#and honestly i don't want to pay for a professional to tell me what it all means

[world-of-wales]

Yeah I’m going to do it because “the press doesn’t deserve it” the picture is for the public not the press. WK stans who pretend that alienating the public is a good thing should really have a reality check.

It’s not about the Father’s Day picture, it’s the mindset that some of you seem to have that unelected tax payer (and yeah they are tax payer funded, with so match more than the sovereign grant) funded public servants who has a lot of power without being educated for it can or has earned it can or even shouldn’t conduct their work without any insight.

Awwww look who's here, it was a lighthearted fun ask, also the fact of the matter is and I'll say it again the way some of you all think the average person is the UK thinks is not so at all. For them, it's literally a non-issue for if a photo is released on social media like every other royal family. These literally aren't issues that you consider them to be, for an average taxpayer and releasing it on their own social media or through the press doesn't effect anyone other than media who can't make cash off of it.

This isn't the kind of accountability the average taxpayer wants from the rf no matter what people on tumblr or in the royal watching circles think. This is the least of their problems and honestly not even a problem for them really. The public isn't being alienated by doing this, but if you do want cameras to be shoved into the faces of three kids, then you do you.

Do tell me which taxpayer is out there on the streets talking about how it is so unfair that media aren't being able to cash in on the picture? Because everyone I know who actually do pay taxes which go into running that country found it quite an amusing thing for the darling British press to get a taste of their own medicine.

Also, If you think this is what the extent of accountability for public servants is, then I'd recommend you buy a nice textbook on good governance for yourself in my professional opinion. It's always funny to me when someone comes on here and is like you don't know how the system works when quite literally this system is all I have been studying and working with for the past 4 almost 5 years.

And that ask was precisely about the father's day picture and that's that.

AND next time you want to come on this page, remember that I don't take bullshit and will not be taking it from anyone, especially from online anons. Also kinda fun how you don't agree with one thing someone says and you are a hater but on the flip side you are a Stan. Fun times 🤭

Xoxo

[downthepub]

what is my rising sign again

[ghoulfuckersincorporated]

You've been quietly seeing Cooper for months now. Avoiding the public eye while he's still in the midst of settling a long, drawn-out divorce. He's been exploring new things with you. You're a little on the demure side but willing to try most things when it comes to what Cooper Howard wants. Being in similar networks, one night, you both go to the same party separately. You get a bit drunk and wonder off from everyone else, with Coop following. Sexual exploitation, cnc, degradation? Soooft Cooper after. Idk just a thought. 👀

Duplicity (Part I)

Pairing: Prewar!Cooper Howard x Female Reader

Word Count: 11,275

Warnings: smut (18+), DEAD DOVE: DO NOT EAT, Possessive!Prewar!Cooper, jealousy, dubious consent, infidelity (physical and emotional), decomposing marriages, acrimonious divorce proceedings, alcohol use, choking, biting, degradation, mild exhibitionism, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, soft ending.

Notes: I am such a sucker for darker portrayals of Prewar!Cooper so this took root right inside my brain, like, instantly. I think there's a lot more of The Ghoul already inside that man than many people talk about.

Thanks for the submission! I fell in love with this prompt and I will absolutely be continuing it; honestly, I think this version of Coop has so much potential and this framing is great fodder for freaky Prewar! antics. There's so much this man wants to try with (on) you.

This is more 'dubcon' than 'CNC', but there's always future installments. If y'all have ideas you'd like to throw on the pile for it, the askbox is always open! The length of this absolutely got away from me and I sincerely apologize for that. I am so bad at estimating how long my fics are gonna end up (I had originally guessed this would be around 8,500). Thanks for your patience and please enjoy!

"Oh, come on, you're gonna tell me you're not at all excited about this?"

Your coworkers words were more grating than usual as the two of you rode up towards your office in the elevator, alone save for the anticipation filling the small space thanks to the early hour.

"You really need to get a grip. Don't you also work at a movie studio? Haven't you met actors before?" you teased, trying to remain good-natured despite your annoyance, and despite your nerves. It was rather rare for you to be nervous about meeting with studio talent these days, but hey; even you were prone to a little fangirl behavior from time to time. You were, in fact, excited for a work meeting for once.

You'd heard Cooper Howard was actually nice compared to a lot of the actors you had to work with.

The early morning time slot you could certainly live without, as well as the hard edge of nerves that you couldn't shake, embarrassingly. For five years, you'd been employed by one of the country's largest and most prolific movie studios practicing contract law. Well, in name you practiced contract law. In reality, the department you worked for was so large that you were rarely involved in the actual negotiation process, the exciting part with the intriguing back-and-forth. Instead, you were left to finish things up, dot i's and cross t's. It wasn't exactly thrilling work, nor was it what you envisioned yourself doing when you were in law school, but the pay wasn't awful and everyone started somewhere.

Essentially, your entire job was to run around chasing (or sit around waiting for) signatures from people who usually thought they were better than you and treated you with contempt, so it was often difficult to feel any sort of genuine excitement. Granted, you were a little more of a fan of Cooper Howard than you were a fan of pretty much anyone else you'd met with, but you tried your hardest to remain professional and not embarrass yourself at all times. You'd grown up watching some of his earliest movies with your grandfather before he'd passed, and had even developed a little adolescent crush on him and his famous sheriff persona, but you also saw so much genuinely embarrassing name-dropping and star-fuckery in this job that you were determined to not come across that way.

Besides, there was enough of that nonsense in your household as it was, what with your husband in training as a junior executive thanks to his penchant for that type of behavior.

When you'd married him, bright-eyed and fresh out of undergrad, you hadn't necessarily been head-over-heels or anything, but wasn't that normal? Everyone around you told you that he was a good man, that he was the star to hitch your wagon to, and, in your youth and carelessness, you'd believed them unquestioningly, despite the fact that he never really had actively made you happy. The courting part of your relationship had been more like contract negotiations, long discussions about acceptable and unacceptable behavior in a marital partner until you'd settled on agreeable terms. The wedding had been beautiful and emotionless. You'd assumed that the 'happiness' part would come later, once you were both fully established and settled in.

It never did.

Well, the establishment came; you both graduated law school, you with honors, and when job offers had come in for both of you from the same firm that worked very closely with the studio he'd always talked about working for, you thought the deal was sealed. Your perfect life, perfect marriage were supposed to start the day you signed your offer. You'd found your stride in your work, bought a house, seen him get promoted...and you felt no more positive about him now than you had on your wedding day. The feeling was mutual, and it wasn't hard to tell; he'd had god knows how many affairs, lazier and lazier about hiding them over the years, including a number of flings with his assistant, who was undeniably in love with him, poor thing.

It was because of this that she clearly resented being asked to do anything that had to do with you, including arranging the half-cocked romantic gestures he'd perform in order to show others that he was a good husband. This was mostly made up of having flowers delivered to your office every other week, something he'd never take the time to set up himself, so naturally, it had fallen to the girl. Reserving little effort for the task, she had obviously made a standing order for a dozen red roses, sprinkled with baby's breath, to be delivered biweekly, and left it at that. It was a nice gesture, sort of, but frankly you'd grown tired of signing for the damn things every time when you didn't even like red roses, and he should've known that. You'd been married almost a decade.

Besides, the smell of baby's breath made your stomach turn.

Still, the poor flowers hadn't done anything, so you continued to sign for them, continued to let each bouquet molder away on the little ornamental table in the corner of your office. True, it was nice to have the splash of additional color, the life in the room, but increasingly the thorny blooms irritated you, looking at them distracting you with feelings of muted resentment.

That's what you felt as you looked upon them that morning, rifling through your file cabinet to find the proper contract as you waited, the door to your office standing open and allowing you to hear when the elevator doors opened. Standing there was the famous cowboy, dressed in a wool overcoat and nice slacks, smiling at you as you beckoned him and his companion, a tall, mustachioed man you took for his agent, into your office. Each of them shook your hand and took a seat at your desk, waiting as you made your way to your seat and began to chat with the unfamiliar man about the papers. Talent almost never had anything to say to you in these meetings, in your experience.

However, he surprised you, both by being fairly knowledgeable about the terms of his latest contract, as well as by speaking directly to you in a casual tone that implied he might even see you as an equal. Cooper Howard being so nice to speak to wasn't really a surprise, as he had a reputation for it, but you were shocked that everything he was currently going through personally didn't seem to impact his demeanor.

The woman representing him in his divorce had actually been in your law school graduating class, but you didn't figure that made for very good small talk.

"Alright, let's just make sure everything is squared away and we'll get this signed. " you said eventually, holding the little cluster of papers you'd scrounged up to scan it over. However, as the two watched you, your gaze caught on a misspelling; initially, you felt embarrassed, knowing it would have to be corrected, but then you noticed changes to the actual terms of the agreement and you fell completely silent.

Your eyes scanned slower as you quieted, realizing that the contract in your hands had changes that you didn't authorize, were sure that they hadn't authorized; subtle changes in the language that wouldn't draw much attention unless you were to slowly, carefully read through the entire thing right before the signatures went on...which was usually not the case. By now, the terms had been painstakingly ironed out and the thing had been edited and reread and reedited a million times. Typically, this meeting, the bulk of your job, was simply confirming agreed upon terms, collecting signatures, and filing the contracts away.

Something was awry here.

"I'm sorry, gentlemen." you said politely, sitting up straight and smiling as calmly, as normally as you could. "It seems I don't have the correct paperwork. This can't be the current version of the contract. We may have to delay."

"This is ridiculous. Ever since Vault-Tec took over legal, you people can't seem to tell your ass from your elbow." the mustachioed man rolled his eyes dramatically. "You don't have a para or anything to keep shit straight for you?"

"I really am sorry. It'll just be a few minutes, hopefully." you apologized again, cringing. You'd requested a paralegal multiple times and had been told that your role didn't require one, but you weren't about to tell him that.

"Well, if you're gonna make me wait around, I'm gonna go place a few calls in the meantime."

With that, the man rose abruptly and stepped out into the reception area. You followed him with your eyes, slightly worried that he would hassle your assistant in his seemingly aggressive frustration.

"He won't bother your girl." the man across from you said perceptively, surprising you. "He might seem like an asshole, but he's a good guy. Always done right by me. Just a little overprotective."

"Well, I don't blame him. Especially if he represents anyone else that works for this studio. Now every single negotiation has to come under extra scrutiny, not to mention all the contracts signed in the last year since the takeover..." you mused, a little too honest, but uncaring.

"I mean, if they've got you signing these dud contracts, too, isn't that bad for you?" he asked.

You chewed your lip for a long moment, your eyes dancing over the glass paperweight on your desk calendar as you thought things over. It was a sort of odd moment, having famous movie star Cooper Howard expressing concern for your wellbeing and job security.

"Well, I suppose that depends on how I ended up with a bum copy of your contract. Could just be me being forgetful or grabbing the wrong folder at some point, which would certainly be on me...but if I'm honest, that doesn't really strike me as something I would do. Besides, I don't even recognize some of these terms."

"Lots of interesting stuff happening around here since Vault-Tec started buying everything up." he replied, a glint in his eye as he leveled his gaze directly at you.

"I agree completely. And, again, I'm really sorry about this. Let me look at this and compare it to an old one. I know I have a hard copy of the final edit here, and I know that this one doesn't match it. Just let me prove it and we'll sign the real one, if that's what you want. If not, I guess we'll decide where to go from there." you said, feeling infinitely more at-ease than you had before.

"Think your boss'll be alright with that?"

You gave a crisp shrug.

"I feel like my time working for these people is dwindling. Maybe not immediately so, but I certainly can't see myself advancing here. Don't think I fit the corporate culture. You know?" you laughed, and he joined you. It was almost surreal to interact with someone like him who treated you like you were a real person, who acted like a real person themselves.

"Nice roses, by the way." he said, gesturing with his head over his shoulder to the flowers on the table. "Pretty. Are they from your husband?"

His question seemed innocuous, so you weren't sure why your response came out the way it did.

"Uh, yeah. He sends them every other week. It's nice." you replied, your tone unnecessarily flat and sending his eyebrows raising, his head tilting about twenty degrees in intrigue.

"It's nice, huh? Is he in the dog house every other week?" he joked.

"I just don't really like red roses that much and they're all I ever get." you said simply, unsure how much would be too much to say in this suddenly inquisitive moment. "Sorry, that probably makes me sound ungrateful."

"Lemme guess...you like sunflowers."

His statement actually surprised you, since he was right; granted, sunflowers were about the second most popular flower in the country, and you had several paintings and tchotchkes featuring sunflowers up around the office, but it was still sort of odd to you for him to notice that.

"Observant, huh?" you blushed.

The smile he shot back at you was genuinely heart-racing, sending blood racing to your cheeks and your gaze skittering around your desktop as you busied yourself with a random stack of papers. The meeting finished up quickly when his rep stuck his head back into your office and called Cooper away, sending him rolling his eyes playfully as he reached across your desk to shake your hand once more, thanking you sincerely for your help before politely dismissing himself.

You were still thinking about the feeling of his hand in yours that night when you brought up what you'd noticed with your husband over dinner.

"Maybe you do need a paralegal if you're mixing up your paperwork that badly." he muttered through bites of his entree, not even fully lifting his head to look at you. "I'll see what I can do about that."

You rolled your eyes.

"No, I mean it. I think something weird is going on. Like I said, I went though the copy I kept and compared it to the one we had to sign. I didn't make some of those edits, and the terms of them were so unfavorable for them that I really get the feeling that they didn't make them. What if someone is messing with my paperwork or something? I'm the one that'll have to go to court and defend myself if someone ends up suing the company or the studio for contract fraud!" you insisted, your own meal hardly touched.

"Fine. If we've gotta go to court, we've gotta go to court." was all he said.

"We'd never win, though. They'd have a slam-dunk case."

He laughed in response, and you were shocked at how much the sound annoyed you.

"Oh, please. You think Vault-Tec doesn't have the money to keep them in court forever fighting over it? They'll run outta money eventually. Doesn't matter if they're right." he shrugged. "Don't worry about it. We'll get you a para so you can stop screwing up your papers."

You sat there in silence, unable to formulate a reply in your disgust with him. After a long moment, you excused yourself, emptying your plate into the trash before climbing the stairs to bed. The next morning, you called Cooper's rep the moment your husband left the house and invited him to come and pick up the contract copies from your office, all the discrepancies noted clearly. He happily agreed, the star showing up before anyone else had taken their places for the day.

"You're not wearing your ring." he said as he took the manila folder from your hand. You paused, confused, before focusing on your outstretched left hand and noticing that he was correct; your engagement ring and wedding band were missing, clear tan lines in their absence.

"Oh. I, erm, must've forgotten it at home." you replied after just a moment too long, your eyes flitting between his face and your naked finger as you felt your cheeks warm.

You'd never forgotten it before; putting it on was the first thing you did every morning to ensure just that. It was such a tiny, easy-to-lose bauble. Ever since you'd been given the thing, you'd been afraid of misplacing it and the reaction that would earn you. A muted tingle of worry crept up your spine that you may have dropped or lost it.

Both of them, though?

He thanked you sincerely once more, seeming like he wanted to say something else before dismissing himself. Both of you were a tad skittish at the sounds of people arriving in the hall outside, so you let him go, waving in response to the way he nodded at you as he pulled the door shut behind him. That night, when you returned home, you found your wedding bands sitting right on your bedside table where you left them every night. You were both relieved you hadn't misplaced them and curious about how you'd managed to completely forget about them that morning. Cooper Howard was quite the distraction, as it turned out.

You were still thinking about your interaction a few days later as you poured over already-signed documents from previous months, noting multiple differences between final drafts and signed copies, a feeling of dread building in the back of your mind. That smile he'd shot you from across your desk still managed to distract and make you dizzy, though, even as a memory, one you were indulging in yet again when the sound of the front office door opening broke your concentration.

"Your flowers are here to sign for!" your assistant suddenly called from the front of the office, sending you rolling your eyes at the timing until she followed it up with a pleasantly surprised, "They're extra nice this week!"

This sent you moving towards the door with just a little more hustle than usual, your brows furrowed deeper and deeper as a realization set upon you: it was the right day, but the wrong week for your usual rose delivery. The usual man was there to drop them off, standing right at the door and waiting politely. Same song and dance as usual.

"He picked out super pretty ones this time. Must be for something special." she mused dreamily from her chair as she watched you sign for them, nodding politely at the delivery guy as he let himself out.

There, on the desk, was a gorgeous, glossy blue vase filled with goldenrod sunflowers the size of your hand, nestled with tall, royal blue gladioluses and star-shaped balloon flowers. You could smell the arrangement from where you stood. Quickly, you carried them into your office and shut the door, not waiting for her to realize the date was off and start asking questions. Setting them on the usual side table, you inspected them closely. Nestled among the blooms was a thick little card, crisp handwriting inside the rich gold border when you opened it that read:

Thank you so much for your help with the contract edits. If you ever need to get ahold of me again, for anything, please don't hesitate to call me directly. - C.H.

Beneath that, a phone number that you promptly wrote into your address book and burned into your memory, a strange tingle in your gut as you looked your gift over once more. The card itself you tucked into your desk drawer, beneath some innocuous, boring papers.

You hadn't done anything wrong, except maybe in your employer's eyes, but you didn't want to risk anything seeming...untoward, despite your inability to simply throw the card away. You had the phone number now and didn't necessarily need to keep it, but something made you feel a little sad when you thought about tossing it in the trash can.

That evening, after everyone else had left, you called the number, fully expecting to have to leave a message and floored when he actually answered, rather quickly, in fact.

"Thank you so much for the flowers." you said softly, almost shyly after the two of you had exchanged fairly formal greetings. You should've followed up the statement with a "...but they aren't appropriate." or a "...but I'm married." However, you did not.

Interesting.

"Well, thank you for your help with the contract stuff. Really, it's so rare to find anyone really honest around here anymore." he said, and you could hear that killer smile in his tone. It sent your heart fluttering. "I'm still not sure what I'm gonna do, but I'll call you when I decide. Or maybe I'll come bother you at your office and see them in person. I didn't get to see the actual arrangement when I went down to order them, so I'm really glad you like them."

"You're always welcome to come see me if you need." you offered up much too quickly. "I usually stay late a few hours to look over things, especially recently."

"Well, you don't have to tell me twice." he replied teasingly.

After that, you'd swapped small talk for a few minutes before getting off the phone, the feeling of not wanting to hang up first heavy on both ends.

After that, flowers you actually fancied came for you every week for months on end, and still came to this day. It wasn't even the same flowers every time. He knew you liked sunflowers, but would often shake things up by sending arrangements of pale asters and black-eyed Susans, buttercups and gerbera daises, all in beautiful shades of rich yellow, studded with clusters of blue phlox, cornflowers, and larkspur.

His colors.

Over and over you'd told him that it wasn't necessary, that he didn't have to spend that much money on you just for flowers. But your arguments were rather flat and halfhearted; not only did you love having the gorgeous, vibrant blooms to brighten your office, you felt incredibly special at the effort he took to specifically gift you something you actually enjoyed. Besides, he refused to hear it, anyway, rebutting that he was a grown man who knew how to manage his money and what he liked to spend it on.

You started breaking up the bouquets of roses your husband sent, distributing them among the ladies in the office; some wanted color for their desks, others something to brighten up their window sills at home, and you were happy to provide.

The baby's breath, however, went into the trash.

You just tried to not think too hard about the lovely gifts technically coming from someone else's husband, including how the first few bouquets had come before he'd moved out of their shared home.

It had been when he'd finally done so that you two really started to become close. Already you'd reached the point of staying late an hour or so most nights just to talk to him on the phone in your office (with the door locked, of course), so you became quite accustomed to getting to speak to him directly, and regularly, especially when something was bothering you. At first, you mostly just talked about your days; you tried to avoid talking about your suspicions about your work, a little nervous about the security of your phone, so you largely listened to him talk about his latest divorce negotiations, his daughter, asking him questions about himself and answering questions in return. Sometimes, you would both lapse into a silence that was strangely comfortable, even over the phone.

Eventually, you both began to to open up more. You confessed that you got married for less than thoughtful reasons at a probably-too-young age, and all but said you regretted it. You also told him that you really hated your job, actually, and mused about the kind of work you'd do if you weren't where you were. Maybe something in the nonprofit sector.

He told you about his decision to get involved with Vault-Tec, about how he felt like Barb used his career to bolster hers, not caring what the impact towards him was.

Surprisingly to you, he never so much as implied that he resented her for it, but you could sense it there, deep beneath all of the very apparent feelings of betrayal and sadness. One night, he confessed that as much as he loved his wife, he didn't feel like he truly knew her anymore, that he'd always thought they'd shared the same values, and he now didn't think that was really true. There also seemed to be something else, something darker beneath it all, something that frightened him, but you could never get a good sense of what it was.

Over the next few months, you grew closer and closer, stealing rare opportunities to see one another for a few minutes during the day, trying to tide yourselves over until you could talk at night. Quickly, your talks became a necessity for you, a peaceful refuge where you felt you could truly get things off your chest with no judgment.

It became apparent that he felt the same the first night he'd called you at home.

The phone's ring had actually frightened you awake, sending you grabbing at the handset that lived next to your side of the bed in a blind, half-conscious panic. Your husband, asleep (or, based on the smell, passed out) beside you, didn't really stir.

"Hello?" you murmured, groggy with an edge of alarm.

"Hey." came a soft, familiar drawl. "I'm sorry to wake you. I didn't really know who to call."

Cooper's voice was a welcome sound, but the room, the whole house, was so quiet you weren't sure how much you could say without being overheard. For a long moment, you were silent, struggling to decide on what to say.

"Are you safe?" was the question you decided on. It seemed a little dramatic, but you weren't sure what was going on.

At the other end, there was a muffled squeaking sound, like someone shifting around in a leather chair, and a tinkling like ice in a glass.

"Yeah, m'fine. Just sitting here in the new place." he said, followed by an audible swallow. "So quiet. It's weird."

"Mmm." you responded cautiously.

Things were quiet for a time, and you felt a little awkward just sitting there, saying nothing, straining to hear any sounds from him.

"I miss you." he said suddenly.

"Miss you too."

"I'm sorry." he said again, and you could hear the intoxication creeping into his voice. "I know it's not a good time to call. Should've let you sleep."

"It's okay. Happy you called." you responded lowly, trying to use as few words, make as few sounds as possible. "Worried about you."

Finally, it seemed he was ready to say what was really weighing on him.

"Haven't slept without Janey in the same house since she was born." was all he said, his voice thick and strange. You wondered if he was crying, and it broke your heart.

"M'sorry, honey."

The pet name was soft and bittersweet as it rolled off your tongue for the first time. You wanted so badly to be able to be there for him, with him, keeping him company through this. Holding him.

Maybe if you were quiet, you could sneak out...call a cab from downstairs...walk down the drive and meet it...

But before he could respond, before your plan could form any further in your mind, your husband let out a cough, his chest jumping as he turned over roughly in bed. You lie as still as you could in response, trying to feign sleep, the phone cradled secretively against your pillow until he eventually resumed his deep, rhythmic breathing.

"He's there tonight?" Cooper asked. There was an edge to his voice that you didn't really recognize, but between the liquor he was almost certainly into and your still sleep-addled brain, you thought nothing significant of it.

"Yes." you said concisely, adjusting yourself just enough that you could crane your neck to make sure he was really asleep.

"Alright, I'll let you go, sweetheart. Sorry to bother you."

"You're not-" you began, but the line went dead before you could finish your thought.

The next morning, you'd tried to call him after your husband had gone, wanting to make sure he was alright after your call had ended so abruptly, but it was too late in the day and there was no answer. This made you worry that he was upset with you, that you'd done something or said something wrong in response to his vulnerability.

In fact, you'd been fretting about it, staring at the latest bouquet from him, some vibrant buttercups, chopped short and dotted with blue-and-yellow-streaked African violets, when your assistant poked her head in your door, an interesting glint in her eye as she spoke, pulling you from your distraction.

"Cooper Howard is here to see you." she said with a mild air of impression.

You stayed sitting until he strode in, thanking the girl as he removed his coat and hung it on the stand by your door. Smiling pleasantly at her, he shut the door behind him, hesitating for a moment before locking it. This sent you rising from your desk, making your way around the side to approach him, hesitating as you moved within a foot of him. He looked a little tired, which was unsurprising as you knew his sleep had been poor, but put together as always, clad in what looked like a thin denim shirt covered with a very soft-looking sweater. Standing so close, you could smell his cologne.

You'd intended to ask if he was alright, but you never got the chance. Cooper closed the distance between the two of you, his hands softly cupping your face as he leaned down to pull you into a tender, passionate kiss. You were taken aback a bit by the gesture, but easily let him guide you back a few feet until he was pressing your hips into the edge of your desk as he stole the breath from your lungs. Both of you were left panting when he eventually pulled back, quiet for a long moment as he petted your hair affectionately.

"Thank you for talking to me last night. I really needed it." he said, gazing at you tenderly before kissing your forehead. You didn't know what to say, and didn't get much chance to reply before he stepped away, adding "I have to get to set, but I wanted to come tell you how much I appreciate you. Talk tonight?"

You nodded enthusiastically, somewhat dazed as he went out. That day had dragged by so slowly, the minutes passing like hours until you could speak to him again. The next morning, his newest floral gift had arrived, and it surprised you: roses, but gorgeous, full blooms of a light purple that tickled you deeply. He'd never given you roses before, and you understood why, for sure, but these were beautiful. Your assistant seemed to agree, as well.

"Aww, how sweet." she smiled at you as she appraised the new blooms, leaning down to give them an appreciative whiff. "Love at first sight."

"What?" you asked, brow furrowed slightly.

She nodded to the flowers just inches from her face once again.

"Lavender-colored roses. They usually symbolize love at first sight. Or, at least, that's what I've read. Who knows, could be nonsense."

Her reply made your face redden again, taking the vase into your office and placing it in its usual place of honor. It had distracted you all day, another decade passing in your mind before you were able to call him that night.

"Did you like the roses?" he asked when he picked up. "I know roses aren't your absolute favorite, but..."

"I loved them." you said decisively. The heat in your cheeks was blooming further, intensifying, but the strange excitement that washed over you made it easy to ignore. "I really want to see you tonight."

That evening, he'd come up to your office and the two of you had shared a takeout dinner together, chatting and holding hands until it was time to part ways. Soon you were doing so most nights, ending with you in his lap, his tongue in your mouth as you rubbed yourself against his clothed erection, fooling around like teenagers.

This man was going to make such trouble for you, you could tell.

You also didn't care, really, which is how you ended up on your husband's arm, suffering through one of his colleague's fancy Friday night parties for once instead of sitting at home in your pajamas, clad in an outfit chosen just for the occasion.

Your dress wasn't especially scandalous, a dark grey wrap, soft and stretchy with sleeves that reached your elbows, the hem stopping just above your knee. Something comfortable and elegant, something you could wear to the office.

Something with deniability.

But you were also aware of the way this particular dress hugged every line in your body just right, form-fitting in all the correct places, making you feel feminine and sexy and powerful at the same time. Your husband complained it was "matronly", but you ignored him; his opinion didn't matter. Besides, the thing was nice and stretchy, so if anyone special found their way up your skirt for a few minutes, as you were hoping would happen, it'd be nice and easy to get in and out. You'd even worn a special set of underwear, red and lacy, beneath.

You only slightly regretted your choice of footwear, some very classy stilettos; while they really completed the look, sexed it up a bit, your feet had been aching for over an hour already, leaving you scanning the room for a free seat to flee to once you were able to slip away from the group chat you were currently enmeshed in.

The man you'd shared your home and bed with for the last eight years was strangely affectionate this evening, consistently cradling you into his side as he spoke boisterously and even occasionally sending a compliment your way. It made you wonder which young lady in the room he was trying to impress with his "perfect husband" routine, scanning around and noting several of his type; though, at least a few had already been crossed off the list. They avoided your glossy gaze, turning their faces into their Pip Boys or their wine glasses as your spouse continued to absentmindedly massage at your hip, his arm tight around you as he recited yet another unamusing anecdote to the men standing around you.

Among them was Bud Askins, head of some department of incapable jackasses with no moral compass, though which one, you could never remember. What you did remember was how often you caught him looking at you, the number of times he'd gotten close just to linger a few seconds too long. Fortunately, you'd always managed to slip out of the odd-feeling conversations he'd try to start with you. He wasn't the only one, either; so many of these men seemed eager to betray one another in basically whichever way presented itself first. It made you eager to remove yourself from this corporate world, to find a better way to live your life, and sooner rather than later.

Out of the corner, you watched as Cooper Howard sat on a chaise, sipping a cocktail and eyeballing you so hard you didn't even have to fully look his way to feel his gaze burning into you. You'd been waiting all week to make it to this party, not because you had any particular desire to hobnob and mingle with studio execs and Vault-Tec higher ups, but because you'd known the older man would be making an appearance.

You knew that, personally, he didn't really revel in the attendance of these get-togethers himself, but you also knew that socializing and getting face time with important people was one of the top ways that actors continued to get work. That was why he and Barb had quite literally had to iron out a social schedule with their lawyers: to ensure neither of them had more networking opportunities than the other.

He had to be glad that everything was said and done at last, finalized a few days before. You hadn't really discussed it; he hadn't brought it up much, save for to confirm it to you as truth. It certainly didn't feel like your place to mention it, so you didn't, wanting to be as supportive as possible.

An especially loud burst of laughter drew you back into the present, just in time for your husband to make a joke at your expense, sending you rolling your eyes and pushing your hand against his chest as he bent to pepper your face and mouth with half-assed, drunkenly apologetic kisses. You gave him one peck in return, not wanting to be the topic of gossip for the night. Feeling strange kissing your husband, especially with your present company included, you peeked over towards him as slyly as you could. There was a polite smile on his face, but it didn't touch his usually warm eyes, a tight irritation there as he cradled a half-full gin martini against his chest. A feeling of guilt sunk into your chest, but you were quickly distracted as the group around you moved into the kitchen, sort of herding you along as they went.

A couple hours later, when you finally managed to excuse yourself, the evening had begun to wind down, though not entirely; about two thirds of the guests had slowly flowed out, but those that remained seemed to be getting a sort of second wind where they all convened around the pool outside. You stood hidden away in the corner of the living room the party had vacated from, finally alone save for one or two caterers moving around, collecting abandoned glasses and emptying ashtrays in silence. Scanning the group outside, you failed to locate the one guest you actually wanted to see.

In fact, it had been over an hour since you'd even laid eyes on the older man, and you pondered that fact as you turned and made your way down the hallway, trying your best to look for a bathroom without seeming like you were casing the place or being too nosy. However, the cocktails you'd been nursing just to have something in your hand had been stronger than you'd anticipated, and it made walking completely straight, seeming normal, much harder than you'd thought. Your feet ached deeply from the uncomfortable shoes.

Eventually, you found a nice washroom, decently appointed with a massive mirror, into which you stared for a minute or two, willing yourself to sober up more as you washed your hands. You didn't want to make yourself seem foolish in front of Cooper, and you were fairly positive he wouldn't have left without you two speaking.

When you stepped back out into the carpeted hall, you assessed the wall of windows and the adjacent hall to your right, decided that he likely hadn't gone that way, and turned to head back towards the pool area, almost willing to ask one of the staff if they'd seen the incredibly recognizable man around recently, but you were quickly stopped.

"Nice dress." a low voice murmured, lips pressed firmly and suddenly against your ear as a pair of strong, wiry arms wound around your waist. The gasp you let out quickly melted into a giggle as his lips found the nape of your neck, kissing and nipping there playfully as he pushed his hips against your ass; a much bolder move than he would typically pull, but you were certainly open to his attention as he turned you, pressing your back into the wall behind you to kiss you deeply.

His hands were knotted deep in your hair as his tongue worked his way into your mouth, his thigh rubbing at the apex of your own as best as it could. Soon, you were far too worked up, arms wound around his neck as he shepherded you into a nearby open door, shutting it firmly behind you.

The guest room he'd tugged you into was cozy, but pristine, the low, full-sized mattress to your eleven o'clock covered with plush layers of bedding and rows of decorative pillows. Quickly, he tugged you over to the foot of the bed, urging you down onto your back as he hovered above you, one knee braced on the bed as he latched his lips onto your throat, dragging his teeth and tongue along your pulse point as his hands pushed at your skirt.

Despite the two of you never really going at it like this, his hands didn't stop the roaming along your body they'd started doing in the hall, didn't even pause as he continued to work your dress up your body, bunching it at your waistline, quickly and roughly exposing your lacy red hip-huggers to his hungry eyes. A rumble left his chest, low and deep like a growl, when two of his fingers met the warm, wet gusset covering the mound between your legs. For a minute, he rubbed firmly at your erect clit through the rough material, making you squirm and whimper. Eventually, he pulled his fingers away, tucking them into the waistband of your panties at your hip and yanking at the seam there.

"Wait, baby." you chastised, words still sort of slurred, but they obviously didn't register or were ignored, as he continued to yank at the fabric until it gave way under his hand, pinching lightly at your skin as he ripped the leg of the garment open before repeating the motion on the other side. This made you frown, upset at the loss of your favorite pair of underwear before he'd even properly gotten to see them on you.

"Cooper, stop." you said, trying to push your hands against his chest, your heart racing when he continued to ignore you, yanking the fabric loose from beneath you and stuffing it into his pants pocket.

Your lover's lips were attacking the exposed side of your throat and shoulder, nipping and sucking and huffing, your back pressed firmly into the plush mattress as you wriggled beneath him. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, between the one-too-many cocktails you'd had during the party and the way he was touching you, moving you, positioning you the way he wanted as he softly gyrated in between your legs, kneeling over you on the edge of the bed.

"Maybe we should wait." you breathed, your breaths deep and deliberate as you tried to sober yourself up enough to string together a clear thought.

It would've been difficult enough simply trying to resist his kisses, but your head spinning from the alcohol only made it harder. Still, this was some random Vault-Tec executive's guest bedroom. There was a party going on. Your husband was likely still outside mingling, possibly looking for you. The odds of that weren't high, but they weren't zero. While the two of you had fooled around a bit up until now, his hands slipping up your skirt once or twice during your make-outs in your office, you couldn't help but feel like you wanted things a little different for the first time you really had sex, for when you really took that plunge and committed to this path.

The man on top of you seemed to feel differently.

"Don't think so." he purred lowly into the crook of your neck, running his teeth along your collarbone and making you shudder. You could smell the gin martini he'd been holding earlier on his breath. "You made me watch him touch and kiss on you all night, and now you're gonna make it up to me."

Cooper's warm, softly calloused hand found your throat, holding you firmly as he gazed down at you. He wasn't choking you, per se; at least, not in the way that you would've anticipated someone would choke you, squeezing around your airway until your breathing was cut off. No, instead, he pressed his fingers and thumb into the soft flesh on each side, digging into your twin pulse points and slowing the flow of blood to your brain.

It didn't hurt or make you feel panicked. In fact, quite the opposite happened, your squirming finally ceasing almost entirely, your brain buzzing with warm, tingly docility. Between that and the already warm feeling coursing through your veins, you haltingly allowed your defiant legs to fall open halfway, slowly forgetting the reasons you'd been resisting, forgetting where you were.

"That's a good girl. You know who you belong to, don'tcha?" he praised, his free hand stroking the sensitive inside of your thigh reverently. The feeling of two of his thick fingers sliding inside of you suddenly sent you whining in response, both at the stretch and the slight sting of it. That sent a smirk ghosting across the actor's face, leaning in to run his lips along the soft, flushed skin of your cheek.

"Pretty little cheatin' slut. Now, be quiet and let me have what's mine."

His words both stung and fanned the flames in your gut, leaving you feeling frozen under his touch as he pulled back to look at you, now free hand leaving your throat and moving up to finish pulling the top of your dress down enough to expose the bra beneath.

"Mm." he hummed as he ran his free hand along the softness of your exposed clevage, though it was a curt sound. "This why you didn't wanna fuck me? Had other plans, huh?"

Briefly confused, you shook your head vigorously, your heart rate revving up once more at his tone.

"It's not like that, baby." you pleaded hoarsely, but your protests died on his tongue as he forced it back into your mouth, his hand knotting into a fist between your breasts, twisting the stretchy nylon of your bra's waistband around his knuckles and using the leverage it gave him to yank you up, dangling you for a few seconds above the bed as the seams popped and cracked at the tension. He was trying to destroy the thing.

A small whimper of discomfort left your throat as you felt the hooks in the back digging into your skin; the noise seemed to lift him partially out of the fugue he was immersed in, and he dropped you back down to the bed, the cups now bunching uselessly over your breasts, leaving them exposed to his warm hand. He was gentler with them than you thought he'd be, softly cupping them and rolling each nipple between the fingers on his free hand before sliding it up to cup your face, holding you and making you look at him as you muffled your cries into his palm. Your vision was blurry with unshed tears.

His fingers were still buried as deep inside you as he could get them, fucking you shockingly rough, pushing you closer and closer to the edge as he continued to toy with your aching clit. One particularly perfect movement made you cry out rather loudly, clenching around his fingers rhythmically as you came close to your peak.

"Nuh-uh. If you're gonna cum, honey, you're gonna cum on my cock." he whispered, his voice more steady than you'd heard it all night as he pulled his hand from between your legs. "Is that what you want?"

You couldn't stop the way your head set to nodding, the fat tears in your eyes finally spilling over and running down over his fingers as they cradled the side of your face, still muffling your sounds. Your eyes slipped shut for a moment, trying your hardest to collect yourself to some degree as you could hear the quiet sounds of his belt and fly coming undone.

A small voice in the back of your mind noted that he definitely wasn't wearing a condom as he let the leaking head of him trace back and forth through your soaking folds, tapping along your clit and gathering the slickness there as he teased you. The worry you'd felt melted away rapidly with his teasing, though, and soon you were breathily begging him to fill you, to properly fuck you.

Your name dripped from his tongue, syrupy and hot, as he pushed inside you.

"Fuck." you cried.

You couldn't see well in the dim glow of the bedroom, but the sensation, the slight burn of his girth stretching you open was vivid and detailed as he slowly began to work his hips back and forth, giving you a few breaths to sort of acclimate to his size before moving more earnestly. The bed frame beneath you was surprisingly squeaky as he fucked you harder, and you wondered, mortified, just how apparent the sound would be from the hallway. At least you knew he'd locked the door.

However, you didn't stay clear-minded enough to fret forever, his cock inside you and his fingers back on your clit rapidly soothing you into a state of hypnotized bliss, your body jolting along beneath his with every rough thrust into your flesh.

"This body belongs to me. This pussy belongs to me." he growled, his hips slamming into yours with bruising force.

"Oh, Cooper. Fuck me, baby." you begged, your nails digging hard into his shoulders through the softness of his shirt.

He sighed your name in reply, an echo following it a moment later.

The sounds of your coupling filled the room, making it difficult to hear anything outside, save for the occasional very loud splash from the pool in the courtyard.

He slid his tongue back into your mouth, winding and rubbing it along yours as he continued to use your body. Another echo of your name from somewhere that wasn't here.

"I think someone's looking for you, sweetheart." he whispered in your ear, sliding his tongue along your lobe and making you throb around him.

It was clear as day now: someone out in the hall was calling your name. Someone with a voice that sounded suspiciously like your husband's through the thick wood of the door.

Suddenly, there were shadows moving beneath. The sound of the handle jiggling made you freeze like a deer in the headlights; his movements slowed, but he didn't stop pumping between your thighs as he cast a downright impish look from your face and back to the door.

"Occupied, man." he called, pulling back enough so that his free hand could move down to slowly flick at your clit once more. Your hand that wasn't trapped between your bodies moved to cover your mouth, desperately trying to silence the whimper his touch drew from you as he continued on. There was some more shuffling, the shadows barely visible beneath the door dancing back and forth.

"Oh, erm. My bad. Sorry." the voice called, moving away.

It resumed calling your name as it faded to nothing.

Shockingly, you felt almost nothing, save for the older man's pubis grinding against your clit deliciously as he slowly began to build his pace back up, the creaking of the bed frame slowly growing louder and louder once more as the calling faded. There was no guilt, no sour sting of knowing you were betraying someone who supposedly cared about you like you thought there'd be. There was only the pleasure your lover was gifting you and the satisfaction of knowing you wouldn't be pulled away from him in this moment.

When the calling faded away to nothing, he picked up the pace tenfold, fucking you with wild abandon as the bed slid back against the wall with a thud. Your vision was quickly blurring again under his intense, animalistic attentions.

"Fuck, Cooper. I'm gonna cum..." you breathed harshly, tucking your head against his firm chest, your cheek rubbing against the overheating, rumpled silk of his shirt.

That drew a groan from him, his hips stuttering for a moment before regaining their tempo.

"Yeah? You gonna cum all over my cock, pretty girl?" he replied, his question low and urgent as his lips pressed to the crown of your head. "Go ahead, make a mess all over me."

Regardless of how quiet you tried to be, a fluctuating, nasal whimper escaped you as you fell completely apart under his touch, feeling your greedy cunt fluttering as you did, trying its best to milk him for everything he was worth. It must've worked well enough, as he seemed immediately overwhelmed by the sensation, his hips beginning to buck wildly as his fingers dug harshly into the plush meat of your outer thighs.

It was nearly impossible to remain quiet as he fucked you hard through your orgasm, pushing you closer and closer to overstimulation as he continued to abuse your swollen walls. Cooper's breathing was loud and harsh, broken up with muttered curses and little huffs of praise that made you clench around him even harder. At one point, he lowered his mouth back to your chest, grabbing the closest nipple between his teeth and lathing at it with his tongue, making you moan loudly.

The sound must've really turned him on, as he let out a long, low groan in response, his hands pushing on the backs of your thighs to lift your legs up onto his shoulders, folding you in half as he brought his other knee up onto the bed, thrusts reaching reaching even deeper than they had before. You jumped as his fingers found your clit again, rubbing it quickly and firmly, again rapidly bringing you right back to the edge, your aching pussy fluttering hard and making him groan once more.

"Cum with me, baby." he whispered feverishly, lips pressed to your forehead as his nose tickled along your hairline. "Cum with me while I fill up this pretty pussy."

This made you whimper, his words shooting down your spine and straight into your gut, which clenched tight in response, and it was all over for both of you. Your second orgasm wasn't quite as intense as the first, but it was no easier to stay quiet as you rode out the overwhelming waves of pleasure tucked beneath him, especially as he dug his teeth into the side of your neck to keep the growl that escaped him muffled. The sensation of his warmth pooling in your womb, his teeth back on your skin made you see stars.

You weren't sure how long you two laid there, him slumped loosely on top of you, most of his weight supported by his knees as you held him close, your own legs lowered back down to wrap around his waist. He was still throbbing away inside of you, and the feeling was so surreal; you and your husband hadn't had sex for months, but before that, it's not like it was a regular occurrence, and you certainly wouldn't let him do this. For years you'd been afraid of catching something...or having a baby that would tie you to him forever. When you'd first married him, you'd just assumed that you would eventually feel ready to have children with him.

Then again, you'd also assumed you'd eventually really love him, or feel loved by him, and look at how that worked out.

"Come home with me." your lover murmured into the side of your sweat-slicked throat. "Stay with me tonight."

His request settled into your chest weightily, excitingly, tingling its way upwards over your breastbone and spreading to your mouth, sending you scrambling to hold back the grin that wanted to steal across your lips. Your heart raced with a kind of pure, joyous elation you hadn't felt since you were young. A response didn't immediately jump to your lips, however; instead, you brought both hands up to cradle the back of his head, petting his slightly damp hair and neck affectionately.

Were you really considering just flat-out not going home to your husband? It wasn't like he'd never done it before. Hell, for all you knew, he'd given up his search for you and gone home with one of his roster. Maybe that hadn't even really been him at the door. Maybe it was Bud Askins looking to finally shoot his shot with you or something.

Frankly, you didn't really care.

"I'd love to." you said quietly, both of you moving to sit up.

For another few minutes, you sat on the mussed bed together, holding and petting tenderly at one another as you let your breathing and body temperatures return to normal. Eventually, the man beside you stood to right his clothing, his belt jingling musically as he tucked himself away, still turned so you couldn't really see anything. He was such a tease.

Pleasantly, you noted that your face no longer burned like it had earlier; that is, at least, until you stood to join him and felt a quick, warm rush of slickness race down your inner thigh, thinning and cooling as it wound its way around the back of your calf towards the floor. The gasp that left you instantly drew your lover's attention, and his gaze was still shockingly hot as he scanned you up and down.

"Makin' a mess." he teased, cutting his eyes at you playfully as he tugged the bedding loose, using the corner of the top sheet to quickly and crudely clean you. An indignant little noise left you at that, embarrassingly close to a cluck, which he chuckled at as he tossed everything down on the floor.

"Don't want some poor, unassuming soul sleeping in the mess, you know?" he explained when you looked at him quizzically.

"Oh...I still feel kinda bad that someone's gonna have to remake that bed." you responded, leaving the 'likely an underpaid housekeeper' part unsaid.

"Point me to the linen closet, sweetheart, and I will happily make it happen. Little late to save that labor now." he smirked. You took his point.

"Alright, let's get out of here before you get us caught." you replied, rolling your eyes to try and keep the impending grin off your face, failing miserably when he swatted you firmly on the ass. Your hands flew to your mouth, covering it to hide the cackle that jumped out of you, sending you glaring at him.

"C'mon, this way." he grinned, tugging you back down the hall towards the bathroom you'd used. Confused, you followed wordlessly, moving closer and closer towards the wall of "windows" you'd seen before until you realized that one was really a door to the gorgeous deck you could now see. As you stepped outside, the last remnants of the day's scorching heat kissed at your face. You were pleasantly surprised to see a set of stairs that led down to the ground level, into what looked like a strange statue garden: clusters of pillars along a winding gravel path, topped with geometric marble shapes of seemingly no significance. The whole thing was fairly ugly and reeked of "more money than taste", which wasn't surprising for one of the best and "brightest" at Vault-Tec.

At the very least, there were some very lovely bushes and flowers, the aroma of which enveloped you as the two of you descended the wooden stairs. Maybe fifty yards out, the edge of the flawless black driveway was visible.

The two of you stood out back for a while, hidden beneath the deck stairs; you leaned against the warm terracotta wall and watched him smoke a few cigarettes as he finished sobering up enough to drive, the ghost of his hands still running all over your body, his teeth still digging into your neck and making you shiver despite the balmy heat. Absentmindedly, you wondered if you would bruise where he'd bitten you.

You stood with your legs close together, a little afraid that you'd have another mess on your hands if you weren't careful. He didn't seem to notice, but you were quickly realizing that he was slicker than you'd given him credit for. In an attempt to distract yourself, you turned your eyes to the treeline, watching the crisp leaves sway back and forth in the soft breeze. You let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding.

"I can't believe the number of people who had the gall to ask me where Barb was tonight." he muttered eventually, breaking your companionable, though contemplative shared silence.

You turned your gaze back to him, but remained silent, sensing one of the times he'd appreciate a chance to simply vent. Cooper Howard wasn't really a man to complain much, so when he wanted to, you let him.

"It's not like the divorce was a secret or anything. Been in and outta the headlines, the trades for a fuckin' year. Not like we both haven't been out alone. But it just so happens that tonight of all nights everyone wonders where she is within earshot. I don't understand the desire to play weird mind games with people you barely know."

There was real, deep frustration in his tone as he spoke, his eyes gazing out over the ugly little statues, unseeing. Softly, you reached out and put your hand on his arm, massaging gently.

"Some people just really enjoy other people being miserable because they, themselves, are miserable. Marriage issues are like catnip to the gossip mill. Especially the marriage issues of the beautiful and famous." you teased, fawning towards him and batting your eyelashes as you leaned against his shoulder.

"Oh, it's not just my dead marriage they're out there yappin' about, sweetheart." he grinned, burning cigarette hanging from his lips as he leaned towards you. "You had a face like a slapped ass when he kissed you, y'know. They ate that shit up."

"I think you mean you ate that shit up." you rolled your eyes, cheeks hot again as you turned your face to hide from him, from the truth of his words. It was rapidly coming to a point where you couldn't even stand your husband's touch. Maybe it really was time to start considering your options for divorce.

Well, the fact that you were even standing here said that it was time for divorce. No maybe about it. Your stomach turned unpleasantly, wondering how much fighting and negotiating you'd have to do yourself.

"Hey." he called, pulling you from your snowballing thoughts. "It's all gonna be alright."

You didn't look straight at him, but you let him slip his hand into yours when you felt it brush your palm. The feeling was shockingly soothing, and you quickly pulled him close for a long hug, smiling into his chest when you felt him kiss the top of your head.

"How are we getting outta here?" you asked when you pulled back, giving a casual glimpse around when you heard a particularly loud sound from the pool on the other side of the house. "Where's your car?"

"It's down the hill a bit. I just walked up here." he said, nodding towards a little gap in the trees you could now see, just the slightest glimpse of yellow nestled there.

"You parked that thing on the street?" your voice piqued, knowing how particular he was about his beloved car. To be fair, it was very nice.

"Yeah, in Beverly Hills. I think it'll be fine." he chuckled. "Besides, you never know when you'll need to make a quick and low-profile getaway. A valet would make that awfully tough."

Taking in the smirk playing at the corners of his mouth, the devilish way he was looking at you again, you couldn't help but suspect that this whole ordeal had been orchestrated. You also suspected you ultimately didn't care; you felt happier, calmer than you had in a long time. Cheeks burning again, you looked away from him shyly as the two of you fell silent once more, the stars struggling to be seen overhead among all the light pollution of L.A.'s buzz as you began to walk towards the driveway, still hand-in-hand.

The sidewalk was dark, save for the elegant street lights, the sky overhead painted in subdued inky indigos as you made your way down to the little yellow roadster. You weren't surprised when he led you to the passenger's side and opened your door for you.

When he slid into his own seat, his hand went right to your knee, petting sweetly as you two began the drive to his new place. You sat back in the plush, soft leather seat and watched the fancy, oversized houses go by. The affectionate hand on your knee slipped upwards after a few blocks, kneading the muscle of your thigh absentmindedly as it slowly worked its way beneath your skirt. This sent you tensing in anticipation, but his hand simply reached your mid-thigh and sat there, warm and pleasant, for the rest of the drive out of the hills, moving northeast towards Pasadena. The drive was longer than one would think, for the distance...if one had never been to Los Angeles, that is.

Overall, things were quiet again, and your mind turned to reviewing the events of the party. When the image of him standing over you, your leg caught in his grip as he maneuvered it over his shoulder flashed across your vision, you felt your swollen cunt clench, embarrassed that your engine was still running after all that. Not nearly as embarrassed as you felt when another warm trickle ran down the inside of your thigh, pooling in the skirt of your dress, though. You fidgeted in response, reaching underneath yourself as casually as you could, trying to gather the soft fabric to soak up the mess. Fretting, you tried your best to remember anything you could about stain removal on leather as the car slowed, creeping down a little residential street lined with condos.

The little brick townhouse looked nice, even from the outside, though certainly much less opulent than the home he'd lived in for the last fifteen years. You'd seen photos of it. This place was still lovely, though, and the smell of fresh paint tickled your nose as the garage door opened and then closed behind you. The room was pretty empty from what you could see, save for some boxes stacked in the corner and a tool bench, as you turned to find him staring right at you, his hand finally slipping further and further up your skirt until he was softly brushing at your slit with his fingers again.

A huffing little moan left you, quiet and tense, as two of those long fingers slipped back inside you all of the sudden, pushing whatever had leaked down your leg back up inside you. You clenched around his hand involuntarily, and he let out a dreamy sigh in response.

"Still makin' a mess." he murmured, leaning in and pressing his lips back to yours as his free hand moved up to cradle the back of your head. For what felt like an hour, you simply sat in the quiet garage, immersed in one another's breathless kisses just like all those nights in your office. Except now, there was no chance anyone was going to come along and interrupt you.

The fingers inside you remained still throughout, his thumb stroking teasingly at your abused bud before eventually sliding his hand away.

"Alright, kiddo. Let's go inside." he smiled, turning to pull himself out of the low-sitting vehicle with just a bit too much swagger and making his way to your side. Letting out a deep sigh, you took his hand as he offered it, cringing at the wet feeling of your inner thighs. The shit-eating grin on his face was impossible to avoid as he leaned in close, the musky, fading smell of his cologne wrapping around you.

"By the way, if you make a mess on my new floor, I'm gonna make you clean it up with your tongue." he whispered, his lips brushing the shell of your ear as his fingers played in the stickiness coating your skin. An involuntary groan left you, your hips twitching towards him with zero permission; that drew out a gasp when you felt something poking you back, digging into the softness of your belly.

You got the distinct sense that the evening was far from over.

[jamiewintons]

All in a Day’s Work (Felix Fickelgruber/F!Reader)

Summary: Being Mr. Fickelgruber’s personal assistant involves a lot of duties that one might not expect, but you’re willing to go that extra mile.

Tags/Warnings: Smut (18+ ONLY!), Oral Sex (M!Receiving), Desk Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Implied Exhibitionism, Unprofessional Behaviour, Boss/Employee, A little bit of degradation, softness towards the end.

A/N: Hope you enjoy 😘 The idea of Fickelgruber asking you whether you prefer the taste of chocolate or something else (😉) was inspired by @reluctantjoe

Word Count: 1922

Fickelgruber Tag List: I don't have one yet!! Send me an ask (off-anon or with the blog you want me to tag noted in the ask) and I'll make sure to tag you anytime I write stuff for him ❤️

~~~

Things like this certainly hadn’t been in your job description, but at this point, you weren’t really complaining. For starters, the pay was amazing, and Mr. Fickelgruber gave you all kinds of perks when you did a good job. He wasn’t the most generous man you’d ever met, but he always appreciated your hard work.

"Good girl," he murmured, his voice strained as he tangled his fingers in your hair. You moaned softly at the praise, and the vibrations sent bolts of pleasure through his entire body. That made him moan too, and tug gently on your hair.

Your knees were beginning to ache where you were kneeling, but honestly, you didn’t mind too much. You were far too focused on the task Mr. Fickelgruber had assigned to you to think about the pain, because you were nothing if not efficient.

Your tongue swirled gracefully around his shaft as you took him deeper into your mouth, the movement making Fickelgruber’s hips buck upwards slightly. It almost made you gag, but you were used to it - you’d been his personal assistant for nearly two years, and you’d been fulfilling his… non-professional needs for just under half that time.

And because of that, you could read him and his reactions quite well. You could tell from the sound of his breathing and the way his fingers were rubbing against your scalp that he was getting close. Any moment now he would either cum down your throat or pull out of your mouth - sometimes he’d cum on your face, while at other times he’d want to fuck you properly (and that’s how you knew when you’d done a particularly good job).

Then, like clockwork, he used his grip on your hair to pull you off of him. He hadn’t cum yet, so you knew that meant your work was far from finished. His free hand grabbed for the box of chocolates that he always kept in his desk drawer for these exact occasions. Your mouth was still open, and Fickelgruber placed the little treat on your tongue once he’d removed it from its wrapping.

"There you go, my dear," he said in a tone that was almost affectionate, but it was offset by the nearly painful grip he still had on your hair. The chocolate was absolutely delicious, and you couldn’t help but close your eyes and moan while you savoured the taste. This made him smirk, a quiet, dark chuckle escaping him. "Tell me, which do you enjoy more? The taste of my cock, or chocolate?"

Once you’d swallowed the chocolate, you spoke. "I can’t decide, sir," you said softly, staring up at him with your eyes wide. "I like both too much. I don’t think I could pick one over the other."

"Well, I suppose that’s an adequate answer." Fickelgruber smirked, finally letting go of your hair. Whether it was his cock or his chocolate that you were tasting, it was all him, wasn’t it? He pulled his chair back slightly so that you could stand up, and once you had, he reached out to idly play with the hem of your skirt. "Now, you know what to do, my dear." He held his finger up and twirled it around - a silent order for you to turn around.

You did so, and anticipating what he would ask next, you bent forward over his desk. Your skirt - which was scandalously short by professional standards, though Mr. Fickelgruber had called it your 'special uniform' - rode up so that Fickelgruber could get a glimpse of your panties beneath.

Fickelgruber snickered. "Oh, I am so glad to have an assistant that takes the initiative." His hand trailed up the back of your thigh until he reached your skirt, which he then pushed up. Now that he had a proper view of your undergarments, he let his finger brush over the wet spot that had formed there. "So wet already, dear, and I haven’t even touched you yet," he told you in a teasing voice. "You really must love having my cock in your mouth."

"Yes, sir," you moaned, trying to push your hips back against his finger in an attempt to get some more friction. In response, Fickelgruber laughed softly and gently swatted you on the backside. You whimpered slightly at the sting, and immediately ceased your movements. "Sorry, sir."

His fingers found the waistband of your panties, and he slowly began to pull them down your thighs, savouring the sight of you bent over for him. Fickelgruber loved how obedient you were, how needy you always were for him. But most of all, he loved that you were all his, and that he was the only man who had the pleasure of having you like this.

You heard Fickelgruber stand up from his chair, and then you felt his warm fingers teasing your pussy, moving from your clit down to your entrance and then back again. It took all of your willpower to not squirm. His finger dipped into your wetness for a moment, before he pulled it back out. He leaned over you to whisper into your ear. "I think you’re more than ready. Isn’t that right, my dear?"

"Mmm, yes, sir… please…" You nodded frantically, bracing yourself for him to finally enter you. He stood back up straight behind you, and you felt his cock against your entrance. He didn’t push inside right away, however - instead taking a few moments to tease you. You didn't complain, because you knew that it would be more than worth the wait.

You let out an almost pathetic whimper - which you tried to cover up by clapping your hand over your mouth, but you weren't quick enough - when you felt him sink inside of you. Though you couldn't see, he smirked at the noise, and placed his hands on your hips.

Fickelgruber let out a deep sigh, giving the both of you just a few seconds to adjust before he began to move. He moved slowly but deep and hard, making sure you felt absolutely everything with each thrust he made inside of you. You were sure that your brain had switched off already, resting your cheek against the surface of the desk beneath you. If you weren’t careful, you’d probably end up drooling. It wouldn’t be the first time.

You didn’t even realise how much noise you were making, but your curses and pleas of "sir" and "Mr. Fickelgruber" were echoing throughout the large room. Fickelgruber loved it - the idea that he could turn such an intelligent and hard-working woman into an absolute mess who could think of nothing but him and what he was doing to you. He valued the power he had over you more than anything else, though he’d probably never admit such a thing out loud.

When he pulled out suddenly, you whined in annoyance, but Fickelgruber simply tutted before flipping you over so you were laying on your back. Before you could even open your mouth to say anything - if you were even capable at this point - he’d already grabbed onto your thighs and thrust himself deep inside you once again.

"You’re being so noisy, my dear," Fickelgruber said with a somewhat mocking tone, leaning down over you so that he could whisper in your ear as he sped up the pace of his hips. Then, he brought his mouth to your neck so that he could suck bruises into the sensitive skin, which you’d have a lot of fun trying to cover up so none of your coworkers saw it. Of course, this did nothing to keep you quiet, only making your moans louder, but that was exactly what he wanted. "If you’re not careful, someone might hear you, and come in here to check what’s going on. Is that what you want, hmm? For everyone to see what a little slut you are for me?"

Having locked the door yourself before you went down on him, you knew that there was no chance of someone walking in and seeing what was happening. But the thought of it alone, combined with the way Fickelgruber was whispering in your ear, made your pussy clench around his cock. He laughed, loving how easy it was to affect you, but it quickly turned into a moan.

"Oh, you like that idea, do you? I suppose you’re even more naughty than I thought." Fickelgruber’s words were scolding, but you knew very well how much he loved having you like this. "That’s what you want, is it? For people to see you getting fucked over my desk like a whore? Maybe next time I’ll take you up against the window, and let everyone on the street below see that you belong to me."

That was it. That was what pushed you over the edge. The combination of possessiveness and degradation that made your head spin. You let out a loud sob as your climax hit you, writhing helplessly beneath him as he continued fucking you through it. Fickelgruber shifted so that he could kiss your lips to quiet you down a little - you really were getting loud enough that it might draw attention now, and he liked keeping you as his little secret. For now at least.

Eventually, he couldn’t hold himself back any longer - not with how your warm, wet walls were squeezing him for dear life - and he came as well, buried as deep inside you as possible while his warmth flooded you. He moaned against your lips, and the way your name sounded when he uttered it in such ecstasy made you feel like you could finish again. But thankfully, you didn’t, which was probably a positive since you were already exhausted after one orgasm.

"Good girl," Fickelgruber mumbled breathlessly, pressing kisses against your neck and jawline as both of you slowly recovered from your highs, and there seemed to be a genuine softness in the way he spoke to you that hadn’t been present the first time you’d done this. Now that you thought about it, it almost seemed as if he’d become more and more fond of you each time you had sex, and he’d certainly become more possessive as of late. Almost as if he actually had feelings for you. Maybe. Your stomach fluttered at the possibility.

He gave you one last kiss on the lips as he slowly pulled his softening cock out of you, gazing approvingly at the sight of some of his cum leaking from your pussy. Fickelgruber quickly pulled your panties back up for you, keeping any more of it from dripping out. That was quite the contrast to your first tryst also - he’d been somewhat dismissive then, and this was the first time he’d ever helped you redress, even if it was just helping you put your underwear back on.

"I suppose we had better get back to work, hadn’t we, dear?" Fickelgruber told you with a smile as he fixed his trousers and rebuckled his belt, before sitting down in his chair once again. With shaking legs, you stood up from his desk, intending to walk back to your own workstation, but he grabbed you by the wrist to stop you before you could get too far. Then, he gave you another quick kiss before letting you go.

It’s safe to say that you found it difficult to concentrate on your work after that, but you powered through, as you always did. Fickelgruber was glad that he'd hired you, for oh so many reasons.

[stevelieber]

Here's another thread I don't want to leave languishing at the old site, relevant because another case of ill-considered pseudo-mentorship is in the news. It's tough to start a career. I'm lucky to have had good mentors. I'm grateful and want to pass it on. These are some notes I made on ways to do so.

1. Promote artists a generation younger than you. Share your platform. RT them, mention them in interviews. (This means being aware of what younger artists are doing!)

2. Hire them if you can. Pin ups, commissions, variants, fill-ins, assists, anything. A small gig can be what helps them make rent.

3. (The same applies to creators a generation older. Many of them helped develop the visual language, the audience, and the industry infrastructure we rely on. Tell your reader how these artists' choices informed your own. Help your fans see what you saw in your influences' stories.)

4. Support anthologies. They've always been a key place where new and marginalized talent can incubate, & established artists can try something new. (They certainly were for me. Many of the big leaps I made as an artist happened on anthology stories where I had freedom to experiment.)

5. Mentor new artists! Even if their subject or style is different from yours, you still have much to offer. Just be sure to frame your advice in terms of goals & principles rather than "the right way" or "the wrong way." You want to help them find their own voice, not echo yours.

6. Suggest strategies for dealing with challenging clients or collaborators. The industry may be very different from when you broke in, but those young artists are still going to face the many of the same problems you did.

7. Steer them towards someone trustworthy when they need a consultant. It's not easy to find an accountant, an agent, or a lawyer who understands what we do. Your contacts are valuable!

If nothing else, make them aware of Volunteer Lawyers for the Arts. https://vlaa.org/get-help/other-vlas/

8. Share your understanding of industry standards for pay rates & professional practices. This doesn't mean posting your rates in public. The main that does is anchor your position when negotiating rates with a potential client. But in private, TALK. This benefits ALL your peers.

9. There will be times when you can't answer a question. It happens all the time. No one knows everything! But you probably know someone who *can* answer it. Use your network of connections and make the introduction.

10. And finally, take questions about the art, the craft, the culture, and the business on your social media. Answer them as honestly as you can.

-end-

[joanofexys]

now that youre done with school, im setting up camp here (your inbox), hope you dont mind.

soooo

i need you to yap about merrrick and jude's relationship

okay okay so,

firstly i'm so sorry i took so long to get to this i had to vist with like a million people and people kept dropping by the house for some reason to give me money

you are also so so welcome to set up camp in my inbox, you can even build a little house here if you want

anywayyyyyy Jude and Merrick

So Jude's a golden child and Merrick becomes a media darling partly because oh my god a fox went pro and they're not a complete disaster and also partly cause he's an attention whore and he ate it up once he went pro

So yeah they meet officially when Merr's 25 and Jude's 26. Jude makes court and they're eyeing Merr but ultimately decide to pass on him. He's a good player and he's good in front of a camera but any of his coaches past or present would tell them they don't think he's a good fit cause of the shit he's carrying and the pressure being court would put on his shoulders.

They had of course met in the past for college exy events but really had no reason to interact and didn't pay much attention to each other at the time

So yeah they meet when team USA is sort of eyeing Merr/scouting his still unnamed pro team and somehow ended up striking up a conversation (Jude saw Merr's tattoos and decided to compliment them and start rambling about/showing off his own). Jude asks for his number for completely professional reasons, obviously, and it largely starts with Jude texting him random shit at the weirdest times and Merrick either not responding or giving odd as shit answers because he doesn't know how to text. So Merr gets passed up on being court and Jude teTchnically has zero reason to keep in touch with him because they're actually not going to be teammates but now he's going a little bonkers. He's watching games, he's watching interviews, he's watching that one thirst trap edit that has a clip of Merr pouring water over himself after a game. He pulls back on the random texting a bit but still tells him good game and checks in regularly and well when they end up in the same area for an event it only makes sense to ask him to get coffee.

At the end of the night they end up in Jude's hotel room just sitting on the bed. Merr asks about Jude's scars, at the end of the day he's a fox, he's used to it but still curious, and Jude answers honestly. Merrick thanks him and offers nothing in return. And it's okay. A Fox and Trojan is an odd combination and for the moment they're content with what they have. Merr's glad to have finally made a friend after the foxes and well he doesn't know what Jude gets out of it but he's glad that it seems to be enough.

They go their separate ways, keep in touch sporadically, and keep a close eye on each other's careers. Team USA takes gold that year and Merr's team does well enough to keep him going and stop him from falling back into bad habits. They both tell each other good job, Jude's hand hovers over the call button, and Merr types a million sentences unsure of what he wants to say.

After that Jude has to sign with another pro team and he signs with Merr's. They're not the best team or the biggest but they're consist players, solid, and slowly working their way up the ranks. Jude has his pick of the litter and no one really knows why he chose that team when all his court teammates went on to one's with much better chances of winning but he seems happy with his choice so they don't push it.

Seeing Merrick on the court this way and how he interacts with his team is completely different from the Merrick he's seen in their brief moments of existing together. Merr's aggressive on the court, he hits hard, and in practices he doesn't tend to care much for the fact that he's often pissing off his own teammates. Off the court, in locker rooms and at team meetings he's not outright rude but he's not making any active effort to make friends and it's obvious his teammates aren't either and they've likely never tried. So Jude pushes. It starts with press duty together and they develop a good banter, a strong back and forth, and if the press adored them separately then they love them together.

It's furthered by Jude joining him for his workouts and for drills. They start running together in the morning. Jude never asks him what's wrong enough with him to have made him a fox. Merrick never brings up his scars again. They talk about movies and music and local places that Merrick has never visited and Jude is excited to see. Jude stops bringing up local bars and the club the team loves to frequent after the third time Merr goes oddly silent in the middle of a conversation.

Then Jude starts complaining about how his dog is across the country staying with his family cause the only apartment he could find at the time doesn't allow pets. Merr mentions his place does. Jude doesn't push. A few weeks later Merrick comes up to him in the locker room after practice and tells him if he wants his dog out here and can find a way out of his lease that Merr has a spare room.

So they become roommates. And they have to set ground rules. Merrick's rule number one is no substances in the house. Merr doesn't even keep over the counter pain killers, he'll call a team nurse if he needs them. Jude tells him he takes prescription medication for his adhd and depression. Merrick asks him to keep them in his room and expects that to be the end of it. This time Jude pushes. He figures he's given and Merr owes him nothing but he might as well ask if he can take a little in return. Merrick doesn't give him everything, doesn't give him much at all, but he admits he's struggled with addiction in the past. That he's been in rehab, he's clean, but he prefers not to take the risk of having anything around. That even if he's not tempted he doesn't like the reminders. Especially since he was living alone.

They fall into a routine and Jude asks for a little bit more over time. They have the same nights off so now they have movie nights. Stevie (Jude's dog) starts to join them on morning runs. She learns she likes Merrick's bed more and Merr learns that too when he's woken up by her nudging his arm one night waiting to be pet. He walks her back to Jude's room every night for a few weeks before he gives up. They switch off cooking and eventually start to cook together. Merrick will ask Jude questions. How has therapy worked for him? What does he do to cope? Has talking about things really helped? Jude answers and asks questions in return. Do you have someone to talk to? Do you need me to listen? Tell me something about you?

They become friends long before they're lovers. They like to exist together before they choose to be together. And something odd about them just works. I can't really articulate it well myself.

I don't know when they cross that line quite yet. I only have bits and pieces of what Jude learns about Merrick and when. But it all comes together, slowly but surely. Merr introduces Jude to Wymack instead of introducing him to his dad. Introduces him to Bee instead of his mom. Jude brings him home to California, they roadtrip so they can take Stevie with them and have a great time. Their team makes it to semifinals and they end up kissing on camera and falling down on the court holding each other, kissing each other over and over again. They hold hands in public and let the paparazzi take photos, they answer all the questions after games, and they make their own posts addressing it all. And it's truly time to wrap this shit up though there's much I could delve into I think and if there's any specific questions I will happily answer them but they end up as two very content dog dads to one very spoiled Stevie

[roo-bastmoon]

Homage vs. Copying

So I'm not feeling super great these days, but I still dip into Jikook spaces for a quick hit of lovely serotonin and to check up on my friends. Alas, I see some folks raging in the tags that JK is stealing Jimin's original concepts because he's too stupid or lazy to come up with his own... I'm not having flashbacks to BTS' plagiarism scandal, I'm not. I have thoughts--and lots of photo examples--about this topic, under the cut. Let's get into it--and keep it civil, too.

First off--let's just establish that folks have the right to use the Jikook tag to both celebrate and critique Jikook and the fandom around Jikook. People get to write about what they want on their blogs. They get to rant, so long as no one is using hate speech and slurs. (The minute I see that shit, I quietly report.)

Clearly, folks who are angry at Jungkook (or Jimin) come into the Jikook tag because they want attention from Jikookers, and the best use of my time and energy is to self-police and block them. That way I am not infringing on their right to scream into the wind all they like, but I also don't have to hear the noise.

Second off, unless JK called any of us up and said: "Hey, guess what? After 10 years of evidence to the contrary, suddenly I'm incapable of original thought, so I just take advantage of Jiminie-hyung, whom I keep calling out and hyping up and praising and asking to spend time with and traveling with and whose style I also match in my personal life!" maaaaybe we give the benefit of the doubt, and at least entertain the possibility that Jungkook is expressing visual alignment with Jimin because he can't just openly claim him in other ways?

Like, I'm not saying that IS what's going on, because Jungkook doesn't call me up and tell me his thoughts, either. It's fine; I'm not mad. He doesn't even text Jin back. I am just saying we should maybe sit with the idea for a bit and really marinate on what that might mean for a queer couple.

(Or we could just take in things without pronouncing any opinions yet--ya know, until we get more data around Jungkook's choices and how Jimin feels about it.)

It's fine not to assume the similarities are romantic gestures; but it's also fine not to assume the worst--that JK is siphoning off Jimin like a leech. Jungkook was consulted by the Seven stylist and he got to be creative director for his Vogue shoot; he also had some say in his music videos and performance stages. He is making choices deliberately, and it makes no sense to me that he would choose to openly copy a bandmate out of laziness. He has a professional reputation to consider.

Rather, I think this is one of the few places where he has artistic license to tether a thread between him and Jimin. I think he's paying homage.

(Side note: In film and photography, an homage is an imitation of another work. At first glance, it may seem like an homage is a rip-off or a lesser copy, but it actually pays tribute to and honors the source work. Homage is a great way to use other filmmakers' styles and content to crystallize your unique voice as a filmmaker.)

So that's my currently theory about what's going on.

Yet, honestly? None of us really know WHY there's so much similarity in their looks these days. The similarities are now stacking up so much as to be undeniable, though.

Personally, I'm leaning to this being a celebration of the fact that Jikook have always shared similar tastes; it's one of the many ways they click. Jikook know that. The stylists know that. So yeah, when JK gets a chance to observe and emulate (and expound upon) Jimin's style, he does. Because Jimin is one of the coolest people in the world to him. So he shows this in his own creative work and in his own personal wardrobe.

Here's why I hold that opinion at the moment:

Could this all be the stylists choosing to recycle looks or throw bread crumbs to Jikookers? I guess.

Could this be Jungkook just borrowing from Jimin as a shortcut? I'm not sharing his brainwaves, so I can't tell you there's zero possibility.

But what seems more likely is that of all the artists in the world, Jimin is the one Jungkook has always kept his eyes on. Out of love and respect, not malice and opportunism.

Like with the 1108 and 13 numbers that THEY keep inserting into their own communications, these similarities in style is also an emerging pattern.

If you feel protective of Jimin, I understand why you'd be wary of so much similarity. But consider what we know of both Jimin and Jungkook over the past 10 years...

While neither of these human beings are perfect (and they will continue to make mistakes), they clearly love each other. And you don't steal from the people you love. But you do honor how amazing they are whenever you get the chance.

So maybe let's just hear JK out on this?

Okay, that's all the energy I have for this topic. I got deadlines and health tests to power through over the next few weeks. If you comment with your own ideas, that's cool--but please keep it respectful of Jikook and each other. I don't want to banhammer anyone but I will.

Love, Roo

PS Even if I'm not around much, you can be sure I'll buy and stream 3D, and I encourage you guys to give it a chance too! <3

[misciaspossessed]

How to Properly Self-Diagnose (Mental Illness)

Find the diagnostic criteria, don't look up symptoms (search eg. adhd diagnostic criteria).

a. Make sure you know what illness you mean before searching (eg. you may search for the bpd (borderline personality disorder) criteria when you meant bd (bipolar disorder), do some research of what they are first in case you have it wrong, I recommend Verywell's List Of Psychological Disorders to go over several examples at once with links to extended descriptions (not an exhaustive list, for others, use Mayo Clinic or simply look at the criteria of specific disorders)).

b. Be aware of names like SAD and ASD, both mean (1) seasonal affective disorder and social anxiety disorder, (2) autism spectrum disorder and acute stress disorder. (Tell me if I missed any others)

2. Pay attention to the diagnosis instructions (don't think you need to meet all points, or again, not enough points) (eg. must meet at least 5 of the following 9 symptoms).

3. If you're confused, want to take extra precaution measures, or have questions/I missed something (which I probably did) contact me on Instagram (I won't see my Tumblr messages) (not a professional, just educated myself very much and have good discretion and logic skills (for most)).

a. Though I don't have perfect knowledge either, I have the ability to know and admit that I don't know 100% what I'm talking about if so (which some don't) and can give you instructions on what to do instead or help you go over the data personally instead of trying to translate an article just giving information, I could look at your symptoms specifically and help decode them.

b. If you said f that, I advise against asking a professional or medically diagnosed person, honestly, because it's unbelievable how often doctors don't know what they're talking about, and I wouldn't immediately ask other self diagnosed people either because of how ridiculous it can get (plenty stray far from these instructions), it's best to use good reasoning and know how to research topics, do as much research as possible, use several different sources and try to get the best answer.

4. If you don't know what you have but think you do have something you can message me directly also and I can tell you what your symptoms sound like and anything it could be.

Formatting was kinda weird but it works, hope this helps, don't hesitate to ask further or correct me.

[daydream-believin]

That Was Hot But Maybe Don't Make A Habit Of Doing That Babe

warnings: well. assault. transphobia. some of my more. uh. salacious work. never proof read.

word count like barely over 1k.

---

“Aren’t you afraid? Out here insinuating that God made a mistake.”

You clutched your red solo cup a little closer to you, trying your best to ignore this acquaintance who thought she had a right to corner you in this living room and tell you what she thought about your sinful lifestyle. Because that’s what you come to house parties for, to give other guests unsolicited advice on their mortal soul. You took a deep breath, schooling your expression as Jessica prattled on.

“Your body is a temple, you know. You can’t just do whatever you want with it. It’s sacred.”

You stared at her thick eyeliner, wondering if she used a stencil or something to get the wing that smooth. Her long brown hair was pulled up into a “messy bun” and a quick glance at her feet proved she was wearing white converse. So, a woman who’s bitter about having never been sold to one direction for gambling money, it looks like. You’d never seen her outside of a professional setting, so this was a curious insight on her personality, if the glaring red flag of this entire conversation wasn’t that already.

“Is that so,” you said in the bored-est tone you could muster.

“It’s a shame, really. You could’ve been a good wife and had a family like God intended, but no man will ever want you until you quit it with this. Such a waste.”

Ah, and there’s the reminder that she doesn’t see you as anything more than your uterus. Jessica swept her eyes over your form, so tight to the wall you were up against that you might have to unstick yourself from the wallpaper after this. You watched her as the look of disgust graced her features. The other people at the party may as well have been shadows, just you and the she-wolf here in this moment.

“And you’re not fooling anyone, hon,” she snorted, “Honestly, anyone can see you’re just a woman who really let herself go.”

“Excuse me?” you said through gritted teeth.

She grinned like a shark, “I said I didn’t think it was possible, but you’ve only gotten fatter and uglier since this whole thing started. You poor girl, letting your mental illness ruin you like this. Maybe if we had gotten you into a good makeup artist--”

She didn’t get to finish her sentence before the fist collided with her cheekbone. Your eyebrows hit your hairline as you instinctually tried to back further into the wall.

Ah. Looks like your boyfriend finally got here.

“Holy shit man! Did you just punch out that chick?”

Doux stared at his still-raised fist, in disbelief himself that he just did that. “Uh…” he trailed, “I’m a feminist?”

You glanced over to her. Jessica was too caught up in gripping her newfound nosebleed to pay any attention to you.

“OKAY,” you grabbed his shirt collar, “We need to go have a serious conversation, right now,”

You headed off up the stairs of the house, pulling Douxie along as you heard Jessica whine,

“Perfect, I got blood on me. This blouse is ruined.”

Well, at least she was madder about her dry cleaning than the getting punched part.

“Did anyone see who the hell did that?”

..Okay maybe not.

“I don’t know, Jess, it happened so fast, sorry. Let’s get you another drink, yeah?” You heard the host tell her. Fortunately, no one at this party was keen on the idea of having the cops called, so you could count on them to diffuse this situation for you.

You quickly found the upstairs bathroom, right where you remembered it. Luckily wide open and vacant. You shoved Doux inside, locking the door behind you. He awkwardly perched on the edge of the bathtub, rubbing his now sore knuckles, as you turned around to glare at him. His gangly legs kind of reminded you of a spider as he stamped his feet in annoyance.

“What. The fuck. Was that.” you stalked towards him.

“I’m not about to defend my need to defend you.” His tone was fast and angry, telling you was still riding out the adrenaline high from instigating a fight. He stood to meet your level. Or slightly tower over it, as it were.

You grabbed his collar again. Douxie stared you down as you leaned into his space, and he pushed himself into yours until your noses were brushing, pupils blown wild.

“I’d say it’s my responsibility, even.”

You aggressively kissed him, clacking your teeth together, but neither of you seemed to care. Your hands pinned his face into yours, and he grabbed your hips, pulling your body closer into his.

Your lips dragged together in a dance. It was amazing how easily he could make your head spin. Douxie moaned into you, and you, not for the first time, wished you could get a recording of that sound to play over and over again. You smiled into the kiss.

His hands roamed up to your ribs, fingers digging into the flesh of your chest beneath him. You gently bit down on his lower lip in retaliation, suckling an apology as he made a noise that could only be described as a hot little whimper.

You started walking him backwards, until he hit the wall behind him. You pushed a leg in between his, and an arm up on the wall beside his head, trapping him against you. Well, not trapping. He was bigger than you and could overpower you anytime he wanted to. That just made it sexier in your opinion.

He pulled back slightly, just to run his tongue over your lips, making you gasp and provide an opportunity for him to push in past your teeth. Doux moaned as he ran his tongue over yours, driving you crazy. God, you loved how vocal he was. And you loved tasting his breath like this.

Douxie continued exploring your mouth like he hadn’t memorized the pattern of your teeth by now and you let him have this bit of dominance over you, considering you were currently boxing him into the wall. He dragged his tongue along the roof of your mouth, and your brain shut off. Nothing was happening except this feeling. He was the only person in the world and--

A loud bang bang bang from someone knocking on the door reminded you where you were. And there were in fact more people here.

You pulled apart, gasping for breath. His face was adorably flushed.

“Just for the record, I wasn’t reprimanding you," you told him breathlessly.

“I can see that now.”

You snickered as he started fixing his hair in the mirror in an attempt to look less disheveled. It wasn’t going to matter when you both walked out together, but sure.

“I know the party just started but we might need to leave already.”

“Oh yeah, definitely. we ‘might’.” You smiled up at him, as you took his hand, “C’mon let’s get out of here before Jessica sees me again.”

[laf-outloud]

Hi,

Here is the European Anon (or Troll as I am called at the moment). I would like to clarify a few things. I am a fan. Of the show, of the characters, of the two J's. That's the reason why the info about the contract could hurt me so much in the first place. Because this time it affected me myself. I've worked with stars who showed up to work (con) drunk. Who spent more time on Grindr than signing autographs. Who treated their Händlers like crap, while up front they were the loving, attentive star. You learn two things quickly in the businees. The manager is always right, and the star is never the bad guy. We had two guests from an equally famous CW show. The managers had agreed to a duo shoot. The problem was that they hated each other. In the sense of, we had to separate the two spatially, because otherwise it would have come to fisticuffs. The managers of both parties tried everything to make the duo shoot possible somehow and while one star finally agreed to get it over with "professionally", the other remained stubborn. The end? The duo was canceled with the reason "unforeseen scheduling difficulties" Well, sounds familiar? (No it's not Vampire Diaries, Paul and Ian are really like brothers, lol).

What you also learn very quickly. The fans forgive everything and the star is perfect in their eyes. No matter whether stars were bad-tempered, bitchy or sometimes even downright unfriendly, the fans always found an excuse for them, or in the end made us organizers responsible for it. Well, we can live with that, as long as people still pay for their tickets. At the end of the day it is a business.

Why am I writing this? So far it has never really affected me. For me, most of them are just people like you and me and I could deal with most of the stars in a really friendly or business way. But I've been a fan of Supernatural since the beginning. And then such an info is no longer professional but hurts.

I want to make it very clear that no SPN star I have ever dealt with has been unprofessional or unfriendly. Even though Misha's manager is a terrible woman, he himself was always polite to us as employees. And even from colleagues who have worked with J2 so far, there has never been a negative word.

That is why I was so looking forward to working with them. To be able to experience this famous friendship directly.

I am not so high in the hirachie that I get to read a direct correspondence of the management. I also can't say which Con I work for without risking my job. I know it's easier to make me out to be a liar than to accept that I might be right. I realize that and I can even understand that.

I've been sitting on this information for weeks, but who am I going to tell? Who believes me? I've talked to two close friends about it who are also fans and they didn't believe it either.

The trigger was the first reports from Charlotte. I have friends who are on site and yes, probably their euphoria and two glasses of wine on my part made me write to two people. Patrick (TFW) and LOL Jackles . Who I have found through Tumblr several times to be relatively fair and interested in facts. But there was no response. I was honestly taken aback by this, because even if they won‘t believe me, why not share the info anyway? Or at least respond to it? If there is nothing to what I say, then it could be quickly invalidated or? Unless the two know exactly that I'm right and are afraid of when it comes out.

I have written to you days later. you can look it up. I read post that you and others wondered why jared and jensen only come to different cons. That's why I thought, okay I'll send it again. I found your explanation of not posting it understandable and at least you didn't immediately ignore it. Thanks for that. that's also why I'm replying exclusively to you.

Again, I understand if you don't believe me. After all, I didn't want to believe my boss either. I thought he was just not willing to pay the 300 K (And that's what they cost each).

But now exactly what he said happens.

If I am telling the untruth, then why is Jared actually appearing at the same promoters (Monopoy Events, Entertainment Events Etc) on a different date than Jensen and always including Gen? And look at the line up of the English cons and tell me that you could not have paid Jared‘s fee to run various duo shots! If I'm lying, why is Creation now releasing the second convention for 2024 with only Jensen as headliner but not with Jared? It can't be the money, because Creation takes the same amount for the tickets as usual. And schedule difficulties during an official strike ? Hardly. You can call me a troll, but I am a fan as well, I know that you want to believe until the end that everything is good. But I just think the fans have at least a right to hear the truth. And that is that Jared's management will get away from creation cons in the future and will favor cons that Jensen doesn't attend.

Thank you for writing in, again. I'm sorry that because of the multiple asks, you've been classified as a troll. I've been on Tumblr long enough that I've seen multiple copy/paste asks and they most often are a troll, but I can see your reasoning. (I will say that TFW2.0 is a fan of Jensen first, so anything that could put him in a negative light will be summarily dismissed.)

I decided to post this response since your original ask seems to have been seen by multiple other people despite not being posted and I'll allow people to make up their own minds about what they want to believe.

I will say that Jared's absence from the con in July could be due to other reasons, like his standard summer vacation or birthday stuff, and June could be because he anticipates that they might be filming Walker into the summer, depending on how long the strike lasts.

When it comes to doing cons with or without Jensen, I know my initial response was regarding Jared's mental health, but it could also be a strategic business decision. Jared may want to distance himself from SPN (and Jensen) to open up other acting/producing opportunities. It's not always advantageous to just be known as "one of those guys from SPN." He's said before that he enjoys producing and I'm sure he knows Walker isn't going to last forever. An actor/producer's career shouldn't be defined by one role. He may also be promoting Gen to help increase her profile if they plan on producing together in the future. I'm sure there are some who, if they believe it's true, will take it personally, but it really may just be a business decision.

Either way, thank you for sharing. And if there are people who agree/disagree and decide to write to me with their rebuttals, please remember to do so respectfully. I won't post anything with accusatory language, insults, or outright dismissals.

[wawawawawawawawawawawawawa]

okay, fuck it. let's talk about remorse. more specifically, the lack of it

there was a post going around a while ago that claimed that izaya couldn't possibly have aspd, because he feels remorse, and its simply so subtle that it's hard to pick up on, and he simply hides it to maintain his image. given that this post is a jab at me and my work, i feel no guilt nor will feel remorse over jabbing right back.

(especially since, if you pay attention to the wording of the post and OP themselves, it's clear that they had a... certain other neurodiverse headcanon for izaya, and was for some reason mad at me for having a different one)

(but i digress)

let's talk remorse.

first of all, the "lack of remorse" criterion isn't, as some might be tempted to think, the most important "hallmark" symptom of aspd. let's break down how disorders are diagnosed!

in the DSM, disorder symptoms are classed into criteria. these criteria are sometimes grouped together. here's the criteria list for ASPD in the dsm-5-tr, the most current version;

under group A, we have the standard "this is what the disorder is like, and these are the symptoms of it. you need X amount to have this disorder." the criteria listed in groups B, C, and D are on their own because they are required for diagnosis. if the lack of remorse criterion was truly SO important that it was the hallmark of the disorder, the one symptom that sets it apart from all cluster B disorders, then it would be in its own group like those 3 criterion! but it's not, because while it's the symptom most people associate with aspd, it's not the hallmark of the disorder, nor is it explicitly required for diagnosis.

in fact, the main Thing about aspd is, uh, right there actually- a pervasive pattern of disregard for the rights of others. in layman's terms, aspd is categorized by a consistent behavior pattern of treating other peoples' boundaries, wants, needs, and human rights, as trivial. this overall behavior pattern is then identified by specific actions or feelings the patient has- hence the criteria.

i could end this post here, honestly- who cares if izaya does or doesn't feel remorse? it's not needed for diagnosis, and it's izaya's whole thing to violate the rights of others- he consistently treats people as his playthings, wether or not they want him to (usually not!) he disregards others' feelings (the suicidal girls come to mind wrt this) and is incredibly reckless with both his life and the lives of others. it's kind of a done deal!

but i won't because i have more to say!

so. izaya. remorse. he feels it, but keeps it hidden. he represses it. and honestly, he always has some justification or another for whatevet it is he's doing. his targets had it coming because they're monsters. or stupid and cowardly. or had it coming. or it doesn't matter because he's a god amongst men. BUT- he does feel remorse! ASPD cured!!!!!!!!!!!!

guys i hate to tell you this, but i've felt remorse before. sparingly, but i have. i am a Person With ASPD from Real Life, i've been diagnosed professionally and even had multiple second opinions check and re-check, to the point that it became a running gag. i, without a shadow of a doubt, have antisocial personality disorder. And I Have Felt Remorse.

(my verdict is it sucks and is terrible and i have no idea how you people do it. yall need like, medals or something)

because, as you might have noticed... a lack of feeling remorse isn't actually the only thing listed. now, a lot of websites don't actually list the second half of the criterion, they just say "lack of remorse" with no elaboration. it's hard to find a website with the proper informatiom on it, especially if you haven't read the dsm to see the full criteria list, so you don't know what you're looking for. truly, i don't blame laypeople for not knowing this- it's not easy to find short of going to the source itself

but if you're writing long posts filled with "facts" about a disorder that you do not have, you better make damn sure your facts are right lest you spread misinformation.

(hell, i HAVE the damn thing and i make sure i'm as accurate as possible, because i acknowledge that Having The Disorder isn't a ticket to immidiate expertise. but imo it's especially egrigious when you don't have it)

but, the criterion itself is defined as "being indifferent to or rationalizing" harmful actions. Or Rationalizing. you can feel remorse as much as you want, but if you stomp it down with justifications about how you were right, it still counts!

and finally, the name of the game with diagnosis of any disorder is consistency. if someone can make their abuser cry because of them and feel no remorse, that's not aspd. that's just a special case. if someone can make anybody cry because of them and feel no remorse, that's aspd.

similarly, if someone can make most people cry because of them and feel no remorse, with one- or maybe two- exceptions, that's... still aspd. because the behavior expressed most consistently is a lack of remorse. one or two exceptions to the rule don't suddenly make you not have aspd, especially if you have multiple other symptoms. (in fact, in some aspd circles people do talk about having "exceptions," kind of like the aspd version of a pwBPD's favorite person. pwaspd feeling remorse or otherwise not meeting criteria in incredibly specific circumstances is in fact a documented phenominon. once again, this happened to me and i've been diagnosed multiple times over. were all those doctors wrong, or does aspd just not work like you thought it did?)

izaya consistently represses most of his more vunerable feelings. that's another one of his main things. if remorse is included in this, which it would be given the pattern, then izaya most consistently does not feel (or otherwise accept) remorse. a few slips of the mask here and there, where he can't stomp it down or ignore it, don't change that the most consistent behavior from him is a lack of remorse. in fact, him feeling remorse here and there makes the portrayal of aspd more realistic, imo-

people with aspd are still people at the end of the day, and aspd is just another mental illness. people are varied, mental illnesses present differently in everyone, and people have good days and bad days where symptoms are more or less pronounced. any symptom isn't going to be set in stone in severity or even presence in someone's life- severity of disorder changes with age, someone's circumstances, or even day-to-day, especially with cluster B disorders, where the people who have it are defined as being "dramatic, emotional, or erratic" (pg 735)

things change. people change. mental illness isn't as simple as people think, and aspd isn't as different from other illnesses as you'd think. people with it- including izaya- will have their good days and their bad days and their rare moments where something breaks through the clouds and for one moment, you feel normal, however distressing the feeling may be

that's not proof that the illness was never there. that's just life with it!

[brighteyedbushybrowed]

Do you think you could do headcanons for the Papas and a reader who has their own band?

Aaaaa this gave me memories of when I used to write band fics 10 years ago and I felt such a wonderful sense of nostalgia bc of it so tysm for this request!!!

𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐨

Primo loves that you also have a band!!

Even though he's retired now, he likes to have little writing sessions with you where you both write song lyrics

He attends as many shows as he can

Unfortunately with his age and his body being a little more frail than he'd like he can't attend every single show

Sometimes he'll sit in on your band's practice sessions and will simply watch and listen

He doesn't give any opinions or feedback unless you ask him to as he doesn't want to overstep

If you ever dedicate a song to him during a performance, get ready for a very emotional Primo afterwards

He buys all your albums, both on CD and vinyl, as well as t-shirts and merch for the siblings at the abbey so that they can support you too

𝐒𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐝𝐨

There's a little bit of playful rivalry between the two of you

This was especially prevalent when he was Papa

It was never a serious rivalry. It was a silly but fun one that pushed the two of you to be the best you could be

Now that he's no longer Papa, Secondo will frequently attend your shows

Absolutely will pay extra to buy VIP tickets so that he can meet you backstage rather than using his influence to get what he wants

Wants to feature on one of your songs but he also doesn't want you to feel like he's trying to insert himself in your professional life

Anyone who tries to say that your band is only successful because of your association with Ghost will live to regret those words

Incredibly proud of you and everything you do. He's even got a few framed posters of your band in his room (though he'll never admit that to anyone other than you)

𝐓𝐞𝐫𝐳𝐨

Probably met you and your band at an awards ceremony

Definitely became one of your biggest fans after he looked up your music and videos of your performances and live shows

Frequently wears your brand's merch around the abbey when he doesn't have to be dressed all smart and formal

Offers for Special to go on the road with you to act as like a spokesperson for your band like he was for Ghost before Terzo got removed from his position as Papa

You should probably expect to find him waiting for you in your hotel room after shows he attends because he always wants to congratulate you in person as himself, not with the makeup and the costumes and the persona he puts on for everyone else

Now that he's no longer Papa, he has more time to attend any awards shows with you or events you get invited to e.g. movie premieres

And let me tell you, the cameras and the paparazzi eat the two of you up every time you attend an event together

However, Terzo makes it very clear to anyone and everyone who'll listen that your success and fame is all because of the hard work you and your band put in and nothing to do with him or Ghost

𝐂𝐨𝐩𝐢𝐚

You know how we're all simps for Copia and would die for him? (Work with me here if you don't feel this way)

Well that's Copia with you and your band

He doesn't write fics or make fan art because honestly he doesn't have the confidence in himself or his skills to do it

But he loves to see all the fan art that people post online of your band

Will send you links to some of his favourites because as Papa he knows how much that can boost your confidence and reassure you that your fans love you, no matter what pissy little haters hiding behind their keyboards may say

Will hum or quietly sing your band's songs while he works, even if you're in the room with him

Puts you in touch with the costume designers and stylists for the band any time your band has photoshoots or big events

Like Terzo, he will attend events with you but he prefers to let you have the spotlight. He already gets so much attention as Papa, he wants you to have your moment to shine and bask in your achievements

𝐍𝐢𝐡𝐢𝐥

I'll be honest, he gets a little jealous at first

Things didn't work out when he was the frontman of Ghost so of course he becomes envious of you and your band's success

This manifests itself a little as him being kinda snarky at first

But after a while the jealousy stops and he turns his shit around to become more supportive of you

Now he's a big supporter!!

Admires how your band have been able to be so successful where he failed in his youth

Doesn't attend shows due to his age, but he will meet you backstage at the ones closest to him to wish you luck and congratulate you before and after shows

Has vinyls of your albums in his office to listen to when he's alone

[fuck-customers]

It's almost sad that when I tell my regulars I only make $14.50 an hour at a job where I do professional level graphic design and print work, they all get shocked and say I should be making more (I work at a locally owned print shop, and I love the job for the most part, I just hate how I'm rushed and hate certain clients).

WcDonads employees make more than I do. Gas station employees around here make more than I do. And I honestly feel quite jipped because I was told to go to college. Get a degree. Find a job in the field I go to school for and I'll be set (I'm one of those "zillenials," too young to be a millenial but too old to be gen z). Some people say i should be thankful, $14.50 is a lot, but cost of living where I'm at is at least $20/hr. Granted, my college is completely paid for so I don't have student loans to worry about and I'm happy I have graphic design and photography experience. But when I'm at work and I feel the bald patch from where my hair has been falling out from stress from workload, it makes me feel like I was tricked.

I'm so conflicted. Like I said. I like this job. When things aren't busy it's wonderful. But those are becoming fewer and farther between where stuff has completely reopened from Covid and more people want printing for events and sales.

And I've met wonderful people! And learned about small businesses in my community I would have never known about otherwise! I love getting to make nice designs and print beautiful art every day. One of my current friends I've met copying her artwork for her! My gifts to my family have been photo prints and even signs for my dad's workshop that I've gotten printed at a discount and they're all loved so much. And I don't have to wear a uniform - jeans and a t-shirt of my choice every day!

But I've also been yelled at over small shit like maps not being printed on time, or how the color on a flyer isn't as "vibrant as it is on screen," or told to hurry up on a yard sign that someone decided they needed today rather than next week, or have a someone chew me out because I haven't even had time to print three sheets of mailing labels because I've had to hold the hand of a very picky woman who wants her rental guest book to look "just right" yet can't be assed to learn how to use a computer on her own. I've had packages thrown at me when I've said people need to pay to ship them. People getting mad over $.20 black and white copies and $.49 color copies. People saying they're going to get their business cards from PistaVrint because it's cheaper. People come to us and act like we're tech support - "Why is my computer not opening Wicrosoft Mord?! Why is my email not sending?! Why is my phone doing this?!" Like I don't know! Take it to Bye Best!

My manager hardly gets paid any more than I do and she's been with the business for almost 30 years and drives an hour each day to come to work. I only got bumped to $14.50 after my boss overheard I was interviewing at a college print shop that would have paid me $18 an hour. He couldn't even wage match! And I didn't even get the job.

I don't have funds to move to another location where I could find a better paying job in my field, nor would I want to as my family and community are here.

There is a pillow factory here I never knew about. They're hiring various positions starting at $19 an hour. Evenings and weekends mostly off, only needed to work if they need to fill a very large order. My friend started there this week and while she says she's physically tired, the environment seems nice so far and I'm so burnt out here that I've already asked her if she can get a word in for me to start there. More pay? And way less customer interaction? I could do that! But it sucks that I feel like abandoning what I like to do because of my pay grade and the stress I feel. I wish it was all different.

Posted by admin Rodney.

[theposhperyton]

if you have the time could you tell me literally everything you know about isfd?

I found your blog through the one piece posts and now need to learn anything I can about this obscure fandom

An ISFD ask from someone who isn't already lost in the sauce? (<-Self call-out) O glorious day!

Gosh, there's so much, I don't really know where to start. I've been following this micro-fandom for YEARS now, and it's one of those things that just keeps on giving. The amount of lost/missing content and the frickin nuked forum (I'm a survivor, baebee!!) really does sometimes make it feel like the universe is trying to wipe us out, but hey. ISFD fans are basically cockroaches. Killable in theory, but surprisingly hearty in an actual life or death of a fandom scenario.

As for the actual content of ISFD that I engage in, I'm a rare(?) case where I kinda dabble in everything. I can confidently say I'm a member of the ** original ** gen of fans, so I've been around for the noteable eras, and have obsessed over every major character group at one time or another, as well as some niche characters (Cyan and his 2 other fans, rise up 🔥🔥)

I gotta say though, I am currently obsessed with the mafia portion of the universe (and, tbh, by extension, the Marama family. They are to me what the Kardashians are to some)

In particular, Phillip Varic has been my consistent blorbo since last September. It is not an exaggeration to say I've averaged about 40 drawings of him a month since then (my friends and I have counted. I should be on my strange addiction at this point, tbh. Or seeking other professional insight)

Here's some of the doodles in question! I am not terribly good at finishing art of him, I just sketch him loosely and rotate him rapidly in my head

I just think he's so neat. And I think his stupid, codependant, and mildly dysfunctional mafia found-family are so neat. And I think his husband (seraphine) and wife (abram) are so neat. And all his kids, both the legal kids and the ones whom he mostly just pays college tuition for, they're neat to. And the echos of Magnolia throughout his life and the larger narrative, even decades later. That's also very neat (my heart doesn't hurt at all!)

I realize I kinda derailed from answering your original ask because the mafia brainrot is debilitating and chronic, but I'm not entirely sure how I'd go about answering it anyway because there is just. So, so much world and lore to glean from ISFD, and none of it in any easy or direct way. Honestly though? The mafia might not be a bad place to start? If you want, I can tell you as much as I know about the cast and dynamics of the mafia, because I feel like a lot of the mafia character's lore and backgrounds act as a good segway to other noteable aspects of the larger ISFD narratives and the in-world political climate as a whole (Especially Mask and Howard. Not to single those poor souls out, but genuinely. How are they both gonna be so afflicted by the narrative like that)

If you're still interested after I practically talked your ear off, I could totally make a larger post about the whole mafia :3 They're my special blorbos ❤️ I would not feel safe around them IRL, but trapped within the confines of fiction, they're all free for me to babygirlify with almost no consequences

[puppy-coded]

Dinos And Dragons {G.E.}

✰ 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Use of (Y/N) to make the story flow better, Reader's spirit is stifled bc people are assholes, "freak", lots of petnames(babe, pretty girl, angel, my love), slight gross stuff(food chain stuff), slight use of big words, established relationship

✰ 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Gareth Emerson x fem!reader

✰ 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.6k words

✰ 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: Gareth loves his little dino girl, he truly does so he's quite angry when someone ruins her day and introduces her to her next hyperfixation.

You got ready with your favorite little dino hoodie, your bag, and a small gift for Gareth that you spent all night making for him. You were always so excited to start your day with your boyfriend. So excited that, every morning at 6:45, you sit at the window and watch for his car.

Soon enough Gareth arrived and you were out the door.

"Good morning Gareth! Thanks for taking me to school!" You said happily as you got in the car.

Gareth smiled and shook his head at your energy. "Babe. We do this every morning. And every morning it's way too early to be as excited as you are."

"And every morning I'm excited to see your face." You told him, your heart eyes glaringly obvious at this point. "Oh! I made you something last night." You said excitedly, handing him a small bottle cap pin with a dinosaur on it.

He carefully took the pin from you hand and smiled. "Aww, you shouldn't have." He told you as he struggled to pin it onto his flannel.

You took the pin from him and pinned it to the flannel for him with ease. "Yeah but I wanted to."

"You do you then pretty girl." He said as he attempted to back out. He eventually put his hand on the back of your headrest to rotate himself little and backed out easily since he could finally see.

You stared at him the whole time, admiring his focused expression and bit your lip before speaking again. "Stop, I'm gonna fall in love with you."

Gareth chuckled and turned forward to pay attention to the road again. "I don't see the problem with that?"

You quickly changed the subject and excitedly tapped your boyfriends arm. "Ooo! Ooo! Did I tell you about my essay?"

"What essay?"

"For English?" You responded questioningly, pulling your essay out of your folder.

Gareth's expression turned blank and you noticed that he gripped the wheel slightly harder. "Was that due today?"

"Yeah."

"Shit." He cursed angrily, hitting his steering wheel a little. "Anyway, continue. I interrupted and that wasn't cool."

"Anyway, I wrote my essay on the origin of dinosaurs and this has honestly got to be my best essay ever," You said excitedly. "And see? It's even all typed out and professional!"

Gareth beamed at you proudly at a red light. "Good job angel! I'm so proud of you!"

"Falling in love again." You informed him jokingly.

"Where's the problem?" He asked with the same tone.

You giggled and put your essay back in your folder. "Nowhere!"

. . .

English with Mrs. Cook wasn't always fun. Especially since she makes everyone read their essays out loud. As part of their grade. No pressure...

"Now, where's (Y/N) to present her essay to the class?" Mrs. Cook asked in her boring monotone voice while she clicked her very obnoxious red pen.

"Here!" You said excitedly, trying to get through the desks and chairs, hooking your foot on one by accident. "It's- ah- sorry! It's entitled 'The Origin of Dinsaurs' and-"

"Shocker Freak." You heard Matthew Farris mutter in the front, earning himself a few chuckles from surrounding students.

You gripped your essay and tried not to let it bother you, creasing your once crisp paper. "-And... um- I spent... way too long on it and, uh, I- I think I'll take the half-grade on this one Mrs. C. I don't want to bore anyone and... and it's, um... six pages long and kinda boring anyway." You said quietly, watching as Mrs. Cook made a mark in her grade book.

You made your way back to your seat and paid no attention to anyone after you, picking at your nails and trying not to cry.

. . .

You got to the Hellfire Club's table and huffed as you sat down. You laid your head on your arms and everyone noticed that you were acting off immediately.

"Hey, what's wrong?" Gareth asked, poking you from his seat across the table.

"What?" You asked quietly.

Gareth tilted his head to try and look at you. "You don't look like your usual self. You good?"

"Yeah I'm fine." You lied, circling your finger on the table as a means to distract yourself.

"You don't look fine," Jeff chimed in.

"Someone called me a freak earlier in class," You responded sadly.

Gareth nearly choked on his drink at your confession. "What?"

"Own it!" Eddie encouraged.

Gareth hit Eddie's arm and shook his head in disapproval. "Eddie, come on man. It upset her."

Eddie stared at Gareth for a few moments, picking his words carefully. "I am literally Eddie 'The Freak' Munson. Hear me out: If she let's one time ruin her day then she's in for a lifetime of hurt," He explained.

Gareth looked annoyed at Eddie's explanation. "Damn it! I hate when you're right."

You sat up and shrugged. "Yeah... I guess... It's just- am I lame?" You asked, rolling the sleeves of your hoodie up a little.

"What?"

"No." Eddie said plainly, popping a mini pretzel in his mouth.

"Why would you ask that?" Jeff asked.

"I don't know... It just seems that dinosaurs are kinda... childish I guess? I don't... I don't know. I'm sorry for bringing it up it just- I..." You nervously rambled, losing steam as you got closer to the end.

"Don't worry about it, you're just as cool as dinosaurs are." Jeff assured you, pulling on Gareth's flannel and pointing to the pin you made him. "See?"

You smiled a little and picked at your nails again. "Yeah, I guess."

"Also, I have a surprise for you after school," Gareth told you.

You smiled wider and sat up straighter. "Ooo! What is it?"

"It's... a surprise my love," Gareth reminded you. "I'm not ruining it."

Eddie groaned and threw his trash at Gareth. "Ew, gross. Be a couple somewhere else, you're reminding me that I'll probably die alone."

"Oh shut up." You smiled. "You won't die alone. You got us!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence!" Eddie responded with fake enthusiasm.

. . .

After your last class of the day you quickly found Gareth and closed his locker, eliciting a high-pitched yelp from your very metal boyfriend. It was cute.

"So what is this mysterious surprise from lunch?" You asked, playing with the straps on your back pack.

Gareth nodded his head toward the school's parking lot. "It's in my car."

You tilted your head slightly and looked at him, very confused. "Where in your car? I was in the front earlier."

"Trunk babe." He said plainly, leading you to his car.

"Ohh... Makes sense," You nodded.

You grabbed his hand and leaned on him in silence as he led you to your surprise.

"Close your eyes." He told you when you two got to his car.

You closed your eyes and covered them with your hands to really make sure you didn't see. "We're going to mine after this right?"

You could hear him rummaging around slightly as he spoke. "Always. Now... open!"

You opened your eyes to see Gareth with the proudest little look on his face, a giant dragon stuffed animal, and three books.

"Books and a stuffed animal?" You asked him, taking the items. "You spoil me Gareth," You told him with a kiss to his cheek.

Gareth helped you into the passenger seat and closed the door for you. "What? I play Dungeons and Dragons not Dungeons and Dinos," He said as he got into the driver's seat.

"That would be a sick game though." You said, giggling at how squished you were in your seat due to the dragon stuffie that was probably the size of you.

"It would actually," He agreed.

. . .

You and Gareth had rushed to your room as soon as you got to your place. Gareth laid in your bed and worked on math while you snuggled up next to him to read your new book about dragons. It was quiet for about ten minutes before you found something cool.

"Gareth!" You whisper yelled. "You know where the myth of dragons comes from?"

"Where?" He asked in his normal voice, giving you his full attention.

"So basically, when England was colonizing places there were these big ass alligators in the Nile right? These big ass gators would snatch and drown food, humans included, and scared the heck outta these colonizers yeah? They went back to England and reported giant lizards with wings, because humans exaggerate, and everyone developed an irrational fear of what we now know as the mythical creatures called dragons." You paraphrased with hand gestures. "Isn't that cool?"

"It is." He smiled, going back to his math.

You smiled shyly and bit Gareth lightly. You leaned your head on his arm and acted as if nothing happened.

"Did you just bite me?" He asked, looking over at you innocently reading.

"Affectionately!" You defended. "It's called di... dimor... dimorphous expression! It basically means 'it's so cute I wanna chomp!'" You explained, not looking up from your book.

Gareth looked impressed with your knowledge. "Where'd you learn that one smarty pants?"

You put your bookmark in your book and turned over, grabbing his arm. "Mr. Maitland goes on a lot of tangents."

"Oh, I see," Gareth nodded. "You bit me because you think I'm cute?"

You shook your head and smiled cutely at him. "It was an appreciative dragon chomp."

Gareth put his homework on the floor next to your bed and kissed your forehead. "That was an appreciative Gareth kiss."

"Can I have another one?" You asked, scooting up so you were eye level with him.

"Of course pretty girl." He winked, giving you a nose kiss.

Best boyfriend ever.

[suchawrathfullamb]

hey Lamb, I really love your writing, can you give some advice? Maybe general things to pay attention to when writing fic, specifically Hannigram?

Thank you so much, although I don't feel like I am in any position to give advice, I'm still learning my own style and idk, I feel like giving advice is too big of a task and title for me lol. I also feel like writing fic should be mostly about self indulgence, I know we tend to be perfectionists and desire external validation, but really we're just having fun with something we're passionate about, you shouldn't be so worried about making it in a certain way. Although I understand that many of us do wish to professionalize our writing someday and maybe publish non-fandom work, so I also understand how important feedback can be when we're trying to learn and get better if it's something we want to pursue in a professional way :). Because I want to actually help you, I'll just list a few things that I personally notice in fics, but then again, I'm not at all in any position to be taken as some sort of authority and I honestly think I'm mid, I'm hardly satisfied with what I write, although I appreciate when anyone compliments my writing. With Hannigram in particular I notice I tend to try too hard when it comes to Hannibal's pov and narration, which granted, it is a harder pov to write for, but I feel like we forget to put a little more emotion and tone down on the overly intellectual language. Hannibal prosed a lot but he was still understandable and sometimes I'll write something for him and I'm like, what the actual fuck does that even mean, too much thesaurus on every single word lol. I feel like I'm Joey in that one Friends episode, ykwim? The one he needs to write Chandler and Monica's adoption letter and he uses thesaurus for every single word and it ends up sounding crazy? lol Another thing is the self awareness. Because the show is about a psychiatrist, and the main characters are extremely intelligent, we tend to think they're self aware and although they certainly are in a few aspects, they're still realistically human when it comes to not realizing their own feelings. I feel like it takes me out of the story when the author explains the characters feelings, for example: "Will knew Hannibal was bad for him, but he also felt like he was the only person who truly understood him, and so, even though he was conflicted, he(blablabla)", sometimes it's better to hold back a little, let the character's actions and inner dialogue speak for itself...show, don't tell. And the last thing I noticed that really takes me out is when the characters are cartoonish: Will reeeally likes dogs, and fishing, and flannels. Or something like "This person was rude. Hannibal would like to eat them because he despises rude people" (I see it so much but now all the examples flew out of my head lol). There's something about it that makes the characters less realistic, which is totally fine if that's the vibe, yk? More funny, cute, crack even, idk, but I see it when it wasn't the intention of the author, they just thought it was in character so they needed to point it out, you know? As if every action is "this is sooo will, omg, this sooo hannibal" vibes, you know? As if all they do is fish, eat people, wear flannels, pet dogs, drink wine and well actually maybe that is all they do,