#shit i lost a tag taking 3 phone calls in rapid succession. damn it

[frogeyedape]

So, wow on the AFAB identifying as transfem discourse.

It's ironic how one of the objectors is like "yes I'm transfem but not a woman" is freaking out over a not-woman AFAB person using transfem too. Like...how is saying "I'm not a woman and I'm transfem" in any way saying "transfem means not fully a woman"? Transfem is inclusive of any trans people who self-identify as transfem, whether they're a transwoman who is a binary woman or a transwoman who is fluidly a nonbinary woman and nonbinary man or a transman who transes masculinity by making it more feminine or whatever

Being trans isn't about *what* your AGAB was. It's about whether your AGAB *changed*

The "trans" part's etymology: "word-forming element meaning "across, beyond, through, on the other side of; go beyond," from Latin trans (prep.) "across, over, beyond," perhaps originally present participle of a verb *trare-, meaning "to cross," from PIE *tra-, variant of root *tere- (2) "cross over, pass through, overcome" " from:

So say I'm AFAB. Assigned "girl." And what does girl mean? "A girl/woman can do/be anything" was a popular encouraging slogan in my youth, but it battled against all the misogyny of the time that put "girl" and "woman" in very tidy, small boxes. If I was assigned small-box-girl at birth and later stepped out of that box, across its boundary, might I not be transing my gender just a little? Still, I wasn't identifying as trans when I was a girl. I didn't know the word. [Tldr: i wasn't trans then cuz I didn't identify as trans then. Merely stepping outside of the small defining boxes of gender does not necessarily a trans person make.]

I was later Assigned Tomboy (hello secret 3rd cis gender where they still consider you a girl but like bad at being a girl)--Assigned Tomboy After Birth, shall we say ATAB? Does tomboy have one singular definition that encompasses all tomboys' experiences while excluding every non-tomboys' experiences? Is there a neat and tidy tomboy box that so many tomboys fall out of? I didn't fit in that concept either. [Tldr: my assigned gender changed before I even really started to grapple with what my actual gender identity was. Ain't that fucked? And no, I wasn't trans yet then, either]

I grew up, tried to step into the shoes of Woman, the adult version of my young Girl and Tomboy selves, and found Woman to be null and void. That's not me. And yet to be called Girl still when I am an adult is infuriating. I am not a child. Do not infantilize me. I am not now a girl. I am also not a woman. [Tldr: I was an AFAB person self identifying as not a woman. Still hadn't quite cottoned on to being trans, but it was definitely a part of the journey]

I rejected womanhood, studied gender and sex and bimodal distributions and decided fuck the binary and yeah fuck bimodal too, there's more than 2 ends the genders are spread between. [Tldr: I was officially calling myself trans. Just trans.]

My gender is largely null (agender), but also fluid (it irks me when I try on transfem clothing that my friends who think of me as not-a-woman see as kowtowing to cis feminity when I'm wearing a dress not as a cis woman but as a trans person who is acting unusually transfem--or, it's not unusual, I like pretty dresses, they just don't see it as much so they freak out. Just. I'm wearing the damn dress in a trans way, ok). I'm generally more masc leaning--butchy vibes without actually being butch. But I'm transfem sometimes, or just a little bit all the time, too. How is it transmisogyny to recognize the transness of my expressed femininity?

But I honestly think that's not the point of the objection. The objection is (using quotes here to represent speech, not actual direct quotes) "AFAB person calling themself transfem is transmisogyny because this not-woman is saying transfem [meaning transwoman] means 'not fully a woman.'" But. Transfem=/=transwoman. But the transfem [meaning transwoman] interpretation is like, beneath the conscious level of awareness, because it only applies to transfem *sometimes,* and the objector just...isn't seeing that. And is understandably upset at a perceived injustice. But like. It's pretty clear that there's a logical disconnect. And I think it's the implicit distinct definitions of transfem[feminine in a trans way but not necessarily a woman vs transfem[meaning transwoman] at work.

And I'd talk to the person directly but they've been receiving both well meaning and distinctly unfriendly feedback already and I don't want to add to the dogpile. I think we basically agree, even if the terminology is getting in the way: transfem belongs to trans people identifying as transfem, regardless of their current gender or AGAB. Trans that femininity! Yes!

[softcallofdutyimagines]

More Then a Woman | Frank Woods x Fem!Reader | Chapter 4

Summary:

Alex tries to get Woods to open up on why he's been acting so... odd lately, and Woods proves himself to be emotionally intelligent and self aware

Tags: Slow burn, fluff

Chpt 1 | Chpt 2 | Chpt 3 | Chpt 5 |Warnings: strong except language and some age difference, in case you don't like that

BAM BAM BAM

Mason fires off three shots in rapid succession, all of them hit a perfect headshot on the paper dummy. He whoops in disbelief, removing his earmuffs to brag to Woods.

“Damn, did you fucking see that?”

“Huh? Oh yeah, good shit Mason”, Frank agrees, yet he seems distracted.

Alex sneaks a glance at Frank’s shooting dummy to see it’s barely been touched. He looks back over at his friend. The Sargent smiles as though lost in a daydream, thoroughly cleaning and absentmindedly inspecting his gun over and over again. Mason cocks his head and waves a hand in front of Woods’ face.

“Hellooo”, he calls teasingly, “What’s the matter with you, huh?”

Frank blinks hard, giving his head a little shake, “Huh? The fuck are you talking about, I’m fine”, he blows off the question and readies his pistol down the firing lane, as though he were just taking a little break all along.

“Alright, that’s enough”, Alex puts his pistol down forcefully, adding his earmuffs to boot. “You wanna know something Frank? The real reason I brought you out here was because I was hoping you would open up, damn it! Look, you’ve been acting… not yourself. Ah! Let me finish! Anyway…”, Mason comes a little closer, taking on a more personal, concerned tone, “I’m worried about you man. I mean, we’ve known each other for how fucking long? Whatever it is, you can tell me, and I know you know that, so… What the fuck is holding you up?”

Frank spares a glance to the friendly hand resting on his shoulder, then back to the concerned eyes of his closest, and perhaps even only, friend. He shrugs Mason’s hand away, “It’s nothing man, come on”

“Oh, but it is something then?”, Alex takes on an accusatory tone that makes Frank bristle.

“I said, it’s fucking nothing”

“Frank!”

“What!”, Woods slams down his own firearm, turning his full attention to the conversation, “Why the hell do you need to know so badly anyway? I said it’s nothing, end of story! If anything, it’s fucking… stupid, so just drop it alright!”

“I care because I care about you, you bastard!”, Mason gestures aggressively to accentuate his point, but gives up soon after with a frustrated sigh.

But... Woods feels for his friend, and he appreciates the effort. Really, he does. It’s not often he has someone check in to see how he’s doing. Or… at all, really. He huffs a sigh and throws a look Alex’s way. Damn it…

“Fine. It’s about a girl, alright? You happy now?”, he looks away quickly, snatching up his firearm as though to get back to the target practice. Unfortunately, Alex has other plans.

He reaches across the divider and lowers Franks pistol from the shooting position, wearing a grin somewhere between bewildered and teasing. “Are you fucking serious? All this, for a girl?”

Woods immediately gets defensive, “Hey, fuck you! I-”

“Jesus Frank, calm down, will ya? I’m just… Well, surprised, I guess!”, he laughs, but in the disarming, good natured way that he’s so inclined towards. “Well don’t keep me in suspense, who is it? She must mean a lot to you to have you this bent out of shape, haha”

Frank thinks a moment, wondering if he should really give himself up like this… But then, he’s already in this deep, right?

“It’s… The secretary from the CIA headquarters…”, his voice is so low, it's more a dampened mumble than anything else.

Mason freezes, trying to decide if he heard him right.

“Frank… You can’t be serious.”, he leans in once more, taking on a now concerned, hushed tone, “I- Come on man, she’s just a kid. D-don’t you want a woman with a little more… experience, at least? I mean-”

Frank recoils at that, “Woah woah woah, what the fuck? Who the fuck said anything about that shit? It’s not like that!”

“Well ok, maybe life experience then! I don’t fucking know!”

“Look, will you stop trying to make me feel like shit?” What, you think I don’t already know all this? That I haven’t told myself about it a million fucking times!” Woods takes another breath, ready to spit out the rest of his speech. Instead, he uses it to steady himself, and calm down.

Come on… It’s just Alex.

“Damn it… Ok, I’m sorry. I just… I don’t think about her like that, ok? I-”, his voice drops to just above a whisper, his mouth working nervously, as though he’s afraid to admit what he has to say next. “I’m just so... lonely, damn it. I wish… I wish, I had someone like that around for just... company's sake, I guess? Someone who’s… sweet, and… gives a shit about me…. You know?”

Mason looks down, his face set in a look of sympathy, thinking back to his own happy life complete with his wife and son back home. He doesn’t think he’s ever heard this much emotion in Frank’s voice. “Yeah… I know…”

“Heh, but who gives a fuck. I mean, there’s no way she’d go for me, right?”, he huffs a humorless laugh. Frank goes silent for a long moment. It doesn't take his closest friend to see that everything he’s admitted to today weighs more heavily on him then one would even realize.

But suddenly, the despondency is broken. As though regretful to have been so vulnerable, he covers it up the Woods way, “Hey. If you fucking tell anyone I said this shit, I’ll fucking kill you”

He and Alex lock eyes, one with an unsure look of fear and the other one of dire seriousness. But, after he’s had his fun, Frank’s stern expression melts into a joking laugh. He gives Alex’s shoulder a playful shove, “Aw come on, I’m just messing with you! Let’s get back to the range, huh?”

Woods readies his shooting equipment again, and just before he puts on the earmuffs…

“Hey, Frank? ...Your secret is safe with me”, Alex smiles, earning a subtle one back from his friend.

“Heh, fucking softie…”

“You know what? Maybe... you could try talking to her, you know? I don’t really get it but… No harm in trying, right?”

Frank considers the advice. He’s serious, isn’t he? Well…

“Yeah, maybe…”

---

Frank looks at the double glass doors of the CIA offices, checking over his reflection one last time. He’s decided to take Mason’s advice… Today’s the day. He’s just going to go find you, try to not come off as a psycho again, and maybe ask you out to uh… coffee? Yeah, that’s what most people do, he thinks.

Last night, he ransacked his closet for this outfit. And wouldn’t you know it? Way, way back under the piles of shit, he found a nice, light grey dress shirt and some mostly polished leather shoes to go along with his good old jeans. Is this... ‘business casual’ or whatever the fuck? Hell if he knows, but he assures himself that it’s the effort that counts. He straightens the collar and smooths down the front, doing his best to ignore the way it hugs his abdomen just a bit too much for his liking.

He licks his thumb and swipes it once over each eyebrow, making sure to admire all the work he put in this morning. If anyone else saw him now, there’s a good chance they wouldn’t recognize him. Gone is the wild, fluffy mess of black hair, and instead he’s managed to slick it down into a respectable, controlled style. He even brushed and shaped up his beard, for Christ’s sake.

Well, no more fucking around, he supposes.

Frank takes a deep breath and pushes through the double doors. He wanders through the public section, then badges himself into the back offices. Now if he remembers correctly, he ran into you right about… down that way. Unfortunately, he only knows you by first name, thanks to that coffee shop place.

It’s a name that’s been playing back in his mind over and over again ever since that morning.

He’d never admit to it, but perhaps… only once or twice, he’s tested the way it sounds aloud. Just to hear it again. He knows he’s getting way too ahead of himself, but you know, if this were to ever work out… maybe another tattoo is in order. He brushes a hand absentmindedly over his left pec where even now his heart hammers away nervously.

It would be a fitting spot for the name of his girl…

A slow brigade of names on silver, engraved plates passes him by, until finally… There.

Your door is closed, but the sound of furiously fast typing tells him you’re in. He raises a hand to knock… Or, wait. Should he knock? Is that weird? Maybe he should just… come in? No no, that’s freaky as fuck… Right?

His thoughts are interrupted by the harsh ringing of your desk phone, which is silenced promptly as you answer. Damn it, now that he thinks about it, what should he even say? Fuck… he should’ve brought flowers or something, shouldn’t he? Fuck fuck fuck! He knew it, this was never going to work. Maybe he should just lea-

Suddenly, your door swings open. You shriek in surprise at finding another human being just on the other side, clapping a hand to your mouth as you correct yourself, only now realizing who it is. “Oh! Sarge- Um, Frank… I-I’m so sorry, I didn’t recognize you!”, you laugh, trying to break the tension that doesn't even exist.

No, right now, all he’s focused on is you...

The sound of your laughter washes over him, and once again he’s reminded of that warm, dream like summer breeze he felt with you not so long ago, back at the coffee shop. It almost makes him wish you would laugh at him more often… Just so he could hear that sweet, sweet sound. Today you’re wearing a pink pleated skirt and a tastefully ruffled blouse. Everything, from your shoes to the little touch of makeup, matches perfectly.

You look very… cute.

There’s a word he never thought he’d say….

Frank mutters something placating to reassure you that no harm’s been done, but it’s all he can do to stay upright. His face feels inordinarily warm, and he can actually feel his heart beating, no, racing, without even touching it. HE's almost sure he’s dying, and to make matters worse, he can’t recall ever having been made to feel this way before.

So, what the fuck is happening to him?

-------

(Uh oh, cliff hanger! Luckily, the next half is up!)