trans and cyclist

As you may have noticed this blog is more of an archive at this point, though I still reblog stuff to it when I find posts that fit this blog. But here’s the thing: at this point in my life I am just not very into fandom activities anymore. Sure, I still read YP and all other stuff but I don’t real have interest in fandom anymore. And running it (or lack of that) makes me more stressed than it’s worth.

This blog now has quite a few years now (I’ve made it with my friend before my 18 birthdays and now I am a month away from my 22th birthdays) and I do not want all work that has been collected on this blog to disappear, which would happen if I do not give ownership of this blog to someone else. So… is anyone here interested in taking over this blog?

I have only two requirements: for you to be 18 or older and to not reblog nsfw stuff here (stuff that referes to sex are fine but no smut fics or artworks, no matter the age, canon or not, of characters).

As you may have noticed this blog is more of an archive at this point, though I still reblog stuff to it when I find posts that fit this blog. But here’s the thing: at this point in my life I am just not very into fandom activities anymore. Sure, I still read YP and all other stuff but I don’t real have interest in fandom anymore. And running it (or lack of that) makes me more stressed than it’s worth.

This blog now has quite a few years now (I’ve made it with my friend before my 18 birthdays and now I am a month away from my 22th birthdays) and I do not want all work that has been collected on this blog to disappear, which would happen if I do not give ownership of this blog to someone else. So… is anyone here interested in taking over this blog?

I have only two requirements: for you to be 18 or older and to not reblog nsfw stuff here (stuff that referes to sex are fine but no smut fics or artworks, no matter the age, canon or not, of characters).

So I was just going to draw Ashikiba but then my shit brain went ‘shikiba inu‘ and Well

BOW TO HIM

I don’t even go here, but have a lizard

It takes Ishigaki Kotaro roughly five days to find the courage he needs to pose the question to his ace and the real captain of the Kyoto Fushimi team. They finish practice on time— Midousuji Akira runs Kyofushi with an iron fist and makes sure everything goes according to schedule, and it always does as long as they all do their part and finish everything on time like they are supposed to. No one fell behind today, a rare feat, and Midousuji seems satisfied with the effort of the team when everyone finally files into the locker room to change.

Ishigaki waits until most of the team has left; Yamaguchi and Mizuta are still hanging around, which is fine with him because they already know what he plans on doing. Getting prepared for this moment meant a lot of talking to the two of them and a lot of trying to pump himself up by giving himself pep talks in his bathroom mirror. His parents might have caught him a few times, but it was well worth it because he feels confident in himself. He can do this.

Midousuji changes away from the rest of them and returns now, bag slung over one shoulder and in a cycling kit that Ishigaki recognizes all too well. The short black shorts and the long-sleeved black shirt is a favorite of Midousuji’s and the one she arrives to every practice in and returns home in. The Kyofushi jersey only ever graces her frame when she practices with them, and most likely when they ride in the Inter-High together.

She stops short when she meets his eyes, no doubt realizing that he is standing here and waiting for her. “What is it, Ishigaki-kun? You look like you want something.”

You dress a character in trans flag colours and expect me NOT to draw him?

yamaguchi noriyuki/midousuji akira 2.2k | rated t | implied/referenced transphobia

Yamaguchi is a moderately talented dancer who finds himself tasked with breaking through to their star and becoming her new partner. Midousuji has a condition if he wants to dance with her.

She stretches with her back to him, long sinewy limbs bathed in sunlight spilling through the wide windows on the right side of the room and shadow from the lack of light anywhere else in the room. The two of them had been given this space alone to practice in, their instructor desperate for someone to get through to her in time for the competition a few months from now. If he had any say in the matter, Yamaguchi Noriyuki would have told the poor, frazzled woman that he was hardly the type who knew what the “right thing” to say was.

He had heard the story. Everyone had. Her former partner, the one who proved to be the piece of the puzzle missing from her otherwise perfect routines, had injured his leg and was no longer going to be dancing. Yamaguchi understood this; serious leg injuries could leave a person in chronic pain for the rest of their lives, and Ishigaki Kotaro was young. He had a long future ahead of him even if that meant leaving his partner behind.

It had been their dream together. Yamaguchi knows this, too. He and Ishigaki had spoken a few times while warming up, about how she and Ishigaki were going to conquer the world of ballet together, how they were going to drop jaws all around the world and how he was always going to be there to catch her and support her through all of her wild leaps and jumps. He had found true joy in his support of her, something Yamaguchi envies but does not understand.

He knows he has talent. He knows he has instinct, and skill, and he has a few impressive victories under his belt that when Ishigaki had announced his retirement, their instructor had come straight to him to beg him to take Ishigaki’s place. Yamaguchi wishes he knew how to explain that there was no place for him to take; Ishigaki had taken it with him when he left.

“I don’t know about this.” Teshima hesitates in front of the mirror, tugging at the bottom of his t-shirt that conceals the binder beneath, bought specially to match his skin tone. “I mean, not that everyone doesn’t know, but strangers don’t know, and I feel like this just…”

He trails off and bites his bottom lip, and Issa hugs him from behind, resting his chin on his senpai’s shoulder and trying to give him a little burst of strength or something to help him calm down. After all, Issa has done this before. The first few times are terrifying, but his friends have always been there for him and he doubts that Sohoku would let them down during a time like this. Besides, Teshima had been looking forward to getting to go to the beach in proper swim attire for years, and Issa is not going to let him deny himself of that now.

“So what if they see? We’ll all be there to have your back so no one is going to say anything to you.” Issa turns his head, making a noise against Teshima’s neck that makes him giggle.

That sound is more soothing than it has any right to be and Issa wishes he could convey that level of calm to Teshima right now. Swim binders are a frightening experience, and he knows it. On the one hand, having a chance to get in the water without anything in the way is nice. On the other hand, it’s a big sign on your back letting everyone know you happen to be trans.

“It’s going to be so much fun to go swimming and you know it. You can’t let me go looking for shells underwater alone, right?” Issa tightens his grip around Teshima’s middle, pulling Teshima’s back against his chest. “I’ll get all the good ones and I swear I won’t share.”

“Awful selfish brat,” Teshima mutters, but his tone is too soft to properly mean it and Issa smiles at the words just the same. “You promise no matter what happens, all of you are going to be there? And there’s no chance I’m going to get hurt in the process?”

Issa shakes his head. “The chances of that happening are zero, I swear. Tadokoro-san would never let it happen, first of all. And second of all, neither would I.”

He might not seem like much in the grand scheme of things, but he would like to think he has some spirit to him, some muscle and scrap that lets him take on anyone he needs to without having to think twice about it. For Teshima, he would do just about anything, fight just about anyone, and if he had been willing to fight Doubashi all on his own, then he could take down someone twice that size to keep Teshima safe from harm.

“I, uh…” Ishigaki’s voice is muffled by the dressing room door that Mizuta has been guarding for the last fifteen minutes or so, serving anyone who dares come close to them a withering stare that makes it perfectly clear no one is getting in or out of this room without his say. “I don’t know about this, Nobu. I think it would be better if we just went home or something.”

His voice sounds pinched and nervous, something Mizuta cannot ignore no matter how badly he wishes he could do something, anything, to make this easier for Ishigaki. He knows how hard it is, of course, had been through this himself though with family because he hadn’t know Ishigaki at the time to go through this with him. He thinks that might make it easier, having this experience, because he can speak from a place of knowing just how hard all of this is.

“We can go home if you want to but…” Mizuta trails off, letting the back of his head thump against the dressing room door. “I mean, I just want you to be happy. If this isn’t going to make you happy, we don’t have to do it.”

Ishigaki makes a noise through the door. “It isn’t that, it’s just… It’s scary, you know?”

“Yeah, I know. But no one’s going to know any different than you tell them. I mean that.” He thinks it would almost be beneficial to sit Ishigaki down and tell him just how much he already looks like everything he wants to be, at least in Mizuta’s eyes, but they can’t do that here.

Doing that in public would be dangerous. Mizuta knows that. And the last thing he plans on doing is putting Ishigaki in danger when they can talk at home. But only after they finish this; Mizuta wants him to be able to reflect how he feels inside, and this might not be the least scary way to do that, but it’s also the most effective way.

“Is it supposed to kind of hurt like this?” Ishigaki asks.

Mizuta laughs. “Yeah, yeah, it is. That’s why you have a limit on how long you can wear one. But like, try on one of the shirts and you’ll realize you can’t even see it through fabric.”

There is silence broken only by the rustling of clothing and Ishigaki mumbling something to himself too quietly for Mizuta to hear, but then he makes a small strangled noise. “It… You really can’t see it… Oh my God I didn’t think that…”

The dressing room door bumps against Mizuta’s back and he moves away from it so Ishigaki can open it properly, flashing him a wide smile when Ishigaki steps out in front of him. The binder is invisible beneath the polo shirt— of course a polo shirt, what else would he expect from Ishigaki at this point?— But the most important part is the smile on Ishigaki’s face, the sheen of tears over his eyes.

Midousuji Akira should have been happy, by all rights. Kyoto Fushimi had come out victorious in their final Inter-High that Midousuji would see with them; Komari had pulled them further than the other ace’s assistants could ever hope to and then had pushed them ahead with all of the strength in those clever and miraculous fingers. Midousuji had crossed the finish line first; they had beaten both Imaizumi and Shinkai by a wide enough margin that there had been whispers on the way back to the Kyofushi tent that the other teams had never stood a chance.

Of course, they always put their all into every race they pedal through; draining themself of absolutely everything they have, emotionally and physically, is what sets them above the rest of the chaff who think they have a right to race on the same road. Midousuji is exquisite, the best of the best, the sole person who knows how to carve away all of the excess until all they have left are the bare essentials, the smallest list possible to carry the least possible weight.

They were a genius on a bicycle, and they know this. They had been able to upkeep the same bicycle for years now, had tweaked it to accommodate a growth spurt no one had seen coming that left them towering above their cousins and even their aunt and uncle. Just because it had taken time and effort to prove this meant nothing; Kyofushi’s team had been perfected this year and everyone had followed their will without a single question or doubt.

All of the pieces had fallen into place. So why did they feel nothing but that sense of loss?