#my fic: pageant material

[ladyaj-13]

Pageant Material by LadyAJ_13

Fandom: One Direction

Pairing: Louis/Zayn

Tags: Alternate Universe; Beauty Pageants; First Kiss; OT5 Friendship; References to recreational drug use

Rating: G

Length: 6.7k

Summary: Louis flicks a nearby switch, lighting the bulbs around his mirror in a soft glow. The buttery yellow catches on the edges of his cheekbones, sharpening the dip. He looks more grown up this year. Some of his baby fat has melted away, and he sucks in his cheeks to see what he might look like by twenty five if this pattern continues. Then he crosses his eyes and sticks out his tongue.

Or, the Zouis teen beauty pageant AU.

--

Written for the @zouisfics 2023 Zouis fest! Check out the rest of the fics here.

[yup123abc]

Yup! it's Fanfic

Disclaimer: I have not done this before LOL. Anyway, depending on how wild and wacky I am this may (probably) be long-ish (that is to say multiple chapters). I hilariously had the “hmmm, today I shall write fanfiction for the first time in my life” thought right before the latest S2 trailer dropped so please excuse me trying to work around that. I will also say I’m “playing with” canon here (isn’t that what fanfiction is? IDK I’m uneducated). That said, interpretations of characters, timeline, and events are all from my own perspective and likely tweaked a bit for what I consider uhhhh more interesting? for this story.

High level summary: post-accident Fizz deals with his relationship to what happened to him and what it means for his career. Along the way he is introduced to Asmodeus and the two get to know each other through the trials of recovery. Mostly serious business fic but some fluff is inevitable. Rating: PG-13? However, F-bomb will probably happen due to source material.

Thanks for lookin’!

Ch 1

Fire. Noise. Heat. Pain. Blistering, agonizing pain. Green tongues blinded and blurred as the fire stripped skin from flesh, flesh from bone, unsalvageable bone disintegrating into ash and dust. The limbs that had moments ago been embracing family and friends reached out now for help only to plummet to the ground, no longer a part of him. Never again to be a part of him…

Fizzarolli’s eyes gleamed as they shot open, his heart racing. A quick scan of his surroundings showed not the reds and greens of the circus flames, but instead hung shrouds of ghastly white. It had been a nightmare, another from that night, only a few days ago. The pain was dull now, kept in check by a cocktail of drugs that forced Fizzarolli to fight for consciousness. He wouldn’t mind the balm of sleep if not for the recurring playback of that wretched scene.

A hiss at his side, a bit of movement, the voice came in on muffled tones, “Shit...this’s worse than I thought.”

Lolling his head to the side, Fizzarolli regarded the silhouette standing in his hospital room door. A flash of the nightmare came to him briefly as he saw Blitzo standing there, watching him burn, running...running to find help?

“B-” Fizzarolli’s voice cracked as it came out of parched windpipes, surprising him with its roughness.

“What the hell am I going to do now? You were our ticket to high cotton! Leave it to that stupid son of mine to fuck this up for us too.”

Fizzarolli’s eyes adjusted to the light as the circus manager and his adoptive father, Cash Buckzo, stepped in. Fizz cast his eyes down in disappointment, but still held onto hope that the rest of the family would soon be there. Cash ran his hands over the end rail of Fizzarolli’s bed and squinted as he looked the injured imp over.

“Ya lose all the limbs?” Cash asked bluntly.

“I...y-yes,” Fizzarolli grappled with the affirmative, the phantom feeling of searing pain radiating from his torso yet with him despite nothing to inhabit.

“Shit…” Cash lifted the blanket, studying Fizzarolli with critical eyes. Mortified at the state of his body, Fizz instinctively flinched but no arms or legs drew up to surround him. Instead bandages were all that enveloped him, scarred skin evident in the gaps they left.

Cash at last let the blanket fall back down in disgust, “Just a tail to work with…”

Walking away, Cash stroked his goatee and sighed, looking to the ground. Fizzarolli watched anxiously. That night had been a celebration. Finally, after years attempting to catch Mammon’s eye at the annual Clown Pageant, Fizzarolli had risen from a nobody to a champion performer, bringing fame and fortune to the little family circus he had grown up in. He could hardly believe it. Cash had been overjoyed (well, as much as he let show) with the offer from Mammon to take Fizzarolli under his wing and make him a star. Their little circus would be on the map, royalties would flow back to the family, it was their big break!

And now, not even days after the contract had been signed, there lay Fizzarolli, hardly in any state to perform let alone be the new face of Mammon’s entertainment enterprise.

Fizzarolli’s stomach twisted and turned; he had worked so had for this all his life, only for it to be snatched away at the last moment so quickly. He had let Cash down, let the family down. And what would Mammon think? Fizzarolli could almost cry thinking of how the Sin would take one look at him and then move on to the runner-up as his protege. Not like he could blame him.

“Can you move that tail?”

Cash’s murmuring voice broke Fizzarolli’s reverie. Move his tail…? Concentrating, Fizzarolli tried to get the appendage to swish as it used to. Pins pricked along the base of his spine and he sweat, begging at least that one limb to still be with him. It twitched, then shifted. Each movement came with an electric shock up the spine as the stiff tail curled and lifted. Such a simple movement, but Fizzarolli was breathless with the effort. He looked to Cash who nodded and hummed.

“Maybe we can work with this.”

Fizzarolli stared at Cash, uncertain what he was thinking. A nurse entered, bringing a fresh bag of narcotics. Grabbing her attention, Cash slipped her some money and instructed her to have Fizzarolli put into physical therapy as soon as possible, with however many painkillers it took to get through. And to focus on building up his tail strength. The nurse gave him a quizzical look, but shrugged and pocketed the money before hooking up the drugs and allowing double the dose to flow into Fizzarolli’s veins.

Mildly panicked and confused, Fizzarolli’s vision blurred as he choked out to the receding figure of his old manager, “Wh-what about Blitzo? Did he come?”

Cash turned and sneered, “Are you kidding? He did this to you.”

Fizzarolli’s eyes widened as Cash turned and let the door close behind him, a disquieting coolness spreading through his body as his head collapsed on the pillow and darkness took him once again to that night, Blitzo standing over him, running, running...away.

[actual-sleeping-beauty]

Rose! I didn't see that you'd reblogged the writer asks!

3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

8. What song would make a great fic (to either write or read)?

that is because i decided to after i saw it on my dash like four times lol

3. I really like chopping up my work into small scenes is what I noticed looking back through my stuff. In that same vein, I have three 5+1s and a 4+1 (anniversaries, though I didn't categorize it that way). I also tend towards long sentences. I blame my mother for that: when I was growing up one of the other Girl Scout parents told her she talked to her kids like a college professor, and it's kind of true.

8. God, there are so many. Super 8 by Jason Isbell comes to mind, as does The Night The Lights Went Out In Georgia by Reba McEntire. Both of those already have a distinct plot to them. I also think constantly about writing something based on Late To The Party by Kacey Musgraves; "the world can wait / 'cause I'm never late to the party / if I'm late to the party with you" is just such a soft and lovely idea, and it's the prettiest song on Pageant Material by far. I could also probably write something for IKSW based on the song Pageant Material, now that I think about in. In conclusion, country music, because it's already telling stories so much of the time.

[beneathashadytree]

Hello! Firstly God please forgive me for my sins. Secondly, I was reading ur stories without being registered and i came up with my request so im here now! You do write NSFW right? I just wanna ask for an nsfw porco x fem!reader fic where the reader is a soldier who ofc has a lot of scars on her body. She is a "knight" that was never treated as a woman and Porco changes it. This is very strange lol, but i really love buff women and i think Porco needs one haha

WANTED, NEEDED - PORCO GALLIARD X READER

Warnings : nudity, body image issues, mild breast play and nipple play, making out, fingering, a moment of dry-humping, overstimulation, one brief moment of a handjob, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it people!), messy kissing, fast-paced sex, reader is sensitive, one mention of masturbation, reader is buff and has scars, this isn't proofread, reader is female!

Genre : smut but also fluff? idk lmao

Word count : 3.4K words

Synopsis : Porco was hell-bent on proving just how absolutely ravishing he found his girlfriend---so much that he couldn't have enough of her.

Additional notes : My apologies for taking so long, the weeks have been hectic as you can tell. I did my best to do this request justice! As a professional athlete, I myself have had some of these internal struggles. However, every single body type is breathtaking and certainly loved! Hope you enjoy reading this. Your feedback is appreciated!

Requests : are closed for the time being.

Want to support me financially? Here’s my CashApp!

Masterlist

"Not on guard or anything?"

The leisurely drawl came from behind her, and with a nonchalant shrug that didn't ever give away what she was thinking, she leaned back against the stone wall of the alley, biceps straining against the thin material of her rolled up uniform sleeves as she folded her arms against her chest.

"More time to waste, less worries on the mind, I suppose."

The blonde clicked his teeth in disapproval, kicking the cobblestones as he stood in the soldier's shadow, "People aren't exactly the nicest around here. Attacks can come from any direction, you know. You gotta keep your eyes open, even if you're off duty."

Arching her eyebrow, she asked, "I take it you're more deligent than myself, Pock?"

A mischievous grin made it on his face, "Nah, I only focus on one thing at a time, which usually ends up biting me in the ass down the line," pulling an apple from his jacket pocket, he offered it to her, earning a shake of the head, "Suit yourself."

As he bit down on it, she turned her attention to him, noticing that he was significantly more casually dressed than she was, all decked out in her uniform having just finished her shift for the day, "You look like you haven't got shit to do. Lucky bastard."

With a nod, he spoke between bites, elbow resting casually on her shoulder, and she (thankfully) didn't seem to mind, seeing as she even subtly rested her cheek against his arm, a gesture that didn't slip unnoticed by him, yet he didn't comment on.

"I got the week off. Commander Magath does that after every mission. Says there's no use in running on empty tanks," with a roll of his eyes, he expertly aimed the apple core at the nearest trashcan, proudly smiling as the shot landed, before facing her once more, "You're done for the day?"

She hummed, and he took the opportunity to kiss her cheek softly as she spoke, "Yeah, I'm off the frontlines this weekend, so let's get back to mine. I haven't seen you in a bit."

With virtually no persuasion needed, Porco complied, wrapping his arm around her waist, an almost-obnoxiously proud look on his face as he paraded her through the outskirts of Marley, nearing her Liberio house.

"Can you be any less subtle?" she laughed, nudging him with her elbow, "Really, you'd think you're walking with a beauty pageant from upstate."

"Fuck that, I think you're a goddess," he whispered as he leaned in, teeth nipping at her earlobe as she pushed open her door in a half-assed attempt to hide her raging blush.

With a snort, she set her rifle down against the wall of her rather cramped room, "Over the top as always, Galliard. One of these days you'll see a lithe but curvy woman and you'll lose your mind over her and sing a completely different tune."

Busy fumbling with her sleeves in her flustered state, she took no notice of the way the taller man had snuck up behind her, until two strong arms caged her against his chest, calloused hands massaging atop her uniform and yet still feeling the solid abdominals quiver under his delicate touch. Chin resting against her shoulder, he began to leave a trail of kisses in his wake as she tensed her body, unsure of what to make of her boyfriend's surge of affection at a time like this when she'd just so blatantly exposed her vulnerability to her.

"Never," he breathed heavily against her skin, lips pressing against her pulse point as teeth grazed deftly, teasing but sweet as she uncharacteristically shied away from looking back at him, "I'd still think you're the damn sexiest woman I've ever laid eyes on," with an airy chuckle, one hand carefully crept under her shirt, fingertips dusting against her scarred stomach, "I mean, I'm alone with you for less than five minutes and I turn into a mess."

Something like a mix between a sob and a laugh escapes her lips, "C'mon, I'm probably more muscular than you are," though her words felt more self-deprecating and alien on her tongue than anything, her actions betrayed just how badly she wished he spoke of the truth, in the way she curved back against his broad chest, thighs clenching as she stood still, "And though I haven't checked recently, I'm sure I've got more than a couple dozen scars from the battlefield."

"Love me a woman who can kick my ass and knock some sense into me," Porco inhaled sharply, leaving a gentle kiss on her cheek as his free hand---in complete contradiction to the loving peck he'd just given her---reached up to curl around her throat, thumbing her jaw, "Of course, only you can set the boundaries. But trust me, pretty, if I had it my way, I'd be all over you at any given time."

"It's not that I don't want to," she whispered, a look of pleasure crossing her eyes as Porco suckled on that particular spot on her neck that had light shivers coursing through her body, "God, it really isn't. It's just that," breath hitching as he hummed against her skin, hands stroking her neck and hip simultaneously, "I've never been made to feel like a woman."

With a shake of his head, Porco pulled back momentarily, not missing her frown as he did. Taking a seat on the edge of her messily-made bed, he gave her his kindest and most genuine smile as he held the hands of his girlfriend who still stood with reddened cheeks in front of him, almost bashfully evading his pointed gaze.

"Then they clearly lack all taste," he shook his head, "I promise you, you're the most beautiful woman to me, especially if you can bench-press me or throw me against a wall if I step out of line."

His grin was rather infectious, and the soldier couldn't help reciprocating the affectionate gesture, her hands growing more pliant in his firm grip, "You're an idiot."

"An idiot who's head over heels for you."

Pulling her ontop of him, his large palms rested against her back, absentmindedly tracing her strong muscles as his lips found hers in a desperate heave of breath, and it took all she had not to laugh into the warm kiss, "No, just an idiot," she murmured into his mouth, earning a groan as he brought her impossibly close.

"You won't be making fun of me when I'm done with you," he mumbled back, teeth tugging at her lower lip, tongue soothing the bite as his hands began to fumble with the buckles of her uniform.

"How threatening."

It proved to be quite difficult to undress her like this. With her body writhing on top of him with every languid stroke of his tongue in the crevice of her hot mouth, all the blood had seemed to rush to his cock in seconds flat as he revelled in each moan that he pulled out of her. Uniform rumpling as he struggled with a frustrated growl, he pushed her off for a second to tug at the belts and sleeves with enough eagerness to deem him desperate.

All he could think of was how sweet she sounded, how soft her cheeks were when he cupped them, how hard his cock strained against his pants as inch by gratifying inch she revealed herself to him.

"Fuck, can't believe it's only the first time I see you like this," he groaned, hungry eyes drinking the sight of her skin as she threw her jacket to the floor in a crumpled heap.

Unable to help himself, he eyed the expanse of her body, taking in every white scar, small and unnoticeable or large and glaring back at him. The white tracks looked tender, and though she flinched at his initial touch, she didn't look like she was in any pain.

"Told you there wasn't much to see," she spoke under her breath, looking away with an anxious bite of her lip as she smoothed her hair, only to have him grab her wristly.

"Leave it," Porco instructed, a pointed look in his eyes, "I want you as you are. No need to try and turn this into a stuffy event. It's just us. Just me wanting to make love to you because you're fucking hot," with an arch of his brow he stressed, "We clear on that?"

"But shouldn't a woman feel... softer to the touch?" her voice was quieter than ever, and multiple curses left Porco's mouth at the thought of others having made her feel that way.

He shook his head, hands falling to rest on her broad and muscled shoulders, giving them a small squeeze, as open-mouthed kisses landed on her jaw, breathing heavily as he practiced restraint as best as he could, speaking against her skin, "You're a woman if you feel you are. That's all there is to it."

Audibly sniffling, she gave her boyfriend a smile; a wobbly one, but a smile nonethelesss. Busying her delicate state of mind with his kisses trailing down the column of her throat, practiced hands undid her pants and hastily threw them in the vague direction of her clothes, only breaking away from tasting her skin so that his own clothes would follow suite.

Without wasting any time at all, Porco had pulled her back again into his lap, this time completely bare. Tentatively, his fingers ghosted against her nipples, the shaky breath released from her telling him that he must be doing something she liked more than she let on, only confirmed as she wriggled in his lap, pressing against his cock and having his hips involuntarily buck up against hers.

"C'mere, beautiful," he gruffly said, lifting her up swiftly with one arm, repositioning her so his explorative fingers could flutter against her slit, her folds already damp, a whine escaping her mouth as his thumb began to draw small circles against her clit.

"'M sensitive, Pock," she cried as his thumb sped up, thick fingers grabbing onto her throat, lightly choking her as his lips molded between her own open ones, and she gasped with every delicate swirl against her nub, "I want your fingers. Please."

He couldn't deny his lover's request, and just as soon as the words fell from her mouth, he gently coerced his first finger inside her, falling in love all over again when she whispered his name, clenching around him. Twirling his finger to gather her arousal, she seemed to like it very much, judging by the way she grinded down when a particular curl of her finger sent her body jolting. A wicked smile on his face, Porco's second finger slid with ease with her face hidden in the dip of his shoulder as she panted, even followed by a third finger that pulled a shameless moan from her that delighted him to no end.

"Show me that pretty face of yours while I make you feel good."

Huffing as she obliged, she threw back her head as he pumped his fingers, rhythmically tugging moans and pleas and cries of his name, raspy as his light chokehold on her didn't cease, relentlessly pulling the sounds out of her as she pawed his shoulders, looking for proper grip as she was already lost in pleasure. She looked too damn breathtaking like that, abdominals tensing and relaxing with every quiver of her thighs; Porco would've forgotten about his aching cock if he could have, too enamored by the way she looked like a fallen angel like that.

It didn't take long for her release to come, gasping his name as her back arched, clearly not used to the way his fingers had been thrumming against her g-spot repeatedly. If he wasn't at his wit's end trying to hold back, he would've probably taken a picture of her lewd expression to cement in his mind permanently.

Panting as she came down from her high, he pulled his fingers out, tongue cheekily poking out to swirl around them, lapping every last drop of her essence, humming because he never knew anything that tasted this sweet to him. He was sure she could taste herself on his lips when he fervently kissed her again, and even in her orgasm-induced haze her hands fumbled around to reach his cock, already dripping with precum, the clear liquid more than enough for her to start stroking him.

He wasn't stupidly modest, he was well aware he was larger than most, and he knew that pleasuring her with his fingers first was both the bare minimum he desired her to have, and necessary for her to be able to take him. Porco only wanted her to come out of this blissed out, high on his affection for her and never doubting just how crazy he was for her. If anything, the way his cock throbbed the very second she fisted him should've been more than enough reassurance for her that her muscular build and scarred skin was everything he's ever wanted of her, because it was a part of her.

"I'm okay," he insisted, gritting his teeth as she tightened her hold on his cock, veins pulsating against her palm, almost salivating herself at the sight of him slowly unwinding in her hands, "F-fuck, babe, seriously, I'll cum."

She gave him a lazy grin, her post-coital bliss clearly not yet having washed away, "That's kind of what I want for my hot boyfriend."

Shaking his head, chest heaving, he gripped her wrist firmly, stopping her pumping of his weeping cock, "N-no. I mean, I want to cum inside you. You're okay with that, aren't you?"

"Mhm," she nodded, kissing the corner of his mouth, before grabbing his chin for a more forceful makeout session that couldn't last more than a minute with the way they were both humping against each other, desperate and begging for more, yet unable to untangle themselves from eachother, the soldier only briefly pulling back, "More than okay."

Gripping the base of his cock, he aligned himself at her entrance, his tip teasing her slit back and forth, her breath catching every time he nudged her overstimulated clit, huffing impatiently as he did the motions over and over again, torturously slow and almost-mocking.

Losing all patience, she took matters into her own hands, guiding his cockhead inside her with a satisfying dull pop and an imperceptible sigh of relief. Breathing out heavily as he bit the inside of his cheek, concentrating hard so as not to spill inside her already, she took him inch by inch, at an achingly slow pace, with every slight jerk of his hips she responded in tandem with a huff.

"Porco, 'm sensitive," she whined out when he began to knead her breasts, hands almost having a mind of their own as fingers pinched her pert nipples, a wanton moan being ripped out of her throat as he fully sheathed himself inside her, and despite every inch of him wanting to pound her into oblivion, he stilled his hips.

Taking his sweet time kiss down the length of a massive scar crossing down her collarbone, he made it his number one priority to show her just how loved every single trace of her battles were; how the entirety of her being was so captivating to him. A minute or two had passed, before she pushed her breasts up into his warm palms, a clear indication of her readiness and want.

Without any prior notice, the warrior candidate pulled out almost entirely, before slamming up into her, the gasp tumbling forth from her lips causing him to swallow it in a messy kiss, a mix of tongue and drool and teeth gnashing and gnawing, hands groping and squeezing and searching. No longer willing to have any self-restraint, he unabashedly began to fuck her with reckless abandon, cock slamming into her, relishing in the way she was almost squeezing him.

"F-feels so good. Shit, Pock, you're driving me insane, 'm gonna lose it," gasping, words coming out garbled as she met each and every one of his powerful thrusts, hands scratching as she tried to seek purchase in his back.

Her boyfriend guided her hands to the back of his neck, his own nestling her spine and head to pull her into another dizzying kiss, his cock mercilessly driving in and out of her clenching pussy, her walls fluttering around him and virtually sucking him inside even deeper.

Hands trembling with pleasure, he guided her hips through every slam of his cock into her g-spot, watching how she nearly unraveled at the very notion, "You're perfect, like you were fucking made for me," he moaned out, shamelessly taking her with every ounce of his strength, lust clouding his senses and sheer adoration overriding any another possible emotion, "Looking so pretty when I fuck you like this, can't get enough of you."

His pace not letting up, her half-formed words fading into whimpers and needy cries of his name only sent his clouded brain into overdrive, wanting nothing more than to please her, so much so that she would never ever doubt his infatuation by her body, curled in against his and fitting perfectly around him.

"My beautiful woman," he growled, biting into the skin of her neck, almost animalistic as he marked her as his, his instincts baring their teeth as he watched her body began to tremble; thighs begin to shake from the intensity of it all, "Gotta make you feel like you're a fucking goddess, hear me?"

"Mmmm," incoherent, she buried her face into his own shoulder, "More. W'nt more."

Deliberately, his thumb traced figure eights on her swollen clit, watching as her hips began to stutter, his cock drilling into her with the goal of getting her to unravel as fast as he could, because God, she felt too good and he didn't think he'd last more than a minute longer with how her cunt was taking him, and if his sweetheart wanted more, then he'd give her more.

With a spasm of her muscles and a pornographic moan of his name, she tumbled over the edge of her pleasure, her pussy quivering and pulsing. Thursts growing erratic, Porco began to chase his own orgasm, his lover's overstimulated sobbing bringing him to what probably was the fastest release of his life, groaning her name like it was the only thing on his minds, his eyes almost rolling to the back of his head.

He couldn't believe just how perfect it had felt, even as he spilled his cum inside her gummy walls, unable to stop his hips from jerking at her tiniest movement. Panting as though he'd just run a marathon, he brought her to his chest and rested her head right above his racing heart, not even bothering to pull out of her pulsating pussy. Lying there with his beloved in his arms, tracing every milky-white scar that crossed his vision and drawing shapes on every muscle that still occasionally spasmed, he tried to calm himself down to the best of his abilities.

But try as he might, he wasn't getting any softer, buried inside her like that. If anything, all the cockwarming only made his sex drive shoot so much higher than it normally was, his need to feel her cumming around him overwhelming. All the stillness did was have him grow fully-hard once again, earning an exasperated expression from his girlfriend, messy hair stuck to her sweaty face and all.

"We've literally just had sex!"

With a shrug, he added, "But we could always go for round two. If you're up for it that is."

"You're insatiable," she huffed out, pushing herself off his damp chest, and he prepared himself to have her scold him and tell him to just jerk himself off in the shower or something.

Porco chuckled, "Fine, fine. Get out then so I can have some alone time."

"Who said anything about leaving?" she grinned mischievously, readjusting herself finally and sitting fully upright, his cockhead knocking at her g-spot as she did, Porco's breath hitching as she trapped his hips between her knees, her palms resting just below his navel, "'Bout time I put these muscles to good use, don't you think?"

Returning her smile with a smirk of his own, his hands landed on her ass, "Shit, that body of yours is going to be the death of me. Be my guest, beautiful."

Taglist: @blondeboyfriend

[dreamingofaizawa]

Guys My Age

Title and concept inspo: Guys My Age by Hey Violet

Soft Dom! Aizawa Shouta x Medium-sized Fem! Reader

Quirkless AU

***18+ Fic***

You must be at least 18 years old to participate in this reading. If you are under the age of 18 please step out of line and find another fic. Thank you and have a good day.

Warnings: Age gap, praise kink, DD/LG dynamic and terms, use of the words daddy and sir, light bondage, overstimulation, smut. 

Word Count: 4.1k

Author’s Note: I KNOW, I know, I write a lot of Aizawa fics, and they’re all DD/LG stuff. I know, okay? It’s an obsession, I’m in love with this man. Anyway, another soft dom Aizawa, but reader isn’t very well-versed in intimacy. Also, reader is what some would call medium-sized. Not necessarily big, but definitely not small. This is for all my medium-sized girls, including myself. I was very self-indulgent with this one.

Part 2

Enjoy~

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You’d always been told you were mature for your age. It wasn’t until recently you realized how true that statement might be. You’re currently 21. And very, very single. You’ve had a total of six different relationships, and all of them fell through for one very simple reason. The boys you dated were just that. Boys. They were extremely immature. Only ever wanting to ‘hang with the boys’ or stay at home. No effort was put into the relationship on their part after the first few weeks. You didn’t understand why these vastly different boys were all so adamant on staying inside.

You’d tried desperately to get them to go out on dates with you. You offered to pay, and drive, and literally anything else. But no, they were too busy playing video games or getting higher than the damn sky. Don’t even start thinking about sex. You hadn’t got any of that shit since your first ‘boyfriend’ at 17, who used you like a sex doll and broke it off once he found someone hotter and sexier and altogether better in his eyes. You were sick of it. So you did the last thing you’d ever want to do. You went on a blind date.

You’d stumbled on a website last week that allowed you to set up a blind date with a stranger. It seemed legit, and had background checks on all participants. It also allowed you to put in any preferences you had, and matched you with someone that had similar preferences and hobbies. The age range you put in? 30-35 years old. Because guys your age just didn’t cut it. You needed someone more mature, someone who could treat you like a woman, not some girl.

Today, almost a week after matching with someone, you were standing outside an italian restaurant. You didn’t know his face, just his name and age, and that he was a teacher. Aizawa Shouta, 31 years old. And he’d sent a single message when you matched.

Meet me at this location on Saturday. When you enter, I’ll be at the back corner table. Semi-formal. 8 pm, please don’t be late.

It was blunt and straightforward. You liked it. You just hoped he wasn’t quite this blunt in person. You’d put on a black knee-length cocktail dress with a halter top and a partially open back that fell to the small of your back. It accentuated your shoulders and the top half of your torso before fanning out at your waist, the silky material falling and swaying around you. 

You slipped on simple white heels and silver jewelry, with a white clutch purse. You’d decided to pull your hair into a loose half-up half-down, a silver comb pinning your hair in place, minimal makeup and clear lip gloss. For the first time in a while you felt pretty. You knew you weren’t exactly small, but the way you were dressed gave you confidence.

You looked at your watch. 7:55 pm. You took a deep breath, straightened out your dress, and stepped into the restaurant. The host asked if you had a reservation, and you told him you were meeting someone who already arrived. He let you pass, and you walked back to the table Aizawa told you to meet at. He had his back to you as you approached, but you could see his broad shoulders and muscular frame easily. 

He wore a white long-sleeve button down, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a black vest fitted to his form. His slacks were also fitted, showing off his muscular thighs. His long raven hair was pulled in a half-up half-down similar to yours. You hadn’t even seen his face yet and he looked delicious.

Your heels clacked on the wood flooring, and as you neared the booth he turned to look at you. You stopped next to the table and got a good look at the stranger. He was beautiful. His dark bloodshot eyes looked tired, the bags underneath giving him away and only adding to his appeal, and a scar curved under his right eye. A sharp jawline, with a tamed scruff, and thin lips in a neutral expression. You were about to introduce yourself, but he stood from the booth and held his hand out, palm up. “You must be (y/l/n) (y/n).” You smiled at the gesture, and placed your hand in his. “That’s me. And you are Aizawa Shouta. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He pulled your hand to his lips and placed a kiss on your knuckles, before leading you to your seat.

As he sat down, you noticed a bottle of wine sitting in the center of the table in a bucket of ice, and two glasses of wine halfway full. One sat in front of you, and the other in front of Aizawa. He began the conversation with a rather specific question. “So, (y/l/n), why are you on a dating website looking for men that are so much older than you?” Normally you’d take offense to a question like that, but the way he said it was pure curiosity. So, you answered. “If I’m being honest, it’s actually pretty simple. Guys my age just don’t know how to treat me.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, a barely noticeable smirk tugging at his lips. “And how do you want to be treated?” You smiled a little at the implications behind the question, and answered. “I don’t want to be stuck in my room while my ‘boyfriend’ plays video games and smokes weed. I don’t want to be ‘one of the boys’, and I don’t want to have to plead and beg to go on a date or spend time with him. I want to be treated like a woman, not a girl. And I want to spend my time with a man, not waste it on a boy.” 

At that, Aizawa smirked and sipped at his wine. You both took a quick look at the menu and ordered when the waiter came. As you ate, you talked about random subjects and hit it off quite well. The date went by quickly, and at the end of the night you’d exchanged numbers. “I look forward to another date with you, Ms. (y/l/n).” “The feeling is mutual, Mr. Aizawa.” 

When you got back home, you undressed and cleaned your face and got into bed. As you lay there, your mind drifted back to the date, and how undeniably handsome Aizawa is. The way he spoke to you like you were his equal, and looking at you like an ancient treasure. He was everything you wanted, without even considering anything sexual. Little did you know he felt much the same way.

____

When the date ended he texted Hizashi to let him know he was free. Hizashi, of course, called him immediately, and began drilling him about the date. “How’d it go Sho? Was it a rando with a thing for older guys? Did she want a sugar daddy?” Shouta rolled his eyes. “No, Zashi, she wasn’t looking for a sugar daddy. She was...actually really mature for a 21 year old. She knows what she wants. I admire that a little. And I won’t lie, she’s quite beautiful. Not the generic, model, beauty-pageant, barbie doll pretty. It’s a natural glow she has. It’s...quite mesmerizing...”

Hizashi exploded on the other side, laughing at the new infatuation his friend had for a blind date. “I hope she’s your type, Sho. I mean physically. I know how much you like them with a little meat on their bones.” Aizawa groaned at his comment. He knew he was just teasing, but that his blonde friend was 100% right. He knew he had a type, and he’d be lying to himself if he hadn’t looked at your full figure quite frequently. 

He’d taken in your dress, how it showed off your shoulders and back. As you climbed into your car and took off your heels, he trailed his eyes up your legs, getting a small glimpse at your thick thighs. When you sat up behind the wheel, he revelled in the small rolls showing through your dress, wanting nothing more than to squeeze them and kiss them and bite them...

He shook away the thoughts that were threatening to take over his mind. “Shut it Hizashi. Her body is none of my concern, and is most definitely none of yours. I enjoyed the date and that’s what matters.” The loud blonde gasped dramatically, “Oh my god she totally is! Damn you go get some Sho!” Aizawa just ended the call.

*

*

*

The next date was planned once again by Aizawa, and it was only a week after the first. It was a simple coffee date at a small cafe. You talked casually about the things you enjoyed doing. You convinced him to let you take care of the next date, which you decided would be a relaxed ramen date. You’d gotten comfortable around each other, and after about six more dates, he invited you over to his place for dinner. Of course, you accepted.

He’d sent you the address and apartment number, and you stood outside his door in dark jeans, black flats, and a beige sweater with a white tank top underneath. You knocked on the door, and when it opened he greeted you with a peck on the cheek. It had become a normal greeting, since you’d gotten so close, though the gesture always made you a little shy. He told you to get comfortable as he finished up dinner, and you sat at the kitchen table and admired him as he worked in the kitchen. He wore fitted blue denim jeans, and a black cotton t-shirt, his hair pulled up in a bun. 

No matter how many times you looked at him, he was always just as shockingly handsome as the first time you saw him. His t-shirt left his toned arms exposed, and it was fitted to his torso, showing off his muscular frame. Your eyes traced the outline of his muscles from his shoulder, down his arm, drifting to his hips and up his back. You didn’t notice him glance back and smirk at you. “Like what you see kitty cat?” Heat rushed to your face at the realization that you’d been staring, and the fact that he’d noticed. And that name… “K-kitty?” you barely whispered, before quickly apologizing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to stare.”

You didn’t think he heard the first part. You were wrong. “It’s alright. And yes, kitty. Don’t like the pet name?” Your face burned at the tone of his voice. “N-no, the name’s fine, you just...caught me off guard.” He chuckled. “I should do it more often. You’re cute when you’re flustered.” You didn’t think your face could get any hotter, but it did. You tilted your head down and away from him and bit your lip, letting your hair fall to hide your face. You’d never gotten this kind of attention before, and you had no idea how to handle it.

You were too busy trying to calm your breathing to hear him approach you. The proximity and demanding tone of his voice made you jump a little. “Look at me, kitten.” You swallowed and took a breath before turning your head to him, and he hooked a finger under your chin, tilting your head so you were forced to sit up taller. He moved even closer, your shoulder brushing against his abdomen, and you nearly had to look straight up to look in his eyes. 

Your eyes began to drift away from his, and he jerked your chin up higher, silently commanding you not to look away. You brought your eyes back to his and held his gaze, and after a few moments he smirked. The hand under your chin moved to stroke your cheek with his knuckles. “Good girl.”

He quickly dropped his hand and went back to the kitchen to finish preparing dinner. It took you a few seconds to let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You panted a little, trying to calm yourself from what just happened, and clasped your shaking hands together. But they weren’t shaking from fear. In fact, you couldn’t quite tell why you were so shaky and out of breath. And the praise from him sent a shiver down your spine.

He managed to distract you while you ate, and you had completely recovered from whatever that was earlier. After dinner you moved into the living room and relaxed on the couch while you talked some more. Soon he’d leaned his head back and closed his eyes, still talking and listening, but clearly relaxed. Once again you found yourself distracted by his body, following the muscles in his neck down to his toned chest and abdomen. And again, he noticed. “I can feel your eyes on me, kitten.” His voice was low, a rumble of smooth baritone. You found yourself turning away to hide your face again, and the command in his voice controlled you with ease. 

“Don’t look away from me, kitten.” You turned back to him, and when your eyes met his, you looked away, and he let out a low growl and your eyes snapped back to him. He adjusted and sat up, your eyes still fixed on each other. He pat his leg, “Come here kitty.” You blinked at him, not quite prepared for such a demand. His eyes darkened a little and his voice dropped to a growl, “I won’t ask twice.” 

At that you got up and went to sit on one of his legs, but he pulled his knees together and shook his head. So you climbed over and straddled his legs on your knees. He grabbed your hips and pulled you so you were fully sitting on his lap, your core dangerously close to his growing bulge.

Your eyes were still locked on his as he leaned close to you, his hands rubbing circles into your hips.  He leaned past your face and whispered into your ear. “Can I touch you kitty?” You took a shaky breath and nodded. He laid a light spank on your ass and you jumped. “Use your words kitty cat.” “Y-yes, you can t-touch me.” He laid a kiss on your neck and whispered ‘good girl’ before moving his hands under your sweater and tank top. He ran his hands up and down your back, and he gripped the fatty flesh of your stomach and hips, kneading it in his palms gently as he worked his way up your body, leaving feather light kisses along your neck and jaw.

The intimacy had you quivering, and the way he nearly worshipped your body had your breaths coming out shaky and heavy. Shouta caught on quickly. “Is it safe for me to assume you haven’t done anything in a while?” he said in your ear. You started to nod, but quickly caught yourself, “Y-yes.” He stilled his movements and wrapped his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. “Tell me what you did before this.” You took a breath and explained the situation as simply and quickly as possible.

His arms tensed, clearly upset that you’d been used like that. But he didn’t pry into that right now. “So you haven’t explored anything? Like any preferences you might have?” You shook your head quickly, “N-no...why?” He chuckled. “Well, kitty, you’re quite submissive. If you’d let me, I can help you explore this side of you.” You swallowed and nodded. “Y-yeah, I think I’d like that.” He hummed into your neck, “We can start tonight, but only if you’re comfortable and you want to.” You took a few moments to think about your answer. This man had been nothing but good to you. He treated you with more respect than all the boys you dated had combined. And you trusted him. “I...I’m comfortable starting tonight.”

“Alright kitty. Now, listen to me closely, because this is important, okay?” “Okay, I’m listening.” “Good. Since this is new to you, we need to establish a safeword. Is ‘roses’ alright?” You nod. “Okay. Now if anything ever gets too much for you, if you feel uncomfortable for any reason, if you need to stop for any reason, or if there’s a medical emergency, you need to use it. And that goes for me too. If I don’t like where things are going, I’ll use it. Once we use the safeword, everything will stop right there, no questions asked. Understand?”

“I understand.” “Okay. Can I trust you to use it if you feel the need to?” You nod, “Yes. I’ll use it if I need to.” He kisses your neck, “Good girl.” The praise makes you shudder, and you feel him smile into your neck. “Now, kitty, I want you to address me as either ‘Daddy’, ‘Sir’, or ‘Master’ when we’re like this, do you understand?” “Yes.” He spanks you a little harder. “Yes what?” You jump at the contact “Y-yes Sir.” Another kiss on your neck, “Good girl.” He leans back and taps your arms, “Up.” You lift your arms and he pulls off your sweater and tank top at the same time. 

His hands come back down on your shoulders, and he runs his hands down your chest and stomach, taking the time to remove your bra and knead your breasts. He wraps his arms around you and stands up, and you wrap your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist as he carries you to his bedroom. He puts you down on the bed on your back and takes a rope out of the bedside table. You let him take your hands and tie your wrists to the bar at the headboard. It’s not uncomfortably tight, but a few experimental tugs tell you it’s solid and you won’t be getting out of it unless he unties you.

He trails kisses down your body, unbuttoning your jeans and removing them as he goes. Once your jeans are off, he loops his fingers in the band of your panties and pulls them off. After that, he leans back and just rakes his eyes up and down your body, eating up every inch of your skin. “You’re such a pretty kitty.” His words have you shuddering and blushing. You’d never been called pretty before, and you knew why. You were a little bigger than other girls. You weren’t necessarily insecure about it. You didn’t care all that much about how people saw you with just your looks alone. But you knew Shouta was admiring your body after knowing who you are as a person, and it made you a little giddy.

His mouth and hands were all over you, squeezing and groping, sucking bruises onto your skin. His touches were sending waves of heat through your body, and pooling between your legs. You desperately wanted him to touch you there, and you whined and rolled your hips up into the air. “Such a needy kitty. Be patient. I’m not done here yet.” He rolled a nipple in between his index and thumb, pulling the other into his mouth and teasing it with his tongue. You mewled at the sensation, and he switched his mouth over to the other side.

Your legs were rubbing together, begging for friction, and he finally moved down to your dripping core. He took a finger and slipped it over your folds. He groaned as his finger collected your slick, “You’re so wet kitty. Are you this wet for me?” You nodded your head frantically, and he laid a light smack on your pussy. You let out a soft whimper, “Yes Sir, it’s for you,” you answered quickly. He hummed, “Good girl. I didn’t even need to remind you to use your words.” He kissed the inside of your thigh, and moved to lick a stripe up your folds. You gasped at the new feeling, never having anyone’s mouth down there before.

He slipped the pink muscle into you easily, groaning when he tasted you. The sound sent vibrations through your dripping cunt, making you squirm at the pleasure. He looped his arms around your legs, dipping his fingers into your core and using the slick to rub tight circles onto your clit. An unfamiliar sensation built in the pit of your stomach, your muscles tightening in your abdomen as it got stronger. You knit your eyebrows together, and in between heavy breaths you gasped out, “S-sir...it feels strange.” He raised his eyebrows at the statement, and increased his pace until that coil inside you snapped, which didn’t take very long.

Your back arched off the bed as you let out a loud, sharp moan, your legs shaking from the intensity of your first orgasm. Aizawa kept lapping at your pussy, letting you ride out your high, and once you were relaxed and panting on the bed, he lifted his head and wiped his chin. “Kitty, have you never cum before?” He asked, a small smirk tugging at his lips. You shake your head, “No S-sir...Is that what just happened?” He chuckled, but didn’t answer the question, “You’re going to have fun tonight kitty.” You didn’t have time to question what he meant, though, because he slipped a thick finger into your core, and you mewled as your walls clenched down on him.

The game he played went on for what felt like hours, and you lost count of how many times he’s made you cum. He’d fucked you and cum multiple times himself. You’d already squirted several times, and tears were streaming down your face from the overstimulation. It felt so good, but it was starting to melt your brain and the title of ‘Sir’ drifted to ‘Daddy’ as it went on. All the muscles in your body were burning from flexing so hard, and your wrists were feeling raw from how hard you’d been tugging at your restraints. It felt so, so good...but it was too much. He leaned down close to your face and kissed at the tears, “You’re doing so well babygirl. You got one more for me?” 

You giggled lightly at the praise, your mind fuzzy, unable to form coherent thoughts as he thrust his hips into you. He stilled his movements and caressed your jaw. “How are you feeling, kitten?” Your eyes looked up into his, struggling to stay open. You giggled a little as you answered. “It’s… I f-feel…” You knit your eyebrows together in concentration, searching your brain. “R-roses?”

Everything stopped, and he instantly reached up and tugged off your restraints, and pulled your exhausted body close to his chest. Your breathing got heavier, and your chest got tight, and fresh tears fell down your cheeks. He held you tight, kissing your tears and petting your hair as your cries died down. He held you like that until your breathing was normal again. You slowly opened your eyes, weakly calling out to him, “Daddy?” He kissed your forehead, “I’m right here kitten. Tell me what you need.” You nuzzled your head into his neck and mumbled, “Water. Can I have water?” He wrapped you in a soft blanket and stood up, carrying you with him. “Anything for my kitten.”

He set you on the counter and made a glass of iced water, holding it up to your lips. As you sipped, he rubbed your back and kissed your forehead and neck, and he didn’t stop or move until you had drained the cup. He left it in the sink and picked you up again, taking you to the bathroom and filling the tub with warm water. He turned off the tap, took off your blanket, and carried you into the tub. He washed the both of you, massaging your scalp, and you let out a sound like a pur, which he smiled at.

When he was done, he stood you up and wrapped you in a fluffy towel, dried himself with one, and carried you back to bed. You curled into him, and he wrapped his arms around you. “Are you okay (y/n)?” You nodded into his chest, “Yeah, I’m okay. It was just intense.” You could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke, “Thank you for using the safeword. You did so well for me kitten, trusting me like that.” You nuzzled into his chest some more, relishing in the heat his body gave. 

You loved the praise he gave you. It made you feel warm and fuzzy in your belly, and it felt so good. Soon you were drifting into a deep sleep, comfortable in Shouta’s arms. This was nice. You’d be happy to let him guide you, let him take care of you like this. One thought drifted through your head as you drifted.

‘Guys my age could never.’

[euphoniumpets]

masterlist of multifandoms.

The Umbrella Academy: 

Diego Hargreeves (number two):

S-stuttering 

Forgotten Love

Panick Attacks 

A Family Reunion

War of Hearts 

Five Hargreeves (number five):

Peace Again

Stuck In Between 

This Thing Called Love

I Will Always Worry About You

Sweet Things And Bitter Things 

Meeting Father Dearest

Worries 

A Final Goodbye

Spoiled 

Archie

A Different Attraction

Cursed:

Merlin:

Sweetcheeks

Lancelot:

Addiction *

Beautiful Mornings 

The Red Princess (1/3)

The Red Princess (2/3)*

The Red Princess (3/3)

Worries

Always

Nightmares 

My Love *

Baby Fever

I love You’s 

I Will Always Come Back For You

Braids 

Novocaine

The Devil All The Time 

Arvin Russell:

Comfort 

Bruises

Protective 

Happy Birthday Baby Boy *

Into The Devils Eyes Of A Preacher 

Sweet Baby Child 

Marvel: 

Peter Parker: 

Stargazing with Peter 

Pageant Girl

Shang-Chi:

Busted*

Karaoke Nights*

How I Met Your Mother

Dumplings

Boyfriend material

Marry Me*

A true love kiss

Insecure

A picnic date

Wenwu:

Nightmares 

The Avengers: 

Take Over

Youtubers: 

Corpse husband:

Family Cuddling

Agoraphobia 

Haunted 

Cuddle Buddy

Baby Bump (1/2)

Baby Bump (2/2)

Opposite Attractions 

Nap Time

A Chaotic Anniversary

I’ll Show You

Moments Like This 

It’s Snack Time 

Flirty Interactions 

‘‘Wait, Corpse is a what?’‘

Why Do You Love Me? (1/3)

Why Do You Love Me? (2/3)

Why Do You Love Me? (3/3)

Without You

Sleep Deprived

Stranger Things: 

Steve Harrington:

Monster Hunting

The Haunting Of Hill House: 

Luke Crain: 

Freezing Cold 

Family Dinner 

The Haunting Of Bly Manor:

Peter Quint: 

It’s You, It’s Me, It’s Us

Teen Wolf: 

Stiles Stilinski:

Failure 

Isaac Lahey 

Long Enough 

Harry Potter:

Harry James Potter:

Beach Waves 

My Name:

Jung Tae-ju:

Hurt 

* means that this fic contains smut in it. this is a masterlist where it will be updated frequently. 

[grayintogreen]

I was not technically tagged, but at least two people on my dash were like DO WHAT YOU WANT NO ONE IS YOUR GOD, and you know what? They’re right and valid. 

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

96! And 90% of them are from just this year. Can’t wait to find out what the big 100 is gonna be. Any one of my WIPS could be Disney’s next 100th fic.

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

455,024 (also mostly from this year...)

3) How many fandoms have you written for and what are they?

In my entire life??? Since I was twelve??? I don’t even know, man. I wrote a lot of ooc crackfic and fic for cartoons when I was on FF.net, and then I was on LJ and wrote for a TON of different fandoms, but on AO3, I have written for Critical Role (so much CR), Yashahime/Inuyasha, Guardians of the Galaxy, His Dark Materials (TV), Steven Universe, Bleach, Alias, Supernatural, Dollhouse, Pushing Daisies (the last four were all transferred here from LJ, though)

4) What are your top five fics by kudos?

- turning wine back into water (Critical Role, de-aging fic with plot, 30457 words)

I STILL CANNOT BELIEVE HOW POPULAR THIS FIC IS. It beat out two of my super popular GotG fics that have been up since 2017 BY A LOT. Apparently, there was a market for the Mighty Nein being adorable cocktail brats and saving the world. Thanks, Liam’s Quest!

It is probably one of the most wholesome fics I will ever write too. I love it.

- Sunshine Came Softly (Guardians of the Galaxy, Rocket and Mantis friendship, 3188 words)

THIS FIC STILL GETS HITS EVEN TODAY. It was written right after I saw the movie so it hit hard and fast on the hype train. 

- Mine Is Just a Slower Sacrifice (Guardians of the Galaxy, Rocket-centric, 2248 words)

BOY YOU CAN TELL THESE FICS ARE ANCIENT BECAUSE I HADN’T DEVELOPED MY TITLE NICHE YET. where are the lower caps and Seanan McGuire lyrics!!

Anyway, this was written probably IMMEDIATELY after I saw the movie and had to process Rocket’s emotions during the last moments, because of who I am as a person. For what’s mostly a character study, it got some mileage on it.

- they drink dreamers up like brandy (Critical Role, 1625 words)

Back to Critical Role! I wrote this one when I was in a fucking blind post-finale haze and producing massive amounts of Kingsley content and I wanted to write a silly fic about Caleb being tiefling catnip. 

- if adversity breeds character (we’ve character enough for two) (Critical Role, Beau and Molly-centric, 1824 words)

I feel like most of my most kudos-ed CR fics are Beau-related, which is funny because I never really wrote her EVER. I guess I need to write her more often. ANYWAY, this one got jossed immediately after 141, but I needed to write Beau and Molly bantering and I couldn’t get her flipping him off after revealing her card is Rumor out of my head.

(Incidentally my sixth most kudos-ed fic is my Fjorester next gen fic, WHICH I WAS NOT EXPECTING AT ALL. IT’S A FIC BASED ON MY OC FANCHILDREN!! I’M VERY EMOTIONAL ABOUT THAT!!)

5) Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Usually!! There are times when I forget and then it’s been so long that I never go back, but I like responding to comments. They make me so happy and I want to make sure the people who take the time to comment know that I see them and appreciate them. Especially if they give me long comments. You long commenters know who you are and I value you and also flail incoherently in your direction.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

God, probably this church takes no conversions simply because, like, the whole ending scenes are MISERABLE AND FULL OF ANGST and then it has the hopeful ending that is actually a bullshit lie.

But second place probably goes to what couldn’t i offer, what couldn’t i give, which is just misery porn in disguise as a character study. Sorry, Cree.

7) Do you write crossovers? If so what is the craziest one you’ve written?

Okay, so back in the day when I was a tineh fanbrat I wrote a lot of self-indulgent crossovers featuring my friends and I in true Mary Sue format being ~saviors of the world~ alongside our favorite fictional characters and after I grew out of that, I very rarely did it again, because as someone who can only write AUs if they’re high concept and can only write crossovers if the canon welding is pristine, it’s difficult.

I have ideas for some! I just haven’t written them yet. Or they’re sitting in Google Docs partially written.

8) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

Not to my recollection, which is insane, because I’ve written some things in my youth that deserved it, but also I was a kid, so maybe I definitely did not deserve it. Don’t send hate to kids!!

9) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

The first smut I ever posted on AO3 involved some fucking American Gods flesh horror shit, so that answers your second question.

Basically, yes, but I write smut to facilitate character development in a way that regular story beats can’t, mainly with characters who are in some way deeply fucked up and have unbalanced dynamics. 

So basically chances of me writing smut that isn’t Creecien or Lucigast? Very low. (I haven’t written Lucigast smut yet but I will. Inevitably.)

10) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that anyone’s told me, but one time when I was a teenager someone ripped off an entire group messageboard RP I was in and tried to pass it off as a fic they wrote.

11) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not that anyone’s told me!

12) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I tried and it did not work out, because of (non-wanky) reasons, but it’s just not something I’d be very good at. I was the kid who wanted to work alone on group projects. I’m bad at group work.

13) What’s your all time favourite ship?

That I’ve WRITTEN??? Because that at least narrows it down significantly. Sesshoumaru/Rin hands down. It’s a good dynamic and they’re fun and sad at the same time. 

My self-indulgent ass does also enjoy writing Creecien though. I’m putting it out there because I want it.

14) What’s a WIP you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

GOD POOR SUPERNOVAS OF ALL SOUND AND LIGHT. THAT FIC COULD’VE BEEN A CONTENDER, but I unfortunately posted it RIGHT BEFORE the White Diamond episodes aired and it became so jossed by canon so fast that I gave up on life with chapter two half finished. I need to delete it but I can’t bring myself to bury my shame.

15) What are your writing strengths?

Dialogue and meta-narrative and character-specific stuff. I go into every story with CHARACTER FIRST mentality, which is how I end up writing so many damn character studies or why my word counts explode. I’m just out here naval gazing because I love character stuff SO MUCH.

I’ve been told I’m good at fight/action scenes too, which... Shocks me, but I think watching and playing a lot of D&D stuff has really improved how I write fighting and action sequences.

16) What are your writing weaknesses?

[whispers] too much naval gaze. dial it back, bitch. 

I get really caught up in character stuff and forget to do important things like ADVANCE THE SCENE OR DESCRIBE THE SCENE OR LITERALLY ANYTHING. I also don’t think my prose is all that great, but I’m pretty sure every writer feels that imposter syndrome bullshit, so /waves hands. All I’m saying is I have seen some writers on AO3 who are writing some fucking vivid imagery and stringing flawless sentences together and weaving introspection and description together like beautiful baskets and they are stronger than any US Marine and I salute them and wish to be them.

17) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

Iiii try not to. There’s times where I want to throw in, like, a little Zemnian for Caleb flair, but I try to stick to things that are either untranslatable (like German compound words), common phrases (like please or come here), or insults/curses/ pet names. Things that I don’t think Google will fucking lie to me about.

18) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

I think it was a Sailor Moon crackfic about Haruka being forced to enter a beauty pageant which was just a blatant rip-off of Ms Congeniality and oh my god was it awful. I don’t even wanna talk about it.

19) What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

this church takes no conversions, probably BECAUSE it’s my little red-headed stepchild of a fic involving so many things that are just never going to make it popular (backstory fic, fic that is almost 85% headcanon, doesn’t involve popular characters, etc.), but godDAMMIT I love that fic so much. It was fun and I use every bit of that headcanon in almost everything like it’s my job.

shattered stage is a close second, because it was such a crazy concept for a fic that I PULLED OFF SOMEHOW and is this wonderful mix of crazy plot and character and lore and my three favorite tieflings having to work together. And also Jayne Merriweather as the main villain. 

A lot of love went into both of those fics and they are my babies. this time next year we’ll see if I add Creedemption and shoot at fate to this list- probably. All of my epic long fics resolve to be my babies because I spent so much time on them, and I have to love them and cherish them because I raised them into gigantic wordy attempts to write a doorstopper.

[rokhal]

Dia de los Muertos brainstorming

Robbie Reyes and Dia de los Muertos go together like tires and brakes. There’s already several lovely Dia de los Muertos fics for AOS!Robbie, but comics!Robbie needs some, too.

Unfortunately, I am an white and my culture has no yearly custom of remembering our dead. So. IDK what that feels like.

I watched Coco and I’m reading some educational materials, but I figure that’s probably like watching Hallmark movies and reading old Saturday Evening Post issues to research Christmas. The practicalities and idiosyncrasies and frustrations and disappointments aren’t going to make it there.

Like, there’s this feeling at Christmas when you look at the tree and you pick up the little lamb figurines from the Nativity scene and you realize you don’t want to play with the lambs in the tree branches anymore, because you’re not a child and your brain has stopped working that way sometime over the last year. Or when you’re giving a gift to a relative, and you know it’s not really what they want, but it’s within your budget and you can tell they’re doing a good job of acting appreciative but you don’t know how much of the act is genuine. Or when you pick out a gift for a kid cousin, and you’re not sure they’ll like it, but if they don’t like it you are certain there is a gulf of understanding and respect between the two of you that can never be bridged. They don’t include that stuff in Hallmark movies.

Also, I’ve never seen anyone actually leave milk and cookies out for Santa.

I can think of three different angles from which to explore Dia de los Muertos with comics!Robbie: family drama, supernatural, and cultural.

Culturally, celebrating Dia de los Muertos would be an opportunity for Robbie to connect with Hillrock Heights in a positive manner. Maybe there’s a local pageant or musical event to take Gabe to. Maybe there’s face-painting. Maybe Robbie talks to somebody who’s not a coworker or an irate customer or a social worker or a gangster he’s beating up as the Ghost Rider, and has a pleasant bonding moment with a neighbor. Maybe he sees La Leyenda portrayed in one of the pageants as a local cryptid, like Gritty if Gritty put people in the ER on a regular basis.

On the supernatural angle, Dia de los Muertos is the time when the dead can rejoin the living and experience the pleasures of life once more. If I’ve got this right, that’s one reason why the observation is so festive. Eli might be stronger because the walls of reality are thinner. Or Robbie might be stronger for the same reason, and find that colors are brighter and food tastes better than it has since he died. Robbie might be visited by people he avenged, or people he killed, or people Eli killed, who want an explanation or just want to check in. I don’t think it would be appropriate to make a Dia de los Muertos fic where Robbie has to seriously fight for his life against a vengeful spirit, so maybe he just meets someone who is grateful or curious about him.

On the family drama angle, “celebrating and honoring the departed” is complicated by the fact that Eli is one of the departed, and he is actively abusing Robbie. Also, I don’t think it’s ever established in the comic that Robbie’s parents are dead. They probably are, but he doesn’t know for sure. He suspects Eli knows, but I don’t headcanon that Eli would have killed Robbie’s dad. Juliana, certainly, but not Alberto; I think that no matter how sternly Alberto told Eli they were through, Eli wouldn’t believe him, because Alberto was Eli’s most precious relationship and Eli does not respect other people’s decisions. So I don’t think Eli knows what happened to Alberto. Furthermore, for Robbie to include Gabe in the celebration (of course) he’d have to talk about their mom and dad, and Robbie was very young when they disappeared. He probably doesn’t have many memories to share.

There’s a lot to unpack with Robbie’s relationship to Dia de los Muertos and I really wish I had a stronger understanding of the cultural context, because Robbie’s Ghost Rider status and his family history would make it very weird for him.

[mass-effect-tales]

403 Forbidden

Yeah hey hi I'm alive and back with a new fic. I really have no excuse for disappearing so I hope you enjoy this fic as an apology!

Chapter 1: Zero

When most people in the Citadel think of c-sec the image that comes to mind is uniformed turians patrolling with the rare human within the ranks. Marie Hitomi does not fit the image of a c-sec officer.

"Sir, I'm going to need you to put your hands behind your back and step into the car." Marie said as she took out her handcuffs to arrest the inebriated krogan in front of her. To the krogan Marie looked like a child with her four foot five frame against his seven foot build. Unable to stop himself the krogan laughed, leaning against the c-sec vehicle to keep from falling over.

"I didn't know it was take your kid to work day! Where's your daddy little girl? Didn't he tell you not to talk to strangers." The krogan laughed harder as Marie's face turned a deep shade of red. The krogan's laughter turned to spluttering as her partner and mentor Garrus Vakarian turned the krogan around and began to cuff him.

"Sir I'm going to ask you not to mock my partner while you're in the middle of being charged for public intoxication." Garrus said as he eased the krogan into the back of the car. Marie was already walking over to the passenger side and climbing in. She wished her hair was longer so she could hide her embarrassed face.

"You did good today, two traffic stops and a public intoxication, I'd say that's a productive day." Garrus praised, giving her shoulder a pat. He meant every word; it had been 5 months since Marie graduated top of her class in c-sec academy and Garrus became her mentor. While most of the others in the force either ignored her or bet she'd quit before the year was over, Garrus and Chellick did all they could to make her feel welcome at the c-sec office.

"Garrus, this is the eighth time that I've been mocked on duty. No matter what I do, the only ones that seem to take me seriously are the volus and that's only because I'm taller than them!" Marie huffed, looking out the window as Garrus drove to the station. No matter what she tried it seemed no one would take her seriously except Garrus and Chellick. When they arrived at the station she helped Garrus drag the now passed out krogan into the drunk tank before returning to their shared office. Both were surprised to see Chellick waiting for them with a pair of files in his hand.

"Perfect timing you two; I have a case from executor Palin and I want you both on the team." Chellick passed Garrus and Marie each a file with a list of companies and dates.

"Someone has been hacking into these companies. So far nothing seems to have been changed but since the first report more companies have found backdoor programs in their systems and we're being pressured to find the culprit before they decide to take action."

Marie felt like she was going to burst with excitement. Finally a way to prove herself! If she could help solve this case then people would have to take her seriously!

"Do we have any leads? Did the cybercrime division find anything?" Marie questioned as she looked up at Chellick. This was her first real case and she was going to do everything she could to show she could handle it. She didn't like the way Chellick's mandibles fluttered as he looked away.

"Unfortunately the cybercrime division couldn't find even a trace of the hacker. The backdoor program seems to be made completely from scratch and doesn't match any known hackers we've arrested before."

Garrus leaned against his desk as he pondered the best course of action. While he was good with tech, hacking wasn't one of his strong suits. He knew Marie only knew how to override door locks and Chellick had zero experience in either case. If they were going to solve this, they were going to need a professional on the team.

"If that's the case then we should hire one of these hackers. The best way to catch a hacker is with another hacker." Garrus suggested, moving to sit down and turn on his computer. "Remember the case with the information leak at Rosenkov Materials? We hired that quarian who figured out it was a Rosenkov employee leaking the info."

Chellick nodded, remembering the case well. It was a sound idea, something that he was thinking of himself as he waited for Garrus and Marie returned.

"The only question is who would want to work with c-sec? Most of the known hackers have been arrested by us at least once."

"I might have an idea." Marie piped up making Chellick and Garrus look over at her. What if we hire one that hasn't been caught by c-sec?"

Both Garrus and Chellick's browplates rose in confusion. It wasn't a bad idea per se, they just didn't know where to look for a hacker that hasn't been caught. Marie grinned and grabbed her jacket as she headed out the door.

"I'll be back, just going to take a trip to see Barla Von."

--------------------------

Noxis was jolted awake at the sound of a gunfight outside his apartment. Taking a peek outside he could see a couple of blood pack members were in a shootout with some blue suns that wandered too close to their turf. With a groan Noxis tried to drown out the sound of gunfire by playing some music from his omni-tool as he dressed for the day. Turning on his computer a notification popped up with a message from one of his contacts. He read the message as he microwaved leftovers from yesterday's takeout.

Z,

Got a message from B, says he has a potential client for you. Names Marie Hitomi and B said she seems desperate to find a hacker.

Here's the catch, B mentioned she said she's with c-sec at the Citadel.

Let me know if you take the job, I would love to hear why c-sec is desperate for a hacker.

- V

Noxis raised a browplate as he finished reading the message. Taking a bite out of his still slightly cold noodles he began an extensive search on Marie Hitomi to see who he was dealing with.

--------------------------

Marie could feel herself falling asleep at her computer as she finished filing another report. She was left behind at the station while Garrus and Chellick left to collect the hard drives from the first reported incident. Suddenly a chat box opened in the middle of her screen. Confused Marie tried to close out the window only to see that there was no close button. A message suddenly appeared in the chat with the name Zero as the sender.

Zero: I hear you're looking for a hacker

Marie didn't know how to react. Was this the hacker Barla Von mentioned he was going to get her in contact with yesterday or was this their culprit messing with her?

Zero: our mutual acquaintance mentioned you to me

Well that at least reassured her that this was the hacker Barla Von mentioned. After a pause she sent a reply.

MH: Yes, I'm looking for a hacker to assist with a case. You of course will be compensated for your work assisting c-sec.

Zero: meet me at Purgatory, we can discuss payment there

Before she could reply the chat box closed and she was left staring at the report she was reviewing. Quickly sending a message to Garrus she grabbed her jacket and quickly rushed out of the station. Since she wasn't cleared to drive a squad car on her own yet she would have to reach Purgatory on foot.

It only took ten minutes for Marie to reach Purgatory and a minute inside the club to realize she didn't know what this Zero person looked like. Even at 2 in the afternoon the club was bustling with people dancing and drinking. She was going to sit at the bar and hope Zero sees her when she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Follow me." A distinctly turian voice said to her as she was led to a booth nearby. Sitting down Marie was surprised to see a barefaced turian sit down across from her. In the dim lighting his carapace looked almost black but Marie could see by the table light that it was really a dark grey. The white sleeveless hoodie he wore stood out against the dark plates of his bare arms.

"So princess, care to explain why you need a hacker instead of talking to your buddies in cybercrime?" He asked, opening his omni-tool to reread some data he found on her. Marie bristled at the nickname. She had been called multiple nicknames in just the few months she had been on the force but nothing made her react in the way his nickname did.

"The name is officer Hitomi and I would appreciate you using it." She said, hands balling into fists under the table. She could see Zero give her what she guessed was a turian version of a smirk as he pulled up a photo on his omni-tool. To her horror she could see it was a photo of her when she was fifteen and her mother tried to get her into the beauty pageant lifestyle.

"Really? Because I think princess suits you just fine." He chuckled, minimizing the photo and pulling up another window; this one with a photo of her and her parents and older brother.

"Marie Hitomi, second born to Robert and Sayumi Hitomi. Your family runs Suzaku Industry and Hitomi Technical University right? Daughter of a businessman and a university Dean on Earth and yet you're working as a cop on the Citadel. What's wrong? Don't want to go into the family business so you're rebelling against mom and dad?"

Marie didn't want to give him the satisfaction of being right and remained silent. Zero chuckled again as he sent an invoice to her omni-tool. A glance at her showed he was asking for 100,000 credits.

"If you want a professional hacker then you're going to be charged a professional hackers fee. I don't come cheap but I'm good at what I do. If you can't handle it then I'd suggest finding someone else." Zero smirked, leaning back and relaxing into the booth. If c-sec was really desperate for a hacker then he was going to get as much credits as he could from them.

"Of course I'll wait here if you have to go and ask your superiors for the money. I'm sure they have some tax dollars lying around somewhere."

"Done."

He was surprised when his omni-tool dinged with a credit transfer confirmation. Looking at the confirmation message he wasn't expecting to see the money came from her personal account. He looked back at Marie who looked proud of herself. Maybe his silent hunch that she was a trust fund brat playing cop wasn't too far off.

"Well with that settled, I think I deserve to know your name since we'll be working together and all." Marie said as she stood up and held a hand out to him. Even in the dim light he could see the fingernail indents in her palms as he took her hand and gave her a lazy handshake.

"The names Noxis Venictus, can't say I'm pleased to be working with you just yet Princess."

[ladyaj-13]

Sunday Snippet

It's actually Sunday and I've actually written something... it's been so long since I had something to share I've forgotten who may have tagged me in the past, so I'm tagging myself to share this, from my upcoming @zouisfics fest fic Pageant Material.

“Hey, Rhode Island,” Louis quips. He knows the kid is called Mark now, but sue him, he’s got a soft spot for Sandra Bullock. “A few of us are getting together after this. Maine over there, Niall, he’s like a jukebox on the guitar.”

Mark frowns at him incredulously. “The competition starts tomorrow.”

“Yeah...?”

“So I think I’ll get some sleep?” Mark adds, like Louis is some kind of dunce. Jesus, the kid’s worse than Liam was. 

“Sure,” he answers easily. “The crack and hookers can really show up on your complexion the next day if you’re not used to it.”

“Louis,” his mum scolds absentmindedly, then shows Lottie another hairstyle on her phone. The girls’ competition starts in a few days, and Lottie just missed out this year, placing third at state level. They’ll be distracted with plans for next year all weekend. Something twinges when he realises that even if Lottie does get to raise that crown, he likely won’t be there to see it, buried under books in a library three states away.

Louis shrugs, directing his attention back to Mark. “Your call, man,” he says. Your loss, he means. But this is the last time, and he’s not exactly sorry that their last year will be just the five of them riding high together again.

I'll tag back @zanniscaramouche @neondiamond @lululawrence @nouies @mercurial-madhouse and anyone else who wants to be tagged :)

[artificialqueens]

At last we find each other (Branjie) - Thorpe

A/N: Long time, no see! So basically I’m staying on brand. It was “Those long van rides”’s first birthday on the third, and the best way to celebrate fics is with more fics, don’t you think? So here it goes, my 5+1 story, that would not grace your screens for a couple months more if it wasn’t for Pinkgrapefruit, Freyja, and, most importantly, Dane. Neither it would without the most amazing beta this fandom knows, Meggie. I’m so excited to be able to show you my work again, so without further ado - enjoy xx

Five times Brooke Lynn and Vanjie didn’t meet, and one time the did

In fairytales, if two people are meant to be together, their paths will cross eventually. That’s how fate works. 

But life is not a fairytale.

1.

They were at yet another pageant. Vanjie still couldn’t believe how many of them could be organized in the span of a single month - all mixing into one feast of colours, sequins, and foundation too orange to match anyone’s skin tone. They used to be busy before, but with Alexis’s career taking off, “busy” was an understatement. It was only for the good, though. More bookings meant better money and people catching interest in him as well - two things no young queen would complain about. He was enjoying a brief moment of a break before they had to get ready for their performance, all the hustle and bustle of the contest beginning to wear his ever-so-cheerful persona off.

The talent show segment had just begun and Alexis was going in as one of the last girls. Good - they’ll end it with a bang. Vanessa felt a rush of excitement just at the thought of what they had prepared, jumps and twirls and drops he was ready to slay. He was backstage of the venue, peeking through the slit between the glittering silver of the curtains from where he was leaning on the wall. It was hotter than concrete probably should be, but then again - with strong lights everywhere, poor air conditioning, and pressure so high it was clawing at the ceiling - everything there was too hot for comfort. He didn’t have the time to get a good look at the other contestants since their arrival - there were way too many of them, and he was hungry, so once he clapped and whooped as his drag mother charmed the jury, he went on to look for the buffet. Judging from what he could see now, he hadn’t lost much. The curvy redhead on the stage did have some good moves, Vanjie had to admit that, but watching her struggle with her wig constantly getting tangled up in the embroidered material of her sleeves was far more entertaining than the performance itself. Yeah, Alexis had this title sewn up, whichever it was. He chuckled under his breath. Almost on cue, one of the other back-up dancers came looking for him, gesturing to follow her.

“Alexis wants us to go through the routine once more,” she said over the high pitched voice of the host announcing another contestant, her expression reflecting the exasperation  Vanessa felt. He rolled his eyes.

“Hoe’s crazy, she a drag queen or cardio instructor? Hope ya have that mug all set, I tell you that! Mama gon’ whoop your ass if you get on that stage looking busted.” Cackling louder than he should, he uncrossed his arms and used them to push himself off the wall to stand straight. As he was following her down the corridor, he heard the audience cheer louder and more enthusiastically than before. Curious, he tried to look back, but was already too far to see a tall blonde entering the stage in pointe shoes, so he simply shrugged and rushed to keep up with his companion.

2.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Brooke sounded more than skeptical, brows furrowed, as he took in the sight of his friend. Steve was sitting on the bathroom floor - body sluggish against the wall and face the shade of pale that borders on greenish.

“Yeah, must have eaten something off. You and your damn seafood,” he mumbled, probably aiming for a querulous tone, but coming off tired at best, his eyes closed and temple resting on the cool tiles.

“Oh, hold on, bitch, don’t blame me. It was you who came up with the idea!” His mocked offence was soon alleviated by gentle hand coming to rub one of the sickly looking man’s shoulders as he crouched next to him. “You want me to get you anything? Water or something?”

A small ’Water would be nice’ was directed towards his back, as he got up not waiting for the answer, determined to come up with something that would help his friend. He frowned at how weak it sounded and tried to remember some the home remedies his mum used to prepare. Citrus, maybe, or was it for cold? Muttering to himself, he looked at the cabinets with puzzled expression, trying to figure out where the glasses could be. He found them on his first try, realizing Steve’s Chicago apartment was organized just like his old one back in Toronto. He smiled at the memories of all the evenings they spent there, only to wake up in a state similar to Steve’s present one on the next morning.

“I didn’t find anything with ginger, but this will do.” Coming back to his friend’s misery den, he used his chin to point at a mug of chamomile tea he was carrying on a small tray. “And water with lemon, it should help… I think.”

“Won’t be worse than it is now, eh?” Steve lifted the corner of his lips in a crooked, but warm smile. Brooke let out a little laugh and sat by his side, carefully placing the tray on the floor within arm’s reach. “Don’t get all comfortable here, you better start getting ready if we want to make it to the show.”

“Actually, I thought we’d pass on Roscoe’s tonight, you know? You’re not quite killing it on the dance floor right now.” Canadian queen bumped shoulders with the shorter man, raising an eyebrow at him with a smirk when he huffed.

“With a little help of my lovely nurse Hytes here, I’ll be back in shape in no time.” Not bothering with a response, he just glared at the still awfully pale face. “Don’t look at me like that, Brock. You didn’t come all this way to sit in my bathroom. We’re going out.”

“Listen up, bitch. What I came all this way for was to see my best friend. If I cared about clubs I might have just as well stayed in Nashville.” Both his voice and eyes were unusually stern, warning against raising any protest. Soon his face softened as he placed a hand on top of the other man’s one and squeezed it. “I’ve missed you. And if freezing my ass out on those hideous tiles means spending time with you, you can bet I’m down for it.”

“You really are the best, B, you know that?” Steve turned his palm around and squeezed Brooke’s in return, looking up at his friend.

“I do,” the blonde followed back quickly, sly smile widening to an amused grin as the bearded man shoved him playfully. They both leaned back in comfortable silence, Steve sipping his tea, and their hands still interlocked loosely. After a bit, Brooke remembered something. “Who’s performing tonight, anyway?”

“Uhm, some of the local girls, regulars mostly. But there’s someone new, from Florida, I think. Heard she’s a great dancer, really turning it out.” Steve noticed his friend’s sparking interest at his words. “You’re sure you wanna miss out on that?”

“Positive. If she’s really that good I’ll probably get to see her somewhere else, too.” Brooke nodded before helping himself up. “Now, I wasn’t joking about freezing out. We’re either moving to the couch, or I’m building a pillow fort here, you decide.”

3.

The bouncing of his own leg started to annoy him, but it’s not like he had much else to do. For what felt like the millionth time, and probably was pretty close to that in reality, Vanessa let his eyes wander over the departures hall of the Tampa Airport. Children playing tag - or another game that required running around the two huge metal flower pots and screaming like little banshees - on his right, an older woman lifting her crossword to the harsh white lighting and squinting her eyes behind big glasses before writing in another answer, black plastic of the three empty seats, a teenager in headphones tapping to the rhythm on the handrail, young, dog-tired couple with a baby - or just a bundle of blankets from his perspective, a blonde dozing off with her head on another girl’s lap, and a row of windows on the left. He studied the dirt in the corners of the frames and the pattern on the hackneyed green carpet, not even hoping to notice something new, having spent almost two hours on memorizing every spot and abrasion. Slowly, he transferred his gaze to one of the screens, his usual Duracell Bunny attitude long worn out, to once again discover that nothing had changed. Father rocking the baby in his arms, young boy’s fingers twitching to the slightly faster tempo, another crossword solved, and the same red letters arranged into the word ‘DELAYED’ next to the number of his flight.

The Puerto Rican squirmed in his place - another futile attempt to make himself more comfortable - thinking on a way to convince RuPaul to speed up the season premiere. He needed big gigs with bigger tips to start coming, so that he could pay for the VIP lounge and not deal with those cheap-ass plastic fuckers anymore. Did she have a dog? Or a cat? Maybe he could kidnap it and demand the tapes as a ransom, smuggle it into his bag or something. The sudden scratching of the loudspeakers interrupted his inner contemplation of whether Riley would take to their potential hostage. The voice of a bored woman didn’t  sound sorry at all as it was sincerely apologizing for the inconvenience (inconvenience his ass, it was a hell of fucking disaster) and regretfully informing that the delayed flight to Nashville was canceled . Just like that, Vanjie was back at 10, jumping from his seat, ready to throw hands at the first airport worker he saw. He had to settle for muttering curses in two languages, as complaints and grunts took up all the air in the hall. He unlocked his phone and angrily tapped on one of the contacts.

“Miss Vanjie.” He rolled his eyes at the greeting Kameron chose, exasperation fading slightly. “Shouldn’t you be on a plane right now?”

“Child, don’t even tell me.” There it was, anger back to its full form. “Been here for hours, waiting for my gate to be announced, all patient and shit, and now they go sayin’ the bitch won’t fly!”

“Wait, what? Nah, girl, you have to be here!” The Nashville queen whined. They wrapped up filming not even two weeks earlier, but all of the season 10 girls already wanted to meet up, and Kameron’s belated birthday party was a perfect occasion for them to catch up and try to get all of the details out of the top four.

“Lemme go find that plane, Imma go there like ‘Hey, Captain Mateo’s on board, where we flyin’?’ Or ain’t it a pilot? Pilot Vanessa ready to take over!” He heard cackling on the other side and felt himself smile a little as well. With a sigh, the tanned man sat down and started playing with loose threads at the hem of his shorts. “I’m sorry Kammy, it cancelled. Won’t make it”

“No way. When’s the next flight?” Bodybuilder Barbie insisted, but seemed a bit distracted, and he could hear some muffled voices coming from the other side.

“Tomorrow. No connecting flights or whatever.” The way regret sounded in his voice brought back the still bitter memory of his elimination, making him feel even worse. Maybe it was better if he harassed Ru into not airing the season at all? “Can’t do that, gotta be home in the evening, ya know she’s a werkin’ woman, baby.”

“Ow, such a shame, we’ve…” Kameron trailed off and he could hear her talking to someone else. “Sorry, Brooke’s helping me set everything here. I haven’t even unpacked all of my stuff yet, she’s a lifesaver.”

“Who dat?” The name sounded familiar, woke up some faint memories of a crowd cheering and anger boiling behind Alexis’s practiced smile as she waved in a runner-up sash. He recalled green eyes catching him staring in the changing room, but he wasn’t sure - maybe it was someone else.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes. You’ve never met her?” Kam was genuinely surprised. “Girl, you’d love her. I bet you’d hit it off-  What? Shit, no, I forgot. Uh, sorry, Vanj, I have to go. Talk to you soon, girl!”

“Sure. You guys have fun.” His friend hung up with a final goodbye, and he rubbed his eyes, trying to remember which one of those identical counters he was supposed to go to to get a refund on his ticket. Stepping in the direction of a long queue he noticed a familiar old lady standing in, he tried to shake off the pressing feeling of missing out on something important.

4.

He didn’t act on impulse, he didn’t. He planned his every move and word and decision, instinct to always strive for precision etched into lean body with tired muscles, judging eyes of strict choreographers, and ribbons tightly wrapped around his ankles. Impulsiveness was uncertain ground, and expectations growing heavier with every title and crown needed a solid foundation. And yet, there he was - comfortably seated against his headboard with Apollo curled next to him, hitting the blue icon and opening an empty conversation against his better judgment, not allowing doubts and what ifs to change his mind. The last notes of “To the Moon” still played in the background as his fingers started typing.

Watching past seasons, realistically he had known he wouldn’t make it in the casting because of the green card, but seeing all of the queens that got in - he couldn’t help looking for other reasons that wouldn’t get him through, every single thing they had and he didn’t. Maybe it was the fact he finally got the call himself, his life becoming a frenzy of alterations and toning Courtney’s excitement down, or that he kind of knew Vanessa - saw him performing, stood dumbstruck with eyes struggling to follow impossibly quick movements, relishing in the energy and pure joy his small body radiated - and knew how much more he had to offer, but this time, instead of spotting differences, he found a connection.

‘I don’t wanna get emotional with a lot of people,’ the Latino man had said, unwilling to let his resolve crumble for everyone to witness, but breaking down in a lonely corner with Eureka, and the Canadian felt his heart fall a little with bitter wave of understanding. He listened to the crushed voice talking about his fears of letting his family down, disappointing his mum - fears Brooke Lynn knew all too well; saw him holding a silver statuette and winced at the image of himself being in the exact same position in a couple of months - clutching the cold metal like it could prevent his dreams from shattering down on the floor, dreading the thought of all the sets of eyes trained to the screen at Play Nashville.

But, obviously, he couldn’t have written that, so he set for a short and nice message showing his support, nothing too personal or potentially embarrassing. They didn’t know each other that well and, actually, maybe even reaching out to him after his elimination in the first place would come off as overstepping. After all, it must have been close to a year - Vanjie had surely gotten over it months earlier. For a second his finger hovered over the little arrow, weighing the arguments for and against, but he hastily sent the message before he got to think on it too much. I probably won’t see him anytime soon, anyway, he reassured himself with a deep breath, but once in a while glanced to check if the message was received, imagining short fingers sliding over the screen and plump lips curling in the corners.

Two months later, when his apartment looked more like a Samsonite shop than his usually organized space, he set up three alarms to make sure he got up in time to get to the airport and hesitantly opened his Messenger app, scrolling down to one particular conversation.

After checking if the alarms were turned on, he rolled over. And if his smile was a little sad, it was too dark to tell.

5.

DragCon was fun. He was having fun, it was great. He had his booth dripping with flowers, his silhouette snatched, pink and sparkling - all Barbie fantasy that would not get knocked out the first episode, if he could have gotten his hot glue gun on Cazias’s level (or himself on the sewing machine’s level). There was a line of people who came to support him, waiting to take a photo, gagging on his merch and his lovely mama selling it, and he couldn’t have been more grateful. Even if it all was a bit tiring. 

“Hi, gorgeous. Look at that, you look great. Come on, do a twirl. Yes!” He laughed and clapped as a short girl made a turn, long, black braid attached to her hat spinning with her. He pointed at the pentagram sewn on the hat’s brim. “What’s that? You some witch? Mary, if ya lookin’ for Miss Sharon, try again. Ain’t no bobbidi-boo here.”

“I’m in a some sort of a coven, yeah,” she laughed. How excited she seemed didn’t fit with her edgy look - all back and revealing, a crop top with a logo Vanessa didn’t recognize - but it matched her sweet voice and bright smile perfectly. “Oh my God, I can’t believe I’m here. I’m running to the show, but I saw your booth and just had to stop by. You’re amazing.”

“You so sweet, thank you. Let’s get a photo. A nice, pretty photo with that mug of yours.” He led her to the pink wall and posed. As the girl got her phone back from the photographer and checked the time, she suddenly started gathering her bags in hurry and apologized, adorably rambling about the fashion show she was heading to. Vanjie didn’t catch most of it, just that her friend, B-something, was walking in it, but he cackled regardless, amused with the girl’s babbling, before going to give her a usual hug goodbye. “Say hello to that model friend from me, won’t ya? Bye! Have fun!”

Soon the commotion started to die out a bit, and as he could see the end of the queue approaching, he couldn’t say he wasn’t relieved. His fans always hyped him up, but after hours of feeling the tape pull, laces squeeze, and bottoms of his feet prick from standing in heels, he’d have taken every break he could get.

“Vanjie! Can we talk with you for a second?” Vanessa sighed at the sight of WowPresents’s crew approaching him. That’d be it for his break . “We’re interviewing queens for the promotion videos, and we’ve been asking them about you.”

“That’s why everyone saying ‘Miss Vanjie’? It’s just my fucking name. I ain’t mad, though, I love it.” Ever since he appeared in the convention centre there had been people screaming his iconic quote at him at every turn - the crowd providing better acoustic than freaking Grand Canyon, two words constantly echoing in some part of the room.

“Guilty.” The young man holding the microphone laughed. “Could you tell us more about who Miss Vanjie is?”

“Miss Vanjie is a wild, ghetto bitch from Tampa, Florida. Puerto Rican background. And got eliminated first, and is legendary. That’s what Vanessa Vanjie is. With a lotta’ flowers an’ a lotta’ Barbie. They didn’t like it, though, so it got a boot.” He said it like nobody’s business, all cheeky - the nerve everyone loved brought up for the camera. He had had a hard time dealing with his elimination, felt like a failure, and when the ‘Miss Vanjie’ thing blew up, he first thought he was a joke. But as the love and support around him grew, he came to rebuild his confidence. And with season 11 popping up, he felt just that, legendary. “What did those other hoes say ‘bout me?”

The cameraman exchanged a meaningful look with the interviewer. “Actually, why won’t you ask them yourself?”

They were walking through the convention centre, music blasting and people bustling around them, looking for his sisters that hadn’t been interviewed yet. He kept waving to people and screaming through the megaphone in his hand - the sound guy regretted having given it to him after five minutes - as they were approached by a smiling couple and a little boy wearing a feather boa and looking absolutely dumbstruck. He leaped to greet the boy with a bright smile before his mother finished introducing the boy - Noah - as his ‘biggest fan’.

“Ya wanna be a drag queen, little man?” he asked, and the boy eagerly nodded. Vanjie noticed the ballet shoes on his little feet. “Oh, you a dancer? Show me some moves.”

Noah took a step back and stood on his toes to make a turn, ended with a bit shaky arabesque. Vanessa eagerly started applauding him, motioning for the crew to do the same. Noah looked a bit shy and reached for his mum’s hand before speaking, but he smiled back at Vanjie. “I do ballet.”

“A drag queen ballerina? Ya know, someone’s gotta be first,” he smiled warmly. Kids were his favourite part of DragCons, so passionate and creative, and so, so cute. “Gonna keep my fingers crossed for ya. All of ‘em, just watch it.”

Drag queen ballerina , he thought to himself as he bid his goodbye and got the last hug. That’d be something to see.

+1.

Back straight. Shoulders back. Head high.

Breathe in. Hold it. Breathe out. Repeat.

Smooth out the wig. Is that a tangle? No, he brushed it out perfectly, breathe in.

Maybe he messed it up checking? Is there a mirror somewhere? Don’t think, hold it.

Remember your lines. They’re stupid. And boring. He should have thought about something funny. He’s going to make a fool of himself at the very beginning, and now it’s too late to change them, and- Calm down, breathe out.

It’s going to be fine, it’s all going to be fine. It’s not going to be fine, it’s-

A man with headphones, whose name he had heard, but forgot immediately, approached him and gave him a last minute warning, bringing him back from the verge of falling into the spiral. Brooke shook his head - it wasn’t the time to get distracted. He stood at the red line painted on the floor and forced his hand to stay still at his side, despite nervous itching to make sure his hat wasn’t tilted.

“And… you’re on. Come on, good luck.” He opened his eyes, losing the image of smiling Farra, but the encouraging words she would always tell him before every pageant still rang in his head as he started walking towards the streams of bright lights slipping through the pink door frame at the end of the corridor. With every step the screams and laughter got louder, but he couldn’t pick up anything because of the erratic beating of his heart. Breathe in. Hold it. Breathe out. He was almost there, red sequins on his costume glimmering like perfectly cut rubies in the first bits of light already reaching him - making him feel regal, confident, right. Ducking his head a little - just in case - the Northern queen put on his well-practiced smile.

“Is she international?” A loud voice cut through his adrenaline-induced haze, and Brooke automatically turned his head to the left, looking for its source, taken aback for a second upon catching the sight of a smile he knew as good as his own. Without thinking, he rushed to Nina’s side, matching her grin, and fell into familiar embrace. It can’t be that bad with her here, he thought to himself, eyes roaming over heavily painted faces surrounding him, taking in curiosity, furrowed brows, amusement, and- oh .

At the end of the table he saw a short man covered in glitter, though he guessed his skin would have a golden glow even without it. He was clad in red - the shade loud and summoning attention, suiting him perfectly - tight dress hiding toned muscles that had had his gaze lingering a tad too long on Instagram. Full lips curled into the brightest smile he’d seen, showing rows of blindingly white teeth, lighting up the pretty features Brooke knew for a fact weren’t painted on, and bringing a glint to his eyes, which managed to seem playful even behind blue lenses as he returned the Canadian’s ogling with equal interest.

There wasn’t a flutter in his heart, a pang in his chest, or a rush of warmth in the pit of his stomach. It didn’t feel like coming home, like two pieces of puzzle fitting together, or like never having to wonder if he’s enough.

Not yet.

But there was a spark, electrifying the air between them more and more with every quick glance across the room and quirk of lips sealed with a shared secret none of them fully knew, but guarded regardless. And it felt like a promise, like a long time coming change they didn’t realize they had been waiting for until then.

In fairy tales, if two people are meant to be together, their paths will cross eventually. That’s how fate works. But life is not a fairy tale. 

Except sometimes, sometimes it is.

[foegs]

4, 5, 15, 53!

nat! the writing god in general and AU god in specific, thank you for the questions <3

4. Do you have writing habits or rituals?

My browser tabs always have to be in the right order (whatsapp, drive, the actual document, the published fic so far, maps/resources, discord, from left to right) so I don’t have to think about what I’m looking for, mid-writing. Also, if I’m trying to intensely focus I’ll set up a Sprint session on discord so I’m pressured to push my wordcount.

5. Books or authors that influenced your style the most.

Nothing too posh here, I’ve never had a mind for poetry like most of you I see citing influences, but I can trace my writing voice straight back to a tiny handful of books that have been in my life forever. 

Robin McKinley’s The Blue Sword did major work to shape my vocabulary and the way I write self-aware introspection and first-person thoughts. I’ve probably read it two dozen times, so it’s pretty melted into my brain by now. 

Jean Bauer’s YA books have a very distinct voice, and her characters’ narration is pretty dry and they love to cut out words here and there (eg. “He picks up the glass and takes a sip.” vs “He picks up the glass, takes a sip.”) I picked that up, for better or for worse, as well as more styling for first-person introspection. 

Fic-wise, there’s one old Alex Rider fic from 2008 that taught me a lot about making OCs into fully lovable characters in their own right, and I’m majorly attached to several classic Miraculous Ladybug slow burns that have defined the genre for me and which I use as a measuring stick for my own attempts.

15. Where does your inspiration come from?

talking to the ducks, mostly. Reddit as well, but honestly I don’t track idea seeds. So many of my ideas are crack, or AUs, right? Like I read about the Mongol Rally and immediately knew it was fic material. I do read a lot of “long read” articles from like, the rolling stone and vice (boring hours at work, and Pocket is installed on my workstation computer), so concepts will come up and I want to turn them into narrative. That’s where the Cannonball Run idea came from, and the Valewis skate AU. (i promise I’ll write the cannonball run fic after rallyfic. hopefully even in the same verse)

But for things like the CYOA collab or the driver numbers fic, I think that’s just my brain and I can’t trace those ones at all.

53. What does writing mean to you?

It’s been the vehicle to connect with the very best friends I have these days. I had a very low-stimulation childhood with pretty much no media exposure outside of books, so there were a lot of long hours and months and years that just got filled up with me writing with purple ballpoint pen in piles of notebooks. It was shit writing, but if you start early it’s just more time to improve. Even now my job is pretty boring, but as soon as you’ve got a writing project going on, it’s always there for you to disassociate yourself into. 

Every possible answer here is cliche to the max, but writing has also been a good way to push myself into researching things I’d otherwise never learn about, like how to shave a full beard with a disposable razor, the format of beauty pageants, the corporate structure of Hydroflask, the history of Lada, and the flora of Austria. Research Driven Authorship, indeed.

[yoursummerfrost]

I was tagged by @daryshkart! Thanks so much for tagging me :D

Rules: Answer 17 questions & tag 17 people you want to get to know better! 

Nickname: Gabs, Gabster, Gabbo, [riffs off my last name], also people call me Summer and Frost!

Zodiac Sign: Aquarius. Deeply Aquarius. 

Height: 5'3″

Hogwarts house: I love the @sortinghatchats system where you have two houses, so I’m a Ravenclaw primary and a Slytherin secondary (with a Ravenclaw model!) 

Last thing I googled: Easiest Mario Kart 8 Deluxe maps (for a fic shh)

Song stuck in my head:��Marbles by The Amazing Devil ;A;

Following and followers: I follow 220 and I have ~1.1k followers!

Amount I sleep:  Usually like 7.5 or 8!

Lucky Numbers: 10, which is my bday :)

Dream Job: Being the director of a training clinic for student therapists!

Wearing: A t-shirt from my local climbing gym (i miss them so much ;A;) and leggings (and fuzzy socks)

Favourite song(s):  Aaah this is so unfair haha. Mama, I’m Alright by Miranda Lambert and Alone Together by Fall Out Boy are two songs I want tattoos referencing! I would say Pageant Material by Kacey Musgraves is another fave that could tell you a lot about me. 

Random Fact: I have somehow lost an entire plate from a set of 4 plates and I have no idea where it could be because I haven’t left my apartment?? And also it’s a plate?? But it is gone. 

Favourite Authors: Not to be cliche but I’m obsessing over Sapkowski rn, even though I’m only on the second The Witcher novel. And Steinbeck wrote my fave book of all time, East of Eden. And not to be a SAP but my lovely #hellsquad friends @blithelybonny and @soundslikepenance have legit written some of the most amazing things I’ve ever written, so THERE.

Favourite Animal Noises: The little sleepy meeps my cat does, bird song, and that angry noise squirrels make when they yell at you from the trees

Aesthetic: ur local edgy therapist, aka: leather jackets, half-drunk mugs of green tea, brightly colored hair, comfy chairs with fuzzy blankets, a yawning cat, a clipboard with too many handouts in it, and a gym bag in the back of my car

Tagging: @bards-rights-activist @korrmin @pleasesupplymewithyourwahoos @stvrklight @venividivictorious @rainbow-looking-glass @soundslikepenance @blithelybonny @shipped-goldstandard @delthemel @sleepy-skittles and whoever else wants to play! Tag me if you do it :)

[waveridden]

okay i’m going to forget to post this if i don’t do it soon so i am just going to do it now: here is a list of all of the stephen king references in the quantum leap au

category one: characters from the leaps

holly gibney from the first leap is from the mr. mercedes trilogy, which i have not read but i know she’s played by cynthia erivo on tv and that rules because i love her

trisha mcfarland is from the girl who loved tom gordon, which i read in high school and haunts me to this day

tom mccourt is from cell, which i also read in high school and haunts to me this day. the hitchhiker he picks up is the protagonist clay, who is in the bar at the end with his son johnny

this never fully materialized but eddie being a high school teacher was supposed to be carrie, and sue and carrie were going to be in the bar scene but i decided that was too overt

eddie saving his neighbor’s kid is a reference to pet sematary, where the kid dies after being hit by a truck

kitty is the central character of the short story the top rung on the ladder; i retrofitted her with a last name and a personality and some agency in her own life lmao

category two: the flash cards (other than the ones that the fic explains)

betty: betty ripsom

atlanta: where stan and patty live

corcoran: eddie corcoran is a minor character in it (which, uh, mr. king? why did you have two eddies?)

derry: derry, maine, home to clowns and losers alike

abra: abra stone, a main character in doctor sleep

arnette: a setting in the stand

blakely: william blakely is the central character in blockade billy

denbrough: bill and georgie’s last name

sonia: eddie’s mom

marsten: the house in salem’s lot

sidewinder: a town near the lodge in the shining

misery: i mean... misery is just a book,

escalade: the car that eddie drives in clown movie 2

category three: quantum leap references

at some point there’s a reference to eddie’s first leap being to an army base, which is what happens in the first episode of quantum leap

the “horse trainer” stint is because i had seen the first two minutes of an episode with sam on a farm so i was thinking about farm animals. it turns out in that episode he was a veterinarian

category four: not references

the richie/eddie flashback conversation that takes place in a boat on a lake. i just liked the scenery

“a handful of days as a carpenter”

“southdale” is the only flash card that is not a king reference; it is a mall with a fairly nice movie theater and an incredibly cursed h&m (long story)

category five: the surfer

there are two things that i just wrote and then tried to retrofit into king stories. the first one is kitty pruitt the pageant queen; the second one is the surfer. i just wrote “surfer” and then ran with it. i later discovered the book duma key, and i had a couple more overt references to that book but i decided that detracted from the integrity of the story so i took them out. is it duma key? who can say

category six: miscellaneous

richie and eddie’s birthdays are pulled straight from the wikipedia

june 29th is my childhood best friend’s birthday

[iqkittygirl]

7, 20?

7. what was your life like last year? VERY different. i guess the main difference is that i’m single now, and i really like exploring that and being able to pay attention to myself. like, this year i’ve learnt two instruments, started writing a book, starting writing fic, i read every day now. like, i just take better care of myself. i also take better care of the people around me too. i learnt a lot of lessons since last year, and it’s definitely changed me into a completely different person. i’m very grateful for the experiences i’ve had, and look back at it all with a lot of love, a lot of respect, a lot of empathy...but girl, my ex is on to bigger and better things and i’m so happy for her - she finally got the happiness she deserves, y’know? i also have met so many amazing people in the span of a year, like - i’m SO ridiculously grateful for my friends right now. i do be happy. of course there’s moments of sadness when the nostalgia hits, but ultimately, i’m really fucking proud of myself, and happy within myself...which is something i’ve never felt before?

20. what is your favourite song at the moment? i’ve been listening to pageant material by kacey musgraves on repeat...like the WHOLE album.

[rallamajoop]

On the history of the airline stewardess (and why she deserves so much more credit than you probably realise)

So, to recap: in the name of producing one short fanfic, I have now spent far too many months researching the history of the airline stewardess. It's safe to say I came to the subject primed to get sucked in hard (in brief: I hail from an RAF family on my dad's side, and there is a definite vein of aviation nerdery running throuth us all to this day). But as not more than a fraction of that material was ever going to make it into the fic, it seemed the least I could do to give a quick summary of some of the cool things I got to read while getting horribly sidetracked er, writing this thing, and why others might find them interesting too.

If it wasn't obvious from all those quotes in the opening paragraphs (most only-slightly-paraphrased from real news items), I have borrowed heavily from my sources in writing this fic. The bit about Heather's former roommate who kept her uniform pressed every day for months after her marriage, for example, comes direct from the life of stewardess Connie Bosza, whereas most of the rest of the anecdotes about Heather's housemates and homelife actually happened to Sherry Waterman. Usually I'd have worked harder to remix and reinvent, but here I found myself getting so attached to the subject that not sharing as much of these real women's stories as possible felt like the greater betrayal. But I'll skip citing every article I saved in the process (ask if you're really that curious) and skip to the meatier sources.

My own gateway to the subject came from Victoria Vantoch's book The Jet Sex: Airline Stewardesses and the Making of an American Icon, where, in an introductory spiel about the life of her own mother, she lays out the profession as a mass of contradictions. Not only does she cover the subject from the very first stewardess of the 1930's to the equal rights challenges of the 1970's which transformed the industry, the work serves as a fascinating insight (and sometimes horrifically so) into the realities of Cold War gender politics. Vantoch deliberately underlines the case that, just because this is a story about a lot of pretty women doesn't mean it doesn't deserve to be treated as serious history. Though there are places I wish she'd gone into more depth, it's an excellent introduction to the topic (and available as an ebook if you want a copy).

For real inspiration, however, I got far more out of From Another Island: Adventures and Misadventures of an Airline Stewardess—the personal account of Sherry Waterman, one of few real stewardesses ever to get around to publishing a memoir (Flying Mary O'Connor is another, but it's out of print, not available at my mainstay of BookDepository.com, and cost somewhat more than I felt justified in spending on ebay). Beginning around 1950, she worked for American Airlines for 6 years, and when she had exhausted the possibilities of domestic air travel, she transferred to Transocean Air Lines and spent another 3 years flying the Pacific. The result is remarkably readable and captures the scope, the joy and the absurdities of the profession with gusto. (Waterman really did, for example, recognise a surprised-but-flattered Dr. Edward Teller on one of her flights, and has stories to share about passengers getting stuck in aircraft toilets—though in reality, the size of the passenger was apparently the primary issue).

By contrast, though equally well-written, Sex objects in the sky: A personal account of the stewardess rebellion, by Paula Kane, was a much harder read. Like Waterman, Kane spent 5 years with American Airlines, beginning in the late 60's, but she describes an experience of growing disillusionment punctuated by incidents of sexual harassment so unpleasant that my rec for this book probably warrants a content warning. The rebellion Kane chronicles would not have been possible without the prior civil rights victories of the 60's, but the sexual revolution and changing nature of the industry had plainly produced an attitude of entitlement to women's bodies that would become infinitely worse before it got better (and this is one of few subjects I only wish The Jet Sex had covered in more detail). In the process, she captures a moment in her profession's battle not only for their own rights, but to make air travel safer for everyone on board.

I owe a particular debt to Kane's book for underlining something which had gone understated in my last two sources—namely the vital importance flight attendants may play in managing an evacuation from the plane in the event of a crash. And thus it is, of course, that my story obtained its set piece. (For the record, Sex objects in the sky is available to borrow from OpenLibraries online, and thus one of the most accessible sources on this list.)

For more on key role flight attendants can genuinely play in saving lives, I'd also recommend the Angels of the Sky series as the Confessions of a Trolley Dolly website, and the Air Crash Investigations episode Getting Out Alive. For one last great online source I discovered in the middle of writing the story, we have Winged Women: Stewardesses, Sexism, and American Society—a Master's thesis by Michele Martin, which is freely available online, and built around interviews with several retired stewardesses. Don't let the fact it's a thesis put you off this one—it's written in very accessible fashion, and works as a much-abbreviated version of The Jet Sex for a good overview of the history of the subject. It even includes an account of a plane crash where two quick-thinking stewardesses really were instrumental in getting every last person of the plane in the nick of time (most other real-life examples I'd managed to uncover to this point, the heroism of the stewardess was underlined by the fact that a great many people did not make it out).

I would love to say more on the subject, but I don't think I could better explain how this subject grabbed me the way it did than to quote from the sources themselves. So if, by some miracle, you still want to hear more, below you will find quotes from the introduction of each of those three key sources. I'd like to thienk they all, in their different ways, really speak for themselves.

Jet Sex: Airline Stewardesses and the Making of an American Icon Victoria Vantoch

In 1956, when my mother was in eighth grade, she dreamed of becoming the first female astronaut. She went on to become the salutatorian of her high-school class and won first prize in a model UN speech contest that awarded her a month-long, all-expense-paid trip to historical sites around the country. She subsequently earned a B.A. in Slavic languages from UCLA. The Library of Congress Aerospace Technology Division recruited her for her Russian language skills and she moved to Washington, D.C., where she translated Russian aerospace articles on everything from Alexey Leonov, the first person to walk in space, to metallurgy—all of which bored her to the core. She considered graduate school for international studies but did not have much savings and could not stomach the prospect of living on peanut-butter sandwiches for four years, so, in 1968, she brushed up on her Russian and interviewed for a stewardess position with Pan Am, which had just started flying to Moscow. She was devastated when the airline rejected her, but she managed to win a position with Eastern Airlines and her hometown newspaper chronicled her success. As a stewardess, she moved into a boarding house with Alice Paul, one of the twentieth century’s most famous women’s rights activists. While living with Paul, her life was a collage of contradictions. She lobbied on Capitol Hill for the Equal Rights Amendment at the same time that she went to work as a stewardess wearing pale blue hot pants. In 1969, she gave a speech to Congress in honor of the early women’s rights activist Lucretia Mott. The topic: gender equality in the workforce. That same year she also competed in two beauty pageants. She got married, had my sister and me, continued to fly, and spent much of her adult life feeling guilty about being an absent parent. Flying was never really about the money for my mother. It meant freedom from suburban life and office monotony, and participation in a public realm that was usually reserved for men. I rode on flights with her and felt proud—my mother was the stewardess. And since airlines allowed employees to bring their families on flights for free, by the time I was twelve I had traveled to twenty-five countries. Some of my mother’s early stewardess friends went on to get doctorates in chemistry, to work at the Department of Defense, to manage large households of their own, and to become successful attorneys. My mother, however, continued to fly until Eastern went out of business. Without a job at the age of forty-eight, she desperately campaigned for a stewardess position with other airlines. She created a colorful posterboard presentation that read, “I will die if I don’t fly” (along with—I’m serious—a song she wrote about her love of flying) and sent it to the American Airlines personnel department, which, after a series of interviews, hired her.

But this was the early 1990s and, by now, being a stewardess had lost its cachet. Around that time, in my early teens, I was interviewing for admission to exclusive New England boarding schools. During one interview that wasn’t going particularly well, the pompous interviewer in a tweed jacket suggested that I become a stewardess like my mother—“ because of my smile.” I knew then I would be rejected. My face burned. I stopped mentioning my mother’s profession. It was no longer something to be proud of. It had become an insult. My fascination with airline stewardesses began with my mother. It began with curiosity about how a talented public speaker who was nearly fluent in Russian and committed to women’s rights chose a career that ultimately allowed her to be written off as a vapid sex object and, ultimately, as a low-status service worker.

From Another Island Sherry Waterman

I was aware even then of so many little things commonplace to us, and yet so significant. These things were most evident in San Francisco, one of the crossroads of the airline world. A lei of wilted pikake blossoms tossed across a copy of the New York Times – both had been fresh that morning; two roommates had returned from Honolulu and New York. A pair of Alaskan mukluks and an aloha shirt crammed together in a suitcase; another roommate was leaving for Tokyo and returning via the Aleutians. Two stewardesses, chattering on the phone about their forthcoming vacations; each was going around the world in a different direction, and one was saying, impatiently, "Well, okay then. I’ll meet you in Egypt." Six roommates gathered around the table for a spaghetti dinner, pleased by the rarity of their all being at home together, and no one bothering to comment that at dinner the night before, all had been thousands of miles away, in different directions.

This was our way of life and it was natural to us. It was the way most of our friends lived and we often lost sight of the fact that it was not the way everybody lived. We were impatient with people who expected us to make dentist appointments three weeks in advance— who could know where she would be three weeks hence?—and we regarded a six months' lease on an apartment as signing up for eternity. We lived from city to city and felt at home in all of them, but we also lived from day to day, and never felt truly at home anywhere. During the first week in June, Dallas was our home and we loved it. Our roommates were among the best we'd ever had. Then the Texas summer hit with fierce intensity, and we raced to the airport with transfer requests clutched in our perspiring hands. Two weeks later we were settled by the sea in Los Angeles, and we spent the summer on the beaches. But the summer waned and the chilly fogs became more frequent, and it was time to move back to Dallas. So the transfer requests were filled out again. It was October, and one of us was playing Autumn in New York on the record player, and another one of us said, "Did you notice that tree on the corner has some leaves that are turning brown —just like the leaves back East?" So we changed the course of our lives with the eraser on a pencil.

We could follow the sun or the seasons with less planning than most girls give to a two-week vacation. We packed ice skates and swim suits in the same suitcase and used them both within 48 hours.

All of this was in the days before jets, but we still got around pretty fast, and we always measured distance in terms of time rather than miles. "How far is it to Dallas from here?" "Oh, four hours in a DC-7. Or were you speaking about a Six?" Short distances were figured that way too. A girl who lived in the beach area of Los Angeles would have her hair done and her shoes repaired in Washington, D.C., because it was "closer" —a ten-minute walk from her layover hotel. We were familiar with so many cities that sometimes we got them confused. I dropped a token in the fare box of a San Francisco bus and the driver stopped me as I started toward the back. "What's the matter," I inquired, "isn't that token for this bus line?' "Lady," he said, squinting at it, "that token isn't even for this country."

Sex Objects in the Sky Paula Kane

Almost lost in all the sexual innuendo of the Madison Avenue imagery is the primary reason why stewardesses are on board a plane, which is to enforce safety regulations and supervise the immediate evacuation of the plane in the event of a crash. And in crash after crash, the efficiency and courage of the stewardesses have meant the difference between passengers' lives and deaths.

Forty passengers and three crew members were killed in the December 8, 1972, crash of a United Airlines jet at Chicago's Midway Airport. But fifteen passengers survived, many of them because of the heroic efforts of the two stewardesses, Kathleen S. Duret and D. Jeanne Griffin.

The plane crashed into a block of houses one and a half miles southeast of the runway while attempting an instrument landing in scattered fog. Almost the entire front end of the plane was demolished on impact. The two stewardesses, who had been seated in jump seats at the back of the plane, rushed to open an emergency exit, but were driven back by raging flames. They worked their way along the right side of the burning cabin, clearing away the debris of galley equipment blocking the aisle. Then, one by one, they assisted nine surviving passengers to the exit and out of the plane, pausing each time to take gasps of fresh air before returning to the dark, burning, smoke-filled cabin. Six passengers found their own way out through breaks in the plane's fuselage.

The National Transportation Safety Board found in its investigation of the accident that most of the passengers in the cabin section died after impact as a result of inhaling carbon monoxide and other poisonous fumes from the fire. Those nine passengers lived because of the experience, the expertise, and the courage of Ms. Griffin, a stewardess for ten years prior to the accident, and Ms. Duret, a stewardess for seven years.

Yet their actions earned just one sentence in the sixty-one-page NTSB report: '"Nine passengers who exited through the rear service door were assisted by the two flight attendants; these attendants were the last to leave the aircraft."

Their exceptional bravery in carrying out their legal role on the plane, as stated in Federal Aviation Regulation 121391, "to provide the most effective egress of passengers in the event of an emergency evacuation," earned them no citations or awards from the airline.

Stewardesses who please customers, who receive complimentary letters, and provide exceptional "service," receive awards of merit from the airline. But apparently not stewardesses who save human lives. You have entered the weird, upside down, Alice-in-Wonderland world of the airlines. Presumably the companies are very concerned about safety, since the public's concern for safety on planes has been a major problem in attracting more customers. Yet in several areas the airlines display an incredible disregard for elemental safety. Hazardous materials are illegally shipped in cargo bins below the passengers' seats. Cabins are constructed with materials that in accidents emit a deadly, cyanide-filled smoke.

The stewardesses, in charge of safety in the cabin, are dolled up in miniskirts and coonskin caps, "hot pants," and other bizarre costumes. They are seated in unsafe jump seats, in unsafe corners of the plane, are always called "girls," and are treated like children by the company. And when they "grow up," they are encouraged to leave, even forced out after flying a few years, because they are no longer considered girlish enough. The tightly written script they are ordered to act out in the air, including the constant smiles, the constant engaging of each customer's eyes, the constant subserviance, makes it difficult and sometimes impossible for them to enforce even rudimentary discipline during the flight.

The sexual stewardess fantasy has a direct effect on the safety of flying. It also takes its toll on the psyches of the women who play the role. Stewardesses tend to have serious identity problems as a result of being treated like pieces of fluffy assembline line equipment by the airlines. We tend to move in regular stages from romantic idealism to disillusionment to frustration and anger and self-doubt.

[...] But in the past few years stewardesses have finally started to fight back. They have won a series of rulings by the Equal Employment Opportunity Commission that have stopped the airlines from forcing women to retire from flying at an early age and from banning married flight attendants.