#but I don’t want people to think I’m copying

[enigmaris]

If Lois Lane had a nickle for every time she had to help an overpowered boy from the midwest with the power of journalism, she'd have two nickles. Which isn't a lot but its weird that its happened twice.

Danny watched as Lois pulled out her phone and pulled up a recording app.

“What are you doing?”

“You came to a journalist and are surprised to get an interview?” She asked him, her tone clearly joking. “What you’ve given me here is great kid, but newspaper clippings and copies of federal laws don’t get the public’s attention. I need a story, Phantom’s the story.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

Lois looked at him, less than impressed. Slowly, she turned the screen of her computer until it was visible to both of them. There, in full clarity, was a front-page story from his hometown newspaper. ‘Danny Phantom saves Bus Full of Children!’ and there was a picture of him in his ghost form, his face crystal clear on her screen.

"Phantom’s a ghost. I’m just a dumb kid.” Danny tried again.

Lois pinched the bridge of her nose with her right hand and muttered to herself.

“Why do all you midwestern boys have the same schtick?”

“I’m sorry?” Danny said, unsure if he should be apologizing or not.

“Changing your last name from Fenton to Phantom does not a secret identity make kid. It might work for most civilians, but anyone familiar with the hero game will clock you from a mile away.”

“I’m not Phantom.”

“Sure, kid. But I’m sure you have a way for me to interview him, right? Because I want to talk to him before I do anything else about your town.”

Danny hugged himself and looked down at his knees.

“Is it really that bad?”

“Not the worst I’ve seen. Wonder Woman’s is paper thin. I'm pretty sure most people in DC know who she is outside of the cape and just don’t say anything because she scares them.”

Danny snorted involuntarily at that, looking back up at the woman.

“What’s going on in your town, Phantom? Why come to a journalist and not the Justice League?”

“The Anti-Ecto Acts got passed like a year ago. They state that only being that produces or contains ectoplasm above a certain amount is considered non-sapient and is to be turned over to the government for disposal.” Danny said. “I put the whole thing in there for you to read, but it's long. Amity Park has a lot of ectoplasm in it. It's seeped into the air and water. Normal human people have it in them now. At first, those agents were just firing at me whenever I finished a ghost fight. I could deal with that. Their aim is terrible anyway. But then they figured out that humans can become contaminated with ectoplasm. They decided that meant the entire town was under their jurisdiction. They've decided that means that no one in town counts as human anymore, that we don’t have rights, that they’re doing us a favor by not just exterminating the entire town like the law says.”

Danny leaned forward, putting his hands on the desk in front of Lois Lane. He looked right into her bright eyes and spoke seriously.

“When it was just ghosts under attack, I didn’t think anyone would care. I’ve tried calling the Justice League for help, but they’ve brushed me off. People need to know what’s happening. Anyone can become ecto-contaminated. You just have to be in the right place at the wrong time. It’s not right what’s happening to Amity, Miss Lane. I came to you because if anyone could get the world to listen, to believe, then it's got to be you.”

And Lois Lane smiled. It was a proud, eager smile. The kind of smile Danny had seen on Sam right after she convinced the school to serve a vegan lunch. He barely held back from shivering.

“Well then, Mr. Phantom.” Lois said, before tapping onto the recording app on her phone and starting a recording. “Let’s begin.”

[imjustasimpxd]

Something Old, Something New

(Chapter Two)

➬ Ken Sato x Fem reader

Summary : At first glance, Ken Sato seemed to have it all. With money, fame, and success surrounding his name, there was nothing he couldn’t get his hands on. They say money can buy happiness. That may be true to an extent, however, can money buy forgiveness? Unfortunately for Ken, no amount of money and influence can turn back time and change the past. No amount of bribery can erase the fact that he had chosen to abandon his wife in favor of pursuing his baseball career. That awful decision he made took place five years ago, when he was just starting out as a professional athlete. But now that he’s matured and had time to reflect on his actions, can he hope for a chance to rekindle his marriage? Or should he accept defeat and live with the consequences of letting the only woman he’s ever truly loved slip away from him?

Word count : 4k words

Warnings : nothing really in this chapter, mentions of abandonment and neglect, mentions of regret, angst

Author’s notes : comments and reblogs are appreciated!! I appreciate all feedback on my writing so that I can know what you guys liked and what you think I should improve on

Disclaimer : This is a work of fiction and should in no way, shape, or form, be taken seriously.

Side Note : This fic, and everything else I’ve written on my blog is mine and only mine. I work very hard on everything I write so do not, under any circumstances, modify, copy, or steal my work.

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“Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?”

Kenji glanced upwards, watching his father walk into the bedroom; his movements a bit wobbly as he gripped his cane, shifting his weight on it with every step. “No, it’s okay Dad.” Kenji smiled and shook his head, his eyes turning back towards the suitcase he was piling clothes into. “I appreciate the offer but,” He paused, letting out a sigh as he folded another clean shirt and placed it inside his luggage. “This is something I have to do on my own.” 

Letting out a silent huff of effort, Kenji’s father made his way to his son’s side, his eyes narrowing in an analytical gaze at the contents of the suitcase. The old man stayed quiet for a moment, letting out a soft hum, as if to show an outward display of the wheels turning inside his head. A playful smirk strung across Kenji’s lips after seeing his father’s expression, knowing exactly what he was doing. Even in his old age, the man never seemed to grow out of his perfectionistic habits, always looking for opportunities to improve what was in front of him; even if it was just something as simple as helping pack his son’s suitcase. 

“What? Did I forget something?” Kenji asked, his tone playful as he observed his father’s contrasting gaze.

“You need one of your suits.” The old man spoke, as if the statement was obvious. He then turned away, limping over towards Kenji’s closet, entering the luxurious space and scanning its perimeter with an inquisitive stare. 

“You think so?” Kenji spoke up, following behind his father curiously. “I mean, I’m only going to be staying a few days or so. At least, that’s only if she doesn’t call the police the moment she sees me.” He let out a quiet laugh, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly, as if the thought of you doing that didn’t make his stomach turn with nausea. The scenario itself was a bit of an exaggeration, he didn’t actually think you’d resort to calling the cops on him. That wasn’t like you. But still, even if you didn’t send for reinforcements, you were bound to be displeased with him; or even outright angry. And in all honesty, he couldn’t exactly blame you for that if you did happen to react with bitterness upon seeing him again. He had been a sorry excuse for a husband after all, so your anger would be justified. 

“It doesn’t matter how long you’re staying. You need to look your best if you want to win her back.” His father argued, his fingers caressing past the designer suits hung on the closet rack, shuffling by each one to find something suitable for his son to wear. 

“Win her back?” Kenji let out a dry laugh, a little shocked by his father’s confidence in the success of that likelihood. “I don’t know about that, Dad. What makes you so sure she’d even want me back?” 

The old man looked up, his eyes narrowing at his son with confusion; not appreciating the negative self-talk he was hearing. “Why wouldn’t she want you back?” 

Kenji crossed his arms and shifted his weight, his shoulder leaning against the doorway of the walk-in closet, letting an apprehensive laugh escape his lips. “I don’t know, maybe because I practically ditched her in favor of my baseball career.” His tone was diffident as he spoke, clearly stemming from a lack of self-confidence on the subject. “I mean, I don’t think most women want to feel like a single woman in their own marriage.” He spoke with a smile, shrugging his shoulders as he tried to laugh it off.

It was a force of habit for Kenji to downplay things; pretending not to care and masking his insecurities behind that veil of charisma he often resorted to. After all the years he spent bottling things up for interviews and fan events, it was basically second nature for him now. It was his retreat, a desperate attempt at control. An effort to save face and convince others that he wasn’t hurting, as if his heart wasn’t twisting with guilt and anxiety. He had a reputation to uphold as a legend, not some frail human being. 

But his father wasn’t convinced. He knew him better than that. And no amount of humor could reassure a worried parent. 

“But she won’t feel like that, not anymore.” The old man spoke, shifting his weight on that cane once again so he could slowly make his way back over towards his son who stood in the doorway. “You’ve changed, Kenji. Don’t discredit yourself and the progress you’ve made by pretending you’re the same man you were five years ago.” He spoke with such conviction, such confidence in his son’s transformation and maturity; much more than Kenji himself could ever claim to have. “You’ve worked hard to get where you are now, and I have no doubt she’ll recognize that. Even if it may take a little while.” He lifted his hand to give his son a soft pat on the back, his thumb gently digging into Kenji’s shoulder. His grip was strong despite his old age, and his gaze was a mix between affection and seriousness. 

The warm smile on his father’s face was a touching sight, a reminder of the diligent effort they’ve both put in over the last few years to improve their broken relationship. In the past, Kenji never noticed anything more than guilt and shame whenever his father looked at him, but now his gaze was tender and encouraging. A testament to the healthy relationship they now maintained as father and son. 

Having such natural and pleasant interactions with his father was not something that Kenji had previously thought possible, but it was his new normal now; and had been for the past five years. It didn’t happen overnight of course, there was a lot of resentment and grudges to work through first, but, they got there in the end, didn’t they? After so many years of missed calls and absences from holiday gatherings, Kenji and his father finally achieved the wholesome bond they’d always strived for. 

Foolish or not, that reality gave Kenji some hope towards his pursuit to win back his ex-wife. She may hate him at first, she may refuse to forgive him in the beginning, but hopefully, with time and patience, their relationship could be revived; just like Kenji had done with his father. 

“Thanks Dad.” Kenji’s expression softened, his hand lifting to rest atop his father’s, returning his affectionate pat. “I think I needed that.” He spoke, a vulnerable smile stringing across his lips. 

“You’re welcome.” His father returned the smile, his head tilting in a heartfelt manner. “But that’s beside the point.” The old man’s voice reentered the air in a quick and hurried manner, his body turning away with the help of his cane and retreating back into the closet, returning to the luxury suits he was inspecting earlier. “We still need to pick your suit.” His fingers brushed across the fabrics as he spoke, evaluating both appearance and quality as he sifted through them. When his eyes finally settled upon what he deemed to be a suitable option, he gently grabbed the hanger and carefully pulled the suit off the rack, turning it so Kenji could see. “You’ll wear this one.” 

Kenji’s eyes shifted up and down, scanning the suit his father was holding out to him. It was a black suit jacket with pants to match, underneath the set adorned a grey vest and black tie to complete the look. It was one of his more expensive suits, one that gave off a classier feel than the others. It was definitely a head turner, and if his ex-wife saw him in that it couldn’t hurt his chances of winning her back. 

Kenji smiled and nodded his head, speaking in agreement. “I’ll make sure to pack it.” 

“So, Miss L/N,” The woman smiled at you, her legs crossed as she sat up in the chair, making sure to appear sophisticated in front of the large audience. “Tell us about the ending of your book.” She spoke, her tone intrigued, as if she was genuinely interested in hearing your answers instead of simply maintaining a perky façade for the reporters. “Most romance novels end with a happy ending, but in yours, the couple goes their separate ways. Why did you decide to do that? Are you planning to write a sequel to continue their love story?” 

“Well,” you began with a smile, clearing your throat softly, trying not to let your nervousness show in front of a room full of attentive ears. “I’m not entirely sure yet if I want to do a sequel. I think the ending is fine just the way it is for now.” You spoke, your eyes fixated on the interviewer, hardly able to even see the audience with the stage lights centered around you. 

“I agree.” The woman spoke up immediately, her body leaning forward with interest. “So many romance novels end with some cheesy happy ending where the guy and the girl get back together. It’s overdone. We need more of these types of stories, where the woman finds her worth elsewhere instead of from the male lead.” She rambled on, her voice passionate and eager, as if this was a topic she’d invested a lot of thought and credence into. 

“Oh, yeah,” you laughed a bit awkwardly, not really sure what to say in response to her subtle projection of a “strong independent woman” agenda. It was clear she had taken on a more rancorous point of view, convinced that the ending of your story was a push for women empowerment rather than the simple decision to conclude it as an open-ended denouement; as if to say “who knows what will happen in their futures.” 

“I feel like the ending really resonated with you in your own way, I’m glad to know you enjoyed it.” You spoke politely, not wanting to spoil her fun by correcting her interpretation of your novel’s conclusion. Everyone has the right to elucidate their own version of a story, that’s the beauty of literature. And who were you to rectify her? 

“Of course I enjoyed it!” The woman said with a smile, turning towards the audience now as she continued. “I think everyone enjoyed it, right?” She stated, the crowd responding with murmurs and hums that formed a collective “yes.” “See?” She turned back towards you as she laughed, her expression still bright and cheerful. 

You gave her a gracious smile in response, squinting under the glow of the stage lights as you looked out over the sea of people. “I appreciate everyone’s support and feedback. This book was very personal for me and so I’m happy to know that you guys appreciated it.” 

The crowd responded with applause, some people shouting compliments, others cheering. The interviewer let the audience express their support for a moment before she spoke up again. “Are there any questions for Miss L/N?” She asked, her inquiry reciprocated with a show of hands from the crowd. 

One by one, the interviewer chose people to stand, allowing them to voice their thoughts. Some people asked questions about the book itself, while most of the reporters probed about your personal life, anxious to get the latest scoop on any private affairs you were attempting to keep silent.

You answered their questions politely, successfully changing the topic each time someone asked something a bit too invasive. You had dealt with their interrogative tactics before, and you weren’t intimidated by it. You had grown accustomed to simply “smiling and nodding” throughout their inquiries. However, that smile abruptly faded when the next person was chosen to stand and ask their question. Your heart felt like it stopped the moment you heard that voice, his voice. One you hadn’t heard in over five years.

“Miss L/N, I’m curious to know. You said this book was very personal for you. Does that mean you wrote it based off events that happened in your life?” 

The breath seemed to escape your lungs; your body paused in place as you sat in the cushioned chair on stage.

Was that really him? No, no it couldn’t be. Why would it be? 

You cleared your throat, trying to remain calm, convincing yourself that you were just imagining things. That wasn’t him, just someone with the exact same voice. And as you squinted past the harsh stage lighting, peering out into the crowd to prove your negation, you realized the man had the same exact face too. 

“Um...” You stuttered, feeling a wave of emotions rushing towards the shoreline of your sanity. Shock, bitterness, resentment, hope, longing, anger. Your mind was an assortment of emotions, brewed together into a cocktail of unresolved feelings. 

You recognized his hair, his build, his stupid trademark smirk as he stared at you from the crowd. You didn’t understand why he was here, what he could possibly want after all these years, but there was no denying who he was. The man you divorced five years ago: Ken Sato.

The silence was deafening, your discomfort apparent despite your attempts to remain calm. “Well, um...” You tried to get ahold of yourself. There were reporters in the same room as the two of you, watching your every move. If they sensed drama occurring before their eyes, they’d be sure to rehash it in their most recent article; and then the birth of a juicy news story would commence. You refused to give them a reason to suspect a history between you and the man standing in the audience. You wouldn’t let yourself become “Ken Sato’s past fling” in the latest headline. You had to sedate your anxieties and answer the question, without giving way to any suspicion. 

“I apologize, I didn’t realize you were a fan of my work, Mr. Sato.” You spoke with an artificial laugh, trying to play the situation off as humorous. You smiled at him, attempting to hide your discomfort by faking a flattered façade in front of a crowd of intense staring.

There were murmurs amongst the audience, people whispering and pointing, clearly recognizing him as the famous baseball heartthrob. 

He stared you down with a grin, that nonchalant manner of his bringing back a variety of memories from your repressed marriage. “As shocking as it may be, I like to indulge occasionally.” He chuckled, his head tilting as he gazed at you, almost fondly. “Your work feels very relatable, that’s why I wanted to know if you wrote your book based off true events.” 

Your eyes suddenly widened at his words, realizing what he was getting at. You had been so preoccupied with panic at his unexpected presence that his question hadn’t even registered until now. He wanted to know if your book was written in resemblance to your marriage with him, you understood that now. A sense of bitterness engulfed your heart at his attempt to interrogate you here and now, in front of everyone. Even though you two were the only people aware of the history between you both, you didn’t appreciate his efforts to pry information out of you by use of subtle wording. You straightened your posture, your expression becoming firmer and more guarded now. You weren’t going to let history repeat itself, you refused to be tormented by him again.

“No, Mr. Sato. My novel does not reflect my life in any way, it is simply fiction.”  You knew it was a lie, and by the look in his eyes as he stood in the audience, you figured he knew it too. But even so, you refused to admit it, to give him the satisfaction of hearing it out loud. 

It wasn’t clear whether she sensed the tension between you both, or if she simply realized they needed to wrap things up, regardless, the interviewer spoke up, her tone enthusiastic as she encouraged Ken to sit down. “If that is all the questions you have, Mr. Sato, I believe there are other people waiting.” The woman spoke with a smile, making you feel relieved at the change of topic. 

“Of course. Please, continue.” Ken spoke, nodding his head politely before taking a seat once more. 

You were thankful for the chance to breathe at least, to allow yourself a moment of recovery before you had to answer the next person’s question. You tried to stay focused on getting through the interview, your eyes fixated on the woman in the chair next to you as she spoke. You didn’t dare look out over that audience once again, in fear that your eyes would meet with someone you thought would’ve remained a memory of your past. 

You didn’t understand why he was here, why he would show up after all this time; and at one of your book tour events no less. How did he even find out you’d be here? I guess, if he was following the tour dates, he could’ve easily figured that out. But still, the question of “why” was a mystery in and of itself. Like some annoying pop song repeating in your mind for the next few hours. 

What reason could he possibly have for coming back, had something been leaked to the news that you didn’t realize? How long was he planning on being around? Was this some cheap attempt to rekindle a past love for the sake of entertainment during his stay in America? Or worse, had he come back to gloat? 

Whatever his reasoning was, it had your brain scrambling to stay focused throughout the entirety of the interview. Just ten more minutes, two more minutes, ten more seconds until finally, you heard the words “thank you so much for joining us, we’ll see you next time” and you knew you were finally free. You walked backstage almost immediately after that, praying you’d avoid any further confrontation with the man you so desperately hoped to avoid. Unfortunately, it seems your prayers weren’t answered this time around, because just as you made your way to the back parking lot, speed walking towards your car, a voice made your heart clench in panic. 

“Got time to sign an autograph?” 

You paused, your heels scraping against the pavement as you came to a halt in the middle of the parking lot. You knew there was no getting out of this, he would just follow you to your car if you kept walking, he was stubborn and self-entitled like that. Better to just get the hard part over with and see what he wants instead of letting the questions continue to torment you. That way, at least you’d know what he was here for, and could prepare some sort of restraining order in case he came back for selfish reasons.

So, reluctantly, you turned your head, your eyes falling upon the silhouette of the man you once called your husband. You could seem him better now in the daylight, rather than the dim view you had earlier in the auditorium. And though you wouldn’t admit it, he looked good. Better in fact. He had always been attractive, that much was certain. But as he approached you now, with that fitted shirt and those business casual slacks, you felt your cheeks beginning to heat up; and that sense of determination to drive him away seemed to be forgotten momentarily. 

“…Hello Ken. It’s been a while.” You managed out a response, trying your best to sound calm and nonchalant. 

“Yeah, it has.” He walked up to you, stepping closer than you assumed he would. “I see you’re doing well. Bestselling author, huh?” 

“Oh...” You paused for a moment, expecting some sort of interrogation instead of this casual conversation that was currently taking place. “yeah... yeah it’s been a wild ride.” You let out a laugh, trying to take the edge off your awkwardness. 

He was staring at you fondly, as if the two of you were old friends just catching up; as if your marriage hadn’t ended in shouting and a slam of the front door. 

“Listen, uh...” He shifted his weight a bit, slipping a hand in the pocket of his dress pants. “I don’t know if you’re busy, but, I’m in town this week and so,” He looked up, his eyes fixated on you, analyzing every slight change in your facial expressions as he continued. “If you’re free, it would be nice to grab a drink or something.”

You felt your heart race at his words, shock and confusion filling the entirety of your brain, leaving you dumfounded before him. 

He wanted to go out? To “catch up?” Why? Did he need something? Was this a genuine attempt at resurrecting your failed marriage? Or had your newfound fame and social status brought him back instead? 

You couldn’t tell. He seemed to be acting friendly, friendlier than you expected. But then again, this was your arrogant, self-absorbed, ex-husband we were referring to here. This couldn’t have been genuine, could it? 

Could so much really have changed in the past five years? Could he really be a different person now than the one you divorced back then? 

I guess it’s possible, but, then again, the only way to know for sure was to accept his offer, and you weren’t exactly ready to take that chance just yet. 

“Um, I’m on tour actually, so I’m gonna be pretty busy this whole week.” 

It wasn’t a lie, at least; you had your schedule full of book signings and fan events almost every day this week. You knew you could’ve probably squeezed in an hour or two just to have a couple drinks with him, but, you weren’t exactly eager to prioritize someone who never reciprocated your effort in the past. 

“Oh, okay.” He glanced away, his hand reaching to caress the nape of his neck a bit awkwardly. “Yeah, I get it. Just, um…” He paused for a moment, shrugging his shoulders nonchalantly. “Just let me know if you have some free time, okay?” 

“Yeah, sure.” You smiled nervously, trying to sound polite. “I just... I gotta be somewhere right now.” You clutched your purse a bit tighter around your fingers as you began to take a step back, trying to escape from your ex-husband’s advances. “But um… I’ll see you later.” 

He didn’t move, he didn’t try to prolong the conversation. He simply nodded and lifted his hand to give you a subtle wave. “Yeah, see you.” He spoke, his tone sounding a bit defeated, as if he could tell you were just turning him down nicely. 

You almost felt bad after seeing that hint of despondency in his gaze, but you didn’t act on it. You smiled politely and turned away, heading across the parking lot to retreat to your vehicle. A breath of relief escaped your lips the moment you shut the car door, feeling safe in confines of the automobile. 

What a day this had turned out to be.

But you didn’t dwell on it for too long. You actually did have somewhere to be, and as you pulled out your phone from your purse, you realized you should get going before you risked being late. So, after switching the gear shift into reverse and pulling out of your parking spot, you drove off, leaving a more somber version of your ex-husband behind to watch as you exited the parking lot.

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Keep in mind that commenting to tell me what you liked, what you don't, how I can improve, and any suggestions you have, helps me A LOT more than simply liking my posts. If you've had the time to read my story, how much longer does it take to leave me some feedback on it? :)

[zappedbyzabka]

I’ve seen a lot of werewolf Johnny, which is quite cute, but what about werewolf Daniel?

[theswedishpajas]

💙🌌💀🌌💙

[serandipity]

Hey so I see a lot of people into m.outh w.ashing and I think it’s potentially a neat horror game but if you’re gonna reblog art with the body horror guy can we please use just simple tags like tw gore or tw body horror or cw gore or cw body horror? I’ve been jump scared way too frequently recently by people reblogging what is essentially un tagged gore basically and while it’s not gonna send me into a panic attack it’s getting genuinely uncomfortable to look at

Appreciate the consideration. Thanks.

[akkivee]

The community only has Japanese fans participating; I am vaguely familiar with most of them, as the idol has few outspoken fans on twitter. Everyone is aware of each other. None of them speak or are learning English. I've also never spoken to them directly. I wish for the message to be understood by everyone, because the project runner is going to place the messages on the backvround of their birthday illustration for the character and place it in Tokyo, her canon birth city. I know that I would be the only English one 😭

Hopefully I can find an answer, I have until mid September. Thank you for your advice! I am just too shy to reach out to them haha

ahh the obvious foreigner problem i get it lol 😭😭😭 praying for your bravery!!!!!! you can do it!!!!! it’s scary but do it for the idol!!!!! 💪

[guentzel]

.

[angelic-eros]

Sometimes I wonder how much of myself I have to bend and shape and work around before someone will say they’re proud of what I’ve become

[mossy-paws]

do you have a list of what all the phighters are gonna be in your mermaid au :0

still really nervous to say who’s who because I don’t want people to copy any of my ideas because I’ve seen someone be scarily close to what I’ve been doing and stuff (no blame on them though because to be fair I guess it’s a little generic, it’s just a tad nerve racking I would say :’DD!), but you can refer to some of my older posts for what’s what :DDD! Sorry LMAO I just got anxiety and I’m silly like that

[bighandsforabigheart]

People don’t realize that when I say my top/bottom is fixed it’s not an “I prefer this one but I don’t mind the other~” thing, it’s an “I will die just from seeing the alphabets in the wrong order on a license plate” kinda thing

[remma-demma]

My lab partners in physics are literally useless I feel insane. I asked if either of them wanted to stay after class to work on it so I didn’t have to do it all myself and one said she just got a puppy the day before (fine, if that’s true I guess) and the other said … “suuure” and then kept going out of the classroom to call someone and he left halfway through class in a rush. I 100% believe he called his mom and was like “you gotta pick me up NOW”

[totsandnuggsrebloggs]

@ the aroace community

Girl help. How do we survive?

[oh2e]

[image description: a comment left by @not-all-there98 that reads: “You get this as a writer too. "Oh you should go into journalism!" Um, yeah I write gay porn, I don't have the skill or interest in being a journalist.” End description.]

its actually very silly that if ur any type of art kid as a teenager everyone is like oh have u thought abt graphic design or advertising. yeah the little emo dude who fills sketchbooks with anime gore all day would be great at making customers buy product.

[gingersnapwolves]

So today I want to talk about puberty blockers for transgender kids, because despite being cisgender, this is a subject I’m actually well-versed in. Specifically, I want to talk about how far backwards things have gone.

This story starts almost 20 years ago, and it’s kind of long, but I think it’s important to give you the full history. At the time, I was working as an administrative assistant for a pediatric endocrinologist in a red state. Not a deep deep red state like Alabama, we had a little bit of a purple trend, but still very much red. (I don’t want to say the state at the risk of doxxing myself.) And I took a phone call from a woman who said, “My son is transgender. Does your doctor do hormone therapy?”

I said, “Good question! Let me find out.”

I went into the back and found the doctor playing Solitaire on his computer and said, “Do you do hormone therapy for transgender kids?” It had literally never come up before. He had opened his practice there in the early 2000s. This was roughly 2006, and the first time someone asked. Without looking up from his game of Solitaire, the doctor said, “I’ve never done it before, but I know how it works, so sure.”

I got back on the phone and told the mom, who was overjoyed, and scheduled an appointment for her son. He was the first transgender child we treated with puberty blockers. But not, by far, the first child we treated with puberty blockers, period. Because puberty blockers are used very commonly for children with precocious puberty (early-onset puberty). I would say about twenty percent of the kids our doctor treated were for precocious puberty and were on puberty blockers. They have been well studied and are widely used, safe, and effective.

Well. It turned out, the doctor I worked for was the only doctor in the state who was willing to do this. And word spread pretty fast in the tight-knit community of ‘parents of transgender children in a red state’. We started seeing more kids. A better drug came out. We saw some kids who were at the age where they were past puberty, and prescribed them estrogen or testosterone. Our doctor became, I’m fairly sure, a small folk hero to this community. 

Insurance coverage was a struggle. I remember copying articles and pages out of the Endocrine Society Manual to submit with prior authorization requests for the medications. Insurance coverage was a struggle for a lot of what we did, though. Growth hormone for kids with severe idiopathic short stature. Insulin pumps, which weren’t as common at the time, and then continuous glucose monitoring, when that came out. Insurance struggles were just part and parcel of the job.

I remember vividly when CVS Caremark, a pharmaceutical management company, changed their criteria and included gender dysphoria as a covered diagnosis for puberty blockers. I thought they had put the option on the questionnaire to trigger an automatic denial. But no - it triggered an approval. Medicaid started to cover it. I got so good at getting approvals with my by then tidy packet of articles and documentation that I actually had people in other states calling me to see what I was submitting (the pharmaceutical rep gave them my number because they wanted more people on their drug, which, shady, but sure. He did ask me if it was okay first).

And here’s the key point of this story:

At no point, during any of this, did it ever even occur to any of us that we might have to worry about whether or not what we were doing was legal.

It just never even came up. It was the medically recommended treatment so we did it. And seeing what’s happening in the UK and certain states in America is both terrifying and genuinely shocking to me, as someone who did this for almost fifteen years, without ever even wondering about the legality of it.

The doctor retired some years ago, at which point there were two other doctors in the state who were willing to prescribe the medications for transgender kids. I truly think that he would still be working if nobody else had been willing to take those kids on as patients. He was, by the way, a white cisgender heterosexual Boomer. I remember when he was introduced to the concept of ‘genderfluid’ because one of our patients on HRT wanted to go off. He said ‘that’s so interesting!’ and immediately went to Google to learn more about it. 

I watched these kids transform. I saw them come into the office the first time, sometimes anxious and uncertain, sometimes sullen and angry. I saw them come in the subsequent times, once they were on hormone therapy, how they gradually became happy and confident in themselves. I saw the smiles on their faces when I gave them a gender marker letter for the DMV. I heard them cheer when I called to tell them I’d gotten HRT approved by insurance and we were calling in a prescription. It was honestly amazing and I will always consider the work I did in that red state with those kids to be something I am incredibly proud of. I was honored to be a part of it.

When I see all this transgender backlash, it’s horrifying, because it was well on the way to become standard and accepted treatment. Insurances started to cover it. Other doctors were learning to prescribe it. And now … it’s fucking illegal? Like what the actual fuck. We have gone so far backwards that it makes me want to cry. I don’t know how to stop this slide. But I wrote this so people would understand exactly how steep the slide is.

[fingertipsmp3]

My mum’s got this tea set that hasn’t been used in like 80 years or something because it was my dad’s grandma’s and he was convinced it was worth something… listen to me, it’s not, and I’ll tell you why. It’s because that thing is legally mine and nothing good would ever happen to me

[floral-hex]

RAT WARS preorder arrived. This is pretty much the only album I’ve been listening to since December. Every time I try to shift to another album or band, I just end up coming back to this beast.