#also I can start wearing my binder again

[so-i-did-this-thing]

Hello!

I wanted to ask a question, if that's okay. So, I'm genderfluid afab and feel like a man sometimes (probably more often than I allow myself to realise). I don't have access to a Binder or anything of that sort (transphobic parents).

Is there any way for me to look/be more masculine? I'm a bit scared of goggling because I don't want to accidentally take advice from Tate people or the like.

(PS. I really like your Siegfried Farnon cosplay!)

Heya!

This is a tough one to answer. Because "masculine" means different things to different people. And "passing", as well.

Like. When I wear my fleece jacket and baseball cap, I'm deliberately passing as a certain type of man. But I felt more masculine the other day wearing an ascot.

So, I think we need to break down this question:

1) If you're looking to pass, there are going to be trans masc guides out there that will direct you to a very particular gender presentation. They tend to assume you are white and skinny. They present themselves as a list of Dos and Do-Nots, and at the end of the day, do more harm than good, imo. Because passing guides are almost always about hiding parts of yourself physically, often to the expense of hiding parts of your psyche.

Seek them out if you must, but when it comes to passing for safety, all I can suggest is ambiguous layers, a hat, keeping your head down and your mouth shut. The best way to pass is to not draw attention to yourself, alas.

2) If you're looking to dress more masculine to alleviate gender dysphoria, then you need to drill down to what makes you dysphoric and start there. My smaller feet is one area of contention for me, so I look for semi-dressy shoes that look long and elegant (like Taft boots). Since you can't get a binder, consider layers, if your chest bothers you.

3) If you're looking to dress more masculine to seek gender euphoria, then figure out your aesthetic masculine ideal. Make a pinboard of Looks you enjoy and see if there are trends. Some folks are drawn to athletic wear. Work wear. Perhaps a vintage aesthetic -- Rockabilly. 90s grunge. 1940s British country vet (meeeee, lol).

Ask yourself: What are the hallmarks of this style? Are there casual and formal versions? How does it change seasonally? How much of it is clothing and how much of it is the body (haircut, being muscular, etc)? And above all - what is this style trying to communicate to others?

Once done, see what sort of fashion tips are out there for your style. Who are the fashion experts and how much do you care about their advice? (Menswear guy has great tips about how a modern suit "should" fit, but a lot of his advice is also personal preference with a big dollop of classism.)

Pay close attention to how men wear their clothes -- where they sit on the body, how they style the outfit. Compare how a man is styled in your preferred look to how a woman is styled and see what that sparks in you. How much of it is the clothing or body? How much is posture? You might discern some visual shorthand you can harness to be read as more masculine. You might also come up with ways to have plausible deniability around your parents by being able to pivot a masculine look to be more feminine, when needed.

After all this research, get yourself to a thrift shop or other second hand option and start experimenting. Buying actual men's clothing is probably going to be your best bet, but depending on your Look Book, that may not always be the case.

No one can tell you how to feel more masculine -- that really needs to come from within. Once you figure that out, then it's a matter of reconciling your ideal look with the peculiarities of your body. (And all men have their own challenges wrt the fit of clothes.)

Afford yourself as much grace as possible when it comes to your body. And again, remember that feeling more masculine and passing more masculine may not always overlap and could even be at odds. And only you can determine if and when that is a problem.

[bi-bard]

The Angel, The Demon, and the University Student They "Adopted" - Aziraphale & Crowley Imagine [Good Omens]

Title: The Angel, The Demon, and the University Student They "Adopted"

Pairing: Aziraphale & Crowley X Platonic!Reader

Word Count: 2,071 words

Warning(s): headache, mention of break-up

Summary: In which a struggling college student stumbles upon a demon and an angel, who agree to help in any way they can.

Author's Note: to celebrate the announcement of the release date... and give a little comfort to those who are having a rough time in college right now.

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

I had gone to that small bookshop for something to work on a paper.

I had been looking for it online, but nothing was affordable. My best option was going to be to find a small bookshop that didn't charge as much. I simply had my fingers crossed that it would work out.

I must've been walking around with my eyebrows furrowed for a little while because a man walked up to me. He was wearing a beige suit with a-little-too-perfectly white hair. He seemed friendly enough though.

"Can I help you find something," he asked. I paused for a moment. "Sorry, I'm the owner. I can tell you where everything is."

"Oh, okay," I chuckled. I pointed at a part of my paper where my potential sources had been scribbled down. "Um, yes. I'm looking for this... it's for a school paper."

"I see..." he muttered. "Wait here."

I nodded.

I watched him walk behind a set of shelves. There was maybe a minute of waiting before the man walked out again with the book in his hands.

"Oh, you are a lifesaver," I said excitedly. "Thank you! How much?"

He hesitated, staring at the book. As if he grabbed it without thinking about it but now was realizing that he was going to have to part with it.

"How about a deal," he offered after a few moments. "Once you're done with your paper, bring it back here in largely the same condition. No charge and you have no additional clutter to take up space in your home."

I grinned. "Sounds like a deal."

"Well, then, I wish you luck on your paper," he handed me the book

"Thank you," I said. I only took a few steps toward the door before stopping. "I didn't get your name."

He hesitated for a moment before replying, "A.Z. Fell."

"Oh, I thought... Sorry, I assumed this place had been open for a while, so I thought the name on the front was your father or something."

"Afraid not."

"Well, thank you again. I'll see you in a few days."

Which I did.

A few days later, my paper was done, and I walked back into the little bookshop.

"Mr. Fell," I called.

He rounded the corner. "You're back."

"I'm here to return your book," I held up the book as evidence. "Perfect condition."

"Thank you so much," he said as he grabbed it from me. "I hope you get a good grade on that paper of yours."

"Me too," I chuckled. "In all honestly, I don't think I've read it without just a little more of my brain frying."

"Oh no," he mumbled. "I... I could read it over for you. If that would help, of course. I won't force you to give me your paper."

"I... I can't ask you to do that."

"Well, that's precisely why I'm offering," he grinned at me.

I grinned back. "Okay. When would you like me to bring it by?"

"Do you have time now?"

"Um, yeah, sure."

"Here," he led me into a corner of the shop with a small table. "You get your paper put together and I'll make us some tea."

"Okay," I nodded.

As he walked out, I sat down and unzipped my bag, grabbing the binder that held my paper. I also grabbed a red pen just so it was more convenient.

When he came back, he placed a mug in front of me. I grinned and thanked him.

"You can go find a book to enjoy if you'd rather that than watch me read..." he looked at the paper in front of him. "(Y/n)."

"Thank you."

I took his advice. I took the mug of tea and started pacing around the collection of books. I was scanning the spines of the books when the doors of the shop slammed open.

"Angel!"

I jumped at the sound, looking over at whoever had stormed in. Another man, dressed in all black, sunglasses sitting on his face.

"Who are you?"

"(Y/n)," I said. "Who are you?"

"I have told you to not run in here shouting like that," Mr. Fell walked out of the corner that he had been hiding in.

"Who is this," the other man pointed at me.

"I just told you my name," I replied.

"How am I meant to trust you?"

"Why would I lie about my name?"

"Don't know, you tell me-"

"Stop it," Mr. Fell cut him off. "This is (Y/n). I am reading over a paper that they wrote for school."

"Why?"

"Because it's kind," he turned back to me. "(Y/n), this is... Anthony."

"Nice to meet you," I nodded to Anthony.

"Yeah, you too," he muttered, barely paying me any mind as he spoke to Mr. Fell. "We need to talk."

"I am busy-"

"Do I look like I care?"

"I can come back later," I spoke up.

"No, no, please, I promised to read your paper," Mr. Fell stopped me. "Anthony will simply have to wait."

"Excuse me," Anthony snapped.

"You heard me perfectly well," Mr. Fell mumbled. "Please, stay. I'll finish this paper."

Anthony glared at me as Mr. Fell turned around and went back to the table he had been sitting at.

If you had told me that day that the little bookshop was going to become such a place of comfort for me, then I am not sure that I would have believed you.

But it did.

I continued going to that little shop whenever I had the time. I would study, read, or just help with whatever I could help with. Mr. Fell was not a fan of me doing "so much" work around the shop, but I insisted. He had given me a safe space. The least that I could do was help him maintain it.

I grew closer to him as time went on. I even grew closer to Anthony.

Or Crowley, as I soon learned.

I still chuckled from time to time over how they told me their real names. I had been sitting at the table, scribbling notes for one of my courses.

They both stood in front of me silently until I noticed them. I raised an eyebrow at them. That's when they confessed that their names were fake.

When they told me their real names, I felt bad for chuckling. They both looked a bit confused.

"I'm sorry, but... your fake name just used your real name as a last name," I pointed to Crowley and then to Aziraphale. "And yours was your real name with a couple of letters taken out."

"Alright, we get it," Crowley grumbled.

"Thank you for telling me," I added. "I mean it."

"You're welcome," Aziraphale replied. Crowley didn't say the same until Aziraphale looked over at him with a somewhat grumpy look.

The three of us were only closer after that.

It was nice. Having that small support group that I could turn to.

Aziraphale was always ready to help. As soon as I opened the door of the shop, he was ready for whatever assistance I asked for. A hug, an extra set of eyes on an assignment, a quiet place to read a new book.

Crowley acted cold, but I could tell that he cared.

I came in one day with one of the worst headaches I had ever experienced. Aziraphale was gone, but Crowley had been waiting for him. I walked into the building with the heels of my hands pressed into my eyes. After grumpily explaining what was happening, I walked off to put my bag down and hide in the corner.

He waited for a moment before following me.

"Come here," he said.

"What," I asked.

"Come here," he repeated, holding his arms open.

I kept my eyebrows furrowed as I stepped forward. Once I was close enough to him, he grabbed my arm and pulled me forward into a hug.

"Oh," I mumbled before slowly hugging him back. "This is nice."

"Don't call me that."

I chuckled. "I didn't call you nice."

"Oh...," he muttered. "Well... don't get any clever ideas."

"Yeah, sure, whatever you want, Crowley."

I closed my eyes for a minute, holding onto him a little tighter.

I don't know what happened, but I could feel my headache slowly fading away as we hugged. It felt like it was there one minute and gone the next. I let out a sharp breath when it was gone. It felt like a weight had been lifted off of my head.

"Thank you," I said after a while.

"Yeah, whatever."

That may have been the closest I ever got to a you're welcome with him and I was okay with that. For the time being.

I don't know if I truly realized how much Crowley and Aziraphale cared for me until I walked in crying.

I felt like a child. I was crying as I walked down the sidewalk.

When I made it to the shop, I almost sprinted inside.

Aziraphale jumped at the force I used to open the door. Any scolding died as soon as he saw me.

"Oh, dear," he muttered, walking over to me. "What happened to you?"

He pulled me into a hug as I cried. I hid my face in his shoulder, clinging to his suit a bit as I did. I saw Crowley walk out from around the corner.

"What's going on," he asked.

I stepped back. I went to speak but nothing came out.

"Come on," Aziraphale guided me to my normal corner, guiding me to sit down. I dropped my bag on the floor and wiped my eyes. "Take your time."

Crowley sat in the spot next to me while Aziraphale stayed standing.

"There's... There's this guy," I explained. "I... We were seeing each other for a little while. We went on a few dates. I thought... I thought it was going well. And then, he just... changed. And he sent me this."

I tossed my unlocked phone on the table. Aziraphale grabbed it first. I heard a disgusted sound escape him.

"That is just... despicable," he muttered, placing the phone down.

Crowley reached out and grabbed the phone. I saw his face twist in disgust as a reaction.

"I think he sounds like a waste of time," he said as he placed my phone down. "It's stupid to waste an ounce more of your time on him."

"Crowley!" Aziraphale was fast to scold him.

"What?"

"Now is not the time to insult (Y/n) about their relationship!"

"I'm not! I'm only insulting them if they decide to spend any more time on this person. What I did was just an example of bluntness."

Aziraphale gave Crowley a look before turning back to me with a soft grin. "I am going to make you some tea. You just relax. And Crowley..."

Crowley smirked at him, an eyebrow raised.

"Be nice."

"I am not nice."

"Well, maybe now is a good time to try."

Aziraphale turned around and walked away from the pair of us.

There was a pause between the pair of us before I could speak up.

"Do you actually think that I'm stupid for wasting time on this guy," I asked quietly.

Crowley let out a sigh as he sat up a little bit straighter, tilting his head so he was looking me in the eye. "Not as stupid as he was for leaving you."

I felt a grin form on my face. He leaned over and kissed my head before standing up.

"I'm going to get you something a little stronger than tea."

"I don't drink-"

"And I clearly meant chocolate."

I chuckled and shook my head. "Thank you, Crowley."

"You're welcome."

He walked out of the little nook in the corner.

As he did, I leaned my head on my folded arms on the table. I felt my eyes slowly shutting. I felt bad because of what the pair were off doing, but I couldn't help it. It had just been such a long day. I couldn't help it.

As my blinking got slower and slower, I found myself thinking about how lucky I was to be in that situation.

I had never felt as safe as I was when I spent time in that little bookshop.

I would never be able to thank Crowley and Aziraphale for that.

But I would never stop trying to do so.

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

Navigation Guide

What I Write For

Some Original Characters

[emdabitchass]

He laid there silently

open rp

you walk into the Apollo cabin to see Em writing something while blasting music in her headphones so loud you can hear it

tags👇

@demigod-jack-hearth

@of-course-im-the-winner

@the-smart-and-the-dumb-one

@lisadaughter-of-hepheastus

@ariathemortal

@smileyalater

@reyna4ever

[normansnt]

Okay so I, myself, is trans masc and have bad body dysphoria. If it’s alright with you could I ask for something with Alastor and the reader cuddling or something with fluff along the lines of being overly sensitive about what they look like and such? If you’re not comfortable with that then something with angst (I love angst) with Alastor and male reader?

HERE YOU GO LOVE

I hope you like it I did put a bit of angst in it since you said you liked it🫡

Ok Alastor might be a bit OOC but like😎

Warnings: body dysphoria

Handsome boy

(Alastor x trans male reader)

Here you were again. Staring at your reflection in the mirror. You did this almost every day.

You hated your body, since it wasn't even yours. You truly didn't want to look at it, you were struggling to tear your eyes away. You just hated it so much. You just wanted to take the scissors and cut off everything that shouldn't be there.

Being born in a body that was never yours. It was like prison.

The tears started rolling down your cheeks. This was nothing new to you. crying was almost a daily routine at this point.

"Dear, are you ready to go?"

You heard the static voice of your boyfriend from the other side of the door.

"Shit" you whispered to yourself as you hurriedly went to put on your binder but thats not so easy.

You were staring hatefully at your body for too long apparently.

You were struggling to put on your binder when Alastor opened the door. The moment he entered you got it on but it was of no use. He has seen it. The prison you were born in.

He was standing there in the door. The smile fell from his face.

"Darling?" He asked.

"...please leave." You managed to whisper.

You never told him. You were scared that he would leave you.

However even though you never said it directly he knew. He knew because he had the tendency to over analyze everyone and so after some time he figured it out.

He knew the basic concept of being trans. He worked in the radio business after all he has met trans people. However the moment he noticed that you, his lovely boyfriend, were born as the gender which you aren't he started to get deeper into the subject.

He learned everything that is about transitioning, body dysphoria and most importantly, how to help with these.

Alastor surprised himself truly, he has never done this much for someone, but you, you were so important to him. He has never loved anyone as much as he loves you (perhaps his mother).

Alastor always believed that what a person looked like or presented themselves as had nothing to do with their value or personality, in fact he found the whole idea of connecting looks to self worth foolish. Male, female, neither, both it didn't matter to him much.

"My love" he proceeded to walk over to your kneeling form.

"Can my lovely boyfriend look at me" he said as without the static in his voice.

This got your attention and you looked up at him, he was wearing a small smile, not his usual grin, a smile that said: everything is ok.

Your eyes were red from crying as you looked up at him. The moment he noticed that his eyebrows wrinkled.

"Oh, dear, we cannot have that" he said at last as he lifted you off the ground (with the help of a little magic lets face it the man is a twig) and sat down with you in his lap on your bed.

"My darling, you do know I love you, yes?" He asked.

You hesitantly nodded your head.

"Lovely, then you also know that I love every part of you no matter what, you will be a gorgeous man in my eyes with or without female body parts, hmmm?"

You didn't answer to that.

"Well, now you know. I am aware that what you youngsters call 'body dysphoria' is. A major problem for you do not think I don't know how much you cry."

You looked up at him in shock, you were always so careful to be quiet.

"In fact that is why we were going to go out today I was going to get an answer out of you" he chuckled a bit.

"However, I think perhaps staying in is a better option for tonight?" He looked at you questioningly.

You nodded again.

With that confirmation Alastor hugged you even closer to him and laid down on your bed with you clinging to him.

"My handsome boy." He said

He hugged you and kissed your forehead. He started singing quietly with the static back in his voice, he knew you found it calming.

His singing was lovely, it was slowly luring you to sleep. Before you fell asleep you mumbled a 'thank you' to which he gave another kiss to your forehead as you drifted off, feeling loved.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hope you guys enjoyed (especially u @coffeewithcocoa) I just wanna say as a last word to every trans person out there that remember you deserve love and are worthy of affection.

Love you all have a great morning/night/afternoon💗

[fablefan]

What the Heck is the Golden Guard Actually Wearing: A Speculative Guide

So a long while ago, I was talking in a Discord server with a few others about what Hunter's GG uniform might actually be composed of, since apparently a lot of the fandom seems to interpret it as a kind of tunic. With the finale of the show sending us all into tears, I thought I'd take a break from the heartache and explain my theories.

(This might be long, so I'll put pictures in when I can)

So to start with, let's actually begin not with his uniform, but what's underneath it, as seen above.

(So scary, truly)

Now, while some people headcanoned this as a binder (and I'm not one to bash on people's ideas), I think it's actually a kind of brigandine!

(Note the length, the buckles going down the front, and the leather straps going over the shoulders)

This was a kind of armor that knights or soldiers wore, composed of strips of metal fastened between two pieces of heavy cloth or leather to make a vest. It was handy to have because it was fairly durable and lightweight, and offered decent protection without needing all the fancy welding required for full-plate armor.

It was worn on top of a tunic (like he does in the photo), and was usually sleeveless, though it sometimes could come with arm and shoulder protection.

Now, I confess, a brigandine wouldn't normally be worn under armor (too many layers and padding), but that leads us to Hunter's actual uniform!

(Angry cat / big brother energy intensifies)

So while the cloak and pin are common enough that even most civilians in medieval times wore them, this isn't one solid tunic piece -- it's plate mail!

Now, to get the basics out of the way, that little shoulder guard he's wearing is called a pauldron, and was used to keep your opposing, non-dominant side safe when jousting. Knights would normally only wear one, as two would be cumbersome, and holding your lance under one was uncomfortable and impractical.

(It also makes an adequate perch for little bird palismen)

That duller yellow color Hunter wears is the undershirt knights would wear under their armor (for extra padding against chafing and some extra protection). While this historically would be a gamberson (or aketon, depends on who you ask), a thick, quilted fabric shirt, it'd be too bulky for the plate mail he's wearing, amidst other things.

Instead, he might be wearing an arming shirt!

Also referred to as an arming doublet (again, depends on who you ask), these were made later as a thin kind of form-fitting shirt that was more flexible and allowed for ease of motion when wearing armor. Sometimes chain mail was sewn into more vulnerable areas for coverage, like between the legs and the armpits (like you can kinda see in the first pic).

(Also, take notice of the higher sides of the collar, which you can also see under Hunter's cape)

The brighter gold armor he wears is, from what I can tell, not full plate mail, but a kind of cuirass!

These were chest plates that covered both the front and back of a knight without needing all the extras of armor, and could be worn with an arming shirt or chainmail.

They also usually came with hip guards -- those little strips by his pelvis -- and were special attachments called faulds, useful for keeping those areas safe without making things too bulky.

And there you have it! Hope this helps with your art and writing, and thus concluding

✨Weird History With Fable✨

[whumble-beeee]

Just Relax (It's Not That Serious)

The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping | Cont'd from Part 13

Content: drugging, noncon undressing, dissociation, (fear of) needles, disabled whumpee, trans whumpee, flashbacks (ptsd), tied up/handcuffs, past captivity references, begging, fear, light unreality? (related to the ptsd)

* * * * * * * *

Excerpt from: The (Un)Official Guide to Hero-Keeping; a self-help guide for villains and bounty-hunters

[The first 72 hours after a hero’s capture is also massively critical to you, villain, as your hero’s keeper! When planning on long-term hero-keeping, use this time to lie low, keep your hero firmly in your grasp, and really set the mood for the rest of their stay. Set non-negotiable expectations. Show your patience. For as much as your hero may fight you, curse and jeer and scorn and defy you, they will still be only human (with select power exceptions, of course). They will still need food, water, shelter. All of which must be obtained from you, their captor! You are the one ultimately in control, no matter how much the hero may scream otherwise. 

So why are these first 72 hours so important? Well, how long do experts generally agree that a person can survive without food or water? How long can they ignore you? How long before they have to rely on you for their every need?

72 hours.

Be patient.

Make them count.]

* * * * * * * *

“Finally, Christ,” Deeby muttered under his breath as Stan finished forcing the bar down his throat. It had taken him longer than he'd meant, what with the dehydration and the not wanting to be drugged and the weary pain that seeped into his every bone and the spinning of the room and the not wanting to be drugged. It was a surprisingly difficult task to knowingly poison himself. Who’d've thunk?

“Happy?” Stan finally spat with a heaving breath. There was the slightest taste of salt and battery acid twinging the back of his mouth. It made him nauseous.

Deeby absent-mindedly grabbed the used protein bar wrapper and tossed it into his plastic bag. “Yeah. Not done yet, though.”

 Stan whined. It was all he could do to not start crying on the spot. “Why can't you just let me fall into unconsciousness in peace? I ate your stupid protein bar! It's-it's never-ending with you!”

“Well, it feels less gross to have you undress now than when you're high off your ass.”

Stan blinked. It was like the world had been overlaid with TV static for a moment. But he was back. Violently. Because what? “Ah– Co-come again?” 

“Your uh– fuckin’... What's it called, your tank top? The transgender tank top, the one that squishes your ribs. Your… ‘tranksgender’ top.”

“My binder?”

Deeby snapped his fingers in triumph. “That's the bitch! We're taking that off now.”

“WHAT?!”

“I can help if you want. I don’t know how long it's gonna take the drug to start affecting you, considering you haven’t eaten in two days, so it might not–”

“I’m not taking my binder off!” Stan yelled, startling back from yet another all-consuming dip into the static. The worst part was, it wasn't even unpleasant. He almost would have enjoyed it, save for the predator six feet away stalking at him as if he were a wounded antelope, one hand resting on the ornate knife holstered right next to his gun. His eyes sparkled with that ever-dangerous red excitement that Stan had become painfully acquainted with again and again and again over the past two days, though there was something more serious underneath the child-like sadism. Tired eyes, deep breaths... 

“I know you're not supposed to wear it for this long, runt.” The mercenary brushed the still bright-red gash on his cheek from where Stan had whacked him with the handcuffs. “And besides, I still need to get you back for this. Please make me do it the hard way.”

Stan’s breath caught between a groan and a cry and his vision swam around him, only grounded by the sudden noxious pit in his stomach. “Dee-deeby…” he panted. “Stay away from me.”

Deeby continued to stalk closer, voice taking that dangerous low twang, the light bass growl snaking through the room and slithering around Stan’s throat, suffocating him more than a literal yank by his damn collar would. ��Aw…” he tutted. “That's no fun, is it chiquito? I think you just need–”

“OKAY, OKAY!” Stan skittered back, pressing himself into the wall with racing heart and rabbit-fast breath. “I'll-I'll do it, I'll do it! You don't– You–... I'll take off my binder…”

That did, in fact, stop Deeby dead in his tracks. Stan swayed. Deeby looked at him expectantly. Stan stared into the distance. Deeby raised an eyebrow and made an impatient circular motion at Stan with his hands: get moving.

The static.

“Runt, if you don’t–”

“I– jus– ju-just-just don't touch me–”

“Stan–” Deeby warned, taking a single step toward him. All the air sucked out of the room. “I'm done giving you chances. Off. Now, or I'll do it.”

Stan grit his teeth with an almost mewling whine. His cheeks burned a bright red embarrassment under near-invisible blue freckles, and his very lungs stuttered as they tried to figure out if he wanted to scream or just cry. He started to pulled the shirt over his head, slowly, as if he could go slow enough that the bounty hunter would just get bored and give up entirely.

Ha.

Then he lost his way. He searched. More fabric. Where did the holes go? Where was he? He was lost! He tangled his arms around, searching, growling with frustration as he unsuccessfully tried to free himself, genuinely trapped as time simultaneously moved way too fast and excruciatingly slow. Then a whoosh, and his cotton-polyester prison disappeared, pulled off over his head to reveal a very amused Deeby glinting back at him, eyes sparkling as always. 

It was so cold in here.

Stan shoved him away, thankfully braced against the wall or else he might have fallen over himself. The world was so… tilted.

“Turn-turn around,” Stan ordered, blinking hard to keep himself present.

“What, no ‘thank you?’”

“Turn around!”

“Not turning around, bud.”

“Please, I don-don’t– don’t want you to-to see– to–...Turn around!”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Please! Deeby, I’m begging!”

“Not happenin’,” he sang, deadpan as ever.

“I thought you-you-you-ou said you weren't gugh-guh-gon-gonna–...” Stan shivered and took a deep breath. This stutter was driving him insane. “Tha-at you weren't a perv!”

“I'm not. I'm not gonna do anything except make sure you're not trying to pull some shit.”

“I won’t! I'm drugged! I-I can’t even take my shirt off!”

“All the more reason–”

“Declan!” Stan pleaded, pupils blown out and wide, tension at the top of his mouth so tight he was sure he was about to start bawling. “I care. I care-are-re. I don’t wan-want you–... Please…”

His voice turned high and quiet, tears burning to fall, pressure building up behind his eyes and ready to burst.

“Plea-ease…”

Declan closed his eyes and pinched at the bridge of his nose. Another tired deep breath.

“Turn yourself around if you care so much,” he muttered. The knife appeared in his hands, point pressed into the taut fabric on Stan's chest. “I'm done playing games. Stop stalling. Now.”

“I’m no-ot–”

The mercenary grabbed the strap of Stan’s binder and yanked him forward, barely pulling the knife out of the way in time for Stan to not fall on top of it and instead sending him hurtling into the man’s chest with a blood-curdling screech, then flailing and shoving off of the captor as hard as humanly possible. The push mixed with a sudden heavy fog bank engulfing his mind mixed with a painful misstep on his bad leg caused him to all but crumble to the freezing concrete floor in a heap, chin banged and bleeding and dripping and staining on the ground as his face pressing into scratchy dirt particles, as he laid there confused and scared and scrambling, just trying to figure out how to silence the roaring confusion of his mind as it blindly panicked in the pressing, buzzing fog that surrounded it. Threatened to swallow him whole.

Then a force grasped him by the back of his neck. Then a knee planted into the base of his spine. The full body weight of a man at least twice his size ground into his lower vertebrates, seemingly trying to press them straight through the soft flesh of his stomach into the unforgiving floor.

Stan screamed.

Was Deeby going back on his promise not to–

GET OFF!!

His binder, he couldn't let Declan take it off.

OWOWOWOWOW– NO NONONO–

The fog the fog the fog the fog the fog the fog buzzing buzzing buzzing buzzing BZZZZZZZZZZ–

A gloved hand pressed him into the floor by the back of his neck. Others in scratchy black tactical gear held his flailing limbs down. He strained. He cried. He screamed. He screamed so loud. So loud his throat was sore. They didn’t let up.

He wanted his mom. His dad. His sister. COME HELP!! Where were they? He cried out for them, heaving sobs. Unheeded.

“DEEBY!” He screeched, feet kicking out as if they could somehow free himself if he just kicked hard enough. “Get off! GET OFF! You're not taking my binder off–!”

“Mhm, yeah, sure bud,” Deeby mumbled as Stan continued his tantrum. His fingers squeezed slightly at either side of Stan’s neck. Warning. Patient. Waiting. He was waiting him out. Stan's head spun as if filled with angry bees, cries becoming weaker, fighting more and more sluggish as Deeby just sat on top of him.

Where was his sister? Where was Chloe?! CHLOE!! He needed to protect her! That was his only task! Protect her! He’d failed, he’d failed, he needed to save her, save them, get away. Every time he raged and strained and screamed another hand just came to pin him to the dusty ground. He was an animal thrashing around in a cage, a trap that only tightened around his throat the more he struggled.

“DEEBY– Deeby… Declan, Deeb– please get off, please, I need to save her, I don't– I just– can't–... ple-ee-ea-ease…” 

Deeby didn't say anything. Was it the drug that made him feel like he was floating on air as a pressure chamber simultaneously caged in his skull, teasing it to shatter? Or maybe the hyperventilating as he realized there was no escape. Or maybe the gutting hunger, or the throat squeezing thirst, or the burning panic, or the bone-deep exhaustion, or the pain, the pain, make it stop, all-encompassing, never-ending, or the violent shaking from lack of oxygen, or any number of the many other things that were wrong with him. Maybe all of them. His limbs lay stiff, as if held down by lead weights. His protests devolved into barely a whimpering whisper. He couldn't breathe. Not with the bounty hunter on top of him pressing his stomach into the floor, not with the probably broken ribs, not with the binder pressing into the swelling of his ribs and making every intake of air a monumentally agonizing feat achieved less and less each time…

“God, shut her up, I’m not dealing with this in the transport.”

“Really? It’s just a kid.”

“Unless you’d rather I shut her up myself.”

NO NO NO ESCAPE ESCAPE HE NEEDED TO FIND HIS FAMILY–

A tiny little prick on his upper arm. He screamed. Screamed until he couldn’t anymore, screamed because he couldn’t do anything else, screamed until one of the gloved hands slapped over his mouth and stayed there until he quieted, and then he couldn’t even scream. It stayed there until tears soaked through the course fabric. The edges of his vision started to go dark. 

“That’s it kid, shut up, go to sleep. Don’t struggle. It’ll be easier if you just relax.”

His head fell limp against the dirty ground.

He was gonna die here, wasn't he?

Yeah.

Made sense. 

He let his head lie down on the floor.

He lurched with silent sobs.

He couldn't do this anymore.

He couldn't.

This was all pointless.

He was done.

And he went limp.

“There ya go. Attaboy.”

Deeby's voice came from above him. Slow, comforting, praising, as if he were speaking from a thousand miles away.

“Attagirl…” The last voice he heard. The last time he saw his childhood home. The last time he saw his parents. The end of his first fight for his life. Failed. 

The black consumed him. 

Stan let out something between a whine and a sob. The mercenary took just a moment to readjust, legs now caging him in and pushing inward on either side of Stan's hips. “Yeah okay, whatever runt. Let’s just get this done.” 

Deeby's fingers probed under the binder for a moment, causing Stan to squirm anew purely on instinct. Until he hit a particularly nasty bruise. An electrical storm webbed through his ribcage. A flash of white. Stan yelped a cut-off, strangled squeal, a sound he prayed he’d never have to hear again.

“Sorry…” muttered above him. His binder flipped upward and over itself, a brief squeeze, the fabric pulling lightly at his skin, his arms, his hair, then pressure relieved.

Breathe in…

Holy fuck, he was alive!

Stan gulped in the first deep breath he'd taken in what felt like years, gasping and desperate and a full, deep breath. His senses sharpened. Kinda. He still sat pinned within a sea of cotton, the static that blanketed the clouds, limbs heavy, mind slow. But he could breathe! He almost remembered that he only felt like this because Deeby forcibly stripped him. That bitch.

“Holy shit,” the bounty hunter whispered quietly, amazed, almost inaudible. A moment of breath-taking clarity as adrenaline shot through Stan’s system for one last, final hurrah. Holy shit?

“Wh-what, what–?” He tried unsuccessfully to turn around and see. He even managed to convince himself that he didn't care that his tits were basically out, right before he flopped face-first into the ground again. This drug worked miracles.

Declan paused for a moment. Then: “Ah… Nothing, nothing, just, your ribs are much worse off than I thought. Bruised to shit…”

Stan laughed. Really? Bruised to shit? Who could have guessed? The burning anger and hatred and desperation he expected to feel, that he'd been fighting nonstop for two or three or however-the-hell many days straight? It was now buried under layers of static and sand and that lovely familiar darkness which pressed everything that made him himself to somewhere deep in the darkest recesses of his brain, unnoticed in the rolling fog. Though the knot in his throat that made him want to burst out crying still persisted. That was weird. What did he have to cry about? “Yeah… maybe you should… not… Aheh, uh, throw me… to–... walls anymore…” he giggled. He was pretty sure at least. That’s what his voice sounded like, right?

His limbs were so heavy. He might not be able to move them if he tried. Not that he wanted to. What if he just went to sleep right here?

Ah shit, he didn't have a shirt on still.

But like, who even cared anymore? The mercenary would take what he wanted, including Stan’s shirt, including his binder. He could take everything from him. Take his freedom, take his personhood, take any slight chance at happiness or have a normal family that wasn’t shattered to pieces. Shoot him with that pretty old gun, take his life entirely. Come back again and again just to make sure Stan never saw the light of day again. Who even cared if he saw Stan’s chest? Who even cared if this was one of the most humiliating things to ever happen to him? He shouldn’t fight so hard. He wouldn't be pinned face down to the floor and chained up and drugged if he just stopped fighting. This was fine. He felt fine. He liked this.

Keep fighting, rage, rage, escape.

Oh, shut up.

He felt the white overly large shirt being pulled back on over his head a million miles away, something with Eeby-Deeby getting frustrated again and his arms getting roughly shoved through the armholes before Stan could even try to lift his leaden limbs.

Chill out, man. It's fine. It's not that serious.

The way the world swirled around him was almost a comfort now. He was drugged. He knew it, it was just a fact now. The fog and the static and the way he could barely think and the way it was kinda hard to move and the way it took a second to move even if he did actually want to move… That wasn’t really Stan. That was some other guy. He was just drugged. Drugged Stan.

It was nice. Normal Stan was always so wound up about everything. Normal Stan fought so hard to change what couldn’t be changed, made everything so much worse for himself. And for what? He’d always be captured again, always chained up, always poked and prodded and beholden to the will of others, always treated like a petulant, whiny animal that needs to be tamed. Normal Stan couldn’t seem to get that. Normal Stan was those bad thoughts at the edges of his mind, the ones that kept him screaming, running, fighting even when Deeby got up off of him and gave him water which he desperately needed, sweet, sweet, water that relieved the pain and carried all his troubles away like a gently rushing river, cooled his insides of the burning heat and anger. GOD, he forgot how nice water tasted.

It was weird. Eeber-Deeber was almost thoughtful, in his own special way. When you looked past the violence. Stan should be nicer to him, make him not have to violence so much. Maybe then Stan go home! No fight, just go home and see his family… he didn’t really have a home, did he? No… But that was okay, because he still had Marcus and Chloe! He could see them again! That would be nice. Marcus, Chloe. He loved them so much. He needed to protect them. Why was he still here? His Mom and Dad couldn’t protect them, it was his job because they were…

Dead?

Dead.

It was for the best that they were.

It was fine though. It wasn’t that serious. 

…

He missed them.

* * * * * * * *

Next

Taglist: @flowersarefreetherapy | @pirefyrelight | @cakeinthevoid | @painsandconfusion | @books-are-everything

@paperprinxe | @tippytappytyping | @chaotic-orphan | @notactuallyluska | @thebestieyoureinlovewith

(If you'd like to be added or subtracted from the taglist, don't be afraid to ask!)

[osamu-dazais-husband]

Hello, I was wondering if you could do ciel x ftm! Reader, in wich Reader is very dysphoric about their big chest but also likes it a lot.

They get nervous and pick on their chest a lot and when Ciel asks if they want top surgery, reader breaks down because they don't know yet.

Like, they really want to but are also very scared.

Have a good day/night

This sounds so sweet, i struggle with this a lot too so i enjoyed writing about this so much!

Ciel Phantomhive with a big chested ftm reader!

Being transgender is hard enough, being transgender in the 1800's where you're held to a certain standard is even harder, it's almost impossible for you to feel comfortable in your body especially since you're forced to wear a damn big dress all the time.

Everywhere you went it felt like you were just hiding your true self from everyone, everywhere except for Ciel's manor, you had told your boyfriend that you were trans after you started to trust him with that information and he surprisingly reacted really well! He tried to make you as comfortable as possible and when you are at his manor you don't have to wear those damn dresses, you get to raid his closet and he even orders Sebastian to specially design and make clothes to your liking. Although, being in 1800's, binders or other methods of hiding your chest were not invented yet, part of you didn’t mind, a bigger part of you hated it, you didn’t fully feel comfortable with yourself.

One day you were hanging out in ciel’s manor, he thought you were both having a great conversation but that was then he saw you picking at your chest, again. He always hated it when you did that on the off chance you could hurt yourself and stops you immediately. He had enough of it though and asked if you wanted to have a surgery eventually to get your chest removed.

That made you snap, you never told ciel you actually liked your breasts and did not know if you wanted them off, you started crying, hard and in that moment ciel rushed over to your seat, kneeling to your level so he’s not hovering above you and wipes your tears, asking what’s wrong and ordering Sebastian to get water for you.

You broke down telling ciel how conflicted you were, you liked your breasts, you hated having to be called a girl in public and those breasts being one of the main reasons why. You didn’t know what you wanted to do! Were you going to regret it after it’s done? What if something happens!?

You started mumbling all possibilities that could happen in result of a surgery until ciel cut you off.

“You don’t have to get the surgery if you don’t want to, it’s your body and if you’re not comfortable with taking the risk then you shouldn’t, you are who you are and no matter what body parts you have the only person who can define you is you. If you want to go through with it, I’ll be with you every step of the way. If not, you’re still my boy”

Those words made you feel just a little safer

You didn’t need to know yet, you can just go at your own speed, if you don’t know about surgery, you know one thing, ciel cares about you enough to love you either way.

[reallife6anoufriev6boy6]

trans male artyom x horny degenerate nikita?

transmasc!artyom x horny degenerate!nikita headcanons!

oh sweet anon….sweet, sweet, anon…you have no idea what youve gotten yourself into….i have so many headcanons about this…

absolutely no one but nikita knows that artyom is trans. artyom would rather kill himself then let any other living soul know that he is.

nikita was friends with artyom before he transitioned which is the only reason why he even knows. he became friends with him and was honestly so turned on that a girl would ever bother being his friend, but once he was told he still didnt care.

all it did was make him like him more, realizing that he liked artyom as a whole (and for what he had in his pants).

nikita has made it extremely difficult for artyom to hang out with him without him being a total creep. he just lets that shit out he doesnt care.

nikita definitely started watching porn and snuff of trans people specifically whenever artyom came out. none of it was in a good light as you can imagine, but it only made him more of a needy freak.

i think nikita would have an obsession with artyoms chest specifically. he would always be asking if he can touch it or just even see it which artyom doesnt typically oblige to, but it gets to a certain point where he just has to so he’ll shut up.

i think even when theyre laying in bed together nikita would have a hand over artyoms chest and then another wrapped around his waist - he likes his curves. artyom hates it, but, again, theres not a lot he can do about it other then let his disgust and discomfort known.

however its not all bad for artyom. it makes it way easier to manipulate nikita into doing what he wants because he thinks if he does anything hes asked to then maybe he’ll get a look at his tits or something.

artyom also likes to tease nikita just to fuck with him. sometimes when its just them in his apartment (which it usually is) he’ll take his shirt off and just keep his binder on while nikitas ass would be practically drooling over it. sometimes he’ll even just wear a bra and then that has him cumming in his pants within seconds.

artyom has probably let nikita finger him at least a couple of times. its always hit or miss - sometimes nikita will have watched too much transmasc porn and will know exactly what hes doing or he will be too stupid and horny to bother making it any good.

he also definitely always wants to get his mouth on him to eat him out. hes only gotten to do that at least once though.

nikita wants nothing more then for artyom to get on his dick. that would be absolute heaven to him, but it never gets that far. itll go as far as artyom sitting on his lap, wearing nothing but a bra and panties while nikitas only wearing his boxers - grinding down against him while he whines and pulls at the back of bra to get it off, but nothing more then that.

nikita might get fed up though and do some pretty shitty things to artyom….who knows….winks…

nikita is definitely a freak about artyom whenever hes on his period and he will always just want to help (and to lick it up) but he has no idea what hes doing. he would say some shit like “yes my glorious transmasc, tranny, trans man king….heh…ill lick that blood up for you so it doesnt make a mess….heh…”

nikita, being a freak and finding himself on questionable porn websites, has definitely gotten into misgendering as a kink. he definitely has done it to artyom during their weird sex things which just really pisses him off and nikita doesnt get why he doesnt like it like the “actors” in the video.

hes also said some transphobic things here and there. like incel level type shit because he doesnt know where else to get any of his information from.

[asherraccoon]

Dysphoric- Radioapple- Hurt/comfort, fluff, bit of angst- Trans Lucifer AU, Human AU, College AU

(Monthly period oneshot!!) (Love projecting onto canonically male characters as a trans guy 😋)

(Srsly tho, I get so fucking dysphoric on my periods it sucks 😭)

Lucifer curled up in a ball on his bed. He was in a lot of pain. Right now his cramps were absolutely killing him and making him wish he was dead. He hated his body. It wasn't helping that he had slept in his binder and his chest was hurting. He was too dysphoric right now to take it off, though. He heard the dorm door open and then footsteps coming towards his room. 

Alastor entered the room. “Hey,” he said. 

“Mmh,” Lucifer hummed to acknowledge Alastor. 

Alastor set down his backpack by his bed on the other side of the room. He looked over at Lucifer. “Are you ok?” He asked, noticing Lucifer's pained expression and body language. 

“No,” Lucifer mumbled. “Hurts…” his voice was starting to tremble. 

Then Alastor realized the situation. “Oh…” he walked over and crouched by Lucifer's bed. “Is it..?” 

Lucifer nodded. 

Alastor gently brushed Lucifer's hair out of his face with his hand. “Are you wearing your binder?” He asked. 

Lucifer looked away. “No…” he lied. 

“Luce,” Alastor sighed. 

“I don't wanna take it off,” Lucifer mumbled. 

“I know, love, but it's only making the pain worse,” Alastor said softly. “You're also not supposed to be wearing it while you sleep,” 

Lucifer whined. 

“Are you wearing boxers or briefs right now?” Alastor asked. 

“Briefs,” Lucifer responded honestly. 

“Good. Pad?” 

Lucifer nodded. “Yeah,” 

“Good boy,” Alastor smiled softly and ran his hand through Lucifer's hair. 

Lucifer blushed lightly. “Do I have to take my binder off?” He asked. 

“Yes,” Alastor said. “I know you hate how you look without it, but it's important,” Alastor said. “I'll let you borrow one of my shirts so your chest is easier to hide, alright?” 

“Okay…” Lucifer mumbled. He slowly sat up and pulled his shirt off so he could remove his binder. 

Alastor went into his closet to grab a shirt for Lucifer to borrow. He found one that was softer and comfier than his other shirts and went over to Lucifer.

Lucifer held his shirt over his chest and had his eyes closed. He really really hated his chest. He looked like he wanted to cry. 

“Hey,” Alastor sat down next to him and offered the shirt to him. It hurt to see Lucifer so upset and distressed. 

Lucifer took the shirt from Alastor. “Thanks…” 

Alastor turned away so Lucifer could put it on. 

Lucifer closed his eyes again and dropped the shirt he was holding to his chest. He quickly put Alastor's shirt on and let out a breath. “You can look now,” he hugged his knees. 

Alastor turned towards Lucifer again. He took Lucifer's discarded shirt and binder. “I'm going to put these in the wash, alright? Be right back,” 

Lucifer nodded and watched Alastor leave. He lay down on his side and curled up in a ball again. He could feel the fat on his chest and he absolutely despised it. He was also having extreme pain in his abdomen. He started to cry. 

Alastor came back to his partner crying. “Hey, what's going on?” Alastor asked softly, crouching by Lucifer again and cupping his cheek. He gently wiped away Lucifer's tears with his thumb. 

“Hate this…” he whispered. 

“I know, baby, it sucks,” Alastor gazed at Lucifer sympathetically. He gently kissed Lucifer's forehead. “Can I get you anything? Are you hungry at all?” 

Lucifer shook his head. “Not hungry,” 

“I still want you to eat. How about just some chocolate and crackers, yeah?” Alastor offered. 

“Okay,” Lucifer mumbled. 

“Want me to heat up one of your plushies, too?” Alastor asked. 

“Yes please,” Lucifer nodded. 

“Which one? Deer or Fred?” Alastor asked. 

Lucifer had two weighted, heatable plushies. A duck named Fred, which he had since he was 15, and a deer named Deer, a gift from Alastor. He thought about it for a minute. “Deer, please,” 

Alastor nodded. He softly kissed Lucifer's forehead again. “Of course, my prince,” 

Lucifer's heart fluttered at the pet name. He loved being called that by Alastor. But he loved most of the compliments and nicknames Alastor gave him. 

Alastor picked up the deer plush from Lucifer's bed and went to the dorm's kitchen. 

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

Lucifer took Deer from Alastor's hands when offered. He hugged it tightly to his abdomen.

Alastor placed a bag of chocolates, crackers, and a cup of tea on the nightstand next to Lucifer's bed. 

“Al?” Lucifer mumbled. 

“Yes, my darling?” Alastor replied. 

“Can we please cuddle?” Lucifer asked, his voice breaking a little. 

Alastor's heart broke. Lucifer was desperate for comfort. Who was he to deny him that? “Of course, my sweet boy,” Alastor said. He got in bed next to Lucifer and then pulled him close. 

Lucifer leaned into Alastor. His back against Alastor's chest and his head under his chin, basically in his lap. He held Deer on his cramps. “I wish I was a boy,” Lucifer said quietly. 

“Baby, you are a boy,” Alastor said gently. 

“I don't feel like one,” Lucifer said, starting to cry again. 

“My handsome boy,” Alastor lightly squeezed Lucifer and kissed his head. “You'll always be a boy no matter what,” he said reassuringly. “I know your body feels wrong and you hate that, but your anatomy doesn't make you any less of a man,” 

Lucifer wiped his eyes. “I wish I was like you,” Lucifer whispered. 

Alastor squeezed Lucifer tightly. “Darling,” he said quietly. He hated when his boyfriend got so dysphoric like this. He loosened his hug. He cupped Lucifer's face and tilted it up. He placed soft kisses across Lucifer's face. His nose, cheeks, forehead, and then his lips. “You will always be valid, Lucifer,” Alastor said to him. “I will always love and and support you no matter what,” 

Lucifer sniffled and wiped his eyes. “I just wanna be a normal guy… I don't wanna be trans…” he sobbed. “I-I'm s-sorry…” he apologized. 

Alastor hugged Lucifer tight, his face resting in Lucifer's blonde hair. “My sweet, beautiful, handsome prince…” Alastor mumbled. “You know you are a real boy, right?” 

Lucifer let out a small sob. He didn't answer. 

“Love,” Alastor gently rubbed his thumbs over Lucifer's cheeks. “It hurts to see you like this, my love…” 

Lucifer fidgeted with the antlers on his plushie. He sniffled. 

Alastor took a chocolate out of the bag on the nightstand. “Here,” he offered it to Lucifer. “It'll help you feel better,” 

Lucifer took the chocolate and took the wrapping off. He put it in his mouth and chewed it slowly. 

Alastor took the wrapper from him and put it on the stand. He put his hands on Lucifer's hips and gently massaged the area his cramps were at. 

Lucifer let out a soft moan at the sudden rubbing, not expecting it. He sighed quietly and leaned into Alastor. All of Alastor's soft affections and love was making him feel a bit better. “You really think I'm handsome?” He asked. 

“Very,” Alastor said, smiling at Lucifer. “The handsomest boy ever,” he kissed Lucifer's head. “Never forget that, my prince,” 

Lucifer looked up at Alastor lovingly. “You make me feel safe,” he said quietly. 

Alastor's eyes softened. “I'm glad,” he hugged Lucifer tightly. 

“Al?” 

“Hm?”

“Do you think I'm ever gonna be able to get surgery?” Lucifer asked. 

“I do,” Alastor kissed Lucifer's forehead. “I'm going to help you pay for it,” he said. 

Lucifer's eyes widened. “What? You're serious?” 

Alastor nodded. 

“What!? No! Alastor I can't ask you to-” 

Alastor shut him up with a kiss. “Calm down, my sweet prince. I'm going to help you because I want to. You mean the world to me. I want you to feel comfortable in your body. And if that means helping you get surgery, then I'm more than happy to do so,” 

Lucifer started to cry again. “I-I don't deserve you…” he whispered. 

“Aww, baby,” Alastor hugged Lucifer close. 

Lucifer turned to cry into Alastor's shoulder and hugged him back. “I love y-you…” 

“I love you too, my handsome boy,” 

(Here's your guys' break from angst, stop complaining/j)

(BTW this is based on this thingy I found and thought was rlly cute :3)

[goldielia]

when jack met cassy

a part of: untouchable au

when cassy entered the mclaren garage on sunday to start getting ready for the canadian grand prix, she firstly found their social media admin and one of her closest friends in the paddock, anne.

mclaren had a close-knit group of girls consisting of cassy, anne, her girlfriend sabrina who was one of two team photographers and charlotte, who was a law student currently doing an internship at mclaren.

it had become a routine for the four of them to sit on the step to the pit wall for a second to chat before any grand prix. it was also usually the time cassy got to ask anne about the vip guests of the weekend which she did first things first ever since she missed when tom holland visited.

“uh, there’s not much going on today. some hockey players should show up though, you know, charlie’s brother and them”, anne looped her in while staring at her ipad. “eh, alright.” cassy murmured, slightly disappointed.

with a last tap of her own papaya-coloured high top converse against anne’s white and orange air force she got up to start getting ready for the race.

jack couldn’t wipe the smile off his face. he was going to see his sister again AND his first f1 race. lottie usually worked for mclaren during the summer break of the academic year, being located in cambridge for her studies, so when she invited him to see both her and the race in canada he instantly said yes.

they agreed to meet just before the entrance to the paddock so she could give him, cole and trevor (who she graciously invited as well) their passes. jack had been jittery the whole way there, not having seen his twin since christmas.

leaning onto a lamp post in front of the gate was a blonde girl, wearing black mom jeans, a mclaren t-shirt tucked into them and orange old school vans. he instantly ran towards her, charlotte barely being able to save the binder she held before jack tackled her into a crushingly tight hug that she returned with equal force.

after she’d given cole and trevor a side hug each and handed each of them a garage pass, the group entered through the gate and lottie talked them through the paddock on the way to the mclaren garage.

after she showed them their spots and told them about the screens and headsets she caught up with jack for a bit before a whirlwind of red curls brushed past them, grabbed her wrist and whisked her away to the steps in front of the pit wall where anne and sabrina had claimed their place already.

“charlotte-i-don’t-know-your-middle-name-hughes! tell me your brother’s not the one in the middle, please” cassy looked at charlotte with wide eyes. “uh, my middle name’s ruby, actually. but yeah, that’s jack. left is cole, right is trevor.” charlotte answered, confusion evident on her face.

cassy only groaned, hiding her face in her hands. “are all your brothers that pretty? your parents must be like greek gods or somethin’” she mumbled into her hands. sabrina smirked, looking at them over her shoulder as she was walking back to the garage with anne, both of them having to work some more before the grand prix. “i think our cass just experienced love at first sight”

charlie gasped and smiled teasingly at that, prying cassy’s hands away from her face. “you gonna make a move?“

“would you like, be okay with that? and are you sure he’s single?” “of course i’m okay with that, cass! i’m not blind you know. also he’s been staring at you like ever since you grabbed me.” cassy tore her eyes away from charlie and towards the garage instead.

the pretty boy from earlier, jack hughes as she now knew, was indeed staring at her. “also, he’s definitely single. i can-” charlie’s sentence and cassy’s staring were interrupted by lando’s voice. “jonesy, hughesy, come on we need to do the rule run down!”

fortunately for jack and less so for cassy, her workspace wasn’t far from the guest area. which meant he could watch her and she couldn’t concentrate because she felt his eyes on her.

the grand prix itself wasn’t too eventful, 11th place for oscar and 13th for lando. both cassy and charlie were needed after the race though, to review the penalty lando had gotten for “unsportsmanlike behaviour”.

charlie’s department handled the rules for each grand prix as well as topics like filing lawsuits over penalties. cassy as one of lando’s engineers was tasked with reviewing all the video material she could get her hands on to find something that could have the penalty taken back, or at least reviewed.

on her way to the conference room though, when cassy passed by jack, she slipped a tiny piece of paper into his hand, catching his eyes quickly to smirk at him.

he wanted to chat her up at least but she was rushed along before his brain could form a single word. instead, he opened the note. it read “you’re really pretty. text me?” with a little heart and a number, presumably her phone number on it.

before he could even try folding the paper back up he was already fighting for balance, both cole and trevor having read the note and started teasingly nudging him with their elbows, matching excited grins on their faces.

“did jacky get himself a girlfrieeeend?” trevor sing-songed into his ear. before he could continue though, charlie apprared in front of them, index finger poking jack’s chest.

“i love you but if you fuck this up i’m not guaranteeing for anything” she warned, serious blue eyes drilling into his identical ones to make sure he understood her. he grabbed her hand, eyes just as serious as hers, and spoke “if i find a way to fuck this up, lottie, please make sure i regret it.”

[shatterthefragments]

hi! 💜 i'm intrigued by the Nazareth trans allegory comic [sleep token] from your wip list, if you'd like to share some thoughts about it. have a lovely day! 🌻

🫂💖💖💖💖💖 Ok ok SO!!! Nazareth Trans Allegory comic!!!

RAMBLING ON AHEAD!!!!!!!!

There’s. This is what was in my notes app so far so this is the entirety of the wip basically bc I hadn’t externalized this until I actually started to write an answer for this!!! 🫂

(Brought to you by me listening to Nazareth on repeat last week and a bit into this one so far it is number 1 on my on repeat atm and questioning if I really *have to* put off/forget about gender affirming care Despite The Horrors (bloodwork and surgery) after all I was able to get tattooed and it didn’t even put me in a dissociative tailspin.. if I get to a place I can Get Out of this house (with all my stuff))

^this is presumably from May when I started writing this out. But as of September 11 2024, Nazareth is still number 5 on my on repeat playlist as I mull this over in my head like a rotisserie chicken.

Um. I guess cw for transphobia

And also brought to you by me starting to type:

This is probably nothing but “let’s fuck her up” referring to the girl that

(They all think you are)

And then Promptly abandoning it to go NAZARETH TRANS ALLEGORY.

While I do question my ability to pull it off I am throwing myself off the cliff of “I must make perfect art” and diving into the waters of “if it brings joy or catharsis it is ALL PERFECT” and it’s better to try and to learn as I go than to worry and not create anything at all.

This would be. A short comic. Not like. Not like a book comic or anything.

Will absolutely feature calligraphy bc I’m a sucker and love it 😘(also I’m out of practice and have to reference the alphabets way more than I used to so I want to practice also anything that uses that much black gets assigned calligraphy in my head 😘)

Also unsure of how closely it follows what I’m rambling about here and what I’m actually capable of depicting but HERE WE GO (not sure how coherent I just type things)

But primarily it follows the song and its lyrics and the emotions (?)

TWINKLIEST BITS ARE BEING EQUATED TO FINDING YOUR CHOSEN FAMILY OKAY!!!!!!

And ALSO the jubilation in BECOMING in changing your life to be how you are and finding the joy in living again

So The Wrath. In this. I haven’t fully decided how many interpretations I’m giving it. But it is definitely representing transphobia, particularly from birth families and the people we’re close with.

I’ll see you when the wrath comes.

I’ll see you when you come running to your chosen family (the “I” here) being welcomed in and safe from the wrath touching you.

“Knocking on your bedroom door with money” I mean fuck. Transition related stuff is so expensive 😭 even though I have universal healthcare it’s. Expensive. Even just the binders I have from when I bound on a regular basis were pretty expensive. Makeup to do masculinizing makeup would be expensive (I don’t have or wear makeup (my obsession with dark red lipstick and other fun colours notwithstanding) let alone have the skill currently to do that)

“Building you a kingdom” finally being the king of your own world rather than a subject subjected to so many unspoken rules that just bind you to unhappiness and obligation is what comes to mind at first but honestly I’m not entirely sure what to do for the next line

“Dripping from the open mouth, I’ll show you / what you look like, from the inside” like. I have vague images floating around in my head that I’m not sure how to articulate atm.

Hollow point. You know. Like the syringe used to draw up testosterone from the vial. To a naked body/booty (look. I know that the thigh is just fine as an injection site but I did watch love lies bleeding thanks to @ongreenergrasses so it is in the mind) (yes,, even still…)

Now on one hand. The pronouns are she/her used in the lyrics.

But ALSO could be interpreted as the rest of everyone seeing him/them as her still and refusing to acknowledge their/his identity (undecided on whether anyone else knows in this comic or even how I’d storyboard that)

Also. I won’t be missing you in mirror

They won’t be missing you the pitchfork crowd

So I would be going with the transmasc version bc it’s more related to me and my experiences and how I see things

(Aside from like the one week back in high school where after so long as a boy I was a girl and I was fully like freaking out and wondering how I’d transition before like. It occurred to me. Anyway that didn’t last long and was the quickest gender switch I’ve experienced (I generally say if I am indeed gender fluid then the fluid is a slow moving lava consuming all in its path) and I hovered (and still kinda continue to hover) somewhere in the realm of nonbinary transmasc demiboy or something I’m not thinking too hard about the labels I just want to be comfortable and as happy as possible)

BUT ALSO 👀

Transfem Nazareth

Fuck her up - fuck up the woman you’re expected to be by everyone else.

Hollow point… unfortunately I can’t help but think of the disproportionate rates of violence against trans women and particularly trans women of colour.

[lostonehero]

I'm late to mermay, but well, uh, no excuses have Siren! Martin doing such a great job in the archives.

Tim loved going to the ocean. He loved the water in general, and when Danny was still with him, he would try and fail to convince him to try to go with him during the winter. Danny always quoted old legends, but Tim didn't believe in them. Well, he does now, but that's besides the point.

The reason Tim believes is the 6ft5inch man in his apartment who is technically his husband or mate in his words. Of course, this happened years ago he's now a much more jaded man. He works for the insistute now trying to get answers for his brother, and somehow, his husband works there too. He really doesn't understand how he lied about everything on his CV.

"Tim?" A male voice pulls Tim out of his thoughts. "Should I wear this one or this one? We work together now in the archives, and you don't want me to match you."

"The blue one is fine, Martin." Tim smiles softly. Martin wasn't human, and he's honestly surprised nobody has figured it out. He's also grateful for the face that he's his husband, even if he keeps it secret.

"Are you sure? You want our mate bond to be kept secret. I don't know if they can smell it.... I should wear one from the dryer." Martin sighs.

Tim chuckles. "Just because I wore that to bed doesn't mean you can't wear it. We humans don't have the same abilities as you guys."

"Yeah, but I don't know if everyone there is human." Martin huffs.

They have this argument about once a week, which is fine. It's better than the raw meat debate. Tim smiles softly. "Alright, alright, won't wear your jumpers anymore."

Martin huffs. "I didn't say that! You always do this."

Tim chuckles. "Maybe I like seeing you riled up. Seriously though, it's fine as long as we don't arrive at the same time." They've been together years at this point, so they both know when they are joking.

"I know the drill, Tim." Martin sighs. "Can we share the same bed tonight?"

"I'm not sleeping in the tub with you again it took weeks for my skin to heal, and before you suggest it no I'm not going in the ocean either we were both incredibly late to work." Tim raised his brow and pauses. "Oh wait, you meant my bed."

Martin rolls his eyes. "Forget I asked."

"No, wait, yes." Tim moves closer to Martin. "Then I don't have to wear things that smell like you."

Martin smiles. "You're already my mate. You do not need to scent yourself of me."

"What if I want to?"

"I suppose that can be arranged."

......

Sasha rolled her chair closer to Tim. "So Jon totally has a crush on Martin. I was talking to his ex, and she totally agrees. How about a wager? I mean, Martin is totally into him. Have you seen how aggressive he is about taking care of Jon?"

Tim chokes on his tea. "W-what?" He wipes off the mess the best he could. "Sasha, he's that way to everyone."

"Not you, and nowhere near that way to me or anyone else in this building. Besides, the timing is perfect. We have that mandatory institute day out on the beach. Sure, we're picking up trash and sending flyers out about the institute, but there's also games and food. We can totally set them up." Sasha claps her hands together with a smile on her lips.

"No." Tim could feel that green eyed monster rear its ugly head. Danny always made fun of him because he insisted he felt nothing of their marriage. Danny was right, of course. He was about to out them, and he had to think of something. "No, I mean well, what are the stakes? Is Jon's ex going to be there?"

"Oooo, that could be even better." Sasha smirks. "She can help us, and she is bringing her girlfriend. Tim you're a genius."

Tim gave a smile that didn't reach his eyes.

......

Sasha pushed Martin and Jon together. "You two can start at one end, and Tim and I will start at the other. Then we'll meet up and get some American fair food they have."

Jon raised a brow. He was in a binder with a loose tank top above it and a pair of shorts. He was also in boots and long socks. "Ok? I don't understand why Elias has this to be mandatory."

Martin looked like he was about to growl and hiss. They were so close to the ocean that the instincts to take his mate to the ocean screamed at him. "Yeah, it's an odd choice."

Tim grits his teeth as Sasha pulls him away. He was still mostly human, well it was slowly changing but he was still mostly human but even he could feel the pull of the ocean he can't imagine how Martin feels.

......

Jon rubs his brow as he looks over to Martin, who is carrying about six full bags of trash without breaking a sweat. It was impressive and kind of depressing that there's that much trash. "Martin, we can stop and drop those off, we have a ways to go."

"Why?" Martin tilted his head in a way that Jon thought was adorable.

"Isn't it heavy?" Jon sighs he only had two half full bags since Martin keeps taking the full ones away from him.

"No, not really. Are you alright? Do you need more sunscreen? We are nearly done with our side." Martin puts the bags down and takes out a bottle of sunblock.

"I'm dark skinned Martin I don't need that much." Jon, let's out a noise of surprise since Martin already started to put on a fresh layer.

"Dark skin still burns." Martin is quick but thurough. "It's better to be safe."

Jon blushes a deep red. "I uh right, of course. Let us continue. We're almost done."

.....

Sasha and Tim waved from the start of the stands. "Took you guys long enough!" Sasha laughs.

Jon frowns. "Martin insisted I drink some water and put on another layer of sunscreen. However, we did collect the most trash."

Martin nods. "Yes! We found a big pile someone buried under the sand. Also your health is important."

Tim looked between them, and something clicked. The green eyed beast was dead, and Martin was treating Jon like a pod member who couldn't care for themselves. He did this before with Danny when he was really into extreme sports. He felt the tension drain from his shoulders. "How about some weird American food? Heard double boss man got some cool stuff like pickled lemonade, and fried oreos."

"Good lord, that sounds like a heart attack." Jon scoffs.

"I would like to try that. Sounds like a perfect hangover cure." Sasha chuckles.

.......

Martin somehow ended up on a cliffside. He loved watching the waves from this high up, Tim was behind him talking to Jon's ex, um Georgie was her name. It was very nice and he really wanted to jump.

"Pretty view." A old man was next to him. His white hair was wind swept back. "You can get lost in just how vast it is."

Martin nodded, not realizing he was moving forward until he was tumbling over the edge. Well, he wanted to do this anyway.

Tim did a double take before he started to run. "MARTIN!" He went over the edge as well, and he could swear he heard an old man laughing.

Georgie and Sasha ran to the edge. They saw Tim hanging on grabbing Martin on a ledge.

"Holy shit are you two ok?" Sasha stared down at them wide-eyed.

Tim huffs. "I know you're making that face. I'm not dropping you." He did not hear Sasha, but she can hear the two men.

"But Tim, the ocean! Pleaseeeee I wanna go with you." Martin huffs.

"No, Martin, you're going to out us!" Tim groans his grip was strong but not enough for their combined weight. "Grab onto a ledge! Use your damn claws."

"I will bite you." Martin holds his hand out and then slams it into the side of the cliff and lets go of Tim. "You owe me!"

"We can go swimming when it won't out us." Tim rolls his eyes and adjusts his grip with both hands. "Now focus, we need a way back up."

"I'm not helping you." Martin sticks his tongue out and climbs the clifside like he was a lizard and stops above Tim. "You're also banned until I see fit from taking my clothes."

"Seriously? We're literally hanging from a cliff." Tim huffs.

"You are. I am climbing." Martin kicks off his shoes then his socks. "Last chance."

Tim looks up at the two women staring at them, and of course, they see Martin sink his claws into stone. "Fine. Not because I want to, but because Sasha and Georgie already saw you sink your hands into the cliffside." He lets go of the cliffside and falls with his arms crossed.

Martin follows in a diving position.

Sasha and Georgie screamed.

......

"Now, Sasha, let's not be hasty." Elias hums, walking by the bottom of the cliffside. "You also said Martin pushed his hands into the cliffside."

"I'm sorry, Sasha, but he's right." Georgie frowns. "I believe in the weird, but that's like impossible, and to fall at that height."

"Well, I hope the supernatural exists." Jon mumbles. "They could survive the fall right?"

"Not likely, water becomes -" Elias is cut off by laughter.

"Martin! Bloody hell!" Tim said through laughter.

Martin was carrying Tim. They were walking out of the waves. "Oh, I love cliff diving. We should do that again!"

The four people stared at the two with jaws open.

[transgenderteensurvivalguide]

Hey, so I'm a cis(?) guy who really wants to go on estrogen, but i also really do not want to have breasts. Is there any way that i could get all (or most, i guess) of the other effects of estrogen without developing breasts?

Lee says:

Hi my friend! Navigating your gender identity and the decision to undergo hormone therapy can be complicated.

It's sometimes possible to start hormones if you're 100% sure that you want hormones, even if you aren't 100% sure what your gender identity is, but support from a therapist who specializes in gender identity issues can be invaluable.

They can help you explore your feelings about your gender and your body, expectations, and concerns about taking estrogen and the changes it brings, and I would really recommend looking into finding a supportive therapist.

You don't always need to be diagnosed with gender dysphoria by a mental health provider to access HRT if you see a provider who uses informed consent, and not everyone feels therapy is helpful in this area-- it really depends on whether you can find a trans-friendly, competent, and affirming therapist.

But if you don't see a therapist (And even if you do!) finding support from the trans community can be super helpful if you're questioning being trans, or considering medical transitioning.

Looking for local support groups that meet in-person or online can be a great opportunity to hear from people who have similar experiences as you do because they can provide useful insights and helpful information.

With all that said, it isn't possible to pick and choose what changes you will get when you start hormones. It's an all-or-nothing thing. If you choose to start estrogen, you may experience some breast growth. For reference, this chart lists some of the major changes that you can expect from estrogen!

You can't anticipate how much chest growth you'll get- some people have minimal growth and others develop a C cup or larger-- so if the breast growth is a deal breaker, estrogen may not be the right option for you.

There is a type of medication called SERMs which might allow you to take estrogen without breast growth, but there isn’t enough research on the effect of taking SERMs and I don’t have personal experience with it either, so I can’t provide much information on that— you’ll need to speak to a medical provider about it.

Because the effects are not fully known, I would assume that there’s a chance that even if you take them you could still have some amount of breast growth, and make your decision based on that assumption unless your provider says otherwise.

You may choose to wear a binder for the rest of your life if you get breast growth and remain unhappy with your chest, but you might be swapping one form of dysphoria for another, so you should really consider whether all of the desired changes that you'd get from estrogen are more important to you than the one big change that you don't want.

You could also start estrogen and wear a binder until your chest has stopped developing (at least ~2 years) then undergo top surgery to get a flat chest again if you are uncomfortable with the breast growth from estrogen therapy. This is a significant decision and requires thorough consultation with both your hormone prescriber and a plastic surgeon.

If you feel that having breast growth isn't worth the other changes, you could explore other things.

While estrogen can slow down the growth of new facial hair, it does not typically eliminate existing facial hair, even though facial and body hair may become lighter and grow more slowly. It also doesn't reverse hair loss that has already happened, although it can slow or prevent future hair loss.

So removing facial and body hair with laser hair removal and electrolysis, and reversing and preventing further hairline recession and balding with a hair transplant, minoxidil, and finestride might mimic some of the hair-related changes that you might see from estrogen.

Similarly, facial feminization surgery and body contouring surgery can help to mimic the body fat redistribution that you'd experience on estrogen without also creating the chest growth that you don't want to experience.

However, these surgeries are more invasive than estrogen, so if you're considering estrogen, you may want to wait until after you've been on it for a couple of years before you decide whether you still need surgery or are satisfied with the changes.

If you're confident that you don't want estrogen then you could hop straight to those surgeries, but they may or may not be covered by insurance even with a diagnosis of gender dysphoria; some policies recognize that they are medically necessary interventions and others deem them cosmetic.

As you may have guessed, the vast majority of people who were assigned male at birth and express interest in taking estrogen are not cisgender men. Many end up identifying as transgender women or non-binary people. That doesn't mean that you are trans for sure, but just considering the overall probabilities, I'd say there's a good chance that you have more to explore to figure out about your gender.

But even if you don't end up identifying as part of the community, you can still consider medical interventions even if you identify as a cisgender man. It's your body, and you should do whatever you need to do to feel comfortable in it.

It's okay to look into starting estrogen (or any other medical transitioning step) while identifying as male. Just make sure you get the support you need from your medical providers so you know all the options available to you and the risks of each choice.

[detransition]

from dickevandyke The other day a friend of mine said they hardly even consider me detrans because I "didn't really do anything to detransition". I didn't ask what they meant by that, because they're not really the kind of person I can have that sort of conversation with. I didn't want to have to explain to them why I detransitioned. I didn't want to have to justify finally feeling okay with myself after spending my teenage years being miserable and stressed about being trans.

It's kind of a fascinating mindset, though. I think it gives really wonderful insight as to how their brain works. Like, I stopped taking testosterone. I stopped asking to be referred to by male pronouns. I "came out" as a woman, and I Came Out as a Lesbian after also spending most of my teenage years trying very hard to repress my attraction to women. This person doesn't view that as doing anything. Why?

I imagine it's because I dress fairly masculine - as Butches generally do. I wear still wear, mostly, "boyish clothes". I didn't start wearing make-up. I didn't let my hair grow out long. I haven't done any voice training, or really made an effort to make my voice higher pitched like it was before. I haven't gotten breast implants. I rarely correct people when they call me "sir". I don't need to do any of those things. A stranger calling me "sir" doesn't mean I am not a woman. Not having breasts anymore doesn't mean that I'm not a woman. The point of my detransition was not to turn myself into a stereotype or to dive head-first into femininity.

The point of my detransition was just that I am finally comfortable with myself, just as I am. That doesn't mean that I love my body, but I am okay with it. I am at peace with who I am.

Do I regret getting a mastectomy? Yes. There was no other reason to remove my breasts, they were perfectly fine, they were small and didn't cause me any back pain, I didn't have any medical issues related to them. Do I regret wearing a binder? Absolutely. It has screwed up my ribs and back so severely that I am probably going to be living with chronic pain for the rest of my life. Do I regret going on HRT? Sometimes, sometimes not. Honestly, it didn't really change much for me outside of my voice and making my body hair slightly thicker. Do I regret social transition? Absolutely. I dug myself into such a deep hole of self loathing and repression that it took me three years to finally crawl out of it. So after going through all of that - after putting myself, my body through all of that, why would I want to do it all over again in the opposite direction, when there is absolutely no need for it?

I "didn't do anything to detransition" because I don't need to do anything to be a woman, I just am one. Woman is my natural state. I "didn't do anything to detransition" because I already put my body through three years of cross-sex hormones, five-ish years of binding, and an unnecessary mastectomy which has left me unable to feel most of my chest more than a year post-op. I don't need more unnecessary surgeries or expensive treatments to make myself into a woman, I never really stopped being one. Getting breast implants wouldn't make me more of a woman because I don't need breasts to be a woman. Voice training to make my voice a higher pitch again won't make me more of a woman because a high pitched voice was never what made me a woman in the first place. Wearing make-up, growing out my hair, wearing "girly" clothes wouldn't make me more of a woman, because femininity does not make a woman.

I didn't argue with them when they said that because, to be honest, I don't want to hear what they think makes a woman. I don't want to hear them trying to justify why they barely consider me detrans because I have not tried to turn myself into a feminine stereotype. It just really struck a chord with me, because if I'm not really detrans to them, am I really a woman to them? Or do they see me as some kind of "failed" woman because despite explicitly and openly accepting my womanhood, I am not their picture of what a woman is suppose to be?

thinking of detransition? you are not alone

[daddysfangirls-dc]

UnTamed Ch. 17

Damian Wayne x OC!Female

Prev | Next

"Where do you get these clothes? Why?" Asta asked as he zipped up her dress.

"I bought them. You need clothes even if you don't wear them." Damian said as he put on her blazer last.

"Do I need shoes too?"

"No, I don't think those will be necessary. Nor will he care." Damian stepped back, taking her in. White midi dress with a white blazer. " you're the one who wants to be business-like as you say."

And she did; she wanted to look like a businessy, a grown-up, and an adult. She knew she was a child who founded an organization with children to help other children. To those on the outside, it probably looked like a super baby situation, and she knew it would be hard to be taken seriously. Despite it all being in the hands of children, it was consequential. It needed attention, and she was doing all she could to get it, including dressing up in fancy business clothes that felt like an uncomfortable, unnecessary layer that she did not like. Asta just wanted to be taken seriously. She wanted her people to be taken care of.

"You know he's not going to care what you're wearing. How you're helping and who you're helping is what is essential. Your appearance doesn't matter what you're doing, and what you plan to do in the future does. Tell him your plans to help Gotham. He'll help you. I know he will." Damian kissed her knuckles before handing her the binder. 

-

They met in the library. The table was set up with tea and cookies. Jason was already sitting reading a book. 

"Apologizes for being late" uses big words to sound more intelligent. " Thank you for speaking with me and giving me another chance." Sit up straight. Be confident. 

"Given the circumstance, it's not really a second chance. Just the first all over again," Jason said, putting his book to the side and pouring her a cup of tea. " So, show me what you got."

Opening her binder, she turns it around and slides it to him. " This- This ..." Damn she forgot what she was going to say. " Um ... the other night, I told you all that I grew up and lived on the streets. I wouldn't have survived if it weren't for rare kindness and connections. I returned that Kindness and made more connections. I wanted to help people. Those connections I made came together to make this." She motioned to the binder. " An underground organization made to help people. Everyone has a place, a purpose, a connection, a job. This shows how we work, what we do, and how we do it." She watched Jason slowly flip through the binder, taking his time with each page. 

It was very organized. With lists of properties, medical aid, routes, businesses, and even people (although he suspected those names to be aliases.). It was very obvious that Damian had a hand in this with the language and illustrations used. Now the question was, did he simply have a hand in this binder or this organization as a whole? 

" So what do you want from me and mine."

"Strength, protection, and numbers"

"Oh?"

"Most, if not all, of my organization is made up of the youth," she said. " And as much as we try, we can't do everything as we are. we can't do anything legally, we aren't very intimating alone, and we need to protect ourselves, but I don't want to put weapons in children's hands. I just won't."

Jason was in agreement that he hated the idea of weapons in children's hands. " So, you want to be added to our routes and routines."

"Well, I would actually like more collaboration. If you keep turning the pages, you'll see that some of the things you do and offer are similar to things we do. For example, you don't sell drugs to kids; offer clean drugs and clean needles. We offer clean needles, safe places to use, and people to watch over them in case of overdoes. We also offer clean houses where, if people want, they can come to get clean. I'd like to combine our efforts and make some things more effective and safer... These are just ideas. S-some stuff to think on, probably."

Asta started stumbling and stuttering towards the end, realizing she was talking too much and too fast. Her nerves were starting to show. 

"Why didn't you ask Damian?"

"What?"

"Why didn't you ask Damian? He could have given me this much sooner-"

"I'm doing this. This is me. I'm doing this. Not Damian or Robin. This is my organization. I was chosen by my people, not a Robin or a Wayne. I'm doing this."

"I recognized my bother's handwriting." And she stood up. " No, no sit. I'm just .... please sit."

He wasn't trying to be mean. He just wanted to know more and make sure Damian wasn't being used in any way. As much as he supported the relationship, he wanted to make sure it was an actual relationship and not him being manipulated into a relationship for business. As much as he didn't believe Damian could be manipulated, she was a pretty girl, and puberty was hitting the boy hard. He was just worried and trying to be sure. 

"I'm sorry, please," he motioned to the seat across from him. She sat.

"Damian did help me put this binder together. I wanted it to look as professional as possible. And I have asked for his opinion on things and maybe an extra hand. But I have refused any Robin or Wayne influence. I don't think anyone would trust me if I did." 

"But I'm trustworthy?"

"You're already doing it. Plus, you're one of us. You may have left us for a time. But we still remember you. We didn't leave you."

-

Damian watched as Asta stumbled into the room, stripping her clothes. As she went to pick up her clothes, she placed them on the back of the desk chair, joining him in the bed once done. 

"How was your meeting?"

"It went"

That's all she said before she turned into a Boa constrictor, which effectively ended the discussion. She simply curled up into a tight ball on the pillow.

"It'll all work out. I promise," kissing her scaled head. 

[itsrainingbubbles]

Gender fluid sanlu

Basically sanlu but both of them are gender fluid

I just thought up an interaction between them that goes something like this

"hey Luffy have you seen my binder?"

"last I saw it was on the chair by the desk"

"oh yeah thanks lu, by the way nice dress, really brings out your eyes"

"thanks! Nami helped me pick it out, oh and can you help me do my eyeshadow?"

"only if you help me do mine"

It came to me in a dream and it was the fluffiest dream I've ever had

Also Luffy would forget he's binding and just wear it until he decides he wants boobs again and before ace and Sabo would remind him to take a break but when they set out to sea Luffy would forget again

Then Sanji would find out about this and he'd start reminding Luffy to take breaks

If Sanji happened to be binding too Luffy would only agree if sanji also took a break because as much as he scolds Luffy for unsafe binding he also binds for longer than he should