#avocado mid

[iliketoseeeverythinginneon]

Instagram: iliketoseeeverythinginneon

[artificialllovers]

Mindfulness is crazyyyyy. I ate breakfast without scrolling my phone or anything this morning and realized that I barely like avocado on its own. I’ve been eating avocado for years 😭

[shannonofrp]

San Francisco Enclosed Kitchen

[byeolgirl]

A PROGRAM OF A HEALTHY DIET

(with idea)

- inspired by Korean idols !

By: ★﹕byeolgιrᥣ﹒

"Take care of yourself, That's the priority, You can only recieve love if you love yourself, I hope you think of yourself as a priority, Then people around you will love you"

- Jang Wonyoung

Breakfast:

1. Overnight oats with almond milk, chia seeds, sliced banana, and a drizzle of honey.

2. Whole grain cereal with skim milk, topped with mixed berries and a sprinkle of flaxseeds.

3. Veggie omelette made with bell peppers, onions, and mushrooms, served with whole grain toast.

4. Smoothie bowl with blended spinach, frozen mixed berries, Greek yogurt, and a handful of granola.

Mid-Morning Snack:

1. Sliced cucumber and cherry tomatoes with hummus.

2. Rice cakes with avocado mash and a sprinkle of black pepper.

3. Cottage cheese with sliced strawberries and a drizzle of balsamic glaze.

4. Whole grain crackers with tuna salad (made with Greek yogurt instead of mayo) and cucumber slices.

Lunch:

1. Quinoa salad with diced mango, black beans, diced bell peppers, and a lime vinaigrette dressing.

2. Whole wheat wrap filled with grilled chicken, lettuce, tomato, avocado, and mustard.

3. Lentil soup with a side of mixed greens salad and a whole grain roll.

4. Brown rice bowl with stir-fried tofu, broccoli, carrots, and a teriyaki sauce.

Afternoon Snack:

1. Sliced apple with a spread of almond butter and a sprinkle of cinnamon.

2. Edamame beans sprinkled with sea salt.

3. Greek yogurt parfait with layers of granola, mixed berries, and a drizzle of honey.

4. Air-popped popcorn seasoned with nutritional yeast and smoked paprika.

Dinner:

1. Grilled shrimp skewers with quinoa pilaf and roasted Brussels sprouts.

2. Baked cod fillet with roasted sweet potatoes and steamed green beans.

3. Turkey chili served over baked sweet potatoes and topped with diced avocado.

4. Whole wheat pasta with marinara sauce, lean ground turkey, and sautéed spinach.

Evening Snack (optional):

1. Sliced pear with a sprinkle of cinnamon and a few squares of dark chocolate.

2. Celery sticks filled with almond butter and topped with raisins.

3. A small handful of mixed nuts (such as almonds, cashews, and pistachios).

4. Herbal tea with a squeeze of lemon and a small piece of cheese.

These meal ideas offer a variety of nutrients while keeping the overall calorie intake in check for a healthy and balanced diet.

[saint-ambrosef]

newbie's guide to produce

for all my peers who were not taught how to shop for veggies and fruit on a budget and struggle to use them before they go bad:

(disclaimer: prices are approximate based on where i live in the Southern US. costs may be higher in your area, but the comparison of cost should still be valuable.)

cheap produce year-round:

roma tomatoes. if they look under-ripe you can leave them on the counter for a few days. keeps in fridge for about 2 weeks. $1/lb.

cucumbers. around here they're 50-60 cents each. go bad quickly though, about 1 week in fridge.

celery. two bucks for a head. starts to get sad after two weeks in fridge. only makes sense if you like to snack on celery or make soups often.

corn. whole ears are like 20cents each mid-summer, otherwise just get frozen. $1.50 for a lb.

peas. get these puppies frozen for $1.50/lb. good protein, too.

romaine lettuce. one head is good for several small salads, about $2 and lasts a week in fridge. the big boxes/multi-packs may seem like a better deal but not if it all goes bad before you can eat it.

onions. kind of a given but you can get regular yellow varietals for less than a buck per pound. will last for 1-2 months in pantry.

potatoes. you can get 5lb bags of russets for three bucks. sweet potatoes are a lil over $1/lb. last 2-3 months in pantry; if they grow sprouts, you can cut those off and still eat it.

bananas. dirt cheap. a small bunch (4-5) costs like a dollar. if they go over-ripe before you eat them all just get less or get a few green ones (p.s: you're allowed to break them off larger clumps).

radishes. $1.50 for a little bundle. greens get wilty after a week, roots will last 2 weeks (you can use both parts).

hot peppers. poblano, jalapeno, etc., are often quite cheap and you usually don't need very many anyways. few weeks fridge or counter.

cheap produce when in season:

summer squash. in summertime (duh), zucchini and yellow squash are like $1.25/lb. only last a week or so though in fridge.

winter squash. actually in season in fall, these are your butternuts and acorn squash. less than $1/lb then. lasts in pantry for months.

green beans. in warm months they can be on sale for $1.50/lb! last 1.5-2 weeks in fridge? (kinda depends on the shape they're in)

kale. it's a cool-season green that commonly is on sale in colder months. $1.60 for a big bunch, about 1.5 weeks in fridge before it gets seriously wilty. (can be eaten cooked or raw!)

apples. fall/winter, usually at least one variety on sale for $1.25/lb. last forever.

oranges. most citrus are winter fruits. $1/lb. will last forever in your fridge.

strawberries. spring. at their peak, i can find them for $2/lb. otherwise they are too expensive.

watermelon. $8 for big 10lb melons. they can take up a ton of space though and need to be refrigerated once cut/ripe.

cantaloupe. another summer star! $1.50 each on sale. they will slow ripen in the fridge but you do have to keep an eye on it.

pineapple. $1.50 in summer time. might be ripe even when still a bit green, ready when they smell noticeably ripe.

pears. fall season, sometimes into winter. $1.20/lb. last 1-2 weeks on the counter or forever in the fridge.

pomegranate. in winter time they can be found for $2 each. tricky to peel though.

peaches. and nectarines (which are just fuzzless peaches). $1.25/lb in summer and will last for weeks in your fridge.

eggplants. summertime veggie, you can get for $1.50 when they're on sale. otherwise a bit pricey. keep in fridge for 2 weeks.

mid-range produce:

cabbage. three bucks for a 2-lb head but you can get a lot out of it. will keep 3-4 weeks in the fridge but any exposed cut sides will start moldering after a week.

mushrooms. white button or baby bella. $1.50 for 8oz. keep in mind, mushrooms halve in size after cooking. ~2 weeks though.

avocados. if you live in the South like me, small hass varietals are 60-80 cents apiece in winter. ripe when it gives just a little to squeezing (you can't go off color alone).

broccoli. fresh is $1.70ish per head and lasts a week in fridge. frozen is $1.50/lb but might be kind of mushy.

most greens. spring mixes, spinach, arugula, etc can really vary in price but often fall into a few bucks at least per bundle/package. in a fridge's humidity drawer they last 1-2 weeks.

kiwis. i love them but they're a bit pricey for their size. 50 cents each. their keep depends on how ripe they are at purchase.

expensive produce:

asparagus. one of the most expensive veggies. sometimes in spring you can get it for $2/lb (a steal but still a bit much). lasts 1.5 weeks.

brussel sprouts. same as above.

red or yellow bell peppers. they are used sooo often in recipes and it annoys me. often $1.50-2.00 each. last a long time in fridge.

caluiflower. three bucks for a head. yikes!

green beans. when they're not in season, they are like $3/lb.

snap peas. same as above, except they never seem to be on sale.

raspberries. go bad in 3 days and cost an arm and a leg. sometimes when they're in season you can get them for like $2 per half-pint as a treat.

blueberries and blackberries. even when they're in season, they're still $2 per pint.

grapes. they can sorta be affordable in the fall season for $2/lb, but otherwise they're double that. and usually you have to commit to buying several pounds. last 2 weeks in fridge.

plums. i love them so so much but they're only in season for like 2 weeks of the year it seems and they're like $3/lb.

inexpensive accoutrements: (for garnishes, seasoning, etc)

limes. 25cents apiece. they'll start to dry out after 1 week on the counter so keep them in the fridge unless you will use it soon.

lemons. usually 50cents each for the small varietals. keep same as above.

green onions. less than a dollar for a bunch, and you can easily regrow a few times at home if you stick the white rooted end in water by a window.

cilantro. 50cents. will last WAY longer (1-2 weeks) if you keep it in a mug of water in the fridge.

parsley. 85cents. same as above.

obviously sticking just with popularly available produce across the country. it's not an exhaustive list but can give you a bit more perspective on what produce you should be focusing on if you're trying to work with a tight grocery budget. good luck!

[being-addie]

Morning Routines

We're all looking at those Instagram influencers who somehow manage to wake up at 5 am, do meditation, journal, do a 15-step Korean skincare routine, and go to the gym. And then they make a green smoothie and avocado toast, get dressed in a Chanel outfit and then sit at their fancy desk with a vanilla latte and a croissant.

This is not realistic. You probably already know that, but it likely won't stop you from trying to change your routine bit by bit to look a little like theirs. That didn't stop me, at least.

But now I've come to realise that no matter how much I try, I'll never be able to have a routine like the ones I see online. Because it doesn't exist. It's all curated for aesthetic appeal and generates a sense of false productivity in the watcher's brain. We feel motivated looking at those videos and never get around to changing our own life because we're too busy living vicariously through our phones.

Here's some things you should add to your morning routine, not to be fancy, but to feel better. This is coming from someone who's tried the unrealistic routines, and I now incorporate all of these into my routine. You can skip or add things according to your schedule.

S-T-R-E-T-C-H: Do your body a favour and loosen up your muscles. Nothing better than having a good stretch that wakes your body up.

Drink water: Before you put anything in your system, drink water. Not coffee, not tea. Plain warm water. And I don't mean lemon water. Some people might not agree, but lemon water strips your teeth of the enamel. It also is acidic, so all that bullshit they talk about it being "alkaline and pH balancing" is nonsense. Warm water is the way to go.

Make your bed: A clean bed should be the first thing you do after you wake up. At the end of the day, you'll thank yourself because it will be clean, and fresh and you can fall into bed immediately.

Hygiene: Wash your face to get rid of crusty eyes and sleep. Do a basic skincare routine (cleanser, moisturizer) so you'll feel fresher. Brush your teeth and hair.

Move your body: It doesn't matter what you do, even if it's for 15 minutes. Go for a walk, do a Zumba workout, or squeeze in a HIIT session. You can find lots of tutorials on YouTube (Caroline Girvan, growingannanas, Chloe Ting). Either way, working out will help you feel more motivated and happier. It's the endorphins.

Clean yourself: Set aside some time for showering, slathering on lotion, and doing your (real) skincare and makeup routine. Pick an outfit that makes you feel good about yourself.

Eat something: ALWAYS make some food. Your body has been famished for hours on end, give it some fuel. Make a healthy breakfast, or prep one the night before. If you don't get very hungry in the mornings, have a banana, and pack a mid-morning snack beforehand so you don't reach for chips.

Do 3 things: Make a to-do list of everything you need to do today. Don't overwhelm yourself. Then, knock off 3 easy tasks from the list that you can do quickly. You'll be filled with a sense of motivation, and it'll be easier for you to complete your list. It can be chores, it could be some assigned reading. Just get it done.

Gratitude or prayer: You don't need to sit for 15 minutes to practice gratitude. You can think of things your thankful for on the way to school or work or practice deep breathing/say a small prayer on the subway or bus. You don't HAVE to do it, but it definitely makes you realise how much you have in life and appreciate it more.

Kindness: Start your day with kindness. Compliment your barista, smile at the old lady on the street, pet the stray cat. There's so much love in the world, and you have so much love inside you, and it's beautiful to be a part of it.

No longer will I be stuck in a rut. I cannot be confined to being a bitter, unhealthy person when I know there's a smiling, healthy, happy version of me in the future. Deep breaths. You'll get there babe.

<3

[sreidisms]

Hiya! What do you think spending a day at home w Spencer would be like? Xx

Thank you for the request! And such a cute one at that <3

Spending a Day at Home with Spencer (HCs)

Spencer Reid x GN!Reader

Spencer would be DYING to have a day off from work, just to relax

More often than not, he'd lay in bed with you till late because he rarely gets the time to do that

You'd wake him up with butterfly kisses across his face (mgg reference 😙), or he'd wake you up that way

He'd snuggle up to you closer than he already he is - because let's be real, he probably clung to the side of your body the entire night - and bury his face in your neck

"You're so warm"

You'd stay like that, just absorbing each other's presence, until one of you gets hungry - time for breakfast!

Breakfast always leads to an argument over who should cook and who should stay in bed, but unless Spence is still exhausted from the previous case, you compromise by making your food together

Spencer MUST be on coffee duty because he's a snob about it and can't cook to save his life either way

While he makes his coffee and your tea/coffee, you're on cooking duty

Now due to Spencer's sensory issues, you'd have to learn to avoid certain foods, mainly eggs, avocados, and porridge (RIP I adore those foods)

Toast with some jam or chocolate spread is his go to, but sometimes you'll make pancakes or waffles to spice it up

After sharing a lovely breakfast, a day at home is going to be lazy if Spencer's around because poor boy is exhausted from work

Depending on his mood and how tired he is, the activities vary

If he's feeling energetic and happy, you'll have movie marathons where he explains the entire cinematographic history of each one - he'd definitely be into German expressionism and French new wave (existential bastard)

If the previous case has worn him out, you'll read near each other or even read to him if he's in need of extra comfort

Other possible activities would be baking, doing chores together, and letting him teach you chess

For lunch and dinner, you'd probably just order take out because cooking just "takes too much effort" according to him

You'd definitely share a nice bath together to wind down, because it's also a wonderful way to spend time together and take care of each other simultaneously

Spencer would most definitely dose off mid-bath

After drying off and changing, you'd either chat over dinner or some more tea/coffee because your boyfriend is a chatter; OR you'd sit on the couch and do your own thing, parallel play kinda

Spencer reading a book or solving a crossword puzzle, and you on your phone or listening to music

I HOPE THIS LIVED UP TO YOUR EXPECTATIONS, I tend to go into a lot of detail 😭 a flaw of mine

[its-time-to-write]

Here is another prompt

Accidental stalker is kind of what I'm going for :)

Maybe Jaime and Reader accidentally bump into each other one day and both think the other is "fit" but just keep walking. They however keep noticing each other at there favorite places like the park, bakery and maybe a few others. Finally after seeing each other for like the eighth time Reader angrily approaches Jaime asking if he's is a creep who is stalking her. Jamie is shocked by this cause he thought she might be following him around (Like as a fan) they have a good laugh and realize they have a lot in common then maybe go on a date

I honestly just love funny fics where everyone is just confused

I thought this gif was a funny one to put with this story. Hope you like it!!

chasing shadows in a grocery line

You take a deep breath, then exhale. Finally. It’s the weekend, which means you have two whole days to yourself; no plans with friends, no work, no nothing. It’s like heaven. You woke up late, took your time making breakfast, and cleaned up around your flat. There’s a load of laundry in the washing machine, and now you’re dressed and ready to go grocery shopping.

It really is all about the little things in life.

You’re feeling productive, perusing the vegetable aisle, considering what you want to purchase for your meals this week. You’re in deep thought about a particularly large avocado when someone bumps your shoulder.

“Sorry,” says a voice, “weren’t looking where I was going.”

You turn and are met with the clearest blue eyes you’ve ever seen in your life.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say, then force yourself to turn back to the avocado before it gets weird.

—

You decide to get the avocado, among other things, and now you’re headed to your favorite bakery. It’s small, but wonderful. You want to pick up a loaf of bread to go with dinner and to chat with the store owners. They’re an old couple named Helen and Max who have been running the bakery for years, and they’re a little bit like Richmond’s grandparents.

However despite their popularity, everyone seems to have their own time of the day they go to the bakery. You never see anyone you know there, but it’s where everyone gets their baked goods. You suppose everyone must go at the same time every week, which is why you always see the same three people shopping.

You reach to pull open the door right as someone pushes it open from inside.

“Sorry!” you say, “I didn’t see you there.” Your voice trails off a little bit at the end, because you’re staring into those same blue eyes from the grocery store.

He gives you a small smile and says, “Guess we’re even, then,” before holding the door open to let you through. You breeze through like you’re not completely flustered, and dare to take a quick glance back. 

He’s looking back too, and you quickly look away. You’re surprised you haven’t seen him here before, and make a mental note to ask about him. You’re not going to lie, he’s very good looking, and if anyone knows if he’s single, it’s going to be Helen. She knows everything about everyone.

—

It’s not until you’re walking back to your flat that you realize you forgot to ask Helen. She had pulled out photos of her newest grandbaby as soon as she saw you, so it completely slipped your mind. You’re lost in thought as a jogger goes running by you, and it takes a moment for you to register that it’s the same man from before. 

That’s a little weird, seeing him three times in one day. You don’t dwell on it too long, though, because you have Plans for the day that do not involve a fit, blue-eyed stranger.

—

Sunday means you get to sit in the park with a nice large book and a basket lunch, soaking up the rare sun and sounds of Richmond. 

You pause mid-chapter to listen to the world around you, the kids laughing, people chattering. You hear a voice near you say, “Oi, Keeley!” and you note that whoever it is, they say Keeley the same way grocery boy says sorry.

(You’ve taken to calling the stranger “grocery boy” in your mind. You figure it suits because that’s where you first bumped into him).

You half turn and find grocery boy looking at you, mouth half-open in surprise. He’s with a tiny blonde, you assume this must be Keeley, and a tall, very hairy, very grumpy-looking man. You give him a small wave, then turn back to your book.

You find yourself rereading the same sentence over a few times, way too lost in thought. What the hell is grocery boy doing here? You swear in all your weekend routines, you’ve never seen him before. He looks vaguely familiar, but that could be your mind playing tricks on you. You decide to call it a day and pack up your blanket, book, and food. 

It’s still a lovely day, so you decide to sit outside your flat. You have a few neighbors outside as well, and it feels like the perfect summer day. You’re leaning on your next-door neighbor’s gate and laughing at one of his outrageous stories about growing up in the late sixties, when you catch a glimpse of blonde walking by into the flat two down from yours. She’s accompanied by the grumpy man and… grocery boy?

You didn’t know she lived on your street. Her car is usually there when you leave for work and gone when you come back, so you’ve never actually seen who lives there.

Grocery boy looks at you and wrinkles his nose a little bit in confusion. You wrinkle yours right back.

This is getting really, really weird. 

You turn back to Mr. Davies, ready to hear his next story, but he’s just raising his eyebrows at you and grinning. You roll your eyes and grin back. He’s been trying to get you a date for the better part of the year, and you can only imagine what fuel this brief, meaningless interaction will add to his fire.

—

God, it’s Monday already. You make it through the entire workday so as you get into your car you decide, forget it, I’m going for kebabs. You don’t feel like cooking and there’s a place just up the street from your flat, so you’ll get something to take home.

You’re waiting for your order when the door jingles, signifying another customer. You half turn just from instinct, and immediately whip back around. 

Your heart is beating a little faster. This cannot be a coincidence. I mean really, what are the odd of you two running into each other so much? 

You try to take a calming breath, but it’s just a stutter.

It’s fine, you tell yourself, there are people around, it’s fine. 

You have a friend from uni who had a stalker once. He showed up everywhere, her favorite coffee spot, her job, her yoga class. One time he showed up outside her room so she called the police. Got a restraining order and everything. Turns out he had seen her once at the school library and decided he was in love with her. Now he’s not allowed within 150 metres of her.

Your name is called and you grab your order, purposefully not looking at grocery boy and trying not to think about the fact that he now knows your name. You’re out the door and walking as fast as you can without running. You’ve made it a good way up the street when you hear someone call your name and shout, “Oi!”

You walk a little faster, but not fast enough. Grocery boy has caught up to you. You suppose he’s so fast because he’s insanely fit.

You turn to him, gripping your bag of food tightly as if it could protect you.

“Why are you stalking me?” you ask fiercely.

This takes him by surprise. Whatever he was planning on saying has died on his lips as he digests this.

“Why am I… stalking you?” he repeats slowly.

You nod, hands clenched into fists. You mentally count how many people are around right now, just in case things go sideways. Who would have thought that cute, sweet grocery boy is actually insane?

“I’m not stalking ya, you’re the one following me!” he says. “What d’you want? An autograph? Tickets to the next match? A fuckin’ signed photo?”

Now you’re confused. “Why would I want a photo? You’re cute, sure, but like… that’s just crossing the line.”

He runs a hand through his hair, bewildered. You have the unfortunate observation that he looks incredibly attractive like that. 

Pull yourself together, you scold, he’s crazy, why are you attracted to him?

Your therapist is going to love unpacking that one.

“You mean.. you don’t know who I am.” He says it as a statement not a question.

“No..?” you reply. “Should I?”

“I’m Jamie Tartt,” he says. He’s met with a blank stare. “The footballer?” he continues. You shrug. “I play for AFC Richmond and I’m their fucking best scorer?”

“I don’t watch football,” you say. “Not really a sports kind of person.”

Jamie blows out a breath. “So you don’t know who I am.”

You shake your head.

“And you weren’t stalking me.”

You shake your head again, thinking about his fucking hot accent. You’re starting to piece together that he is, in fact, not crazy, so can you let yourself think he’s cute again.

“I thought you were following me,” you say, “because hello, most stalkers are men? And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m a pretty good-looking girl, so it makes way more sense that you’d be the one following me.”

You want to kick yourself before the words are even out of your mouth. Where did that come from? God, you’re embarrassing yourself in front of this cute, apparently famous footballer. You suppose any chance of getting his number (like you fantasized on Saturday) is gone.

But Jamie is just looking at you differently now, probably because he has to recategorize you from a creep to… well, you don’t know what, but anything’s better than a stalker. 

You’re pretty sure you can’t be any more surprised tonight, but apparently you can, because the next words out of Jamie’s mouth are, “You’re really fit.”

You swear you’re getting whiplash from this conversation, and it must show on your face because Jamie just laughs.

“Noticed ya looking at that avocado, and might have bumped into you on purpose. Everything after that was just fucking weird though. Thought about asking for your number at the park, but I was with Roy and Keeley. Keeley’s too fucking involved in my life and Roy don’t care, but then, I dunno, it started to get weird.”

“You want my number?” you ask incredulously.

Jamie shrugs. “Seems like we’ve got a lot in common. Except football. Who doesn’t fucking watch football?”

You laugh. “I don’t know, I just never got into it!”

Jamie laughs with you. “Tell you what, you watch me play, and then tell me it’s fucking boring.”

Your laughter is dying down now, and you realize the sun is starting to go down. “I’d better get going,” you say. “It was nice to officially meet you.”

“Let me walk you,” Jamie says, “Goin’ to Keeley’s anyway.”

You smile and take his offered hand.

You suppose there are weirder ways to meet someone, and you’re not complaining.

[browngirl-inthering]

decade accurate marauders era wardrobes - remus lupin

hair: black, coily, and styled into a short afro/brown, mid-length and curly.

i personally hc remus as black so i typically imagine him wearing his hair in an afro as it was popular amongst black people at the time.

i see canon remus as having a hairstyle more like the one on the right.

clothes: consist of earthy tones such as brown, green, yellow and red. stripes and plaids. knitwear, corduroy, and cotton blends. shirts, vests, sweaters and flannels.

while 70s fashion is typically associated with bright colors and flashy designs, casual clothing made with earthy tones and natural materials such as wool, wood, and cotton were also very popular.

the notorious avocado greens, harvest golds, coppertone oranges, and burnt siennas that are synonymous with the 70s functioned as a sort of knee jerk reaction to the psychedelic color palette of the 60s and its equally as wild politics that eventually carried on into the 70s. people developed a sort of anxiety towards the experimental and spontaneous nature of the times and instead yearned for more simplicity, stability, and comfort in their lives which they found in crafts like knitting and crocheting.

perhaps someone better spoken than me can articulate my point better but i feel like this somewhat parallels remus and his place in the wizarding world. wizards, specifically anti-muggle wizards, are canonically described via pottermore to adopt a "deliberately flamboyant, out-of-date or dandyish style" as a way to demonstrate their superiority over muggles. like muggle society, their sense of fashion also mirrored their equally as ignorant, outdated, and dramatic politics. remus, on the other hand, is commonly depicted in fanon as wearing "simple but smart" looking clothing such as knitted sweaters and vests with calm, naturally occurring colors. the simplicity in his style could also be interpreted a knee-jerk reaction to flamboyancy of wizarding fashion and culture as a whole. his lycanthropy gives him many self esteem issues and a strong desire to be liked which influences the way he carries himself amongst wizarding society. he is articulate and philosophical in his speech and is repeatedly shown to try to repress angry outbursts in possible fear of being depicted as dangerous or violent.

despite this, he has his moments when his true, sarcastic nature shines through. i think he'd enjoy jokey graphic tees that encapsulate this aspect of him.

shoes: doc martens and loafers

accessories: messenger bag, pins, walking cane.

cane user remus ftw‼️

he uses the messenger bag as his schoolbag and puts the pins on them for decoration. ik he wouldn't have *realistically* used 2/3 of these pins but i thought they were funny and fitting so why not.

[deliriousbean]

Mid-January Stroll

Lil doodle of the avocados in the snow cause I watched a christmas movie yesterday and it completely threw me back into the christmas feels

[corporationsarepeople]

Contrary to far-right fantasies like QAnon, this campaign by the elites was no conspiracy. It took place right out in the open, starting with politicians like Ronald Reagan and Margaret Thatcher and running right through the present day. “The Davos elite aren’t eating our children,” Naomi Klein writes in her new book, “but they are eating our children’s futures, and that is plenty bad.”

To hide their undeserved gains, some of the wealthy downplay the helping hands they have received, whether from family (Donald Trump’s referring to $60.7 million as “a small loan from my father”) or the government (Tesla and SpaceX CEO Elon Musk’s criticizing government subsidies even though his companies have received billions from the government).

Mostly, though, they and their political servants (in the U.S., that means especially, but not exclusively, the Republican Party) stoke fights on battlefields small and large. Gurner blames young people’s monetary struggles on avocado toast and overpriced coffee. Major Republican donors like Rebekah Mercer donate millions to conservative media outlets and candidates who stoke fears of culture wars, drag queens and people of color — and who, when they get into office, prioritize tax cuts slanted toward the wealthy.

And some are more brazen. Klein quotes the mid-20th century Belgian leftist Abram Leon’s observation about the Nazis’ use of antisemitic conspiracy theories: “Big business endeavored to divert and control the anti-capitalist hatred of the masses for its exclusive profit.” If that sounds like an extreme comparison, remember that of all the organizations and people who have criticized Musk’s ownership of X (formerly Twitter), he is blaming the collapse in the company’s value on the Anti-Defamation League.

[slippinmickeys]

Okay if you feel like this is interesting for a Proof of Life fic...

just little windows into their first pregnancy, lounging and being happy, traveling for work maybe, and then meeting the baby for the first time or something.

1. He is staring at her face, but he doesn’t care. He is clocking every shift of her eyes, every microexpression; dying, dying to know if he’s done well, if he’s done the right thing. 

She stopped next to the real estate SOLD sign and is studying the outside of the house. It is modest, especially for this neighborhood, but it has nice lines, and verdant hydrangea bushes out front weighed down with so many pink and blue blossoms that you can hardly see any green.

“It’s got great curb appeal,” she says, and Mulder lets out an enormous sigh of relief. 

“Let me show you the inside,” he says, digging deep into his pocket for the set of keys the realtor had handed him only that morning. 

It takes two tries to get the door open, and Scully stands there wearing a patient smile, her hands resting on the soft swell of her stomach. 

“There we go,” he says, and he stops halfway over the threshold. “Do you want me to carry you in?” he asks, turning back toward her. He doesn’t want to fuck this up.

“Let’s save your back for the boxes,” she says. “I’m afraid you’re on your own for all the heavy lifting.”

“Roger that,” he says, and reaches out instead to grab her hand, pulling her into the small foyer. 

“A front closet,” she immediately observes. “That’s good. And room for a bench and shoes.”

With every nice thing she says, pounds upon pounds of weight lift off his shoulders. 

She was in Haiti far longer than either of them anticipated, and he offered to fly back to the States to start looking for a house for them to settle into once she was done. She’d given him a long list of requirements, and he’d kissed a lot of frogs before finding this house–a mid-century modern ranch in Alexandria with three bedrooms, two baths, and a check mark next to everything she’d requested. When he’d looked at it the first time, he’d felt it was right, and his realtor told him that if he wanted to put an offer down, he shouldn’t wait. 

“There are fifteen offers on it already–I mean, at this price, in this neighborhood?” She’d said. “But it’s an older couple that’s downsizing and they want it to go to a young family. I may have mentioned your wife’s condition and there’s a possibility I showed their realtor your picture from the Pulitzer ceremony.” She had glanced at Mulder with a look that screamed I hope I did the right thing. “They’re waiting on an offer from you. If they don’t get one today, they have another buyer picked out.”

And so after three phone calls to Scully’s cell phone that all went unanswered or were met by a recorded voice telling him the number he is trying to reach is unavailable, he put in an offer, which was accepted twenty minutes later and by the time Scully called him back, they were homeowners and she hadn’t so much as seen a picture of the house. Mulder had been there for the inspections, and escrow closed while she was still on Hispaniola. 

He likes the house. He hopes she loves it. 

“The kitchen is through here?” she asks. He nods and follows her in. 

“Wow, the appliances look new,” she says, and he simply smiles at her. 

They are new. Brand new. He’d bought them himself and had them installed before she got back to the States. The ones that came with the house were archaic–avocado green monstrosities with abysmal energy ratings. But the kitchen layout was great, and the countertops and cabinetry were acceptable and could be improved or replaced in the future. 

She runs her hands along the mantle in the living room, peaks out the window to look at the spacious backyard. She wanders into the master bedroom, complimenting the closet space, and when she gets to the back bedroom, she stops in the doorway. 

“The nursery,” he says quietly, putting a gentle hand on her lower back. 

The room is painted a soft yellow, and in the corner stands an enormous stuffed giraffe with a large bow around its neck. 

“From James, and the crew at the We clinic,” he says. “They say his name is Twiga.”

She turns to him with tears in her eyes. “Perfect,” she says. “It’s all perfect.” 

2.  “I can’t believe the only piece of furniture you own is a coffee table,” Scully says, putting her feet up on said object. 

Mulder is in the kitchen fiddling with the various bags of take out, assembling plates for them both. 

“You’re lucky I had it,” he calls to her over his shoulder. “Seeing as how Ethan got everything in the divorce.”

“Don’t even joke about that man,” Scully says, reaching down to adjust her wedding and engagement bands, making sure the small Indian diamond Mulder got her is perfectly centered. “When I moved in with him, he had nicer furniture, so I got rid of all mine. You know this. But even my old coffee table was better than this one. It’s hideous.”

Hideous might not be the right word, but it is certainly not to either of their tastes. She doesn’t know furniture styles all that well, but it looks practically colonial, with wooden legs that round into clawed feet, and nearly all of it is covered in intricate carving. It’s like a miniature version of the Resolute Desk. With feet. 

He appears from the doorway that leads from their kitchen to the living room carrying two plates laden with at least five different kinds of Chinese takeout. 

“That one has history. It has provenance. There’s a reason I kept it.”

He kept nothing else. He’d had a small storage unit in Boston with the coffee table and twelve boxes of photography equipment.

He sets his food down on the aforementioned artifact and hands her the plate he made up for her, along with utensils, a cheap paper napkin, paper-wrapped chopsticks and a fortune cookie. She dumps the chopsticks and fortune cookie on the table next to his and balances the plate on the enormous rounded drum of her stomach. 

“You don’t even need a table, Scully. You’ve got one built-in.”

She has to admit it is handy. It is next to impossible to pull up to a dining table (not that they had one) with the enormous mass of her stomach, so couch eating, using her stomach as a platform makes for a comfortable, tidy solution. Unless the baby kicks, then all bets are off. 

She gives him a look and continues to gaze at him. “If there’s provenance, I want to hear it.”

“My dad had it in college,” he says, taking an enormous bite of egg roll that he has to fully chew before he can go on.

“So far I’m unimpressed,” Scully says, turning to look at the table and then her plate. The plate is absolutely laden. She doesn’t know where to start. 

Mulder wipes his mouth and continues. “Dartmouth. One of his roommates was this super rich guy from Hyannis Port. Grew up next to the Kennedys. Rose was particularly fond of him. When he moved off campus in college, she found out and gave him a shitton of furniture from one of the Compound rooms she was redecorating to outfit the new digs. When Dad’s roommate graduated, he took everything but this.”

“I can’t blame him for leaving it,” Scully says, winding a bite of lo mein onto a fork. “It’s awful.”

“It’s interesting,” Mulder corrects her. “Probably three generations of Kennedys have put their scotch down on that table. It’s historic Americana.”

“I bet the Kennedys used coasters,” she says. “This piece of historic Americana,” she gestures to the table. “Looks like it was made from the captain’s berth of a whaling ship and is sporting what looks like at least five different water rings from Dartmouth Pabst.”

“At least one of those rings is mine and it was iced tea,” he says, standing up. “Speaking of…you want one?”

“Sure.” 

“Captain’s berth or not, this is what we’ve got for now,” he says, coming back into the room and handing her a cold Snapple. “Once we add a few more water rings and the dazzling crayon stylings of Scully Jr., we’ll donate it to the Smithsonian.”

“All I took from what you just said was that we can eventually get rid of it.”

“Fair enough,” he says. “But please keep in mind that the only furniture we currently have is a mattress still in plastic, the couch we’re sitting on which is on loan from your brother until his next posting and the Dartmouth Pabst Americana coffee table.”

“Hey, that’s a lot for two people who mostly lived in tents the last half decade.”

“And how,” he answers. 

Scully takes one more bite of food and slides the plate onto the only table they own. 

“You okay?” Mulder asks, instantly tender. “You barely ate.”

“If I eat more than five bites I’ll be up all night with heartburn,” she explains. 

Mulder obliviously wolfs down the last three bites of his own food and sets his plate down. 

“Here,” he says. “Swing your legs up here and I’ll rub your feet.”

Scully doesn’t hesitate and Mulder is digging into her aching arches before her head even hits the arm of the couch. 

She lays there blissed out for a moment. “Want to split a fortune cookie?” she asks after a moment, reaching for the one she set on the table. 

They break it in half like a wishbone and Scully gets the half with the fortune in it. She pulls out the little piece of paper and takes a crunchy bite of the cookie. Heartburn be damned, she can’t resist.

Mulder raises his eyebrows. “So?” he says. “What’s our fortune?” 

“You will soon find yourself in a Pottery Barn,” she reads. 

3. It’s the first time he’s been away from her overnight since she’s been back in the States. He hates it. She hates it. They both hate it. But they have a month to go before the baby is due, and he’s still looking for a full-time job. When he got a call asking if he wanted to be a part of a week-long photography symposium in California for a decent amount of cash, it was an opportunity he couldn’t turn down.  

He calls her as soon as the plane’s wheels touch down at National. He can’t wait to hear her voice. 

“Hey,” he says when she answers. “I just landed.”

“How was the flight?” she asks. Her voice is a little breathy, like maybe she was walking up a set of stairs. 

“Not bad, all things considered. A little weather over the Rockies. Are you out and about?”

He really hopes she isn’t. All he wants to do is go home, plant a massive kiss on her lips and then fall into bed with her in his arms and sleep until next Tuesday. 

“No, I’m home,” she says. 

“Oh,” he says. “Good.” 

“You’re taking the Metro home, right?” she asks. “You left your car at the Kiss & Ride?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I didn’t want you to have to come and get me.”

“Okay,” she says. There’s an odd quality to her voice that he can’t place, but forgets about it when she says “I missed you.”

“I missed you, too,” he says, his own voice going soft. 

The woman in the seat next to him looks at him and smirks, but he doesn’t care. 

“Listen, we’re about to pull into the gate. I’ll see you soon. Love you, Scully.”

“You too,” she says on a breath and then disconnects the line. 

The next hour is a pain in the ass. His luggage takes forever to come in and his hard case of camera equipment is dented on one side, so he has to go through each piece of equipment one at a time to check for damage. Luckily everything checks out. Outside, it’s a rush hour mob scene and the rain makes the train cars humid and smelling of funk and he’s half soaked by the time he makes it to his car. It’s not a long drive from the lot, and once he’s on Fort Hunt Road the traffic has finally thinned, but he has to stop for gas. By the time he pulls into their driveway, it’s dark, and he’s exhausted. He half hopes Scully’s asleep so he can just slide into bed too and lose himself to oblivion. 

He enters and kicks off his shoes, leaving his luggage by the door. The house is quiet and the lights are dim. He tries the master bedroom first, but she isn’t there. 

“Scully?” he calls out.

There’s a noise from the living room. When he enters, his stomach falls into his socks. 

Scully is half on the couch and half off, her arms resting against the cushions as if they're holding her up. It looks like she has maybe fallen. He cannot see her face.

“Scully!” He skids to her side on a bright burst of adrenaline and she turns to look at him weakly. 

“What happened? Are you okay? What’s-” The words all tumble out of his mouth one after the other and she reaches over and squeezes his arm, shutting him up instantly. 

“I’m fine,” she breathes. “It’s just…” She clenches her teeth, unable to finish, and Mulder instantly reads the situation. She’s in labor. A whole damned month early. 

“How far apart?” he asks her, breathless. 

The contraction seems to have passed and she gives him a weak smile. “Not very.”

“Why didn’t you call me?”

“You got teleporting abilities I don’t know about?” she asks, and he helps her move up and onto the couch. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

“You should have called your mom, you should-”

Another rough grab of her hand to his arm. “I’m not doing this—any of this—without you.”

4. They’re not left alone, the three of them, until they’ve been moved out of the spacious and plush Labor and Delivery ward and into the small, confining cell of Recovery. When at last the on-call nurse leaves the room with a smile and instructions on how to use the call button, the room descends into peace. A quiet, hovering peace. 

The baby is asleep, nestled into the crook of Scully’s arm, warm and oddly heavy.

Mulder still has a dazed and exhausted look on his face and is wearing the same clothes he traveled in yesterday, rumpled and a little bit worse for wear. He also hasn’t stopped smiling. A single, gentle click punctuates the silence and then he sets his camera down on the bedside table.

He is as quiet as the room itself and leans over the bed, staring at the baby. He only moves his gaze once, to flit his eyes to Scully’s, running a soft hand through her hair. 

“You did it,” he whispers. 

“I did,” Scully says happily, tiredly, following his gaze to look down at the small miracle of their child. 

The baby has a button nose, orange peach fuzz, and eyes that so look like Mulder’s that Scully can hardly look away herself. 

“Can I hold her?” he asks tenderly. “I don’t want to wake her, but…” 

He’d cut the cord, he’d gotten to shout “It’s a girl!!” He’d held her while the nurses helped Scully into the wheelchair to move floors. But he hasn’t yet had the chance to commune with the life he helped create, and Scully knows that’s what he wants and she knows it’s something he needs. 

“Of course,” she says, immediately moving the tiny child up and around so that Mulder can take her, tubes trailing down from the IV line taped to the back of her hand. 

His hands are gentle and tender as he lifts her, and big, so big that the baby practically looks like an egg in a baseball mitt.

“Hi,” he says to her once she’s settled in his arms. He wears a big smile, brushing eyes with Scully before staring back down at his daughter. “Hello Emily,” he says, like he’s trying on the name. The baby snuffles, settles. 

Beyond the walls of the hospital, airplanes cross and fly overhead. Beyond the walls of the hospital, are arguments, traffic accidents, war. People are kidnapped. People are killed. Beyond the walls of the hospital is everything else. 

Mulder settles into the chair in the corner of the room, his daughter laying snuggly in his lap, and he doesn’t move for a very, very long time.

[hezzabeth]

Everyone who lived on Baker Street had come out from the fog to eat Nanni’s dinner. This made perfect sense; Nanni was one of the few people in the park who knew how to cook meals using ingredients and an oven.

When the park was still open, Revati's home was a coffee shop called the “Mad Hatter Teaparty.” The walls were painted in eye-watering clashing shades of neon pink and green. The light fixtures hanging from the ceiling were all giant velvet top hats. The booths were giant flower teacups with tiny chairs and tables inside.

"Was there some sort of drug in the pineapple?" Revati heard Brigadeiro ask. Revati just ignored him and instead walked past each of the booths, collecting tributes; nobody ate Nanni’s for free.

The Paprikas sat in the blue and gold teacup, their neon orange hair clashing with the paint. The Paprikas were two brothers and their sister who had found themselves trapped in the park as children. Their parents had been vaporized by a towel-warming rack. Now they were in their mid-twenties and worked for Revati as hired muscle for free dinners.

"Who's the new guy? He's actually clean and good-looking," the youngest brother Brie asked Revati. "His name is Brigadeiro Bun; he's an off-world tourist who stupidly went to the wasteland," Revati said. "I was trying to find crystal roses," Brigadeiro smiled helpfully.

"Bridgadeiro huh? So your parents were Goup worshippers then?" The sister, Juniper, asked curiously. Revati vaguely knew that Goupism was a popular religion on other colonies. Over a thousand years ago, there was once a woman who apparently traveled the earth gathering the best health practices needed to be “happy.” "A white woman, and she stole most of her ideas from our eastern religions," Amma, who was a staunch atheist, had snapped with annoyance when Revati asked her to explain the Paprika siblings' religion. Still, despite her thievery, at some point, she had become a god. They firmly believed in things such as “psychic vampires” and “color-balancing therapy.” They also all had peculiar food-related names, mainly because the goddess had named her daughter Apple.

"Yes, they were. They insisted on coming here for a Wellness Day holiday," the eldest brother, Croquette, growled. "I miss mama's Wellness Day Avocado and chocolate cookies," Juniper sighed sadly. "It's not the same, but here I have a couple of factory-made ones in my pocket," Brigadeiro said, crawling into the booth. The Paprika siblings gasped with astonishment as he pulled a packet of cookies wrapped in gold paper out of his jumpsuit's gigantic pocket. "They got a bit crushed when I was kidnapped, but they're still good," he said, opening the package and placing it on the table. The Paprika siblings stared at the cookies, their mouths slack with shock. Croquette slowly shook his head, completely snatched the package, and began to serve the crushed crumbs amongst his siblings. "You need to keep this one forever," Juniper said firmly, and Revati just shook her head, moving onto the next table.

The next table consisted of the elderly Gupta couple. "You adopted another kid? If you want more water for him, we want more dried apples," Mrs. Gupta said, a small scowl on her wizened face. It was Mr. Gupta who had figured out how to gather and purify water from the atmosphere. It was Mrs. Gupta who managed and recorded all the water they collected, rolling it out like a tyrannical dictator. "Fine, one extra package of dried apples per week," Revati said before swishing grandly onwards.

Amma was sitting in the pink cup, her new partner Dusk Brisbane. Dusk Brisbane was a teacher from Titan, who, along with their students on a field trip, found themselves stuck in the park. Like all people from Titan, Dusk had inherited the ability to rapidly change biological genders. Titan had also inherited a name that meant a time of day and a gender. Dusk’s remaining students were sitting with Dityaa on a large cat-shaped sofa. When the invasion began, there were twenty-three of them. Now there were only five nineteen-year-olds left. Dityaa was holding court over all of them, sitting on a couch shaped like a giant grinning beast. "Your sister said you had an interesting night," Amma remarked as Revati sat down next to her. Nanni had laid out a plate of aloo mushroom curry. Revati picked up a piece of hardtack and dipped it into the sauce, refusing to talk. "So you're not even going to bother telling your side of the story?" Amma asked as Revati swallowed. Nanni always moaned that her cooking was so much better before the war. Years ago, Nanni worked in the city as a professional meal prepper for wealthy families that wanted to eat real organic food.

Nanni was proud of her ability to create one hundred percent sand-free meals using the most exotic ingredients. Nanni would bemoan to everyone that her meals were now a mess, that her spices were too basic, and that she never had enough salt. Revati, however, who had never tried anything else, thought her food was delicious. "I'm hungry! Besides, what's the point in telling my side? I'm sure Dityaa's story was more enthralling," Revati replied. "Every story needs both sides and the truth," Dusk remarked. As they spoke, their features shifted from a feminine middle-aged woman's face to a man's face with a beard. "You're not my creative writing teacher, and you're not my parent," Revati pointed out.

Revati knew deep down she didn’t dislike Dusk; Dusk was a perfectly decent person. Not to mention Amma had been so lonely until Dusk offered to help her teach the feral children a year ago. Still, it was a lot to get used to.

“True, but your mother did ask you a question, and I think she deserves an answer," Dusk replied in that same mild diplomatic voice. Revati deliberately ate another mouthful of curry before wiping her mouth with the sleeve of her dress. "Dityaa got attacked by some lady at the ball; the chutiya had A.I. eye implants! They must have switched on somehow," Revati explained. "Mind your mouth, Revati! There will be no swearing at the dinner table," Amma scolded her. "Her implants switched on? That's so odd; one of my students had AI tastebuds, but they stopped working the second we walked into the park," Dusk remarked, their face shifting back into a woman's as they glanced at one of their students. The student in question, Basil Paris, was sitting next to Dityaa, licking their hand. Dusk was right; in order to create true "historical authenticity," the park was surrounded by massive mirrors. The volcanic Martian glass blocked the "AI" life stream. "And what did you do?" Amma asked in a quiet, nervous voice. "I threw a glass of vodka at her face, and her eyes fried up," Revati replied.

"Can you take the children's sign language lesson tomorrow morning? I need to check the mirrors around the walls," Amma said to Dusk.

"Of course," Dusk replied, and Revati rolled her eyes.

"You don't need to do anything, Amma! I'm the elected leader of Baker Street! This is my job," Revati said firmly.

"You're only seventeen!" Amma protested.

"Almost everyone voted for me! Well, apart from Mrs. Gupta, who voted for herself," Revati said, and mother sighed.

"Fine! But you're not going to leave well after the sun rises, and you're not taking Cora and Laila! You can take Vivienne and Jay Jr.," Mother replied firmly.

Nine minutes past midnight.

Revati's eyes snapped open in the blue-glowing darkness. Slowly, she sat up, taking in the familiar shapes of the kitchen's walk-in freezer. Dityaa was sleeping next to her on the souvenir pillows Amma had sewn together into a makeshift bed. In the corner, the feral children slept together in a nest made of old soft toys. Nanni was snoring on one of the plastic shelves that had long ago stored ice cream. Amma insisted on them all sleeping behind the massive metal doors. To anyone who lived near any other planet, it would have been freezing, but Martians had evolved to withstand the cold.

Revati stood up and glanced down at Dityaa. Dityaa had worn her new dress to bed, ignoring the stains. The blood on her dress looked shiny black, her face shadowy blue. She looked just like Princess Savitri in the family book of fairy tales. Revati, on the other hand, had changed into her pajamas, which consisted of a long-sleeved men's shirt three sizes too big. The red fabric hung to her knees, and the words "Olde Landon Halloweenfest 3544" had been printed across the front. Revati picked up her blanket, draping it around her shoulders. Sleep wasn't going to return any time soon. Revati reached underneath her part of the mattress until she found the stories.

Outside the metal doors, Revati could hear distant voices, and carefully she slid the door open. Amma and Dusk were sitting together on the cat-shaped couch, murmuring to each other over tea.

"I don't see how they could know..." Amma began, and then she trailed off, spotting Revati.

"Insomnia again?" She asked gently, and Revati nodded, walking past the two of them.

"If you're going up to the greenhouse, be quiet; I made a bed for the boy up there," Mother replied.

"Really, Amma? You couldn't give him a bed?" Revati asked, opening the front door.

"He would freeze in the fridge, and he said he liked plants," Mother replied.

Outside, the fog was still shifting, and Revati moved ten spaces to the right.

"Evening, boss," Juniper's voice called, and she suddenly appeared holding a jar filled with glowing mushrooms.

"Any problems?" Revati asked.

"Nope, it's been a pretty quiet night!" Juniper said.

"Good, make sure your brother takes over your shift! We don't want you fainting from sleep deprivation again," Revati replied.

[noyoucantpinmedown]

Silly headcanon time: how the counselors like their eggs cooked (assuming all of them eat eggs).

Ryan: doesn't like runny yolk, so any hard-cooked egg will do (hard-boiled, over-hard fried, hard scrambled). Scrambled eggs was one of the first things he learned how to cook and he made them for Sarah a lot growing up, so they're a beloved favorite.

Emma: was obsessed with eggs benedict for a while and learned to poach eggs speficially to make that dish. Now enjoys avocado toast with poached eggs on top whenever she can. Her breakfast TikToks put the rest of the for you page to shame.

Nick: knows how to cook eggs all kinds of ways and is usually the one making them for breakfast in group sleepovers; has everyone's preferences down pat. Enjoys egg in all its forms but prefers the classic sunnyside up egg; enjoys dipping bread and any other foods into the yolk. Usually has them when he feels like having a fancy breakfast.

Laura: also grossed out by runny yolk. I see her as likely to be vegan or vegetarian so they're probably not even part of her diet. Before she quit animal products she would have hard boiled eggs as mid-day snacks because they don't need much attention to make.

Jacob: American breakfast enthusiast, enjoys them soft scrambled or fried. Has been known to pour maple syrup over scrambled eggs and dip pancakes into the yolk on fried ones. Kaitlyn shames him for it every single time.

Abi: doesn't have a preference but the really cooked-through, dried yolk grosses her out a little. Usually has hers the same way the person she's eating with has them (feels like a fancy lady when she has brunch with Emma)

Dylan: wants to cook eggs the proper way but 1) he sucks at cooking in general and 2) gets distracted and then realizes his eggs are burning because of the smell. Bought himself the little container things to cook them in the microwave. Nick and Ryan were disgusted and apalled, damn bitch you live like this?

Kaitlyn: soft boil queen. Enjoys adding them into any random meal because it reminds of how her grandma included them in noodles and soup. Has them fried with breakfast and will go to town on them with Jacob.

Max: got used to not eating eggs because of Laura, but absolutely adores devilled eggs. His parents made them all the time growing up for birthdays and gatherings. He has his great aunt's recipe and makes a big batch for dinner parties with friends.

[gretavanlace]

Poppins (part 4)

Josh kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, discussions of pregnancy, language, etc

“You’re not one of those ‘cilantro tastes like soap’ people, are you?” Josh asks, knife hovering over the herb mid chop, as if the possibility has only just occurred to him.

“No.” You smile from your perch on the counter. “I happen to have a very sophisticated palate, thank you very much.”

With a nod, he carries on and then sprinkles the tiny bits of green over the avocados he has already sliced into crescents.

Your fingers inch out to swipe a piece, only to be swatted away like a child reaching for an electrical outlet. “Lime first, sweetheart.” He shakes his head. “You’re worse than Lil.”

She’s long asleep, nestled in cozy sheets and little girl dreams.

Truth be told, had you the slightest idea of what was good for you, you’d be long gone, too. But when Josh fixed his hopeful eyes on yours and asked you to stay and join him for a late night snack, he’d won the fight before you’d even stepped into the ring.

Jake was gone again. Wandering on to his next gig, guitar case slung into the backseat of his car to keep his beat to hell and back bag company.

“They booked me for an entire week.” He’d bragged (only slightly humbly) “Place is fuckin’ history, too. Used to be a speakeasy during the prohibition.”

“Well, make sure to stay outta any leftover moonshine,” Josh had teased, yanking him in for a hug. “You can’t play for shit even when you’re sober.”

He focused his radar upon you then, embracing you warmly with a goodbye kiss soft on your neck and hidden from prying eyes by his hair. “See you soon, poppins. Don’t go getting any prettier on me, my poor heart couldn’t stand it.”

Is it normal to feel both elated and devastated to see someone go? Because that’s exactly how you felt. How you always feel when Jake saunters back out of your lives. He causes more trouble for you than you know what to do with, but you can’t claim he isn’t worth it.

So, with his vanishing twin off once more, you simply couldn’t refuse Josh’s offer. He leans towards pensive melancholy in the first few days without his brother.

He once described it as feeling homesick, and you’d marveled at the bond between them…wondered at the invisible string that seems to tie them together, always pulling them back to one another.

“Here, taste.” Josh speaks around the wedge of lime in his mouth and guides a forkful to your mouth, hand cupped beneath it to keep things tidy.

It’s delicious, and you tell him so, watching with rapt attention as he spears a piece of his own and pops the same fork into his own mouth. It’s only a stupid shared utensil, but it strikes you as incredibly intimate.

‘Where’d you get the recipe?”

“No recipe.” He shrugs, looking bashful under your praise, and then taps his temple, “This is where the magic happens.”

You reach forward and poke his blushing cheek softly “Impressive.”

“Yeah, I’m kind of a big deal. I pick my own clothes out, too. Every single morning. Tie my own shoes. The whole thing.”

A hush falls over the dimly lit kitchen as the two of you pick through the bowl, but it’s a comfortable quiet. Still, being the mayor of make-everything-my-business-town, you break it.

“When we were at your parents the other day, Jake and I were in your room and…”

“Yes, love.” He tilts his head and studies you as if looking for signs of a concussion. “I showed up to ruin the party, remember?”

God, you’re such an idiot!

“There was no party, Josh, come on.”

“Please.” He scoffs, slipping another bite into your mouth “You should’ve seen the look he gave me when he walked out. He might as well have pissed a circle around you to mark his territory.”

“Lovely.” You roll your eyes and savory the tang of lime on your tongue.

“What can I say? I’m a born romantic. Anyway, go on. You and Jake were in our room and…?”

“I asked about her.” You suddenly feel horribly intrusive. You never should have broached the subject.

He makes a small sound of acknowledgement and then sets the fork aside, giving you his full attention. “And?”

“And, I don’t know.” Your hands in your lap become your hyper-focus.

“Curious kitten, aren’t you?” There’s a grin in his tone and it eases you into peeking up at him. “Well, what did our dear Jacob have to say on the matter?”

“He said he loved her.”

He cocks his chin in confirmation. “He did.”

“And he said you slept with her.”

Once again, he nods. But slower this time, with regret permeating the room. “Not my finest hour.”

“I guess I just wonder how you come back from something like that?”

He grabs a fresh lime wedge, pops it into his mouth with a contemplative expression, and then offers it up for you to suck once he seems to have found his verbal footing.

“Jake and I have always been the ones to mend the fissures in each other's hearts…even when we’re the ones who’ve created them. I fix him. He fixes me. That’s just how it is.”

You pull on the lime with your lips, like some strange pacifier, offering nothing. What do you say about something you can’t begin to understand?

“Did you know that twins start interacting with each other in the womb at around 14 weeks?”

Now you’re the class act speaking around a lime wedge in fascination. “Really?”

“Mhmm.” He smiles at your widened eyes, lighting up the way he so often does when he spots an opportunity to teach someone something “Researchers studied twins in utero and found they begin reaching for each other at 14 weeks and engaging in comforting behavior. Stroking each other’s heads, holding hands, things like that.”

Your heart swells imagining their tiny translucent hands seeking each other out in the dark.

“Here’s the really amazing part. All this happens before the senses of sight and hearing develop. Which means…”

“The only thing you knew was each other.” You interject.

He seems pleased with your understanding. “For quite a while, yes.”

“So what you’re saying is that it would take much more than some girl to shake such an indelible bond.”

His thumb strokes over your cheek “Right. Even if she wasn’t just some girl.”

He’s no longer talking about the bubbly face smiling out from fading snapshots pinned to a wall across town, but you pretend not to notice.

He watches you, scrutinizing his opponent across a chessboard, and then asks a question of his own. “Why is it that you’ve never asked about her?”

Confused, you shrug inelegantly. “Well, I didn’t even know she existed until the other day. Kinda hard to ask about someone you don’t—“

“No.” He drops his hand away from your face and rests it on your knee instead, circling the pad of his thumb over the worn denim. “Lily’s mother. You’ve never once asked about her.”

“I asked Jake once.” You murmur, almost ashamed of your inquisitiveness.

A short laugh escapes him, “Oh, I’ll bet that went over like a lead balloon.”

You laugh with him, glad for the dissipated heaviness. “A few obscenities I don’t care to repeat is about all I got out of him.”

“Sounds about right. He hates her because he loves Lily so much.”

“Will you?” You prod gently. “Tell me about her, I mean.”

“Not much to tell.” He fits himself between your legs and tenderly toys with the tiny speck of an opal you wear around your neck. “I think I always knew it wasn’t going to work out, but I moved her in anyway when we found out Lil was on her way.”

Jake was right, you hate her already for the rejection you pick up on in his confession.

“She changed almost overnight…didn’t want much to do with any of it. Mom helped me shop for everything, because what the hell did I know? I read the books and set up birthing classes, which she refused to go to, just shit like that…”

He shakes his head like he can’t believe the absurdity of it all. “I brought all these baby name books home once and you know what she said? ‘Just pick something.’ It gutted me. I couldn’t understand how she could be so cold.”

You spin an errant curl around your finger and wait for him to go on…and on he goes.

“I really saw it one day when she came home to find me painting the clouds on Lily’s wall…”

“You painted those?” It touches you deeply to picture him, brush in hand, working diligently to create a perfect world for his little girl.

“I did. I already told you, I’m kind of a big deal. Anyway, she said it was a waste of time and that if I wanted the baby to see clouds so damn bad, I could just take her outside. Then she bitched about the house smelling like paint. I knew right then that it was never going to work.”

“She didn’t care enough about the baby you were already in love with.”

“Not even close.” He leans into your hand as you pet at his hair. “Then Lil was born and it was like watching a cat who doesn’t know how to care for her kittens. You know the ones? Gotta force ‘em to stay in the little box with their babies? That was her.”

“How could anyone not fall for Lily immediately?” You ask with honest confusion. In your eyes, it doesn’t seem possible.

“I ask myself the same question every day. Long story short, I came home early one afternoon. I should’ve had at least three hours left on campus, but I wasn’t feeling well, so I cleared the rest of my schedule.”

He looks far away as he pulls forth the memory. “There she was stuffing a bag full, with three others already zipped up tight on the bed, and the baby strapped into her carrier. I remember thinking ‘I’ll bury her in the backyard before I let her step foot out of this house with Lily.”

You can’t help the giggle that bubbles out of you. Such aggression seems out of place on his tongue. He doesn’t follow suit.

“I really think I meant it.” he mulls it over for a blink. “Yeah, you know what? Scratch the ‘think’, I definitely meant it.”

“You’re a good dad, Josh. The best, even.” You definitely mean that, too.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” There go those pink cheeks again. “Anyway, that was the end of that.”

Biting down on your lip to suppress another laugh, you play along “She’s buried in the backyard?”

“Made Sam dig the hole. Told him I was putting in a tiny pool.”

The laughter finally comes, “You’re an idiot.”

You’ve no way of knowing, but watching you laugh, he thinks you’re one of the most beautiful things he’s ever seen…and he’s seen a great many beautiful things.

“Nah, she only had Lily in her seat because she had planned on dropping her at my mother’s to avoid a messy goodbye with me. Last I heard, or cared, she was living in Wyoming of all fuckin’ places. She’s never so much as sent her daughter a birthday card. Which is for the best anyhow.”

You take a deep, sorrowful breath “I’m sorry.”

“What for?” he pats your thighs. “She was a shit mother and a shit person. There’s not a damn thing to be sorry for. Besides, I wouldn’t have needed a nanny if I wasn’t some Hallmark movie single dad, and where would we be without you?”

Jake’s voice rings out inside your head. He’s in love with you.

Without giving you time to answer, he marches on. “Alright, my turn. You gonna tell me what was going on under my poor mama’s roof the other day?”

“Just Jake being Jake.” It’s hardly an answer at all, but you pray he’ll leave it at that.

Wrong.

“He was on my bed, you know. So I assume you had been to, until you heard me coming, anyway. Did you fuck him in my bed?”

His voice has changed in pitch. Just a little deeper, rasping with secrecy, and for some ungodly reason the word ‘fuck’ breathing out of him makes you flush with warmth.

You answer swiftly and truthfully. “I didn’t fuck him at all.”

“But close, right?” How does he always know?

Your silence answers the question well enough for him.

“Hmm,” he looks you over like he’s trying to fit jigsaw pieces together. “I know a lot about my brother. More than most can say…there’s that twin thing again. And I know how he is, and I know that’s why you think you want him so badly.”

You aren’t following, so you remain closed-mouthed and await elaboration.

He hands it over readily. “I know a lot about you, too. I can see way down deep inside you. You’re careful, and meticulous. Independent. You hold your fucking own, all day, every day. But it gets old doesn’t it, sweetheart?”

You’re nodding gently along with his observations without even realizing.

“Yeah, it does.” His hands are in your hair now, holding you in place with a firm grasp to keep you nose to nose. “It gets old, and you just want someone to make it all go away sometimes, don’t you?”

Nodding. Nodding. Nodding. Is that all you know how to do? Evidently.

“And you think Jake, with his rock and roll-my dick drags the ground-bullshit is the one who can give it to you like that…but that’s where you’re wrong.”

“Josh…”

His fingers tighten in your hair, “Quiet.”

Fuck. Your thighs would be squeezed together were he not standing between them.

“If you want someone to give you that, you’ve been sleeping in the wrong bed, goldilocks.”

This is a bad idea. Terrible. Possibly the worst idea. The magnum opus of horrible decisions…but that no longer seems to matter much to you, and it never mattered to him to begin with.

Tentatively, with nerves scratching their claws along the folds of your brain, your tongue laps against his bottom lip. It’s so plump and full, warm, soft as buttery suede.

Instantly, you want more, need more…and so you take it, curling another lick in the exact same spot.

It’s as if you’ve fired a starting gun into the air, and there are no longer two of you. It’s all hands and tangled limbs. Shared panting breaths. Mouths and teeth. Low rumblings of sound that vibrate out of his chest and make you clench up tightly in your jeans.

Jeans. Your favorite jeans, have been for years, but all at once, you loathe them and wish they would disappear.

Roughly, he pulls you to the edge of the counter, grinding insistent rolls of his hips against you. He’s hard. So hard…and the thought alone causes your already wild heart to pound so frantically you wonder if he can hear it. Your head tips back, knocking against the cabinet behind you with a dull thunk, as his mouth searches the uncharted waters of your throat.

You reach for the hem of your shirt, preparing to rip it over your head. Your nipples are aching and pleading for attention, and you want his mouth on them so badly you’d gladly beg.

But, he stops you.

“Not here, sweetheart. She could wake up and walk in.” Even desperate to finally have what he’s wanted for so long within reach, he’s still her father first. You’d have it no other way.

“Bedroom.” You move to hop down, but he shakes his head, cupping your still hidden breasts like they’re wonderful, coveted prizes he’s worked tirelessly to win.

“Too close to her room.” He looks up deviously, with lust and something mischievous playing about in his darkened stare “I tend to be a bit…vocal.”

Vocal? Maybe there is a god, after all.

“Josh, please…” your legs have wrapped around his waist, gaining leverage to writhe against him like a common whore.

His eyes sweep the room in rapid fire thought, and then, there are his hands fisting into your shirt to haul you off the counter in a graceful sweeping motion.

Your feet never touch the ground (where does he hide all that strength?) as he maneuvers you into the pantry. The door closes with a click as he fumbles around blindly in the air in search of the string that will bring the light to life.

The space is suddenly illuminated, spotlighting two sets of feverishly shaking hands fighting to pop buttons and lower zippers.

He’s tugging your jeans down, granting your silent wish for them to go away, but when you move to reach inside his own, he pulls back and shoves you up against a wall of shelves. Blue boxes of Mac and cheese rain down, dry pasta tucked inside cardboard rattling like maracas at your feet.

Your shirt has gone as well, when did that happen? The cups of your bra are pulled down by his curled fingers, displaying your breast round and gorgeous just for him.

Whining softly you fight to catch your breath, but promptly lose the battle when his mouth, silken and wet, closes around your nipple to suck lightly…just enough to make you long for more.

He gifts it a tiny nip of his teeth and then releases. You mourn the sensation so deeply, tears seem a very real threat.

“You didn’t deny it when I said you two were close to fucking the other day…” his mouth is pressed hot against the shell of your ear as you palm his cock through his pants.

A shake of your head is meant to mean, ‘I don’t want to talk about him’.

He either doesn’t get the message, or just doesn’t care to heed it. The pads of his fingers dance a lovely little circle over your clit through your panties just once. That small action draws a pathetic whimper out of you, and the sound alone causes his cock to jerk, untouched.

“What did you let him do to my girl?” He taunts, clicking his tongue in feigned disappointment.

“Josh,” your hips rock away from the shelving in search of his fingers. “Touch me…fuck, please.”

“Is that what he did?” His voice is a smoky, ghostly finger curling, guiding, beckoning you closer.

“Why do you even care?” You huff, growing pettish and impatient. “It isn’t a contest.”

His fingers have gone back to teasing you, sweeping over your aching clit, sinking into your thighs, thumb tracing patterns over goosebumps. “You’re absolutely right, sweetheart. When it comes to you, there is no contest between Jake and I…you just don’t know it yet.”

Your incessant need takes over, rendering you helpless to your desire, and you leave your body in the clutch of auto pilot. Grabbing him by the wrist, you shove his hand into your panties and lose your footing when his knuckle slides over your clit.

His arm is tucked around your waist in a split second, holding your weight effortlessly. “Fuck, you’re soaked. Who’s this sweet little pussy so ready for?”

Your hands rake into his hair, pulling it lightly, and then harder still when he groans at the sting. “You, Josh. Only you.”

“Only me right now,” he corrects, fluttering his finger rapid fire as though it were his tongue. “Wasn’t only for me the other day. That’s alright though, love. I’m gonna make this pretty cunt all mine.”

Where has this been hiding? Surely this isn’t the same Josh you stepped into the kitchen with tonight.

This isn’t the Josh who brings his daughter a tiny surprise every day, even if it’s simply a stick of gum, just so she knows he’s always thinking of her.

This isn’t the ray of sunshine Josh who claps and whistles wildly in public when his favorite golden palm tree fireworks explode into the sky every 4th of July.

Josh who will spend an hour coaxing a splinter out of your hand so that it doesn’t sting. The Josh who cries when Bambi’s mother dies because “Walt Disney didn’t have to be such an asshole”.

“What are you thinking?” He sounds immeasurably turned on, but there’s intrigue there too. He genuinely would like to peek inside your head.

“I’m wondering who the hell you are.” A breathy laugh stumbles out of you, followed closely by a gasp when he slips down to tease you into believing he might ease a finger inside.

“Sweetheart,” he dips down and sinks his teeth into your neck lightly, careful not to leave a mark that might be asked after in the morning over a tiny bowl of Lucky Charms. “I think you’ve always known what lies beneath. Isn’t that right?”

Flashes of memories flicker through your mind like heat lightning— fast and unexpected. Heated looks, a deliciously possessive drag of his hand over the curve of your waist, a smoldering comment that could be taken as nothing short of innocence if you chose to lie to yourself about it.

“Yeah,” A slick smile plays over his beautiful lips, tip of his tongue resting at the corner, just barely there. “What a smart girl you are.”

Never before have you been much for praise, it always seemed slightly contrived. But, coming from him? You’d eat it up with a spoon, scrape the bowl, then hold it out for seconds. Please sir, I want some more.

His fingers snap the elastic of your panties, tugging you out of your thoughts. “Show me.”

He wants you to pull them aside, you know that much…but you’ve a stubborn streak a mile wide that doesn’t know when to shut up, you know that, too. “You want it? You do it.”

The words have scarcely tripped off your tongue and his hand is wrapped around your neck, forehead tilted in close to yours, opposite thumb latched over your bottom lip to hold your mouth open submissively “I said show me.”

You are no longer yourself. Panting and desperate in this tiny room, surrounded by boxes of Cheerios and canned goods, something long gone is marching up front and center. Some animalistic evolutionary leftover that has found its time to shine once again, and you are reduced to no more than your need.

Pulling your panties to the side, you gaze up at him through your lashes and issue a whispered, please.

He leans back, longing to soak in the sight of what he’s imagined one too many times to count. “Look at you, sweetheart. Fucking stunning. My perfect, pretty girl has a perfect, pretty cunt, doesn’t she?”

You should feel shy, on the spot, way too ‘seen’. At least, normally you would. But with Josh? You feel like art adorning a gallery wall that he has traveled across miles and seas simply to admire. You feel beautiful here, bathed in his perception.

Reaching down slowly, he holds your eyes locked in an embrace with his own as he dips a single finger deeply into your warmth. Arching into his touch, your entire body shakes with electric anticipation, but just as quickly as it is given, he takes it away.

That very finger slips into his mouth as he sucks it clean with a muted hum of bliss. “You’re just sweet as can be everywhere, aren’t you, love?”

You reach for him, finished with his game, and more than ready to get on with it, but he pulls away and bends to ease your jeans up before opening the pantry door, leading the way with an ‘after you’ motion of his hand.

“What?” Your brow is stitched into a frown of confusion.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he sighs, mock-sympathy thick in his tone. “I think it’s time you went to sleep thinking about me for a change, don’t you?”

Incredulous, you can manage no more than a stunned stare.

“Off you go.” He smiles innocently.

You shove him out of the way, feeling foolish and very near tears, but he grabs your arm and spins you around before you can hit the hallway.

“If you can look me in the eye tomorrow morning and tell me that this didn’t feel more right than anything that’s ever happened between you and my brother, I’ll hand over my blessing and step aside.”

“Fuck you, Josh.” Wow, how eloquent.

“Yes, that’s the idea.” He laughs. “Eventually. Amongst other things.”

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @paleshadow-ofadragon @jake-kiszkas-smirk @weightofdreams-gvf @alisonwonderland29 @joshkiszkas @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @spicedandicedtea @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @dvrkblooms @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @jordierama @calumspretty

[alien-magnolia]

After Hours

Fic description: mean!joel miller comes home after a long day of work at the construction site, and isn't too pleased with his wife's dinner and appearance. Fun ensues!!

Tw: mean!dom!coded joel miller, sub-coded hyperfeminine reader, housewife and service knk dynamics, scent/dirt, bratting, free use, breeding. 18+ MDNI

Request: yes | no

Author’s note: thanks to the anon that requested this! I had a lot of fun with this story <3 if you like this post, pls help a writer out and reblog!! :)

A quaint, White paneled cottage style home, snugly parked at the very end of a cul-de-sac in the suburb of Dallas, Texas. Warm smoke is seen emerging from the chimney, distinguishing the cottage from the others lined up around it. The smoke was hot enough to be visible in a dreary mid-afternoon sky, in the middle of December.

A young woman inside the kitchen. Her dainty fingers, adorned with a large diamond ring, cut up apples and blueberries on a cutting board, placing them in the boiling pot next to her. She tries her best to look presentable, smoothing out her white apron, fixing her ponytail in the mirror.

She’s been at the stove all day, cooking dinner for her husband’s arrival. He provided for both of them, and his job at a construction site was very tough, hard to manage. She understood, and so her cooking dinner at home managed to help. However, she also did a lot around the house today. Cleaning, dusting. All that, plus the additional prep time for dinner, didn’t leave her much time to put herself together.

She was just about finished with her fruit punch and toasted chicken avocado sandwiches, when she heard the keys turn the doorknob.

“Hey, doll,” you hear that gruff voice you love from the hallway, as his heavy boots are heard with him walking into the kitchen. His calloused hands feel nice on the small of your back, as they wrap around your waist, pulling you into him. His stubble grazes your smooth cheek as he gives you a slew of kisses. He stops as soon as he smells you.

“Sweets. You don’t look too good,” his tone suddenly changes, from loving, to abrasive. “Joel — I didn’t have time to shower, okay? I know you wanted me all cute and clean for you, but…,” you trail off. “Ya didn’t. Don’t smell good. You know, I don’t like it when you smell nasty like that, hun,” he retorts.

“Sorry, Joel. I’ll know better next time,” you meekly say, with your head down. “What was that?,” he asks, tone dangerously low.

You knew what this was about. You didn’t use his honorific. His name. His title. The name that showed you that you, belonged to him.

“Sorry, daddy,” you pout, turning around to face him. “That’s more like it, girl. Since you’re already dirty, how’s about I add onto that, yeah?,” he snarls. With that, you realized that he hadn't even washed his hands when he came home from work, as sawdust and soil began to stain your pristine white apron, and your pink mini dress underneath.

His smell was a bit musky, mixed with sweat, and some other odor — that you couldn’t figure out why, yet it smelled very good to you. In fact, Joel’s smell relaxed you, calmed you down. It felt right. Your hands train up his gray t-shirt with flannel over it, and you look up at him, as if to ask for permission to take that off. He nods.

You gingerly slide off his flannel, seeing the marks of his day-job on it. He stops you when you attempt to see what’s underneath that gray shirt. “Daddy makes the moves here, sweets. Hope you’re not forgettin.’ Or are you, because you’ve just gotten a bit more dumb in the head, huh?,” he taunts.

“No, daddy. Haven’t. Promise,” you attempt to retaliate back. Usually, you would be a brat. Try and test him, just a little. Not tonight. You wanted to completely submit. You wanted to be his good girl. You were itching for that praise.

“Enough starin.’ Turn ‘round f’me, darlin.’” You stay still, wondering what would happen if you didn’t listen. His strong hands forcefully grab your waist, man-handling you, so that you were now facing him.

“Since you stink, I was thinkin’ I could use that pretty body of yours, huh, sweets? What do ya say?,” his brown eyes peered into yours. Even when he was mean, he still did ask for consent.

“Yes, daddy. Want it,” you reply, being met with his bearded face roughly digging into your shoulder, as he attacked your neck and collarbone with kisses. That led to more.

It led to you getting eventually bent over the kitchen sink, lace thong pulled down, feet kicked apart by his metal toed boots. Soil on the kitchen floor, soil on your dress, your panties. That sweaty cock of his, finally free, right where it belonged: in your puffy and swollen pussy <3 hammering into you. Joel was using his full strength, as the kitchen sink began to shake from the pace he set. You wanted it though.

You were his. His dirty girl, who didn’t make him dinner the right way, who forgot to clean up for him. That’s what you got for it — punished. You did love it though: you’d take his punishment any day.

“You’re mine to use, sugar. Just remember that,” his southern accent would drawl out, as he got you finally cleaned up, after soiling you even more. You’d sit down with him at the wooden table, dinner set, candles lit. You would happily eat your food, sitting on his lap — with his cum leaking down your legs <3