#Don’t get me fucked up we r involved in this but the ramifications r far greater for ppl in the MENA region can we acknowledge that

[wi11power]

There r ppl who have absolutely said this more eloquently than I ever could but I’m mad so just have some shit in the tags

Please take care of urself if current events impact u or are triggering for u

[buko-pandan]

Taron Egerton, Golden Boy

by: Matt Genefaas

Action, explosions and impeccable tailoring, the new Kingsman film has it all. Following the worldwide success of the first film of the franchise, Kingsman: The Golden Circle is set to hit the big screens this September and packs a star-studded cast. Taron Egerton talks about the excitement of returning to the role of Eggsy for the sequel, his on-screen love interest and what to expect for the highly anticipated release.

Where is Eggsy when we pick up with him?

We meet Eggsy an undisclosed amount of time after the first [film]. But you can see in his mews house that there are three additional Sun headlines on the wall, indicating that he’s done a handful of missions on his own. And he is now going steady, to use a very 1950s term, with – shock horror – the Swedish princess from the first movie. Love blossomed in an unusual place. He’s trying to juggle the lifestyle of being a Kingsman and a full-time spy with also trying to nurture a blossoming relationship with a person who he really loves. He’s basically the same guy, just with a really important job.

He still has those rough edges?

Oh, the rough edges haven’t been sanded off. Eggsy still fucks up. That’s essential for the audience to have a window into the movie, to experience it through his eyes. He still has to escape through a sewer and emerge covered in shit. That’s not Harry Hart. That’s Eggsy. If we’d started the movie with Eggsy being Harry Hart, he wouldn’t have anywhere to go. He’s the rough-around-the-edges lad. We even see him return to an adidas hoodie – that’s who he is on his downtime.

This is your third film now with Matthew Vaughn, who also produced Eddie The Eagle. You clearly work well together – were you in contact with him as he pulled the movie together?

For the whole time he was writing, he always calls and says ideas. There is a real big kid in Matthew. When he has an idea he’s excited about he wants to share it. Just when you think you have a handle on Matthew, who he is and how his creative brain works, he comes in with something else which is really fucking clever. On a daily basis, it’s something I could never have thought of.

The first movie was your first time on a movie set. Did it feel easier this time?

On the first one I thought Matthew could fire me at any moment. I was a bit more tight-lipped and reverential. Now I give as good as I get. It felt easier in that I’ve spent far more time on film sets, and felt more certain of myself and how I function within a film set and this world I now occupy. In other senses, Matthew kept calling it the tough second album, and it is. People shout ‘Eggsy!’ at me in the street sometimes, and that’s quite a thing to reconcile yourself with, that you’re coming back and playing the same role again, and people have a level of expectation from you. They want the same thing again, but they also want it to be new and exciting. Kingsman has totally changed my life, so coming back, the overriding emotion was excitement, and real anticipation. The script was great, and it’s a really great story. I was so excited, and to be doing a sequel to your first film within four years of coming out of drama school, I am the luckiest man on the planet.

Have you changed your approach to the character?

On the first, I was constantly thinking about the accent and it doesn’t cross my mind now. He’s very much a part of me. I don’t think about it for a second now. I’ve played this character from his inception and I feel secure.

The best-kept secret in movies – that Colin Firth is back as Harry Hart – is now out. So what can you say about Eggsy’s relationship with Harry in this movie?

Well… we were on the same set, and we are friends and I love his company, and it was really nice to revisit a job well done. There were a lot of ways Matthew could have gone with the sequel, but in my mind, there was no doubt. I’m not sure how far the movie goes without that Harry and Eggsy relationship. That dynamic, and riffing on that dynamic, is the beating heart of the movie.

Has the relationship changed?

When they are reunited, it’s lovely. It’s very affecting and they’re pleased to see each other. But for undisclosed reasons, a tension grows in their relationship. That’s enormously fun and an interesting dynamic. When Harry and Eggsy’s relationship came to its untimely end in the first one, they weren’t on good terms. It’s quite sad. Eggsy hasn’t dealt with the situation particularly well. So in this movie you expect a reconciliation and you get it, but because of other facts it’s not always harmonious. Matthew knows that’s the key. You’ve got all the guns and fighting and that makes it brilliant, but for me it’s about Harry and Eggsy.

Early in the film, an attack on Kingsman has huge ramifications for Eggsy. What are those ramifications?

What it means for Eggsy is he was disenfranchised at the start of the first one, and aimless and not content. This wacky world he becomes involved with gives him direction and purpose, so to dash it to smithereens at the top end of this second episode is mad. Eggsy doesn’t really know what the hell to do. Sometimes sequels don’t work. This works because we get a reset. Everything was OK, and now it’s not again.

The big new additions to the film are the Statesmen, the American equivalent of Kingsmen, who Eggsy and Merlin discover in the wake of the attack on their own organisation. What can you say about these new arrivals?

The Kingsmen make their money through tailoring and that’s their front, but it’s more limited in terms of reward and finances than selling booze. The Statesmen are a level up. We thought our jet was good, but theirs is a fucking jet. You can see Eggsy being wide-eyed with wonder again.

The cast Vaughn has assembled for this movie is astonishing.

It’s amazing. One minute you’re working in Peacocks and then all of a sudden you’re sat at a table with Jeff Bridges, Colin Firth, Channing Tatum and Halle Berry! It’s a weird thing to be part of. They’re such great characters and so animated and larger than life and played by such great performers.

What’s the relationship like between Eggsy and the Statesmen?

I think to begin with it’s one of mistrust. These organisations aren’t aware of each other. They’re only supposed to become aware of each other in the event of a serious disaster. Eggsy and Merlin find themselves face to face with Agent Tequila, and have a fight… I don’t recommend fighting Channing Tatum. He’s a dancer, but that guy is like an ox. I had a few sore fingers after that.

Talk us through the Statesmen.

Ginger (played by Halle Berry) is the equivalent of Merlin. She’s very clever and you might describe her as bookish, she’s a quieter character. And then there’s Channing Tatum, who has a bit of bravado and is butch and manly. He’s quite gung-ho. He likes his weekend parties. He ends up in stasis, having taken some sort of illicit substance. Jeff as Champagne is really cool. He’s an alcoholic who doesn’t drink, but is forever swilling and spitting whiskey, or he sniffs the whiskey as he’s talking and trying to figure [stuff] out. Then there’s Pedro Pascal, who plays agent Whiskey, and he is a kind of seasoned veteran, their top field agent, who takes me under his wing. For a little while, it begins to feel like he might be a new mentor figure for Eggsy in the absence of Harry Hart, who is not quite what he once was. But you also get the sense that Whiskey might be a little reckless, and a little cold.

And, of course, there’s Julianne Moore as the villain of the piece, Poppy.

She has a dastardly plot that’s every bit as chilling as Valentine’s plot from the first movie. That’s thematic of these two films. There’s a very cold world in which you get what Valentine was saying about global warming. You can also sort of see where Poppy is coming from, depending on how conservative you are. But Julianne is lovely. She’s a children’s author as well and heard that I had two young sisters and she sent some of her books. She’s really great in the movie, really disturbing and saccharine and rotten to the core. The smile never reaches the eyes.

The first film pushed the envelope with its R-rated tone, exploding heads and stylish violence. Does the second follow that up?

You’re not going to be leaving the cinema feeling like Matthew played it safe this time. It takes a character like Matthew’s to be as resolute and uncompromising as that, in the face of all the pressures that come when it’s a commercially viable property. If you call the first one provocative, you’d call this one a punch in the face.

So it’s a movie that may ruffle feathers.

I think it may ruffle feathers more than the first one ruffled feathers.

[fanforfanatic]

As You’re Told - FOUR

Relationships: Castiel x Reader Rating: Smut Warnings: Dom/sub, bdsm A/N: Orgasms occur this time!

~8000 words

Summary: You start dating Castiel, a famous physicist, when you get hired at the same university as him. A few months into the relationship, you explore dom/sub dynamics within your sex lives.

Read it on ao3

Chapters on tumblr: ONE  TWO  THREE  FOUR  FIVE  SIX

Chapter FOUR

You lock the door after him and let out a massive breath. You lean on the wall for a little while, waiting for the shit storm to hit. Waiting for the panic. For the embarrassment. For the What the fuck just happened? It doesn’t come. You wonder if it’s normal that you liked what you and Cas did so much. If it’s normal to enjoy- not just enjoy but relish- following orders as much as you did. But that’s the extent of the ramifications.

You’ve had wilder sex than this. Hell, you’ve had wilder sex than this with Cas. Hell, you didn’t really even get to the sex part. It was freaking frottage at the most. But. But. It was so intense. Every little thing felt massive, felt like the only thing, until the next thing. Then, that became the only thing.

You were nervous (really fucking nervous) in the beginning, but it definitely got easier. You hadn’t been able to get up from your chair when he first asked you to, but by the end you were under his damn thumb. (Your hand drifts to your left breast, then, though you don’t feel it through the thickness of the robe.) When you managed to do what Cas asked of you, it made the next task less daunting. At some point you stopped even thinking about it but you think that had more to do with how much you wanted to come. Probably.

You sigh again. No trainwreck for now. To keep it that way you know that you need to avoid thinking of just how pathetic you were at times. Begging and pleading, choking on your own words.

“Nope nope nope. Not going there.”

You trudge to the kitchen, realising just how thirsty you are and down a glass of water. You fill it up again, waiting patiently for the water distributor in the refrigerator door.  You take another few sips and leave it on the counter.

You go find your discarded clothes next. You pull on your jeans, forgoing underwear, and smell the shirt you had borrowed from Cas. It didn’t smell like sex or sweat or debauchery like you thought it might but you decide to get a fresh one anyway. You head back to the bathroom, the one that’s in Cas’ room and, once you pick up your panties and Cas’ underwear from the floor, drop them and the t-shirt in the laundry basket. You hang up the bathrobe and return to the bedroom.

You put on the bra you’d had yesterday and go to his dresser. The undershirts (and the socks) are in the second drawer. You open the first. The sight of the toys is too much too fast and has you slamming the drawer shut. You’re not a fucking prude, okay? You own toys. You didn’t feel embarrassed when you went and bought them in the store (ordering online is for wimps). You dirty talk as much as the next guy. Better. You really have a mouth on you when you get going in general. You’re a rambler. An excessive talker. That transfers into sex.

Usually.

You had your tongue caught in your throat with Cas earlier today, because it’s not the same. It’s just not. Cas wanted you to say things and it was so out there. Not the words being said, but the saying of the words. Usually, when you’re saying the nasty while doing the nasty, you don’t see the other person staring at you like they’re holding back from ravaging you. Usually your head is pressed into a pillow where the words are muffled and your eyes are closed. Or the other person’s head is between your legs and you’re not maintaining constant eye contact. Usually, you’re so far gone by the time your lips get loose that you can’t be bothered feeling embarrassed. Can’t be bothered filtering any of it. It was different this morning, though.

Just like these toys are different. These toys aren’t in an old shoebox under your bed. They aren’t the alternative to your hand. These toys are full of Cas. Hand picked by Cas. Thoughtful and careful choices made by Cas. Rebuilt my collection , he’d said. He placed them here, in this drawer that has dividers. He organised them, probably re organised them when all the dildos didn’t fit in one section, decided to put the butt plugs there instead or some other arbitrary shit that happens when people are figuring out storage. Point is these are Cas’ . Meaning, he wanted to use them on someone in very specific ways and now he wants to use them on you. And you’re going to let him. You’re going to let him.

So, yeah, these toys are different and it’s a little hard to look at them. The world can bite your sweet ass.

You open the drawer again, just an inch and peek inside. There’s so many things in here, it’s full to the damn brim. You open the drawer more fully and force yourself to stare inside until you can stop your muscles from clenching. You don’t really take in most of what’s in there. You’re just- Exposure therapy. That’s what you’re doing, you realise. With a huff (once you’ve unclenched all your muscles), you close the drawer once more. You don’t need to be practicing psychology on yourself.

Except maybe you do. Shrugging on a new t-shirt from the second drawer you say, “I want you to touch me.”

Walking back to the kitchen you say, “Fuck me, Cas.”

After a sip of water you say, “Fuck me, Cas, please.” And then, “Please fuck me, Cas?” You wonder if there’s a grammatical preference for the order of the words. You shrug and head to the coat stand with your water. You’d left your satchel bag at the base of it, last night.

“Yes, I want you to take my underwear off. Yes, I want to stop being such a fucking loser. Would I like to not suck? Sure!”

You plop down onto the couch and pull your computer from your bag. You get about an hour of work done, taking care of the grades first, then diving into the powerpoint. You are the newest member of the faculty, at least as far as the physics department is concerned, so you get a lot of the tasks the people with seniority don’t want. Like hosting a seminar for confused freshmen who haven’t declared their major. You don’t mind it so much. You figure everyone’s gotta pay their dues.

After that first hour, you have to consciously stop yourself from researching dominant and submissive relationships. Information is power, but information can also get inside your head. Well, obviously that’s where information goes, but, whatever, you get what you mean.

You think what you glimpsed while filling out the checklist is enough to tide you over. You know that you can ask Cas questions, in any case, and he probably has trustworthy resources if ever you want to delve in deeper. Jumping blindly nerves first in the wild sea of the internet is not something you’re interested in doing when it comes to this. Still, you end up having to stop yourself from doing exactly that at least four times.

It’s when you’re trying not to cave for the fifth time that Cas decides to text you, like the saviour that he is.

How are you feeling?

About what we did?

We’ll talk about that in person. How r u feeling rn?

I’m good? You type out.

Cas got weird after Charlie called and at the time your mind was sluggish so you hadn’t caught on, but you know now that Cas was doing aftercare. Which is sweet, really, but unnecessary. You weren’t going to have that thing that subs have where they feel wonky after a scene, because you aren’t a real sub. Besides, you guys barely did anything, it probably doesn’t happen even to real subs unless there’s actual sex involved.

You continue typing: Nbd. Getting hungry, you gonna be here for lunch?

Cas’ answer is immediate. Nbd??

No big deal, old man

So you’re alright?

Yes sir :p ;) You follow up with, food?

I’m gonna be another two hours at least. Eat w/o me

Is the part.acc. data retrieved?

Working on it :( And then, Should be fine tho. What are you doing?

Procrastinating, because im a model prof

You feel up to doing something for me? It can wait til im home

You swallow. Are you up for it? Before, Cas was there to reassure you every time you thought you were in over your head. Cas isn’t here now. Then again, that also means you could freak out privately. And Cas’ eyes on you was thirty percent of the struggle.

Baby? It’s nbd :P we can wait

Shoot

Ur sure?

You type: yeah, bruh, hit me with your best shot. You erase it and type: Wouldn’t say that I am if- You erase it and type: Im sure cas

Ur perfect

I want you to go the dresser and open the first drawer

Take every single toy in your hands and decide if you’d like it used on you

Make a no pile on the bed

Pick the one from the yeses you’d like to try first and put it on top of the dresser.

You stare at the onslaught of texts for a minute. Or two. Or maybe a whole fucking year goes by. Absentmindedly, you turn the sound of your phone off, in case Cas decides to go on another texting spree.

Do you understand?

Yea cas

Would you like to wait for me?

You picture it for a moment, Cas sitting on the bed, grinning at you while you go through each and every item, probably as red as a tomato.

No

Should I feel insulted?

Extremely so. I prefer when youre not around, i just rly like ur place

You’re cruel

Gottago deans got smt

Be good.

“Fuck,” You mutter, rubbing a palm against your left boob. “You be good, asshole.”

You shove your computer away like it’s what’s offended you and rise to your feet. In a Great Act Of Defiance, you decide to eat before doing what Cas asked. You’re a real rebel, alright.

You eat peanut butter on toast. You like that if the bread is hot enough the peanut butter melts a little. Then you eat one of the cannoli. And an apple. And a banana. And the leftover blueberries from breakfast. In fact, only once you’ve divested the kitchen of fruit (Castiel doesn’t keep junk at his place), do you go to the bedroom.

It mocks you. The drawer. It’s telling you that you’re a chicken shit and it’s right. You don’t need to be doing this. There’s literally no reason for you to do this. Expect that Cas told you to.

You sigh. You signed up for this. You don’t regret it, either. You enjoyed it this morning. You know that you did. So just shut your whore mouth and get rid of the toys that freak you out. Christ, it’s not nuclear physics.

Honestly, it’d be easier if it were.

After your pep talk, things go relatively smooth. You start with the buttplugs because that’s simple enough, you’d discussed them first during the checklist. You toss the largest one he’s got on the bed because you’re not interested in dying. It’s the same for the dildos but you also remove one of the smaller ones, just because you don’t like the shape.

Once you do that, the rest feels like more of the same. You pick up each vibrator and then put them back down, trying not to feel silly for picking up the ones you’re sure you’ll keeping just by looking at them. You continue through the rest of the gizmos and gadgets calmly, only squirming when you get flooded with ideas of just how Cas might want to use them. It’s almost therapeutic.

As far as bondage items go, you get rid of everything that has patent leather because you don’t like how shiny it is and how very sex club dominatrix queen (or something) it looks. There’s enough of the matt leather that you don’t think it’ll be a problem. You get rid of the rubber restraints that are so stiff you think they’d cut into your skin. You get rid of the cuffs that have fuzzy fur on them, even if its softness surprises you. If you’re going to be tied up you want it to be with classy stuff. Not something tacky even if you can tell that the cuffs are really good quality.

You get rid of the actual whip he has. Kinky, fucker. You get rid of a small pizza cutter style knife that has blunt points. You get rid of a wooden ruler because if Cas wants to do a professor role play so help you God. (You put the ruler back in the drawer.) You get rid of a gag that’s shaped like a penis and after a bit of hesitation you keep the ring gag.

Despite the healthy pile of things you did take out, what’s left outnumbers it by far. You’re about to close the drawer, but something gnaws at you. You leave the room only to return with post-its and a pen, all stolen from Cas’ desk. You write maybe on one and stick it on the ring gag. You write never before on another and stick it on magnetic spheres that mostly confuse you. You write out one more post it for the compartment of nipple clamps: Can’t really tell how intense these are, so we can work our way up? You black out the question mark because it’s not really a question, you decide.

You return the supplies to their places and settle on the couch again. Still, something gnaws at you. You go back to the drawer and remove the maybe post-it from the ring gag. You’d said on the checklist that you weren’t sure about it and you trust Cas to keep that in mind. This time, when you return to the couch, it’s with a deeply satisfied feeling.

The indicator on your phone flashes and you find you have texts and two missed calls from Cas.

20 minutes ago: How’s it going?

19 minutes ago: Are we having fun yet? ;)

10 minutes ago: Baby, I need you to tell me you’re alright

7 minutes ago: Answer me, now.

5 minutes ago: I’m going to call, pick up.

4 minutes ago: I need you to pick up, alright?

2 minutes ago: Im on my way

“Shit.” You click on the icon of a telephone at the top of the text conversation and listen to it ring once before Cas answers.

“ Thank, fuck. Are you okay? What are you feeling? ”

“Cas, I’m fine, seriously. I was, euh, I was, doing the thing, and I left my phone in the living room. No need to rush back.”

There’s an audible sigh of relief on his end of the line and it sounds like he slows down.

“I’m sorry, I freaked you out, Cas.” You say, guilt creeping up your spine. You had started to feel like you wouldn’t fuck up and yet…

“ I’m on my way .”

“Cas, I swear I’m fine.”

“ We’re almost done here. The rest is pretty technical, anyway, so I’m going to leave Dean and Charlie to it. I’m fifteen minutes out. ”

“A-Are you upset with me?” You just- you need to know. Need to prepare yourself.

“ What? No? Baby, no . I’m just- I’ll be there soon, okay? ”

“Okay, Cas.”

It’s barely ten minutes later that you hear the jingle of his keys outside. He doesn’t waste time at the door, dropping his bag, kicking his shoes off and slinging his coat in the general vicinity of the stand somehow all at once. Then he’s beside you on the couch, taking the water out of your hands, placing it on the table, and gathering you in his arms.

After a moment he pulls back so he can watch your face, which he holds in two large hands, while he asks, “How are you, baby?”

You grin at him. “Cas, I’m good. I see what you’re doing and, honestly, it’s overkill.” You all but stick your tongue out at him.

Cas searches your face for anything that might ring false. When he’s satisfied that you’re alright, he lets go of you and his eyes narrow playfully. “Overkill, huh?”

“Mhmm, if you’re not careful you’re going to drive me away with all this affection.”

“Is that so?”

“Yea-”

He pulls you onto his lap so that you’re straddling him (again). The position turns your entire body on like some kind of pavlovian effect. Jesus, even the dog needed more than one run through.

You kiss, gently, then hard, then gently again and your arms wrap around his neck like they belong there.

“I was thinking about you all day.” He says.

“Liar. You were probably running around like a chicken with its head cut off worrying about the experiment.”

“That’s true but my mind kept being tugged back to this pesky thing I left at home.”

“Pesky? And here I thought I was just unbearable.”

He kisses you. “You’re both.”

“You’re very good to put up with me, then.” You kiss him.

“That’s also true. What I want to know is if you were good for me.”

Everything changes, then. His eyes are on yours, just like usually, and his voice is the same as ever, but it’s different. You take a deep breath. You can do this. You practiced like a loser. They’re just words.

“I was.” You say.

“You were what?”

You don’t even glare this time. You don’t huff in annoyance. You don’t even call him a prick in your own head. You just take another breath and say, “I was good.” And then, “For you.”

Cas’ heart fucking pounds out of his chest and breaks a rib on the way. “Show me.”

You lead the way to the bedroom, your hand in his as he trails behind you. You steal a few furtive glances over your shoulder and sometimes you’re met with soft eyes, other times with a look of mischief.

He settles you on the bed and spreads out your no pile. Your heart is racing and you think Cas hears it because he grips the back of your neck, tilts your head up, and kisses you. He goes back to examining what’s laid out but he doesn’t question any of it. When he’s done he scoops it all up in a canvas bag he gets from and returns to his closet.

Next he opens the drawer and you know the huff of laughter is from the post-its. Of course, he thinks, you’re nothing if not thorough.

He looks around the room, after that. The sun beams through the two windows on either side of the bed. They’re narrow but start at the floor and go all the way to the ceiling so the light floods in easily. For a moment you wonder if he’s trying to choose what he wants to fuck you on. The space is minimally furnished so you don’t think it’ll take him too long to decide.

“Take out your phone.” He says from his place by the dresser, his tone serious, reprimanding.

“I- What?” Your brain short circuits. Did you screw up? No, you did good. You know you did, you picked up every single thing in that drawer and-

“Take out your phone.” He repeats, still stern but patient.

“Okay, yeah, okay.” You lean back, somewhat, to pull it out of your pocket and hold it out to him. What’s he going to do? Take a picture of the drawer and send it to everyone you know? Look at all the things she wants used on her. Of course he doesn’t want to do that. This is Cas. Not a creature straight out of purgatory.

Cas shakes his head at you. “Open it and go to our texts.”

Your hands move of their own accord.

“Read the instructions I sent you.”

“Okay?” You say, scrolling up. “You’re-” perfect. “I want you to go to the dresser and open the first drawer. Take every single toy in your hands and decide if yo- you’d like it,” You clear your throat, consider shooting Cas a pleading look, but ultimately continue, “If you’d like it u-used on you. Make a no pile on the bed. Pick the one from the yes -”

You stop, eyes wide and on Cas. “Cas, I-”

“Finish reading.” His eyes have darkened and he looks like a brewing storm in the sunny room.

“I- Okay,” You sigh. “P-pick the one from the yes es you’d like to try first and put it on top of the dresser.”

“Did you do that?”

“No,” You say, looking down at the floor.

“Did you do what you were told?”

You meet his eyes and whimper, “No, Cas.”

“Do you have an explanation?”

You’d forgotten but you say, “I, um, I just wanted you today?”

Cas’ demeanor steels even more. “Did you just lie to me?”

“What? No! I mean yes- I mean I didn’t mean to- I- I’m sorry, Cas, I didn’t, I…” You trail off but by then you’ve crossed the room and plastered yourself to him. “I’m sorry.” You say again.

There’s a moment where Cas doesn’t say anything. It’s because he’s reeling a bit. You’ve taken to this so much more than he could have imagined, even if you’re still struggling with that fact internally. You can’t tell, though. In fact when Cas doesn’t say anything, you think you’ve really gone and ruined things.

Before you can spiral too much, Cas pets your hair and says, “It’s okay.”

He moves you away, even as you’re reluctant to give into his hands, so he can look at you.

“It’s okay, even good girls make mistakes, okay?” He’s gentle but very much in control.

You bristle. You don’t want to hear good gir- those words right now. “I’m sorry.” You repeat.

“I know you are.” With a grin that soothes you more than anything else has, he says, “We’re going to find a way for you to apologise alright?”

You nod. “Okay, Cas.”

“Okay,” He echoes then turns you both so he’s behind you, hands on your shoulders, and you’re facing the drawer. “Open it.”

You rush to comply.

“Good.” He squeezes your shoulders. “Now, pick the first toy you’d like to try.”

You nod but you don’t move. You don’t know what the right choice is. You don’t want to take something too safe, in case he thinks it’s a sign that you’re not all in. Because you are all in , you realise. You also don’t want to take something too-

“I’m going to repeat something I told you earlier, alright? Wrong answers are the ones that are lies and the ones you give because you think they’re what I want to hear. Am I making myself clear?”

“Yes, Cas.”

He kisses the top of your head. “Pick the toy you’d like to try first.”

You take out a pair of leather cuffs. You don’t necessarily prefer them over everything else, but it’s a place you feel comfortable starting. You place them on the dresser, just like the original instructions had said and you hear Cas grunt softly behind you. He presses his body against yours and you feel him, half hard.

“You’re perfect,” He whispers in your ear making you tremble in his hands.

“M’not.”

Cas turns you so that you face him and firmly says, “I decide.”

You don’t know what to do, but you’re not about to argue with him. “Okay, Cas.”

“Good. Kiss me.”

You asked him just that earlier today but right now Cas is telling you. So you do the only thing you can do and kiss him.

When he pulls away, he steps back from you entirely. “Lift your shirt up.”

You grunt. “Cas, not again.”

He grins at you, glad that you’ve shaken your slump. “I’m not going to ask you again.”

“Fine.” You lift up your shirt so that you’re holding it under your chin.

“What’s this? No, no, that won’t do.” Cas looks almost offended to see the undergarment. “Take it off and take your bra off. Now.”

“Fuck yeah,” You half cheer, tossing your shirt to the ground followed by your simple white bra. You move your hands to the button of your pants but wait, expectantly looking at Cas.

He laughs. “Are we eager, babe?”

“We’re horny, babe. ”

“Take ‘em off.” He says.

“Yes, Sir .” You say sarcastically, dropping and kicking your pants off faster than you knew you could.

Cas would be impressed, if he wasn’t so distracted by the fact that you aren’t wearing underwear. And if his eyes weren’t narrowing at you for giving him lip.

He stalks over, very much how a predator would, and places his hands on either side of you, flat against the still-open drawer. He slides it shut backing you up against the dresser.

He leans down so his lips are near your ear, just a breath away from brushing against it. “You already have two things to apologise for,” He says, his voice deep, rough. “Do you want to make it three?”

You’re completely naked between the tweed clad arms of this handsome man who isn’t touching you but who is so so close it’s making you a little dizzy.

You say, “No, Cas.”

“Get on the bed, on your back.”

You expect Cas to watch you obey, he’s always watching you, but he shrugs off his jacket and walks into his closet instead.

You wait patiently once you’re settled. Well, you don’t really ever settle, placing your hands by your sides and then on your stomach and then by your sides, again, but you wait. You’re rewarded for it because when Cas steps out of the closet, he’s sans sweater, the top buttons of his dress shirt undone, and he’s rolling up his second sleeve, exposing his forearms and looking so damn good it might be a sin. It’s got your hips shifting involuntarily and you decide you’re going to ask the Human and Legal Resources at the school if it’s at least against the law to look so damn good.

If you missed Cas’ eyes before, which you realise that you did, you don’t anymore because they’re on you now, intent as ever. He moves to stand by the foot of the bed and places the tip of a finger in the crook just behind the knob of your ankle.

He watches your face while he drags just the tip of his finger up over the curve of your calf. He watches you bite- chew- your lip as his finger dips in where the back of your knee does. He watches your lashes flutter from trying to keep your eyes open- he loves that he doesn’t even have to tell you to- while he traces the shape of your thigh.

He glances down, just for a second, to see the way his finger presses into your flesh. Then, he’s right back to watching your face as your breath hitches because his finger is making its way up your body but also towards the center of it. Not enough, though. Not there. He smirks at you like the cat who got the creme tapping your hip bone twice almost chastising you for your dirty thoughts.

He follows the curve of your hip, of your waist, of the mound of your left breast. He circles your nipple once, twice, and it either hardens or it had already puckered. You don’t know. You’re not sure you care. You just want to be touched.

Cas knows, so he touches you. He pinches your nipple but there’s no bite. It’s more like he’s holding it between his thumb and forefinger and it’s weird but mostly it’s not enough.

“Cas,” You breathe out.

“Tell me, which toy you chose to have used on you first.”

Does he have to use all the fucking words? Is he trying to make you self combust? He could have said what did you pick or which item did you choose, but nooo Cas has to go and be an asshole. Asshole .

“You saw what I- Leather c-cuffs, leather cuffs!” You’re quick to rectify when cas squeezes your nipple.

Your hips buck off the bed and your heels dig into the mattress and you expect Cas to let go but he just continues to hold your nipple with the same pressure.

“Ask me.”

“W-wha-” He squeezes just a little harder and jesus fucking christ you feel it between your legs. “Alright! Okay, jeez. Cuff me- fuck. ” The pressure increases more as he twists his fingers this time. It’s a little painful but it’s mostly not and that’s freaking you out. “Please u-use the leather cuffs to r-restrain me.” You say, writhing all the while and Cas only has the tips of two fingers on you. Not even in you.

“To what?”

“What? Cas I don’t know, I don’t know okay, that’s,” You inhale because you haven’t been getting all the oxygen you need. “That’s my real answer, okay? I don’t- Whatever you want. Cuff me to whatever you want. I don’t care. ”

“Hmm.” Cas ponders for a moment, eyes on yours. “No.”

He steps back, taking his touch along with him and you want it back as torturous as it was. He goes to the dresser and puts the cuffs away.

“You disobeyed me earlier so you don’t get the help. You’re going to have to restrain yourself.”

He’s back by your side when he says, “Arms up, hold the headboard.”

Your hands fly over your head, your fingers gripping the wood of the bed frame.

Cas brushes the back of his fingers over your cheek. “You’re going to be good for me, aren’t you?”

You choke a little but you sigh out, “Yeah, Cas.”

Cas moves away from you again but this time it’s to climb between your legs. He bends them at the knees and spreads them, making one hang off the bed. Then, very true to character, Cas looks.

He stares and when you squirm and try to close your thighs to try to hide yourself from his gaze, he holds them open.

“You won’t move.” He says without even glancing up. “You’ll let me look at you for as long as I’d like.”

“Why?” You complain and you hate how whiny you sound.

He grins then, sparing you a once over. “Because I want to and because I said so.”

His hand drifts up your thigh in a feathery touch, but when he presses his thumb between your lips to pull one to the side it’s with a contrasting firmness. You fidget at the feeling and Cas’ other hand smacks your thigh, packing a bit of sting.

“What? I kept my legs open.” The words come out of your mouth and you feel like a whore in a brothel saying them.

“I told you not to move.”

“Like at all?” Your eyes widen. “How am I supposed to do that with you touching me and- and looking at me like that.”

He shrugs.

“Cas, c’mon, you’re killing me here.”

He hums and says, “ La petite mort.”

“What?”

Cas moves his thumb so it’s right against your entrance and tugs gently at the rim.

You sigh, enjoying the sensation and trying to keep your hips from participating.

Cas pushes the tip of his thumb, not even to the first knuckle, just inside of you.

You breathe deliberately. It feels good, he’s giving you so little but it feels good.

“Cas,” You moan, a quiet little moan.

Cas wishes he’d already taken his pants off altogether but settles for undoing them with deft fingers, giving his straining erection some room.

He pulls his thumb out and you barely manage a grunt of disapproval before he’s pushing it back in, maybe a millimeter deeper than before. He rubs it along your opening and the slow pace of it all is absolutely maddening. Which you tell him.

“This isn’t just punishment, Cas. It’s damn torture.”

Cas looks away from where he’s working you over to give you a deceivingly confused look that’s all too knowing. “This isn’t punishment at all.”

“W-what? What do you mean?”

“This is your apology. I won’t be punishing you this time.” The hand on your thigh squeezes warningly. “Don’t think I’ll be as generous with my leniency beyond this point. I won’t tolerate you lying to me.” As an afterthought, because it is the lesser infraction in his eyes, he adds, “And I expect you to do as you’re told and not forget a task when you’re given clear directions.”

You nod a little too willfully. “But… Cas what you’re doing…”

He swivels his thumb and you just manage to keep from using your leverage on the headboard to take him in deeper.

“Are you not enjoying yourself?”

“No, I- I am, but-”

“Then it isn’t punishment.”

You nod, gasping as Cas draws his thumb out then pushes back in again and again, fucking you with it. Your chest heaves making it so that if Cas couldn’t hear your breathing, he can now see it. This time, when Cas pulls his thumb out, he glides it upwards to land and press on your clit.

“ Fuck. ” Your hips rolls, chasing the pleasure as sharp as it was.

There’s nothing for your hips to meet, though, because Cas’ hand is gone.

“No,” He says. “Don’t move.”

“I won’t, I won’t.” You make promises you don’t know you can keep.

His thumb returns to your clit but he also sinks his pointer finger into you. He goes so goddamn slow the feel of him is more agonising than not. You want more, you want so much more.

“Good,” He says when your only movement is the tremors of your body.

His thumb rolls your clit at a calm and steady pace but with varying pressure. The finger inside you doesn’t move at all. At first, it’s okay. At first, what he gives you is enough, you struggle to remain still, but it’s enough. You murmur to Cas that it feels so good and that he always touches so well . He’s got you panting and he’s got you forgetting to be embarrassed about it.

Then, minutes pass, however many, and you find yourself needing more. Needing anything more. You find yourself begging Cas quietly.

“Please, please, please, Cas, please, I- please. ”

Cas needs to physically restrain himself because seeing you like this does things to him. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you to move, I want- please, Cas.” You thrash your head to the side, to keep from thrashing your hips, and press your face into the cool pillow.

So Cas moves but it’s as unhurried as everything else he’s done. He drags his index out, pressing along your upper wall all the while, then nudges it back in. Over and over and over and you can’t.

“ No, ” Cas snaps, taking his hand away and slapping your mound with it. It shocks you more than anything else but has you writhing on the sheets letting out a low groan nonetheless. Cas smacks your thigh this time, getting some of your wetness on it. His voice is deeper than usual, which you hadn’t thought was entirely possible. “I told you not to move.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” You gasp when you manage to calm yourself. “I am, I’m sorry, Cas.”

“You asked me to fuck you with my finger, correct?”

Your breath hitches. “Yeah, Cas.”

“And what did I do?”

“It?” Even as you say the word you know it isn’t enough so when Cas raises an unamused brow at you, you shift and mumble, “You fucked me with your finger.”

“And what did I ask you?”

“To not move.”

“Did you do that?”

You shake your head but seeing Cas’ hand lift you quickly say, “No, I didn’t.”

His hand falls gently back to you, even rubs your thigh soothingly, spreading more of your slick onto your skin. You shiver beneath him.

“So you understand then, that you can’t be getting what you want, right?”

You suspect the question is rhetorical, but you don’t really end up pondering because Cas returns his hand to your pussy, thumb toying with your clit and finger buried inside of you. It seems contradictory to his words but when he doesn’t move inside of you, you get it.

“Cas, please.” You whisper. You strain your muscles to keep from shifting.

“Hmm? You want something?” He leans over you to place a teasing kiss on your lips.

“You know I do, come on, Cas.”

His tongue finds your right- right! - nipple.

“Cas please,” You take a deep breath. Cas likes it when you use words? You’ll give him words. “Finger me, Cas.”

He gives your breast a peck before leaning back. “That’s not going to be enough, sweetheart.”

“I won’t move, Cas. I promise. I’ll be- I’ll be-”

Cas smirks at you, his thumb unrelenting in its lazy circling of your clit. His other hand leaves your thigh to push his pants and boxer down enough so he can grasp his cock and stroke it leisurely. The sight has you moaning and purposefully not moving. Cas does feel you contract around his finger though and he lets out a small laugh.

“You’re so needy, baby. You’re desperate for it aren’t you?”

“ Yes, Castiel. ”

His full name on your lips is a rarity and it has Cas grunting out a fuck as he picks up the pace of the hand on his dick. The hand on you keeps torturing you just as slowly.

“What will you do to get it, hm? What are you going to do for me?”

You’re shaking now, but it’s a tremor that Cas can’t fault you for. “Anything, Cas.”

“Will you stay still for me?”

“ Yes. ”

“Good.”

This time, Cas fucks you. His finger thrusts in and out of you at a rhythm that can get you there. A rhythm that builds you up and up with the help of his thumb still sparking pleasure out of you.

To help you not fuck up into his hand you chant his name, you probably cuss him out a little too, you might pray to God once or twice. Your fingers dig into the wood above your head and you think this is how beds are broken. You keep your eyes on Cas the whole time. Either locked with his or following the movement of his hand on his leaking cock.

Cas stops fingering you exactly once. It’s a horrible moment where you think you might have moved despite your best efforts and now Cas won’t give you more, won’t make you come. It’s a brief moment, though, and Cas just ends up pushing two fingers from the hand that had been working himself into you, curling them and going right back to his dick, using your wetness to slicken the way.

It’s so hot, it’s so fucking hot that your entire body flares up. Your clit fucking twitches. Then the hand that had been on you all along comes back. He uses two fingers to pump into your pussy and you only feel the stretch a little because of how soaked you are, but it’s enough, hurts just right.

“You’re going to come,” Cas says, as if you were possibly unaware. “I don’t want you to worry about-” He pauses to moan. “About moving when you do.”

You don’t even manage a full nod before your orgasm overtakes you. It’s a good one too, the kind that you think might be fading but then peaks again. Cas is saying something all the while but it’s only when you come down that you tune into the words.

“-so good. Look so good. Feel so good. So good for me. Fucking, perfect. You’re- fuck! ”

Cas comes too, mostly on your stomach, some of it on your breast.

He leans back on his heels in his kneeling position to catch his breath but once he does his eyes are on you. You smile lazily up at him, still basking in the afterglow. Cas moves up your body, gives your left nipple a lick picking up a drop of come, then kisses you.

After a few moments, he slumps beside you and tugs you into his arms, bringing yours down, unbothered by the come he’s smearing between you. “You did such a good job, baby.” He tells you. “How are you feeling?” He brushes his fingers along your back soothingly.

You’re still sporting a silly grin when you tell him, “Really good.”

“That’s right, you did really good.”

You knock his shoulder with barely any force. “No, Ass, I feel good. That’s what happens after you get off.”

“That is the general course of action.”

You can’t be bothered with thinking up a retort and simply nuzzle into his arms. “You did really good, too, Cas”

The hand at your back stutters for a fraction of a second. “Thank you,” He says.

You push yourself up to your forearms and you’re honest-to-god impressed that they don’t give out under you because your entire body feels like jello. “I mean it. Since this morning, you were really patient and I appreciate that.”

He kisses you, long and soft and then he says, “You want another shower?”

“Yes, please, but I don’t want to get my hair wet again.”

You two lay there for a long while before moving to get cleaned up.

Later, Cas lays on the bed in boxers, his arm slung above his head. The sight of him is distracting, all long lines and taut muscles stretched out along the mattress, so you focus on getting yourself dressed.

“Have you seen my socks,” You ask as soon as you’ve buttoned your jeans, bending down to pick up your bra and t-shirt.

“I put them in your boots last night, right before we went to sleep.” True, they’d been scattered in your haste to get in each other’s pants.

“Cool, thanks.”

Castiel watches you slip your clothing on and almost audibly grunts in objection. There’s a little bruising on your left nipple and it looks so good on you. He wonders if it’s too early for rules like no bras in the house .

“We need to talk.” He tells you, sitting up.

You’re tucking Cas’ undershirt in your pants when he says this. You look up at him curiously and tap the first drawer of the dresser behind you. “About this?”

“Yes, about how it was for you.”

“Didn’t we already have this conversation?” You glide over to him, sit on the bed, one foot tucked under you and the other on the floor, mirroring him. You’re close enough that he can place his hands on your hips so he does. “You said it was good, I said it was good.”

“I think we’re a little more clear headed now, I want to make sure that’s still how you feel about it. I want to know if you’re interested in doing it again, in pursuing this further.”

You grin at him. “I’m very,” You push him onto his back, again. “Very.” You straddle his hips. “Very.” You kiss his lips. “Interested.”

He grins back at you. “In that case…” Cas flips the two of you, so that he’s the one doing the straddling.

“No, no,” You laugh, smiling the kind of smile you can’t suppress. “I gotta get going, Cas.”

He lifts his head from where he’s kissing your neck and frowns. “You’re leaving?”

“Gotta. Singer wants a diagnostic report on the latest variable shift by wednesday and I’ve barely started looking at the results from the last test run. Files are back home too.”

Cas leans down so his body presses into yours more firmly. “Let me ask again, give you a chance to change your mind. You’re leaving?”

You chuckle and crane your neck to peck him. “Yeah, Cas.”

He grunts and rolls off of you so you can get up.

“I have to go water my elephant ear, too, it’s been a few days.”

Cas sits up quickly. “You’re supposed to keep the soil of that plant damp at all times.”

“Huh,” You say with a teasing look. “Guess you aren’t the botanical expert you fancy yourself after all. In the winter, they say to let it dry out for rest periods. Something about fertilization, or whatever. I researched it.”

Your studio is nothing like Cas’ place. The entire thing could fit in his bedroom. It’s ill lit with the one window and the hanging overlight that seems to perpetually be swinging at least a little. Whatever light does get in gets swallowed by the exposed brick of the walls.

The window is directly across your front door. Below it, there’s a low and wide filing cabinet that you also use as a side table. To the left there’s your bed and at its foot a trunk. There’s a door on each wall that form that corner of the room, one leads to the bathroom, the other, the one next to the entrance, to a closet.

To the right of the front door there’s a dining table for four pushed up against the wall, with two chairs tucked in. There are a couple things on it at the moment, including a reading light, because it’s where you eat but it’s also where you get work done. The wall that runs perpendicular to the table-desk-hybrid is the kitchen. It’s lined with one long countertop that’s only interrupted by a sink, a refrigerator and a stove. In front of the very last cupboard, below the window, beside the filing cabinet, there’s the colocasia plant Cas got you, two months into the relationship. It’s more commonly called elephant ear plant or angel wings plant, because of the shape of the leaves.

You can afford a bigger place but you want to pay off your student loans as quickly as possible and rent seems like the best place to cut back expenses.

You kick off your boots and drape your coat over one of the chairs, then pick up a half full bottle from the table. You cross the room in roughly six steps and pour the water into the pot, cooing at it. You’d read a study that compared the growth and health of plants that received compliments daily and plants that were yelled at. You were skeptical of the results the article shared but figured you have nothing to lose.

You change into sweats but keep Cas’ shirt on and get to work. You get half of what Singer’s expecting of you done before switching tasks and finishing the powerpoint, even running through the presentation you’ve prepared once. It’s when you’re back on the report, with tabs that have nothing to do with it open on your computer, that Cas texts you.

What are you doing?

Working on the part.obs. for singer (procrastinating)

You do that a lot.

Aha are you going to call me a bad girl?

Fuck, why would you say that? Here you are having a very normal conversation. Not everything is about sex no matter how much Freud disagrees. It takes Cas longer to reply.

Would you like me to?

You think for a moment before replying. No

This time his response is immediate. Good, because you’re perfect.

w/e ur lame

That’s just not true. And then: What are you wearing?

Ahahahahaha shut up Cas

:P did you eat?

Not yet. I kind of ate ur kitchen earlier

Come over, I’m making carbonara

Im starting to see a pattern

Really? Which one is that?

The data points to an undeniable correlation between you trying to feed me and you trying to have sex with me.

Data doesn’t lie.

:P I think im gonna crash early

Worn out huh? How did that happen? You can imagine Cas smirking as he wrote this text.

This asshole where I work fifty shades of greyed me

Lucky guy. I bet he’s hung.

His ego is definitely inflated. Gnight cas

Goodnight

Read it on ao3

Chapters on tumblr: ONE  TWO  THREE  FOUR  FIVE  SIX

These lovely people asked to be tagged in this story (or my writing in general): @xleggo-my-elevenx @nickylarrywigetta @trexrambling @impandagrl @hannahindie [let me know if you’d like me to stop doing that]

[dudence-blog]

Dear Dudence for 10 October 2017

What a great weekend, spent the whole thing with Little Dudence, gave Mrs. Dudence some time to be herself and not Mommy Dudence, and the Astros beat the Red Sox to move on to the ALCS.  Life is good for me, let’s see if I can help make it better for people who never asked me to help them.  As always, hit me up at askdeardudence@gmail.com, or check out Dear Dudence on teh Facebooks!

I just ended a relationship that I stayed in far too long because he gave me herpes. I felt like damaged goods therefore needing to make it work with him. I realized nothing was worth staying in that relationship and I ended it resigning myself to the fact that I would be single forever. Well now there's a guy I've been friends with that has been pursuing me since finding out I'm single. He really likes me and I like him as well. I'm nowhere near ready to date and it's perfect because he’s living out of state now and won’t be back in my area for another 8 months. We’ve been talking daily getting to know each other and I can tell he's falling for me. My question is, when should I tell him about the STD? Do I let the long-distance relationship develop and tell him once we actually can be together?

Dear To Tell or Not to Tell, it is probably not the info I’d open with, but sooner is better.  You say you have 8 months until there’s a chance you two could actually be together.  Is it because he’s in Afghanistan and will not be getting R&R leave?  Because it’s the year 2017, almost everyone on Earth is able to arrive at anyone else’s doorstep within 72 hours if they’ve got the money to spend.  You’re going to need to tell him sooner rather than later, he deserves the respect of being able to enter into a relationship with you knowing this information.  It is not unreasonable to think “sexually transmitted disease” is a deal-breaker for someone.  Suppose two months from now he messages you “Hey babe, I’ve got some time off and I’d love to come and see you <winky face>”  That is probably not the time you want to be mentioning you’ve got the herp.  Since “be single forever” is probably not a sustainable plan for you as a youngish woman, a long-distance relationship is probably not a bad way to get some practice on having the “I’ve got to tell you something…” conversation.

My childless sister “Sally” and I are close but are having a disagreement. Sally lives several hours away, and my 8-year old daughter and I try to visit for the weekend about once per month. The problem is that my daughter has severe pet allergies, and Sally has two cats and a small terrier. Though she keeps her house as clean as possible, the very presence of these pets causes my daughter to sneeze, congest, and sometimes break out in hives. I’ve repeatedly asked Sally to either get rid of them or keep them outside during our visits, but Sally claims that, though she loves her niece, she can’t keep her pets outside all weekend because the cats are “indoor only,” the dog is too little to stay outside, and coyotes are a danger. She also told me that I was out of line to ask. Was I? They’re only animals, after all, and her niece is family.

Dear Fed-up with Pets, yes.  You are out-of-line to be insisting on this.  You asked, she said “no”.  You then continued to ask.  Stop.  She’s made her position on this known.  They are only animals, and your sister is treating them like animals.  Animals which probably should be kept inside.  There are compromises available; have you tried giving your daughter some allergy meds before and throughout the visit?  Is it possible for you two to stay at a hotel or another relative in the area?  Since Sally is the one making it difficult for your daughter to visit maybe Aunt Sally just comes and visits y’all when you’d usually got to her and you use the money saved in travel to help her defray the increased boarding/sitting costs.  You two should not allow this to become an issue that drives you two apart, but your positions are going to require both of you to compromise if you want to maintain the closeness.  The good news is you don’t need to compromise your child’s health and your sister doesn’t need to compromise her pets’ comfort and safety.

My boyfriend and I have been dating for 18 months and moved in together about 5 months ago. We live in an apartment near the center of town. He's always been interested in sustainability and environmental issues. Recently, he's become interested in the tiny house movement, and we've now had a few conversations about moving somewhere rural and off-grid.

Dear Tiny House Dilemma, well congrats, you’ve managed to provide me a scenario where there is no way I’d recommend trying to salvage the relationship.  Pack up your shit and leave.  Hell, even better, pack up his shit and boot him out so he can go live in his horrifying environmentalist dystopia house.  There was an episode of one of those home-making shows extolling the virtues of a tiny house.  In the episode there was a youngish man who was so very proud of his dream tiny house.  Until he got to the bathroom.  It was a chemical toilet into which he spread sawdust to keep down poo-gas.  The man’s eyes went dead as he described his bathroom thusly:  “It doesn’t smell as bad as you’d think.”  The toilet was under his bedroom.  The smell from his sawdust and shit filled toilet wafted up into his bedroom.  Are you going to be able to bang your boyfriend knowing that five feet under your is a slurry of wood chips, crap, and chemical-toilet-safe toilet paper?  There is no Scentsy which can mask that.  Any time you watch one of those shows look at the reaction of the wife or girlfriend when the designer announces that the bathroom is 10 square feet.  They hate their husband or boyfriend at that moment.  And when there are kids involved?  You’re moving a family of four into a toy-hauling trailer.  It’s not like they can ever lock the door when they want to bang, because there is no door because there isn’t enough room for a door!  They’re living like 1800s homesteaders.  1800s homesteaders would murder their own mother to live in a city center apartment in 2017.  Millions of people have died to try and bring about the wonders and life your boyfriend wants to throw away so he can go shit in the woods like an animal and then wipe his ass with tree bark or a corn cob because he’s a particularly stupid animal.  Let me ask you something, suppose one of your friends at work came in and told you they were going to move in with their boyfriend into the pop-up trailer he keeps in his parents backyard?  That reaction is how decent people should react to a friend saying they’re moving into a tiny house.  They’re fucking trailers.  Hell, they’re worse than trailers.  A mobile home is actually a real fucking house with room for you to escape your significant other when they’re blowing out their colon from eating an entire Taco Bell Big Box of Tacos.  Your boyfriend is asking you to move into a house which a redneck with a Trans-Am up on blocks would look down on, and they would be right.  He thinks he’s trapped in a 9-5 city life, he wants to trap you in a trailer.  You know why they never follow-up on the couples who buy a tiny home, you know, the way they do with every other home-buying/building show on HGTV?  Because all of the follow-ups involve the now-divorced partner who was forced to keep the awful trailer, or the partner is under investigation for murder after other partner’s body is found in the composting heap.  Tiny houses, Dudence is not a fan.

I am married to a man who makes over $150,000 a year. He works from home, enjoys his work, and has many opportunities to make more money in the future. I however work long hours at a job I thoroughly despise and commute for over an hour each way to make less than $35,000 a year. I minored in art in college and would like to continue making art to sell.  I minored in art in college and would like to continue making art to sell. This is not an option with my current job; by the time I get home I barely have time or energy to cook dinner and clean the house.

Dear Dreaming of Something More, there is probably a happy medium between “quitting my soul-crushing job” and “reducing our household annual income by 23% so I can make art,” so you should certainly explore those options.  Your family and friends aren’t quite right; it’s not a “bad” idea, but it is probably an idea which deserves a bit more consideration and looking at the ramifications.  Not just on the immediate loss of income, but what it does to you for any future employment.  You’re now dealing with an employment gap.  Time you’re not working is time you’re not accruing Social Security benefits or eligible to contribute to an IRA.  A single-income household is significantly more vulnerable to changes in the job market.  What guarantee do you have that is 5 years, when your art career fails to take off, and your relationship sours that you won’t find yourself single and unemployable at the income you were earning previously?  Finally, not to be the person going “he’s working from home, why can’t he do blah” but why is the person with the two hour round trip the one making dinner?  It’s called a slow cooker; WAKE UP SHEEPLE!

I'm gay (23f) and attempting a 'serious' relationship for the first time. Only 3 months in, I can't tell if the doubts I have are real, or borne from a fear of change - I'm introverted and very used to my own company. My girlfriend (27f) is cute, caring, artistic, and has a heart of gold; we have compatible relationship ideals and life goals, and on paper our relationship makes sense.

Dear Loveless or Commitmentphobic, It’s a three month old relationship, your first “serious” relationship, and you’re not even 25.  Keep banging each other and let the chips fall where they may.  

I recently overheard two coworkers talking and joking about not wearing a seatbelt while in a car. One coworker stated her fiance never wears his, while another male coworker stated he never wears one. Both expressed the belief that seat belts cause more injuries than they prevent.

Dear Seat Belt Safety, I’m hopelessly personally biased on this issue to give a rational answer, but I’m going to do my best.  When it comes to butting into your co-worker’s conversation to share with them a message from high school driver’s ed, don’t.  You’re the office kill joy and no one wants to be that.  In addition, if they were seriously discussing how they refuse to wear a seat belt because it’s unsafe you’re not convincing them otherwise.  They’re not going to go “Oh, hey, you know what?  You’re right.  We’re being foolish and threats of injury, death, traffic citations, education programs since Sesame Street didn’t reach us, but you.  You Mx. Office Busy Body were the hero we needed.”  When it comes to the actual issue preach on brother/sister!  I will concede that there might be handful of scenarios where a seat belt increases risk.  Most of them involve terrorists or a surprise bear.  In every other scenario though the seat belt is safer and reduces injury.  Even in the stereotypical situation of “what if the car is flooding?!?!” guess what happened before the car wound up in the lake?  You drove into it at 50 mph.  Hit the water at an oblique angle in a car going 50 without wearing your seatbelt; you don’t need to worry about not being able to unfasten your seat belt because you’re unconscious after hitting the steering wheel face-first or crushing your C-3 vertebrae when you head slams into the roof.  Wear your fucking seat belts people.

I am a semi-retired professional in a high-tech field, and my services are in demand. I work from home. Other demands on my time are housekeeping (I can do as much as I want, because we have help and money) and babysitting - my husband and I have two lovely grandchildren, and we both enjoy taking care of the kids and providing their parents (our son and his wife), which is something we did not have when our kids were little. My problem is my husband, a former teacher (who does not do any professional work; me and the kids try to keep him occupied with tasks like online shopping and house renovation; he does not seem too interested in other things). He hovers over me, watching over everything I do if he is nearby, if he has the opportunity, commenting on what I should do.

Dear Do I have Dementia, let’s go ahead and embrace the healing power of “And”.  Your husband could be in need of an activity which keeps him out of your hair AND it’s not a bad idea for you to be aware of your cognitive health as you get older.  This is particularly true if you’ve got some risk factors.  Something I notice missing from this letter though is you bringing your concerns about your husband’s over-looking of you with him.  You’ve been together 50 years.  Ask him if he’s noticed you having issues and if he hasn’t then he probably needs something else to do in his retirement.  And even if he has, he needs something else to do in his retirement.  May I suggest Lego Dimensions?