#more boyish really. same thing when i wear a dress. it's not in a woman way </33 it's in a girly boy way.

[icedroppedinparasolcider]

Momoi Airi is a Trans Woman

This is headcanon at the end of the day and there's nothing wrong with disagreeing, but the way she's written regarding her sense of identity as an idol, the choice of phrasing they use when she talks about herself in reference to others (namely Shizuku), and the connections her visual motifs provide to concepts and other characters tied to or commonly seen as trans just makes it incredibly hard for me to view her otherwise.

A lot of what I have to say is very personal to me; I'm a trans woman myself, and Airi's writing and experiences connect with me and my own transition journey in a way I haven't really seen anywhere else in media (I'm not a very prolific media consumer). So it's entirely possible a lot of this is just me projecting onto a character I care a lot about. But while I've adored Airi before this revelation, I didn't reach the level of attachment I have for her until the realisation of just how well she's written through the lens of a trans girl. Specifically one who's, for the most part, entirely socially transitioned but keeping the fact she is trans secret.

When Airi was little, she was, as she herself describes, very boyish. She'd get into physical fights with boys around the neighbourhood or at school, she'd come home most days covered in dirt and mud from playing with her majority boy friend group of the time. She was intensely defensive of her little sister, most of her fights being with possibly bigger-than-her boys because they were mean to her sister. It formed a reputation for Airi, a reputation that followed her as she began to deviate from these patterns and pivot her interests and activities hard and fast thanks to starting to watch idols on TV. She was enamoured with them, would rewatch recordings of their performances and interviews over and over so she could emulate it and be more like them. She'd stop getting into fights, stop playing with her rougher friends; everything started changing dramatically thanks to her being introduced to a new "type" of woman: an idol. Something Airi wanted to become, and was willing to change everything about her to be.

These changes weren't socially easy for her, though, with backlash coming from these old friends and classmates because of how girly she was trying to become. The idea of being a tomboy was something Airi started to consider a bad thing, a gross thing. During her Colourful Festival side-story, To You Who Yearns To Be an Idol, amidst a conversation with her younger self Airi calls the little girl a tomboy, something that makes the younger Airi immediately deflate and shy away from the conversation. It upset her to be called that, especially by an idol, something she wants to become. Which leads to the younger Airi talking about how she's been treated by her peers for changing the way she dresses and not playing the same way she used to, for changing the way she talks, with her being talked to like she's doing something horrible and wrong for simply chasing a dream of who she wants to be. And in this conversation, Airi says a particular line that changed everything for me:

This is said in response to Little Airi's repeating of what the boys in her class call her as she wears cuter, girly clothes. That she's some big, mean monster who shouldn't wear things like that, who could never become an idol. Effectively telling her that she could never be a girl because of the way she used to behave. She started as someone rough, someone harsh and dirty, that's not something she should—not something she could—change. Something we see in present day that she's largely internalised through her struggles with what it means to be an idol, her struggles with calling herself an idol.

For Airi, being an Idol and being a Girl have become synonymous with each other. Her ability to be an idol, to draw that attention, have a smile that sparkles on stage and in front of the camera, spread hope and joy to other people; this part of her identity has grown beyond her job, it's who she is as an individual. Being Momoi Airi, the second year Miyajo student, is inseparable from Momoi Airi, the ex-QT member and now member of MORE MORE JUMP! And if she can't be the image of an idol that exists in her head, that she's always viewed idols to be, that Haruka and Shizuku manage to embody, that Minori is becoming, then can Airi even really call herself as much of a person, of a woman, as them?

Airi's been in this constant uphill battle where she believes she doesn't sparkle as much as the other idols around her, so she puts more effort into learning how to make herself sparkle, but manages to convince herself that because she struggles with this, she's less of an idol than those very peers. It's in large part what Ice Drop is about, Airi's difficulty finding satisfaction with her work as an idol because it doesn't shape up to her own expectations and beliefs of what an idol "should be", because it doesn't match what she sees other idols she looks up to, like Shizuku, doing. Something also portrayed during Airi's conversation with Shizuku in Chasing the Radiance Beyond the Blue Sky, where she outright tells Shizuku that because she doesn't have the same physical appeal she has to fight harder and use different strategies to get any attention as an idol. And if Shizuku is the "perfect idol", and Airi will never be able to achieve that, can she even call herself an idol?

If she can't call herself an idol, does she even deserve to call herself a girl? Or are the harsh words of her grade school classmates right about whether she should be wearing the cutesy clothes?

A large part of Airi's struggle with this, why it's even a spiral in the first place, ties into her nature as a Solid Heart student as well as why I see so much of myself and my transfemme journey in Airi's story. It doesn't matter how many people tell you that you're enough and that you've done what you set out to do, not if every thought in your head is telling you they're wrong. According to everyone I know, I pass really well as a girl. My voice is naturally feminine, even without masking it very hard, I've basically never been misgendered since growing my hair out by strangers looking at me, I've even been told by close friends that they'll forget I'm trans because I'm just "one of the girls" to so many of them. And I appreciate all of it, so much; I'm very lucky to have had such a smooth social transition. But none of that changes who I see in the mirror, who I hear when I talk, what I feel when I wake up in the morning forced to acknowledge my body. I'll never be a "real girl", not until I fix these things, and it's entirely possible that it's impossible to truly get rid of this feeling.

That's what Airi feels regarding her identity as an idol. Everyone in the world could tell her how good an idol she is, how much hope she spread as Happy Everyday, how beautiful and bright her smile is. But that will never replace or fully mask the doubt in the back of her head about whether she's really an idol, because nothing that she used to do aligns with what she's always seen idols to be, so much of what she does today is so different from the reality of her dreams. She's not that idol, so is she even an idol at all? I'm not that girl, so am I even a girl at all? Obviously I am, and obviously she is, but it's a feeling of doubt that never goes away.

Airi needs to constantly be an idol, or she's not an idol at all. And, at least to me, this has come to mean to Airi that if she's not an idol, she's not a girl. Because all of the work she put into being cute and girly was to be an idol. If she can't accomplish that, does she even deserve to be a girl at all? Or is she just a fraud wearing a mask trying to make people laugh on TV?

[starbellbunny]

Hiaia guys!!! heres a drabble thing to get me back into the swing of writing !! ^_^

Fem!Fell sans/Female reader!!

No tws i think, but there is cheating !!

Happy pride month 🫶

Your husband was an amazing man.

Well and truly- just a fantastic guy! That's why you had both decided to marry, before he had to go away for work. It was a good few months he was to be gone. Although it was, without a doubt, going to be a struggle, you knew you would both make it! That was why you were married, of course. Through thickness and thin, and all that. Despite your reluctance to get married in the first place, it really has been okay so far.

Edward, his name was. Yes, you really were blessed- you could often see other women undressing him with their eyes, when you went out.

Dark, beautiful hair- always precisely cut, mind you,- gorgeous, ebony skin… paired with his wonderfully built frame, it wasn’t hard to see why these women were oh-so jealous of you.

Sans, or as you called her, Red, was certainly not one of those ogling women.

She was different. Monsters were different.

They had emerged out of Mt. Ebbot years prior, before you had even arranged to wed Edward. The monster folk were certainly interesting. Much bigger than humans, even those that were considered small by monster standards could easily reach your height. They were rough, too. It seemed they were always looking for a fight, whether it may be from one of their own, or a human, much too drunk- or plain stupid- to realise what they were dealing with.

From what you could see, from the limited information in the press, as well as the few monsters friends that you had, no monster was held to the same standard a human was. No female was to marry a good, hardworking man in order to have succeeded in life- no man was destined to work in order to provide for his wife and kids. Monsters were able to love who they wanted, be who they wanted. There was nobody to tell them that they couldn’t be with another- to monsters, the concept was completely ridiculous. Disgusting, some might have even went as far to say. There was, of course, monsters that did live akin to humans- and they looked very thoroughly happy! That was what they wanted. That was entirely their choice... There was also, however, monsters that had no desire to follow the traditional human roles.

Red, and her sister ‘Boss’, were prime examples. Red especially asn’t very fond of wearing dresses. Boss was more willing- as long as she looked her very best! Nor was Red fond of anything particularly feminine. Of course, she was still a woman, only… Tom-boyish. Yes, that suited her quite well.

The thought of her in a dress akin to the one you currently wore made you snicker to yourself, admittedly.

It was a nice day out. The sky was a lovely shade of blue- hardly a cloud in sight. Nowhere near cold enough for a jacket, but a shawl was necessary. Just to keep the breeze out. Your pumps clicked on the bricked pavement with every step that you took. The paper from the bouquet of flowers you were holding gently crinkled with even the slightest movements. You were going to see Red, of course! And was it not simply rude to visit, empty handed?

She worked often- the same field as your husband- but was always able to make time to see you, if you so wanted.

You weren’t actually too sure what her, or your husband, did for work. Some sort of business, you'd guess, considering how well dressed they both were- the only difference was that Red wore a lot more of her namesake than Edward. All you knew was that it was a well paying job- you were able to afford a very nice apartment that Edward paid for, and Red insisted on only going to the finest places whilst you were with her.

You were spoiled rotten.

You smiled fondly at the thought.

The café you were to meet Red was along this street, somewhere. The town centre was almost always bustling with people and monsters alike, never a dull moment.

Now… Ah! There it was. In the corner of the street bend, a quaint coffee shop, with the name ‘Muffet’s’ plastered on the front.

Not many humans were sat from what you could see as you walked closer. Only a few monsters of various species sat inside, enjoying their cakes… They did look delicious. You’d ask Red if she wanted to share one.

There was a few seats outside the café, but nobody seemed interested in sitting outside just yet. Maybe it was still too chilly.

You pushed open the door with excitement, and noted how cute the ding of the little bell was. How, in Asgore's good name, have you never been here before?! How charming!

You spotted her immediately, and you couldn’t help the smile that spread across your face. She was smartly dressed as usual, with her pinstripe suit that she loved so much. Her coat was strewn across the back of the seat sje was sitting on, which showed off her deep red suit vest, taylored to every curve of her body, as well as her wonderfully crisp white shirt. You idly noticed her hat, stripped with the same deep red as her vest sat on the table next to her.

Wasn’t she gorgeous?

At the sound of the bell, she looked up to where you were standing.

Her smile could rival even yours. Her two golden teeth glinted in the natural afternoon sunlight of the café.

She stood to welcome you in, cheeks reddening ever so softly at the sight of the flowers you clutched in yours hands.

Red roses, waxflower, and carnations. You thought it was a pretty bunch.

Before you were able to hand her the flowers, she had placed a hand on the small of your back, and you pulled you in closely. Ever so lightly, she peppered your face with kisses- until finally, she kissed you square on the mouth. Passionately.

The hand that held the bouquet lingered awkwardly to the side of you both, careful not to get squashed between the two of you, whilst your other lay gently on her chest.

Edward never dared cross your mind when you met with Red. Although, yes, you did feel guilty the first time- being with Red ignited something within you that you had never felt with any of the other men you had been with. None of them could make you feel like this- especially not from a meer kiss.

Nobody in the café even batted an eye at the two of you.

You could feel your cheeks reddening, as the kiss- that only lasted a few seconds, in reality- went on.

You were only human, after all. You needed compant.

Maybe, if Edward was able to make you feel this way, you’d have felt bad. Maybe you wouldn’t be interested in her at all.

Maybe, you weren’t interested in any man, like him. Maybe you had found the company you wanted.

[painfulrant]

Part One: Mystery Man

JJ Maybank x Reader

Fluff

Part One: Mystery Man

For the fourth time today, your best friend, Sierra Cameron, pegged you about the Mid Summer party. Neither of you really wanted to go but seeing as how you lived in the middle of the Kooks and Pogues and just happened to be best friends with Sierra Cameron, you were being dragged to the party against your will.

The issue wasn’t the party itself… rather getting dressed for the party and the people who would be there. You didn’t hate the Kooks like other pogues did and you didn’t hate the pogues like many Kooks did. You just couldn’t stand the snotty and wicked words and actions between the two groups.

“Come on, it’ll be fun!” Sierra smiled before her eyes grew big with her bottom lip puckering out. Her hands were together in front of her and you swear that if she had animal ears, they would be flat against her head.

“Sierra, love, I have nothing to wear.” You grumbled, turning to walk over to Heywards truck that just arrived.

“Plus, no one really likes me. I don’t fit in and many say I’m too boyish and quiet.” You mutter more to yourself with a small frown. The words that were often whispered by others were very hurtful. You would rather get punched in the face then hear another word said about your voice, body, or personality. All the same though, Sierra heard it and followed you to the truck that now had Heyward behind it and Pope in the bed of the truck, passing Heyward stuff.

“Dress shabbily and they remember the dress; dress impeccably and they remember the woman.” Sierra all but chanted, disdain etched all over her face when an eye roll was all she received back.

“What about that mystery boy? Will he be there?” She asked, making you pause, a warmth slowly creeping from your neck up into your cheeks. How did she know? Did she know who it was? You turn with curious and slightly accusatory eyes before you see a little eavesdropper listening in on the conversation between the two of you. Pope was still passing things to his father but you could tell by his body language and by the way his eyes glanced over every few seconds that he was, in fact, listening. Choosing that it didn’t really matter, Pope not having known who they were talking about in the first place, you turned and scowled.

“I told you already. He doesn’t like these types of things. Plus I don’t have enough motivation, let alone inspiration to go all out for this party and that’s IF I’m even going to it.” Your voice held a tone of final, rolling your shoulders before turning. Pope still stared at you with wonder and you offered a soft smile before tilting your head ever so slightly.

“Need a hand?” The question was simple and sweet, the tone you took with anyone you didn’t know too well. The same one that trapped your bumblebee in the sickly sweet honey of yours.

“You know… inspiration is for amateurs. The rest of us just show up and get to work.” His words were sweet and you knew he had good intentions but there was also something lying just beneath his words. Almost like a double meaning. You stared for a few moments, letting your mind toss his words around before finally settling on having read too much into it.

“Alright, wise man. Let me help you and then I’ll go get ready.” The answer was sweet and teasing. Pope was a good boy. Not just yet a man but very close, as most of the other boys on the island were. Not to mention, he was brutally honest which you greatly appreciated. Not that you two talked much or even hung out.

“Yes ma’am.” And with that, you two worked on unloading until you finally left.

Dress shabbily and they remember the dress; dress impeccably and they remember the woman. - Coco Chanel

Inspiration is for amateurs. The rest of us just show up and get to work. - Chuck Close

[ceresprime]

Hello there!

I’m in the UK and apart of my county’s only regiment. Historically speaking. It’s rather funny but regardless - I was talking with the sergeant about joining up myself (having a ton of experience with Napoleonic drills and weaponry+combat, etc) and he said that sure, of course. There’s only one woman (she uses horse hair mutton chops and glues em, very cool imo) as one of the men and the sergeant mentioned that a lot of other HRA groups are very strict about having women join as enlisted soldiers. As I mentioned, we’re quite tiny and the only regiment in the county. Seems you do a lot more high scale type stuff, very well known wars and battles. Does that same rule apply over there? I’d imagine it to be quite strict, but I was just curious. Cheers!

Women in Reenacting

The rules here are sometimes just as strict--historical reenacting is a white male dominated hobby. Some organizations that coordinate separate groups still don't allow women to join the ranks as male soldiers (on paper at least). It really depends on the individual group and is often safest\* to join one with other women.

I find that if you do the work with the right people and do your homework (i.e. research the history of the people you portray, what they did and how they looked), you'll be just fine.

I'm glad you found a group that you can join, have fun!!

Appearance

Like you mentioned, you have to make sure you're portraying a man properly. I'm lucky to not have to worry about facial hair since generally men were cleanshaven in the American War of Independence, so I wish you luck with the mutton chops! Do your best to look more manly, even something as silly as tucking in your shirt more to the front of your pants, or manspreading rather than crossing your legs when you sit. I style my hair the same way as the men who wear wigs, in a late 18th century club. (I've been wanting to chop all of my hair off, but I'm refraining until after the 250th anniversary events to be most accurate.)

On the aspect of uniform, since you're portraying the Napoleonic Wars, you'll have a bit less gear but still quite a lot. (This might be TMI, bear with me.) I highly suggest planning bathroom breaks between formations/battles/etc so you can go without crossbelts, cap, or coat. As someone who's dunked their bayonet scabbard in the toilet, trust me, you'd rather have less gear to deal with.

I also tend to try lowering my voice when yelling "huzzay" during bayonet charges and the like. From a distance during a battle, the public generally can't tell male from female since you're all wearing the same uniform.

Social Things

When interacting with the public, be prepared for lots of condescending "well there weren't actually women soldiers, were there?" but also be prepared for the cute little girls who run up to you in a parking lot asking "is it okay that you're a girl? can I do that too?". I like to answer these questions the same way: play along with the scenario. I always react with surprise as if no one else can see that I'm a woman and tell them not to tell my officers. I like to pretend that I play the role of Hannah Snell or Deborah Sampson or (fictional) Louisa Baker, and use this as an opportunity to tell their stories. But don't forget to add something about women who portray women, i.e., camp followers being sutlers and soldiers' wives. (I can elaborate on this topic in another post.)

There's a great interview from a woman in my RA unit here if you'd like to hear another perspective.

I appreciate this ask, although I've attempted to make my online presence as boyish as possible so I guess I've failed in that lol. I'd really prefer if I personally could be seen as a "none of the above" gender, but no matter how I dress I will inevitably be seen as female which brings its own problems.

\*These problems being safety. As a young person who looks clearly female, it's simply more likely for sketchy people (reenactors or the public) to pick me out. I'd like to think everyone is good, but it's simply not the case. This is why women tend to join units with other women, especially at overnight events where alcohol is involved. I do not want to scare you. I am telling you to 1. find a good group who will look out for you and 2. be aware of your surroundings (if a guy gives you bad vibes, leave and find your people).

TL;DR Try to appear like a man but be aware that you are a woman: use this to educate the public but also be safe!

[xiasgone]

What were some of the first affirming things for Sonia being butch?

Let’s Kick This Off With A (Few) Affirming Childhood Things

Sonia was a confident child when it came to her appearance. She usually tied her hair back, wore a baseball cap, 60% of her wardrobe were clothes Sal owned because they were poor and thus, Sonia could get away wearing boyish clothes. If she wore dresses and had her hair styled it was because her nonna or other extended family were coming over. Of course, these were moments when she was visibly unhappy. There would be times when her dad would either tell her mom to "stop that" or, he'd tell Sonia directly that, "she looked like shit."  Were the words harsh? Yes, but that's just how Franco was. Unconventional and blunt. All the same, these were moments when Sonia thought, "he SEES me! He knows this isn't right! And if a adult says it isn't right then I shouldn't have to look like this!" Large arguments between she and her mom would then commence.

There was a moment when at a friends house she saw a butch character on television. Sonia felt like she would end up like her. The thought process was, "Okay, I like dressin’ like this now, so I'm gonna keep dressin’ up like this when I’m grown." It just made natural sense.

But from your childhood to your adult years, you can lose sight of yourself. Sonia presented herself as feminine and it was work. It was a chore! Now as I said in my last post, she admires femininity, but personally, she never felt like she was her authentic self when conveying herself to the public. But she upheld these beauty standards because

1. Society and its expectations for women. To defy society is to go against the grain.

2. She looks like her mother and their strong visual similarities were both comforting and stressful.  Never mind her childhood contentment and outlook. Sonia asked herself if she were to change her femme portrayal who was she anymore? Who was she if not her mother's clone? So now we have some Adult Affirmations..

Before anything else, the first thing Sonia did was cut her hair. It was a spontaneous, furious late night event that first left her satisfied, then horrified. But the woman she was dating at the time told her she looked better with short hair. She had to embrace her reflection in the mirror and take pride in it. Turns out she did like short hair more than long hair.

Sal telling her, "y'seem happier." They hadn't been talking for awhile, last time he had seen Sonia she was trying to look like Ariana Grande. Was it shocking? Yeah, but he noticed the energy was different. She wasn't going around with this underlying agitation that was ready to pop out on any unsuspecting person. Sonia was pleased to hear this, especially since she wasn't really analyzing her attitude at the time.

Franco telling her, "You finally got yourself together" when she began finding masculine clothes. It was much different than when she first came out, only to hear Franco bitterly say, "Don’t expect me to have any clothes for you. You're too skinny."  She brushed off his comment (as she does with many of his comments) but she was actually happy. It felt like she earned some kind of approval from the old man.

[skayafair]

I like listening to TPP (Juno Steel plotline) because of how liberating it feels. Everyone is queer! The wannabe noir detective (wannabe noir, the detective part is good) you've been following this whole time is actually nonbinary! I really liked that lil lipstick moment with Cecil and "hold up it DOES look good" And bi/pan? for that matters. The only straight thing about this whole story is the trajectory of Juno's laser gun shots. and maybe some token straight character idk and don't judge

I'm not always comfortable with or like all the outside traditional binary gender fuckery our world has to offer, but I consider it a me problem and work on it when the need arises. Other than that - as an agender, to hell with gender norms and stereotypes. I wish they could just be erased. You feel good in a dress? Great, rock it! A suit? Always! Make up? There you go! A man or a woman or a secret third thing (the horrors beyond human comprehension) - doesn't matter, and also - in any combination! And not just with the looks. The world would have felt so much more... relaxed. Don't we have enough problems to deal with as is to make up new imaginary ones? Why not just fuck off and let people be themselves as long as it doesn't hurt anyone?

Yesterday I came across a manga about a couple of a girl who's tall and used to be boyish back in her teenage years, so now she struggles with being feminine despite really wanting to (she actually is but her self-esteem is through the ground) - and a crossdresser boy who isn't trans but just likes the look. Honestly I'm not sure he's not an egg and the girl swoons when she sees him in the girly look (she even admitted she never thought of him as a boy, just her cute best friend), so I have huge doubts she's straight... The manga gathered a lot of bad relationship tropes and turned into smut pretty quickly (dull) so it's not a good one, but I was pleasantly surprised with how it approached the gender question. And the fact that the girl referred to the boy as "they" in her thoughts (at least in the translation) because there were a few chapters before his pov was given to clear up the question of who he identified as. So while the execution left much to be desired and I wouldn't recommend this manga to anyone, the idea itself and some bits of how it was done were good. It just felt so good to read those parts. The same feeling as when I'm referred to as "they" - something inside unclenches, relaxes.

It's still strange to me to think of all this tbh. And logically I'd claim it's the world who's wrong with all the gendered approach because who cares, we're all just people. I know about gender-affirming stuff but to me it's the same "you feel good wearing this/being like this? great, there you go" gender notwithstanding. But something inside doesn't care about logic, because when I came across agender label and its meaning, it just felt good. Same as to be referred as "they" feels good even if the thinking part of me isn't used to it yet. Not that it happens often anyway...

[annnaanya]

random thought dump

in the past few posts, i have really been trying to make everything make sense. every word, every punctuation, everything. i'm sorry if you are expecting that on this one because it's not going to be it. this one will be just a post half-full of my word vomit, in hopes that someone will still find the time to pause and read what i have to say. that's okay too if you're not into that. it's not really my business to tell on you.

it's been a long time since my parents last bought me a doll. a barbie to be exact. as a child i was really obsessed with dolls and dressing them up. maybe once or twice, i might've given them an unruly hair do or dumped their heads in water and conditioner in hopes that it would help it's already bad condition. still, either way, it's not the point that i am trying to make. as a little girl, i tried to hide the fact that i enjoyed playing with barbies whenever i was in school. somehow, i was taught that it was too feminine and too feminine sometimes, well, most times actually, can be seen as weak. you don't have to defend yourself if you think otherwise. you're free to stop reading this post. but from my experience, people view hyperfeminine girls as something that needs protecting rather than someone who does the protecting.

so, as a child, who barely knew anything in this world, i decided that my favorite color was green; lied that i didn't like dolls and ruined every single one i had; lied about disliking make-up and skirts and dresses and high heels; lied about liking roughhousing, even though the tiniest change in someone's tone makes me flinch. everything that made me seem weak, i forced myself to dislike. i don't like being weak. to help that i threw all my dreams away.

this is probably the first time that i'm going to admit this to a platform, but i have already told this to one of my closest friends. sometimes, i fantasize about being a runway model or any kind of model. i wanted to work in the fashion industry. if not the one carrying the clothes, i wanted to create art with clothes. but as a child, i figured that it was too feminine. and if you would add everyone's opinions about art not being a practical program to take in, i pretty much had no choice but to abandon that dream. i was afraid to fail anyway. i am afraid to be nothing. i am afraid to be a disappointment. and with all the negativity that i observed from my family members who wanted to take up art, i was afraid to get the same reaction. so i packed up my dreams and left them on display.

i guess my younger self, whom in solace dreamed of being a lot of things, is disappointed in me for ending up this way—gaslighting myself that i wanted to take a pre-med program and be a doctor because it's the only way her family can view success. barbie said, "you can be anything." younger anya believed her before she was taught that there was no money in art, and men often dominated the fields that she wanted to be in. i'm not barbie. i'm just a struggling woman in this society because somehow, there was no in between my childhood and adulthood. i can still vividly remember the last time my parents bought me my barbie princess charm school doll and then i blinked and i am now 20. a social casualty. not a writer of anything. not a director. not a singer. not a model. not a fashion designer. i am soon-to-be a doctor, if fate permits it. but it's someone else's dream. not mine. i don't know whose is it but it's not mine. i just grew to like it because i'm halfway through my undergrad and it's too late to go back now.

as i grew up, i learned how to retaliate for what my younger self did when she made herself seem boyish and masculine to make herself seem stronger. i learned how to dress in pink, wear high heels when i'm feeling it, wear my dresses and dress more feminine. i have never felt a will stronger than my will to prove that i am not something that needs to be protected. i am someone who can protect and make a name for myself even without a man who will change my miss to missus.

i am still afraid of failure. so i need to make sure i will march one day with my degree in my highest heels, for my younger self who had to suppress her femininity to appear stronger. i need to heal her. i need to protect her and teach her that feminine is strong too and everything else is bullshit.

[therevengeoffrankenstein]

when i wear make up it’s like. a drag act btw.

[reidscanehand]

Realization

The Love Profile Bonus Chapter

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x BAUfem!Reader

Category: Fluff

TW: vague mentions of typical CM violence, Haley's death and Hotch’s trauma following it, cursing

You asked for it....so here it is - a BONUS chapter! Hope you like it xx 

~ “You never lose by loving. You always lose by holding back.” - Barbara de Angelis ~

You want this job. You want it embarrassingly badly. You’re not usually so...vulnerably open about wanting things. Being in the FBI as a woman means that you are in a constant uphill battle anyway, so you try your best not to seem too...needy, but at the same time, the feminist part of your brain is constantly telling you to fuck off with those thoughts and to just fucking go after what you want. And that’s exactly why you applied for the opening in the Behavioral Analysis Unit at all. Because you fucking want it. Thrilled to have made it through to the in person interview (meaning that your practice consult was approved, your file given a thorough look through, your background check had gone well), you’ve been up since 3am getting ready for this interview.

You’re in the nicest work appropriate outfit you own. You’ve got the crispest copy of your resume and headshot you’ve ever had sitting in the brand new manila folder on your lap. The heels you’ve chosen to wear are extraordinarily uncomfortable, but you feel nothing. You’re running on pure adrenaline, to the point that you’re almost certain you’ll damn near collapse when it’s over.

“Are you Y/N Y/L/N?” a soft voice asks. You look to the side and see a thin, tall, curly headed...boy. It feels wrong to call him a man, really, his face is so boyish, his nose so delicate. He’s dressed in a three piece suit and his brows are furrowed in curiosity, making him only look younger somehow. He’s at least three years your junior, if not more. 

“I am,” you reply. He smiles gently, taking you in. “You’ll do great,” he assures you. “I’m Spencer, by the way. Can’t wait to have you on the team.”

You give him a soft smile, your own nerves getting in the way, “I hope I get on the team-”

“Oh, you will,” Spencer interrupts you. “I’ve seen your file.”

You smile despite your concerns, “That’s kind of you to say.”

“I’m not being kind,” Spencer smiles again, “I have an eidetic memory; I’ve seen all the files and yours definitely aligns to the team’s needs. Believe me when I say, you’re the best candidate for this job.”

You take him in again, looking at the innocent face of this boy who, hopefully, will become your teammate and - most likely - a dear friend, “That means a lot, Spencer; thank you.”

The boy smiles and walks away, leaving you in far higher spirits than you had been previously. All of which is decimated in about two seconds when you make eye contact with the BAU’s Unit Chief. 

As much as Spencer’s kind encouragement lifts you up, meeting the stoic SSA Aaron Hotchner brings you plummeting back to earth. It isn’t entirely unpleasant, though. It’s more...riveting than that somehow.

He hardly speaks during the interview. It’s mainly BAU Section Chief Erin Strauss talking during the interview, going over the things that you’ve already covered. But you can feel him staring at you. In fact, you’re astonished his beautiful eyes aren’t boring holes into the side of your head. The interview is almost over, your answers as swotty and prompt as you’d always prayed they wouldn’t be. You’re impressive and you know that, but you sort of despise how...correct you sound. It seems to please Strauss, but you hate that your promptness and efficiency is easily taken as a perfectionist tilt rather than what this job, this work, really means to you. And you can tell that Agent Hotchner feels the same way. 

“You’re in the profiling classes?” Agent Hotchner finally asks, his voice quieter - lighter than you imagined coming from such a man. 

“Yes, sir,” you nod. “Two months’ worth.”

“And that’s just for this? To make yourself more...amenable for employment in the BAU?” 

You allow yourself the smallest amount of personal grace to be a tad reared back by that question. He’s intense that’s for sure. But he’s got it all wrong. 

“N-no,” you clear your throat delicately, trying not to let your nerves get the better of you, even as you stammer slightly, “not at all, actually. I’ve always wanted to take them, but it’s not exactly required for any of the other units. There was never enough time for me to do so.”

“You could’ve made time if you wanted to-”

“Forgive me, sir,” you interrupt, praying that cutting him off doesn’t disqualify you entirely. But you simply cannot let him believe whatever it is he’s believing about you. “But, there was no time, even if I’d wanted to make it. And I-I know from looking at the case reports from the BAU’s last few years that you’re aware of the time constraints of this job as well.”

Agent Hotchner shifts slightly, too intimidating to look uncomfortable, “I suppose I can agree with that. This job doesn’t leave much time for a social life.”

You almost supress a huff of laughter. Almost. 

“Sir, I’m not talking about a social life. I let go of any hope of that long ago. No, I mean that time cannot be taken away from what we do. While you’ve handled more delicate cases than I have, I can assure you that the reason I haven’t previously taken profiling classes isn’t due to any engagements in my social life or any reservations of that kind. It’s because the work that I do means so very much to me that I cannot afford to take any time away from it. The things I am learning in the profiling training have only opened my eyes even more, and I can truly see how what we do is really necessary; how much more of my time is needed. I want to work with the BAU, not because it is the most successful team in the bureau, but because I cannot help but genuinely value the work that is being done here. And I want nothing more than to be part of it.”

You haven’t dropped your eyes from his, not once during your whole speech. And it’s an incredible feat, really, not because of the bravery to face down such an intimidating person, but because of the changes occurring there. His eyes, a stunning color of root beer and caramel that you’ll never forget even if you try, have softened, warmed somehow. The rest of his face hasn’t changed, still almost stony and intense, but his eyes...they contain multitudes, that’s for sure. 

“That’s good to hear,” he replies, nodding slightly. Strauss clears her throat and the both of you jump miles, clearly having forgotten her. You conclude the interview and make to leave.

You’re barely out of the office door, when you hear Agent Hotchner clear his throat and say, “She’ll do.”

You make eye contact with Spencer as you reach the elevators.

“Told you so,” he mouthes at you, smirking.

You leave grinning, though you cannot help but feel as though you’ve missed something. 

~~~

The amount of confusion Aaron Hotchner causes for you on a weekly basis is truly unmitigated. He’s hot and then he’s cold; your strongest advocate to a stranger in mere moments. 

He’s going to fire you, you’re almost sure of it. And then you’re not. And then you’re sure again. A case will happen and you’ll be paired with Spencer in the field - Spencer, who’s become the best little brother you could ever ask for - and then the next case you’ll be with Hotch, usually stuck at the precinct. 

You hate precincts. You hadn’t had to deal in them much in white collar crimes. Office buildings, holding cells in D.C., sure, but rarely police precincts. You take a shaky breath and look around, concerned and terrified for reasons you’ve yet to address. You fear you’ll never get used to them. 

“I thought of you the other day,” Hotch says idly from behind you. You’re still standing at the board, trying desperately to get over your anxiety and read Spencer’s geographic profile. He’s been sent to the medical examiner again without you, of course, so you’re here with Hotch.

“O-oh?” you ask, not risking turning to look back at him.

“Yes,” Hotch answers, clearing his throat. “I saw an article about anxiety and...and I just wanted to remind you that...you’re safe here.”

You do turn to face him now, confused by this turn in the conversation. 

“Here?” you ask. 

“W-with the team,” he clarifies. “We will always do our best to keep you safe and comfortable, okay?”

You look at him, feeling as though his clarification still isn’t enough - you’re still missing something. “Thank you, Hotch.”

~~~

It’s hard to believe that there could be something much darker than what the team already faces on a regular basis. But Haley Brooks, formerly Hotchner, being killed in cold blood by George Foyet is far darker and more twisted than anything you could’ve imagined. 

“Derek,” you rasp, trying desperately not to sob as you step through the old Hotchner home. 

“Y/N,” Derek says, staring at you for a moment before pulling you into a hug. 

“Is he...how is...” you trail off into Derek’s shoulder. Derek pulls away from you, releasing one of your arms to wipe a hand down his tired face. 

“Hotch is...you should go see him. He’s in the-”

“Y/N!” a little voice interrupts the two of you. You look down and let out a huge sigh of relief.

“Jack!” you cry, pulling the little boy into a huge embrace. “Are you okay?” You’d only met Hotch’s son a handful of times, but you’re not sure you could bear it if anything happened to him. Hotch’s dedication to his son is beyond admirable, it’s wonderful and beautiful to see. The boy has been nothing but polite and sweet when you’ve met him previously, always giving you hugs when he greets and leaves you. 

“I worked the case, Y/N,” the five year old assures you. You don’t really know what that means, but you’re relieved - so happy and relieved - that he is safe and unharmed. You can feel tears prick your eyes, but you’re determined to not let them fall. 

“Why’re you sad?” he asks when you pull away. You brush your face and realize that you have a few tears running down your face.

“Not sad, sweetheart,” you promise him, “just happy you’re okay.”

“Daddy needs help,” he tells her, like it’s a secret. “Can you go hug him?”

You bite your lip, trying not to cry more than you already have, “Of course, sweet boy. Is Miss Jareau taking you outside?”

“Yes, she says I need to go to the doctor,” the little boy replies. 

“Yes,” you nod, taking his hands in yours and glancing up at JJ who smiles reassuringly. “Go see the medics for me and Miss Jareau, okay?”

“Okay, Y/N,” he smiles. He turns to leave and then suddenly turns around, running back to you and throwing his arms around you. “Please go check on daddy.”

“Of course I will,” you promise again. “I’ll go now.” Without really knowing why, you press a quick kiss to the top of the child’s head, a sudden instinct requiring you to do so, as you let him go with JJ. You refuse to look at JJ or Derek as you stand and exit to where Derek had pointed.

Hotch is there, sitting in the corner of a dark room. There’s blood stains on the floor where Haley’s body had laid mere minutes before, you’re sure of it. He isn’t moving or crying, seemingly barely breathing. 

“Hotch,” you manage to whisper. 

He looks up at you, his eyes growing warmer as he sees you, “Y/N.”

He doesn’t move, so you cross to him, sitting with him on the floor. He looks back at the spot where Haley had been. You stare at the spot as well. The silence is overwhelming, but then Hotch breathes deeply. 

“Jack’s okay,” he tells you, as though he needs to tell someone. 

“I know,” you whisper, “I saw him. He gave me a hug.”

Hotch smiles sadly, a tear falling down his cheek, “He likes you a lot, you know? Always says you’re...you’re the nicest lady he knows.”

“He’s fantastic, Hotch,” you reply quietly. 

“I can’t...he survived...but I don’t know how to...how to do any of this,” he rasps after few silent minutes. He begins to cry, sobbing silently. 

“Hotch,” you say, wrapping your arms around him. To your astonishment, he presses his head into the crook of your neck and continues to sob. Without quite knowing why, you run your fingers through the hair at the base of his neck, shushing and calming him. “Hotch, Jack is safe because of you. We are all always safe because of you. But you...you’re safe with us, too, you know?”

Hotch doesn’t reply, but holds you tighter, an embrace you welcome and hold him in for God knows how long. And you can’t help but feel that you’re still missing something. 

~~~

It isn’t odd. It simply isn’t. That’s what you’ve decided anyway. That’s far easier than admitting the feelings that have been developing for who knows how long. It’s much simpler than the idea that you’re falling in love with him. 

That feeling. That gnawing feeling of missing something that has chased you since you joined the BAU has finally crystallized into something a good deal more frightening than anything you’d ever imagined: the realization that you’re in love with Aaron Hotchner. 

Spencer knows. Of course fucking Spencer knows. Aside from being a genius, he’s your best friend in the whole world. You know he knows and you’re just thankful he’s had the decency not to say anything.

It’s all rather dramatic (of course), but it doesn’t feel nearly as earth shattering as telling him would be.

So it isn’t odd. It isn’t. The friendship you’ve developed in the ten months since Haley’s death? Entirely normal. Knowing everything about one another? Positively pedestrian. Spending time outside of work with him and Jack? A delighful addition to the status quo. 

The odd silence since the jet? That’s off-putting, actually. Usually, Hotch is talkative with you on flights. But mid-conversation, his eyes had grown wide and he’d gotten quiet. You’d noticed, but hoped it was exhaustion. You hope he hasn’t realized how you feel about him. 

“Y/N,” Hotch’s voice interrupts your thoughts, “I need to ask you something.”

“Is something wrong?” you reply timidly. Please, dear God, don’t realize that I’m falling in love with you. 

“Not…not exactly,” he answers, sounding unsure. He’s stopped on the tarmac now, the two of you were behind the rest of the group. He shifts his weight between his feet awkwardly, still not meeting your eyes. 

“O..okay,” you respond and then he meets your eyes and it feels as though the world has stopped moving.

“I’m…um, I probably should’ve planned this,” he explains, “but, I…and I don’t want you to feel as though you have to…don’t feel pressured or anything.

Pressured? Why would you feel pressured?  

“I know I’m…I’m technically your boss and…and there’s rules against it and it’s suddenly feeling very sordid and I’m sorry that I-”

And nothing matters to you anymore. Because you can’t help yourself. And you tip onto your toes unsteadily to press a small kiss to his lips. You pull away and he stares at you in shock for a moment. You almost regret it. Almost say something. Almost apologize. And then Aaron is dropping his go bag, cupping your face in his hands and kissing you as though his life depended on it.

And the feeling of missing something is gone. Because you love him and he loves you...as you’ve finally realized. 

~ “Loving is not just looking at each other, it is looking in the same direction.” - Antoine de Saint-Exupery ~

~~~

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[talesofstyles]

Good Morning Indeed

absolutely no plot whatsoever, just a bit of husband and dad harry in the midst of the family’s morning chaos 😂

Harry

“Go get the condom on.”

“I’ll pull out, I promise.”

“Your pull out game is weak.”

“Oi, them’s fightin’ words.”

“There’s a reason we’ve got six kids.” Says the missus with a roll of those pretty—but sometimes deadly (please don’t tell her I said this)—eyes. “‘Sides, I’ve just changed the sheets yesterday. You are not coming on the sodding sheets.”

“Fine,” I sigh and reach down to the bedside table. Why is the drawer filled with sodding Duplo and those tiny, pricey Sylvanian Family bunnies? I’m guessing kid number two, three and four have something to do with that. A few more seconds of rummaging before I finally found my treasure in the very back of the drawer. I lay on my back as I sheath myself up, and seeing as I’m already here… might as well, right? I smirk at her as I say, “hop on then.”

“Fat chance that,” she mutters. “Do I have to take off my top?”

“Nah,” I shake my head, it’s cold, and I’m a considerate husband. “A flash will do. Just give me a visual.”

She rolls up my shirt that she wears to sleep, a really old white rolling stones t-shirt that has two holes and a loose thread hanging on for dear life from the hem. She looks homeless. Gorgeous homeless though. 

“Nice,” I flash her a boyish grin, like a teenage boy seeing his first pair of tits. “You’ve got great racks.”

“You’re just saying that…”

I know what she sees when she looks at herself in the mirror and I wish she could look at herself through my eyes. 

“Hey, don’t you dare. My babies grew in that body, that’s everything.”

Her tender smile hits me right in the gut. “I love you.”

“Love me enough to ride me?” I say with a playful flick to one nipple.

“Nice try.”

“I love you,” I mutter near her mouth and give her a searing kiss. I run my tongue over her bottom lip, then I kiss her down her neck, her cleavage and her breasts. I slowly circle one nipple, and she giggles, knowing it’s a well-rehearsed move that is guaranteed to do what’s needed. See, her tits are kind of like start buttons. No matter the situation, a little attention to those bad boys switches things around real quick. Her head slams back against the pillow. And she moans, holding my head in place.

We’ve got ignition lads. 

I nestle my body on top of hers, and there’s a bit of wayward angling and poking until I find my way inside of her. And then it’s on. Two bodies writhing on the bed. My hips rotate in long, slow circles.

“Bollocks!”

“What? The condom isn’t broken, is it?”

“No, it’s bin day. I forgot to take out the recycling bin.”

“S’fine, we’ve got time before the school run.”

The bin’s sorted, back to the shag…

I slide my hands under her, bringing us closer. Rocking us faster. My forehead hovers close to hers and I open my eyes so I can watch. What can I say? I’m greedy like that. I want to soak up every gasp, every flicker of pleasure across her face. Pleasure I’m giving her.

Her breathing changes. It turns panting and desperate, and I know she’s close. I move harder, grinding against her, inside her, with every forward push. Warms sparks tickle my spine and heat spreads down until every nerve in my body is shaking. I slam inside her, burying deep as her hips jerk upward. She spasms hard around me, gripping me tight. 

I rock back my hips and pull almost all the way out, but then I freeze. Because a dreaded sound echoes across the room, grabbing our full attention. It’s coming from the baby monitor. It’s a rustling, the sound of cotton rubbing cotton. Like snipers in the jungle, we don’t move a muscle. We don’t say a word. We wait, until the rustling stops. And all is quiet again. 

Too bad it’s not for long. Because two thrusts in, a light comes on in the landing. Followed by small footsteps heading down the stairs. Shit.

“Harry, just come already. They’ll all be up soon.”

“I’m close… don’t rush it, you’re scaring it away.” 

She grinds her hips. Also another well-rehearsed move that she knows will get me off. But I freeze again, because there’s a second set of footsteps and the sound of a toilet flushing. Oh, and the babies next door are starting to whimper. 

Great.

“I’M HUNGRY!” That’s James, darling little cockblocker number four who likes to be fed on time. He’s three.

“WE’LL BE OUT IN A SECOND!” My wife shouts over my shoulder. “Harry for the love of god-”

I pick up the rhythm. Small beads of sweat form on my brow. She grinds her hips again, and I try to focus. “Just like that, fuck, keep doing that.”

“Sshh, keep your voice down.”

“IS THERE ANY BREAD THAT ISN’T 50/50?” That’s Eleanor, child number two. She’s seven, and she’s one of those children who seem to possess a discernible palate that knows when we’ve changed brands of baked beans or attempt to bring sugar-free fruit squash through the doors.

“IT’S THE SAME,” I reply.

“NO, IT’S NOT. DO WE HAVE OTHER FOOD?”

“THERE ARE SHREDDIES.”

“DON’T LIKE ‘EM.”

“PORRIDGE.”

“I’M NOT A BEAR!”

Honestly, seven-year-olds gunning for a fight this early in the morning can go do one.

The babies are starting to gather volume next door so I try to focus again. It only takes a few more thrusts before ecstasy wrecks my body, making me shudder. I press my lips against her neck as I come back down to earth. But I don’t move yet. I know we should get going because things are already chaotic outside our door, but I just don’t have the will yet. I’m considering going back to sleep for a minute or two. She won’t mind, will she? Well, I’m wrong. Because she proceeds to perform the move that seems to amuse every sodding woman on earth. And causes every man to squeal like a bloody pig. Without warning, she uses her powerful muscle to squeeze my extremely sensitive cock. 

Girls, grab a piece of paper and write this down. I’m speaking on behalf of every man to walk on earth here; we hate that. We don’t think it’s funny.

I jerk back, pull out, and roll off her. I try to look annoyed as she giggles, and obviously I fail, because that freshly fucked, flushed-face makes it impossible not to grin back.

“CAN I HAVE JAFFA CAKE?” That’s Victoria, child number three. She’s five, and she’s yelling as she thunders up the stairs. 

“JAFFA CAKE ISN’T BREAKFAST,” my wife shouts back as she sits up and hands me a nappy sack. “Harry…”

I wrap up the condom with it and toss it to the bin. “You’ve just taken me life force, woman, give me a moment.”

“CUSTARD CREAM?”

“NO.” We shout in unison. 

“HOBNOB THEN?”

“STAY AWAY FROM THE BISCUIT TIN!”

“You want to wrestle a biscuit-hunting kid out of a cupboard and 50/50 bread drama or fussy babies with full nappies?”

“Babies.” I hear a small child get whacked by a sibling downstairs and I feel like I may have got the better deal here.

Next door, the twins are not happy. They’re six months old now, and they’re both teething. Thing one glares at me as I walk into their nursery and thing two stares at me stroppily from the corner of her cot. Their cheeks are scarlet, and thing one proceeds to bark at me like a seal. I pick his warm, sleepy, cuddly body and cradle it close to mine as I lay him down on the changing table. I smell the dampness. It’s definitely wee. He’s soaked through, I think I didn’t tuck his willy in when I last changed him around three in the morning so it sprayed in some upward motion and drenched his clothes. See, this is why girls are better than boys. There’s no way they can pee upwards. 

After I put a fresh nappy and a change of clothes, I put him down on the rug so he can wiggle around while I grab his sister and sort her out. After six kids, I’m definitely a pro with baby duty and can practically change their clothes one-handed. The whole thing takes only a few minutes.

I cuddle the babies on each side as I walk downstairs and into the kitchen. They immediately reach out to their mum who’s cracking some eggs as soon as they spot her, knowing she’s the only one who can cure their hunger this morning. 

“Uniforms!” She says to the big kids as she takes one baby into her arms. “We’ll do breakfast after. Please, please, please…”

Desperate pleas lead them to saunter out and up the stairs. I follow my wife into the living room and hand her the other baby as she plops down on the couch. She rolls up her shirt and the babies latch instantly. Tandem nursing is harder now that they’re a little older and aware of their surroundings. They’re trying to scratch each other’s faces as they nurse. “Oi, what’s this? You each get a tit, stop fighting.”

They seem to somehow listen to me and have stopped trying to poke each other’s eyeballs. We’ll see how long that lasts. “Finish the eggs?”

I nod. “I’m on it.”

I brew some coffee, finish the scrambled eggs, and pop the slices after slices of bread in the toaster. Breakfast is done just in time as my wife walks back into the kitchen with two full and happy babies. She puts them in their high chairs and I scoop a bit of eggs on each of their trays for them to nibble on.

George appears back in the kitchen clad in his uniform with his also dressed brother trailing behind. We always lay his clothes the night before on his bed and he gets dressed all by himself in the morning. And he’s getting better at it, seeing he only missed a button on his shirt.

“Hi mate,” I say as I fix his button and he flashes a toothy grin at me. I plop him down on the chair, he’s graduated from the high chair now but still uses a booster seat.

“No toast!”

“What do you want then?”

“Chee-yos?”

I nod before I grab a handful of cheerios and set them on his plate next to his eggs. Then I take a few steps back across the table. “Hey, James, set it up.”

He flashes me another toothy grin before he opens his mouth wide and keeps it open. I hold a single Cheerio between my fingers while I bend my knees and bounce my hand as if I were dribbling a basketball. “Three seconds left on the clock, down by one. Styles got the ball. He fakes left, he drives in, he shoots…”

I toss the Cheerios in a high arc. It lands right into his mouth.

“He scores! The crowd goes wild!”

James holds both hands over his head. “Core!”

“Viv stole the biscuit tin, you know? She ate three jammie dodgers upstairs.” Eleanor says as she walks in with book bags and school shoes. 

George, seeing his sister walks in, proceeds to open his mouth wide and flashes her the half-chewed eggs on his tongue. It’s his current thing and it annoys his sisters to death. The young’uns think differently though as they double over in laughter. 

“Eeewww!” She shrieks. “You’re so gross!”

“VICTORIA, PUT THAT BISCUIT TIN DOWN AND GET YOUR BUTT IN THE KITCHEN! AND GO GET THEM HAIR TIE THINGIES…” 

“I didn’t have any biscuits!” She yells and runs down the stairs.

This kid is the quintessential daddy’s girl. She climbs up onto my lap right away, handing me the brush and a hair tie. 

“See, poppet, I would’ve believed you if you didn’t leave evidence all over your face,” I arch one of my eyebrows as I sweep a speck of raspberry jam on the corner of her mouth. 

“You always do a ponytail,” she huffs.

“Either that or I give you a bowl cut with kitchen scissors. I reckon that fruit bowl will do. Your choice.”

“Can I have some more eggs?” George asks with his mouth full of his last bite.

“God, that’s like your third serving,” Eleanor grumbles.

“Nag.”

At that insult, Eleanor flings a piece of toast like a ninja. Before George can retaliate, my wife gives them both the look.

“Viv, will you at least have some eggs?”

“No.”

“Fine,” my wife sighs. “I’m gonna get changed then.”

I glance at the clock and, well, shit, I should get dressed too. “Can you lot watch the babies and try not to kill each other for the next five minutes?”

“Five quid each?” Eleanor tries to negotiate. “Babysitting isn’t supposed to be free, you know? That sounds like child labour to me.” 

Bollocks. 

“Two quid each,” I give her my dad look that says the offer is final and indisputable.

“Deal.”

[jujutsukaisenheadcanons]

Hi! Can i have a request of s/o who wears male clothes (or boyish clothes) like Haruhi fujioka from OHSHC?  jjk bois thinks s/o is a male, but when the bois find out that s/o is actually a FEMALE and mistook em as male because the clothes. The reason why

s/o wear boys clothes because she was boyish, and has uncomfortable wearing girls clothes like short dress or etc and has very insecure of her own body. With- Gojo, Itadori, Sukuna, Megumi and Nanami

(I hope it wasn't too much

 👉👈)

-💜

I enjoyed writing these but I had to leave Nanami out because I couldn’t think of a lot to write for him, I’m sorry Anon! (っ_ _ )っ

Please note that these headcanons are genderspecific rather than genderneutral if you don’t wish to read these!

Yuuji Itadori

• Yuuji doesn’t realise that you’re a girl until he walks into your room whilst you’re changing, though at first he thinks that you’re wounded when he notices the bandages that bind your chest, but the moment you tell him to get out of your room he finally makes the connection.

    • “I’m sorry! I didn’t realise that you’re a girl!”

       Your eyes widen when you open the door to find him bowing, his face and ears turning red in embarrassment before you shush him.

       “Yuuji, it’s okay! I would’ve thought that someone told you before but I guess not...”

       He tries to perform dogeza¹ at that, as you learn that nobody had said anything since they thought he would figure it out on his own.

• He does get jealous at times if you’re out on a date and you get approached by other girls when he turns his back, but he always holds you from behind to show that you’re taken.

• He’s happy for you to borrow his clothes if you prefer wearing his shirts and hoodies, but he always reassures you that you look good in whatever you choose to wear.

¹ - Dogeza - to kneel on the ground and bow to prostrate yourself, as you put your head to the floor. It is mainly done out of deep respect or apology.

(Important Update - Please note that using bandages as a makeshift binder is not recommended in real life.)

Megumi Fushiguro

• Fushiguro had a feeling that you weren’t a boy but he wasn’t entirely sure since it’d be impolite for him to ask directly, however it doesn’t take long for him to figure it out when you start training together, taking note of your discomfort whenever he held you down.

• He’s there to listen if you have a lot on your mind, his hands intertwined with yours to remind you that he’s not going anywhere.

    • “I’ve never really liked wearing skirts and dresses since people stare, and it doesn’t help since I don’t always look good in what I wear half of the time, it gets tiring…”

      “There’s nothing wrong with wearing clothes that make you comfortable, whether they’re for men or women - wear what you like, they’re your clothes, not theirs.”

       You tear up at his words whilst you lean on his shoulder and hold his hand tightly, thankful that he had been open minded and understanding about how things were for you.

• He never fails to notice when you’re wearing something new or trying a new hair style for the first time - a soft smile on his face as he tells you that you look good today.

Ryomen Sukuna

• Sukuna doesn’t react much when he learns that you’re a woman since he never really thought much of your gender in the first place, thinking of it as a trivial human matter as he remembers possessing men and women in his original cursed form thousands of years ago.

• He doesn’t have any thoughts about the clothes you wear either since he tries to rip Yuuji’s shirts whenever he takes over his body, but it’s because he prefers to wear his old kimonos.

    • “Tch, do you think I care about whether you’re a man or a woman and how you dress? You’re still mine, whether you like it or not.”

       His words are plain-spoken as always, but they make you smile in response since he was never one to try and sugar coat his words.

• He can always tell whenever you’re feeling self-conscious or lost in thought, but his way of dealing with it is by grabbing your chin and kissing you deeply for you stop thinking.

• He’s more than happy to put people in their place if they make any comments about how you dress behind your back, whether it’s someone out in public or one of the Jujutsu elders at a school event – he’s not going to take their words lightly when they’re about you.

Satoru Gojo

• Gojo had known about it from the start, but that’s because he looked into your personal files and records when he heard that you were the school’s newest staff member, though you later find out from the others that he had done the same thing when Ijichi first joined.

• He gives compliments to you each and every day, whether its about how you look or dress that day or the way you smiled when he tried to do an impression of Principal Gakuganji.

• He enjoys going out on shopping dates with you, but if you start to worry about how you look when you’re shopping in the men’s clothing section and using the changing rooms, chances are he’ll put on something from the women’s section to make you feel better.

    • “Satoru, you don’t need to try on women’s clothes for my sake if you don’t like it…!”

       “But I’ve been meaning to buy a skirt for a while now, doesn’t it match my eyes?”

       Gojo was right, the rich blue pleated skirt complemented his eyes well, as you laugh at how he tried to twirl in the skirt rather than being concerned about the other customers.

• He makes sure to tell you how much he loves you for who you are whenever you think otherwise, as he holds your face in his hands and places a soft kiss on your lips.

[thechekhov]

Hi! I saw on a post that you're agender and I'm kinda questioning my gender (again) but what interested me more about that post was that you said you believe that gender is a social construct and I'm not really familiar with that theory. I was wondering if you could explain to me what the whole idea is? (bc I kinda only feel like a have a gender in social situations? In my head, my dreams and how I picture myself in the future, I'm genderless idjskahwksjejensj) Sorry for bothering you if I did.

This is a BIG topic and it opens a LOT of wormholes. 

We’re gonna do this in pie slice statements that will hopefully help explain what I mean. Please keep in mind I’m going to simplify many things for the sake of readability.

1) What is a social construct? 

Social constructs are ideas that are negotiated by social groups. Something being a social construct does not make it ‘not real’. 

For example, money is a social construct. Yes, we have cash - coins, credit cards - but these are physical props that are REPRESENTATIVE of the idea of currency. You have some form of credit to your name - the money is a socially agreed-upon idea of value being represented by bills in your hand, by numbers in your bank account. 

[Description: Two humanoid figures are standing side by side. The right-side figure is holding a rock in its hand. 

Right side figure: Let’s agree that this shiny rock is worth 2 sheep.

Left side figure: Sounds fake but ok.]

Technically, countries are also social constructs. We, as a society, negotiate what a country is, and this can be changed.

[Description: Two figures are standing on either side of a dotted line drawn on the ground. The left figure is pointing down at it while the right figure watches, its arms crossed.

Left figure: Let’s pretend that everything on this side of the imaginary line is mine.

Right figure: ...ok but my house is over there.

Left figure: ... for 3 shiny rocks you can come visit.]

Does that mean canada isn’t real? No. (I mean, obviously canada ISN’T real, but we all agree to pretend it is.) The thing that makes it real is that we are in agreement, and all follow the social rules of pretend to make it seem like the Canadian border, the idea of Canadian citizenship, etc... is an objective fact. (It’s not. These are in fact, negotiable limits and parameters. We have laws in place to define it in legal terms, but those laws can be changed, or may change in the minds of communities. That’s why it’s a construct.)

By that same token, I hold the view that gender, as we largely perceive it in modern society, is a construct. Why? Because it is not inherent; we, as a society, negotiate its meaning. 

2) What is gender? 

People will probably fight me on this and that’s fine, but here’s my (simplified) understanding of gender (from someone who personally has none)

Gender is a social category negotiated by cultures based on your assigned or desired role in your community that influences, among many other things, your physical appearance, your role in family units, your expected position in jobs, etc. 

How I think it happened:

[Description: Two figures are standing on either side of the panel, both holding children-looking figures. The one on the left is wearing purple. The one on the right is wearing green.

Green figure: Hey, I’ve got an idea. What if we separate the babies into two groups based on physical traits they have no control over?

Purple figure: Wh-- okay...?

Green figure: And then limit the jobs they can do and the community ritual involvement available to them based on that!

Purple figure: ... I feel like this is going to backfire on us someday.

Green figure: Nah, it’ll be fine.

The past panel is a dramatic closeup on the purple figure’s face - which is featureless - betraying a deeply doubtful emotion. It says nothing.]

Important points to remember: what gender looks like, what the limits are, what the expectations are... are not inherent to any human biology. We make up gender roles. This is evident in the fact that across the world, gender roles differ by culture. The positions people of a certain gender are allowed to take up are different. What is perceived to be ‘girly’ or ‘boyish’ is different across cultures. 

Simply speaking - currently the (western) model we have, dumbed down, is:

You are assigned male at birth because of physical characteristics

You are raised being told to ‘toughen up’ and ‘boys don’t cry’ and encouraged not to show emotions

You are taught to wear male-coded clothes and discouraged from female-coded fashion choices

You are given more opportunities to participate in sports, encouraged to engage in physical activity, etc

You are not expected to need time off for child-rearing 

Here’s where gender as it works in society breaks down into being not a real thing but instead something we thought up: 

Nothing about having a penis necessitates wearing pants. Nothing about having XY chromosomes means you need to keep your hair short. Nothing about your genome makes the experience of nail-polish different for any human being. 

All of these are arbitrary traits we decided were allowed or not allowed to a specific group of people based on entirely unrelated physiology. 

Even if we delve deeper, there is MORE variation among individuals of the same ‘sex’ than there are, on average, of members of the ‘opposite sex’ when compared to each other. 

Many people use the excuse ‘women are physically not as strong as men’ to say that this has an evolutionary aspect driving these cultural, historical, socially-constructed gender requirements. 

But if there was a physical reasoning behind the culturally-set gender-limited job expectations, then we actually WOULDN’T need a traditional binary gender system to sort ourselves into categories. It would simply be decided as a meritocracy - stronger individuals, regardless of gender, would be given physically-demanding jobs. (Also we know that many jobs thought to be ‘traditionally male’ are just the result of sexist bullshit, so this reasoning doesn’t fly any further than I can throw it which is, coincidentally, not very far. Politics is one such area. Doctors are another. We can go on but I think you get my drift.)

My own example of this is an anecdote when my grandparents came to visit my partner and I in Japan. While we were driving down to Tokyo, my grandmother - who has a PhD in entomology - began to say that driving is a masculine activity and women shouldn’t be driving as it was ‘un-woman-like’. My partner almost immediately fired back that in Japan, studying insects or having any interest in them whatsoever was considered a heavily masculine-coded activity. In Russia, there is no such assignment, and my grandmother was left silently blinking in confusion, unable to come up with any excuse except ‘well, all cultures are different, I suppose...’

Do either of these things inherently have a gendered aspect? Of course not! But we assign gendered ideals to them anyway.

3) If gender is made up and constructed by society, then does that mean trans people aren’t real?

No.

Even if you agree that gender is a social construct, trans people are still real. TERFs don’t get a pass. Why? 

Because gender - as a social construct - still affects our everyday lives, dictates our social position in our community. Transitioning is still a thing that has to happen. The fact that you are NOT easily able to decide your own gender and are ostracized for wanting to transition, abused for dressing the way you want to be perceived, and bullied for wanting people to refer to you with different pronouns - all those are the effects of a social construct that has very REAL impact on our lives.

This is also why I dislike defining trans-ness by dysphoria. Because transgender people are not only their suffering - the suffering is coming from the outside!! Many trans people remember not being concerned about their gender identity in their childhood, because they did not yet perceive the world as being hostile to their desire to fulfil a specific role in society. The issues and self-hatred and dysphoria begins when they express wanting to be themselves - a life which they are forbidden from pursuing based on physical characteristics they were born with.

Does this mean we should try to remove gender from society? If we constructed it, we can deconstruct it, right?

Realistically, I highly doubt this is possible. Gender is so ingrained in our daily lives that it would be difficult. Nor, I would say, would it be necessary to achieve world peace. 

Having social groups - having gender - isn’t inherently a bad thing. The bad thing is when we limit those social groups to specific basic human rights, like voting, or when we forbid them from transitioning from one to another based on things that are out of their control. 

Also, I’m not saying genitals and secondary sexual characteristics aren’t real. Please don’t bother sending me that angry message, I’ll ignore it, I promise. 

But the concept of gender IS something we thought up and maintain and negotiate with each other to this very day. It’s not granted to us by a higher power, nor is it a constant, unchanging thing. It’s a part of the human experience and like everything, it has the potential to evolve - as a concept in our communal memory, as well as on an individual level, for people who feel they want to be perceived differently. 

Thanks for coming to my TEDtalk!

[thattimdrakeguy]

It's actually amazing how twinkified Bernard is. I mean, even Jericho, in the 80s, while sensitive and not at all interested in going into the family business, is significantly taller than Nightwing, and it's not like he doesn't work out (including once with Roy). I think it's "what aesthetic the hets will accept". In the 60s, muscle. In the 80s, bears and clones. Today, twinks.

Like Bernard was always really notably taller than Tim. I mean a lot of characters are, obviously, but Bernard is still one of them.

In a panel or two they make it seem like Tim is taller in the Urban Legend stories--and it feels very wrong. And I knew from that moment on I was going to see some uncomfortable stuff, because that's enough to trigger a very specific reaction.

And I know this because you know how some ships Tim is in always make Tim take on the stereotypical "woman" traits for lack of a better word since he's known to be super short and very cute especially compared to his nearly always tall, muscular, handsome men date-mate in fandom ships? Even how people end up drawing Tim sometimes to look more feminine than he actually does because of that?

They're starting to do that with Bernard now when he was actually a pretty masculine guy despite his skinny, lanky frame. Not super masculine. Bernard was still a typical pretty boy looks wise. He wasn't as macho as Kon, but he still had a bit of a macho thing to him in a snobby kind of way with his presentation.

Giving him a boyband haircut, wear pink, big grinny smile, and a cuter disposition...that isn't Bernard Dowd.

I do not accept it as Bernard to same way I don't accept any art of Timmy looking ultra manly as Tim. Not saying Tim is feminine, he's not, he's just super super boyish and short.

This guy is not the same person as this guy.

The Tim is ultra good. But Bernard doesn't look like Bernard at all from his original appearances besides the fact he's blonde. If they switched the colors of how he dressed that'd at least match.

I think they got the hair and face from this artist's depiction, but his hair is just grown out and shaggy from not getting a haircut, it's not neatly trimmed and combed like boy band hair. It's actually pretty long in other panels, and his face even looks closer to what it originally did. And the person that drew that didn't create the character anyways. And even then he isn't depicted as super grinny, or cutesy. The mannerisms are totally different.

Saying all of that just sounds like nit-picking, because in most situations that'd be super small stuff, and there's even times where Bernard does look taller than Tim, and looks less cutesy in the newer stories. But that's obviously not what people are taking out of it which is why it's bothering me now rather than my initial 'Huh, he looks off' response when the issues started coming out.

I'm not down for this fandom transformation of Bernard into something more acceptably stereotypically twinky, when he was already an established character, no matter how obscure, with a well defined personality.

In fact he has such an established personality, and obvious sexuality given he says stuff like that, that seeing people clearly just do guess work based on his appearance in some panels in these latest stories, that end up coming purely from stereotypes on twinks, is in bad taste.

Most people won't know anything about Bernard. I do not expect them to read old stories for themselves, because most people probably don't know their are sites out there in which you can read for free.

But changing almost everything about Bernard besides his well known conspiracy theories all because of the impression that he's this cutesy, stereotypical gay, twink is in bad taste. I can't think of any other way to feel about it for me. It's not done out of malice or bigotry or anything. But it's still in bad taste, and it certainly takes the substance out of everything.

[nineteensixtieschikadee]

Arya Stark & Femininity

This might turn into a mini rant, so bear with me here. A lot of times whenever I watch old GOT clips, (bc I hate myself) and read stuff about Arya on fansites, I realize that there’s been a lot of misconception about her and her character. Particularly about her being a woman. And a lot of times i see this sort of “justification” from her fans that the reason why she’s such a fan-favorite character in the show (and to some extent, the books?) is because Arya is esentially this “bad-ass ninja asassin tomboy who’s out for revenge against those who’ve killed her family.” And some of her fans and especially her anti’s will call her out expressing that “Arya’s only a child who doesn’t like girly things like dresses and boys and doing her hair. She “identifies” herself as a tomboy because she likes “boyish things” like sword play, and playing in the mud, and gore, wrestling, etc. I was scrolling through the Jonrya tag here on Tumblr, this is a comment I found regarding Arya:

The moment I read that I straight up just wanted to rant! Lol! Also, I’m sorry for the formatting, I’m writing this on mobile. :( Anyways, these people who make those claims about Arya, esentially only see her as this small girl who likes fighting and getting dirty. They completely disregard everything else that makes Arya, Arya. Pretty much just limiting her to her sex, understanding that because Arya likes boyish things, she’s NOT ALLOWED to inherit things, like the North, fall in love and get married, have a high position in the hierarchy and in politics. It’s because that these people see her as someone who hates needlework or everything that isn’t Sansa, everyone believes that she hates everything that makes her FEMALE. Everybody here knows that Arya’s my favorite female character in the books, so I just wanna talk about how the general public views her, and how their views tend to go against Arya’s entire character.

People have this view that she is the “exact opposite” of Sansa. And while that’s true in terms of their different characteristics, it doesn’t mean that Arya is against everything that makes Sansa, feminine. Now lemme elaborate here. Sansa is everything that represents “femininity.” Especially in terms of the inspired time period that ASOIAF takes place in. She’s very girly & lady-like, is mannerful, “soft-spoken.” She daydreams about boys and being a princess. She’s graceful and elegant. She knows her place in terms of society, and as a woman. AND YEAH, Arya is the exact opposite of that. Yes, she has this boyish nature. She’s wild and free spirited. Loud also adventerous. But that’s the thing: Arya has a lot of femininity in her. It’s just not the femininity that we’re used to. What society percieves as “normally feminine.”

Arya is not Sansa. And it’s because she doesn’t act like a “lady” that the audience sees her as this girl who “doesn’t want” or most importantly, should not want/get the same treatment as the typical noblewoman in Westeros should recieve. This idea was engraved into people’s heads because of the show, and that’s how we’re supposed to see her. As this cold hearted ninja assasin warrior who happens to be a girl, but doesn’t act like a typical girl. The audience pretty much places her in the “I’m not like other girls” trope. Which is honestly, so wrong to me. Because yeah okay, Arya isn’t like the typical lady. But god, she is far deeper than that, and is a much more complex character.

Here’s the thing, Arya does not reject being a female, and most importantly, she does not reject the typical ideals of what makes a lady feminine. Of course not. In fact, she actively encourages that women be included in all things, especially in things only made for men. She believes that women should not be held back or ignored because of their sex and femininity.

“The Lannister’s are proud,” Jon observed. “You’d think the royal sigil would be sufficient, but no. He makes his mother’s House equal in honor to the king’s.”

“The woman is important too!” Arya protested.

This excerpt is from Arya’s very first chapter in AGOT. It is also my favorite Jonrya moment, lol. And asides from the scene foreshadowing potential plot points for not only Jon & Arya, the scene introduces to us and examines Arya’s perception of society and more specifically, the women in society. In this scene Arya joins Jon in observing Prince Joffrey, talking about the Lannister/Baratheon coat of arms. Jon makes a point that while the Baratheon sigil should be enough to prove that Joffrey is of royalty, the Lannisters (Cersei) are a proud house, married into the royal family. So therefore Joffrey is of house Baratheon AND Lannister. That is why the Lannister sigil stands besides the Baratheons. Because they, specifically Cersei, should be seen as equal to the king.

And while Jon makes this seem like it’s wrong or not needed, Arya disagrees with him. She tells him that the women should not be forgotten, as they should be seen as equal to the men. That the women are just as important as the men, and that it would be of good conduct to not forget that. And with that being said, she never acknowledges that Joffrey’s mother is too lady-like or too feminine to be seen as an equal to the king. Nope. Although she does question later as to why if women cannot fight, why should they have a coat of arms. Though that is hardly the point of her argument.

Another point that makes people believe that Arya is not feminine or does not support femininity, is when she flat out says to Ned that she hates the idea of being a lady.

“Your mother and I have charged her with the impossible task of making you a lady.”

“I don’t want to be a lady,” Arya flared.

Alot of people misinterpret this as Arya not wanting to be a noblewoman, because she only likes to play with swords, and get dirty. Because acting like a lady is stupid and not her. This is simply not true. Arya has no problem with women, or being a lady. She is a lady. A highborn one. What she does have a problem with is that being a lady often means being trapped in the conformities of what society percieves to be the acceptable standard for women in this time period.

All of the acceptable standards is what Sansa is. And she is not like Sansa. She does not believe herself to be a lady like her sister or her mother. When she first reveals her true identity to Gendry in ACOK, he immediately apologizes to her for his behavior and calls her m’lady. :3 Arya unfortunately sees this as a form of mockery and an attack because while Gendry acknowledges that she is a lady, Arya doesn’t act like a typical lady or even look like one. That insecurity of not being a lady like her mother and sister makes her believe that Gendry is using her sex against her. Like a form of irony. But I mean, we all know that’s far from the truth, lol!

And Jon recognizes this too! It’s the reason why they are so close and tightly knit together. Because Jon understands Arya, and sees her insecurity like how she sees his. They are one and the same. Jon sees and understands Arya’s frustrations of sexism viewed in Westeros. He acknowledges that Arya is to become a lady. But he also sees that Arya is not the conventional type of lady wanting to stick to the norms. She is a different type of lady, and to him, that is okay. He may tease her for it once in a while, pointing out all the unfair limitations that women have to go through. But he accepts her for being this unconventional noblewoman, and often encourages her to pursue being different.

“Girls get the arms but not the swords. Bastards get the swords but not the arms. I did not make the rules, little sister.”

Later when Jon and Arya say their goodbyes, Jon gifts Arya with the swords. Needle. This is his way of saying, fuck all them haters, be who you wanna be. Solidifying the idea that he supports her and accepts her for who she is. Kinda like how Tyrion told him to use his identity as armour, Arya should do the same to herself. It’s okay to be different than the rest. Fuck the rules.

It’s not that Arya hates the idea of being a lady. It’s a far cry from that. It’s the sexism that goes along with being the typical lady that infruiates her. Arya loves running around, riding horses, playing with swords, being loud and adventurous. She has a firery temper to her. And just because she likes doing all of that, and is all of that, it doesn’t mean, shouldn’t mean that she isn’t a lady. That she can’t be a lady. All of those things shouldn’t limit her to being viewed as a girl, a highborn lady. She is a woman, and she identifies as one.

“Listen to him, boy.”

“It was the third time he had called her “boy.” “I’m a girl,” Arya objected.

That is why, even though she sees herself as a woman, she often tells herself and other people that she is not a lady. Despite others telling her that she is one. Her insecurity and her frustrations do not allow her to see herself as a lady because she isn’t a “conventional woman.”

But the thing is, even though Arya doesn’t enjoy most of the typical lady-like things, she still has a ton of femininity to her. And people often ignore her more feminine traits in favor of her more “badassery” side, which unfortunately are most often occupied by men. People forget and downright ignore that Arya is really intelligent. She particularly excels in math. It’s one of the few things that she’s better at than Sansa. She loves flowers—like her aunt Lyanna. The very person who she’s said to look and act like the most. And a really important one is that she has motherly instincts. It’s what helps her protect other kids throughout her journey. Her ability to empathize enables her to be more social with outcasts and befriend others without judgement. She is well-mannered and kind to strangers. (An example of this would be when she apologizes to a common woman who lent her a dress to wear, and she accidentally destroys it because she and Gendry were playing by the acorn tree.) She can also cook and clean just like any other woman—or any other person. All of those are feminine traits, and are traits that make her more human. And the show opted to get rid of all that and gave us some cold-hearted, angry, ninja.

The audience perceives that because Arya is this ninja warrior who rejects the common standards of being a lady, it means that she can’t have these other more female traits. Nope. She’s not allowed to have or want more rights and power because that’s not her. She’s a warrior and nothing more. She can’t find love because she has to be this bad-ass independent woman who don’t need no man. That’s not her, that’s her sister. We can’t have Arya be any more female than she already is because she rejects the idea of being female. Leave all that crap to her sister! Sansa’s the princess—and we can’t have Arya being a princess or queen. Arya’s only allowed to carry a sword.

And it’s the audience’s perception of her that goes against everything that Arya is, and everything that she believes in. Because remember, Arya hates the idea that being a lady means being trapped in the societal norms. And it can be said vice versa too. Arya still respects those who want to be more of the conventional type. Arya may not have the more typical feminine traits that make her a lady, but to hell with it! It doesn’t mean that she’s not allowed to have the other things that the more conventional woman would/should have. That goes against all of her views and beliefs. The audience puts Arya at an unfair standard because she doesn’t act like a conventional woman.

It’s the same thing as the audience saying that Jon Snow doesn’t want a title or power, because he’s devoted his life to the Nights Watch and is unselfish. False. Very false. Just like Arya. Arya’s young. She still has time to grow, and no doubt she doesn’t think of all those things now because of other priorities. But she’s slowly getting there. And there is so much foreshadowing of her finding love, becoming a woman gaining power, etc, etc. She’s not there yet, but that’s a part of her growth. Just because she defies the typical female standards, it doesn’t mean she doesn’t want or wont want all those things later.

Like com’on. Everyone knows that Arya is the only legitimate candidate right now to inherit the North. Everyone knows. The Northmen know, the Nights Watch knows, the people in Kings Landing knows. Hell, even the damn wildings know this. And it’s because of this knowledge that formed the majority of the northern plotline in ADWD. People are going to war for her. She is the true key to the North, and that’s why the Boltons lied and said that they have her. It’s why Jon went to war and died for her. I don’t think Arya will truly believe it if/when she finds out that people are fighting for her because she holds the power to the North. Unless Jon’s gonna be the one to tell her himself. The fact that she is being set up to inherit all this power, and yet people deny it and believe that she doesn’t want it because it’s “not her” in regards that she’s not feminine enough, is seriously infuriating.

I mean look at the type of women Arya respects and idolizes. Where do you think she got the name Nymeria from? Nymeria’s name originates from the Princess of Dorne herself, Princess Nymeria of Ny Sar. Princess Nymeria was said be very beautiful, strong-willed, cunning, and full of wisdom. She was a “warrior-queen.” From that alone, her femininity clearly did not matter. She was a woman whose goals were not held back because of her femininity and sex.

Arya does not hate femininity or things that makes women more feminine. She doesn’t truly hate wearing dresses or being a lady. It’s being conformed to the general standards that she hates. It’s her sex being used against her that makes her angry. It’s not being able to be herself that she despises. And thanks to Sansa and her mother’s judgement of her, Arya’s insecurity only heightened. Despite looking exactly like Lyanna, Arya herself believes that she’s not beautiful enough to even be considered a lady. Only Jon and Ned allowed Arya to be Arya. Only they called her beautiful, and only they encouraged her to be who she wanted to be. Arya loves her fellow women. And yeah, she also loves Sansa despite her being such a pain in the ass bitch, lol.

Arya’s character encourages women to just be women. She encourages us the audience to just be ourselves despite all the conformities forced upon us. Her character explores the limitations of sex, gender, and especially the loss of identity. Arya not wanting to be a lady doesn’t actually mean she doesn’t want to be a lady. She doesn’t want to be held back by the standards of being a lady. Her question, her argument is that why should women be limited only to being this or that. Women are far more than meets the typical standard, and if society can’t accept it, then fuck that! Women can be knights and still be a lady. They can be fierce and passionate and emotional and still be a lady. Women can be warriors and still be a lady. Just because there are some women out there who don’t fit the ideal standards of what it means to be lady, it shouldn’t make them feel like less than one.

[forzalando]

The Perfect Arrangement | George Weasley | Pt. 1

Pairing: George Weasley x F!Reader AU: Bridgerton!AU Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: Bridgerton spoilers, mentions of alcohol

Summary: As a woman in the early 19th century, you’ve been told all your life that marriage should be your ultimate goal, however, you do not share that sentiment. When the insufferable George Weasley devises a plan that may solve your problems, how can you say no?

A/N: hi friends! this will be a multipart (probably 3-4 parts) George fic inspired by Bridgerton. i’m so excited for it and i hope you all are too :) thank you for reading!

The start of the social season had been, as you had expected, the topic of conversation around the ton for the past few weeks. It was impossible to go anywhere without hearing whispers of who would snag an engagement in the next few months.

Particularly, people had been interested in who the Queen would declare the “diamond of the season”. Your mother was positively convinced it would be you, but you had other plans in mind for your life other than parties and dresses and loveless marriage. However, when the Queen took one look upon your face, she quickly declared you incomparable, as she had done the same for Daphne Bridgerton, now the Duchess, a few years prior, and your fate was sealed.

As a member of the distinguished and esteemed Y/L/N family, and as the eldest daughter, you had a trivial, yet necessary and important role to play, even if you longed to free yourself from it. Your mother and father, as wonderful as they might be, had high expectations for you, and you would not and could not let them down.

Your mother fluffed your hair and primped your dress in preparation of the Danbury Ball, admiring you fondly and gushing about how beautiful you looked.

“Maybe your luck will be as wonderful as the Duchess, her love match was indeed unprecedented but oh so joyous. Do you think your fortune might align with hers, dear?”

“Mama,” you sighed. “I have no interest in a life like the Duchess’s. All the parties, teas, and properness. Besides, there isn’t another Duke for me to marry.”

“I did not mean that you would have to marry a Duke to share her fate; only that you may marry for love.”

You huffed as you turned away from the mirror. In truth, you had no interest in marrying for love, or marrying at all for that matter, but the duty of an eldest daughter was set in stone.

All too soon, you arrived at the Lady Danbury’s spectacular first ball of the season; the sea of gowns and tailored coats causing a queasy feeling to settle in your stomach, and you wished with all your might that anything at all would ruin the festivities.

A glass of champagne was placed in your grasp and you let your eyes wander around the room; Lady Eloise Bridgerton, a close friend of yours, donned a similar look on her face though her mother enthusiastically tried to get her to waltz across the dance floor.

Glancing to your left, you noticed Lord Farley, a rather grotesque older man, eyeing you up and down; his beady eyes causing the queasy feeling to return and for your feet to take off in what could almost be considered a sprint.

When he was no longer in your line of sight, you began to slow down your gait, but a shoulder roughly bumped into yours and an unattractive yelp escaped your lips.

The unmistakable chuckle that followed your outburst made you groan due to your detestation of the man you knew you had bumped into.

Lord George Weasley; a man, nay, a boy, with hair of fire and a wit to match. You had known him for years as you were the same age and his sister Ginevra was the best of friends with your younger sister.

“I want to believe, Miss Y/L/N, that you would not take such drastic measures to capture my attention, but I must say I am flattered nonetheless,” George teased, his hand reaching out to steady you as you recovered from the collision.

“Mr. Weasley, I believe you to know me better than that,” you spoke with gritted teeth as you swatted his hand away. “Besides, there are plenty of young women here that would kiss the ground you walk on. Might you bother them instead?”

“Ah, but where is the fun in that? I’ve noticed that you still have room on your dance card?”

“I always have room left on my dance card.”

You tried to step around George and escape his company, but his impossible height made it so easy for him to evade your attempts.

“Is that by choice or because you’re just so pleasant to spend time with?” he inquired with a smirk.

“Suppose a bit of both. Now, if you would be so kind, I’m quite parched and would love another glass of champagne.”

“Perfect, I shall accompany you.”

George Weasley, you surmised very early on, was nothing but a flirt. You wouldn’t go so far as to call him a rake, because as far as you knew he was an honorable man, but he was also most intolerable with his boyish charm, sense of humor, beautiful eyes…

Yes, you were quite sure that he was entirely intolerable.

“Have you told your mother you have no interest in procuring a husband, yet?” he mused, breaking you out of your trance as he carefully handed you a glass of champagne.

“Don’t call it procuring as if it’s a transaction. And no, I haven’t. Do you think I’d be standing here alive if I had?”

“Good point,” George hummed as his eyes surveyed the room, no doubt searching for the next woman so unlucky enough to be graced with his presence.

“How is your family?” you asked as you sipped on your flute of bubbling liquid.

“They’re doing well, thank you for asking. Work has been a bit hard on Dad but – ”

Before George could finish, a man approached you and bowed; taking the hand not holding the champagne flute and pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“Miss Y/L/N, would you like to join me for a dance?”

You noticed George looking on angrily at the sight before him, probably because his ego couldn’t take the interruption.

“I’m flattered, Lord Rainier? I believe?” When you received no objections, you continued. “As I was saying, I’m flattered by your offer but I simply must decline. I am feeling a bit ill and all that spinning might make me sick.”

“Yes, yes, of course, Miss Y/L/N. Perhaps another time?”

You gave him a small, soft smile and let out a sigh of relief when he walked away. Turning back to George, you urged him to continue. While you held him in contempt, or so you told yourself, you did enjoy his family as they were all simply lovely.

“You were saying, George?”

“Right, work has been a bit hard on Dad, after his accident a few months ago. He’s been doing better but Charlie had to take a break from his travels to come home and help out since he’s the eldest. Fred and Angelina are expecting again, if you haven’t heard. They’re hoping for a girl this time.”

“Maybe if you were more like your brother you’d be married and having children by now,” you teased.

He gasped and clutched his hand over his heart, drawing the attention of anyone near.

“You wound me, Y/N.”

Much to your dismay, you laughed at his actions, devastated that you gave him the satisfaction of knowing he was entertaining you. However, the moment was short lived as another man interrupted your conversation.

“Miss Y/N, I must say you are looking exquisite this evening. It would be a shame for your dress not to take a twirl on the dance floor. Might I accompany you?”

You tried not to groan when you noticed a line forming behind the man currently asking for a dance.

“Actually, Lord Beverly, I’m feeling a bit warm. I was just about to go outside for some fresh air.”

“I shall accompany you, then.”

“Without a chaperone? Goodness, no, please find another young lady to dance with. There are certainly many that would be delighted at the chance.”

You looked around Lord Beverly to see at least four other men waiting for their chance to ask you for a dance, and the thought of making up more excuses made your head spin. You graciously bid Lord Beverly a good evening, and turned on your heel towards the nearest exit.

In your haste, you did not notice George following you into the gardens.

“Well, you sure like to let them down easy,” he joked.

“George!” you cried. “We can’t be seen alone, are you daft? Trying to ruin me and my family?”

“Calm yourself, my Mother is just right there.”

You looked a bit to George’s left and saw his wonderful mother keeping a careful eye on the two of you, graciously leaving the attention of her husband to ensure that none would suspect foolery between you and George.

“As I was saying, it’s awfully obvious that you do not want any man to court you. Your mother will realize well and soon enough of your…aversion to marriage.”

“The only reason you know that is because you eavesdropped on a conversation I had with Eloise. But yes, I have no desire to marry, and I’m quite certain I never will. I’ll have to fight off suitors and think of a million excuses until I’m considered a spinster and men no longer want me.”

Silence enveloped you both as a tear slid down your cheek. You hastily wiped it away, hoping that George hadn’t seen, but of course, you were not so lucky.

“Is the idea of marriage really that upsetting to you, Y/N?”

“All those men, all they want is a woman to wear on their arm and to give them children. That’s what a woman’s life is in marriage. A husband doesn’t care about his wife’s passions, desires, intellect, among other things, and I can’t bring myself to entertain the idea of a life that has no room for my happiness.”

George was quiet; pondering your response and your feelings, when he was suddenly struck with the most brilliant of ideas.

You see, Mr. George Weasley was in love with Miss Y/N Y/L/N, has been for several years in fact. He couldn’t tell you exactly when or why, but he knew that the fluttering in his chest and the way his whole world became brighter when she entered a room meant that Y/N was more than just someone to engage in friendly banter with.

“I’ve thought of an idea,” George muttered, piquing your interest.

“Whatever might it be, Mr. Weasley?”

“Your…situation, can only go away if men were to believe you were taken, correct?”

“Yes, I suppose, only I can’t fool them into thinking that. It would become quite suspicious when I’m seen alone everywhere. And, there’s no way I could ever fool my parents.”

“Except you wouldn’t be alone, you’d have me!”

“I don’t believe I’m following your idea, George.”

“Marry me.”

You choked and sputtered on your own spit, unable to take a breath through your coughs and gasps. George’s hands flew to your shoulders to steady you, helping you to breathe easier and calm yourself down.

“George, you must be joking,” you said quietly.

“I am as deadly serious as I could ever be. Not a real marriage, of course. Real in every sense of the word in terms of legality, but not real as in, well, us together. I’ll spend this social season courting you, and at the end of the season I’ll propose. We’ll get married in a few months’ time, and then we can travel the world, doing whatever our hearts desire.”

“Why on earth would you want to marry me?”

“It’s quite simple. You need to get the eligible bachelors of the ton to leave you alone and you never want to marry because your husband would restrict your freedoms. I, as your husband, wouldn’t dare. You’re not entirely awful, I suppose there are far worse people to spend my life with, even if you utterly despise me, and marriage, real marriage, isn’t something I want either.”

You looked at him quizzically, searching for signs that he’d had far too much champagne or had gone completely mad in the head, but he looked right as rain, and your mind was spinning.

“I find it hard to believe you do not want to marry, after all the times you’ve said you cannot wait to marry the woman you love.”

“Honestly, the woman I love is….unattainable, I’ll put it that way. I won’t ever love anyone but her. I’m also waiting for an answer, it’s not every day you have to have a discussion after a proposal.”

“You’re sure this will work, Mr. Weasley?”

“How hard can it be to pretend to be in love with a woman as beautiful as you?”

“I always knew you were a flirt, but God, do you lay it on thick.”

George looked at you expectantly, almost a glimmer of hope is his eye, but as quickly as you thought you’d noticed it, he looked away.

“My answer is yes, George. Let’s fool the ton, our families, court, get married, and then travel the world platonically.”

“That sounds like the perfect arrangement, darling.”

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[tumbleweed-palmer]

Big Dumb Mouth: Jimmy Palmer X Reader

Jimmy has been dreaming of her lips pressed to his for so long now and it's finally happening. What happens when his big mouth and the words that fall out of it lead to a misunderstanding though?

===========================

Jimmy wasn’t sure how it ended up like this, but his lips were pressed to hers and her arms were wrapped around him pulling him close against her.

He guessed he should have seen this coming. There had been months and months of subtle flirty glances and exchanges between them that weren’t all that subtle. Or he guessed they weren’t subtle given Dr. Mallard’s casual hints that Jimmy should just bite the bullet and in Ducky’s words “ask Young Miss. Y/L/N out for coffee”

Jimmy was pretty sure this current activity went far beyond just asking her out for coffee or to see a movie. Not that he was complaining.

She was a gorgeous woman, that was an understatement. He’d been nursing a crush on her from the moment they’d been introduced months ago when Y/N had been hired as a technical analyst by Director Vance. She was great at her job; brilliant enough that McGee and Abby had quickly gotten over their annoyance that someone had been hired to do a job they were perfectly capable of managing on their own.

Jimmy had been a big fan of Y/N from the start. It wasn’t just her brilliance or her beauty that had drawn him in. It was everything about her.

She was so sweet and so gentle. She held a serene sense of calm and warmth that made Jimmy think of a kindergarten teacher. Much like him she had to see so many horrible things each and every day. She had to dig into the depths of people’s lives and find all their secrets. She was forced to see disturbing images daily, but she never let it dull her kindness.

Jimmy had been drawn to Y/N from the moment he met her. It had been love at first sight he was convinced. How could he not be utterly devoted to her? She’d walked in with Director Vance, Vance making introductions to everyone she might find herself working with, and Jimmy’s eyes had landed on her. He’d been overtaken with how she looked so sweet in that pretty mint green dress and had been even more entranced by her even prettier eyes. She’d given him one little smile and he’d been head over heels for her.

He’d learned so much about her in her time here mostly from overheard conversations she’d had with Ziva or Abby. He learned that she did yoga on Sundays and she loved matcha tea. She had pink hair in high school and she missed it dearly but understood it wasn’t exactly work appropriate. She’d actually had quite a rebellious phase in her youth which was how she’d gotten so good with computers. She’d only hinted at the trouble she’d found herself in hacking into something she shouldn’t have which had earned her a bit of a reputation and had earned her enough credibility to be recruited for this job. She was a dog person and Jimmy had heard her discussing corgis with Dr. Mallard given his mother had quite a few and Y/N herself was considering getting one. She hated caramel. She loved Halloween and had been excited when Abby had invited her to a costume party. She loved wearing heels even though she complained they killed her feet. She always seemed so put together. It was something Jimmy admired about her; how elegant she always seemed. She was from a tiny mining town down south and she still had a hint of an accent that honestly made Jimmy melt just the slightest. She hated it when people called her a southern belle though or made condescending comments about her accent.

There were so many things he adored about her.

They were only friends though. They’d built up a friendship sharing lunch breaks and coffee breaks at times. They were close enough in age that they’d found they had a little in common as far as childhood memories went. Their friendship had been mostly filled with those shared coffee breaks and lunches and the occasional time spent together when everyone wanted to go grab a drink after work.

Neither Jimmy nor her were big in the bar scene and they seemed to find that they liked one another’s company over any of the more enthusiastic bar patrons. Y/N didn’t even judge Jimmy when he ordered a more stereotypically feminine sugary cocktail instead of beer or hard liquor like their coworkers. In fact, Y/N would usually pipe up that Jimmy’s order sounded good so she might try it too. Jimmy had always appreciated that about her. She could recognize when was feeling self conscious and seemed to have a way of reassuring him without it coming across as condescending or patronizing.

She just had a way of making him feel at ease. He felt like he could really be himself around her without judgement or anxiety rearing its ugly head in.

Jimmy had always told himself that friendship was enough. He would rather have her as his friend than risk losing her as a possible lover.

It seemed though that perhaps this was more than friendship. At least it seemed that way given their current activity.

He still wasn’t sure how this was happening. All he knew was that they were both working late and she’d come downstairs to Autopsy to see if he wanted to take a coffee break with her. One thing had led to another and now here they were, their lips pressed together, their hands roaming one another’s still clothed bodies.

He’d looked down at her and she’d been staring up at him and their lips had just met. There had been no words exchanged. This seemed to be months of flirting and shared gazes and sexual tension finally exploding between them.

Jimmy easily managed to dominate the kisses, a situation he was unaccustomed to when it came to his intimate encounters. He was usually the one who took a more submissive role when it came to his romantic partners. He had to like this newfound role though. He had to like that she seemed to trust him enough to let him take the reins so to speak.

They walked backwards towards the desk their lips not leaving one another as he backed her against the desk relieved that it seemed to be free of paperwork for once. He was sure Dr. Mallard would kill him if he pushed any case files or documents from the desk. Actually he was more than certain Dr. Mallard would kill him for this entire situation. He was the one who always insisted that Autopsy was a sacred place of respect. Jimmy was pretty sure this wasn’t exactly a respectful activity.

He couldn’t find it in him to care too much though. Besides this wasn’t the first time he’d found himself in this situation.

He pressed his lips down her neck the soft moan she let out encouraging his actions her fingers threading through his hair making a mess out of his curls.

He nipped and sucked at her neck not caring if he left a mark in his wake. The idea of leaving signs of what they’d done littered across their skin made him moan.

She pulled back from his touch their breathing so heavy their eyes dark with lust his hands not pulling from her. She spoke her cheeks flushing from more than arousal. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“It’s okay. This isn’t the first time I’ve done this.” Jimmy blurted out his heart dropping the second he realized just what he’d said and saw just how she reacted.

She pulled from him as though his touch burned her brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”

Jimmy cringed the word dancing around in the back of his brain taunting him Idiot, idiot, idiot. Now You’ve gone and done it. Look at the idiot and his big mouth!

He parted his lips stammering as he struggled to explain himself. “I’ve uh..I’ve I-I’ve hooked up at wor-work before with a coworker... You see I uh, I…”

Y/N felt her heart sink her mind automatically jumping to the worst possible conclusion. Wow, was this just something he did with girls around work? She hadn’t ever thought it was possible that Jimmy Palmer had a habit of doing this? Maybe she was just another notch in his bedpost.

She’d never suspected that Jimmy Palmer could be some kind of office manwhore. She would have thought that Tony DiNozzo was the one who had a habit of hooking up with girls around the office like it was some sort of game. Was Jimmy seriously just a love them and leave them type?

She spoke, not allowing him to continue not being able to stop herself from voicing her concerns. “So is this a habit for you? Hooking up with coworkers? Am I just a flavor of the week for you?”

Jimmy parted his lips, his throat tightening up his words failing to come. How could she think that? A little voice in the back of his brain told him had no right to be offended. He knew how this sounded.

His mouth opened and closed a few times, he looking like a fish gasping for water on land, Jimmy struggling to find the words to explain the entire story. He felt as though all the words he wanted to say were getting jumbled up at the tip of his tongue and he couldn’t work a thing out.

Y/N felt her temper rise at his loss for words. She took his silence as her answer.

She felt her heart sink. How could she have been so dumb? Of course this didn’t mean anything to him. Why was she like this? She got so over sentimental and over romantic about guys and they always let her down. She’d thought that Jimmy was different from every other guy who pursued her. He seemed so sweet and gentle. He was so cheerful and polite that it was hard not to adore him. He had almost a boyish charm to him that had made him endearing to her. Not to mention the fact that he was so passionate and determined when it came to his career choice. She’d always liked passion and motivation in a man.

She’d never imagined he was the kind of guy to be into just hooking up without it meaning a thing especially with someone he worked with. She’d let her heart get carried away and imagine that this was the beginning to their love story. She’d let herself believe that this meant that they would run away into the sunset together. She’d let herself get caught up in a dumb crush and had assumed he felt the same. Jimmy clearly was only thinking with his dick at the moment. Why were men so disappointing?

She felt like an idiot. She pushed him back standing up from the desk straightening her clothing, her voice harsh. “Just forget it Jimmy. Clearly we aren’t on the same page. I don’t even think we’re in the same book. I’m not the kind of girl who’s okay with just hooking up with no strings attached. I don’t judge you for being into anything casual, but it's not for me.”

Jimmy finally forced himself to speak, his hands reaching for her as she headed towards the door. “Wait Y/N, please.”

“Forget it Jimmy. Just forget it ever happened.” She snapped storming from the room, Jimmy feeling his heart sink.

How could things go so wrong so fast?

He felt a self deprecating voice in the back of his head speak up “Nice going. She hates your guts. You finally got to kiss the girl you’re crazy about only to fuck everything up. Just typical for you. James Palmer the king of self sabotage.”

He groaned, unsure if he should follow her and try to explain it all. She seemed so angry. He had never done well with confrontation, especially when that confrontation came from an angry woman.

He felt his heart sink all the more hating that he was such a coward. He couldn’t go after her. She probably hated him. He’d ruined everything once again.

He felt himself begin to wallow in self-pity cursing his big fat mouth.

He took a deep breath a sense of determination washing over him. No, no he wasn’t just giving up. He wasn’t going to lose her over his big mouth.

He just had to figure out how to fix this all. There had to be a way to fix this.

…………………………………………………………………………………………………

Y/N cringed, feeling her eyes on her. She tried to pretend that she was too invested in her computer to pay any mind to Ziva standing over her. She knew she meant well, but Y/N couldn’t help but to find Ziva standing over her like this to be a little unnerving.

She cleared her throat her voice tight. “I won’t have the background check done any time soon. This guy has like a million aliases. So you can go if you have something better to do.”

She spoke again trying to make a joke hoping she could use humor to deflect the crushing sense of heartbreak that was still hanging over her from last night’s disastrous events. “If you keep looming over me staring at me like that I’m gonna start thinking you’ve got a crush on me.”

Ziva was fast to speak, still eyeing Y/N with a knowing glance. “You are not my type and I am quite sure I am not yours.”

She paused, not afraid to be blunt about it. “Why are you so grouchy today? You are crappy.”

“Crabby, you mean? Crappies are fish, crabs are shellfish.” Y/N responded more than accustomed to Ziva’s occasional mistakes when it came to American figures of speech.

“Yes, the little sea creature with the pinchers. It’s a word that means you are irritable right?” Ziva remarked not at all minding Y/N’s correction.

Y/N sighed trying to pretend that the truth wasn’t so obvious. “I’m fine, just tired.”

“There is more to this than being tired. You seem sad. You are not you.” Ziva insisted making it clear she wasn’t just going to let this go.

Y/N sighed knowing that it was obvious she was a little out of sorts. She hadn’t been looking forward to coming into work this morning. She’d dreaded running into Jimmy after what had happened last night.

She still felt so humiliated. She’d liked him so much and he was clearly just looking to get laid. She felt dumb for feeling so disappointed and heartbroken. Jimmy was just another guy she’d have to add to the list of disappointing men in her life.

She’d been foolish enough to hope that Jimmy was different. Wasn’t that the mistake she always made though; believing that it was different this time. She always mistakenly believed that this guy was different only to be crushed when she realized they were all the same as the others.

She had done her best to hide her heartbreak at least as far as her appearance went. She’d picked out a pretty red dress that matched her nails and had fixed her hair and painstakingly done her makeup. She had put together one of her usual favorite outfits and walked into work with her head held up high. She’d sat in her office and got to work. On the outside she appeared to be just as put together as she always was. It was obvious to those who knew her well though that there was something off. She wasn’t filled with bright smiles and she wasn’t even drinking her favorite tea or softly humming her favorite songs as she worked.

She let out a heavy sigh knowing that Ziva wasn’t going to let this go. She was the type to keep poking the proverbial bear until she got an answer. “Jimmy and I kissed last night.”

“Is that a bad thing? I was under the assumption that you wanted to kiss him.” Ziva replied a frown crossing her features as she tried to find the problem.

Y/N felt her cheeks flush knowing that to Ziva and Abby the little crush she was nursing for Jimmy Palmer was so obvious. She had spent quite a bit of time with Ziva and Abby it feeling nice to hang out with the only other two women she worked so closely with. She’d been unable to hide her affection for Jimmy given that she tended to talk about him more often than not without even realizing. They’d tried to encourage her to pursue Jimmy, but Y/N was always hesitant fearing ruining the friendship they’d developed.

Y/N sighed knowing that she had to tell the truth. “We were getting pretty into it...like really hot and heavy and it was obvious that it was headed...you know in that direction... I was trying to tell him that I’ve never gotten intimate at work before, I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea...and then he blurted out that this isn’t the first time he’s done this with a coworker. It was pretty obvious that he thought of it as a hook up and nothing more.”

“Did he say that exactly to you?” Ziva asked her frown deepening understanding exactly who Jimmy had been talking about when he spoke of the coworker he’d done this with before. She knew it wasn’t her story to tell though. That was on Jimmy.

Y/N rolled her eyes as she replied. “He didn’t have to. His silence when I questioned him about it said it all.”

“I am sure that his silence was not an answer. Jimmy really does not seem to be the love them and leave them type of man. Perhaps you should talk to him about it, clear it up.” Ziva offered knowing it was all she could do.

Y/N shook her head a heavy huff leaving her. “There’s no point. He made it pretty clear what his intentions were. It’s just...super disappointing. I really liked him, you know? I thought he might be different, that things might be different with him. It’s...whatever though. I just need some time to mope and then I’ll get over him.”

Ziva frowned all the more wanting to point out that Y/N just needed to woman up and confront Jimmy. She was so stubborn and it was bordering on immature. Just leaving it be and jumping to conclusions would only cause her more heartache.

She kept her lips sealed though knowing that Y/N was a grown woman and Ziva wasn’t her mother. She couldn’t force her to do anything.

It turned out Ziva might not have to worry about forcing it as a soft knock sounded out at the door frame Ziva and Y/N turning to see the very man they’d been discussing.

Y/N felt her stomach turn at the sight of him her eyes narrowing. What part of forget it didn’t he get?

Jimmy shifted in place having to wonder if the bouquet of pink and yellow tulips he was holding was a bad idea. The florist had told him that tulips represented a hope for a new beginning, peace, and forgiveness. That seemed to be all the things Jimmy was hoping for.

Jimmy spoke his voice soft he looking like a kicked puppy at the moment he clearly losing confidence by the second. “Is this a bad time?”

Y/N parted her lips to say Yes but Ziva spoke answering for her. “Not at all, I’ll leave you two to it.”

Y/N shot Ziva a glare ignoring her knowing smile and her soft words to Jimmy as she passed him. “Don’t mess this up Jimmy. Good luck.”

Jimmy furrowed his brow wondering just how much Ziva knew?

He shifted in place holding the flowers out the words leaving him. “These are for you.”

Y/N sighed a little bit of fury swirling in her gut. Did he seriously think buying her flowers would make up for the fact that he’d been perfectly willing to use her as a quick lay the night before? Did he really think he could buy her flowers and she’d forget he planned on making her yet another hookup to add to his apparent list?

He spoke again, his heart sinking realizing she wasn’t taking them. “I just..I-I wanted to apologize for last night.”

Y/N spoke, her voice still sounding harsh. “I told you to forget it Jimmy. It was a mistake. We aren’t on the same page.”

“It wasn’t a mistake though...or I don’t think it was a mistake.” Jimmy insisted.

He sighed knowing he had to just be honest with her and hope that she could accept it. “I always say the wrong thing. It’s a curse. I have a big fat mouth and I ruin every good thing in my life. My job is the only thing my mouth hasn’t totally ruined for me.”

He let out a soft sigh finding the words he should have said last night. “I don’t want my big mouth to ruin us. I think we need to talk.”

He paused relieved that her face had softened a little bit she seeming less closed off. He took a deep breath as he spoke up explaining it all. “When I mentioned it not being my first experience with uh...that...last night. I didn’t mean that I make a habit of you know…”

“Fucking your coworkers.” Y/N responded being blunt about it.

Jimmy felt his cheeks flush nodding his head as he replied. “I don’t just sleep with people without it meaning something. I promise you I wouldn’t sleep with you or even kiss you if it didn’t mean something to me. I swear on my life. I did a really poor job of explaining myself last night.”

He cleared his throat deciding to just be transparent about it all. “I had a relationship with someone who used to work here...it wasn’t much of a relationship really. It was more focused on sex than anything. We had a tendency to uh...have encounters at work. Michelle and I...it was complicated.”

He paused knowing it did no good to get into the secrets that had been exposed about Michelle Lee or her treason or the story behind it. He was sure that was confidential information that wasn’t meant to be shared.

He spoke again knowing the best way he could explain it. “It’s a long complicated story. All I can say though is that we really weren’t good for each other. I felt used to be honest. It felt like she was only interested in sleeping with me but not anything else that went into a relationship. We were sexually compatible but she wasn’t there for me in the way I needed her to be. So, I broke up with her.”

Y/N felt the words leave her soaking up this information. Part of her wanted to think that there had to be more to the story than what he was telling her, but he seemed so genuine. “So, that’s what you meant by this isn’t the first time I’ve done this?”

Jimmy nodded his head his cheeks flushing this entire conversation feeling somewhat awkward. What if she judged him for it? What if she was disgusted by it? Then again did she have a reason to be, after all they’d been clearly headed towards getting intimate at work last night.

He spoke the words still sounding so genuine. “The break up was rough but it needed to happen. Like I said, we were bad for each other. There were a lot of secrets on her end that I can’t even get into.”

She furrowed her brow wondering just why he couldn’t get into it. He spoke again struggling to explain himself. “Trust me it’s complicated.”

He paused, taking a deep breath. “I would never use you as a means to get laid. When I kissed you last night it’s because I wanted to. I’ve wanted to do it for a while actually. It’s all I can think about when I see you. I am pretty crazy for you to be honest. I think I’ve made that pretty clear.”

“I think you have.” She replied knowing he’d been so quick to always shoot her flirty smiles and attempt to tell her jokes no matter how truly awful they were. Then again she was always fast to return those smiles and laugh at those bad jokes.

She gave him a soft smile, his heart lifting as she spoke. “I think I’ve been pretty clear about how I feel as well.”

Jimmy took a deep breath holding the flowers out again. “Do you think I can ask for another chance? I’ll try not to let my big mouth ruin anything this time.”

Y/N gave him her answer she standing up from her desk and leaning up her lips pressing to his. He embraced her, still somehow keeping a tight grip on the bouquet he was holding. This kiss was much more innocent than the passionate kisses they’d shared the night before but somehow this kiss seemed all the better.

She parted her lips from his her voice soft. “I think I can give you a second chance. I don’t mind your big mouth.”

He pressed his lips to hers again as she spoke. “I should have heard you out last night. I jumped to the worst conclusion like an asshole.”

“It’s okay, I mean...I froze up and didn’t explain myself at all.” He replied refusing to let her take all the blame.

They shared another kiss before he spoke the words falling out of him, his big mouth striking again. “Do you think we could try for a repeat of last night?”

He felt his stomach drop fearing the worst. His fears evaporated though as she spoke. “Maybe the next time we work late we can give that another shot...maybe in my office this time though...Autopsy isn’t exactly a romantic destination for me. Before that though I think I’d like a dinner date and maybe trying it out in a bed first.”

He felt a lovesick smile cross his lips at her words.

For once his big mouth was working in his favor.