#cubicles uk

[cubicleinstallers]

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[winter-seance]

Broadchurch (2013-17) Episode 2.01

[walkingstackofbooks]

This is so wild to me? I've never even considered that it's not the norm to just have a sanitary waste bin (like above) in any public loo? Here you just wrap it up in the wrapper your new pad was sealed in and pop it into the bin -- sometimes they're overfull but tbh 15+ years of menstruating and I can't remember ever having a significant problem of not being able to throw away my rubbish easily.

I was explaining to my friends yesterday that one of my pet peeves is that not very many people know how to use the modesty bags (wax paper bags in the women's room) and this leads to them being stocked incorrectly and also used incorrectly- resulting in potential biohazards.

I don't blame people for not knowing. The circumstance that of the four people at the table who menstruate, only one person knew what I was talking about... is what makes me mad. Because no one told them. And no one told the people who were supposed to tell them. And everyone somewhat assumed you already knew how to use them so no one reinforced the process. And the culture of shame surrounding menstruation means no one talks about it. And the people stocking the bathrooms typically don't know it- so they get stocked incorrectly. And so the cycle continues and I'm scraping the biohazard up off the bottom.

There's supposed to be a stock of them in the box. A nice, generous handful of them. 20 or so.

You're supposed to take one, put your pads or tampons in the bag.

Then take the bag and throw it in the trash can outside.

This process is meant to reduce the amount of people touching bodily fluids.

Every place that I've worked where I've had the duty of cleaning bathrooms, the people who stock it only put one in the box as a single liner. This causes that bag to become overflowing. It becomes smelly, unsanitary, and in the case of outdoor place like park shelters- attracts bugs or animals.

When I told the guys that work the opposite shift as me that this is the proper process, they said 'I thought it was just like a little trash can' which is a logical conclusion to make when everyone else before you only put a single liner in.

But I noticed that when I stock them correctly, people are more likely to use them correctly- I see less beer cans or gum wads or diapers in the receptacles.

Anyways- if you work in maintenance and see this problem, its real easy to explain that this is how its meant to be used and most people will believe you because no one told them how to do it properly.

This has been a psa.

[todisrael]

Think about it: a new shower can transform your bathroom and create a luxurious experience, much like your beloved spa. Fortunately, many different types of shower cubicles UK are available to suit any bathroom size and style.

[dracoxmalereader]

Marks & Spencer

Draco x Male Reader

Context: Takes place ~late 2014 because that's when gay marriage was legalized in the uk 🤓 which is convenient because that also means they have cellphones. Texting best plot device. <3 Also I don't know how weddings work my parents didn't have one so I had nobody to ask. TT I dunno if you're supposed to be shopping for the clothes together but let's say that reader and Draco are shopping for their wedding suits together because that way it'll be easier to coordinate prices. Weddings aren't cheap! Draco did just lose his job when this takes place.

Summary: You and Draco are shopping for suits for your guys' upcoming wedding. <3 Much fluff and shenanigans ensue in the Marks & Spencer.

Word Count: 1079

“Telling your boss to ‘go make out with a dementor’ is not a very muggle-ly reaction.”

“Well he deserved it! He should be rotting in Azkaban for the paychecks he was giving us. How many hours of overtime did I work last week? ‘Cause it sure wasn’t ‘zero’ like he put on my paycheck.” Draco shook his head with a sigh, eyes focused on the rack of jackets he was shifting through. 

He picked a jacket off the rod, slinging it over the growing pile on his arm. “And that’s why we’re shopping for wedding suits at an M&S.” You teased with a smile, no real bite to your words. 

Draco continued complaining about his now ex-boss, and you exhaled through your nose in amusement. A lacey puff of white sticking out from the clearance rack behind him caught your eye, and you pushed past to grab it by the hanger. 

You started to chuckle and held the overly frilly dress up to Draco’s figure, watching him turn to look. He deadpanned, his unamused expression making the dress, now draped fully over his front, that more hilarious. You giggled uncontrollably, tears pooling in your eyes. 

"Are you serious?"

“You always were Slytherin's princess.” You threw your head back and cackled. Draco blinked, and a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. His chest started to bob with silent laughter. He rolled his eyes and tried to act annoyed, shoving the garment off of himself with his free hand. 

“You’re an arse, you know that?” He shook his head, “Go look at the cakes or something if you’re not gonna help me.” 

You wiped the tears from your eyes, catching your breath from your laughing fit. “You sure?” 

“Yeah, I’ve got to try these on anyways,” He lifted the arm with all the jackets piled onto it, “Not sure if they match my skin tone, y’know?”

You smiled at him lovingly. “You’re so high maintenance.”

He feigned offense with a telling smirk, pawing at your shoulder with his empty hand. “You try shopping for a complexion as unique as mine.”

“Sure, sea-salt. You can be as picky as you like,” You teased, leaning forwards to leave a smug peck on his lips before you put the dress back on the clearance rack. “It is our wedding after all.” 

His face reddened and he shook his head with a flustered sigh, watching you saunter off towards the bakery section of the store.

Your eyes shifted back and forth on the shelf in front of you. Eyebrows furrowed, you chewed on your lower lip. Deciding on apple danishes instead of chocolate, you reached to grab them, only to feel your phone buzz in your pocket. Grabbing the boxed pastries and tucking them under your arm, you pulled your phone out. 

WhatsApp💬

Dray🦦: Come to the fitting rooms.

Dray🦦: Please.

You raised a brow in confusion. You stared at your phone, unmoving, and watched more texts appear on-screen.

WhatsApp💬

Dray🦦: I’m in the third cubicle.

Dray🦦: Please come to the fitting rooms.

Concerned, you slipped your phone back into your pocket and walk-jogged out of the bakery section. You wormed your way through aisles, then through racks of clothes until you were turning a corner and shimmying down the little hallway to the third cubicle of the men’s fitting room. 

You knocked on the door, concern lacing your voice when you called out to your fiancé. “Dray?” 

There was shuffling on the other side and then the door clicked and cracked open, just enough for you to slip inside. You shut it behind you and your eyebrows shot up when you saw Draco. White lace clung just a bit too tight to his frame, frilly neckline dipping unevenly where it’s obvious he’d struggled to get it on. His hands laid flatly at his front, almost consumed by the puffy, layered tulle of the dress’s skirt. 

Your jaw hung open before it snapped shut, lips pursed into an entertained smooch. “Pfft.”

Your mouth filled with air as you fought back laughter, slapping your free hand over your mouth. He met your eyes solemnly, eyebrows drawn tight. “Don’t.” He urged, but nothing could stop the eruption of laughter bubbling its way out of you.

You set the box in your hand down on the little bench beside him, snickering until you managed to calm yourself down. “What,” You paused, spreading your fingers and waving your hands in front of Draco for emphasis. “Happened.”

He pressed his lips together tight, fighting a small smile of his own. “I was just gonna take a few pictures to make you laugh, you arse, but the bloody zipper got stuck and I can’t get the damn thing off.” 

You snorted, the corners of your mouth tugged downwards to fight another bout of giggles. 

“This is all your fault! Is my suffering funny to you?” Draco whined, his expression telling you that he really wasn’t all that bothered.

“Turn around, you git. Let me help you.” 

He complied with a lighthearted groan, turning so his back was towards you. The zipper was visibly snagged on the fabric, caught and pulling it taut half-way up his back. You stepped closer, squinting to get a closer look before pulling at it a couple times. You managed to free it, and the zipper slipped further, all but bursting the rest of the way open. 

“I’ve gotta say, as stunning as you look in white, I don’t think this one’s your size.”

“Piss off.” He grumbled, turning back around. His face was bright red and his eyes lingered on the floorboards. He slipped the off-shoulder sleeves down his arms before looking back up at you. 

“So feisty.” You simpered at him.

He smirked back, “I thought you liked me feisty?”

“I do!” You smiled back at him. 

The two of you stared at each other for a moment, just enjoying the comfortable silence, before Draco spoke again. “So, you gonna get out now? Or should I put on a show?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you and you rolled your eyes, a silent chuckle shaking your chest. “Not that I’m opposed.” He dragged out the last syllable, teasing.

You shook your head in amusement. “Alright I’m going. Text me if there’s any more,” You pointed your gaze at the bunchy skirt of the dress. “Mishaps.”

“Darling, you know I will.” He winked smugly, and you slipped out the door of the cubicle.

How dare my parents not have a wedding. What if their eldest would need to understand weddings for his Harry Potter fic some 22 years later? /j

The funnest part of this was getting to look up 2014 phones. Draco 100% has an iPhone 6 plus he pre-ordered and the reader has like a Galaxy S4 he got on sale. Every iOS main needs their android user, and reader is Draco's.

This is less proofread than my others because I have 1 out of minimum 30 assignments done in all of my classes and they gave me an unexcused absence. Wouldn't be that big of a deal if I wasn't like one more of those away from a court date, so I've been focused on that lately. :P Let me know if there are any typos or grammar issues pls. <3

[the-garbanzo-annex-jr]

by Ben Cohen

“The nurses (National Health Service employees) are all walking around wearing ‘Free Palestine’ pins and he was scared,” Smus wrote. “Beyond that, the last few times he went in he was denied correct medical care by the same couple of nurses every time. This culminated the last time he went in, when my visibly Jewish, 9-year-old nephew, with an autoimmune blood disease was kicked out of his bay, by one of the nurses who was covered in pro-Palestine badges and stickers, and due to that, had to lie on the floor with a canula in.”

A second photo accompanying the post showed the boy lying on the hospital floor on the day that he attended wearing his religious garments.

Smus continued: “Now the damage is done and my proudly Jewish nephew (and his parents) is scared to not get treatment if he wears his kippa and tzitzit.” He then pointed out that “today when not visibly Jewish, he received quick care. Also worth noting, prior to the conflict [between Israel and Hamas terrorists in Gaza] he received excellent care.”

Smus said that his nephew’s experience was emblematic of the insecurity facing diaspora Jewish communities amidst the conflict in Gaza sparked by the Oct. 7 Hamas onslaught in Israel.

“What the actual fu*k is going on?” he wrote. “Is this the world we will live in? Is it 1940 again? It is terrifying to be a Jew in the world again.”

The case has now been taken up by the Jewish Representative Council of Greater Manchester (JRC), which filed a complaint with the hospital.

It noted the allegation that the boy “who is a religious Jew and clearly visible as such, was maltreated by several nurses who were wearing ‘Free Palestine’ badges in the outpatients department of Ward 84. Part of this maltreatment includes a failure to administer proper treatment and being removed from his cubicle and having to sit on the floor.”

The letter emphasized that “the child now feels terrified to return to hospital unless he hides his Jewish identity.”

The JRC urged the hospital authorities to investigate the allegations “as a matter of extreme urgency.”

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

All Along the Watchtower

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 2.6k

Warnings: some military jargon, mild angst, brief mentions of sexual activity in the past, brief mentions of violence

Summary: Sgt. Rory Sinclair with the Special Reconnaissance Regiment of the British army has been called on to assist with a joint US/UK operation. Quickly discovering that her Commanding Officer for the mission is a man she's met before...

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis. Will also be available to read on AO3.

October 13, 2017 09:37 - Special Reconnaissance Regiment Headquarters, Stirling Lines, Credenhill, Herefordshire, United Kingdom 

Rory sat in her cubicle, grey plastic walls surrounding her, free of any personal items. Scouring hours of footage shot during a scouting mission in thermal vision, taking note of timestamps and important location details for her report, she couldn’t help but taste the acrid pang of jealousy. It was the duty of her and the other SRR operators in the office to painstakingly comb through reports and footage, collecting intel. The nerve center for army intelligence. Keyboards clacked and phones rang as information was filtered and passed along to where it was needed.

"Sgt. Sinclair."

A deep voice broke the monotony around her, it was one that few ever heard unless the powers that be deemed it so. She’d only heard it once before when her transfer to the SRR was approved. Spinning in her seat at her desk, she rose to stand, her hand raised in a salute as she stood at attention. "Colonel Rourke, Sir?"

Rourke, a man with decades of experience as part of the British army, stood at her desk. Brusque and stern, he was a bulldog of a man trapped in an office space. He would have been more comfortable leading a fleet of tanks rather than an infantry of analysts. "At ease, soldier." She relaxed, hands held behind her back as he continued, "I don't make a habit of personal visits, but I've just left an important meeting and I need your attention for a moment, Sergeant."

"Of course, sir."

“Follow me.” Leading her away from the bullpen she was sitting at and towards a quiet corner, a potted plant was the only company there. Free from prying eyes and ears, he turned his back to the rest of the room, and lowered his voice. "There's a joint operation happening between the Americans and the SAS, and they require our assistance. However, they're looking for boots on the ground experience, and a fair portion of the SRR operators currently available for missions of this sort of nature just don’t have that. But you –"

She nodded, her face falling somewhat. She'd only transferred six months ago and was still settling in. The SRR HQ provided a different type of work than she was used to, but she appreciated the change of pace it gave her, utilizing a different portion of her skill set. It also meant she was closer to her father rather than being half a world away in the middle of a war zone – but a soldier could only be at peace for so long. 

"I understand you were transferred here to clear the headspace, but I can’t think of anyone better suited. You have an impressive record, Sinclair. A real asset. You’ve a history with counter-terrorism, been in the thick of it, and I have a Station Chief with the CIA here who wishes to speak with you."

It wasn't a question or an offer. She had been selected. An honor bestowed upon her. There was no turning it down. Not that she would. Ambitious, career-oriented – she had no reason to say no. Walking past the cubicles of operators, it was a stark contrast to where she was less than a year ago. The ground no longer shook as bombs dropped overhead, bullets didn’t tear through the air or rip through kevlar, it was quiet here. Safe. She still played an important part in the war effort, but without the risk to life and limb. The blood no longer dripped from her hands, though that still didn’t make her clean. 

The colonel stopped outside a large meeting room and opened the door for Rory, directing her inside with his hand. The room was empty except for one woman with a coffee and a laptop sitting at a long table. Dressed in business casual clothing, she looked prepared for a day at the office compared to the soldiers around her wearing their uniforms. Looking up, her face serious, she tilted her head in Rory's direction but spoke with the Colonel, "Is this her?"

"Yes, this is Sgt. Sinclair."

Like a child being spoken about between a parent and a teacher, she was recognized as being there, but not as part of the conversation. Things had been set in motion, all of which she had yet to be made privy to. Rory was no stranger to working on a need to know basis, moving up the ranks meant for much of her career she often merely had to follow in the direction she was being pointed. This was certainly no different.

"Good to meet you," the American said with a nod of her head. "I'm Kate Laswell." Holding her hand out to the open seat beside her, she directed Rory to it. "Take a seat."

Appearing sure in her steps, even while the stress took hold, she stopped at the table and took a seat, exhaling her breath finally as she settled into the chair, still trying to hold the proper decorum expected of a soldier. 

"You can relax, Sinclair. It's just you and me." Laswell looked at the Colonel and the door quickly closed, leaving the two women to sit alone in the large, echoing, blank slate of a room. She sipped her coffee, her eyes shifting to the screen of her laptop before speaking again. "I assume the colonel didn't reveal much about what's going on here, did he?"

Shaking her head, the short choppy locks of her chestnut bob hovered around her neck. "No, not really. Just that you're looking for boots on the ground?"

"Not exactly. We have the boots, it's more so a certain expertise." Kate glanced over at the younger woman, her brow lifting. "Why's a soldier like you working behind the scenes?"

Rory stretched her neck from side to side, cracking her knuckles. A cigarette suddenly seemed like a very good idea to her. "It was suggested I take a transfer from the field after I completed my last tour.” Glancing over at Laswell, she noticed the woman had begun looking right at her, scrutinizing her. “I spent the last several years in Iraq during the civil war. Working with CIA, PMCs, whoever my unit was assigned with." Her eyes fell to her fingers as she started to pick at the hangnail on the edge of her thumb, the skin underneath as sore and raw as the memories.

"Off the books?"

She cleared her throat and returned Laswell’s eye contact. "Oftentimes, yeah."

Kate paused, her head tipping to the side. "Seen some things, huh?"

Rory tried to get a read on the woman, it was hard to get much from her face or her demeanor. There was empathy or at the very least some form of understanding. Was she a soldier in the past? Or just an overpowered cop like some of the other CIA agents she'd met? She scratched her brow, clenching her jaw. "Did some things too."

"Not afraid to get your hands dirty then." Laswell’s face never seemed to change, her mouth drawn in a straight line as she folded her hands on the table. 

"I did what was asked of me."

"Like?" The station chief seemed genuinely interested in her, trying to get a beat on her all the same. Both of them were in the process of figuring out who they were about to get into bed with. 

"Primarily I focused on targets of high importance to prevent further incursion from the insurgency. Assassinations, interrogations – been there, done that."

"Assassinations?" Kate's voice rose, her interest piqued.

"I”m SSC trained. Ran a fair few missions that left me in some nests in high towers."

"A sniper, huh?"

"Yeah. When needed."

Nodding, Laswell’s straight face seemed to break for just a brief moment into a nearly unnoticeable grin. "How many confirmed kills?"

"High importance targets? Thirty three. I lost count of the random sods," she said with a shrug.

Laswell sipped her coffee, unfazed, hearing news like that was just a walk in the park for this woman. "No stranger to deep recon then?"

"It's in the name,” Rory confirmed. “It's what the SRR does. It used to be part of the SAS, but broke off and focused on the intel part of things. It’s why I was specifically transferred here and not just put on leave. Command didn’t want to lose someone with my experience."

"You have some connections with intelligence?"

"I have friends at MI6."

"Good.” Laswell’s attention fell on her completely. “Well Sinclair, I have a friend who's running this op – he's SAS – and you sound like just what he's looking for. If you're up for it, of course." 

Rory contemplated the decision for a moment, she hadn’t thought she’d be back out in the field quite so soon, and considering the fact that none of the details of the mission were being revealed to her until she agreed to come, she assumed she was heading into some real shit. Her hands slipped from the tabletop and into her lap, a tremor shaking through them out of sight, before she nodded. "Yeah. Yeah, I'd like that."

"Great." Laswell shut her laptop and scooped it under her arm as she stood, collecting her coffee cup in her other hand. "Come with me."

Her brow lifted. "Just like that?" She was well accustomed to the bureaucracy and strict measures the British army seemed to enforce, things didn’t just happen, not without cutting several layers of red tape and after being passed through multiple hands first.  

"Just like that."

She stood up and followed behind the Station Chief, keeping pace with her as they moved through the halls. Rory was in no position to argue, nor would she want to, it was nice not to be beholden to the rigidity of the chain of command. This was more cavalier. Very American. 

"So, you straddle the line between spy and soldier, huh?" Kate asked, her eyes kept forward.

"Sort of like you, I assume?" Rory asked with a sideways glance, her lips curving into a half grin.

"Sort of." Kate huffed out a laugh. "Yeah."

They turned the corner and headed down the stairs, the reverberations of their shoes on concrete bouncing off the walls. Once an RAF base, now the headquarters of the SRR and the 22 Special Air Service Regiment in the midlands, it was sprawling with large open fields. Out on the parade, a helo sat waiting, it’s rotor warmed up and the blades spinning. There was no time to grab her things, it was get up and go, the moment she said yes she was being tossed from the frying pan into the fire. The urgency was clear, she had likely already been transferred and meeting Laswell was simply a courtesy. 

Ducking under the blades, the shadow of each one cutting across the sun as it broke through the dense cloud cover above, Laswell pulled open the door of the helicopter. “Head inside,” she said with a tip of her head towards the waiting entrance into the vehicle, raising her voice to be heard over the engine. 

Rory climbed in and looked over at the row of seats, noticing another soldier sitting there, already strapped in. His face stern as he shifted, adjusting his hat, the overwhelming scent of cigar smoke drifting from him. Scratching at his cheek, his nails dragging through a thick fuzz of facial hair, he glanced over at her and then turned back to Laswell who took the seat across from him. "I assume this is the one, Kate."

"Yeah, John, this is her.” Laswell pulled on the front of her jacket as she sat back and got comfortable. “Sergeant Sinclair, meet Captain Price."

Rory's brow furrowed for a moment at the name. It was familiar, but she couldn't pinpoint how. Was it one she'd seen in a report? As she strapped into her seat, steely blue eyes measured her up before turning his attention to lighting the Villa Clara cigar he’d pulled from one of the pockets of his vest. 

"Nice to meet you, Sergeant."

His voice was deep, rumbling, and it stirred something in her. She was no stranger to appreciating someone’s timbre, but this was something different. He seemed so familiar, she couldn’t place how, but she knew it. Intimately. And then the memory hit her – the bathroom stall. Five years prior, one night in a bar. The sheer chance of them meeting like this damn near improbable. Her stomach dropped. Jesus. His face was nearly recognizable beneath the facial hair that hadn't been there the first time they met. His voice had become more gruff, lower than she remembered. The cigar he was currently smoking gave a clear indication as to why. Swallowing down the embarrassment that threatened to burn at her cheeks as she looked at him, gauging his reaction to her name - if he recognized her the way she suddenly did him, he didn't show it.

"Good to meet you too, sir," she said. Her gaze fell to her hands, remembering how it felt when he had held them. Trying her damnedest not to look at him, she preferred to appear nervous over the mission and not the man who had suddenly become her commanding officer. 

Tugging at the tactical vest he wore, Price tilted his head back, puffing on his cigar and looking out the window as the helicopter began to move, the inside shaking as they lifted up off the ground. 

There was no backing out now.

Laswell passed her a tablet, and started giving her the brief. “That is Igor Zorokov, Russian oligarch and alleged trafficker. Weapons, drugs, information…people.” Rory’s eyes locked on the screen, scanning through images of the man. Older, blond, in relatively good shape. Not the type someone might assume as a master criminal upon first inspection. “He has ties around the globe, but his stronghold is in Eastern Europe. Supplying several military coups with funds and weapons, he’s a dangerous man with people at disposal in his back pocket, and we have reason to believe he’s funding terrorist activities.”

“And we’re investigating him? Or taking him out?” Rory needed to prepare for exactly the type of mission this was going to be. Recon was one thing, taking someone’s life was another. 

“Erring on the side of caution. The Russian government could easily sweep just how far his global reach is under the rug if he’s brought to light, especially since it’s been beneficial for them. We want to find out who he’s funding and put a stop to the pipeline he has through his many ventures.”

Rory hummed, muttering, “Putting a tourniquet on before cutting off the arm.” 

“Exactly." Price's voice cut through the roar of the engine. "First stop is Kastovia, have a friend who’ll meet us there and get us into Russia undercover.”

“Nikolai?” Laswell asked.

“Yeah.”

It was clear these two weren’t just casually paired together for the mission, there was a long-standing relationship. Trust. She certainly understood how being a soldier who just so happened to have a friend who could get into the places they normally couldn’t would be beneficial, having an American ally even more so. 

“I hate to be a bother, ma’am," Rory spoke up, "but I’m not exactly prepared.” She felt damn right naked. Her duffel was down in the red brick complex below that was steadily getting smaller and further away. Her gear, her weapons, all of it was disappearing out of view as she sat there in her fatigues.  

“No need to worry about that, Sergeant.” Price replied instead, blowing out a stream of smoke. “Nik’ll have us covered when we land.”

All she had to do now was sit back and relax (as best she could) and try not to let her mind stray too far afield as the memories flashed before her eyes of the man who sat six feet from her.

[thequietabsolute]

the uk electorate in the voting cubicle seeing the tory candidate on the ballot . 2024.

[not-terezi-pyrope]

Trans musings: I sometimes pass, but maybe only to the French?

I'm currently riding the train back to the UK after spending the weekend in Paris, and while I've been here, particularly this last day, I seem to have reached a startling threshold re: passing as a girl.

For the record, I still dress pretty androgynously in public and my experience throughout most of the time I've been on hormones, even as my appearance has started to gradually change, it's that I'm read as male by default. I default to male bathrooms still for safety reasons, unless I'm with other trans women, am in an explicitly queer space, or am dressing very femme.

The first hint of something odd going on was last week when a family member told me I was looking unusually pretty, and asked if I was wearing makeup - I was not. I left for my trip, and was pleased to be told during one outing in Paris that a homeless man had apparently gendered me correctly, but wrote it off as one of those sporadic anomalies.

Today though, I have been gendered correctly multiple times by strangers, when holding open a door, while going through customs, and, most significantly/alarmingly, given my anxiety, while trying to use male restrooms.

The first time, a French security guard addressed me as madame and tried to stop me from entering. Stuck for what to do, I kinda locked eyes with him and said, "um, decide!", relying on my voice to convey that I was amab, which it apparently did. The second time, I tried to take preemptive action by deeply humming under my breath as I entered another public bathroom, but a stranger still stopped me and said something inducing the word "hombres", which I could not understand and awkwardly disengaged from my locking myself in a cubicle.

The ridiculousness of these aside, I'm wondering if I'm maybe reaching some sort of male fail threshold. Some people have suggested it might be time I make the switch to using the female restroom by default, which would be exciting. I certainly don't want to face the anxiety of being stopped in public bathrooms from now on. However, there are some factors that have me cautious about assuming I'll be read as more femme;

Casually polling other trans international travellers, it sounds like trans women are more easily read as women in France or Germany than in the UK or US, I guess due to cultural differences with presentation, etc. As I've only noticed this in France (the family member comment being the exception?), that may be the predominant factor over my appearance, and I don't want to cause scandals back in the UK by assuming I'll be ambiguous enough to not have security called on me in the women's WC.

As I don't speak French, I was not talking much during these instances, until I did so deliberately, and as shown my voice will immediately out me. Although I don't generally speak a lot while using public restrooms, if I'm with a friend I might, so I have to keep that in mind.

I'm wearing a pinkish shirt today, and that with my somewhat visible breast bump may be pushing me over the edge. This might not apply in other clothes. However, some of the male fails were with my coat done up, so who knows?

Regardless, I'm going to have to take note of this going forward, and see how more people react. I have friends who say that they are reading me as feminine first in various photos, which is encouraging, but I find that trans supportive people tend to have more leeway on that, even if they're not themselves aware of it. I will also need to start more seriously looking into voice training, because if I am nearing an edge, I can maybe push myself more fully over it with more explicit presentation and a better matching voice - exciting! I just hope that in the interim I don't have to deal with too many unpleasant interactions like bathroom ones today while I find my feet.

(Demonstrationary photo from today beneath the cut)

[cubicleinstallers]

via Twitter https://twitter.com/cubiclescompany

[death---dealer]

Miss ma’am!! I am SO IN LOVE with your writing! You are quite literally holding the whole of the POTA fandom in my eyes, and respectfully, I’d go to war for the way that you write- the SLOW BURN!! The storylines! I love it! You’re amazing 💕

- much love and appreciation from UK!!

I s2G i am one more nice comment away FROM BREAKING DOWN IN MY CUBICLE GUYS. Thank you so much oh god im in a glass CAGE OF EMOTION

[somecunttookmyurl]

I'm a uk citizen and wouldn't have necessarily understood the whole urinal/cubicle thing if it wasn't fully explained. Not everyone gets context clues. That is no indicator of intelligence. Maybe go after the failings of american society and the educational system rather than generalise about the individual people that don't exactly have a choice as to where they're born or grow up.

i said toilets in fucking post apparently nobody taught you to read either but that's also on the list of things that aren't my fault or my job xoxo

[draculagerard]

My Chemical Romance (commonly abbreviated to MCR or My Chem) is an American rock band from Newark, New Jersey. The band's current lineup consists of lead vocalist Gerard Way, lead guitarist Ray Toro, rhythm guitarist Frank Iero, and bassist Mikey Way. They are considered one of the most influential rock groups of the 2000s and a major act in the pop-punk and emo genres, despite the band rejecting the latter label. Founded in September 2001 by Gerard, Mikey, Toro, and drummer Matt Pelissier (and later joined by Iero), the band signed with Eyeball Records and released their debut album, I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love, in 2002. They signed with Reprise Records the next year and released their major-label debut, Three Cheers for Sweet Revenge, in 2004. Shortly after the album's release, Pelissier was replaced by Bob Bryar. The album was a commercial success, attaining platinum status over a year later.The success of the band's previous albums was eclipsed by that of their 2006 rock opera concept album, The Black Parade. A major commercial success, its lead single "Welcome to the Black Parade" topped the UK singles chart. The album solidified the band's following, despite negative coverage in the Daily Mail generating controversy. The band's fourth studio album, Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys, was released in 2010. Bryar departed the band prior to the release of the album, and in 2012, they added touring keyboardist James Dewees. In 2012 and 2013, the band released a series of singles they had recorded in 2009 under the collective title Conventional Weapons. My Chemical Romance announced its breakup on March 22, 2013. In 2014, a greatest hits album titled May Death Never Stop You was released and a tenth-anniversary reissue of The Black Parade was released in 2016. On October 31, 2019, the band announced a reunion show, which took place in Los Angeles on December 20, 2019. In January 2020, they announced additional shows and a Reunion Tour, which commenced in 2022 after a two-year postponement due to the COVID-19 pandemic and concluded in early 2023. 2001–2002: Early career and I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love Witnessing the September 11 attacks influenced Gerard Way to form My Chemical Romance.The band was formed by frontman Gerard Way and drummer Matt Pelissier in Newark, New Jersey, soon after the September 11 attacks. Witnessing the World Trade Center towers fall influenced Way's life to the extent that he decided to start a band. Shortly thereafter, Ray Toro was recruited as the band's guitarist because at the time Way could not sing and play the guitar simultaneously. Way has said "music was this thing I secretly wanted to do" and later wrote the song "Skylines and Turnstiles" to express his feelings about September 11.The name of the band was suggested by bass guitarist Mikey Way, younger brother of Gerard, who was working in a Barnes & Noble when he was struck by the title of a book by Irvine Welsh named Ecstasy: Three Tales of Chemical Romance. The first recording sessions were undertaken in Pelissier's attic, where the songs "Our Lady of Sorrows" and "Cubicles" were recorded. The band refers to those sessions as "The Attic Demos". After hearing the demo and dropping out of college, Mikey Way decided to join the band. While with Eyeball Records, the band met Frank Iero, the lead vocalist and guitarist for Pencey Prep. Following Pencey Prep's split in 2002, Iero became a member of My Chemical Romance, just days prior to the recording of the band's debut album. They recorded their debut album, I Brought You My Bullets, You Brought Me Your Love, just three months after the formation of the band and released it in 2002 through Eyeball Records. The album was produced by Thursday frontman Geoff Rickly after the band became friends with him while playing shows in New Jersey. Iero played guitar on two of the tracks, one of which was "Early Sunsets Over Monroeville". During this time, the band was booked at the infamous venue Big Dadd

sounds fake. source?

[mieux-de-se-taire]

Our Lady of Sorrows - MCR Interviews

89.5 WSOU FM Interview - 7/11/02

7:32-7:46, 21:09-21:14, 22:20-22:28

Interviewer: I don't think I’ll be able to play track 5. Gerard: Oh yeah, 5 (Interviewer laughs) Ray: Probably not that one. Interviewer: That’s alright ‘cause that’s gonna be one of those that uh, you know, kids are gonna hear this, and they’re gonna get the record, and then, track 5 is gonna be like the track that everyone loves (Gerard laughs) ‘cause it’s the one they didn’t hear. Frank: (After being asked his favorite song) I like “Knives” a lot to play, and “Vampires” is always fun. Gerard: My favorite song to play live is “Knives,” um, “Our Lady of Sorrows,” sorry. We’re using the old titles for songs, sorry.  Interviewer: (Overlapping) Another name change? Gerard: Yeah, it’s called “Our Lady of Sorrows”. That’s my favorite.

/

Noise Theory Interview - 11/13/02

Page 2, paragraph 1

Interviewer: MCR’s music can be pretty varied, do you have a particular favorite song that you like to play live? Ray: Hmm…live I think my favorite songs to play are Our Lady of Sorrows, just because of the pure energy in the song, and Vampires, because it has quiet parts that gradually explode and it’s fun to see kids whig out when that happens.

/

Alternative Press #197 - 9/17-20/04

Page 6, paragraph 1

The trio recorded a demo in Pelissier’s attic. “My attic had no walls,” he says, laughing. “It was a wooden, run-down piece of crap. I had a really cheap 16-track board, and we had a bunch of crappy mics. I basically had the drums and guitars playing upstairs and ran mics down the stairs and had Gerard sing in the bathroom.” What came out of those sessions were the blueprints for “Our Lady of Sorrows” (original title: “Bring More Knives”), “Cubicles” and “Turnstiles.” “You could hear that it was something really new, and it was kind of a weird idea, but for some reason, as poorly as it was coming together, it really worked,” remembers Gerard. “And a lot of people loved the demo.”

/

Kerrang #1045 - 2/16/05

Page 6, paragraph 2

Gerard: We always turn the houselights up during ‘Our Lady Of Sorrows’ because it’s a special song to us.

/

FUSE Q&A with Bert McCracken and Gerard Way - 2/26/05

4:27-4:38

Gerard: My favorite lyric has always been my favorite lyric, and it is “oh, how wrong we were to think that immortality meant never dying” from ‘Our Lady of Sorrows,’ our first record. I don’t think I’ll ever top that line. It’s my favorite.

/

Zero Magazine Interview - December 2005

Page 5, paragraph 10 and page 7, paragraph 1

Gerard: There’s always a fear that people might overlook “I Brought You My Bullets…” Occasionally, when we play on this tour, with the exception of Vampires and Our Lady of Sorrows, we play 4 or 5 old songs, usually when the venue’s quietest - but then again, when we play the UK, those are some of their favorite songs. The UK was very accepting of Bullets, whereas America didn’t know about it. They like hearing it, they’re just not familiar with it.

/

Not the Life It Seems: The True Story of MCR / Kerrang #1142 - 1/17/07

Page 33, paragraphs 3-4

“We met once a week for the next four weeks to practise,” said Gerard. “It seemed that anything was possible at that point. Ray wrote “Our Lady of Sorrows” – which was the second complete song we had. It fitted because it didn’t really fit. That was something we always wanted to do – to put songs together that shouldn’t work together but do. This song was really aggro and metal – there were bits we cribbed off Helloween in it. There were a lot of bizarre references around that time.

“The genesis of the sound came from sitting in Ray’s room in his Mom and Dad’s apartment that he shared with his brothers and sitting at his computer with two guitars and just talking about the sound a lot. We were completely on the same page about it, 100 per cent.”

Page 14, paragraph 3

Initially called ‘Bring More Knives’, this was written by Ray Toro and was the second song MCR ever completed. “There were bits we cribbed off (old school metallers) Helloween in it,” says Gerard. “It came from sitting in Ray’s room in his mom and dad’s apartment, sitting at his computer with two guitars and just talking about the sound a lot.”

/

Kerrang #1350 - 2/9/11

Page 7, paragraph 8

Frida (Sweden): What are your favourite lyrics you have written? Are they still from ‘Our Lady of Sorrows’? Gerard: Yeah, I think so.

[thiefofgenders]

Honestly fuck the tories lol. I'm very very very not well and spent most of Monday in A&E literally begging to be killed because I was in so much pain I was delirious and had no idea what was going on other than that I wanted the pain and seizures to stop. I actually broke my record for hours spent in A&E and the doctors desperately wanted to admit me to get things under control and there were *no beds in the entire hospital that serves pretty much my entire city and then some*. I was on the hard floor, seizing and screaming in pain, and there was nothing they could do because there were no beds to put me in. Someone in the cubicle next to me had been waiting since 7am the day before and was still there when I was discharged at midnight. My choices were go home and hope for the best or stay and probably be worse. I wasn't even in a state to talk so my mother had to make all decisions for me. Most of the time I didn't know where I even was. I desperately needed help and the people who could give it were helpless because there was no room at the inn. This is what years of underfunding the NHS has done. This is what stripping support for the people who save lives has done. Without the NHS I would have been dead long ago but when you're watching people try to care for others when they know there's ultimately very little they can do because of their limited resources it's heartbreaking. Thank you to every single NHS staff and a big fuck you to anyone who supports the people trying to strip the UK of it's lifeline

[randrspaces]

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