#grandparents cooking amen

[loquaciousferret]

Seasons

Summary: One scene for each season of the year of your relationship as you fall in love with Joel Miller, single dad and sweet southern heartthrob.

Pairing: Pre-Outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

Warnings: 18+ explicit smut MINORS MUST NOT INTERACT. Discussion of religion, virginity, christian!reader, virgin!reader, old-fashioned values and gender roles/views of women. marriage, fingering, oral (f receiving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex

Word Count: 6.5k (whoops)

A/N: If you love a slowburn then this is the fic for you, filled with adorable flirting and so-sweet-he-gives-you-toothache Joel. This idea came to me so randomly but it’s been a WIP for so long so I hope you like it!!

Spring

You let out a sound somewhere between a gasp and a squeak as Joel and Tommy both picked up their cutlery ready to shovel the Sunday roast into their mouths. They hesitated at the sound and you spoke up, “I’m sorry, just, you don’t mind if I say grace, do you?”

A wide smirk spreads across Joel’s face and he raises his eyebrows at you, but puts his cutlery back down immediately. Tommy, who was frozen in place still clutching his fork which was loaded with roast chicken and gravy, received a harsh glare from Joel, leading him to put his down too.

“I’m sorry,” You said again, embarrassed that you had interrupted them.

Joel’s expression remained bemused but he responded kindly, “Hey, don’t apologise, sweetheart. You’re just always full of surprises, that’s all. Go ahead.” He gives you a reassuring smile.

You reached for Tommy’s hand with your left and Joel’s with your right and looked down towards the table, closing your eyes.

“Lord, please bless this food to our bodies and let us hold you in our hearts. We thank you for the meal and the company in which we will share it. Through christ our lord we praise you, amen.”

“Amen to that.” Tommy copied excitedly, wasting no time in getting stuck into his meal.

Joel didn’t respond to the prayer but gave you a reassuring nod, his smile still glowing. “That was lovely, darlin’.” He said, making you smile back shyly.

You got started on your own meal. You and Joel had spent the afternoon cooking together, and by together, that meant you did the cooking and he stood by and offered words of encouragement, assuring you that if he got involved he would only find some way to ruin it.

Joel’s daughter, Sarah, was out at a friend’s house all day, giving you ample time with him. He was yet to introduce you to her, given it hadn’t been long since you had met him, but you spent plenty of time with him and sometimes Tommy, too, when Sarah was otherwise occupied. Luckily for you, she was a social butterfly, and you usually got to see Joel at least one evening a week, and when you were lucky, for a full day at the weekend, like today.

It was your first Sunday with him, and it had taken quite the story to explain to your parents, grandparents, and siblings as to why you would be missing their Sunday dinner in favour of a new friend. They would most definitely be clucking like hens at their own dinner table, speculating about who might have enticed you away. In truth it had been your idea, you had been excited to do this with Joel.

You had met him in a hardware store just at the beginning of February, an old-fashioned meet-cute in which you struggled with deciphering what kind of faucet you needed to pick up for the kitchen sink in your new apartment.

“I’m sorry to bother you, sweetheart, you seem to be having some trouble there, can I lend you any knowledge?” The handsome stranger had asked politely.

His friendly demeanour as well as his expertise had led you to pick his brain in numerous aisles of the store and eventually, you bravely asked for his number. Strictly for DIY-related enquiries, of course.

But now here you were, gazing at him as he savoured the food you had cooked, and you quietly laughed along at his and his brother’s back-and-forth wit, chest bursting with affection for this gentle man whom you were growing fond of.

Summer

You fanned yourself with your magazine, sipping on a cool lemonade. Nothing was helping you to beat the suffocating Texas heat.

You watched on in amusement, perched at the edge of the lawn in Joel’s backyard as him, Tommy, and Sarah grappled with each other in a game of soccer gone wrong.

“Y’know, I don’t think soccer is supposed to be this violent.” You called out to them.

Sarah looked up at you and laughed. “These two idiots will wrestle over a game of monopoly, it doesn’t take much.”

You smiled back at her. You were so grateful at how quickly she had accepted you as Joel’s “lady friend”. You frequently caught her and Tommy wiggling their eyebrows and communicating about you and Joel behind your backs. Neither of them bought the idea that you and Joel were still just friends, but it was true.

In some ways, you had been surprised too. Joel was incredibly patient with you. Lots of guys you had dated got bored fairly quickly but Joel never rushed you and seemed happy going at your pace. You would go to dinner, take walks together, hang out with his family, but nothing more. And he respected it. As time went on, your respect for his patience grew along with your feelings for him.

Later, with Sarah in bed and Tommy having excused himself, the two of you relaxed together in the now relatively cool evening air on a wicker bench in his backyard. He nursed a beer in one hand, his other arm slung around you, and you were cuddled into his chest slightly, comfortable in his embrace.

He was pointing out constellations, but you found yourself unable to tear your eyes away from his face to look to where he was trying to guide your attention.

“Are you even listenin’ to me?” He said, smiling as he looked down at you and caught your gaze transfixed on him instead of the night sky.

You blushed and made to move away but he held you tighter into him, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You reached up to cup his jaw and looked up at him once more, connecting your lips to his. He leaned down to put his beer on the ground without breaking the kiss, the hand that was around your shoulder reaching up to become entangled in your hair, the other one holding your knee.

You continued to kiss and he deepened it gently with his tongue. At the same time, his hand drifted up your leg until it met the hem of your sundress. You jumped back as he slid his fingertips under your dress and onto your upper thigh.

“Joel, I-“

He straightened up, looking away with a heavy sigh. But when he looked back at you, he wasn’t angry. There was something else hiding in those brown eyes, you just weren’t quite sure what.

“Look, sweetheart..." He sighed. “We’ve been seeing for five months now. I just need to know, I mean…” He sighed again, he seemed to be struggling to get the words out. “I just need to know, baby. Don’t you see me like that? Don’t you want me like that?”

Your heart twinged with guilt as you met his eye again. They were filled with sadness. He thought you were rejecting him.

“Oh, Joel.” You reached out to stroke his cheek with one of your hands. “Joel, please don’t think that. I just-" You screwed your face up with embarrassment. Obviously, this moment would come. He had been so patient up to this point. You couldn’t fault him in the slightest for how respectful he was of your boundaries, never pushing you for more. And you were wracked with guilt at the thought that he had been considering this was down to him and how you felt about him.

“Oh, Joel, I- It’s.” You couldn’t help but stumble over your words. “Of course I do Joel, I do want you, more than anything, but I- I- I’m waiting, you see?”

“You’re-“ He scowled until the realisation hit and he raised his eyebrows. “Oh. You’re waiting waiting.”

“Yes.” You let out an apprehensive breath. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t apologise, sweetheart.” He said, putting a hand under your chin and tilting it up so you met his eye once again, his face having softened once more.

“Just means I’ll have to be the one to marry you.” There was a glint in his eye and that paralysing smirk he wore so often.

“Joel!” You scoffed, playfully hitting his chest. You wished your heart hadn’t fluttered the way it did at his joke.

Autumn Sarah skipped ahead of you excitedly, you and Joel followed, walking hand in hand down the meadow path.

You had all piled into the truck that afternoon and you had directed Joel to this location, somewhere you had visited ever since childhood to pick apples during harvest season.

“Look! I’ve found them!” Sarah was quite literally jumping with joy, pointing up at the first tree you had come across which was bearing fruit.

“Good job, honey.” Joel said as you both caught up to her.

She was hopping up but failing to reach the fruit even on the lowest boughs of the tree. Joel stepped in at that point. “Here, let me get you a leg up.” He offered.

He held out both his hands for her to stand on as a platform, grunting with exertion as he hoisted her up. She then clung to his shoulders tightly with one arm around his neck, stretching out with her other hand to reach out for the fruit.

She picked them successfully and dropped them into the basket you held out for her.

After gathering nearly a dozen, she leaped down and inspected her findings, picking out each one individually to admire them and compare their sizes.

“Have you ever had real apple pie before? Like this? With the fresh apples and everything?” You asked her.

“Nope, first time!” She responded excitedly. “I’m so hungry for it already. I hope it doesn’t take long to bake.”

“Well, it does take a while, honey. Baking is a labour of love,” You explained to her kindly as you walked back to the truck alongside each other, Joel a few paces behind. “The more time and patience you put into things, the better the end pay-off.”

Joel chuckled lightly behind you and you whipped round to look at him over your shoulder.

“What?” You laughed.

“Nothin’.” He said, smiling back at you. “Very wise life philosophy you got there, that’s all.”

You screwed your face up at him playfully. Trust Joel to turn your simple lesson into a different one entirely.

Back at Joel’s home, you taught Sarah how to soften the apples in butter, sugar, and cinnamon, filling the kitchen and most of the downstairs with that delicious combination of scents.

Next, you made the pastry by hand, patiently guiding her on how to knead the dough, and how to tell when to stop at the right consistency and not spoil it by over-kneading. She listened carefully and copied you, she was a quick learner.

Joel watched you both, filled with adoration at the scene in front of him. Your patience and kindness towards Sarah was a huge factor in how hard he was falling for you. You were only a little more than a decade older than her, but your maternal behaviours towards her seemed to come totally natural to you.

You were exactly the presence Sarah needed in her life. You were an absolute blessing for the pair of them.

He smiled and shook his head at his own thoughts. A blessing. Your way of thinking was rubbing off on him.

Sarah left to bathe and get ready for bed while you finished constructing the pie, the oven preheating. Joel continued to watch from his seat at the breakfast bar.

“You do so well with her.” He remarked.

“Oh.” You responded, slightly surprised. You had nearly forgotten he was there with how quietly he had observed the activity.

You didn’t turn to face him, not wanting him to notice the blush creeping into your cheeks.

“Thank you, Joel.” You said sincerely after having gathered your thoughts. “I’ve always loved kids. I think it just comes naturally to me.”

“Yeah?” He said, pleased with your response.

“It’s like I was born to be a mother.” You chuckled a little. It was something you had been told throughout your life. You had always enjoyed being with your aunts, helping with the babies, moreso than playing outside or doing things with your cousins and friends of your own age.

He couldn’t wipe the smile from his face. This happened all the time, you took the thoughts right out of his head and spoke them into reality. You were perfect for him in every sense, he had known this for a while now but you strengthened his belief in the fact every single day. Joel knew he was madly in love with you, a deep connection he had never felt towards anyone else. And he had your morals to thank. The lack of physical relationship meant that you had spent months building on a genuine friendship and emotional connection, one that stood on its own without the need for sexual attraction. Not that he didn’t have that for you in spades.

All his previous relationships had been built on something physical, an initial attraction that was acted on and developed into more. Not you. His fondness of you was not based on that. That’s not to say he didn’t constantly want more as you kissed him, not that he didn’t think of you in his intimate moments, or sometimes needed to excuse himself when he got a glimpse of your upper thighs or even a panty line under your sundress if you reached up on tiptoe to grab something or climbed up the steps ahead of him. You had him like a touch-starved schoolboy, every single glimpse of your flesh was like a jolt of electricity inside him.

It had been nearly 8 months since you met and you had changed his and Sarah’s lives already, bringing laughter and sunshine back into their home. He had even met your family, too, at a barbecue towards the end of summer. He had had to hold in a laugh at their old-fashioned ways when they referred to him as the man you were 'courting'. But they accepted him, approved of him despite him being 10 years your senior, a divorced single dad. They didn’t judge him and they could see how happy you made each other.

The other day, he had lied about needing to head to the store and you stayed and watched Sarah. It had been a relief when he had went to your father’s house, and he had said yes so quickly to Joel’s request for your hand in marriage.

Winter

Austin saw it’s first measurable snowfall in a couple of years. You three, Tommy, and the new dog you and Sarah had convinced Joel to adopt for Christmas, were out walking near a cabin you had rented together for some of the holidays.

You all had red cheeks and your breaths were visible, coming out as mist in the cold air. It was the one of the coldest winters in a while, with the temperature barely hitting the 40s each day.

When you got back to the cabin, you, Sarah, and Tommy fought over who would get to shower first for warmth. You ended up placing second in the queue, behind her and before him, which you were satisfied with. There were 3 bedrooms but only one bathroom in the cabin, leading to almost daily arguments between the brothers and Sarah, most of which you simply observed in amusement.

“Come ‘ere.” Joel said, beckoning you to join him in the lounge. “Fire’s just gettin’ started. I’ll keep you warm until it’s your turn.”

You smiled and joined him, shedding a few layers of clothing to dry off and warm up by the fire.

He rubbed your arms and legs roughly, generating heat from the friction. It tickled and you pushed him away. He lost his balance and fell backwards.

“You tryna kill me?” He laughs. “There’s a fire behind me.”

You smiled at him. He was mesmerised by you, with your rosy cheeks and your eyes illuminated, reflecting the flickering of the log fire.

He had wanted to wait for the perfect moment, and propose to you like a scene out of those terrible romance movies you love so much. But it was times like this that moved his heart, the simple every day moments you shared that reminded him why he was so madly in love with you.

And so he couldn’t help himself, he shifted so he was on one knee between your legs.

“What are you doin’?” You ask, eyebrows furrowing in curiosity.

“Quiet, alright, let me focus.” There was nothing impatient in how he responded, if anything, he only sounded nervous. That intrigued you more.

You smile at him and he loses all train of thought again taking in your expression.

“Sweetheart.” He starts, his voice cracking slightly. You had rarely seen Joel nervous or flustered but this had to be it. “I wanted to make this more special but I… I can’t wait any longer.”

You have to physically stop your jaw dropping in shock as Joel pulls a small box out of the pocket of his large winter jacket, his hands trembling slightly. Your heart races as you realise what is happening.

“Sweetheart, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me. I ask myself every day what I did to deserve you to come into me and Sarah’s life. You make me so happy every single day. I- I know we’ve not been together long but I know already I can’t see a future without you by my side. I- We- We want you to join our family. Will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?”

Tears well in your eyes as you look down at Joel, waiting nervously for your answer. You had only been together 9 months but he was everything you had dreamed in a partner, kind, caring, supportive, always making you laugh. He was the most important person in your life despite the short time you had shared.

“Yes, Joel.” Your voice was barely a whisper.

He exhaled deeply in relief.

“Yes, I want nothing more than to marry you.”

He pulled you into a tight embrace and you laughed, pushing him away, “Aren’t you gonna put that on my finger first?”

He pulled back, blushing, taking your outstretched hand and sliding the elegant ring onto your finger. “Yes, darlin’ I’m sorry- I-“ He cut himself off, pulling you close to him and pressing a kiss to your head.

This was the happiest moment of your life.

Neither of you knew Tommy was in the hallway and had listened to the whole thing. “Finally.” He muttered with a wide smile on his face.

Spring

You married exactly a year to the day that you met (Joel’s idea) in your parish church with your close friends and family watching. Your sister, your childhood best friend, and of course Sarah made up your bridesmaids. Tommy was Joel’s best man.

You wore a simple white dress with a lace bodice and sleeves, complimenting your figure, cinching at the waist and stretching around your hips.

The wedding was simple, as was the dinner and reception. Flashy wasn’t you and Joel’s style.

As the night wore on and the guests mingled, you finally felt yourself relax. You weren’t a big drinker but today was your wedding day and you had been constantly plied with champagne by your friends and family.

“Hey Mrs Miller!” Tommy approached you from the side. “Will you give me a dance?”

You look to Joel, who squeezed your hand and smiled. “Off you go.” He said.

You laughed and took Tommy’s outstretched hand as he led you to the dance floor. The music was relatively upbeat and he was twirling you, you giggled, trying not to trip up on your dress or your heels.

“I would say welcome to the family, but it feels like you became an important part of it a long time ago.” He says when the music calms down and he takes you closer to him for a slower dance. “Joel is one lucky man, and I’m lucky to have you for a sister-in-law now too.”

You didn’t respond, taking in his sincere words. You were absolutely grateful for the extended family Joel had brought into your life. And Tommy was right, they had welcomed you with open arms and made you feel like you belonged from the very beginning.

“He’s never been happier. Sarah too. Thank you for that.” He goes on.

“They’re everything to me.” You say simply.

He nods in understanding. As the song draws to a close he pulls you in for a tight hug.

“Congratulations, sweetheart.”

“No getting rid of me now.” You say back cheekily, and he laughs as he guides you back to where Joel is mingling with guests.

Joel sees the two of you approaching and smiles warmly, reaching out to pull you close to him and planting a quick kiss on your cheek.

“Having fun, Mrs Miller?” He says, his eyes twinkling. He hasn’t called you by your name all day. He likes this new one.

“Certainly. Tommy’s keeping me entertained.”

“Yeah he’s good at that, ain’t he?” Joel teases, raising an eyebrow at his brother.

Tommy holds his hands up in defence, “Hey! That’s your wife.”

“Damn right it is.” He responds, squeezing your hip. You blush as he holds you close to him. He is always affectionate, but today you have felt more loved and cherished than any day of your life.

You catch Sarah’s eye. She is watching you fondly from a nearby table where she sits with a small group of her friends and some of your cousins who are about her age.

You smile warmly and offer her a thumbs up. She smiles back. You are grateful for the bond you have with her and the support you have both shown each other throughout your relationship with Joel.

The rest of the night passes in a blur of happiness, laughter, and love. More champagne is consumed, and some cake. Sarah was involved in baking it for you with help from a professional. As the night draws to a close, you begin to feel nervous, knowing what is to come when you and Joel retire to your honeymoon suite shortly.

“I can’t believe we’re married.” He whispers into your hair.

“Me too. But it feels like everything I ever imagined.”

Joel nodded, rubbing circles into your back with his large palm. “More than I ever imagined.” He responds.

He kept you in a tight embrace. You can hardly believe that a year ago you didn’t know this wonderful man existed, and now you are a married couple. He pulls back from you, a tender expression on his features. “Are you ready to go to bed?”

You know this question is loaded with the implication of another. Although you feel nerves rising in your chest, there’s another part of you that is thrilled and excited to experience this entirely new element of your relationship with Joel.

You nod, and he doesn’t hesitate to take your hand and lead you out of the hall. Many guests have left and you bid farewell to the others on the way out.

He leads you hand in hand to your hotel suite. The room is dimly lit, with soft music playing. There is another bottle of champagne on the dressing table- not that you need any more.

You turn to Joel, feeling nervous, which he can sense easily. He approaches you carefully, removing his suit jacket and tossing it over an armchair in the corner, loosening his tie and removing the top button of his shirt.

He looks so incredibly handsome and you think that it is intensified by the knowledge that you are looking at your husband.

He cups your face in his hands, “I love you, sweetheart. I’m so glad you’re my wife.”

He leans in and kisses you. It leaves you breathless and exhilarated, knowing that for the first time, this kiss will lead to more. Your body melts into his, you wrap your hands around his neck and lose yourself in the moment, his warmth and his rich scent enveloping you and making you feel safe and comfortable.

He pulls away eventually and rests his hands on your hips. “I know we’ve been waiting for this moment for a long time- Well, I certainly have.” His voice is laced with emotion. “But we don’t have to rush anything. We’ll take it slow, enjoy every moment of getting to know each other like this.”

You nod, feeling a sense of relief wash over you. You were nervous about messing things up or disappointing Joel, but he was patient and understanding as always.

“Thank you.” Your voice comes out as barely a whisper.

Joel leans in for another kiss and you melt into his embrace once again. He restrains his lust and passion and tries to make every touch a demonstration of his love and commitment to you.

He begins to unlace the delicate back of your dress and pulls it from your shoulders. Your neck is exposed, then your collarbones, then your chest, clad in your special bridal lingerie.

He lets out a sigh as he takes in the sight of you. He had seen your body before, at the beach, but now when he looked at you it was accompanied by an entirely different feeling. You were going to be his for the rest of your lives, all of you, all of this, was his. Forever. It was nearly overwhelming.

He leans down, pressing a trail of soft open-mouthed kisses to your neck and down your exposed chest. He continues to pull down your dress gently as he goes, until it has slipped off of you entirely. He retreats to carefully lay it out on the sofa in the corner. He approaches the bed again and begins to remove his own clothing, unbuttoning his shirt painstakingly slowly as you watched him in anticipation. You take him in, admiring the way his muscles ripple as he moves, his honey skin, and the dark hair scattered over his stomach and chest. He was the image of beauty to you. His eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that made you feel as though you were the only woman in the world, the only one he had ever wanted.

He steps towards you and climbs onto the bed, holding himself up with one strong forearm and kissing you. The feeling of his bare skin against yours sent waves of desire through your body.

His hands explored you, softly roaming over every curve and contour of your figure, giving every inch of you attention with his lips or hands. As he does so, you feel your body responding to his touch. Your skin grows more and more sensitive to his every movement. You moan softly as his hands glide over the thin fabric of your bra, your nipples hardening in reaction to his teasingly light touch.

He whispers in your ear, a low and husky tone to his voice that you haven’t heard before, “I want you, I want to make you mine forever.”

You shiver at his words, a rush of desire shooting through you. You pull him tighter to you in an embrace and you feel the hard length of him pressing into your stomach. It adds to your excitement.

He kisses you once more on the lips, his tongue exploring your mouth. You taste whiskey and wedding cake frosting. A combination of strong and sweet, like Joel. Then he lifts your back from the bed slightly, his attention on your bra clasp which he removes with practiced ease and tosses it aside. He leans down, taking one of your nipples into his mouth and licking and sucking gently. You gasp at the sensation and feel yourself clenching your thighs involuntarily, desire coursing through you.

He moves down your body, one hand continues to touch your breasts and he trails kisses down your stomach. When he reaches the waistband of your panties, he looks up at you, questioningly. You nod at him, nervousness and excitement fighting for priority in your body and mind.

He pulls them off slowly, savouring the moment. You feel exposed and vulnerable, but the sight of his hungry gaze as he takes in your naked form turns you on.

You feel his hard length pressing into you again and you are silently grateful that he keeps his promise, taking you through this slowly, even though you know he wants you desperately.

“You trust me, darlin’?” He says, breathlessly.

“Yes, Joel.” You respond, anticipating what might be coming.

“Let me take care of you, alright?” He says, his fingers massaging at your inner thighs.

You just nod, and with that he slides his hands higher and his fingers enter your folds, which are already wet with your want for him. You gasp at the sensation, shocked at how his large rough hands are even capable of such gentle touches.

He rubs at you softly, circular motions around your clit snd then down to your hole, barely dipping in a fingertip before withdrawing it again and dragging wetness back up to your clit. You adjust to the sensation quickly and crave more, to intensify the feeling he is giving you.

You buck your hips upwards, letting your thoughts be known to him. He laughs lightly. “Be patient.”

You whine.

He inserts a finger all the way inside you and you gasp at the feeling. Of course you have done this alone but the feeling of his large masculine hands with long, thick, fingers, is a new sensation entirely.

He moves it inside you, slowly, his other hand holding you at your hip. His touches are gentle and restrained yet firm and deliberate. Small moans of pleasure escape you.

His finger then curls inside of you and hits a spot that makes you arch in pleasure, moaning more loudly. Your hands reach out to grab him by the shoulders. He grins and curls his finger again, pressing against that spot faster and with more intensity. You feel your body start to tighten, your limbs tensing up instinctively. The pleasure builds inside of you until it is almost too much to bear.

Just when you think you couldn’t take it anymore, he removes the finger. It is trailed by a large amount of your wetness. He does something unexpected then, bringing it up to his mouth and sucking on it. The sight feels inappropriate and you look away from him, blushing.

He takes the finger, now wet with saliva and inserts it inside you again, this time accompanied by another. The stretch is numbed by the pleasure he gives you. He pumps them in and out of you slowly, curling and scissoring inside of you. He plays a game of attempting to elicit the sweetest sounds from you.

He brings his thumb to your clit simultaneously and gently rubs it. It makes you bite your lip to stop you from crying out.

“Let it out, sweetheart.” He instructs. “Don’t hold back from me.”

“Joell-“ You whine. “Ah!”

Your volume encourages him and he continues, a steady rhythmic pace applied to both the fingers working you from the inside and the one giving attention to your clit.

You feel the same knot of pleasure from before building.

You find confidence and become more vocal, “Please don’t stop Joel!” You plead.

“Are you gonna come, baby?” He asks in a deep tone.

“I think so.” You squeak. “Fee- Feels so good J-Joel, plea-“ You cut yourself off with a moan.

Heat gathers in every corner of your body and as Joel maintains his consistent pace, you reach closer and closer to a release of this tension inside you.

Finally it snaps, and you cry out. The pleasure is overwhelming, your heart races and you pant, breathless, as the feeling courses through every inch of you. You feel yourself collapse further into the bed, weakened by the experience.

He removes his fingers from inside you but keeps gently rubbing your clit as you twitch and shiver underneath him. Eventually he stops that too, and kisses you deeply. You come back down from your high slowly.

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers, barely pulling away from you. His lips tickle yours as he speaks.

You feel a rush of affection towards him, still dazed from your orgasm. Your already flushed cheeks seem to grow even more warm under the weight of his intense gaze and his compliments. As you catch your breath, he continues to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, words of adoration spilling from his whiskey-loosened tongue.

“My girl forever aren’t you?” He whispers. You nod, keening towards his touch as he brings his hand to your core once again, the sensitivity of your orgasm finally worn off.

“My beautiful girl.”

You think he is talking to himself more so than you.

He shifts his weight, lowering himself further down the bed and positioning himself between your legs. You watch him, unsure what he is going to do next. He parts your thighs widely and lowers himself between them. He kisses and licks at your inner thighs, his hot breathe on your skin piques your arousal.

His mouth moves higher and higher, until his tongue licks a wide stripe through your folds. You immediately gasp.

He continues licking and sucking, his stubble grazing at your inner thighs, a sensation that burns, but not unpleasantly. He is bringing the peak of your pleasure quickly, and you feel the hot tension gathering within you. Your hands reach down to tangle in his curls, which are slightly dishevelled from the busy day. You tug on his hair lightly and he groans against your pussy, a sensation that sends shivers through you.

He continues to work you with his mouth, sucking at your clit and then moving all the way down to penetrate your entrance with his tongue, then dragging it back up and starting again. It is messy and raw and more intensely pleasurable than you could have ever imagined. Your wave of pleasure is about to crash down, and you cry out in warning.

“Joel I’m going to- Ah!” He doesn’t let you finish your sentence, cutting you off into a moan as he increases the pressure of the suction on your clit, alternating with flicking his tongue against it rapidly, pushing you over the edge.

You cry out his name and unravel beneath him, your body shaking with an orgasm far more intense than the first. He continues to lick and suck gently, tasting all of your juices. Not quite taking you into overstimulation, just easing you through as the waves of pleasure subside before pulling away. He slowly makes his way back up your body. When he reaches your lips, he kisses you deeply, and his tongue tastes of your essence.

“I love you.” He whispers against your lips. “You’re perfect.”

Finally, he straightens up, pulling away and removing his boxers. Your eyes widen as you take in the size of his erection.

He notices your reaction. “This ok, darlin’?” He asks calmly.

You nod, still nervous, which he can see from how you bite your lip. He crawls back onto the bed and positions himself between your legs.

“I’ll go as slow as I can baby, if it hurts you tell me, ok?”

You nod.

“Say it, sweetheart.”

“I’ll tell you Joel, I promise.”

“Good.” He says.

He leans down and captures your lips in a kiss. One hand holds him up, the other is guiding his hard length to your entrance. You take a deep breath, trying to relax, and he presses a kiss to your forehead. He slowly begins to push himself into you. You both gasp at that first sensation.

You feel a painful stretch, but it quickly fades as he stops with just the tip inserted in you, giving you time to adjust. He plants kisses all over your face and whispers words of praise and reassurance as he continues to edge into you again.

Finally, he is fully inside of you, and he stops, looking down at you with a caring expression. “This OK, sweetheart?” He asks softly, stroking your hair with his free hand.

You nod.

He begins to move slowly, in and out in a gentle rhythm. You moan softly every time he is fully deep inside you, hitting pleasure spots inside your walls. As time goes on he picks up the pace gradually and thrusts slightly harder, analysing every sound and expression of yours to ensure you remain comfortable.

You feel an urge to wrap your legs around his waist, wanting to feel him even deeper. He grunts in pleasure as you do so. Your connection to him is intense and overwhelming, physically full of him and giving yourself to him in every way.

Next he brings a hand to your clit and his thumb rubs at it gently like before. You feel that this makes your pussy clench around him. He grunts every time it does so.

“Oh, Joel.” You gasp.

He takes your gasp as a cue to increase the pace, and soon he is pounding into you with a steady, rhythmic force. You feel that knot of pleasure building in your core, and you know you won't be able to hold back a release much longer.

Joel's movements become more urgent, and his hand on your clit works faster. Your moans and gasps grow louder, and you feel like you're about to come apart at the seams.

"Come for me, baby," Joel growls, his breath hot against your neck. "I want to feel you come around me."

His words are all you need, and with a cry, you fall over the edge. Waves of pleasure crash over you, and you clench around him tightly as you ride out your orgasm.

As you come down from your high, Joel’s pace is faltering, and with a grunt of your name, you feel him tense up and a hot release spills into you. He collapses a little on top of you and you can’t help but laugh as he knocks the air out of your lungs, crushing you, his body shaking with exertion. He slides his hands under you and squeezes you into him.

You both lay there in silence, trying to catch your breath and ground yourselves from the pleasure you had both experienced. The gentle music continues to play in the background and other than that the only sounds that can be heard are the rise and fall of your breath and an occasional contented sigh from Joel.

Eventually he pulls out from inside you and rolls off of you, pulling you close to his side. You snuggle into his chest, feeling safe and loved in his embrace.

“Was I as good as you imagined? Didn't let you down?” He teases gently.

“Even better than I could have imagined.” You admit. “Can we do it again?” You say.

He laughs and kisses your head. “Of course, Mrs Miller. As much as you like.” He says, running his hand through your hair.

You both lay there, enjoying the peaceful afterglow of your lovemaking. You drift to sleep, ready to wake up for the first day of the rest of your life as Joel’s wife.

Read more pre-outbreak Joel smut in Country Lovin’

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Thank you for reading! Let me know if you would like to be on a Joel taglist, or permanent Pedro taglist <3

[boxofbonesfic]

Title: 𝙳𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚎𝚕𝚐ä𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚛 [3]

Pairing: Dark!Ransom x Reader, Lloyd Hansen x Reader

Summary: Your husband’s twin brother has always made you uncomfortable, and after two years of marriage, you finally find out why. 

Warnings: Obsessive Behavior, Possessive Behavior, Stalking, Kidnapping, Basement-wife, Gaslighting, Manipulation, Breeding kink, Smut, Darkfic, Dead Dove: Do not eat!

Word Count: 6,133

A/N: oof. this one is a long one, but i really hope you all enjoy. no smut, but be assured… it’s on it’s way. 😈

previous

Dinner is privately catered, a stoic chef cooking for the four of you in the big communal kitchen in the largest villa, the one you were staying in with Ransom and Lloyd. You’re practically ravenous, splitting your time between watching him impatiently through the large open archway into the kitchen and staring enviously at Nathalie’s over-full glass of wine. 

 “Don’s supposed to be getting here tomorrow, he and Kathy are coming with mom and dad,” she says, and Lloyd nods. Your brother had refused Lloyd’s offer of airfare, as had your father. They were both hard-headed and cynical on the best of days, so you assumed it had been because they thought he was trying to buy them off. If he was, it had certainly worked with Nat. Who, despite your mutual dislike of Lloyd, had not been able to stop thanking him. He preened under her praise of course, peacock that he was. 

 “I can’t wait to meet the in-laws.” He says, hoisting a glass of wine as if in a toast to your absent parents. 

 “My in-laws,” Ransom reminds him, and Lloyd makes a face you can’t discern beyond vague irritation.

 “That’s what I said,” he snaps back, his lip curling. 

 You roll your eyes at their bickering. “When are your parents getting here again, babe?” You ask, talking over Lloyd’s irritated muttering. Ransom cocks his head. 

 “Day after tomorrow. But they’re not staying here, you know my mom. Full amenities.” He shrugs dismissively. “Why?”

 “Just curious,” you say, eyeing the chef over his shoulder again. It looks like he’s plating up the food, which you’re grateful for, because you’re hungry enough to eat a horse. You don’t exactly hate the idea of the Thrombeys staying somewhere else. The plates come out hot, and you’re grateful to be served first, picking up your fork immediately. The chicken is flavorful and well seasoned, and your eyes roll as you bite in. 

 “Oh my God,” you say, and Nat releases a similarly pleased groan.

 “Right? This is—Christ. Do they rent this place out like, monthly?” She leans over to elbow your brother-in-law. “Because I would definitely move here. Only if the personal chef is included, though.” You eye Nat’s glass of wine jealously as you eat, knowing it would pair perfectly with the chicken. Probably better with her fish, but I can’t eat that. You know you shouldn’t be sullenly coveting your sister’s dietary freedoms, after all, she’s not the one who decided to go ahead and get pregnant. 

 You wonder what Ransom’s parents will have to say about the baby—you know part of the purpose of this trip is to butter them up to the idea of being grandparents. Linda wasn’t exactly the most… supportive of you and Ransom getting together, her cold acceptance the one constant every time you were forced to interact. Maybe, you think, placing an absent hand on your belly as you push the food around your plate, she’ll finally find something to be happy about. 

  “Hey, hello,” Nathalie snaps her fingers in front of your face to get your attention. You scowl, slapping her hands away as she laughs. She’s never quite grown out of her irritating younger sibling behavior, and you don’t want to smile at her childish antics, but you can’t help it. “I was thinking maybe we could go into town tomorrow, maybe see the sights, take some pictures—”

 “That won’t work,” Lloyd replies before either you or Ransom have time to consider it. “I have work.” 

 “Work?” Nathalie scoffs. “What work? We’re on vacation,” she says, shaking her head. “And besides, we can just meet you after, can’t we?” 

 “No.” Lloyd’s voice is oddly strained, like he’s angry at the suggestion even being made. “If we can’t all go, we should stay here.” You frown—you don’t like him snapping at Nat like that, and you make your displeasure known. 

 “Lloyd this is our trip too. We’re allowed to do things.” He cuts his eyes at you before they soften just a little at the edges. 

 “The two of you shouldn’t go places alone.” You get the feeling that isn’t really what he wants to say. “The town is nice, but it can get… dicey.” It’s your turn to roll your eyes. “Besides, it���s a family trip—”

 “Honestly, Lloyd, if you’re upset at being left out, just say so,” you snap, reaching rather forcefully for your water glass. It takes a moment for you to realize that everyone is staring at you—Lloyd’s eyes angry, Ransom’s amused, and Nathalie’s worried. You’re tired of him nagging you, his secretive smiles, knowing little glances—you’re already sick of it. You know they’ll probably chalk it up to hormones, and you’re willing to let them believe it, ignoring their looks as you focus on your food. 

 “How about we make plans tomorrow?” Nathalie says, her voice small. You know she’s capitulating to save herself having to sit through the argument she can tell is brewing. And hell, maybe it is hormones, but you’re not going to put up with Lloyd bossing you around all week. You don’t take part in the small talk that creeps up around the table in the wake of your outburst, and you feel a shameful amount of pleasure at having thrown Lloyd for a loop. For once, he’s broody and irritable instead of smug, and you can’t help but revel in it. 

 Nathalie excuses herself back to her little cabana, and you to the suite you share with Ransom, knowing he’ll be there soon to chastise you. You pop into the shower, standing gratefully underneath the scalding hot spray. It’s the one thing you’ve never really understood, your husband’s staunch defense of his brother. There’s little you know Ransom would deny Lloyd if he asked, and Lloyd never hesitates to take advantage of his brother’s good will. 

 When you exit the shower, your prediction has officially come to fruition. Ransom is sitting on the bed, his arms crossed as he purses his lips at you. 

 “Sweetheart, picking fights is not going to make things easier.” You roll your eyes. 

 “He’s a prick,” you huff. “He’s controlling and rude and smug—”

 “And he’s trying to get closer to you—to us. He wants to be a real part of our family,” Ransom says, his eyes dropping pointedly to your belly before he drags them back up to your face. “Why can’t you try and get along with him, too?” You huff as your husband stands and walks over to you. Stubbornly, you don’t return his hug, and he chuckles, pressing a kiss into your hair. When he doesn’t let go, you sigh, wrapping your arms around his broad torso in return. You turn your head, pressing your cheek to his chest. You catch sight of the bracelet on the dresser, and sigh again. 

 “I am trying to get along with him,” you say petulantly, and Ransom fixes you with a deadpan stare as he leans away. “Fine. I can… I can try harder. For you,” you add the last part pointedly. “I know you guys are close, and I don’t… Ugh. I don’t want to get in the way of that. I just… I didn’t like how he was talking to Nat,” you admit, and Ransom laughs. You do too, even as you slap playfully at his arm in Nathalie’s defense. 

 “Spoiled rotten, both of them,” Ransom cedes that to you, at least—even if he has to incriminate Nathalie in the process. Which you don’t really mind—it’s not like it isn’t true. “Let’s give him this one day, okay? We’ll all go to the beach after he’s done work.”

 “Fine.” You say, shaking your head as you move toward your suitcase. The resort staff had offered to unpack it for you, but you were less than keen at having a stranger go through your things, so you rummage around until you’ve found one of Ransom’s old university t-shirts. 

“I don’t even know what work he could be doing here, like five-thousand miles away from his job,” you mutter as you climb into bed. With only a touch of shame, you watch your husband get undressed, leaving a trail of clothes behind him as he goes to shower too. 

 “Did you take your vitamins, Sweetheart?” Ransom calls from the bathroom, and you curse. You aren’t used to your new regimen of prenatal vitamins and supplements, and you grimace, remembering the size of them.

 “No, but I’ll take them tomorrow,” you call, and Ransom pokes his head out of the bathroom, a stern look on his face. “Fine, now,” you climb back out of bed and grab your toiletry bag. You’d been surprised when Ransom had insisted on you seeing the family doctor after your own, and doubly so when he had prescribed you a veritable laundry list of pills. Even now as you line up the bottles on the dresser, you feel intimidated by their sheer number. Vitamins for you, vitamins for the baby, supplements for you, supplements for the baby, something for your blood pressure, for the morning sickness—too many to count. 

 Ransom gives you a satisfied nod before ducking back into the bathroom. You want to stay awake until he comes out—you’re not finished with this Lloyd conversation, not by a long shot—but your eyelids begin to droop before the water even shuts off. Your awareness is patchy, brief moments of clarity as it becomes harder and harder for you to surface from underneath the pitch black weight of unconsciousness. 

 You’re alone, and then Ransom is in the bed with you, and then he isn’t, and then his voice, and then—

 Nothing. 

 —

 You greet your first morning in the villa groggily. The morning sun streaming in through the gap in the blinds paints a blinding stripe across your face as you squint. There’s a chalk-dust taste on your tongue when you sit up, and you grimace, swallowing dryly. Each of your limbs feels like it weighs easily twice as much as normal as you drag yourself to the bathroom, nausea twisting your stomach into an acid mess. After your—now routine—session of heaving up absolutely nothing, you rinse your mouth out in the sink. 

 The digital clock on the dresser tells you its half past ten, easily an hour or two after you usually wake up in the morning. The villa is quiet, though, no signs of Ransom—or Lloyd. You chalk it up to luck as you pad down the short set of steps into the empty kitchen. You can hear the ocean if you listen hard, just underneath the sound of the comforting breeze passing through the trees before it flows in through the wide open windows. You open the fridge, and find evidence of breakfast—sliced fruit, cold pancakes. 

 Ignoring the pancakes, you grab the plate of fruit, pulling off the saran-wrap covering it before popping a date into your mouth. 

 “Oh, you’re up. How’s your stomach this morning?”  You glance briefly around the open door of the fridge at your husband, before closing it. 

 “Ugh. I puked again this morning,” you say, swallowing at the memory of the acid bile on your tongue. “Not looking forward to nine months of this.” You pop another piece of mango into your mouth. 

 “Well, you know they say there are good remedies for morning sickness.” There’s a suggestiveness in his voice that makes you laugh, a bashful heat rising in your cheeks. You shake your head, plucking an orange slice from the plate before looking fully up at—

 Your chest tightens—this isn’t Ransom at all. 

 It’s Lloyd. 

 How he’d managed to sound exactly like Ransom you aren’t sure—their voices are similar, but certainly not identical. You hadn’t even realized at a glance, his telltale mustache missing, as were the thick signet rings on his fingers. The smile on his face remains disgustingly innocent, as if he doesn’t know what he’s done.

 “Something wrong?” He asks, parroting Ransom’s drawl with terrifying accuracy. 

 You swallow, suddenly uncomfortably aware of the fact that the hem of Ransom’s t-shirt skirts the tops of your thighs. And more than that, you are aware of the fact that you are alone.

 “I th—” The words stick in your throat. “I thought. Um. You were Ransom.” Your voice is tight, like your white knuckled grip on the fruit plate. Lloyd’s eyebrows rise, and he clucks his tongue, a apologetic little pout forming on his lips. 

 “I’m sorry, Princess.” You know he isn’t sorry, he isn’t sorry at all. “Even the best get us mixed up from time to time.” He breezes by you, making a show of looking in the fridge. He’s so close to you that you can feel the heat of him, smell his cologne. Your body is tense and frozen as he rummages through the fridge behind you, too close for you to move without touching him. 

 He’s doing this on purpose.

 You know the thought is unreasonable, but you can’t help thinking it anyway. Lloyd hadn’t claimed to be Ransom, not really. It was you who had made the assumption, and to be fair, you hadn’t even voiced it. He just didn’t correct me. As per usual, Lloyd’s proverbial cup fucking runneth over with plausible deniability, and you’re stuck debating whether what you’re feeling is even real at all. 

 After what feels like an eternity, Lloyd closes the fridge. The few extra inches of space the shut door allows you to slip around to the other side of the kitchen island, keeping your eyes on him the whole time. Lloyd leans forward to pluck handful of grapes off of the tray. 

 “No need to be so anxious, Princess. It was an honest mistake.” His smile is too amused for the situation, and it unnerves you. “I won’t tell if you won’t.” 

 “There’s nothing to tell.” You say, wishing your words had come out in the slow and measured way you’d meant for them to. Instead, they’re rushed, hard. 

 Defensive. 

 “Exactly.” Lloyd pops the last of the grapes into his mouth, and claps his hands together in a manner you know is meant to be agreeable. Try to get along, says the needful Ransom in the back of your mind. For me. 

 “I’m going to, um. Go and get dressed.” You gesture loosely at yourself. “If you could send Ransom my way, I’d appreciate it.” 

 “My pleasure.” He purrs. You retreat back to your room, careful not to rush. You feel Lloyd’s eyes on you the whole way, and it isn’t until you’re in the bedroom with the door shut and your weight leaned heavily against it that the feeling dissipates. You’re tying the bandeau on the back of your swimsuit top when Ransom comes in, and for a moment you forget the nagging feeling as he sweeps you into his arms, nuzzling the side of your neck affectionately. 

 “Sweetheart, I’m glad you’re up.” He smooths greedy hands over your hips before tapping your ass sharply through your linen shorts. “Almost makes me want to take you back to bed.” 

 You giggle, slapping at his wandering hands. 

 “I was promised a beach outing,” you reply, reaching around him for the matching blouse. “You can take me to bed after.” 

 “I’ll remember that,” Ransom replies, pulling his own trunks out of his suitcase. He’s already starting to tan, freckles appearing over the bridge of his nose and the tops of his cheeks. You can’t help but inspect him closely, especially after… you shake your head, adjusting your top in the mirror. 

 “You’re staring, baby. Do I have something in my teeth?” He asks, cocking his head at you. 

 “No, no,” you say quickly, shaking your head. There’s nothing to tell. “It’s nothing.” 

 —

 “Baby girl!” Your father sweeps you up into a crushing hug, your mother fluttering around from your left to your right like an excited hummingbird. “You don’t know how happy we are to see you.” He plants an embarrassingly loud kiss on your cheek, and then moves out of the way to allow your mother her turn. Nathalie sucks her teeth from beside you. 

 “Where’s my warm welcome?” She complains jokingly, crossing her arms. “Am I chopped liver or something over here?” Your mother clucks her tongue at your sister over your shoulder. 

 “We see you every Sunday for dinner Nathalie,” she says, and over her shoulder you see your father roll his eyes. 

 “Yeah, and every time you need money.” He gripes, but moves to hug her anyway. 

 “Now that is a grossly unfair assessment of my character,” Nathalie sniffs, ignoring your father’s outstretched arms in favor of giving him a cold handshake. He laughs, and you wonder if the booming sound of it travels all the way back to the gate from here. Your father has always been a cheerful man, and you see that the long trip hasn’t dulled that disposition. The only thing that seems to be putting a damper on his mood is—

 “Sir. I trust your trip was comfortable,” Ransom says, leaning forward to shake your father’s hand. He regards your husband with a cool, muted smile before returning the gesture. You aren’t sure why your father—and your brother, who has disappeared from the back of the shuttle with your sister-in-law—have taken such a dislike to him. It had been tough work convincing him that Ransom wasn’t just some rich weirdo looking for a good time, and to be quite honest, you aren’t sure if he’s entirely convinced, even now. 

 “It was.” 

 You could cut the fucking tension with a knife, you think, resisting the urge to pinch the bridge of your nose. 

 “So, um. Are you guys hungry? And where’s Don? He and Kathy have been looking for a bathroom for like, ever,” you mutter, unable to resist trying to diffuse the tension with chatter. If your father was cool on Ransom, you knew he actively disliked Lloyd. 

 Getting piss-drunk at my wedding didn’t fucking help, you think grimly, looking between your dissatisfied father and your husband. You know Ransom—he isn’t going to bow and scrape for your father’s approval. And, you’d had this argument before. 

 “We’re going to need help unloading all the bags.” Your mother answers, and you look at her confusedly. 

 “All the bags? Guys this is like, a four day trip.” A disbelieving little laugh escapes you before you can swallow it. “How much did you pack?” Your inquisition is interrupted by the sight of your brother, Nathalie worming her way in between you to point him out. He and his wife are pushing one of the resort’s little dollies, no doubt with the intent of loading it up with suitcases. You peek around the back of the van, and your mouth drops at the veritable mountain of suitcases.  

 “Squirt,” your brother greets you, and you scowl at the nickname. 

 “You have got to stop calling me that. We’re all grown up now, Don,” you say, and he laughs. 

 “When you’re taller than me, we’ll talk about it.” 

 Everyone seems overjoyed to see you, and you wonder guiltily if you really have been away so long. Nat is prone to complaining about the distance between you, but you generally chalked that up to her clinginess. And sure, your mother usually found a way to lament seeing you now on holidays and special occasions, but…

 “I bet you’re all exhausted,” Lloyd replies, interrupting the chain of your thoughts. “Why don’t we get you guys unpacked—we’ve got reservations in town at nine.” You turn to look at him in confusion. No one had told you about dinner reservations. And by the easy smile on Ransom’s face, he certainly isn’t surprised by the news, and neither is Nathalie. 

 You seem to be the only person out of the loop. 

 Ransom squeezes your hand, drawing shapes on the back of it with his thumb as you all make your way into the main villa for coffee and presumably awkward chit-chat. About as soon as you walk inside and kick off your flip-flops, Nathalie drags your mother and Kathy off to take in the amazing view, leaving you alone with the men. They seem about as eager to talk to each other as you are to play mediator, and you leave them in awkward silence to get ready for dinner. 

 When Ransom edges into the bedroom, you’re already dressed, sweeping your hair up into a messy, loose bun. He hums with approval as he approaches you, smoothing his hands appreciatively over your bare shoulders. His lips follow, and you can’t help but giggle. Your eyes meet his in the mirror, and Ransom’s playful smile turns smarmy as you watch his gaze travel down to your breasts, pushed up by the bra you’re wearing. 

 “You look good enough to eat.” 

 “You like it?” You ask, turning to face him, and he chuckles. 

 “If we hadn’t already made dinner plans…” He trails off, cupping your cheek with one palm. Ransom’s fingers trace down the side of your throat, catching at the delicate silver chain nestled there. The pendant rests just above your breasts, a tear-drop shaped sapphire winking in the light from the vanity. It was Ransom’s first birthday gift to you, the first one of many extravagant displays of affection.

 “You should wear your bracelet,” he says, nodding at Lloyd’s gift. You haven’t put it on since he’d given it to you, and you wonder if Ransom’s suggestion is because he’s noticed. “It would match with your necklace.” He picks it up, and begins fastening it around your wrist without your input. You eye yourself skeptically in the mirror when he’s finished, holding up your arm so that you can see the jewelry together. It does match—absurdly well. Even down to the little leaf designs on the prongs holding the stones in place. 

 Weird.

 It does look nice with the flowy, silky taffeta dress you’re wearing to dinner. 

 “I still can’t believe how much this cost,” you mutter. The stones sparkle in the light as you turn your hand. 

 “Oh?” Ransom asks, glancing at you in the mirror as he buttons up his shirt. “How much?” You cock your head at him. 

 “What?” 

 “How much?” He repeats the question casually, like he doesn’t understand why you’re looking at him like he’s grown another head. “What,” he asks with a little laugh. “Lloyd tell you not to tell me, or something?” 

 “Fif—It was fifteen-thousand dollars, Ran.” You know you’re staring, but you can’t help it. “You told me.” Like something clicks in his brain, Ransom makes an oh face, and then smacks a hand against his forehead. 

 “Ugh. Jet-lag,” he says, shaking his head. “I forgot.” He smiles at you warmly in the mirror as he finishes buttoning up his cuffs. You want to chalk it up to his rich upbringing, after all, fifteen-thousand dollars is a paltry sum to someone with Thrombey money. Easy to forget. 

 Isn’t it? 

 You and Ransom greet your parents in the living area, and both they and your brother and sister-in-law look much refreshed. Lloyd is there too, Ransom’s spitting image in perfectly reversed colors. You know you shouldn’t feel… a way about him looking at you, about his eyes traveling slowly down the bodice of your dress to where your hands are clasped in front of your belly. His brows rise a fraction at the sight of the bracelet, and the corners of his mouth turn up in a little grin. You’d describe it as almost triumphant—but it’s gone just as quickly as it had come, and you’re left wondering if you’d even seen it at all. 

 “Are we all here and ready?” Ransom asks, and the quiet murmur in the room ceases. You’re still not quite sure how he does that, how he commands all of the attention in a room with no effort at all. 

 “No, we’re missing Nathalie—where is that girl? I’m starving,” your mother replies, beginning to dig into her purse for her phone. As she pulls it out, Nathalie rushes through the sliding door to the patio, still tugging on her shoes. 

 “Sorry, sorry, I was on the phone with Jaiden,” she mutters in apology, rolling her eyes. “He is so clingy.” She smooths her hands over her dress, and then claps them together. “But I am ready to go! Starving.” Your family begins moving outside toward the cars, and Nathalie slides her arm through yours. 

 “If he’s so clingy, why didn’t he come with?” You ask suspiciously, and she rolls her eyes a second time. 

 “He… would have. I just, I don’t think, um. Meeting the family is the best idea. We’re not, you know. Serious.” You poke her with one outstretched finger as you walk, and she swats at your hand in protest. 

 “Does he know that?”

 She snorts. 

 “He should. We don’t do anything but f—study.” She looks quickly in your father’s direction. He’s busy getting into Ransom’s rental, but you know that doesn’t mean he isn’t listening carefully. 

 The ride to the restaurant is a quiet one. You can’t quiet your thoughts no matter how much you try, and it’s noticeable—your mother tries to fill the gap in the conversation left by your absence, trying in vain to get your father to acknowledge Ransom’s conversation hooks with more than terse one-liners.

Fifteen-thousand dollars. You don’t know why you’re still thinking about it but you are, turning the thought over in your head as if it were a pebble in your shoe. 

 Fifteen-thousand dollars. You would think it was a sum you wouldn’t soon forget—but Ransom had. It wasn’t just that he had forgotten—when you’d been on the plane, he’d delivered the dollar amount with offhanded familiarity, it just didn’t… it didn’t make sense. Does it have to? 

 It feels like you’ve only just gotten into the car when you’re piling back out of it again. The restaurant is like something out of a movie, set into the cliffside as the sound of crashing waves echoes up from the rocks below. You lean over the railing, marveling at the sight of the moon’s face reflected in the dark, shifting waters. 

 “Oh you look so pretty,” Nathalie gushes, reaching for her phone. “Let me take a picture—Ransom get in here, God,” she gestures at your husband. “This is a Kodak moment.” The smell of him is comforting and familiar as he presses close, tucking you into his body as he tilts your head up for a kiss. “Aww, that’s cute. Stay just like that!” He brushes his lips against yours, a soft laugh puffing across your cheeks. 

 “Bossy, isn’t she?” He asks, and you laugh too. 

 “I think we’ve had this conversation.”

 Ransom wouldn’t lie to me. You’re still thinking about it—fifteen-fucking-thousand dollars—how could you not be? But you want to believe him. After all, what would he have to gain by lying? You lean forward and kiss him fully, and you feel his fingers sink appreciatively into the curves of your hips through the layers of your dress. He wouldn’t. 

 “Alright, alright lovebirds, I’ve got enough pictures,” Nathalie says. Ransom kisses you one more time—out of spite, you’re sure—before he grabs your hand, and you make your way into the restaurant with your family. 

 “I had the terrace reserved,” Lloyd says, a haughty sort of pride evident in the words. No one else seems to notice or mind, though. Your mother gasps appropriately at the sight of the candlelit table, and as she and Nathalie titter about how beautiful it is, you swear you see Lloyd’s head inflate two sizes. 

 “It’s just lovely,” your mother gushes, trailing her fingers along the silky tablecloth. The plates are all ceramic pieces, and you can tell they’re handmade, probably by a local artist. There are seashells set along the table too, in between the place settings and around the glasses. 

 “It is lovely,” you say, admitting it begrudgingly as Lloyd basks in your praise. “Thank you, Lloyd.” 

 “Anything for you, Princess.” He purrs. “We’re all family now.” His grin makes something cold settle at the base of your spine, and you watch as he turns to the host. “A bottle of Prosecco for the table, please.” He leans in close, and whispers loudly, “And a bottle of sparkling cider, please.” You wince. Your parents are also still blissfully unaware of your condition, and you certainly don’t want LLoyd tipping them off. You glare at him, but either he doesn’t notice, or he doesn’t care as he gestures at the the table. 

 “Please, sit, everyone.” Lloyd holds court like Ransom does, and you hate to admit that you find him equally enthralling. He’s just as good at telling stories, at commanding rapt attention, just like your husband. Ransom pulls out a chair for you, and you feel your face heat. He still makes you feel like a giddy newlywed, even though you’re staring down the barrel of two years in just a couple of months. You sit, and Ransom takes up residence at your right. Much to your chagrin, Lloyd sandwiches you in on the other side. 

 You stop yourself from shooting him a sharp look—there aren’t any assigned seats at this table, and unfortunately for you, it seems like no one else is privy to your discomfort, all seating themselves without issue. You try to ignore him, propping open the menu. There are little English translations underneath the Greek, and you squint, trying to see them in the low light. 

 “Would you like some help, Princess?” Lloyd asks, and you hate that his voice manages to be silky smooth even through the thickness of his Boston accent. A glance at Ransom tells you he’s trying to engage your brother, and surprisingly doing a fair job of it without your help. Lloyd’s thigh brushes up against your own as he scoots closer, his arm going around the back of your chair while he leans in close. 

 He smells like Ransom.

 The thought is unsettling. They’re probably wearing the same cologne or something, but either way, you don’t like not having an additional physical tell. 

 “All of the seafood is down here —no fish for you, though, right, Princess?” He hums amusedly. “Red meat here, chicken here, pasta, and salads.” 

 “Thank you.” You smile curtly at him retreating a few inches to the other side of your seat. To your dismay, he follows. His fingers brush your bare shoulder as he presses in tighter. You know that to anyone looking, it seems like he’s helping you. You aren’t sure why you feel differently, like there’s a different sort of intent simmering underneath his innocent touches. 

 “Oh, any time.” He lingers for another second or two before settling himself firmly back into his seat. You release a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

 Fifteen-thousand dollars. You purse your lips, pushing the thought back out of your head with effort. Ransom’s hand covers yours, and you turn to him gratefully. The conversation around the table falls to a low hum as the waiter approaches. When the orders are all taken, you see a look pass between Ransom and Lloyd, one you don’t understand. A thin tendril of jealousy curls in your gut, even though you don’t want it to. They’re brothers, twins, of course you can’t be privy to every aspect of their relationship. 

 It doesn’t stop the sting, though. 

 Ransom stands, clearing his throat as he clasps his hands behind his back. 

 “I just wanted to thank you, Phil, Bonnie, Don, Kathy, Nathalie, for joining us. Family is… very important to me, to my brother and I,” he gestures at Lloyd. “And I know blending two very different families is difficult, at best.” He looks at your father when he says it, and to your surprise, he nods. Ransom produces a black velvet box from his pocket. You feel your breath catch in your chest as he turns to you. 

 “When we first started dating, I remember you told me you were looking for something solid. Something forever, and I quote ‘like my parents have.’” Your eye darts quickly over to your parents to gauge their reaction. Your mother’s lips curve up into a soft smile, and even your father looks rather touched. “You told me about how hard things were, when you were younger, the way your parents sacrificed everything to make sure that you could stand here, with me, now, and I thought to myself ‘those people gave me the greatest gift, and they don’t even know it’.” He laughs, shaking his head a little. 

 Ransom pushes his chair out of the way, and walks around to the other side of the table where your mother is sitting. 

 “This is for you. It isn’t anything compared to what you’ve given me,” Ransom looks lovingly at you and warm pride fills you at the sight. “But it was the best I could do.” He places the little jewelry box in front of her. “Please, open it.” 

 “You really didn’t have—” Your mother goes silent, covering her mouth with one hand as she looks at your father. “Phillip, I…” 

 “How did you get this?” Your father’s voice is tight with emotion as your mother reaches with trembling fingers into the box. Threaded between her fingers is a delicate silver chain, with a heavy looking pendant—a locket, hanging from it. You recognize it, but only because you’ve seen it about a dozen times in all of the family albums. 

“We-we sold this.” He lets a disbelieving little laugh as your mother holds it up. “We had to. Two babies, and another on the way—we couldn’t let them cut off the power, or the heat, so…”

 “It was my grandmothers,” your mother’s voice is thickly laced with tears as she places it carefully back into the box. 

 “Well, when she told me that, I thought maybe I could track it down. I had to enlist my brother’s help, of course,” he says, nodding in Lloyd’s direction. “Couldn’t have done it alone.” 

 Lloyd nods graciously in a way that tells you he’s pleased. “Amazing the things you find when you’ve got high enough clearance.” 

 He winks. Your mother is openly crying now, dabbing at her eyes with her napkin so as not to muss her makeup too much. To your astonishment, your father’s eyes are wet too. And though he doesn’t shed any tears, you don’t mistake it for anything less than complete astonishment and gratefulness. He stands up and sniffs, his mustache wiggling above his lip as he walks over to your husband and hugs him, clapping him loudly on the back. 

 “Welcome to the family.” He pats Ransom again between the shoulders with a clap. “Son.” 

 Fifteen-thousand dollars. 

 Your father nods at Lloyd before sitting back down, and your mother carefully tucks the jewelry box into her purse. 

 “Government clearance, huh?” Don says, nodding respectfully at Lloyd. “What’s that like?” 

 Ransom sits back down beside you, and you turn to him, squeezing his hand as he settles back in. Servers come out with drinks, and suddenly the table seems more lively than it was ten minutes ago, the terrace brighter and more welcoming against the starry night and dark sea. You feel somehow disconnected from it all, though, as though a glass pane stands between you and everyone else as the thought rings again in your unwilling head—fifteen-thousand dollars. 

 “I can’t believe you found that for my mom,” you say quietly, and Ransom smiles at you, shrugging. “That was like, ten Christmases worth of gifts all in one.” 

 “Do you think that means I can skip ten Christmases?” He asks, and you laugh, shoving at his arm. 

 “Why didn’t you tell me?” 

 “I didn’t know if we were going to be able to get it. Plus I didn’t want Nathalie getting it out of you.” You know you should feel happy, this is a big stride, and a happy night. You want to be happy. And most of all, you want to believe. You want to more than anything. Because you already know where you’ll end up if you don’t. 

 You know where the thin, winding thread of that distrust leads, and you don’t even want to think it. It’s such a silly chain of if, then’s that you don’t want to follow it all the way through to the end, not when you can be happy. 

 Because if Ransom is lying, then it wasn’t him on the plane at all—

 It was Lloyd. 

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Thank you for reading! Please check out my masterlist for other, similar works, and follow my library blog, @box-of-bones-library for updates. ❤️

[inkybinkyboink]

urinetown headcanons (under the cut) while i wait for my headphones to charge >:)

there are. so many.

hope is a total plant mom

her place is like. decked OUT in plants. they are her pride and joy

just like. assume that they all have water. for now.

bobby does not get it. at all. but he's so supportive

bobby and hope get a puppy together and the puppy is scared of loud noises but so is bobby so when hope vacuums they hide in the broom closet together

officer lockstock watches drag race like an olympic sport. it's his version of like a laker's game or a yankees game or whatever

avid bianca del rio stan and i will die on that hill

no sorry i just gotta take a second to like.

lockstock 100% lives in like. your grandparents house. it's decorated the same way. blankets over chairs and couches, plants, LOTS of books, antiques, that sort of thing. vintage but like. humble?

officer barrel collects coins

you're gonna look at this man and tell me he doesnt collect coins?

you're lying

ms. pennywise is a tea fanatic

lesbian hot blades harry

little sally's favorite movie is Coraline

and she definitely takes apart toys and puts them back together to make little frankensteinian creatures like sid in toy story

lockstock would make a hella cool university english professor

tiny tom believes that the moon landing was faked

hope sews

ms pennywise's favorite book is definitely like wuthering heights or something

personally. i think. as someone who's played barrel. that were he given the opportunity to come to terms with his own identity, he would go and sincerely apologize to everyone he's hurt over the years.

like he probably wouldn't be forgiven, and i don't know if he deserves to be, but i think he would at least recognize the severity of his actions

lockstock taught little sally how to roller skate

little sally has an ant farm kit

caldwell b. cladwell has an eerie amount of world war 1 and 2 books.

mcqueen and millenium marathon euphoria together

fipp collects rocks and minerals

barrel lowkey knows how to cook a good ass meal

little becky two shoes is the type of person who you run into leaning against a wall smoking a cigarette while it's pouring rain and if you talk to her you're getting unskippable lore

kinda like your wine aunt but on drugs

little sally made lockstock a friendship bracelet once

idk i kinda feel like lockstock had a kid once and then they like. passed away or something. i just feel like lockstock has a tragic backstory but i dont know what it is

ma strong gets migraines and it got passed down to bobby

*chants* sick fics sick fics sick fics

ok i have a theory that the amenity numbers correspond with street numbers. so it's called amenity number nine because it's on ninth avenue. that way the numbers also still correspond to the quality of the toilets.

so the cops would have jurisdiction based on where the amenities are. that way it makes sense that they're the only two cops, because they only have jurisdiction in that particular area.

ok im done :)

[eretzyisrael]

Keeping this colourful Jewish language alive

Most people are familiar with Jewish languages like Ladino and Yiddish, but there are many more Jewish languages that are spoken throughout the world. Writing in Alma, Vicky Sweiry Tsur  grew up in a home where Baghdadi Judeo-Arabic was spoken by grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles. She has been collecting words and expressions in the dialect. Here are her top ten:

/>A letter written by the Chief Rabbi of Baghdad in Judeo-Arabic using a script called Hetzi-Kalmus

1. Wakka mazzalem (May their luck run out)

Let’s start off with a relatively mild insult! This one is quite straightforward. Someone is doing something bad and you want them to stop. As so much of Middle Eastern culture stems from the idea of the evil eye and luck, it figures that somewhere along the way we might want someone’s luck to run out.

2. Asht eedak (May your hands be blessed)

You would say this as a compliment to the person who cooked the food you are enjoying. Once you have taken a bite and discovered that it’s oh so good, you ask God to bless the hands that made it. When you think about it, languages that don’t have this phrase are severely lacking.

3. Bil a’eefi (In good health)

You say this when someone is wearing new clothes, enjoying the food you have prepared or admiring a gift you gave them. It could also be the response to asht eedak. It’s full of love for those close to us. We want them to continue to be able to enjoy this and other things in the best of health. Amen v’Amen!

4. Ayouni (My eyes)

When you use this word, you aren’t literally talking about your own eyes. It’s used as a term of endearment. It’s as if you are saying, “You are as precious to me as my eyes.” I remember it being said to me when I was little, and now I say it to my kids.

5. Wayhid kayinfikh il lakhi (One person flatters the other)

I love this one! It is used to describe two or more fools who flatter each other. Each fool believes the other’s words and so they believe themselves to be wise. I’m sure many of you have encountered incompetents to whom this applies! I know I have!

6. Lesh la? (Why not?) Khutrush? (What for?)

My sister and I joke that for our grandmother Aziza, of blessed memory, these two phrases went together. It seemed like anytime we suggested something to her, she would answer with one of the two. /> “Do you want to go shopping?” “Lesh la!” /> “Do you want to go shopping?” “Khutrush?”

7. Esh in’sawi? (What can be done?)

This phrase is for when you resign yourself to accept that something is not quite as you would like it to be. This is how it is. I have no control over this situation. What can I do?

8. Skitti u’Khalia (Be quiet and leave it!)

If someone is talking about something bad that might happen, it is shut down by this phrase. The deeply superstitious Baghdadi Jews believed that you could set the evil eye in motion just by vocalizing something bad. Don’t even talk about it because you might make it happen.

9. Bas baqqa! (Enough already!)

You know when someone just goes on and on about something? When someone is moaning non-stop about a predicament that really doesn’t seem that bad? When the kids are fighting over the remote control? That’s when this one comes in handy! It’s short, sharp and to the point.

10. Dakh mookhak oo laa-bit nafsak (May your brains get tired and your tummy feel queasy)

This is pure poetry! I can’t say I use it much because it’s not one that comes to my mind at the right times, but I wish I did. It’s the sort of curse that can only be said in this wonderfully expressive language.

Read article in full

Blessings and curses of Judeo-Arabic

More about Judeo-Arabic

[callmejudgement]

UA University Script

About Me

Name: Mako 魔子

Trickmaster hero – Miss.Magician

Age: 18

Birthday: ??? Letting fate decide fr.

Height: 5ft 7in

Quirk: Magician - which provides me with 8 tricks to fool reality. Flame jumping,illusions, historical projections, damage transfer, steel card, air bullets, paper figurine substitutes, underwater breathing trick (more on my quirk here)

Physical abilities: incredible balance, coordination, flexibility and agility. Danger intuition.

Backstory: I literally just grew up in a happy family. Living rich and lavish. My dad is a retired top pro hero and my mom is an underground hero that works for the government. I have an older sister following in my mom’s footsteps and older brother whom is a researcher. My family often trains together and we do a lot of family activities together. I’ve been friends with Shinso since middle school and I was close with Shotō for like a year in elementary school. We’re literally twins with our heterophobia and dual color hair 👁️👅👁️.

My goal in this reality it literally to be my silliest, most autistic self. Literally me if I never started masking so people wouldn’t call me weird.

Plot (or the lack there of)

The war arc doesn’t happen. I’m not dealing with allat.

Bakugou doesn’t get kidnapped and faces appropriate consequences for his actions and behavior (I’m talking about him being a bully).

The other students quirks are stronger (I hate that Bakugou had it easy. I’m a purebred hater).

Momo was trained and is more skilled at using her quirk (she’s rich why didn’t her parents hire a trainer for her canonically?)

Tenko’s mom leaves with the grandparents and his sister before he loses control. He now attends UA.

OFA is still out there plotting I guess.

Fusions (borrowed idea from priicklleshifts on tiktok).

Overhaul is good and works at UA in support heroes/medical.

Eri is not abused and has a decent relationship with Chisaki even though he is an overworking germaphobe.

Events like the sports festival only starts to happen at the second trimester (bc why tf did it happen on like the 2nd week of school?)

Japan

Due to its high safety and previously low birth rate, Japan now has many immigrants from all over

Super high tech I’m talking holographic screens, robots in the streets, virtual reality, etc

There’s a National and international tournament where schools compete to see who has the best upcoming heroes.

UA

UA is a university because why are them kids fighting?

Amenities

Along with what appears in the anime there is:

A spa on campus that is free for hero course students. They offer normal and medical massages, mud baths, meditation, sauna, steam room, lounge, ice fountain, treatment rooms and other beauty and wellness services (yes, I'm going to abuse this).

There is practically an extra little town on the mountain with the school due to all the school amenities and staff.

Massive library with study rooms n stuff.

Lots of school festivals, dances and other events.

Classes

UA Departments: Hero, Support (fashion, tech, etc), Business, Gen Ed.

There’s home room which is where you spend most of your time. We do gen Ed and hero law stuff with our home room.

Students can take any electives ranging from costume design to home ec, Solo training to costume engineering.

Students are encouraged to try out things through electives and clubs.

There are free lifestyle classes on weekends so you can take a quick class on cooking, sewing, gardening, first aid without the commitment or worry of grades.

Everyone gets a free holographic tablet thing for the schedule, note taking and to access the school app thing.

The app lets us access the dorms if we don’t have a physical I’d on us, order at the school restaurants with free delivery from the campus delivery bots. It’s just has a bunch of handy features.

Class 1A

Shinso replaces mineta.

There are also 5 exchange/international students in our class.

We go on a few international field trips throughout the year.

There’s a pool table and conversation pit in the dorm.

Mina is blasian, Midoriya is half Yemeni and Sero is Latino because I said so.

Merch

School spirit became a big thing with the influence of American immigrants and exchange students (America ya! :D).

UA has school jackets, shirts, jerseys, etc.

The gym uniforms come in different styles and lengths to suit the wearer.

Food

Instead of one lunchroom there are many dining halls around campus. If you’re a boarding student then food is free.

The restaurants have a certain numbers of items you can pick from to create a reasonable meal. Anything extra you have to pay for.

Some of the halls have larger portions or all-you-can-eat to accommodate for stunner quirks and different bodies.

Diverse food culture. (Indian, American, Chinese, Japanese, Mexican and other style foods)

There are mini break rooms around campus for students to relax,study or mingle between classes. They have free snacks (onigiri, chips, fruit, juice,etc).

There are self driving busses that drive students to the area in 10min max.

There’s also food trucks on campus (I am not being greedy. This is 100% necessary).

[webslingingslasher]

hey so uhh, idk how to say this but i need to talk to someone about this. its a long read so i get it of you skip this.

1) im not in the us nor any other 1st world country (this is relevant i promise)

im a freshman atm. i moved to a main city with many unis to one of the top unis in the country. i have a full ride which means i only have to pay for living expenses. im lucky enough to have my parents pay for it, i know that better than anyone. i also come from a city which is known for having a gated community filled with very rich people. i have stressed many times i am not from said gated comunity, in fact from the opposite side of the city. i also want to add that they do not consider my city, or any other city a 'real city' because they are not the capital of the country.

i live walking distance in a non walkable city so my rent is high in comparison to other places but theres amenities in this place that make it so worth it (all furniture, washer & dryer, hot&cold water included, cooking utensils, everything transplant students may need). no one here thats not in my situation will understand it (most students are native to the city and in general moving away to study is not very common in my country) and i get that.

i keep sensing that the specific group of my classmates which have become my friends because i obviously knew no one here (i hang with them the most) have this underlying animosity towards me and i dont know if i'm over thinking this, but i do have a history of choosing terrible people to befriend (not morals wise just in the way they treat me)

today in the gc they were joking about deportation and kept insisting i would get deported. (im white in a poc country (which most of the students at my uni are too)) i said i would get deported to a poor area of the country know for its farmland, given that my family actually DOES come from there, and i dont mean like four generations back, my parents were both born less that 10 years after my grandparents moved out.

to which both replied by telling me to 'stop pretending i have a struggle story' and to just 'admit im priviledged'. obviously, im offended. i never said i had a struggle story, i just stated the province my family is from and i've never acted as if im not priviledged. i like to consider myself to be hyper aware of my economic position considering my parents have always made it very clear where we stand politically and economically.

its not just those comments, there have been other things. i invited them over once and one of them (ill call her A) said for what i pay its not worth it and i could find a better place somewhere else (proceeded to indicate an area which is not walkable) after asking repeatedly to inform her if there were any units empty and if i wanted a roomate. she kept repeating my place 'is not worth it' for about a week after.

one time in class A mentioned how she was named after a telenovela and i said i didnt know about it. she kept dragging my not knowing on until i googled it. said telenovela ended YEARS before we were born and it was from another country, so obviously i didnt know. she proceeded to yell "if you dont have any culture its fine, just admit it"

as i mentioned, im white in a poc country. people always ask me where i'm from and sometimes insist when i dont say us/europe. sometimes i joke about it but only with certain people. these uni people are not in that group. i'm really proud of where i'm from and my culture, and i'm always defending it, so its really fucking annoying to be told i have no culture over a telenovela from a country thats a 12hr plane ride away.

she makes comments about how "i disgust her" and how shes "tired of me" but plays them off as jokes whener i make comments about having to leave uni after class because i need to buy groceries or i talk about back home (for example how our traffic jams are smaller, we are a smaller city, duh).

these comments also come when i mention i get takeout or something, which for context i will say is once a month since i cannot afford it all the time. comments will also come whenver i mention something about living alone like doing the laundry, cleaning days or my neighbours. they all live with their families in their childhood homes, but i kinda want someone to talk to about these things.

they will also judge my food habits and tell me to eat more sustainable stuff. i dont bring heavy foods to school. instead i bring light stuff like oats, yogurts, salads and bars since they are easier to make. they all take strong, home cooked meals which take time to cook to uni. they all live with their parents, of course they will always have a hearty meal. i'm learning how to cook. i cant waste food on complicated recepies i will probably get wrong just to keep up. i make my best efforts at home when i have the time. i take the safe meals to uni and when i dont have time/the food i buy at uni.

another thing that reslly frustrates me is that they always critisize me buying food but always expect some from it and will sometimes take it forcefully. once i bought a piece of pie which they all shitted on me for but they then tried to shame me into giving them some and 'letting them try it'. when i said i wasnt giving them any one of them ripped it from my hands and started running away to try it. that was not the only time they've ripped my food from my hands/ shoved it in my bag.

im not a total pushover and i do put my foot down but they always act as if im the one in the wrong when i do. i've also taken to just buying my food quietly and eating it a home.

one time A made a comment about me being 'so fucking rich' to which i said she doesnt live with me, she doesnt know anything. she then told me to not get upset.

she knows damn well i have a full ride, and i've said many times i could never afford this uni without a full ride. even with 75%, i couldnt make it. my parents are counting pennies back home so that i can study. i turn my breakers down in the middle of the caribbean heat to help with the light bill. im not the fucking oligarch she seems to think i am.

i've told her before im here because of my parents and their effort, and im aware all this sounds like typical rich kid talk, but my dad wouldnt eat when he was a uni student. he got a full ride to a uni and lived in a hostel. his mum would send him chicken once a week and he had to eat it in three days before it went bad since he didnt have a fridge. the other four days? he had to figure it out. my mum dropped out of uni twice. once to take care of my sick grandmother who still died and a second time because 2008 hit and they could barely feed two babies, let alone financially support other family members like they were expected to. my only chance at education has been scholarships, a fact which has been drilled into me since i was six.

obviously she doesnt know this, which to me means she further shouldnt be making comments about my economic position or my family.

i try to keep my mouth shut but all this is very annoying.

idk, am i the one in the wrong? or am i just overthinking this? if im being a spoiled brat i'd like to know. obviously i wont kiss away my apartment/my scholarship/my parents goodbye just because but i will watch my mouth more

idk. this is all over the place and messy. if you even read this i thank you, if you have any response even more

either way it feels good to let it go. i really dont have anyone else to talk to this about

you don't have to or need to explain your way into empathy with your "friends." i can't decide if they're jealous of you or just like having someone in the group to constantly bully.

your parents are working their hardest to support you and you're working your hardest to prove them right and i don't think they would like how your friends treat you.

i'm sending you a hug. <3333

[auroragoth]

The beauty of Granite Falls

Autumn is setting in. Mornings are cold and foggy, it's raining most of the time and days are getting darker by the minute. Still you decide to battle this gloomy atmosphere and start planning a week-end away from home to escape the buzzing city. THIS is where I come into action! Hi everyone, Malik here with the latest recommendations for fun adventures around the globe. Today, I'm taking you with me to Granite Falls for a late autumn outing.

Granite Falls is known for its wild landscape, its verdant flora and its calming and rejuvenating atmosphere. It is one of the preferred destinations for mushroom hunters in early autumn, but there are many other things to do around here later in the season.

We are starting out little trip around by stopping at Grandpa' Joe's, the diner all locals swear by. A little recluse and away from more touristic spots, this is were you'll find Granite Falls' most authentic food and drinks. The diner's run by Joe and his wife Lila, who founded the restaurant before they were even grandparents! You won't be seeing Joe around much, but Lila will greet you with open arms and a mama bear attitude. She's also the one in charge of all the cooking, and you absolutely have to try her speciality, the camper's stew, made with fresh seasonal vegetables and game hunted by grandpa Joe himself! The locals here can be a bit gruff, but they'll make you their own after just a couple drinks and a game of darts (remember to drink with moderation!).

As I stopped for a hearty breakfast and engaged a jovial conversations, one of the locals recommended me his own cabin that he rents out for travellers. Located not too far from the town center, it is a small, cosy place close to all the good hiking trails. It has a small fireplace and rustic appliances in the kitchen, and can fit up to two adults in the bedroom adjacent. It is the perfect lodging for a couple looking for an adventure but not yet ready for the great outdoors.

Now, you all know me, I like a good challenge, so I obviously declined, and asked for a more... adventurous option. That's when they told me of a small campsite lost in the forest, about nine miles away from here. Only the true nature enthusiasts dared set up camp there, so I HAD to go and check it out. After a few more jokes and having refused numerous attempts at making me drink the local pine liquor (it was still morning after all!), I set out to find this mysterious campsite. What I found on the way was absolutely breathtaking. 

Vivid autumnal colours were coming to life around me as I walked through the dense forest: the yellow of birches, the red of maple trees, the orange of barberry shrubs, all splashing against the deep green of the pines. The sounds of bird calls above me was ever present, signalling the preparations for departure of the migratory types. The ground was soft with dead leaves and I could spot mushrooms, both edible and toxic, all around me. Immersed in this magical atmosphere, I soon reached my destination, and what I saw there got my adventurer's senses tingling: a small camping ground, nestled between fallen tree, was standing before me with just the simplest of amenities in view. A couple people seemed to have set camp here already, but no one was in sight.

The place proved to be the perfect hide-out and allowed me to enjoy far more of the nature around than what I could have had I stayed closer to the town center. I even managed to find a morel mushroom spot and had some for dinner that same night! (Remember, when in doubt, take your wild mushrooms to your pharmacist, they'll be able to identify them for you.)

After having spent the rest of my day walking around and enjoying the trails up and down the ravines, I prepared myself for a fresh evening in my tent, but not before taking the time to admire the incredible night sky from a clearing close-by. The area being devoid of light pollution allowed the stars to shine bright in the night and offer an extraordinary sight that seemed to have come right out of a fairy tale. With images of the glittery sky filling my head, I quickly fell asleep, enjoying a great night sleep in the fresh and quiet autumn air.

The peace was broken in the early hours of the morning by an incredibly loud noise: a stag, hidden in the forest, belling to his heart's content. I couldn't find him due to the heavy morning fog surrounding the camp, but those hoarse cries will forever stay with me. Now fully awake, I started preparing for my second and last day here in Granite Falls.

I decided to take a longer trail back to town to see a little more of the place before leaving. The one I chose was more difficult than the path I took on my way up, and I would advise on walking this one only if you have experience hiking in forest and mountain areas.

The path quickly rose up until it reach a plateau above a precipice, giving a clear view of the valley under with its wild nature seemingly never ending. After a couple hours and as the path slowly came to a soft slope, I spotted a little track on the side. Intrigued, I followed and after about ten minutes of going farther into the forest, I stumbled upon a little lake, hidden from the main trails around here. I learned later that this place was mostly used by the locals, with parents and children having set it up to enjoy the fresh water in the summer months. Right now though, the only ones enjoying the place were herons and wild ducks, taking a little dip before leaving on their journey south.

After taking a quick lunch break near the water, I set out again for the last leg of my descent. The way after the lake was the most difficult, with terrain feeling more like stairs rather than a smooth slope, and I was pretty sweaty when I finally reached town again.

It was time for me to go and leave Granite Falls, but not without stopping by Grandpa Joe's for a piece of home-made pie, a great reward after all that walking! I bid farewell to the locals and left, tired of my day but with memories I will not forget.

If you ever need more information to prepare you travel to Granite Falls, you can get in contact with the local rangers' office (all contact info can be found on their website: ganitefalls-rangers.sim.gov). You can also pay them a visit when you arrive in town, they will give you advice on what trails are best for your abilities and give you other recommendations for your stay there.

Have a nice one, and see you next time!

Malik Hafeez, adventurer extraordinaire, quickly rose to fame on simcial media for his travel logs and breathtaking photographs. In addition to his simfluenceur life, he now works as a journalist with SimTalk monthly in the hopes of sharing his love for travelling with a wider range of sims.

Granite Getaway by @lilacmarble​ (on the gallery)

Life is Strange 2 Wood by @alerionjkeee​

Hidden Lake by @nocturne-vi​

Monello Grounds by @pxltown​

Malik Hafeez by @auroragoth​

All pictures by @auroragoth​

Thank you Erin, Victoria, Andi and Victoria for your participation 🖤

[romanrhodes]

wanted & ongoing plots;

biography | relationships | wanted connections | aesthetic | home - rhodes farm

Recent Heartbreak Roman, and his now ex-boyfriend Andrew, broke up in early March after Andrew left him, telling him he couldn't make Roman happy because he didn't want children (and he believed Roman did), and he was unhappy living at the farm. Roman was blindsided by the breakup and is currently in a state of numb confusion. He's trying to keep it together at work but is close to breaking down in front of his loved ones. He's terrified of telling people they broke up, knowing his emotions might spill out. His only solace is his therapy session, knowing he can be fully vulnerable there.

Reconnecting with Family Since returning to Kismet Harbor, Roman has reconnected with his previously estranged father, and they have reconciled and their relationship is growing close and strong. Roman was reconnected and is reconciling his relationship with his younger sister, Bobby, and her daughter and his niece, Sammy. The relationship between the siblings is strained, but Roman is taking accountability for having no contact with them and looking to rebuild their bond until they are in a good place and Bobby can trust him again.

Missing Brother After reconnecting with his family, Roman wanted to uncover the mystery of where his brother ran off. Ryan Rhodes left Kismet Harbor almost three years ago, and left a note with his father explaining he was leaving, but didn't say why and where he went. Roman is looking into hiring a private investigator to try and track down his brother.

Restoring the Farm The Rhodes Family are one of the oldest families in Kismet Harbor, and they were a farming family. In the 1960s, Roman's grandparents expanded their family's horizons and wealth by opening the diner, whilst still keeping Rhodes Farm as a working farm and orchard. Since then, Rhodes Farm has shrunk, with land and fields being sold off to other farms and developers. The working farm and orchard were closed shortly after Roman's grandparents passed, but Roman dreams of having Rhodes Farm become a working farm and orchard again, with produce to supply the Driftwood Diner. He is currently in the learning and planning stages of developing the orchard.

Connecting with the Community Since returning to Kismet Harbor and running the diner, Roman has been connecting with the community in ways he never would have imagined when he first came back. Roman has joined various community groups; he's renovated the diner, restoring it to be closer to its original decoration with modern amenities and an updated menu that honours its original; he's looking to eventually take part in the farmer's market as a supplier; and has made business changes to be able to support the local homeless shelter and community. Roman continues to grow close to his community, with new and old friendships alike. Now in the wake of his recent breakup, he wants to look to his community to support him.

Earning a Michelin Star It is the dream and goal of any professionally trained chef to one day have a restaurant, and for that restaurant to earn a Michelin star. Roman has worked in several Michelin-star restaurants, and he knows the odds are stacked against him - the Driftwood Diner is not the type of place you would think could earn a star. However, Roman knows the rules, and at the very least, he can try. The diner has a traditional history, and the food he cooks can reach the standard, even in a traditional, working-class American diner. The renovation has returned the diner's character and atmosphere, and he knows he can train and hire staff to deliver the kind of service a Michelin-star dining experience expects. He intends to develop Rhodes Farm to become a working farm and orchard, and supply as much of the diner's menu as possible, adding to the diner's sustainable and local charm. Some might call him crazy, but he doesn't care. He's determined enough to make it happen.

[beachstarrealtycom]

Beach Star Realty - Grand Palms at Deerfield

**Please note the Wyndham timeshare amenities are not available to guests**

Delight your family and friends with a stay at this 2BR townhome at Deerfield Plantation in Surfside Beach. This condo is much more laid back than the craziness of Myrtle Beach as well as more family friendly. Perfect for guests who want to relax with the whole family and explore the South Strand from Surfside Beach down through Garden City Beach and Murrell's Inlet.

With nearby activities for thrill-seekers and beach bums, kids and grandparents—and everyone in-between—every guest can spend their days doing what they love. A split-level layout offers exceptional privacy, with one bedroom and bath on each floor. Downstairs, an open floor plan makes gathering a breeze, too. Speaking of breezes: enjoy the sea air from your private balcony overlooking a pond. Plan your day over breakfast prepped in your full, open kitchen, with cabinets well-stocked with dishes and cooking utensils.

You may be tempted to linger over a second cup of coffee on your private, pond-view balcony—watch for birds and turtles. Serious birders and wildlife enthusiasts can collect more sightings at the nature preserve, while those seeking relaxation can hit the beach. Both are just minutes away. Pick a restaurant to reconvene for lunch and share the morning’s adventures. Maybe you’ve shopped ‘till you dropped, played a round of putt-putt with the kids, cycled the nearby bike path, or took a boat out on the water for a serene morning of fishing. All of this is also just minutes away. 

Back home, your group of up to 8 will find an ideal balance of togetherness and privacy, with an open and inviting living area and two bedrooms, each on their own floor and each with their own bath. The lofted master suite, on the upper floor, is a sprawling space with two full-size beds (sleeps 4), a walk-in closet, and a private en-suite bath with a tub/shower combination. Downstairs, the guest suite feels more like a second master, with a king-size bed and a full bath. There is also a conveniently located half bath off of the kitchen so your guests don't have to use either en suite bath off of the bedrooms. 

Here in Surfside Beach and the Grand Strand, the beaches are famous; the food is divine (think hundreds of restaurants!); the golfing is excellent and the setup is decidedly family-friendly. In fact, it's known at "the family beach" When the sun goes down, fun-loving kids and night owls alike will love the glittering lights and tangible excitement of the Grand Strand—home to amusements, shows, and dining galore. From the tip of Pawleys Island’s Apache Pier to the tranquil marshlands of Murrell's Inlet, the Hammock Coast offers a bit of rest and respite just a short drive away—perfect for days when you want a change of scenery.   Let us help you discover all of this and more!  We Value our Guests Privacy but are Available if Needed.

A Car is Recommended.

For more details on our products and services, please feel free to visit us at: Deerfield Surfside Rentals, Deerfield Plantation Rentals SC, Deerfield Vacation Rentals, Myrtle Beach Rentals & Myrtle Beach Vacation Rentals.

Please feel free to visit us at: https://www.beachstarrealty.com/

[renee-writer]

Call Me Josh Chapter 16

They come by every few days after that. The almost twelve year old prepares for her bat mitzvah, the first big occasion without her papa. Her dress is picked out and her mitzvahs, cooking kosher and lighting the candles for Sabbath, practiced. It is the absence of her papa that made this coming celebration less then perfect.

“He will be looking down and watching you.” Joshua reassures her. She gives her big brother a smile. He will be, she believes that, but still it isn’t the same. “And is proud. We all are. Are you ready to stand before the congregation?”

Another worry. Yes, she knows them all and Rabbi Goldman is sweet, but she has a bit of stage fright. “I, I think so.” Joshua smiles. He knows his sister is a bit scared.

“Look at me if you get freaked. You can do this. It is only a few minutes.”

She nods. Unlike her brothers, who’s bar mitzvah’s included reading from the Torah, she only has to recite a prayer. The celebration after will allow her to talk about her mitzvahs and how she is ready to be a full member of her religious community.

Her mama takes special care with her long dark hair that Sabbath. It is carefully French braided back. Her dress, blue that reaches the floor, has none of the ruffles or lace of her previous ones. It is her first adult dress. She doesn’t feel any different but she knows she is now an adult under Jewish law, responsible for keeping the Law.

Her brothers dress in suits and ties, a step above their normal Sabbath wear. “You are beautiful, Rebecca.” James says at seeing his sister.

“Thank you,” she blushes, her cheeks flushing. “You guys are handsome.”

“Ready, my daughter?”

“Yes mama.”

They enter the synagogue. The first part of the ceremony is normal. They recite the prayers. Rabbi Goldman reads from Proverbs 31, the virtuous woman passage. Mary smiles, knowing he done that for this day, for Rebecca, the bat mitzvah.

“Rebecca, would you come up?” he invites after. Mary, her brothers, and her grandparents, all watch intently as she makes her way up.

Standing behind the platform, she is shaking as she looks out among her people. Recalling Joshua’s advice, she looks to him. His smiling eyes meet hers. They calm her. In a clear, beautiful soprano voice, she recites the priestly blessing. “Hear oh Israel, the Lord our God, the Lord is one.”

“Amen.” The congregation and her rabbi reply. It is over and the celebration can begin.

Her friends from school and Joshua’s, join the family and Rabbi Goldman for her party. Kosher food, partly prepared by Rebecca herself, is served. A table is full of gifts. The floor is set aside for dancing. Her grampy her papa’s papa, lifts a glass to her. “To my darling granddaughter, a daughter of the covenant. A daughter of the commandments.”

Her friend, Sarah, whispers to her, “What does that mean?”

“I am now responsible for keeping the Jewish laws. At twelve, a Jewish girl is considered a woman as far as the law is concerned.”

“She is responsible for her own soul.” Rabbi Goldman explains with an indulgent smile. Every bar or bat mitzvah, the same questions come up. He found that was the easiest answer.

“Wow. That’s a lot.”

“I have been following the rules as long as I can remember, so it isn’t to bad.”

She eats smiling at the compliments on her cooking. Before the meal had begun, she had announced that part of her mitzvah, she has been learning to cook kosher. She would light the Sabbath candle next week. The thought makes her heart feel bittersweet. As exciting as she is to do it, not having her papa there to witness her doing it… She swallows at the thought, blinking back tears. Suddenly the food doesn’t taste as good. She pushes it away. Joshua, who has been keenly watching her, gets up and walks over to her.

“May I have the first dance with my newly mitzvah sister?” She smiles, nodding through her tears. James dances with their mama.

As they spin around, she says, “Thank you Josh.”

“It is an honor.” Neither mention it is an honor reserved for the father, usually. They don’t need to. Joe is in every step. His absence is felt by them both. Joshua knows that it is responsibility as the eldest son, to do the things his papa would have done. It is understood.

She dances with all her brothers, some of her brother’s friends, and a few boys her own age.

Mary watches, feeling bittersweet herself. “Joe would be so proud.” Her mom wraps her arm around her.

“He would. You are blessed to have three sons to help with her.” She nods. She is. But she still would like her husband.

Gifts are next. They start out with the grandparents gifts. Her fraternal grandparents gift her with a stock certificate. “For college.” Her granny says. Her gramps laughs.

“Or whatever you wish to do when you are eighteen.”

She hugs them tight. “Thank you.”

Her mama’s parents gift her with a book on Jewish philosophy. As well as an envelope containing 216 dollars. “Eighteen dollars for every year you have blessed us with.” Her grandma explains. She thanks them and holds them tight.

Her friends and Joshua’s friends are next. She is gifted with hair ties, funny socks, t-shirts, books of poetry and preteen novels, gift cards, and the like.

Jude gives her a bracelet with the star of David. James gifts her with a new pair of jeans. Joshua presents her with a copy of the Torah, in a leather cover with her name engraved on it.

Her mama is last. She hands her a gaily wrapped jewelry box. “Your papa and I picked this out together last year.” She tells her. Rebecca bites her lip as she goes to open it. Her brothers gifts already had her on the verge of tears. Adding a gift that is from her mama and papa, has her right on the edge of fully sobbing.

She lifts the lid. Inside, nestled in the small box, was a gorgeous necklace. It is the star of David with a diamond in the center. “Mama!”

“This is an important occasion. We wished to mark it well.”

Joshua fastens it around her neck and she hugs her mama a full minute as her friends, awe, over the present.

That night, she lays in her nightgown, the moon picking up the glint from the diamond. She looks out into the clear night. “Holy One, help me obey Your laws, please. Thank You for the gift of my family and friends. Thank You for helping me remember the prayer. Oh, and if it is okay, can You tell my papa thank you for the necklace.”

[jarvis-cockhead]

was overcome with hubris today and burnt my mouth on a roast potato

[asparklerwhowrites]

Writing Indian characters, from an Indian person

India is a huge country! while most characters in mainstream media are from the 'big cities' i.e Mumbai, Delhi, Hyderabad, etc, there are many, many more places and areas to look at! since India is such a vast country, there is incredible diversity. 19,500 languages and dialects are present, with people of different skin, eye, and hair colors and types! there are, of course, a lot of inherent prejudices present, which I'll address a little later.

#1. Know their roots

There is no 'one' Indian experience. People from different places celebrate different festivals, worship different gods, and speak different languages!

A checklist of things you should know about your Indian character's background, in essence:

Which state and city/town/village are they from?

How many and which languages do they speak, and with what frequency? (Mostly, people can speak at least two languages!)

Are they religious? (more on religion later)

What are some of their favourite memories/moments linked to their culture? (festivals, family gatherings, etc)

#2. Naming your character

Some common names for boys: Aarav, Advik, Shlok, Farhan, Ritvik, Aarush, Krish, Ojas, Zain.

Some common names for girls: Arushi, Ishita, Trisha, Rhea, Riya, Zoya, Vedika, Khushi, Charvi.

Common last names: Shah, Singh, Agarwal, Banerjee, Dala, Bhat, Joshi, Iyer, Jain, Dhawan, Dixit.

Be careful while picking a last name: last names are very much indicators of the ethnicity/community you're from! most older folks can guess the ethnicity of people just by their last name - it's pretty cool.

Naming systems usually follow the name-surname format, and children usually take the last name of their father - but I believe some regions have a bit of a different system, so look that up!

#3. Stereotypes to avoid

This goes without saying, but I'm gonna say it anyway. Being 'Indian' shouldn't be your character's entire personality. Give them traits, feelings, and a purpose other than being a token diverse character. Some stereotypes that are really a no-no when it comes to Indian characters:

Making them good at math and academics in general (my Cs in math beg to differ that all Indians are good at math. often, the reason Indians are stereotyped to be so smart stems from an incredibly toxic and harmful environment at home which forces children to get good grades. unless you've experienced that, its not your story to write)

Making your Indian character 'hate' being Indian (not everyone?? hates their culture?? like there are many, MANY faults with India as a country, and it's important to recognize and take action against that - which often makes us iffy about how we feel about our country, it's genuinely not your place to write about that UNLESS you are Indian. don't bring in 'hatred' of a place you've never visited, and don't know much about.)

Make them scaredy-cats, 'cowards', who are good at nothing but being the 'brain' (I will literally behead you if you do this/lh)

#4. Why India shouldn't be portrayed as 'perfect' either

It's likely that most of you won't be going in SO deep with your Indian character, but India isn't the perfect 'uNiTy iN diVerSitY' as it's depicted in media. There are incredible tensions between religions (especially Hindus and Muslims), and even remnants of the 'untouchable' way of thinking remain between castes. There's a lot of violence against women, and misogyny is definitely something Indians are not foreign to. People with paler skin are considered to be 'better' than those with darker skin (in the older generations especially)

#5. Some common customs

Removing your shoes before entering the house, since your house is considered to be 'godly' and shoes shouldn't be brought inside

Eating dal (lentils), chawal (rice), sabji (a mixture of vegetables/meat that's cooked in different ways) roti (Indian flatbread) is considered to be a full, well-balanced meal and at least aspects of it are eaten for lunch and dinner (if not all four elements)

The suffixes -bhai (for men) and -ben (for women) are added to first names and are commonly used by adults to refer to someone of importance or who they hold to esteem.

However, 'bhai' (which literally means 'brother) is often used as slang when referring to friends or family. Other slang includes 'arrey' which is used to show irritation or 'yaar' which has the same context.

It's custom to call adults who you refer to in a friendly way 'aunty' or 'uncle', like the parents of your friends.

Talking back to your elders is forbidden, especially your grandparents who you have to refer to with utmost respect.

#6. Religions

India is a very religiously diverse country. The most common religion is Hinduism, then Islam, Christianity, Sikhism, and Buddhism. All religions have their own complexities, and since I'm a Hindu, I can tell you a little bit about that!

It's common to have a mandir which is a small altar dedicated to the deities your family worships. (Fun fact - they're usually placed in the East direction because that's where the sun rises)

Most kids can say a few shloks by-heart, which are a few lines of prayer! (lmao I've forgotten most but I used to be able to rattle off at least ten when I was younger)

Most people know at least the general plot of the Ramayan and Mahabharat - two famous epic stories. (I'm not sure if they're inherently 'Hindu' or not)

Many people wear necklaces with a small pendant of the deity they worship!

Common Hindu deities: Saraswati, Ganesha, Shiva, Krishna, Vishnu.

It's important to note that religious violence is a thing. Muslims especially, are oppressed and discriminated against. It's a very, very complex issue, and one that's been going on for thousands of years.

#7. Myth & Facts

India is a very poor country

Yep! Lakhs of people live in villages with no electricity, clean water, or amenities nearby. There's no point sugar-coating it. There are HUGE gaps between the poor and the rich (have you heard of Ambani and Adani :D) and while our millionaires rejoice in their thirty-story mansions, people die of famine, disease, and hunger every day. I am personally lucky enough to be EXTREMELY privileged and attend an international school and live in one of the most developed cities. Most people aren't as lucky as me, and it's a really true, horrifying reality.

Everyone in India is vegetarian

No lmao - while many people ARE, there's a greater and equal amount of non-vegetarian people.

We burn our dead in parking lots

This circulated back when the second wave was going on in India, and the media blew it out of proportion. First of all, what the actual f!ck. Cremation is a Hindu ritual, and by saying that aLL Indians burn their dead you are erasing the other religions here. Secondly, cremation is a sacred ritual only attended by close family of the deceased member. It does not happed in PARKING LOTS. It's a time of grief and loss, not a way to humiliate a religion for the way they treat their dead.

Drop any other questions about India in the comments/DM me!

[innocent-chris-evans-slut]

I’ve Just Fucked You, Sweetheart

Request: Hello, I saw your requests were open and I can't pass this chance up! Could you please write anything with Ransom? Ideally smut 👀 I'm always into the idea of a smug Ransom getting off on an easily flustered reader. Anything from downright humiliation to fluff like embarrassing her by saying he likes her is fine with me! Hope this makes sense? But tbh anything with Ransom I will eat up, I think Chris and Steve get enough love lol

My Masterlist ✨

Requests are open.

Ransom x maidReader 

Word Count: 3,4k 

Type: smut 

Warning(s): swearing, dub-con sex, blowjob, rough sex

The 4th of July holiday was your favorite. You came from an extremely patriotic family -with both your grandfathers being former soldiers.

When you were a child, you remembered your house being full of people on this particular day. There was your entire family: your parents, your aunties and uncles, your cousins -to which you were particularly close since you hadn’t any sibling- and your grandparents. Then, when your cousins became getting older and having their own families, this kind of events started becoming more and more sporadic.

At the age of 25 you graduated and started working as a sous-chef at a restaurant. Cooking was your passion and when your grandfather introduced you to Harlan Thrombey, who was looking for a chef for his events, you just couldn’t say no.

It had been two years since the first time you worked at the manor. You had become more familiar with the place, your co-workers, and also with Harlan. He was very caring and kind with all his employees, giving them completely access to his house. Though, when his family was a home with him during the holidays, you couldn’t go wherever you wanted.

There was one person in particular you just couldn’t put up with: Hugh Ransom Drysdale.

A complete asshole who didn’t mind others’ businesses except his. Unlike his grandfather, to who he really seemed having something in common, Ransom was very ungrateful with his family and rude with the help. He didn’t ask, he only commanded others to do and he really liked that part: watching payed people struggling what he was supposed to be doing.

You felt the atmosphere changing before anyone could even tell you Ransom was parking his car. You heard the engine of an old car being turned off and its door being violently closed. The noise scared you and you dropped some cream.

Ransom turned around and saw you, focused on wiping the floor. He had his eyes on you also when you got up from your knees and bended over the counter to clean the mess you did. He bit his bottom lip and put on his usual mischievous smirk.

Ransom had always loved a beautiful woman, especially a younger one with a really good body -according to him-, and you were just his next prey.

But you didn’t know anything about his plans for you for that weekend.

It was almost seven o’clock in the afternoon when you finished making dinner for the Thrombeys. Fortunately, Martha decided to help you arranging the table and the dining room. So you remained in the kitchen -which you liked calling ‘your reign’-, preparing all the dishes and fixing the wrong quantities.

“So, when I can taste your special cream?”

You weren’t prepared for anyone to enter the kitchen while you were with your hands in the pastry. You turned around and saw Ransom standing with his back against the door. His smirk naughty smirk wasn’t missing.

“What?” you asked shocked by his words. But you had to imagine that he would have said something to make you uncomfortable; he always did it. Once you had regained your composure, you said: “Is there anything I can do for you, Hugh?”

He walked in, leaving the door opened, and sat down on a stool right in front of you, and you couldn’t go anywhere else since you were making the cake, “Nothing in particular”. He took a bit of cream from its bowl on the counter, “Mmh, so good. You know…your cream is so delicious”.

You couldn’t form any sentence. You were so embarrassed by his words that you couldn’t help but keep silence and stare into his eyes.

“Hugh, you’re making me very uncomfortable. Can I ask you to leave the kitchen?” you had been told by Harlan more than once to push away Ransom any time he would have tried to force you to do anything. That was what you did every single time, but he would never listen to you.

In fact, also this time, Ransom dragged himself closer to you a stared at you as you moved smoothly around the room. On the other hand, you tried not to stumble on you own feet as you passed in front of him.

Ransom was supposed to be with his family in the living room, socializing with the guests, instead he preferred sitting in the kitchen. Being completely unhelpful.

“Y/N the steak tartare is almost finished”, Martha entered the room, fortunately, interrupting the looks between you and the man with you in the room.

“There are three more trays in the fridge”, you told her as you decorated the cake with blue and red decorations and lying an American flag on the top of it. Once you were done, you turned around to see Martha struggling with the trays, “Here, let me help you”, you left the cake in the big fridge and went helping your co-worker taking all the food out of the fridge, then she brought everything in the dining room.

“I can’t wait to taste your incredible cake”, Ransom left you with that statement, cleaning his mouth as he spoke and walked towards the door, “See you later”.

You didn’t see him anymore that day. When you went back home -almost at midnight in the morning- the Thrombeys were still partying and, although Harlan had insisted for you and Martha to stay a little bit longer -just enough to see the fireworks-, both of you preferred to leave the manor.

The morning after, you were required to arrive at Harlan’s home at 7 o’clock and, as soon as you had entered the kitchen, you started preparing breakfast for the Thrombeys and you packed their lunch. Every year, on the 5th, the entire family was usually invited at some friend’s house and they liked spending the entire day there. This years wasn’t different from the others.

After a quick breakfast, Harlan, his children, and two of his grandchildren, left the manor and with their cars reached the city. Meanwhile, inside the house, you and Martha kept doing your jobs.

Not everybody had left the house that morning; Ransom didn’t feel like going with his family and spending another day hearing bullshit coming from his mother’s mouth. He would rather loaf in his bedroom at his grandfather’s house than spend another minute with them and their huge egos -he didn’t even bother to get downstairs for breakfast.

“Is he still here?” there wasn’t need to pronounce his name when both, you and Martha, knew of who you were talking about, “How can Harlan be so amenable with him? I can’t-“

“You can’t what? Please, go on”, Ransom entered kitchen and sat down on the same stool he was sit the evening before, “I’m very interested”, he placed his chin on his fists and was now looking at Martha, waiting for her to say anything.

You watched the scene from the other end of the counter, while making him his favorite breakfast. In a certain way, Ransom was much more demanding than his grandfather -the one who actually paid you for your work. But at the same time he was the first member of the family you had ever met, and you weren’t exaggerating when you said he did a certain impression on you, almost as he was your employer and not his grandfather.

“Weren’t you supposed to be with Harlan?”

Ransom was capable of instilling dread in people and you and Martha weren’t exempt. You exchanged a sympathetic look with your co-worker and she shook her head.

“I am going, Hugh”, then she turned towards your direction and said: “See you later”, and she left.

There was a moment of silence right after Martha had left the room, but then Ransom spoke: “Finally just the two of us”.

You shivered at his words, although you tried not to let him notice that. You kept planning all the meals for the week, but you felt Ransom’s eyes on you as you wrote on the paper. Though he was peacefully eating his breakfast, he was also looking at you -or better, at your behind. You didn’t say anything just because he did it very often when you were alone with him.

“Is there anything I can do for you, Hugh?” you asked him as you walked pass behind him and you took the empty dish from in front of him, “Otherwise I go back planning the week”.

“Very rude from you, especially since we’ll spend the day together”, he took the last sip from his glass and walked towards you, forcing you to the wall, “See you later, kitten”.

It had been a couple of hours since you last see Ransom around the house; you had the chance to clean the kitchen and also try cooking something new. You successfully added three new receipts to Harlan’s particular diet, and you were very proud of yourself.

It was almost lunch time and still you didn’t know if you had to cook something for Ransom or not, so you decided to go upstairs and ask it to him. The creaking stairs announced you to him -since you were the only two people in the house-, so you thought you didn’t have to knock on the door.

Very bad choice.

Right when you entered the bedroom, Ransom exited the shower completely naked. Though you closed your eyes, and covered them with both your hands, you had already seen everything. And it meant literally everything.

“Hugh!”

“What?” he didn’t seem to care, Ransom stood up in silence and both his arms were crossed above his chest; he was staring at you, “I’m in my room and, if I want to be naked, I do it. You didn’t knock on the door”, knowing how uncomfortable you were, he didn’t move and kept being undressed in front of you.

“Can you put something on, please?”, you turned around and slowly breathed in and out. You felt your heart beating so fast that it was about to break the chest cavity.

“I would rather put something under me”; Ransom had always been so direct with people and it wasn’t the first time he pronounced an appreciation towards you, and your body as well.

On the other hand, you knew the kind of girls he liked to spend time with, and you definitely weren’t one of them. You weren’t a model or a rich heiress with a breathtaking body, and -most importantly- you weren’t living in a fairy tale so you knew exactly what to expect from men like him.

“I’m not kidding, Hugh. I’m very uncomfortable at the moment. Could you, please, put something on?” you could hear him laughing at you, but you couldn’t do anything but exit the room.

Unfortunately, he saw you before you had the chance to make even only one step towards the door and he positioned right in front of it. You didn’t noticed the movement, so you were taken by surprised when your hand, instead of came in contact you a cold surface, touched something squishy, yet solid. You opened your eyes involuntary only to meet Ransom’s eyes fixed on you and your hand resting on his torso.

“H-hugh”, it came out as a whisper, more than a scolding. Ransom kept your wrists firmly pinned against the wall, leaving you completely exposed to his mercy. You opened your mouth to speak up, but no words came out of it; instead something entered your mouth.

As soon as he saw you trying to say something, Ransom put two fingers inside your mouth so that you weren’t able to talk -or, talk without wet his fingers; “What?” he acted as if nothing wrong was happening. Quite the opposite, there wasn’t anything good in that situation, “Speak”.

“I can’t-“ you stopped at mid-sentence at him pulling down your tongue and, so, making you lower your gaze. Your eyes stopped right on his up-standing dick. You weren’t surprised to notice it was long and thick. You had had a couple of boyfriends, but you had never seen anything like that before.

Ransom was gently stroking it with his left hand -the one he had in your mouth- while his other hand became going down on your face, then his fingertips touched your collar bone very slowly and found your sweet spot between your chest. Once he had understood how powerful the effect of caressing it was on you, Ransom didn’t stop moving his fingers above it and your breath became heavier and heavier, “I’ll tell you what I wanna do with you”. He put his mouth closer to your hear and said: “I wanna fuck you here-“ and he passed a finger on your lips, “-and here-“ his hand slipped down on your body, stopping right on your pelvis, and it got its way into your pants, “-and maybe also here”, with his other hand he grabbed your butt and squeezed it harshly, “Where do you want to start from?”

“I-I don’t think this is a-appropriate, Hugh”, you said as you tried to get away from his embrace, but it was impossible seen his massive body size compared to yours.

“This is highly unappropriated, but you want it as much as I want it”, his lips gently brushed against the skin of your neck. You gasped as he moved his tongue on your half-hidden soft spot under your ear and you shivered, weaving your hands together behind his neck, “C’mon, be a good girl”, you intertwined your fingers.

You didn’t know why, but your defense fell, and you gave up. Ransom took the opportunity to lay his lips on yours, so that you couldn’t help but return the kiss. His lips were exactly as you had always imagined them: soft and tasting like tobacco and mint.

As he loosened the grasp on both your wrists, you were forced to walk back until you hit the wooden structure of the bed with your calves; Ransom broke the kiss and made you fall on the soft mattress. Both of you kept your eyes on each other. You took a long, deep breath as you saw him removing his sweater and toss it away somewhere in the room. Then he placed his hands at the side of your head and stared at you: “We’re gonna take all the time we need, sweetheart”.

You remained still as Ransom removed your t-shirt and jeans and threw them behind his shoulder; once you had been left in only your underwear, he looked at you with a very hungry look on his face and smirked. Less than a second after his lips were on yours again and you laced your arms behind his neck, dragging him closer to you.

“You won’t want another man this close to you after I’ll be done with you”, the built man standing above you said. His hands travelled on your body, his fingertips were burning as they moved on your exposed skin and you couldn’t hold a moan anymore.

“Ransom, please”, you contorted yourself as his hands went down to your core. Another moan was released as his index finger made circles on your clit, making you tremble. You closed your eyes in awe and tilted your head backwards; then, all of a sudden, you felt his mouth work on you and at that point you left behind any hesitation.

His tongue drew circles on your clit harder and harder and you kept moaning louder every time; his teeth gently scratched on your labia as his hands kept you as still as possible. You grabbed the sheets in your hands and held on tight to them when you felt your climax coming.

“Too early.”

You realized he wouldn’t have left you come when he got up and looked at you, “Are you kidding me?” you were more than angry, feeling like he was just messing with you and that, maybe, he would have mocked you in front of his family later that night, “You’re only a fuck-“

Ransom stopped you mid-sentence by ‘putting your mouth to a better use’ -as he would have said. He had lowered his pants and underwear and his cock sprung free right in front of you, then he sat you down on the mattress and he stood up in front of you, his dick touching your lips, “Are you gonna suck it or you just wanna watch it?” he caressed your cheeks and forced you to open your mouth, taking in his long and thick cock. Surprisingly for him, you took it all in, such that the tip of your nose was pressed against the body hair on his pelvis and his balls pounded against your chin each time he slammed in and out, each time faster than before, “Fuck”, he said every time his tip hit that back of your throat and you looked up to him. Needless to say, his eyes were fixed on your face and careful to notice every face you made while sucking him. You didn’t have the control of the situation, rather it was him who was standing upon you and guiding your movement, “C’mon, good girl. You’ll be rewarded”, he put his hands on both sides of you head and pushed his cock down your throat one last time before you felt hot salty spurt swarming your mouth. As you swallowed it, Ransom pulled out and spread a good amount of his white liquid on your face, and your tits, too, “From now on, this is what I’ll think about every time I’ll see you work in the kitchen”, he rubbed his thumb on your cheeks and said: “Maybe, next time, I’ll be so kind to let you fuck yourself on the counter”, he picked you up and bended you over the desk, “But for today, it will be me who will fuck you”.

You felt his cold hand brushing against your butt-cheeks, and you jumped when he smacked both of them at the same moment. You hissed and didn’t say anything; before you could turn your head towards him, Ransom grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you towards him, making you touch his bare chest with your shoulder.

“I won’t go easy on you, sweetheart”, having said that, he made his way inside you and went on until his tip hit your cervix.

That was way beyond any other experience you had had. Not only was he very good with his tongue -as you had the chance to state not later than ten minutes ago-, but Ransom was also a very -very- good fucked: the vigor with which he pounded into you, the same strength with which he held you in place made you scream in pleasure. “Please, oh God!” you cried out as the pace increased.

“There’s no God here, sweetheart, only me”, Ransom whispered to your ear while pounding into you with an ungodly speed, and you could swear you were seeing the stars when he hit your G-spot, “You’re almost there, I can feel it”, one of his hands was placed on your head and the other one went drawing circles on your clit, taking you closer to the edge, “Tell me wat you want, sweetheart”.

“F-fuck”, you hissed as you felt his index finger pressing harder against your clit, “P-please…let m-me cum. I’m…I’m so close”, you raised your head and turned over to throw a look at him, “Please”, you asked him with pleading eyes. Ransom began thrusting irregularly -sign that he was close too- and you started breathing erratically. You cried out very loud when your orgasm finally hit, and a wave of pleasure washed you over. “Fuck…this was-“

“Y/N?! What the fuck are you doing?”

You turned pale. Ransom, instead, looked very amused with himself and was smirking at you, “Notify me when you’ll explain it to her” said him sitting down on his bed, “Please, go”.

“Go fuck yourself, Ransom.”

“Actually, I’ve just fucked you, sweetheart.”

ALL MY STORIES:

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@chris-evans-is-world

@rebloggingeverything

ALL CHRIS EVANS:

@stargazingfangirl18

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@harrysthiccthighss

@inlovewiththefictionalcharacters

[religioused]

Mothers and Mud Puddles May 9 Sermon by Gary Simpson

Psalms 23 (The Moffatt Bible by James Moffatt)

The Eternal Shepherds me, I lack for nothing; he makes me lie in meadows green, he leads me to refreshing streams, he revives life in me. He guides me by true paths, as he himself is true.

My road may run through a glen of gloom, but I fear no harm, Thou for thou are beside me; thy club, thy staff – they give me courage. Thou art my host, spreading a feast for me, while my foes have to look on!

Thou hast poured oil upon my head, my cup is brimming over; yes, and all through my life Goodness and Kindness waits on me, the Eternal’s guest within his household evermore.

Revelation 7:9-17 (The Moffatt Bible by James Moffatt)

After that I looked, and there was a great host whom no one could count, from every nation and tribe and people and tongue, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, clad in white robes, with palm-branches in their hands; and they cried with a loud voice, "Saved by our God who is seated on the throne, and by the Lamb!" And all the angels surrounded the throne and the Presbyters and the four living Creatures, and fell on their faces before the throne, worshipping God and crying, "Even so! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honour and power and might be to our God for ever and ever: Amen!" Then one of the Presbyters addressed me, saying, "Who are these, clad in white robes? where have they come from?" I said to him, "You know, my lord." So he told me, "These are the people who have come out of the great Distress, who washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.

15 For this they are now before the throne of God, serving him day and night within his temple. and he who is seated on the throne shall overshadow them. Never again will they hunger, never again will they thirst, never shall the sun strike them, nor any scorching heat;" for the Lamb in the midst of the throne will be their shepherd, guiding them to fountains of living water; and God will wipe every tear from their eyes."

Reflection:

This is Mother’s Day and Christian Family Day. Mother’s Day can be awkward for everyone –

● For mothers who have to hear men mansplain how to be good mothers. Guys, don’t go there – please.

● For parents who get guilt trips about how to be a perfect parent.

● For people who have to listen to sermons idealizing parents, when they have rocky relationships with their parents.

● For those who lost their parents and who lost most of the guiding parenting figures in their life, especially the first year or two without a parenting figure.

● For women, who are not parents and who feel left out by the day.

● And especially awkward and troubling for all people who are concerned that the American Supreme Court might make a legal ruling that could restrict women’s access to reproductive healthcare, and the impact of that ruling on the rights of members of minority groups.

Now that we have mentioned all of the rocky areas for the day, I am hoping that we can relax.

There was a period of time, when Mother’s Day, then known as Mothering Sunday, was celebrated on the fourth Sunday of Lent. (1) You may want us to celebrate Mothering Sunday, as it was originally intended. The Sunday was a time when people returned to their home parishes or churches and to their mothers. (2)

When I think of Mothering Day and Mother’s Day, my mind goes back to the trips to my maternal Grandparents’ home. Her small two-bedroom apartment would be filled to overflowing with children and grandchildren. I remember sleeping in the hallway on an army cot. There was a lot of good food. My Grandmother could cook enough for an infantry. Perhaps there was a reason why she could cook for so many people. My father observed that my mother’s family was so large that there were not enough phone booths in the country for people to phone and say if they could make it to a family reunion. He said that his family could hold a reunion in a phone booth. My maternal grandmother's family was large. I believe that she had six brothers and a sister. My father described my grandmother’s family like this – there are two sisters and each sister has six brothers.

When my grandmother was young, the family church was a small non-denominational community church, in a town of about 350 people. Can you imagine how many people would descend on that small church if the children and grandchildren of my grandmother’s family came to church on a church Mothering Day? Think about this church. If all of the people who trace their spiritual heritage to our church came to church on Mothering Day, we would be full to the rafters. Our pastor might look around the church and quote part of our Revelation reading, “and there was a great host whom no one could count, from every nation and tribe.” (3) Just the thought of seeing all of the spiritual children return to the mother church is exciting. Talk about a Christian family. It would be a massive Christian family. In returning for a moment to the roots of Mothering Day, we see the two themes, Mother’s Day and Christian Family Day coming together.

Some of us came from toxic, judgmental, legalistic, and exclusive churches. We might not have felt tolerated, let alone welcome. It took me about 20 years to get to the point where it did not feel highly uncomfortable to even acknowledge that I lived in that spiritual environment. There were just too many cases of Bible bullying, of spiritual abuse. Regardless of how we celebrate today – Mothering Day, Mother’s Day, or Christian Family Day, this is a day of mixed emotions in churches across the country.

Celebrations of Mother’s Day changed since the days when it was Mothering Day. For some children, it is a day to return some of the love their mothers lavished on them – breakfast in bed, flowers, long distance phone calls, and video phone calls. I used Mother’s Day as an excuse to go shopping for cut crystal. When I was home, I could enjoy my mother’s collection, without ever having to dust them. While I enjoy elements of Mother’s Day, I am aware of how emotionally challenging Mother’s Day can be. My mother recently died, making today challenging. Sometimes people become parents without knowing how to be good parents. In some cases, they may not have seen love, so they did not know how to show love. Our gift to mothers and to family members who never learned how to show love is to learn how to love and to frequently show love – possibly extending some love to them, when it is safe to show love.

One good way to study the Bible is to study a chapter of the Bible in context with the chapter before and just after the chapter we are studying. So today, we are going to consider Psalm 23 in the context of Psalm 22 and Psalm 24. In Psalm 22, there are lines of aching pain and frustration, as the Psalmist asks why God has forsaken them, and describes themselves as a worm, as not a man, as a disappointment, and as despised. (4)

The inspired pen of the Psalmist may have understood very well what it is like to have mixed feelings about Mother’s Day and Family Day. Jack Hyles was the pastor of a Baptist mega church that had about 100 thousand members and that had an attendance of about 20 thousand people a week.(5) Hyles indicates that the Psalm was likely written at a time when David, the Psalmist, was both prosperous and was facing death. He thinks the Psalm might have been written during a civil war, which pitted the armed forces of David’s son, Absalom, against the forces of David.(6)

God knows what it is like to go into Mothering Day, Mother’s Day, and Christian Family Day. If you are struggling some today, what happened and what is happening is no indication of how God feels about you. 1 Samuel Chapter 13 describes David as a man after God’s heart.(7)

For those who have either family or church heritage that contains mixed memories, the cries to God of being forsaken are behind us. We are now in Psalm 23. And we can rest in Psalm 23, as long as we need to rest and feel safe in God’s love.

G.A.F. Knight, who wrote The Daily Study Bible for Psalms describes the 23rd Psalm as the “world’s favorite Psalm,” being used at both weddings and funerals.(8) There is a universal aspect of this Psalm and that might be the reason why the Psalm is so popular. The fourth word is crucial for this Psalm. The Eternal Shepherds me. The fourth word is me. This Psalm is for you. This is your Psalm. Claim it. Pray it. The Psalm does not read The Eternal Shepherds only Christians, only Jewish people, only people of faith. The word me is inclusive, universalist, including everyone, including every person who lived, is alive now, will ever live. The Eternal is the God of everyone. And the Eternal is the shepherd, the Good Shepherd of all.

Turning back for a moment to Mothering Day, to a day when people returned to their home church. The 23rd Psalm can have special meaning for those who were hurt in churches. God, the Good Shepherd, prepares a wonderful meal for us, and those who hurt us can see us being pampered, receiving a full dose of God’s love and hospitality. For some Christians, the Eucharist, the communion is just one of the times that God pampers people with a meal and with hospitality, in the presence of the entire church.

The passage that is translated the valley of the shadow of death in many translations is translated by biblical linguist James Moffatt as a “glen of gloom.” The phrase can be translated as a “valley of deep darkness.”(9) When we are in our homes, usually there is nothing to fear from being in the dark. We probably know where everything is and we can navigate in the dark. For about six and a half years, I worked nights as a security guard. Some of the buildings did not have emergency lights in hallways and stairwells that automatically turned on when the power went off. I can assure you that there is not the same level of comfort when you are in a building that you do not know nearly as well as your home and the power goes out. After the power went out, I recall leaning against the wall of a few buildings, as I carefully felt my way down flights of stairs. Being on a road in pitch darkness is frightening. You have no idea what direction the road is going. And you do not know if your next step is going to land on level ground, in a pothole, in a mud puddle, or on an unstable rock.

The Good Shepherd provides family of choice, as well as families of origin, in our lives. Those family members can be the ones who provide guidance when we go through periods in life when we cannot see where our feet are. They guide our steps so we do not fall in a mud puddle. And when we inevitably fall into a mud puddle on life’s journey, family of heritage and choice can help us out of the mud puddle and clean us up.

When I was in college, a professor told our class about a conversation she had with her husband, who was also a professor. She mentioned to her husband serious concerns about a student who attended a college where she was an instructor. Her husband asked why he had not met the student, and insisted that she invite that student to their home. They reached out in care to that student, in a parenting role.

When I was in the hospital for a serious infection, a friend, who served for a period of time as a hospital chaplain, learned that I was not well. Every day in the hospital and for the three weeks that I was getting IVs as an outpatient, he video phoned. He asked me to turn my head back and forth to check and see if the swelling in my face was getting better. Some days, I was too weak to have much of a conversation. But his parenting/mothering video calls brightened my day. This week, I watched his funeral service. He leaves a big gap in care for people in his church and his city.

A call extended on Mother’s Day, on Christian Family Day is to help fill parenting roles to those who are in our lives. Meeting the parenting/mothering needs of people is not rocket science. All it requires is for us to be available and to reach out in compassion when we see a need. That is probably the most meaningful and impactful way to follow the footsteps of Jesus, and it is the best Mother’s Day gift we can give.

Notes

(1) Mother’s Day. Britannica. 08 March 2022, 26 April 2022. <https://www.britannica.com/topic/Mothers-Day> and “Mother’s Day.” History. 28 October 2021, 26 April 2022.

<https://www.history.com/topics/holidays/mothers-day>.

(2) Mother’s Day (2022) <https://www.britannica.com/topic/Mothers-Day> and “Mother’s Day.” (2021) <https://www.history.com/topics/holidays/mothers-day>.

(3) Revelation 7:9.

(4) Psalm 22:6 But I am a worm, and no man; a reproach of men, and despised.

(5) “Jack Hyles.” Wikipedia. n.d., 01 May 2022. <https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Jack_Hyles>.

(6) Jack Hyles. “The Story Behind the Psalms.” Faith Bible Baptist Church. n.d., 01 May 2022. <http://www.fbbc.com/messages/hyles_psalms.htm>.

(7) 1 Samuel 13:14.

(8) G.A.F. Knight. The Daily Study Bible: Psalms, Vol. 1. (Edinburg: Saint Andrew Press, 1985), 115.

(9) Knight (1985), 116.

[aloysiavirgata]

Xenia

Title: Xenia By: Aloysia Virgata Rating: PG Category: MSR Timeline: X Cops Summary: Brunch in WIllow Park Notes: For @perplexistan​, who came up with this amazing idea.

***

He’s staring out the window into the grungy hotel courtyard when he hears the knock at the door. Mulder frowns and, against all recommendation, tucks his gun into the waistband of his boxers. He approaches the door as though it may be on fire. “Hello?” he calls.

“Mulder, it’s me.”

He puts his gun on top of the microwave, unfastens the three locks to admit Scully. “What’s up, buttercup?”

She’s snapping a pink card against her palm, scowling as she passes beneath his arm. “Brunch,” she says.

Mulder shuts the door before following her to the bed. She’s hunched there like a tiny storm cell, glowering, gathering steam. He decides against a romantic overture, though it’s been a week since she last spent the night and he wants to...to lick her.

“Brunch?” he repeats.

She holds the card out. “Sergeant Duthie has accepted an invitation on our behalf.”

Mulder, baffled, takes it from her. The card is flamingo pink, ornamented with two palm trees and two gold-rimmed champagne glasses. In careful gold calligraphy, it invites them to join Steve and Edy for BRUNCH AND BUBBLY! at 10:30.

His jaw drops. “You cannot possibly be serious.”

She snatches it back from him. “Serious as hantavirus. I hope you brought something in a nice madras.”

He sits next to her on the bed, stunned. “Why has Sergeant Duthie done this to us? We were helpful, Scully. You rendered medical aid. You did a late night autopsy out of the goodness of your heart.”

Scully, prim, tucks the card into her jacket pocket. “I did a late night autopsy because you’re bossy and demanding, but that isn’t the point.”

“Do we have to go?” he asks, like she’s his mother.

Scully glares at him. “’Do we have to go?’” she mimics in a falsetto. “Of course we have to go, we’ll look awful if we don’t. The tabloid headlines will practically write themselves. FBI SNUBS LOCAL NEIGHBORHOOD COUPLE. You wanted to go charging around on camera talking about fear monsters for the noble cause of cryptozoology and look where it got us.”

He sighs. “Well, of everyone we encountered on that little goose chase, they’re not awful. I wouldn’t want to have brunch at the crack house.”

She chews the inside of her cheek, stewing. “I can’t believe this.”

Mulder thumps her back in a comradely manner.  “The food will probably be decent, right? Probably good coffee, too. Not to mention the bubbly!”

Scully scrunches her nose, pressing her hand to her eyes. “Mulder, I swear to God…”

The event begins to take shape in his mind, Steve and Edy’s tidy home with little morsels on trays. He tries to remember the campy snacks his mother ordered for her bridge club. Lots of puff pastry and ornamental parsley.

Scully gets to her feet. “Well, shower and iron your seersucker suit,” she says gloomily. “I’ll call a cab.”

“It’ll be fun,” he says, excited as always by any novel experience. He considers too that Scully needs to be socialized more often, and it’s not like he takes her on real dates. This will be good for her. He will make her enjoy herself, he decides.

“Oh, I can’t wait for you to get halfway through your third mimosa and start dispensing relationship advice,” Scully says. “Between Edy and Hollman, maybe you should quit the FBI and start a romance column.”

“I get no kick from champaaaaaagne,” he croons.

“Mulder.”

“Mere alcohol doesn't thrill me at all…”

“MULDER.”

“So tell me why should it be true, that I get a kick out of you?”

His gun falls off the microwave when she slams the door.

***

The driver takes them to a decrepit looking stucco building to procure a hostess gift from what he assures them is the best bakery within 20 miles. Dubious, Mulder and Scully follow him inside. Behind the ancient formica counter, a withered old woman brandishing an immense wooden spoon speaks loudly with the cabbie for several moments in an unknown tongue. He points at his fares, gesturing broadly.

Mulder tries to look respectable, the kind of person who deserves only the finest. He nudges Scully, who offers a vague wave at the proprietress.

The old woman considers them for a moment, then chooses several items from her display case. She secures them in a tidy parcel, which she passes to Scully, who accepts it like an IED.

The woman beckons Mulder down to her and when he obliges, bent nearly double, she pinches his cheek and whacks his arm in a loving manner with the spoon.

Scully, delighted, pays and tips her generously before they get back on their way.

***

The cab stops in front of Steve and Edy’s house. Mulder, who feels this is all becoming a splendid adventure, praises the cabbie for his excellent service. He leaves an extra five on the front seat before they get out.

Scully holds the bakery box with a mournful air. “Well,” she says. “Here we are.”

Mulder opens the gate in the chain link fence, striding along the walkway to the house. He is already on the porch, examining the empty birdcage, when she trudges up.

He chucks her under the chin. “Smile pretty.”

Her nostrils flare, but there is no other response.

Mulder knocks at the door, and is greeted almost immediately by Edy. She is wearing tropical print harem pants, a purple tunic, and a white turban ornamented with a tremendous topaz brooch and a single peacock feather. She squeals delightedly and flings her arms around him.

“AY-gent Mulder,” Edy gushes. “Well don’t you look mighty handsome. And Agent Scully, child, you did NOT have to bring a GIFT.”

Mulder extricates himself from Edy’s grasp. “Thanks, uh, for having us. It wasn’t necessary.”

“No,” Scully pipes up. “It really wasn’t.”

Edy waves her elegant hand. “It is absolutely our pleasure. Now come on in.” She swans into the kitchen, leaving them stranded in the living room. The house smells gloriously of food.

Scully shuts the door with her hip. “Um,” she says.

Mulder directs his attention to a collection of ceramic animals on a shelf. A little seal balances a ball on its snout, so shiny it looks like hard candy.

Steve emerges from the hallway, dapper in a crisp button down. “I heard her fussing from the bathroom,” he says. “She changed her outfit five times.”

“Well, it’s certainly nice to feel wanted,” Mulder observes. He looks at the vase of flowers on the table, the bright cloth beneath it. The sweet domesticity tugs at him.

“We brought this,” Scully says, nearly shoving the box into Steve’s hands.

Steve takes it, smiling. “Well, isn’t that mighty nice of you? You went to Sofia, that place is real good. Bulgarian.” He places the box on the table. “Go on and take a seat, just going to help out in the kitchen.”

They sit across from one another at the table after he disappears from view. Mulder rubs his arm. “I think the bakery lady left a mark.”

“You’re probably betrothed now.” Scully toys with a crystal salt shaker. “Some old Bulgarian custom.”

“Jealous?”

She offers a moue of disdain.

Edy emerges from the kitchen with a bar cart. As predicted, there are flutes of mimosas on the top of it, and a whole pitcher besides. The rest is loaded with food. “TaDAAAAA!” Edy sings, with a grand flourish.

“Edy, this is too much,” Mulder says, rubbing his hands together. Even Scully looks impressed.

“She’s been busy all morning,” Steve says proudly, hands on her shoulders.

Edy beams, hands them each a plate of Eggs Benedict. “I make that Hollandaise myself,” she says, taking her seat as the peacock feather sways. “Grow the lemons out back, too. All this out back.” She surveys her table, a presiding empress. 

Steve unloads the rest of the cart, plates of fruit and tiny tomato sandwiches and cheese straws. A mound of home fries glossy with butter and fragrant with browned onions.

“Don’t forget the bubbly,” Edy says, scandalized. “We need a toast.”

Steve dutifully passes them each a mimosa before sitting down. 

Edy lifts her glass. “Well, I will just say thank you to our new friends from the FBI who are doing their best to keep us safe even with a bunch of skanky-ass crackheads running around, may they rest in peace. Amen.”

Scully is staring at the table, chewing hard on her bottom lip to keep from laughing.

Mulder doesn’t dare try to catch her eye. “Uh, amen,” he says, and takes a sip of his drink. He blinks; Edy has a heavy pour.

“I squeezed that juice myself too,” Edy says.

Steve rolls his eyes. “You sound like the Little Red Hen, you gonna let us eat or what?”

“I told you he disrespects me,” she mutters into her glass.

Scully has recovered herself and is cutting into her egg, which spills golden yolk onto her plate. She removes a wedge of the sandwich with surgical precision and puts it into her mouth, wary. Her face brightens as she chews. “Edy, this is delicious.”

Mulder is proud of Edy.

“My Granny Minerva taught me to cook,” she says. “I grew up with her mostly, in the Lowcountry.”

Mulder perks up. “Oh, did you? My grandparents had a place in Hilton Head.”

Edy snorts. “Mmmhmmm, I bet they did. I bet you’re a trust fund baby to the cradle, you have pretty hands.”

Scully laughs around a chunk of watermelon, sputters and coughs. She presses a cloth napkin to her mouth, blushing pink as the fruit.

“You okay?” Steve asks, his brow furrowed. “You need a drink?”

Scully, still magenta, shakes her head and gulps half of her mimosa. “I’m fine,” she manages. Mouths “pretty hands” to Mulder.

Mulder scowls at her. 

“ANNNyway,” Edy continues. “I lived with Granny and I learned all her secrets.” She gestures at the tomato sandwich on Mulder’s plate. “The trick is you pat the tomatoes dry first, did you know that, Hilton Head?”

Steve refills his glass. “She lived with Granny Minerva because her mama was a runaround.”

Edy whips her head around. “I have TOLD you not to disrespect my mama.”

Steve purses his lips but says no more. 

Mulder applies himself to his Eggs Benedict, which is rich and delicious and speaks highly of Granny Minerva. Scully is nibbling a cheese straw with interest.

Edy props her chin in her palm, tapping her cheek with her fingers. “The FBI, now what is that like to do? It seems real scary to me.” She looks at Mulder through her extravagant lashes.”Real daaaangerous,” she purrs.

Scully’s lower lip is back between her teeth.

Mulder chases a potato around his plate with his fork. “Well, uh, it depends, I guess. I mean sometimes, sure, it’s pretty dangerous I guess, depending, but we have a lot of training and all and there’s paperwork mostly too, which is only dangerous if you get the math wrong and there’s an audit, haha, so…” he trails off.

“Agent Mulder just doesn’t want you to feel concerned,” Scully interjects smoothly. “Situations like the one you experienced are exactly what we’ve been trained to do, so there’s no need to be worried. We go through a pretty extensive program in the Academy.” She spears a slice of kiwi and pops it into her mouth.

Mulder could kiss her, right in front of Steve and Edy and God and everybody. Haul the camera crew back for all he cares. But he knows better. She’ll get there on her own.

Edy fans herself. “I just can’t imagine.  We are too glad you were here.”

“Baby, they brought dessert from Sofia,” Steve says. “Wasn’t that nice?”

She claps her hands happily. “Ooohhh, that little old Bulgarian lady runs that place.”

“She hit me with a spoon,” Mulder says, pointing at his arm. “About took my cheek off too.”

“That means she likes you,” Steve tells him. 

“Giiirrrl, you better watch out,” Edy warns Scully, with a knowing expression. “She’ll snap him right up.”

Scully looks alarmed. “Pardon?”

Edy smirks. “You may have trained at the A-cad-emy, but I studied theater and I can read all kinds of things in people.”

Scully’s face has gone from alarm to panic, and Mulder knows she is trying to recall every word, every movement the cameramen may have captured.

“Theater?” he asks, to divert her. “You’re an actress, Edy?”

Steve puts his head in his hands. “Lord help us.”

She gets to her feet, arms held out like a goddess on a Grecian urn. “My sister Veronica and I did this double act and my husband, Charlie, traveled around with us. Now for the last number - “

“Chicago!” Mulder exclaims, then is embarrassed.

They all look at him in surprise. 

“You like musicals, Agent Mulder?” Edy asks, practically glowing. “What’s your favorite?”

“Yes, Agent Mulder, what’s your favorite?” Scully asks, eyes dancing.

He draws little squiggles in the remains of his Hollandaise sauce. “Oh, just, my mom used to take us to shows, you know, when I was a kid.”

“But your favorite,” Scully insists, because she is mean.

“Chicago’s good,” he mumbles. He will never tell her the real answer, which is My Fair Lady.

“Honey, Chicago is the BEST.” Edy goes to a bookshelf and removes a large album.

“Ohhhh, no!” Steve asserts. “Didn’t I already tell you nobody wants to see your ass? Now go on and put that back.”

Edy glides back haughtily, places the book on the table, oriented towards Mulder. She opens it to a page with a glossy 8x10 of her as Velma Kelly, in all her black sequined bodysuited glory.

“Wow,” Mulder says, feeling sympathetic pain as he looks at the bodysuit.

“Virgin Indian hair on that wig,” Edy says, tapping the photo. She stares at Scully.

Scully leans forward to examine the photo. “You look really nice.”

Edy turns a few pages to another picture. She is luxuriating in a claw foot tub, one leg draped over the edge. The bubbly water is at a strategic depth between her legs. Mulder feels as though he should avert his eyes, but gazes on.

“Now these,” Edy says, “are from some modeling I did for a boudoir photographer.”

Steve groans. “Baby, why?”

“It is called art,” she snaps. “Now Agent Scully, girl to girl, you understand this. Sometimes you just want a record of you at your best, you want to share that with your man.” 

Scully smiles blankly. “Mm.”

Mulder studies the picture with renewed interest. “A boudoir photographer?” he asks.

Edy favors Scully with a sly glance. “See that’s what I thought.  It’s very tasteful, isn’t it?” She turns the page, displaying herself in a ruffled white corset, heeled white ankle boots, and a lace parasol. “It’s very elegant.”

It is, strangely enough. Mulder assumes there must be boudoir photographers in DC. He can import one, if necessary. From the edge of his peripheral vision, he sees Scully studiously peeling a grape.

“I think it’s time for dessert,” Steve says. “Honey, go put those pictures back so they don’t get ruined.”

Edy, looking triumphant, gives Mulder a saucy wink before sashaying back to the bookshelf.

“Lord,” Steve mumbles. He opens the bakery box, then smiles. “You tell her you were coming here?” he asks. “You got all my favorites.”

“I think the cabbie must have,” Scully says, abandoning her grape. “They were talking for a bit, but we didn’t know what they were saying. We never even mentioned your names, I guess he knew the address.”

“Musta been Anzhelo,” Edy says, settling on Steve’s lap. “That’s her grandson, he helps me with my garden a little bit. That boy is always hustling.”

Steve puts a golden pastry oozing honey onto his plate. He cuts off a morsel with his fork and feeds it to his lady, who giggles. 

Mulder smiles at them. “This, uh, this has been really wonderful, but we have to go get our stuff together for the flight home.”

Edy pouts. “Well, that’s a shame. You oughtta stay another day or so, we could show you around town. We know everybody.”

Steve moves on to a dense wedge of chocolate cake. “Lots of walnuts in this, you got any allergies?”

Scully holds up a hand. “No, thank you, I’m qui-“

“She’s gotta keep her cute figure for that boudoir photographer,” Edy says. She licks honey off of her fingers.

“Can we help you tidy up?” Scully asks, as though Edy hasn’t spoken.

“I got it,” Steve says. “That’s our system. You go on back to your hotel, I’ll call Anzhelo.” He pats Edy on the side, and she gets up so he can head to the phone.

“Where’s the restroom, please?” Scully asks.

Steve sprawls on the red velvet sofa, pointing her down the hall. He picks up the receiver and starts dialing.

Mulder watches Scully disappear around the corner, wondering if he would like to thank Edy or strangle her.

“He'll be here in just a few,” Steve says from the couch. “I called him on his cell phone, how times change.”

“You tell her not to worry,” Edy says with a wink, resting her hand on Mulder’s shoulder. “The cameras don’t get everything.”

Mulder adopts what he hopes is a confused expression and shrugs. He busies himself stacking plates, pausing to take a swipe of chocolate frosting with his finger. He downs the rest of his second mimosa, considers a third.

Scully emerges then, her hair smoothed and her lipstick freshened. “Again, thank you both for the hospitality.”

“You better call us when you’re in town again,” Edy says, wagging a stern finger. “I will hold you to that, Agents.”

There is a honk outside. “Oh, that’s our cue,” Mulder says, rising. He reaches for the small of Scully’s back but it feels conspicuous now. He converts the motion to a wave.

Edy follows them to the door, blowing kisses all the way.

They climb into the waiting cab. “You like my grandmother's baking?” Anzhelo asks, peeling away from the curb.

“Phenomenal,” Scully says, because she is kind. “We’re stuffed.”

Anzhelo smiles proudly in the rear view.

Mulder slumps against the door. “I feel like one of those big snakes after it eats a whole wildebeest. I need to sleep off all that food.”

“I was a little ambitious myself,” Scully says. She sits up straighter, eyes wide. “Oh, Mulder. Oh shit. You know Bill watches Cops?”

Of course he does, of course. Mulder makes a noise of dismay, unable to address this news on so full a stomach and so heavy a head.

“Mulder, he’s going to see every terrible minute and just snap,” she moans. “Werewolves!”

Mulder, buzzy, imagines Bill and Tara on the couch, eating Corn Nuts, when his sister appears onscreen. He imagines Bill leaping to his feet in outrage, scattering a plate of Li’l Smokies cooked in grape jelly. He starts laughing.

Scully punches him in the arm. “It’s not funny, Mulder!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he pleads, holding up his hands in defense. He is still laughing.

“Oh my god, the Wasp Man! Mulder did you say anything awful when you were unattended?”

Tears are running down his face at this point. It’s all so ridiculous. Bill in his base housing, finding out that his sister was two hours away chasing invisible monsters and crackheads without even calling. Mulder thinks he may, if suitably provoked, let him know what else his sister has been doing.

He smiles darkly to himself.

Scully punches his arm again, harder, and he stops laughing. 

“Ow,” he says, sulky. “It’s nothing he doesn’t know.”

She hides her face in her hands. “I could just die.”

Mulder draws her onto her side, curled with her glossy head in his lap. He strokes her smooth pixie cap of hair, the color of autumn in New England.

“I hate you,” she mumbles into his thigh.

He traces her ear. “I know,” he soothes. 

“So much.”

“Yes.”

“And you can stop thinking about boudoir photographers, because it’s not happening.” She traces little shapes on his knees.

“Mmm,” he says, non-committal. Mulder pets her until they pull up at the hotel, and he has to get to his wallet. He pays Anzhelo and sends regards to his grandmother, to Steve and Edy.

They clamber out, Scully blinking in the vivid sunlight. Anzhelo waves from the window as he drives off.

“You ready to go home?” Mulder asks.

She looks up at him. “No photographer,” she says again. “But.”

He’s intrigued. “But?”

“My room has a corner tub. It’s not, uh, a claw foot or anything, but it’s pretty roomy.” Scully looks shy as she takes his hand. “This is still weird,” she confesses.

“Yeah. But it’s, I think it’s good weird, right?”

“Yeah.” She smiles, squeezes his fingers.

He kisses her in the bright LA sunshine, in front of the bellhop and the taxis and God and everybody. She doesn’t pull away, puts her arms around him in fact, and still the world turns and turns and turns.

[allaboutjoseph]

Litany of Work: St. Joseph the Worker

Litany of Work: St. Joseph the Worker

Litany of Work to St Joseph the Worker

Response after each invocation: With St. Joseph the Worker, we praise you, O Lord.

We give thanks to God for the work of our lives, For the work of our hands, For the work of our minds, For the work of our hearts, For the enlightening work of teachers, librarians, students, and coaches, For the healing work of doctors, nurses, and counselors, For the creative work of artists, musicians, painters, and sculptors, For the precise work of engineers, scientists, and computer specialists, For the nurturing work of homemakers, parents, and guardians, For the wise work of retirees and grandparents, For the proclaiming work of writers, photographers, editors, and publishers, For the trustworthy work of accountants, bankers, lawyers, politicians, and salespeople, For the faith-filled work of ordained, religious, and lay ministers, For the protective work of police, firefighters, and military personnel, For the dedicated work of secretaries, receptionists, and bookkeepers, For the compassionate work of volunteers, For the fruitful work of farmers, fishers, growers, and gardeners, For the judicious work of managers, administrators, directors, and supervisors, For the steadfast work of those who manufacture products,

For the constructive work of builders, surveyors, architects, masons, and carpenters, For the efficient work of those who transport people and things by bus, train, plane, taxi, and boat, For the hospitable work of cooks, waiters and waitresses, cashiers, hotel and motel workers, For the clarifying work of television, radio, and news media workers, For the dependable work of telephone and postal workers, For the good work of all other co-workers, For our work which sheds light in the darkness, For our work which creates order from chaos, For our work which builds peace out of hostility, For our work which helps others, For our work which empowers others, For our work which inspires others, For our work which builds the Reign of God,

Let us pray:

Joseph, it was to you that the Father entrusted his Son and the Virgin Mother. Continue to be the sign of the Father's love for us.

Form us in the ways of work as you formed Christ, so that we may labor for the building of the City of God.

Teach us a profound respect for the mystery of creation and a reverence for the Father's presence in the material world around us.

Help us bear witness to the sanctity of work in our daily living.

May God grant us this grace through your intercession in union with Jesus and Mary.

Amen.

Source:  University of Dayton, Ohio website:

https://udayton.edu/imri/mary/l/litany-of-work-saint-joseph-the-worker.php