#so I was able to wash my binders

[birdmenmanga]

(in a voice just slightly louder than normal) I cleaned the limescale off my sink btw. if you even care

[mynameisbillandimaheadcase]

La Bamba (1987) was on the tv and it fucked me up

I watched like 15 mins and suddenly I'm having a vintage fashion phase again 😭

And this time it's easier than ever bc I have curated a vintage wardrobe I just style it in modern ways

I miss wearing my creepers

[ablog]

Been a while since I tried to talk to my family about a vulnerable subject to me and then they brought up a stupid unrelated subject before I started talking and then they were being fuckin stupid cus it has nothing to do with them (leave it alone if it was a problem I would've asked what to do) and then I started to yell cus like bruh, shut up I was being nerves to talk about a thing I don't care about this not important shit! I don't know shit about it it's not important!! It doesn't matter leave itttt oh my god

And then I go away and listen to music without resolving the og reason I came to talk

[thevoidstaredback]

How To Balance Your Daytime and Nighttime Activities So That You Don't Burn Yourself Out More Than You Already Have

Dick had to give it to the kid, he'd somehow thought of everything. It was a little concerning, actually, but the kid had brushed off every attempt had probing for answers. Who trained him? If he was trained at all. ...had the kid gone into vigilantism alone? Oh, dear. THat's not good fro Dick's current worries.

Reading the file Danny had handed him, Dick had to wonder how long it had taken him to put together this cover story. Also, where he'd managed to get the equipment to do it. At a glance, the kid didn't seem to have much on him. Not even a phone!

He closed the folder and set it back down on the table. "Really?" he asked, "'Congratulations, it's a boy'?"

Danny's cheeks turned a bit red as his gaze shifted to the folder. "Well, yeah. You're stuck with me now until I can get you into good habits and a healthier schedule."

"That implies that you're planning on leaving."

Danny shrugged, all his confidence now fading away. Is this what he's really like? "Well, I mean, I'm sure you don't want me sticking around at all, let alone for a while."

Dick frowned and looked back at the black folder and the binder sitting on his coffee table. God, his apartment's a mess! He smiled at Danny. "My name's Richard, but everyone calls me 'Dick'. You can stay in the guest room."

Danny lit up like a fucking Christmas tree. "Really?"

"Yep. You went to all this work, it'd be a shame if it all went to waste."

The grin on Danny's face was more than worth the security risk that he now posed. "You won't regret it, Mr. Dick!"

Dick smiled back at him, "Please, drop the formalities. We're cousins, apparently."

Was he attached? No. He wouldn't allow himself to get attached. Sure, maybe he was letting this kid - he really needs to start calling him Danny - stay with him for a while, but he wasn't going to get attached. Getting attached meant losing him. Dick wasn't sure he'd be able to survive if he lost someone again.

...damn it.

***

First order of business, now that Danny was officially Dick's - why would he willingly go by that nickname? - ward/cousin, Danny was going to make sure he got some sleep. Today was Dick's day off, so Danny had sent him to his room to take a much needed nap. The man was basically dead on his feet and Danny would be damned if he let him wander around this mess of an apartment with blurry vision.

The second thing he did, once he was sure Dick was asleep, was start to clean up. The place was a stereotypical bachelor's pad, complete with questionable stains in the carpet, rips in the cushions, dishes piled up in the sink, and old take-out on every table and counter. Gross.

He made quick work of the old take-out by throwing it all away and hitting it with a very small and controlled ectoblast. He was so glad Dick had disposable gloves on hand.

The dishes were the next thing he handed. The water was cleaner than in Gotham, so he didn't worry about washing the dishes by hand when they all didn't fit in the dishwasher. He dried the ones he'd hand washed before putting them away. Dick had no organisation in his cupboards, so Danny fixed that, too.

The fridge and freezer weren't too bad. Sure, the dairy products had all expired and most of the food was freezer bitten, but none of it was moldy yet and the appliance itself was in perfect working order. He'd have to go shopping later.

Danny had never liked cleaning, but he'd had to when his parents refused to follow any OSHA laws or Lab Safety courses. So, when he found the cleaning supplies, he took a deep breath and began scrubbing the bathroom. It wasn't too bad, thank god, and was already fairly clean. It was quick and he was able to move on very quickly.

The counters, tables, walls, and tile and wooden floors were all easy to clean with a wet rag and a broom. He wasn't going to even try saving the rug because it looked well beyond the point of no return. The couch and chair cushions could be sticked up, but he didn't have a sewing needle and thread with him.

The last thing he did before taking his backpack into the room he'd been given was to write down a shopping list and leave it on the counter. It wasn't a lot, just food and some dishes and toiletries. He'd have to figure out with Dick a way to pay rent, too, but that was a later Danny problem. He'd tired himself out and was still running on pretty much empty. So, he allowed himself to fall asleep. He'd check on Dick when he woke up.

Part 4 Part 6

Tag List:

@flame-343 @ghestie93 @anarinette @aglmry @peachtreewriter @evix-syne666 @loudlypanickinginvenezolano @lumosfeather18581

[celli-ohs]

Show Must Go On

pairing: secret softie!park jongseong x reader

genre: high school au; crack, comedy, fluff

synopsis: When you told the waitress to give your compliments to the chef, you didn't expect the chef to come out and thank you personally, and you really didn't expect the chef to be your classmate Park Jongseong. Realizing how bad this could be, he has you keep it a secret. That shouldn't be too hard for you to do he thinks, but you're full of surprises- and slip-ups.

before you read: character profiles | sunghoon series

warnings: language, loser enhypen

word count: 2.7k

tag list (open): @ancnymcnzjy @melancholy-z @lamin143 @soobinbunnie5 @benny1989fredd @bbsantc

note: part 2 of my and scene! series, loosely based off en-drama.

Entry 001: 22/05/24

Believe it or not, but Park Jongseong wakes up at 5 am every morning, and has done so for the past three years of his life. His friends would have a fit if they heard that, as he was notoriously known for running late to class every single day.

His teachers wouldn’t believe him either, as Mr. Lee himself has chased Jongseong down one too many times for trying to sneak into first period half an hour late by hopping the side gate.

(Riki’s stupid April Fool’s prank had him up at 3 am, his dad thought he was going crazy for how early he was up that day.)

But it wasn’t like he was doing crimes or wasting time before school. No, Jongseong was busy working his ass off at the restaurant his family owned, prepping the kitchen before they opened at 7:30 am sharp.

“Fresh eggs are beautiful, aren’t they?” His mother smiles as Jongseong helps his father carry in the mounds of cartons of eggs the delivery driver just dropped off. She’s holding one of the brown eggs, admiring its color.

“They are,” He nods with a gentle smile. She chuckles and ruffles his bed hair. “Let’s go, we still need to wash and chop the cabbage for kimchi.” She tells him, and he follows her deeper into the kitchen.

Jongseong’s mornings were usually pretty peaceful. He and his parents prepare the restaurant for a long day ahead: making a fresh batch of kimchi to ferment, restocking ingredients, cleaning and pre-cutting meat, washing any leftover dishes, tidying up the restaurant- you name it, he’s done it.

He took pride in knowing he’s able to help and create not only delicious meals, but an enjoyable atmosphere for people to eat in.

“You better hurry, you still need to get ready for school.” His mother urges. They’d returned home to eat their own breakfast. Jongseong shovels his food down his throat (his mom made him scrambled soft tofu and eggs over rice).

“And didn’t you say you’ve still got some Biology homework to finish?” His dad asks, washing a plate.

His eyes widened. He did have a page left in his workbook. Crap.

“Gotta go bye!” Jongseong swallows the rest of his food, downing his drink in seconds before placing his dishes in the sink. “Don’t forget to brush your hair!” he hears his mother call, before he dashes upstairs to his bedroom.

15 minutes later Jongseong showered, changed out of his dirty work clothes into his school uniform, and is now struggling to blow dry his hair while simultaneously brushing his teeth.

He checks the clock, it’s 7:42. He had 18 minutes to get to school. If he ran, he could catch up to the guys, and maybe convince Jaeyun to help him with the last page of his Biology homework during lunch.

He rinses his mouth, and runs back to his room to stuff his books and binder into his bag. At the front door, he trips on his way out while slipping on his shoes.

Jongseong runs across the street, barging into the already bustling restaurant. He waves to a few regulars who greet him cheerily. “Mom?” He leans against the counter, calling out for her.

“I’m here! I made you lunch too,” She holds up the neat looking container, and he happily places it into his bag. “Have a good day at school alright? Don’t be late, I don’t know if I can handle another call from the office about you being tardy,” She warns him.

“Thanks, I’ll be fine,” He assures her. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

His mother nods, and pats his head. “Be safe, I love you.” She gives him a hug and kisses his cheek. Feeling embarrassed, he blushes, reeling back (he’d wipe his cheek if it weren’t for the fact he knows his mom would complain).

“Okay, see you later,” He grins, walking out.

“Bye son!” His dad cheers, sticking his head out from the kitchen window. Jongseong laughs before ducking out back onto the street.

He dashes down the road, running through smaller streets and alleys as fast as he can. His watch reads 7:50, he’s gonna need to speed it up. Jongseong decided to take a shortcut, sprinting through a park to save him some time.

“Hiya mister!” One of the little kids shouts as he goes down the slide. Jongseong chuckles and gives him a big wave as he darts past.

Going back on the main road, Jongseong decides to climb a fence and he’s happy to see on the other side a group of familiar boys, walking leisurely a few meters ahead. Perfect.

Jongseong leaps, landing a bit roughly, not bothering to dust himself off before jogging over to join his friends.

“Thought you’d never show,” Sunoo greets. “You need to stop sleeping in,” Sunghoon lectures. Instead of arguing, he just nods, rolling his eyes.

“Where’s Jungwon?” He asks, looking at the group to realize his best friend was nowhere to be found.

“What do you mean?” Heeseung looks at him, confused. “Jongseong has been late all week, he doesn’t know.” Riki answers.

“Remember Jungwon's president now? He has to come to school early,” Jaeyun fills him in, as they enter school through the front doors. With a groan, Jongseong nods, he’d forgotten about that.

Elections were last Friday, and two days ago on Monday, the results were posted. Jongseong had lost the position he wanted as Treasurer.

While initially upset, Jongseong saw the silver lining of it all. He had no idea how he would be able to juggle being on the student body council, and help his parents with the restaurant (on top of his grades… yikes).

Jungwon on the other hand, had miraculously won the position as Student Body President, his biggest fears coming true.

“They won’t even let me pass it off to Euijoo,” Jungwon sighs as he calls Jongseong a few nights ago. “I don’t even want to be president, Euijoo does! This has to be rigged, my speech was horrible. I literally told people to not vote for me!”

“So do we actually know if the votes were rigged?” Jongseong follows Jaeyun to his classroom. “Dude, Jungwon’s super popular. He’s friendly to everyone, funny, good looking, and down to earth. Who wouldn’t vote for him?”

“He’s like a breath of fresh air compared to all the uptight and strict past presidents” Sunghoon pops into the conversation. “Or at least that’s what my girlfriend told me.” He shrugs. “Oh geez, here we go again,” Jaeyun rolls his eyes.

Ever since Sunghoon got a girlfriend, he’s been insufferable. They’ve been dating for a total of one week and Sunghoon has made it very very apparent that he believes he’s the chosen one.

Before Sunghoon can argue, his girlfriend arrives, tackling the boy in a hug and distracting him for his friends. “Anyways” Jongseong clears his throat. “Jayeun, think you could help me finish my Biology homework at lunch?” The other boy eyes him, looking uninterested. “Do I have to?”

Jongseong huffs. “I’ll buy you a Yakult.” Jaeyun looks tempted. “Buy two and I’ll help.” Jongseong gives in, sighing with a nod while his friend smirks triumphantly. The warning bell rings and Jongseong begins to depart back to his class.

“And make sure they’re nice and cold!” Jaeyun calls out. Jongseong doesn’t even turn around as he gives him a thumbs up.

“Can’t you just do the entire thing for me?” Jongseong whines. “Not unless you buy me one more Yakult.” Jaeyun teases. Like hell he’d pay for another tiny overpriced yogurt cup, even if it was supposed to be good for you.

“Give me that,” He swipes his workbook back, trying to focus while Jaeyun laughs at him.

“Biology isn’t that hard,” Riki says as he takes a bite of his food. “Remind us again what’s your rank in your class?” Jongseong asks as he scribbles down an answer. Riki goes quiet, mumbling obscenities as Sunoo cackles at him. “He’s like five away from last,”

Someone suddenly throws their tray down onto the table, catching everyone by surprise.

“Look who finally arrived!” Riki’s mood flips and he graciously stands to bow, hands pointing to the empty spot beside him. “Your seat, your majesty!”

Jungwon doesn’t look the least bit excited as he sits down.

“Hey, we saw you on the intercom this morning! Good job on the announcements,” Heeseung smiles. “Thanks.” Jungwon’s eye twitches.

“That was so funny,” Riki begins to laugh. “Dude, Riki C and I were gonna piss our pants.”

Jungwon’s eyes turn sharp, he suddenly grabs Riki by the collar, scaring everyone at the table.

“I know where you live Nishimura, I will hunt you down and personally make your life a living hell. Your sister told me you still sleep with your baby blanket. Don’t test me.” Jungwon growls, and Jongseong has to step in and pull him away.

“Okay, calm down prez, you’ve got an entire cafeteria watching you.” He reminds his best friend. (Riki clutches his throat as he moves to sit next to Heeseung. The senior comforts him, petting his hair and whispering soothing words.)

Jungwon settles, now moping as he picks at his food. “If I have to sit through one more boring ass meeting, I don’t know what I’ll do, but I’m going crazy.” Jongseong eyes him as he finishes his workbook, stuffing it into his bag and pulling out the lunch his mom packed.

“Looks like I dodged a bullet,” He jokes, only to receive a glare from Jungwon. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

“Don’t stress out too much,” Heeseung says. “If you want, I can ask my sister to help you out. She’s the new secretary.”

Not only Jungwon, but the entire table, is silent as they stare at Heeseung for a total of seven seconds.

“Your sister is Lee Yunah?!” Jungwon hisses, voice lowering as he mentions the girl’s name.

“Yeah,” Heeseung frowns. “You guys didn’t know? Everyone says we look alike.”

But no one seemed to hear him, everyone was confused how someone so nice, friendly, and popular as Lee Yunah, was related to… well, Heeseung.

“I sit across from her in class, we talk all the time, she’s never mentioned you were her brother.” Sunoo looks shocked.

“I don’t know, we don’t really interact at school since we’re in different grades, so maybe that’s why?” Heeseung shrugs, continuing to eat his food.

That was definitely not the reason why.

“I think I can talk to her myself,” Jungwon mumbles. Heeseung doesn’t seem bothered.

“Hey!” Jaeyun suddenly speaks up. “I don’t have practice today, you guys wanna go to the arcade after school?”

Heeseung looks ecstatic at this. “Sure! I’d love to go!” Riki also looks more cheerful.

“Yeah, can my girlfriend come?” Sunghoon asks. “Eh, why not? She’s probably better at games than you anyways.” Jaeyun snickers while Sunghoon glares.

“Well I can’t, I’ve got to paint my tree.” Sunoo sighs. “Paint your what?” Jongseong swears he heard him wrong. “My tree costume. You guys do remember I'm Tree number two in the musical, right? We’re doing Wizard of Oz.”

“Oh really? I just thought you just really liked plants all of a sudden.” Riki admits and Sunoo rolls his eyes.

“Well, I’ve got another meeting after school. So I can’t. We’re gonna discuss appropriate and inappropriate ways to wear our uniforms.” Jungwon looks distressed.

“What about you Jongseong? Wanna go?” Jaeyun looks hopeful at him.

Jongseong’s lips grow into a thin line as he winces. “Can’t. I’ve got baseball.” He lies.

The other boys (minus Jungwon) groan in unison. “Your baseball league is crazy, practice every day, including weekends?!” Jaeyun exclaims.

“We haven’t been to any of your games, you never invite us.” Sunghoon complains. “And when you do, we’re always busy or the game gets canceled.” Sunoo points out.

“I bet you it’s because he’s so bad he keeps getting benched. Doesn’t want us to watch him sit all day.” Riki chuckles. Jongseong doesn’t do anything but sigh.

“Sorry, but they’re really strict. Maybe one of these days you'll see me play.” He feigns sadness.

“Quick question, which arcade are we going to?” Heeseung asks. As the boys turn their attention back to their afternoon plans, Jongseong glances at his best friend.

Jungwon looks at him disapprovingly.

He wonders for how much longer he can keep this little lie up.

He’s chopping up some scallions when his mom bursts into the kitchen.

“Son! I thought I told you to go home and finish your homework?” She places her hands on her hips.

“I already finished my homework.” Jongseong fibs.

“Really? Or are you just lying so you can help out tonight?” She eyes him.

“Okay I didn’t.” He tells the truth. His mother does not seem happy with that. “But you and dad need help. Chef Jiyoung has already left, and Chaeyoung and Minjoon are off. I can cook while you and dad serve. Plus my homework isn’t that hard, I can do it before I go to bed.”

His mom sighs, mumbling something about how he stresses her out sometimes. Jongseong has a feeling he’s about to be lectured.

“You’re such a good kid, you know that?” She surprises him by ruffling his hair. His worries subsided.

“And you’re a good mom.” He tells her, feeling shy. “Here’s table 6’s order.” He hands her the plate of food before she can get sappy with him. As she walks out to serve the food, his mother wears the biggest smile.

Jongseong continues his shift, cooking every meal his family throws at him with ease. He always loved to cook. It first started out from just watching his parents, it fascinated him how simple ingredients could become the best meal he’s ever eaten.

When he got older, he began to help around the kitchen. Jongseong found it fun to learn the process of each dish, and enjoyed it even more when the food came out delicious.

Now he’s a master in the kitchen, whipping out dishes without as much as a glance at the recipe. His dad would even argue Jongseong was a better cook than him now.

It’s the end of the night, and Jongseong is cleaning up the kitchen when his parents come in chuckling.

“Son! You’ll never guess what happened. Your dream came true!” His dad chortles. Jongseong looks at him confused. “What do you mean?”

“Remember when you told us you’d always wanted to go out and personally thank a customer for enjoying your food like they do in the movies? Well, it’s happened! A lovely young lady wanted us to give her compliments to the chef, you!” His mother beams.

Jongseong stands there, baffled. He’d told his parents that silly dream when he was eight years old after watching Ratatouille for the first time.

“That’s cool.” He nods. “You should go out there, say thanks. She was very sweet.” His mom encourages.

“Uh, I don’t think so, that’s-“ “Oh son please! She’s the last customer of the night, there’s no one else out there. Don’t be embarrassed.” His dad pushes.

“Plus, she’s very pretty! You should be excited such a pretty girl enjoyed your cooking.” His mom acts as if that’s the biggest accomplishment he’s ever achieved.

His parents look at him eagerly, and Jongseong gives in, sighing as he unties his apron. “Fine, but I’m never doing this again.” He grumbles, much to his parents' delight.

He brushes himself off, running a hand through his hair as he steps out to the front. He spots the person sitting in the booth, their back facing him.

With a deep breath, he approaches.

“Hi, I heard you really enjoyed your meal. I wanted to thank you, I’m the chef.” He states, as he walks over, trying his best to sound joyful. “Is there anything I can do to-“

“Jongseong..? You work here?” The person interrupts.

He finally looks and Jongseong immediately realizes he’s fucked up, since the person he’s just walked up to was you, L/n Y/n, the new Student Body Treasurer.

Why is he screwed? That's because EN-High students aren’t allowed to have jobs, and you’ve caught him red-handed.

Jongseong’s life was ruined the moment he saw you.

Entry 002: 23/05/24

Show Must Go On masterlist | and scene! series masterlist | kpop masterlist

comment/reply for taglist!

[hiiragi7]

I truly believe it needs to be talked more about how like... many things that a lot of people consider gender-affirming relating to appearance including clothing, makeup, hairstyles and so on are not necessarily feasible for trans people with disabilities even if we want them.

I like wearing bras; they give me a sense of gender euphoria. At the same time, I have to be particularly careful with how long I wear them for and try to stick to keeping them very loose, because they trigger my chronic pain. I have degenerative disc disease, with the most severely affected area just so happening to be at T9-T10 - In other words, the worst pain in my back is sitting right about where the back of a bra sits. In my case it does not matter how tight or how loose whatever I wear is, unless it's a T-shirt it will trigger my back pain. My ribs also tend to be quite sensitive, again regardless of how loose I wear my clothing - it's any pressure whatsoever on that location, no matter how gentle, that triggers pain for me. I had the same issues when I used to wear binders back in highschool.

I love the look of makeup and I love how makeup looks on me, but it's also a sensory nightmare. Washing it off also often takes more energy than I have left to spare by the end of the day. Putting it on is also quite a lot of work for someone that is chronically ill & physically disabled.

The only underwear I ever wear is boxers, because those are the only kinds of underwear that are sensory-friendly for me.

Hair is also its own topic, and for quite a lot of disabled people it requires a level of maintenance that just can't be kept up with. Some disabled people can't care for their hair at certain lengths or at all; can't shower or wash their hair on their own; can't keep up with regular hair maintenance; can't do a lot of the "basics" of hair care, nevermind styling it or having it cut a different way. For some disabled people, having hair (either in specific ways or at all) also just isn't very compatible with their disabilities, such as sensory issues, trichotillomania, not being able to grow hair (due to either their disabilities directly or medication/treatments), or so on.

I'm sure there are many other things as well - others are welcome to add on, and I encourage others to talk about their own experiences with this topic here - this is just something that's been on my mind today.

[handweavers]

Have you ever dyed with irises? My mom and I were tending our flowers and the irises stained our hands purple 😂

unfortunately the primary pigments in irises that cause the lovely purple colour are anthocyanins, which aren't capable of undergoing the dyeing process (dyeing referring to a specific chemical reaction that bonds certain pigments with fiber) they can 'stain' fiber but they can't properly form bonds to it. further, anthocyanins are unstable when exposed to light and air so the pigments fade and discolour quickly. this is why beets, berries, black rice, and purple-blue flowers aren't used in dyeing cloth. they work well as food dyes and can be used to make interesting (although fugitive, ie. unstable) inks and paints, but they aren't suited to being used to dye materials

hibiscus flowers contain strong anthocyanins that make a beautiful, pH sensitive ink that is really fun to experiment with. by combining anthocyanin pigments with soya milk and thickeners i've been able to apply the pigments to cloth in a way that resembles dyeing but is more like paint (tiny particles attached to the surface by the soya milk binder, rather than dye colourants forming molecular bonds that alter the fiber, and the cloth feels more stiff as a result) and that has been fun too. but even those experiments fade heavily when exposed to natural light and just a couple washings

[supernaturalscribe67]

Against the Grain

Words: 3,059

POV: 3rd Person

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Trans!FTM!Winchester!Reader [Platonic]

Warning(s): Fluff, Language (?), a brief mention of blood

Summary: Ever since the reader has come out to his brothers has transgender, they have been nothing but supportive. The only thing that Dean hasn't been supportive of is the reader's inconsistent facial hair growth. So, Dean comes up with a way to help him by teaching him how to shave.

A/N: I've officially hit over 30,000 words on my blog and I honestly have no idea how to feel about it...Feedback is greatly appreciated! Much love!

~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.

Are suits always so itchy?

Granted, he didn’t know if he would feel the same if they had gotten his outfit from a retailer that specialized in men’s formalwear instead of the old Goodwill a couple of towns over, but they needed something quick and easy. It didn’t help that he wasn’t able to wash it between cases either, but he was thankful nonetheless. Sam and Dean had promised that they would take him to get fitted for a professional suit on their way back to the bunker. 

James Garrison would kindly pay, of course. 

When (Y/N) came out to his brothers as transgender, he didn’t know what kind of reaction he was expecting from them. All of the negativity that was brought upon them from early childhood had clouded his judgment on how they would respond to such dramatic news. He had kept it a secret from them for about three years as a result of the anxiety, already having trouble coming to terms with his new self-discovery. Alas, two years ago, when he had gathered up all of his courage and sat his brothers down to explain in grave detail what was going on inside of his head, they were nothing but supportive. 

It was an adjustment at first, with Dean having the hardest time with getting pronouns correct and slipping up on the name change, but (Y/N) could tell that he was doing his best, and that was all that mattered. He got better after a couple of months and had abandoned (Y/N)’s deadname and old pronouns completely in favor of his newly updated ones. (Y/N) could tell that Dean was proud of himself, and he was proud of him too. Sam, being the nerd that he is, wanted to learn more about transgenderism. He would ask his brother questions and scour the endless medical journals available online if (Y/N) couldn’t answer the ones that he had. He even went as far as to help (Y/N) find the perfect binder and get him set up with an appointment to start testosterone. Thanks to Sam, (Y/N) had been on testosterone for almost a year-and-a-half. 

With the use of testosterone came changes, changes that he wasn’t necessarily expecting. He was constantly starving, constantly horny, and hair was growing everywhere on his body. Everywhere. Even though he didn’t mind the hair growth in some places, one place that the hair seemed to be lacking in growth was on his face, the place where he had wanted it to grow the most. He had a couple of scraggly pieces here and there, most of the hair growth being on his sideburns and underneath his chin, none of the patches consistent in length. Still, every time he looked in the mirror, he couldn’t help but smile. He had finally started to feel like his true self. Like he was starting to morph into the person he was destined to be.

And he couldn’t be happier. 

(Y/N) emerged from the poorly lit motel bathroom, combing the sides of his hair with his fingertips. Sam and Dean stood in the center of the room, clad in their mock FBI uniforms. When they heard (Y/N) exit the bathroom, they turned their attention to him. It was the first time that he felt confident enough to dress as an agent on a case, and he was a little uncertain about his appearance. He wanted to make sure he looked professional enough to pass. It was a big change compared to when he only had to wear a blouse and pencil skirt. He didn’t miss those days. 

With his arms held out in a grandiose gesture, he gave a small smile. “What do you think? Do I look okay?” He asked with a tone that indicated his uncertainty. 

Sam and Dean eyed him, their gaze scanning from the top of his head to his shoes. Sam nodded. 

“Yeah, you look great,” he commented, a smirk curled up in the corner of his lips. 

Dean, on the other hand, furrowed his brows. “You look like a douchebag.” 

Sam slapped Dean’s shoulder. “Dude,” he hissed. 

“What?” He held his hands up. 

(Y/N) frowned and looked down at himself. “Why do I look like a douchebag?” He asked, his shoulders slouched to show his disappointment. 

“You don’t look like a douchebag,” Sam shook his head rapidly. 

“Yes, he does! It’s because of that little neck beard you have going on.” Dean gestured to his face. 

(Y/N) slowly ran his fingers through the hair under his chin, neck, and sides of his face. “What’s wrong with my facial hair?” His voice was quiet.

“(Y/N), don’t listen to him, there is nothing wrong-” Sam began. 

“Sam,” Dean interrupted before looking back at (Y/N). “Look, FBI agents need to be clean to make it more believable. You look like a kid who just got out of a nightlong session playing that…that…War of Worlds or whatever.” 

“World of Warcraft?” (Y/N) arched a brow. 

“Yeah, that. You gotta shave it.” 

“I don’t know how,” 

Dean opened his mouth to speak, but Sam was quick to interrupt. He was sending Dean the deadliest of glares. “Dean, we don’t have time for him to do that. He looks great. He doesn’t need to change anything. Let’s just go, and, if it makes you feel any better, we can say he’s a rookie.” 

Dean sighed. “Fine.” He mumbled before he turned back to (Y/N). “But when we get back, I’ll show you have to shave properly.” 

“Okay,” (Y/N) nodded. 

Dean and Sam then turned and made their way out of the motel. (Y/N) stopped for a moment and returned a hand to his face. He felt the patches of long hair caress his fingertips while the patches of stubble made his hand itch. He scowled.

“I’m not a rookie,” he mumbled to himself before he followed after his brothers. 

“Alright,” Dean grumbled as he pushed the stopper into the sink. He proceeded to fill the basin up with warm water. “Now, one thing that you need to know is that you never, under any circumstances, share razors. Lucky for you, I packed a spare one.” He smiled as he pulled a new razor out of his pocket, handing it off to (Y/N). 

(Y/N) glanced down at the razor. It was one of the cheap ones. One that you would find in a pack of ten or fifteen in a Walmart. The plastic was still hooked onto the side of the blade. (Y/N) took off the plastic bit and tossed it into the small trashcan in the corner of the room. 

“What happens if you share razors?” (Y/N) asked. 

“You can get an infection. You don’t know how clean someone else’s face is, and if you nick yourself, then you’ll be in a lot of pain. Trust me, Sammy and I learned a lot about that when we were younger.” He chuckled. “Okay, the first thing you want to do is get your face wet.” 

Dean set his razor to the side and dipped his hands into the warm water. He leaned his head downward, brought his cupped hand up to his face, and wet his jaw. When he pulled his hand away, droplets fell into the sink below. He then looked at (Y/N), who raised his brows before he followed suit. He dipped his hands into the water, lowered his head, and brought some water to his face. His facial hair clung to his jawline as water dripped from his chin. 

“Right, what I like to do now,” Dean reached down and picked up his razor. He looked in the mirror and tilted his head to the side so that he could fully see the right side of his face. “Is…make a mark on both of my sideburns where the hair meets the face.”

Dean reached the razor up and cut a small portion of his stubble near the hairline. It was only about an inch or two worth of hair. When he was done with the right side, he turned his head and did the same for the left side. He rinsed the razor in the water. 

“You got it?” He raised a brow. 

(Y/N) looked at himself in the mirror, turning his head from side to side. He furrowed his brows and hesitantly reached his razor up. He stopped before the razor could touch his face. “Where do I cut?” He asked timidly. 

Dean sat his razor down and turned to his brother. He looked in the mirror, into his eyes, before he looked back at the side of his head. “You’re gonna wanna cut right…” he trailed as he reached up and ran his finger along the side of his face, about a third of the way down his ear. “Here.” 

(Y/N) reached his hand up and allowed the razor to levitate above the spot Dean had pointed. “Here?” 

“Yeah, right there. And don’t be shy about it. You’ve got this.” 

(Y/N) glanced at Dean before giving a small nod. He then turned and looked in the mirror. He brought the razor to his face and made a small mark on his sideburns, the same as Dean had done with his. Once he was done with the first mark, he looked at his brother. Dean smiled softly at him, confirming that he had done it correctly. (Y/N) then tilted his head to the other side, repeating the process. When he was done, he rinsed his razor, just like Dean had, and looked towards him expectedly. 

“Good, good,” Dean nodded before he reached over to the corner of the sink. He picked up a can of shaving cream, popped the top off, and sprayed a dollop into his hands. He held out the can towards (Y/N), who held out one hand for him. Dean sprayed some of the shaving cream into his hand before he set it on the counter and placed the cap back on. “Now, you want to make sure to cover every part of your face where the hair grows. Just watch and do what I do.” 

(Y/N) gave a small nod and watched as Dean began to apply the shaving cream onto his face, starting with his right cheek before moving down his jawline and to the other. (Y/N) followed his movements exactly. The shaving cream felt different against his face, it was wet and cold, yet soft at the same time. He remembered times at the end of some school years, when he was younger, when the teacher would give them shaving cream on their desks to help clean the surfaces. He remembered drawing faces in the shaving cream, pictures of cartoon ghosts and cats. They proceeded to apply the shaving cream over their cupid’s bows, onto their chins, and their necks. When Dean was done, he rinsed his hand in the water, (Y/N) followed. 

“Alright, the moment of truth,” Dean smiled at him as he picked up his razor. “We’ll start with the face and then make our way down to the neck. Just follow my lead, okay? I’ll go slow.” 

“Okay,” (Y/N) nodded and picked up his razor. 

Both of them turned to face the mirror. (Y/N) stared at his reflection for a moment, a part of him noting how humorous he looked with the beard of shaving cream before his eyes shifted over to Dean. As Dean began to shave his face, (Y/N) copied his movements. Every time Dean rinsed his razor in the sink, (Y/N) did as well. Everywhere Dean put his razor, (Y/N) put his. 

It was a strange sensation, shaving. Since it was his first time, (Y/N) didn’t know how he felt about it. From the curl of his lip when he had to shave his cupid’s bow and chin, to the feeling of the shaving cream slowly running down his neck. It was new, but not disliked. It was easy enough, easier since he was following the live tutorial next to him. He couldn’t help but let his mind wander, though. Let his mind think back to the times when he was younger and watching from some random bathroom doorframe as Dean taught Sam to shave for the first time. Dean held the same expressions on his face back then when he taught Sam as now. A sort of proud, grown expression, giving (Y/N) the first taste of realization that Dean was the one who raised them, not their father. Fathers were supposed to teach their sons how to shave their faces for the first time, not the older brothers. It was almost as if Dean adapted the fatherly role in (Y/N) and Sam’s lives. (Y/N) would never forget that. 

(Y/N) hissed. “Dammit,” he mumbled as he pulled the razor away from his face. 

He looked in the mirror and could see a small, red circle appear on his left cheek. It had been the last strip of facial hair left. He had been doing so well up until then. 

Dean’s head turned towards him before he let out a chuckle. He placed his razor down on the sink and leaned down to snag a small piece of cheap toilet paper. He moved over to his brother and tilted his head so that he could see the nick. Gingerly, he placed the piece of toilet paper onto the red mark. It stuck instantly to (Y/N)’s face. 

“There we go,” Dean smirked and turned back to the sink. “Not bad on the face. One nick is pretty good for your first time. Now, onto the neck.” 

(Y/N) did the same for his neck as he had done for his face, glancing in the mirror at his reflection while, now and then, turning to study his brother’s movements. He shaved his neck without incident, and when he rinsed his razor for the last time in the basin, the water now clouded with a mixture of hair and shaving cream, he felt a sense of accomplishment. He felt proud of himself. When Dean set his razor down, so did (Y/N). They looked at their reflections and examined themselves. 

“And you're done,” Dean nodded. “All we have to do is rinse our faces,” Dean reached over, turned on the warm water from the tap, and cupped his hands to rinse off the rest of the shaving cream. Once Dean was finished, (Y/N) copied. “And we’re done.” Dean smiled at (Y/N) in the mirror. 

When (Y/N) looked at his freshly shaven face, he ran his fingers over the places where the hair had been. The skin was smooth, something that he was going to have to get used to again, and he looked younger, in his opinion. The corner of his lips curled downwards in a frown. 

“I look like a baby,” he mumbled. 

Dean chuckled and shook his head. “No, you don’t. You look like a new man. Hey, facial hair grows back fast, and it’ll grow back a little more even this time. If you wanna keep it, I can show you how to shave around it when it does, to keep you looking clean and not like some homeless guy.” 

“Really?” (Y/N) raised his brows. 

“Of course. As long as you promise not to grow out a lumberjack beard or anything,” Dean dramatically shivered. 

(Y/N) rolled his eyes. “No promises,” he chuckled. 

“Oh!” Dean exclaimed. “Almost forgot. Aftershave!” 

“Aftershave?” 

“Yeah,” Dean reached over to the bottle that sat next to the shaving cream can. It was a small, green bottle of Brut. He splashed some into the palm of his hand before he put some in (Y/N)’s. He placed the bottle onto the counter and capped it. “It helps with those stupid razor burns and bumps.” 

(Y/N) nodded as he looked down at the liquid in his hand. The scent was strong, and he recognized it as something Dean smelled of often. He, once again, copied Dean’s movements as Dean began to massage the liquid into his face and onto his neck. When (Y/N) massaged it onto his left cheek, he felt his skin begin to burn when it ran into the small nick on his face. Dean smirked. 

“Burns, doesn’t it?” 

“Yeah, why the hell does it burn?” 

Dean shrugged. “Not too sure. You’ll get used to it. And once you stop cutting yourself while shaving, it won’t burn as bad.” 

(Y/N) grimaced and continued to rub it in until all he could smell was the Brut and his entire face had been covered. Dean lowered his hands and unplugged the sink. The clouded water began to drain. 

“There, now we’re officially done. What do you think?” 

(Y/N) shrugged. “Not bad. I could get used to it, but I look stupid with this tissue on my face.” 

“Oh, here,” Dean reached over and carefully took the wet paper off of his cut. “See? It’s like you didn’t even cut yourself.” 

“Wow…” (Y/N) turned his face back and forth, examining the spots where the hair used to be. 

“Now you can shave by yourself whenever you want. We just need to get you your own razors, and I can show you how to use an electric one when we get back to the bunker if you want.” Dean crossed his arms over his chest, his smile never faltering. 

An identical smile made its way onto (Y/N)’s lips as he looked over at Dean. “Thanks, Dean. You’re a great big brother,” he spoke quietly. 

Dean tilted his head down, narrowing his eyes. “What was that?” 

“I said ‘You’re a great big brother’.” He spoke a little louder that time.

“Come again?” Dean cupped one of his hands behind his ear. 

“You’re pushing it, Dean.” 

“Alright, alright.” Dean laughed as he reached over and wrapped an arm around (Y/N)’s shoulders. (Y/N) placed his arms around Dean’s torso and hugged him tightly. “For the record, you’re the best little brother a guy could ask for. Just don’t tell Sam.” 

(Y/N) smiled even wider. “I won’t.” 

[munsonsreputation]

Hi Kai🤗 I was wondering if I can request something with Eddie? I had this idea in my mind where Eddie finds the reader (the usual quiet and shy student) crying in school alone, he approach her nicely and offer her his bandana to dry the tears, since he has no tissues with him, and they end up talking a bit to. The next day she goes to hellfire club to give him the washed bandana, thank him and maybe Eddie asks her to stay and watch them play? From that day they became closer and closer and the feelings for each others get stronger?

I'm very sorry if this is too much. You can change whatever you want about this or just don't write it if you don't like. But thanks anyway ❤️ hope you have a great day

hi francy!!!! im so so so sorry that i took so long to finish your request. i've been so busy but i hope i was able to do your request justice <3

thank you so much for your sweet comments and support...i hope you like this! i piggybacked off your ideas and inserted a bit of mine and what im going through at the moment so i hope this is alright!! 💫💘🧸

Existing shouldn’t feel this hard…but for you it was starting to become that way. 

It had all caught up to you. The different personas you had built up in order to fit in whatever crowd you were floating around were slowly crumbling right before everyone’s eyes. 

You started to feel this heaviness in your chest, the one that makes you feel like you’re suffocating about to die at any given moment, yet you’re just here…suffering. 

High school was cruel and so were the students who didn’t care how much you tried to fit in or how you were kind to everyone, despite their own attitudes. 

It wasn’t your fault, yet it always felt like that. 

But you didn’t want the whole school population seeing you like this, crying because you didn’t feel like you belonged. There were bigger and more important problems in the world and here you were crying in the empty drama classroom because you felt like nobody liked you. 

boo fucking hoo. 

“C’mon get it t-together.” You said through straggled breaths, fanning yourself in order to dry your wet cheeks despite the constant drip from your eyes. 

You should’ve opted to cry in the bathroom but anyone could walk in and see you there, so the drama room seemed to be the perfect place 

“I’m on the highwaaaayyy to — oh! sorry! I didn’t know you were in here!” 

Fuck. 

Quickly you turned away from the door, shaking your head and letting out a string of words, “Nonono, you’re fine…sorry, I didn’t think anyone was coming in here. Just give me a sec and I’ll leave.” 

“No, I’ll leave!” He attempted to defuse the situation, backing away towards the door until you turned around and shook your head with your hands wiping away at your tear stained cheeks. 

“It’s fine, E-Eddie, I know you use this room for your club.” You spoke faintly, attempting to shallow out your sniffles that still broke into your words. 

You reached down, going to pick up your backpack that you had dropped down, “You can stay…i’m just coming in here to skip chemistry.” 

Swallowing the lump in your throat, you stood up straight, eyeing him through your blurry vision and nodding, going over to the desk and sitting down. You didn’t bother trying to stop your crying. If anything, you let the dam of salty tears continue to flow down your cheeks as if Eddie wasn’t here watching you, unsure of what to do. 

He slowly approached you, placing down his binder on the table and then rustling around the small room in search of some tissues. 

“There’s gotta be some tissues in here somewhere…c’mon.” He muttered to himself, opening cabinets and drawers, sorting through a bunch of junk as you continued to cry, paying him no mind at all. 

Eddie cursed to him, finding no successes to locate any tissues, not even paper towesl. And to run down to the bathroom to grab some for you would only risk him getting caught by some janitor or teacher, leaving him with another referral that would result in some type of graduation punishment. 

“Uh…” Eddie said half unsurely, as he stood on the side of you. 

You removed your hands from your eyes, visibly confused as to why he was standing so close to you, before you saw his fingers reach behind him and begin undoing the knot that secured the fabric to his belt loop. 

“You can use this…it’s clean, by the way!” The black bandana was fitted between his two fingers, lightly blowing from the a/c unit a couple of feet away. 

You smiled weakly, nodding your head as you took it, immediately patting it across your cheeks and under your eyes, “T-thanks.” 

He waved it off like no big deal and gestured towards the chair next to you, silently asking if he could take a seat. When you nodded, he said nothing, just pulling out the chair and shooting you an apologetic look as the metal feet scraped against the floors, making a loud squeak. 

“Do you…wanna talk about it?” Eddie proposed, immediately regretting it the second it came out of his mouth because, really, who in their right mind would want to talk about to a stranger about their problems that had them crying in the drama room of all places. 

“People are so mean.” You sniffled, looking at him through your damp lashes, the tear drops clinging to the delicate hairs as it dotted your vision of him. 

He sighed, nodding his head slowly and drumming his fingers against the wood, “Yeah…I get it, people are fucked up.” 

“I get so tired of trying to fit in, and making real friends is so hard.” 

“I could be your friend.” He shrugged nonchalantly as you turned your head, a hopeful glimmer in your eyes and your mouth moved, but not formulating any of the words you were trying to find. 

“R-really?” 

Eddie chuckled, nodding his head and gesturing to himself, “That is, if you want to be friends with a freak.” 

You managed to crack a smile and shake your head, patting your cheeks with the thin fabric once more, “You’re not a freak, Eddie.” 

“No?” Eddie raised his brows at you, and you nodded assuringly, reaching out to pat his hand that was now resting on the table. 

“I would like to be your friend….would like to get to know you.” You proposed with a soft voice and he nodded, leaning over with a giddy smile upon his face. 

“You’re in for a ride, cupcake.” You smiled at his inflection, nodding your head. 

Now here you were, standing right outside the same drama room you were crying in just yesterday afternoon. You could hear the clamoring voices and the squeaks from the moving chairs coming from the inside. 

Eddie had mentioned his club and how they would meet every day after school to play their little fantasy game…something he told you about, and even show you his binder full of ideas for campaigns. It was a bit confusing, but interesting nevertheless. 

So while you and Eddie did share a few short conversations in the hallways during passing, you wanted to get to know him some more, desperate for a conversation…one that was filled with true intentions of a friend. 

Your fist knocked on the door, the voices inside coming to a stop and now becoming whispers while you waited. 

“Mr. Jones, I told you before we have permission to—Oh! Hey!” 

Eddie immediately went into happy mode seeing your figure standing on the other side of the door. His friends slowly crowding around, whispering among themselves in order to find out why you were here. 

“Hi.” You grinned, fingers twiddling with a little wave and a smile on your face. 

He turned his headed back, sensing the whispers become a bit too loud. Shooting his friends a warning glare, they all turned back around, going back to setting up for today’s campaign while you stood there anxiously tapping your foot on the ground and looking around, trying not to catch their eyes. 

“Sorry about them.” Eddie apologized, a small chuckle leaving his lips as you waved him off with a shake of your head. 

“Don’t…I just wanted to come by and give this back to you.” You held out the black bandana, now neatly folded, as he looked down at it, “I washed it so you don’t have to worry about my tears.” 

He shook his head with a grin, taking it from you and instantly unfolding it to tie it back around the belt loop of his jeans, “Thanks…do you, umm, wanna stay and watch?” 

Eddie gestured back behind him, watching as the table was nearly almost set up with chairs around and his throne smack dab at the head of it. 

You peeked it on your tiptoes, offering a sweet smile to his friends who watched on, “Are you sure they won’t mind?” 

Eddie rolled his eyes jokingly and shook his head, “They’ll be fine…plus you’re my friend and friends introduce each other to their other friends right?” 

“Right.” You smiled, nodding your head and stepping forward as he made way for you to enter the room. 

He closed the door softly, clearing his throat as he stood next to you, “Guys, meet my new girlfriend…wait! I meant girl and in female….she’s my new female friend!” 

You stifled your laughter while biting your tongue as Eddie cursed to himself, and even flipped off his friends, who didn’t care too much, letting out their hollering laughs. 

“Nice to meet you all.” You said waving at each of them as Eddie recovered from embarrassment and his friends calmed down from their laughter. 

“You too, Eddie’s girl. friend.” A curly-headed boy quipped, following suit by Eddie groaning. 

“Henderson, shut up and get her a chair.” 

The young boy stood up, reaching over and pulling out an extra one and place it right beside Eddie’s grand throne. Dramatically holding his arms out, he spoke, “For the King and his Queen.” 

You giggled, shaking your head as Eddie turned to you and mouthed a “sorry,” while they laughed again. He rested a gentle hand on the small of your back, guiding you to your chair where you took a seat and grinned. 

“I could so get used to this.” 

That was the first time you had ever sat in on one of Eddie’s DnD campaigns, and certainly not the last. In fact, nowadays you were definitely his queen, which meant you that while you were only searching for a true friend, you got something way better…a lover who was your best friend 

[shovelbug]

Hello! This is my first time writing a request so I apologize if it's confusing. I saw one of your headcanon posts and I really liked it. I was wondering if you could maybe write some romantic headcanons for Arven (pokémon) with a transmasculine reader who has very invalidating family members? I personally have bad dysphoria and family issues and would appreciate if you could write this sometime; You may decline if you dont feel comfortable with this request, though.

-Pepper :D

not confusing at all, no worries. i hope you like it. i tried to do a little of both; comfort for dysphoria, and comfort for family issues.

arven x transmasc! reader w/ family issues

When Arven first hears about your family issues, he's moreso angry on your behalf. He has his own share of family trauma, but for family members to not support you? It's beyond him.

You're so... so good, he thinks. How can't they see that?

"hey, do you want me to like... kill those guys for you?"

"what." "nothing."

If you'd like him to, in a situation where you have to interact with your family, he'll go with you as moral support.

he'll hold your hand and give you reassuring squeezes, and won't even flinch if you're practically holding on for dear life back.

He can't promise he'll be peaceful if he hears them say anything unsavory, but he'll try. for you.

watches them with a careful glare the whole time and will not hesitate to get the two of you out of there as soon as he thinks it's needed.

if not, he'll text you during it and wait for you when you get back.

they're usually reassuring words, pictures of Mabosstiff, or food. Will definitely make you something tasty afterwards.

it'll help motivate you and give you something to look forward to, and it keeps him busy, so it's a win-win for him.

"regardless of what they think... i know who you are. More importantly, you know who you are." followed up by a kiss to the top of your head.

if you bind, he'll hold onto your stuff for you if it's something you need to keep secret. will also wash your binder for you if you use one, etc

speaking of binding, reminds you to be safe and take breaks, all that stuff. he will not hesitate to wrangle you so you can give your body a break; he won't compromise your health if he has anything to say about it.

you somehow never cease to amaze Arven; this is no different, either.

he knows that it's not easy, being trans. he might not be able to relate to your struggle exactly, but he's aware of the great strength that's required to be true to yourself.

for that, you are already so much stronger than those who try to tell you otherwise.

when you're feeling dysphoric, he'll wrap you up in his vest and let you watch whatever you want on the TV in his dorm while he makes snacks.

His vest smells like him. It's an effective distraction!

Arven's always telling you how handsome you are anyways, but he's careful not to lay it on too thick when you're feeling like this. He doesn't want to come across as condescending.

He does, however, gush over how handsome you are if you go shopping together. He's more than happy to accompany you, and every time you come out of the changing room to get his opinion on something, his response is usually a playful wolf whistle.

DEFINETLY makes "what's cooking, good looking?" jokes almost every time.

you probably groan and roll your eyes at him, but it's very genuine. His comments may all kind of be the same, but it's only because he thinks you look good in anything.

more than anything, he wants you to be happy. seeing you be confident makes him happy in turn; he'll always support you no matter what.

sneakily buys sandwich toothpicks with little trans flags on them when you're not looking to put in your sandwiches

"Just know I love you, okay? Regardless of everything... you're so cool. I'm so proud of you."

[tablejazzandbacon]

Spectrum Outfitters Binder Light Review

I've been using the Binder Light from Spectrum for a little bit now, and wanted to give my general thoughts on it. I should firstly disclaim that I don't bind everyday, and I typically bind for a few hours at a time. I will also be using the term 'breasts' infrequently in this review.

For references, I purchased the half-tank binder light and any references to my old binder are similarly a half tank.

The binder 'light' is indeed a lighter version of the typical Spectrum binder. It is constructed of more panels along the side to allow for more flexibility and less compression, so it is easier on the ribs and chest. This was a big bonus for me as I was starting to get some rib discomfort from my old normal binder (part of that is down to me not realising I'd grown out of it, but prior to that I had some mild discomfort). The racerback design also helps a lot with not only putting the binder on but also taking it off, and allowing for more breathability.

The material allows for more stretch, and is softer and lighter than the normal binder. This too helps with making binding generally more comfortable for me. This however, has caused me to have some grievances with the actual bind of the binder.

I find that the binder wasn't as effective as a binder as I would have liked it to be. I don't have a really big chest, but I don't have a small one either, yet I was hoping for more of a bind than what it is currently offering. I can still see the general shape of my breasts when wearing lighter coloured clothing, and it does sometimes feel as though I'm looking at myself wearing a tighter sports bra rather than a binder. This is not to say that there is no binding effect at all as in my experience, yes, there is some binding happening. But if you plan on purchasing this, remember it is a light version, therefore the bind will not be as severe as a normal binder.

It is much more comfortable to wear than a normal binder, I find. I don't find myself as winded when running for the bus, and I am able to wear it for more hours than my old binder. I have had quite a bit of breast spillage into my armpits however when shaping my chest which I didn't have before, and typical of many binders, not long after moulding myself into the binder, my breasts do move back to a more central position. There is a rubber band at the bottom with the intention to prevent the binder from rolling up, but mine rolls up quite a lot. I feel as though the rubber band has exacerbated the extent of which my binder rolls up. It's nothing too extreme for me, but it is annoying and feels a bit weird.

So far, no stretching of the binder (that I can notice). Washing it is fine, and I find it dries quicker than my normal binder.

TLDR;

Overall, the binder light is a good option if you would like a light bind and have a bit more to do in your day than usual. It is more comfortable and breathable, and I can go longer in it and do more in it than I could in my other binder. It is a good option if you're new to binding too. It doesn't bind me as much as I'd have hoped it would, and I do have some breast spillage into my armpits. So while it doesn't alleviate me of a lot of dysphoria, I do feel better when wearing it.

I hope this review can be useful in some way.

[my-castles-crumbling]

Now, my family is very controlling and all, and I want to buy a binder. I can tell a friend, who is supportive, and she would buy if I pay her it's okay but.

I still live with my parents, (I am 17) and if they find out it wouldn't be nice. For example I had to give half of my books to said friend bc of gay things -it wasn't smut or anything inappropriate, just the song of Achilles or the midnight library for example.

They don't even approve of the world classics (I should read our culture first) they don't approve of teen novels (dating is a bad thing) or romance (god forbid a grown ass woman from kissing his husband wow) is mad I don't have authors from our country (they didn't let me read an author who was in my country bc there was a rumor she was Jewish) I can't go to a cafe alone (we are talking about a cafe in the mall, not somewhere bad.)

So they suck. Sorry I wasn't planning to vent but honestly they piss me off. What do you mean sitting in a cafe drinking coffee is a bad thing???

Anyway so if they caught me with binder it would be a scene. (Y'know, 'gay people are disgusting and sick, I wouldn't even say hello to them' type of parents.)

So what to do, rn sometimes I do masculine makeup and layer but dunno. I did bandages before, and I know it's not good, I don't now but I dunno. Anyway, I can buy it and it can stay in my closet, they don't look at my clothes, and I can use it rarely. It's a solution, when I collect money for it. I am pretty flat anyway (help, it's so sad when I am feminine, but at least it works?) (I am genderfluid btw so I don't need to look masc everyday.)

It is no issue hiding and wearing, they won't notice, but I can't wash it. If I buy, my ma does the laundry so, I dunno how to wash it without them noticing.

🩶

Hi!

First off, I’m so sorry that you’re in this situation. It absolutely sucks ❤️

Second, please don’t bind unsafely. It can lead to huge health issues. I know it’s horrible to not be able to bind, but landing yourself in the hospital with a cracked rib will be painful and lead to questions you don’t want.

Third, I’m so sorry to say that it doesn’t sound like it’s safe to have a binder right now. The fact that your parents could react very poorly if they find out and you wouldn’t be able to wash it (could cause skin irritation and rashes) makes me think that it’s not a good idea. I know it’s really upsetting, but that might not be the best solution.

Have you considered trans tape? Another person suggested it on a similar post and it’s a great idea if you have someone to order it for you, esp if you have a smaller chest. It’s disposable so no need to have your parents wash it, and you can say it’s tape for sore muscles if anyone finds and asks. Just please make sure to follow the guidelines for removal, as it can lead to bleeding and irritation if you don’t (I found this out the hard way)

Sending love!

[uh-velkommen]

More Trans thoughts:

I think if I had been born male, I would've been a big sports bro. Even now I love being active but I can never find a space that allows me to be aggressive and sweaty without getting made fun of or told that I can't participate because I'm a girl. I used to hate gym class because the boys would be so mean when they had to play with a girl, but I never felt like I fit in that "dainty girl sucks at sports" category. So, I would intentionally give nothing at whatever we were doing because it was expected of me. But inside, I wanted to play with boys the way other boys did.

-----

Sometimes when I think about starting T, the most exciting part to me are voice cracks. The pitch and sound of my own voice has been a massive insecurity all my life and I think having other people laugh at my voice cracks would be so affirming, like I'm truly one of the boys simply going through puberty.

The men on my dad's side aren't really blessed with facial hair which is good imo because I hate the sound of shaving a beard and I haaaaaate mustaches so I worry about growing facial hair though.

-----

I thought internalized homophobia was a tough thing to battle but internalized transphobia is like next level. Sometimes I worry about fitting the stereotype of being Autistic AND Queer and what that means in the validity of my identity.

Every now and then, I get intrusive thoughts like, "What if the conservative right was right the whole time and queer culture brain washed me into being trans!" Trust me, I'm well aware of how stupid it sounds, and that's why it's intrusive. Me being 12 and falling into a research hole about Trans identities was obviously due to me having some deep instinctive connection, not because I was grooming myself to be trans??? Other times, I fear that Im not trans and it's actually just internalized misogyny, a hatred of the way the world has treated me and the idea that life would be easier if I just became a boy. As if it was a get out of jail free card. "Simply become a man and you'd get treated better!"

Nobody is transitioning, risking family, friendships, their lives, altering their bodies, and stepping out of everything they knew, for the sake of stopping catcalls and male bulldozing. Having this distain for the way women are viewed and treated under a patriarchal society doesn't explain away the immense dysphoria I have always felt. I'm saying this to emphasize that these are intrusive thoughts due to internalized transphobia and I AM able to rationalize them. I would also never project these thoughts onto other Trans people, so why would/should I believe them for myself...

-----

I watched one youtube video that suggested I keep a gender journal, and I think that's what I'm doing here. I'd rather do it here because I've spent all my life keeping these thoughts in my head. I don't want to keep them in a private journal, I want to share them with the world. I'm not worried about "being found out" by people I know irl. If anything, I'd want them to understand the way I've felt internalizing all this. I think I can compare my dysphoria and the whole "trying to ignore it" thing to the feeling one gets when they can't remember if they've turned off the stove before leaving the house. The whole time, you know the answer, but your brain remains in panic mode because if you did leave it on (if I am actually trans), you risk destroying your home (changing your whole life). If you try to ignore it, you still worry. If you acknowledge it, you worry even more. If only you could just check (if only I could dabble in gender affirming activities), then maybe you'd feel okay. But simply opening your ring camera (getting a haircut or putting on a binder) isn't enough. You have to go all the way. Though, that would require you to turn around and go all the way home (face my fears). In the end, it's easier to just turn a blind eye, all the while that flame is devouring everything you once held dear.

[thatrickmcginnis]

These photos of Robert Smith of The Cure sat forgotten in a negative binder for over 35 years until I rediscovered them last fall while looking for something else. I had, in fact, done my level best to forget about them, as they were evidence of what I remembered as a massive fail made during my earliest years working as a photographer. They were a major stumble on a steep learning curve, and I was sure all evidence had been lost. But let's start at the beginning, when I was assigned to interview Robert Smith and The Cure when they were passing through town on what was apparently called the Beach Party Tour, playing the Kingswood Music Theatre just outside Toronto on July 13, 1986 with 10,000 Maniacs opening.

Another writer at the magazine, Perry Stern, was a huge Cure fan and phoned begging me to let him do the interview; I agreed, provided I still got to take the photos. (I also asked if he could give me a ride to and from the venue.) I had an idea: I'd seen an article in a photography magazine showing how you could get interesting colour washes on your backgrounds by putting complimentary coloured filters in front of your lens and flash. This might have produced interesting results if I bothered doing a test shoot, but I was too cheap/rushed/arrogant for that sort of thing, so I showed up with green and red filters on my Pentax Spotmatic and my Vivitar flash and shot away in a fenced-off grassy area beside the stage.

It's worth talking about the unusual look Robert Smith was rocking during at least part of 1986 - trainers and golf shirts and jeans and short hair. If I still had the transparencies I shot that day including the rest of the band I'd be able to tell you if the Cure as a whole were taking a vacation from their Goth image and dressed down similarly, and if this was one of the few artifacts attesting to a brief sportswear period in the band's history. But the results were awful - overexposed, with a greenish tint, mostly because I had no clue what the ideal ratio between the bright sunlight and the flash strength should have been. The magazine might have reluctantly printed one remotely salvageable frame but my ambition had definitely overstripped my skill and I tried to forget about this shoot.

But at some point a few months after my disastrous Cure shoot I thought I might be able to salvage the results by converting the slides to black and white negatives. I either found someone who could produce an internegative or borrowed the gear to do it myself, but inexperience won again and the four portraits of Robert Smith that I produced were too overexposed for me to work with all those years ago, so I filed them at the bottom of a negative sheet and forgot about them.

Until last fall when I found them again and decided to see if they could be saved with scanning and the neural filters that were recently added to Photoshop. The film grain that was so hard to deal with back in 1986 suddenly became a feature, adding to the retro feel the shots had acquired either with time or in my own mind. With some judicious application of the restoration filter these frames cleaned up nicely, but I decided to push things one stop further by using the colorizing filter as well - making sure Smith's signature smeared lipstick wasn't just retained but highlighted. Now I like to imagine that these shots were taken in 1937 with an old Kodak folding camera like my Jiffy Six-20, and hand-coloured by some underpaid darkroom assistant working for a developing lab in a building down in the warehouse district of town. It's certainly a better story than the one about the kid photographer who screwed up on a big job nearly forty years ago.

[humunanunga]

top surgery

The morning of the surgery, I woke up a few minutes before my first alarm clock. It was set for 6:00am, like the day before when I had to make sure I was dressed in time for the drive to my pre-op appointment a two-hour drive away. But my ride, my medical power of attorney, my secondhand family, had his alarm clock set for 6:15. So I waited until his went off too so he'd have a chance to brush his teeth before I washed the incision area one more time with the special cleanser. Forgetting I didn't need to wash my hair this time, since I already did the night before, my shower was shorter than planned, and so we still had time to idle before driving the scenic route to the surgery center.

More time to hype up my friends, and more time for them to hype me up.

9:30am finally arrived, and so had we. The door was still locked ten minutes later, so I called the office and the voice on the other end said they'd let the nurse know we were here. My driver and I were let in, I changed into the hospital gown, minutes passed as more doctors trickled in against the weekday morning traffic. They took my heart rate, my blood pressure, a urine sample, and the first doctor tried to install the IV needle into my left hand. She had difficulty chasing my vein, which can happen when patients have to abstain from food and drink before surgery. Needles didn't usually affect me, but hunger and dehydration probably made me more sensitive, because I did get woozy. The anesthesiologist ended up getting it done in a few quick motions on the right hand, taping it securely in place and running me through all the risks of anaesthesia and all the factors that made it more likely I'd wake up nauseous. And the surgeon quizzed me on the prescriptions she'd listed for me the day before, and what to do about the binder (leave it alone). At my request, my dad-in-spirit stepped out for a moment while she drew lines on my skin.

And then I was ready.

And finally, the surgeons were ready.

I was led into a spacious operating room, and I asked if I needed to strip down before getting on. They said I didn't, that they'd take care of that. So I stepped on, they covered my legs in a blanket since the room was chilly. I took note of their caps, one with a pig print on it and another with Carebears. I could hear a loud whirring from a machine somewhere out of my periphery while they finished hooking me up, putting an oxygen mask on me, telling me to take deep breaths.

They warned me earlier that the IV drip may sting, but I didn't feel that. What I did feel was the anaesthesia taking effect, so I said goodnight, I'll seeya later.

…

I remember going under. I remember a vague sense of the passage of time, like when you take a nap on the couch with the TV on but don't remember what you were thinking about whenever you wake up.

It took a lot of insistent pestering to wake me, and at first I thought it was my driver trying to wake me. But then I remembered where I was, and I started to respond. Everything felt heavy and cold, but someone put some kind of heater under my legs and it felt so good to warm up again. I was shivering intensely, but the doctors were patient and helped me into the soft pajamas I brought. Pajamas my roommate gave me.

The nausea never came, and when I had tomato soup for lunch and the potato soup for dinner, I couldn't imagine anything tasting better. I was able to take my first post-op selfie as promised on the way back to the hotel room, where one of my dear friends had sent me flowers. Everyone congratulated me, but once I made it back to the bed with the neck pillow, chest pillow and sleep mask from my roommate and her mother, I was only awake again to eat, drink, take pills or watch day become sunset become night.

And I felt so, so loved.

The the sutures holding my grafts in place and the (admittedly itchy) binding over them were removed this week, and the surgeon was delighted to see how well my nipples were healing this early on. I was still pretty tired from how early I had to wake up for the drive to my post-op appointment, but I was giddy seeing my bare chest in the mirror for the first time.

And, so, here I am now. Still under the care of my roomie, my friends and my family while I wait for mobility in my arms to come back. Able to shower again, as long as I follow instructions. Caring for the incision sites while they heal. Tingling the same way skin does when feeling comes back after escaping the cold. And safe from sweating into a binder through any more summers.

For transparency, it may be worth mentioning that I have a history of ideal health. Compared to my brother, my driver and my friends, I'm lucky that I haven't even had any side-effects to deal with. No post-anaesthesia high or nausea, no pain even when I tested out going off the prescriptions. But there's already enough horror stories out there to fearmonger transness with, or to prepare for all the risks and worst-case scenarios; so how about a happy ending to cleanse the palate with this time.

[mi-ciudad]

I think my previous ask might not have gone thru but do you have a go to recipe for stuffed bell peppers, o prince?

Sure; so full disclosure this takes about 2 hours or so to prepare but well worth it.

You'll need:

6 bell peppers; any color is fine, although i find red to be the sweetest and my favorite if you're into eating the bell pepper. they also need to be able to stand up, so boxier the better.

1 to 1 1/2 lb ground beef

White rice; i use a rice cooker, so using the measuring cup that comes with the cooker, i use 1 1/2 - 2 cups of using this measuring cup.

8oz block of peper jack cheese, although a similar would work.

Breadcrumbs

pre-cut yellow, white and green onions and garlic; i buy this pre-cut in the produce section but if you have to cut yourself, then it'd be 1/2 of a yellow and white onion, a stalk (?) of green onion, and a glove of garlic--but i'd recommend buying it precut

Prep:

I start off with cleaning out my bell peppers and removing the inside guts. The top cut off, can be used as stuffing, just remove the stem and cut the rim into smaller pieces

In a backing dish or glass casserole dish, place a sheet of aluminum foil and place the six cleaned bell peppers

Pre-heat Oven for 400°F

Start Making rice in your rice cooker now so it's ready for stuffing later

Cut the block of cheese into smaller cubes to make it easier to melt later

On the stove, brown the 1 1/2lb of ground beef in a skillet, then drain fat and wash and return to heat and season w/ salt and pepper; i don't add any other seasoning--but you could add more if you wish.

Add greens and the bell pepper rims from step 1 to the ground beef and and sauté on medium-high to high heat for about 10-15 minutes or until onions are now clear

Reduce heat and add the cheese and allow to mix and eventually melt. The cheese will be gooey at first, but will eventually melt down. The dish isn't actually cheezy--the cheeze is just a binder and contributes some richness and the pepper flavor.

Rice should be cooked at this point, empty rice into a large mixing bowl and then add the contents of your skillet into the mixing bowl; mix pretty well.

With a table-spoon stuff each of the bell peppers with stuffing; you can even over-stuff and create a dome shape above the rim of the bell pepper.

Using a teaspoon, you'll cover the tops of each bell pepper+stuffing with breadcrumbs. I like to use as a lot of breadcrumbs--and believe me this creates a great texture once cooked.

Place the bell peppers in the oven for about 45-50 minutes, uncovered. Breadcrumbs should be browned a bit--and that's alright.

Serve by cutting the bell pepper in half. The bell pepper should have been steam cooked from the inside, so it should be pretty soft.

I use sour cream as a good condiment but this is not necessary.

Microwave Directions for Leftovers: microwave for 1:30-2minutes. The bell peppers microwave very well and keep well in the freezer.

Enjoy

Nicholas.