#also most of these women making these binders are white women like | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

istumpysk · 1 year

Text

Operation Stumpy Re-Read

ADWD: Tyrion X (Chapter 47)

"Lot ninety-seven." The auctioneer snapped his whip. "A pair of dwarfs, well trained for your amusement."

The auction block had been thrown up where the broad brown Skahazadhan flowed into Slaver's Bay.

There's some unfortunate context.

Some nights she drowsed, but never for more than an hour. One day, Melisandre prayed, she would not sleep at all. One day she would be free of dreams. Melony, she thought. Lot Seven. - Melisandre I, ADWD

+.+.+

The bidders sat on wooden benches sipping fruit drinks. A few were being fanned by slaves. Many wore tokars, that peculiar garment beloved by the old blood of Slaver's Bay, as elegant as it was impractical. Others dressed more plainly—men in tunics and hooded cloaks, women in colored silks. Whores or priestesses, most like; this far east it was hard to tell the two apart.

I hope that's not also telling us something about Melisandre's past.

+.+.+

The slave sailors off the Selaesori Qhoran, sold singly, had gone for prices ranging from five hundred to nine hundred pieces of silver. Seasoned seamen were a valuable commodity. None had put up any sort of fight when the slavers boarded their crippled cog. For them this was just a change of owner. The ship's mates had been free men, but the widow of the waterfront had written them a binder, promising to stand their ransom in such a case as this. The three surviving fiery fingers had not been sold yet, but they were chattels of the Lord of Light and could count on being bought back by some red temple. The flames tattooed upon their faces were their binders.

Something tells me this is not the last time we'll see the Lord of Light in a Tyrion chapter.

+.+.+

Tyrion gave Penny's shoulder a squeeze. Strands of hair, pale blond and black, clung to his brow, the rags of his tunic to his back.

Since when does Tyrion have blond and black hair? Where the hell have I been? Is that new?

(I know about the eyes.)

+.+.+

He had not been so foolish as to fight the slavers, as Jorah Mormont had, but that did not mean he had escaped punishment. In his case it was his mouth that earned him lashes.

+.+.+

Penny's mouth was frozen in a rictus of a smile. Well trained for your amusement. Her father had a deal to answer for, in whatever small hell was reserved for dwarfs.

Tyrion's still annoyed Penny was never taught to hate herself.

He hated her name. Her brother had gone by the name of Groat, though his true name had been Oppo. Groat and Penny. The smallest coins, worth the least, and what's worse, they chose the names themselves. It left a bad taste in Tyrion's mouth. - Tyrion VIII, ADWD

"[...] We make the most coin in the big cities, but I always liked the little towns the best. Places like that, the people have no silver, but they feed us at their own tables, and the children follow us everywhere."

That's because they have never seen a dwarf before, in their wretched pisspot towns, Tyrion thought. The bloody brats would follow around a two-headed goat if one turned up. - Tyrion VIII, ADWD

+.+.+

At sixteen hundred the pace began to flag again, so the slave trader invited some of the buyers to come up for a closer look at the dwarfs. "The female's young," he promised. "You could breed the two of them, get good coin for the whelps."

We're about to experience a whole chapter of slavers being depicted as subhuman trash, which means Daenerys is going to unleash unspeakable brutality on them.

+.+.+

"His eyes don't match neither. An ill-favored thing."

"My lady hasn't seen my best part yet." Tyrion grabbed his crotch, in case she missed his meaning.

The hag hissed in outrage, and Tyrion got a lick of the whip across his back, a stinging cut that drove him to his knees. The taste of blood filled his mouth. He grinned and spat.

+.+.+

"Two thousand," called a new voice, back of the benches.

And what would a sellsword want with a dwarf? Tyrion pushed himself back to his feet to get a better look. The new bidder was an older man, white-haired yet tall and fit, with leathery brown skin and a close-cropped salt-and-pepper beard. Half-hidden under a faded purple cloak were a longsword and a brace of daggers.

[...]

"Three thousand." The brown-skinned man pushed through the crowd, his fellow sellswords shoving buyers aside to clear a path. Yes. Come closer. Tyrion knew how to deal with sellswords. He did not think for a moment that this man wanted him to frolic at feasts. He knows me. He means to take me back to Westeros and sell me to my sister. The dwarf rubbed his mouth to hide his smile. Cersei and the Seven Kingdoms were half a world away. Much and more could happen before he got there. I turned Bronn. Give me half a chance, might be I could turn this one too.

Brown Ben Plumm smells a golden Lannister.

+.+.+

The crone and the girl on the shield gave up the chase at three thousand, but not the fat man in yellow. He weighed the sellswords with his yellow eyes, flicked his tongue across his yellow teeth, and said, "Five thousand silvers for the lot."

The sellsword frowned, shrugged, turned away.

Seven hells. Tyrion was quite certain that he did not want to become the property of the immense Lord Yellowbelly. Just the sight of him sagging across his litter, a mountain of sallow flesh with piggy yellow eyes and breasts big as Pretty Pig pushing at the silk of his tokar was enough to make the dwarf's skin crawl. And the smell wafting off him was palpable even on the block.

Sometimes it feels like George has a lot of contempt for characters who are obese.

There's a lot to unpack there.

+.+.+

"Five thousand is an insult!" Tyrion called out. "I joust, I sing, I say amusing things. I'll fuck your wife and make her scream. Or your enemy's wife if you prefer, what better way to shame him? I'm murder with a crossbow, and men three times my size quail and tremble when we meet across a cyvasse table. I have even been known to cook from time to time. I bid ten thousand silvers for myself! I'm good for it, I am, I am. My father told me I must always pay my debts."

The sellsword in the purple cloak turned back. His eyes met Tyrion's across the rows of other bidders, and he smiled. A warm smile, that, the dwarf reflected. Friendly. But my, those eyes are cold. Might be I don't want him to buy us after all.

The yellow enormity was squirming in his litter, a look of annoyance on his huge pie face. He muttered something sour in Ghiscari that Tyrion did not understand, but the tone of it was plain enough. "Was that another bid?" The dwarf cocked his head. "I offer all the gold of Casterly Rock."

If announcing to the world he's Tyrion Lannister is meant to be clever, I fail to see why.

+.+.+

He heard the whip before he felt it, a whistle in the air, thin and sharp. Tyrion grunted under the blow, but this time he managed to stay on his feet. His thoughts flashed back to the beginnings of his journey, when his most pressing problem had been deciding which wine to drink with his midmorning snails. See what comes of chasing dragons. A laugh burst from his lips, spattering the first row of buyers with blood and spit.

Exactly.

+.+.+

The next piece of chattel was already being led up to take their place. A girl, fifteen or sixteen, not off the Selaesori Qhoran this time. Tyrion did not know her. The same age as Daenerys Targaryen, or near enough. The slaver soon had her naked. At least we were spared that humiliation.

See how depraved the slavers are?

+.+.+

Meereen remained a free city for the nonce. Within those crumbling walls, slavery and the slave trade were still forbidden. All he had to do was reach those gates and pass beyond, and he would be a free man again.

Unreliable narrator Tyrion Lannister.

+.+.+

Their master's overseer was waiting to take charge of them, with a mule cart and two soldiers. He had a long narrow face and a chin beard bound about with golden wire, and his stiff red-black hair swept out from his temples to form a pair of taloned hands. "What darling little creatures you are," he said. "You remind me of my own children … or would, if my little ones were not dead. I shall take good care of you. Tell me your names."

[...]

"Bold Yollo. Bright Penny. You are the property of the noble and valorous Yezzan zo Qaggaz, scholar and warrior, revered amongst the Wise Masters of Yunkai. Count yourselves fortunate, for Yezzan is a kindly and benevolent master. Think of him as you would your father."

[...]

"Your father loves his special treasures best of all, and he will cherish you," the overseer was saying. "And me, think of me as you would the nurse who cared for you when you were small. Nurse is what all my children call me."

lmfao.

Think of the master as the father, and the slaves as his children.

Oh my goodness.

+.+.+

"Lot ninety-nine," the auctioneer called. "A warrior."

The girl had sold quickly and was being bundled off to her new owner, clutching her clothing to small, pink-tipped breasts. Two slavers dragged Jorah Mormont onto the block to take her place.

We started with lot ninety-seven and end on Jorah Mormont, lot ninety-nine.

Is ninety-nine hinting at something?

They tell me that you are the nine-hundred-ninety-eighth man to command the Night's Watch, Lord Snow. - Jon I, ADWD

+.+.+

The knight was naked but for a breechclout, his back raw from the whip, his face so swollen as to be almost unrecognizable. Chains bound his wrists and ankles. A little taste of the meal he cooked for me, Tyrion thought, yet he found that he could take no pleasure from the big knight's miseries.

More for me!

+.+.+

Even in chains, Mormont looked dangerous, a hulking brute with big, thick arms and sloped shoulders. All that coarse dark hair on his chest made him look more beast than man. Both his eyes were blackened, two dark pits in that grotesquely swollen face. Upon one cheek he bore a brand: a demon's mask.

Ser Jorah had tried to swell the family coffers by selling some poachers to a Tyroshi slaver. As the Mormonts were bannermen to the Starks, his crime had dishonored the north. Ned had made the long journey west to Bear Island, only to find when he arrived that Jorah had taken ship beyond the reach of Ice and the king's justice. - Eddard II, AGOT

+.+.+

When the slavers had swarmed aboard the Selaesori Qhoran, Ser Jorah had met them with longsword in hand, slaying three before they overwhelmed him. Their shipmates would gladly have killed him, but the captain forbade it; a fighter was always worth good silver. So Mormont had been chained to an oar, beaten within an inch of his life, starved, and branded.

"I've told the khal he ought to make for Meereen," Ser Jorah said. "They'll pay a better price than he'd get from a slaving caravan. Illyrio writes that they had a plague last year, so the brothels are paying double for healthy young girls, and triple for boys under ten. If enough children survive the journey, the gold will buy us all the ships we need, and hire men to sail them." - Daenerys VII, AGOT

+.+.+

"Big and strong, this one," the auctioneer declared. "Plenty of piss in him. He'll give a good show in the fighting pits. Who will start me out at three hundred?"

No one would.

[...]

"Two hundred, then," the auctioneer said. "A big brute like this, he's worth three times as much. What a bodyguard he will make! No enemy will dare molest you!"

[...]

"Who will give me one hundred?" cried the auctioneer.

No one wants him.

+.+.+

Mormont paid no mind to the mongrel crowd; his eyes were fixed beyond the siege lines, on the distant city with its ancient walls of many-colored brick. Tyrion could read that look as easy as a book: so near and yet so distant. The poor wretch had returned too late. Daenerys Targaryen was wed, the guards on the pens had told them, laughing. She had taken a Meereenese slaver as her king, as wealthy as he was noble, and when the peace was signed and sealed the fighting pits of Meereen would open once again. Other slaves insisted that the guards were lying, that Daenerys Targaryen would never make peace with slavers. Mhysa, they called her. Someone told him that meant Mother. Soon the silver queen would come forth from her city, smash the Yunkai'i, and break their chains, they whispered to one another.

And then she'll bake us all a lemon pie and kiss our widdle wounds and make them better, the dwarf thought. He had no faith in royal rescues.

Some people believe Tyrion will be enamored with Daenerys Targaryen, but I don't buy that for a second.

I'll eat metal the day George R. R. Martin gives his golden boy the Jorah Mormont and Barristan Selmy treatment.

You really think he's going to be duped by a woman who's exactly like his sister? This isn't the show.

+.+.+

If need be, he would see to their deliverance himself. The mushrooms jammed into the toe of his boot should be sufficient for both him and Penny. Crunch and Pretty Pig would need to fend for themselves.

Oh, are you and Penny going to consume some poison to avoid a worse fate? Is that something all Lannisters do?

What will happen to these mushrooms, I wonder.

+.+.+

"Who will give me one hundred?" cried the auctioneer.

That drew a bid at last, though it was only fifty silvers. The bidder was a thin man in a leather apron.

"And one," said the crone in the violet tokar.

One of the soldiers lifted Penny onto the back of the mule cart. "Who is the old woman?" the dwarf asked him.

"Zahrina," the man said. "Cheap fighters, hers. Meat for heroes. Your friend dead soon."

He was no friend to me. Yet Tyrion Lannister found himself turning to Nurse and saying, "You cannot let her have him."

Nurse squinted at him. "What is this noise you make?"

Tyrion pointed. "That one is part of our show. The bear and the maiden fair. Jorah is the bear, Penny is the maiden, I am the brave knight who rescues her. I dance about and hit him in the balls. Very funny."

WHY DO YOU HAVE TO RUIN EVERYTHING.

+.+.+

"Why did you do that?" Penny asked, in the Common Tongue.

A fair question, thought Tyrion. Why did I?

BECAUSE YOU'RE THE WORST.

+.+.+

Nurse returned with Jorah Mormont. Two of their master's slave soldiers flung him into the back of the mule cart between the dwarfs. The knight did not struggle. All the fight went out of him when he heard that his queen had wed, Tyrion realized. One whispered word had done what fists and whips and clubs could not; it had broken him. I should have let the crone have him. He's going to be as useful as nipples on a breastplate.

+.+.+

The dry, scorched plains around Meereen were flat and bare and treeless for long leagues, but the Yunkish ships had brought lumber and hides up from the south, enough to raise six huge trebuchets. They were arrayed on three sides of the city, all but the river side, surrounded by piles of broken stone and casks of pitch and resin just waiting for a torch. One of the soldiers walking along beside the cart saw where Tyrion was looking and proudly told him that each of the trebuchets had been given a name: Dragonbreaker, Harridan, Harpy's Daughter, Wicked Sister, Ghost of Astapor, Mazdhan's Fist. Towering above the tents to a height of forty feet, the trebuchets were the siege camp's chief landmarks. "Just the sight of them drove the dragon queen to her knees," he boasted. "And there she will stay, sucking Hizdahr's noble cock, else we smash her walls to rubble."

These trebuchets get a lot of attention in the upcoming chapters, but I don't think Daenerys comes to Westeros with any less than three dragons.

Maybe they'll serve as good foreshadowing.

+.+.+

Tyrion saw a slave being whipped, blow after blow, until his back was nothing but blood and raw meat. A file of men marched past in irons, clanking with every step; they carried spears and wore short swords, but chains linked them wrist to wrist and ankle to ankle. The air smelled of roasting meat, and he saw one man skinning a dog for his stewpot.

See how repulsive the slavers are?

+.+.+

He saw the dead as well, and heard the dying. Under the drifting smoke, the smell of horses, and the sharp salt tang of the bay was a stink of blood and shit. Some flux, he realized, as he watched two sellswords carry the corpse of a third from one of the tents. That made his fingers twitch. Disease could wipe out an army quicker than any battle, he had heard his father say once.

It's impossible to not think of Jon Connington during moments like this.

+.+.+

A quarter mile on, he found good reason to reconsider. A crowd had formed around three slaves taken whilst trying to escape. "I know my little treasures will be sweet and obedient," Nurse said. "See what befalls ones who try to run."

The captives had been tied to a row of crossbeams, and a pair of slingers were using them to test their skills. "Tolosi," one of the guards told them. "The best slingers in the world. They throw soft lead balls in place of stones."

Tyrion had never seen the point of slings, when bows had so much better range … but he had never seen Tolosi at work before. Their lead balls did vastly more damage then the smooth stones other slingers used, and more than any bow as well. One struck the knee of one of the captives, and it burst apart in a gout of blood and bone that left the man's lower leg dangling by a rope of dark red tendon. Well, he won't run again, Tyrion allowed, as the man began to scream. His shrieks mingled in the morning air with the laughter of camp followers and the curses of those who'd wagered good coin that the slinger would miss.

See how monstrous the slavers are?

+.+.+

"Those are the dwellings of our noble master's cooks, concubines, and warriors, and a few less-favored kinsmen," Nurse told them, "but you little darlings shall have the rare privilege of sleeping within Yezzan's own pavilion. It pleases him to keep his treasures close." He frowned at Mormont. "Not you, bear. You are big and ugly, you will be chained outside." The knight did not respond. "First, all of you must be fitted for collars."

"An army," said Ser Jorah. "If Strong Belwas is so much to your liking you can buy hundreds more like him out of the fighting pits of Meereen . . . but it is Astapor I'd set my sails for. In Astapor you can buy Unsullied." - Daenerys I, ASOS

"When I leave Astapor it must be with an army, Ser Jorah says."

"Ser Jorah was a slaver himself, Your Grace," the old man reminded her. "There are sellswords in Pentos and Myr and Tyrosh you can hire. A man who kills for coin has no honor, but at least they are no slaves. Find your army there, I beg you." - Daenerys II, ASOS

+.+.+

The collars were made of iron, lightly gilded to make them glitter in the light. Yezzan's name was incised into the metal in Valyrian glyphs, and a pair of tiny bells were affixed below the ears, so the wearer's every step produced a merry little tinkling sound.

What.

Are these slaves about to become dragonriding masters or something?

+.+.+

Tyrion squeezed her hand. "It's solid gold," he lied. "In Westeros, highborn ladies dream of such a necklace." Better a collar than a brand. A collar can be removed. He remembered Shae, and the way the golden chain had glimmered as he twisted it tighter and tighter about her throat.

A little taste of the meal he cooked for me, Tyrion thought

+.+.+

They would share this space with Yezzan's other treasures: a boy with twisted, hairy "goat legs," a two-headed girl out of Mantarys, a bearded woman, and a willowy creature called Sweets who dressed in moonstones and Myrish lace. "You are trying to decide if I'm a man or woman," Sweets said, when she was brought before the dwarfs. Then she lifted her skirts and showed them what was underneath. "I'm both, and master loves me best."

A grotesquerie, Tyrion realized. Somewhere some god is laughing.

...

Alrighty.

+.+.+

As they waited their own turn to perform, he watched Yezzan and his guests. The human prune in the place of honor was evidently the Yunkish supreme commander, who looked about as formidable as a loose stool. A dozen other Yunkish lords attended him. Two sellsword captains were on hand as well, each accompanied by a dozen men of his company. One was an elegant Pentoshi, grey-haired and clad in silk but for his cloak, a ragged thing sewn from dozens of strips of torn, bloodstained cloth. The other captain was the man who'd tried to buy them that morning, the brown-skinned bidder with the salt-and-pepper beard. "Brown Ben Plumm," Sweets named him. "Captain of the Second Sons."

A Westerosi, and a Plumm. Better and better.

The Yunkish supreme commander, the Tattered Prince, Brown Ben Plumm ... isn't it great how all the major players fall into Tyrion's lap the second he steps into Slaver's Bay?

+.+.+

Their master Yezzan laughed loudest and longest whenever one of his dwarfs suffered a fall or took a blow, his whole vast body shaking like suet in an earthquake; his guests waited to see how Yurkhaz no Yunzak responded before joining in.

When you work hard to confuse the reader, often times you end up confusing yourself.

+.+.+

When Penny's helm was struck off and flew into the lap of a sour-faced Yunkishman in a striped green-and-gold tokar, Yurkhaz cackled like a chicken. When said lord reached inside the helm and drew out a large purple melon dribbling pulp, he wheezed until his face turned the same color as the fruit. He turned to his host and whispered something that made their master chortle and lick his lips … though there was a hint of anger in those slitted yellow eyes, it seemed to Tyrion.

I don't understand the point of this line.

Yezzan is one of the few Yunkai lords who wishes to honor the peace between Yunkai and Meereen. He quickly dies from the pale mare in Tyrion's next chapter.

+.+.+

Brown Ben Plumm lifted the fallen table, smiling. "Try me next, dwarf. When I was younger, the Second Sons took contract with Volantis. I learned the game there."

"I am only a slave. My noble master decides when and who I play." Tyrion turned to Yezzan. "Master?"

The yellow lord seemed amused by the notion. "What stakes do you propose, Captain?"

"If I win, give this slave to me," said Plumm.

"No," Yezzan zo Qaggaz said. "But if you can defeat my dwarf, you may have the price I paid for him, in gold."

The sellsword is not about to give up on this bag of gold.

+.+.+

As they set up for their third contest, the dwarf studied his opponent. Brown-skinned, his cheeks and jaw covered by a close-cropped bristly beard of grey and white, his face creased by a thousand wrinkles and a few old scars, Plumm had an amiable look to him, especially when he smiled. The faithful retainer, Tyrion decided. Every man's favorite nuncle, full of chuckles and old sayings and roughspun wisdom. It was all sham. Those smiles never touched Plumm's eyes, where greed hid behind a veil of caution. Hungry, but wary, this one.

And before:

I promise you Tyrion will never be made to look dumb around Daenerys.

Dany tried to speak and found no words. She remembered Ben's face the last time she had seen it. It was a warm face, a face I trusted. - Daenerys VI, ADWD

+.+.+

The sellsword was nearly as bad a player as the Yunkish lord had been, but his play was stolid and tenacious rather than bold. His opening arrays were different every time, yet all the same—conservative, defensive, passive. He does not play to win, Tyrion realized. He plays so as not to lose. It worked in their second game, when the little man overreached himself with an unsound assault. It did not work in the third game, nor the fourth, nor the fifth, which proved to be their last.

Near the end of that final contest, with his fortress in ruins, his dragon dead, elephants before him and heavy horse circling round his rear, Plumm looked up smiling and said, "Yollo wins again. Death in four."

"Three." Tyrion tapped his dragon.

"You would die," said Brown Ben. At Yunkai, when he took command of the Second Sons, he claimed to be the veteran of a hundred battles. "Though I will not say I fought bravely in all of them. There are old sellswords and bold sellswords, but no old bold sellswords." She saw that it was true. - Daenerys V, ASOS

I'm not sure what to make of those games (battles?).

+.+.+

"I was lucky. Perhaps you should give my head a good rub before our next game, Captain. Some of that luck might rub off on your fingers."

How can there be a next game? Brown Ben Plumm will switch back to the queen's side in TWOW.

The only way there can be a next game is if Brown Ben Plumm switches sides in Westeros.

+.+.+

Tyrion was on his knees, his legs aching and his bloody back screaming with pain, trying to scrub out the stain that the noble Yezzan's spilled wine had left upon the noble Yezzan's carpet, when the overseer tapped his cheek gently with the end of his whip. "Yollo. You have done well. You and your wife."

"She is not my wife."

"Your whore, then. On your feet, both of you."

Somehow his brain didn't malfunction after this.

+.+.+

"Nurse said you would be rewarded if you pleased your father, did he not? Though the noble Yezzan is loath to lose his little treasures, as you have seen, Yurkhaz zo Yunzak persuaded him that it would be selfish to keep such droll antics to himself. Rejoice! To celebrate the signing of the peace, you shall have the honor of jousting in the Great Pit of Daznak. Thousands will come see you! Tens of thousands! And, oh, how we shall laugh!"

How convenient, the plot is taking Tyrion right through the walls of Meereen.

Tyrion's storyline is more contrived than every other character put together.

Final thoughts:

Go ahead and cheer when their faces start melting off. I'm sure the author would like that.

45 down, 4 to go. :(

-> return to menu <-

#operation stumpy re-read #adwd #tyrion x

32 notes · View notes

slow-drowned-angels · 1 year

Text

This might be just for an audience of me, but I thought I’d share:

Alx’s Current Binding Method

Your mileage may vary, as I am only one boy(ish thing) and cannot test and see if this method works for other body types outside of my own. I am relatively small with a small-to-medium chest.

This method will likely be slightly worse at binding than a binder, but is a lot safer and should be safe to wear for longer time periods. However, please consult appropriate authorities if you have chest compression difficulties! I am not a doctor and this is not medical advice.

Personally, I can wear it comfortably all day, whereas I can only wear a binder for a few hours before my back and shoulders start hurting. I also know that a lot of people wear binding tape on it’s own, but this is Sensory Bad for me and I feel more secure with more compression.

Requirements

Willingness to shop in the “Women’s Section”

Tolerance to binding tape

Sports bra (details below on the specific style)

Binding tape (trans tape, KT tape, or equivalent alternative)

Optional tank top/camisole (for if you’re me and can’t do slippery polyester texture all day)

Choose a sports bra which

Fits well

Doesn’t have padding (removable padding may work, but sometimes they end up with more rounded space where the pads used to be and might make boob shapes. Yes I end up going to a store and touching all the sports bra’s boobs.)

Doesn’t have additional layers which try to hold your chest up.

Doesn’t have a tight or thin band

“Longline” style (aka: ends near the bottom of your ribcage, think half-tank binder length)

I’m sure this could also work (and probably work better) with a stretchier binder which you wished binded better (but is comfy). Since we’re basically trying to find a sports bra which is The Most Binder-Like Sports Bra. I don’t own one and they tend to be more expensive so here we are. If you use a binder, please follow the safety instructions!

Procedure

Apply binding tape as instructed. Instructions not included here, but I’m sure you can find them! (May include link later)

Put on camisole over binding tape.

Put on sports bra over camisole.

Put shirt on over all of this.

You may need to adjust your chest to the sides of the sports bra, since sports bras are generally made to hold boobs inwards.

Results

I’m not able to give y’all before pictures right now but imagine B-ish cup. Third picture is in a white shirt because black shirts hide lots of sins (boobs) and I wanted to make it clear that it works

Compare to binder (sorry I don’t have a better photo):

#transmasc #binding tape tag #alx.txt #long post

2 notes · View notes

golleecosmetics · 11 months

Text

What other substance can you use in place of eyelash glue? Eyelash extensions are used since not all women are naturally endowed with thick and long eyelashes. Because of this, many women resort to using eyelash extensions to make up for what they lack naturally. The eyes are a highly fragile portion of the body, it also happens to be the most beautiful and attractive part of the body. It is no surprise that women like enhancing their appearances through the use of makeup and eyelash extensions. The eyes are the entrances to the heart and the mind. They are imbued with your individuality, as well as your distinctiveness and sense of fashion. When applying makeup, we usually try to draw attention to the eyes by using eyeliners, mascaras, lash extensions, and fake eyelashes, among other eye-enhancing products. Imagine that hell has frozen over (or that the earth has run out of lash adhesive), and you are unable to bind your lash extensions to your client's natural lashes in any way. Your customer has the option of going glue-free with magnetic lashes, but what if they prefer the more traditional look that glue provides? The following are some alternatives to lash glue that you might use if you find yourself in a bind. Probably at this very moment, you're sitting there thinking to yourself, "What can I use instead of eyelash glue? Don't be concerned! In the following paragraphs, we will discuss some alternatives to eyelash glue that will allow the eyes of your customers to be more visible. How To Make Eyelash Glue In A Hurry At this point, we have to say that we do not recommend that you make your own glue; nevertheless, if you're caught short and there's no way to get your fingers on any glue (There's always a way, more on that later), then the following solutions might help you out. To be fair, the recommendations probably won't be of any use; nonetheless, for the sake of science and beauty, let's get down to business and discuss some advantages and disadvantages: Honey and sugar Solution Mix Creating homemade glue requires only the addition of sugar, honey, and water. If you're going to be baking cakes, you need to have all of the dry materials stored away in your kitchen cupboards. Cons: It will be sticky, like really sticky, and it will be tough to remove off your fingers and lashes once it has been applied. In addition to that, it is highly unlikely that it will last for a very long time. But if you're in a bind (in the literal sense), this might help. Flaxseed Glue It is stated that heating flax seed in water results in the production of an all-natural glue that also promotes the growth of lashes. All-natural components are a definite plus, but so are hot peppers, and we certainly wouldn't advise rubbing those on your eyes. Cons: As stated previously, it will be sticky and difficult to remove once applied. In addition, in order to manufacture the glue from the flaxseed, you will need to heat it for a very long period, which can be a bit of a hassle. In addition to that, who actually has flaxseed in their pantry? Not us! As a binder, white rice A material similar to glue can be made by mashing white rice and mixing it with water. The use of up leftovers is a strong point of this method. I'm sorry, but you can't use the rice from your takeout—not that it's allowed! Cons: As stated previously, it will be sticky and difficult to remove once applied. In addition, you run the risk of luring hungry birds (of the non-human kind) or insects that are on the lookout for food. Tape In a pinch, the transparent tape might not be the most delicate solution, but it can get the job done if you're out of other options. The advantage of using clear tape is that it can be purchased at any local convenience store, and any leftover tape may be used to wrap gifts. Tape is inexpensive and easy to find. Ouch, and that hurts twice as much! Cons: The tape will tear your lashes off when you try to remove it, and it probably won't hold up for very long.

Pros: Utilizing coconut oil as a binder This one is contentious due to the fact that it has the potential to annoy some people. If you do not have sensitive skin, using coconut oil as an adhesive and also helping to nourish your lashes can be beneficial to you. Cons: Using coconut oil as the adhesive will never work in practice, and if it drips into your eye, it will cause your eyesight to become hazy. In any case, who wants to leave the house reeking like a pia colada? Despite the fact that we adore pina colada here at the fake lash headquarters. What Can I Use If I Don't Have Any Lash Glue There are quite a few alternatives available if you are to find yourself in a situation or position where you do not have any lash glue, but we wouldn't recommend using any of them on delicate skin or for long-term use. Now, let's have a look at what you ought to do if you find yourself in this precarious circumstance. Everyone enjoys giving themselves a dramatic look. However, what if your health is put in jeopardy? What if you are unable to locate the appropriate adhesive for your eyelashes? We have prepared answers to any questions you may have regarding your eyelashes below. Here are some of the many alternatives available to you in the event that you do not choose to use glue or that you have run out of it. 8 alternative eyelash adhesives that will keep your lashes looking fabulous and help you save money. The following are some alternatives to eyelash glue that you might want to try: 1. Volumizing mascara 2. Liquid eyeliner 3. Mascara adhesive 4. Magnetic Eyeliner 5. Magnetic Eyelashes 6. Eyelash Extensions 7. Lash Glue Eyeliner 8. Self-adhesive Eyelashes Eyelash adhesives pose a variety of potential health hazards, including serious infections and swelling. The options that we have suggested are significantly less dangerous. Continue reading to find out more. Mascara Adhesive An alternative to lash glue that is less common but extremely efficient is the use of mascara adhesive. To begin with, it will typically come along with the glue for the mascara as well as separate lash portions. You can use a strip lash, but applying individual lashes is going to be much simpler and more successful for you. Your lashes will be coated with mascara adhesive in the same manner that they would be coated with regular mascara. You are going to apply the individual lash pieces to the region of the underside of your lashes that is situated as close as feasible to the lash line. After you have placed them in the manner that you find most complete or natural, you are finished. Very simple, and there is no mess at all. Magnetic Eyeliner Magnetic liner functions in a manner analogous to that of magnetic lashes. The application of magnetic liners is exactly the same as the application of normal liners. After that, you press a magnetic lash against the liner so that they are facing each other, and the two will stick together. If you have a hard time getting false eyelashes to attach to your natural lashes, try applying them using this method instead. Because it is a magnet, it will naturally click together without your having to exert a great deal of pressure or modify it an excessive amount. Magnetic Eyelashes Magnetic lashes are the first option for those who want to avoid using eyelash adhesive when applying their false eyelashes. In most cases, a top lash and a bottom lash will be present in these lashes. They are held together by the tiny magnets that are located on each one. The first magnetic lash will be applied on top of your natural lashes, followed by the second magnetic lash, which will be applied underneath your natural lashes. Once both magnetic lashes are in place, they should click together. Your real eyelashes ought to be placed in the center of the space occupied by the artificial ones. It is quite simple to do, and there is no mess whatsoever; it is a highly convenient option when you are on the road.

Putting on magnetic lashes is a speedy and simple process. They don't require any kind of glue, so you may put them on and take them off, as well as alter how they fit. Self Adhesive Eyelashes Lashes that adhere to themselves come in last. Lashes that adhere to themselves are an excellent substitute for traditional fake eyelashes. The application of these lashes is so simple that all you need to do is just put them on. When you remove the lashes from their packaging, they will already have a glue strip attached to them. People who do not have a lot of time or who just want an easier alternative to using lash glue will find that this is a terrific alternative to try. The application of the self-adhesive lashes is the same as the application of any other set of false lashes. It is a fail-safe method for applying and securing your false eyelashes. Is It Possible To Apply Lashes Using Nail Glue? No, you cannot apply eyelash adhesive made of nail glue. If nail glue goes into your eyes, it can cause significant irritation and even permanent damage. Nail glue is not intended for use on the eyes. Itching, swelling, and even temporary blindness have reportedly been caused by this. Nail glue is equivalent to super glue in terms of its ability to hold artificial nails in place for extended periods of time, but lash glue is designed to be used in the immediate vicinity of the eyes and is produced with non-toxic components. Additionally, nail adhesive can be quite challenging to remove. Because of this, removing it from your lashes will be a challenging and uncomfortable task if you choose to do so. In general, nail glue should not be used in place of lash adhesive because it poses a safety risk. Is Honey a Suitable Substitute For Eyelash Glue? In no uncertain terms! No, and I beg you not to even try to make a substitute for eyelash glue out of ingredients found in your kitchen cabinets, I can say that with complete candor. Honey is not a good choice for use as an eyelash adhesive because it does not dry. It will not keep the eyelash extensions your clients have on their eyes in place, and it may cause irritation to your client's eyes. Honey will cause your clients' eyelashes to feel sticky and look unkempt if you apply it to them. Your eyes will not become irritated because the hypoallergenic lash adhesive that is included with the majority of eyelash extension kits has been specially developed for this application. It dries to a clean finish and maintains its hold all day. Is It Possible To Use Hair Gel As An Eyelash Adhesive? There are a lot of beauty secrets floating around the internet, but can you use eyelash glue that's meant for hair gel on your lashes? It may sound like the strangest of all beauty tips, but the question is whether or not it actually works, and whether or not it poses a risk to your natural eyelashes. Continue reading if you want to learn more... Although eyelash glue and hair gel may look comparable at first glance, there is a difference between the two. The term "hair gel" refers to a product that is formulated with a wide range of synthetic components, such as polymers and resins. On the other hand, eyelash glue is often crafted from all-natural components such as cellulose or latex. In addition, hair gel is intended to be applied to the hair, whilst eyelash glue is designed to be applied to the eyelashes. Applying hair gel to the eyelashes, as a consequence, might really result in irritation and inflammation of the eyelids. Therefore, it is possible to use hair gel in an emergency, but doing so on a regular basis is not something that is recommended. Stick with lash glue if you want your eyelashes to appear their very best and are searching for a product to help you achieve this goal. Is It Possible to Apply Eyelashes With Vaseline? Unfortunately, vaseline cannot be used in place of eyelash adhesive in any way. The consistency of Vaseline is oily, so it has a tendency to slide around.

Because of this, the lashes won't be able to stick to anything. Lashes require a tacky foundation in order for them to remain in place, and they also require glue in order for them to remain in place for several hours. However, vaseline can be used to remove lash extensions if you choose to do so. Because of the oily texture, the adhesive molecules are broken up, which makes removal a great deal simpler. Additionally, it can be useful in dissolving thicker makeup. Is It Possible to Apply Eyelashes With Super Glue Absolutely not, you cannot use superglue to attach eyelashes. Super glue, much like nail glue, is not intended to be used near the eyes. It should not be used in place of lash glue since it is unsafe to use, and you should never use super glue instead. If super glue should get into your eye, it can irritate it, create swelling, turn it red, and even cause you to go blind. The incredibly potent components that go into the production of superglue give it the ability to bind things together in a secure fashion. If you use super glue instead of lash glue, there is a chance that your eyelashes will become irreparably damaged. It is quite challenging to remove superglue. If you let super glue sit on your lashes for any length of time, the components in the glue will destroy them because eyelashes are made of hair. There are a variety of additional products that can be used instead of lash glue. Conclusion If you were wondering what to do if you don't have eyelash glue, we hope that this information has helped answer that question for you. Keep in mind that there is a multitude of alternatives available to you, ensuring that you will never be without stunning lashes. It is imperative that you do not put your vision in jeopardy whenever you are putting on eyelash extensions. Therefore, it is absolutely necessary to always use eyelash adhesive that is safe, does not include latex, and is hypoallergenic. It is not recommended to use traditional adhesives on eyelashes because these adhesives are not designed specifically for use on eyelashes. No latex glue, no super glue, no wig glue. These non-beauty goods contain a variety of chemicals and fumes that are not intended to be applied to the body or brought into close proximity to any sensitive areas of the body. Your natural characteristics are some of your most attractive traits. Maintain their health and give one of our many alternative forms of eyelash adhesive a try now.

0 notes

jemmabag · 1 year

Text

How an Investment Work Bag Can Help You Finish the Year Strong

With the holidays quickly approaching and year-end work deadlines coming in hot, now is the time to show up for yourself in all the best ways. It’s a good reminder to make space for your non-work passions and do activities that clear your mind and bring you joy. At the same time, you’re sure to finish the year on a high note by staying organized and focused on your work goals.

The one item all goal-getters need by their side? A functional womens work bag is vital for women with busy lifestyles. Find out how an investment work bag can empower you to finish the year strong. Multitask Your Way Through the Fourth Quarter If you’re super organized, you rely on one bag to do it all because you know that carrying separate bags just isn’t how you roll. Can your investment bag accommodate everything you could possibly need throughout the day? Some of the most fabulous work bags can set you up to beat the clock. They serve as work bags, gym bags, weekend bags, and even traveler bags. A designer duffle-style bag that can help you locate everything quickly is ideal if you go from work to the gym, commute by train, or are constantly on the go during the day. Key features of your designer gym bag may include a separate, ventilated compartment for clothes and shoes and a matching cosmetic toiletry case that comes with the bag. Plus, the interior will be designed to help you find exactly what you need, including your laptop, keys, wallet, and water bottle. Go Into Those Meetings Prepared There’s no room for handbag chaos with the busy working woman. You deserve a womens designer work bag that suits your hard-working lifestyle and helps keep you organized. What do you need your bag to hold? If you carry your laptop to and from work daily, you need a padded laptop pocket or sleeve that keeps it secure. You probably also need a roomy, organized interior that holds thicker items such as binders, folders, and books. With clever storage, you’ll always be prepared to grab what you need as you sit down for your next meeting. Keep It Together A well-designed bag interior is essential if you’re up to your neck in work at this time of year. Avoid the “black hole” of a bag by choosing one with an easy-to-navigate interior lining. A dynamic lining, like a black and white checkered pattern, will enhance the visibility of the bag’s contents. Every item in your designer bag should also have its proper place, so look for specific details that keep everything in order. Features such as a detachable key strap, card slots, a pen holder, and a phone pocket will keep you ready for that next meeting. Set Yourself Up for a Successful New Year The last quarter of the year is a critical time for a variety of reasons. Your investment work bag or womens laptop work bag sets you up for a strong return on your investment, not only for the final quarter but also for the new year ahead. Set yourself up for success, keep crushing your goals, and make a style statement while doing it. About JEMMA In the professional world, you need a designer work satchel that keeps pace. JEMMA doesn’t miss a beat. From keeping you organized to looking exceptional, a bag from JEMMA can more than keep up. Known for their distinctive style and practicality, JEMMA is your source for the quintessential work bag. You’ll find exquisite detailing in every purse or traveler bag, from the quality stitching to the use of ethically sourced materials like sustainably produced Italian leather and nylon, as well as regenerated nylon made from recycled plastics. Each bag is made with you in mind. They’re comfortable, with padded and reinforced straps. They’re practical, with the pockets and compartments you need to stay organized. And they look fabulous, featuring timeless looks that pair with any ensemble. Find the luxury work bag that speaks to you with JEMMA. Finish the year strong and in style with a work bag from JEMMA at https://jemmabag.com/ Original Source: https://bit.ly/3Wgrp23

#travel satchels

0 notes

nightspellpoetry · 2 years

Text

𝖑𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖎𝖘 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖔𝖓𝖑𝖞 𝖙𝖍𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖎’𝖒 𝖘𝖚𝖗𝖊 𝖔𝖋

I want so badly to fit into one box, and I don't. And that's okay. It's what I do moving forward that counts.

The truth is that I see a wig and I think, "I want to wear that." I want to wear the suspenders. Women's underwear (gasp!). Boxers. Black and white backpacks; chest binders; vintage heels with werewolf fangs designs on them. I wear things and I am who I am with them and it feels natural. The same way that when you or I wake up hungover, sometimes it feels like you or I need water, and other times you (or I) just know the hangover is too strong to have water right now. (Or right then.)

Multiple times a day, I think, "oh, maybe I really am a trans man" because I see a long black coat and black dress shoes, and my hair is cut asymmetrically and I feel really chill; relaxed; poised and how "a man should be and act." Just now I saw my blue tank top shouldered dress, teal and rising up above my knee (or falling below it. whatever). Whatever I like and prefer or need and want— all of those things are okay.

What's not okay is when people stare at me and judge me. What's also definitely more okay whatsoever is when people look at me like they hate me because they... can't figure out if I'm "a boy or girl...?" Okay. I mean. Not okay. I mean:

I'm loving. Compassionate. Sometimes awkward while I'm trying to be kind. (The judgment tends to get to me sometimes. A lot. Yeah...).

I'm human, and I like to change my name because I love so many names and identify with what they mean and how they sound. I love when names sound beautiful and I simply flow in the direction that accepts, loves, turns tables, changes things. Change the face of things.

Emory sounds nice! Or Scarlet. Pewter? Opal? All things and anything that shines? That's the kind of childhood I never got growing up and that I somehow am able to make for myself today, tomorrow, yesterday (quite literally), and always! It's not what's in your pants or bra or non-bra, folks. It's what's in your heart, and I think— believe— ahem— I know y'all know that the heart matters most. Because if I don't love you and you don't love me, the heart— my heart, anyway, says, "I can love you in this moment by saying, 'I accept where you are even when I'm not where you are." And so on. And so forth.

"Love me. That's all I ask of you."

—Phantom of the Opera, "All I Ask of You"

#love #writer #trans author #reflection #wonder #self love

0 notes

alistuckinfantasyworld · 2 years

Text

I completely forgot that I wrote a fanfiction of my own life in 9th grade called: "Romance Is Dead".

It wasn’t his lengthy form that even exceeded what’s considered tall for a man or his broad shoulders that looked as if he could carry two boulders on each side. It wasn’t even his dazzling smile that could make women and men swoon at the sight of it. If not any of those, why was so attractive about him?

The cliche answer would be his personality, but that’s not good enough. How he held himself, with his chin held high and a consistent assured grin radiated confidence. A confidence that I have yet to experience myself. It was interesting. His outspokenness and, again, his confidence were interesting and unfamiliar to me. That’s what initially caught my attention. But what made me stay?

Ask anybody in the school if they thought Joseph Matthews was a nice person and they would laugh in your face. “Nice? Joey? Uhh...I guess. I mean maybe. Most likely. Kinda. Yeah, kinda.”

If he isn’t a nice person, why are you interested in him? In that perspective, it does seem silly to like someone whose personality isn’t generally likable. Call me delusional, but I also saw a side of him that I keep replaying over and over in my mind like I would to a terrible song with that one good part that makes your heart stop.

He is caring despite all the negative things he said before, or is that something people in toxic relationships say? I mean we aren’t really in a romantic relationship or anything, I highly doubt he’s ever seen me in that way. See, to him I’m an ugly sweater that has been given to him by a family member. He doesn’t want it there or anywhere near him, but he has to keep it there and say nothing or he’ll get punished. The teachers happened to place us together and he just had to accept it.

So as I looked at him from across the lunchroom, with his hands intertwined with hers, a knot formed in my stomach, twisting its way up to my heart and giving it a squeeze.

“Ok, I am officially over him.” Maybe it was the slight crack in my voice or the unwavering gaze towards the couple across the room, but Julie rolled her eyes and did not comment on what I said. Instead, she pointed to the Spanish homework I was currently completing that I had neglected to do the day before.

“That’s wrong,” she pointed out and continued to finish her chemistry homework. I raised an eyebrow at her reaction to what I just said. I should have known better than to come to Julie about romantic trouble. Each issue I brought to her, she brushed off and changed the topic. But, I love annoying her, so I do it anyway.

“Did you hear what I just said?” I asked before throwing my number two pencil at her. Julie dropped her pencil on the white, food-stained table and gave me a weary look.

“Yes, Alisha,” replied, annoyed. “I heard you. All five times.” I bit into an apple on my tray and placed the last accent mark on a Spanish word. I laid that piece of paper into my folder and stuffed it into my paper-filled bag with the rest of the junk.

“Excuse me? What does that mean?” Julie scoffed, rolled her eyes again, and shut her binder closed.

“Alisha, we both know how it goes. You notice a guy, you start liking him, you realize you can’t have him, you stop liking him and repeat.” I stared at her in disbelief and flared my nose.

“I...how...That’s a damned lie and you know it,” I stammered and for dramatic effect, I smacked my palm on the table.

“Well, she does have a point,” Eeshita agreed beside me. Leave it up to Eeshita to agree with Julie. It made sense since they do favor each other in the romantic aspect. Romance isn’t for them and they would rather not talk about it. They both would rather be talking about things like k-pop celebrities or Harry Styles. Despite liking things like k-pop, Eeshita is not this zealous or enthusiastic girl. She’s quite the opposite actually. “It’s really hard to keep up with all these new names.”

“Oh, shut up Eeshita, no one asked you,” I barked. She smirked.

“No one asked for an update on your “love life”, yet here we are,” She retorted. Julie pointed at her and nodded in agreement. I scowled at both of them and angrily took another bite of my apple. Her eyes traveled across to behind Julie and she sighed. “And here comes another one of you.”

“Oh my god!” Jacqueline cried as she rushed next to the seat next to Julie. “He’s talking to another girl!” Jacqueline's straight, dark hair jumped as she flopped on the bench, defeated.

“Who is Jackie?” Eeshita asked disinterestedly. Jacqueline looked at her angrily.

“You. Know. Who.” Eeshita grinned widely.

“Oh yeah. Jaime.”

“Don’t say his name out loud!!” Jacqueline hushedly barked.

“Honestly do I look like someone who cares about people’s problems?” Eeshita asked sarcastically. “Please tell me now so that I can find a way to prevent it.”

Jacqueline pouted and folded her arms. “You never want to talk about my feelings.”

“I’m too busy being bombarded with this one’s complaints about her crush,” She argued while pointing at me. I gave her a mock smile.

“Wait, what about him?” I shrugged my shoulders and averted my eyes.

“She supposedly stopped liking him,” Julie responded sarcastically.

“I see. And who is this guy, anyway?” I chuckled awkwardly.

“It doesn’t matter anymore because I’m over him.” I sighed and stared off into space, imagining how different things would be if I was only even a tad bit better than how I am now.

“If it makes you feel better,” Julie started. “It’s fake anyways.”

“What is?” She pointed to the boy I was currently infatuated with. Oh. She knew. I inwardly chuckled to myself as I remembered that I could never keep anything from Julie.

“Their relationship. It’s fake.” I tilted my head and gave her a questioning look. She sighed. “Look, both of them know how well-known they both are, so basically, their whole relationship is based on status. At least that’s what I observed. She never talks to him first and when she does, she doesn’t look him in the eye.”

“So what?” Eeshita asked. “I hate looking people in the eye too. Or just looking at them.”

“Eye contact equals a positive relationship or something. They don’t really like each other. I can just feel it.”

“Huh,” I responded in disbelief. “You know a lot about relationships for someone who hates love.” She scoffed and blushed.

“Shut up,” She grumbled as a small smile appeared on her face. “Anyways, you shouldn’t feel bad about a guy who cares more about status than his happiness.” I didn’t reply as I watched her go right back to her work.

“You know what Julie?” Jacqueline asked. “You are so right. I should just get over him and stay friends with him because he’s risking my happiness!”

Julie and Eeshita looked at each other and gave each other a “You know what to do” look.

“Shut up Jackie!” They simultaneously yelled and they each took turns throwing a piece of wadded-up tissue at her. I laughed until tears filled my eyes.

“Ugh, the hell with you guys!” She threw the tissue back at them and rolled her eyes. At that moment, I completely forgot about the boy across the room.

(Guys this is honestly based on reality. I actually remember a conversation just like this with the same people.)

#fanfic #fiction #realistic fiction #creative writing #young adult #Teen

1 note · View note

audreydoeskaren · 3 years

Text

Abridged history of early 20th century Chinese womenswear (part 4.2: 1930s-hair, makeup & accessories)

Source here

Previous posts in the series:

Part 1: 1890s

Part 2: 1900s & 1910s

Part 3.1: 1920s-silhouette

Part 3.2: 1920s-design details

Part 3.3: 1920s-accessories, hair & makeup

Part 4.1: 1930s-silhouette & design

A super late Happy Chinese New Year to all fellow humans who celebrate it!! I’m going to discuss hair, makeup and accessories of the 1930s today in no particular order.

Undergarments

At one point between 1932 and 1934 women in China decided to ditch the breast binders worn since the 1890s and wear brassieres instead. This allowed the natural shape of women’s breasts to show and the contrast between the bust and waist lent the dresses of the mid 30s a soft hourglass shape. The brassieres of the 1930s didn’t have stiffening, boning or foam and relied only on their structure for support, so the shape of the breasts looked very soft and rounded.

Source here

30s Du Barry lingerie sewing pattern for brassieres and drawers. This may not be very representative because brassieres made by different companies looked different, but they usually looked like modern bras with vertical darts and no wires or foam cups.

I must again redirect you to this article on breast binding in China, if you can’t read Chinese Google Translate works just fine. There’s one thing that I’d like to comment on though; the author named breast binding as the sole reason for the small bust measures of women at the time and argued that it caused health problems and hindered the growth of the chest. I think this is true to some extent, but other reasons for the generally small stature of women in this period (and indeed the centuries before) included malnourishment, bad healthcare and lack of exercise. Women weren’t educated about healthy diets and the importance of physical exercise before the 30s, not to mention the non-existent healthcare they received, so they were much shorter and skinnier, and suffered from more illnesses than the average modern woman. Before industrialization, food production was also often insufficient so a lot of women were malnourished.

As popular as brassieres were, some Chinese women chose to go braless. However, I have usually seen braless women in advertisements/pinup posters, so I suspect this would not be very socially acceptable on a daily basis.

Source: lai yiching0926 on Pinterest. I get so many primary sources from this person y’all may as well check out their board on Chinese calendar painting it’s bomb. I also have a Pinterest board where I collect primary sources if anyone is interested, my Pinterest username is also audreydoeskaren.

However, being braless doesn’t mean wearing nothing underneath a cheongsam. Camisoles were worn on the upper body and drawers (which were becoming proto-panties) on the lower body; alternatively a slip could be worn. 30s drawers are really pretty in my opinion, they were high waisted and had an a-line shape, decorated with lace.

To my knowledge, Chinese women in this period did not yet wear girdles, corsets or any other kind of shapewear to take in the waist, at least I have never seen their edges peeking out from underneath the cheongsam. I guess this was also unnecessary as the cheongsam was a light one piece dress and didn’t require any support at the waist.

From my observation, stockings were kind of optional in this period. In the early 20s and before, Chinese women wore short stockings tied up by garters at knee level, but as the skirt hem rose to knee length in the late 20s they probably stopped doing that as the garters would show when they inevitably flash their knees. I assume longer, nude stockings would be worn, held up by a garterbelt or something, but a lot of images of this era showed women with no visible stockings. Teenagers and younger women could wear low knit socks like Western children, but these were not acceptable on grown up women unless they were doing sports. Tights were not yet a thing either.

On top of these undergarments, some women chose to wear ankle length petticoats or pants underneath the cheongsam. This was especially the case around 1934 when the side slits were mid thigh or higher and constantly showing your drawers was likely not the most respectable thing. These petticoats and pants were most commonly white and had decorative trim. Petticoats could have slits down both sides like the outer cheongsam or a flared hem. Pants were straight cut and wide legged. Later in the decade the slits became lower so petticoats and pants weren’t that necessary anymore but many women still chose to wear them, which is fine by me because I think it’s a cute look. Likewise there were many examples of women around 1934 wearing high slit cheongsam without petticoats or pants, especially if they were dancing, so this was likely a matter of personal preference (Western dances like tango, waltz, foxtrot, charleston and swing were introduced to China and popularized in the 20s and 30s. The Paramount dance hall in my native city of Shanghai is a monument to that).

Source here

Mid 30s photograph, high slit cheongsam with pants.

Source here

Later 30s fabric ad, low slit cheongsam with flared petticoat.

Outerwear

A noteworthy development in the mid 30s was that wearing actual, full blown Western fashion became popularized, but only as outerwear, sportswear or eveningwear; Western day dresses were not often seen on Chinese women. In regards to Western outerwear, a variety of them could be worn over cheongsam. In addition to the fur trim wrap coats popular in the late 20s, women wore capes, vests, suits, coats, knit cardigans and others. It was completely ok to mix and match Western accessories and jackets with cheongsam.

Source here

Short cape.

Source here

Early 30s women’s suit. I know I use this image a lot, it’s just really useful and beautiful :)

Source here

Early 30s fur trim wrap coat.

Source: Sayuu G on Pinterest, link

Long coat with lapels.

Source: Yuan Li on Pinterest, link

Cardigan and jacket. This kind of short sleeved, straight front, collarless jacket on the left was very popular in the mid 30s.

Another cute mid 30s accessory I’m very fond of is the gauntlet glove i.e. gloves that have a very wide trunk opening. I think they have an equestrian flair and look very badass.

Source: Yuan Li on Pinterest, link

1935 cover of The Young Companion. (Why are the useful images always so small? Woe is me)

Earrings were really common in the 30s, you could see them in almost all of the reference photos in this post.

Hairstyles

Since around 1930 the history of Chinese and Western women’s hairstyles had almost completely synchronized so if you know about vintage Western hairstyles you’re welcome to skip this part.

In the beginning of the 30s the most common hairstyle was a short bob with optional fingerwaves (called waterwaves in this period? I’m not great with terminology). Some bobs in the late 20s/early 30s could be so short that they look like buzz cuts. The defining feature of the fingerwave was the shimmery wave-like pattern in the hair created by pinching and combing the hair while it’s wet with setting products. Just a side note, the way fingerwaves are done in most Chinese period dramas nowadays, uh, leaves much to be desired. That’s because a lot of hairstylists just attach a wavy extension (which you can easily purchase from Taobao...) to the actresses’ forehead and call it a day, but that doesn’t really replicate the structure of the fingerwave and makes it look like the 铜钱头 in Kun Opera instead.

Source: Helen Xu on Pinterest.

Early 30s very short bob.

Source here

Early 30s fingerwave

Another very common hairstyle in the 30s was this mid length bob (either side part or middle part) with a lot of volume at the bottom. I am so puzzled as to how this is achieved, maybe with teasing or curling only at the bottom? That sounds odd.

Source here

Mid 30s fabric ad.

This ad is forcing me to go on a tangent about fabric dyes. This label, Indanthren, sold fabrics dyed from a range of blue or blue-ish colored synthetic dyes made by the German company BASF (which was merged into IG Farben at this time). Because of the introduction of synthetic dyes to China, almost all colors under the sun could be produced or imported so there weren’t really any specific color limitations to the clothing of this period.

Back to hair. Contrary to popular opinion, fingerwaves were not in fashion throughout the 30s, let alone the entire republican era. As the 30s progressed, the fashionable hair length became longer, making it more difficult for fingerwaves to be performed; they were replaced by roller sets and pin curls which are more suitable for longer hair. In the mid 30s, brush out curls with a side part were extremely popular. At this point bangs kind of became a Chinese cultural heritage and a lot of women would wear brush out curls with bangs. There are literally a million patterns for setting brush out curls and every woman probably had her own tricks, so everybody’s hair looked a tad different but the overall idea was the same as Western brush out curls: women would set the hair in the night and sleep with the rollers/pin curls to let them dry, then in the morning they would brush them out until the desirable wavy shape is achieved. Many women also used curling irons to achieve the same hairstyles with heat, which was faster and didn’t require waiting overnight. With that said, the fingerwave didn’t just disappear either, it was often used in conjunction with brush out curls to sculpt specific hairstyles. I’m not a professional vintage hairstylist so I can’t always clock if a hairstyle is done with fingerwaving, brush out curls or both. From my own experience with brush out curls, they are usually more voluminous and have more fizzy ends and the waves don’t line up so perfectly like with fingerwaves because the process is more uncontrollable (or maybe I’m just clumsy).

Source here

Typical mid 30s curls.

The fashionable hair length grew longer toward the end of the decade, with the finished curls reaching either the shoulder or the nape of the neck. Hairstyles became kind of rectangular in silhouette and flat at the crown. They were often pulled back at the sides to create a more rectangular shape for the face.

Source: lai yiching0926 on Pinterest.

Late 30s hairstyles.

Shoes

Again, full westernization here. 30s shoes had higher and thinner heels than 20s shoes, although they were still thicker and lower than modern stilettos. The heels were usually curved Louis heels. 30s shoes often had a single strap across the foot and a wrapped design at the toe. Spectator shoes and Oxfords that covered the whole foot were also worn. Likewise, strapless pumps were fashionable too, sometimes with an open toe design, especially toward the end of the decade.

Source: genibee on Flickr, link

1935 Sears catalogue. Maybe not very representative since shoes made by different companies looked different, just showing what was possible.

Interestingly, I have never seen an image of a 30s Chinese woman wearing boots or booties outside of an equestrian context. I guess boots either weren’t feminine enough or were too inconvenient under the long cheongsam.

Sportswear

A very interesting development in the 30s was the popularization of sportswear as a result of women doing sports. Wealthy or aristocratic Chinese women have been riding and hunting in an attempt to emulate European lifestyle since decades, but these sports remained elite and untouchable for common women; in the 30s however, more accessible sports like swimming, volleyball and tennis became in vogue. The popularity of swimming was in large part due to the influence of female swimming champion 杨秀琼 Yang Xiuqiong (her name is spelled differently in Cantonese because she was from Hong Kong), who was seen as a national hero for winning a ton of medals in international swimming competitions and breaking records. China began trying to participate in Olympic games around this period and there were also many other women athletes competing in different sports, so sportswear became a necessity.

The design of swimwear in this period followed closely the design of Western bathing suits, usually a tight, short, one piece bodysuit.

Source here

1933 cover of The Young Companion featuring Yang in a swimsuit. There was a stigma around female swimmers at this time though, mostly because of the revealing clothing they had to wear to allow freedom of movement. Many press reports called Yang a “mermaid” because of her physical beauty, trying to reduce her to a sex icon instead of the glorious athlete she actually was. All of the whack rumors about her being a concubine of some rich dude was also really disgusting and distracting from her achievements.

I’ve also seen multiple times this two piece design with shorts and a modernized 肚兜 dudou (a Qing Dynasty undergarment with a function akin to that of a corset cover).

Source: EMKAY on Pinterest

30s pinup girl in two piece swimsuit.

For land sports, women usually wore a short sleeved open collar shirt with shorts, short knit socks and flat pumps.

Source: Jason Tse on Pinterest

1933 cover of The Young Companion featuring a tennis player.

Makeup

The makeup look of the early 30s was almost identical to the late 20s look, with the thin, elongated eyebrows, large oval shaped blush and delicate red/mauve lips. This continued all the way until around 1938-39.

Toward the end of the decade, the eyebrows started to return to a normal thickness and became kind of arched instead of flat. Eyeshadows became lighter or non-existent. Women used cake mascara to darken their eyelashes, which were separated and evenly spread out. The location of the blush moved slightly downward. Red lipstick was still the most popular but the lips were plumper than in the early 30s. Overall very subtle and small changes to makeup. There were a bunch of Western and Japanese makeup companies trading in China at this point, I couldn’t name any specific ones beside Nivea which was quite popular for affordable skincare products like cream and sunscreen. I assume that actresses and pinup girls would also use Max Factor, but I’m not sure how widely used his products were among the general population. The Hong Kong brand 广生行 Kwong Sang Hong (whose Shanghai branch was called 双妹 “Twin Sisters” and whose advertisements we have seen too many times in this series) was also really popular.

I know I promised to talk about makeup more in this post but unfortunately there really isn’t much to talk about :( So see you next time when I dig into the 1940s!

#1930s #art deco #vintage hair #vintage accessories #vintage shoes #vintage lingerie #chinese history #chinese fashion #historic fashion #vintage #vintage makeup #vintage sportswear #cheongsam #qipao #abridged history of early 20th century chinese womenswear

555 notes · View notes

hermannsthumb · 3 years

Note

As per our convo, Newt getting set up with Hermann via Hermann’s father’s binder full of pre-approved suitors for his son...

(from @k-sci-janitor 👀) easily one of our funniest concepts yet. I was going to end on newt coming over for dinner scenario but I like the ominous open ending. I'm not actually sure when kaiju attacks fall in the PR timeline so excuse my handwaveyness, LOL

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

Hermann’s relationship with his father is what one would call strenuous at best, but—Hermann must admit, to the man’s credit, and in spite of his many flaws—he took the news of Hermann’s sexual orientation as unflinchingly as if Hermann had told him the day’s weather. It was a bit annoying, in fact. Hermann had agonized over the proper way to breach the subject for months, certain it spoke to some sort of personal ruin (whether ostracization from the Gottliebs or being forbade following through on any attraction he may feel whilst still living under the family roof, he wasn't sure), before finally simply announcing it one day at the breakfast table on a whim.

It had been a long-standing tradition that Hermann’s parents compile a binder—effectively of dossiers—on all the most eligible bachelors (for their daughter) and bachelorettes (for their sons) to aid in the choice of the latest Gottlieb mate. It was easiest this way, or so Hermann and his siblings were told. Parental approval was already secured. The histories of each were already secured, which bypassed any nasty shocks that might emerge in the courtship stage. Most of them were children of his father's colleagues or bright minds in their own rights: surgeons, and dentists, and mathematicians. Poets were strictly forbidden.

The occasion of Hermann’s breakfast table announcement had also been the day Hermann’s father presented him with his very first binder of prospective mates—a few days after his eighteenth birthday, and shortly before he was to go off to begin work on his PhD. His father had slid him a hand-written binder of names, no more than a dozen, and all with accompanying photographs. “All are accomplished young women,” he assured Hermann. “We can arrange any meetings of your choice over your winter holidays.”

Hermann glared down at the row of frozen smiles. He stabbed his fork into his cooked tomato wedge. “I don’t want to marry any of these women,” he said, and turned his glare on his father. He still had a rebellious streak in him at that point, something nurtured by a charismatic young man he used to trail after in boarding school, who pierced Hermann’s ear with a sewing needle in the boys’ toilets and listened to songs about setting things on fire. In late this streak had manifested itself in Hermann in nicking packets of cigarettes from his father’s study, one of which was in his pocket now. The weight of it made Hermann feel bolder. “I don’t want to marry any woman,” he continued. “I like men.”

The binder was drawn away in silence, and Hermann was free to eat his toast and tomatoes. The next morning a binder of young men was in its place.

(In a way the acceptance infuriated Hermann. It meant he could not blame his father’s obvious dislike for him on an unfounded, homophobic prejudice; rather, it was a result of Hermann’s own personal failings.)

The binder was placed at Hermann’s breakfast plate every day until he left for his studies. It was placed at his plate when he returned from them five years later. Not even the emergence of the kaiju from the bottom of the ocean shortly after Hermann turned twenty-four dampened his father’s hopes, nor turning all their scientific efforts towards the new jaeger program: some names were removed from the binder (the reasoning Hermann shudders to think at), more still were added, though Hermann is expected only to consider it once a week now on account of his busy schedule. This was one of such days.

“Your brother is very happy with his wife,” Hermann’s father reminds him. “She was one of my first suggestions for him, in fact.”

Hermann is not fond of his sister-in-law. Too rude—too cold. Though perhaps that makes her perfect for Hermann’s brother. “Haven’t we got bigger things to worry about these days than whether or not I’m going to marry?” Hermann says. He adds milk to his tea. “I’m sure they’re all, er, marvelous selections, only—”

“Your sister, too, with her husband,” father says.

Hermann sighs. He hasn’t got much of the rebellious streak he used to in him anymore—too stressed. Not fancying a fight before they’ve even begun today’s coding work, he picks up the binder and begins flipping through it. Sons of engineers working on the jaeger program with them, prominent young chemists, many of whom Hermann has been presented with since he was eighteen. Plenty of them are even handsome. Half of Hermann wonders if he should just pick the least-unappealing one of the bunch and be done with it already. He turns the page over and freezes. “Oh,” he says. “This one is—new.”

“Hm?” father says.

Hermann holds up the binder, tapping at a new entry. “Newton Geiszler.”

“Dr. Geiszler,” father says, nodding. “A child prodigy from Berlin—he’s made tremendous strides in kaiju science in such little time. And,” he adds, “three PhDs. Two of them before he even turned twenty.” The unspoken implication was that Dr. Geiszler far surpassed Hermann in intelligence and Hermann should feel ashamed for not skipping as many grades as Dr. Geiszler.

Hermann feels he ought to resent Dr. Geiszler for it, but he's finding it difficult to summon up any animosity towards him. It's likely because Hermann finds Dr. Geiszler to be strikingly handsome in his photograph: cheeks which haven’t quite lost their baby fat (giving him the appearance of being a scruffy hamster), large, thick glasses, tousled hair, an easy grin. Three PhDs, and German at that. And a child prodigy? “I’m surprised you haven’t mentioned him to me before,” Hermann says. He seems precisely the sort father would. Geiszler’s photograph is black-and-white and a bit grainy, but Hermann swears he could make out the lightest bit of freckles across his cheeks.

“I’d not heard of him until he published an article last week on kaiju biology,” father says. “Besides—he’s moved to America.”

Geiszler has three piercings up the side of his left ear. “I am going to write to him,” Hermann declares.

Father nods, and picks up his newspaper, clearly already disinterested. They speak no more of it that day.

It is not hard to find Dr. Geiszler online (his name is not the most common, and his field of study certainly isn’t), nor is it hard to match his photograph to his faculty page on MIT’s website. From there, Hermann retrieves Dr. Geiszler’s email address. He takes the evening to read over Geiszler’s publications spanning back to 2003 before he gathers up the courage to type out an actual email.

Dear Dr. Geiszler,

You do not know me, but I have recently been made acquaintance with your work and find it—Hermann pauses—scintillating. My father and I are—Hermann backspaces this—I am currently working on the development of the jaeger program…

There’s a response waiting for him the next morning. It’s as enthusiastic as it is brief. Dr. Gottlieb- That’s so awesome!! Believe it or not I’ve been following your work too. I have a million questions for you about the jaegers. If it’s classified info I promise I won’t tell. -Newt

It makes Hermann smile like nothing ever has before.

Hermann’s correspondence with Dr. Geiszler does not transgress beyond the professional until the following January. By that time, Hermann and his father have successfully completed the coding for their first jaeger prototype, and Hermann has been offered his fair share of tenured university positions to pick from as he likes. He finds himself oddly disappointed that none of them are in America with Dr. Geiezler. This, which leads to the realization that he’s grown rather fond of Dr. Geiszler, is perhaps what drives Hermann to uncharacteristic sentimental extremes on January 19th: he orders Dr. Geiszler a birthday present. The first email Dr. Geiszler sends him after that addresses him as Hermann. The first email Hermann sends Dr. Geiszler after that addresses him as Newton. Things move rapidly after that.

“Are you still writing to that young biologist?” Hermann’s father asks him in March. Hermann has spent the last two months devouring every bit of information Newton has seen fit to divulge about his personal life: his dexterity with no less than three different instruments, his favorite loud monster movies, how he’d love to get a kaiju tattooed on him one day. Hermann suspects he might be falling in love with Newton. In hardly five months! These are war times, Hermann supposes, so it would make sense. People are meant to do such extreme things.

“I am,” Hermann says.

“I’ve asked around about him,” Hermann’s father says. His expression is stern—unimpressed. “About his character. I’m not sure it’s wise to continue your correspondence.”

The reasons are this. Dr. Geiszler’s methods are unorthodox. Dr. Geiszler is loud and uncouth, and has little respect for his intellectual superiors. Dr. Geiszler was thrown out of a convention once for storming up on stage and stealing a microphone from an engineer to shout about the destruction coral reefs. Dr. Geiszler was in a distasteful band for several years. Dr. Geiszler was once arrested for egging a politician’s house. Dr. Geiszler has gone on record as describing the kaiju as “kinda cool”. Almost none of this is news to Hermann; in fact, that which is only causes Hermann’s affection for Newton to grow. “I will consider your advice,” Hermann says, knowing he won’t. Besides, it's not as if his father really has Hermann's interests at heart—Hermann knows he merely wishes to preempt any scandal Newton Geiszler could possibly bring upon the Gottlieb name.

In April Newton goes on television and declares that he’s sure the kaiju are extraterrestrial in origin, on account of their great size and his brief examination of a sample from the second kaiju to make landfall. He’s laughed off by his older peers before he can get another word out. The email he writes to Hermann afterwards is furious, capslock-heavy, and expresses that Hermann is the only one who takes him seriously in the whole world. It leaves Hermann certain that he is in love with Newton.

“Dr. Geiszler was interviewed on some American television program,” Hermann’s father says a few days later.

“I know,” Hermann says, proudly. Newton was on television. “I watched it.”

“He made some extraordinary claims,” Hermann’s father says.

But Hermann is thinking only of the outfit Newton wore (skinny jeans and an oversized leather jacket, so out of place compared to the suited other scientists sitting around him), the shade of his eyes (hazel), his short stature (hardly taller than Hermann), and the cadence of his voice (high, but not unappealing). He’d been so confident, and carried himself with a self-assurance that was foreign to Hermann. It was marvelously attractive. “I’m sure they're correct,” Hermann says. "Every single one. Newton is a terribly brilliant scientist." All bold claims are met with derision at first, are they not?

Newton’s theory is proven correct after the next kaiju attack, when experts other than him get their hands on kaiju samples and validate his claims. The general consensus after that is that the kaiju are not of this world. And Newton was the first to propose the theory! Hermann sends Newton an email full of congratulations, and Newton responds with a heart emoticon in his sign-off. Newton isn't just a brilliant scientist. “Newton is a genius,” Hermann tells his father, dreamily.

The binder reappears on Hermann’s work desk a few months later, Newton’s page torn conspicuously from it. Hermann tips the whole thing straight into his trash can. He has more important things to worry about—arranging a meeting with Newton, perhaps. Hermann ought to have him over for dinner.

#newmann #maria's fanfiction tag #Anonymous #the new post editor is weird but I like that I can make things pink

103 notes · View notes

i-did · 3 years

Note

Do you think trans Neil fics are just a way for people to enforce more heteronormativity into Andriels relationship? From what I’ve seen it just seems like an excuse for writers to feminise Neil more which is really harmful to trans male stereotypes. Not to mention the smut seems like an excuse to write about penis/vagina sex. Idk if I’m overthinking this but it’s the feeling I get and I’d appreciate someone else’s perspective on it

I think the fact that the vast majority of trans representation in fics is smut is pretty telling. I also am unfortunately nosey and back when I still read smut (I rarely do these days, it just makes me feel bad these days instead, haha) I would check out the author, and they were often women, presumably or openly cis since Fandom is an overwhelmingly (but not exclusively) AFAB space.

So far all the trans men I've personally spoken to have mentioned that they can't read any trans fics and actually actively avoid them.

NSFW LANGUAGE

There is also the discussion of language and misgendering of genitals in smut fics, as well as how differently the characters (who are being written as trans) become. Trans andrew fics are dominated by smut as well as writing him as a bottom and very sexual and ... okay I genuinely can't think of another word for this besides "cockslut" so sorry about the informality of language. But they wrote him as a cockslut, and same as neil. Trans men can be tops, and often are because of bottom dysphoria, and anal is still a thing trans men can enjoy, anyone can.

We have a pretty good idea how andrew and neil act during sexual acts together since we are shown andrew jerking neil off and andrew sucking neil off in the books. So when because they're afab they suddenly act very different during sex it can be... suspicious.

Its also important to discuss language used during smut fics as well as what is included and what isn't. Often chests are mentioned, not so often with top surgery in mind, and body hair isn't. Trans men on testosterone are very aware of their body hair and how it has changed, and usually proud of it. I think even a passing remark about how one of them (pre or post op) would have chest hair or a happy trail would be good to mention, when happy trails are often mentioned in cis smut but omitted in trans smut.

Also when having sex with a trans person (yes speaking from experience) it is best to openly and honestly discuss what they are comfortable with and what language they like. Consent is always important to be discussed and when/if your partner has dysphoria that is another element to be considered and discussed. Some trans women get dysphoric about anal, some don't, some trans men keep a shirt on some don't some people keep their socks on some people like some words that others don't. Its best to assume someone doesn't have a misgendering kink! Its not that common and all kinks should be discussed beforehand anyway. Dirty talk should also be discussed, what words are good to use vs not.

A lot of the language see in ftm trans smut (because there is next to no mtf trans smut) ((not that I think it would be much better but who knows I haven't read it)) refers to the genitals with dirty language associated with women (tits, pussy, cunt, etc) but doesn't mention the trans man's erection, in fact I haven't seen any mention T-cocks/T-dicks. Its also best to assume your partner doesn't like those words and use vague terms unless otherwise stated, using general words such as hole is still hot and also not misgendering their genitals. Some people do not see this as a form of misgendering, but not everyone does and the reason people I've talked to about this (and myself) don't read these fics is because the language makes them uncomfortable so we avoid it all together. (As well as the other problems discussed).

The fact that effects of testosterone are hardly mentioned makes me feel like these fics are more so existing for the often afab non mlm consumers of smut fics who use them as porn to get off to and increase their self insertablility. I'm honestly curious about this psychologically, I know some people don't realize they're trans until moments like this, but I also know fully confident cis and sometimes het women get off to gay porn.

Regardless, obviously writing trans neil is not problematic, and same as writing trans andrew fics. But its important to note how you or the author might have changed the characters canon personalities, presentation, reactions during sex and preferences during sex. And also why there is so much emphasis on sex, when people who are trans are trans not just during sex, but also... when they're not having sex, which is most of the time like everyone else. Its also important to note which one you choose to prefer being trans and why, I know a lot of non Americans who only use the word for binder as a chest binder and not a folder assumed neil was trans until it became apparent he wasn't written with the intention of so, but I've also seen people choose to have neil be trans because they think "trans men are just hotter" and if you're not a trans man,,,, maybe. Don't say that. Because that's fetishizing trans men.

END NSFW

Whatmack wrote a good fic where neil is trans and its not just a device for smut, in fact its not about his genitals and sex at all, its about WWI and is really good but mind warnings, its called "in flanders fields" i believe.

Also I'm told I'm an overthinker a lot but honestly? My mind is blank a lot of the time lmao. And then when its not blank I'm just... thinking. I don't think I'm an over thinker regardless of what others have told me lmao, I think they just don't realize how often I'm actually just vibing. Also "overthinking" can be good. Analyzing things and what they mean can be important and questioning stuff is also important. Obviously if you're getting anxious than overthinking isn't good and its overwhelming instead, but a little overthinking is good because some times I feel we under think things and don't analyze what they could mean.

When I have a reaction to something or an instinct idea about something I try to assess why. Do I hate Kora? Why? Do I think she's arrogant and unlikable? Or am I actually being misogynistic and potentially colorist against her, and if she were a white male character would i question her personality and actions as much as I do when she's a woc, much less be annoyed by them? (I love Kora, this is just an example lol)

Also sorry I keep answering these like always 3 am my time which means for a lot of you guys its even earlier in the morning, (whats up Australia, New Zealand, Europe, the Philippines, and other awake places)

#ask #fandom psychology #fandom politics #mailob #nsft #osha violation

97 notes · View notes

amyscascadingtabs · 3 years

Text

rare as the glimmer of a comet in the sky

It’s the perfect little getaway, exactly what they needed. It would be even better if she could only stop thinking.

“So, tell me.” Jake holds her hand over the table, forcing her back to reality. “Five top moments for us 2019, go. Countdown-stylez.”

Three different New Year's Eves, as celebrated by Jake and Amy (and Mac).

read on ao3 ��

december 31st, 2019.

The hotel guests checking in before Jake and Amy are a family. A little girl with blonde hair, maybe four or five years old, is carrying her own pink backpack and making up dance steps around her father’s feet as he goes through the information with the receptionist, and an even younger boy is hiding behind his mother’s legs as he watches the people in the lobby with wide eyes. Looking up, Amy realizes that the mother’s open coat is revealing a baby bump, too. She’d put her at six, maybe seven months pregnant. Three kids. Amy feels a pang of jealousy.

Even with the observation skills of an experienced detective, it shocks her how good she’s become at picking out families and pregnant women in any crowd. It’s an interesting talent, but measured against the pain it causes her, Amy wouldn’t call it a very useful one. She notices Jake looking at the kids as well, a daydreaming look on his face, and somehow, that makes her pain worse.

The idea behind going away to a hotel upstate for New Year’s was so they could get away from the stress for a moment; go somewhere else, rest and relax, forget about the pregnancy master calendar they’ve stared themselves blind at for a few days. Amy didn’t realize how impossible it would be to get away from all the other reminders.

She draws a breath of relief when the family in front of them gets the keys to their room, the little girl running first towards the elevator and her brother laughing as he chases after.

“Cute kids,” Jake whispers, watching them longingly.

“Yeah.” Amy tries not to think about the negative pregnancy test she threw away in the bathroom trashcan before they left. “Really cute.”

“I’m excited you said we could drink tonight.” Jake toasts his White Russian with her glass of Sauvignon. “It’s been a while.”

“I know, “ Amy feels the guilt wash over her. “Well, it’s not New Year’s Eve every day. I think we’ve earned it.” And I already took a negative test, she thinks.

“We sure have.” He gives her a closer look, pressing his lips together like he always does when he’s worried about her. “Hey, are you okay?”

“Just tired,” she says. It’s not technically a lie. “I didn’t sleep that well last night.”

“Lucky we have a huge hotel bed to help with that tonight, then. Seriously, this place rocks.”

Amy’s prepared to agree on that part – she did her research the moment it stood clear they would both get New Year’s Eve off. After getting their room, they’ve spent the evening getting massages in the hotel spa, dining at the surprisingly nice restaurant, and now they’re admiring the view from the bar on the top floor, waiting for the fireworks. It’s the perfect little getaway, exactly what they needed. It would be even better if she could only stop thinking.

“So, tell me.” Jake holds her hand over the table, forcing her back to reality. “Five top moments for us 2019, go. Countdown-stylez.”

“Number five!” She rolls the r and holds on the i, earning herself an amused look from the older couple next to them. “Okay, I’m going to go with… that date you took me on for my birthday. I can’t believe you got into the puzzle bar this time!”

“I might have convinced the guard to let me in because it was your birthday, but still a good one. Number fooo-uur… the Cinco de Mayo-heist. God, that was fun, even if the tasing hurt like a bitch.”

“Agreed. Number three – when Holt finally invited us to that dinner party and I almost didn’t lose my cool once.”

“You keep telling yourself that, babe. Number two… the Jake way. Seriously, I still think we should try that again. It was awesome.”

“It was, but also way inappropriate,” she reminds him, but he just shrugs. “Number one, then.”

“I know which one is mine, but you go first.”

Amy swallows, then sighs. “Mine is after the manhunt. When we decided to start trying. That’s still my favorite moment.”

“Mine, too.” Jake looks her in the eyes, and she knows the bittersweet feeling is shared. “It’s going to happen, Ames. I know it. Maybe this month’s the one.”

Amy doesn’t have the strength to correct him, tell him she’s already taken an early test and that she’s lacking any confidence there’s going to be a second line when she tests again in a couple of days. Luckily, she doesn’t have to, because right then, the fireworks that have been going off a few at a time in the distance begin to multiply as the countdown starts.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…

Amy leans forward so she can be kissing him already when the new year begins.

Three, two, one… happy new year!

The crowd around them erupts into cheers as the sky glows with colorful explosions when burning bits of metal lighting up the darkness outside. Jake kisses her deeper, seeming to forget that there are people around with a bit of alcohol in his system and his hands cupping her face. For a moment, Amy lets herself just be happy.

december 31st, 2020.

The instant Amy closes her eyes for the more-than-well-deserved nap Jake told her to take while he made dinner, Mac begins to cry from his crib again.

“McClane, please,” Amy pleads, as if reasoning with her two-month-old would solve his discontent. “You can't seriously be hungry again, that’s insane.”

She tries with the pacifier first, checking his diaper, even standing up and walking around with him for a bit to eliminate anything else, but Mac is still clenching his fists and only looking even more furious with her, so Amy gives in. She sits down with him again, unhooks one side of the bra and lets him find his grip, exhaling when the peaceful suckles begin and the desperate crying finally ceases. She swears it looks like her son is side-eyeing her for taking too long, but to her defense, she fed him for a good forty-five minutes only a little over an hour ago and it's exhausting being used like a human pacifier. Growth spurt, Camila Santiago said when Amy called her in tears yesterday, and the problem-shooting section in the 0-3 months baby-binder had agreed. Amy would argue that sounds way too innocent for something which is turning her otherwise happy and smiley baby into a constantly hungry and crying mini-monster who won't close his eyes for more than twenty minutes at a time.

There's a soft knock on the door after a few minutes, and Jake peeks in. He’s wearing his fancy kitchen apron, which Charles gave him for Christmas with the comment that there’s nothing sexier than a dad who can cook. It hasn’t magically improved his cooking skills, but Amy’s willing to admit that it does look good on him.

“You guys doing okay?”

“He is, for now. I’m going crazy. How’s our dinner going?”

“Well, I haven’t burnt it yet, but there’s still time,” he grimaces, sitting down at the foot of the bed. “Do you need anything, babe?”

“Sleep, but that’s not going to happen.” Amy rubs her eyes. “It’s fine. He’s got to fall asleep at some point, though, this is nuts.”

“Don’t challenge him, he’s breaking records,” Jake says, leaning forward to tickle Mac’s feet. Mac reacts by kicking at the boob he’s not currently feeding from, making Amy curse. “Oops, sorry. Anyway, I’m sure he will fall asleep at some point, and we can have a nice, calm New Year’s dinner. I mean, he has to be exhausted, right?”

“God, I hope so. I’m starving.” She can see Mac’s eyelids getting heavy, but every time she thinks they’re about to fall closed, it’s like he twitches and stares at her, wide awake. “He’s lucky he’s cute.”

Jake grins. “Lucky indeed.”

Mac starts pulling away at that moment, a little bit of milk still dribbling from his cheeks. Amy reaches for one of the muslin blankets that’s never more than a few feet away in their home nowadays, lifting him so he’s upright against her shoulder and patting him on the back. She expects a burp, but instead, she gets an unpleasant surprise when he spits up, managing to get sour baby puke down her back and in her already greasy hair. She groans, giving Jake an exhausted look when she sees him stifling a chuckle.

“Hey, I’ll take him. You go take a shower and I’ll put him in the BabyBjörn. Maybe that will do it.”

“That’s the hottest thing you’ve ever said,” Amy mumbles, and she’s not entirely kidding.

She makes the shower as long as she possibly can. Most days, she has to shower with Mac in the baby bouncer on the bathroom floor, so even the chance to be alone in the bathroom for more than five minutes feels like a luxury. She lets the shampoo really lather and the conditioner take its time to sink in, trying to massage the knots in her neck and shoulders under the hot water. She can hear Mac still fussing from the kitchen, and it makes her feel guilty even though he’s barely left her arms today.

“He’s fine,” she whispers to herself like a mantra. “He’s fine. Jake can handle it. He’s perfectly fine. Everything’s okay. You deserve this.”

She still skips the make-up and nicer clothes she had been planning to put on, throwing on a pair of maternity leggings and one of Jake’s old hoodies instead.

The dinner looks fantastic, some sort of chicken baked in the oven with rice and a lemon sauce, and Amy’s actually impressed. She imagines it would have been even nicer if she could have eaten it warm and together with Jake, but they only make it through toasting in orange soda and the first two bites before Mac wakes up from his ten-minute-nap, wailing as if he truly believed he’d just been abandoned. They end up having to take turns eating and walking laps around the living room with him, because he starts crying again if they stop moving for a second or as much as make an attempt to put him down. Amy is suddenly relieved they said no to her brother Tony’s New Year’s party-invite.

She can barely believe it when after what feels like the fiftieth or so feed of the day, Mac falls asleep. Curled up like a little frog on her chest and letting out the cutest of baby snores, he finally seems to relax, and Amy doesn’t even dare to breathe too sharply for the first ten minutes. Eventually, though, once it seems like he’s not going to wake up from the slightest movement or a raised voice anymore, Jake tucks them both in under a blanket and gets the Ben and Jerry’s from the freezer and orange soda from the fridge. Then he gets another blanket for himself, and they snuggle up together in the corner of the sofa in front of the tv. From live footage at Times Square, Amy can see crowds of people waiting for the ball to drop.

“Wishing you were there?” Jake winks, but she just laughs.

“Are you kidding? Cold, crowded, and you can never even get a good view. This is better in every way.” She strokes her thumb over Mac’s dark hair. “I have this one and you. That’s all I need. And ice cream,” she adds, digging out a piece of cookie dough from the tub.

“You’re right, it’s pretty damn close to perfection. Top five moments of 2020?”

Amy shakes her head, pointing to Mac. “No point. They’re all about him, anyway, and they’re all too good to compare.”

“True that.” Jake shakes his head. “Hey, isn’t it crazy that although he’s been kind of a nightmare today, I’ve already forgiven him?”

“No, it makes perfect sense, because I’ve almost wanted to give him away several times and now I can’t even remember why.”

“Having a baby makes us kind of crazy, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely. I wouldn’t change it for the world, though.”

“Me neither. Not even if I was offered a role in the next Die Hard-movie and Taylor Swift did the soundtrack.”

“That’s pretty big,” Amy laughs, leaning in for a quick kiss. “Would Taylor Swift do the soundtrack for Die Hard, though? Realistically speaking?”

“It’s a daydream, Ames!”

She has no time for a comeback, though, because right then, the countdown starts on the tv and Jake raises the volume a few bars so they can hear.

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…

“New Year’s kiss,” Amy says, holding Mac up slightly so they can both reach him.

Three, two, one… happy new year!

They both smother his cheeks with kisses at the same time as the fireworks explode over the sky in the distance outside their windows and the crowd begins to cheer on tv. Mac doesn’t even flinch, completely oblivious to the celebrations going on outside. Amy sighs.

“How can he magically sleep through all of this, but wake up the second I put him down in his crib at night?”

Jake shrugs. “Babies, man.”

december 31st, 2021.

Amy has only started to take off Mac’s winter overall before he starts trying to flee, kicking wildly with his boots and pointing towards the kitchen where he’s already spotted Rosa. Jake notices her struggle and is quick to help her, and the instant the toddler is free, he hurries off towards his best friend.

“Wo-wo-wo-wo-wo-wo!”

“Mac! Hey, happy new year, man!” Before Amy can even take off her own jacket, Mac is already in Rosa’s arms and babbling excitedly as he plays with her gold necklace. Amy wonders how much of what Mac’s saying actually makes sense to Rosa, but she’s nodding and smiling and seems to have abandoned whoever she was previously talking to in favor of the one-year-old.

“Jake. Amy.” Kevin appears to take their coats, shaking their hands. “Welcome. Drinks and hors d’oeuvres are in the living room, and I see your small child has made himself at home.”

“He found Rosa, yep.” Jake grins. “And he has a name.”

“Ah, yes… McClane.” Kevin nods. “Very well. I have to go check on… the kitchen. Enjoy your evening.”

“He’s never going to like me,” Jake whispers to Amy the moment he’s left.

“Well, I think we both might have lost a few points with the name choice, babe.”

“He’s one to talk names, he’s got a dog named after a cheese!”

“I know, but we can’t tell him that. Come on, Jake, I have to find something to chew on before I get sick.”

“You can always blame it on the alcohol, if you do.”

“Jake.”

“Just kidding,” he grins. “You go check on Mac and Rosa and I’ll locate the snacks.”

It turns out Rosa is more than willing to guard Mac for the evening, currently showing him the model train she's found in the library. Mac is watching with focus as Rosa helps him turn on the button that makes the train drive around the tracks, laughing as it lets out a choo-choo sound.

“Your son is much cooler than the rest of these lame partygoers,” she shrugs when Amy asks her if she's sure it's fine. “He says what he's thinking, unlike the rest of all these dum-dums.”

“Dum-dums,” Mac repeats, proud. Rosa nods.

“Exactly. I’ll call you if something happens.”

And so, in an unexpected turn of events, Amy finds herself able to sit down for most of the evening without having to chase a wild toddler around to keep him from whatever dangers he could somehow manage to get himself into in Holt’s and Kevin’s house. She supposes it looks quite antisocial of her, and maybe it is, but she’s six weeks pregnant and the early symptoms of nausea and fatigue seem to be coming on both stronger and faster the second time around, so Amy doesn’t really care. She’s got lemon sparkling water for a non-alcoholic drink, a paper plate of carrot sticks, salted crisps and almonds, and she’s not going to talk to anyone unless they sit down next to her. It’s practically heaven. Jake checks on her from time to time, assuring her multiple times that they can just leave early if she wants to, but however tired she feels, Amy doesn’t want to insult Holt that badly. They’re staying until midnight as per proper New Year’s party etiquette, and then — and not a second later — they can go home so she can crash in bed.

Rosa finds her again when Mac begins to get sleepy, rubbing his eyes and yawning but still shaking his head when Amy asks if he's feeling a little tired. He crawls over to her arms anyway, laying his head on her shoulder and hugging his arms around her chest.

“Thanks for looking after him,” she tells Rosa, but she just shrugs.

“No worries. I don't get to hang out with him enough. Your kid is dope.”

“Douh,” Mac whispers, mimicking her, and Rosa laughs.

“Repeats every word you tell him, too,” Amy says. “Yeah, he’s pretty awesome. Come over to our apartment at five-thirty in the morning on any weekend and you can hang out with him all you want. I won't stop you.”

Rosa scrunches her nose. “I’ll consider it.”

“He’s in a great mood then, I can assure you that.”

“I'll take your word for it. Also, Jake was tipsy talking baby names with some etymology professor when I saw him last, and he seemed very intense about it for a guy who's not currently thinking of naming any new babies. Or?” She raises an eyebrow.

“No, he just get thats intense when somebody implies McClane is a weird name,” Amy says, and makes a note to herself to remind Jake about their agreement not to tell anyone else at least until the twelve-week mark. “Which, to be fair, I warned him that people would think. But here we are anyway.”

“It is a weird name. Couldn’t imagine him being called anything else, though, even if I still don’t understand why you agreed to it.”

“There was a really good PowerPoint involved.”

Rosa looks at her questioningly, but Amy shakes her head, knowing there’s no point in explaining the unexplainable.

“Hmm. You guys are weird. You make pretty great kids, though.”

“Yeah.” Mac has fallen asleep by now, drooling a little bit on Amy’s shoulder. She kisses the top of his head and thinks of the abstract idea of her second kid, the thump-thump of an already present heartbeat they got so lucky as to hear on an early ultrasound yesterday. “The best.”

As midnight draws closer, most of the guests take on jackets, scarves and shoes to venture out into the garden to watch fireworks. Not wanting to be left out, Amy and Jake manage to get a half-sleeping Mac, who wakes up suddenly interested when he hears about the promise of fireworks, into his overall and join them. It’s a surprisingly good view from the garden, the cold winter air waking them up, and Jake points out the vibrant displays in the sky to a drowsy Mac, who blinks at them dazedly. It’s so cute it makes Amy tear up. Being both a mom and newly pregnant does that to her; she’s given up trying to fight it.

It’s hard to believe that two years ago, she was toasting in champagne in a hotel bar and wondering if they would ever make a baby together, and now she’s standing in a garden watching Jake with their one-year-old son and knowing that next New Year’s, if all goes well, they’ll be parents of two.

“What are you thinking of?” Jake must see her tears, because he looks worried, but Amy just smiles.

“Just how quickly things can change. How happy I am. And how much I love you.”

“Love you, too. Top three-hundred-and-sixty-five moments of this year,” Jake says, hugging her close so they’re standing in a little family bubble. “Every single day I get to wake up with and then come home to my family.”

Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four…

They both lean in so they can smother their son with kisses, and he laughs as he figures out what’s about to happen.

Three, two, one… happy new year!

The sky explodes with color, Jake and Amy attack their son with kisses, and as the new year begins, Amy thinks she might just be the luckiest person in the entire world.

#happy new year!#my writing #b99 #peraltiago #jake x amy #b99 fic #peraltiago fic #i've spent twenty minutes trying to fix the spacing on this and it still won't work because tumblr is a fucking hellsite #read it on ao3 if you want spaces

71 notes · View notes

waywardnerd67 · 3 years

Text

Cross The Line

Title: Cross The Line Summary: College was meant to be about pushing the boundaries but (Y/N) toes a dangerous line. Pairing: Professor!Sam x Student!Reader Rating: X - Explicit Warnings: Angst/Fluff/Smut Word Count: 1399 Squared Filled: Professor!Sam Bingo Card: @spnaubingo A/N: None

Check Out: SPN AU Bingo Masterlist

“Shit, shit, shit.” (Y/N) mumbled as she entered the lecture hall.

Between working late, studying later, she had slept through her alarm. Now, she was late for her Folklore and Urban Legends class. Trying to sneak into the smaller lecture room, she sat down in the first seat she saw just as her binder fell from her grasp. The echoing thud silenced the room and her face heated as all eyes landed on her.

“Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Miss (Y/L/N).” Professor Winchester spoke not turning for the whiteboard he was writing on.

Professor Sam Winchester was one of the more popular professors as he was the youngest on campus. Where his teaching style was matter of fact borderline boring, his good looks and enticing, deep voice made up for it. They were currently talking about famous urban legends throughout the Midwest.

“Your papers are due in two weeks and we will have a test on Midwest urban legends. Miss (Y/L/N), please stay behind for a moment.” Professor Winchester dismissed the class turning back towards the table with his things on it.

She swallowed hard as all the students walked past her. Gathering her things, (Y/N) walked down to the front of the room her knees shaking. Even though fluttering butterflies filled her stomach as she stood waiting for him to acknowledge her presence, she took the opportunity to admire him from behind. HIs broad shoulders were covered by a dark navy blazer and white button down shirt. The matching dress pants fit perfectly around his tight, bubble butt that then led down to his endless legs.

She shook her head as he turned biting her lower lip watching him loosen his black tie, “Can you explain to me why my top student was late today?” He leaned against the table, his kaleidoscope eyes never leaving hers.

“I slept through my alarm due to work and studying.” She watched as he crossed one long leg over the other unable to keep her eyes from looking at the obvious large bulge hidden beneath the thin material.

“How are you going to prevent that from happening again?” The Professor slipped his large hand within his pocket.

“I will structure my time more wisely, however, I will not promise that it won’t happen again. I have to work in order to survive and I have to study to keep up my GPA for my scholarships. I can promise to be more aware of my time and use it wisely.”

(Y/N) watched as the corners of his lips curled upward into a small smile, “I like a woman who is honest and determined. Since this is your first time being tardy to my class I will let it slide and even offer to help you study for your test tomorrow during my evening office hours.”

“Wha… um, that would be great. Thank you, Professor Winchester.” She stammered watching him shift the hand within his pocket against the bulge in his pants.

“You’re welcome. Be at my office at seven o’clock. Have a good day, Miss (Y/L/N).” With that he turned away dismissing her.

Muttering a goodbye, (Y/N) quickly made her way out of the lecture hall. The rest of the day, evening and into the next day was like a blur. Before she knew it, she was standing outside of Professor Winchester’s office five minutes to seven. Rapping her knuckles on the door twice, she heard his smooth voice beckon her inside.

“You’re early.” He observed not looking up from the stack of papers on his desk.

“Trying to make up for my lateness the other day.” She looked around his office as he finished grading the paper in front of him.

He was sitting at a large wooden desk with a couple of picture frames, a lamp and stacks upon stacks of papers. Behind him was a large window that was cracked letting in the cool evening air. Along one wall were bookcases filled with old books and several leather journals. The other wall had several degrees and some photos of the professor on trips around the country.

When she looked back Professor Winchester was watching her intently, “Please make yourself comfortable. I thought I could quiz you and the answers you struggle with or get wrong, we can discuss further.”

She sat on the small couch near the door and took out her notes long with the required books, “Sounds good and thank you again.”

He nodded and for the next several hours, she answered most of his questions correctly. They spent time discussing the legends of The Black Angel in Iowa and Boy Scout Lane in Wisconsin. As they were discussing Boy Scout Lane, Professor Winchester sat next to her on the couch. (Y/N) closed her eyes trying to rub the tension from her neck. She jumped slightly when a large hand began to massage her shoulder.

“Tension freezes the mind and you will not retain anything.”

She peeked open her eyes to see his locked onto her, “My body and mind have an understanding that they have to work together under pressure.”

“When is the last time you just let go and released all the pressure?” His question was laced with innuendo.

“Not in a very long time. My studies are my number one priority. There will be time for fun once I graduate.” As she spoke, he removed the book and notes from her lap and sat them on the table in front of them, “P-Professor…”

“Take it from someone who took their studies way too seriously. Balance is everything and beautiful, smart, clever women need to blow off steam every once in a while.” His hand on her shoulder moved up her neck and cupped her cheek.

Instinctively she leaned into his touch before letting out a loud yelp as his hands dropped to her waist and lifted her to straddle his lap. She braced herself by gripping his shoulders.

“W-What are you doing?”

He chuckled running his hand up to the back of her neck pulling her closer to him, “Something incredibly reckless that I can no longer restrain myself from doing.”

His lips crashed to hers as his hands held her face in place. She was too stunned to move until feeling his tongue lick across her lips. All thought and reasoning left her mind giving in to her body’s instinct. After a semester of fantasizing about touching his hair, her hands immediately went up into the soft, long strands of chestnut. A deep, rumbling groan came from his chest as she tugged on it grinding herself against him.

“Damn beautiful, I need to see you, feel you, taste you…” He flipped her on her back kneeling between her legs.

Like a predator stalking his prey, he ran his hands up her bare legs pushing her skirt up to her waist. Trailing one finger down her panty covered pussy, “Fuck, you’re soaking…” He slowly pulled her panties down her legs.

“I have a feeling you are well aware of the number of panties you ruin during every lecture you give.” She mumbled before sucking in a breath as his finger ran down her slick lips now before pushing inside of her, “Professor!”

He chuckled slowly sliding his finger in and out as he lowered himself between her legs, “Oh I’m aware, but yours are the only one I ever cared about. Also, it’s Sam. I need to hear my name escape those beautiful lips.”

“Oh god… Sam!” she cried out as his thick tongue pressed firmly against her.

***

“(Y/N)!” Her eyes shot open seeing her roommate above her, “You’re late for class.”

“Shit. Shit, shit, shit!” Throwing the blanket off her, (Y/N) grabbed the first skirt and shirt she could find.

Running out of the dorms, she sprinted to the lecture hall for her Folklore and Urban Legends class. Trying to catch her breath before quietly entering the lecture hall taking the first seat she could find. A loud thud from her binder hitting the floor silenced the room.

“Thank you for gracing us with your presence, Miss (Y/L/N).” Professor Winchester spoke not turning for the whiteboard he was writing on.

A sudden wave of deja vu hit her as Professor Sam Winchester continued with his lecture.

If you enjoyed this story then check out my Masterlist!

For updates please follow #waywardnerd67fics

#spnaubingo #waywardnerd67fics #sam winchester fanfiction #sam winchester fanfic #sam winchester au #sam winchester x reader

27 notes · View notes

violenceenthusiast · 3 years

Note

WARNING: transphobia

sorry to intellectualize in your inbox and feel free to like... delete this if it's too heavy or not your thing! but i've been having a lot of ideas about transness in fandom (i'm trans myself btw jsyk where this is coming from) and the whole like... cas-giving-dean-a-male-body thing and today's Discourse wrt that ask lampgate received about "looking trans"

like basically butler says that there's this Thing we all create that's basically an idealized male/female body that doesn't exist. like by labeling bodies as normal/abnormal for whatever reason we create sex, we create normative bodies. we are constantly referencing a non-existent ideal male/female body. claiming that all cis women and all cis men have the same bodies is stupid because they don't. everyone has slightly different hormones and slightly different expressions and that's not even to speak of intersex people who complicate the idea of Normative Bodies even further.

so then oftentimes when i look at transness (more specifically transmasculininity) in fandom - and i mean this in literally the nicest way possible - this tends to get represented a certain way. mostly it's represented in drawings/fics as people who've either had top surgery and have scars underneath their pectorals or people who wear binders, and most of the time they have not had bottom surgery. and while it is important to stress that YES people who look like this do exist and it's good that they are being represented it in no way is the Only or even Most Common transmasculine body. there is no way to "look trans" because there is no kind of Idealized Trans Body in the way that there is an Idealized Cis Body that is referenced. but i worry that in fandom we are creating this sort of Idealized Transmasculine Body by constantly referencing the same type of body that i previously described, which transphobes then weaponize as characters "obviously not looking trans." bc ya know in order to make that statement there must first be a Body That Is Trans.

and then cas bringing dean back in a male body sort of crystallizes this because it both upholds the idea of there being A Trans Body as well as there being A Cis Body. if we theorize about there somehow being a switch between those then there must be some sort of larger concept that we are referencing. it's buying into the non-existent concept of idealized sex, of normative bodies.

(for the record i feel the same way when it comes to temporary gender/sex swap fics. also this doesn't come from a place of "this is bad and Should Never Happen Ever" but more... what are the subconscious philosophical consequences and implications of the decisions we make)

OH addendum to that last ask bc i realize i might've come off wrong: that is not to say that trans people creating content for themselves and others to enjoy are responsible for the existence of transphobia. again i'm trans myself and i LOVE all trans content and i would love to see more of it. i'm just saying that the issue is like... complicated and intertwined and we are unfortunately all still trapped within a system that most people accept as being Right even though we have definitive proof that it isn't

glad for that addendum because that was literally the first thing i was gonna say lol. you can’t pander to transphobes, they’ll always take issue no matter what you do so you might as well just do your thing, yk?

but yea i was a sociology major so this is absolutely my type of thing. basically i agree with you. but i think there is a societal Ideal Type of transness and it’s still very much the “binary trans person who wants to be and look cis and transitions all at once and then passes perfectly and never brings up transness again” which. barf, there’s not enough time to unpack all of that. but at the same time the Ideal Type of transness boils down to: there shouldn’t be one bc it shouldn’t exist. which again, barf. as far as inside the trans community... idk i feel like on average, non trans/med etc. trans ppl are very aware and appreciative of the diversity of transness and the beauty inherent in that? but maybe that’s just my experience. if anything, i feel more worried about intracommunity ideals of transness being warped by whiteness and thinness, if that makes sense. also i think again always good to remember that what any given person posts in fan space will pretty much never be indicative of the full scope of their thoughts and opinions on the subject. but yea also there are ppl where fan spaces are there only queer spaces for example and then what happens if you’re seeing this same image over and over again but it’s not your reflection at all.

i think really what it comes down to with the elements you’re pointing out is that they are just what’s familiar to us? like. 1) as a bunch of twenty-somethings, binders and top surgery, maybe T is about all that most of us have been able to do if anything (at least that’s my impression. OR that may be all we’re interested in, etc. there’s always variation in prefs of course), 2) top scars are just such insanely good visual shorthand, and 3) fanart/fic is always in some way aspirational so as someone who hasn’t gotten to get top yet, i for one like thinking about a dean who got to do that already :)

and yea again any fic/post/etc that has cas changing dean’s body without asking/being asked.... it’s a no from me. bad on the consent side, bad on the conceptions of bodies and gender delineations side, bad on the “right” and “wrong” bodies side, so many things abt it that make me :/. also like even if you have dean brought back in laz rising with a flat chest sans scars, and a whole new set of reproductive organs.... like that’s still a trans man’s body? both literally and rhetorically speaking that still wouldn’t be a Cis Body (assuming you could even define in any meaningful way what it means to have a Cis Body, given the amount of variation in bodies AND the fact that literally every single person is failing the normative bc it’s by nature shifting an unattainable)? but also again, i’m gonna insist that “male body” as synonym for “cis man’s body” sucks bigtime.

#tw transphobia #asks #i had more thoughts but these are the only ones i could get to be coherent #long post #im assuming this will be long on the dash that is. esp on mobile #anonymous

19 notes · View notes