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letswritefanfiction · 4 years

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Mistakes Were Made

A series of disconnected oneshots that poke fun at the fandom hivemind, canon, and past!me. I’m taking things that I’ve either observed or done myself and reframing them in parody where hopefully we can just all have some low stakes fun and, at best, maybe learn something about our favorite characters and writing.

Read on ffnet here.

Chapter Two- Hair Color

Or the carpet matches the drapes because those drapes are natural, hunty.

"Iris, what are you doing?"

Cilan watched as Iris lay on her back on a creek bed, her hair the only thing in the water. She was currently inching further into the water, trying to get all the way up to the roots wet apparently without dousing the rest of herself. However, face up, it was easy to look up at the tall man with wide eyes as though she was surprised to see him there.

"Oh, Cilan. I thought you were cooking lunch?"

"I was, but someone never showed up with the water."

"Sorry about that," Iris said as she reached her hands into the water to get the rest of her hairline damp. "I did get the water, but I just wanted to do this first before leaving the creek."

Cilan did see that there was a full bucket of water next to her, and that was also when he noticed a number of other items. He picked up what looked like a paintbrush and held it over Iris's face so that she could see it. "What is all of this, Iris?"

"That's a color brush," Iris said as she started raising her body out of the creek. Cilan's thin brows raised at the casual show of abdominal strength she showed as she did so. Iris had a ton of hair; it had to weigh twenty pounds when sopping wet like that. And here she was doing a sit-up in perfect form, spine and neck perfectly straight, as she tried to keep her drenched hair from slapping her back.

"What's a color brush?"

Iris snatched the tool back from him and put it with everything else as she replied, "It helps you keep your hair dye evenly distributed."

"Hair dye‽" Cilan exclaimed. "What do you need hair dye for?"

"To keep my hair purple, dummy," Iris explained as she wrung the excess water from her hair. "My hair is almost black naturally. What's yours? True blond or is it more of a dirty blond? You can't be brunette with eyebrows like those."

Cilan's hand flew to his right eyebrow rubbing the fine hairs a little bit. "My hair's…green," he said, mystified as to how they'd gotten here.

Cilan, Iris, and Ash had been traveling together for months now and never had Cilan seen Iris with any of the tools she now had splayed out on the bank. None of them seemed remotely like something Iris would even think about carrying. She was more a 'if it can't fit in my pockets I'm not taking it' kind of girl than…this.

"Psh, yeah, right," Iris replied as she reached for a brush with a thin handle and began running its point through her hair. "Humans can totally have green hair. You've spent enough time with your Pansage that you've evolved to share the trait. All totally possible."

The sarcasm dripping from Iris's voice didn't go unnoticed by Cilan. Though he still had no idea where it was coming from. "Yes," he replied. "My hair's green, Chili's is red, and Cress's is blue. What's your point?"

"Eh, Chili's could be natural, I guess. It's a little too primary red to be believable, but I guess he could get away with a chalk or a tint and upkeep would be pretty easy. But you and Cress? Uh-uh. You're talking crazy, my friend."

"I'm talking…" Cilan shook his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. This was more absurdity than he was prepared to take. "You know what? Thank you for collecting the water, Iris. I'm going to add it to the stew before my vegetables burn."

"Good move," Iris said. "I hope you left Pansage watching it and not Ash. He's such a little kid it's probably already burned."

"Thanks, Iris!" Cilan called again as he hurried back to camp.

It turned out that the vegetables were not burned, thankfully, though they would probably prove to be overcooked by the time the stew was cooked down. He'd have to be careful not to add too much water and lengthen the process.

An hour passed. Maybe more. The stew was done and sitting comfortably in the bellies of Cilan, Ash, and their Pokémon with one serving left in the pot for Iris. Originally, Cilan had asked Ash's Tepig to keep the fire going on low to keep Iris's portion warm, but after the sides of the pot began to scorch, Cilan decided he didn't want to clean up that mess and Iris could eat it cold if she wanted to.

"Cilan," Ash whined. "I've got to earn my next badge. Can't we get back on the road?"

Cilan shook his head, trying to hide his own irritation. "I told you, I have no idea what Iris was up to, but I don't think our rushing her would be of any help. Although, I am beginning to get worried…"

"Here I am!"

Just then, Iris appeared in front of them wearing an old, raggy t-shirt with stains all over it and a pair of black leggings. Cilan swore that hadn't been what she'd been wearing back when he'd first seen her, nor had those clothes been anywhere to be seen. Nevertheless, that wasn't what his eyes were focused on.

Her hair was soaked, reaching now to the ground without any ponytails or volume to hold it up. It was straight and had soaked through much of her shirt, leaving it with watercolor rings of purple. And, as promised, it was a vibrant purple from top to bottom. But then…hadn't it always been?

"Hey, Iris!" Ash said, perking up at seeing her. Evidently his frustration from a moment ago had vanished. "Washed your hair?"

"And then some," Iris answered vaguely as she was drawn to the now very cold stew Cilan had made. "Mm, looks good, Cilan!"

"Yeah…it was," he said, trying to temper all lingering irritation out of his own voice.

The boys watched her dig into the pot with a spoon—a bowl wasn't necessary, since the last serving was just for her, but Cilan still would have preferred it. There was nothing much to do now but wait until she was done before picking up and heading to the next town.

"So…Iris?" Ash began, still eyeing her sopping wet hair. "How are you gonna put your hair up again?"

Moral: There are certain cartoon threads you don't want to pull on, even if you're trying to incorporate realism into your story. By all means, let characters get injured by fire attacks and let the seasons change if you want. But I've seen too many stories with May asking Drew how he has green hair or something and it doesn't really work. You'll never be able to explain away Iris having purple hair or Ursula having red eyes via logic or Punnett squares. You'll probably never explain why Cilan and his brothers or Misty and her sisters all have such drastically different hair colors. It will just cause you problems to bring it up. So don't. Unless…

Exception: In my story Zenith (which you should check out! Just finished a couple weeks ago!) I specify that Aliana, Bryony, Celosia, and Mable (the female Team Flare scientists) all dye their hair and wear contacts. But I gave the reasoning that they're quadruplets and wanted to stand out. If you have a good reason and can defend it within the laws of the anime world, go ahead. Otherwise, return to the moral.

#pokemon #pokemon fanfiction #iris #cilan #ash ketchum #best wishes #unova

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gnot-that-gender · 4 years

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20th December 2019

Hi everyone. I've now been on testosterone for 2 weeks. I've been using Testogel, 2 pumps as recommended and here is a little update about things.

Content warning for genital talk and other bodily icky stuff.

General Body Stuff

Okay so to start, a bit about my general body status. I weighed myself today and compared to the measurement taken of me at the London Transgender Clinic 2 weeks ago. My weight reads exactly the same, though there is likely some change due to variations from different scales.

Here is a little table so you can see what I see. My home scales allow me to select a "gender". When I wasn't on T I was measuring as female, because it also gives a recommended calorie intake and I'm aware this would be different without the effects of testosterone.

You can see from the table, the interesting thing about my body fat %. Although I'm assuming the significant different between my check at the clinic and my scales at home (when both set to male) is due to the different scales. My measurement on the 27th September and the 20th December were done on the same scales, both set as "female" for comparison. Even though I'm 2kg heavier than I was, my body fat % has dropped. This could suggest that the extra weight I'm carrying isn't necessarily fat. It could be muscle or bone density.

I also compared the rest of the info on my scales but tbh it feels like there's a lot of unnecessary gender bullshit on there? I was amazed to see my bone mass % increase by 2% in comparison to what it pretty much always was on my home scales (no measurement of this from the clinic). But having changed the scales back to female I can see that for some reason it gives a different reading?? I have no idea how it is measuring that or why the reading is different.

Genitals

We had to get here. Mostly commonly seen is that T causes bottom growth as one of the first changes. It didn't suddenly pop up overnight but there is definitely a lot of change there. Not to imply I've suddenly got a massive wang, but previously where I would be able to feel a slither of girth, I can feel maybe a 2mm diameter there. Hard to tell because of the sheath. I can also clearly feel the head, which is a surprise to me. And as of maybe 2/3 days ago, the head itself is peaking out from the foreskin slightly.

It hasn't been too uncomfortable. I have been having spontaneous unwarranted erections that cause a bit of a sensitivity but I'm not concerned. No pain, nothing annoying. Just there's definitely activity there.

Other genital changes are that the labia majora (gonadal tissue) has become darker in colour. I believe this is pretty typical.

I have also experienced vaginal discharge. Not anything I'm worried about but I'm pretty certain this is from T and not naturally occurring. I haven't experienced regular discharge for maybe 8 years, but I will keep an eye on it in case it turns into thrush. But thus far, doesn't smell bad, isn't a funny colour. Not concerned.

Poopin'

This is one I've not seen much about... people talk about how your urine changes smell on T, but nobody has really mentioned poo. You know the times you go into the toilet after your dad/brother/uncle/naturally testosterone producing best friend? Yeah, that. It's hard to explain what's changed. But yeah.

Skin

T supposedly makes your skin rougher and tougher eventually. I've not had anything like that thus far, BUT my eczema has flared up. I can't tell if it is to do with T as I got a bit lax with my antihistamines but my legs have flared up a bit.

Other than that. No change.

Other Small Things

No other big changes, but I believe my scent is a bit different? As I put it to my friend, I smell a bit more like the kind of guys I make out with. Which is interesting in the least.

They advise T makes you procrastinate less which has sort of happened but more likely to just be me feeling more comfortable with myself and getting on with the stuff that I said I'd work harder on once I got my hormones.

Things That Haven't Changed

Fat - no change in fat distribution

Voice - no change

Hair - no difference in hairline, also not losing any more hair than usual. Texture the same

Mood - no difference. Still pretty good at crying, not any more grumpy than usual. I find it easier to calm down from anger than I used to? But again probably mostly placebo/psychological

Face - not furry yet

Thanks for reading!

#gnot me #transition #testosterone #body changes #2 weeks on t #2 wk t

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cuddleslutloki · 5 years

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SO! i have been asked to give advice a couple times by a couple different writers in fandom who are cis and want to know how to/if it’s okay to write trans characters, so here’s my take and a few pieces of advice. it’s gonna be a little long lol

to answer the question “can cis writers write trans characters?”

Y E S

i would personally love it, and i know other trans people who would also love it, if more cis writers wrote trans characters. the only limitation that i’d ever put on this is to say that i wouldn’t want to see a cis writer writing about trans self-discovery or a Trans Journey bc... i mean... those are our stories to tell, y’know?

generally most of the trans people i know feel the same way. we want to see ourselves in stories, even if we’re not the main characters. we want to know that you see us and think us worth writing about. representation matters.

but if you’re writing a story about female friendship and you wanna make one of those women trans? please do bc we need more normalized representation. seeing these really intense Trans Journey stories is great, it is, but it feels one-note when it’s like.... practically the only thing we ever see.

wanna write a story about brotherhood and the bonds of found family and male friendship? make a dude trans! he’s a dude! who’s trans!

quick advice for writing trans men:

not all trans men bind. i don’t. i have a triple D chest, so yeah it’s kind of obvious that i have tits. with the full beard it can be a confusing look lmao. your trans male character doesn’t have to bind, and it doesn’t have to be bc he’s had top surgery, or because he’s flat chested. some of us just don’t want to have the damage done to our bodies that binding can and will do if done consistently enough for long enough.

not all trans men use packers, which are prosthetics made to give a bulge where trans guys don’t have one.

trans men can top lol. it isn’t just skinny cis women using strap-ons, and a guy can cum using a harness bc of where it sits. also, emotionally, that shit is fantastic (speaking from personal experience).

if you’re writing erotica, then be aware that some trans guys are okay with the word clit, some aren’t. this is more of a stylistic choice on the part of the writer, but if you’re using AFAB language for trans male genitals then make a note bc for some men that’s legitimately triggering. personally, i’m fine w/ my vagina, he’s a chill dude.

testosterone doesn’t make you taller, and it won’t make your character taller either lol. physical changes from T are increased muscle mass, changes in fat distribution on the body, voice drop, hairline receding around the temples, facial and body hair growth for some (takes 6+ months usually), clitoral growth, some men experience vaginal dryness some don’t, in the beginning there’s an increased sex drive which tends to even out once T levels are stable, since it’s basically a second puberty a lot of trans guys do get acne, hair can become coarser over time texture wise, and tends to thin

testosterone is administered via injection or with androgel which is topical, generally. if you want to write about a guy giving himself his T, then he’s probably on a weekly or bi-weekly injection schedule at home, or he’s using androgel which is daily and gets rubbed into the skin and has to dry fully. there’s no option right now to take testosterone orally that i know of. there’s also the option for a 3-month dose of testosterone to be given via injection, but it’s always done by a nurse and every trans guy i’ve talked to who’s had it has said they can’t even sit down for an hour afterward bc it’s injected into the ass and it hurts like a motherfucker. however it’s also only once every 3 months. personally i don’t mind my wee thigh shot lol.

if anyone has more specific questions for writing trans male characters send me an ask and i’ll be glad to help

full disclaimer that i’m not a trans woman, but here’s some advice for writing trans women based on what i’ve heard from them:

unlike with T, where trans men can basically just start T and begin the process of a testosterone-based puberty, trans women first have to go on T blockers so that their T levels drop to where they should be for a woman, then they go on estrogen, which is usually??? a pill (not dissimilar to birth control)

when trans women have been on estrogen for long enough they can have multiple orgasms like any other woman, which is a pretty nifty perk

loss of muscle mass is common

breast growth happens differently for everyone, but breasts become more sensitive and as they grow a lot of women can experience some tenderness, and if the chest is struck/prodded that tenderness can be painful. (as someone who naturally developed breasts as a teen, i remember fucking crying when someone hit me in chest once bc everything was so sensitive)

trans women have natural hormone cycles and can experience period-like symptoms! so yeah! a trans woman can wake up and be >:( and have mood swings!

the penis and balls will shrink over time on estrogen, some trans women stop getting hard, some don’t

some trans women tuck their penises, some don’t

trans women have to make the choice to raise their voices, as most of the effects of testosterone-based puberty cannot be reversed. T thickens the vocal chords, which is what makes a trans guy’s voice drop, but if a trans woman is transitioning after she’s experienced a full T-based puberty, her voice isn’t going to raise. a lot of trans women do vocal training to get used to talking in their head voice versus their chest voice. some even pick out like a celebrity or a character to emulate bc it’s a lot easier when you’ve got a goal to aim for.

facial hair generally doesn’t stop growing. the follicles being active doesn’t change when testosterone levels drop. hair growth can slow, but it’s probably not going to stop entirely without laser hair removal or electrolysis. same with body hair.

hair texture can change, though, and become softer over time

if any trans women followers want to add to this feel free :D

your character might not have IDs that match up w/ their identity. having your government docs changed can be a pain in the ass depending on where you live, and a lot of places require some kind of surgery as “proof” which is bullshit but... y’know, it happens.

big thing to remember: not all trans people want surgery. not all trans people fall into the gender binary. the way i define being trans is that your gender doesn’t match what you were assigned at birth. that’s it. i consider non-binary people transgender bc. y’know. they fucking are. not all of them want to ID that way or feel like they can, but if they do then i fully welcome them bc they’re my people.

i think cis writers can feel like it’s a taboo or a no-go to write trans characters bc “well what if i do it wrong” and i think it comes down to being really caught up in the fact that the character is trans, rather than them just being a trans character. like. here’s my day as an out, transitioning trans man:

i wake up between 6am and 7am, i dick around on my phone, i let my dogs out, feed them, have breakfast, go to work, eat lunch, work more, come home, eat dinner, dick around on my phone more, go to bed. repeat. my weekends consist of writing, primarily, and watching stuff on netflix. and every other sunday i give myself an injection of testosterone into my thigh. every couple months i see my endocrinologist and maybe have a blood test.

diabetics have a more rigorous schedule than i do, health-wise.

me being trans is part of who i am, a defining part even, but it’s not all i am. if someone were to write a story about my life and make it all about me being trans, they’d first be ignoring like... the first 25 years of my life, but also everything that happens to me in between these big transition milestones.

not everything with trans people is about being trans. sometimes it’s about being bored. or wanting to play video games.

on another personal note, some of the signs that i was trans weren’t very obvious. they make a lot of sense in hind sight (like when i was 4 and told my mom i was going to wear a suit to prom, or when i was 5 and told my dad that my husband was taking my last name bc that just seemed how shit should work to me) but at the time they were just these small, weird little quirks that no one saw as anything more.

in fandom a lot of our stories tend to veer toward the romantic or erotic, so let me just say that you don’t need to write about dysphoria or remark on the topic within the story. i know this is a sticking point for a lot of cis writers bc most of them haven’t experienced dysphoria so they don’t know how to write it. good news is you don’t have to, a trans person can be happy with their body, especially if they’re far enough along in their transition, and it can just be a smutty, smutty story about people fucking lol.

this is a really loose guide w/ very loose bits of advice and seriously if anyone ever wants to ask more specific questions or my opinion you can DM me or send an ask on or off anon and i’ll be glad to offer any help i can

#writing

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gallifreyanlibertea · 7 years

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Actions Speak in a Peculiar Language

a/n: I use too many commas and the title is meant to be a spinoff of “actions speak louder than words”

Alfred was always one for school spirit, but he tended to draw the line at spontaneous contact sports under the boiling heat of the spring sun.

“Rule one, don’t guard too close to the flag!”

Sure, every day brought them closer to summer, which meant class rigor was beginning to taper off, resulting in, well, this. Whole classrooms were transferred out onto the football field because screw review periods, capture the flag was way more fun.

“Rule two, if you get caught, you’re basically a prisoner for the other team until your own team member comes in and gets you out!”

Alfred wasn’t dressed for this. He’d long since abandoned his heavy leather jacket, yet nevertheless, his legs cooked under his full-length jeans and little droplets of sweat gathered at his forehead under the swoop of his slightly damp hair. It wouldn’t be long before his glasses threatened to slip down his nose.

“Rule three, whichever team gets all the flags by the end, or at least most of them by the time class is over, wins.”

Of course, since luck was always on his side, his team had elected him to guard their flag. He would’ve much rather been in an offense position. Hell, he was a fast runner and at least the wind from moving would give him some air, but as always, fooled by his muscular demeanor, the people had assumed he was a better defender. Their mistake. Alfred didn’t really care, he just didn’t like doing math in class.

“Alright that’s enough rules, you can start.”

One of their teachers blew the whistle and the result was rather anticlimactic. Both classes stood staring at each other, waiting for the other to make a move.

Alfred rolled his eyes.

The teachers had mixed the classes together and made two teams with an equal distribution of kids from each class. Alfred didn’t know anyone from the class they were playing with, only that it was a P.E. class, seeing as they were all clad in shorts and airy T-shirts. Lucky bastards.

Alfred carded his fingers through his damp hair, fixing the position of his glasses and watching as a scrawny kid from the other team kicked the game off by making a scrambling start towards where Alfred stood. One of Alfred’s classmates got him. It was too easy.

Yawn.

He couldn’t help imagining just how invigorating this whole experience would be if it was, say, the football team playing it. They’d played it once before when Coach was too tired to practice. Alfred remembered being on the offense team, tackling people to the ground, running after people who actually put up a good chase.

He wasn’t bitter, not at all.

On the contrary, he felt rather sweet. After all, he was the only somewhat able-bodied person on the entire field. Despite there being a P.E. class, there was not one dude who wasn’t limp or noodle-armed or-

Oh.

Alfred took it back because the body in his line of sight was as able as it got.

And to think he’d gone a whole day without being a raging homosexual.

Alfred knew his name. It was Kirkland-something or the other, little brother to the Allistair Kirkland, the soccer star of their school. When Allistair had graduated, the little guy had been pressured to fill in his elder brother’s shoes. Which he did, and boy could he play.

He filled in his shorts too, Alfred mentally noted.

“Francis, I said no guarding the flag!” The coach hollered, “Burying it in the ground counts as guarding!”

The callout resulted in scattered snickers but none from the Kirkland boy. Alfred watched as the soccer player narrowed his eyes, brows knitted as he paced the field, completely and utterly lost in the game.

Competitive. Alfred liked that.

He would’ve also liked to remain admiring, to keep tossing fleeting glances at the figure that could easily be the last coke in the desert. Oh god, Alfred was so parched, and yes, it was hard to keep an eye on the flag when he was this distracted, but who cared? It wasn’t like anyone could outrun him anyway.

Oh, save for maybe Mr. Kirkland with those legs that seemed to go on for days…

Alfred was so, so gay.

But again, Lady Luck had decided to have Alfred stare just as the pair of eyes belonging to those legs turned back to look at him.

Needless to say, Alfred choked.

Abort, abort! Blue eyes averted back to the game. One of the players on Alfred’s team had managed to get caught, but it didn’t really matter in the long run, the guy wasn’t a good runner. They’d managed to catch a few people from the other team as well, but no flags.

He let himself drag his eyes back toward Kirkland to find green eyes trained intently back on his. Alfred pretended the red in his cheeks was from the sun and took to fanning himself, eyes averting to a skinny guy, who had managed to get past the first line of defense, and watching as he came spiraling right towards the flag behind him.

No sweat, Alfred tagged him out. He looked up to find Kirkland looking back at him, a small smile playing on his lips. Was he impressed?

No! It didn’t matter, Alfred couldn’t give himself away that easily. One more look and he would be exposed, he knew better than that!

He supposed it didn’t matter, seeing as in the time he took to swipe his glasses off, polish them with his shirt and place them back on the bridge of his nose, Kirkland was standing right next to him.

“You seem awful distracted, mate.”

The burn in Alfred’s chest was either from forgetting to breathe or feeling his soul ascend into heaven.

“I- um, I’m not, I’m, uh, hi.”

“With the heat and all, I wouldn’t blame ya.” Alfred watched with a jaw firmly clenched, as if to prevent it falling right down to his ankles, as Kirkland lifted the hem of his shirt, ducking his head to pat his face dry. All those months of hard soccer training were made evident with the creamy, toned midriff presented in that deliciously slow fraction of time. That is, before the shirt dropped and Alfred could breathe again. “I’m Arthur, you?”

“Alfred.” Alfred managed to say, as if the past few minutes of his repeated choked dialogue hadn’t happened.

“Are you on a sports team?” Green eyes traveled over the length of Alfred’s body, if only for a split second, “Gives you quite a workout, doesn’t it?”

Alfred chuckled, the noise dangerously on the brink of a giggle, “Yeah, I play football.”

Another, slightly faster guy from the other team swept in from the back, attempting to pluck the flag off the ground and scramble back toward his side. He came closer than Alfred would have normally let him, seeing as he was a bit distracted, but the guy was tagged out before he could even think of touching the flag.

Arthur awarded him with a low whistle, “Lightning reflexes.”

“Nothing good ol’ fashioned training wouldn’t do for ya.” Was Alfred’s humble response.

“You should train me some time.”

Alfred was sure the offer was hollow. Why would a guy like Arthur need training from him? Alfred had been to the soccer matches himself, he’d seen the way the lithe little guy could carry himself.

He was a blur to Alfred’s eyes regardless of his pre-existing nearsightedness.

Which could only mean- I mean it had to, didn’t it? It could only mean that Arthur Kirkland was somehow, maybe, hopefully asking to spend time with him.

Oh, he could almost imagine it. Training Arthur Kirkland.

He could feel the sweat gathering at their hairlines as they sprinted down the track, footsteps in tandem, skin flushed, stopping to lean against one another, panting, gasping for air.

Maybe Arthur would wear his little running shorts, maybe nothing else.

Well, that was a bit too far-fetched, yet the prospect of training who Alfred had already proclaimed to be a god was enough to set his face aflame.

“Aw, hell, you wouldn’t need training.”

Arthur smiled in response and Alfred almost didn’t notice him inching closer. “Want to know a secret?”

Oh boy.

It was times like these Alfred wished gaydars were a tangible thing. A fancy little gadget he could tuck away in his sleeve, or an app on his phone he could whip out in a blink, point it right between Arthur’s eyes and wait for a beep.

Or at least he hoped there would be a beep.

People hardly just came out with it. All for good reasons, of course, but how easy would it be? If Arthur had just looked him right in the eyes and said, “I’m attracted to men”, or “yes homo”, or-

“I play for the other team.”

Alfred blinked, staring down at a smirking Arthur, who was now close enough that Alfred swore he could hear his lashes thudding as he blinked, that he could count every last freckle splashed across his nose.

“You- you what?”

The hand that pressed against his chest was quite the punch, knocking every last particle of air out of his lungs. Arthur’s fingers splayed across the fabric of Alfred’s white shirt.

“I play for the other team, mate.”

Arthur fell to his feet and all the air came rushing back into Alfred’s system. Any beeping his radar had emitted blended into the spring breeze. He watched, almost unable to move, like it was played to him in slow motion, as Arthur swiped the flag from behind him, turning to sprint back to his side of the field.

Well, not before shooting Alfred a wink over his shoulder.

“You’re fast.”

Arthur glanced up from his position hunched over the water fountain. With a satisfied sigh and a quick lick of his lips, he stretched back up, eyebrows raised as Alfred slunk in through the door.

After they’d lost the game, their teacher had decided to let them have a quick break. The weather definitely called for a water recharge, and the heat from his classmates wasn’t helping either.

“Don’t be hard on yourself, you weren’t at your best,” Arthur responded as he stepped aside, gesturing to the fountain. “Want a drink?”

Alfred shook his head.

“Oh come off it, you’re not mad at me, are you?” Arthur smirked. “If it means so much to you, I’ll train you.”

The words set a fire in Alfred’s chest and he either needed to get that checked or let it encompass him, engulf him, because when would there ever be a next time a pretty boy even spoke in his general direction?

“Can I trust you this time?” Alfred said and Arthur’s brows shot up in silent judgment.

“Trust me on this, love, you need to be taught.”

Arthur stepped toward the door, leaving Alfred standing behind him.

“There’s a time and place to be utterly gay, and if I can find exactly where those are, the least I can do is help you as well.”

If that wasn’t erratic beeping on the radar, Alfred didn’t know what was.

#anyways woo it's summer #usuk #aph america #aph england #based on a true story but it's not very romantic lmao #my fanfiction

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artificialqueens · 7 years

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Convention - Fryshook (Violet/Katya)

It’s not the first time Violet’s been under Katya; it’s just the first time they’ve had an audience.

a/n: back at it again at the vatya store. Pronouns and names are fluid depending on the context of the scene. Scenes take place between season 7 all the way up to NYC drag con. They are not in chronological order, but they are in…an order. Sorry if it’s confusing. a03

Violet walked out into the smoking alley behind the convention center. It wasn’t exactly the fresh air she craved, but it would have to do for now.

A familiar cackle-cough caught her attention and yep, there she was, barefoot and smoking like a tire fire, chatting with a fan.

Violet sauntered up to the blonde, laying a gloved hand on her shoulder. Katya turned and, still chatting with the fan, squeezed Violet in a quick hug.

“…you know what I mean?” Katya said. The fan nodded, eyes wide and darting frantically between the two queens.

“Um,” the fan said, “I–”

“You should take pictures of us,” Violet suggested. The fan nodded, whipping out their phone. Their hands were shaking. “Calm down. I don’t want you posting blurry pics to your tumblr or whatever.”

Katya laughed, taking a drag of her cigarette. “Such a bitch,” she said, dropping down to wrap her arms around Violet’s legs.

Later, in Violet’s booth, Katya said: “this brings me back,” and Violet turned to face the sea of cellphones, her fingers digging into the heavy thighs pinning her to the couch.

In Violet’s hotel room, Katya barely managed to rip her wig off and say: “that was fun,” before smearing her lipstick all over Violet’s face, her neck, her chest.

“Gotta give the people what they want,” Violet laughed, stroking Katya’s short boy hair. “I thought you didn’t fuck in drag anymore, Yekaterina.”

Katya’s fingers stilled at the laces of Violet’s corset.

“Just so we’re clear.” Katya foisted Violet up and dropped her on the bed with a yelp. She loomed over the young queen, running her hands down her sides as she slipped the corset off and kissed the exposed skin of her stomach. She worked her way down, gently pushing up Violet’s skirt, and continued: “This is not sex.” She watched Violet’s eyes as she leaned in to kiss the thin layer of cloth covering her erection, leaving a mark. “This is an ancient ritual I learned during my brief but beautiful tryst with Satanism. Violet,” she paused, her mouth twitching, “I am going to suck the life out of you.”

“Well, you better hurry up, bitch,” Violet said, “or you’re not gonna make it another year.”

Katya flashed her teeth and pulled the flimsy bit of cloth aside.

Three years ago, Violet pulled Katya aside to ask him:

“Hey. Are you fucked up right now?”

Katya blinked up at the young queen, the skin around his eyes a deep purple. They were in the alley behind the theater, out of drag, waiting to shoot some stupid q&as for the reunion. It was the first time they had seen each other since Katya packed his shit and exited stage 6 for the last time.

It had been about 6 months since his last meeting. He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he slept.

Katya wasn’t very skilled when it came to mathematics, but the sum was…dreary.

It’s alright, man, his sponsor assured him. You’ll be alright. Don’t beat yourself up. This is all so new.

“You’re going to have to be more specific?”

Violet stared him down and Katya shifted uncomfortably.

“Whatever,” Violet said. “It’s none of my business. Are you okay, though?”

Katya flashed his teeth. “I’ll be fine, mom.”

Violet nodded slowly, eyes narrow. “Alright, girl. Let’s get back in there before they think I’m sucking your dick.”

Back at the hotel, Violet gasped and clutched at Katya as she climbed up to catch her in a breathless kiss.

Katya broke away to ask, “Did it work?”

Violet hummed in thought, pulling her back in. They felt Katya gently grind her erection into their stomach. Violet finally broke the kiss to say, “I still feel extremely young and beautiful, but you… look as decrepit as ever.”

Katya laughed, leaning her head into Violet’s shoulder.

“Maybe I got it backwards,” she said. “Let’s try something else.”

Violet loved the way Katya looked at her when she took her into their mouth, her pupils so big and black they almost absorbed the green of her eyes entirely.

Katya didn’t have any tattoos, but sometimes Violet fantasized about leaving a mark on her; on her thigh or her hip or her ass. Some kind of memento for her to look at long after they’ve stopped engaging in these trysts.

So if the drugs burn the memories out of your brain, they thought, her fingers digging into the flesh of Katya’s ass, you’ll at least have that.

“I can’t believe I’m 35,” Katya said, later.

“Neither can I, honestly.” They looked at each other, and at the same time said:

“I thought I’d be dead by now.”

“I thought you’d be dead by now.”

They both cackled and Violet laid a hand over Katya’s face, covering her grin. She moved her hand to graze her thumb over the lines at the corner of Katya’s eye, her mouth.

They locked eyes. The silence made the hair on the back of Violet’s neck bristle.

“You’re on your way to becoming a beautiful corpse,” she said, breaking the silence. Katya blinked away whatever that look in her eyes was and laughed again.

“You morbid bitch,” she said, pressing a kiss to the palm of Violet’s hand. “I can’t stand you.”

****

They were being shuttled back to the hotel, chatting.

“Well, I have three jobs back home,” Katya was saying. “My day job is running the costume shop. Boring, but respectable. Then, obviously, drag at night. And then later at night I dick down the male population of the greater Boston area for a reasonable fee.”

“Never for free, huh?”

“Are you asking?”

“I don’t know,” Violet said. “How much can I get for 100 grand?”

Katya laughed while the rest of the van erupted into chaos. “For that large but completely arbitrary sum, you could record and distribute it to thousands of your closest friends.”

Violet gave him a weird little look and smirked.

“Now Violet,” Ginger cut in from the back, “I know you are not trying to solicit lewd and illegal acts from my bee-eff-eff..”

“Um,” Katya interrupted, “you mean soliciting lewd acts from RuPaul’s Drag Race: Season Seven’s Meatiest Tuck,™ thanks, thank you, Ginger.”

Violet laughed at Katya before leaning back to address Ginger. “Relax, Minj. I’m sure she’ll give you a friends and family discount.”

Ginger threw her water bottle at Violet as the van erupted again.

It had been three years since Violet grasped Katya’s hands and tried to convince her to stay.

Get it together, girl. You deserve to be in the top three with me, she’d said. Or maybe it was: I want you to be in the top three with me. Katya wasn’t sure because that part didn’t make it onto the show, or onto Untucked; it wasn’t even some bonus clip online, somewhere. Sometimes Katya wondered if he’d dreamt it. Maybe he did.

“You’re beautiful. Do you believe me when I say that, Katya?”

Brian wasn’t sure how he got to be in this position, again; standing over a toilet in a cramped bathroom stall with Violet Chachki giving him the most aggressive pep talk of his life.

He thought they’d dragged him in there to do something else.

“C'mon, mom, you’re giving me a hard-on,” he said. Violet squinted at him. Brian tried not to focus on the quail-like bun on their head.

“Hey,” they looked into his eyes, “show me you believe me.”

He held their gaze for a moment before reaching a hand up cradle the back of their head. “Violet Chachki,” he said, invoking Katya’s rarely heard Russian accent, “is that really you?” His thumb brushed Violet’s ear as he pulled them down to meet him, their mouths fitting together gently.

Of course, there was vodka on their tongue. Violet’s worries were always exacerbated by alcohol. They wrapped their arm around Katya as they pressed their body against his. He pulled out of their kiss to trail down Violet’s throat, stopping to suck and nip at the valley between their throat and shoulder. Violet groaned and rocked their hips into Katya’s knee, murmuring.

“You look like shit,” they said, “like you haven’t been sleeping, again.” Brian bit down a little harder. Violet gasped and Brian spun them around, pressing their front into the stall door and gripping their hips.

“They won’t let me sleep, mother,” he said, leaning in, “they whip me; or worse, insult my hairline.”

“You can’t keep it up,” Violet said. Katya ground his crotch against her ass.

“Watch me,” he said.

“You’ll die.” Violet turned their head to catch his eyes as they wiggled against his erection. “And if you’re dead, we can’t do this anymore.”

“Uh,” Brian ground into their ass again, reaching around to unbutton Violet’s fly, “not true. Haven’t you been fucked by a ghost before, Violet? I have.”

“I had such a crush on you.”

Katya looked up from his cereal. “You’re joking.”

Violet shook their head. “I was always trying to get you to notice me or make you laugh and you never. Paid attention.” They snorted at the dumbfounded look on Katya’s face. “I would get so pissed when Pearl came back from your fucking smoke breaks giggling about some stupid thing you said–”

“I said plenty of stupid things to you!”

Violet rolled their eyes. “I even–” they stopped, considering their words. “The whole reason I brought up my porny past in the van was because I thought it might impress you, in a weird way?”

Katya dropped her spoon into the bowl with a loud clack.

“You’re kidding.” Violet shook her head again. Katya stared at her, a manic grin spreading across her face. “Well, Violet, I guess if we’re being honest, I googled the hell out of you looking for that damn video as soon as I got home. As soon as I got home. And I didn’t find it. But I did jack off furiously to the thought of it.”

“Really?” Violet squinted, weirdly flattered by this information. Katya nodded jerkily, sputtering in the affirmative. “That’s funny.”

Katya was still shaking her head at her, amazed. “You whore,” she muttered. “I knew you had ulterior motives when you fucking smeared your lipstick all over my face in front of the entire fucking judges panel. No! You know what I thought after that?”

Violet didn’t seem keen to hear the answer, but they asked anyway. “What?”

“I thought: Violet is trying to sneak me into the finals by tricking the producers into thinking we’re a ‘thing.’” Violet’s jaw hung open as Katya cackled. “I did! I thought that. Clearly I overestimated your calculations. Underestimated?“ He set his bowl down and walked over to grab Violet’s hand. “What I’m trying to say, Violet, is that I’m really bad at math.”

Three years ago, Violet asked Katya to split an Uber.

“I know we’re all at the same hotel, but,” Violet began, “winners should ride together.” Katya laughed and called her awful, squeezing into the back of the Honda.

At the hotel, Katya walked Violet to their room and before she could turn to go, Violet grabbed her hand and said: “where are you going?”

“Uh,” Katya searched her memory, trying to think of some obligation she’d forgotten. “To bed?”

Violet nodded slowly. “Yeah,” she said. “With me.”

And Katya, dazed despite how painfully sober she was, did not resist as America’s newly-crowned Drag Superstar lead her into the darkness.

Three years ago, in a hotel room in Los Angeles (the “winners suite,” Violet called it), Brian snatched the memo pad off the nightstand while Jason chewed on a bagel, zoning out to the 16 and Pregnant rerun on TV.

“Alright, so,” Brian wrapped his non-writing arm around Jason's naked shoulders and began to scribble on the pad. “Let’s see… Six or seven minutes of French kissing…Ten minutes of fellatio…swallowed… okay. Factor in the break here. After the break I gave you a couple tugs, but I was in a good mood so I won’t count that–”

“What are you talking about?” Jason said, trying to read all the nonsense he was writing down.

“…and then last but not least: full penetration to completion. Perfect. Gonna carry the one here, and… yep. That’ll be 100,000 dollars, please.”

Jason's gaze slid from the notepad to Brian.

“You fucking kill me,” they said.

“I will if you don’t pay me.” Brian flashed his teeth. Jason's eyebrows shot up.

“What are you gonna do, old man?” They said, laughing. “Fuck me to death?”

“I’m 32, you fucking bitch, and no, that’ll cost extra and will require some notarized forms,” Brian said, leaning in to catch Violet’s smirking lips. “But I think we can work something out, if you’re interested.”

Katya was wrapped around Violet somewhere in Europe when she said, “you know what’s absolutely insane?”

Violet leaned back. “How good my ass feels? I know.”

Katya mapped her face with her eyes, one hand tracing the curve of Violet’s long neck. “We’re here because of a fucking drag TV show.”

Violet smiled a little, confused.

“What do you mean? Like, in Europe?” Katya shook his head. Violet’s eyes narrowed. “You mean you and me.”

“Uh,” Katya chuckled, smoothing back Violet’s hair, “yeah.”

“You think I wouldn’t have seduced you if we weren’t sisters?”

“Oh, please, Violet,” and now Katya was finally hitting her wall with Violet’s self-love bullshit. It was nice at first, and definitely an enviable trait; but sometimes she was just full of shit. “You would have totally ignored me in real life, probably would have had me preemptively blocked on every dating app imaginable–”

Violet interrupted his rant with a scoff.

“Excuse you, bitch? You don’t know me,” Katya rolled his eyes and Violet pushed away from him, sitting up. “I’m totally into the whole… ‘aging goth dad’ thing.” Katya stared at her for a moment before snorting, the shade too accurate to ignore. “This is exactly what I’ve been trying to tell you,” Violet said, their hand wandering underneath the sheets to give Katya’s exhausted cock an affectionate squeeze. “You never give yourself enough credit.”

He pushed into her and Violet gasped, reaching back to grasp whatever they could reach of Katya as he rocked into her with a growl.

“I love fucking you,” he said, thrusting into her again and again. “I love fucking you. I love fucking you. Violet?” Katya reached for her cock, “I love fucking you.”

“Don’t you dare,” Violet groaned as Katya began to stroke her cock in time with his thrusts, “stop.”

“I can’t,” he said. “I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.”

Violet quietly slipped back into their overalls, trying not to disturb Katya as he slept. They checked their phone, scrolled through the notifications. They put their phone down and watched Katya sleep.

It was time to go, so why weren’t they going?

Their heart jumped when they realized Katya was staring back at them.

“You okay?” Katya murmured.

“Fine,” Violet replied. “Just getting some water.”

If Katya was conscious enough to notice that Violet had to undress before returning to bed, he didn’t say anything; only curled his arm around them as Violet let themself drift back to sleep.

****

Violet had never seen Katya in a man’s suit before.

“Rick Moranis realness, bitch,” she said.

“Oh honey,” Trixie piped in from across the room, “honey I shrunk the kids? More like honey I shrunk the dicks. Honey OH HONEEEEEY…”

“Is that the only suit you own?” Violet asked. Katya laughed before admitting that yes, it was. “And you wore it to set up your booth?”

“No! It’s for the party, later. I actually bought it for a wedding. A straight wedding,” he clarified, tipping his fake glasses so they knew he was serious. Violet nodded.

“I only wear suits to funerals,” Violet said.

“I told Katya she looks like a goddamned mortician,” Trixie piped in again.

“She did,” Katya confirmed. “Feel free to wear a beautiful gown to my funeral, though, Violet.”

“As if I’m gonna show up.”

Katya shook his head, “As if you could resist a chance to show up the widow Mattel.”

Violet smirked in Trixie’s direction. “I don’t know, man. I may be a cunt, but even I don’t think I have it in me to embarrass someone at a funeral. Even if it is just… yours.”

“You gonna embarrass me before or after animal control mistakes you for the show pony that done gone and escaped from the petting zoo, Chachki?”

Katya cackled. Violet socked him in the arm.

“Now,” Trixie appeared before them, irritated and sweaty. “Are you idiots going to help me set up this booth, or are you gonna keep flirting like the disgusting pig sluts that you are?”

“I don’t know what to do about you,” Katya said between kisses, tossing his jacket aside and gripping Violet’s chin with one hand as he clumsily unbuttoned his shirt. “You are so,” he detached himself from Violet’s lips to look at them with an exaggerated sneer, “problematic.”

“At least I don’t call people retards,” Violet retorted, tossing their shirt aside. “You fucking Masshole.”

Katya froze, shirt hanging open. He licked his lips, about to respond, when Violet suddenly stood up, fingering the collar of Katya’s shirt as they walked around him like a panther circling its prey. Katya watched Violet quietly as they leaned in, pressing their hands to his chest…and pushed him backwards onto the bed.

Katya howled, stretching his arms over his head for a moment before sitting up on his elbows to eye Violet.

“That was so hot,” he said as Violet climbed over him, pressing him backwards into the bed, “You should push me around more oft–”

Violet shut him up with a kiss, grinding their erection against his.

“Take your fucking pants off.” Katya scrambled to undo his fly, shaking out of his pants while Violet kicked their shorts off.

Violet caught Katya in another, slower kiss as they positioned his cock at their entrance and sank down.

Katya gasped against Violet’s mouth, his hands flying to grip their hips as they bucked forward.

“I’m fucking you,” Violet said, hitched voice mocking as they bounced on his dick a few times before finally leaning in so a chuckling Katya could squeeze them close and begin to thrust his hips up, again and again.

“I love you,” he said with each thrust. “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

Violet pulled their head up to look him in the eyes, their hair sticking to their face. “Don’t,” they said, their breath hot against his face, “stop.”

“I can’t,” Katya said, bucking his hips up to meet Violet as the young queen buried their face into the crook of his neck. “I can’t, Violet. I can’t. I can’t.”

#fryshook #vatya #violet chachki #katya zamolodchikova #smut #tw slurs #tw addiction #rpdr fanfiction #submission #canon compliant

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