#mrs homemaker

[mrs-homemaker]

Feminine Dresses 👗

Ditsy Floral Puff Sleeve Corset Dress

Ditsy Floral Slit Midi Dress

Lace Up Tiered Maxi

Floral Shirred MIDI Dress

Floral Embroidery Dress

Solid Backless Button Up Dress

Woven V-Neck Floral Dress

Floral Halter Dress

[starlitangels]

Me: *sick with a sore throat and falling back on my “sick with a sore throat” comfort food (a bowl of ramen)*

In My Head: David Shaw if you come after me for eating just a bowl of ramen when I am sick and it’s the only thing that sounds good and makes me feel better I’ll steal your teeth

[toongrrl-blog]

"As feminists have often patiently explained, 'family values' is just code for male domination. If protecting male privilege conflicts with protecting families, Republicans will choose the former. That's why Trump's status as a thrice-married chronic adulterer has never been a problem for the party of 'family values.'"

[mypoisonedvine]

tommy with a housewife kink, please??? I love your writing so much!!!

me? writing FLUFF??? inconceivable. ... still made it horny tho

warnings: SMUT 18+ only, fingering, housewife kink (duh), messy kitchen shenanigans

You'd almost forgotten about the weight of his stare on you, you were so focused on your work. Rolling out the dough as evenly as possible, you wiped a bit of sweat off your brow with the back of your hand-- since your fingers were still covered in flour.

"I think I could watch you do this forever," Tommy said suddenly, breaking you out of your concentration, and you laughed self-consciously through your nose when you saw the proud smirk on his full lips.

"What, baking?"

"That too," he said as he got up from the chair and walked closer to you. "But I meant all of it-- cooking, cleaning, homemaking..."

He smiled wider as he reached for you and rubbed your arms soothingly as you took a moment to relax during all the work of baking.

"Just generally doing all the things you do to be Mrs. Shelby," he added, making you bite your lip and blink up at him.

"How about you help your wife then, Mr. Shelby?" you suggested just before he tilted your chin back and gave you a slow, soft kiss.

You'd forgotten the question already when he answered it, a gentle mumble against your lips: "Alright."

Pulling back, he turned to the amorphous shape of rolled-out dough on the counter, beginning to roll up his sleeves.

"How can I help, then?" he asked.

"Well, maybe you could help me spread the butter?" you offered.

"I think I can manage that," he announced smugly-- but he ended up giving in less than ten minutes later, groaning as he stepped back from the counter. "I'm not much good at this," he noticed with a frown.

"No, Tommy, you're doing great," you promised, "I like having the help..."

"But look how pretty yours are," he laughed, "and look at mine. Fucked up little things--"

"Tommy, they look fine," you insisted, but you were laughing too-- and yes, the rolls he'd made were... less uniform than yours... and more than a bit lopsided. But you just appreciated that he was trying!

"I think I have other talents to help my wife," he decided as he wiped his hands; and before you could ask what he meant, he stepped up behind you while you were still working, holding your waist as he started to kiss your neck. You hummed and shut your eyes. "Like helping her relax when she works so hard..."

"Tommy," you gasped as his hands started to lift your dress and apron, "at least let me put these in the oven first..."

"Shh, you can keep going," he offered, reaching under the layers of fabric to pet your legs with a low purr, "I just need to touch you-- just need to make Mrs. Shelby feel good, can I do that?"

You whimpered as his hand slipped around in front of your hips, cupping you where you needed him most.

"Think it's my right, isn't it?" he continued, reaching into your panties to carefully rub your clit; your thighs clenched together, and you accidentally almost squished the roll in your hand as it flexed into a sudden fist. "Think it's my responsibility, no? Shouldn't a husband pleasure his wife?"

"You do," you hummed, "oh, Tommy-- you do, you make me feel so good..."

He slipped two fingers inside you suddenly, making you reach back with a little yelp of joy to grab instinctively at Tommy's shirt-- only to let go when you remembered your hands were covered in flour and butter. "O-oh, dear-- let me wash that before it stains--"

"Shh," he cooed, grinning as he shook his head while he buried it in the crook of your neck. "Doesn't matter, love-- you need to stop worrying so much."

But you knew just as well as he did that he adored the way you worried-- the way you took care of everything, most of all him. So, even though the back of your mind raced with all your wifely anxieties about getting these rolls in the oven and washing his shirt and all the other chores that needed to be done tonight, you relaxed back into Tommy's arms with a sigh, deciding to let your husband take care of you in return.

[omgthatdress]

To get into the first looks that were made for Barbie, we need to understand the beauty and fashion of 1959.

1950s fashion existed under that shadow of World War II. Women of the war era were hardy, hard-working, and practical. Fashion was also extremely practical, using as little rationed material as possible. The silhouette was boxy, masculine and almost military, with big broad shoulders and knee-length skirts. Rationing and austerity continued in the years immediately following the war, but then in 1947, something miraculous happened:

(The Metropolitan Museum of Art)

Christian Dior created “The New Look.” Now okay, fashion in general had been leaning into this new silhouette and Dior was far from the only designer to be working with it, but his was the most copied and most iconic.

“The New Look” was a call back to the sumptuous femininity of the mid-Victorian era, bringing back tiny waists held in place by impossibly tight corsets and big, full skirts with crinolines and hoops. 

The silhouette was a return to classic femininity, but the materials garments themselves were pure modernity: a practical ensemble for a wealthy woman-on-the-go who was lunching with her friends in Paris.

Looking back at Barbie’s 1959 looks, Christian Dior’s fingerprints are all over them, but I see plenty of other designers in the mix, as well. It’s actually very easy to find near-matches of almost all of Barbie’s 1959 looks with a cover of Vogue from the 1950s. Barbie from the get-go was an idealized woman who existed in a world that was separate from the middle-class American suburbs that the little girls who played with her lived in.

Looking at classic first-run Barbie, there’s honestly not a whole lot to say about the bathing suit look. I mean, yeah, that’s what fashionable women wore to the beach in the 1950s. Her buxom curvy body fit the idealized standards epitomized by Marilyn Monroe.

Her face has the heavy makeup that was worn by French fashion models of the time.

Arched, heavily-styled brows, eyeshadow, slightly winged eyeliner, mascara, and of course perfect red lips with matching mani and pedi. One of my pet peeves about vintage style is when people wear winged eyeliner as “50s housewife glam.” NO. Your average middle class American Mrs. Homemaker was not wearing that kind of makeup. Winged eyeliner in the 50s only had a small wing that accentuated the eyelashes, and was generally only worn by the high-fashion crowd. Maybe on a special extra glamorous date with Mr. Husband, but not to a church potluck. Anyway, end of rant, but you see that’s what Barbie is trying to emulate.

Her hair, however is different: the poodle hairstyle was one favored by teenage girls. Seen here on the squeaky-clean America’s sweetheart, Debbie Reynolds:

The playful, youthful hair pulls her back and keeps her from being *too* grown-up. It’s the first step in the balancing act that Barbie has always pulled off with aplomb: to represent adulthood without being too far out of reach of children’s imaginations.

[horsegirl]

the victorian poster: every butcher’s shop is called gremble and sons every music hall is called middlesex emporium theatre every newspaper is called the wensleydale telegraph every temperance group is called the order for the promotion of orderly behaviour every member of parliament is either called sir percival hilary st. john dyke-moore 6th viscount of cuntington or george brown every household management book is called mrs frumper’s complete encyclopedia of practical homemaking etiquette technique etc for the home every poetry book is called the selected poetical works of william f. boner volume one. and we experience all these things and more by god’s grace

[piscesvenus12h]

ASTROLOGY OBSERVATIONS: SUN THROUGH THE HOUSES - 7th-12th

7th house sun: relationship oriented. Doesn’t like to be alone. Probably a people pleaser. “If not it’s ok” - text message sender. Would rather do it themselves. Caretaker and homemaker. Maternal. Excellent fashion sense. Interior design. This is the friend you go to when you want to throw a party or have a big extravagant plan that you need help with. You’ll end up with a party or event planned with excellence. They strive to make you smile. To the natal owner: don’t ever forget that just as beautiful on the inside as you are on the outside. People may walk all over you if you let them. Place boundaries where you need them and don’t feel responsible for other peoples emotions.

8th house sun:  magnetic. Alluring as FUCK. People either love you or they hate you and there’s no grey matter here. Mystic at heart. Sensitive. Connected with the occult. Manifests easily. Should definitely major in psychology or philosophy. Good with money. This is the friend you find when you need to express your power and need help establishing how to do that best. This friend will help you find who you truly are and help you express your fullest potential. To the natal owner: being a hermit is OKAY & NEEDED desperately by you. You cannot survive out in the open world forever, you NEED to retreat and care for yourself first and foremost.

9th house sun: SMART. Book and street smart. Creative in the arts. Idea giver. Divinely inspiration. Book nerd. Low key adrenaline junky. Excellent at languages. Probably doesn’t need a GPS much/remembers locations and directions really fucking good. This is the friend you study all night with for midterms and then hit spring break travels with! They know how to bust out an A+ then party their asses off. To the natal owner: pick one or two passion projects and pursue them with all you have! Anything you set your mind to will take effort and your undivided attention. Don’t get discouraged if you don’t succeed right away, persistence is key!!

10th house sun: girl boss/boy boss. Class president. Probably gets upset with themselves when they don’t get an A on a test they prepared for. random fact giver. natural born leader. Management. Color coding. Probably irons their clothes before work or school. This is the friend you want to seek if you have a new business or club or anything in that area. They will help you set everything up and even serve as a leader if you need one. To the natal owner: it’s ok to take a nap. Productivity does not make you a better person than anyone else. Don’t convince yourself otherwise.

11th house sun:  miss/Mr. popular. committed as fuck. Most people love you and if they don’t, it’s because of a projection. Chatty. Should be a podcast owner. Makes a new friend every week. Really good at social media. open minded. Wants to save all of the animals. “if we don’t have earth, we have nothing.” This is the friend you seek to help take your mission statement up a level. To the natal owner: you can’t save everyone!! Not everyone is worth your genuine love and support. Learn boundaries.

12th house sun: WWJD? Loner. Spiritual or religious. Sees in between the lines. You can’t get anything past these people. They intuitively know all. Fertile. Creative. Powerful when they put their mind to it. Day dreamer. This is the friend that you want if you to transcend and take some magical mushies. They will take you on an adventure of a lifetime. To the natal owner: be careful of escaping your reality too much. I know earth sucks, but you’re stuck here. Ground yourself and find your tribe. 

(Houses 1-6 also posted!)

[cmdrfupa]

Felicity #1

He was thankful for the sorcery world as it allowed him a life he could only dream of. But then it almost cost him his life, and imagining leaving you behind wasn’t easy. So he resigned, willing to be his beloved's absolute best support system and house husband. The perfect husband. So what’s that nagging feeling at the back of his mind?

~~please refer to *this* post for potential content warning~~

Homemaker!Ijichi x Reader

2.6k wc

Summer comes at an astounding pace. One day, allergy season, and spring showers. Next thing you know, the day to jump into a pool is here. New beginnings and cold frozen lychee martinis in hand.

Today was not that day.

As Ijichi lifted his visor, he wiped the sweat from his brow, feeling the tremendous relief of the cloth against his skin. While he appreciated knowing the linens would dry much quicker with the heat, he wished it wasn't draining every drop of his life source in the 20 minutes he was outdoors. Grabbing the basket of dried items, he returned to fold them, thrilled to sit and finish the final 2 episodes of Bad and Crazy so he could finally talk to you about the end once you made it home.

"Baby? I'm home early." You take your shoes off, sliding on your slippers. As you walked further into the house, a delightful scent of pie and freshly cut pineapple filled the air, a surprising aroma for this time of day. Intrigued, you go to the kitchen, confident that he is up to something. There he is, headsets on, lost in the music, his voice softly humming the words to what you think is 505 by the Arctic Monkeys. His head bobs to the beat as he dices the pineapple into bits. You can't decide what's sweeter, the pineapple or the joy in his voice. You stand in the entryway, a warm feeling of love and contentment washing over you, waiting until he sets the knife down to approach. Rubbing the center of his back, he didn't flinch as he recognized your touch, but he was a bit flustered. "Darling! You're home very early today! I.. Dinner isn't even done." He looks down at his watch, then back at you. "Everything okay at the school? Are you hurt?" he quickly removes his headphones before bringing a hand to your face, ensuring no harm was done. You embrace him before kissing him. "Everything is okay. I'm just home early. I promise." The relief in your voice is palpable, reassuring him that all is well. "If you insist. Though you never leave early, something is up, yes?" the man was persistent. "You know me too well, Chi." "It's part of the Kiyotaka genes. Knowing your spouse so well, they accept defeat early," he warmly snickers before bringing a piece of pineapple to your mouth. "So. What's the news?" Swallowing, your eyes show the excitement before you speak. "Satoru accepted the proposal to change how we train students on field missions to transition into their sorcerer roles. He loved the idea and offered me the role so I could ensure it was done correctly!" Elation filled Ijichi's face as he realized he helped implement a new structure that would last. "Love! Th- this is big! I'm so proud of you!" His hug couldn't have been tighter. The achievement in itself was monumental. But this meant he could 100% step out of his role and be your best homemaker. "Well. this is no small feat! I need to plan something. A pool party? No, not everyone wants to swim." Ijichi grabbed a writing tablet from the nearby drawer and clicked the attached pen. "Honey." "We could have a luau? Eh. I don't want to dig up the yard even if it would produce a really succulent pig." "Chi?" "Yes, darling?" His eyes immediately find yours. Gleeful, he leans in for a kiss. Happily accepting, your lips meet his as your arms wrap around his neck. "Let's just do a dinner party. A small one. Nothing too extravagant. Some wine, a few appetizers, a main course. And we can see if Mrs. Nanami can make us a cake. Yeah?" "My darling love, that sounds perfect. Leave it to me."

So here he was, organizing a party celebrating the sunshine season and his beautiful spouse's promotion. 

"Yes. And that one should have light pink spray roses, burgundy carnations, orange carnations, bells of Ireland, pink asiatic lilies, purple cushion spray chrysanthemums, blue sinuata statice, variegated pittosporum and if possible, leatherleaf fern."

He sucked his teeth, crossing the name of the nursery off of his list with a look of defeat. 

"Ah. No. That won't do, I'm sorry. Thank you for your time." He hung up the phone and began to scribble another note on his pad before sighing and sitting down next to you. 

"Ijichi. While I appreciate everything you're doing, you don't have to get every available summer flower."

"Honey. I know you appreciate it, but it's not about the flowers. I want it to be a beautiful piece for you. You've done something amazing! I want to celebrate that with no cut corners." Lightly squeezing your hand, Ijichi kisses your forehead before pressing another to your nose. 

You don't remember the last time you'd seen him this relaxed, but it suited him well. 

His usual combed, pristine hair that formed on his face was now lazily combed back, showing his beautiful facial structure. His hollowed cheeks had a peach flush once he noticed you were admiring his face. "Honey." He was easy to fluster, even after this long. "You're so handsome. And so kind. Don't overdo it in the name of trying to please me."

He has learned from previous affairs he's planned that sometimes he bites off more than he can chew occasionally. Like that birthday when he invited every class at Jujutsu Tech, administration, and the front office of your apartment complex. "Baby. All these people aren't going to fit in my apartment for much longer." You looked at the over two dozen people uncomfortably smiling in the living room, cramped but trying to look happy.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I uh.. we will make it work."

"It will be a small, intimate gathering. You've already decided on the guest list so that we will go with just those few." He rolled the sleeves up of his loose button-down, subtly interlacing his fingers with yours once he did. His cool touch brings a welcome tingle. 

"You are a gift, Ijichi. I love you forever."

Kissing the palm of your hand, he glanced up at you over his glasses. "And forever, I love you. Now. Don't you have something to do? Like that shelf full of books you promised to go through so we can donate some?"

Your eyes narrowed before you laughed. "Yes, sir."

His lips met yours in a tender kiss. "Thank you, darling. I'll start dinner once I've finished making this last call."

He watched as you left the den, beaming as you hummed a tune equal to an angelic chorus. "Just get it over with Kiyotaka." Grabbing his phone and huffing, he scrolled down to the 'Gojo S. 😶' contact in his phone before hitting the call button. 

"The renovations are gorgeous. You brought out the traditional style of the home." Kento admired the flooring of your living area, taking in the uniqueness of the classic tile pattern. 

"Thank you! Ijichi thought it was a good idea to uncover the beauty of the hardwood under our carpeting—the entire first floor. Come! He'd love to show you the rest of the work." With a smile, Nanami followed you to the dining room, where your husband checked the wine bottles to ensure perfect temperature. "Honey? "

Slightly frazzled, Ijichi's shoulders jumped. 

"Yes, my love? Kento!" He brought his hand out, noticing his friend shaking hands before pulling him in for a quick hug. 

"It's good to see you. You look very well rested, Kiyotaka."

"So do you! Retirement is doing us good, it seems," the men chuckled. 

"I'll let you boys catch up. I'll let you know when everyone has arrived." Kissing his cheek, you left to head towards the front of the house.

After giving his tour, Ijichi eventually made his way to the study, showing Nanami the latest addition to his collection of handcrafted fountain pens and watching him appreciate the craftsmanship. Hesitant, a question popped into mind as he looked around his office.

"Kento. May I ask you something?"

"Of course. What's on your mind?"

With a sigh, Ijichi swallowed before continuing. "What do you do with all this downtime? I feel like I'm getting on my partner's nerves with all the house renovation nonsense, the pens, the mundane things I do daily. Do you think we'll regret retiring this early? Do you think our spouses will tire of us?" It all spewed out without much thought. 

Part of Ijichi was happy he wasn't in immediate danger anymore. Though his worry was now with you as you helped lead the new generation of sorcerers, he knew you were far more capable. But it made him feel that perhaps you weren't into him as much now. He was home planning new projects, planning parties, and making dinners that could feed a dozen. Were you tired of him?

He knew precisely what Ijichi was thinking. 

"When I told my wife I wanted to leave the jujutsu world, I don't think I'd seen anyone so relieved in my life." he sips his beverage, looking down at his wedding band. 

"I did something I said I wouldn't do: marry while still in that world. But she was my calm in every storm we waltzed into. I did it with no regrets, of course. But after the incident in Shibuya that almost cut my life short…"

"Yeah…" Ijichi recalled the day of hell. You were in Kyoto, trying to return quickly once you heard what was happening. Ijichi was right there, facing death intimately. The reminder showed in the burn scars that covered half of Kento's body. He wore them with no hints of being self-conscious about them. He saw a smile growing on Kentos's face.

"I don't regret it. None of it. I don't think I can when I see how my partner looks when I'm working on a puzzle or cooking our favorite meal. Downtime now is something I treasure. We used to yearn for a day of peace and a little sense, you know." they both laughed, recalling the after-work drinks and gripes. "We are also still young enough to find any other profession if we choose."

"You’re right. I'm just overthinking… A lot"

"Don't feel like you're supposed to know what to do. I don't even know what the hell I'm doing most days." The tone of Kento's voice held a lot of compassion as he quickly found the words to reassure his friend. "We have done a lot of work. Dangerous work. We can afford to be indecisive and leisurely choose what to put our energy into."

While his words held some truth, that guilty feeling still sat in Ijichi's heart. "I do enjoy the leisurely pace of my life now. The house projects, the cooking, and the look on their faces when I show them my latest addition. I don't want to lose the gift of their unconditional love and unwavering affection. It's what drives my every move."

"Then ask them. When you two were dating, they seemed capable of simply talking about the uncomfortable quite easily. That's not changed, Kiyotaka. If anything, they will appreciate hearing your thoughts now that you are, in fact, the best house husband you could be."

He nodded as if weighing the potential conversation's pros and cons before letting out a breath he didn't realize was being held in. "Thank you, Nanami."

"You're like my brother Ijichi, of course. Now, I'm starving, and rumor is you made Spanakopita."

Amused, Ijichi led Kento back to the party's center; chatter was heard as they returned to the dining area. With a pause, Ijichi heard your voice and listened for a while.

"Satoru, I'm telling you. The entire plan was his idea. That last-minute meeting with the heads? He's a mastermind with that kind of planning."

"Well, duh. But he was a liability for a while. Great driver, excellent spreadsheet creator. But don’t you remember having to come and use your technique to get him out of the way against that grade 2 curse?"

"I was falling in love with the man! Of course I did. I would’ve done it again if it meant he was safe. I should've left you to do it so I could've gone home to him early that night." Ijichi smiled as you and Gojo laughed. That flushed feeling came rushing back to his face.

"I'm glad he has you. And that you have him. He was good to us both in the office and the field. He deserves some peace in his life." Gojo seems genuine in his words, an occurrence Ijichi has yet to accept fully.

"Though life isn't as easy without his continued presence and organization skills. Oh, you love birds. Do you want or maybe need a third in the home?" He pouts.

"I'd rather go back to 10 hours' worth of paperwork in that stuffy office at the school, Satoru," Ijichi interjected as he wrapped his arm around your waist, kissing your cheek with a gentle nudge of his nose.

"It's an option Ijichi. I don't require much! Just a sweet treat every once in a while and maybe a hug or 5."

"Please. Don't," you snickered at the comment, kissing your husband back.

"Behave." a playful nudge to his arm makes Ijichis lips curl up slightly. "Ken! Did you get the grand tour? Don't you love it?"

Kento nods. "It's phenomenal. Your husband knows his way around a home."

"Doesn't he? I've been given the gift of a homemaker with this one. He's made it feel even more like a dream. Nothing short of luck to have him as my forever beau."

It was hard to miss Ijichi's ears turning red as the kind words gave affirmation that he was doing everything right.

"Okay, okay. Enough of that." Clearing his throat, he raised his glass." Let's make a toast. To new beginnings with old friends who will stand the test of time. May we have more moments to sing each other's praises and welcome new changes!'

Post Party Unwind

Massaging your feet, Ijichi smiled. The gentle blaze of the low-burning fire nearby creates a cozy atmosphere for the end of a beautiful day. 

"Thank you again, my love. Everything was perfect! You even got Shoko to leave the hospital for a while. You must tell me your secrets."

A quiet laugh escaped his lips. "Oh, it wasn't much. I just told her you'd be thrilled to see her. And the promise of sending her home with a bottle of top-shelf tequila may have also worked." laughter filled the cozy backyard as the cool night air sent a slight chill up your legs and arms. 

"Want to head inside? I can run a bath for you while I finish cleaning."

"Why can't you join me in said bath?"

"Darling, there's so much cleaning to get done. The wine bottles, the mopping. Goodness, the leftover cake-"

"Ijichi Kiyotaka, my dear husband. Your loving significant other wants you to join them for a nice bubble bath. Please don't make me beg. I want to show you my appreciation." glint in your eyes, giving him the answer to his unspoken question.

Six years in, he couldn't take a flirtatious bout without coming apart just a little. It was just as amusing now as it was when he was driving you around back then. Adjusting his glasses before reaching up to run his slender fingers over your thigh, gripping the lush flesh with obviously wanton intent. "I'll go run us a bath. You are my priority, after all."

Thanks to @/saradika-graphics for the beautiful dividers!

Taglist: @marikuchanxo

Thank you for reading! 💞

[mxpseudonym]

Apple Cherry Blossom

Pairing: Luca x Blossom OC

Summary: Luca would like a little jealousy from his wife now and again.

Length: 1166 words

Warnings: None

A/N: I couldn't help myself 😭. I got inspired by “The Story of Ming Lan” and had to write this out. I hope you enjoy this out-of-the-blue post.

..

She held a half-eaten cherry in one hand and a pencil in the other. The account book on the desk in front of her laid open was for their new house. She would have to keep track of things like that now that she was officially a Changretta and a homemaker.

She put the rest of the cherry in her mouth, pitting it with her molars and tongue. Just when she was finished, a cup appeared in front of her mouth and she dropped the pit in to join the growing pile. Before she could think about it, another cherry was being held to her lips.

The attendant was none other than her husband who seemed both deep into the story he was telling her about his trip around town that led him to obtain a half pound of cherries, yet alert enough to steadily alternate between feeding them to her and providing a bowl to spit pits into.

She looked away from the amount they paid the butcher every month and up to Luca who was talking wildly with his free hand while patiently holding the cherry with the other.

“And finally we were walking through the street and this girl runs up to Ronnie. Would you believe it was Angela Cappoli? Could barely recognize her since she’s all grown up. And- here, it’s sweet,” Luca said, stopping his own story to push the fruit onto her.

She leaned back and picked up her glass of water first, taking a sip before catching the plump dark purple fruit between her teeth and letting him pull the stem.

“Angela Cappoli, can you believe it? Ma used to say we’d get married, you know?”

“Really? Why?”

“The Cappoli’s were bigger than us when I was in her belly, and she said a marriage could bring us together since Mrs. Cappoli was pregnant at the same time. Never worked out,” he concluded. Blossom nodded then dropped the pit in the cup. “You don’t have to worry about anything like that.”

“Worry?”

“Well we were a little sweet on each other for a while,” he admitted sheepishly. “But it wasn’t anything to be upset about.”

“I’m not upset, though?” She pointed out before before going back to her book. Luca blinked at her the squinted a bit. The next cherry from the little carton went to his mouth instead. This was his fault, really.

He was too honest and straightforward with her. He never wanted some miscommunication to come from vague, choppy words so he just told her everything. Blossom, therefore, didn’t worry about him lying to her. In conclusion, she had no reason to be the jealous type, sometimes to his dismay.

“It was a long time ago,” he continued carefully. “But today, she was real chatty. Kept reminiscing on old dates we had. And then she ran and gave me some of her parents’ apples.” He went back to feeding Blossom cherries, this time doing two in succession to watch her cheeks get a little chubby. “Don’t worry, I gave the apples to my sister-in-law.”

“You should’ve kept them, you like apples,” she said absently while flipping to a new page. Luca stared at her in disbelief.

“If my father told my mother, the sensible woman she is, that he’d taken the apples from an old sweetheart, even she’d give him a wack,” he told her. “And you’re not even the slightest bit worried about Angela?”

“Who cares about Angela? You’ve been talking for 20 minutes and haven’t even told me where these cherries came from,” Blossom reminded him. “Even if you wanted to marry her on your own, I wouldn’t mind if you took the apples. Your mother probably puts up a fuss to make your father feel good too. I doubt she thinks he’ll get taken away.”

Her mouth dropped open, ready to eat another cherry only to find there was none. She looked up, following Luca’s movements as he put the carton down and stood, heading to the couch. He laid out over the velvet and then looked at her with a dissatisfied face that was too similar to what children who felt wronged would pull. What was wrong with him now?

“You could pretend at least,” Luca grumbled. Blossom’s eyes roamed over his spread-out figure as she pondered. She was well within her rights to ignore him, and even confront him about being the strangest man she’d ever met. He wanted her to act foolish over another woman after all of the years they’d been together. No one could invite trouble, insist on it even, like him.

After a moment she stood. Picking up her glass, she took a healthy drink before tossing the last quarter at her husband and slamming the glass back onto her desk. Luca jolted, sitting straight up as he spluttered from the water up his nose. He blinked away droplets only to find Blossom with her hands on her hips.

“I leave you alone for one afternoon, and you go get yourself a woman to follow you around town?! A dog would be more loyal,” she scoffed. Luca blinked at her as she tsked and shook her head. “I should’ve known you weren’t over her. Her and her damn apples. Bastard.”

She clicked her tongue loudly and ignored the fact that the smile growing on Luca’s face had reached its widest point before he even knew to pretend like he wasn’t giddy. Luca wiped his chin and stood, walking around the coffee table to her.

“I haven’t thought about her in ages. Couldn’t even tell you what she was wearing. I only have my eyes on you. Ronnie’s got to keep me from walking in the street ‘cause I can’t see straight.”

Blossom turned from him and stopped herself from laughing at his ridiculousness. She only allowed a brief smile before rolling her eyes and putting her stern face back on. Luca’s arms didn’t waste a moment before they wrapped around her fully, almost making her lose balance.

“You’re mouth’s too sweet. Keeping me full of cherries just to pacify me. I shouldn’t have even let you come home. Go sleep on the street,” She scolded him the best she could with his face nuzzling into the crook of her neck. She could feel his grin.

“I have such a good wife. I’d sleep on the doorstep if you didn’t let me in. Happily.”

“I’ll let you off this time, but only because you can’t convince me you could find someone else to put up with you,” she concluded haughtily. Now that, he knew, was straight from her heart.

“I’ll go easier on my second wife,” he muttered, eyes closed peacefully even when Blossom’s head whipped around to him and tried unwrapping his arms that only wrapped tighter.

“Huh?!”

“Ah ah, stay like this. I’m just teasing. You’re my only wife until the end. The cherries are from Miss Martin. She said you’re sweet and pay good prices for her produce.”

Blossom muttered but finally leaned back into his embrace, “Rascal.”

[mrs-homemaker]

2023 New Year Resolutions

• Keep a more orderly and clean home 🏠

• Cook more & only order out 1-2x max a month 🥘

• Exercise 20-30 mins daily 👣

• Have a healthy baby in May 🌈

• Write a book or two (I’ve been wanting to write a few books since I was a teen and have never been confident to do it. I think this is my year to finally do it.) If anyone has any tips for writing a book, please let me know 🙏💕

[diamondwerewolf]

some more of the mrs. A lady with expensive tastes...sometimes. She has no name, so I'm calling her Tarrey. she's very pretty. homemaker with a mysterious background

[sashaisready]

I'm Still Here - Chapter One

Lee Bodecker (The Devil All The Time) x Femme Reader

In late 60s Meade, you’re married to Sheriff Bodecker, pregnant with your first child. On paper you’re the perfect couple – the respectable Sheriff and his homemaker wife. This should be one of the happiest times of your life…so why are the two of you living like ghosts? And is it too late to bridge that gap? Especially when your husband is playing a dangerous game.

Series Masterlist

Warnings: references to martial issues, pregnancy

Wordcount: 1.3k

Your hand absentmindedly stroked the gentle swell of your belly as you gazed out of the window to the pristine front yard ahead. You were lost in thought, only half aware of the soft splashes of suds and water as they swallowed your marigold gloves. This window was your little entryway to the outside, the door to the rest of the world, all so close yet so far.

You watched Mrs. Darby walk her elderly dog across the street, right on schedule. She walked him every day at the same time. Frankly, you were amazed the little guy was still alive but Snickers the dog would probably outlive all of us. He moved so slowly it was as if he was barely walking at all. Still, Mrs. Darby had all the time in the world – her housekeeper kept the home, her gardener attended to her azaleas, Mr. Darby spent his retirement fishing, tinkering with their many cars and generally keeping out of his wife’s way – so what was an hour to walk the dog halfway up the street?

She spotted you at your post, as she always did, and gave you a wave. You waved back, a strained smile and a nod of your head. Same old, same old. She then began gesturing wildly, pointing downwards and grinning. You stared back blankly, clueless, until you realised she was gesturing to the bump. You gave her a smile and a nod, exaggeratedly rubbing your belly in response. Baby! Baby, yes! That’s all the neighbourhood hens ever wanted to talk about with you, baby baby baby. ‘How are you feeling, dear?’ ‘Oh, I hope your ankles aren’t too swollen’. You’d wear your smile like warpaint and nod in the right places. They seemed relieved when you started showing. At least now they could understand something about you. This universal experience. They understood you; you were one of them, no longer the Sheriff’s strange wife they couldn’t chitchat with at potlucks, no, they spoke this language. You were bearing children like they all had, maybe you were like them after all.

But you weren’t. And you knew that. And he knew it too.

Mrs. Darby waved again as she wandered out of view, poor Snickers limping behind.

You heard him upstairs then, his feet heavy on the floor above you as he charged across the bedroom. You rolled your eyes, he never gave himself enough time, even though he’d done this shift a million times over.

The clumsy thudding moved from the bedroom, across the hallway and finally down the stairs. He breezed into the kitchen slightly breathlessly. Everything was a little more of an effort these days, the evidence of which peeked from the bulge of his midriff. He really needed new uniform, but that would mean admitting he was bigger. And he wouldn’t do that. But your sewing skills could only achieve so much.

“Morning, honey” came his low drawl and he sat down.

You turned to face him as you pulled off your gloves, mindlessly picking up the plate of eggs and the steaming mug of coffee and placing them on the table.

“Morning” you replied.

You looked at him as he smiled weakly at you and thanked you for the breakfast. You didn’t look at him properly much at the moment, but you did then. You could see a glimpse of the Lee you loved so dearly, the sparkle of his crystal blue eyes, the line of his broad shoulders, the suggestion of his strong jawline – a little more hidden these days, but that was okay. He was still that wide eyed deputy you had fallen for all those years ago.

Even if that girl would be horrified by the life you lived now.

“I’m runnin’ late” he mumbled as he shovelled the eggs into his mouth. “Gotta meet with the deputies, then we gotta drive out to McGlade’s farm to talk him down – he keeps starting trouble with Denton about property lines. Always a delicate conversation when farmers are partial to having heated discussions while holding their shotguns…”

You nodded but knew this was a lie. He always included too many details about his day when he was lying. Not that he knew you’d picked up on this little tell of his, so you just smiled along like the dutiful wife. Ask me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.

No doubt he’d be off doing something illegal, something corrupt or unsavoury on the side that he seemed to think you didn’t know about. Like he’d forgotten who you were, and where you came from.

“Mmm. Good luck” you replied as you wiped down the sink.

“And what are your plans?” he asked as he pushed the final breakfast remnants into his mouth.

“Gotta go to the market. Pick up some stuff for dinner. And the pantry needs restocking”.

“Call Denton and ask him to send a bag boy round” Lee said gruffly. “They can deliver”.

You rolled your eyes. “I can go to the market, Lee. I’m pregnant, not dying”.

“Honey…” he said warningly.

You turned to look at him. “Lee…I’m serious”.

“And so am I…”

You sighed and he stood up, putting his plate by the sink.

“My seven months pregnant wife shouldn’t be bustin’ her ass hauling heavy cans from the market” he cautioned, raising a finger to you. That was his signal that he wasn’t playing around.

You sighed, slumping against the counter. Part of you was tempted to carrying on provoking him as an argument would be the most the two of you had interacted in weeks…but you were tired. And as fun as it would be to make him explode before 9am, you didn’t know if you had it in you.

You shot him a hint of a smirk, a glimpse of the inner you, and he raised an eyebrow, almost daring you to continue.

“Fine” you huffed as you crossed your arms. “I’ll call them”.

He nodded and reached for his hat. “Good girl” he said quietly as he affixed it to his head.

You swallowed and almost felt the heat rise to your cheeks at that. It had been a while since he used that particular moniker. Back in the day he used to-

“Well…I’ll be goin’” his voice cut through your haze.

You nodded as your hand rubbed your bump. He looked at you and reached out. For a second you thought he was going to touch your stomach. He hadn’t really done that, not since it had started looking like a baby bump, anyway. You felt your breath hitch as you froze, too scared to move in case it stopped him.

His hand reached towards you, but he suddenly clamped it into a fist, withdrawing it quickly and shoving it into his pocket. He cleared his throat, the discomfort evident on his face.

You wanted to grab his hand and place it on your belly, hold him close and tell him it was okay. You can feel the baby. You can feel me. That’s your baby too. That’s little Bodecker. You wanted to kiss him and embrace him and tell him how much you missed him. That even though you slept inches away from him every night the gulf between you felt insurmountable and endless. Ask him when exactly the two of you become roommates. Strangers. Why did the baby change everything? Yeah, he cared. He said all the right things, but it felt he was going through the motions. Doing his duty in life just as he did at work. You didn’t want to end up like Mr and Mrs Darby, cordial and pleasant but sleeping in separate single beds. You wanted to scream that even though you weren’t actually fighting, you might as well be. That you barely felt like husband and wife, and you wanted him back. You wanted your Lee back. Deputy Lee who-

But then you heard the front door, and he was gone.

You sighed, sinking into a chair.

“Just you and me, little one” you told your bump gently. “Whatever happens, it’s you and me”.

[steampunkforever]

Postmodernity is dead. Long live whatever is going on right now. It'll be dead before we can figure out what to call it.

I'm a few years removed from an academic context where I'm sure I could be properly corrected on this, but I've been lumping a lot of current post-postmodern of a certain flavor under the title of Vermeulen/van der Akker's definition of "Metamodernity" as the traditional postmodernity of the mid to late 20th century gives way to whatever we're experiencing today. Thats right, despite the harangues of cable newscasters, Postmodernity has been over for decades. Literary and artistic movements are rarely named while they live and breathe (unless they're some astroturfed "[PREFIX]-Punk" genre driven by posers) and so to try and name what's happening today is futile. But for simplicity's sake lets file this one under "Metamodern" so I can actually write this filmpost on the surrealist film "Greener Grass."

The last couple times I've mentioned the concept of metamodernity has been with Quentin Dupieux's surrealist film "Rubber" and-- on the absolute other side of the spectrum --Greta Gerwig's "Barbie." Greener Grass is like if the movies swapped directors, with the mind behind Mr. Oizo taking a crack at what dealing with life and womanhood in a pink-saturated nightmare is really like.

Anyone who grew up in an affluent suburb with a William Sonoma store in their local mall will likely resonate with this film. I think we all remember those , whip thin mothers of classmates who drove Escalades and wore outfits too intentional to not be expensive. Their kitchens were massive and uncooked in. The exercise classes they attended were always feminine, nonthreatening, and adhered to with iron wills usually reserved for Olympic training. One must be pretty like you were in college sorority but a homemaker like his mother in the 70s but "with it" in ways that don't conflict with the new Land Rover financed in your McMansion driveway. The performance of gender and class and perceived societal value is incredible, and that's exactly what Greener Grass is about.

The film talks about something much more complicated than "Barbie Goes To The Gynecologist." It's a film about performance, social hierarchies, and the injustice of artificiality thrust upon us by the manufactured standards of innocuous but deeply "wrong" systems. And it does so by creating a surreal world of skinjob characters pretending that everything is perfect, ignoring the graves their children play over as they conduct monstrous business with a smile and polite posturing. Everything is pink. Everything is perfect. Your son drowning himself and turning into a golden retriever is perfectly normal, even if he does flunk math class. It is dreadfully important you continue to be a good mother.

The fact that Covid killed this movie is a travesty. Go watch it.

[the-seelie-court-official]

really do Not understand terfs and gender essentialists in witchy contexts. like how are you gonna recognize, use, and play with your gendered magics without mixing the pink and blue paint even a Little? like i just. dont get it. you're only gonna use the blue paint, mr. tuff stong 'viking' man? only pink, mrs. female honey homemaker? like, that's not ~Magic~, that's not exploration, that's not even control of your energies. that's just watching paint dry

[pineapplerightsideupcake]

So I didn’t want to dump this essay in the reblogs of someone else’s post but they were talking about how it’s scary that more and more US teachers are reporting kids that don’t know basic knowledge by middle school and have to learn emotional lessons at 10 they should have learned as pre K kids.

The person was at a loss to explain it but I think I can shed light on it:

Half the people I know who have kids just don’t parent. As in they do the bare minimum to keep them alive. So many kids just aren’t being raised at all. Food and clothing is tossed at them periodically by completely uninvolved adults. So they sit in front of a screen all day and don’t learn even the most basic things. A huge part of that is because everyone works all the time. Both my parents worked but my grandparents were homemakers or retired by the time I was born. Now kids go from overworked parents to overworked and over crowded and understaffed child care centers to exhausted grandparents that can’t afford to retire but at least can pick them up from school. My friend who works at a private school for 3-10 year olds says that there are tons of kids there from 6am to 7pm and that she knows about half her kids better than their parents do. At least in her (modestly) fancy private school she is actually educating them. Most kids have those same hours but in low quality programs or over burdened public schools.

My cousin who is a SAHM says that she’s often the only parent in the class that even responds to the teacher sending info home. Parents don’t go to meetings. They ignore phone calls home. They ignore calls to pick their kids up. A huge part of that is they’re working working working.

It’s why you see some 13 year olds twerking on TikTok and the others are self diagnosing DID and Tourette’s. It’s why there are 900 genders and porn sick 12 year old boys.

A friend of my sister’s nearly got her daughter taken away because she developed malnutrition because she was letting her basically live off candy. This woman was a cook/caterer. She worked 6 or 7 days a week. Shifts were often 12 or more hours. She couldn’t slow down because her husband developed a pain killer addiction because he’d already destroyed his back at 28 with non stop manual labor and warehouse shit. She was only able to worry if her kid ate protein or vegetables because my sister let her and her daughter move in with her until the divorce/financial crisis was settled. Most people aren’t that lucky.

A tremendous amount of people in the US live paycheck to paycheck. This was always how it worked for people in “low income areas”. And as long as those people were disproportionately black or non white immigrants nobody cared. How many movies are about a Brave White Teacher coming into low income schools and asking “where’s your mom?” And gets back “she works three jobs and dad left”. How often are the kids presented as being emotionally stunted, behaviorally challenged, and embarrassingly ignorant. “Wow Mr. S, you’re saying the earth revolves around the sun, not the other way around. Pssh, do a rap about it if you’re so right” But now that the wealth gap has widened to the point the average white household is as poor as this country was happy to let POC be, and POC have an even lower standard of living, suddenly it’s worth discussing.

It’s poverty folks. It’s crushing, inescapable poverty. And it’s not just now starting to be a problem. It’s just the first time it was affecting enough of the “right kind of people” to pay attention.

[luckybyler]

From an actually good question posted on Reddit, here’s how I think the Stranger Things grandparents are:

Joyce: I think she had low-ish-income parents who were good people with good values, loved her and fulfilled her basic needs (fed, roof over her head, clothes, school), but for some reason couldn’t take care of her or guide her much. Maybe they had problems with drugs or alcohol, or maybe they were old and frail (or her grandparents because her bio parents weren’t in the picture), or had some illness. That made her driven, self-reliant, but also drove her to make some bad decisions. However, because she remembered what actual love looked like, she was able to correct course and protect her kids. Probably dead by the time Jonathan was born.

Hopper: I’d say he grew up in a non-abusive, but strict, home, with a father who valued honor and war and stuff. I imagine his mom was a little homemaker lady who baked cookies and loved him a lot, but who also instilled the fear of God in him and in dad. Basically a “men rule the world and women rule the home” type of family (which is actually a super hyper traditional mindset).

Lonnie: Could have been literally any kind of parents, because his fucked-up-ness seems entirely like a Lonnie problem. He could’ve had the worst or the best parents in the world and it wouldn’t have made a difference. Maybe he killed them for the insurance and made it look like an accident.

Karen: She was super popular in school, so her parents must have been at least middle class, the picture of a perfect 50s marriage and active in the church. Not rich tho, so they encouraged her to latch on to her older boyfriend from a good family for dear life to remain financially stable.

Ted: Likewise, except I imagine his parents were slightly more affluent than Karen’s. I imagine they were the pronto-Ted and Karen and Ted was a proto-Mike as a kid, until life and depression beat every ounce of joy and personality out of him.

Sue Sinclair: She most likely had loving, strategic parents most likely went ABOVE AND BEYOND to give her EVERY. TOOL. at their disposal so she could have the middle class life she ended up enjoying, keeping in mind that she grew up as a black girl during Jim Crow. In Lucas on the Line Lucas says his dad met his mom when she was in typing school or working as a typist. Her parents probably made sacrifices so she (and her siblings, if any) could have a higher education. They couldn’t afford to make a single wrong choice or even to let her become a homemaker and depend on a man.

Charles Sinclair: We know what his white foster parents were like: assholes. He fled out of there the second he was allowed to (or had to) and probably went immediately to the military recruiter. That crucial decision made the difference between a life of poverty and the comfortable life he ended up having.

Claudia Henderson: Most likely loving, reasonably progressive parents who encouraged her to get some sort of higher education or to work. I think she has only known healthy relationships.

Mr. Henderson: no idea, but judging by Dustin and Claudia’s personalities, he was probably a loving, caring husband and father who died (and most likely left them a pension or life insurance). Maybe that means his own parents were ok people.

Susan Hargrove: Probably very traditional parents who taught her that women should be seen and not heard, or at least that being a housewife was her only alternative for a decent life. Maybe she rebelled against her parents by choosing “love” instead of convenience, and so ended up dating and/or marrying a long line of losers and abusers. Her parents gave her zero tools at all for her own life so she depended on whatever dude entered her and Max’s lives.

Mr. Mayfield: described in Runaway Max as a smart but unmotivated and undisciplined man who commits petty crime, he probably comes from a long line of petty criminals who don’t feel any drive to better themselves, not even for those they supposedly love.

Neil Hargrove: Most likely raised in an abusive home and grew up to perpetuate the cycle of abuse.