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swindlefingrs · 10 months

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Rotten and Craven

Rating: T Fandom: Diablo IV Characters: Kennach the Druid, Lorath Nahr Relationships: Lorath x Wanderer, Lorath x f!Druid, Lorath x Kennach Wordcount: 1.4k

[Read on AO3]

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Lorath knows who is standing on his porch. Long months have been filled with those footsteps, although they haven’t ventured out to this corner of the wilds in some time.

Knuckles rap-tap-tap against his front door.

“Oh, so you do know how to knock.” Lorath shouts from his back room, making sure to scribble down his notes of the shaman’s skull in front of him, before he forgets. “I thought druids just go where they will. Based on my past interactions with the sods.”

He opens the door wide, ready to enjoy the frown on his visitor’s face. Kennach does not disappoint. Her round face is indeed set in a mildly annoyed frown. She fills the doorframe. Bedecked in druid finery; furs and bones, sticks and mud, runes and sinew.

“Perhaps if your home didn’t look like it’d been ransacked by bandits, I wouldn’t have assumed it was abandoned,” she quips.

“It’s research, not ransacking.”

Lorath willfully ignores the winsome dimple that shows up in her left cheek when she grins, and tips his chin at the large, waxed canvas bag at her feet. “So they've got you running errands now?”

Kennach picks it up as if it’s full of nothing but goose down and tosses it at him. He’s forced to catch the thing and his bad shoulder complains about the heft of it.

“More or less. I thought it’d be good to see a familiar face.”

“And you chose this one?” Lorath asks incredulously. “More fool you. Well, come in, come in. I know it’s rude to keep people waiting outside one’s abandoned hovel.”

Kennach brushes past him, the scent of cedar woodsmoke follows behind her. She stopped to pray before coming here. He fondly remembers her offering of a green cedar branch each night they had a fire while out on their hunt. She never translated her prayer and he never asked. He always took the small cedar needle she offered. She told him to chew it. It was powerfully tart. Refreshing.

He drops the heavy canvas bag onto his dining table with a whump. The plates, books, jarred samples, and cutlery all clatter. He opens the bag to find provisions. Small sacks of milled flour. Braids of garlic. Dried beans. Salt pork.

“I’m perfectly capable of getting to the market,” Lorath reminds her as he pulls out one flour sack. The fine bone-white powder dusts his hands. Soft as a whisper.

“Of course. If you head down to the market, though, you’re not gonna find that.” She taps at the package in his hand. “That’s red wheat. We found a few jars full of those grains in an abandoned store room in Túr Dúlra. It stands up to the cold and damp far better than the others. The farmers are excited. I was bringing some to Kyovashad to see about setting up orders for the rest of the crop.”

“Banished Lilith and on to delivering grain, are we?”

“The more I learn about the druids of Scosglen, it seems like the least I can do.”

“Have you found anything more about where they may have gone?”

“No, just everyone they left behind,” Kennach sighs.

“Aye, seems to be the way of things in Sanctuary.”

Lorath knows how this kind of guilt grows. It’s not kind. It’s not easy. It’s a bitter thing. Not pleasantly so like the cedar needles. Just bitter for bitter’s sake. The feelings would be even worse on a ride home with nothing but dark thoughts for company.

“Care to stay for some supper? Stew’s about done. Venison. Just tapped a fresh quarter cask, too.”

At the sound of his own invitation, he realizes that the only other chair to sit in is covered in books and papers. He hastily grabs the mess up and shoves it into a too-full bookshelf.

Kennach shrugs out of her great furred cloak and drapes it over the back of her chair. Her bare arms, covered in runes, are even larger and stronger than he remembered. Frequently.

“Only if you let me add drop biscuits to the stew.”

“Lucky for you, I just so happened to get a delivery of flour. Scosglen Red. I heard it's better than the shit coming out of the Dry Steppes. Finer mill. too. Makes your usual flour feel like eating sand.”

She rifles through his cupboards, pulling out ingredients, shouting over her shoulder, “Are you looking for work? I know a a mill looking for a salesman.”

“You couldn’t afford me.”

---

The center of the universe is a small wooden table in a windswept cabin, with Kennach and Lorath comfortably captured in its orbit. The beer is good. The stew topped with buttery biscuits is better. But the company is best, as much as he is hesitant to let himself admit it. Not the company herself, but for the complications. Because it always does.

Kennach’s stories about the people met in Scosglen are interesting. Some even funny. Her cheeks grow rosy as the meal and the conversation flows between them. She looks at him too long, but Lorath doesn’t want her to stop. He scoots to her side of the table and leans in too close as she shares charcoal rubbings from a druidic tablet she discovered, captivated by the translations and context she adds to each word and pictograph. He pronounces words wrong to hear her say them over again. He feigns ignorance after she catches on to the farce. She apologizes for shoving her shoulder into his and watching him wince.

It brings out her smile. Stoic on the road, smiling in his home. With him. That realization blooms in his chest. He chides himself for the ease at which this meal and this company has settled into his bones. How his focus on keeping all of this at arm's distance wanes as the evening waxes.

Kennach rests a broad hand on his knee and squeezes. He doesn’t get up or walk away, he leans in closer. She is enveloping.

She presses her lips to his and he returns it threefold. She tastes of beer and cedar. The tightness in his chest whirls. He half expects to see a succubus cackling at him when he opens his eyes, but it’s still the Wanderer. Her lips blushed and bruised. Her nose and cheeks are dappled with even more freckles than he last remembers. From days on the road, he supposes.

“And just how long have you been wanting to do that?” he murmurs.

“Since I stepped back through the portal in Hell and you were still there. Waiting.”

His last conversation with Donan. Time for apologies, unkind words, promises, and goodbyes.

“After Lilith?”

“Yes. I saw you were still there and… I wasn't as afraid.”

“You?” Lorath snorts, “Afraid?”

Kennach stares at him, searching his face for something, before her brow knits together and pain crawls along the edges of her eyes. All the mirth they built together is exorcized from his home. She drops her gaze to the table they share.

“All the time,” she quietly admits.

She was searching his face for sympathy. Understanding. He knows this wound. There are no words or deeds to staunch this kind of bleed. If there were, he’d have found it by now.

Lorath reaches out to gently turn her face towards him. Only when she meets his eyes again, does he continue.

“Me, too.”

The great bear woman nods sheepishly in understanding. The only ones not afraid are the too young and the too old to know better.

He presses his lips to hers gently at first, but she doesn't return it with kindness. Kennach is hurt. She challenges his sweetness with a biting kiss and he happily takes her bitterness. Their teeth clack against each other, but every moment he can keep her here instead of lost in that emotional morass, he’ll take.

“I want you”, she breaks their kiss and whispers against his neck. That one whisper topples his already ruined defenses.

“What's left of me is rotten and craven, but it's yours," he replies.

He slips his fingers under the edge of the thick leather armor of her breastplate where she is soft and yielding. Kennach shivers. The druid made of earth and stone, stalwart in the face of this world’s trials and tribulations, but his fingertips on her skin make her sigh sweetly.

This is why he traveled separately. This was always bubbling just under the surface. He knows how badly this could turn out. Hurt feelings. Hurt hearts. Hurt alliances. It wouldn't be the first time. He's not lucky enough for it to be the last. The Tree of Whispers will have its due. Tonight, though, they’ll have each other.

[Read on AO3]

#diablo iv #diablo 4 #lorath nahr #lorath diablo #lorath x wanderer #kennach #lorath x druid #lorath x f!druid #bisexual disasters #an inaugural lorath x wanderer fic #middle-aged romance #superfluous flour information #did i look up medieval beer brewing? yes.#did i use it? no.

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quitefair · 8 months

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I can’t wait to make my fuckin bronze dragonborn paladin when I download bg3 tmrw… I’ve been salivating for days now…. Yelling screaming crying throwing up…

#Meera talks #Meera plays bg3 #inaugural tag…….#it seems like such a fuckin sandbox game #my bff was like now u can finally be free from the stress of dragon she #*age #and I fuckin believe it

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tramontane-fire · 2 months

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It's a federal holiday (presidents' day) and so there are hardly any new jobs, like a weekend amount, and the recruiter has not Gotten Back To Me, no have any of the other jobs I applied to (because of the holiday, not because they don't want to hire me or anything. no one in their right mind wouldn't want to hire me).

Anyway what's so great about presidents anyway? the old ones were slave owners and war criminals and the new ones are tax felons and war criminals. when can we actually get a president worthy of a whole ass holiday?

#it's 2036 and we elect president amalia lopez-wood #president-elect lopez-wood ran on a radical platform of healthcare reform and labor rights #and caused the term social determinants of health to trend on emerging social media platform zootwad #beloved by aging milenials and newly voting gen alpha alike lopez-wood was born to immigrant parents in a small town #and attended a public school with a leaking roof and overflowing toilets. she often had to share textbooks with her classmates #the first in her family to go to college she majored in molecular biology at texas tech and has a masters in public health from nyu #the president elect has promised to revitalize the broken education system with a focus on science and literacy #“In this age of disinformation it's vital that children are brought up thinking like scientists and with excellent reading comprehension”#the president elect said in an earlier interview #she also detailed her ten step plan to “ensure that no one within these borders dies because they can't pay for healthcare.”#lopez-wood will be inaugurated on 1/20/37 after which she will “get straight to work” once she and her wife move into the white house #hope springs eternal i guess #job search woes #presidents day

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marmikmaharashtra · 6 months

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https://marmikmaharashtra.com/inauguration-of-anandigriha-old-age-home-at-hingoli-organizations-resolution-to-care-for-senior-citizens/

#https://marmikmaharashtra.com/inauguration-of-anandigriha-old-age-home-at-hingoli-organizations-resolution-to-care-for-senior-citizens/

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the-music-keeper · 8 months

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Objective #18 is done for the week and I just came out of the year's first chorus rehearsal!

#amy rambles #amy's to do list #piano practice #accompanying #choral accompanying #the kids seem great #and the dc branch just added a new age level to the offerings available #and i get to help inaugurate that level this year #so i'm excited!

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steveyockey · 5 months

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Measuring purely by confirmed kills, the worst mass murderer ever executed by the United States was the white supremacist terrorist Timothy McVeigh. On April 19, 1995, McVeigh detonated a massive bomb at the Murrah federal building in Oklahoma City, killing 168 people, including 19 children. The government killed McVeigh by lethal injection in June 2001. Whatever hesitation a state execution provokes, even over a man such as McVeigh — necessary questions about the legitimacy of killing even an unrepentant soldier of white supremacy — his death provided a measure of closure to the mother of one of his victims. “It’s a period at the end of a sentence,” said Kathleen Treanor, whose 4-year old McVeigh killed.

McVeigh, who in his own psychotic way thought he was saving America, never remotely killed on the scale of Kissinger, the most revered American grand strategist of the second half of the 20th century.

The Yale University historian Greg Grandin, author of the biography Kissinger’s Shadow, estimates that Kissinger’s actions from 1969 through 1976, a period of eight brief years when Kissinger made Richard Nixon’s and then Gerald Ford’s foreign policy as national security adviser and secretary of state, meant the end of between three and four million people. That includes “crimes of commission,” he explained, as in Cambodia and Chile, and omission, like greenlighting Indonesia’s bloodshed in East Timor; Pakistan’s bloodshed in Bangladesh; and the inauguration of an American tradition of using and then abandoning the Kurds.

No infamy will find Kissinger on a day like today. Instead, in a demonstration of why he was able to kill so many people and get away with it, the day of his passage will be a solemn one in Congress and — shamefully, since Kissinger had reporters like CBS’ Marvin Kalb and The New York Times’ Hendrick Smith wiretapped — newsrooms. Kissinger, a refugee from the Nazis who became a pedigreed member of the “Eastern Establishment” Nixon hated, was a practitioner of American greatness, and so the press lionized him as the cold-blooded genius who restored America’s prestige from the agony of Vietnam.

Not once in the half-century that followed Kissinger’s departure from power did the millions the United States killed matter for his reputation, except to confirm a ruthlessness that pundits occasionally find thrilling. America, like every empire, champions its state murderers. The only time I was ever in the same room as Henry Kissinger was at a 2015 national-security conference at West Point. He was surrounded by fawning Army officers and ex-officials basking in the presence of a statesman.

#THANK YOU ACKERMAN VERY COOL #worth reading the whole thing obviously

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kitchenisking · 2 months

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March Fic Rec

back to back recs cuz I wasn't paying attention to the weeks fly by😅

Obsession by Rae666 - (Rating: Mature, Words: 2,399, sterek)

Derek gets hit by a witch's curse and is confined to his loft as his uncle searches for a cure and Isaac stands guard. But as the curse grows worse and Derek's obsession with a certain pale skinned person becomes increasingly intense, how long can the team keep Derek and Stiles apart, especially when Stiles decides to take matters into his own hands?

The Wolf by rororowyourboat - (Rating: G, Words: 3,901, sterek)

Stiles and Derek haven't seen each other in years, but after talking on the phone nonstop for months now, Derek is finally moving back to Beacon Hills. The day he's supposed to arrive, he stops responding to Stiles' texts, and then a blue-eyed wolf shows up on his porch steps. Obviously something has happened to Derek, and Stiles needs to help him out... right?

Tease by katrint - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 4,852, sterek)

Stiles is used to Derek being all growly, claiming and rough when he gets jealous, but when something that usually would make Derek all the above happens, and Derek shows no interest in Stiles whatsoever, Stiles starts to worry.

Ulterior Motives by useyrwordsderek - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 11,082, sterek)

In which Stiles is warm for Derek’s form, Derek is repressed, and Erica is awesome. (Lydia is also awesome, but that goes without saying.) Author’s notes: Set after Season 2; mild spoilers for all of S1 and S2. Previously posted to LJ. My first Teen Wolf fic! Be gentle!

It feels like a perfect night (for breakfast at midnight) by princecharmingwinks - (Rating: G, Words: 1,068, sterek)

Stiles is floating on cloud nine. He is absolutely living his best life. It's a Saturday night, he's out with his friends and he's dancing like it's his birthday. Because it is! (Or it will be in 20 minutes, once midnight ticks around). And what better way to celebrate the respectful age of 22 than a night out?

The Hale Beast by secretfanboy - (Rating: Mature, Words: 17,707, sterek)

Stiles would rather be at home playing X-Box than attending the ceremony inaugurating the Wolf nation's sovereignty over the Argent kingdom, but he's the Sheriff's son so those are the breaks. What he doesn't expect is the feral werewolf Prince Derek AKA The Beast to take an interest in him.

He was alone with the Beast. His heart started pounding its way up into his throat. A burst of static came from his cell phone. "Scott! Oh my god! He's here! The Hale Beast is here with me and I'm alone and no one is here to witness when he kills me...to death!"

Treasure by Hedwig221b - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 71,231, sterek)

“I know you don’t trust me,” Derek grunted. When Stiles inhaled to retort, Derek caught his chin and pressed a finger against his lips, making the boy freeze in place, eyes impossibly wide. “Don’t argue. I expected it. Wolves don’t trust easily, too. I just wanted you to know that… I’m sorry. I was selfish and didn’t see what was in front of me. You don’t need to worry. I’ll take care of everything.”

It was a thought that grew in his mind, spread to his heart and took root there, reincorporating into a deep desire and a vital need. Derek will take care of him and his little pup, he’ll bring the hearts of his enemies and put them at the boy’s feet. He’ll court and he’ll conquer.

The Mending That You Need by torakowalski - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 3,861, sterek)

“He’s not my boyfriend, Stiles. He’s a man from a club. I couldn’t call him, if I wanted to.”

Even Forbidden Fruits Get Picked by flitterflutterfly - (Rating: Explicit, Words: 18,658, sterek)

When Stiles’ best friend gets himself bitten by a rogue werewolf, Stiles convinces him to seek aide from the local pack. Stiles tags along, ready to help Scott despite the knowledge that he likely wouldn’t be welcome. After all, Doms rarely ever approved of Stiles and he thought the Hales would be no exception. So he was surprised to find that not only had the rogue seemed to develop some kind of creepy fascination with him, the young alpha wolf, Derek, seemed to want him as well.

Transformation by sffan - (Rating: T, Words: 1,885, sterek)

“Dude. You turned into a wolf. What the hell? When did that start being a thing?”

#sterek #derek hale #stiles stilinski #fanfiction #stiles x derek #kitcheniskingficrecs #ficrec #fanfic

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foone · 8 months

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you know what'd be a fun idea for a trek fanshow? Star Trek: Mission Logs. You just put a couple people in starfleet uniforms, and have them read off summaries of episodes in an increasingly incredulous tone. Like Drunk History: Star Trek Edition.

"so the captain says that while on the way to the inauguration ceremony, they diverted course to Vulcan as their first officer needed SO MUCH to fuck that he was a week from death, but then when they got there, he got stood up, and then fought the captain TO DEATH but he was ok?"

"so it turns out when they disappeared during the battle with the borg, they went back in time and found out that the first use of warp drive had been undone, so they had to personally help Cochrane rebuild his ship, and they were there for first contact!?"

I say "drunk history" because I imagine the people at the starfleet HQ have to drink heavily to handle the kind of reports they keep getting in from starfleet captains.

"So after a miserable first contact, the commander, doctor, first officer, and science officer disappeared, and their security officer found that the boardgame the barkeep was playing had pieces that represented them? and they were somehow mystically imprisoned inside the game!"

"so the captain says that they detected a ship trapped inside a black hole (!?) and when they tried to rescue the ship, they got damaged and then discovered they were that ship, trapped inside without realizing. Fortunately they found the crack in the event horizon and escaped." (the lieutenant then passes out after finishing the entire bottle of Bolian vodka)

"So while they were on a vital mission to locate the aliens who had blown up florida and were planning to destroy the entire planet, they found a... Cowboy Planet!?" Everyone yells "COWBOY PLANET!" and takes a shot.

"So while testing a weapons upgrade, a crewmember's case of flu was accidentally turned into an infectious de-evolutionary mutagen, causing the crewmember to turn into a spider, and the rest of the crew to undergo similar changes." "stop, stop, STOP! you made that one up, admit it!" "no, really! Their counselor turned into a frog." "ok, now I'm just not going to believe anything you say."

"so a former captain of the ship was visiting when they tried to rescue a ship flying directly into a supernova, but got 'pulled in'!? and ended up in a REVERSE TIME UNIVERSE? naturally, everyone quickly de-aged to children, and the elderly former captain had to take command" "Spelk, you're not even trying this time, that's not even remotely plausible"

"So it turns out that the terrorist who took over the paradise planet was the first officer's (half-)brother, and he uses his magic hypnosis to cause the crew to mutiny and join his mission to travel to the middle of the galaxy... and find god!?" "Did... did they find god?" "oh yeah! turns out he was evil. Don't worry, the first officer blew him up using a klingon warbird." "he blew up god?" "yeah!"

"So this is a little different, it's not a mission log... it's a repair log." "That doesn't sound like it'd be very weird..." "Oh, just you wait. So, they had to get refueled because all their dilithium had been stolen." "Stolen?" "Yes. By a man from AN ANTIMATTER DIMENSION" "So a man in an antimatter dimension discovered there were two dimensions, and his matter counterpart went insane and obsessed with killing the anti-matter version of him, but meeting outside the dimensional corridor would destroy both universes" "both... universes? So if the captain didn't stop these guys, everyone in our entire universe and some other one would be gone?" "YEP!" "did he stop them? well, I guess he did, since we're still here" "oh yeah. trapped 'em in the dimensional corridor forever." "so they're just out there in some weird in-between-the-universes place, just fighting, for all time? and that's the only reason we haven't blown up?" "YEP!" "and this all came out in the logs... because they put in for repairs?" "yeah. to replace the stolen dilithium" "are you sure the captain wasn't really into dabo or kotra and wagered the dilithium crystals on a "sure thing" that didn't pan out?"

"So this one is a report of some people (with pictures!) who don't exist." "They don't exist?" "Nope! never did. They weren't born." "So, we have pictures of them, because?" "Well, the ship crashed, and the stranded crew had kids... then they uncrashed." "uncrashed?" "yeah! so it turns out when they approached the planet, they got thrown a couple centuries back in time, and met their descendants. then when they tried to leave, the ship would crash, restarting the loop. but it didn't." "it didn't?" "yeah, one of the crew was secretly in love with another officer, but she wasn't going to survive the crash, so despite the crew attempting to recreate the crash to continue the existence of their past-future-descendants, he sabotaged the ship into not crashing" "wait, into not crashing? he did sabotage to make everything... work perfectly?" "yeah! they were trying to crash, remember? So they inadvertently didn't crash, undoing the existence of all of their descendants, so they never existed. But here's their pictures!"

"ooh, I found a really weird one! It's not a mission report, medical file, or even another repair log" "So what is it? Another weird artifact?" "no no no, I sent those off to the SCP division. This is a SPY REPORT! About a dead Romulan!" "So this report is on a spy saying that the Romulans had gotten access to some secret information about the then-upcoming Intrepid-class starships. Very minimal info, but this was found in a Romulan database when the ship was just undergoing initial design stages" "Here's the weird part: The database file with the information on the Intrepid was timestamped 2351, but Starfleet didn't even start initial design work on the Intrepid until 2364!" "So they used time travel? to get... basic information on one single starship class?" "Kinda? See, there's a P.S. on the spy file, added later when it was declassified. The leaked info in the Romulan database was discovered in 2371, but the file was updated in 2378, with an explanation." "and?" "Remember when the U.S.S. Voyager was lost?" "oh yeah, they turned out to have just been stuck on the other side of the galaxy, right?" "Yeah! And while they were there, they found a microscopic wormhole, and successfully used it to communicate back with the Romulans... but discovered it was a TIME WORMHOLE" "oh, so they were talking to the Romulans back in 2351?" "Yep! They figured that out and then decided not to transport through the wormhole, as they would have gotten home 20 years before they left, but they sent some messages back to be delivered later. They didn't come through" "why not?" "well... turns out the romulan guy (Telek R'Mor) died before Voyager ever launched, so he never got a chance to deliver the messages. but he DID inform the Tal Shiar about some design elements of the Intrepid class, years before it was launched" "that must have confused them" "yes... the report is basically just two spy agencies completely confused about what to do about the intelligence they had, and confused about why they had it"

"ok ok ok, enough artifacts, mission logs, spy reports, medical reports, repair logs, how about a really weird one: A SENSOR REPORT!" "why is that one weird?" "well, look at the timestamp. Both of them." "so one timestamp is 2372, and the other is... negative 16 billion?" "yep! This one is a scan of the big bang. And slightly before it." "... before?" "Yeah! They did a scan, and then THE BIG BANG HAPPENED, and then fortunately they got out of there before the universe fully existed, as that would exceed the ship's safety tolerances" "so... why were they at the big bang?" "well... you know the farpoint encounter, and that godly being the USS Enterprise ran into?" "oh god (uh, no pun intended)... but yeah, vaguely" "WELL it turns out there was another one of those godly beings who was suicidal and imprisoned in a comet, and-" "wait wait wait. there was a god trapped in a comet?" "yes. apparently they're infinitely powerful but weak to comets. ANYWAY. he was suicidal and trying to hide" "hide? WHAT DOES A GOD HAVE TO HIDE FROM?" "well he was hiding from the other god! the one at farpoint! that one was the one who imprisoned him. because he was suicidal." "so the god was in the comet, and the other god put him there, and someone let him out? and then he hid?" "yes! and where does a god hide?" "at the big bang?" "slightly before, but yes! and he took the ship along with him, so that's how they were able to scan the big bang. because of getting involved in a weird game of hide-and-seek between a suicidal god and a jailer-god" "so what happened? how did they get out of the whole god-war thing?" "well... usual stuff. they put the god on trial to see if he could be allowed to die, but compromised on making him human and a crew member" "so they had a former god on their crew?" "briefly. then he died." "he died? after settling for human?" "yeah, it turned out the jailer-god changed his mind and decided to rebel against god-society and started by giving the former-god some deadly poison to let him finally die, like he wanted" "well, at least that seems to have ended... well?"

"oh no, there's a follow up! see, it seems the dead god thing lead to a god-civil-war and it seems that caused a bunch of supernovae in 2373." "wait... supernovae? plural? like, outshined-the-entire-galaxy SUPERNOVAE? that must have killed billions, or trillions!" "yep! it was a massive disaster and caused a real crisis in astronomy because we had no idea why it was happening, but it suddenly stopped, thankfully. But yes, it was started because the crew accidentally freed a suicidal god from a comet." "oh god..." "literally!"

"don't worry, though... that's not the weird bit" "HOW IS THAT NOT THE WEIRD BIT?" "OK I PROMISE I'M NOT MAKING THIS UP... but after the first supernovae of the 2373 Calamity, it turns out the captain (of the ship that killed the god) discovered another god... in her bed" "her... bed?" "Yeah! it turns out the other god wanted to have a child. with her." "... that's weird but what does this have to do with the supernovae?" "he wanted to end the war, and figured the best way to do it was to get her pregnant with a god-baby"

"NOPE! That's it! I'm out. that's not real. you're making it up. We don't live in a universe where one captain caused death across the universe by sparking a god-war and then only ending it by having a baby with a god. I'm out. I have a Warp Dynamics test to study for anyway."

"wait! wait! I didn't even tell you about the time she turned into a lizard and had babies with her pilot" "NO! I DON'T CARE HOW MANY WEIRD THINGS YOU MAKE UP, THERE ARE NO LIZARD BABIES"

"no, I swear, it really happened! Look, they went infinitely fast and occupied every point in the universe!" "THAT'S NOT HOW SPEED WORKS" "it is! and it turns out going everywhere at once infinitely fast turns you into a lizard!" "*sigh* Are there any reports on unhearing that?"

I imagine they sometimes decide to go HARD MODE on the report readings, where they have to put aside all the ones with "Voyager" on them. They're just too easy.

"So I've got two reports here, and I want you to pick between them. One is the second weirdest transporter visitor log, and the other is a report on why a science officer is 30 years old... except his head, which is 495 years old!" "I'm going to cut you off there, because I know your tricks: those are both the same incident." "Yep! You got me. Am I really that predictable?" "You are. Also, second weirdest transporter visitor log? You phrased that very specifically..." "I wanted to rule out all the transporter accidents and strange misuses of the transporter, and focus solely on WHO was transported. This was the second weirdest person." "I'm not going to take the obvious bait and ask who it was... but I will ask: who is the weirdest?" "Lincoln. Abraham Lincoln. President of the United States, a predecessor to the unified Earth government... he died in 1865." "WHY WAS HE TRANSPORTED? Who was time traveling back to the 1860s? and if they were in the 1860s, why were they beaming up Presidents?" "HARDMODE: No time travel! He was transported out of open space in 2269, because he had been recreated by the local mineral beings on their lava-planet" "why... why did the lava aliens recreate a 19th century Earth president?" "To study GOOD AND EVIL!" "Like you do, I guess?" "Yeah... anyway, the recreated Lincoln got killed by a spear, thrown by either Genghis Khan or Kahless the Unforgettable" "THE FOUNDER OF THE KLINGON EMPIRE?" "Yeah! he got recreated too. And teamed up with Genghis." "No. no no no no no you made this up" "It's real! Check it out, there's a message here to the diplomatic department, asking for the proper protocol to accept a 19th century US president abort a quasi-military vessel. And there's a video clip! Hit play on that..."

"Man, video quality was terrible back in 2269" "Yeah, they were using analog tapes back then. Don't ask why. Retrotechnology studies are so complicated even without timetravel messing everything up. So yeah, apparently the answer is 'dress uniforms, security guys, whistle'" "oh yeah. You can't welcome a 19th century Earth president on board without a whistle. Where's your sense of ceremony!?"

"So I really have to go, my Intermediate Klingoneese class starts in like 5 minutes, but just tell me one thing: Who was the 2nd weirdest transporter visitor on the logs?" "Oh! Samuel Clemens." "Who?" "Mark Twain! Earth author, wrote Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn?" "What? How?" "Yeah, a crew found a time portal that went back to 1893, while trying to figure out why the head of one of their crewmembers was in a cave on earth, and accidentally sent him forward to 2368, and beamed him aboard." "Did they wipe his memory afterwards or something?" "NOPE!" "So the 19th century Earth author Mark Twain, who I'm now remembering wrote a novel about time travel, didn't he?" "yep!" "So he wrote about time travel and HAD PERSONAL EXPERIENCE WITH IT?" "Yeah! thanks to snake aliens, eating humans in the past"

"Yeah I'm gonna go ask my teacher how they say 'You deserve to die for your lies' on Qo'noS" "I think it's... Hegh nep qotlh SoH? maybe 'urmang instead of nep?" "I'M OUT, petaQ!"

(a transcript of a twitter thread I made from back in July 2020)

#star trek #star trek voyager #star trek the next generation #star trek deep space 9 #star trek enterprise

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mostly-marvel-musings · 1 month

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So Inappropriate

A/N: Alright, you guys wanted it, here it is. This little ficlet based off of the video that’s got our Stark Squad all riled up. Leave a comment, heart or reblog if you enjoyed it.

Pairing: Tony Stark x F! Reader

Warnings: 18+ smut-ish fluff. There is a significant age gap between the reader and Tony (say 20 years?) Also the reader is Bruce Banner’s assistant.

Word count: 1896

Tony Stark Masterlist

You were just about done arranging the equipment in the lab when you heard the door slide open.

“Dr. Banner, I’m done for the day unless you need me for anything else!” you called out without glancing up, not realizing the person who had walked in certainly wasn’t your boss.

“Dr. Banner has left the premises for the day, Miss Y/L/N. But I might need you for something.”

Tony Stark made an appearance, his signature smirk adorning his face as he traipsed in closer, his walk oozing all sorts of confidence and authority. Of course, your face did very little to hide the blush that creeped up, heating your cheeks in an instant.

Why did this man have such an influence on you? You’d never know.

Well, not exactly. It was pretty obvious. The genius, billionaire, playboy and philanthropist had this effect on most individuals. His natural charisma and intimidating presence was all wrapped in an impeccably trimmed-goatee-bearing handsome package. The guy was senior to you. Much senior. But there was something about him that always drew you in, an impish charm that was all too endearing, his commanding aura that compelled you to behave. Almost challenged you to confront your deepest, darkest desires.

“Earth to Y/N?” he snapped you out of your reverie, making you accidentally knock over a set of beakers kept on the platform.

Cursing under your breath, you bent to pick up the shattered glass as did Tony, resulting in your head banging against his, further adding to your embarrassment.

Just great!

“Careful, you’re gonna hurt yourself.” Tony murmured, taking the shards of glass from your hand as Dum-E, one of his bots zoomed in to sweep it all away.

“Thank you, Mr. Stark. I–I’m sorry.” you fumbled, wincing as you saw you an angry drop of red ooze out of your finger from where you had evidently cut yourself.

“Ah, you poor thing. C’mere.” not awaiting a response, Tony clutched your hand and brought it to his lips, gently sucking on your index finger all while his eyes bore into yours.

A part of you wanted to run away from the scene like a scaredy cat but, the other part was completely rooted to the spot. Not daring to move an inch, as if if you did, your little daydream would break. Your cheeks probably burnt with the heat, and you could feel your pulse rush to the part of your finger that was currently in his mouth, smarting. His tongue soothed over the cut softly, sending tingles of desire down your back, the moistness between your legs increasing with his little action.

He is your boss. Not exactly but he built this place. He was your boss’s best friend. These thoughts were quite inappropriate.

Almost as quickly as it began, he let go of your hand, his touch still lingering strong as you cleared your throat, watching his bot whir away from the scene.

“Thank you, I think. Um. For your help.” you stared at your feet, unsure what to do next.

You grabbed your things and stuffed them in your bag, very aware of the fact that Tony and signature smirk were following your every move.

Why was this man allowed to have this effect on you?

You stopped right by the door, turning back to face the man who hadn’t moved from his spot.

“Uh, Mr. Stark? You said you wanted me for something?”

“Right! Well, we have a charity, inauguration, felicitation, something here at the Tower in two days. I wanted you to come.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, looking at you intently as he waited for an answer.

“Oh! Are–are you sure?”

That was a surprise. You had been working with Dr. Banner for a better part of a year now however it had always been strictly professional. You were aware of the many, many galas and events that took place, you were just never a part of them. Until now.

“Yeah. I’ll have Big Green send you the details. You can bring a date. Or not.”

He winked cheekily, walking up the stairs right next to you before the doors slid open once again, gesturing you to go first.

Needless to say you were flabbergasted. A rush of excitement brought a pep in your step as you headed home, going through your wardrobe in detail and what could be a Stark-party-worthy outfit.

Tony’s eyes scanned the room, eager to find you in a sea of impeccably dressed people. He couldn’t shake you off from his thoughts. Not for a while now, if he would admit to himself.

His curiosity grew ever since he saw you for the first time, entering the lab and giving Bruce Banner a shy smile, eyes locking with him and holding his gaze, almost unable to look away. He sensed you were nervous, it was cute. It made his cock stir. He could not remember the last time he felt this way. You were a young, smart, vivacious thing that was too young for him, and yet he couldn’t resist you.

Not that he tried. You drew him in right from the start.

Tony had found you chatting animatedly to your boss some time later. You looked stunning in the floor-length number you had decided on. Your features were beautifully highlighted with the hair and make-up you’d chosen.

His wish to have you closer had been fulfilled as the party warmed up, people sat around in groups, drinks in their hands while conversation flowed. Of course, the Avengers had a favorite corner they had gathered at, the center of attention being the one and only, Iron Man. He was awarded a trophy for his philanthropic work earlier which now sat in his lap proudly, an almost phallic-shaped glass that had his name etched.

“I can’t be the only one thinking this.” Tony smirked, holding the award against his crotch and earning collective groans from the crowd around. The action brought warmth rushing to your cheeks, your wildly imaginative mind pictured him doing that to his member, letting out soft grunts.

“You alright, Miss Y/L/N?” Your attention was captured by someone standing next to you, pointing to your dress.

Unknown to your preoccupied self, the filled glass of wine you held had tilted enough to spill on your dress.

“Oh God! Shit!” you exclaimed, turning a few heads your way as you grabbed a few tissues to blot the spilled liquid as much as you could. The darker color of your dress masked the big stain that had probably formed.

It was hard to miss Tony’s piercing gaze as he gave you one of his lopsided grins, clearly giddy with the reaction he had hoped his stunt would achieve. If anything, one fact was becoming clearer by the day.

Your attraction towards this man was increasing and it seemed he was equally interested in you too.

It had been a hectic week, you sighed and leaned back against your chair, closing your eyes for a moment as your exhausted body relaxed momentarily. You couldn’t wait to get home and soak your butt in a hot bubble bath.

With the events of Ultron, there had been extra work load that you had volunteered to help out with at the Tower. You didn’t mind, of course. It meant spending a lot of time with the Avengers and a particular one at that too. Tony spent hours, sometimes days holed up in the lab, working with Bruce and yourself.

It was almost impossible not to be distracted or turned on by his presence there. To see him laser-focused at work, fingers gliding over keyboards and holograms in front of them as he paced about the space. It was all too hot.

Shutting your computer for the day, you grabbed your things and made your way out of the lab. Tony had retreated back to his floor some time ago and had promptly forgotten his phone on his work desk. It rang with a start, catching your attention and making you walk back in to grab it.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to bother the billionaire genius in his home since there had been multiple occasions where Dr. Banner asked you to summon the man whenever he got a lead on Ultron.

The elevator dinged to a stop, the doors opening to his grand living room that offered a view of New York people would kill for. His bedroom door seemed left ajar as you made your way over, stopping in your tracks as you heard a muffled groan.

Curiosity got the better of you as you sneaked a look inside his bedroom, not able to stop yourself as the sounds increased.

You felt your mouth go dry at the sight before you. Tony lay on his bed against the pillows, eyes scrunched up, pants undone., soft sighs leaving his lips as his hand moved up and down on his erect cock.

It felt so wrong to watch him pleasure himself in the privacy of his own home and yet so right, you felt yourself blush at the sight. It was like you were unable to look away, he had his fingers wrapped around his shaft, moving at a steady pace as you saw precum leak at the tip of his head. His pretty, thick lips were parted while his chest rose and fell, eyes shut in ecstasy.

You were about to peel your gaze away from the scene when you heard a faint whisper of what you thought was your name.

“Oh Y/N..” his breathy moan sent desire to pool right between your legs, a part of you still processing the whole thing while the other wanting to push that door open and join the man or perhaps help him finish.

His thumb swiped across his red tip before the pace of his strokes increased, his pants echoed in the room while you felt your entrance clench around nothing, desiring the very man who was masturbating while thinking of you.

You were sure your panties were ruined by the time Tony’s hips jerked and you saw him climax, ropes of cum spurting from his cock and spilling on his hand and lower abdomen. That had to be the hottest thing you’d seen in your life.

You definitely needed to take care of yourself after this, that bubble bath was going to be an elaborate one. His softened cock still lay open for your eyes to feast on, his cum scattered on his body begging you to be licked clean.

Your thoughts came to a standstill when the phone you held in your hand rang terribly loudly, interrupting the little moment. Your scramble to hide or run was rendered useless when Tony glanced outside and saw you.

“It is rude of you to just stand out there and watch, Miss Y/L/N. So inappropriate.”

#tony stark x reader #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark fluff #tony stark smut #tony stark x y/n #tony stark imagine #tony stark one shot #tony stark fic #tony stark x you #the stark squad #marvel fanfiction #mostly marvel musings #tony stark

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theyeargame · 5 months

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atinylittlepain · 11 months

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Nothing to Hide - A Joel Miller Story

no outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

she learns a couple new things about her man over the course of a night.

warnings | 18+ SMUT, and nothing but(t), yes this is a pegging fic

a/n | it's here! welcome, everyone, to the inaugural night of the Peg that Middle-Aged Man Campaign 2023! over the course of the next week or so, I as well as a handful of my favorite writers will be putting out some excellent fics under this campaign for the whole spectrum of Pedro Pascalian characters! so keep your eye out! much more to come, muahahahaha

i know for a fact that both @beskarandblasters and @wannab-urs will be posting or have already posted two other spectacular PMAMC fics on this fine evening, so go check those out as well!

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“What is that?”

“Don’t– you can’t laugh.”

“Oh my god, Joel. What the fuck is it?”

“Well what d’you think it is?”

“I think you lost a bet is what I think.” He’s silent for a moment, his lack of a reply all the answer she needs to burst out into laughter.

“No, really?” Joel lets out a huff.

“I was really really drunk and dumb, ok? Jesus, woman, stop looking at it!” She stifles her laugh enough to turn him around by his shoulder so he’s facing her, running a quick hand through his curls, his face flushed and set in a scowl.

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna be looking at it a lot with what I’m about to do to you.” She can see the bob of his throat in the faint light of her bedroom, the way his eyes go a touch hazy, drooping under his lashes. He’s pretty, something she’s known since they started dating, though she also knows he’d probably short-circuit if she ever called him that. But tonight, she intends to treat him like it, giving, providing, where he’s always so eager to do the same.

“Why don’t you lay out on the bed for me, handsome?” He gives her a jerky nod, seeming to think twice before he cups her cheek in his palm, dragging a hot kiss from her before he complies. He’s still in his boxers, long expanses of tan, bare strength laid out on her sheets, propped up on his elbows to watch her as she rifles through a dresser drawer to find a few things. His eyes widen when she turns back to him, baby pink strap in one hand and a bottle of lube in the other.

“Don’t worry about it, baby. We’re gonna work you up to it, ok? And if you don’t like anything, just tell me and I’ll stop.” It’s setting heat threading through her core, thick and warm, the silk of her panties sticking to her cunt from the pulse of arousal, coaxed on by the stark contrast of how he normally is to how she gets him right now. Her man, always in control, always the strong one, the dominant one, the giver, laying it all willingly at her feet.

It had started with a bit of pillow talk one night. Joel knew that she had been with women in the past, but he had never been so bold as to ask anything about it, not until that night, drunk on sweat and sex, a boyish grin slipping across his lips, turning dark and reverential fast when she was more than happy to tell him about her experience, going so far as to show him the toys she had held onto. But what she hadn’t been expecting was Joel Miller, the walking homage to southern masculinity, asking his next question.

“You ever used that, um, with– with men?”

They had talked about it more afterward, Joel eager to bring it up, ask questions, seemingly just as perplexed as she was that he was so interested in it.

“I don’t know, I mean– never thought about something like this before. But, with you it just– fuck, it seems kinda hot.”

And that’s how they’ve ended up here, her kneeling between his spread legs on her bed, palms rubbing up and down his thighs as she leans over and lays a kiss to the little swell of his belly, smiling against the jump of his muscles.

“Relax for me, Joel. I promise I’m gonna take good care of you. You trust me, right?”

“I– yeah, I do.” She slides one palm up from his thigh to his chest, pressing lightly to get him to lay back.

“Then just let me do all the work, alright? Gonna make you feel good.” With that, she draws her attention back down to the waistband of his boxers, hooking her fingers in the sides to tug them down and off his legs before settling back between his thighs, her fingers tapping the joints of his knees as a light command.

“Can you bend your knees for me, baby? Need you a little more opened up than this.” She’s surprised by the groan he lets out at her simple question, a breathless shake of his head.

“Fuck, I– you– that–” She cuts off his floundering, her palm rubbing a soothing circle against his chest.

“Hey, if you don’t feel comfortable, we don’t have to do anything different, seriously.” “No! I mean, no, I want to. It’s just– different. But different’s good. I’m good.” How could she say no to that?

“Ok, baby, I’m gonna warm you up. You tell me if I do anything you don’t like, alright?” He nods, his eyes staying glued on hers as she ducks back down, lips ghosting over the underside of his already hard cock before lapping gently at the tip. She works him over with her mouth for a while, taking him down as far as she can, her hand stroking the rest, reveling in the way his muscles slacken and tense beneath her ministrations, the way he starts to let himself go to the pleasure, his head pressed back into the pillows, eyes scrunched shut, shaky pants and curses leaving his lips. When it seems like she’s gotten him nice and relaxed, she pulls off of him, continuing to lap at his length while she fumbles around for her bottle of lube, spreading a dollop between her palms before getting her hands on his length.

“Just want you to get used to the feel of this stuff, alright, baby?” He hisses at the cool contact, but lets out a breathy, low-rumbled uh-huh as she swirls her slicked-up palm down his cock, slipping her hand down to cup his balls, a move that sets a broken groan thrumming in his throat. Her other hand presses against his thigh, getting him to open up more for her as she slips a finger down a little further, finding that tight ring of muscle and applying a bit of pressure, Joel’s hips bucking up at the sensation.

“Easy, baby, gotta stay relaxed for me if I’m gonna open you up.” He lets out a disbelieving laugh, throwing his head back as she presses her finger in, her other hand lazily stroking his cock as she does.

“Jesus, fuck– you’re good, so fucking good. Never felt anything like this be-before.” She smiles up at him, pressing a kiss to his hip as she slowly pumps her finger inside of him, only stopping to lathe more lube over her hand.

“Think you can take another one, baby? You ready for that?” He nods, a long sigh leaving his lips, but that’s not good enough for her.

“Need words, Joel. You gotta tell me what you want.”

“I– yes, more, please. Want more.” To get a please out of Joel Miller is no small feat, and she revels in it, just a little, easing a second finger in along her first one, stretching him out even more. He’s a vision, chest flushed, cheeks ablaze, one hand tugging at his mussed-up hair, the other balled into a tight fist in the sheets as she works him open. It’s messy as hell, lube slicking up everything, dripping between his thighs, his cock throbbing in her hand, his words a filthy slur of praise and curses that go straight to her aching core.

“Do you wanna finish like this, baby? Or do you wanna take it a little further?”

“More, yeah, want you– want you to go further.” She slips her fingers out of him with a smile, crawling further up the bed to steal a kiss, his mouth insistent and devouring before she pulls away with a lewd smack. His eyes trail up and down her body as she stands at the foot of the bed, first slipping her bra off, followed by her panties, before reaching for the strap. And he’s an intent and willing audience, following the way she slides the harness over her hips, deft fingers fitting it snug to her body.

“Can I have you on all fours, handsome?” He moves tentatively, a dazed look on his face when he glances over his shoulder at her, trying to watch as she spreads lube over her silicone dick. Her eyes, meanwhile, are focused back on the thing she had been so shocked to see earlier, moreso surprised that he had somehow managed to hide it from her over the months that they’ve been dating. Thick, dark ink, one of those culturally insensitive, faux-tribal numbers she’s sure he walked into a parlor and just pointed at on the wall, goaded on by Tommy and his construction crew buddies no doubt. There’s no two ways about it, Joel Miller has a tramp stamp, and she can’t help but lay a giggling kiss to it, causing him to let out a huff over his shoulder.

“I’m gonna get it removed, ok? Just– haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“And what if I kinda like it?” She can barely keep a straight face saying it, biting back a laugh as he huffs at her again, though she’s quick to soothe him, running a palm up his spine before her hand settles at his hip.

“I’m sorry, baby, no more teasing. You ready for me?” When all he does is nod, she taps him on the ass, a few pats of her palm seeming to remind him what she wants.

“Yes, fuck, ready.” She keeps one palm splayed over his lower back (and his tattoo), holding him steady as she slowly presses forward, easing him into it with gentle rocks of her hips. He’s breathing hard, little groans loosing from his chest, but he doesn’t tell her to stop, letting out a long sigh when she’s finally seated fully inside. She curls over him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, her words a faint rasp into his skin.

“Doing so good for me, Joel. Tell me when you want me to move, baby, take your time.” He cranes his neck, looking for a kiss she’s happy to give him, a desperate tangle that’s still so sweet.

“You can move, I just– fuck– it’s good, feels really fucking good.” It’s what she wants, wants him to feel good, and to keep feeling good, leaning slightly back on her knees to find a slow rhythm with her hips, one hand reaching around to stroke his throbbing cock, Joel letting out a harsh moan when she does. She’s never heard these sounds from him before, broken grunts and breathy chants of her name with each thrust of her hips, completely losing himself in the sensation. She curls back over him, her hips set in a deep grind as she drags her lips over his temple.

“That feel good, baby? Nice to have someone take care of you, huh? Taking it so good, Joel. You gonna come for me? Gonna let me have it?”

“Jesus fucking christ, feels so fucking good– you’re gonna kill me, shit– fucking close, so fucking close.” With one more pass of her hand over his cock, one more rock of her hips, he comes on a punched-out exhale, slumping down onto his elbows with a shuddering heave. She presses kisses all over his shoulder blades as she pulls out, trying to soothe the hiss he lets out at the ache, quick to guide him onto his back so he doesn't flop down into a pool of his own spend. If he hears her low-murmured be right back, he doesn’t show it, forearm slung over his face, chest still heaving as she slips out of the bedroom to get him a glass of water.

“Is this how you feel? After we– when I– when we–” She cuts off his stumbling question with a light laugh, sitting down on the side of the bed next to him and coaxing a few sips of water out of him.

“So you liked it?” He quirks a brow at her, one of his hands coming to rest on her thigh, squeezing the swell of it when she laughs again at his expression.

“Gotta be honest, darlin, my expectations were low. Kinda wanted to try it just to see, I guess. But fuck, that was, uh, that was something else.” She can’t help herself, leaning down for a quick kiss that he chases after with a much deeper one, greedy hands squeezing and pulling until she’s getting dragged onto his lap, wincing at the slick stick of it and pulling away.

“What? What’s wrong? C’mon, darlin, wanna take care of you now.” Though he tries to pull her back in for a kiss, she plants a firm palm on his forehead to hold him back, stifling a laugh at his perplexed expression.

“That sounds nice, but you are covered in lube and it’s sticking to everything. Can we continue this in the shower, baby?” Ever the gentleman, Joel acquiesces to her request, letting her get up before shuffling into the bathroom in all his bare glory to get the water warmed up.

It’s an irresistible urge, walking into the bathroom, seeing his back facing her, his cute little ass and the hilarious art just above it, and she just has to give a quick pinch to his hip before raking her nails over the ink, grinning at him as he turns around with an exasperated huff.

“Ain’t ever gonna let me live this down, are you?”

“That depends, do you have any other tattoos you’ve been hiding from me?” His grin goes smarmy, drawing a gasp out of her when he pulls her into him with a hooked arm around her waist, pressing a hard kiss to her lips.

“Nothing else to hide, darlin. Think you’ve seen it all now.”

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tags for folks who i think would enjoy this lmao: @wannab-urs @beskarandblasters @jksprincess10 @cutesyscreenname @swiftispunk @northernbluess @pr0ximamidnight

#joel miller #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x reader #tlou #tlou fanfiction #joel miller x you #joel miller angst #the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller one shot #joel miller au #joel miller fic #joel miller imagine

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fascinatingmale · 4 months

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January 6 - pink

6, 16, 26 "in the PINK"

Tom Daley, born 1994 - OBE (Order of the British Empire)

Tom is a British diver and television personality. Specializing in multiple events, he is an Olympic gold medallist in the men’s synchronized ten-meter platform event at the 2020 Olympics and double world champion in the FINA ten-meter platform event, winning in 2009 at the age of fifteen, and again in 2017. He is an Olympic bronze medallist in the 2012 platform event, the 2016 synchronized event, and the 2020 platform event, making him the first British diver to win four Olympic medals. Daley also competes in team events, winning the inaugural mixed team World title in 2015. He is a 5-time European champion and a 4-time Commonwealth champion.

#Tom Daley #hunky guy #Olympic medallist #sons-from-adam #male swimmers body #male Speedo-style swimwear

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cherrycola27 · 1 year

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Red, White, and Rooster

Series Warnings: Language, alcohol consumption. Frenemies to lovers, relationship of convenience. Political situations. Allegations of affairs, military and political inaccuracies. Eventual smut. 18+ Minors DNI. Banner Credit: @thedroneranger

Series Masterlist Previous Part Next Part

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Chapter 4: A Wedding of Presidential Proportions

You couldn't sleep when you got back to the White House. You were pacing the floor of your room, trying to fabricate a believable love story for you and Bradley.

You would say that you'd gotten close during his campaign, and he proposed the night he was elected. That would explain why he risked his life for you after the last debate and why you held the Bible and danced with him at the inauguration. That would be believable.

You also had to think of a wedding date. It would need to be soon. Now that the people knew, they would push for a wedding. You settled on October. That would give you two months to figure this out.

You'd have to tell your parents tomorrow because you knew they would have questions, but you couldn't tell them the truth.

You were furiously trying to write notes down when you realized you should probably check on Bradley. It was almost two in the morning. You hoped he was still awake.

You grabbed your robe and note cards before sneaking down the hallway. You knocked once on his door before it flew open.

"You can't sleep either?" He asked you. "No. But I've been productive. You say as you enter his room.

You spend the next twenty minutes going over the tale you have spun for the two of you. He sits silently and nods along as you pace back and forth across the carpet of his bedroom.

"So, does it sound believable?" You ask him once you finish. "It does. You've really put a lot of thought into this." He agrees with you.

"Now, for a wedding date, I was thinking October because by the time the story gets out, we will have been 'planning' one for a few months." You tell him.

"Do we really have to get married? I mean, William and Kate dated for ten years before tying the knot." Bradley points out. "Yes, but their engagement was about a year. Trust me, I've thought about dragging it out, but with the digital age we live in, it gives people too long of a chance to find out we are lying." You explain to him.

"Okay, so after we get married, how long until we can get divorced?" He asks you. You stop in your tracks. You hadn't even thought about that.

"Well—" you begin, "If we get divorced in less than two or so years, people are going to be extremely upset. It will look bad on you, and the tabloids will start fabricating stories of infidelity between us, and it would tank your chances at reelection and my chances of ever working again." You continue.

"But, if we get divorced after two years, that would be peak reelection campaign time, and again, people would be angry that their favorite first couple is breaking up and it would give your opponents fuel for a smeer campaign and probably tank your ratings and cause a scandal." You tell him. Then it hits you like a ton of bricks.

"Oh my god." You breathe out. "What?" Bradley asks you as he sits up from his chair.

"The only way to prevent this whole thing from killing both of our careers is to stay together and get divorced after you get reelected or lose the 2028 election. It would be at least four years of marriage. Four years of a lie." You state.

You can feel the heat rising in your chest as the anxiety sets it. You being to pace faster around his room. Your eyes are wide with a far off look in them.

"Oh my god, we can't do this. We can't commit to this for FOUR YEARS Bradley. What was I thinking when I said that? I'll tell you what—I wasn't thinking. I didn't want the media to brand me as someone who slept her way to the top, but now I've sentenced both of us to a life of scrutiny in the public eye!" You shout at him.

"We can't do this. I was wrong about everything I said. I didn't have a plan, I wasn't thinking I just did, and now I've screwed everything up." Your voice starts to tremble. Your chest tightens, making it harder for you to breathe. You can feel the tears welling up in your eyes.

Bradley can see the cracks in your armor starting to break. The facade that you wear so well is slipping. His heart breaks when he sees the first tears slip down your cheeks. He's never seen you cry before. Come to think of it, he's never seen you as anything other than put together. He's shocked to see you like this. Emotional, vulnerable, raw.

"Where's my phone? I have to call Jaycee. I have to have her publish a story saying that I was lying and that we aren't a couple." You choke out. Your hands are trembling as you try to unlock your phone, but it's no use. The device falls from your fingers and crashes to the carpet.

That's all that it takes for you to fall to your knees and sob. Rooster immediately jumps from his seat and pulls you close to him. You're babbling about how you're sorry to him and about how you can save his career by tanking your own.

It's killing him inside to see you like this. To know that he's the reason you're having a panic attack at three in the morning. He doesn't know how to respond. Normally, you're the one picking up the pieces for him. So he does the only thing his can think to do. He sinks down on the floor next to you and pulls you close to him. He tucks you under his chin and rubs your back to soothe you.

"Y/N. Y/N—please, take a breath. Look at me." Bradley tells you softly. He takes your chin and gently directs it to meet his eyes.

"Let's take a couple of deep breaths together. Come on, breathe with me. Breathe in—and breathe out." He directs you. He repeats this several more times until your breathing is back under control, and you aren't crying anymore.

"Okay, let's talk through this slowly. We have two options. We can get married, spend the four years together, and then get a quick and amicable divorce after the election. If we do that, we both have a good chance of being able to continue our political careers, right?" He looks to you for your approval. You nod your head.

"Or, you commit political suicide by saying what? You made up the whole thing because you didn't want the media slandering you?" He asks. "It seems like they would slander you even more if you said we lied." He tells you.

"I can tell them that I can onto you, I was harassing you. Trying to blackmail you or something. If I did that, it would save your image. I could never work in politics again, though. I'd have to leave D.C." You stutter out, the anxiety still not fully gone from your body.

The thought of you leaving made Bradley sick to his stomach. He couldn't let you give up your dream for him.

"No." He says. "I won't let you do that. I can't let you do that. I wouldn't be in this position of power if it wasn't for you. I can't do this without you. I need you." He tells you earnestly.

"We are already friends. We can do this. We'd only have to pretend for the cameras and in the public eye. Behind closed doors, it doesn't matter. We can fake it til we make it." He laughs.

"You sure?" You ask him. "Positive." He confirms. You nod your head and smile at him. He helps you up. You take a deep breath and feel some relief.

You pause for a beat, and Bradley can see the exact moment you put your mask back on. Gone is the vulnerability you'd just shared with him, and back was the bravado he'd seen you wear so well.

"You know you'll have to make sure any hookup you bring here signs and NDA, right?" You ask him.

"Come again?" He blurts out with a look of confusion. The sudden change in your demeanor has his head spinning.

"Look, Bradley, even if we have to be married for a bit, I don't expect you to be celibate the entire time. You won't be the first president to have a mistress, but you'll be the first with permission. You snicker at the last part.

"I mean I'll do the same." You reassure him.

Bradley is too stunned to speak. The idea of either of you having a lover made his heart ache. He couldn't stomach the thought of another man touching you or getting to see the side of you that you kept closed off from him.

"Yeah, I understand." He hesitated. The silence around the two of you was uncomfortable.

"Right. So, I'm going to call a jeweler in the morning so we can pick out a ring and make sure you memorize these cards." You tell him as you hand him some flash cards, breaking the tension.

"I have the ring covered." Bradley tells you. "What?" You ask him. Unsure if you heard him correctly. "I have the ring covered. I'll memorize the cards. For now, we both need to get some sleep." He rubs your arms in a reassuring way.

"Okay. You're right. Goodnight, Bradley." You tell him as you leave his room. "Goodnight, Mrs. Bradshaw" He calls down the hallway after you. You roll your eyes and try to ignore the butterflies in your stomach.

The next day around lunch, Jake storms into your room. "Wise-woman! Girl, what the fuck?!" He asks you.

"Jake, I don't have time for this. I was in a life or death situation. It was either fake engagement or political ruin. I did what I had to do." You explain to him. "I know, I know. Rooster already gave me the same speech. So you're really going to do this interview. Get married and all that jazz?" Jake asks as he comes to sit with you.

He flops down on the couch in your sitting room while absent-mindedly tossing a baseball in the air.

"Yeah, it's not ideal, but it keeps all of us employed. Well, let me rephrase that. It keeps you and Bradley employed. Meanwhile, I get to be paraded around as a piece of arm candy, and the only thing people are going to care about is what time wearing." You sigh.

"You know there are way worse things than being the First Lady of the United States. You think that no one is going to care about what you have to say, but Bradley will. He values your opinion more than any of his advisors. And you could have a serious social impact. Doesn't every First Lady have a platform that she focuses on during her time? Think of the change you could make. The good you could do in the world." Jake tells you. You hadn't really thought about it that way.

"Plus, do you know how many women in America would gladly take your place? I do, because I've seen the tweets and the tiktoks. Marrying Bradley isn't the prison sentence you're making it out to be." Jake finishes his pep talk to you before silently tossing his ball some more.

You sit there, taking in his words and processing them.

Neither of you is sure what to say until Jake speaks again. "So, on another note, your friend at the Post who's interviewing you—is she single by chance?" Jake asks you.

You laugh at his comment. Of course, he would ask you about Jaycee when you're having a crisis moment.

"Jake! You're such an asshole!" You laugh as you throw a pillow from the couch at him.

"Knock knock." Bradley comes in. "And that's my cue to go." Jake says as he gets up to leave.

Bradley comes and sits down next to you. He puts a small box on the table in front of you. "Go on. Open it." He tells you.

You open it, and your breath catches in your throat. Inside is the most beautiful ring you've ever seen. It's an oval cut diamond, easily five karats or better. It's flanked by two pear cut amethysts and set on a silver band.

"Bradley how—" you ask him. "Called in a favor." He tells you. You stare at it a moment before he takes it out of the box and slips it on your hand. "Size eight. Just like you said." He smiles at you. "Oval because of the Oval Office, right?" You joke with him. "Exactly." He breathes out.

"So, are you ready for this interview?" You ask him. "If I'm being honest, no. But I know that just like everything else, we can get through it together." Bradley kisses your cheek and pats your leg before getting up to leave. The skin where his lips touched buzzes with a familiar feeling that you're desperately trying to push back down.

Thanks to your careful planning, you made it through the interview with Jaycee. By the time you and Bradley arrived back to the White House, you were trending on social media, and #Wiseshaw was going viral. You had succeeded in pacifying the nation for a while.

Now, the real challenge began: planning a wedding.

..................

"Does it really matter so much about the flowers!" You groaned into the sofa cushion. The wedding was a week away, and instead, if sitting in on interviews for who was going to take over your position once you became the First Lady, you were with Jake and Jaycee picking out center pieces.

You had hated all of the aspects of planning the wedding. You hated them because over the past two months, you'd found yourself unable to deny the fact that you had feelings for Bradley. He truly was the man of your dreams, but the only reason you were able to have him was because of a lie.

Magazines, news outlets, and social media called you the perfect political power couple. The people ate up the engagement shoot you'd released, and the buzz of your upcoming nuptials was all anyone could talk about. People were rabid wondering what your dress was going to look like, who would be on the guest list, and most importantly, people wondered how long it would be until the two of you had children.

Of course, there was speculation that you were already pregnant due to how fast you were getting married from the time you announced your engagement. If only the people knew that your husband would never touch you like that.

You were broken from your thoughts by Jake.

"Yes, it really does matter, Wise- woman. You and the president are getting married. This is the closest thing America is ever going to get to a royal wedding." You looked at Jaycee and rolled your eyes because you knew Jake was right. This would be the first time a president had gotten married in office in over a hundred years. In the minds of many, this was a royal wedding. The two of you were the American Will and Kate.

"Jakey is just trying to be helpful as the best man and all." Jaycee tells you as she gets up to wrap her arms around him.

"If you two could keep it in your pants while I'm here, I would appreciate it." You tell them. You shuttered at the memory of finding out they were seeing each other. You had gone to Jake's office to ask him to sign off on some things, and instead, you found him and Jaycee, using his desk for purposes that it was not intended for.

"Oh c'mon, don't be such a grumpy gills. You'll be getting your taste of a man in power soon enough." Jaycee laughs.

"No, I will not. This marriage is a business arrangement. I'm not going to sleep with Bradley. I'm not even going to move out of my room." You tell them. You get up to leave as Jake and Jaycee shoot each other a knowing look.

.......................

Saturday comes quicker than you expected. All morning, people are fussing over you and helping you get ready. Jaycee is doing her best to keep you calm. You aren't nervous because you are getting married. You're nervous because your life is about to change.

You wonder if Bradley has the same knots in his stomach or if he is calm and collected.

The funny thing is, as he's getting ready, Bradley wonders the same thing about you.

He's paced around his room about five hundred times since he woke up this morning. You had no clue that Jake and Bradley's godfather Maverick had been trying to keep him calm.

He knows it's just about time, and his hands shake as he tries to tie his bow tie. You always make it look so easy. He growls in frustration before Maverick takes over. "The last time I saw a Bradshaw, this nervous was when Goose was getting ready to marry your mom. He was awful with ties, too." Maverick smiles at him, trying ease the tension. "They'd be so proud of you, kid." Maverick smiles as he smooths out Bradley's collar.

Soon, the wedding coordinator is coming to get them. It was time.

The wedding is to be held in the Rose Garden with a reception to follow in the banquet room of the White House. Everything is perfect. The chairs, the flowers, the table settings, the center pieces, the decor. All of it is fit for a wedding of presidential proportions. You'd spent two months going over seating charts, menu options, and cake flavors. Every time you asked Bradley what he wanted, he always responded with, "Whatever you want dear." You roll your eyes at the memory. Of course, he would be better in a fake relationship than any of your previous real ones.

As you put the finishing touches on your makeup, the thought of running crosses your mind.

You don't have time to ponder it though. It's almost show time. Your mother and Jaycee help you into your dress. It's a soft taffeta ball gown with ruching on the bodice. Its sleeves are slightly off the shoulder, and it has a jeweled belt at the waist. You could describe your dress best as "a modern take on Jackie Kennedy." Your mother helped you secure your cathedral length veil in your hair. She brushed a few stray hairs from your face before making sure your oval pendant was centered on your neck. Jaycee handed you your bouquet of lavender roses before grabbing the train of your dress and veil to help you out of your room.

Your father smiled when he saw you. Both of your parents were so proud of you. Their daughter was about to be the First Lady.

You took a deep breath as you walked out of french doors to the top of the staircase.

Your heart felt like it was about to beat out of your chest as your feet carried you down the steps. It felt like you were in autopilot.

The violin quartet began to play "august" as Maverick walked down the aisle, holding framed photos of his parents before sitting them in two reserved seats. Jake followed him with your mother before coming back. Several of his former Navy friends escorted your bridesmaids down the aisle. Then, Jaycee and Jake made their way down the aisle. As the song looped, you could help think about the irony of it all. The man that you were about to marry would never be yours, not really.

Soon, it was your turn. You smiled as you heard the first bars of "Wildest Dreams" start to play. If it was one thing Bradley knew about you, it was how much you loved Taylor Swift. It only seemed fitting that he would pick two of her songs for your wedding.

Damn him and his ability to give you butterflies. It wasn't fair.

Everything moved in slow motion. The walk down the stair case and down the aisle felt like the longest ten minutes of your life. You did your best to look the part of the perfect blushing bride, but it was so hard.

Looking out at the perfectly place chairs with their perfectly draped cloth covers and perfectly tied lavender bows made you feel sick.

The sight of the wooden pergola draped in in greens and tulle made your knees weak. The meticulous rolled out white cloth that was covered in dainty lavender flower petals for the aisle had the bile in your stomach rising to your throat.

Everything was so perfect. Or at least it would have been if this was real. Your father could feel you tense up as you reached the bottom of the stair case and turned to stand at the end of the aisle. He patted your hand to comfort you. Everyone rose up from their seats, and for the first time, you allowed yourself to look up and look at Bradley. He was standing at the top of the aisle beaming at you. Suddenly, all of the anxiety you were feeling melted away. A genuine smile crossed your face as you began to almost float towards him.

You watched him brush a few stray tears from his eyes.

Your eyes stayed trained on Bradley the whole time. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was actually in love with you.

"You look beautiful." He whispered to you as you joined him at the altar. "Your tie's crooked." You whisper back. "Sorry, I didn't have help." He chuckled before the officiant asked everyone to be seated.

The ceremony goes by in a flash. You and Bradley exchanged vows and rings. And soon you heard the officiant say, "Mr. President, you may kiss your bride."

You lean forward to press a polite kiss to Bradley's lips, but in an unexpected turn of events, he sweeps you into his arms and dips you before kissing you. Everyone erupts in applause. The officiant speaks once more. "Ladies and gentlemen, it is my pleasure to present to you, for the first time, President and Mrs. Bradley Bradshaw!"

Bradley grabs your hand as Jaycee hands you your bouquet before you walk back down the aisle under a sea of flower petals.

During the entire reception, Bradley doesn't leave your side as the two of you mingle. You have your first dance as husband and wife to a slowed down version of "I've Had The Time of My Laugh. You grin at his nod to the first time you danced with him. After you finish, its time to cut the cake. You enjoyed smashing some of it in his face more than you should have. Your smile never leaves your face. You can't believe how easy it is to pretend to be in love with him.

But that's all it is, pretend. You've signed yourself up to continue this charade with him for the next four years.

After the reception, you change into a white lace tea length dress. You and Bradley board Air Force one. You have three days for a private honeymoon. Bradley releases his duties to Jake for the time being before you leave.

Soon, you're touching down somewhere tropical.

You're exhausted by the time you make it there.

The two of you get settled into your bungalow. All you want to do is change and get some sleep.

"Can you unzip me? I want to take a shower. There's two bathrooms here if you want to shower too." You inform Bradley. He's happy to help. He unzips your dress. He sees the white lace of the bra and panties you are wearing.

"Thanks." You tell him before trapsing off to a shower.

Bradley groans and adjusts himself before heading off to the other bathroom. God, his right hand is going to be tired after this trip.

After an hour in the bathroom, you finally come out. You find Bradley sitting in a chair watching TV.

"You aren't in bed yet?" You question him.

"I wasn't sure which side you slept on, and I didn't want to assume." He says as he gets up and gestures to the huge bed in the middle of the room.

"Oh, it doesn't matter. I'm not sleeping in here." You laugh. He looks at you confused before you go to the other side of the room and on unlatch a door he hadn't noticed before.

"Did you really think I wouldn't plan a head to make sure we had two rooms?" You ask him.

"I—I shouldn't have doubted your abilities." He tells you, with a hint of sadness in his voice.

"It's fine. Look, we've had a long day. We'll talk more in the morning." You smile and kiss his cheek before walking into your room. "Goodnight, Mr. President." You call to him.

"Goodnight, Mrs. Bradshaw." He calls back.

He hears the sound of the lock on the door clicking. He sighs before dropping back into the armchair. He runs his fingers through his hair before taking a look at the silver band that now adorns his finger. He twists it a few times and sighs.

How was he going to get through the next four years of this?

Little did he know that just on the other side of the door, you were dying inside too.

A special shoutout to @thedroneranger for beta reading this chapter and listening to my rambles!

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kentomilk · 5 months

Text

ᴶᴶᴷ & ᴬᴼᵀ ᴵᴺ

𝐖𝐑𝐀𝐏 𝐌𝐄 𝐈𝐍 𝐘𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 ‧₊𓎩˚

with your partner yearning for an approachable gateway and immersion into your culture as well as an official introduction into your family, what better way to do that than with dumplings?

catalogue. fluff, modern au, pre-established relationship, written with fem!reader in mind; but no pronouns specified. cw: food preparation/ intended consumption, mildly suggestive (?) cultural traditions, domestic family teasing, mentions of children, alcohol consumption/ age not explicitly specified; but intended to be over 21 per US laws. wc: 1.2k thea’s preamble. by definition a dumpling is a small mound of dough flattened, maintaining a certain thickness for chew or absolute thinness, then filled with a well-seasoned paste/mixture, usually meat. like, gyoza 餃子, mandu 만두, xiao long bao 小笼包 which is my primary inspiration. BUT there's also lumpia from Indonesia and the Philippines, Italian ravioli, Indian modak, Polish pierogi, South American empanadas (i fucking love empanadas), pasteles, Ukrainian vareniky, Botswanan madombi, British pasty. my point is if you don't read into it too intensely, this is for anyone.

it was intended to be such an intimate moment and in their eyes the official inauguration to your family, as well as the perfect entry point into learning about your culture that you’ve only grown stronger and more confident in with age. and what better way to immerse yourself in another’s culture than through food?

with that being said…they tried, they really did.

it seemed simple in theory, add a decent bundle of the filling to the center of the wrapper, fold the wrapper over itself, and apply the liquid adhesive to seal the seams, crimping, folding, or rolling the seams shut as needed. simple right?

well apparently not, there’s a tray full of “complete” dumplings with tears in the dough and the filling either smeared or oozing out, over-filled, or not enough… and it's quite obvious who made those. the intricacy and swiftness that you and your parents achieved thus producing a quarter sheet pan’s worth, overwhelmed the poor baby. they certainly have their strengths lying primarily in physicality, but the agility and patience needed for such a small product outcome were not in their capabilities.

you reassured them that it wasn't uncommon to have such results, frankly, it was impressive for a first-timer that they didn't collapse from frustration. "you'll get it eventually, today you just relax." you consoled, rubbing your hand on top of theirs.

"plus, you're still considered a guest, you have plenty of time before you're officially let into the pack and forced to do the mountain of dishes or babysit." you chuckled.

to which they agreed, today their strengths would lie in being the human ladder to get objects from high-up places, refilling wine and liquor for the adults, providing sliced fruits, and just sitting at the table supervising the unspoken competition of who can make the most dumplings, replenishing scarce ingredients as needed to. salivating at the sight as well as the uncooked aroma from the fresh herbs and spices used. surrounded by family, engaging in lively or even profound conversations, no matter how shy they were initially.

rest assured, there’s nothing to be ashamed of, and maybe another time they’ll give it another shot, but for now, they’ll leave it to the pros.

EREN, JEAN ANNIE, GOJO, TOJI

their initial attempts were… admirable, but they weren’t satisfied with that. they wanted to do right by you, secure the approval of your family, and not feel absolute guilt at only contributing to the conversation and not the actual meal assembly process.

simply put, they're quite stubborn. they carefully studied each family member, the differing methods, and tendencies. from the angle of spooning the filling in the wrapper to the adhesive sealing— plain water vs. starch water?

they were determined, and with patience and encouragement from family, they were finally able to produce a perfect little flavor receptacle, savory and hearty. shrieking out an unexpected, "i did it!" that garnered a reaction that you couldn't help but laugh at either.

but they would not yet allow themselves even a minute victory until they garnered 100% of the acceptance, mainly from their own inner conflict of merit.

this may be their first time truly comprehending the phrase, ‘tasting the fruits of your labor’. and never had they had a sweeter meal, not in the literal sense of a saccharine feast. but the resolve and dogged attitude (stubbornness) was a taste that they would savor in the complete dish, something they would come to value greatly come the next culinary undertaking. "i made this!" they'd think to themself.

try not to be too surprised if you catch them in the early morning, meticulously crimping, folding, and rolling the edges of the wrapper, ensuring as little air as possible gets in the center, just as your grandmother taught them.

more than that it was an amusing sight seeing them nearly nude only wearing a pink frilly apron that you were gifted from relatives, "what do you think?" they teased, a question which you rolled your eyes at, considering they weren't asking about the food.

though you must admit, they did look incredible, for a rookie. and it was a beautiful sight to behold, an incredibly attractive person cooking in your kitchen, insistent on making you proud. i guess now the only issue lies in the lack of space in your freezer in contrast to the large batches of dumplings that are sure to last you months. let's hope this is an acceptable housewarming gift for the new neighbors.

BERTHOLDT, REINER, CONNIE , SUKUNA (hear me out), CHOSO

are we surprised? though they may not seem like the kinds to thrive in arts and crafts, their handiwork is nimble, and their dexterity is unmatched. they were initially slow to follow the instructions given to them, but after diligent observation, it was a task pursued and completed well. almost as if they too partook in similar repetitive affairs in their youth. sitting around the dining table, with heaps of filling and a lofty stack of dough wrappers, sometimes there’d be music in the back, but even if there was it would always be drowned out by the conversation that were being had. an endless variety of discussion topics, filled with light-hearted quarrels and absolute fits of laughter.

and if you’re being completely honest, it’s been approximately 5 minutes since the laughter erupted, and you can’t even remember what was so funny that you’re now clutching your stomach in what may be the best kind of pain, struggling to catch your breath and maintain composure. those were some of the memories you held dearly when you were younger, and it’s no different now. and with them by your side, falling in love over again with what seems like the acme of your joy, one they’d hope to preserve and maintain for as long as possible. a pride that one simply can't explain.

but where there is pride and inflated egos, there are grandmothers and aunties to humble you, making remarks comparing your tray to your partners.

"wowww, this is your first time, and they look perfect!" they'd exclaim, making their way around the table. "you should take lessons from them." they'd continue teasing you, whilst pinching your partner's cheek or slapping them on the back just a little too hard.

by the end of the feast, your partner certainly got the elders' approvals, no less by your parents, who absolutely adore them. it’s also a food they loved eating, lovingly introduced by you, and now you’ve made them even more of a fiend then they already were. fully enjoying the bonding experience this has facilitated, as well a first-hand experience to the little things that helped maintain your cultural identity.

and they would be lying if they weren’t completely consumed by the thought that one day you would be the ones your ancestors depended on to carry on the traditions. with the future generations of your bloodline, if not your own children by preference, then your nieces, nephews, and cousins, who are currently wrapped around their very finger. to them, a jungle gym to be climbed, a pristine and willing model for a family-renowned makeup artist, an unsuspecting outsider that could be the green light for some sweets that the parentals refused earlier, but they don’t need to know that.

ERWIN, LEVI, ARMIN, SASHA, MIKASA, GETO, NANAMI, SHOKO

above all a lovely bonding experience for you and your partner:)

[interactions] reblogs, comments & likes are appreciated ₊˚⊹♡

dividers by @/pettypixels-love

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