#Homemaker To Professional

[mentorshelly]

Navigating Challenges: A Trad Wife’s Journey to Regaining Her Self-Sufficiency and Economic Stability

Life doesn’t come with a manual, and for many traditional wives (or “trad wives”), navigating life after stepping away from homemaking can feel like being thrown into uncharted waters. Whether due to divorce, separation, or simply a desire to step into a new chapter, regaining self-sufficiency and economic stability is a challenge—but one you are absolutely capable of conquering. The Turning…

[vampireknitting]

I have to get my wisdom teeth removed here on the 4th and I really wish medical anxiety wasn’t so dismissed or laughed at.

The anxiety has been slowly ramping up since Christmas and now that I have to cut out the only thing that’s managed the fibromyalgia bs. I mean sure it’s just weed. But when my health tanked and I was throwing up half of everything I tried to eat and losing weight like it was nothing. Unfortunately it was the only thing that helped stop the vomiting.

I’ve been put on and taking off several medications over the years for being the unlucky type that doesn’t react well to different meds. All the gut pills they wanted me to take hurt or was you know making me digest my own blood.

The Fibromyalgia began creeping in when I was in high school and the doctors I had told me to eat pills and go away. I had injured my knee and it just didn’t get better. I still have issues with it. Being a childhood cancer survivor means health complaints must be cry’s for attention or drugs.

They asked me to not consume any weed because they don’t know if it’ll hurt me to be put under so they can cut out the heavily impacted teeth. Which fine, I won’t fight because they could label me as some sort of user or drug obsessed or whatever. But the only drug that I know can kill you while being put under is meth.

My sister’s dental surgeon said don’t stop smoking weed because there isn’t anything out that supports either side. Pro weed or anti-weed before surgery. He didn’t want anything to add to the stress of the surgery so he said keep doing what you’re doing.

[mistyhollowcottage]

Trying my hand at canning diced tomatoes and pickles today!

[theviraltruth]

Nischal Jain | Women empowerment

Both these institutions, established exclusively for women are good examples of women empowerment. Being women centric, these Institutions have been designed to empower women to successfully interweave professional career with the homemaker’s role. 

[amazonbooksauthor]

Introducing the "Waterfall Notebook" by Meera Mandakini—a versatile and beautifully designed notebook that's perfect for everyone!

Why Choose the "Waterfall Notebook"? Stunning Cover: Featuring a gorgeous waterfall design, this notebook is both elegant and inspiring. Generous Size: At 8.5x11 inches, it provides plenty of space for all your notes, sketches, and ideas. Ample Pages: With 120 lined pages, there's ample room for writing, doodling, and planning. Versatile Use: Ideal for students, professionals, teenagers, office workers, homemakers, and creative artists—this notebook suits all your needs. Perfect Gift: An excellent birthday gift, combining functionality and beauty in one thoughtful package. Grab your copy of the "Waterfall Notebook" today and let your creativity flow. Available now on Amazon, this multipurpose notebook is ready to become your favorite writing companion!

[hrmnyhaven]

Venturing into professional caregiving can be immensely rewarding, offering the opportunity to make a tangible difference in the lives of others. However, did you know that one of the most crucial factors in providing top-notch care lies in continuous training and development?

[eldritchboop]

The universe: Psych, babe! Inadvertent but major issue at work. I'm leading a team of five to fix the problem instead of relaxing, but it's buying my department a lot of goodwill with people we may have to irritate later.

Spouse was cranky at first for them making me work a weekend, but I pointed out that if I'm making five people work a weekend, I'm sure as hell going to be one of them. Good leaders don't make their people do work they wouldn't do themselves.

Spouse is making me an autocross widow on Saturday and I’m excited to have a day to myself.

What all should I do? Current ideas (for brainstorming):

Take the dog for a sniff and stroll

Outdoor holiday decor

Some Pinterest crafts

Hem my tea gown so I can be a fancy lady.

Send all her Christmas presents to my bestie/her family

Recycle a bunch of cloth

Picnic with takeout lunch

Pull some tarot cards.

Make cookie boxes for the office

???

[mentorshelly]

Advanced Resume Techniques: Reframing Your Experience as an Ex-Trad Wife

Re-entering the job market after years as a homemaker can feel like stepping into a completely new world. But don’t worry—your skills are more valuable than you think! The key to standing out is learning how to market your experience strategically on your resume. This 3-step guide will show you how to craft a resume that highlights your strengths, repositions your experience, and gets you noticed…

[sims-himbo]

THE SIMS 4: BARBIE LEGACY CHALLENGE (BASE GAME EDITION!)

ever since i posted the original challenge, i have been getting asked to come up with a base game version, and it is finally here! i'm really sorry that it took this long but i have no concept of time lol, anyways, i hope even more of you can enjoy it now!

challenge rules below the cut

All heirs must be female and named Barbie. (non-heir children may have any name)

You may use the freerealestate cheat for your first house, but try not to use money cheats after that!

You are allowed and encouraged to use lot traits and rewards to boost skill gain, anything that’s in-game is fair game.

You’ve been raised with traditional values: find a good man, start a family, be a homemaker... But you want your children to aim higher, so you’ll make sure to set them up for success.

Complete Successful Lineage aspiration

Max Cooking and Charisma skill

Have at least 4 kids, each child must complete at least one child aspiration and they must all max out their grades in school

Must have Family-Oriented trait

Your mother was happy staying at home, but not you. You’re ready to fight your way to the top and make enough money to support your family for generations to come.

Complete Fabulously Wealthy aspiration

Max Charisma and Logic skills

Max Business career (Investor branch)

Must have Ambitious trait

Your family is wealthy and you were pretty popular growing up. You’ve always been a trendsetter, pushing the limits and breaking the mold, so now it’s time to take the fashion industry by storm!

Complete Friend Of The World aspiration

Must have Materialistic and Creative traits

Max Style Influencer career (Trendsetter branch)

Max Photography and Charisma skills

Have a gallery wall with all of your friends and family

Your mom has made a name for herself on social media, and she's used her platform to promote your cooking talents! Empowered by this positive attention, you decide to follow your dreams of becoming a world-renowned chef!

Complete Master Chef aspiration (Chef branch)

Must have Foodie trait

Max Cooking and Gourmet Cooking skills

Die by fire, then make Ambrosia to bring yourself back from the dead! (You may cheat for the ingredients, but not for the skills; you may also cheat to add your ghost to your household, here's how)

When you were a lass, your mom made you four dozen eggs every morning to help you get large! Now, you’re determined to reach your full potential in physical performance and become a world class champion!

Complete Bodybuilder aspiration

Max Fitness and Charisma skills

Max Athlete career (Athlete branch)

Must have Active trait

Your mother was physically gifted, but you’re more brainy than brawny. You spend hours at your computer everyday, there’s so much information to absorb!

Complete Computer Whiz aspiration

Max Video Gaming and Programming skills

Win a Professional Tournament in ALL the games

Must have Geek trait

Your family has achieved many, many accolades, and you’ve set out to capture all of it in an epic Tell-All novel that you spend your entire life writing!

Complete Bestselling Author aspiration

Max Writing skill

Write Book Of Life and bind it to your parent, use it to successfully bring them back from a premature death

Must have Creative trait

Being from a successful lineage, people may roll their eyes and immediately write you off as yet another nepo-baby trying to start a music career… So you must prove them all wrong by becoming a proper rockstar!

Complete Party Animal aspiration

Max Entertainer Career (Musician Branch)

Must have Music Lover and Outgoing traits

Max Guitar, Violin and Piano skills

The success of your ancestors has set you up to comfortably follow your dreams. You love the arts, and you want to become an accomplished painter living in a beautiful palace, surrounded by the beauty you’ve created!

Complete Mansion Baron aspiration

Max Painter career (Either branch)

Max Painting skill

Have an Art Gallery and display all of your masterpieces

Must have Art Lover trait

Now that you’ve conquered the world, it’s time to venture out into Space! There’s so much to explore out there, and Barbie must leave her mark all across the galaxy.

Complete Nerd Brain aspiration

Max Astronaut career (Any branch)

Max Logic and Rocket Science skills

Build and fully upgrade a Rocket Ship

Explore Space and bring a souvenir

Try for a baby on the ship!

Must have Genius trait

[burnyouwithacigarettelighter]

PROVE IT ───

jackson rippner ✧𖦹

ೃ⁀➷ “You think you are possessing me / But I've got my teeth in you.” — ‘Unicorn’, Angela Carter

pairing. jackson rippner x reader

summary. after breaking up with your boyfriend. you meet a handsome stranger at a bar. you tell him your cunt’s better than the girl’s your boyfriend cheated on you with; he tells you to prove it.

warnings. swearing, slight breeding kink, unprotected sex, creampie, p in v, semi-public sex, porn with some plot, impact play, degradation/insults, SMUT UNDER THE CUT!

word count. 3.6k

a/n. i seriously doubt i wrote jackson’s character accurately in this so please comment anything i can improve on LOL🙏

It’s not often you spill your entire life story to a stranger at the bar, but this one, this stranger with his watery blue eyes and plush lips, is oddly inviting; charismatic to a fault. It makes you want to give him everything, and absently, in your alcohol riddled mind, you think he’d make a good scammer. 

Or, serial killer, whichever he prefers really.

But it's not entirely his fault; you’re stress drinking, downing too many shots in too little a time frame, and the alcohol’s already hit your system ten-fold. 

You’re there because you’d broken up with your boyfriend the night before. You’d been dating just short of a year. He was required to travel a lot, mostly in Europe, as per his job, and you let him go each time without qualms - love them, let them go, right? 

Wrong. He’d been cheating on you since he went to Copenhagen — four months, now — with a pretty little Dane that wanted to marry. 

You were furious when he told you, of course, it’s fucking insanity for him to marry someone he’s known for four months, but you began seeing all the differences between you and the woman he cheated on you with: she, a perfect homemaker, you, a distressed professional he saw maybe once a month. 

“Hey, hey, don’t beat yourself up,” the stranger across from you said softly, breaking you out of your nostalgic stupor and back into reality. “‘cause he’s a right asshole. For cheating on you like that.”

The man had entered the bar hours after you did, housing a simple drink or two and absently watching the softball game on the bar TV, before you drunkenly inched closer to him, desperate to rant your dilemma to just about anyone who’d listen. He bit, and here you were now.  

You peered up at the man, inspecting him. He’s gorgeous, definitely, but you can’t tell if you actually think that, or your foggy, not-been-fucked-for-months mind just wants him to rail you into next week. 

No matter, you thought, downing another shot. It burned the back of your throat sweetly, fire trailing down your insides. “M’not beating myself up,” you protested weakly, “jus’ — m’just… wondering if her cunt was - so much better than mine,” 

He laughed, boisterously, the kind of laugh you hear rumble out from a close friend while you detail every wrongdoing or shameful memory in your life: he’s comfortable right now, as are you.

“Well,” he inched closer, large hand sitting itself on your thigh and slowly inching upwards, “if it bothers you that much, why not prove it? That your pussy’s as good as you think.” 

This wasn’t the first of his attempts to flirt with you: firstly he’d tucked a stray hair away from your face, later he swiped a drop of drink off your lip, then he’d clutched you by the waist, pulling you close to him when someone squeezed past you in the crowded bar. His brisk touch wasn’t unfamiliar by any means, but it did suggest more than the other ones, especially coupled with the lustful words he was purring in your ear. 

Then, there’s a gap in your memory. One too many shots, a stranger toying with the hem of the skirt you donned for the bar, and his sweet voice in your ear was too much for your dizzy head, and the only thing you remember is this: one moment, he’s getting braver, rough fingers ghosting the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and the next, you’re pressed against a bathroom stall wall, the handsome stranger’s knee pushing your quivering legs apart. 

You’re trading wet, messy kisses, and his hands are sneakily climbing up your shirt till they reach your chest. There’s a sharp intake of breath from him: “Fuck, sweetheart, no bra? You really were looking for someone to prove you right,” he cooed, touching your breasts needily. 

He’s kneading you artfully, fingers pawing at your flesh like he’s never felt something so soft, so plump. Your back arches as he does this; you’re practically putty in his hands. 

It doesn’t slip past you that you’re being felt up in a bar bathroom by a gorgeous stranger whom you don’t know the name of, but you don’t care. “Please,” you beg, his name coming up completely blank on your tongue, “please.”

“‘Please’ what, honey?” The stranger says huskily, one of his hands moving from your breasts up to your jaw, pushing it to the side to gain access to your neck. “Please kiss me? Finger me? Fuck me?”

You’re too drunk - and fucking horny - to deal with his theatrics, so you whine instead of answering, your weak fingers carding through his brown locks. 

“God,” he says, “How long has it been since you’ve been properly fucked? Just some touching and you’re already too fucking dumb to speak.”

His words make your cheeks burn with shame, but it also makes your core throb. The oh-so sweet stranger who listened to your problems all night telling you you’re just a dumb horny bitch is such a juxtaposition it's got you all hot and bothered. 

“Please,” you beg again, more desperate than before, “I need you.” 

The man let out an incredulous chuckle, head cocking back. “Baby, don’t tell me you like it like that. God, you’re such a fucking whore,” he said, before undoing his belt buckle and fly. 

He had noticed how your legs clenched around his knee, how your breathing got sharper as soon as the words “dumb” and “whore” slipped out of his pretty mouth, how your fingers trailed his back needily, desperate for any kind of touch. 

You bit your lip, watching the stranger through bleary, hooded eyes. He’d pulled his pants down just enough for his boxer shorts to be visible, before he grabbed you by the waist and turned you to press your face against the wall. 

One of his arms then draped across your shoulders, pinning you down and arching your back, hard, making your ass press flush against the large tent in his underwear. You let out a small gasp at the feeling, and you could practically see the smirk curling slyly on his face. 

He can’t be that big, right? It was just your drunk mind, making him feel bigger than you thought through his shorts. Plus, you hadn’t been fucked in over a month — you were probably just not used to it. 

Because, that’d be totally unfair - he’s beautiful, charming, an amazing kisser, and has a huge cock? No fucking way — if he was all that, he’s definitely a secret terrorist, or something. 

However, these days, you’ve learned that you don't have the best intuition. First, with your boyfriend, then again, with the man who just pulled out his thick cock, stroking it gently. 

“Oh, fuck,” you cursed, head straining to look at him behind you. Unconsciously, you shyly closed your legs at the sight of him. 

“Ah, ah, ah,” the man crooned, his other hand sliding between your legs and spreading them apart once more. “No take backs, honey. You did say you wanted me, did you not?”

The two of you were flush against each other, and you could feel his hard length resting between your legs. Just that, just him between you, already had you trembling in anticipation. 

“Then fuck me already,” you bit back, feigning confidence. In actuality, you were thinking: how was all that supposed to fit? And, of all people, you, who hadn’t been stretched out to fit any cock at all, not since last month, when your boyfriend made his routine visit. You were a loyal girl, alright, and your fingers never went as deep as any cock could.

But the moment for you to reveal your worries passed, and he simpered. “So fucking eager.” 

Then, his large hands smoothed down the swell of your ass, following the curve, before he lifted his hand up and came down on your cheek, making a loud noise reverberate throughout the empty bathroom. 

Your breath caught in your throat, a choked gasp mixed with a tense moan coming out instead, and you flushed. Thank god you were pressed against the cold bathroom stall wall, for it provided a miniscule relief to your burning face. 

He’d spanked you, and you fucking moaned. 

“So you do like it dirty.” he cooed, fingers returning and hooking into the waistband of your panties. 

“I bet,” he said, dragging the thin fabric down extremely slow, “that you didn’t come to the bar tonight to just drink,” he pressed closer against you, your folds now sitting right above his thick length, “you came, with no bra and a slutty skirt on, looking to get fucked senseless, didn’t you?”

He slowly slid in and out against your folds, his cock just barely grazing your clit, and you swore you could have screamed. The way he was teasing you was absolutely delectable and, in the same vein, incredibly torturous. 

“Answer me, honey.” he hummed, free hand rubbing circles on the skin of your hip. 

You let out an exasperated groan. “I - I came here tonight, to - ah!” you squeaked when the fat tip of the man’s cock poked your tight hole. 

“You came here tonight to… what?” He said, nonchalant, as if he wasn’t slowly driving his large dick into you. 

“I came here to…” you squeezed your eyes shut, trying to ground your thoughts, and squarely not think about how mouthwateringly good the handsome strangers cock felt, “to get—“

Then, the loudest keen you’d ever heard tore out of you, your eyes rolling into the back of your head, when he suddenly shoved all of his length into your soaking cunt. 

He bottomed out with a breathy laugh, watching your knees buckle and your mouth hang wide open. Then, once more, his calloused hand came down on your ass, a large crack sounding out within the bathroom. 

“Shut the fuck up, whore. Someone’ll hear.” The stranger said, as if he hadn’t just made a loud noise spanking you like that. 

But the way he insulted, complemented, mocked and teased all in a few sentences had you shuddering; never in your life did you think such dirty words could make you so wet. 

You barely kept in another whine, waves of pleasure ebbing throughout your body. The burning pain of the spank in combination to how your walls squeezed around his cock had you barely coherent, your face taut with pleasure. 

“Fuck, baby, you’re dripping all over my cock,” he whispered, leaning down for you to hear. As he did so, however, his dick pressed further into you, and another helpless groan rolled off your tongue. 

“But you’re too goddamn loud.” The stranger growled, and the arm of the hand that was pressing you against the wall shifted, now covering your mouth. 

Before you could protest, he slid out, then snapped into you. Immediately, you saw stars, and a muffled mewl slipped past your lips. 

“Jesus christ,” he murmured, “your little fuckhole’s taking me so well.” He began to slide in and out at a fast, rhythmic pace, so fast you could barely comprehend the ecstacy you were feeling. 

“Oh my god,” you barely stuttered out past his large hand. He was pounding in and out of you relentlessly, selfishly, no regard for your moans or helpless whines, merely focussed on thrusting his fat cock into your sweet cunt. 

Then, the both of you heard the bathroom door open, and you froze. The handsome stranger moved quickly, grabbing you by the waist and planting you on his lap as he sat down on the toilet. His other hand, still trained on your mouth, gripped tighter than ever when he felt the groan bubble up from your throat: this new position of you on his lap had his long length pressed right against your cervix.

“Now you really gotta be quiet, honey,” he whispered, pressing his face into your neck. You shut your eyes helplessly, a dejected whimper exiting your mouth. 

“Just be fucking quiet. You don’t want everyone in this bar to know what a dirty slut you are, spreading your legs for a fucking stranger in the bathroom, right?” He said, words foul and like poison, but actions completely stark to it: he was pressing sweet, chaste kisses on your shoulder, laying his head on your back. 

The man in the other stall was taking so fucking long to finish, and, despite the stranger’s words, he began to slowly rut into you, his large hands coming to rest on your hips and help you slide up and down on his cock.

Your eyes widened. “What are- ah, wh— what are you doing?” you said, a stuttered, hesitant moan leaving  your mouth, but you were completely without the motivation to actually stop him: the pleasure you felt earlier had increased immensely in this slower, riskier pace he took on. 

“Shh,” was all you saw him say, as you strained your neck to look at him. He looked the epitome of smug, lips curled, cheeks flushed attractively, strands of hair falling down onto his forehead.

Without his hand to muffle your groans, you muffled them yourself, biting down on your tongue. One hand of yours gripped onto the stranger's thigh to keep your balance, and your other hand sneakily traveled down to your wet, hot mound, fingers beginning to rub at your clit. 

He noticed this, however, hand gripping at your wrist and pulling you back to pin your arm behind you. “Only I get to touch you,” he snarled, “because this fuckin’ pussy’s all mine. Gonna be all mine.”

You let out a shaky exhale at his words, but you found your cunt more flexible than before, the soft slapping of your skin between each other sounding easier, wetter. Jesus, did you really get more turned on by what he’d said?

Finally, the person who had wandered in and entered the stall beside you exited the bathroom entirely, and you belted out a sharp moan with how the stranger swiftly picked you up and pressed you against the wall once more, this time facing him. 

He plunged his big cock into you like nothing before, animalistically, nails digging so hard into your hips you swore he drew blood. His pace was stuttered, desperate, like nothing could distract him from pounding into you, not even a fucking meteor. 

You, on the other hand, were arching, the pleasure taking your body over completely. Your hands carded through his brown hair, tugging when he hit that particularly spongy spot into you. He groaned, a rough and stuttered thing, feeling himself brush against that spot every time. 

Your tight cunt was stretching and contracting around his dick, like you were made with his fat length in mind, and it drove you up the fucking wall: the pain in your hip, the cold linoleum wall, his cock thrusting in and out — it was all so much, and your orgasm began to spill out from under you. It was slow, like water coming out of an overfilled glass.

“You — god, you’re fucking coming, aren’t you,” the stranger said knowingly. Your cunt had gotten tenser, stickier, trying to grip at him like you were afraid he’d never come back to you. 

You nodded rapidly, opting to do so in fear an unintelligible string of groans would come out instead of your words. 

He grinned, and lifted your legs to wrap around his waist, allowing his cock deeper access into you. Your toes curled, the new angle like being impaled, his dick easily slipping past your slick folds. 

One of his hands lifted off your hip and trailed across your lower stomach, “Can you feel that, honey? Its my fucking cock, so deep m’gonna shoot my come right in your womb,” he purred, pressing the bulge. 

Both of you were affected, a breathy grunt slipping past his lips, and you a feverish mewl. You couldn’t believe how big he was, large enough for him to be fucking visible on you from the outside. 

Suddenly, you remembered the man’s name: he’d said it, offhand, to the bartender before you dragged him to the bathroom. He asked the bartender to put your drinks on his tab, under the name Jackson. 

You face grew taut, your orgasm suddenly switching from a slow, sneaky drip to a hard smack, right across your face. “Jackson! Jackson, please,” you moaned at last, his name sounding right at home on your tongue. 

“Fuck, honey, you remembered? God, that’s so hot,” He whispered sweetly, then dragged you through your orgasm, thick cock pounding in and out of your throbbing core. 

It was like all the pleasure had steadily built up within your insides, all up into a big ball, then had suddenly burst, flowing throughout your entire body like you weren’t already being fucked relentlessly. 

“Such a - fuck - tight and pretty pussy,” he said, leaning into rest his head against your chest. You were weak, sensitively riding out your high, but you knew Jackson wasn’t quite as close. 

His thrusts began getting sloppier, harsher and focussed merely on feeling your walls against every inch of him. Your head rested beside his own, your eyes practically crossing with the overstimulation. 

Despite your orgasm, your cunt was still soaking, definitely dripping and marking a wet patch on both your skirt and his pants. It made you tremble, thinking of you two tiredly exiting the bathroom, disheveled and having to cover the other up. 

At this point, you didn’t know what kind of filthy fucking noises were exiting your mouth, with Jackson’s grunts and groans covering up your whines completely.

“M’gonna come,” he said a few long moments later, almost inaudible. “Say my name, say who owns this tight fucking pussy.”

“You do! Jackson does!” You exclaimed, his cock ripping in and out of you quicker and more jolted. “Jackson owns this pussy!”

Jackson grinned weakly, and with one final, harried thrust, he let go deep within you. He clenched his jaw, piercing blue eyes shutting tight and losing himself within the warm and wet feeling of your cunt squeezing him for every drop. 

You were so fucking full, and even when Jackson pulled his softening cock out of you — which, was still huge despite its idleness — you felt stuffed to the brim. 

His come dripped down your leg, and he promptly pulled your panties up, patting your worn out cunt as he did so. “You’re taking all my fucking come, so good honey.” he said, pressing a hungry kiss to your neck. “You were right: this cunt’s better than whoever your shit ex cheated on you with.”

“Told you so.” You gazed up at him through heavy-lidded, gleeful eyes. He was an absolute darling sweetheart, it seemed, switching from degradingly fucking you to romantically praising you. “Are you… up for round two?” you said, as he slipped his hand within your own, clasping tightly. You didn’t really mean round two - though, you wouldn’t protest it, especially with his delectable way of fucking you - you actually just wanted to go home with him… see where this relationship could lead you.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to ask. You’re comin’ home with me tonight,” he saw through you cheekily, pulling you close to him. 

So, you did go home with him, and in the morning you laid beside him in the ruffled white sheets, counting the freckles on his face.

His eyes fluttered open when you shuffled. “Were you watching me?” he said, voice low and sleepy. 

You nodded silently, your hand coming up to pet his skin comfortingly. After a beat passed, you asked the question that was bothering you all morning. “Jackson, you wanted to fuck me first, right?”

He blinked, tense for a moment, before smoothing out his expression. “What?” he opted on saying instead, sounding every bit clueless and entirely convincing.

Not convincing enough for you, however. “Baby, you think I didn’t notice the shots you were calling over and inching toward me? I was drunk, not stupid.”

“Are you saying I took advantage of you?” He said darkly, a side of him otherwise unknown to you ‘till now. 

You raised a judging brow. “No need to be offended. I wanted to see where it was going to go: ‘did the handsome stranger want to fuck me, or did he want to kill me?’.”

He pulled you close to him, his arm snaking around your hips. “So, what are you saying?” he said, pressing a patronizing kiss to your forehead. 

“Hm. Well, I jus’ wanna know if this is a one nightstand.”

“And you don’t care about the - drinks, the “taking advantage” part?”

You let out a laugh. “I was confident, darling; I keep pepper spray and a pocket knife in my purse. Even if you did - which you didn’t - I’d make it out alive.”

Jackson bit his lip, looking up at you. This had meant to be a one night stand, considering the job he had, but you were looking at him so sweetly, so accepting, like you secretly knew what he did for a living and wanted him despite it. 

“Not a one night stand,” he murmured, leaning into your touch. 

You beamed, and, later, when you did find out what he did for a living, you merely cocked your head. Thought about it… outweighed the pros, the cons, (and the fact you were completely right: he was perfect, but also a fucking sociopath), and merely shrugged. 

“Honey, you’ll never do anything to me. Why should I care what you do for a living? Just don’t,” you warned, staring at him like you could and would fucking kill him, “cheat on me.” 

You didn’t have the best intuition. And, as it turned out, a great moral compass, either. 

[whencyclopedia]

The Gifts of Isis: Women's Status in Ancient Egypt

An inscription on an Egyptian papyrus dating from the 2nd century CE relates that the goddess Isis, bestowing gifts on humanity at the beginning of time, gave as much power and honor to women as she did to men. This brief passage reflects not only the ancient Egyptian value of balance, but the high-status women enjoyed in ancient Egypt.

Although they never had the same rights as males, an Egyptian woman could own property in her own name and hold professions that gave her economic freedom from male relatives. Girls whose families could afford the tuition were educated along with boys beginning around the age of 7 and many went on to professional careers. Women could serve as clergy, practice medicine, handle money, travel alone for business purposes, and make real estate transactions. Most women, however, were groomed for marriage, became homemakers, and were taught by their mothers to cook, clean, sew, and weave.

A wife was entitled to one third of any property that she owned jointly with her husband and, on her death, could will her property to anyone she wished, male or female. Egyptian women were equal in the court system and could act as witnesses, plaintiffs, or defendants (as one would understand those terms today). Women were accountable for crimes they committed and would have to stand trial the same as any man.

The equality of the “gifts of Isis” did not mean, however, that women had completely equal rights with men; only that they were regarded as equals under the law. Egyptian society was patriarchal and hierarchical but, even so, offered women more rights than almost every other ancient civilization. This paradigm was observed from at least the Early Dynastic Period (c. 3150-c. 2613 BCE) until the fourth century and the rise of Christianity.

Education

Until the age of around 4, boys and girls were kept under the care of their mothers, usually residing in the women’s quarters of a home. After that age, boys began to learn their father’s trade or were sent to school, depending on the social class of the family. Girls remained with their mothers unless the father chose (and could afford) to send her to school. The Egyptian curriculum included astronomy, geography, mathematics, music, medical applications, reading, religion, writing, and physical education, among other subjects. Scholar Rosalie David comments:

Royal tutors taught some of the nobles’ children together with the king’s offspring, and future officials for the home and foreign services attended special training schools. Despite this hereditary pattern in the professions, some children of humble origin were able to receive education alongside the sons of the wealthy and powerful and to pursue important careers. However, education was not free, and each family was expected to pay in kind; in country areas, they would have offered the produce of the land. (205)

The” children of humble origin” could include girls if their parents could afford the cost and recognized either a certain aptitude or family need. An example might be a business the father wished to keep in the family and so wanted his daughters educated as accountants or supervisors, knowing he could trust them, but there is documentation of highly educated women who became career professionals such as Merit-Ptah, the royal court’s chief physician c. 2700 BCE and the first female doctor in world history known by name.

Women’s opportunities in ancient Egypt were determined by their social class, just as men’s were, having nothing to do with gender. Scholar Barbara Watterson notes:

The fact that, unlike women of most ancient civilizations and also of some modern countries, ancient Egyptian women enjoyed the same rights under the law as ancient Egyptian men, goes a long way towards explaining their relatively high social position. “You have made a power for the women equal to that of the men,” words written in praise of Isis, and quoted in a papyrus of the second century AD, might have been written with this in mind; and the point is one that many scholars have commented upon. The de jure rights of an ancient Egyptian woman depended on her class in society and not upon her sex. The king of Egypt was chief lawgiver and upholder of the law; and in theory everyone in Egypt, both male and female, noble and peasant, was equal under the law and had the right of access to the king in order to obtain justice. In practice, as might be expected, some, notably the rich and powerful, were more equal than others. (34)

Although the opportunity under the law was there for women to receive an education, however, did not mean that every woman could afford to seize it and many, if not most, may not even have been aware of their rights. Egypt was, generally speaking, an insular society and, especially in rural areas, a young girl may not have known that education was even a possibility. There is ample evidence, however, through correspondence, that many women could read and write even among the majority who married and raised a family.

Continue reading...

[initialsaint]

Hear me out: Duncan's got more homemaker skills than Courtney.

Courtney's parents were always focused on her academic life and career. They got her private tutoring any time she slipped, had her in all advanced classes, and they made sure she never did an extracurricular she couldn't put on a resumé. But they never taught her any regular life skills.

It's not like she's clueless, though. A lot of stuff is common sense. She's too much of a neat freak to have a messy dorm or apartment, and she can do her own laundry, but she can't cook. She ruined her new frying pan the day she bought it trying to make eggs. She doesn't know what to do when her bookshelf collapses the first week of college, and resorts to stacking her books next to her desk. She burns a hole in one of her most professional looking blouses with the iron when she doesn't realise fabric can melt.

So when her favourite jumper begins to unravel, the pale purple one with tiny flowers on the cuffs, she very nearly cries about it. It's just a jumper, but Courtney is nothing if not particular. She knows there's no replacing it.

When she mentions it to Duncan, frustrated and not thinking much of it, he raises an eyebrow and asks why she doesn't fix it, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. The thought hadn't even crossed her mind.

"How would you even begin to fix it? There must be half a foot of wool coming off already, and the hole's in this super awkward place by the elbow."

"So you didn't try?"

Courtney goes a little red in the face at that.

She doesn't expect Duncan to come over the next day with a banged up biscuit tin and ask to take a look at the jumper himself. He inspects the damage, careful not to tug at any of the loose loops of knitting, and looks up at Courtney.

"This is the "huge hole", you mentioned?"

She might have exaggerated a little, but she's emotional about this, damn it. Duncan sighs, and grabs the biscuit tin. He cracks it open to reveal a sewing kit, packed full of loose fabric and needles and threads of every colour.

"This won't take long. Put the coffee pot on."

Courtney bites her tongue about manners and does as she's told, pouring them each a cup while she watches Duncan work.

It shouldn't surprise her that he has this stuff. Most of his clothes look D.I.Y'd somehow, with little tears and patches tacked on. But the scene before her is just so uncharacteristically domestic. He tries mending the hole normally at first, but the yarn keeps fraying when he tries, and he huffs before rummaging through the sewing kit.

When Courtney sets his cup down in front of him, Duncan is sewing what looks like a loose scrap of fabric over the hole.

"I had some blank patches left over and this thing is being a bitch, so it'll have to do."

After some time, he hands the jumper over for Courtney to see. There's an oblong white patch neatly stitched onto the left sleeve, covering the hole, and the elbow entirely. If she didn't know better (and if the other sleeve wasn't blank) Courtney would almost think that the jumper came that way- the evenness of the stitches is shocking.

Courtney blinks. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"My mom. I used to fuck up everything I wore within a week, and she always fixed it. She showed me how to do it myself when I was ten." Duncan takes a sip of his coffee. "You're welcome, by the way."

Courtney rubs the back of her neck sheepishly. "Right, thank you. Really."

"You really didn't think to do it yourself?" Courtney opens her mouth, and it's like Duncan can sense the indignant response before she gets a word out. "I'm not judging, I just figured little miss C.I.T would know how to do this stuff."

She huffs. "Not all of us were burning holes in our shirts before 8th grade."

"It was barbed wire, thank you very much. And it's still a good skill to have."

"My parents were just focused on teaching me other things, and it's not like I ever needed to know before now."

"Uh-huh." Duncan looks at her, thinking.

"I could always teach you anyway?"

"You'd teach me to sew?"

Duncan looks down at his cup. "Well, not just that, but yeah. I just don't wanna be the one to fix all your shit."

Courtney crosses her arms. "It was one hole in one jumper, Duncan."

"And the bookshelf?"

She flushes. "I just haven't got around to it!"

"Sure you haven't."

Courtney thinks, rubbing the soft wool of her jumper between her fingers. She gets a small hole in one jumper, and suddenly it's like she's hyperaware of how little she knows. Sure, not everyone can sew, but it's not just that. She doesn't want to admit to Duncan how many times she's eaten out this semester after burning her dinner, or how many times she's called Bridgette in a panic over her dishwasher making weird noises.

"...I guess it couldn't hurt. To get a second opinion."

Duncan smiles. "Whatever you say, Princess."

[sparrow-the-tired-lesbian]

i hope you know how obsessed i am with dienira (i forgot how to spell it 💔) i yearn for more of her

HEHEHE I THOUGHT YOU’D NEVER ASK!

Ok so at first I was like “she’s Stone’s kid so she’d be super sweet. Sickeningly so.” But then I realized yeah, she is, but not only is Stone not without folly, but she’s Ivo’s kid too. She’s got both of their blood running through her veins. She’s got some evil in her.

I like to think she grew up learning how to build things and engineer things with her daddy (Ivo), and learned the more domestic, homemaking skills from her baba (Stone).

She also takes after her daddy in the sense that she hates Sonic and wants him to be her nemesis. I think at one point when she was a kid Sonic showed up to an eggman battle and saw Deianira (who her dads ABSOLUTELY call Deia, affectionately,) and went “what the hell is this. Why is there a literal five year old child screaming at me.” And Ivo goes “it’s her first fight. Go easy on her, ‘kay?” And Stone made little flags and t-shirts to cheer her on.

She’s also a genius, like her dads. She learned to talk at the age of one, was reading chapter books and writing in full sentences by two, and built her first little robot at age four.

FURTHERMORE! Since both Ivo and Stone are orphans (in my professional opinion,) they are extremely attentive to her needs, especially emotionally. She can only really complain that they can be overbearing.

I have more but my flight is boarding so I’ll see you all in five hours!

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[brf-rumortrackinganon]

Listen I need William and Kate to do more to distance themselves from hm. We know that Kate does her own jams, honey, baking etc. and we also know that the back shot is something William and Kate have done since at least the Pakistan tour. Same thing with hand holding off duty. But doing this so close to Meghan doing these things makes it look like William and Kate are copying to the general public. People are dumb and have memories of a gold fish. No one does their research. To combat that William and Kate should ask their team to let them know what to avoid until some time goes by and people forget. It’s so frustrating how people fall for these lies.

A marketing executive once said that adverts are designed for the brain of a 5th grader and the public makes it clear why. William and Kate overestimate the public’s intelligence. That’s one of the reasons last year was such a disaster.

I get what you're saying, but it's the wrong thing to do. You're thinking of only the short term impact on daily headlines. You're not seeing how this would play out in the grand scheme of things.

Think about it: you're advising people who are living their lives naturally, doing their own natural things that they're known for in their own regular ways- like sharing their harvest with their community, being photographed working and commuting, being casually affectionate towards one another - and telling them not to do it because of a bully who lives 5,500 miles away pretending she does these things too.

That gives Meghan the win. It means that the Waleses are so bothered by Meghan existing that they've fundamentally stopped being their natural selves, which means Meghan has successfully provoked them into reacting (or responding) to her. It's a silent acknowledgement of what she's doing, which is all the inch Meghan - who is incredibly PR savvy - needs to say she's still part of the BRF.

But on the other hand, if the Waleses continue to do what they've always done despite (or in spite of) Meghan, then they win. It means they're so unbothered by someone who's copying their every move that they couldn't care any less. They're continuing to grey rock her, refusing to acknowledge that she exists or has any relevance to them, personally and professionally. It makes Meghan scramble all the more desperately.

Plus all this is a rehash of Meghan's 2016 - 2018 pre-wedding PR anyway, when Meghan said she was going to out-duchess the Duchess of Cambridge - check out the timelines if you don't believe me (click on the tag below). She's doing the exact same thing, telling us she's going to out-homemaker the Princess of Homemade Gifts...who's been gifting people her baked goods and foods since 2011, when Meghan was passing off the Whole Foods hot bar as her own cooking.

[the-secret-garden1]

Hello there, 👋

I am Tamer Aldeeb, a dentist from Gaza.

We have suffered greatly from fear, displacement, and the destruction of our home and my clinic, and everything we literally own...

We want to save ourselves from what seems like an inevitable death.

I hope you can take a look at my campaign on the pinned post on my profile ,and help us by donating or sharing our campaign to reach the largest number of supporters.🌹🌹

Our campaign is verified by @90-ghost , @ibtisams , @el-shab-hussein , @nabulsi and @fairuzfan 🇵🇸🇵🇸🇵🇸

Thanks a lot in advance ❤️❤️❤️

Tamer Aldeeb's Family

Status: €18,796 raised of €40,000 goal | donate here

Click for more info ⬇️

To begin their story, it is important to introduce their family, who are the core of Tamer's existence and the source of his strength during these turbulent times:

They are a family of four suffering for over nine months from a brutal genocide that spares neither humans nor stones.

His mother is the heart of their home.

His mother embodies generosity and kindness as a devoted homemaker, always prioritising her family's well-being. Her unwavering love remains our sanctuary amidst the chaos.

Their father is the pillar of strength.

His father, Majed, is a dedicated professor. Faced the destruction of the university he served. Despite this, his commitment to education and society remains unshaken.

His brother is a beacon of healing.

His brother, Mohammad, is a compassionate doctor. Who confronts the challenges of healthcare amidst dwindling supplies and occupation brutality, showcasing remarkable dedication to healing.

As for Tamer, he is a dream deferred.

Tamer, was on the verge of a new beginning, with aspirations to further his career in Germany. He'd had saved thousands of dollars for the mandatory block account to support my stay abroad. However, the genocide has not only shattered his professional dreams but also consumed what didn't burn of his savings, compelling him to fight for his family's survival amidst the escalating costs of basic human necessities.

[Picture of Tamer's family before the war]

They have lost the lives of their dearest friends, neighbours, and much of what they loved. They have lost their home with all its dreams and memories. A five-floor house completely levelled to the ground.