he has always uttered, i.e.- “Why not?”
And truly, that is a question we must all ask ourselves. Why can’t men wear high heels? Why must make-up be withheld from the masculine? Why should women worry about being looked down upon for wearing a tuxedo instead of a dress? Can the walls we see around us be crossed and broken? More importantly, who built them to begin with? In part, we all are culprits, and these walls stand testament to our crime. Every naysayer has placed a brick and a dollop of mortar. It seemed a small contribution at the time- but then, no individual water drop holds itself responsible for the flood.
And while, as a general rule, things are easier to break than build- these walls are standing exceptions. We must all resolve to make a small indent, to chisel away yet another bit of prejudice, and to bury away our notions, in order to break the walls that separate us from each other, and ourselves. For, there are those amongst us who do not identify as either male or female- everything is not, after all, simply black or white. But this human tendency, an obsession almost, to put things into neat, tiny little boxes, has imprisoned some of our own; the breaking of these walls may be the first step for some of us to see ourselves in the clear light of day and do justice to who we truly are.
After all, walls are only so good as long as they protect and support us. But when they begin separating us from reality, and each other, it’s time to start considering cutting a few doors into them. And even if we don’t find the courage to cross those doors immediately, at least we’d have let in a bit of light from the other side.
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Coraline, Henry Selick (2009)
the clip starts with an unsettling establishing long-shot of the “pink palace apartments”.
the colour scheme is very saturated: with the most prominent part of the frame being the central, house.
The palace - is in actuality a dilapidated mansion, renovated apartment complex; once a house for one family, divided into several apartments.
Something as vibrant sounding as the ‘pink palace’ is in actuality very dull, and victorian looking. Perhaps referencing the theme of empty promises, with the main character constantly stating their desire to “go back home”
a tall, strangely proportioned figure is seen squatting on the roof.
(strange greyish blue skin: long slim arms, and legs - burly, macho chest and a long moustache)
strange accent, speaking a different language - this film’s perception of a foreign man, is contorted - with odd behaviours, and appearances
As the car approaches, he cups his brow - actioning that he is watching them
new arrivals are of interest, nothing changes here in this apartment complex: everyone living there is contempt with the lifestyle they have; so Coraline’s arrival will disrupt this equilibrium.
he staggers, almost falling - shaking his fist at the approaching car, before crossing his arms, confidently - and jumping down to an unknown section, behind the house
the figure shaking his fist is perhaps a signal of things to come: that things are not what they seem, and this incredibly dull, boring looking setting is hiding darker tones
the camera pans lower,
its eerily silent as the sounds of the approaching car and moving truck pull towards the central piece.
a descending scale of plucks on a harp play, as the figure on the roof disappears to an unseen place - behind the house, which worries the audience, as jumping from the top of the roof is usually seen as lethal.
the film is primarily stop motion: sense of controlled elements - with everything especially designed for the scene.
two, fairly normal looking, moving men open the latch to their van - filled with boxes, subliminally telling the audience the story: without having to directly tell them, whats happening.
In this case, that a new family is moving into the pink palace
they begin bringing furniture to the door, as a grotesque woman uses a stairlift to come to the top of the stairs: observing their actions, again reinforcing the idea that this community finds new arrivals an interesting, and unfamiliar event.
she waves, flirtatiously and giggles at one of the moving men, who takes no notice of her - their role in the story, is no more than to move the main characters into their setting.
the music begins to build up here, with more elements of the story falling into place - more instruments and parts of the soundtrack coming in.
the strings play a repetitive baseline, and a seemingly erratic / random melody is played on some kind of keyboard instrument, perhaps a harpsichord
with the job done, the men take their leave.
this shot is framed so you cannot see the central character, signing off on the deliveries completion: keeping the audience in suspense of who this individual is, and the power they clearly hold over the (assumed) family, through them being not only the first of these characters we see, but the primary figure - signing off on important documents.
the fact this figure is hidden behind the door, could also be a hint that they are closed off, too focused on their tasks to make time for the members of their family.
she closes the door, swiftly: implying the duo to leave, but not before the man stops the door with his foot, and subtly holds his hand out, to ask for a tip: only to receive a single crumpled up dollar note.
looking at the house their moving into, the fact the drive a car, and the items of furniture that were carried: i ruled out the conclusion of them being too poor to afford tipping: perhaps the family is quite stingy with their money, focusing their spending on things that are necessary, as the figure behind the door neither thanks the men for their work, and had no intention of tipping them.
it was only upon being forced to, that she spared a singular dollar: much to the man’s disappointment.
this sets up the idea that this mystery figure is the head of the family, and someone who is too invested with their work for other people, most likely: the family that surrounds her.
the moving van leaves, as a black cat enters the frame: an expressionist symbol for bad luck.
it’s tail is crooked, with jagged unnatural corners that build up its shape.
the audience is conditioned to believe the cat is bringing with it bad luck, and that now that the movers have left: so has the safety of equilibrium…
a door creaks, alerting the cat: as the camera turns to girl in a yellow raincoat.
the colours in this shot are very muted and grey - in contrast to the girl, with her blue hair and her bright yellow coat - she stands out amongst the greyness.
this signifies her as the primary focus of the film: the titular character, “Coraline”
the dull colour scheme, seems to me: as a representation of her perspective of the world, the colours show how she finds her normal life boring
it could also be a reflection of her emotions - perhaps, as shown through her mysterious authoritative figure; Her family life isn’t very happy, and moving has caused her to be in a bad mood - hence why she is going out for a walk, as most people do: to clear their heads, when in a particular state of mind.
Theres a noticeable music change when we first see Coraline enter the scene, from her perspective she is looking at the garden: what is congenitally a place blooming with beautiful natural forms, and life, is instead very uninteresting, and eery.
harmonic vocal music, accompanied by harp - enforcing quite a heavenly trope, about Coraline: reinforcing the idea of her being the protagonist in this story.
the lyrics are unintelligible, as far as I’m aware: adding to the child-like aura surrounding our central character.
in one swift, decisive motion: Coraline snaps a twig from a discoloured bush, and strips it of its leaves, closing her eyes - and beginning a strange, emotive walk cycle - almost as if being lead by it.
in reality, this is a play on the myth of a “diving rod” a Y-shaped twig, or two L-shaped ones - that will supposedly help find underground water.
The rods are typically held in a position of unstable equilibrium, so that a small movement gets amplified into a big movement.
Typically, the person that is dowsing holds sticks, and walks around a property in the hopes that the rods will dip, twitch, or cross when they walk over the underground water.
The dowsing rods do indeed move, but not in response to anything underground…
They are simply responding to the random movements of the person holding the rods.
I like to think Coraline’s use of a dowsing rod exclaims that she is open to the idea of the supernatural, and settles us into the magical journey we’re to embark on - through her belief in finding water with just a stick.
the cat follows Coraline around, further showcasing that equilibrium is to be broken, and this girl is going to go on some form of journey that will disrupt the current flow of things.
the first line of dialogue is spoken, on her walk: she only talks when she leaves her house - perhaps showcasing a difficult home life, where she can’t be herself around the people closest to her, as maybe they don’t understand her.
the music evolves, with the strings from before now playing in a minor key, as Coraline fearfully runs deeper into the woods.
as she gets deeper, large timpani drums imitating a fearful heartbeat
the vocals from earlier, are played with - with the convention of what was angelic before, now sounding much more demonic: with three distinct pitches, perhaps signifying three as a significant number in the film…
further in dissonant held brass chords play
the deeper she gets the more instruments join into the soundtrack: with this thicker texture, the situation seems more tense. this is supported through the overall composition’s change from bright and colourful, to scary and frighting the deeper into the woods Coraline wanders.
perhaps her destination (towards the well) is an area of darkness, with all this surrounding scenery to compliment this idea.
Coraline stops dead in her tracks, inside a circle of rocks; perhaps an occult symbol - with her essentially being summoned into this world by the producers of the film
Coraline mocks the cat for not talking, perhaps setting up a convention to be broken later in the film
she also refers to her rod as “magic” - again signifying the fantastical nature that the film is portraying.
a masked rider, on a bicycle (a play on the horseman of the apocalypse) with a skull mask (symbol of death) rides towards her, from atop the hill. despite the very threatening mask, it turns out to be a boy named Whibey - seen more as annoying than threatening
introducing the idea that things are not what they seem: and you should “never judge a book by its cover”
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The Details: are they God’s or the Devil’s?
I don’t care; I just love them.
Pick Stitching
Suit Linings
Interior Pockets
Flat Piping
Contrast Collars
and OMG the feel of the fabric.
In 2007 while working at Harry Rosen as Visual Coordinator for Alberta, the new spring season of Etro arrived. I almost cried. The jackets were so beautiful. Colourful mix-matched tweeds, luscious paisley satin linings and contrast lapels to die for. The guys thought I was crazy and not for the first time. (I had recently lost almost 100 lbs with Jenny Craig and was not quite sane) But…
Please excuse me while I rip off my shirt. I’m having a Chinook. This talk of menswear is making me hot. Yes ZZTop, there really is nothing sexier than a well-dressed man. Not necessarily expensive, just well. In the late 70’s/ early 80’s young men made a point of being grubby. Not even cool, like grunge, just grubby and unkempt with the absence of style. It was supposed to be Macho. Or Poetic. Hmmmm. Yes, this is the way I tell a story. Bare with me. He-Heh.
…But, the fresh new offerings reaffirmed my love of all aspects menswear. Back in the day, the mid 80’s, I remember the guys at Jack Fraser Menswear in Winnipeg where I was the Regional Display person (or Displaced Person as the called me) teasing me at my excitement over a new box of ties. Not just any ties. New Bosa silk paisley ties. Yes, it’s supposed to sound like Boss. I got so sick of polyester neats and stripes. It was like Christmas when something new came in to go with all the pink dress shirts. Oh the 80’s.
And then again yesterday evening…. André, my hunnybunny, had gotten paid in Brooks Brothers Gift Cards. $1800 worth. Go figure. Very sadly, during the apocalypse our local Brooks Brothers closed their doors and, as far as we know, permanently. So, unable to order online in Canadian Dollars, as usual I ended up calling them in the States where they manually entered my order and Gift Cards. Very Helpful, Thanks Michael!
Less than a week later and after paying $150 in taxes and duty Fed Ex delivered an oddly small box containing 5 pairs of dress pants, a windowpane suit jacket, and a $100 belt. I says to André: ‘why did you order another black belt?’ He says: ‘I’ve never owned a $100 belt before.’ Fair Enough.
Eeek! forgot to do my 500 steps this hour. Back in 3.
Pant! Pant!
As he modeled them, he has a very cute butt and he knows how to strut, I was carefully taking all the tags and labels off, the feel of the fabric and the precision of the stitching brought me back to my happiest career hours picking out coordinates for the windows and dressing bust forms. One of my weirder skills is being able to unpackage a dress shirt with all its itty bits put neatly in the shirt bag with my eyes closed in less than 5 seconds. If only there were Retail Olympics…
Anyhoo, it was the Grey Windowpane Jacket that really made me smile. The contrast red felt collar lining, the one red threaded button, the red flat piping along the interior lining and pocket. It even has a strip of lining to hold the double vents from flapping. Classic design well-executed is Nirvana. And makes me drool.
But, don’t forget to undo the Vent stitching. It makes you look…..inexperienced.
Subtlety and Restraint are two excellent ways to describe menswear in general. Well, British and North American menswear. The Europeans are much more outgoing. As I possess neither subtlety nor restraint these are things I admire and covet. Nothing makes me happier than a faint blue, red, or bronze stripe hidden in charcoal flannel. Pick it out with a blue or oxblood tie, cognac shoes and belt and it’s sublime. Step back (5 foot rule) to see if it works. If the suit is striped add a plaid Windsor Collar shirt or if it’s plaid add a yarn-dye stripe. And a pocket square if you’re feeling impish.
Ah the fabrics, and the ties, and the patterns and styles all with their unique lingo. Mmmm Lingo.
Whisper with me:
Bespoke
Epaulet
Haberdashery
Collar Roll
Sartorial
Pinstripe
Sprezzatura…..
Definitely the Devil.
I’ve bought a lot of menswear over the years. For myself. My former partner would have nothing to do with anything that wasn’t an old dirty fedora and a dusty ripped trenchcoat. God, he sounds like a Flasher. It was kind of the same thing as buying myself a present on Father Day because on Mother’s Day even after 3 children I still heard ‘you’re not my mother’. Not that I’m bitter. I gave the man Twins. What more can I do.
Having never been petite of stature or nature, sometimes menswear was my only option. 5’8, size 11 feet, and superbly curved I did not fit the skinny, big haired lollipop girl ideal of the times. Not only did they not offer any kind of fashion in a size 14-16, but all the pants were too short and all the sleeves were ¾. Ok, I had to take in all the waists in men’s stuff, but, as if being one of the only women working in menswear wasn’t enough, wearing it was my own personal rebellion against the female stereotype. That, and I loved the Jackets. Shoulder Pads reigned supreme at that time and they who had the shoulder pads had the power.
And, in any case, it was suicide to wear anything sexy or revealing. Sexual Harassment was rampant. And expected. And a man’s right. I almost stabbed a store manager to death with my wire cutters one day when he grabbed my ass and I automatically back handed him. Any job you applied for you had to have a professional answer ready for ‘How badly do you want this job?’ The things that were said to me on a daily basis even from my bosses would make your hair curl.
‘Do you know what would look good on you? Me.’
I remember a guy at the St. Vital store that kept trying to get me to go to his place for a quicky at lunch. One day I got so tired of it that I finally grabbed my tape measure and told him to whip it out ‘cause I wasn’t going to waste my time for less than 9”. He declined. And left me alone from then on.
I digress, it’s so nice to be older and wiser and not care about being taken seriously. And people go to jail now for being…. impolite. I dress like a sexy bamf on a daily basis, embrace my curves and still have more balls than most men I’ve known. And I still love menswear.
Omg! Chinooking again. Why? Why do I wear lycra pants? Oh ya, they make my butt look almost as cute as André’s, but so hoooot. And not in a good way. Excuse me as I take them off also. That’s better.
Despite the handicap of his father, I managed to raise my son to be a well-dressed individual. I think a lot of it was my Father’s influence as well. My Father came of age in the 50’s wearing khaki’s, Dack’s, golf jackets on the weekends and suits to work every day. And, of course, he taught me how to tie a tie. He was left-handed, but forced to be right-handed in school so he batted and tied his tie from the left. Which was awesome because I was right-handed so it all worked out when he showed me.
This is also the man who refused to by a new pair of jeans for the entire 70’s. He wouldn’t wear flares. He had a pair of twill demin pants in narrow white, yellow, and brown stripes that were so recognizable that my Great Aunt Vera recognized him from her moving vehicle as he was filling up at a gas station. It must have been the ’69 Biscayne*. She had just arrived in town from Winnipeg and hadn’t seen him for a few years. Those were some pants. But they weren’t flares.
The ‘80’s on were a big relief for him. He spent the rest of his life, we lost him to Cancer in 2005, in khakis and neat plaid short sleeved shirts and polo shirts. I kept his Grey Flannel Pants and Navy Blazer for years.
We also called him Sir…
And Again! Forgot to do my 500 steps this hour. Back in 3.
….When we would call him at the office, (in Grade 2, an avid reader, I called him every time I finished a chapter in Alice in Wonderland) you couldn’t just ask for Dad. Everybody was a Dad. So we asked to speak to George. When he came on the line he would say ‘That’s Sir to you, kid.’ And it stuck. Even our friends called him Sir. My sister’s kids called him Papa Sir. Kinda like Papa Smurf only more respectful. My youngest niece, Courtney, called him Papa Sewer, but that was just the way she spoke as a toddler. We found it very amuuuuusing. As did he.
Aaaaand, back to my son. I actually enlisted him to work part time at Rosen’s when he was 16. He wanted (or did he?) a part-time job and we needed a Saturday merchandiser. I’d already taught him and his twin sisters how to fold their clothes properly, iron a shirt, and do their laundry. I also taught them that when they look at clothing in a store they need to put it back exactly they way they found it. Respect for Retail. It was sooo fun to dress him and see him get measured for his first suit. Staff Discounts Rock! We never actually worked together at the same time, but it was cool to work at the same place.
I also told him, it being his first job, that ‘If you’re late, screw up, or make me look bad I will let them fire you.’ I also told him ‘Don’t forget we work this lifestyle, we don’t live it.’ Entitled is not a good look on anybody. He chose his Boss suit for Grad, slim fit with pointy shoes and put his long blonde hair in pony tail for the occasion. This was way before man-buns which he would have scoffed at anyway.
I was so proud of him at the first Christmas Party and and at the 2nd he wore his made to measure Tilford purple velvet peak lapel Jacket. As he danced with his girlfriend on the dancefloor I couldn’t help shouting ‘Shake what your mama gave you!’ He got me back when we did a company paintball tournament. The pic of us two in our guns an gear hung in the staff room for ages. But, kept he shooting me. It hurt.
‘William, we’re on the same team. Stop shooting me!’
‘Then stop being a pylon.’
If anyone has pics or memories of the things I’m describing, please feel free to share with rest of us!
*more on Dad’s Vehicles. ’64 Pontiac Stratochief ’71 Chevrolet Impala Custom and the Volaré Station Wagon Woh-oh. Volaré! Woh-oh-oh-no! Not a GM product. ‘Nuff Said. Stay Tuned.
#welldressedmen #menswear #devilinthedetails #metoo #haberdashery #merchandising #display
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Christmas Truce 2017
Yes, it is 2018. Yes, it is obsenely late.
But life is life and it is done. I hope you enjoy, @bluename
Its Clockwork being a troll. I loved writing it, the prompt was just too amusing.
DPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDPDP
To those who knew of Clockwork, he was a serious, no nonsense, but kind ghost. To the few who thought they knew him, he was pretentious and kind of an asshole. And, to those few who actually knew him, he was all of these things and also…a prankster. Those few knew to keep their mouths shut, lest they be on the receiving end of a particularly humiliating prank. When Clockwork was in the mood, no one was safe from him.
It was a typical spring day that Clockwork decided to cause a bit of “chaos” around Amity Park. Amity park was his favorite place to pick victims, other than the ghostzone. Ghosts were fun to prank (things like steaking Skulker’s suit and giving it to Klemper. Turning Johnny's bike pink, putting a muzzle on Youngblood's parrot. However, something about pranking humans was especially satisfying. He even got some ghosts to help him sometimes. Like the time he got the box ghost to switch the contents of packages people received; Teen boys got vibrators, macho men types received stuffed animals and dresses, those who hated insects received boxes of them.
Today, however, he decided to act alone. What made his pranks so fun, was that he always got away with it. After all, save for maybe three people in Amity, who could ever know to blame him? As he scanned over Amity park in his tower, he thought of what pranks he wanted to pull. He paused over a couple of teen boys throwing around a football in the park and his smile turned devious. He quickly went to the park and watched the boys, Dash and Kwan, for a moment before acting.
“Time out!” he said. His eyes scanned the park, and he quickly found what he was looking for: a squirrel mid jump.
He took the squirrel, and replaced the football with it. The football had been flying towards Dash, who’s hands were ready to catch it.
“Time in!” Said Clockworks, just after turning invisible.
“ I got i-“ Dash cried out, expecting the football. But upon seeing the squirrel flying towards him, his eyes bulged. “What the f-!”
He didn’t get to finish his statement before the squirrel, landed on his face and began to claw at any skin its claws touched.
Dash began to screech. “Get it off me! Get it off me!” He tried to fling it off, but in its fear, the squirrel clung tighter and then crawled into his shirt. His screams intensified.
Kwan watched, frozen in place. “Don’t hurt Mr. Squirrel!” he said as Dash began slapping his chest.
Clockwork, having turned to his child form, giggled hysterically. He sighed and watched aa the squirrel finally jumped out.
Dash sniffed and quickly wiped at the tears that had escaped his eyes.
“Kwan!” he yelled, shakily. “What the fuck did you do? Why didn’t you help me?!”
“I didn’t put it there! And I didn’t want to hurt the squirrel! You didn’t have to either!”
“What about me?!” Dash questioned.
“You’re fine!” Kwan replied.
As their argument intensified, Clockwork made his way to a familiar brick house.
Inside Fenton Works, Jack Fenton was getting ready to enjoy a fresh batch of fudge his wife had just made.
He quickly paused time, disabled their ghost sensor, and got to work. He looked in the fridge and in the back, found an expired bottle of tartar sauce. He mixed it with some horseradish he also found. He scanned the fridge again and was surprised to see a jar of Vegemite. He mixed that in, too, nearly the whole jar. Finally, he took some Kale, which Jack and Danny refused to eat and threw it in.
Clockwork laughed to himself as he prepared the fudge. He took some off the top, added a layer of his “concoction” and put back the fudge and smoothed out the top.
Once again, he re-started time and watched his prank unfold.
Jack took the large spoon he had (It was actually a serving spoon, but when it came to Fudge for him, the bigger the bite, the better.) and he scooped up a good quarter of the fudge. He managed to shove it all in before chewing.
He chewed for a moment, eyes closed, before his eyes bulged open and he ran to the sink and spat out the fudge. He rinsed out his mouth and cried out for Maddie.
“Maddie! Maddie, come here! Maddie!” he began pacing, or rather stomping, arounf the kitchen.
“Jack! I'm working! What are you yelling about?” She asked.
“My fudge, Maddie, my fudge! How could you?! Don’t you know not the mess with a mans fudge??”
“Jack, I have no idea what you’re talking about!”
He thrust the tray towards her. “Look! I can forgive the horseradish and whatever else that is, but kale?? How could you? Kale! Of all things!”
“Jack, I had no idea how this got in here! I didn’t do it.” She assured him.
“Well! It must has been a ghost then!” he said.
“Impossible! Our sensor would have gone off, and if a ghost tried to turn it off, it would have attacked them.”
‘Unless you have the power to stop time' Thought Clockwork. He quickly left he broke into hysterical laughter.
He pulled some pranks here and there in Amity: Bugs in Paulina’s make up, turning the news reporter, Lance's hair baby poop green by putting dye in his conditioner, making it so Val’s weapons did things like squirt water or shoot out foam darts, etc.
It was getting late when he came upon his final victims. Sam, Danny, and Tucker were taking advantage of Sam's empty house to watch movies, bowl, eat too much junk food, and raid the liquor cabinet. Not that they were doing anything wrong, they were all 21. But the Manson’s had only the best, and Danny and Tucker enjoyed being able to have it for free.
He tried to do what he was planning (Alcohol replaced with Juice, taking the food, and so on) when Danny left the room, so he couldn’t sense him.
However, Sam sighed and called him out.
“Clockwork, I know you’re there. Whatever you’re thinking of pulling, don’t.”
He turned visible. “How did you know?”
“We managed to figure out, well, mostly Sam figured it out, that you're the ghost pranker of Amity Park.” Danny said, walking back into the room.
“We’ve heard about all the pranks happening today and knew you were around.” Tucker stated.
I don't get it, didn't you know we'd figure you out?” Sam asked.
“I uh, didn’t look that far ahead…” He replied.
Sam sighed and turned back towards the giant TV screen.
“Really, Clocky,” Sam started, and his eye twitched at the nickname. “You should know better.”
“You really should.” Danny chided.
“Yup.” Said Tucker.
Clockwork frowned.
“Well, you’re already here, you’re welcome to join us, if you'd like.” Sam offered.
“Oh, thank you. That’s kind, I have to get back though.” He said.
“That's too bad, but hey! Next time, get us in on that action.” Tucker said.
“Oh yeah, that would be awesome.” Danny said.
“I already have some ideas.” Sam stated.
“Oh, they’re evil.” Tucker said.
Clockwork smiled. “I’ll be sure to do that.”
He was about to disappear when Danny stopped him.
“Hey, listen, everyone thinks it's me pulling the pranks, could you maybe somehow, show that it isn’t?”
Clockwork thought for a moment.
“I can.” He replied.
“Oh great! Will you?” Danny asked.
Clockwork smirked.
“No.” He stated and he disappeared with a dramatic sweep of his cloak.
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Meet the Parents-Marlon Brando Imagine
Requested: Yes
Warnings: Fluff
Marlon was known for being one of the toughest, most macho men in Hollywood as well as one of the finest actors around. However, no one would have believed me if I told them he was a nervous wreck days before meeting my parents. Honestly, I almost couldn’t believe it either. In my eyes, my parents weren’t intimidating at all: my mother was a children’s book author and my father was in advertising. In spite of these facts, Marlon got extremely nervous when I told him that they wanted to have dinner with the two of us.
“What if they don’t like me?” Marlon asked.
“Impossible, everyone likes you...I think.”
Marlon narrowed his eyes at me in response and I laughed. Making fun of everything was second nature to me since it’s what MGM paid me to do.
“This isn’t funny, Y/N.”
“Just do us both a favor and breathe before you turn blue,” I said, resting my hands on his shoulders.
He huffed before shrugging my hands off him. “I need a drink.”
“Yes, because alcohol definitely helps clear everyone’s head.”
Marlon didn’t say anything as he walked over to the bar in his living room and poured some expensive whiskey into a crystal tumbler. I reclined on the couch and watched him sip the liquor. It was extremely endearing that he was getting so worked up about meeting my parents. Marlon could be tender at times, but there were other moments where he could be downright cold and unemotional. Watching him get so anxious showed that he really did care for me.
“Isn’t it too soon for them to be meeting me anyhow?”
“We’ve been going steady for three months and my parents don’t believe every headline they read. They want to see the real Marlon Brando who has won their daughter’s heart.”
Marlon smirked. “So, I won your heart?”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t get cocky.” I slipped off the couch and grabbed my bag. “I have to head over to the studio now but dinner’s at eight so swing around to my place at seven thirty.”
“All right.”
Swiftly, I pressed a quick peck to his cheek before slipping out of his house, thankful that the paparazzi were too busy with a different movie star to camp outside of Marlon’s home. Marlon had been hounded by the paparazzi practically since his first picture, but it only got worse when we were open about our relationship. In a way, I understood why people were so intrigued by our relationship since I was simply a funny girl who somehow got the attention of a bona fide Hollywood hunk. To be honest, I sometimes wondered why Marlon and I stayed together since I had a unique talent for irritating him and pushing his buttons.
The next night, Marlon seemed a bit more relaxed and calm when he came to pick me up. He was wearing one of his cool dark gray suits and a matching fedora. He gave me that weird grin of his when I opened the door for him.
“You better hurry inside, Mister, my boyfriend will be here soon,” I teased.
“He’s an idiot if he left a girl like you all by her lonesome,” Marlon said.
I chuckled and stepped aside to let him in. “You seem calm.”
“I’m an actor.”
“That explains it.” I cinched my pearl bracelet on my wrist and straightened out the skirt of my deep blue dress. “Well, what do you think?”
“You look good, Y/N, you always look good.”
I grinned and kissed him quickly. Marlon seemed to have different plans because when I pulled away, he grabbed my shoulders and pulled me closer. I smiled further into the kiss. “Marlon, stop, we have to leave.”
“We have time,” he muttered.
I managed to pry myself away from him and he reluctantly followed me to his shiny red car. It took all of ten minutes to get to my parents’ modest house in Los Angeles. The ivory white fence in front of the house as well as the perfectly manicured green lawn and yellow rose bushes flanking the front steps made it look like a stereotypical suburban home.
“So, this is where you grew up?”
“Glamorous, I know.”
Marlon parked on the curb, got out of the car, and opened the door for me. I placed my hand on his arm and we walked up to the front door together. I rang the high-toned doorbell before turning to Marlon.
“Don’t forget to breathe now.”
“I won’t.”
His curt tone was enough to make me burst into giggles, but I rubbed his arm for comfort as I suppressed my laughter. A short moment later, my mom opened the door, her eyes were as wide as saucers when she saw Marlon and she wiped her hands on her pink apron quickly.
“Mr. Brando,” she whispered dreamily.
“Hello, Mrs. Y/L/N,” Marlon said politely.
“Mom, I’m here too, you know.”
Mom blinked and turned to me. “Oh, Y/N, of course!” She pulled me into a hug. “Come in, come in!”
We walked into the cool house, the smell of roast chicken, potatoes, and green beans thick in the air. Dad was sitting in the parlor area, smoking a pipe and looking thoughtfully at a copy of the Times.
“Y/D/N, they’re here!” Mom said.
Dad glanced up, placed the newspaper on the coffee table, and stood to greet us. “Hello, Y/N, how are you doing?”
“I’m doing great, Dad,” I said as we hugged.
When we pulled away, Dad turned to Marlon. “So, you must be Marlon.”
“Yes, it’s nice to meet you, Mr. Y/L/N,” Marlon said.
“Please, call me Y/D/N.” Dad maintained strong eye contact with Marlon as they shook hands. “Strong handshake you got there, Marlon.”
“Thank you, Y/D/N,” Marlon said.
“You can call me Y/M/N, as well. Dinner’s almost ready, Y/N, won’t you help me with it?” Mom asked.
Marlon shot a glance at me that communicated all his fear of being left alone with my father. I smiled warmly in return as I agreed to join Mom in the kitchen.
“He’s even more handsome than he is in the pictures! Why didn’t you tell me?” Mom whisper-hissed.
“I thought it would be a nice surprise. You could be a little more subtle about your crush on him.”
“Oh, honey, he should be used to that kind of attention. Isn’t it his job?”
I rolled my eyes but laughed as we started bringing the food to the dining room. Once it was all set up, we called Marlon and Dad into the dining room and it seemed as though they bonded over boxing.
“Joe Lewis front and center, impressive,” Dad noted while taking his seat at one head of the table.
“It was----had to dodge out of the way to avoid getting blood on me. If you’d like, I could take you to the next fight.”
Dad’s eyes widened. “You’re serious?”
“Of course.”
“Besides, it’s not like I was interested in watching two men try to beat each other to death,” I said as I took my seat across from Marlon.
“It’s an art, Y/N, you wouldn’t understand,” Dad said. “Am I right, Marlon?”
“Yes, Y/D/N.”
Mom was too busy admiring Marlon’s good looks to catch my annoyed glance and I almost had to laugh. We started eating dinner and as we ate, I could tell Marlon was getting more and more relaxed.
“Y/N, you never told us how the two of you met,” Mom said.
“It’s exactly as the magazines put it: he romanced me while we were on the French Riviera a few months ago.”
Marlon chuckled while Mom narrowed her eyes at me.
“Y/N, answer your mother,” Dad said.
“We ran into each other at the studio----literally.”
“Actually, you ran into me, Y/N.”
“I was running late to set and our pictures just happened to be filming on the same lot. Unfortunately, I ran straight into Marlon while trying to get to my set and nearly knocked him over.”
“You were running pretty fast, but you did apologize about fifty times.”
“Because I was sincere!”
My parents chuckled over their meals.
“For some reason, I found your sincerity quite charming and decided to look for the girl in the crazy wig who ran into me after I was done filming for the day,” Marlon said.
“We started talking and that was pretty much it.”
“Such a charming story,” Mom said.
“It’s one of the better ways Y/N’s met a beau,” Dad said with a chuckle.
“What do you mean, Y/D/N?”
“Dad, please don’t, I’m too old to be embarrassed by you,” I whined.
“Come on, Y/D/N, Marlon doesn’t want to hear any of those stories,” Mom said.
“Actually, I am very interested to hear about who Y/N dated before me,” Marlon said.
I wanted to smack that grin off his face but refrained myself by playing with the green beans on my plate.
“Well, at the ripe age of five, Y/N had her first beau because he apologized for biting her on the first day of school,” Dad said. “What was his name?”
“Richard Collins,” I muttered.
“Oh, Richie! He was a sweet boy,” Mom exclaimed.
“Until he broke up with me by shoving me into a wall,” Y/N muttered.
“And then there was Brandon when you were thirteen. She told us he was the love of her life. They held hands and everything,” Mom said.
“Oh?” Marlon asked. “How long did that last?”
“About two months. We broke up because he was a bad kisser.”
“Y/N!” Mom and Dad exclaimed.
I shrugged. “It’s the truth!”
After we were done rehasing my dating history, Mother excused the two of us to clear off the table and to prepare coffee and dessert. Marlon and Dad went into the parlor to smoke together.
“I would ask what you think of Marlon, Mom, but after that show, I’d be surprised if you didn’t ask him out yourself.”
“You know I would never do that to your father, but I do think that Marlon is a very nice man and he treats you well, doesn’t he?”
“Yes, he does.” I smiled to myself as I set the small dishes of coffee cake on a tray.
“Do you love him?”
“Yes.”
“Then I hope he makes an honest woman out of you soon.”
“Why can’t I make an honest man out of him, Mom?”
“Oh, you know what I mean. I saw the way he looked at you, absolutely precious it was.” Mom set the silver coffee pot in the center of the tray with the coffee cake. “Most women never get looked at that way by a man for their whole lives. You’re a fortunate one.”
“Thanks, Mom, I’m glad we have your blessing.”
“Of course, you do, my grandchildren are going to be beautiful.”
“Mom.”
At the end of the night, Marlon was extremely happy to hear that my parents were practically in love with him----specifically my mom. Fortunately for me, it seemed as though Marlon didn’t mind my weird little family.
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The ‘Girly Girl’ Problem
The ‘Girly Girl’ Problem and how it affected me...
I've grown up in a really weird place.
Am I just a product of my generation and upbringing?
I hate ballet, pale pink, cooking, sewing and most of the 'female' gender norms that I've been exposed to over the years. But why do I hate them?
I love WWe, UFC, Gaming, Rock Music and anything I can find that I identify with being a 'macho' male gender norm, as long as I don't also see it as a negative.
Do I like and dislike these things just because? Or is it because I was raised in a world were a female being female was bad? I almost feel like I have a similar mindset to how I imagine guys do when they are afraid to cook or learn baking because it's the 'female's' job. Which normally I would roll my eyes at, no jobs are specific to any gender, so when male's say something like that I get defensive and angry. BUT...
If I am asked why I don't like ballet, gymnastics, dance, cooking, sewing or anything that I'm internally identifying as female, I have the same fear and opinion as the guys I roll my eyes at.
When trying to get back to the gym and trying to find a way to get some flexibility added to weightlifting I had to be told that even Terminator did gymnastics and ballet exercises.
So I need a strong super 'macho' man to have done something to make it okay for me to do? What have I missed out on because I was afraid to be labelled as a 'girly girl'. Who have I insulted and pushed away because I looked down on woman who were okay with falling into gender stereotypes?
Am I really who I should be? Should I have gone into gymnastics as a kid instead of karate? Should I have learned how to cook, bake and sew when I was young so I would have those VERY handy skills now?
Am I so contrary that I've screwed up?
Gender stereotypes don't just hinder men and women in the way I had originally thought, it is not just enough to break those stereo types and to try to be someone you are not. They just need to be forgotten.
I should be able to like cooking, and sewing, and still like UFC and other 'male' style hobbies. I should be able to be a 'homemaker' no matter my gender and I finally realize that doesn't just mean that men should take on female roles, and females should take on male roles... But that we should just be us, we should do whatever we're interested in, and learn all the helpful skills regardless of gender.
Woman should be able to do 'female' labelled jobs, chores and hobbies without being looked down upon and being labelled as un-feminist. We're all just human, and the gender stereotypes started out terrible and putting people in a box, but I feel like the fight against them is almost doing the same thing.
We need to remember that sensitive women and sensitive men are equal and just as 'normal' as men and woman that are more 'macho' (For lack of a better word in the moment). And that you don't need to be labelled a one of the other, because in the end, regardless of gender, we're just people.
This was my realization that I am a symptom of a bigger problem and I'm sorry to anyone I've made feel bad for being too feminine, because being female should NEVER be a negative thing.
Be you, be who you want to be, and try to realize what you want versus what society wants you to want.
Time to open up to my 'girly' side!
P.S. we need better vocabulary regarding these gender typings!
#feminist#musing#musings#women#gender stereotypes#girly girls#writing#mywriting#mandamonium#thoughts#weird#female#rambles#manda rambles
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Dearest little addicts of the general variety. Have you been waiting for My next installment of debauchery ? Wondering …. What is that Perfect Specimen of a Dominant Beauty doing right now ? Exactly what She set out to do :
Demand. Obtain. Conquer !
Lately, I’ve been busy with vanilla business ventures and projects outside of My Holy Hive. Nevertheless, I finally found some time to scribe a proper tell-all of My latest deviant deeds. 📜✍🏾
As for current conquests, one of My most well-mannered worshipers recently returned to the jaded sanctuary. — I allow a_slave to serve Me sporadically because he happens to be a genuine submissive and consummate money masochist. { i.e., offering significant and consistent tributes, complete devotion, unfailing obedience and a thorough consideration of all of My desires. } his first tribute was intoxicating $750.00, the whimpering was gourmet +$1750.00, and the begging that ensued was heavenly +$3650.00, but it was the desperation or panic that truly sent Me to Domme Space. ☄️ Mmm Yes, Sheer panic +$6100.00 ! 😱💸 Understandably a_slave starts to become a bit overwhelmed, so he has to step back and take a breather/break. { As well as replenish the tens of thousands I’ve taken from him. 🤑 } — I swiped $600.00 from grandpaslave. { the geezer was pathetically pleading with Me to ” milk him dry ! ” I contemplated for a moment, then decided, why rush ? A slow burn is so much more torturous for him and enjoyable for the Sadist in Me. 🔥👴🏻 }
– shy guy sent $250.00 in a failed attempt to ” leave the lifestyle.” { remember, shy guy, your ego has no place in My jaded.world. Luckily for you, I fancy bending pseudo “macho men” to My will, using their desire and thirst for My attention. Further deconstructing, rebuilding, and reprogramming them into robo “yes boys.” 🤖 { I even welcome a challenge, because L/let’s face it, I don’t lose. 🥇🏆 } — azfootbitch covered this week’s misc. tabs to the tune of $200.00 { *twirls* the Life of a Spoiled Princess ! 👑 } —
Approx. $500.00 from sissychristie, My new cock-gobbling whore ! { I directed her to Squirt.org to scout out studs and chat about how much she craves giant cock. The total damage : $483.87
; Watching her suck a dirty ol’ dick and Laughing in delight : PRICELESS. 😂 } — cds dropped a swift $1K into My cash account, and surprised Me with gorgeous flowers that fill the air with sweet notes of honey, YUM ! 💐🍯 { feeling celebrated – vehemently, and consequently wickedly benevolent, I sent cds to work in panties, with a message on his inner thigh, and My picture in his pocket. I can’t wait to hear about how painful, and productive his work day was ! 😏 } It’s all in the way you churn their bitty brains … Chop and mush … Implant and trigger. 🌀🔌
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On to pressies ! ❣️🎁 { I ADORE getting goodies in the mail ! It just feels so RIGHT to be swarmed with gifts from My worker bees ! It’s like I open the box and a choir of angels sing ! 📦✨🎼😇 } Let’s see … Two beauteous Rebecca Minkoff bags from jimbean. A 10ft, solid PINK, leather single tail/ bullwhip and Catwoman CosPlay gear from garebear. Still, a_slave was honored to foot the bill for a lofty Labor Day shopping spree and happy to carry My virtual bags. I quickly spent 1k+, click, click, clicking away ! I acquired some kick ass art pieces, three new area rugs, some sassy throw pillows, and new linens for the boudoir. It is a palpable pleasure to remote control, My slaves, barely lifting a finger and pulling their purse strings with naught but My divine presence. 💅🏾👛
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Fan-mail FAQ 📬💌 :
“Just a quick email inquiring if a sub, who cannot afford to tribute like Your favourites on Your blog tribute, can he still tribute You something in the region of a 100 or would he be wasting Your time?”
Let Me be clear.
No tribute earns you no attention. 🚫 A small tribute moderately validates your existence. 🔎 Similarly, a large tribute sets you apart from the masses and allows Me to notice you. 🙇💘 So no, minimum tribute like a single Benji, wouldn’t be a waste of My time. { they do stack so wonderfully ✨💵✨ } However, if you have some expectation of Me, for your bitty buck, guess again. 🖕🏾 you are not paying for a service; you are offering tribute. And as with many things in life, when considering tribute(s) – 📌 Bigger is Always BETTER !
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That said, I’ve started to create opportunities for the lower caste to be a part of something greater than your mediocre selves. Positions that fulfill your life purpose and allow you to serve in a useful and consistent manner. Run My errands
by sending gift cards for all those little things I need. { e.g., Pump My gas, as I am a Woman about town. 💳⛽️. Stock My cupboards with the finest foods, supplements, and vitamins, to keep My body a temple. 🍇🍎🥑🛒. And entertain Me with new films, music, and books that feed My creativity. 🎶🎟📚 }
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I snapped a few photos during a jaded.live appearance. Who wants to have a look at those divine and intimate moving captures ? Who feels deserving of such an honor ? Hmmm. I don’t know if even My most devoted pets deserve it … after all, I have been LIVE quite a bit. But if you continue to put Me in a generous mood with your tributes and gifts, I may send you an invite to the jaded.team !
I’m about done with this nocturnal thing. I’ve been utterly vampiric for the past month ! Staying awake all night and feeding off you weaklings ! Depleting you of the last drop. 💉🍷
Cause That Drop Is MINE.
Midnight Memoirs Dearest little addicts of the general variety. Have you been waiting for My next installment of debauchery ?
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New Review from Jeff York of Creative Screenwriting Magazine: “Zombieland: Double Tap” is a Hearty if Tardy Sequel
What’s with all of the decades-late sequels these days? Mad Max: Fury Road, Blade Runner 2049, Mary Poppins Returns… the list goes on and on. But as long as they’re critical and financial successes, more will be made. One of the latest is Zombieland: Double Tap, a sequel to the hit horror-comedy Zombieland from 2009. And while it doesn’t do much that the first one didn’t, this follow-up is a rollicking riff with enough laughs and character to stand as a hearty, albeit tardy, sequel.
One of its coups is that all four stars of the original return, including Oscar-winner Emma Stone. She gives an intense and fully-committed performance here, as do the other three leads: Woody Harrelson, Jesse Eisenberg, and Abigail Breslin. The merry band of marauders they played before, trying to stay alive in a world overrun by zombies, have now become so good at running and gunning they’ve become bored. They need to get some of their mojos back now that zombies aren’t all that much of an issue for them.
Abigail Breslin and Emma Stone
The opening set-piece finds them mowing down a horde of the running dead on the way to their new home – an abandoned White House. There are no longer any countries, armed forces, or any semblance of order. It’s just those who are zombies and their adversaries struggling to keep from joining them. (You’ll remember that it was Mad Cow Disease that ran rampant, turning the world’s populace into Mad People Disease in the 2009 original.)
Somehow the four have endless rounds of ammunition, let alone access to all kinds of water and food, but the film is less interested in explaining this craven new world. Instead, it just wants to have fun. And fun it has for all.
Good ol’ boy Tallahassee (Harrelson) is still a blustery, macho cowboy. Columbus (Eisenberg), our narrator in the first film, is still his nebbish lieutenant. Wichita (Stone), the romantic interest in the first one is now in an all-but-married relationship with Columbus. And Little Rock (Breslin) isn’t so little anymore. She’s now 19 and itching for independence. Wichita still has flight tendencies too, and readily runs off with her sister, abandoning the two men, just after Columbus proposed to her.
It may be fun roaming around the White House, using a painting of President Taft as wrapping paper for an early Christmas celebration, but Tallahassee and Columbus are going stir-crazy too. They make frequent sojourns outside their new home, visiting the mall to grab supplies and shoot down walkers in their way. Columbus, moping since Wichita’s exit, likes to visit the candle shop to ingest smells that don’t wreak of decay and rotting flesh. And there, he meets a comely newcomer who will quickly help him get over being dumped.
Zoey Deutch and Jesse Eisenberg
Madison (Zoey Deutch) is a teenager clad in a pink velvet tracksuit who has been living in the mall. Her introduction is one of the cheekier gags in the sequel. Her name is genuinely Madison, even though it plays off of the trope of characters using the moniker of their hometowns. And her being a permanent fixture at the mall is a hoarily old, but still funny commentary on teendom.
Madison dumber than a box of hammers, but she’s sweet and wants to jump Columbus’ bones, so they quickly become a couple. Deutch makes the most of the role, using her expert comic timing to make her bits land even if they’re more than a bit obvious a majority of the time. Of course, she packs too much for the road and is oblivious to most of everyone’s putdowns. She’s both guileless and clueless. (She could be Elle Woods’ younger sister (or cousin) from Legally Blonde.)
Things get dicey when Wichita returns, pretending her motivation is to stock up on ammo when in actuality, she misses Columbus. She’s not happy that her ex has moved on in less than a month, and as Stone proved in The Favourite, she’s stellar at tossing out bitter quips tinged by real hurt. Eisenberg plays comic bafflement better than just about anyone, here trying to manage his dueling love interests, while Harrelson tosses about pointed, snide putdowns like a redneck version of Groucho Marx or Bill Murray. (More on Mr. Murray later.)
The plot really gets going when Little Rock runs off with an unarmed hipster musician named Berkeley (Avan Jogia), and the others, including Madison, hit the road to find her. They’re worried about Little Rock and her peace-loving love interest surviving against the new, super-powerful zombies running about out there in the wilderness and travel thusly in hot pursuit.
Like its predecessor, this sequel is essentially a road trip movie, and what makes this a worthy trip to the cineplex for audiences are all the fun stops along the way that director Ruben Fleischer and his screenwriting trio of Dave Callaham, Rhett Reese, and Paul Wernick have cooked up.
Woody Harrelson and Rosario Dawson
There’s a great running gag about Tallahassee’s frustrations with their mode of transport as he’s constantly on the lookout for a vehicle than their family minivan. (His previous obsession with Twinkies gets nary a mention this time.) The Florida resident is also determined to visit Graceland as Elvis is one of his heroes, and it’s exactly where Little Rock told Wichita she was headed in her goodbye note.
The tensions in the car amongst the two men and two women make for quick-paced and hilariously bitchy dialogue. Run-ins with new characters, played by Rosario Dawson, Luke Wilson, and Thomas Middleditch, are a stitch too, as is a third act showdown that takes place at a hippie commune.
Despite Tallahassee’s put-downs of the lefty pacifists there, the movie has its cake and eats it too, showing that peaceful solutions can work just as well as creating bullet-ridden carnage.
If one is going to attempt a sequel ten years after the fact, let alone in a genre overrun by zombies, they should all be as easy and breezy as this effort. The four assume their roles and rapport with each other with unforced aplomb. They all look great too, barely aging at all other than Breslin who’s grown into womanhood. And the story adds just enough twists to make this a hoot. The writers wisely avoid anything too heavy as well, resisting any attempts to become political or make too many editorial comments on society.
In fact, the most the screenplay acknowledges the rest of the world is only in brief cameos that show novel ways the foreign citizenry prevails over the zombie infestation in their countries. As in the previous film, director Fleischer cleverly incorporates animated onscreen titles to highlight Columbus’ rules to survive such an apocalypse as well. And the director moves things along briskly, even finding time to revisit Bill Murray in a post-credit sequence. (His cameo in the first one has become something almost legendary.)
In the end, this fun outing even sets up what could be an ongoing franchise. If future entries are as fun as this, their returns will not be diminishing ones. Who knows, maybe they’ll even figure out a way to cross-populate this property with one or two of those other late-returning sequels. Could Mad Max help Tallahassee, et al. annihilate the living dead? Undoubtedly, though he might not like being called Melbourne.
Catch the trailer for Zombieland: Double Take below:
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10 Quotes From Full House That Are Actually Funny | ScreenRant – Screen Rant
Full House may be a popular sitcom from the late ’80s and early ’90s, but there’s no arguing with the fact that the show is incredibly corny. Even the well-known taglines like Michelle Tanner’s “you got it dude” or Uncle Jesse exclaiming “watch the hair” can be grating after a while.
RELATED: 10 Storylines From Full House That Never Got Resolved
Despite the cheesy nature of the show, there are actually a lot of quotes that make us laugh to this day, whether we’re catching a random re-run or just looking back on the show we grew up with. Here are 10 quotes from Full House that are actually funny.
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10 “My, how you’ve aged.”
Stephanie (Jodie Sweetin), D.J. (Candace Cameron Bure), and Michelle (Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen) are really cute siblings who light up whatever scene they’re in together. When the girls see some photos of them as kids in the season three episode “Star Search,” Stephanie thinks that she’s looking at a snapshot of her. She calls herself “adorable” and DJ says “Steph, that’s me!” Stephanie’s response? “My, how you’ve aged.”
RELATED: 10 Hilarious Full House Memes That Are Too Funny
Stephanie has a wise-beyond-her-years sense of humor and often says things in a very dry, flat tone. This is one of her best quotes that is actually hilarious.
9 “Honey, they’re not boys. They’re men. They’re Katsopolis men.”
In the season eight episode “Breaking Away,” Uncle Jesse (John Stamos) and Aunt Becky (Lori Loughlin) have to adjust to their twin sons, Nicky and Alex, going to school. Becky is super emotional and says, “Honey, look at this. Two little lunch-boxes with two little handles and they’ll hold as they walk out of our lives. Jess, they’re not ready for preschool. They’re just little boys.”
RELATED: Seinfeld: The 11 Funniest George Costanza Quotes
Uncle Jesse’s reply is that they’re “Katsopolis men” and it’s a really funny quote. He’s always trying to be really macho, but he’s hiding a sweet, vulnerable side, and of course he’s just as upset about his kids growing up as his wife is.
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8 “Dust… When did we have a kid?”
Uncle Jesse and Aunt Becky have the cutest family, and it’s impossible to imagine their twins not being a part of Full House. But back in the second season of the show, they were simply discussing baby names.
Becky says she loves the names Prescott and Emily, and Jesse insists on Dustin. When she keeps repeating that Prescott is her preferred boy name, he says, “Dust… When did we have a kid?” This is a Full House that is actually funny since so many couples can relate to this familiar conversation.
7 “Not if it’s a girl.”
In the season three episode “Dr. Dare Rides Again,” Danny (Bob Saget) and his daughters are naming their dog (who ends up being called Comet, of course). Stephanie suggests “Mr. Dog.” When D.J. says, “Mr.Dog? Steph when you have a kid someday what are you going to name it? Mr.Baby?” Stephanie replies, “Not if it’s a girl.”
RELATED: The Ellen DeGeneres Show: 10 Hilarious Guest Star Quotes That Are Too Funny For Words
This is another quote from Full House that is actually hilarious. Stephanie’s delivery is so perfect and she really has good timing here.
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6 “Bruce Springsteen is the boss.”
Danny’s season six quote is another funny one. He’s chatting with Michelle in the episode “The House Meets The Mouse” and he tells her, “Sounds like you were trying to be the boss.” She says, “The princess is the boss” and he makes his Bruce Springsteen joke.
This is one of the character’s greatest lines and it’s particularly great since it’s not about cleaning. Sure, it’s pretty funny when he goes into his clean freak mode, but this joke is a nice departure from his usual conversation. It’s even funnier since Michelle has clearly no idea who he’s talking about.
5 “Do babies get hairballs?”
Uncle Jesse asks this very funny (and totally ridiculous) question in the season one episode “Knock Yourself Out,” making this one of the actually hilarious quotes from Full House. Uncle Joey (Dave Gladstone) and Jesse are upset because Michelle is coughing a lot. Stephanie comments that it “sounds like a hairball.”
RELATED: 10 Things That Make No Sense About Full House
This is a great example of when Joey and Jesse are taking care of the girls and being really silly in the process. They love them so much that it’s tugging at our heartstrings and also making us laugh.
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4 “You lost my daughter? I went to work for seven hours and you lost 33% of my children?”
This Danny Tanner quote is from the pilot and it’s another really funny one. It wouldn’t be quite so good if he hadn’t been so specific and said “33 percent of my children.” That’s Danny: specific, precise, and analytical.
It’s impossible to imagine another TV character (or even someone IRL) saying something like this. They would be too focused on the fact that their kid was nowhere to be found. Danny, however, can’t help but say this.
3 “You’re hugging me in a room with pink bunnies.”
Also from the pilot, this Uncle Jesse quote is one for the books. It’s clear that he’s having some trouble adjusting to his new life and reality: being a full-time caregiver for Danny’s three daughters.
RELATED: Full House: 5 Best (& 5 Worst) Episodes
But of course, Jesse also loves every minute of it, and he just has to get used to things.
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2 “I gotta go potty.”
Michelle says this hilarious quote in the season four episode “A Pinch For A Pinch.” It’s a perfect response to what Danny is explaining. He says, “Michelle is getting an academic foundation that’s going to carry her through grades K through 12, through college, through Harvard law school. Jess, you have robbed our nation of one of the finest legal minds the supreme court has ever known.”
RELATED: Full House: 10 Uncle Jesse Quotes That Show Why He Was A Heartthrob
Michelle, being a little kid, responds the best she knows how: by saying she has to use the bathroom. It’s a priceless moment (and also a teaching one, this being Full House, since Jesse told Michelle to stand up to a bully by pinching him right back).
1 “I’ll stay home and watch public television.”
It’s off to school for Stephanie in the season one episode “The First Day of School.” When Danny asks, “Steph, don’t you want to go to school and be smart?” Stephanie says, “I’ll stay home and watch public television.”
This is definitely the funniest quote from Full House and of course it’s said by Stephanie, who is one of the most hilarious characters on the heartwarming sitcom. She just always knows the right thing to say.
NEXT: Full House: 10 Things That Haven’t Aged Well
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Bài viết 10 Quotes From Full House That Are Actually Funny | ScreenRant – Screen Rant đã xuất hiện đầu tiên vào ngày Funface.
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