When there is a lead pink magical girl who isn’t extroverted, happy, cheerful or outgoing (the stereotypical lead pink magical girl traits) they are hated and automatically deemed boring/bland. I’ve seen this with Madoka and Tsubomi. It means it’s different from what you use to, that doesn’t make them dumb, bland or boring. Step out of the box once in a while people.

Why I hated dresses (and why I wish I hadn't)

From the time I was maybe seven to the time I was thirteen or fourteen, I hated dresses.

I don’t think that’s altogether too uncommon a thing among young girls. Yet looking back, I am ashamed.

I did not hate dresses because they were uncomfortable.
I did not hate dresses because I didn’t like how they looked.

I hated dresses because they were girly.
And girly was bad.

I was always a passionate reader. And the heroines of the books I read were never girly. No, they were best friends with boys. They liked jeans and sneakers, not dresses and heels. In all the books, all the shows, all the movies- the non-girly girl was the hero. The villain? The popular girl. The one who loved makeup, the one who wore heels, the one who was a cheerleader in a short skirt. The one who wore dresses.

Over time, this doctrine began to be drilled into me more and more. Femininity was bad. It was the tough girls, the ones who eschewed skirts, the ones who played with action figures instead of dolls (despite little practical difference between the two) who were the heroines of every story. And so what femininity I had I pushed away as soon as I was old enough to consciously do so. The Barbies I secretly enjoyed dressing up were abandoned in favor of the Spider-Man action figure, the Legos. And this continued for years. I remember being six, seven years old or so, being offered a bit of lip gloss by a classmate. I remember feeling strangely guilty for accepting, even though I enjoyed it. I remember years later in sixth grade when I went shopping for a nice new outfit, glancing with longing at the rack of dresses before turning away and buying a new pair of pants and a sweater instead. Because feminine meant weak. Feminine meant shallow, vapid, foolish. In books, on TV, the message was clear: girly girls never won.

Kim Possible was an anomaly to me. Here was this girl- this girl whose best friend was a boy, this girl who saved the world, who fought and was smart and funny and strong- and she was, out of all things, a cheerleader. The very symbol I had been taught to think meant the height of pettiness, the queen of mean, the evil school ruler. And yet she was none of those things. In fact, I remember not liking the parts where she went to cheer practice. Because even as an elementary schooler, those things- strong and feminine- were so disparate in my mind it was nearly impossible for me to reconcile them. (There was a brief time when I wanted to be a cheerleader in elementary school. I never did become one.)

My world was built on a mindset of certain types of girls being bad, and other types of girls being good. When I saw cheerleaders, I did not see the athleticism of their builds. I did not see the dedication in their memorization of dozens of moves, routines, and cheers. I saw stereotypes- they were unintelligent, they lacked depth. I prided myself on a “I’m not like THOSE girls” way of living, never considering that THOSE girls were fully developed people in their own right- just as smart, just as strong. Perhaps stronger, because they did not shy away from who they were.

It has only been in the last few years that I have begun to disable this mindset, this internalized misogyny, this quiet self-doubt and self-loathing. To know that a coat of mascara does not shut down a girl’s mind. To know that a shorter skirt does not equal an emptier brain. Today, my closet is nearly a quarter full of dresses, the ones I wanted to wear but thought I couldn’t. Today I know that I can wear a skirt and be smart, strong, good.

And so I wear my closet of dresses. I wear dresses to show that what is feminine is not inferior. I wear dresses to show that loving girly pursuits- baking, pedicures, shopping- is not something that is mutually exclusive with speaking your mind, with respecting yourself, with knowing your worth, with being kind, with being a well-rounded human being. I wear dresses for the girls who are afraid to in hopes of showing them they shouldn’t be. I wear dresses for those who were ashamed as I was. I wear dresses in hopes that maybe one day children- girls, boys, those who identify as any other genders or none at all- will not have to go through the quiet shame I did. I wear dresses for the ones who want to but can’t, because I am lucky enough to be part of the “acceptable” group to do so- cisgender girls. I wear dresses because I like to. I wear dresses to make me feel beautiful, to make me feel strong, to let myself express myself after so many years of thinking that it was a bad thing. I wear dresses for the seven year old who was afraid of being caught with lip gloss. I wear dresses for the nine year old who didn’t understand you could be strong in one. I wear dresses for the eleven year old who felt guilty for wanting them.

I am sixteen years old, and I wear dresses to be free.

Honestly I am sick of the signs incorrect descriptions and over-the-top stereotypes...
  • So I'm making this to satisfy myself and give my insight to signs of people I've met in real life compared to their sign stereotypes.
  • Aries stereotype: Always angry; "FIGHT ME, BITCH"; wannabe badass
  • Aries in reality: Tends to be rather sensitive but does have a tough side; actually fun to be around; very caring
  • Taurus stereotype: Always hungry; overly-stubborn and even loyal to the point of it being annoying
  • Taurus in reality: Sensitive; cheerful; youthful
  • Gemini stereotype: Two-faced bitch; arrogant; never listens to others; always busy
  • Gemini in reality: Independent but does enjoy the company of others; intelligent
  • Cancer stereotype: The "Mother" of the zodiac; very very sensitive and cries literally all the time; weak; lonely; crazy mood swings
  • Cancer in reality: Friendly; sensitive but not over the top; good at making people feel better; observant
  • Leo stereotype: Overly sensitive; "Everything is all about me and nobody else"
  • Leo in reality: Doesn't take criticism well; social butterflies; silly; very caring; very fun to be around; tends to fake a smile
  • Virgo stereotype: Bossy; clean freak/perfectionist
  • Virgo in reality: Rather quiet; opens up when around their friends; tends to have a negative image of themselves; very chill people
  • Libra stereotype: Romantic little shits; "sex sex sex"; boring
  • Libra in reality: has a lot to say but not always sure how to say it; actually sort of awkward regarding romance; has strong opinions
  • Scorpio stereotype: "I'M NOT AFRAID OF ANYTHING!"; always horny; "I'll fuckin' kill you if you even look at me"; total asshole; "SEX"
  • Scorpio in reality: Very clingy; not /always/ horny...; sensitive; kind; caring; silly; fun to be around; they can be a bitch when angered but other than that Scorpios are pretty nice
  • Sagittarius stereotype: Careless; horny little bitches; murderers
  • Sagittarius in reality: "FOOD"; tends to be a bit awkward; good time & money management skills; energetic; introverted; lots of pent-up anger
  • Capricorn stereotype: Quiet & shy; boring; nerds; greedy
  • Capricorn in reality: Tends to fake a smile; can be very outgoing when around the right people; caring; sometimes their emotions get the best of them; artistic
  • Aquarius stereotype: Physically detached; hides emotions and always fakes a smile; the "emo bitches" of the zodiac
  • Aquarius in reality: Intelligent; quiet; easy to talk to; defies stereotypes
  • Pisces stereotype: SUPER emotional; cries constantly
  • Pisces in reality: Talented individuals, they just need to spend some time finding that talent; open-minded; has strong opinions
The Bus

Jerome X Reader. No TW and not requested. Request a part two for this fic, if you want.


Part 2 of this fic ^^

   You regretted it. All the cheery voices and ‘school spirit’ flooding through the bus was making you sick. Your cheer leading skirt was too… colorful for your liking and you were in misery. Well, not completely. You had your phone blasting music through your ears and your head was nodding along to the beat. The same old chant was flooding through the bus as the rest of the cheer squad sang. How you regretted your parent/guardian talking you into this. You did it to show them you could work with a team. The entire thing was about how you were a pretty strange delinquent. You’d promised to do better and even tried out for the cheer squad, promising you’d work well with others. But here you are, eating your words.

   You stuck your hands in your hoodie’s pocket. It was covering your Gotham City High School cheer-squad’s uniform shirt. Your hood was up, too. A little longer and you’d probably fall asleep from all the warmth. Then it happened. A big gasoline truck pulled out in front of the bus carrying you and 30 others. The bus skidded to a stop and the cheers quit being said. Your music was the only thing in the quiet bus. Then came the confused chatter and a little peck at the bus door. You were towards the middle of the bus and you couldn’t see what was happening until someone came on the bus.

   A red haired boy popped in and waved his gun at you and the bus. He had a big grin plastered on his face. It was extremely unnerving. His cream colored shirt had black buckles running up and down it like zippers and your mind traveled to what insane people wore in asylums and stuff like that. He had on white pants and was carrying dozens and dozens of handcuffs. He, and another man, were handcuffing students to the bus seats. It was very shocking and as soon as such things registered in the minds of your fellow peers, mass panic happened.

   Whimpers, crying, sobbing, struggling, and uselessness ensnared the bus. You, however, were as calm as could be. You let the small brow haired man cuff you to the frame of the bus seat in front of you and sat there, not moving. You noticed the red haired boy looking over the students and acting very… boyish to them. Were they going to kill you? Kidnap you? Or ask for a ransom? This was Gotham, though. They might be on the hunt for unicorns.

   You leaned forward and felt around in your hair. There was a hair-pin there somewhere and you knew it. You yanked one out and your bangs fell in your face. You bent it and shaped it to your needs and started messing with the cuffs. The boy was toward the front of the bus and you were skilled at picking locks. You learned the year your looker combination would never work for your lock. (The teacher couldn’t figure it out either.) You had the bus seat to yourself and the girl across from you was panicking and yanking her handcuffs like they’d come off if she put enough pep into it.

   “I want you all to know, this was a very difficult decision for us.” The boy spoke out. Your eyes flicked up to him and you felt the left cuff loosen and you pulled it off easily before starting on the right one. He was walking down the isle and toward your seat. “It was between you and a senior citizen bingo party. In the end, we decided to skew a little younger. Youth won the day! Sorry.”

   He was extremely boyish and had a sort of… charm to him. Stockholm syndrome must be taking effect, huh.

   After a second or so your right cuff fell off and you hooked the chains to the floor. You made no noise and the red hair boy walked back to the front before getting to you. You could get out. The girl next to you noticed your missing cuffs and her eyes widened. Her name was Louise and she was a bitch. Cheer captain, completely stereotypical, and a perfection freak. You didn’t want to be rude, but if anyone deserved to die, she did.

   “Do something!” She hissed. I scoffed and continued to sit there. I’ll die before I listen to her. How well I work with others…

   “Give me and ‘O’!” The boy spun around and faced the crowd with a smile. Everyone just whimpered and he never quit smiling. He pointed the gun up and shot the roof. Everyone screamed and he never flinched.

   “I said give me an 'O’.” His smile dropped and he stared at you and your 'friends.’

   “O!” The bus whimpered out. He was satisfied.

   “Give me an 'N’!” He said again. A short frail man with a hose came up behind him. It was probably attached to the gas truck and held gas. They were going to kill you with fire. Oh god.

   “N!” The bus whimpered out the letter and the boy was getting closer to you. He was grinning again and his childish way about him appeared again.

   “Give me an 'O’!” He wiggled as he said it and was now only a few bus seats away. Would he notice you’re not chained up anymore?

   “O!” The whimpers from the others caused you to flinch.

   “What does that spell?” He called out and he was right beside you. His eyes fell to your wrists and he grinned. It was empty and dark. Nothing much, except for disappointment. He was going to kill you.

   “Oh, no!” He and the rest of the bus said.

“Hi. My name’s Jerome and you’re supposed to be cuffed-up. I don’t appreciate you being free.” His eyes gleamed as he pulled you up from your seat. He wrapped his hand around your wrist and yanked you down the isle. It didn’t hurt, it just took you by surprise.

   “You’re smart. Got out of those cuffs. I call dibs.” The boy said and threw a grin back at you. He laughed a really strange and ricocheting laugh. It almost caused you to laugh. It was contagious. The man with the gas hose was spraying down the other cheerleaders. You were being put into the truck just as the GCPD showed up. Gun shots rang out and a bag was placed over your head. What was going to happen?!