#didn’t really expect him to be a transphobe because my mom seemed to be supportive of it

[missbunmuffin]

I hope something bad happens to the people who are hurting me. They don’t actually care they just doing what they’re doing to feel better about themselves and they don’t acknowledge how people like me feel.

[milimeters-morales]

chapter 5 of the transfem miles fic :3

Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chap 6 / Chap 7 / Chap 8 / Chap 9

Wordcount: 4k+

Warnings: Someone's transphobic towards a side character, if you don't wanna read that then skip from "two in the afternoon" all the way to "Miles has been helping around the city all day"

“What did you say?”

Miles swallows down his hesitation, can feel the sweat running down his back, and breathes heavily out his nose.

“I… I told Peter and one of his friends… about us. Being together.” Each word feels like he’s digging further and further into his own grave.

Ganke takes off his glasses and rubs at his eyes, “That’s great, man. I honestly didn’t think you’d be ready.” He then places his glasses back on and turns back to play on his computer.

Miles stares at him, dumbfounded. 

What?

“What?” 

Ganke hums. “What? I mean, you’re always hiding me from everybody, I just didn’t expect you to--”

“No,” Miles says, “is… is that it? You aren’t mad? You’re not gonna leave?” He asks, voice shaking. He can feel the rocks in his stomach and the adrenaline making him his limbs feel light.

Ganke quickly turns to face him again, and Miles can see his eyes shining ever so slightly. Shit. 

“Leave? What? Why would I do that?” He asks in disbelief. “Miles, you know I never really liked keeping us a secret. This is… actually amazing, I can tell my mom, you can tell your parents--”

Miles feels cold dread stab him in the stomach, and he holds in the “no” that wants to escape his mouth. Ganke’s eyes lighting up makes him bite the inside of his cheek.

“--well, maybe we can wait a bit before we tell my mom,” Ganke amends with a slightly bitter tone, “but no man, I’m not mad. Should we tell Gwen or do you think Pav told her already?”

Still trying to wrap his mind around Ganke not storming out of the dorm right now, Miles doesn’t respond. His heart feels like it’s beating way too fast, and he feels the sweat coming back full force, running down his face and back. His face feels hot, and he just wants to curl into himself until he gets so small that he merely pops out of existence.

“Ganke, I’m really sorry,” Miles finally says after a few unsure moments of silence. “I just… it was an accident, like with Pavitr. I didn’t actually want to… tell anyone? Not yet.”

Ganke actually pauses the game he’s playing, and fully turns in his chair to give Miles a quizzical look. “What?”

God, here comes the most difficult part.

Miles sits down on Ganke’s bunk, taking off his gloves and fidgeting with his fingers. “I’m still not ready. I know that… I know that you want to let people know, but I… just can’t. I’m--”

Ganke shakes his head, “You’re sorry, I know. I just… why? I mean, your parents are so supportive of literally everything else you do, the rest of your friends are going to accept us,” he trails off, looking away with a frown. “I know you’re scared, but we should at least tell… I want your parents to know about me, I don’t want to just keep lying to their faces and sneaking around all the time ...”

Miles looks down at his hands. He always knew that Ganke never really wanted their relationship to be secret, but already made it clear he wasn’t going to pressure Miles to come out to anybody before he was ready.

“I know, I know. I want to tell them too--”

“Do you?” Ganke interrupts, his tone causing Miles to look up and meet his eyes.

No , he thinks. “I… I already-- I’m Spider-Man, and you know they still aren’t… Look, I can’t keep pushing all this…” Miles struggles to get the rest of the sentence out as he realizes how bad it sounds. 

The other boy seems to realize what he was going to say, because his gaze turns sharp, hurt flashing almost too quick for Miles to catch, before he sighs. “Miles, let’s… not. We’ll talk about this in the morning, or something.”

“Yeah,” Miles agrees numbly, crawling up into his own bunk and changing into his sleep clothes. “I love you, you know that.”

Ganke doesn’t respond, which makes the rocks that settled in Miles’s stomach feel like they were going to drag him through all the floors in this very building and into the Earth’s core, but when he looks over, he sees Ganke already has his headphones on, facing the wall.

He’s going to be sick. He’s overreacting to this, it’s normal for Ganke to be upset right now and not want to see him or talk to him any longer. They can work this out. They love each other, and that won’t change.

Miles leans back into his own bunk, and stares at the ceiling for the rest of the night. 

____

The cool breeze stings his cheeks as he walks down the street with Ganke. His boyfriend. He squeezes his hand briefly.

“Miles, don’t. I know you don’t even wanna hold my hand right now,” Ganke mumbles.

“I do,” Miles insists, because he really does--

“But you’re scared,” Ganke says--

because he really is.

“I… I don’t want to be, I want to hold your hand,” Miles tries to insist, hating how weak his voice sounded. He did want this, why couldn’t he at least sound like it? “I don’t want to be scared of what anyone thinks--”

“How about this, we start slow. And on purpose, this time, we can…” Ganke trails off.

“You don’t think it’s a good idea,” Miles guesses.

“Well I don’t have any other plans, man. I don’t wanna just keep us secret for the rest of our lives,” Ganke says, tucking his hands in his pockets. His glasses fog up when he sighs, “But I don’t want to scare you off or anything. I don’t know.”

Miles turns his gaze to the ground.

“Maybe… yeah. We start slow. I can tell people… on purpose,” he agrees, swallowing the rocks in his throat. They settle back in his stomach, waiting. 

“But you’re not sold on the idea?”

“No, no. But I can… try?” That’s what relationships are about, right? Trying? Meeting halfway and all that.

Ganke is quiet for a few minutes while they walk. His breath fogs up his glasses, and splashes from the puddles they step in are freezing, even through their pants. 

“Yeah. Okay,” he mumbles. “Who do you have in mind?”

Nobody, but Miles doesn’t say that. He looks around, squinting at the slowly rising sun.

Alright, he could do this. He could try telling people. Pavitr and Peter already know, and they’ve done nothing but be supportive, or in Peter’s case, be annoying. The man probably told his wife, and his baby, who would’ve babbled nonsense back at him, and that friend-- Richard, he thinks-- probably…

Take a deep breath.

Probably didn’t tell anybody. He probably forgot all about it. Miles doesn’t even exist in that world, he would have no reason to go around telling people about some random guy’s relationship worries.

“Do you have anyone in mind?” Ganke asks him, unimpressed with the answering silence.

“Um… yes.”

“Really? Who?”

Miles gulps.

____

Even on Earth-42, a city that’s overrun with villains controlling more than they should, there’s still annoyingly loud morning traffic. Horn honking, tires screeching, car engines sputtering, and the jumbled muffled noise of people yelling at each other reaches Miles even when he’s hundreds of feet in the air. But it’s all just background noise. He’s not focusing on that. He’s focusing on how to not die inside trying to confess what he’s about to confess.

“So why did you make me come up here? You’re not here to pull an O’hara, right?” G. asks him, slowly coming closer to join him on the edge of the roof. 

The two chuckle at their inside joke, but Miles notices the other’s tense shoulders. Does he really look like that right now too? He relaxes his shoulders just the tiniest amount. 

“I just… wanted to tell you something. Away from Ma and Uncle Aaron-- it’s personal, so…”

“What? Did something happen? Is it about both of us?” G. suddenly straightened up from his slouch, eyes narrowing slightly. 

Oh man, wouldn’t that be a relief. 

“No, it’s just… I don’t want anyone else to know. It’s a secret.”

“Is it a girl?” G. asks hesitantly. “Uncle Aaron’s got better advice than me, though, so…”

Miles swallows the rocks in his throat back down to his stomach, where they finally settle and wait. He feels a shiver go down his spine, and sweat forms on his forehead. God, why didn’t he think to put his suit on before he came here? He could at least hide the more obvious tells that he was scared out of his mind.

“Nah, it’s not that,” certainly not a girl, “I just… uhh…”

Say it. Tell him. Tell him you’re-

“Did you kill somebody?”

“No! Dude, what the hell!” Miles shouts.

“Hey, don’t get loud with me! I was just asking! You look like you’re about to pass out!” G. grumbles, running a hand down one of his braids. “Probably shouldn’t be on the edge, come on.”

With a huff, Miles joins his alternate self in retreating from the roof’s edge and sitting down near the door leading to the stairwell. He picks up a pebble and tosses it up in the air repeatedly, trying to count his breaths. 

He can do this. His anxiety and fears are irrational. Everything about G. shows that he’s bound to be accepting. And even if he isn’t, he wouldn’t gain anything by outing Miles to anyone else here, and he doesn’t even really care about Miles’s friends enough to want to tell them anything.

He can do this. If not for himself, then for Ganke. Ganke deserves it. His boyfriend deserves it. 

“I’m…”

G. tilts his head, one brow raised.

Miles lets the rock drop and hides his face in his hands, groaning loudly. “I can’t do thiiissss…”

“Look man, you ain’t gotta tell me if you don’t want to,” G. tells him awkwardly, stiffly patting his shoulder in understanding. “I don’t tell you a lot of stuff.”

Miles peeks between his fingers. “Yeah? Like what?” He asks forlornly.

The other boy gives him a flat look. Yeah, okay.

“That’s the thing though,” Miles sighs, picking at his lip, something G. gently slaps his hand away for, “I want to tell you! It’s super important, and I kinda made a promise to tell you already.”

“And you hate breaking promises,” G. says. “But you hate telling me whatever this super important secret is… more than that.”

“You’re making it sound really bad.”

G. rolls his eyes, “Who did you even promise that to? Ma? Your dad?”

“Ganke. It’s super important to him that I tell somebody, and I promised to tell you like… earlier this morning. I hate breaking promises to him, man.” Miles wonders if that was too much information to give, and that G. would guess what he was supposed to confess anyway. Shit, that would be way worse than him just outright saying it… what if G. guesses it and stays quiet about it but secretly hates him because of that?

Stop it, stop it brain, Miles thinks to himself, furrowing his brows. 

“Ganke? Is this about… y’know--”

Miles swears his heart stops for a second.

“--his crush?”

His WHAT?

“Yeah, Barbara? She’s… shit, you didn’t know?!” G.’s eyes widen, and he waves his hands as if trying to dispel the words. “Then forget about it!”

Miles stands up, feeling like ice cold water was just dunked on him. “His what?! No no no, don’t you walk away--”

G. groans and hides his face in his hands, “ Ay, bendito, that’s-- that’s super personal!”

“Then why did you think that’s what I was talking about!”

“Because what else would he tell you to tell another version of yourself that would probably already know?! Dude, seriously , you need to calm down--”

“Calm down?! Calm down?! He’s my--”

G. tugs on a braid as he takes a step back for some reason, “I know he’s your best friend, and we liked Barbara first, but he doesn’t even like her anymore! It’s probably the same with your Ganke!”

Huh?

“I… don’t… I don’t like Barbara,” Miles says after a few moments of tense silence.

“What--”

“I don’t even know who that is, man,” he elaborates.

“Then why’re you so heated?”

This is your chance! Tell him the truth, Miles!

“I just…”

He can’t do this.

“I was upset that he wouldn’t tell me something like that. I’m his best friend!” He settles on. The words make his entire body feel cold, and the rocks in his stomach grow heavier with guilt. He isn’t the best liar, but a shamefully large part of him hopes G. buys this one.

“Well, if it’s the same in your world, maybe he just wasn’t sure. And just because you’re friends doesn’t mean he has to tell you everything, you sound overbearing.”

“I didn’t say he had to tell me everything,” Miles bites out.

“Yeah, whatever. What were you gonna tell me?”

Miles shrugs him off, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll tell you some other time.”

G. gives him another flat look and crosses his arms. “Aight, I’m leaving. Waste of my time…”

“Tell Mom and Uncle Aaron I said hi.”

G. doesn’t answer, and leaves Miles alone on the roof.

Ugh. Way to go, genius.

____

How is it only two in the afternoon?

“Well, thousands of years ago, some ape invented keeping track of time, so now we’re here,” the caretaker responds humourlessly. 

Miles went back home, deciding to spend the rest of the day helping out in his own world. He’s in a homeless shelter, keeping the lights on with his own electricity until the backup generators are fixed. “Don’t quit your dayjob, ma’am,” he responds dryly, startling a laugh out of the lady. “How’d those generators break, anyway? I never asked about that.”

A somewhat elderly man sitting nearby responds, “Rats.”

A woman texting on her phone nearby scoffs, “Dad, it wasn’t rats. You were hearing things, again.”

“I’m not the crazy one, I know what I heard.”

“I’m not crazy, I told you to stop calling me that!”

The caretaker brings the man a sandwich and bowl of banana slices, shooting Mlies a look as if he started the argument. “The official story is that it’s an old generator, it was just a matter of time before it went kaput,” she tells him.

“And the unofficial story?” He presses, crossing his arms and raising a brow.

“Some assholes took a whack at it,” she whispers to him. 

“Why cover that up?” He whispers back, eyes widening.

“So that some people here don’t lose it. A lot of them have no where else to go after this, and we don’t want them to get scared and think we’re being targeted,” she explains, glancing at the two still arguing, “we don’t want to take this away from them because of this one-off thing.”

“What if it’s not a one-off attack?” Miles can’t help but ask, frowning. “Even if it is, you should still let them know the truth.”

“Wow, your mask is really expressive. You look devastated,” the caretaker comments, not answering his question.

“Thank you, I helped design it,” he replies instead, making a mental note to swing over this shelter more often. Something tells him now isn’t the time to debate or argue with her.

Another woman, probably around his mom’s age, shuffles into the room with a tall pile of clothes in a basket. “Hey, the washer and dryer working?” 

“Yeah, thanks to Spidey here,” the caretaker says, waving her hand in his general area.

“Thanks Spidey,” she says, “I’m Jeremy.”

Miles blinks, “No problem, Jeremy,” he tells him. Hopefully his embarrassment doesn’t show through the mask either.

Jeremy walks past everyone to another room, presumably the laundry room.

The old man scoffs loudly, “You’re still letting her work here?”

The way he says it makes Miles tense his shoulders and jaw. 

“He,” the caretaker corrects sharply, “is a great volunteer, and is washing your clothes for you without complaining.”

The old man grumbles, goes to look at his daughter, and gives up the argument when he sees her glaring angrily at him. “Whatever. Too old to be dealing with this,” he mutters as he walks out of the room.

“I’m sorry about him,” the daughter says quietly and stiltedly to Miles and the caretaker, face quickly turning pink as she follows him.

The caretaker doesn’t respond to that, only dragging her hand down her face and rolling her eyes. “Poor kid. He’s gotta deal with those types that don’t even like him. I don’t know how he keeps coming back.”

“Well, my mom has to treat some real jerks at work, and she still goes back,” Miles tells her, “I think it makes Jeremy a pretty great guy. Putting up with all that so people can have clean clothes.”

The caretaker looks at him and smiles warmly. “You’re a good kid, Spidey. Don’t let anything change that.”

“I’m--” Miles coughs, and deepens his voice slightly, “I’m a grown man.”

The caretaker laughs at him, shaking her head. 

____

Miles has been helping around the city all day after that, not stopping once for a break for himself. 

It started storming at one point, rain seeping into his suit and chilling him to the point of numbness, resulting in a peaceful trance as he swung around, offering a hand wherever he could. 

Sent down to the subway, Miles helps a group of teens find their art wall. Two boys and three girls were just wandering down here, clearly lost, and with their descriptions, he was able to figure out exactly what mural they were looking for. He hopes they don’t realize another mural-- his own, with the other spider-people and his uncle-- is nearby; he doesn’t want it to end up getting attention if the kids decide to take a picture or something, and he couldn’t really explain why he’d stop them either. “The guy who painted this is my friend,” doesn’t sound convincing, and even if it did, what if he ran into these kids as Miles down here? That would be a whole new thing to deal with and lie about!

“Hey, are you actually allergic to cinnamon?” One of the teens ask him, breaking him out of his thoughts as he leads them down the tracks. “Or am I reaching?”

“Why would I be allergic to cinnamon? Where did you hear that?” He questions her, dropping down now that they were getting close. He looks at the group of teens, noticing most of them were slightly taller than him. Which was only slightly annoying.

“Well,” one of the boys begins, “we binging your fail compilations--” Oh come on , Miles thinks-- “and you ran into a wall when running from that candy cane villain. Remember that?”

“Uh-huh,” Miles nods, crossing his arms. It was a few days after Christmas when he first became Spider-Man, and a major embarrassment even if he did end up winning.

“You said you were allergic to peppermint when a reporter asked why you ran, so we searched it up and spiders hate cinnamon too.”

Damn, he did say that, didn’t he? It was to save a bit of face, but the smell honestly did make him want to gag and made him so irritated that he had to do more running away than fighting. Sue him, he wasn’t about to throw up as Spider-Man. Guess he has to roll with the lie now. 

“I like cinnamon most of the time,” Miles finally answers, “only really how my mom uses it.”

“Oh!” One of the girls pipes up, “Have you ever done the cinnamon challenge? You totally should!”

Miles lets out a sharp laugh, “And what, embarrass myself on the internet again? Willingly?”

“You already do that,” one of the boys says dryly.

“Ouch, you should be a little nicer! I am the one leading you through here,” he jokes. 

“Sorry,” the boy drawls, not sounding sorry in the slightest.

They are quickly coming up to the mural, so Miles takes his leave. “Will you guys need help getting out of here?” He asks them, placing his hands on his hips. “I can hang around, and you can just call for me when you’re done.”

“Nope, her uncle can come pick us up when we’re done adding the finishing touches to this,” one of the boys responds, pointing to a girl that’s pulling out her phone. 

The mention of the girl’s uncle sends a pang straight through his heart, but he just nods his head, taking in the mural once more. 

He’s passed it maybe twice before, and It was a really beautiful work of art, messy in a way that screams authenticity and just pure fun, not following any sort of rules or guides. Just a collage made and continuously added on to by complete strangers. There was a group of smiling stick figures all circling the planet, and a realistic heart painting above in the colors of the gay pride flag. There were several more hearts painted haphazardly around, all in different styles, some of them were national and disability flags too, each surrounded by flowers and more smiling stick figures, a few in wheelchairs. There were even some printed out articles glued or taped around, mostly about accomplishments great and small for the communities painted. There was a cardboard sign nearby that said, “Make Your Mark!” with an arrow pointed to the mural, inviting anyone who wants to add to it.

It was probably one of his favorites, if he was being honest.

Miles would have to come back later anyway, just to see what these kids added to the mural.

____

He sighs and opens his bedroom door. “I got the oranges,” he calls out, peeling off his mask and tossing it behind him.

“Miles, go change, no Spider-Man at the table. You’re soaked, what did we tell you--” His dad tells him as he takes the bag from him, tossing a large towel at his face. 

“But Spider-Man did really good today, can’t he get a few scraps?” He jokes.

“You know what I meant,” his dad mumbles, “go change. Your mother’s trying a new recipe, and I’m not getting my tastebuds burnt off alone.”

Miles’s eyes widen, “Are you sure Spider-Man shouldn’t get involved?”

“I can hear you two!” His mom laughs from her experimenting in the kitchen.

Once he’s in his room, he takes a few minutes to relax. He removes his suit, dries off, and puts on a plain tee shirt and some shorts, wincing when the shirt snags on his earrings. After giving himself a once-over to make sure there aren’t any bruises, cuts, trackers, or old gum he missed, he decides to text his friends.

|Miles Morales 1610-B: Hey hows it going

|Gwen Stacy 65-B: bsuy w fight

|Miles Morales 1610-B: lmk if you need help

Okay, well Gwen’s occupied. Pavitr’s… probably still asleep, since it’s the weekend… Hobie prefers calling, and Miles really doesn’t want to do that right now… hmm.

|Miles Morales 1610-B: Hey margo how have you been?

|Margo Kess 22191-B: hi it’s been going i guess! Wbu

|Miles Morales 1610-B: Nothing much just saving the day and hating school

|Margo Kess 22191-B: felt that lol 

|Margo Kess 22191-B: im actually about to help gwen with this weird villain

|Margo Kess 22191-B: its a surprise tho so dont tell her 

“Oh,” Miles quietly says aloud, sitting down on his chair.

|Miles Morales 1610-B: Thats super nice of you!!

|Margo Kess 22191-B: yeah i want to be close again like we used to be

Huh. That’s interesting. Gwen never mentioned that she used to be close with Margo, and vice versa. Miles fights down a rush of… something close to jealousy, but not quite that. He knows Gwen made a few friends while she was in the Society, but she didn’t really like to talk about her time there in general. And he never really asked anyway, with a wound that fresh. Shoot, should he have asked at any point regardless? He doesn’t want to come off like he doesn’t care.

You’re overthinking again.

|Miles Morales 1610-B: Good luck

Does that look sarcastic? Or bitter?

|Margo Kess 22191-B: thanks dude :)

“Thank god,” Miles lets out a sharp breath, not realizing he was even holding it. He puts his watch in his nightstand and lays back on the bed, pulling out his phone, about to text Ganke--

Nevermind! That would mean he’d have to tell him he didn’t tell G. about their relationship. If he simply… forgot to text Ganke, perhaps…

No.

He needs to tell somebody . Tonight .

“Miles, come help cook!” his mom shouted from the kitchen.

____

“You okay?”

Miles blinks, looking down at the ball of meat he’s been rolling for the past five minutes. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he answers. “Just a bit tired after saving the day, you know how it is.”

“Mm,” his dad hums, not wanting to talk about anything Spider-Man related, Miles guesses. “Just checking. You’re really tense.”

Miles unclenches his jaw and lets his shoulders drop to a more natural position. “I’m not.”

“Miles, you can talk to us. Me and your mother have seen a lot--”

They have? Miles feels lightheaded, and the rocks forming in his stomach are making him tense up again to not fall over. 

“--whatever happened out there tonight, you can tell us. We know there’s a lot of stuff out there, stuff no kid should have to handle, and… we just want you to be honest...”

Miles could cry right now. Oh my god. They didn’t know, his dad was just talking about being traumatized on the job from getting horrible injuries or whatever. He swears he heard angels singing for a second there.

“I know, Dad,” Miles says, slightly impressed at how steady his voice sounded. He can’t see his dad, but Miles swears he can sense the unease and disappointment in the air around him. 

Miles understands. The part of him that isn't cheering is screaming that he’s ruined his chance to be honest again, for his own selfish reasons. But the other part, the one that fiercely shields him as he hides away in that closet, simply leaves a cold relief as it washed over him.

“Miles, are those piercings infected? They look dark,” his mom points out as she comes back into the kitchen to finish cooking.

The lobes themselves are warm to the touch, now that he actually pays attention. “They do?”

“Yes, are you pulling on them? I told you not to go through any sewers, any dumps, and to clean them everyday!” she scolds, “They’re going to itch like crazy and drive you mad now.”

“It’ll be fine, ma,” Miles chuckles, realizing he actually has been slacking in cleaning them, “I can handle some itching.”

“Oh, Jeff, our son’s laughing about that infection,” his mom places a hand on her cheek, “We’ll have to call the priest.”

“It’s not an infection, mami.”

“Yep, I see the life leaving him right now,” his traitorous dad joins in.

“Guys, c’mon,” Miles laughs, “I’ll clean them after dinner.”

“Our last meal together,” his dad mumbles, shaking his head and wiping away imaginary tears.

____

Miles waited until his parents were asleep to sneak out onto the roof of their apartment building, creeping into the greenhouse. 

He still needs to tell somebody, even more so now that he has an entirely new person to potentially worry about. Miles doesn’t know who this Barbara girl is, but if she exists here, that means Ganke could have a crush on her, and the very thought of that is making Miles’s brain go haywire. It doesn’t even make total sense in his brain; instead of neurons, there are just jumbled wires and a cacophony of incoherent panicked shouting.

He sits down on the floor of the greenhouse, hunching over and pulling at his hair. 

Be smart about this , Miles thinks to himself. Don’t freak out, don’t freak out… He needs-- there’s gotta be a list. What was it Peter’s friend said? Start a journal, or something. He should list the problems, make a plan of action. That’s the smart thing to do.

[unseenthewriter]

CHAPTER 3: TRANSGRESSIONS

Chapter 3: 2865 Words

Fic Total: 8214 Words

Series Total: 8214 Words

"Hey, Dunc." I said softly after sliding the door to his room open.

"Jay you are soaking wet." Dunc said and shut his laptop.

"Yeah, I was taking a walk." I replied.

"When it's pouring out?" He questioned.

"It wasn't raining when I started the walk." I replied while rubbing the back of my neck.

Duncan took a moment to process that. "But it's been raining for almost 3 hours now…" He trailed off.

"Long walk." I said with my voice cracking a little.

"Man you do NOT treat your body well." Duncan sighed.

He's not wrong. I sat down in the chair near him. "Look I uh… need your advice on something but I have to explain a lot of stuff first." I said.

"I mean you've already told me you're trans and all. What bigger secret could you have? You don't have a crush on me do you?" He asked.

"What! No!" I instantly shot down. I do totally have a crush on Duncan but I'm not admitting that to anyone anytime soon. Not even myself.

Duncan squinted at me after that quick denial. "What is it then?" He asked.

I explained the situation with my Mom and finding out about House being my Father. Duncan listened intently the whole time.

Once I explained it all to Dunc he spoke up. "Right so your Mom died a few months ago and you ran off to Princeton to find your Father and you found him." He summed up.

"Basically?" I replied.

"What advice do you need then because if you're thinking about running back to Minnesota I would very much protest to that." Dunc said.

"No, it's not anything like that. I just… House doesn't know I'm Transgender." I stumbled over my words.

"Right. So your options here are. One you tell him and risk being thrown out because he might be transphobic. Or two not tell him. Try to keep it a secret and when he eventually finds out risk being thrown out because you lied to him or he's transphobic." Duncan said.

"Yeah, those are the options." I grumbled.

"You said that Wilson and House are together right?" Duncan asked. "Not surprised by that at all." He added softly.

"Yeah? I don't see why that really applies." I said.

"Look you and I both know Wilson is a nice guy. And if he's you know…" Dunc trailed off letting me fill in that blank. "He might know the best way to approach this."

I blinked. A third option. I mean no matter what I do Wilson would also find out eventually anyway. You all live together-

Woah Jay don't jump to that. This could all still be very much a temporary reprieve.

But this IS a pretty good option. A lot less… Scary than straight-up approaching House. And the not telling option is just a bad choice overall really. "God I'm so glad you're my friend Dunc." I sighed in relief.

"Hey. Just because you're the genius doesn't mean you're not an idiot at times." He joked.

"Hey! You better not be calling your science tutor an idiot!" I protested.

"I didn't say you were an idiot at science. We'd both be in trouble if that was the case." Dunc said.

I laughed at that. "Thanks again, Dunc. You're like my… Relationship Filter. You know how people work I don't."

"Hmmm, shame I suck at science. Maybe I'd be a good therapist." Duncan replied.

"I wouldn't rule it out, man. You got Jay Flynn as your science tutor." I said and flexed one of my arms.

"Dude you are even lankier than me and I'm the one with cancer." Duncan laughed.

"I work out the muscle that counts." I huffed.

"Even I know the brain isn't a muscle." Duncan said.

"See! I am a good tutor!" I replied.

"Hey! Don't you dare move away from me being right about something science wise and YOU being wrong." Dunc protested.

"What? Sorry, can't hear you over my newly inflated sense of self-worth!" I exclaimed while walking out the door.

"I'm texting you about this you ass!" Dunc yelled to me as I shut the door.

I walked off with a smile.

~~~

The weekend passed with me not being able to get up the nerve to come out of the closet to Wilson.

Duncan, of course, told me that he's keeping my copy of Elder Scrolls Oblivion hostage until I tell Wilson. I would've tried to take it back but he's out of the hospital for now.

Teachers have of course noticed that I've been VERY distracted all day. I'm just not even sure how to bring this up. My Mom just found my binder one day making the whole situation out of my hands but this? This is very much all on me.

"Jay! You don't normally volunteer on Mondays. I wasn't expecting you." Wilson said after I walked into his office.

I sat down in the chair in front of his desk. Just tell him, Jay. Just tell him.

"You okay? You look really pale." Wilson commented.

It's fine Jay. Wilson is a nice guy. Probably the nicest guy you've ever met. That's including your old gymnastics coach who would sneak you ice cream every meet.

"Look I uh-" I tried to say what I wanted but couldn't. The words were just getting caught in my throat. My brain just wanted me to run. Getaway from this confrontation.

"Did something happen?" Wilson asked.

I looked up at him. He concerned now. God, you are REALLY screwing this up. "N-No I just." I paused and took a breath. "I'm Transgender." I finished softly.

Wilson blinked. He clearly didn't expect this. "I forgot how awkward this all was." He finally said with a bit of a fond smile.

Ah, right it's because he's Gay or Bi or something. "I-I um. I don't know how to tell House I mean. LGB people can still be transphobic and even other trans people!" I rambled without really realizing what I was saying before it was said.

Wilson chuckled. "He'll be fine with it."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"I'm a Trans Man." Wilson said with a shrug and went back to paperwork.

My brain once again hit a wall at 100 miles per hour.

Wilson is trans? God he must be stealth and… who knows how long he's been on testosterone! I never even expected. Not even a tiny bit.

I let my brain reboot. "So how do I tell House?" I asked.

"Being direct with him." Wilson said.

Yeah, Wilson is probably right about that. House doesn't seem like the guy who would respond well to any sort of indirect approach. Unfortunately, I'm absolutely terrible at confrontation I mean… This conversation with Wilson could've been a lot better.

Wilson was eyeing me. "Does House scare you?" He asked suddenly.

"What! No! I just um…" I trailed off. Sure House is a little intimidating but that's fine. Lots of people who look intimidating aren't that intimidating when you get to know them. I'm not sure if that's the case with House but that's beside the point. I can deal with intimidating people. On a surface level at least. But when I have to go deeper… I don't open up very easily. Nothing quite like the betrayal of opening up to someone and they then proceed to take advantage of that. Sure that probably means I have trust issues or something but is it really an issue if it's to protect yourself? "I'm not good at this stuff." I finished.

Wilson looked at me with a "yeah no shit" face. "You're both bad at it." He responded.

This is going to be a train wreck.

~~~

“I swear to God Bill I’ve told you 100 times I don’t fucking know how to fix TV’s.” I cursed as I was fiddling with the TV in the Doctor’s Lounge.

A cute blond guy with an Australian accent walked up to me. “You stealing our TV?” He asked.

I quickly turned around on pointe. “No trying to fix it.” I said.

He looked me up and down clearly noticing my Princeton Prep uniform. “You seem a bit young to be working for IT.”

“I’m a volunteer.” I sighed and tapped my badge.

The Aussie Doctor took a quick glance at my badge. “Jay Flynn… You’re House’s kid right?” He asked.

I don’t think I’m going to get used to that question any time soon. “Yes.” I said.

“Ah well, I’m Dr. Chase I used to be one of his fellows before he fired me.” Chase said causally.

I blinked. He what? I mean if Chase is still working here it’s not like he did something really bad so either he did something to piss House off or there wasn’t a real good reason. “Uh sorry, I guess?” I said.

Chase blinked. “It’s not like it was your fault. You’re not that much like him are you?”

I sighed. “He didn’t exactly raise me you know.”

“Hmm, I guess.” Chase mumbled. “Need help?”

“Not really but you can hand me that screwdriver over there I’m going to open this sucker up.” I said.

“Sure thing.” Chase said and threw it at me.

I caught the screwdriver. “What’s an Aussie doing in the US anyway?” I asked as I opened up the TV.

“House.” He said simply and sat down on the couch.

Ah, I guess that makes sense. “Seems like a bit of an ass to work with.” I said.

“Can’t even imagine living with him.” Chase joked.

“You ask Wilson?” I said.

“He’s biased.” Chase said.

“And I’m not? He’s my Biological Father.” I said.

“Well, it’s not like you were raised by him.” Chase said quoting me.

“Ah touché.” I said pointing the screwdriver at him before setting it down. Hmm so someone straight-up just totally went into this TV and wrecked it nice. “I guess I am stealing the TV.” I joked.

~~~

The next couple of days were full of Dunc and Wilson trying to sike me up to tell House. With different methods of course. Wilson was more supportive and understanding. Trying to calm my anxiety. Duncan on the other hand…

"Dude please stop holding my Spider-Man cosplay hostage. You are going to disappoint so many kids this Halloween!" I protested over the phone.

"You only have yourself to blame. You've had this whole week. You tell him tonight and I'll make sure the cosplay will be at PPTH tomorrow yeah?" Dunc replied simply.

Yeah, different methods… The thing is that Duncan KNOWS his method works well on me. This is probably like the 6th time he's done something like this. Wilson's method doesn't hurt, of course.

So now I'm sitting in the chair across from House's desk waiting for him to come back to his office. The large tennis ball was not helping me out. I want to mess around with it SO bad but that's not polite Jay. Not polite. Instead, I'm rapidly bouncing my legs. My eyes closed trying to keep calm.

"Aren't you normally half deep in a bunch of wiring by now?" House said while limping into his office and sitting at the desk.

My eyes snapped open. "Bill didn't need any help today." That was because of Wilson. He made sure I wouldn't have anything to distract myself with today. "Seeing the kids tomorrow for Halloween." I added on.

House raised an eyebrow. "You dressing up?" He asked.

Planning on it. If Duncan keeps up his end of the deal.

"I have a nice Spider-Man cospl- costume. Being able to do flips and stuff really seals the deal." I rambled while subconsciously making the web shooter hands. House probably has already figured out how big of a nerd I am but I really don't want to confirm that by saying cosplay.

"Why are you here?" He asked.

I stared at the tennis ball. Just tell him, Jay. You already told Duncan and Wilson! You can do it again. "I'm Transgender." I said keeping my gaze on the tennis ball.

"I know." House said making my head snap to him.

"How? Did Wilson?" I asked.

"No. I looked you up." House said turning to his computer pulling something up.

It was an online article about 13-year-old me quitting gymnastics because of my gender identity. I was on track to be Olympics level so it caused a little bit of a fuss 3 years ago. I bit my lip while watching the video of one of my balance beam routines. "Right that." I mumbled.

"Why the name Jay?" He asked.

My face flushed at that. "M-Mom always called me Her Little Blue Jay growing up. My eyes and all." I replied.

"Little Blue Jay huh?" He said.

"DON'T call me that. Blue Jay is fine just not the uh… Little part." I snapped.

"You're only five feet tall." House pointed out.

That's not the point. I know I'm short as hell and I'm mostly fine with that. "It's not that." I muttered and walked out of House's office.

Definitely could've gone better.

~~~

"Shouldn't you be in New York?" A little boy asked.

"Well Ethan, even superheroes need vacations." I responded while the kid's Mom took a photo of the two of us.

It's pretty nice not having to smile for pictures. Wearing a mask and all.

"Shoot some webs!" A little girl exclaimed.

"All out of web fluid at the moment." I sighed while tapping the replica web-shooters. A white lie of course. I can't actually shoot webs. "It's a long trip from Queens to here."

"How are you getting back then?" The girl asked looking pretty concerned.

Ah, think fast Jay. I looked around and spotted Wilson leaning on the door frame. I moved over to the girl. "You see Dr. Wilson over there." I said while pointing at him.

Dr. Wilson smiled softly and waved at us. I'm still not over the fact that he found a cape this morning and thought that was good enough for a costume. I'll have to find something that works for Wilson later. House could easily just have a Pirate costume or something. I can’t have those two be lazy on my favorite holiday.

"Now Rosie he's a real superhero. Helping all you guys get better. He's also helping me out and getting me some more Web Fluid." I finished.

The little girl's eyes widened and then she nodded in understanding. I smiled even though no one could see. Kids are pretty great. Not sure if I'd ever want any of my own but they are great nonetheless.

A few flips, poses and, conversations later I bid my farewell by saying Green Goblin was nearby or something. I was now in the cafeteria (mask off) trying to regain at least some of the energy I just burned. Kids while great do wear you out. Wilson soon sat on the chair across from me as I nibbled on my fries.

"You were fantastic with the kids." He said.

I leaned back a little in the chair I was in. "Ah only for short stints." I downplayed. "Halloween is my favorite holiday making it quite a bit easier today." I said with a bit of a smirk.

"Really?" Wilson said.

I nodded. "Which means your 'costume' is very disappointing to me." I said pointing a fry at him.

"The cape really is quite enough for me." Wilson protested.

"Mmm, that's quitters talk." I muttered.

We sat in silence for a while before Wilson spoke up. "Noticed you and House don't seem to be talking."

Of course, he'd noticed that. "Nothing really just a minor uh… disagreement. I'm sure it will blow over soon." I mumbled staring at my now empty plate.

"Oh? Things don't exactly blow over with House." Wilson pressed.

"House asked me why I chose the name Jay." I stated.

Wilson just looked at me. Expecting more explanation clearly. I poked at my mask. "Told him that my Mom called me Her Little Blue Jay growing up. I'm fine with people calling me Blue Jay but only she could call me Little Blue Jay. House didn't seem to understand I guess." I explained.

"Your Mother called you that so you don't want anyone else to." Wilson pieced together.

I nodded. There was ONE other person who I used to let me call that but… No. They don't deserve even a second of my thoughts anymore.

"You miss her a lot hmm?" Wilson said after a while of me sitting there lost in thought.

"What? Yeah, of course, I-" I said but stopped myself. "It's fine though I'm fine." I finished.

I'm putting up walls of course. It's only for my own protection! If I open up to Wilson or House and this doesn't work out I don't know what I'd do.

Wilson sighed clearly a little annoyed that I won't open up to him. "I'm here if you need to talk." He said.

"I know." I said while putting the Spider-Man mask back on. "See ya." I said and walked off while giving Wilson double piece signs.

AN: Jeez this chapter is all over the place. Is Jay cosplaying as Spider-Man a not very subtle way of saying I love the Trans Spider-Man headcanons? Yes for sure. Next chapter has more plot I swear to God.

[lgbt-shitcourse]

all it can take is just one simple post and the pain just starts flowing right back in

I never feel like I’ll ever find love. I’m weird, obsessive, have poor hygiene, and overall have a bad disposition. I’ve looked into Borderline personality disorder and fits me to a T, even though I don’t believe in self diagnosis. 

Either way I know I have depression and anxiety issues I’ve been diagnosed with and it makes me self conscious as hell. I know I’m more prone to lashing out, hiding, and just overall not talking all that much because of it. There’s a couple of times where I can distinctly remember my mom saying “i’m used to it” when I’ve apologized for lashing out. Another time when I asked if I show that I’m loving (We were reading some silly INTJ thing, as I am INTJ), she stayed silent the first few times, and when I got a response it was a “You love in your own way” sort of thing

and ever since those situations happened I just feel toxic to be around, and while I’m beyond desperate to find someone to love in my life I don’t want to be in a relationship because they deserve better than a fucking mess like I am right now, but it just seems like however much I try to not be a mess I just don’t change that much. 

That’s awful enough to think about, and I didn’t expect to even write about it when I started it

But man the ace thing really just puts the nail on the coffin.

I kinda fell in love with a guy who turned out to be an ace exclusionist. It kinda fucked me up to be honest. I don’t wanna blame him, and i wish him the best (I haven’t checked up on him in nearly a year) but that’s what got me started on the ace discourse scene to begin with. I couldn’t even believe this was a thing and hadn’t heard about it until last/2 years ago. Every since it’s kinda just ruined me.

I’ll go check out a blog, see a post that gives me a red flag, and almost 100 percent of the time (I can think of only 1 blog that was inclusionist and with the others I wasn’t able to see) they turn out to be exclusionists.

and it hurts to read the horrible misconceptions they have about the ace community and ace people in general. Sure, there are transphobic aces, and aces that are fucking assholes, but there are plenty of other LGB members like that. They don’t suddenly get excluded. (Oh wait, sometimes they do whoops) 

When I signed off with that post I made at the beginning of the year, I wanted to stop using this blog. But every now and then, I see some thing someone’s said about the ace community that is not only misinformed but incredibly unnecessarily aggressive it just hurts. 

It reminds me that there’s a whole subsection of the LGBTQ+ community that hates me. Another would hate me for using ‘LGBTQ+ instead of just LGBT.

and it makes me scared to date. Scared to reblog some things, scared to just exist as myself. I get awful thoughts that tell me to just be quiet about being ace if I ever get into a relationship and to just have sex with them if they ask. and I fucking hate it. I hate it so fucking much, and they dn’t have an ounce of regret or sympathy for that because I’m just some stupid “Cishet” that’s trying to get attention. They always say it doesn’t include LGBTQ+ aces but it does. What they say about aces affects all of them, not just the ones they’ve dubbed “Cishet.”

This snowballs into all my LGBTQ+ identities. No one wants to date a fucking genderflux person. Pansexual is just some crazy MOGAI identity that no one wants nothing with, and the cherry on top is that people hate me for having these identities 

I feel so alone. I don’t have any friends I can talk to about these sort of things. Have no idea where any Ace or Nonbinary support chats are. I’m scared to death to tell my family. I just hate everything.

[theonlygardener]

Today I’m crying because.....

because I just don’t like or recognize the person he turned me into. The person who hung around and withstood a lot of bad treatment, hung onto fake promises, tried to get him to treat me better when that just an impossible task. The last time I saw him, our biggest blow-up fight when I finally told him to get out and he refused and laughed in my face, I got physical with him before he hit me. I just kind of had like a meltdown where you’re wildly just kicking and scratching, didn’t hit hard even if I could with the kind of muscular fatigue I experience, didn’t aim. I was just sick of his passive aggression, sick of him torturing me by staying when he had all the ability and opportunity to leave and constantly throwing it in my face as if he was doing me a favor by throwing things around daily and making me feel to scared to crawl out of my hole and just pee while he was awake. I was sick of being afraid and sick of being constantly put on edge and when telling him to leave and standing up for myself finally didn’t work, I lost it. Months of waking up early to fill up a water bottle and eat and bust ass out of the apartment before he got home, if I was lucky, if fatigue didn’t slow me down. Months of hearing him slam stuff and make as much noise as possible and shake the apartment walls while I sit in my closet and like hope that he doesn’t approach me. Months of making sure he fell asleep before I did. Months of creeping around in the dark, watching him passed out after a night of playing video games and, as I didn’t know until later, doing drugs. I wanted him out finally. At any and all costs I wanted him out. 

And when he gave me the concussion and put me on the floor with blacking vision and ringing ears the first thing he did was throw it in my face that “I started it”. When my mom came to get him out and she inquired the first thing he did was blame me. When I said I’m sick of living with his angry passive aggressive abusive ass the first thing he did was say “I have anger issues? You started it”

And I’ve spent more months just kind of hating who he turned me into in that moment and hating what I know trauma can turn you into in the aftermath; an abuser. I’ve spent months feeling guilty that before all of that went down, for hot minute (a few days), after he told me he had grown resentful of me and started targeting someone else because I “needed too much” (aka am disabled), he made me stop loving myself so much that I almost killed myself. I have the scars to prove it. I hate what he made me. I hate what I’m having to fight not to become now in his wake. 

I spent almost a year with his anger. I spent so many weekends literally panicking in the car while he angrily and quietly drove wrecklessly at any mention of our mutual friend and my girlfriend, who’s presence he consented to. I spent days on end knowing there were certain aspects of my life I could never talk about. I spend weeks unable to just be happy because any time I was in a good mood he would become jealous and attribute it (usually wrongly) to her, and ruin my mood just because he was in a bad mood with his own insecurity himself. I spent months in his abuse and in his anger.  I spent months downing in his own self-hatred. 

And one action when he’s pushed me and pushed me and pushed me condemns me. When he finally has pushed me to give him a reason to give me the concussion it seems he was waiting to give me, he washes his hands of responsibility of it within seconds. When my mom got onto him about hitting me, as straight on and as hard as he did, he said “I did it, I regret it, that’s it”. I somehow know intuitively that the only reason he regretted it at all in those moments was because we had threatened to call the police if he didn’t gtfo, and I don’t think I can even call that regret because that’s not true regret it’s just “oh shit I’ll be caught because there’s physical evidence of abuse this time”. 

And still, he’s still happily that pile of burning shit where he is now. Self-convinced that he was the victim, probably telling himself that I was just an un christian cheating whore. Being told, again, by his racist self-hating biggot homophobic and transphobic parents that they always thought I was a bad influence because I wasn’t christian. Developing his projective complex that makes him hate wlw, makes him hate the disabled including himself, makes him hate feminists because god forbid a woman have any identity outside of pleasing her christian husband who’s “closer to god than she is”. Snorting his fucking white kid cocaine. And targeting that new girl. Goddess help that girl. She’s going to need someone or something to come through and warn her of what a disaster he’ll be. 

He’s still, happily, and peacefully, all of that. Because he has his parents telling him how good and perfect he is compared to me. My ears were still ringing for over a week afterwards, and he 

Meanwhile I struggle not to be made a worse person by all of this. I struggle not to just develop a hardened shell and not trust anyone ever again. I struggle not to be the worst version of traumatized I can be. I tell myself he never must have loved me and that he really really started all of this months and months and months ago when the abuse started, and only half believe it. Because he was so ready to blame my disabilities and blame me being pushed and pushed and pushed to violence and ready to blame an identity that I tried to communicate with him openly about. He had all of those fucking excuses ready, within literally seconds, and he’s probably still lying to himself and telling himself that none of it is his responsibility. And it’s me who has to clean up the mess that leaves and learn to love myself again and try to undo the brainwashing he did to both of us. It’s me who’s left not to become a worse person for everything that he did. 

it just doesn’t feel fair that this terror sticks around. Even knowing he’s gone and I’m mostly logically physically safe now. There’s this terror of who he made me. Who I don’t want to be. 

I’ve already dug myself out of that hole once, and he knew that. That’s how trash he is, he knew I had previous trauma that I had healed from and he willingly and knowingly reopened that wound like a resealable bag. Even with the sexual trauma, which I had recently opened up to him about. He used me physically while knowingly chasing another girl and knowing that he didn’t really care about me, because I was disabled according to him. And now I have to dig myself out of that hole again. While he sits pretty on self-delusion, willfully ignorant wealthy parental support, daddy’s friend’s “successful” job, and fresh new victims who have no clue what’s coming for them. 

I have to just fight and fight and fight. Not to become that person, again, I have to fight at least a second time in my life, to make something fucking beautiful out of this mess and become wiser and kinder and more loving somehow. Somehow. I have to pull of that miracle again. 

And I spent 5 and a half years with him genuinely happy. As long as we didn’t expect too much of each other. As long as he turned a blind eye to be being a disabled queer heathen. As long as I didn’t expect him to be too much of an ally. If I thought that was the end-goal, the happiness I had been fighting for pretty much my whole life, and it still ended in so much of a mess, the next step of growing from this and finding compatibility has got to be fucking god level. Because I don’t know how much better that can get. 

I know that sounds insane and incomprehensible, given what happened. But that was 6 months out of 6 years, and he showed his true colors after mine were shown to be just an inch too far beyond the normal biggotry he expected of both of us. 

[alexciting-blog1]

Storytime!

okay so I rarely make my own textposts, but then, up to this year, I didn’t really have any good stories to tell...

So earlier this year, I was on a religious retreat at the Mont Saint Michel with my Catholic-as-fuck private French school. Everything had been going all right, it had been a couple of weeks since the priest had done anything particularly offensive (such as tell the girls that we would all be pregnant within a decade and that it was inevitable as we are essentially baby-making machines, or imitating French Créole accents in the most patronizingly racist manner, or making fun of Muslims, but I digress)

Anyway. So we get back from the beach, there’s little less than a hundred of us, and to my dismay, they’ve separated the boys and the girls dorm buildings. Like, instead of putting us into separate dorms within the same building, the boys are staying a block away. Which means they have to walk a whole block to see us. Which sucks. Still not on topic though.

So they hand out these booklets, which have prayers and songs and biblical excerpts ect in them, and we stick them in our bags. It’s only a couple hours later, until I actually flip through them, that I gasp in utter horror.

There was a badly translated Pope speech, to which two pages of the booklet were dedicated. One of the paragraphs was useless to the point of the speech, but it had the most transphobic bullshit in it, that I’m absolutely sure is due to liberties taken by the translator. (Talking about the abomination of gender studies and teachings, and how people can’t just “change genders” yada yada “I hate social progress” bullshit)

I got super pissed. I crossed out the offensive paragraph, and wrote “les droits des personnes trans sont une urgence” in next to it (a chant that resonated at Paris Pride 2016, “Trans people’s rights are an emergency”). I was ranting about it through dinner, and through mass (although quietly because duh, mass), and this one teacher seemed pretty supportive and open-minded, so some of my faith in humanity was restored.

I went up to my dorm, grabbed a pen and paper, and wrote a petition for my LGBTQIA+ Parisian youth association (MAG) to come give one of their IMSs, Intervention en Milieu Scolaire, which translates to school intervention, I guess. The mag does these regularly; they go to schools and talk about homophobia, lesbophobia, biphobia, transphobia, and inclusivity. 

After that, I went down to the courtyard, and started asking people to sign. Over the next few days of the trip, I kept asking people to sign. The teacher didn’t want to get implicated in it, which saddened me, but she had encouraged me to speak up against it in the first place, and she continued doing that. 

Of course, in this school, during my signature collection, I witnessed a lot of very saddening displays of transphobia, but that didn’t stop me. 

Over the course of a week, I had gathered 52 student signatures, out of a class of less than a hundred. Most people I had talked to were uneducated about the issue, but very open-minded about hearing more about it and interested in my explanations. I got a lot of smiles, nods, pats on the back, and “good luck”s from people of whom I least expected it.

Once I reached my goal, I started doing research into whether it was possible to make it easier for the catholic administration to swallow, and found a bunch of french articles about the Pope talking to a trans man, even though most of them were ultra transphobic (which is why I’m not linking them), the actual Pope himself was very civil, open-minded, and never said a thing against the transgender community.

It’s kind of the same phenomenon as when something is great, or ok, but the fandom sucks. I found one website that was very Catholic and very open to trans issues, but sadly I’ve lost the link.

I then talked to the guy in charge of MAG IMSs, and gave him contact access to the people who would deal with administration at my school.

After a couple days of nervously having the petition and offensive booklet in my backpack, I finally went to hand it in, with a good friend for moral support.

I was terrified and numb while handing it in; the rest of the day, I was twisting my hands thinking “what have I done, what have I done, what have I done”

A few days later, my father (who is on the school board) came home after a meeting and asked me to sit down.

He told me that the principal had slid him the petition to him during the meeting quietly, and said “look what your daughter has been doing”

I might want to add that between the trip and that moment, I had been voted class delegate, which means that I was the one to attend meetings in the name of my class, and represent them, as well as meet with the principal on a regular basis to discuss issues.

He already knew me on a first name basis for several reasons. During my internship, there had been awkward moments when I ran into him at the bakery, he would strike up a conversation, and I would have to introduce him to my colleagues (”Hi guys! This is my principal. No pressure��)

So he had to talk to my father, explaining that it was impossible for the IMS to happen, because half of the school’s parents were ultra-Catholics who don’t believe in contraception and would pull their kids, money, and good name out.

Just a couple years ago, when same-sex marriage was legalized in France, there was a huge parent fight between my best friend’s mom (who is a professor in some kind of anti-discrimination class, maybe gender-equality, not sure) and the mega-Catholics which exploded dramatically.

His exact words were “this is how a principal gets fired”.

My dad told me that there was no way it was going to happen, and he agreed with me in my hysteric breakdown that “it wasn’t fair and that the dumb conservatives were ruining the world”. He admitted later in a conversation with my mom’s friend that he was “secretly proud of me for doing it”. 

So all I got, for all of that trouble, was a speech during the next mass: “look around you, look at the diversity, the different people from different heritages” yeah because it’s illegal to not admit a student based on their race, congratulations for being within the law and not being a total discriminatory piece of shit, do you want a cookie?

Oh and then the priest wanted to “speak to me privately” but I kept blowing him off and he kept forgetting because he’s a senile idiot, so he never even got to lecture me, yay!

So yeah. What I got out of this ordeal is that most of my classmates are decent people and that my parents are supportive. But the world is still going to shit. yay!