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venusincleo · 3 days ago

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Time. [Aaron Pierre]

Warnings: MDNI • Explicit • Aaron Pierre x Black!Reader, teasing, slight edging, oral & fingering (fem receiving), DDLG kink/BDSM, slight?switch aaron, self!insert, close third POV and more...

Summary: You and Aaron have been in a long distance relationship for three months, as you reside in your cozy home in Seattle, and he stays in Los Angeles for work. Only ever having a quick day trip for quality time between your busy schedules, a long awaited break comes up on both of your calendars; three days and two nights at the end of a long week. Finally having the opportunity to see each other face to face, you enjoy a weekend of deeper, more intimate moments.

Word Count: 5.3k [I got carried away.🧍🏾‍♀️]

A/N: Part Two maybe?... let me know 🫣

• • •

Glasses clink between the four beings at the table, smiles and knowing looks move along each face as you gaze at your closest friends. Jade-green, feline eyes stared at you through natural black lashes, examining your demeanor as you commented on the subject of conversation; your Alma Mater’s recent Homecoming. He wasn’t that interested in the topic to be frank.

Aaron was originally reluctant to agree to the nightcap, but when you insisted that the people you were closest to wanted to meet him, he felt the need to oblige you. He would get you to himself soon enough.

The ambivalence he held toward the conversation didn’t stop him from listening when you spoke, memorizing the words as if he would suddenly understand the intricacies of such a place like an HBCU.

His eyes move away from your face as he settles into his seat, and his attention goes to the atmosphere of the jazzy establishment. The penthouse lounge was airy and spacious, mimicking the deep blue night, with its own stars to match. The celestial chandeliers lit the bar in the very middle of the large room romantically, with dim lamps atop each table that could put anything in a golden light.

“And why would they ever put Beyoncé on the flyer? We know she ain’t gon’ be there! Put the actual performers.” Your sister Valerie added, shaking her head as she sipped on her lemon drop. You weren't blood related in any sense, but she was your ride-or-die by all means.

You purse your lips at her comment knowingly, and take a sip of your wine.

“Girl, you know they love to act like they ain’t got no money. So, they’re baiting the people who are gullible enough to buy the ticket off the strength of her face chile.” Val nods quickly and points at you in agreement, a quick ‘Yup’ leaving her lips. Your other friend, Ryan, laughs at your interaction and shakes his head.

“And that’s why I ain't going. Spelhouse is having Ari Lennox and…”

“We know how you feel about Ari Lennox.” You and Valerie say in unison, teasing your longtime friend. He shrugs his shoulders unashamed of his near obsession, and Val laughs while she turns toward Aaron’s stoic form.

“Who’ you been listening to, Aaron?” She directs the conversation to him, and he looks straight at her with his answer ready on his lips.

“Oh, I’m more of a Sade type of guy.” The London accent infused in his soft tone causes you to look up at him, the wine affecting your every sense. As your eyes reach his side profile, you can’t help but to examine him from the top of his black curls down to his pretty face and then his plump pink lips. He continued to talk about his playlist and you were just…stuck.

How could someone look and sound so sexy while talking about music artists? It definitely helped that you were an all-encompassed music lover, and couldn’t do much without a song in the background. You loved that the both of you connected over that, and it made you listen even more whenever he spoke about a new song or album he was getting into.

“Honestly Y/N put me on to a lot of what’s in my rotation right now.” When you hear your name, you nearly snap out of your daze but then his eyes meet yours and you blink back the need to compliment him as nastily as you thought you should. He can see the growing lust in your eyes and a small smile rises to his lips for the first time tonight, one of his hands reaching your lap.

“I’m honing his ear, ya’ll.” You joke, pulling your eyes away from him. Any more staring and you would turn into a puddle right there. Valerie laughs slightly, and begins to go on about a recent album she really loved while the man beside you zones in on your mannerisms.

Even as the conversation trudges on, Aaron recognizes your slight avoidance, something you made a habit of when he started to really turn you on. Maybe you didn’t want to seem too forward, or you were refraining for yourself. Either way, he understood because he was similar to you in that way. He never wanted to make you feel uncomfortable in your expression with him; sexual or otherwise.

But, he almost couldn’t help himself, his hand squeezing at your plush thigh through your silk dress. A breath hitches in your throat and you glance at him, the warmth of his hand through the fabric on your skin a bit too much to bear in your inebriation. As you lay your hand over his, he turns his head to look in your eyes and a jump reaches your core. All you can think of is what it would be like to have his veined hand up your dress and inside of your panties, soothing the hardened bulb between your thighs.

You can barely move, completely intoxicated by your thoughts and the man who was staring directly into your soul, seemingly watching them with you.

From across the table, Ryan pays attention to the alluring energy between you and your man, the sexual tension horribly intense. Heat rises in his face as he thinks of the possibility that you and Aaron may become more serious than he had hoped.

He’s not the first man to come around. He thought. But when he saw the way you two spoke to each other with no words between you, fear rose in his heart that maybe –just maybe– Aaron would be the last. Your last first.

Ryan’s fingers tap lightly against the bare wooden table, and then, he clears his throat to try and break your concentration. Seeing the both of you unphased, his bruised ego heightens his audacity, and he speaks.

“So… how does this work? Her love language is physical touch and ya’ll are never together.” He directs his question to Aaron but both of your eyes break contact to look at Ryan simultaneously. Your hands don’t leave one another’s for a moment as you take in his question.

“She has one of my sweaters that she sleeps with.” Instinctively, you run one of your manicured hands up his arm, squeezing at the toned muscle of his bicep as he replies to your friend. “We make sure we don’t miss a beat on communication…And then we plan visits like this.”

“But is that enough?” Ryan doesn’t process the answer at all. “What if she absolutely needs a hug? Then all she has is us like she’s always had…” Valerie sips on her drink silently now, thinking that Ryan is just being an interrogative friend. You could feel the venom in his questions though, and even in your struggle to figure out what it was, he seemed to have a point he wanted to make.

“Or, what if she needs some? She’s all lonely at home and you're at work, states away.” Your face begins to contort with confusion at his question, unease settling in from his suggestive tone. Why the hell would he be thinking about that?

Before you can even wrap your mind around the moment, Aaron’s arm stiffens in your hand, and you look up at his face to see a clench in his jaw. He takes a deep breath, and releases it in a soft sigh, which seems to calm him a little. But the comfort that he previously had never returns to the table.

“Not that it’s any of your business, but…” He runs a hand over his facial hair as he hesitates with his answer, not wanting to put your business out there. But truly, the only person at the table who didn’t know the answer was Ryan.

“She calls me.”

Flashes of just one of you and Aaron’s horny FaceTime calls fill your mind, and you look away from his face quickly. Your whole body is hot with the continued memory of hearing his breathy groans mixed with the light squelching of his large hand around his shaft, pulling to his oblivion for only your eyes to see.

“And…what?” As Ryan pushes and pries for more of your intimate relationship details, you finally sit up from your comfortable lean in your seat and look him in the eyes.

“Ryan, that’s enough!” Your voice raises just a bit as you assert your lamentation. “None of this is any of your concern… What the fuck is wrong with you?” You tilt your head to the side as an attitude fills your body.

“To be honest, it’s quite obvious that you wanted to be the answer to all of your questions.” Aaron squints his eyes in Ryan’s direction and you can feel anger breathing down your neck.

You looked down at the table as you tried to breath through this emotion, but you just felt…blindsided. A friendship that you held on to for so many years…and now it was obvious that there were possibly secret feelings brewing this whole time.

Valerie can feel the heat radiating off of you, and she knows that it’s only a matter of time before you snap.

“Hey, Y/N, I think this is just a misunderstanding.” She tries to talk you down but you don’t even meet her eyes, you are so livid.

“Ryan, maybe you should apologize.” Val turns to her friend, who she is also shocked by at the moment. Her limbs are static at the awkward silence that has fallen between all of you.

“Aaron, I’m ready to go.” You alert him, and almost instantly, your gentle giant is rising from his seat to fulfill your request. His large hand is held out for you to take, and you do so, following him out of the lounge and into the elevator that would take you to the lobby on the ground floor.

• • •

Finally in your car, Aaron is still tense from the unexpected interaction with your college friend. He was under the impression that your folks would have had a positive view on you guy’s relationship, but he stood corrected. With about twenty minutes left on the drive back to your place, you both had a bit of time to process the conversation.

“He’s mouthy.” Aaron complains as he sits comfortably in the driver’s seat of your car, which was still adjusted for his tall frame. His gravelly voice feigned apathy but you could just tell that he was not happy.

“I’m sorry about him. I’ve never seen him so…overprotective.” You try to wrap your mind around the possibility that Ryan could have felt whatever he was feeling towards you for all of the years that you had been friends. But nothing seems to truly make sense.

Just as your words registered in your man’s mind, his attention averted from the road in front of him and he turned his head in your direction.

“If that’s what you call overprotective…He’d been asking invasive ass questions all night. I’m surprised he even let you leave.” He expressed, his shoulders slightly raised with the tension in his words. Your eyes squint at his charming face as you realize what he said. Let me?

“And what is that supposed to mean?” You ask. Straight-forward. You seldom ever disagreed with Aaron, but this time he was hinting at something that was already working your nerves.

With a deep breath, Aaron can sense the tone in your voice, and he mentally curses himself for getting you even a little riled up.

“I’m just saying,” He begins, his voice steady as it was when you saw him for the first time earlier today. “I think he has a thing for you.”

As his calm words filter through your mind, you venture into your memories to think of the dynamic you’ve had with your friend. He was the first one you made on your Alma Mater’s campus, and a writer, just like you but in a bit of a different way. A journalist. You always had such a close knit relationship; you shared your best laughs and biggest dreams with Ryan.

But then, you realize how you’ve never seen him with anybody. Not one romantic interest.

You had originally thought that was because of his workaholic tendencies, but today’s events had you thinking differently. He did seem a little territorial at the lounge. A sigh leaves your lips as you try to put these new thoughts out of your mind and then you rethink a point you wanted to make to the strong-willed man beside you.

“And let’s get one thing straight.” Aaron gives you a glance as he continues to focus on the road, but your eyes stay on him as you speak. “You can be jealous, that’s human. But nobody ‘lets me’ do anything.” The attitude eases off of your lips effortlessly for it being the first time you beckoned it with him. But it doesn’t seem to phase him too much, he just fixes his full lips to agree.

“Yes ma’am.”

The rest of your ride is smooth and quiet. A mumble of a tune can be heard from the low-playing radio station, and the heat is on just enough to push the cold of the budding fall night away.

When you get to your apartment, neither of you say a word, but you wait for him to get to your door just like you had all day. Aaron promptly grabs the handle of the passenger side, and you get out of the seat gracefully, steadying your Saint Laurent heels on the concrete beneath you. Your hand instinctively reaches for his bicep as he closes your door and he leads you up to your apartment.

Warmth allows you to settle into your space, and you ease into your kitchen as you have many times before. Your hand reaches into your cupboard for two rose-tinted wine glasses, which are free of any stem, and you set them on your island as you turn to your refrigerator. From the enclosed appliance, you grab your favorite wine and pull at the already opened cork.

Aaron watches you intently, hoping you’ll say something, anything to break the silence.

“You want some?” You gesture the chilled bottle in front of your chest and he gazes at you with a tingling fascination.

“Yes, please.” He answers you surely, and you resort to pouring both of you an even glass of the deep red alcohol. As you round out his glass, Aaron chuckles to himself and you peer up at his light eyes to catch his thoughts.

“Love is complicated, huh?” He grins boyishly in your direction, his lips raising over his bright teeth as he waits for your agreement.

“Mm.” You hum contrarily and turn on your heels to put the empty bottle of wine on the counter next to your fridge for later disposal. When you face Aaron again, you wrap your hand around your glass and bring it close to your lips.

“Well, I only want you.” You take a sip of your sweet, warm-noted delicacy and continue looking at your man. “It doesn’t get much simpler for me than that.” The tall specimen before you takes a large gulp of his wine, and your eyes dilate instantly as he licks the brief stain of the alcohol from his pink lips.

“Agreed.”

Hoping to hide the growing lust in your eyes, you raise your glass and drink again, and Aaron watches you this time. His eyes scan you closely, picking up on the heightened speed that your chest rises and falls. Naturally, his focus shifts to your breasts, down the valley between them and then to both nipples, which are hardening by the second with your arousal.

You set the half-empty glass down on the counter in front of you, and his lovely green eyes mimic the clear waters of a tropical island as they dart back up to yours. Deep, soulful brown eyes stare back at him as you take in a deep breath and release it through your nose. Quickly, Aaron walks around the island counter to meet you, his wine still in hand. Without missing a beat, he follows your steps as you turn around to watch his next movements, both of you toe to toe now.

As your pretty orbs peer up at him widely, his large, kept hand finds its way to your face. A delicate caress of his thumb against your cheek sends a trembling breath from between your lips, and heat rises in your face at the contact. Wanting to wait no longer, Aaron trails his gaze down to your mouth, and seamlessly places his over yours.

The kiss was molasses on your lips; slow, sweet, warm. He confidently parted the edges of his pucker to make way for his tongue, prompting you to do the same and graze him in a lovely tale of destiny. The taste of wine only deepened the thump of the pulse between your thighs, and soon you could feel the moisture pooling in your laced Victoria Secret thongs again.

Aaron kissed you like he was giving you a gift. As if he wanted you to remember every detail. His attention to the kiss made you a complete mess, breathless in the very best way. And once he pulled back from you, your lowered eyes gave you away instantly.

Curious eyes guided his pointer finger to the space under the spaghetti strap of your left shoulder, and as he readied himself to pull it off, he paused and placed a kiss along your heated skin.

“Is this okay?” He asks, looking up at you vividly. You nod quickly, a sharp inhale lacing your lips, and then, your word.

“Yes…” Near to a whisper, but audible to his seeking ear. Another second and he took both straps from your shoulders, watching as the silk fabric folded atop itself, then stopped at the round of your d-cup breasts. An index finger between your breasts is all he uses to pull the plunge down even more, revealing your bare bosom. His mouth waters at the sight of your perfect tits and he reaches for one, squeezing at the pillowy flesh.

Finally, his thick tongue meets your sensitive skin and his lips wrap around your nipple to suck at it passionately. A breath hitches in your throat as you feel his mouth deliver a soft pleasure, and though you want to moan you bite at your lip to muffle the sound. The vibration of your vocal cords alerts Aaron to keep going, and he pops your breast from between his lips to give some attention to the other.

This time you can’t contain yourself and you allow a whimper to escape your mouth, then you bring a hand to the back of Aaron’s head to guide him on. With swirling eyes, he stares up into your lowered ones, and outlines your areola with his tongue before he enveloped the bulb with his lips once more.

Then, he raised his face back parallel to yours and delivered a silken peck to your lips. His eyes taunted you as he stepped away from your blazen body, looking you up and down in your initial ruin.

“Finish your wine.”

Your hand couldn’t move quick enough as you grabbed your glass from its place on the counter behind you. Three swift gulps ended the drink off abruptly, and Aaron smiled at your zeal, but that didn’t stop him from taking slow gulps of his lasting alcohol to keep the night at his pace.

Once he guzzles the very last drop from your pretty wine glass he sets it down right next to the one you just finished. Then, he holds out his hand for you, which you dotingly fulfill, allowing him to lead you to your bedroom.

Steady steps into your dark room prompts Aaron to feel along the wall for your light switch, flicking it on when he finds it. Your eyes fall upon your perfectly made bed, and then your mind travels to the thought of it disheveled due to your pleasure.

Aaron releases your hand, and stands before you with eyes that know exactly what he wants.

"Take off your dress."

Another demand that you answered with absolutely no protest. Eager hands pulled down your silk slip dress, and as it fell around your heels, Aaron began to crouch before you. One of his gentle hands wraps around your calve and the other moves your dress from the space around your feet.

Free from hazard, he lifts one of your feet cautiously, and you steady yourself on his shoulders as he uses a thumb to push the strap of the heel down. Slowly, intentionally, he takes your shoes off, and plants several feather-light kisses on your calves and up your thighs.

A gasp leaves your lips as you feel his mouth decorating your skin with small declarations of desire. His gentle hands then trail up the back of your legs as he raises to a standing position, then he takes his hands from your body altogether.

Withdrawal was an understatement. You didn’t expect to be so out of it, so quickly. But his touch. Oh, his touch. And those eyes? Gahdamn.

“D’you remember the safe word we came up with?” His husky voice taunts you, calls to your core with a siren song no one has ever sung before. Just him.

You’re a little too shook to even answer him, and very quickly he recognizes that he already has you where he wants you. A cocky grin curls at his lips and he brings a hand to your chin to get your attention.

“Huh, princess?” You blink slowly, and then nod as the word comes to the forefront of your brain from one of those infamous FaceTimes.

“Mars.” He looks over your flushed face, and then lets your chin go as he takes a step back.

“Mhm. And what did I tell you to call me?” His large hands reach under his shirt to unbuckle his belt and your eyes follow his quick and certain movements.

“Papa, Dada or Sir.” He wraps his crisp leather belt around his hand, and your eyes dart from the thick fabric to his eyes, that are already looking over at you.

“Our main rules?”

“Never say no to Papa, only yes, not ‘yeah’. No back talk unless told otherwise. No touching myself without permission.”

Aaron nods his head to your correct recollection of the rules you both agreed on and his Chelsea boots click against the floor as he navigates to his bag that is sitting on your dresser. Quietly, he shuffles through a burgundy satin drawstring bag, and your curiosity is piqued when he grabs something from the bag then sets it down along with his belt.

“I don’t intend to try too much tonight,” He began, holding up a pair of vegan leather cuffs that you told him you were eyeing after an intense conversation about DDLG play. “But I did bring these.”

Your breathing picks up at the thought of him placing those leather cuffs around your wrists and having his way with you. So sweetly, so softly. And then so deep that you can barely take a full breath. You bite your lip absentmindedly and he takes heed of your tell, bringing them over to your bed before he stands in front of you again.

“We’ll leave those for later.” He acknowledged tossing them behind you. As your chocolate brown eyes peer up at him in anticipation, he can’t help but look over your beautiful face, and then your curvaceous body. His skin continued to heat up with the thought of finally touching you the way he knew you wanted, and the sounds that you would make when you felt all that he wanted you to feel.

Hurried hands rush to the hem of his shirt, and he pulls the true black fabric off of his body, letting it fall to the floor as he brings himself close to you. Those same hands pull you into his hold, tenderly, allowing your chests to meet in an almost overwhelming warmth. At this point your panties are soaking wet, and your throbbing cunt has become the default for whenever you are in Aaron’s presence.

Just waiting for the word, you bring your arms around his neck, and as your manicured fingers play in the short curls at the nape of his neck, his eyes flutter in delight. One of his spots. His thick shaft fights against his black dress pants, begging to meet you for the first time. You can feel his print press against your abdomen and he breathes harder at the thought of contact.

As he’s finally ready to put an end to the anticipation, or to begin at least, he brings his face close to yours and allows his lips to tease them for just a second. Warm, wine-ridden breath plays at your lips and nose as your eyes lower even more. But he still doesn’t give in. He wraps a strong hand around your neck, only applying pressure where safe, and then his lips meet the supple skin beside his thumb.

Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you process his roughness, his soft kisses and his hard dick against you. Sneakily, you bring a dainty hand to the fortress of his pants, feeling just how thick he was through the fabric separating him from you. A moan eases from your throat as you caress him and he hums at the faint sensation.

“Please…” You whisper, knowing that he most likely had a plan for the night, and nervous that you would ruin it.

“Please what, princess.” He rasps against your skin, as he goes back to delivering torturous kisses. You breathe in a hollow breath, and then answer him.

“Please fuck me, Papa.” Your hand squeezes around his girth through his pants and he stops what he’s doing to look you in your eye. The desperation in your orbs causes him to hum with a grudging remembrance of his list for the night. He wanted so badly to give you what you begged so nicely for. But if he wanted you to have something substantial to hold on to while you were states and hours away, he’d have to stick to his guns.

With a hungry kiss to your yearning lips, he steps back from you and his eyes caress your body.

“Not yet.”

When his eyes finally made their way back to yours he glanced at the bed behind you and gestured for you to move.

“Get on the bed.” A step back was all it took for your legs to meet the cool bedding atop your mattress, and you lower yourself to sit and then lay along your queen-sized bed.

He stared down at you from his stature, and brought his hands to the front of his pants to unfasten and unzip the closure, his dick protruding over the unzipped edges as he stood there. You watched as he rubbed his large hand over his thickness and your pussy tightened around nothing, causing you to whine at the uncomfortable sensation.

“Pa…” You drag on, getting very weary of this waiting game. Knowing just what you were wanting, Aaron stepped forward and pressed his clothed pelvis against your lace, feeling the give of your damp panties. It didn’t take long for him to reach to the sides of the thin garment, and tug them from your thick thighs, revealing the overwhelming supply of natural lubrication at your entrance.

Aaron raised the soiled fabric to his nose and his eyes rolled closed as he took in your earthy, sweet scent. A growl exits his vocal cords, and he stuffs the panties in his left pocket, happy to now have a souvenir of his own to keep.

Kneeling at the edge of your bed, he instantly used his wide tongue to lap up your delicacy. When he had ingested all the sticky elixir that you supplied, he started at making some more. With his mouth open fully, he placed his lips within the well of your labia, sucking on you like there was nothing else he’d rather do.

His strong hands parted your legs on either side of you, allowing him full access to his new favorite treat. As he caught his rhythm and really got into it, he pulled up to watch a string of his spit follow his tongue away from you, and then he leaned back in to devour you thoroughly.

A throaty moan left your lips as you reached a hand down to his head to encourage him to keep going. Humming against you, he nestles his face in your pussy proudly, sucking and licking to your audible delight.

“Fu-fuck!” Your body begins to tremble in response to his zealous efforts, and though it was instinct to close your legs at such pleasure, Aaron’s strength didn’t really leave that as an option. You squirm underneath his secure hold on you, and he can tell that you’re close as you cry out the sexiest wail of pleasure he’s ever heard.

To push you even further, he rubs his middle and forefinger into the mess of spit and your slick that he created, and he pushes them into your tightness. Forefinger first, and then both, he strokes straight in a couple times and then he turns his hand upward, using a ‘come hither’ motion. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your spine arches through your upward spiral of pure energy.

“Ohh…” You call out, amongst the ridiculous squelching that is produced from him fingering you so deliberately. Aaron can’t help but to groan at the sounds you make, biting his lip as he gets you all the way to your peak. Your pussy clenches around his fingers, and you open your eyes to meet him, your whimpers driving him wild.

“Mmh. You gon’ cum for me baby?” His English accent falters just a little as he focuses on your nut, and everything that it’s taking to get you there. Before you can even respond, speechless at his skill, Aaron wraps his lips around your clit again, sucking as he strokes his long fingers into your dripping cunt. Your drawn out cry fills the room, and your body shakes at the orgasm that is breaking through you.

It doesn’t seem to end. The more you dripped onto his fingers, he stroked even more precisely, and the louder your sounds got. At this point you were damn near screaming bloody murder, and you were sure you’d get a not-so-polite knock at your door tomorrow morning. But for now, it felt too good to be quiet. He had to know how good he was doing you, and you’d tell him all night.

Another true climax runs all of the energy you had out of your system, leaving you too weak to protest. But, Aaron seemed to get the hint, noticing the flutter of your eyelids, and limp yet awake body. You thought you’d be able to handle a full night, but you were only finishing fourplay and depleted. What the fuck?

Opting to make himself your personal cleaner for the night, Aaron softly licks away any remnants of your screaming, leg-shaking orgasm and kisses your inner thigh just barely. Your chest heaves up and down as you try and catch your breath, eyes lower than they’d ever been before.

Seeing you worn out like this made Papa proud, of course. But he was still dealing with a boulder between his legs that he didn’t really want to handle alone. As the gentleman he is though, Aaron raises himself from his kneeling position and climbs on the bed beside you, wrapping his arms around your shivering body.

Once you feel his warmth, you snuggle into his toned chest, your eyes closed and your mind completely empty. Just as you get comfy though, and begin to drift off into la-la-land, you hear Aaron’s soft resolve in your ear.

“Imma let you rest, but we’re not done, princess.”

• • •

I do not condone any translations, replications or plagarisms of my original work. Please do not repost as your own. Reblogs and comments/notes welcome. ♥︎

#aaron pierre x black reader #black fanfic writer #fanfic #my fic #aaron pierre #aaron pierre x reader #explict #mdni #18+ mdni #smut #smutty smut smut #smutty fanfiction #Spotify

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historical-fashion-polls · 2 days ago

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updates on the topic of tournaments

hello my lovelies! 💕

I hope you are all doing well and treating yourselves with kindness! ☺️☺️ to be honest with y'all, this has been a very shitty week, but I am trying to focus on what spaces of joy I can create, so to that end, I've been doing some thinking on the topic of tournaments 💖💖

based on the results of this poll, it seems there is significant interest in continuing to do the halloween tournament as well as additional tournaments throughout the year. I've also been reading your comments and messages on this subject, and y'all are so thoughtful and lovely in also being mindful of what I might have the time and energy to do, which I appreciate so much 🥰🥰

in light of all that, here's what I propose:

one fixed, yearly halloween tournament

one rotating tournament and/or themed month-long event based on different themes

some occasional themed days or weeks when inspiration strikes

it helps me to start gathering outfits if I know a while in advance what the next event will be, so I've tentatively planned for a month-long themed event in may 2025 (I'm not sure yet if it will be an actual full tournament, but it likely will count for the additional rotating event for 2025) (also, there's a hint to the theme hidden in this post 🤭🤭). and then our additional rotating event for 2026 will be a winter-themed tournament likely happening from mid-january through february 2026 ❄️❄️

little themed days and weeks will happen more spontaneously, but I'll always give a little heads-up post before I start them! ☺️☺️

I hope that this will be a good balance of the normal running of the blog and some fun tournaments and events sprinkled throughout! ☺️💕 as always, if you have ideas for potential themes, or questions or thoughts you'd like to share, please feel free to reach out! 🥰🥰

sending warm thoughts to you all,

the curator 🪶

#the curator speaks #curatorial updates #on the topic of tournaments

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ladykailitha · 2 days ago

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Of Butterflies and Backstrokes Part 11

Hey guys! We're back!! It is feeling like this story is almost done, but every time I finish a chapter I go "This has two more chapters in it, I'm almost done!" and I've done that for the last three chapters. So I have given up trying to figure out when it's going to end. Hopefully the answer is sometime before the next Olympics.

In this we have a silly Eddie, Steve and Max are sneaky, and Max and Eddie have their first competition.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10

Steve continued to have good days and bad days, but always Eddie and Robin were there to help him work through the bad. And then he would spill it all out to Dr. Hughes.

Today he had been able to wade out to Max in the main pool to correct her foot work. The water had come up to his chest, just like it did in the kiddie pool.

“All right,” Steve said gently. “I’m going to touch your leg. If you feel uncomfortable in anyway, I’ll have Robin do it instead, okay?”

Max thought about it for a moment. “But just my leg right?”

“Just your ankle even,” he assured her. “Ready?”

Max waded over to the side of the pool and started kicking her feet to level out her body. Steve gently grabbed her ankle and repositioned her foot so it was more like an extension of her leg.

“Whoa!”

“That’s right,” he said, “now keep it like that.”

Robin and Eddie who had been working in the endless pool came back to the main pool just as Steve was pulling his shirt back on.

Eddie eyed the wet swim trunks and the happily kicking Max and a sly smile spread over his face. “Stevie... you wouldn’t have happened to have gotten into the pool with Max would you have?”

Steve batted his eyelashes innocently. “Who me?” He turned to Max. “Did you see me get into the pool?”

“Nope!”

Eddie knelt on the side of the pool and said, “I’ll buy you ice cream for the next month if you tell me if he got in the pool.”

Robin sneaked up behind him and with Max’s help pulled him into the water as gently as they could, as to not trigger Steve.

It must have worked because when they all came up for air, Steve was doubled over with laughter.

“Absolute menaces the lot of you,” he said once he caught his breath. “I got the competition schedule for next week. Max is in beginner and Eddie in intermediate. I tried to argue for higher, but they because you’ve been out for so long, they want you in there first to see if you have room to grow.”

Eddie wiped the water off of his face. “That’s fair. I don’t think I’m ready for higher yet anyway.”

Steve gave him a fond look. “And then that’s what we’ll do. If you don’t feel comfortable competing at above intermediate yet, then I won’t force you. I just worry they’ll accuse of you of deliberately choosing lower to spank fifteen and sixteen year olds.”

Eddie blinked at him for a moment.

“Oh.”

He went to go shove his hair in front of his face, but it was all tucked away in his cap, so he started to sink into the water.

Steve, Robin, and Max all watched as he held his breath under water.

“So how long do you think he can hold his breath?” Max asked after about a minute. “Because I think cell death happens after three minutes.”

“Eh...” Robin said waving her hand back and forth, “about four to five, actually.”

Just then Eddie burst through the water, gasping for air. He wiped the water away and looked around. “So is anyone going to be nice and completely forget that happened?”

All three of them shared glances with each other and then said together, “No.”

Eddie buried his head in his hands. He slunk off to his lane with a sigh. “Woe! Woe is me! For I have been forsaken by my own team. Woe!”

Steve and Max shared a glance.

“Is he always this dramatic?” Max asked, eyeing Eddie splashing about and moaning about his fate or some shit.

Robin scoffed as she pulled herself out of the pool and rotated to sit on its edge. “This is tame for him, if I’m being honest.”

Eddie stopped his sputtering and turned to her quickly. “I? I am dramatic?” Then he made a sweeping bow, nearly face planting into the water. “Why thank you!”

Everyone giggled but Max and Eddie got back into their lanes and started practicing again. Robin got up and went to go stand by Steve.

“I’m glad you were able to help Max on your own,” she murmured. “But just remember, if you can’t, call and I’ll coming running, okay?”

“Okay.”

It was their first swim meet and Robin wasn’t sure who was more nervous, Max and Eddie or Steve.

She was sure that that pen lid would be a mangled, tangled up mess by the time this was over with.

She looked around the room, spotting a few friends, the Hell Squad from their own facility, and one very unfriendly face indeed.

Billy Hargrove.

Billy Hargrove was a swimmer from California and he thought living on the coast instantly made you a better swimmer. He even had that bit of surfer boy charm. You’d expect this blond haired, blued eyed, tan Adonis to start singing Beach Boys or some shit, but no.

Billy Hargrove was an ass. And he hated all the comparisons between him and Steve at the last Olympics. Dude went on to barely win bronze in two of five events and not medal in any of the others.

Today he was wearing a red and gold coach’s jacket with HARGROVE emblazoned on the back with two blonds standing next him as he talked them in low voices. One was a girl with strawberry blonde hair, green eyes, and bright smile. The other was a guy that looked about the same age as the girl. He looked like he had walked out the pages of Good Christians R Us. Hair neatly cut, blue eyes, chiseled jaw and washboard abs.

Robin hated them both on sight.

She was about to steer Steve away from all that when Billy looked up immediately clocked Steve, who promptly stiffened.

Max and Eddie who were talking to him noticed the sudden change in Steve’s demeanor. And unlike the locker room with Andy, Eddie could tell that this was a different breed of shark coming their way.

“Stevie...” Billy greeted. “When I saw the name Harrington I was wondering if that was you and then here you are. Such a pleasant surprise.”

Robin and Steve shared a bitchy glance. “Pleasant isn’t the word I would use,” Steve scoffed.

“You actually getting in the water, Harrington, or are you going to bitch out again?” Billy went on as if Steve hadn’t said a word.

Steve seethed. Billy had been present the first time he tried to get into the pool after his accident and started screaming.

“Don’t worry, darlin’,” Eddie said with a grin, “Stevie here doesn’t need to get in the water to beat you. He has me.”

Billy looked him up and down and he looked impressed for all of two seconds before he scoffed. “I didn’t think they allowed boys with such pretty curls,” he said tugging on one of the strands. Eddie swatted his hand away. “Maybe you should be on the girls’ team.”

“Last time I checked,” Eddie huffed, “I have the balls for the men’s team. Can’t say the same for the asshole who came up and harassed a guy that had his Olympic dreams washed away because of faulty equipment that left him traumatized and hurt for life, but still loves to swim so much that he would rather coach then to walk away forever.”

Billy’s face twisted in rage and he opened his mouth to reply when the whistle sounded. He jabbed a finger in Eddie’s face. “We’re not done.”

He walked off and suddenly all the tension built up in Steve escaped like a deflated balloon.

“That guy is a dick,” Max hissed. “My mom used to date a guy just like him out in Cali. Wouldn’t surprise me if they were related.”

That made Steve laugh. “I’ll beat him where I’ve always beaten him, in the water. Now come on, it’s time for you two to hit the showers. The beginners are about to start. You’re in the third heat, Max, first podium.”

She nodded and her and Eddie took off their team shirts and hit the showers. Steve looked over at Billy and smirked. Billy was watching every inch of Eddie’s body as he padded over to the showers that were next to the pool.

Robin handed him his bobby pins and he deftly put his hair under the cap, making it as sleek as any of the other male contestants.

The first set of eight girls lined up and then they were off with the shot of the starting gun. Steve watched, looking out for the girls that would be Max’s competition. So far none of the girls showed real promise and that included the girl who won.

The next heat was the same. None of the other girls had the same spark Max did. He looked up to the stands where the families were supposed to there to cheer them on. Robin’s parents were there. Eddie’s uncle, too. Of course Steve’s parents wouldn’t be there. He hadn’t talked them in so long.

He didn’t see the woman that would come to pick up Max and it made Steve squirm a bit. Then just before Max’s heat, he saw her come rushing in. Her hair was wild as if she had been running and she looked out of breath. She leaned over to whisper something to Wayne. Wayne shook his head and pointed to where Max was getting ready to get up on her podium.

Steve went over to her and pointed up at the stands.

Max’s eyes lit up and she waved at her mom. Her mom waved back. Max got up on her podium and put her goggles in place over her eyes. Steve stepped back and gave the judge with the gun a nod, showing that he had moved back far enough. Then the gun went off.

Max easily kept pace with the other girls and managed to squeak out winning by an arms length, touching her pad first.

She pulled off her goggles and looked at her time. She had clearly won. She started jumping and shrieking in the water. She pulled herself out and ran up to give Steve the biggest hug.

“I told you, you could do it,” Steve murmured into her cap.

“Yeah, yeah,” she huffed. “Nerd.”

They went through the next few heats and Max came in third overall in the girls division. Which considering it was her first meet, was very impressive.

Then it was time for the intermediate and as they watched the girls, Eddie began bouncing up and down to warm up his muscles.

“You ready to blow these people out of the water?” Steve asked with a grin. “I gave the organizers one last chance to put you in masters, but they wouldn’t do it.”

Eddie chuckled. “I don’t have the confidence you do in me, but hell yeah, I’m ready.”

Steve slapped him on the shoulder and watched as Eddie got up to the podium. He pulled the goggles over his eyes and turned away from the water.

This is what he loved most of all about the backstroke. Not facing the water or seeing his competitors out of the corners of his eyes. It was just him and waiting for the sound of the gun.

BANG!

And then he was arching backwards into the water, as smooth as silk. His arms and body worked with the water, slicing through like a hot knife through butter. He could hear the splashing of the other competitors but they all seemed so distant to himself. Not that they were that far away. Only that he felt on whole other realm then they were.

He touched the pad and peeled off his googles to look up at the clock.

He was in first place.

He looked up at the stands to see Mrs. Mayfield and Uncle Wayne on their feet and cheering for him. He raised his fist and they waved back excitedly.

It came as no surprise that he won best overall.

He was standing next to Steve celebrating with his team, when the judges came up to them.

“We would like to talk to you about moving up to the masters,” the first judge said with a grimace.

Eddie and Steve shared a knowing grin.

“I think that could be arranged,” Steve said, smug. The ‘I told you so’ lingering in the humid air of the pool.

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @gloomysoup

2- @gregre369 @a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji @eriquin

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @beelze-the-bubkiss

9- @chameleonhair @sadisticaltarts @dreamercec @xxfiction-is-my-realityxx @mac-attack19

10- @aol19 @tartarusknight @morallyundefined

#my writing #stranger things #steddie #ladykailtiha writes #olympic steddie #olympic swimmer au

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fatale-distraction · 1 day ago

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We Are Family - An EmmRook one-shot

Rating: General

Pairing: Abigail Ingellvar (Elven Mourn Watch Rook) x Emmrich Volkarin

Tags: Fluff, domestic fluff, slice of life, humor

SPOILERS for Emmrich’s personal quests!

Summary: Just a cute little one-shot. Abigail is teaching Manfred a very special word to surprise Emmrich. Spoilers for Emmrich’s character arc.

For more on Abigail and Emmy’s relationship, check out the other works in this series, and Abigail’s profile!

Full one-shot under the cut. Please consider checking it out on Ao3 as well!

"Okay, Manfred," Abigail said patiently, holding up an old learning primer. "Let's try this again. 'Papa.'"

The skeleton hissed and dropped his jaw in what Rook had come to learn was his version of a smile. Abigail sighed.

"Papa," she insisted, lowering the book. "Come on, Manfred, at least give me a 'puh' sound. Emmrich will be so delighted to hear you call him papa!"

"Magic!"

"Magic practice later, Manfred! Right now, I need you to say 'papa.'"

Manfred gave a disappointed hiss and clacked his teeth.

"The stupid creature isn't going to call him 'papa,'" a snide, irritated voice called from across the room. "As if Volkarin weren't ridiculous enough with that construct, now you'll have it chasing him around like a duckling calling him Father."

"Shut up, Hezenkoss," Abigail muttered at the glowing skull. "Or I'll put the cloth over you again. You can go night-night like a cute little canary."

"I am NOT a cute little canary!" Johanna screeched, the skull clattering slightly on its pedestal. Abigail rolled her eyes and mouthed mockingly along with her while Manfred clapped his hands over a garbled giggle. "I am a scientist!"

"Yes, yes…"

"Disrespectful whelp!"

"If you don't have anything useful to say, then kindly shut your yap," Abigail requested with a prim sniff. She straightened her floppy bowtie and turned her attention back to Manfred. "Once again, sweetling. 'Papa.'"

"Lunch!"

"Manfred!"

Johanna groaned long, loud, and resonating. "Construct!" she shrieked. "Say 'Papa' or I will self-immolate and take this entire room and everything and everyone in it down with me!"

"Bad!”

"Very good, Manfred." Abigail gave him an encouraging pat.

At this moment, Emmrich bustled through the door, arms laden with books and sheaves of parchment, cheerfully murmuring to himself about Fade resonance and magical feedback loops. Abigail took advantage of his distraction to hurl the learning primer across the room and out of sight. She held a finger to her lips and Manfred covered his mouth with both hands.

"Ah! Abigail!" Emmrich smiled when he noticed them sitting at the table. "And Manfred, what are we learning today?"

"Lunch!"

"Stupendous!"

Abigail sighed again, fondly this time, as her partner unloaded his burden on top of his desk. Manfred skittered to his side to assist.

"I'm glad you're here, my dearest," Emmrich said, sorting through pages of neat, faded scrawl and precise geometric diagrams. He turned, leaning against his desk with one ankle crossed over the other and smiled at her. "Manfred and I have been working on a little surprise for you. Manfred?"

Jeweled eyes rotated one way and then the other. Manfred turned back to Abigail, crossed the room and threw his bony arms around her middle, resting his head on her bosom.

"Mummy!" he hissed happily.

Abigail's jaw fell open, eyebrows bent upward. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes and she gave a wet, joyful laugh, hugging him back. "Oh, Manfred…" she murmured, resting her cheek on top of his smooth skull.

Emmrich watched them with damp, smiling eyes. Johanna retched in the corner and was ignored.

"We've been practicing a surprise for you, too," admitted Abigail, brushing a finger under her eyes. "Go on, Manfred, give it a try."

The skeleton gave another joyful hiss and took Rook's hand, towing her behind him across the room, where he took Emmrich's hand. The Mortalitasi looked down at him in expectant amusement. Abigail tucked herself against his side, Emmrich's arm circling her waist by reflex. Manfred squeezed their hands in his.

"Papa!" He garbled. "Mummy and Papa!"

Emmrich laughed with delight and surprise, pulling his skeletal son into a hug with his partner. Abigail kissed both their cheeks.

"Excellent job, Manfred!" She said, exultant and proud. "Very good."

"BLECH!" Shrieked Johanna.

#dragon age #writing down fatalities #da4 #dragon age the veilguard #emmrich volkarin #Abigail Ingellvar #Veilguard #Veilguard spoilers #da4 spoilers

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demigodsanswer · 3 days ago

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Holiday fic/baby fic

Canon Percabeth in this one. They're about 28 or 29.

If Percy hadn't been there for their entire conception journey, he'd have bet that Annabeth timed her pregnancy to maximize "baby's first holiday" cheer. It had taken almost a year to conceive Sophie though, so her early August birthday, almost exactly in between their own birthdays, was just how it turned out.

But this meant Sophie was holding her head up by the time Annabeth wanted to put her in a pumpkin for Halloween (perfect for pictures), and she wasn't such a squishy newborn for the holiday card (again, perfect). Hell, by Valentines day she might even sleep through the night and let Mommy and Daddy enjoy their romantic holiday.

Annabeth had a real thing for the holidays. Growing up at camp without stable family traditions had turned her into an adult with bins and bins of decorations, and an iron will to throw every kind of party. New mom or not, she was determined to throw their New Years Eve party the same as every year.

Their daughter had spent the last two months in a series of rotating holiday-themed onesies and dresses. Today, she was in a candy cane printed onesie. She'd had a little red skirt on before, but now she was just in baby sweatpants. Her socks were lost somewhere between her stroller and the couch.

Sophie was attached to Annabeth's chest in a baby wrap, but facing out to look at the tree as Annabeth carefully placed ornaments. His daughter's eyes were wide and her chubby little hands outstretched trying to grab onto the glittery red ball Annabeth was holding up in front of her.

"We should get her some plastic ones to play with," Percy said, handing Sophie a wooden nutcracker ornament she probably couldn't break.

Annabeth kissed the top of her head. "She's trying to help," she said, bouncing slightly until Sophie cooed. "Yeah, you like our non-denominational holiday tree, baby?" Sophie made a little noise in response.

"How long before she starts talking?" Percy asked. He knew all the baby books said ten to eighteen months, but a kid who was half Annabeth was sure to start sooner.

"I started talking at about seven months," Annabeth said, "so maybe around then, or a little later. Or maybe she's just like every other baby, and that's okay too." This she said to Sophie, talking into the top of her head, which was covered in thin blonde curls. At a distance, she still looked bald as an egg.

As if to prove she was, in fact, not like every other baby, Sophie turned the kitchen sink on with a flick of her baby wrist. Percy turned it back off. Even at four months, bath time was already a war zone.

Annabeth laughed. "That's a very good trick, girlie," she said.

"We're in for it if she takes after me," Percy said with a smile of his own. But besides the occasional aquatic manipulation, his daughter was all Annabeth -- wide curious eyes, curly hair, and an ability to keep Percy wrapped around her finger. And absolutely perfect.

Sophie was a sign of everything they'd survived and gone through together; she was proof they were alive and grown. And as Annabeth hung an ornament that was a ceramic with an imprint of Sophie's hand, Percy couldn't help but smile to know she was going to grow up with so many signs that she was loved by both her parents all the time.

"No, we'll be lucky," Annabeth said, stepping closer to him to place a few more ornaments near his side.

Percy took the proximity as an opportunity to kiss his wife. Then he planted a kiss on Sophie's cheek with a loud mwah, pulling a giggle out of his baby. So he did it again, and got even more laughter. Sophie dropped the nutcracker to the floor and reached both her hands out, grabbing onto fistfuls of Percy's hair.

"Ow, ow, okay, okay," Percy said, carefully removing her hands.

"I think she's tired of me," Annabeth said, resting a hand under Sophie's bum as she undid the wrap. "Do you want to take her for a minute?"

It would probably be only a few minutes before Sophie reached back for Annabeth. Annabeth was her favorite person, except for maybe Grandma, and Percy had to agree.

But Percy happily took his daughter into his arms, holding her carefully as he let her face out towards the tree. He started pointing at ornaments he and Annabeth had collected together, and a few old hand-made ones from Estelle or his own childhood.

"Do you have a favorite?" He asked her. Sophie responded by reaching out for the large -- "olives, really?" It was a glass ornament that looked like three olives on a skewer for a martini. Percy had bought it for Annabeth a few years ago when he'd found spotted it in a random Christmas shop window. "You don't even know what olives taste like."

"Maybe it comes through in the breast milk?" Annabeth suggested from the other side of the tree. Annabeth did have a horrifying addiction to them. It'd even made it into his wedding vows, that he'd always get pizza with half olive half pepperoni.

"She still wouldn't know what an olive is. Unless she thinks those are boobs," Percy said.

"She's smart, she could figure it out," Annabeth said.

"Did you see Mommy eating those?" Percy asked. Sophie wiggled at the sound of mommy, and started looking around for Annabeth.

"I think my time is up," Percy said, as Sophie's coos started to get louder and more demanding.

"She might be hungry," Annabeth suggested, poking her head around the tree. "Do you want to feed her?"

"I'll give it a shot," Percy said, lifting his shirt up.

Annabeth laughed and pulled his shirt back down. "We've got some bottles," she said.

"Are you sure?" Percy asked, heading to the kitchen. Usually whatever she pumped they needed to save for during the day when Sophie was with Fred or Sally. Percy only got to feed her when he got up with her in the middle of the night, and even that was becoming less frequent as she got bigger. But it was one of his favorite parts so far.

"Oh yeah," Annabeth assured him. "I'm pretty locked into this."

Percy prepped the bottle and sat on the couch, and watched Annabeth rearrange ornaments until they had the perfect flow and balance. Percy cradled Sophie carefully as she took the bottle.

"Was that it? Were you hungry?" Percy asked her.

"That's almost always why she reaches for me," Annabeth said.

"No, I think you're really just her favorite."

"Impossible, she's a total Daddy's girl."

"Oh please, she's obsessed with you."

"I'm the food."

"And I'm just the bottle guy," Percy said, nodding his head down toward the bottle.

"No, you're the fun, silly one," Annabeth said, stepping back to examine the tree with an extremely serious look on her face. Percy was pretty sure she was doing that on purpose, so that he couldn't push back with a simple you're silly and fun too.

Sophie, of course, didn't chime in.

"I love to tell you this gorgeous," Percy said, "she loves you so, so much. Because you're the best mom in the whole world." Percy looked down at Sophie, who was still eating away. "Can you say 'she's the best Mommy in the whole world?'"

Sophie stopped drinking and pulled away from the bottle. For a second, Percy thought she might just start talking.

But she just started to cry. Percy heard the toilet flush in the bathroom. She truly had his skill for disrupting the plumbing.

"Ah, burping time?" he asked her as he sat her up. She responded by spitting up into his lap before he could find a burp cloth.

"Here," Annabeth said, appearing at his side, cloth in hand in a moment. She cleaned Sophie's face first, before just laying it over the slash zone on his pants as he kept patting her back.

"You mean it?" Annabeth asked.

"Yeah, was definitely time for a burp," he said.

"No, that I'm good at this?" Her eyes were on their daughter.

Percy leaned in and kissed her forehead. "Of course," he promised.

"You're such a good dad too," she promised, before kissing his cheek. He'd started growing a beard when she got pregnant, and it seemed to be a crowd pleaser, so it had stuck around long past the birth. The crowd, of course, was Annabeth.

Percy smiled. "Well! It's easy to be a good dad to such a perfect little baby," he said. He lifted Sophie up under her arms as he leaned back on the couch. He held her up, almost like Simba, but so that she was looking at him.

Sophie decided then that she wasn't quite done spitting up what she'd ate. A good bit of her bottle ended up on Percy's chin then into his beard and onto his shirt.

Annabeth laughed. "Alright, bath time for both of you, I think," she said, taking Sophie from him, so he could compose himself.

The shower turned on.

Annabeth looked at him wide-eyed, then to the baby in her arms.

"I did that," Percy confirmed.

Annabeth sighed. "Oh thank the gods. I'm not ready for her to really understand words yet."

"She probably already does," Percy said, wiping his beard with his sleeve. "Her big brain is like a sponge."

Annabeth nodded, before resting Sophie over her shoulder. "I love you," she said to both of them. He saw tears well up in her eyes. "Baby's first Yule!" Annabeth said.

"It'll be perfect," Percy promised, before standing. He wanted to kiss her, but his beard was all milky and his spit-up-on pants were starting to stick to him.

#percabeth #percy jackson #annabeth chase #ask game

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tumb1rprincess · 1 day ago

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Been having a lot of thoughts about Mouthwashing and I just want to get them out

Yeah, kind of late to get into this game, but ever since I watched a playthrough of it, it's been rotating in my head. I feel like I wasn't really scared per se, but definitely uncomfortable, that feeling where you want to look away but you can't. Just, everything slowly unravels before your eyes and like most members of the crew, especially Anya and Curly, you're helpless to do anything about it.

As soon as Anya asked why the sleeping quarters didn't have a lock, I immediately knew what that meant, and now when I go back and watch her interactions with Jimmy after the crash, it makes me sick. She has to suck up to her abuser, interact with him like everything's normal, and praise him when she can, hoping that it'll be enough to keep her safe. And after the crash, she had to take care of Curly all by herself and probably had a lot of difficult emotions about him. He failed her, but she can't hate him, because she believes people aren't defined by their worst moments. And when she has to give him his medication, she sees her own helplessness reflected in him to the point of making her sick. And she probably had to deal with that for a long time before it became too much and she had to ask Jimmy to do it instead.

Curly just becomes another victim of Jimmy's and it especially has to hurt because he trusted him, he was his friend, and now he's seeing him for what he truly is, and he can't do anything about it. He knows he's probably feeling the same fear Anya did whenever Jimmy walks into a room. Or when he gives him the painkillers, he knows it's going to hurt, just like how Anya probably knew that anytime Jimmy forced himself on her. And the game doesn't even show it when Jimmy gives Curly the medicine, you just hear it, and it's these awful choking/gagging sounds like he's being strangled and he can't breathe and it makes your stomach twist so uncomfortably, especially when he cries afterwards. And then it's made even worse when Jimmy cuts off his leg and forces him to eat it, because you see it that time. Every turn of those little wheels to line up his insides right makes him bleed and gasp in pain, and you're the direct cause of it. And if you don't get it right and it gets lodged inside him and he gets sick from it, it's your fault.

Out of all the bad things Jimmy did, I feel like it was his manipulation that I hated the most. He berates Anya when she asks for help, and makes her so meek and scared. He preys on Daisuke's need to prove himself to get him to climb into the vent. And when Curly finally talks to him about what he did to Anya, he turns it on him and makes it all Curly's responsibility, saying it's his fault when Jimmy is the one who assaulted her in the first place.

#mouthwashing #curly mouthwashing #anya mouthwashing #jimmy mouthwashing #daisuke mouthwashing

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latibvles · 2 days ago

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THE TASTE THAT YOUR LIPS ALLOW.

this week on longform ficwriting that nobody asked for — june & benny first kiss that has been rotating in my head like a rotisserie chicken for the past few months. a special thanks to @flipfloplogic & @upontherisers for lending me two lovely girls who get some name drops in this (Missy Campbell and Henrietta Hobbs, namely)! No warnings for this one besides yanno, June being dramatic as per usual.

[ Read it here on AO3! ]

The lipstick’s out in the hut tonight.

Fern’s singing, so it’s a given. They flew a practice mission today while the other three squads flew over the channel — she went right to the Red Cross girls to ask about hair rollers after the fact. Her hair’s long enough for that now, and she was brimming with excitement about the prospect of “dolling herself up.”

As usual, the beds are alight with conversation.

“And you all better be on your feet,” Fern declares from her spot by the mirror, near the door. “Or I’ll never forgive you for it.” She’s dappling rouge onto her cheeks, soft and subtle enough to get past uniform regulation.

“Yes ma’am,” Missy Campbell, one of Rivera’s girls, affirms from her spot on Jo’s bed, where she’d been showing Jo a letter she’d gotten from her husband down in… Australia? Something like that.

“Oh I know you got me, Soup,” Fern hums, June can practically hear the wink that accompanies the affirmation. “I’m talking to that little rain cloud in the corner over there.”

June lifts her hand, and gives Fern the bird from her spot laid out on her bed, staring up at the curved ceiling. Fern giggles still, and June feels her cheeks burning.

“Come on, Juney,” she pleads in that sing-song tone that she so often uses to get whatever she wants, whenever she wants. June’s resolved to not give in this time. Instead she scoffs, rolling her eyes from her spot and letting her hand fall unceremoniously onto her stomach.

“Hm. No. I could say it in Polish if you want.”

“Nie, right?”

“Well somebody better call the General, Sergeant Carmine’s trilingual!” June announces sarcastically, raising her hand in a faux-triumphant fist before letting it fall once more. That garners a laugh, although it might just be because of the ridiculousness of their current bickering.

“So mean,” Fern counters, more than likely faux-pouting in the mirror, which garners in a few scattered, quiet laughs.

“S’fine,” Lena hums. June can see her crossing the room to sidle up behind Fern, patting her shoulders. “Just send DeMarco after her. She’ll sing a different tune then.”

June’s head snaps up.

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?!” She asks — or rather, demands — her voice raising in pitch. She can see Lena’s smile in the mirror’s reflection, watches her shrug her shoulders and June has to fight every urge to cross the threshold and shake the woman around until she fesses up her secrets. As if Lena can sense June’s current urges, her grin only grows infuriatingly wide.

“You just seem to be spending a lot of time together is all,” Lena hums, but June scowls.

“We do not.”

“Very convincing,” Lena counters, “It’s like he’s got Meatball on a leash and you’ve got him on a leash. Making sure he doesn’t wander off or something. Like he’s gonna get lost and wind up in France.” June hates that it’s a good joke. There’s another round of laughter from the other girls, she even sees Willie in her corner of the hut running a hand over her mouth, trying to maintain a level of composure. June has half a mind to shove her head beneath her pillow and call it an early night. She doesn’t though. She rolls her eyes, standing up and crossing over to swat at Lena’s head. Lena ducks out of it and grins, sticking her tongue out.

“Missed me.”

“I was doing you a favor. Trying to knock your goddamn screws back into place.” June declares, cheeks burning as she glowers at Lena, who’s unsurprisingly all smiles.

“If you two mess me up, I’ll tell Benny you’ve both got the hots for him and started a cat-fight in the barracks over it,” Fern declares as she sweeps a brush over her upper lashes, drawing attention to the vibrant green of her eyes as she paints her eyelashes black. Lena takes a couple steps back, hands in the air in mock surrender. She's still snickering and June thinks her head might just light on fire.

"He's all yours, Junebug," she offers, and June scoffs, throwing her hands up in the air before making her way out of the hut into the waning twilight. Sometimes the clouds break and make for a half-decent sunset out here — orange and purple broken up by chunks of white clouds and wispy chem-trails.

A few feet off, she hears a dog barking, and elects to ignore the beat of butterfly wings once again making themselves present in the pit of her stomach.

—

It isn't that she has a problem with liking Benny DeMarco.

Okay, that's not exactly the truth, either. She does have a problem with it. Mostly that she doesn't want to like him — didn't want to before, but for some reason he wasn't deterred by her habit of snapping at whatever and whoever inconvenienced her in a day. It made him a good friend, and presumably, a great pilot to his boys. That patience of his that has him dragging her to the nurse's station after dark to tend to her torn knuckles. That keeps him from being mad at her when she does something admittedly dumb.

She knows that she is, innately, hard to swallow. And while June isn't especially ashamed of that fact, she also knows that there are easier girls to be around — even in the influx of female crews coming to replace the ones lost. Nice, pretty girls, who he doesn't have to scruff like a stray kitten trying to take out someone's eyes.

So maybe it's not a problem with liking Benny DeMarco, and more like a problem with the nearly-impossible chance that he could like her, too. There's a war on, which is much more pressing than whatever inconveniences she could thrust upon him. And either way: he never would, a fact that has her stomach twisting in a knot in a weird mix of rejection and relief.

"Juuuuuuuney," Harrie's waving in her face, pulling her from her thoughts. She's sat between Jo on her left and Henry on her right. Across from her, Harrie's looking at her puzzled, with Carrie right next to her and an open seat right next to the younger girl. "You hear a thing I jus' said?"

June clears her throat, looks down at her beer.

"Repeat?"

Harrie smiles, seemingly unbothered by June's poor listening skills.

"Cap's birthday's next month, s'what I was sayin'. Wanna know what t'get 'er."

"We still do birthdays?"

"I'm still doin' birthdays," Harrie declares, tilting her nose up proudly into the stuffy air of the O-Club. "We did your birthday. N' we did Fern's in Iowa," she points out. Harrie casts a look across at Fern, who's talking to the conductor over by the band with her megawatt smile, made impossibly brighter by her red-painted lips. She claps and bounces on her feet, which is how June knows she's got her way again.

"So what're you gonna get her?" June asks, resting her fist on her cheek.

"I was thinkin' maybe a nice scarf or somethin'. Could ask my mama to knit it. Gets cold up here 'round fall," she explains, and June's listening, but she's also taking in the space around them. Lorraine and Lena are over by the bar, shoulder-to-shoulder. Willie's by the Bucks. Inez is listening to some conversation Croz and Payne are having that she can't hear from over here.

No Benny yet. She elects to ignore the urge to get up and go sniff him out, not wanting to give anyone at the table ammunition.

"Dunno what I'll get her. I'll sign the card, though," June leans back in her seat. Over on the other end of the room, Fern giggles into the mic and greets everyone with her signature: You all miss me?

Scattered clapping, a couple loud whistles and a Hey Fernie! from Dougie, somewhere else in the room. June feels a hand on her shoulder, and nearly jumps three feet in the air. She whips her head around, tilts it up.

Benny smiles down at her apologetically. There's a stray curl brushing his forehead, falling out of place.

"Didn't mean to scare you," he offers as the other girls start getting up, understanding the assignment given to them back in the huts.

"You didn't scare me," June huffs. "Just… surprised me." She feels warm again. Can see Lena's traitorous grin and Fern's half-baked threat about telling Benny she's got "the hots" for him.

"Alright. Didn't mean to surprise you then," Benny corrects. She thinks he'll make a move to sit, but he doesn't as the music kicks up again and Fern starts singing; loud and proud and melodic in a way that Bucky knows he's not. She recognizes the song, too — Harry James, Helen Forrest, she'd heard it a couple times stateside. His hand is still on her shoulder, a paperweight pressing her into her spot.

She thinks, briefly, that if he retracts it she might melt into the floor. It's a thought that bruises her ego, if nothing else.

Benny looks like he's debating something before he says it, hand moving to run through his hair instead of ensuring she doesn't run from him. The strand just flops back onto his forehead defiantly.

"Dance with me."

June pulls a face.

"Get turned down by a Red Cross Girl or something?" she asks, brows furrowing. Benny puts his hand over his chest, still smiling even as he feigns hurt.

"Low blows, Juney. You mad at me?"

"No," she counters, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "Just think you got options, is all." Easier ones, at that. Benny shrugs, lips pulling into a contemplative pout, nodding slowly.

"Maybe," he counters. "But I'm askin' you," he then casts a look towards Fern, over by the band. "And maybe saving your skin." June snorts at that, rolling her eyes.

"My hero," she chuckles a bit, looking down at the floor for a moment before meeting his warm, dark eyes once again.

"Yeah well, I'll be here all night." Benny grins, teasing, and offers his hand to her. She stares at it for a long second — a couple torn callouses on his palms. She's been yanked along by him enough times to know they're warm, rough. She tries not to shudder at the idea of those hands pressed into the small of her back.

She sighs, and takes it.

"Thanks for sparing my feelings," Benny teases again, half-tugging her towards the floor where people are already dancing.

"Sparing your feelings would be declining." June lets him tug her towards him, her hand finding his shoulder to steady herself. "The real victim here is gonna be your toes."

"I can forgive it," he offers of her. His hand is warm on the small of her back. June glances down at their feet, self-conscious in a way that's foreign to her. His thumb traces a small circle where it presses against her uniform. "I've gotcha though. Think I'm a halfway decent lead."

"You think?"

"I've got three sisters and a ma who all like dancing and I think at least one of them would tell me if I was bad by this point."

She laughs at that, looking up at him instead of fixing her gaze on the floor. He's laughing with her, breathy and still managing to crease the corners of his eyes.

"Well I'm trusting you, then." She offers and elects to ignore the weight of a sentence like that.

Benny nods, moving with her around the floor, and she tries to keep looking at him to ignore the feeling that she's being watched in some regard. Like there's something to laugh at right now. She preferred being the center of attention when it came to her crew's flying, not so much her own shortcomings. Benny spins her and is grinning like a madman when she settles back in his arms, wondering if he grew a second head.

"Your brothers never teach you?"

"And give boys another excuse to talk to me? Hell no. Think my dad would throw a fit," she admits after she gets her bearings once more. Benny chuckles at that, nodding slowly.

"And what would they think of it if they were here now?"

Why are you asking me that?

"Piotr would be whisking me away and Antoni would be taking you out back to have a word." It's an immediate response, one that has Benny whistling low and has his brows raising, slightly nudging that hair that she can't stop staring at.

"I'll keep that in mind when I visit."

"When you visit?" June fixes him with an odd look, but he just smiles. She thinks, briefly, about how Meatball stares up at the two of them sometimes — mouth open in a pant, tail wagging without a worry in the world.

"Well if I'm allowed that is. You banning me from the residence, Juney?"

"You don't even have my address."

"Well can I have it?" June blanches at him. She can't really tell if he's kidding or not when he asks that. He spins her again, a little slower, like he's giving her time to think about it without him staring at her. June sighs, reaches up to tuck that stray, defiant hair back into place, and rolls her eyes.

"You're ridiculous." She can feel her cheeks burning, and Benny chuckles.

"That wasn't a no." He points out, and he's right. No, it wasn't. But if she thinks too long about the idea of him showing up on her apartment building's front stoop in his dress uniform, she'll wrench herself out of his hold right now and run for the hills before she does something stupid.

"My mother likes violets," she says instead, tilting her nose up. He nods again.

"Hope that keeps me from getting thrown out on my ass, then."

"No promises," June declares.

And there it is again, butterflies in the pit of her stomach. She wonders if he can feel the sweat forming on her palms, which leads into her wondering if he's disgusted by the warm dampness of it.

When the fuck has she ever cared so much about what a person thinks of her?

The song ends and another begins, this one much slower in nature. For a moment, June's breath hitches, and she swallows hard, feeling shy for once.

"I can go sit if you— if you wanna sit this one out," she points out, feeling obligated to give him that chance to maybe get another girl on the floor. Benny's smile turns almost shy. His hand presses a little firmer into her back, the other giving hers a squeeze.

"Do you want to?" She hates when he asks that, bouncing the ball back into her court and leaving her to make the decision. Because her brain's telling her yes, I want to, this is getting ridiculous, but that stupid desire to be near him is screaming no, no, no.

So maybe Lena's had it wrong the whole time — Benny's the one who's been holding the leash, and she's the dog that might just wander into occupied France if he doesn't tug it with stupid, unassuming questions like this.

"I… don't know," June answers, feeling dumb. He smiles, arm looping around to rest on her hip, pressing her closer to him and leading them in a sway. He leans forward and she feels like she might light on fire with his lips so close to her ear.

"I'll let you figure it out then. Feel free to run whenever you want."

Whenever I want, June parrots internally, ruefully. Sure, Benny, you're really making a great case for me running for the goddamn hills.

He's so warm like this, solid beneath her hand on his shoulder. June wonders if he can feel the powerful hammering of her pulse in her wrist, if he heard it when he lent down to mutter in her ear near that spot by her neck. Fern's still singing, low, smooth and sweet, a proper showgirl if there ever was one. It makes her want to hide, press her face into the crook of Benny's tanned neck and pretend that they're not here.

A dance hall in Chicago would be nice. One of the ones her friends from high school would drag her to begrudgingly — she never liked going to them, because she was no good at this. And she didn't want to give anyone an excuse to laugh at her.

"Whatcha thinkin' about?" he asks after a beat of quiet between them.

"First he wants to know my address and now he wants to read my mind. Anyone ever tell you that you're nosy?" June asks, just to feel that rumble of laughter against her.

"Mostly my sisters," he admits.

"Well they're right. And I was thinking of, uh, high school."

"Yeah? What about it?" June swallows, wondering how much she could share before she ends up as the butt of a joke.

"I used to hate dances. But I don't anymore. That's all."

He hums in that pensive, thoughtful way he always does when she says something that's more loaded than she means for it to be. Putting a little bit of space between them, he looks her over, and June tries not to squirm beneath his gaze. His lips part on a sentence she doesn't get to hear before the shrill sound of someone whistling pierces the room.

"C'mon everybody! Race in the Mess Hall!" she doesn't know who said it, but Benny tilts his head before letting go — not entirely, because he takes her hand in a familiar way and tugs along as people start flooding out of the O-Club. June makes a noise of protest, halfway between a whine and a shout of his name as they follow the flood of people.

"Didn't you eat dust last time?" June points out as the guys who have bikes start tugging them along towards the mess, from where they were lined up outside the club. Benny gives her a wide set grin, tugging her with one hand and his bike by the handles with the other.

"I did not, we had that bomb raid before we could call it. Have a little faith in me Juney," he counters, insistent as they stop in front of the mess. He pauses, swathed in the warm glow of the light from inside. It makes his hair look so much darker, his skin even more warm than before. His smile is blinding, the only thing between them being the bike handles. "Do I get a kiss for good luck?"

"What?"

"Benny! You in or what?" Benny looks into the room, then back at her. He hesitates, then walks into the room, still giving her that smile before he goes.

June feels like she's just been knocked in the chest, had all the oxygen siphoned from her lungs. Dizzy, she leans up against the entryway, watching all the guys shouldering and nudging at each other from their bikes, and her knees feel shaky. Her hands curl into fists.

He wasn't serious, she scolds herself, trying to shake it off. No way he was being serious.

And yet her feet can't move those couple steps to walk fully into the room — forcing people and, on occasion, their dates, to squeeze past her. She can't see him past so many people with dark hair and uniforms, and she doesn't even know if she wants to. What if he looks at her and she really does fizzle into dust, right there in the middle of their makeshift bike track?

She can't. She can't do any of it. She's stumbling back, until her feet hit the grass, and then she's standing there with cool summer wind piercing her clothes. It doesn't do much in way of cooling down her pinkened cheeks, but oxygen fills her lungs good and proper again as she turns her back to the door, hugging herself.

Her heart is still pounding, like it had when they danced, and when he'd touched her shoulder, and—

June could come up with an alphabetized list of all the times Benny DeMarco's made her heart race. She wishes it was something she could indulge happily, but really, it just makes her feel mad and dumb like a little kid with a school crush. Like he knows it and does it all on purpose to rile her.

She shuts her eyes, lets the wind brush against her face like it had a month ago when she'd laid in the grass and he'd watched over her to make sure "no other jokers let their dogs off the leash." The thought makes her squeeze herself tighter, like she could force the memory from her brain.

But she can't. He's embedded himself there.

June feels like she's been waiting there forever, but it's only maybe twenty minutes before the night swells again with laughter, people cheering and bemoaning losses, and of course—

"June! Hey, thought you went to—"

She's walking off before he can finish the sentence, towards the gravel road and down it, hoping that maybe Bucky's decided to go for a drunken nighttime drive and will run her over with a jeep. No such luck, the roads are empty and he can hear Benny behind her still.

"June? Slow down, would you?" Benny asks, and she feels the tips of his fingers brush her shoulder before she's turning around and trying to glare.

More hair brushing his forehead, expression so clearly puzzled.

"Your joke's not funny," June declares with a huff. His brows furrow.

"My… joke? What are you talking about?" June points an accusatory finger at him, face burning as she pokes his chest and crowds him.

"Your- your joke! That whole… kiss for good luck, visiting me stateside thing? It's not funny. It's mean!" She's thankful that they've moved far enough away that no one can pay much mind to her words, or her actions. "Did Lena put you up to it? Or was it- was it one of the Red Cross girls? Since it's so damn obvious, right? I'm just—"

"June, what are you talking about?!" Benny hasn't moved her finger from where it pokes at his chest, over his pilot's wings. The metal is cold against her finger tip, a sharp contrast from the warmth of him. She swallows hard.

"That I— That I like being around you! That I like you! It's all just a joke to you, right? That's why you asked that before that stupid bike race!"

"It wasn't a joke!"

Silence between them, heavy and only broken up by the distant murmurings of others. She stares at him, wide-eyed and flushed, finger still pressing into his wings. She feels like she's just run a marathon around the whole of England — heart pounding in her chest, ribs aching, face burning. She wants to bury her head in the dirt.

"What?"

She doesn't have any time to process it before it's Benny's hands on either side of her face. It's Benny, pulling her forward. It's Benny pressing his lips to hers, firm and insistent and warm. He's so warm. His lips taste like whiskey, and they're soft, and her knees are going weak — hardly registering what's happening here beyond that urge to kiss him back, which she does. Eyes fluttering shut, trying to match the pace he's set — insistent and hungry, like he's trying to convince her of something right now.

It's working, she thinks, feeling dumb as she reaches up to card her fingers through messy dark waves, ruining them further.

They part once her lungs start aching, but he hasn't let go of her. His finger traces a line against her jaw, and she stares up at him dumbfounded.

"I wasn't joking," Benny repeats, and June's well of words has run dry in the wake of it. Like in kissing her he's just stolen coherent thought from her as well. "Jesus Christ, June, you really think I'd be that mean? To you?"

She can't tell if she's really hurt him with that or not. She assumes that she has, and she stares at him for a long moment.

"I-I'm sorry.It's just—" June's lips press into a line. "…I'm pessimistic," she starts out. "And… and I'm not patient, not like you. And I hate losing, bad. And I'm really bad at staying up late and I suck at dancing and being all romantic and all that stuff that girls are s'posed to be good at and—"

"June," Benny cuts her off again, thumb sweeping over her cheek. "Makin' it real hard for me to follow you here, honey."

Her stomach twists at the nickname. She wants to kiss him again.

"I'm giving you a warning," June breathes out. Benny chuckles, searing a kiss between her brows.

"Don't need one. I know what I'm getting into," he insists. "S'why I like you."

Benny's smiling like he's just said the best pickup line of all time. And it works, because June is tilting her head to kiss him again and taste the last bits of whiskey on his lips.

#*poet writes #ch: june cielinski #ship: june/demarco #benny demarco x oc #benny demarco #masters of the air oc #masters of the air fic #hbo war fic

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