#feeling comfortable with being queer lately

[etherportal]

i love tumblr because i can be a stranger in complete, uninterrupted peace

[taamlok]

who else up crying over dragon age rn

[sweetsweetloverlover]

AAUGHGFAAGHHHUGSSHKL HSGHHH (<- having gender thoughts)

[sodafrog13]

man the irony of trans inclusive spaces still supporting harry patter is beyond me

[ishipgenfics]

Outsider POV on Somewhere Else Jonathan Sims must be just. so much.

Like imagine. You're part of a support group, and a new guy decides to join. You ask him his name and he says, "Jonathan," and then after a long pause, "Blackwood. Jonathan Blackwood. But call me Jon."

He doesn't like tape recorders. You only know this because the person who hosts the support group is into retro things, and tries to keep a couple around. She turned one on once when someone asked about it, and you noticed Jon clutching his nails into his hands so tight he's nearly breaking the skin. You lean over and whisper, "Do you want me to ask her to stop?" He says, "It's fine," and you nod, but you still try and change the subject whenever people bring up tape recorders from that point on.

He full-body flinches one day when someone says Hello, Jon. Nearly slams into a wall and everything. He tries to play it off, but after that people say Hi Jon, or Nice to see you, or things like that. Anything but Hello.

He says he used to work at a 'non-profit for studying the supernatural'. Someone asks where it was and he says London. You tell your wife about it, and two days later she emails you an article. Magnus Institute Burns Down In 1999. It was in Manchester. You tell her not to bring it up again.

The guy is snarky and blunt and downright rude at times, but when a woman comes in and tells them about being trapped in a empty warehouse for a week, he comforts her in a way none of the rest of them know how. "I believe you," he says, repeats it like a mantra, like a prayer. "I believe you." He says 'I'm sorry' less like he's sorry this happened to her, and more like he's taking the blame onto himself.

He talks about Martin, sometimes. His reason, he calls him. Normally you'd point out that while it's of course good to love your partner, you should have other reasons to live, but you stay quiet. This guy needs all the happiness he can get.

You leave a little late that day, and when you do you hear him on the phone talking to someone. "She'd been touched by the Lonely, Martin!" he says. "Which is bad, of course, but--" he seems to choke up, "Martin, I didn't feel any compulsion for a Statement. A-at all. I think it's really gone."

You just walk by.

You don't know what's going on with Jon, but it really isn't any of your business. You're an anxious queer lesbian and he's a traumatized ace guy, and you aren't going to make his life any harder than you have to.

Just. Jonathan Sims in a support group.

[giritina]

Lately I've been dipping my toe into the mess that is transandrophobia discourse, and in the process I've been presented with one question in many forms:

"Do trans men experience misogyny?"

My initial answer was "these terms are all theoretical frameworks for a vast range of human experiences, why would you choose to frame your pre-transition experiences as that of a woman?" This makes sense to me, but clearly isn't satisfactory to many of the people sending me anons. As much as I might want to use my own life as a case study, I can't very well tell these people in my asks box "no, you've never experienced something that could be categorized as misogyny." Still, the question bothers me.

I think that's because the question obfuscates the actual debate. It's clear to me the question we are debating is not one of "experience" but "authority." That is:

"Do (binary) trans men understand what it's like to be a woman?"

My answer? No.

How can I justify that when we have, since birth, been raised as women? Well, because we also have, since birth, been trans men. If we cast aside the idea of transness as a modern social construct or anything other than an innate and biological reality, this has to be true. Even before you ever came out to yourself, you were transgender. Transphobia has dictated every moment of your life. Your idea of what "womanhood" is is not at all the same as a woman's, be it cis or trans. Why? Because a woman does not react to "being a woman" with the dysphoria, dissociation, and profound sense of wrongness that you do. [If you do not experience these things, a cis or trans woman, at the very least, does not identify as a binary trans man.] A woman sincerely identifies as a woman, and identity plays a pivotal role in how we absorb societal messaging.

Let's take homophobia as an example. While any queer person has probably experienced targeted episodes of bigotry, the majority of bigotry we experience must necessarily be broad and social. Boys learn to fear becoming a faggot as a group, but the boy who is a faggot will internalize those messages in a completely different way to the boys who only need learn to assert the heterosexual identity already inherent in them through violence. All of them are suffering to some extent, but their experiences are not at all equivalent. This is despite the fact that they've all absorbed the same message, maybe even at the same moment, through the same events. Still, we don't say that a straight boy knows what it is like to be a gay boy. Similarly, cis women do not know what it is like to be a trans man despite being fed the same transphobic messaging in a superficially identical context. It isn't a stretch to say the same can apply to misogyny.

Because I can't speak for you, I'll use myself as an example for a moment. I'll give my bonafides: I am a gender-nonconforming, T4T queer, white, binary trans man. I am on T, and I have recently come out to my family. I do not pass. My career as a comic writer is tied to my identity as a trans man. I can confidently say I have never been impacted by misogyny the same way as my friends who actually identify as women. This manifested early on as finding it easy to shrug off the messaging that I needed to be X or Y way to be a woman. In fact, most gender roles slid off my back expressly because breaking them gave me euphoria. I was punished in many ways for this, but being this sort of cis woman did help me somewhat. It's easy to be "one of the guys" in a social climbing sense if you really do feel more comfortable as a man. It also helped me disregard misogyny aimed at me or others because it seemed like an shallow form of bigotry. It was something you could shrug off, but it was important for building "unity" among women. I thought this must be the case for all women, that we all viewed misogyny as a sort of "surface level" bigotry. However, for whatever conditional status I gained in this role, there was a clear message that if I did "become" a man, every non-conformist trait about me would just become a grotesque and parodic masculinity.

That was the threat that was crushing me, destroying my identity and self esteem. That was what I knew intimately through systemic, verbal, physical, and sexual abuse. I could express my nonconformity as a cis woman, but if I took it so far as to transition to male? I would be a pathetic traitor, a social outcast. I truly believe that throughout my life people were able to see that I was not just a failed woman, but an emasculated man.

I do partly feel that the sticking point for many is the idea that the sexual abuse suffered by trans men is inherent to womanhood, and therefore inexplicable if trans men are men from birth. While this disregards the long history of sexual abuse of young boys, especially minority boys, I do see the emotional core. I'll offer that the sexual abuse I suffered was intrinsically linked to my emmasculation, my boyishness, despite the fact that I was not out to myself or anyone else. I believe many trans men have suffered being the proxy for cis women's desire for retribution against cis men, or for cis men and women's desire for an eternally nubile young boy. I also believe they have suffered corrective assault that attempts to push them back into womanhood, which in itself is an experience unique to transness rather than actual womanhood.

I'll note quickly that many, many trans men cannot relate to the idea of feeling confident and above it all when it comes to womanhood. Many of you probably tried desperately to conform, working every moment to convince yourself you were a woman and to perfectly inhabit that identity. I definitely experienced this as well (though for me it was specifically attempting to conform to butchness) but I can concede many of you experienced it more than I did. I still believe that this desperate play-acting is also not equivalent to true womanhood. It is a uniquely transgender experience, one that shares much more in common with trans women desperately attempting to conform to manhood than with true womanhood.

One key theme running through the above paragraphs is the idea that "womanhood" is synonymous with "suffering." A trans man must know what it is like to be a woman because he suffers like one. It should be noted that actual womanhood is not a long stretch of suffering. It often involves joy, euphoria, sisterhood, a general love and happiness at being a woman. It wasn't until I admitted to myself I had never been a woman that I was able to see how the women in my life were not women out of obligation, but because they simply were. The idea that you are a woman because you suffer is more alligned with radfem theory than any reality of womanhood.

When I admitted my identity to myself I was truly faced with the ways that my ability to stand up to misogyny did not equate to being anti-misogynist. I was giddy to finally be able to admit to being a man, and suddenly all that messaging that "slid off my back" was a useful tool in my arsenal. Much like cis gay men feel compelled to assert their disgust for vaginas and women after a life of being compelled towards heterosexuality, I felt disgust and aversion to discussions of womanhood as an identity. I didn't even want to engage with female fictional characters. I viewed other people's sincere expressions of their own womanhood as a coded dismissal of my identity. Like many people before and after, I made women into the rhetorical device that had oppressed me. Not patriarchy, not transphobia, but womanhood and women broadly. It wasn't explicit bigotry, but the effects were the same. I had to unlearn this with the help of my bigender partner, who felt unsettled and hurt by the way I could so easily turn "woman" into nothing but a theoretical category which represented my personal suffering.

This brings me to another point: I sometimes receive messages from nonbinary trans mascs telling me that it's absurd to think they don't understand womanhood and identify with misogyny in a deeper way. I would agree that, if you sincerely identify in some capacity as a woman, you are surely impacted by misogyny in a way I am not. However, why are you coming to the defense of binary trans men like me? Less charitably, why are you projecting a female identity on us? Perhaps my experience frustrates you so deeply because we simply do not have the same experience at all. Perhaps we are not all that united by our agab, by our supposed female socialization.

So, no. I do not believe that binary trans men know what it's like to be women. I don't believe we are authorities on womanhood. I do not believe that when a trans woman endeavors to talk about transmisogyny, your counterargument about your own experiences of misogyny is useful. I ESPECIALLY do not believe that it is in any way valid to say that you are less misogynist, less prone to being misogynist, or-- god forbid-- INCAPABLE of misogyny because you were raised as a girl. I also don't believe your misogyny is equivalent to that of a woman's internalized misogyny in form or impact.

For as much as many in this movement downplay privilege as merely "conditional," those conditions do exist. They do place you firmly in the context of the rest of the world. Zoom out and look at the history of oppressed men, and you'll find the same reactionary movement repeated over and over. Attacking the women in your community for not being soft enough, nice enough, patient enough, rather than fighting the powers that be. Why do I believe your identity is more alligned with cis manhood than any form of womanhood? Because this song and dance has been done a hundred times before by men of every stripe. Transphobia is real, and your life experience has been uniquely defined by it since birth. This is a thing to rally around, to fight against, but you all have fallen for a (trans)misogynistic phantasm in your efforts at self-actualization. You are not the first, and you will not be the last. Get out of this pipeline before it's too late.

[sprytesukii]

you know me (better than i know myself)

bakugou katsuki x reader

katsuki is hopelessly in love with his best friend until you waltz into his life and warp it beyond his recognition.

rating: mature, 18+, MDNI

wc : 10.4k (holy fuck)

tags : mild to heavy angst, fluff, eventual smut, hurt/comfort, gn!reader (they/them pronouns), afab!reader, unrequited love (not between reader and kats), depictions of mild depression, genderfluid!denki, queer!katsuki, reader has a quirk, oral (reader receiving), p-in-v intercourse, unprotected intercourse (wrap it b4 u tap it pls!), soft katsuki, and they were roommates :0, Not Beta Read, i think that’s it T^T

an: this is the first thing i’ve genuinely written in over a year and jesus it was like i was possessed writing it LMFAO incredibly self indulgent and i had a lot of fun writing it! i hope you guys enjoy it (pls rb n leave feedback pls pls pls)

read on ao3

the warm light of the coffee table lamp casts a beautiful shadow across the planes of eijirou’s face — his sharp, angular nose, smooth cheekbones, plush lips that form a sheepish smile — and katsuki can’t even appreciate it, not with the absolute bullshit that pours from his best friend’s lips.

“the fuck you mean, you’re moving out?”

the words come out a lot harsher than katsuki intends, but he can’t even bring himself to feel guilty, not even when kiri’s face screws up in clear disappointment.

“well, uh, i told you, this new place is closer to my agency so it makes more sense. the commute’ll be much shorter and, uh…” he trails off then, a pretty pink blush spreading across his nose, highlighting the small spattering of freckles that katsuki is certain he’s the only one who’s ever noticed, a broiling heat setting alight in his stomach.

he feels like he might die.

“and.. kaito finally asked me to move in with him.”

there it is. fuckin’ kaito.

katsuki is far from an idiot — people call him a lot of names (brash, inconsiderate, a righteous asshole), but never dumb. they couldn’t unless they were outright lying.

part of what makes katsuki so intelligent is his observance.

of course he’s noticed eijirou’s late nights, his suspicious absences at group get togethers, the sweet smiles he makes as he taps at his phone screen, the fucking hickies.

bakugou katsuki is not stupid. he’s incredibly observant. especially when it comes to the massive crush he’s been harboring on his best friend for the last three years.

he’s not entirely sure when his reluctant tolerance of the bright redhead shifted to something more but he knows he’s been viciously, painfully pining over him day in and day out in the weeks (months, years) since.

and it’s not like kirishima hasn’t had partners before. he’s nearly impossible to resist with his intense attentiveness, his willingness to go above and beyond for those close to him, not to mention his insane physique, built from long hours out on the field and in the gym.

it’s no wonder katsuki has been in love with him for as long as he has been — eijirou is perfect.

perfectly imperfect, of course. he gets upset when katsuki sorts his clothes for him (“i’m an adult, okay? it makes me feel like you’re parenting me, man.”) or when he lectures him on his diet, or when he shuts him out after being friends for so long (when his feelings become too much to handle), but eijirou’s the only one who’s stayed.

katsuki has tried flings and a few more serious relationships but those have ended quickly because he’s just too much.

too loud. too frustrating. too closed off. too him.

but not for eijirou. never for eijirou.

that’s why when kiri mentioned he was talking to this new guy, he brushed it off. it would be like all the others who would eventually break it off because of the long hours at work or eijirou’s boundless enthusiasm and katsuki would be there to pick the sopping wet, heartbroken kiri off the ground and put him back together. they didn’t deserve him anyway.

but this kaito? apparently katsuki’s eagerness to ignore eijirou’s flings made him blind to what was happening — eiji wasn’t his anymore.

he’s moving out.

he’ll be gone forever.

subconsciously, katsuki realizes he’s been silent for far too long and that eijirou’s face has lost the hurt and is now painted with concern and confusion.

fuck, even now, he’s concerned. he cares so so much, except in the way katsuki craves.

“uh,” kirishima’s gentle voice breaks him from his thoughts, a big hand finding its way to katsuki’s knee, “are you okay dude?”

the touch sears through the expensive black joggers katsuki is wearing and he flinches so hard, he jostles the coffee table to his side. he barely sees kirishima’s brows furrow as he launches himself to standing, the telltale burn behind his eyes signaling the incoming wave of tears.

he can’t see katsuki like this, he fucking can’t.

katsuki marches to the kitchen, opening up the fridge and blankly staring into it while he tries to will the water back into his face and still the turmoil burning in his chest.

it feels like he’s aflame, like he’s suffocating, drowning.

he can hear kirishima’s steps behind him but thankfully stopping a reasonable distance away as he calls his name again, desperation coloring the word.

fuck.

with everything he has in him, katsuki grabs a random bottle from the refrigerator (a smoothie eijirou made for him with far too much kale and too little milk and a little note attached with his name and a smiley face. he’s gonna be sick.) and turns to face him, a strained, shaky grimace painting his lips.

“that’s-“ his voice cracks hard and he desperately clears his throat, blinking hard when he sees eijirou reach out for him and stop. “that’s fuckin’— that’s great. ‘m happy for you.”

the words feel like glass inching their way out of his throat and while he knows he sounds anything but, the words seem to do the trick, kirishima’s face lighting up like a fucking christmas tree.

“that means so much to me, man!” this time, he doesn’t stop himself from wrapping katsuki up in a hug, the full body contact sending a wracking shiver through his body. “and don’t worry! we’ll still hang out all the time and i’ll — yes! — finally be able to introduce you to kaito — you’re gonna love him, and-“

katsuki has to tune him out, if just to keep a hold on his sanity because otherwise, he’s gonna break.

he keeps it together through the rest of the conversation about kaito, tuning in only to give time appropriate grunts and hums while pretending like his entire world isn’t imploding in on itself.

he keeps it together, miraculously, as kirishima packs up his things, the evidence of their entwined lives for the past five years disappearing into cardboard boxes over the span of a few weeks.

he even keeps it together when he meets kaito on the move out date, even if it’s just barely. kaito is handsome — tall, taller than katsuki, with windswept brown hair, bright brown eyes and a dimple in his left cheek. if he wasn’t so fucking in love with eiji, he wouldn’t mind taking a piece out of him, but as it were, the sight of kaito makes him genuinely sick to his stomach.

it’s even worse that kaito is so nice. his quirk is even nicer — some nature type that makes it impossible for plants to die when touched by him. they turn to him like he’s the fucking sun and eiji does too.

by the time all kirishima’s stuff is packed up in the back of kaito’s truck, bile is burning at the back of katsuki’s throat as he says his final goodbye to kiri in the way of a bone crushing hug that doesn’t last as long as he wishes, as he craves.

kiri sends him a blinding smile as he climbs into the passenger seat of the truck, looking all too at home against the worn blue leather seats.

it’s now when katsuki wishes he was a little less observant because the hand kaito gently places on kirishima’s thigh and the subsequent full body blush makes him sick.

he waits on the curb the appropriate amount of time as the pair drive away before racing back into his building, up the stairs, into his unit and straight to the bathroom, kneeling over the toilet and heaving, chills wracking his body despite the sweat on his brow.

nothing comes out (praise whoever above because katsuki hates vomiting) and he slumps against the porcelain, resting his heated skin against the toilet seat.

he thought… fuck, katsuki has no idea what he thought, but he didn’t expect it to hurt this bad. he feels a little like he’s dying and lot like he’ll never be okay again. that kirishima walked out with his heart and all he’ll be for the rest of his life is a walking husk of a human being.

a wave of nausea overtakes him again and he debates leaning back over the toilet, but exhaustion overwhelms him and he falls asleep against the wall of his bathroom, sweaty, sick, and heartbroken.

(the next morning, he wakes up to a pounding headache and two texts from eijirou.

he drinks a shit ton of water first and pops an advil before opening the messages.

EIJI (18:21) : just got to kaito’s! dude it’s so nice i can’t believe ill be living here now ><

katsuki has to take a deep breath to fight against the wave of pain that hits him right in the gut, but he keeps reading, the second text simultaneously warming him and twisting the knife.

EIJI (18:25) : i’m gonna miss you so much kats T^T so weird living without you

he stares at the message until his vision swims before liking the second message and turning off his phone, tossing it onto the couch and trudging to his bedroom, slamming the door behind him.)

the next few weeks prove to be incredibly difficult.

a new case is brought to best jeanist’s desk and as the best sidekick at the agency, he’s placed in charge of heading the search and capture of an elusive invisibility quirk villain.

the days are long and exhausting, and more often than not, he doesn’t even have time to miss kirishima or notice his things missing from the apartment — he gets home, makes a barebones meal and collapses on the couch for what feels like a four hour nap until he has to turn back around and do it all over again.

it’s sustainable until it isn’t.

a few too many missed meals and restless hours of sleep has him passing out in a morning briefing, prompting best jeanist to send him home for a mandatory two week “vacation.”

it’s a prison sentence, is what it is.

at home, there’s nothing to distract him from the utter lack of kirishima, from the idea that the one person who has seen all of him and loved him anyway has left.

most days it’s too much to bear, so instead, he sleeps.

the usual tidiness of his space slowly deteriorates as he wastes away, waking only to scarf down whatever is left in his refrigerator before going right back to bed.

his friends text him often — hanta, denki, even fuckin’ hitoshi — but he ignores them all. the texts from kirishima are the hardest to delete, all concerned words and pleas for them to just talk, but he does it anyway.

it’s better this way, he tells himself. this way, no one else is dragged down by his self pity.

izuku ends up being the one to break the streak on day nine of radio silence.

a knock resounds at his door and he ignores it, pulling his blankets high above his mussed blonde hair, effectively hiding him from view as he hopes whoever is there spontaneously combusts or, better yet, just leaves.

when the knocks stop, he believes the latter has just occurred and he sighs in relief, completely missing the sound of metal creaking and his doorknob falling to the ground.

he’s debating on taking another melatonin to find the sweet release of sleep once more when his bedroom door opens up and he startles, launching up out of bed, hands and quirk at the ready to destroy the intruder, but he’s slow, too slow.

izuku is on him in a moment, pinning him to the bed and disregarding his gnashing teeth and cursing to look him over with a detached gaze.

“katsuki,” he says, voice firm in effectively shutting him up, despite the way he wriggles for freedom (so ineffectively, it’s embarrassing), “you look like dogshit.”

a harsh bark of laughter escapes katsuki’s throat and even from his angle where he’s pressed into his pillows, he sees izuku’s expression soften.

“you’ve lost your tact, deku,” he responds, his words gravelly from disuse. izuku scoffs but lets him up, taking a step over a pile of clothes on the ground to lean against the desk opposite of the bed.

with his newfound freedom, katsuki sits up, absentmindedly rubbing his now sore shoulder, the pain oddly grounding. izuku watches the motion with the intense focus he’s carried throughout his entire life, though he’s a far cry from the boy who used to break his bones and cry over injured birds.

now, he’s built like a brick house, forest green curls tapered into a flattering modern undercut, the fat from his cheeks transforming into something more chiseled and adult. his eyes aren’t as soft either — they’re tired and, as he looks at katsuki’s form, tinged with worry.

“where have you been? no one has heard from you in a week.”

katsuki rolls his eyes, looking away from the gaze that pins him, the gaze he tried so hard to get to look at him without fear. there isn’t a hint of fear in them now, but katsuki is afraid there’ll be disappointment and that’s almost worse.

“none of your fuckin’ business,” he grunts out and he immediately knows it was the wrong response. besides eijirou, izuku knows him the best and after all they’ve been through, he doesn’t deserve this.

he never deserved any of it.

with that thought spinning around in his head, katsuki rubs a hand over his face with a quiet curse, leaning back against the headboard.

“fuck, i’m sorry,” it comes out as a mutter, but its effect on izuku is instantaneous. the previous hardness of his expression melts and he moves closer, his bushy brows furrowing together. katsuki can barely look at him but he does anyway, he makes himself. izuku deserves that much (he deserves so much more but one day at a time).

“we’re just worried about you,” izuku says quietly but without pity. never pity. “what’s going on?”

maybe it’s the way izuku’s freckled face reminds him far too much of eijirou’s own spattering of constellations or maybe it’s the fact katsuki hasn’t eaten in over fifteen hours, but he shatters in that moment, crystal tears filling up carmine eyes.

if izuku is startled at katsuki’s sudden change of emotions, he doesn’t show it, instead moving to envelop katsuki in his arms, allowing him to bury his face in the crook of his shoulder and let go.

katsuki tells him everything and by the end of it, his head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton and his eyes are puffy and red, but he feels better than he did all week.

izuku just looks thoughtful from his place sitting near the end of katsuki’s bed, the pair parting somewhere in between katsuki’s admission of throwing up when seeing kaito and kirishima together and his accidental confession of stealing one of eijirou’s hoodies from one of the boxes (it sits right under his pillow, but izuku doesn’t need to know that).

“i’m really sorry, katsuki. that fucking sucks,” izuku ends up saying and katsuki’s initial reaction is anger. he spills his heart and guts out to izuku and all he gets is that sucks? but when he opens his mouth to give deku a piece of his mind, he realizes that it does suck. it sucks royal ass and there’s nothing he or izuku can do to fix it - at least not yet - but the acknowledgment, without any attempt to give advice or make everything better, does wonders for katsuki.

he pushes out a watery laugh, his lip ticking up into a smile - for the first time in weeks - and izuku lights up a little. “yeah. it really fuckin’ does.”

the smile izuku sends back is blinding and for the one thousandth time, katsuki is reminded why the symbol of peace is just that.

they talk for a little while longer before izuku forces katsuki into the shower. he takes a long time, letting the scalding hot water turn cold before he emerges to find that his childhood best friend has started cleaning up the mess that has become of his apartment.

katsuki watches on for a moment until izuku raises an eyebrow at him and offers him a trash bag which he takes wordlessly, a wave of affection crashing over him so quickly tears come to his eyes. he blinks them away but he doesn’t miss the knowing smile izuku sends his way.

the pair work together in relative silence until the apartment is spotless and katsuki’s stomach is grumbling something fierce. izuku makes his way to the fridge but is met with nothing but a half carton of eggs and a rotting smoothie in the far corner, a sticky note attached to the lid. he fixes katsuki with a small, sad smile before digging through his drawers for a takeout menu.

when the food arrives, katsuki finishes it in record time and he can’t tell if it’s the fact they remembered to make it extra spicy or if it’s because he literally can’t remember the last time he had an actual meal, but it’s the best thing he’s eaten in a long time.

after they finish, izuku turns on the television and they both spend the evening shit talking a d-list hero film until they fall asleep on the couch, bodies slumped against one another, holding each other up.

—

that night seems to have knocked something loose in katsuki because the next morning, he wakes with his first alarm and heads to the gym for the first time since his mandatory vacation. by the end of it, his arms are burning from quirk overuse and he’s completely wiped, but he feels more like himself than he has in ages.

he finally texts his friends back (barring one) and they greet him back with high levels of enthusiasm and concern. it feels good to be received back into the fold with the love he’d thought he’d lost, his cheeks hurting with how much he’s smiling as the messages roll in.

katsuki finishes out his sentence and goes back to work on the fourteenth day with an earnest apology to best jeanist and a new lead on the villain after pouring over the case files in between hyperintensive workouts at the gym. best jeanist is quietly impressed, but the squeeze to the shoulder he gives katsuki tells him he was more worried about him than he let on.

the next few weeks pass in a blur, but this time it’s more pleasant. he watches shitty movies with izuku, deletes instagram when he sees a photo of kaito and kirishima on holiday in america, starts attending a pottery class on the weekends he has off with mina and denki, continues to ignore the texts from eijirou that are becoming more and more infrequent as time goes on, smokes with hanta and shinsou one evening and laughs harder than he ever has, and life feels like it’s slowly gaining its footing once again.

he realizes three months after kirishima had moved out that he should probably start looking for a new roommate or downgrade to something more reasonable. he seriously considers the latter, but when he looks at the space he cultivated right after he graduated from ua, he realizes he can’t quite give the place up.

he posts an ad on craigslist that night.

the next time the group goes drinking (kirishima is suspiciously absent, despite his reentry into the country a few days prior — mina mentioned it), katsuki brings up his roommate problem and denki latches on, his cheeks pleasantly flushed from the wine he’s been sipping on.

“oh, oh! i know - i know the perrrrfeeccttt roommate for you,” he slurs, toying with the earring dangling from his ear and fixing his excited gaze on katsuki’s face. “they’re like.. the besttt, dude, you’d - you’d love them.”

the words are vague, but when katsuki opens up his mouth to ask for more details, denki’s eyes widen and he rushes off to the bathroom, a hand over his mouth, nearly tripping over the his platform shoes and maxi skirt.

the topic of the roommate is quickly forgotten then, but it resurfaces a few days later at pottery class.

katsuki is glaring holes into the side of his slightly lopsided vase on the pottery wheel, internally going through the steps to see where he went wrong. denki to the left of him laughs and chatters as he makes his, frankly, hideous ceramic, the clay warped beyond recognition.

something in his one-sided conversation brings his attention to katsuki who’s startled at the sound of his name coming from denki’s mouth.

“yo, you still looking for a roommate?” he asks, tilting his head as a strand of hair falls from the lengthening ponytail at the back of his head. without alcohol in his system, denki looks a little more hesitant to be approaching this topic, but does so when he isn’t met with a howitzer to the face.

the group doesn’t know much of anything, just that kirishima and katsuki aren’t talking, so they tend to tread lightly around the subject. katsuki appreciates it, genuinely, but he’s not going to shatter at the sound of eijirou’s name - not anymore. it hurts still, of course, but the pain has dulled to a steady hum that he can ignore if he tries hard enough.

“yeah,” he grunts, turning his eyes back at his vase. “why? you got someone in mind?”

denki grins, showing off the lightning tooth gems on his canine. “hell yeah! i’ll give you their number — they teach the watercolor class here on tuesdays and they’re so cool.”

he speaks about you with obvious adoration and katsuki belatedly wonders if the two of you are dating, but doesn’t voice this curiousity, instead wordlessly handing denki his phone to put in your contact as “ROOMIE” with what feels like a hundred paint emojis after it. katsuki smiles at his friend’s antics and can’t quite bring himself to change it.

the colorful contact remains untouched for about another week until he gets a rent notice and remembers the little paint palettes in his phone.

in the middle of his morning workout, he taps out a quick text to you, before tossing his phone to the side and promptly forgetting about it.

katsuki [09:27] : Hey. I’m Bakugou. Denki gave me your number. I’m looking for a roommate. You interested?

ROOMIE [10:16] : oh hey yeah i’m interested

ROOMIE [10:17] : do you want 2 meet td

ROOMIE [10:17] : i’m at the cafe on 5th n cherry

ROOMIE [10:17] : in the back

ROOMIE [10:19] : i’ll b here 4 a while

ROOMIE [10:19] : just come whenever

katsuki only sees the message at the end of his workout a half hour later. the number of messages in a row and less than ideal grammar makes him turn up his nose but he quickly taps out an affirmative, before dapping izuku up and heading to the showers.

he makes it to the cafe twenty minutes later, scanning the place to see what he assumes is you tucked away in the back corner, your table full with books, papers, paints, your laptop and at least four empty cups of coffee.

katsuki raises an eyebrow at the sight but walks over anyway, telling himself he’s doing denki a favor by meeting someone he thinks so highly of so he won’t feel too bad when he tells him it’s not going to work out.

you don’t look up when he stops at your table, too occupied with the piece of art in front of you, your face twisted up in intense concentration.

you’re quite pretty, he notes subconsciously, the hard set of your eyes and one track focus reminding him an awful lot of himself when he’s swept into a difficult case. your complete unawareness gives him more time to take you in, though, so he can’t even bring himself to be too annoyed.

you’re wearing a bright yellow chargebolt hoodie that clashes terribly with your garishly pink acid queen baggy sweatpants. a pair of cellophane socks cover your feet where they’re stretched out in the seat across from you and your shoes (made to look like the red ones from deku’s costume, jesus christ) sit haphazardly beneath the table, empty.

it’s such a bizarre sight, katsuki almost laughs — almost — but he doesn’t, instead opting to knock your feet off the chair opposite you so he can sit down.

“a big fan of heroes, huh?” he asks, the action coupled with his words startling you so bad, your knees hit the underside of the table, threatening to upend all the precariously balanced objects decorating the surface.

you look angry at first before you realize who it is and once you do, you just look relieved. it’s an unusual reaction, one katsuki rarely gets from anyone who isn’t actively in danger, especially strangers.

“you scared the absolute shit out of me,” you say tiredly, rubbing a hand over your face and sighing. katsuki watches you recognize your own impoliteness in real time, a sheepish smile spreading across your lips.

pretty.

“fuck, sorry,” you extend a paint splotched hand to him and he takes it, shaking it firmly before it falls back to his side, fingers tingling. “i get super into shit and completely forget where i am. kami gets onto me about it all the time. says i’m prime villain bait or some shit. i think he’s saying it most of the time to freak me out, but he might actually be right. don’t ever tell him i said that though.”

katsuki can’t help but stare at you as you ramble at him with the familiarity of someone who’s known him for months, not just a few minutes. it’s uncomfortable in a strangely nice way and he can feel his muscles loosen as the nerves melt away.

“aw fuck, i’m sorry again. i didn’t introduce myself.”

you give him your name, offering your hand out for him to shake once more which he does with an amused look painting his expression. you don’t seem to notice, your attention being grabbed by the piece in front of you again.

“i’m bakugou,” he offers after a moment of silence. you don’t even look up when you respond.

“i know. you sent me that text, remember? also you’re like, super fucking famous, dynamight,” you look up at him through your lashes, teasing, and heat unexpectedly blooms on the back of his neck.

what the fuck?

in a bid to gain back control of the conversation (and himself) katsuki asks, “what’re you workin’ on? dunceface said you’re a painter or some shit.”

your nose crinkles at the moniker, but you don’t say anything about it, instead turning the sketchbook around for katsuki to look at it.

the piece is stunning, but it’s visceral and he can’t help but lean back a little when looking at it, stomach dropping.

a deer lays on the ground, gutted, blood, guts and viscera pouring out of its abdomen as a figure just out of frame reaches inside and pulls out its heart.

katsuki is disgusted but intrigued and that feeling only amplifies when you press a finger to the painting and activate your quirk.

suddenly, the hand in the painting moves so realistically he flinches — he can hear the deer’s heart beat, can hear the way the blood trickles through the blades of grass, can smell the coppery tang and can feel the rush of spring wind blowing past his face.

it’s like he’s there, in the piece, and he feels both a little sick and also so alive.

“holy fuck,” he whispers, shivering, and you laugh, deactivating your quirk, bringing him back to the real world. the sounds of the cafe flood in, replacing the smell of blood and spring fields with coffee and loose tea leaves. he shakes his head, eyes a little blown when they look at you.

your expression is playfully amused as you bring your sketchbook closer to your person, resting your head on the palm of your hand.

“sorry,” you offer, but you don’t sound very sorry at all, “should’ve asked before i used my quirk on you. not everyone likes that shit.”

the words are so nonchalant but you look like you’re poised to watch him get up and leave, never looking back. katsuki doesn’t think he could leave if he tried.

“nah,” his voice feels raw so he tries to clear it but the feeling doesn’t go away. “you’re good. just surprised me, ‘s all.”

your mouth parts in muted surprise and you tilt your head, appraising him like you’re seeing him for the first time. katsuki feels surprisingly bare as you study him, but he doesn’t drop his eye contact, despite the heavy pounding of his heart from your intensity.

the pair of you sit in silence like that for a moment or two longer before you break it, asking him if he wants something to drink. before he can tell you he doesn’t drink coffee though, you flag down the waiter, ask for a hot cup of tea (“darjeeling or oolong,” you ask the waiter, not even sparing katsuki another glance, “he doesn’t look like he fucks with green tea.” it’s true. he doesn’t. his heart does a stutter step in his chest.) and when it arrives to the table, katsuki asks you to move in with him.

you agree.

—

the move in process is so quick and easy that when it’s done, it feels like you’ve been living there for years.

your belongings integrate seamlessly into his own. your books about art history and watercolor technique find their way onto his bookshelves filled with classic japanese literature and hero history.

(he comes home one day to see you propped up on the couch with a thick book on the origin of quirks and heroism in japan that you stole borrowed from his collection. he just cocks his head at you when you meet his gaze and you shrug.

“i’m not japanese, i don’t know any of this shit,” you say in way of an explanation. “besides, this is important to you. i wanna learn.”

you turn back to your book like you didn’t just completely shake the foundation of katsuki’s world for a moment and he stumbles off to the kitchen, heat burning at the tips of his ears.)

your plants find their way on every windowsill and while, once upon a time, it would’ve made him think of kaito and that sick, curling jealousy would wrap around his chest and squeeze, now? it just makes him think of you.

(it helps you can’t really keep them alive so nearly every other week the two of you are replanting something new in the pots and vases katsuki makes in pottery class.)

your favorite foods join his in the refrigerator and the two of you take your meals together more often than not. katsuki cooks and you clean, either eating on the couch while watching a documentary or at the dining room table as you talk and talk and talk.

(the first time katsuki misses dinner, you wait up for him, even forgoing your own meal to eat with him when he returns at 2 in the morning.

“don’t do that shit again,” he grumbles when he finds out what you’ve done, his scarlet eyes piercing your own. you shrug, unafraid, tired eyes trailing lazily over his tank top clad form.

“don’t tell me what to do,” you retort after a moment, a mischievous smile tugging at the corners of your lips, “i like eating with you.”

your honesty, unabashed and loud, always bowls him over and he has to take a sip of his ice water to feel steady again.)

the relationship between the two of you is easy, for once, and katsuki finds himself looking forward to coming home, to you and your witty comments, sharp intelligence, and your uncanny ability to see right through him.

he swears it must be a hidden quirk, the way you seem to just know — know what he wants and needs without even asking and your accuracy rate is pretty much unbeatable.

after a particularly bad mission where the property damage is unusually high and the civilian casualties match, the leading hero news journalist puts out a scathing piece about him, sending him into an emotional spiral.

you find him that afternoon, curled up in bed, staring at the window blankly. you crawl up in bed beside him and you don’t speak, don’t offer him coddling words of “everything’s gonna be okay,” or “you did the best you could,” because if that was katuski’s best, he doesn’t fucking deserve to be a hero. not at all.

but no, you don’t offer him empty words of placation. instead, you brush a lock of his hair off of his forehead and look at him with that all-seeing gaze, your expression neither soft nor hard, but understanding.

“you’re not gonna let that shit happen again, right?” you ask, tilting your head. katsuki shakes his head vehemently, the mere notion of the same amount of dead bodies on his watch sending a fire through his chest as he sits up.

“fuck no.”

“good. now come here, i painted something new and i need to see if i get ‘good job’ or ‘holy fuck that’s shitty’ eyebrows from you.”

and that’s that.

you’ve even given him a nickname and it inexplicably makes his skin feel tight, like he needs to tear it off and show you, like it’s a display of how you make him feel.

it’s a lazy sunday afternoon, one he’s required to take off by best jeanist, and he’s spent it next to you on the couch, listening to a few of your records while you paint a forest scene, a skittish doe front and center with rivulets of water streaming from beneath it.

occasionally, you’ll activate your quirk and katsuki can suddenly hear birds chirping and the creak of the wood before he’s back in your cramped flat, the sounds of city sounding below.

it’s jarring and yet, comforting, both your presence and the quirk, in a way that still doesn’t make sense to him yet.

“bambi, are you even listening to me?” the term of what he assumes is endearment startles him out of his thoughts and he eyes dart to yours, an amused expression on your your brow.

“who the fuck are you callin’ bambi?” in his shock, he can hardly conjure up the ability to sound pissed, confusion instead hijacking his words, making them come out soft and gruff.

“you, idiot,” you reply, like it makes all the sense in the world. “you’re like a deer to me. something in you is skittish, afraid and yet, you’re still so beautiful.”

what the fuck.

katsuki’s breath completely evaporates from his lungs and he feels like he’s going to pass out at your frank words. it doesn’t help that you don’t break eye contact or look embarrassed to have said something so, so… intimate.

he can’t even begin to parse through how to respond to something like that, but you know that too, flicking a little bit of paint water at him with the tip of your brush. he sees the olive branch for what it is and he grabs it with both hands, the annoyed sound rising from his throat on autopilot as you laugh, but your eyes are still so knowing.

he thinks about that day everyday after with sickening butterflies flapping around in his stomach and those only magnify when you choose to call him the new nickname every single chance you get.

katsuki would not dream of stopping you.

—

it’s about two months into you moving in with him and he’s going out drinking with the squad. he’s invited you about thirty times but every time you decline, citing that you’re behind on grading art projects and that show you were looking forward to is airing tonight.

(you’re a substitute art teacher at the local elementary school, a fact that genuinely shocked katsuki when he found out.

you’d laughed, wide and unapologetic at his reaction.

“i know i’ve got quite the potty mouth but i clean it up for the kids,” you say, eyes twinkling. “they kinda love me, i think, but it might just be the bob ross videos i put on for them every friday.”)

katsuki chooses not to push but he knows that he’ll end up cutting the night short, just so he can sprawl next to you on the couch and watch you paint.

you seem to know it too (how?? secret quirk, it must be) if the knowing look you give him isn’t enough as he goes to change.

when he returns to the living room, he’s clad in a nice black button down that’s unbuttoned enough to show off the strong planes of his chest and his thin gold chain, and a pair of black jeans that fit him and his tiny waist incredibly well.

katsuki knows he looks good in this outfit, but he finds himself uncharacteristically nervous as he stands in front of you, your eyes dragging down his body as slow as molasses, igniting the skin as though it was a physical touch.

your eyes meet his once again, molten and hot, and katsuki’s knees nearly buckle at the sight. he’s never seen you look like that - not at him, not at anyone, and he finds that he quite likes to be the center of your attention in this way.

“you clean up nicely, bambi,” you murmur, your voice a lower timber in comparison to your normal speech.

the blush spreads immediately to all visible parts of his body and he can fucking see you holding back a grin. “fuck off,” is all he can say before he spins on his heel, grabs his keys, and marches out the door.

it takes everything in him to continue walking, out and up to the train station and then to the bar, because all he wants to do is turn right back around, back to your home and back to that lava-like gaze you pinned him with earlier.

it’s you that’s racing around in his mind when he pushes the door open to the bar, but all thoughts come to a complete, grinding halt when he sees kirishima at their usual table, surrounded by all their friends and grinning like he’d never left.

he looks different - after all, it’s been about a year since katsuki had seen him last. his hair is longer and his roots are grown out, his skin has taken on such a warm glow and it, impossibly, seems like he’s gotten even bigger somehow.

it’s also impossible to miss the black band on his ring finger signaling a new engagement ring which he figures is what they’re meant to be celebrating tonight, eyes belatedly catching on the comically tiny “i’m engaged!” sash hanging around his chest.

the sight of kirishima sends the most heinous bolt of anxiety through katsuki and now he really just wants to call you to come get him and take him home, to make him forget all about his unrequited love. he moves backwards to do just that, but he’s already been spotted by kirishima himself.

fuck.

katsuki is frozen as kirishima’s happy expression falters when he meets his eyes, cycling through shock, disbelief, stark hurt and then utter relief.

he can see the way kiri’s mouth forms “katsuki” from a distance as he puts down his drink and moves towards him, his feet completely frozen until they’re standing face to face (face to chest, really) for the first time in months.

“hey,” kirishima says, hesitantly, breathlessly, as his hands flutter uselessly at his sides, like he wants to just pick katsuki up but is stopping himself. “can we, uh, can we go outside and talk?”

katsuki just nods because what else is supposed to do? and as they move out, he catches the worried gazes of their friends watching the pair of them from the table. denki and izuku, the latter of whom knows the most (everything) and the former who managed to figure most of it out on his own.

(“takes one to know one,” he’d said, bitterly when he’d confronted katsuki a few weeks ago about his unexplained mandatory leave all those months ago. katsuki was confused until kaminari flipped around his phone to reveal a photo of him and hanta pressed tightly together in an embrace that was strictly platonic and yet, horribly intimate.

katsuki’s lips drew together into a tight line as he settled against the brick wall kami was leaning against, trying to light the cigarette hanging loosely from his lips.

“you’re too good for plain face,” he says after a moment, attempting to channel his inner you, blunt and honest. “you’re gonna find someone better.” and just like all his thoughts as of recently, they’d flitted right back to you.

denki had watched his face carefully, cigarette unlit, a thoughtful look crossing his own expression.

“yeah,” he concedes, “i will, won’t i?”)

katsuki gives the pair of them a nod, holding up a hand to izuku who looks like he wants to follow them out of the bar, despite the pounding in his chest and the way he suddenly feels unsteady on his feet as they leave the building to step right back out into the cool, fall air.

kirishima’s stance is awkward and since neither of them smoke, they both just stand there, barely looking at each other and waiting for the other person to speak up first.

“fuckin’ hell- what’d you wanna talk about kirishima?” katsuki grits out, tired of the waiting game and suddenly, immediately, so exhausted. all he wants to do is be curled up beside you, with your all seeing eyes and gentle utterances of “bambi” in his ear.

the tact he’d lost in his haste to get this over with stings kirishima whose brows furrow in annoyance. “what do i want to talk about? i haven’t seen you in a year, bakugou, not since i moved out and you completely cut me off with no explanation whatsoever. i want to know why. what - what did i do wrong?”

his voice breaks on the last word and it sounds so sad, so uncharacteristically eijirou, that katsuki flinches, finally looking over at kirishima to see a broken, pleading man who lost his best friend for nothing more than silly, stupid feelings.

at once, katsuki feels all the fucking idiot asshole he is and it’s staggering how much that thought makes him feel like shit. he could’ve reached out, he could’ve, but he was so worried that he wouldn’t have been able to keep it together, spending time with kiri, and as time passed, the issue became that so much time had passed and he had no idea how to navigate this all over again.

he runs a hand over his face, leaning against the brick facade of the bar. “fuck,” he whispers, gravel crunching underfoot as kiri steps closer.

“i - i miss you, kats,” kiri’s voice comes out quiet and thick, “i got engaged and all i wanted to do was call you, but you weren’t there, you weren’t speaking to me and i-“ he takes a shuddering breath and katsuki’s eyes fill with tears.

“i was in love with you.”

the sounds of the street fade out as katsuki finally turns to look at kirishima, the tears falling down his cheeks.

“wha- bakugou, what?”

“i was in love with you and i couldn’t fuckin’ - i couldn’t do it. not to myself, not to you.”

kirishima face is drawn, pale and mouth gaping. his mouth closes, then opens again, then snaps shut, his head shaking in disbelief.

“why didn’t you - fuck - why didn’t you ever say anything, man?”

katsuki scoffs, the sound wet with grief. “are you shittin’ me? why the hell would i do that?”

kiri shrugs, long, dark lashes sweeping his cheekbones, leaving tiny wet marks. a year ago, the sight would’ve filled katsuki with rabid butterflies, but now it remains just an observation, one made passively and without thinking.

“i should’ve told you somethin’, i fuckin’ know that now, but i was - i was scared. scared of you hating me, scared of losing you. but i went and fucked that one up anyway, so,” katsuki laughs, self deprecating, and kirishima shakes his head vehemently, grabbing him by the shoulder and pulling him into a tight hug.

katsuki’s throat is tight as he gives into the embrace, burying his face into kirishima’s shoulder.

“you haven’t lost me, kats, and you never will,” kirishima whispers, pulling apart far enough to press his forehead to katsuki’s, red eyes meeting red. “i mean, who else is gonna be my best man?”

katsuki’s eyes widen and he takes a step back. “don’t fuck with me.”

kirishima shakes his head, a wet laugh escaping his lips. “not fucking with you bro. you’re my best friend. i want you there beside me on the happiest day of my life.”

after everything, after the year of no contact and the absolutely shitty way katsuki treated him, kirishima still wants katsuki by his side?

he’s honored, he’s out of his depth, he’s fucking nauseous, and he really wants to go home and tell you.

“i met someone,” he blurts and kirishima looks startled at the change of subject, but takes it in stride, a smile tugging at his face.

“that’s so great, dude, congrats! what’s their name?”

katsuki breathes it out and when he does, he realizes something, the force of it hitting him like a steel beam to the head.

“i think i’m in love with them.”

kirishima blinks, taking in katsuki’s tense form. he looks like he’s about to run away.

“i’m so happy for you, kats. really, i am,” kiri says, before being taken off guard yet again by the hug katsuki initiates.

“of course i’ll be your best man, shitty hair. i fuckin’ missed you too,” he murmurs and he hears kirishima sniffle. “i gotta go but text me and we’ll get lunch tomorrow or some shit, okay? i’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

he pulls away to see eijirou’s big wet eyes stare down at him with unabashed care and love, and katsuki feels his heart swell.

he got his best friend back and now it’s time to get you.

kirishima agrees to the meetup wholeheartedly and lets katsuki go with a hearty pat on the back and a shouted “good luck!” over the sound of the rain that started up during the last moments of conversation before going back inside the bar.

katsuki considers blasting his way to you, but he knows the optics would be incredibly unfavorable and his pr department would have his head, so he races to the train station instead and hops aboard, his mind racing with thoughts of you.

his hair is plastered to his forehead with rain by the time he gets to his apartment building and the button up is molded to his body like a second skin. he’s uncomfortable, of course, but he hardly pays it any mind because before he knows it, he’s unlocking and pushing open the door to your shared flat.

he’s home.

you startle from your place upside down on the couch, your paints and sketchbook cluttering the coffee table at the side while the tv plays an ancient looking cooking show quietly.

katsuki is bowled over by the sight, the weight of what he now knows as love sending him stumbling a little on his feet. he has to hold onto the doorjamb to keep his footing.

you sit up, observing, and you tilt your head. “you’re back early,” you comment, curiosity lacing your words.

he nods, not trusting his voice as finally steps past the threshold, kicking off his shoes and putting on a pair of hideous hawks themed slippers that you’d bought for him on your own birthday.

you hum thoughtfully before standing and disappearing down the hallway, katsuki’s eyes glued to you as you go. he can hear the sounds of you rummaging around in the bathroom, his feet frozen to the floor when you return, a fluffy towel in hand.

“you should shower, of course,” you say with a grin, opening up the towel and draping it over his head to dry it before moving on to the rest of his sopping body. “but i figured i’d keep you from dripping all over that ugly rug you’re obsessed with.”

katsuki doesn’t respond, can’t, and you don’t push or question, instead diligently wiping him down until he’s marginally more dry, eg, not actively dripping on the hardwood.

you move to go dispose of the towel and katsuki’s hand shoots out, not of his own volition, to hold you in place. it’s here he notices how close you’ve been standing to him, your breath wafting over his collarbones.

“bambi?” you question, unafraid of him, just lightly confused, but you don’t move away from him, somehow picking up his need for closeness without him saying anything, and he snaps.

“i love you,” he whispers, the explosion in his chest coming out in just those three gruff words, his carmine eyes boring into your own with an intensity you match.

a small smile spreads over your lips and your eyes light up, joy thrumming over your skin. “i love you too, katsuki.”

it’s perfect and katsuki can’t stop himself from cupping your face and pressing your lips together.

the kiss is gentle and chaste, your hands dropping the towel, coming up to rest on his forearms and holding him in place as you move your lips softly against his own.

katsuki feels like the rest of the world could implode right now, could be on fire or flooding or being overrun by villains and none of it would matter, not a single fucking thing because you’re in his arms and you’re kissing him back and you love him.

these thoughts ignite a hunger in him, a flame stoking in his belly, and he pushes further into the kiss, his hands sliding from their place on your face. one cups the back of your neck while the other slides down your back, pressing you firmly against the front of his body.

he’s almost giddy, having you like this, and he’s sure you can feel it because you’re smiling into the kiss like this is the happiest day of your life.

he thinks it’s his.

you continue trading kisses like this in your foyer, but it only escalates when your tongue flickers across katsuki’s bottom lip and you sigh softly, back arching against him.

katsuki has to break apart from you so he doesn’t consume you in that moment, but you don’t go far (you never do), your foreheads pressed together while you breathe in each others air.

“fuckin’ hell,” he chokes out and you laugh. “can i please - fuck - i need you.”

his honesty shuts you up quick and you nod, biting your lip. “take me to bed, bambi.”

and that he does.

katsuki’s hand finds yours and he pulls you towards his bedroom — you’ve been in there countless times, to watch movies, to nap, to read with one another, but of course, it was never like this.

the tension is thick but it’s not uncomfortable at all. you walk over to his bed and plop down on it like you’ve been in this situation a thousand times. the action soothes any residual anxiety katsuki might’ve had as he walks over to you, your heated gaze tracking his movements the entire time.

“take this shit off,” he grumbles, tugging at the garish all might crewneck covering your abdomen and you swat his hand away with an amused look.

he can feel his pout forming at your smile, but you just shake your head. “don’t tell me what to do, bambi,” but still, you raise grip the bottom of the thick fabric, lifting it up and over your head before letting it drop to the ground, leaving you bare.

or almost bare, if not for the objectively hideous, brightly colored, thin, cheap and lacey dynamight themed underwear covering your body.

“what the fuck is this?” katsuki doesn’t mean for his question to come out so reverent, but seeing you clad in his colors sends a bolt of heat down his spine so strong, he’s quite literally never been harder in his life.

you don’t seem to notice (but you always do), tilting your head at him with a grin playing on your lips. “they were on sale. didn’t think you’d ever see them.”

katsuki’s brows furrow at that, his hands tightening from their place on your hips. “who the fuck else was going to?”

you shake your head, like there’s something he isn’t getting. “no one. it’s always been you.”

“fuckin’-“ katsuki surges for you, claiming your lips with his with an urgency that had previously been lost. you respond in kind and this time, you’re letting out all these quiet gasps and sighs, writhing beneath him. he has to see you fall apart.

he reluctantly detaches his face from yours, kissing down your neck and sucking marks into the thin skin there, one of your hands sliding up to tangle into his hair, keeping him close.

a moan escapes him at the feeling of your fingers on his scalp, nearly getting lost in the mindless action, but he has to keep going. he makes it to your chest, laving his tongue over one of your nipples, flicking the hardened bud with the tip.

“f-fuck, bambi,” you outright moan and katsuki has to grind down against the mattress, his free hand sliding to pinch and pull at your other nipple.

your body can’t figure out whether to arch towards or away from his ministrations, which katsuki takes special delight in. you’re always so in control of yourself, even when you’re not, so it’s beyond rewarding to be responsible for your destruction.

“bambi - fuck - ‘suki, fuck me,” you groan and katsuki’s eyes roll back before he pulls off your nipple with a pop, his lips red and slick.

“nah.”

“nah?” you parrot, leaning up on your elbows with the closest thing he’s seen to annoyance directed at him written all over your face.

“nah. ‘m gonna make you come first.” katsuki grins, feral, and you shudder.

“get to it then, hero.” the moniker, while meant to be sarcastic and biting, just makes katsuki moan, hooking his fingers in the waistband of your (dynamight !!) underwear and tossing them to the floor.

he leans in, propping up one of your legs over his shoulder to bury his nose in the crease between hip and thigh, inhaling deeply. you smell sharp and tangy and so you that he couldn’t stop himself from taking a lick, entrance to clit, if he tried.

you sigh at that first touch of his wet muscle, melting in the bed while one hand remains buried in his hair and the other splays above your head. you watch him move with that intense look and you don’t look away so he doesn’t either.

he doesn’t look away as he slurps loudly at your entrance, tasting the wetness that’s gathered there with a pleased hum. doesn’t look away as he swirls his tongue around your clit, pulling a sharp gasp from your chest. doesn’t look away as he picks up pace, swirling, flicking and sucking until you’re chanting his name and “bambi,” your body tensing up as you buck your hips up into his face. doesn’t look away when you cum hard, soaking his lips and chin to which he eagerly groans, slurping up all you have to offer.

you pull him up to stop him from licking you through your aftershocks, kissing him hard once he gets to eye level.

“please,” you beg, eyes wide and urgent. who is he to deny you or himself?

katsuki stands and shucks off his boxers in record time, wrapping a hand around his cock that’s hard and leaking, the tip bright red.

your eyes eat him up hungrily, lingering on the way his precum spills over his knuckles with every slow stroke.

“i’m gonna suck your pretty cock tomorrow, preferably before breakfast,” you comment breathlessly. katsuki has to wrap his fingers around the base of his cock to keep himself from coming in that moment, taking a deep breath and glaring at you when you giggle.

“condom?” you shake your head, leaning back and spreading your legs to show off the wet mess he’s made of you.

“‘m clean and i’m in love with you. fuck me. now.” you can’t even sound commanding, not with the whine lying beneath your words, giving away how bad you want him. how bad you want this.

if the way katsuki’s cock legitimately jumped at your words is anything to go by, he obviously feels the same.

“goddamit, can’t fuckin’ say shit like that to me, jesus,” he rambles, crawling back onto the bed and notching the fat head of his dick into your entrance before leaning down to kiss you, open mouthed and messy.

he pushes into you when your tongue is halfway down his throat and he nearly chokes on it. you’re so soft and wet and velvety — he’s gonna cum so fucking fast, holy shit.

of course, you know it too, know him like the back of your hand because you squeeze even tighter around him and slide your hand down between your bodies to rub frantically at your clit.

“you - oh, god, you feel so fucking good bambi, fucking me so well, always taking care of me,” your words slur together as your eyes roll back, his hips slamming into yours at a quick pace.

he wants you to cum first, wants it more than anything, but the dirty talk coupled with the way you feel clenching around him has him shooting off faster than he expected, a low, long whine leaving him.

his hips stutter against yours and fireworks go off behind his eyelids. it feels like he’s coming forever as he humps into you and that feeling is only prolonged by you coming around him, your cunt clenching so tightly, you force him out, his spend spreading all over your mons and pelvis with a choked groan.

after another long moment, he slumps against you, exhausted and happier than he’s ever been.

you hum contentedly, wrapping your arm around him to pull him half on top of you, your body succumbing to the tiredness that’s so quickly overtaken you.

“i love you, katsuki,” you whisper, the phrase thick with sleep and emotion. katsuki feels burning at the backs of his eyes so he buries his face in the crook of your neck to hide, kissing your shoulder when the words don’t come.

you know, though. you always do.

—

“fuck, bambi, we’re gonna be late!” you screech from your (now) shared room, the sound muffled from where your head is buried in the closet.

by the door, katsuki is trying (and failing) to tie his bow tie, the red fabric remaining uncooperative in his hands. he groans in frustration, raising a hand to run it through his hair but stopping short when he remembers how you painstakingly fixed it for him a few hours ago.

“i know! it’s this stupid fuckin’ tie!” he shouts back, staring at himself in the little mirror you purchased, smiling a little despite himself when he remembers that trip to the home decor store with you, picking out new items that represent the both of you for your apartment.

speak of the devil, you step up behind him, looking gorgeous in a red, floor length dress, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“you look really good bambi,” you grin, fingers dragging down his abdomen to rest on his waistband, but his hands stop your downward motion while he gives you a halfhearted glare through the reflection.

“don’t start that shit,” katsuki turns around in your hold to face you, your hands immediately finding his undone tie. you work efficiently, face so scrunched up and focused that katsuki can only lift your face to press a kiss to your lips.

you melt, kissing him back easily and when you pull away, his lips are tinged with your lip products, marked by you. “you have a little something…” you trail off, wiping it away, not realizing how he stares at you like you’re the sun and he has no other choice but to revolve around you.

“marry me,” katsuki blurts, heat burning at the tips of his ears after a moment of you looking at him in utter disbelief.

he worries for a split second that you’re going to say no, but then your face splits into the most blinding smile he’s ever seen.

“are you proposing to me right now, bakugou katsuki?” you tease, fingers toying with the tie around his neck.

he nods, his hands finding your waist as he pulls you closer to him. “so what if i am?”

you laugh and nod, tears filling your lash line as the lighthearted facade drops to reveal you, earnest and honest and so so in love with him.

katsuki has no idea how he got so lucky, what he did in a past life to have you in his life and agreeing to be with him, in his life forever.

“of fucking course, i’ll marry you,” you say, grabbing his face and kissing him hard. “and i want nothing more than to make love to you on our brand new ikea sofa, but if we’re late to kiri’s wedding, he’s gonna kill me and make you watch.”

even the empty threat you make through your happy tears centers you in katsuki’s life, like you know that you are the center of his world, of his entire universe. you always know, know him better than he knows himself and there isn’t anyone on this whole earth who he’d rather be with than you.

he doesn’t tell you any of this though, blinking back tears instead and agreeing with a laugh, before finally ushering the pair of you out the door.

the thing is, katsuki doesn’t have to tell you.

you already know.

[passionpeachy]

Sorry if this is weird but I wanted to say it's so comforting to know that there are other lesbians in their mid-to-late 20s who haven't had their first kiss or anything. I know gay people in general tend to reach those milestones later than cishet people but I've always felt like I was way behind even my gay peers, and it has really put a dent in my sense of self-worth. So, you mentioning that you've never kissed anyone made me feel a little less alone. :) Love your art and hope you are doing well.

You should look at the concept of "your first kiss" less as a milestone you have to achieve at a certain age and more of an intimate thing that happens when YOU want to do it, if you even want to do it at all.

I have no idea what your situation is like, but personally I literally just haven't felt a super strong urge to kiss anyone near me here in this very South Texan city. People aren’t really “visibly” queer here with pride flags and stuff, including me. We’ve only had 2 small Pride parades before and that’s it. I'm sure this would eventually change if I lived somewhere more queer-friendly with more sapphics who were my specific type (butch and nonbinary lesbians are pretty much nonexistent here. I once got embarrassingly excited when I saw one(1) online who lived here. It’s like all the real attraction I’ve been deprived of all my life hit me like a truck. No, I’ve never talked to them lol)

......but I'm not saying the girls here aren't ever cute or anything. They’re beautiful actually. Mostly bisexual latinas. I've definitely had some gay moments here and there. It just wasn't enough to spiral into more than light flirting and a cheek kiss, I guess. There’s also the severity of insecurity and mental illness that makes one a homebody, but I don’t want to get into that right now.

So while I want it, I love the idea of it, I'm not really that ashamed about being inexperienced this late in life. Seems more common than people are willing to admit tbh. ANYWAY, I rambled too much. My point is you shouldn't tie this to your self-worth and don't let anyone, even other queer people, make you feel bad about it

[justin-chapmanswers]

Sorry if this is a bit rude, but how do you consider yourself as he/they or they/he? I am questioning my sexuality and gender at the moment and seeing you (idk if ur lgbt) makes me find comfort, if you can, how did you realise you were not straight and how I can find mine! :3

Oh golly uh. Let's see if I can keep this short and then bury it under other answers. <3

Labels are fun cause they're so funky and ever-changing as you learn more about yourself. So, firstly, don't stress about finding something so perfect right away and bounding yourself to it. You're still you, any way you word it.

Gender-wise I'm in a state of def preferring they but being chill enough with he. Like whateverrrrr. It's hard to get around societal norms and perceptions, so my expectations are calibrated accordingly. I of course feel that for people who feel more strongly about a specific label, it's important to fight for it to be recognized whenever you're in a safe-enough environment to do-so. But for me, the concept of pushing for a specific label or, even more-so, of seeing other people pushing others to use a specific label for me is veryyyy anxiety-inducing. I tend to avoid spotlight when possible. But at the same time, a lot of it just comes down to not wanting to be grouped/perceived gender-ly at all. I tend to use the label agender. But I'm sure a lot of people have similar experiences with different labels. I just, ya'know, wanna be me.

Gender exploration is funnnn. There's no one right way to learning about yourself. Some people know from a young age, almost inherently, some people figure things out a lot later. It's never too late. Some people learn with outfits and styles, some with looking to people/characters who they want to be perceived more-like, some with experimenting through new names/pronouns and feeling-out how being called different things makes them feel. If you have friends you feel safe around with all of this, on or offline, can't hurt to say "hey would ya mind calling me x-name or y-pronoun for a bit?" And if you don't like it, you don't need to stick with it. But really be cognizant of it feels right to you.

Then on the romantic orientation side, that's been a much longer journey haha. I was calling myself straight through middle schooler, bi for a bit in early high school, gay starting in later high school, then for a long while. Nowadays I just say queer. Labels make things easier, until they don’t haha. For me, if you imagine a scale of feminity to masculinity with like little pegs running down the line from 0 to 10, with 5 in the middle, I tend to find myself attracted to people in like the 4 to 8 range? Something like that. But even that's not perfectly consistent! There's never going to be a perfect word for everything. That's why I like queer as an umbrella term. It's also just a cute word, I don't make the rules.

Hence earlier when I mentioned that you should just feel free to keep it open and not close yourself off. Maybe nothing'll change, but what if something does? But of course, I assume you're asking from more of a place of just starting this journey. I'm trying to get my mind back to where I started with that. I think the first time the not-straight realization hit was when a friend of mine didn't show up to an event and I was all like "why am I so miserably sad that he wasn't there?" And then a lightbulb appeared over my head and out-loud I said "aw damnit." And then things have been weird and confusing ever since.

But in terms of giving advice, it's hard to not just be like "uhh idk just hang out with people that makes you feel gooey." But obviously it's more complicated than that. A decade ago, I was taking random "am I gay" tests online. But they're kinda silly cause the questions on those would ask me to fill in information about how I feel, but how am you supposed to know how I feel without the test telling me how I feel??????? So realistically, I'd advise private journaling. Just take some time, even five minutes. Start now. Write out who you are drawn to, in any sense, and how they make you feel. Especially if you're like me and have trouble self-reflecting unless I force myself to. Like. In a Tumblr post.

There's so many ways to explore. It's also nice to look at relationships in life and media and seeing if you connect to any relationship or long to fit into someone's place within a relationship. That's why representation matters, baybeeeee! But also, ya'know, talking to people goes a long way to learning about yourself. Trial 'n error let's gooooo.

And above all: you got this.

[bloggingboutburgers]

Do you have any thoughts on how old a person "has to be" to realize they're aro/ace? I'm an adult, but realized I was ace at 14, and anytime I say that, people jump to tell me that's too young and that I couldn't have known. It frustrates me that other queer people are willing to say something like that about something that brought me comfort and community when I otherwise would've felt alone, but I don't know how to put into words how hypocritical and irritating it is, or whether being told that is even an experience other aro/ace people have had.

Eyooo- 👉👉 I'm also an adult who realized they were ace at 14! And yeah, I got the same reactions. I think it's bullshit. 14 is an age people hit puberty and start heavily figuring themselves out romantically and sexually, and I might be wrong but I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of people were pretty sure they're gay or bi or pan or at the very least not straight at 14, so why not aces, right? I remember personally my experience was... "Welp, everyone's obviously horny and I'm obviously not, so I'm obviously asexual", and honestly it was clear enough to me. Never occurred to me that I could be a "late bloomer" or whatever because like... Really I didn't miss it, if anything I was VERY happy to give it a pass.

So... Yeah. It's insensitive and diminishing and we get that A LOT and it's annoying af. Society makes it hard enough for us to figure ourselves at as is without people, straight or queer, telling us "nah actually your experience isn't really real and you don't know shit". I think it's one of the hardest and most universal struggles we have, and you're right for feeling irritated about it.

[diamonds-of-the-first-water]

I Have Evolving Thoughts on Fran’s Sexuality

(god hannah dodd is so pretty)

First of all let’s thank GOD francesca is the queer sister and not…that other one.

Anyways upon my initial viewing of part 2 I definitely read Fran as bisexual and if you continue to read her as such I think that’s fine but my mind has changed on the matter.

I believe that Fran is actually a lesbian suffering from comphet.

The reason this actually started to seem likely to me is because of her wedding scene with John. The whole season I thought they seemed so taken with one another and I enjoyed their quiet dynamic. They were more than comfortable sitting in silence with one another and seemed to grow closer in that way.

I like many others assumed this meant their love was romantic, but that kiss

Would a woman who is attracted to men make this face after kissing the man she loves? I don’t think so. Some people seem to think it’s because she’s shy but it doesn’t seem like she’s even thinking about her family here. It seems like she has retreated into her own thoughts. It seems like she was disappointed. And after spending the whole season feeling nothing for any of the men she meets why wouldn’t she be. She met a man she loved and she kissed him and she didn’t feel those sparks.

Now Fran is also autistic coded so this initially affected the way I viewed her relationships as well, but all of that changes when you take into account Michaela.

Francesca immediately starts to stutter and is flustered when she sees Michaela. We have never seen Fran act this way with a man, even her husband. It wasn’t for no reason that Violet describes how she felt the first time she fell in love with Edmund and then almost immediately after Fran reacts the same way to Michaela. The butterflies, not being able to string a sentence together. This was foreshadowing.

Some people were upset because they said it erased everything Fran said about having a quiet love and that is somewhat true, but I disagree with people saying that it erases slowly built love when Polin’s whole story is about love not striking you like a bolt of lightning.

None of this is to say she can’t love John, I believe she does I just feel it is platonic, and the loss of John would hit hard even if he was her best friend. John is one of the great loves of her life but who is to say that love is romantic? Friendships are the foundation of our lives and they are equally as important as any romantic relationship. Fran met someone who understands her and is like her, that doesn’t mean she has to have romantic attraction for him.

Some of this is affected by personal bias as I am a late-blooming lesbian, but holy shit the way I relate to Fran wanting to get married just because it would mean she wouldn’t have to pursue any other relationships with men and the way she was willing to accept whoever the Queen deemed fit because she didn’t have any criteria except “is kind to me”. Fran does not seem to be searching for love as she has not felt it before. The closest she comes is with John because the two of them are so similar and I believe she thought that because she liked him so much that she must be in love with him which is just so…lesbian coded I don’t know how to explain it.

This isn’t to say bisexuality isn’t real or is “just a phase”. Ew. Gross. No. This is just the way I am interpreting the character with the information we have now. If it comes out definitely that she is bisexual then I will accept that, sapphic rep is so needed.

All in all they look so good and I can’t wait to see these queers kiss and have a romance.

Also I think that Michaela still could have fallen first. Fran just realized she was a dyke at that exact moment and her brain stopped working which is valid. But did you see the way Michaela looked at her. I KNOW A LESBIAN FALLING IN LOVE WHEN I SEE ONE.

[https-kreideprinz]

Someday, I'll be falling without caution !

Percy Jackson x GN! Reader

. . . Now playing: People watching by Conan Gray! . .

A/N: Hey, could you do a Percy Jackson x cabin 13 reader, where they are childhood friends and have feelings for each other? (first one making a request lol)

Notes: Nico kill a bitch. (it's 10:51pm i am so tired send help) I was gonna write more but god I literally can't right now I need a BREAK.

ׂׂૢ Percy Jackson

You had met the infamous 'Percy Jackson' in one of the many schools he had attended before finding his way at camp.

And you quickly grew close with him, a pair of social outcasts sitting in by themselves giggling about who knows what.

But unfortunately, for both of you, Percy was expelled for God knows what.

And then you find yourself in a casino, a strange casino making you forget, making your mind hazy and distracted by the lights and the smell of food.

It feels like a few days that you've stayed here, but when you're finally found and brought to camp, it’s been years.

It’s only the day after the summer solstice and camp is buzzing with excitement.

When you settle into your bed in the Hermes cabin is when you finally make out the name everyone's throwing out.

'Percy Jackson.'

But there’s no way- I mean- it can't be your Percy, right?

It is.

You catch his eye the very next day and decide to strike up a conversation.

Which ends up in a whole day talking about everything. Finding out he was a demigod, to being claimed by Poseidon. His first quest, missing you.

It spills out, finally relieved to have someone to tell.

He is less than amused when you tell him you don't know who your father is, Percy is determined to find him though. Anything to put your mind at ease.

"I promise."

After the battle of Manhattan, you are finally claimed by your dad - Hades, and move into your new Cabin with your half-brother Nico.

You also start dating Percy.

Which your brother is less than happy about.

Shrugging on your coat you smile, and you shoot one last look at the mirror. Nico stares at you, deadpanned as you fix your hair. "You're acting like you're getting married. It's a date!" He grumbles, getting ready to walk you to the cafe Percy wanted to meet with you at. And potentially punch his face in for taking his sibling away from him.

You had only known Nico for a few years, shorter than you've known Percy, but it's like you've known him your whole life, so it only made sense for him to be so overprotective over you. Your half-brother, well ever since what happened with Bianca, you felt more comfortable calling him your brother and you two stuck together. With the addition of Hazel, you were considered one of the most powerful trios most demigods have ever seen.

Nico snapped his fingers at your face, mumbling something in Italian. "Hello. Earth to [Name]. Anyone in there?" He huffs. "Come on. We have to go unless you'll be late."

You snap out of your train of thought and sit up. "Yea... let's go." You nod. Nico grabs your hand, looking annoyed as he drags you out of your shared cabin. “I still don’t get why out of everyone you pick, you go with Percy.” He grumbles and you raise an eyebrow. “I thought you and Percy were cool now?” You frown. Nico huffed. “We were. Until he took my sibling away- listen if he ever breaks your heart-” Nico grabs you by the shoulders, looking into your eyes. “I’ll fucking kill him.”

You sigh. Not this again.

Taglist: @thementallyunwellapollochild, @apollos-coolest-child, @too-queer-for-school, @chaotic-child-of-apollo, @vintage-wanderers

@solicitedfreakiness, @bows-and-olivia-rodrigo, @iam-sherlocked, @zahrawr-likes-red, @crystal-rayn

© Written By https-Kreideprinz. Do not copy, steal or translate without permission.

[catsteeth]

Sugar & Violence

Podrick Payne x reader 

+:✿ Chapter 5 ✿:+ : To The Wall

chapter index | next chapter

Summary: You’re a Mormont being held hostage by House Lannister.  You are acting now as the Handmaiden for Margery Tyrell, whom you’ve grown quite close with. But it seems that a squire has caught your attention as you have caught his. 

CW: afab reader, MDNI, pining, queer unresolved romantic tension, unspoken confession, threats of violence, misogyny, mention of violence, mention of alcohol consumption, mention of NSFW themes.

Word Count: 4.9k

 

It had been a few days since Joffrey's murder.

You had spent those days locked in your chamber for the entirety of those two days. You spent it laying about and hoping that Podrick had received your orders and followed them. 

How silly of you, you thought. Laying about thinking of a man, worrying about a man. How dreadfully pathetic. 

You hoped that the news of Joffrey's murder traveled North to your family. Your cousin, and your father. You hoped they heard it, it would satisfy them at least. 

But mostly you thought of Podrick. What he said before he left, he “wanted to marry you”. What would that have looked like? ‘(Y/N) Payne’, it sounded right to you, felt like bliss. You imagined he and you back on the Island. There’d be no need to sneak and hide, you could sleep in the same bed and sleep til the late morning without fearing anyone would catch you. 

Maybe you’d even carry a babe in your belly… 

Look at you, a silly girl twirling her hair thinking of boys as you laid on your bed. Now wasn’t the time for that, no now was the time to do everything you could to get back to him.

Just as you thought it, a guard holding a tray of food entered your chambers. “Supper time, bear bitch.” He said about sliding your tray across the floor. 

“Wait,”  You called out as you sat up on your bed.

“You aint got nothing I wanna hear.” He said pushing your tray across the floor.

You walked towards him, your hand trailing down the cleavage exposed from your dress. “I might have something you want to feel.” Your seductive facade was clearly working as the man closed the door behind him. “It’s been awfully lonely in this room, relieving myself on my pillows simply won’t do.” You whined as you trailed your other hand down his chest.

He looked around the room to make sure he wasn’t being set up, “You any good at it?” The man smirked,

“Better than any whore in any brothel. And cheaper too, infact I won’t cost a thing.” You batted your eyelashes and faked a giggle.

He cupped your chin, “How about your mouth?” You took his thumb and sucked on it, the man groaned “Hells, alright then get on with it-”

You immediately stopped and looked at him, your facade dropping, “Oh but for that you’ll need to help me with one thing.” 

The man groaned and whined about it but eventually gave in. After all, he was already half way hard.

You made him smuggle you down to the dungeons in a dark cloak. Down to the cells where they kept your lover's former Lord. 

As you stepped inside the dungeon cell you removed your hooded cloak.

“I must speak with you.” You spoke with intention and direct purpose. 

“Not very smart of you. You were accused just as I was.” He was clearly upset, being locked away in a dungeon does not tend to bring out the best in people.

“I am to be released soon enough.” You were already growing annoyed by the way this conversation was going.

“Not quite. You’re still in King's Landing.” He was right of course “Besides if two accused come together as one person might talk. ‘What other King will they kill?’” He spoke in a mocking tone.

“I didn’t kill a king. Why would I risk my Lady’s position?” You should have, but at that point, your attention was solely focused on keeping you and Podrick together. Maybe you were being selfish.

“Because by letting her marry him, you’d be risking her life.” You felt a comfort in knowing someone else knew and recognized his cruelty. Most were too scared to express it.

You looked down and rationalized, “She is a woman grown. Capable of deciding her own path. As are you.” You looked back at him, ready to return the accusation, “Joffrey was quite cruel towards you.” 

“As he was to most.” 

“Especially you.” You said stepping closer to him,  “No one would have blamed you for it.” 

“Oh but they could.” He said, holding up his hands in chains.

You shook your head, “I’ve not come here to argue with you.” 

“What did you come for? And how did you? The guard-“

You interrupted, knowing your time was limited, “I told him I’d suck his cock if he let me in.” 

He chuckled “Not quite faithful to our mutual friend are you?” he said with a raised eyebrow.

“How do you-“

He interrupted you, “Please, I am not blind. Love comes from the eyes. I could see it in him and you whenever you found one another.” His gaze was softer, as if he knew how dear you were to Podrick. He shrugged, “That and I've seen him shuffling out of your chambers in the early morning.” 

“I’m not going to suck the guard's cock.” You shook your head and looked down almost ashamed you’d even told him that you would. You knew you wouldn’t, ever.  “Once I leave here, I’m going to tell him if he doesn’t forget it happened I'll tell the queen he let me out, and I’ve a witness now.” You said looking at him.

“You are smart.” He nodded, 

“I'm terrified.” Your eyes focused on him, “Never been terrified before. But I am… now.” You huffed,  “Not even for me. Cersei could throw me in here for a hundred years and I'd be content as long as I know I did what I could to free him from this place.” Your words were much more sweet and sincere than Tyrion would have expected.

He looked confused, “A squire. A loyal one I will give him that. But a girl of an honorable house name… picks a squire, I don’t understand.” 

“it’s not meant for you to understand.” You said defensively, then you sat on a crate that was in the room, you looked down and smiled, “He was kind. The only kind man I'd ever known. His kindness was pure of any ambition or desire. He was kind to me because he wanted to be. Even when he saw me being unpleasant and harsh… He still was kind to me.” You finished sounding sorrowful almost.

“He was a good lad.” He nodded, his face was one of understanding.

“He is. And right now all I am concerned about is where he is going?” Your voice was quiet and soft.

“You think I know?” His cynical facade, still hanging on.

“You owe him your life. Of course you know.” Your eyes looked desperate, and Tyrion could see it.

He looked down, “My brother Jamie has sent him to squire Brienne of Tarth. That’s all that I know.” 

“I can work with that.” You smiled slightly. 

As your conversation with Tyrion was coming to a close the dungeon door opened.

“Alright birdie, your times up with the imp. And your time with me is about to start.” The man was grinning ear to ear, it made Tyrion wince. 

You didn’t look at the man at all, not acknowledging his existence at all “Thank you.” You said to Tyrion before you stood and turned to the man in the doorway. “I’m not touching you and if you so much as whine I will tear your pathetic excuse of a cock off and stuff it in your mouth so that you cannot speak when the queen questions why you let someone accused of murdering her son out of her chamber and into the cell of another accused murder.” Your voice was deep and venomous.

Tyrion cracked a smile as the man stood there processing what you’d said.

One he did after a few moments of silence he took you by your arm and dragged you back to your chambers, huffing and puffing like a child the whole way. 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

A few days earlier, 

Just as Tyrion had said Jamie assigned Podrick to Brienne to aid her in her quest to find the Stark sisters and bring them to safety. 

Podrick was heartbroken without you, and without the certainty that he’d find you anytime soon. However his one solace was that he was to serve the very woman that had inspired such happiness in you. When you saw her you saw a bit of yourself in her. You saw a great warrior and someone worth something. Podrick was proud to serve such a Lady.

“I don’t need a squire.” Brienne said annoyed that one was even being pushed onto her.

“Of course you do.” Jaime said

Brienne’s annoyance only escalated, “He’ll slow me down.” 

“My brother owes him a debt, he’s not safe here. You’re keeping him from harm. It’s chivalry.” Jamie smiled at her annoyance.

Podrick felt the need to interject, “I won’t slow you down, ser–” Brienne looked at him with daggers in her eyes and Jamie looked at him like he was mad, “My lady…” He attempted to correct his mistake. “I promise I’ll serve you well.” He nodded,

“See? He’s a good Lad. You’ll get along.” Jamie said, patting him on the back.

As their journey began Podrick realized two things. Firstly he did not learn anything in Lord Tyrion's service. Especially how to ride a horse, 

“Come on move,” Podrick said to his brown horse, trying to get it to comply with his directions that he clearly did not know how to give. 

Brienne looked over at him with irritation, “Didn’t they teach you how to ride a horse?” she questioned.

He continued to struggle with his reigns, “Yes, my Lady when I was young. There wasn’t much call for Lord Tyrion, though. He preferred litters.” 

“Perhaps you should have stayed with him.” She said clearly unsatisfied with Jamie’s ‘gift’  “It’s not going to be a pleasant journey for you. It could take weeks to get to the wall, depending on the weather.” 

His horse made its own way off the path and back on it again at its own leisure. “That’s a long way off,” He said, hiding his slight excitement as best he could. If they were going to the wall there was a chance he’d see you if you did as you said and escaped. Or at least he could try to convince your father to send aid. 

“Well Lady Sansa's brother is at Castle Black. If I were her that’s where I’d go.” She looked back at Podrick again, rolling her eyes, “Feel free to stop at any point.” 

“Never, my Lady. I am your squire.” he attempted to say it with conviction but his constant struggle made his tone waver.

“I’ve made it this far in the world without a squire. Don’t see why I need one now.” 

“All knights have squires, my Lady.” 

“I’m not a knight. And I’m not a slaver, either. I don’t own you.” 

“I swore an oath, my Lady.” His conviction was strong.

“I am releasing you from that oath.” She looked back at him, noticing he was still there, “That means you can leave.” 

“I know.” 

“What do you think will happen if you leave?” She raised an eyebrow, genuinely curious why someone would want to stay with her.

“They’ll say I wasn’t a very good squire.” The truth was the past hour proved to him that he couldn’t make it out here on his own. And if he were going to find you he would need to learn to stand on his two feet first. 

The second thing he had learned however, was how similar you and Brienne were. Though of course he preferred you to her. She was direct, stubborn, and clearly loyal. 

It made him more inclined to tolerate her words.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

A day after your meeting with Tyrion, Margaery had snuck into your chamber as she often did now. You begged her to find more information about where Podrick might have gone, the next day she'd already found an answer to your question. 

“Podrick left with Brienne of Tarth. Jamie Lannister commanded him to squire for her, aid her efforts to find Sansa Stark.” Her words were heavy as if she’d known something you didn’t.

“What is it?” You asked,

“I am to tell you that you may resume your duties as my lady.” Your eyes lit up and hers darkened, “You have been cleared as a suspect.” She said, once again her voice and her face did not match the happiness of the news you’d received. “I found these last night.” She handed you clothing and armor, you recognized it. It was the very same armor that you’d arrived in Kings Landing with. Not your best armor but you took it, happily.

“Thank you. Thank you for what you’ve done for me, Margaery.” You said sincerely, smiling at her.

“So you are leaving me?” She asked, 

You looked confused, she must've known it was coming, “I must. There’s nothing left here for me.” You said, your brows furrowed.

“There’s me. Your dearest friend.” She held onto your hand with a tight grip. 

“Margaery, Pod-” You began to explain but she interrupted. 

“My last two husbands were murdered. I could have run to the high garden but I didn't.” 

“You’ve a goal, and I’ve mine.” You tried to reason with her.

She shook her head as if she were shaking away her thoughts from it, “I know. I know. Love.” She said as if the word were a silly concept, something foreign. “I just wish you’d choose me.”

You leaned into her, “This place is not safe. for me or for you for that matter. You should leave, marry someone who you love.” You tried to have her see reason.

She shook her head, looking at you with eyes filled with an emotion you did not understand. “I can’t marry someone I love.” she looked down at her hand hold yours then back into your eyes, “I am going to be the Queen.”

You nodded, she had made her choice and you made yours, “And I cannot always be your lady- Handmaiden.” 

“Why not?” You were about to open your mouth to explain but she stopped you, forcing a false smile. “You are right. It’s best we leave our girlhood behind us and realize we’ve stepped into our womanhood. Silly dreams and feelings cannot hold such weight. But, for whatever it may be worth, however little. I enjoyed the time," She held your hand even tighter, "The time we spent laughing.” You smiled at her, you understood now. But still, I could not give her what she wanted. “The Guards by the stables leave it unattended for a few minutes each night, when the moon is highest. That’s your best chance.” She said, slightly tearing up. 

“Goodbye, and thank you.” You said, smiling warmly attempting to not cry.

“Goodbye, and thank you.” She repeated back to you.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You did as she said and you left that night. 

You stole a Lannister horse, being sure to remove its colors and saddle from it but that meant you’d have to ride it bare. ‘They hang horse thieves,’ you thought. So you were sure to steal a sword while you at it.

You had been riding quite a long time, didn’t know how long even but you knew the sun had come and gone a few times, and now were quite hungry. You found a nearby inn. You knew that eventually they’d throw their left overs out in the back eventually. 

As you hanged around the back you let your new horse drink from a creek.

“Hello, there.” You heard behind you, you turned around and saw a short and stout boy.

“Hello…” You said with narrow eyes and a furrow brow.

“You want to come in? It’s much warmer inside, there’s ale, water, kidney pie-” You could tell he was a talker and cut him off before he could keep going.

“I don’t have any money.” You shook your head, “Just watering the horse, I’ll be on my way.” You said looking back at your horse.

“Your armor is quite nice, are you a Knight?” The boy continued to question you, 

“Women cannot be knights.” You said not looking back at him.

“What's the bear for?” He asked innocently, 

You thought for a moment, you couldn’t admit who you were, “House Brune of the CrownLands.” 

“Looks like a Mormont sigil.” He said,

You shook your head, “They’re loyal to the traitors from Winterhell.” You were good at lying, but somehow you couldn’t quite say that without your voice wavering.

“It is a Mormont sigil, isn’t it?” He said. You thought you’d been found out by someone loyal to the crown. So naturally you took hold of your sword's handle, “I didn’t mean to offend!” He said, raising his hands. You couldn’t bring yourself to escalate the situation anymore than that. 

You took your hand away from your sword, satisfied he wasn’t a threat. You turned back to the horse once again.“Just let me be on my way.” 

“You’re a long way out from the North.” He said concerned, and you didn’t respond. “You want a hot meal?” He asked kindly.

You looked at him, your eyes a bit softer now. “I told you I don’t have any money.” 

He shrugged, “I am happy to give it.” He looked around to make sure no one else could hear him say whatever he was going to, “Starks need a loyal ally.” You nodded and he went back into the Inn for a few minutes before returning with food wrapped in a cloth.

“Thank you.” You nodded at him as you took the food. 

“What was your name?” 

You thought for a moment, then deciding you could tell him. It was the least you could do. “(Y/N) Mormont.” 

“I knew I was right.” He said with a smile. You smiled back as you ate the pastry.

The two of you talked, or more like he talked at you for some time and you went on your way.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Little did you know that a mere few hours later Podrick and Brienne would be stopping into that very same place.

As Brienne and Podrick sat at a table. She dug into the pie in front of her “A bit of comfort never hurt anyone. We’ve been sleeping in ditches. I think we can treat ourselves with a featherbed for the night and a hot meal not cooked by you.” She said, 

“Couldn’t agree more, my Lady.” Podrick said defeatedly as he drank the ale in his cup.

“Just don’t expect silk underclothes. Not working for your former lord anymore.” 

“Yes, my Lady.” He began to drink even more of his ale,

Brienne took his cup away, “Don’t get drunk,” she snapped at him.

“No, my Lady.” He submitted, 

That very same short and stout boy began talking to Brienne the very same way as he did you.

“That’s nice armor, are you a Knight?” He asked innocently. 

“No.” She was frustrated by the assumption.

“Oh it’s just people with nice armor are usually knights. Generally speaking. Funny enough I saw another Lady in armor, she wasn’t from around here there. From King’s Landing though, aren’t you?” Brienne looked at him with disdain and Podrick looked at him uncomfortably. “From there myself originally, flea bottom born and bred.” He continued, “What brings you to these parts?” 

“We’re looking for someone. A girl, tall, red hair, very pretty. Her name is Sansa Stark.” Brienne got directly to the point. Podrick looked at her empathically, but concerned.

“Stark? What like them lot from Winterhell? Ain't seen anyone like that. Them lot are traitors. No room for traitors in here.” He feigned his loyalty to the crown as he picked himself up and left Brienne and Podrick on their own.

Podrick found it difficult to hear such things about a place you were so loyal to.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ 

As Brienne and Podrick left the inn, Brienne noticed Podrick’s worried look as he readied their horses.

“What?” She asked devoid of any emotion.

“It’s nothing, my lady.” He shook his head, 

“You wouldn’t screw your face up if it was nothing.” 

“Don’t want to offend, my lady. Truly I don’t” 

“You’re not interesting enough to be offensive.” 

“The Lannisters want Lady Sansa. The Lannisters have money. People kill for money. I don’t think that we should be telling people about us trying to find Lady Sansa.”

“My lady, My Lord.” He got the attention of Pod and Brienne, “You seem like a proper lady, someone who can be trusted… I don’t know a Sansa Stark. But I know her sister, Arya.” 

Brienne furrowed her brow, "No one's seen Arya Stark since her father was beheaded. She's presumed dead."

"She weren't when I last spoke to her...heading up north with the Night's Watch. She was all dressed up as a boy...going by the name Arry. "

Her interest peaked, "So what happened to her? The quick version."

"The Lannisters took us prisoner. We escaped. The Brotherhood took us prisoner. They 'sold' me to the innkeep. They were gonna sell Arya to her mother at Riverrun, along with another prisoner: big ugly fellow, foul mouth and a face like a half-burnt ham. Not friendly." He shook his head, 

“Thank you,” Brienne said, 

“You know it’s funny, It’s not everyday you meet a Lady in armor. And it’s not everyday you meet two in one day.” He said, Pod and Brienne losing interest quickly, “And this one was a lot like you too, My Lady. Not very friendly at first,” Brienne looked at him, “Meaning no offense. But once I found out she was a Mormont she was pleasant enough.” Podrick looked at him as if lighten had struck him, Brienne noticed and looked at him strangely, 

“What’d she look like?” He asked, Brienne looking at him even stranger. 

The boy described you, exactly, there was no mistake.

“Did she say where she was going?” Podrick continued to press him uncharacteristically  

“No, my Lord. I asked and she wouldn’t say.” He said, 

Podrick looked defeated and went back to reading the horse, but Brienne kept her eyes on him, curious as to what that meant to him.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

On your long journey you stumbled into a camp, but not any camp. You could tell just by looking at the boys that they were Knights Watch recruits.

This had to have been a sign from the Gods. Safer passage North and saver passage to your father. As you rode up you were eyeballed by all the new recruits, unfamiliar with who you were. 

“Hello pretty girl,” A man said, 

“Bring me, Yoren.” You spoke confidently and coldy. 

“Now is that a sweet way to ask?” The same man asked a shorter man beside him. 

“No, not sweet at all.” The short man said. 

A younger man with short hair behind them spoke up, “She’s wearing Mormont armor.”

You sat up tall on your horse, “My father is Jeor Mormont. I am (Y/N) Mormont. Now bring me Yoren.” You reasserted,

“Yes, My Lady.”  The short man said before rushing to find him. 

Soon enough Yoren was with helding you and dismounting your horse. “Lady Mormont.” He said happily enough for such a grumpy old man. He had known you since you were born.

“Yoren.” You said with a smile,

“What can we offer ye?” His arms crossed and his eyes softened towards you,

You sighed knowing he’d not want what you were going to propose, “I want to go to the wall. To Castle Black.” You nodded.

“Well, I think you know better than anyone that a lady can not join the Knights watch.” He teased,

“I’m not looking to join it. I am looking for my father.” 

His tone shifted slightly to a deeper one, “It’s unusual, and dangerous road, that's for sure.” He sighed and looked down, then back at you, “But your father would bury me deep in the ground if I didn’t.” He smirked, 

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

Weeks had passed. Pod and Brienne’s journey was taking a hard turn. Everything had gone wrong. 

They’d found Arya like the boy at the Inn said, but when Brienne fought the Hound for Arya they’d lost her. She didn’t want the protection to begin with, the entire thing hurt and frustrated Brienne more than she knew to describe. 

So naturally she took it out on Podrick.

“Will we head North at some point?” Podrick asked about setting up camp, “You said Sansa had a brother at Castle Black. We’re a few days' ride from the kings road. It’ll take us-” 

“Us?” Brienne asked, her voice devoid of all emotion, “The only reason you’re here is because Jaime Lannister told me you weren’t safe in the Capital.” Podrick stood still, unsure of what to do or say, “You’re hundreds of miles from King’s Landing.” She said removing her armor. “No one knows what you look like, no one cares. You’re safe.”

“But I am your squire.” He couldn’t let his opportunity go, to prove himself to himself, and to you.

“Do you even know what a squire is?” She looked at him with a look of contempt. 

“An attendant to a knight?” He looked confused,

“I’m not a knight, that means you’re not a squire.”

“Well where will I go?” 

“I don’t care, I'm not your mother.” She practically spat her words at him,

“You swore to find the Stark girls.” 

“I found Arya. She didn’t want my protection.” 

“Sansa still might.” He attempted to calm her,

“Will you shut your mouth?” She snapped at him, “I didn’t ask for your advice. I don't want you to follow me because I’m not a leader. All I ever wanted was to fight for a lord I believed in. The ones are dead and the rest are monsters.” She scowled as she looked off into the distance and then looked back at Podrick, “And all your lords, they’ve all been so kind to you.” She stood and walked away, “All except me,” She took a breath and looked back at him, “I’m sorry you have to squire such a nasty person.” 

“That girl he talked about in the Inn. I knew her well. She met you once, and couldn't stop talking about you.” He continued to set up camp, “I’m not sorry. You’re the best fighter I’ve ever seen. You beat the hound. I am proud to be your squire.”

She looked at him, “I’m sorry I am always snapping at you.” 

“If you didn’t snap at me I wouldn’t learn anything.” He said with a strange optimism, 

“You want to be a Knight, Pod?” 

He looked at her, his eyes filled with excitement “Yes.” 

She nodded and sat down, pointed to the armor she wanted him to take off of her, “Starting tomorrow, we’ll train with a sword twice a day. Before we ride in the morning and after you make camp in the evening. And I am going to show you how to ride properly.” He finished taking off her armor for her, “I can’t knight you, but I can teach you to fight.” 

“I suppose that’s more important.” He smiled ear to ear. “You weren’t a knight, but you were a Kingsgaurd to Renly Baratheon, weren’t you?” He questioned, genuinely curious. 

“I was.” She said, 

“Lord Tyrion said he was a good man.”

“He was.” You could hear her grief, 

“How did you end up serving Renly?” Podrick asked as he sat beside her. 

Brienne hesitated for a moment but began her story, “When I was a girl my father held a ball. I was his only living child so he wanted to make a good match for me. I didn’t want to go but he dragged me. And I loved it.” Podrick smiled, she reminded him of you. “None of the boys noticed how mulish and tall I was. They shoved each other when they thought it was their turn to dance.” She smiled looking back at her own story, “I’d never been so happy.” Her smile faded, “Till I saw a few of the boys snickering.” Podricks smile faded as well, “And then they all started to laugh, and couldn't keep the game up any longer. Brienne the beauty they called me- great joke. And I realized I was the ugliest girl alive. A great lumbering beast.” You could feel her pain just in her words alone. “I tried to run away but Renly Baratheon took me into his arms. ‘Don’t let them see your tears,’ he told me ‘They’re nasty little shits, and nasty little shits aren’t worth crying over.’” Her smile returned again, “He danced with me and none of the boys could say a word. He was the King's brother after all.” Podrick smiled back, 

“But wasn’t he… Lord Tyrion said that he was,” Podrick asked awkwardly, 

“Yes Pod, he liked men. I am not an idiot. He didn’t love me. He didn’t want me. He danced with me because he was kind.” She explained. 

She looked down, thinking back to the memories she had with him,“Nothings more hateful than failing to protect the one you love.” 

Those words stuck with Podrick,

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

NOTE: Timelines shimelines amiright? 

BELOVED TAGS: 

@ryn-away @boojaynaqueen @holierthancunt @symonedoesart

@siimiasoi  @friendlyspacemartian

[rorschachisgay]

i wish there was some nuance between "everyone has to love the word queer" and "if you don't like it you are a terf automatically". because the reality is i don't identify with the word queer and i never have. as a kid i was aware of it as a slur and as a teenager i started to understand it in an academic concept first (as in Queer Theory) but i didn't identify with it because in my mind it was like, a clinical, academic word. and then later as i got older it became an increasingly prevalent point of conflict around me.

im not arguing that terfs dont dislike queer as a group term, though speaking from a british perspective the majority of them here are very focused on removing the T from LGBT over arguing about queer as a term at all, so it doesnt really feel like a particularly important form of conflict over what is a very targeted erasure of trans identity Specifically.

and thats kind of partially why i struggle to identify with the term Queer. it is not specific. it does not describe or capture my identity. lately i have found much more identity in words like fag, faggot, transexual, which do relate directly to my specific identities and have a very long history in the community. and additionally, won't get fuckin sold back to me by coke.

like that's really all Queer feels like to me now, something that has now been packaged up as an easily marketable buzzword to be printed on t-shirts at Primark or used meaninglessly by Disney to pretend they care. it does not refer to the aspects of my identity that matter to me, it's not something that i ever claimed for myself, and now i am continually getting told that if i don't identify with it im bigoted against myself and my siblings.

"queer was reclaimed by everyone, it was reclaimed in the 80s". i actually don't feel like someone else gets to decide this for me? im not going to lie and pretend it was never used as part of the campaign for equality for decades and decades, it obviously has a crucial place in history, but now in popular culture it has become like. ubiquitous.

like ive said before i think words like fag and dyke can be used in a way that reflects our communal family and is a sign of camaraderie and that's also true of queer, but with those words it's extremely understandable when someone isn't comfortable with them and when someone doesn't want to identify with queer it's treated as a sign they're in the wrong.

idk this is so far from being a crucial issue it's barely worth talking about but i just really struggle with being told that i am in the wrong because i have my own complicated feelings about a word with a complicated history. in the grand scheme of things it's NOT that important but it does grate on my nerves to be told that theres zero room for any kind of debate or alternate opinion in this. like i just wish we didn't have to be so black and white as if the issue has no grey area or room for personal expression at all.

[anxious-witch]

Y'know what? Fuck it, I don't feel like being the bigger person today.

Keep your acephobic opinion to yourself. Idc if you "had the best intentions" or whatever the fuck kind of excuse you may have. You don't get to tell people how they fucking identify.

Repeat after me. Even if someone is very young and they identify as asexual now and realize in a few years they aren't ace, you still don't fucking get to take away that from them. If people find themselves and find comfort in that label, you don't get to be the judge of that.

People like you are why I stopped using the word asexual for myself. Because what if the right person comes along and I am in fact a late bloomer?

Well, guess what. Didn't happen and I still felt just as bad as before, but now I didn't want to use ace as a label because what if I change my mind? Well, fuck that and fuck you.

Asexuality is a spectrum, so even if someone decides they want to have sex one day, that doesn't negate the fact they still don't feel sexual attraction, or feel it very rarely.

Do you know how you sound? You sound like all the people that told gay people they just "haven't met the right person yet" or bisexual people that "well, you'll pick a side eventually". Fuck off. Genuinely, I thought we were past this, especially on goddamn tumblr, especially in JO and Kä fandom, which were such a safe place to sm queer people.

Keep your shitty opinions to yourself or get out. Nobody asked you. And yes, this is going into the JO and Kä tags, idc, you can fucking block me.

Goodbye. Have a day that you deserve

[ourflagmeansheartbreak]

The way OFMD liberated me. Femininity and masculinity to me are interchangeable concepts that anyone can possess without that dictating their identity. Before that I could have never been comfortable being a trans guy with long hair, wearing makeup and all that. Now? Fuck that I’m slaying. Wee John is my hero, you’re telling me this big scary guy who likes to set things on fire is a softie who sleeps with a plushie, makes dresses and is a drag queen? You literally can be and do anything. Izzy, the scariest pirate in the whole show, wearing makeup, bright red lipstick and singing softly in French? Stede with his fancy four inch heels? Jim as a drag king? Helped me be just so comfortable with myself. And that was a difficult journey, being a trans man and being comfortable enough to be feminine without feeling guilty. And this show did it for me! They just grabbed my by my face and said ‘you can do and be anything you want to. ANYTHING you want to. Do you understand that? Anything at all. It is NEVER too late to be you’ and all I could do was just listen and nod. The whole ‘it’s never too late and there’s no one right way to be queer’ makes me wanna scream and cry and eat the TV and I’ll never not be grateful OFMD for liberating me in a way that makes me feel actually and genuinely happy about myself.