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robintalley · 5 years

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There are lots of adoring retrospective pieces going around about 10 Things I Hate About You right now, since it’s the movie’s 20th anniversary (yes, we’re all very old), which has been making me a little grumpy. My wife and I rewatched this movie last year (because I was thinking about writing a queer retelling of Taming of the Shrew at the time, an idea which I have since tabled, partly because this rewatch made me so uncomfortable), and it was that viewing that allowed me to finally put my finger on what had always bothered me about this one: for a movie that gets held up as being super feminist, it’s got an awful lot of misogynistic dialogue.

Yes, it’s also full of witticisms about Sketchers and Shakespeare, and yes, it has a great soundtrack and amusing clothes, and yes, Julia Stiles and Heath Ledger had amazing chemistry and turned in fantastic performances, and yes, it was fantastic and perhaps mildly revolutionary that the conclusion seemed to be that Bianca should be more like Kat and not the other way around. And the reveal at the end that [spoiler] Kat slept with Joey three years before the events of the film is also probably mildly revolutionary, for a female protagonist in a teen movie in 1999.

But let’s take a closer look at this script (quotes below are from this transcript).

TL;DR: Sixteen Candles this movie’s not, but it isn’t the grand feminist treatise it gets held up to be either.

In most of the scenes featuring Kat (which is fewer of them than you might expect, given that an astonishing chunk of the movie’s screen time is devoted to Cameron making awkward faces), she delivers lots of witty comebacks. The comebacks themselves are great. The problem is the lines that set up her comebacks. It’s lovely to see her standing up for herself, of course, but it would be awesome if she didn’t have to do so quite so often. Especially considering that a lot of the time the person she’s standing up to is Patrick, who is presented to us as the hero and perhaps a bit of a feminist himself (we don’t know for sure, because the word feminist is only used once in the movie, by fellow-hero Cameron after he’s just finished searching Kat’s bedroom without her knowledge or permission and is reporting back to Patrick on what he found).

All of the lines below are spoken by the movie’s “good” guys, by the way. I didn’t include any quotes from the antagonist, Joey (the one who draws a dick on a kid’s face in the cafeteria).

Here’s how Patrick introduces himself to Kat (after being paid by Joey to do so, a fact which is in typical teen-movie style is concealed from Kat until the climax):

PATRICK: Hey there, girlie. How ya doin'? KAT [witty comeback]: Sweating like a pig, actually. And yourself? PATRICK: Now there's a way to get a guy's attention, huh? KAT [another witty comeback]

Here’s Patrick again, speaking to Kat who at this point in the film has shown absolutely no interest in him and who is pursuing because he’s being paid to do so:

PATRICK: Well, maybe you’re not afraid of me. But I’m sure you’ve thought about me naked, huh? KAT [another witty comeback]

And again:

PATRICK: Ooo, someone still has their panties in a twist. KAT [another witty comeback]

Also let’s not forget this line, delivered to Kat by her dad (she doesn’t have a witty comeback for this one btw; maybe because the writers thought Dad’s gross line was going to get such a big laugh there was no point?):

MR. STRATFORD: My insurance does not cover PMS!

Then there’s this exchange, which almost prompted me to turn off the movie altogether during that rewatch. Again, Cameron and Patrick are both presented to us as the “good” guys in this movie; this scene takes place after Bianca has made it clear that she isn’t interested in dating Cameron; meanwhile, Kat might have a concussion and so good-guy Patrick is supposedly focused on trying to keep her awake:

CAMERON (to Patrick): Hey, hey. We need to talk. PATRICK: I'm a little busy right now. CAMERON (indignantly): Can you give me a second? [At this point they walk away, leaving the possibly-concussed Kat alone] CAMERON: It's off, okay? The whole thing’s off. PATRICK: What’re you talking about? CAMERON: She never wanted me. She wanted Joey the whole time. PATRICK: Cameron -- do you like the girl? CAMERON: Yeah. PATRICK: Yeah. And is she worth all this trouble? CAMERON: Well, I thought she was. But, you know, I... PATRICK: Well she is or she isn’t. See, first of all, Joey is not half the man you are. Secondly, don’t let anyone ever make you feel like you don’t deserve what you want. Go for it!

First of all, Patrick has met Cameron, like, twice; describing Joey as “half the man” Cameron is based on the evidence available to him (or that matter us) is a major stretch at best. Second of all, Bianca made it extremely clear that she wasn’t interested in Cameron, so Patrick telling Cameron to “go for it” may be standard romantic-hero advice, but it nonetheless sucks. Patrick is effectively telling Cameron that he “deserves” a girl who has made it clear that she’s not interested in him because, in Patrick’s opinion, Cameron’s less of an obvious jerk than the guy who Bianca indicated she was interested in.

Of course, joke’s on me; guess who Bianca totally realizes she wanted after all once Joey turns out to be boring. (Which is another teen-movie trope, but that still doesn’t justify this dialogue.)

Anyway, let’s continue. Here are some more characters talking about Bianca, who also happens to be the movie’s secondary protagonist.

MICHAEL (describing her to Cameron): ...A snotty little Princess wearing a strategically planned sun dress to make guys like us realize we can never touch her, and guys like Joey realize they want to. She, my friend, is what we’ll spend the rest of our lives not having. Put her in the Spank Bank. Move on.

And later:

PATRICK: What is it with this chick? She have beer flavored nipples? CAMERON: Hey! MICHAEL: I think I speak correctly when I say that Cameron's love is pure. Purer than say -- Joey Donner's. PATRICK: Look. I'm in on this for the cash. Donner can plow whoever he wants. CAMERON: Okay. There will be no plowing! MICHAEL: Patrick, uh, Pat. Let me explain something to you here. We set this whole thing up so Cameron can get the girl. Cameron. Joey's just a pawn. PATRICK (now talking about Kat, as charmingly as ever): So you two are gonna help me tame the wild beast?

Yes, of course Cameron’s love is “pure” and thus he deserves to “get the girl” and thus Patrick must “tame the wild beast.”

(Yes, I know the word “tame” is in there because it’s a Shakespeare title reference. Doesn’t change the fact that we’re supposed to adore and admire Patrick and yet he’s literally referring to Kat -- who at this point in the movie he genuinely likes -- as a “wild beast” in need of “taming.”)

And here’s more of Cameron and Patrick discussing Kat’s interests (and again this comes after Patrick has started genuinely liking Kat):

CAMERON: Alright. Okay -- Likes: Thai food, feminist prose, and "angry, girl music of the indie-rock persuasion". Here’s a list of CDs that she has in her room. PATRICK: So I'm supposed to buy her some noodles and a book and sit around listening to chicks who can't play their instruments, right?

Also, remember when Kat flashes her soccer coach in front of a whole class full of guys to get Heath out of detention? And when Patrick sexually harasses the lunch lady by flashing a bratwurst at her? And at the party, when a drunk girl tries to kiss Patrick, and he flings her at a random dude who then proceeds to make out with her all night? And again, with the drawing of a dick on a kid’s face in the cafeteria. (All of these things are presented as jokes, btw.)

Again, there are far worse movies out there than 10 Things I Hate About You. But I don’t want to get excited about it just because it beats the Sixteen Candles standard for teen-movie feminism. Seeing young Heath Ledger is cool for sure, but I wish I didn’t have to watch him deliver some of this dialogue, and I really want entitled-and-completely-uninteresting Cameron to just smarm off the screen every time he smarms on; if ever there was a teen movie protagonist who would be better off single at the end of the movie, it’s Bianca.

Also, ooh, I feel a lot better now for having gotten all of that off my chest. Must think of whether there are any other beloved pseudo-feminist films I can rant about next. Hmmm.

#10 things i hate about you #feminism

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wevegotworktodo · 8 years

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The Phallic Title Debacle(Damsel in Distress 4)

Pairing: Dean x Reader X Sam

Word count : 2634

Warnings: language, smut, crack!!!!

Summary: The three of you are on the hunt for the demon with the yellow eyes. Things happen... Just read the shit.

Winchester is bustling as you pass through the city square. There’s no King’s guard, no advisors, no servants at your side. You're threesome has become a foursome as Father Castiel leads the way through the winding narrow road. The fresh stench of shit fills the air as a chamber pot is emptied from a second story window, narrowly missing Dean’s head.

He shakes a piece of poop from his the toe of his shoe, “Uh, no offense here Padre, but the Royal Court has its own castle blacksmith.” The three of you wait just under the eave of the open air hut.

“Yes, your Grace…but this one is Kurdish.” The Smith presents Castiel with the blade which he had commissioned, receiving his seal of approval with a nod.

You await the unveiling of the cutlery seemingly important enough to drag the royalty of Winchester through puddles of feces to make its acquaintance. Castiel holds out both hands to display the blade to the lot of you. It's but a knife; simple handle made of antler, the blade eight inches of cold steel, strong and jagged. There's an inscription along the blade, definitely the language of the Kurds, but a subject you're not very familiar with.

“This blade will kill your yellow eyed demon, bring you the revenge and justice you have been seeking.” The boys’ eyes are wide with disbelief, distracted, at the revelation brought forth.

It's maybe a sixth sense, a blessing or a curse from the years of hunting, but you feel the presence behind you. You turn as he draws a small knife, advancing on your King. Drawing your sword you shove Sam to the side, he topples, falls in the urine slick mud. With one quick swing the arm holding the knife is severed. You throw your weapon to the ground as you snatch the new blade from Cas’s hands, plunge it into the abdomen of the still stunned attacker. His face lights with an orange glow, flickering, as the demon is eradicated.

“Blade works.” You say very matter of factly, passing it back to Cas before helping Sam to his feet. “We need to pack, get ready t’send this yellow eyed son of a bitch back to hell.”

“She's right, we need to leave tonight before the trail goes cold.” Dean takes the knife from Castiel. “I'll just hold onto this.” He sniggers.

“Really? You think you're the most capable here? The one who should be in charge of the most important weapon Winchester has ever seen?”

Sam pulls the blade from Dean’s hands. “I'm the King, I'll be in charge of it.”

You turn on Sam, “You? Mr. Almost got stabbed in the back? Mr. Pee Pee Pants?”

“That was so not my fault.”

“Just because it's not your piss doesn't displace the blame. Stay on your feet next time.” You regain possession of the weapon, giving Sam a formal bow, “Your Grace.” It's pure sarcasm and Sam knows it.

Castiel clears his throat before anymore bickering ensues. “He was only the first. Word travels fast. With a weapon like this there will be more, you'll be the hunted.”

*********

You had been the one who chose not to fly the King’s banners. Figured it'd be easier to protect him if he wasn't flaunting who he was while on this mission. Sam was dressed quite plainly, much like Dean, chainmaille concealed under a leather shirt, brown pants to match. Any ordinary peasant wouldn't know he’s royalty unless he were to have to draw his huge sword, or his weapon.

It'd been a seemingly endless ride, a good twelve hours in the saddle-- nervous, thoughts racing, stomach churning with both apprehension and excitement to finally face this bastard head on. The three of you decide to bed down for the night, a small clearing just off the beaten path will do just fine.

Dean still can't let go of the fact that you're the one in possession of the demon killing blade, “You know... I'm responsible, I held Excalibur once.”

You're already smiling,“Do I dare ask?”

“Ask what?” Dean claims a seat by the fire.

“You're aware that King Arthur also calls his prick Excalibur? So which one did he let ya hold, Dean?”

Sam is wholeheartedly laughing, loves the way you can ruffle his brother’s feathers.

Dean stands,“Fuck you both,” begins to swing an imaginary blade through the air, “That sword is enormous, rare steel, perfectly weighted.”

“Yes, and men who carry such large and extravagant weapons are generally overcompensating for somethin’.” You hold a sausage up, skewer it with a stick before holding it over the crackling fire.

“Like what?”

“Let's just say you're not the only one who’s ‘held’ Excalibur, and it wasn't that great.”

“Since when?”

“Since a couple a years ago when I took down a pack of werewolves for ‘em. Oddly enough at that time he was traveling with only a squire who kept banging together two coconuts. Ugh, that sound is forever etched in my brain.” You rub your temples as you gaze into the flames, “Anyway, he was...um…grateful.”

Sam quickly changes the subject, challenging your before mentioned assumption. “My python is by far the largest in the land and I still carry a big sword.”

“Ah, but your reputation precedes you. People across the great seas are aware of the slut slayer in your pants. You could carry a sword twice the size of any other king’s and no one would doubt you.”

Dean’s fed up, jealousy boiling in his veins. “Let's get some sleep, got a long ride in the mornin’.”

**********

“Excalibur, pfft,that's a shitty name anyway. Who names their bratwurst Excalibur?” Dean’s riding in the back, still hung up on last night’s conversation. “I'm going to name mine something way cooler than Excalibur. How about…” He thinks for a moment, “...Winchestibur?”

“No!” both you and Sam say in unison.

“Ok, ok. Win-dicks-i-bur?”

You stop your horse in its tracks, “Oh for fuck’s sake, you're just making shit up.”

“So? You don't think it's deserving of a name then?” He asks, trotting off ahead with Sam.

“Sure. Why don't both of you find a name for your albino cave dweller.” Letting out a deep sigh and rolling your eyes, you mumble under your breath, “It’s gonna be a long day.”

******

Both you and Dean try to convince him it's absurd but Sam quickly settles on ‘King Cocksbury’ enticing a huge, much needed, laugh. Maybe this ridiculousness is exactly what’s required to lighten the mood when- until now- thoughts your family’s death (at the hands of a being with yellow eyes) have been weighing heavy.

“Hmmm, a good title for the bologna pony?” Dean rubs his hand across his three day stubble.

“Hell. Dean’s thinking again. If steam starts coming out of his ears Y/N turn him over, we can cook dinner tonight without building a fire.”

“Ooo, King Cocksbury himself making jokes, you’re hilarious little brother.”

Sam reaches over and gives Dean a good shove in the shoulder, nearly pushing him off Baby. Dean in turn shoves him back which turns into a slap fight between two grown ass men.

As hilarious as this is you have a mission to complete and need to move on, “Ladies, ladies! Break it up before you resort to hair pulling!” They stop but glare at each other. “I'm not sure what's worse, hunting alone- praying to become a knight one day, or actually being one- sworn to protect the two sexiest but childish morons I've ever met.”

There's a roadside pub just ahead, a small stone building with a thatched roof. “It's just brotherly love.” Sam proclaims dismounting first.

“It's annoying.” You mumble as you swing your leg over the saddle, pull your foot from the stirrup.

Dean raises his eyebrows, “Annoyingly sexy,” then winks as pulls you into his arms. You hesitate as he leans in, breath hitches, but you can't seem to resist- letting your eyes fall closed.

Sam crinkles his nose, “I'm going to fill our costrels for the road. You two want anything?”

Dean pulls from your lips long enough to mumble, “See if they got any pie.” Motioning for Sam to go on inside.

You break- suddenly aware of what you're doing, who you're doing it with, and who saw you do it. “We...we can't--S-Sam.”

“Don't worry bout Sammy. We talked... he's ok with sharin’ until you're married to ‘em, then you're off limits,” he does a reach around, fills both hands with your ass and squeezes. “I plan on making the most of it ‘til then.”

You relax a little, “make the most of it fast then, he won't be but a minute.”

You're both hurriedly looking for a place that isn't so out in the open, some sort of cover. Dean grabs his bed roll, takes your hand and half leads, half drags you behind the building. There's a few large pines just to the side, only one of the pub’s windows visible from here so you figure it's as good a place as any. You give the blanket a shake, laying it out in a bed of pine needles while Dean over anxiously jerks his pants to his ankles. You've dropped your sword, beginning to unlace your own pants when he steps forward, cradles your face and dips his head again. Your eyes flutter, close, then spring open again. You’d caught a glimpse, a flash, of bluish white light inside.

“Fuck, Sam!”

Dean’s peppering kisses down your neck, reassuring you between them, “M’told you...he’s ok...with...this.”

You shove him back, pants around his ankles he stumbles- doesn't fall, looks at you inquisitively as you pick up your sheathed weapon. “Somethin’s wrong,” you say kicking his sword closer to his feet, “com’on.”

Entering cautiously, weapons drawn, you study the room. There's no activity, several dead highwaymen strewn about, their throats slit ear to ear.

No Sam.

Oh shit- No Sam.

You begin to panic, heart’s pounding, palms are sweating, breathing is a little erratic. You let the goddamn freaking King, whom you're sworn to protect, out of your sights to ride the steamin’ semen highway and now he's fucking disappeared. “Knew I shouldn't have let him come in by himself, son of a bitch!”

Dean’s at your side, “Well, there is a silver lining.”

“Aaand what is that?”

“Now we can bump uglies anytime we want.” He waits for your reaction expecting bitchface. He gets bitchface alright, along with a slap right across his. Your palm stings and for a second you regret the slap- think you should've punched him instead. “Jeez Y/N, it was a joke,” Dean rubs his cheek, reddened and angry, “S’riously though, Sam's not here. That's a good thing, means he's probably still alive.”

You let out a deep breath, “You're prob’ly right. Grab our stuff, I'll get the horses. They can't be far.” Turning to head out the door you notice a powder-like substance in the windowsill, you rub it between your fingers, smell it, “D, it's sulfur.”

*****

Turns out Castiel was right. Regardless of your efforts you'd been attacked numerous times in the past twenty four hours, managing to literally carve some information from the last demon, obtaining an exact location and description of the one you seek…

You're crouched in a thicket at the edge of the demon’s camp, there's no sign yet of Sam but he has to be here.

“Baron Von Boner?”

“You're going to do this now?” You whisper.

“Might as well be productive.” He says, louder than necessary.

“Shhhhh, damn it, you're gonna get us caught.”

“Knight of the Schlong Table?”

The look on your face was enough for Dean to gesture closing the zipper over his mouth, locking it and throwing away the key.

Only observing for now, you're getting a plan together before rushing in. Obviously outnumbered -three, maybe four, to one- you'd be lucky if any of you make it out alive.

The decision was made to strike at first light.

That leaves fourteen or so odd hours to prepare for battle, or to keep yourselves busy ‘til then.

*****

It's a chilly night, but the blanket is just too warm. You toss it back, welcoming the cool air on your sweat soaked skin. Dean moans and you're not sure if it's because of the cold or that thing you did with your hips.

So, you do it again...

“Mmm Y/N, I swear to…”

And again. “...g-aaad,” he grunts out.

Yep, definitely the hips.

You straighten your back, lock your feet around Dean’s calves as you grind down onto him. His hands slide up your torso, fingers teasing at your breasts. You brush your hair out of your face, peeling a few pieces back that are plastered to your forehead from the perspiration.

Rocking back you place your palm on his chest and when you rock forward it slides up a bit, your thumb grazing across his nipple. He groans again, can barely get it out before it's broken, as you push backward taking him to the hilt.

Dean’s eyes are closed, hands splayed across the tops of your thighs. You let your own eyes fall shut, begin to get lost in the feel of it all-- the smooth flesh of Dean’s chest, the stark contrast of the calluses on his palms traveling across your skin, the bead of sweat slowly trickling down between your breasts.

The fullness.

The grunts and moans.

The snapping of the twig behind you.

The snapping of the twig behind you…

You jump up, pulling the knife from under your bed roll as you move. The demon is dead before the night breeze can dry the coochie juice off Dean’s womb raider.

He sits up on his elbows. “Mmm, I like it when you fight naked. Now get back over here.” You glance over your shoulder at the body laying not 10 feet away, shrug your shoulders.

You plant one foot on each side of his hips, bend over and tuck the blade back under the edge of your pack. “I swear to god I should let you get blue balls.”

“Come on, you wouldn't mistreat Vlad the Impaler would you?”

“If you ever call it that again I'm going to cut it off.” You reach for the handle of the blade.

“Ok, ok.” He holds both hands in the air in submission. “Just fuck me already,” his fingertips graze at your calves, featherlight across your sensitive flesh.

You stand up straight, bend at the knees, sink straight down onto his sperminator until he's bottomed out. Your fingertips are white as you grip his shoulders for leverage, squatted on top of him, raising up to the tip, plummeting until he's balls deep.

His hands have moved to your ass, helping you with the extension, guiding and lifting you as far as possible without sliding out of the sausage wallet. You're able to set a torturing pace, thighs burning, knees tingling, the pins and needles radiating to your core where they're actually welcome. Parts of your body want to give up but you're chasing that release, and it's so close…

You're studying Dean’s features, the lines in the corners of his eyes, how his tongue darts out to moisten his lips just before he pulls the bottom one in between his teeth. His adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows back his growls. How his face is subtly starting to distort into the expression he always has when he cums.

He's crouched just beside Dean’s shoulder when he materializes. He's middle aged, face worn. Looks you straight in the eye and smiles disturbingly, “Nice tits.”

His eyes flash a golden yellow, and with a snap of his fingers they're both gone.

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#deanxreader

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blancagriswold · 7 years

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} } else { to.appendChild(move.childNodes[k]); } } wdform_section_break.parentNode.removeChild(wdform_section_break.nextSibling); wdform_section_break.parentNode.removeChild(wdform_section_break); } } } } }); function check_required1(but_type) { if (but_type == 'reset') { window.location = "/feed/"; return; } x = jQuery("#contactform1"); if (x.find(jQuery("div[wdid=4]")).length != 0) { if (jQuery("#wdform_4_element1").val()=="[email protected]" || jQuery("#wdform_4_element1").val()=="") { alert("E-mail: field is required."); jQuery("#wdform_4_element1").addClass( "form-error" ); old_bg=x.find(jQuery("div[wdid=4]")).css("background-color"); x.find(jQuery("div[wdid=4]")).effect( "shake", {}, 500 ).css("background-color","#FF8F8B").animate({backgroundColor: old_bg}, {duration: 500, queue: false }); jQuery("#wdform_4_element1").focus(); jQuery("#wdform_4_element1").change(function() { if( jQuery(this).val()!="" ) jQuery(this).removeClass("form-error"); else jQuery(this).addClass("form-error");}); return false; } } if (x.find(jQuery("div[wdid=4]")).length != 0) { if (jQuery("#wdform_4_element1").val() != "") { if (jQuery("#wdform_4_element1").val().search(/^\w+((-\w+)|(\.\w+))*\@[A-Za-z0-9]+((\.|-)[A-Za-z0-9]+)*\.[A-Za-z0-9]+$/) == -1) { alert("This is not a valid email address."); old_bg=x.find(jQuery("div[wdid=4]")).css("background-color"); x.find(jQuery("div[wdid=4]")).effect( "shake", {}, 500 ).css("background-color","#FF8F8B").animate({backgroundColor: old_bg}, {duration: 500, queue: false }); jQuery("#wdform_4_element1").focus(); return false; } } } if (x.find(jQuery("div[wdid=28]")).length != 0) { if (jQuery("#wd_captcha_input1").val()=="") { alert("Type the characters you see here: field is required."); old_bg=x.find(jQuery("div[wdid=28]")).css("background-color"); x.find(jQuery("div[wdid=28]")).effect( "shake", {}, 500 ).css("background-color","#FF8F8B").animate({backgroundColor: old_bg}, {duration: 500, queue: false }); jQuery("#wd_captcha_input1").focus(); return false; } }; var a = []; if (typeof a[1] !== 'undefined') { if (a[1] == 1) { return; } } ; a[1] = 1; document.getElementById("contactform"+1).submit(); } .contactform1 .wdform-page-and-images .other_input{max-width: none;}.contactform1 button, .contactform1input, .contactform1select, .contactform1textarea{font-size:14px;}.contactform1 .warning, .contactform1.error{background-color: #F0EFEF;border: 1px solid #000000;border-radius: 5px;color: #000000;padding: 5px;}.contactform1 .warning *, .contactform1.error *{margin:0;}.contactform1 .recaptcha_input_area input{height:initial !important;}.contactform1 input[type="radio"]{border:none !important;outline:none !important;}.contactform1 input[type="checkbox"]{border:none !important;outline:none !important;}.contactform1 a.ui-spinner-button{border-radius:0px !important;background: none!important;}.contactform1 a.ui-slider-handle {width: 13px;height: 13px;top: -4px;border: 0px;border-radius: 13px;background: #FAFAFA;border: 3px solid #B1B1B1;outline: none;}.contactform1 .ui-slider { height: 6px; 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height: 26px; border: 1px solid #B7B7B7;background: #F8F8F8;}.contactform1 input[type="text"]{ border-radius: 0px; height: 22px; padding:0 3px !important; background: #F8F8F8;border:1px solid #B7B7B7;}.contactform1 input[type="password"]{ border-radius: 0px; height: 22px; padding:0 3px !important; background: #F8F8F8;border:1px solid #B7B7B7;}.contactform1 textarea { border-radius: 0px; height: 22px; padding:0 3px !important; background: #F8F8F8;border:1px solid #B7B7B7;}.contactform1 input[type="text"]:focus{ outline: none;}.contactform1 input[type="password"]:focus{ outline: none;}.contactform1 textarea:focus{ outline: none;}.contactform1 select { outline: none;}.contactform1 .input_deactive { color: #999999; font-style: italic;}.contactform1 .input_active { color: #000000; font-style: normal;}.contactform1 .am_pm_select { width: 30px; vertical-align: middle;}.contactform1 .wdform-calendar-button, .contactform1.wdform-calendar-button:hover { display:inline-block; background: transparent url(http://cwtchthebride.com/blog/wp-content/plugins/contact-form-builder/images/03/date.png) no-repeat !important; 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vertical-align: middle; color: #000;}.contactform1 .wdform_line { color: #000}.contactform1 .wdform-required { border: none; color: red; vertical-align: top;}.contactform1 .captcha_img { border-width: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; cursor: pointer; border-radius: 0px;}.contactform1 .captcha_refresh { width: 30px; height: 30px; border-width: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: middle; cursor: pointer; background-image: url(http://cwtchthebride.com/blog/wp-content/plugins/contact-form-builder/images/refresh_black.png);}.contactform1 .captcha_input { height: 20px; border-width: 1px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: middle;}.contactform1 .file_upload { border: 0px solid white; border-radius: 0px; margin: 0px; padding: 0px; color: black; background-color: white;}.contactform1 .page_deactive {color: #000;background-color: #FFF;cursor: pointer;display: inline-block;height: 29px;text-align: center;vertical-align: bottom;padding: 5px 25px 0px 25px;font-size: 16px;font-weight:bold;}.contactform1 .page_active {color: #FFF;cursor: pointer;background-color: #000;display: inline-block;vertical-align: bottom;height: 29px;text-align: center;font-size: 20px;padding: 5px 25px 0px 25px;line-height: 26px;font-weight:bold;}.contactform1 .page_percentage_active {padding: 0px;margin: 0px;border-spacing: 0px;height: 16px;line-height: 16px;font-size: 15px;float: left;text-align: right !important;z-index: 1;position: relative;vertical-align: middle;background: #000;color: #fff;border-top-left-radius: 5px;border-bottom-left-radius: 5px;}.contactform1 .page_percentage_deactive {height: 16px;line-height: 16px;background-color: #F1F1F1;text-align: left !important;margin-bottom: 1px;border-radius: 5px;}.contactform1 .page_numbers { font-size: 14px; color: #000;}.contactform1 .phone_area_code { width: 50px;}.contactform1 .phone_number { width: 100px;}.contactform1 button { cursor: pointer;}.contactform1 .other_input { border-radius: 0px; border-width: 1px; height: 16px; font-size: 12px; padding: 1px; margin: 1px; margin-left: 25px; z-index: 100; position: absolute;}.contactform1 .wdform_page_navigation { text-align: right !important;}.contactform1 .wdform_percentage_text {margin: 3px 5px 3px 9px;color: #FFF;font-size: 12px;}.contactform1 .wdform_percentage_title { color: #6E6E6E; font-style: italic; margin: 0px 0px 0px 40px; display: inline-block; line-height: 27px; height: 27px; vertical-align: middle;}.contactform1 .wdform_button button { background: #4D792C; cursor: pointer; font-size: 17px; border-radius: 0px; min-width: 80px; min-height: 31px; color: #fff; border: 2px solid #68943B; margin: 5px; box-shadow: 0px 0px 2px #c9c9c9; font-family: Segoe UI;}.contactform1

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