#the last thing we need is trans youth being made to feel that this is the best their life is ever going to be when that is not true

[gender0bender]

I think being around older trans people has been rlly good for me on the whole but also trans people who whine about hitting 30 like it's the most soul crushing thing to happen to you, and who in general hold up youth to be this amazing thing, have actually genuinely negatively impacted my perception of myself. Never had insecurities about aging, was always looking forwards to living in my transitioned body with more life experience and wisdom and hopefully more financial freedom than I have now plus the gender euphoria of aging as a man, and I still overall feel that way but I'm also very aware that in a lot of people's eyes my value is steadily decreasing the older I get. And that's just sad and also weird!

[palant1r]

I feel like you're a good person and smart, so here is a question for you. A fanfic site is bound to be popular with kids. Say a child is being abused, and they go to AO3 and all they see is fics romanticizing their abuse/incestual abuse/ etc. It'll tell them it's erotic and enjoyable and A-OK. If they were to read a fic that portrayed it as a bad thing though, then they can see that their abuse is bad. I know it's unrealistic to ban all fics that portray it as a good thing [1/2]

This ask is full of so many wild ass logical leaps and baffling conclusions that I debated not answering it at all, but you've caught me in a good mood with a lot of time on my hands, so.

First of all: methodological concerns. "They did a poll a while back" who the hell is They? Is this a tumblr poll? Why are we assigning any significance to whether or not half of the users who happened to see a tumblr poll that was likely produced by someone who shared their biases THOUGHT that SOMEONE THEY KNEW had seen pedophilia and incest normalized by fic? That's such an ass backwards thing to base any position on.

You want to save the kids. Sure. Admirable goal. But the premise of your proposal here is based entirely on conjecture and the results of some poll that They did. Also, hey, most underage/incest content on ao3 is WELL TAGGED. Meaning that, when someone clicks on it and reads it, even IF the actual subject matter is "romanticized" there is literally a heading for the reader saying "THIS WORK DEPICTS [THING], WHICH IS BAD"

Say a child is abused, and they read Lolita. They make the same mistake as many, many readers and adaptation makers of Lolita, and they think it's a love story, and that makes their abuse "erotic and enjoyable and A-OK."

...Where do we go from here? Do we now decide that, because Lolita is a complex work with multiple layers and a narrator that deliberately uses purple prose and invokes classical literature to hide his own monstrousness, it needs to be banned?

Why should it be the responsibility of art to impart a beneficial personal and social message not just to its target audience, but to literally anyone who might potentially come across it? Why should the writers of a genre overwhelmingly tagged as Explicit, meaning that people have to affirm that they're over 18 before reading it, on a site you have to be 13+ to use, bear the responsibility of Educating the Nation's Youth on what is Right and Proper?

Your rhetoric is familiar. Very familiar. I got fuckin steeped in it over the last summer when I was reporting on anti-trans legislation, wading through Heritage Foundation summit transcripts and hundreds of pages of bills. Hell, I saw the very phrase "normalizes pedophilia" show up in a bill explicitly targeted at banning queer books from schools. The idea that the very existence of material that is "too erotic" poses an existential threat to children, and that any censorship of art is justified if it Saves the Children, is a deeply conservative one.

A personal story: when I was young, I read The Dragonriders of Pern. This was before I'd had any education on sex ed or consent. There's a rape scene in that series. It's very romanticized. Something about it felt off to me, but it was the only sex scene I'd ever read. I just thought that was what sex was like.

About a year later, I read a Stucky fic with a rape scene. The scene was framed as, if not romantic, at least sexualized in a way that played up the danger and angst of the scene, and it was between the endgame couple. This was, I'd wager, something that you'd want banned. In the beginning chapter note, the author called it what it was: rape.

Two rape scenes, both sexualized, both between an endgame couple we were supposed to root for, only separated by their framing. One taught me a bad lesson. One made me realize that what I had read in that book was, in fact, not consensual sex.

My parents, unbeknownst to me, were going through my search history. They sat me down and said they didn't want me reading erotica, not knowing I already had been in published books. If they had their way — if they'd judged things by YOUR standards — I never would have read those explicit fics. Instead, who knows how much longer I would have gone thinking a man forcing himself on a woman was romantic? Ignorance didn't teach me anything. Experience did.

And, IDK. I think back on news stories I've heard of abused children finding their experiences in books about sex and consent, and seeing themselves in them. Being able to point out what was done to them, because they had a point of reference.

So, no, I don't think that banning every fic that "portrays abuse as good" would be remotely desirable even if it were logistically feasible. And I think you need to move past the idea that art only has the right to exist if it's good for children, saving the children is a goal to which all other ideals should be blindly subservient, and if someone says that something "harms kids" that means you need to uncritically take up arms. I say this without hyperbole: that's the kind of thinking that gets people into QAnon.

[chronicallycouchbound]

Winter Solstice Reflections / Homeless Persons Memorial Day

I was 16 when I moved from the Pacific Northwest to New England. I had recently come out as trans, and I was hoping the move would be a fresh start. But the physical abuse I had already been facing at home escalated. 

It was two days after Christmas when I was told to leave and never come back, so I packed what little belongings I had into a bag as quickly as I could and rushed out the door. I didn’t have food or a plan or anywhere to stay. 

It’s my luck that the first blizzard I ever experienced was on my first night of homelessness here. I remember the cold night air on my freshly bruised skin and it felt nice. It felt like freedom. As I crossed the bridge from one town to the next, the snowflakes were still small and gently falling. 

In exactly one week, it will mark 8 years since that first night in the cold. It wasn’t my first or last time being homeless, but it was the longest time, and I didn’t know many people, let alone people I could live with.

Most often, I stayed in the middle of nowhere. I slept on floors, in cars, on benches, under awnings, in abandoned buildings; and anywhere I could put my backpack down as a pillow and throw my jacket over me as a blanket. The cold no longer felt comforting– it was a threat to my existence. I prayed every time I closed my eyes to not freeze to death. 

I didn’t have proper clothes— Chuck Taylors which had too many holes to count, basketball shorts worn under my pants that were two sizes too big for me, well-loved band tees, and a jacket that wasn’t even close to waterproof. I felt cold in my bones. 

On nights I had nowhere else, I walked around all night until McDonald’s or Dunkin opened up. I remember counting steps to focus on anything but the stinging of cold. I would go into the bathroom and run my hands under the faucet until they turned from pale blue to bright red. My hands burned when they finally thawed out. Eventually, the blue became just another thing to carry with me, like my backpack and the weight of homelessness. 

For a few months, I spent nights all over the county, and then, after finally getting permission from my parents to access it, stayed at the youth shelter for three years. On my first night at the shelter, I arrived late– nearly midnight. I was afraid to go in. But, they set me up a bed anyway. 

Soon after I laid down, a guy a few years older than me came in from work. His bed was right next to mine. He leaned over and whispered to me in the darkness that if I needed anything, just to let him know. His name was Peter. 

That was the year I met my street mom who told me I reminded her of her younger self. Her name was Sarah. I couch-surfed with Abby, who always snuck me extra pizza from her work so I wouldn’t go hungry. 

Living at the shelter I met Ryan, who made us laugh as if it kept us warm. And Ariah gave anyone anything they needed if she had it. I miss Peter, and Sarah, and Abby, and Ryan, and Ariah, and all the many other friends I’ve lost. 

My friends were people who stood up for me, who gave me the clothes off their backs, food off their plates, and cared for me better than family. We all struggled together and never had to explain ourselves. We were welcome just as we were. 

It’s hard for me to exist in this town sometimes. I walk around and can see all the places where I nearly died, where someone else died, or where I slept at night. I’ve lost count of all the people I’ve lost over the years. I have fond memories of rooms and cars filled with people smiling and telling jokes, and then I remember that I’m the only one still alive out of all of us.  

People tell me I should feel lucky to have survived, congratulating me. Acting like I should be proud to "overcome" while the system still hurts us all. As my friends– my family, are still in the streets dying. I feel guilty to just be alive. Our whole community is grieving all the time. 

Tonight, as the sun sets, the temperature will feel like 2 degrees. There will be 15 hours and 18 minutes of darkness. This is only the beginning of a long, cold winter. Our community members will still be in the cold. We are still dying for warmth. 

We don’t need art installations, we don’t need benches with three bars, we don’t need air b&bs. We need fewer barriers and more supports. We need safe, stable, reliable, and affordable housing. We’ve needed it for a long time. As my good friend Ariah always said, “Keep your coins, we want change”

(From my speech on 12/21/23 for National Homeless Persons Memorial Day)

[dontmeantobepoliticalbut]

Conservatives want to make the massacre about trans people or religion—anything but the blood-soaked murder factory they’ve forced us all to live in.

By Elie Mystal

The mass shooting at Covenant School in Nashville, Tenn., on Monday, which left six people dead, including three 9-year-olds, was the 13th school shooting this year that led to injury or death. Education Week, which has been tracking these massacres since 2018, reports that there were 51 such shootings last year and 157 since they began tabulating the body counts.

Guns are now the leading cause of death for children in the United States. Over 6,000 American children were either killed or injured by guns in 2022. One 2022 study examined the data for youth mortality in 12 rich countries, including the United States. American children accounted for 97% of the total gun deaths from all 12 countries.

In a normal country, stopping this would be all we talked about. Elections to every major local, state, and federal office would turn on the single issue of which candidates have the best plan to prevent our children from being murdered. Parents of school-age children would band together in broad, multiethnic, cross-class coalitions demanding action and results. A normal country would not suffer 13 school shootings per quarter without massive social and political upheaval.

But we don’t live in a normal country. We live in a blood-soaked murder factory. We live in a country where there are more legal restrictions on where a person can bare their breasts than brandish their guns. We live in a society where people are more interested in banning books than guns. We live with state governments that will force people to give birth against their will, but shrug when actual children are killed at school.

We live like this because of the Republican Party. These school shootings are not tragedies. They are choices made by our government. Every other country on Earth has violent people with a motive to do harm to others. Every other country has people with mental health issues. Every other country has access to media and art that glorifies or trivializes violence. But these school shootings don’t happen in every other country, because every other country doesn’t have easy, nearly unfettered access to weapons of mass murder.

What’s exceptional about America is that we have sacrificed the safety of our children because letting them die helps gun sales. Republicans have reinterpreted our Constitution to make it fit an NRA marketing gimmick from the 1970s. The Republican lust for blood, as expressed through their ahistorical interpretation of the Second Amendment, is why we are here. Restricting gun ownership would save lives; removing gun regulations leads to death. Republicans have chosen the latter. Guns are the Republican Moloch, their god to which they are willing to sacrifice children.

Everyone already knew that the Nashville shooting wouldn’t change this reality. We knew that after the last mass shooting, and the one before that, and all the ones before that one. This time, though, some Republicans appear to feel even less obliged than usual to pretend that they care. In the wake of the shooting, Tennessee Representative Tim Burchett was caught on camera telling the gross truth about himself and his despicable political party.

When asked about the shooting, Burchett said, “We’re not going to fix it.” When asked what Congress could do, he said, “I don’t see any real role that we could do other than mess things up.” (This congressman, by the way, went on Newsmax to fervently defend Tennessee’s ban on drag shows, in case you needed a sense of what he thinks the government should be doing.) Finally, when asked how we are supposed to protect children like his own daughter, Burchett said, “Well, we homeschool her.”

That is the entire Republican Party in a nutshell. They won’t do anything; they will stop other people from doing something, and their grand plan is to protect their own people while leaving the rest of the country to suffer and die.

Of course, the message “we are impotent nihilists who retreat to our gated communities instead of serving the public” is not a politically viable response to mass murder. Enter the white-wing media.

Every mass shooting inspires conservative media to find literally any culprit other than the murder weapons to blame for the murders. We’ve all heard them before: mental health, violent video games, doors. They’re all stupid reasons, but the conservative base does not require good reasons to believe what they believe. But this mass shooting has given the party of literal death a ready-made scapegoat that already fits in with the conservatives’ bigoted priors: The shooter in Nashville appears to have been trans.

The conservative media firestorm has been as predictable as the reality that there will be another mass shooting soon. But if you’re looking for the worst white-wing coverage, the New York Post is always a good place to start. Its front-page headline the day after the shooting read: “TRANSGENDER KILLER TARGETS CHRISTIAN SCHOOL: ‘Manifesto’ leads to 6 dead, including three young kids.”

Everything about that headline, from its implications to its basic grammar, is wrong. For those playing along at home, let’s do a close read.

• A “transgender killer” would be a serial killer who targets trans people. This was a killer who is trans. (The Post also misgendered the shooter, for good measure.)

• It is believed that the suspect was a former student at the school, which would make the still-undetermined motive far different than a school shooter who “targets Christian school[s].” They targeted their school. Dylan Roof, by contrast, targeted a Black church. It would be a different motive if he targeted his church.

• The “manifesto” did not “lead” to six dead people. The two assault rifles and handgun the shooter brought with them led to six dead people. If the shooter had shown up to school armed with a manifesto, everybody would still be alive.

The people writing headlines for the Post are probably evil, but they’re not stupid. They know exactly what they’re doing. The Post knows what Burchett knows: that Republicans are not going to fix it. To deflect from that should-be-unacceptable reality, the Post offers up these distractions of a trans menace and threats on religious institutions.

As is usual for places where conservatives get their media, the Post takes real problems and inverts them to fit the white grievance narrative. There are, indeed, “transgender killers,” as in “people who kill trans folks.” The murder of trans people has doubled over the past four years, and 73% of those trans victims were killed by a gun. Meanwhile, mass shootings at houses of worship have been steadily on the rise all this century. People of all faiths are increasingly under threat where they pray. But again, these mass murderers are not showing up to houses of worship with hammers eager to nail their manifestos to a door. They’re showing up with guns, most “legally” obtained, and that’s why worshipers are dying.

Everybody knows what the problem is, but Republicans won’t let us fix it. And so the white-wing media has to obfuscate and try to distract people from the solution Republicans are unwilling to let the rest of us implement.

So more people will die from preventable gun violence. More children will die. Republicans have stared at the bodies of dead children and decided that their deaths are acceptable. There is no bottom. There is no tragedy so horrific that it will shock Republicans out of their death cult.

Republicans are complicit in these murders. And so is everybody who votes for them.

[raid3r-r4bbit]

I'm still think about the florida thing, and what's wild to me is that one lady on tiktok who posts updates about child predator cases and what their position on things is and the amount of straight white men who are teachers or youth pastors or preists jsut keeps going up while the number of trans folks and queer people the last time i checked didnt go up.

How is it, that we in this country have constantly and consistantly been abused as minorities? what did we do? they made up these ideas and these sterotypes and got mad at them. its not just queer people, its black people and POC.

we're so afraid of "others" that we can't see we're shooting ourselves in the fucking foot. We're so blind that cant see whats infront of us.

We're so fucking proud. Proud of what? Genocide? my family is native american. my grandma has never hurt a single person in her life. She's a sassy lovable native woman who will feed and hug and love anyone. We were told not to ask her for things or money because she'd give us her last penny.

I'm queer, and i cant say i've never hurt anyone, but i've never hurt someone who didnt derserve it. I genuinley have so much love inside of me and i just want everyone to get along and be happy.

what did we do wrong? why should we be punished?

this country was a shit show the second colombus and the pilgrims set fucking foot on it.

did you know the fucking puritans weren't being discriminated? they thought they were holier then the caltholics and felt they needed to leave to escape the opression of being around sinners. SELF IMPOSED opression hasn't fucking changed.

my dad's this big burly white christan man. He genuinley believes that if queer folk are allowed to live in peace he's going to to have to horde us all in the attic so he can just mumble prayers to us.

I dont doubt that the absolute abusive raping two fisted chokehold thats squeezing the absoulte life out of everyone under the grip of christanty is going unnoticed but i dont think it'll ever leave.

i cant believe the folks who are literally raping, murdering, and tormenting everyone else around them feels fucking "oppressed" because we've asked them to stop.

just stop. not hand us the mantel, not beat the shit out of them, not reject them. just stop.

When i go to my father's house for dinner i bow my head and hold hands, but when he comes to my house i pack up my altar to not offend him, and I'm part of the "oppressive group of queers."

Justice and liberty is not for all. but it should be.

[mytortoisegotstuckinatupperware]

wait lemme tell y'all about how Italy made me trans

*disclaimer, I was already iffy abt my gender and working through my own feelings. I looked pretty androgynous and was like "fuck it what's the worst that could happen."

*my program coordinators were dope and made sure I felt comfortable as a soft transmasc person, especially when going to religious sites where there was significant gender segregation

ANYway

Got yelled at at outgoing airport, but didn’t get pat down. Mad about shit I had in my pockets, but no issues with the binder!

Used the mens bathroom exclusively at the airports (gross y'all live like this?)

Got on the flight, correctly gendered by flight attendants every time (he/him)

Made it through customs nonissue. Literally the most chill customs agents—barely looked at my passport. like talking in Italian and not giving a shit. peak

Used mens bathroom when I got to Italy again exclusively. Was able to get my own room so didn’t have to worry abt roommates 

Presented male throughout Italy. Almost got accosted by a street vendor by the colosseum but that was more of me being American than being trans. Literally had to dodge and bolt bc he was coming at me I was cornered against a wall all while my friend was watching, concerned but amused from afar.

So many hot men in Italy. I’m sorry, but my dumb gay ass was dying.

Also EXTREME gender dysphoria around Italian youth. they didn’t all look like Timothee chalamet in cmbyn but they were pretty goddamn close. 

Italian bathrooms are superior to American bathrooms. There I said it. Except for the mens bathroom at the Roman forum, but there were a bunch of international tourists there, so what can I expect. 

Got called “sir” by Italian folks, which was rad. 

Walked around at night alone. Needed to run to a convenience store late and went by my self. Told my friends where I was going but otherwise wasn’t afraid. 

Was designated the navigator™️ by all my fem friends when we were hanging out. Designated “keep an eye on things” and watch out for creeps, which was super validating. 

Went to the great Italian mosque where women had to wear head coverings. I was pre-everything (HRT, surgery, etc) at the time so the coordinator of the trip talked to me about it beforehand. Passed well enough where it wasn’t an issue. 

Also went to the synagogue where they had all the mean wear (Jewish head coverings) I was given one, but my friends told me the rabbi hesitated, like he couldn't tell.

But I was getting pretty wiped by this point so I sat outside for a breather. I'm scared of organized religion #TraumatizedExCatholic

Spent the evenings alone often and worked with trying to get my top surgery consult scheduled. 

The end of the trip was quickly approaching and I realized it didn’t want to come back to the US, not just because Italy is wonderful, but because I’d be coming back to a world of misgendering, discomfort, and depression. 

Obvi I had to go back tho, and here’s where the issues started.

Leaving Italy was fine, no issues there

Had to get my passport checked again when we got to Paris. Customs hesitated but let me through. 

As I was in line to get off the plane, they were checking passports again. The French official took mine and spend a good minute just looking at me back and forth before saying “ah, you got a haircut.” 

I just nodded bc obviously I didn’t want to be detained in Paris. No use in explaining anything. 

When I got to the door, they pulled me aside again for a “random security check.” 

The rest of my class was on the flight already. I was one of the last people in the kiosk to board. 

They went through my luggage—i only had a carry on. The guy checking me seemed to be American 

Swiped by hands for chemicals

Took my passport and asked “are you a girl?” And it was like being punched. 

I said yeah and explained that I’m trans. He just kept asking “so you’re a girl, right? You’re a girl, you’re a girl??”

And I’m like, yeah. Sure. 

So then he goes “no hard feelings, yeah?” And returns my passport. I’m like, yeah. 

Then I board the flight FINALLY 

Got gendered correctly by the flight attendant, which was rad 

Landed in the Atlanta airport, fuck Atlanta. Just generally but I also got “miss” and “ma’am” by security a bunch, which fucking sucked.  

Man FUCK atlanta

Absolutely exhausted at this point so I didn’t even give a fuck

Landed back home and was able to get back

Oh yeah, had my wallet stolen with 80 euro, my military id, covid card, and a bunch of other important stuff, so I couldn’t get back into my dorm.

Fortunately, one of my friends was an RA and able to let me in, so I got back, collapsed in bed at 3 am and woke up abt seven hours later 

and now im a Dude!

[muji-milk]

hey! same anon who said that the quotes around affirmation felt very terf-like. first i wanted to say that your response is exactly why i wanted to give you a chance to answer, but i was just letting you know how the way you wrote it came across to me (who is admittedly an american and maybe there’s a text difference for how things are written. we use quotes to dismiss an idea or to indicate sarcasm) and offer a reason as to why those people may have unfollowed without waiting to hear more from you. i think having a healthy conversation around how we treat dysphoria is important!

anyway! i think maybe the disconnect lies in what we call gender affirming care. i’m sure that’s the technical term for what results in medical transition in the UK, but it should be more general! i would absolutely agree that your experience where you sought counseling and worked out what your gender was and that transitioning wasn’t for you totally counts as gender affirming care. you weren’t pressured to transition and you were allowed to explore what you felt and what you needed. i have a friend who went through the same as you and feels better without having transitioned. i agree it’s also a shame that we have no way to keep track of people who have done this.

in a perfect world, counseling would be the best step for a young person who’s figuring out their gender. in fact, that was a requirement here in the US for a loooong time before someone could see an endocrinologist for hormones. to reiterate my point from my last ask though, not all counselors are one in the same about how they counsel people. i say this 1. as a trans person who (briefly) went through conversion therapy as a teen, and 2. as someone about to graduate with a masters in counseling. they drill into us in my program that we aren’t supposed to let our beliefs change how we counsel someone, but it does happen. so, just like many of the medical clinics here in the US that would turn away young ppl trying to transition, i also worry about how many of them would be affected by counselors who would steer them from the help they need. i hope that made sense, i just wanted to kind of add that to the conversation.

Tbh i tried to italicise the word affirmation but tumblr mobile kept fucking it up 🫠 so yeah the marks were just emphasis.

Like you said in a perfect world there should be more steps of evaluation. (Honestly, in a perfect world no one would be trans but that's another thing to discuss) but if we're talking about improving the current system, it should really be reframed 'gender related care'. Or gender considerate psychoanalysis. Or gender focussed counseling. Any of these terms instantly imply a more neutral and comprehensive approach.

But yes despite a rebranding or the terminology its still soo hard to get true impartially from anyone involved! Even you being trans, if you become a professional counselor that would create a personal bias within you. Just as being a woman or man, being rich, or black or old, etc, would do.

Regarding the approach to treatment of gender dysphoric youth, time is the biggest teller. Not statistics about trans peoples deaths and lives (which we don't even have enough of to draw conclusions. Its still a fairly modern thing!), not the opinions of your parents, not the advice of an affirmation clinic or a conversion therapist; but most importantly, not even your own feelings can be said to be true and trustworthy and permanent. People change their minds every day about trivial things and major issues, you feel like a different person every year, you learn and grow and its a humans' lifelong task to find and understand oneself. So, like you, I'm also worried about those being steered in a particularly firm direction at a young age. Whichever that direction is! Neither affirmation or conversion therapy should be the only immediately presented choices because you can't know how the individual's inner feelings will grow and change as they get older. That's why words like 'affirmation' and 'life saving' and even 'living your truth' are so loaded; they constantly present that one route as the best option and the younger you start the better, the way you think now is how you'll think forever, and you'll just die otherwise.

[genderkoolaid]

since we’re doing transandrophobia experiences!

this is more of a microaggression or seriously a moment of cis people not understanding gender but my cousin came to visit and i was obviously dressing masculine and my hair was presenting a little more on the masculine side (hair braided down, was wearing my favorite flannel and pants). and because i was wearing some earrings i made she said “well i think you’re actually pretty feminine!” hello. it doesn’t help that she is very feminine in presentation but also reacts poorly to me not wanting to do “feminine” things (like using lip balm? and wearing dresses?). the last time she visited (like 2016) she forced me to buy makeup at the store i didn’t really want. it was awkward and uncomfortable. looking back i think she was very uncomfortable with my expression

same cousin told me i need to wax my face to permanently get rid of facial hair, “it doesn’t look good, we can’t be having that” (because i have facial hair due to pcos, a chronic illness or intersex condition if we wanna consider that too. to be fair i wasn’t diagnosed then but that still doesn’t give her the right to judge other people’s bodies??). absolute shit show if i actually want on T i imagine

same cousin (i know.) told my family if they let me move in with her in another state i’d “return a woman” (she’d forcefully mold me into one), literally trying to convince my mother to allow that. i dodged a bullet

this one is probably typical of transmascs but my mother pulling me away from the men’s section (which is why i hate shopping besides being uncomfortable with trying in clothes before i knew what being trans was), telling me i couldn’t wear a suit to. a literal queer youth prom.

people (usually cis women) being very offended that you’re not over the moon about doing stuff they want you to do because you’re spoiling the fun if you don’t

being labeled a tomboy all my life and my family members patiently waiting for my “feminine side” to magically appear and replace it. like am i supposed to jump out of a cake or something? anyways me being trans has helped me feel comfortable doing all types of gender expression, turns out that forcing people doesn’t work! shocking

kids from my high school GSA always kind of leaving out the one trans guy that used to show up and he was the only trans man that ever did drop by. i feel sad looking back on it now i wish i’d connected with him more but i tried to make everyone feel welcome

every single instance of “men evil bad” preventing me from actually exploring how i feel gender wise until literally now because i don’t feel afraid of being masculine anymore for exterior and interior (internalized transandrophobic) reasons. still working on it though

Thank you for sharing your experiences.

[cassiebones]

I'm seeing a lot through all my social media about the new anti-trans youth bill in Texas and how "kids that young don't know who they are or what they want and it's abuse to force that on them blah blah blah" like no. Fuck that.

I've been working as a substitute teacher for the last year. I work in two districts. My home district and one I live 20 minutes away from. I went to school in my home district and I didn't know any trans kids growing up UNTIL they were out of school. My best friend from childhood is trans and I am so proud of him now living his best life and I look back and can now understand things in retrospect that made no sense growing up. He was always kind of sad. Not like straight out, openly depressed. But I remember looking over at him and seeing this look come over his face that would disappear the second he saw mine. He moved away when we were 11 and, after high school, he transitioned, had surgery, got married to the woman of his dreams, and just looks so much happier than I've seen him I think ever. I compare pics of him from when we were ten to picks now and I can honestly see the difference in him. If he'd been comfortable enough or had the vocabulary to express what he was feeling, I believe he would have transitioned when we were little. His parents are 100% supportive and loving, as is his sister.

Anyway, as I said, I'm a substitute for 2 districts. In both, the middle and high schools are connected. In my home district, we've always been relatively LGBTQ positive. We had (and still have) several openly queer staff members. Our music teacher was a self-proclaimed Bear and openly spoke of his husband. He ran the GSA (now SAGA for Sexuality and Gender Alliance) and several of us volunteered to make rainbow pins for the day of silence. We always ran out, no matter how many we made. We got support from all over. That being said, while I was in school, I didn't know anybody who was out while I was in school. I had friends I knew were queer, but they weren't out to the school at large. That has since changed drastically. Now, I walk through the halls and see flags hanging up everywhere, teacher's keep them on their desks as a show of support to any student, out or not, who needs to see that. Keep in mind, I live in a relatively red county in New York State, so we still have a lot of conservatives that question pronouns and make disparaging comments about the community as a whole, but it does not stop these kids from openly supporting and defending the ones who are out and proud.

In my home district, I do not know one openly trans kid. There may be some, but I haven't had every student yet so I haven't met any.

In the other district, though? I just did a 2 day substitution for a sixth grade class and I had 3 trans students in one day. Two of them I didn't even know we're trans until I accidentally dead-named them because of the roster.

The first time it happened, it was immediately corrected by that student and several others in class. I obviously immediately corrected myself and asked their pronouns (they/him). This kid absolutely Lit Up when I asked that question. As if nobody had ever asked it before. Mind you, this was on FRIDAY. Already well into the school year in March. I assume his teacher had asked and used those pronouns and his classmates knew and used them, but I wonder if any sub ever did. Idk I don't want to make assumptions, but they looked at me like I was an anomaly, in the best way possible.

Another trans kid had a guidance appointment during class and I got a call halfway through to send him down. They dead-named him. I had literally no clue who they were talking about and I said the name out loud.

Y'all let me tell you I nearly peed myself when this entire class of 11 and 12yo's yelled his corrected name straight at me. I have auditory processing issues so the wave of "DAKOTA" didn't register. I was like terrified like what?

Then he said, in a really small voice, "My name is Dakota" and I was like, "oh, sorry. Dakota, guidance is waiting for you." He nodded and went on his merry way. I asked his friends what his pronouns were and they said 'he/him'. I thanked them and went on with the class. But, honestly? I felt awful. Twice I had dead-named a trans kid that day. I know it's not my fault but like these kids go through enough so I still felt super awful.

Third kid gets to my classroom and they have a trans pin so I'm like, okay, I'm ready. It's not going to happen a third time.

Before I take attendance, I ask them quietly, what is your name and what are your pronouns? She/her. Okay, great. I take note and I say the right name as I'm going through the roster. She smiles and gives me a thumbs up. I felt like the student getting a goddamn gold star.

So. What's my point in all this? Asking for pronouns, chosen names, etc, is not that hard. Supporting your trans students is not hard. It's not fucking abusive (ABBOTT). It makes them super fucking happy when you get it right, when you make that effort, when you show them that you actually care about getting it right and making that effort.

I shouldn't have had to ask the students at this point in the year, though. They were all openly trans. Their teachers knew it. I found notes with "real names" in desks when I looked later on (they give substitutes freshly printed rosters) and cursed myself for not looking sooner. Dakota was a regular Guidance attendee, so even SHE should have known his name and pronouns, but she gave me the wrong ones and the wrong name and made me purposely misgender this poor kid. I'm glad that the class yelled at me. I hope they do it with other substitutes, too. I hope it hammers in the fact that these kids know not only who they are, but also know and respect who their classmates are. It's so much easier for kids to understand this than adults. It's so super important for trans kids to have their names and pronouns respected not only by their peers but the adults in their life.

Creating bills that make respecting that a crime punishable by actually taking them away from supportive families and sending them to suicide-supporting camps (because that's EXACTLY what they are) is absolutely horrid. Keeping younger kids from being able to express their identities just because they don't align with some bigoted lawmakers' beliefs and keeping them from seeing the adults in their lives being able to express their own sexualities and/or gender expressions is so incredibly harmful and it's the reason why so many people (like myself) don't even realize that they're not straight and/or cis until much later in life.

I came out in my 20's because I didn't see a lot of positive representation of the LGBTQ community until I was in middle/high school. My own mother has said "that's why you don't be a lesbian" to my face in response to my brother's friend being heartbroken after breaking up with her girlfriend (my mom was going through a divorce; the irony doesn't escape me). Still, she tries to convince me that I'm bi and not a lesbian because I had crushes on boys in middle and high school (I didn't really. I legit chose a boy and said I like him when she asked bc she never stopped asking.) Had I been able to name the feelings I had when a girl made me blush or when I wanted to spend all my time with her or just wanted to be in her vicinity (besides just like oh I wanna be her friend lol), I would have come out in high school or earlier. I probably would never have officially "come out" because it would be just as normal to me as any girl who liked guys. I would have taken a girl to my prom like I so desperately wanted to, instead of the guy friend I ended up dragging along.

All this to say...support the trans kids in your life. Support the LGBTQ+ community in front of kids. Be vocal about your support or, if you can't be vocal, send out little signs (a rainbow pin, maybe) that lets them know you are an ally and you will support them when others refuse to even acknowledge their existence.

[twiceasfrustrating]

To Have and Hold 6

A/N: IMPORTANT

This chapter contains graphic depictions of attempted suicide. If you struggle with suicidal thoughts or impulses or these themes make you uncomfortable, this may not be the chapter for you. If you do have these thoughts or impulses, please contact one of the following: National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255. Trans Lifeline (for the transgender community): 1-877-565-8860 TrevorLifeline (for LGBTQ youth): 1-866-488-7386

For people in other countries, feel free to add other numbers.

Chapter: 1/2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - 6 - 7 - 8 - 9 - 10

Rating: Mature

Archive Warning: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Major Character Death

Category: GN/M

Fandom: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!

Relationships: Diavolo/GN!MC

Characters: Diavolo, Main Character

Tags for these chapters: Not Beta Read, Yandere, Kidnapping, No Happy Ending, Attempted Suicide, Blood

Summary: Love drives some people crazy and some can't stand to go without. You thought you'd found the perfect boyfriend in Diavolo, one who loved you more than anything else in the world. And, well, you weren't exactly wrong, but it turns out that he's one of the ones that can't go without...

Word Count: 936

Day… what? You didn't know how long you’d been in the room anymore. Everything was blurring together and you couldn't think straight after...

You tried to sleep as often as you could so the hunger and memories wouldn't get to you, but all that did was push the issue down the road until the next time you awoke and then you were greeted with horrible stomach pains and a stain on your floor that hadn’t been washed away. You aren’t sure when the body had been moved, but it had vanished when you woke up. Somehow, the loss of the sight didn’t end the numb feeling inside of you.

You curled in the blankets of the large bed, taking up no substantial space as you held your stomach and tried to will yourself back to sleep to get some relief from the pain. However, sleep refused to come since you had just woken up. Maybe you could ease the ache if you drank water until you were full. It was always temporary, but it was something. Water was all you'd had since your last meal before you’d been stolen away, since you continued to refuse the food brought to you every day. Although, you wanted to eat even less than you had before.

However, you needed to stave off the hunger somehow before it broke you, so you tried to crawl out of the bed and head to the bathroom once more. As soon as your feet touched the ground, the pain in your stomach overtook you and you went tumbling onto the floor. Your legs didn't want to work as you grabbed onto the bedsheets and pulled yourself back up, bracing yourself on the edge and feeling pathetic for not being able to hold your own.

You tried more slowly this time, standing up on shaky feet as you made your way to the bathroom. You ran the sink, filling your hands with water and bringing them to your lips to drink your fill. It was unsatisfying, but it was better than nothing.

As you drank, you looked into the mirror and felt disgusted with what you saw. Despite yourself, you were still wearing the stupid clothing that Diavolo had picked out for you and there was dried blood on your skin, painting your reflection in a memory you couldn’t stop reliving.

Belphie was dead.

You had watched him die and held him in your arms as he took his final breaths. His dried blood was the only thing that remained…

It’s your fault.

If you hadn’t let Diavolo visit you that day and eaten that food and drank that tea… If you hadn’t called Belphie he’d still be alive. If you’d just been more patient and worked out the window yourself over time he’d be laughing with his brother right now. You looked down at your stomach where Beel’s pact rested. You had to tell him how sorry you were. Because of you he would never see his twin again…

Your fault.

Your fault.

Everything is your fault.

Something inside of you was breaking into pieces and all you wanted to do was escape. No more wrong choices, no more hunger, no more guilt… Just… nothing. That was infinitely better than this hell.

Your trembling hands stilled, finding some kind of resolve as you lifted the lid off the back of the toilet and tossed it against the mirror as hard as your tired body could. It wasn’t enough, so you lifted it and tossed it again and again until the mirror finally shattered.

There’s a particularly large shard that you wrap your fingers around and pick up before crawling into the tub, turning on the faucet and letting it fill around you until you are satisfied. You look down into the water, watching how it swirls as you move and begin to think so many different things: this will hurt; I don’t want to die; it’s my fault; escape; do it.

The sound of water sloshed around you as the tub continued to fill. It was so warm, but you didn’t think you were feeling it more than just being consumed by it. You didn’t bother to turn off the water as you pressed the shard from the mirror against the side of your wrist, slowly digging it in despite how painful it was. The sound of your grunting and heavy breathing echoed around the bathroom as you began to drag the jagged shard through your veins and wincing as red slowly began to drip then quickly ran from the wound you made.

It hurt. No matter how numb you were, it still hurt.

Your fingers shook as you switched the shard into your other hand, repeating the process with your off-hand. The wound was more haphazard this time, the tool catching more often than dragging straight through. There was so much blood on your shaking hands as you dropped the shard onto the floor just outside the tub.

You wished you had the courage to slice your own neck open… but when you thought about it all you saw was Belphie’s struggling face and hollow eyes and it made you sick. This was all you could do.

You closed your eyes, taking a deep breath before slipping under the water. As time passed, your lungs began to burn but you refused to come up. You didn’t count the seconds, only willed yourself to stay under until your vision was full of black and you were choking out what little air was left inside of you.

And the world faded away.

[livethinking]

«Poetry is not a luxury»: Maya Angelou, Gwendolyn Brooks, Margaret Walker and poetry as resistance

«Poetry is not a luxury»[1], Audre Lorde said. Poetry is not a game, another amusement to dampen the boredom of a humdrum life but it’s a need, a necessity as instrument to the battle against oppression, to self-determination and to identitary resistance because «poetry is power»[2]. And this is as much true and confirmed when poetry becomes activism, when lyricism expresses, and thus bears witness, a discomfort and makes it universal, fathomable through the poetic language; when writing in verse is the only way to express ideas and makes sure they’re recognised in their own dignity, thus it’s necessary in order to save and let respected the existence of that human being who has thought it, in order to this existence can be recognised as such, can arise from oppression and systematic hate, can give voices to those whose lips were ripped off, such as women, for whom «[…] poetry […] is a vital necessity of our existence. It forms the quality of the light within which we [women] predicate our hopes and dreams towards survival and change, first made into language, then into idea, then into more tangible action. Poetry is the way we help give name to the nameless so it can be thought»[3], so, poetry’s place where they can expresses opinions, needs, dreams, hope, in other words themselves, where the cultural system gives preference to other voices, wherein censorship is not official, i.e. perpetrated by an organisation or a law, but it’s cultural because it’s the culture that systematically chooses (a given social class) what creative expressions are more or less are in line with its own values or strengthen them. That’s why for centuries poetry (but also the whole literature) has been place wherein affirm ourselves and the individuality of our own identity, or express pride for a communitarian identity; as it was for women, who found in poetry an instruments they can express their real self through, getting out of the patriarchal control and out of the role they were bonded to by society and came less to the expectations of this one. In this way, women could so analyse her being woman, dreaming to choose who are and what to do, self-determinising and exploring their femininity beyond believes given by a certain historical moment; as it was for black community, wherein black poets could express the a beauty, the varieties, the complexity of their subculture, their traditions, history and so express the pride of being part of this ethnicity, fighting against racism and networking against the oppression perpetrated by a system that privileges white citizens (and more often men). These two concepts converge into the poetic experience of black women poets, for whom poetry became a place wherein speaking of their experience as women and black citizens, wherein they can exist and affirm their existence, «The white father told us: I think, therefore I am. The Black mother within each of us – the poet – whispers in our dreams: I feel, therefore I can be free. Poetry coins the language to express and charter this revolutionary demand, the implementation of that freedom»[4]. Let think of great poets like Maya Angelou, whose poems «often respond to matters like race and sex on a larger social and psychological scale»[5], or like Gwendolyn Brooks, whose poetry, especially the latest, is a political and civil poetry, taking as cultural reference heroes and subjects of the battle for liberation of black people (such as Winnie Mandela, wife to the anti-apartheid activist), but also like Margaret Walker who «through her work, she “[sang] a song for [her] people”, capturing their symbolic quest for liberation. When asked how she viewed her work, she responded, “The body of my work… springs from my interest in a historical point of view that is central to the development of black people as we approach the twenty first century”»[6].

1. Maya Angelou: I know why the caged bird sings

«The poignant beauty of Angelou’s writing enhances rather than masks the candid with which she addresses the racial crisis through which America was passing»[7]. That of Maya Angelou is a lively and melodic voice, her poems can talk even when there’s no human voice to give them sound, they have as mode,s the language of the intense, brave speeches of the great activist of the battle for black people’s rights like Malcolm X and Martin Luther King Jr. Angelou was able to bring together all temporal planes in her writing: both in her poetry and autobiographies, she managed to give voice to the last, to make it a new present, part of the hic te nunc of the existence in action and not anymore as something disappeared with time, but as something that is still here partly, that is still a being. A past that is personal, her life, her youth, her terrible traumas, the beauty of growing before as a girl than as a woman; a pat that is of her community, the troubled story of afroamericana and who that the lyrical I becomes a We, the collectivity becomes a person. The personal experience is thus an exemplum for the common one and becomes even global. The present meets the past, that of when a given poems was born, that of readers, of the poet, it’s the daily battle which becomes memory, it’s the journey to the self-determination in a place where is hostility but also the future, it’s the caged bird that sings and whose song is heard by the free birds, the future is a song overcoming its own time: «The caged bird sings/with a fearful trill/of things unknown/but longed for still/and his tune is heard/on the distant hill/for the caged bird/sings of freedom»[8]. “The caged bird”, dr, Maya Angelou’s favourite metaphor, taken from Paul Laurence Dunbar, famous afroamerican author, is a symbol for the inner freedom that wins ones the oppression of the external, is an eternal song that’s heard until now and if it’s clearly listened, one can hear the thousand of voice from the past and here we can find the beauty in Maya Angelou’s writing: the ability to speak through not one but a thousand of voices, voices of both the present and the past, giving relevance to the last ones, and consequently she was able to tell the future, to be understood by who’ll be after her.

2. Gwendolyn Brooks: writing poetry that will be meaningful

The poetic voice of Gwendolyn Brooks, the first afroamerican woman to win the Pulitzer Prize, is raw, bitter when the language gets filled with political and cultural meaning, when brings a message without forgetting the sweetness, the beauty of a poised, refined style. Worked, studied poems, perfect verse and rhymes, but also intense, hard, which don’t take away to be tough, to tell the truth on oppression, pain, on the battle to re-humanise her own identity in a culture where it was deprived of its otherness, of being an Other Ego, an Other Truth. This happens especially with the her most famous poem collection, In The Mecca, a turning point for Brooks’s poetics. «I want to write poems that will be non compromising. I don’t want to stop a concern with words doing good jobs, which has always been a concern of mine, but I want to write poems that will be meaningful […]»[9] and this was so. Brooks managed to delineate a world, give multiple meanings to the words she used, to the poems, to speak with the voice of her great gallery of characters. In her poems, there’s her Lyric I, but also her characters. Such a polyphony that only few, even among novelists, can make it in such little verbal marks. «The words, lines, and arrangements have been worked and worked and worked again into poised exactness: the unexpected apt metaphor, the mock-colloquial asides amid jewelled phrases, the half-ironic repetition – she knows it all»[10]. A poetry that can speak to its people, community, that hopes, fights for a future where Gwendolyn Brooks «[…] envisioned “the profound and frequent shaking of hands, which in Africa in so important. The shaking of hands in warmth and strength and union”»[11].

3. Margaret Walker: poetry as hope, poetry for the people

Margaret Walker’s poetics is the voice of a whole people, is culture that becomes creative work of a lonely person for the universality and becomes bringer of values. It’s the song of a choir, a choir for the last, of the story of slavery, of that community that still fights for the right to exist; it’s a choir that still sings and never stops to sing the lines of this wonderful poet.

One of the most loved and praised poem of Margaret Walker is “For My People”, which contains all the characteristics that made unique Walker’s poetry and it’s an excursus through the past and more recent history of US Black community, from the tragedy of slavery, to civil battles still fought nowadays in the heart of the New World; «poems in which the body and spirit of a great group of people are revealed with vigour and undeviating integrity»[12]. She uses as reference cultural elements of her community, recalls heroes, events that form that culture as vast as unheard by those who spit poison to not lose the position of privilege, and if this culture isn’t heard, then Margaret Walker addresses also to the deaf. She speaks to them as well, making universal a history that’s particular. Walker speak to everyone through her rhymes, she speaks to the humanity; her poetry talks about tragedies but is full of hope because she knows there will be always someone who still listen, fight, defend, doesn’t forget, «[…] the power of resilience presented in the poem is a hope Walker holds out not only to black people, but to all people […] “After all, it is the business of all writes to write about the human condition, and all humanity must be involved in both the writing and in the reading”»[13]

Viviana Rizzo

References

[1] LORDE, A., “Poetry Is Not a Luxury”, in Audre Lorde, Sister outsider, Trumansburg N.Y., Crossing Press, 1984, p. 371

[2] TODOROV, L’arte nella tempesta. L’avventura di poeti, scrittori e pittori nella Rivoluzione Russa, trans. ita. by Emanuele Lana, Milano, Garzanti S.r.l., 2017, p. 120 (iBooks)

[3] LORDE, A., “Poetry Is Not a Luxury”, in Audre Lorde, Sister outsider, p. 372

[4] Ibidem

[5] EDITORS, “Maya Angelou”, in Poetry Foundation, web, 2021, (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/maya-angelou, retrieved on 24th February 2021)

[6] EDITORS, “Margaret Walker”, in Poetry Foundation, web, 2021 (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/margaret-walker, retrieved on 24th February 2020).

[7] HOLST, W.A., “Review of A song Flung up to Heaven”, in Christian Century (giugno 2002), pp. 35-36, cit. in EDITORS, “Maya Angelou” in Poetry Foundation

[8] ANGELOU, M., The Complete Collected Poems of Maya Angelou, New Work, Random House Inc., 1994, p. 194

[9] EDI TORS, “Gwendolyn Brooks”, Poetry Foundation, web, 2021 (https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poets/gwendolyn-brooks consultato il 24 febbraio 2021)

[10] LITTLEJOHN, D., Black on White: A Critical Survey of Writing by American Negroes, New York, Grossman, 1966, p. 91, cit. in EDITORS, “Gwendolyn Brooks”, in Poetry Foundation

[11] EDITORS, “Gwendolyn Brooks”, in Poetry Foundation

[12] UNTERMEYER, L. “New Books in Review” in Yake Review, vol. XXXII, n. 2 (inverno 1934), p.371, cit. in EDITORS, “Margaret Walker”, in Poetry Foundation

[13] EDITORS, “Margaret Walker”, in Poetry Foundation

[nerdygaymormon]

uhhhh david have you gotten the liahona yet bc idk how to feel about an article i found in there yesterday. it was pretty comforting and basic, but did use ssa the whole time. BUT the youth one was pretty crappy, it used ssa to the max and gave no real hope, was pretty bland and annoying about oh itll be find just believe and jesus and get hatecrimed <3 i would like to hear your thoughts on it, its the first time ive seen any queer topics in church magazines

Thanks for bringing these to my attention.

"Same-sex attraction" (SSA) is the preferred term of Church leaders. They say it's a way of not making it your identity, that this isn't part of who I am but rather is something I'm dealing with. In other words, people "have" same-sex attraction, not that they "are" gay or lesbian or bi.

There have been a few leaks from behind-the-scenes where the apostles say they use "same-sex attraction" because it's the term that people like least. People like it less that same-gender attraction or gay/lesbian. SSA includes the word "sex" and I guess the idea is it gets people to think of sexual acts and feel queasy.

SSA is the term normally used in Church magazines because they follow the lead of the First Presidency and apostles.

There's 3 items in the Church magazines this month about queer people! That's a lot for one month.

————————————————————

The first is a bishop talking about how to understand and include LGBT people at church. After becoming bishop, 3 sets of parents contacted him distressed that their child is gay or transgender (I note that the parents used "gay." He also mentions contacting someone who 'identifies as gay").

His first recommendation is to follow the living apostles. (which explains why the bishop uses "SSA" even though everyone else around him used "gay"). It's a good idea for a local leader to find what the current leaders are saying because it's changed. He also says to read the Church's websites titled “Same-Sex Attraction” and “Transgender.” He provides two lovely quotes from those pages about diversity at church and being loving to people who are different.

His second recommendation is to not be afraid to talk to people who identify as gay, but instead try to have love for them and then let the Spirit guide you in what to say. We're just people, it shouldn't be scary to talk to us, that shows how different he thinks we are from the other people he interacts with in his ward.

The bishop's third suggestion is to speak to people who are familiar with LGBT "issues," share your testimony, and apologize for hurtful things you say. His list of people to contact for help understanding was a little disheartening because he starts with his stake leaders, ward leaders, other bishops, and so on, actual queer people were the last people on his list.

He continues by saying to pull aside members who are saying homophobic or transphobic things and give them some personal guidance, don't share private information that a member shares with the bishop, and just because someone has these "attractions" doesn't mean they're acting on them, and if they aren't "acting" on them then you can let them have a calling.

I have a few comments about the last few things. If no one corrects the homophobic/transphobic comments in public but instead privately suggests the person do better, every one who heard those comments thinks they stand unchallenged. The atmosphere created by the comments is unchanged. Especially if the bishop was present to hear those words, if they go uncontested then people think this is what is acceptable.

You'd think bishops know not to share private information a member shares with them. I've been around long enough to know that when a bishop is unsure what to do, he starts contacting his network (stake presidency, other bishops) asking for advice. Some bishops are discreet when doing this and others name the individuals.

While it seems basic, I recently had a counselor in a bishopric who didn't think gay people could get a temple recommend, that there's a zero-tolerance policy. That is an attitude that is outdated by a couple of decades, but it shows that people need to learn that simply existing as a gay or trans person doesn't automatically mean we are committing great sins.

I do find it interesting there appears to have been quite a few queer individuals in his ward, at least 4 or 5, and reading between the lines it seems they all stopped attending.

The bishop's heart is in the right place. I get he's following the Church leaders and that limits some of what he can do for queer people in his ward. I think his perspective primarily is of making the parents feel more welcome in the ward and not ostracized for having queer kids.

————————————————————

The second article in the Liahona is written by a person with same-sex attraction and his work to overcome the shame he felt.

It's a much better article than the one written by the bishop. This person shares about the shame they felt at having gay feelings and working with a therapist to overcome that shame. He shares 3 lessons that helped him with this process.

1) God and Jesus love and accept him as he is. This is a message that doesn't often get conveyed to queer members and it's important they know this.

2) The Atonement of Jesus Christ offers healing. At first he was wanting the Atonement to cure him of being gay, but instead it helped him be healed of the shame he felt. I hear so many members who think the Atonement can change us from gay to straight, and that's not true. I'm glad he made this distinction. Our Heavenly Parents don't view being gay or trans as something that needs to be cured. I wish that message was taught more openly in the Church.

3) Build deeper connections and show compassion. Loneliness and feeling like you don't belong at church are two of the most troubling aspects an LGBTQ+ person has to deal with if they are active in the LDS Church. Developing close friendships will help with that. Also, queer people tend to be more compassionate than the average person and I believe it's because of the experiences we had to deal with of living in a heteronormative world that isn't made for us.

He includes a few useful tips at the end on how to engage with queer people.

All in all, a much better story than the one written by the bishop. He shared part of how it feels to be a gay member of this church, the idea that he should be ashamed for who he is, that being gay isn’t a burden, that he doesn't fit in.

I appreciated he said this is part of his layers of identity and at the core of his identity is that we're children of heavenly parents. That's more nuanced than the apostles who reject being gay has anything to do with identity and our only identity should be a child of God.

————————————————————

The final story is from For the Strength of Youth. This piece seems like it's written by a queer person, but it's anonymous and given as general advice to show that people with same-sex attraction belong at church.

This article makes 3 main points. The first is that God loves you. That's true, although accompanying quotes to back up this principle aren't specifically about queer people.

The second point is "you belong." All sorts of people attend church, and God is no respecter of persons. Then they have a quote from Elder L. Whitney Clayton that people with same-sex attraction are welcome to come to church. To me, he's an odd choice to give this message as he led the Church's fight in California on Prop 8 to make gay marriage illegal again. Words aren't enough. Saying I'm welcome is not the same as making a welcoming climate.

The third point is that God will help you. They include a quote from Laura F. who experiences same-sex attraction. She writes about prayer, scripture study, temple and church attendance. However, she also says she doesn't know what her life will look like in 20 years, she seems to be leaving open the possibility her journey with God will lead her to romance and out of the church. I thought that was very honest and important.

————————————————————

I found it noteworthy that nowhere in these 3 articles does it say being alone and celibate is good and what God wants.

I appreciate the idea that we can make our local congregations less homophobic/transphobic. The suggestions from the bishops shows that the bar is pretty low and it doesn't take much to make an improvement from how things are now.

The voices of the two gay members was important, what they shared was useful but nuanced, didn't make commitments to staying in the church long-term or testify that what the church requires is what God wants for them.

Even so, it's clear the publisher is very careful. They use "same-sex attraction" so often, I think readers would be surprised the preferred term of most same-sex attracted people would be gay, bi or lesbian. While they addressed some things, like homophobic/transphobic comments, feeling shame & not fitting in, I think they largely skated past the things that make queer people decide that this church isn't for them.

There's a part of me that says I'm glad we're having this conversation in the Church magazines, but another part that says this is too sanitized and doesn't get at the heart of things. These are very hopeful messages that make it seem that queer people could easily choose to stay in church if a few adjustments were made and if they only understood God loves them, which avoids the "doctrine" that excludes queer people from the highest blessings and joys and makes us essentially second-class citizens in the kingdom of God, at least according to our church.

[cryptiql]

untitled god song

pairing: bakugou/m!reader (trans reader in mind you can see it if you squint but can also be read as cis)

words: 2k

warnings: themes of religious trauma, homophobia, mentions of blood, the author projecting their mommy issues

a/n: this is purely self indulgent, don't mind me 😩✋ (written in first person)

i wish i had known him before the pain started. perhaps it is a fools dream to think that his presence would have solved anything, and it is likely that he might blown me sky high at the time, if given the chance, but i often ponder his place in my narrative. he is nothing less than a king—nay, a god—and what else am i to be except his humble servant, adoring him in the only way i've been taught?

i would bruise my knees as i kneel for him, and should he turn me away, i shall be lost and without purpose. but he does not, and instead, he snorts out a laugh and pulls me to my feet, roughly squeezing my cheeks together with a shit-eating grin. he'll tell me a joke i've heard a thousand times, and yet i laugh with him anyways, the pads of my fingers idly tapping the pulse on his wrists.

"dumbass, at least take me out to dinner first."

i never thought i'd ache to hear such a demeaning nickname, but it's like birdsong to my ears, and i long for the myriad of butterflies it provokes.

i would heed his every word like a faithful disciple, and—if i knew he would not use this power for the wrong reasons—carry it out without question. he'll roll his eyes at the notion, far too prideful at the idea of being praised, and card hands through my hair, gripping softly. "right. and if i told you to go to bed before five in the morning, would you listen?"

my smiles are genuine, as they all are with him.

"no." i wish my mother had been more open-minded; more loving to those she claimed were goners. maybe then, i could still call her my mother, and not a snarled version of her first name steeped in vinegar. maybe she could have met him, and maybe she would have keeled over in the process, but that is how we put it "killing two birds with one stone".

he was a fallen angel if ever i saw one—emblazoned in smog and ravenous inferno, the pieces of child-like innocence turning to ash. something happened to him when he was a kid, just as all gifted children, and oh, what a fool i was to let my gaze dawdle on his gorgeous form. but i will never regret it—no, not ever—for there is no such feeling that can compare to his eyes on mine, burning with a mind-fogging intensity.

it was instantaneous, the moment my thoughts turned on me with malicious intent, her voice ringing out like a gunshot.

you'll never be him.

his hand slots with mine perfectly; deliciously warm and comforting in a way i haven't felt in years; and hauls me up, the flecks of dirt and rubble from the road clinging to my jeans.

"watch it, pretty boy. i won't always be here to save you, y'know."

my heart batters against my ribs like a caged bird, screeching and wailing to be set free, and i wonder in a haze if i've died. judgement day must have come early, i think, not realizing that it was spoken aloud until the blonde quirks a brow inquisitively. he does not speak on the matter, but continues on his merry way, leaving my helpless; hopelessly enamored; and praying that we will meet again.

no, i could never be him. but i am like him. he has a sureness in his walk and fervor in the way he talks that is only recognizable when i look in the mirror. and we do meet again. it is a shame, however, that i must burden him with the weight of my past. i remember too often the troubles of my youth, even when all has passed into fleeting memories that haunt me as ghosts do to an abandoned house. yet, i still live in this house, and the ghosts are here to keep me company.

i remember the church, first and foremost; nestled between the barren country road and the outback; a beacon of hope to all those who stood in its doors. the luster of freshly polished wood still sits in my mind, accompanied by the echoing remnants of dulcet tones and multicolored bands of light, glaring from the stained glass windows and dancing across the musty carpet floor. the doddering pews were just as uncomfortable as the poorly padded chairs squatting in the front row, but every sunday, they were filled to the brim with hungry worshippers. they sang praise as though they were starved, but i was too young to understand for what. i am older now, and i still don't understand. all i know is that despite its reputation, the church was a cursed place, and i should never set foot in it again lest i go mad. i remember the creaking stairs which lead downstairs, and the winding halls that reeked of torment where shadows loomed. the paint was corroding and foul, and my conscious always loitered too long on the merlot stain on the ceiling; its origin unknown, but nevertheless urging my stomach to twist with nausea.

i remember the feeling of tall grass grazing my ankles; itching horribly from the old moth-eaten socks i was forced to wear. it had become second nature—running and hiding from my problems, from the church, from her. i shall never know a greater animosity than the likes that my mother encouraged, although unintentionally, with her pressuring views and sickeningly sweet smile. it's fake, and i would know, because ours are the same.

we are too similar, and i am sickened by the fact. will i become the wretched woman she is? will i fail to be the father i've dreamt of being? it is an easy thing to fall prey to haunting questions, and it serves as brain rot for every moment of silence that leaves me clawing at my skin, trying to reap the memory of her touch. then i began to think—about nothing and everything—and it does not stop. i will be kind; unforgivingly so, and without biased judgement; like my mother never was, and i'll make her hate me for it. i will grow in leaps and bounds, not for her sake or for god's, but for mine, as it always should have been. i will drink and curse with reckless abandon and kiss who i damn well please, because in no life does she have have the power to make me something i'm not. why should i feel sorry when the tears she wept were forged by my own blood; by the childhood memories locked away to rot in my subconscious? yes, she has suffered too, but it is through clenched teeth and raw-bitten lips that i must confess this, for her suffering was born in me and grew from a seedling into a thorned flower, nourished by her hatred and mine. she'll tell me the lie of all mothers before her: that she knows best, and i'll never know joy that is not from my savior's gracious hands.

one day, when she lies not with words but in silence, under worm-filled earth and withering pastures, i'll tell her that she was right. i'll tell her, with his hand in mine, that my savior arrived with hellfire in his eyes and fury unrelenting. his tongue holds venom that would make the devil blush, but he tastes of a sinful sweetness that i've drowned in more times than i care to count.

mother you should know, my god is like no other. he has a broad chest and muscles, i attest, that are sculpted like fine marble and smooth to the test.

my god is a man who loves other men, unashamedly; in all that is true; and kisses me like real people do. and i know it sounds silly, and a bit cliché, and he'd surely make a mockery of me if ever he heard, but i love him. i love him as passionately as you she does lord above, and it is a crime in itself how much i crave him, so yes, i will burn for this—not because my mother said so or by the ancient script that foretells it, but because i promise it. i promise to let neither hell or high water deter me from that which gives me life, and i'll do so with a ring.

"you hear that mom?" i'll whisper in the dead of night, his body flushed against mine in the most delightful way; his fingers curled into my nightshirt, pulling me closer as listless mumbles fall from his parted lips. he is dead to the world amid his dream ridden stupor, but still leans into my touch when i smooth back the wild tufts of hair to kiss his forehead.

"i'm gonna marry him." part of me wishes she didn't live on the other side of the planet, just so i could rub it in her face, but i won't give her the satisfaction of seeing me again. i won't let her think she's won, because i know, and katsuki knows, that he and i are one in the same.

i do not know who i should thank for my stubbornness, be it my mother or my father, so i will thank the pain they both caused me, for it made me stronger than they ever could. no, i did not become a better person, because the scars have yet to heal from how deep they cut, and the smell of blood still lingers, and i am angrier than i once was, but i cherish my wounds. the stench of my agony has long since been subdued, and i have learned to swallow the sickness it evokes. and yes, this anger is unhealthy and i've chosen not to purge it from my mind like the weed it is, but how lucky am i to have found one whose malice rivals my own?

the tales of his glory have littered my notebooks in smudged ink. you would hate him, is scrawled messily on the last page, but i only feel giddy with excitement. you would hate him for his spite and his unapologetic behavior, and that is why he's perfect. he's everything you hate about this world, but everything i love.

so when she gets to heaven and asks the angels "why?", they'll tell her it was him who made the devil cry. him, who held me like she should have—could have, if she hadn't terrified me—and who chased the nightmarish visions of her from my weary mind with his callous palms and soft-spoken reassurances. i wish i had known him when we were young; when things were not so simple and i needed a hand to hold; but i suppose we'll have to settle for faded photographs and stories told through the bitter aroma of alcohol. that's more than enough, i muse to myself, legs hooked over his as i rest my head on his shoulder, keening softly at the gentle scrape of his nails on my scalp. his arms wind around my waist as he mutters something along the lines of "i love you", his lips curling into a smile, illuminated by the televisions glow.

so when they ask of my religion, i will think of only him. i will recall the way he looks at me, the sound of my name on his tongue, the feeling of his lips trailing between the valley of my breast; featherlight, cautious and unfitting for a man of his nature. i've written songs of praise, all dedicated to him, and if only he knew, oh how smug he would be. but i love him, i love him, i love him. and when he spins me around like a marionette, it is with overwhelming pride and joy that i tell him this, and with rose hued cheeks and bashful grumbles, he tells me the same. so mother, wherever you are, i hope you know i've found my god.

[gubler-me-up]

Unsung Heroes

Request: Hi! I just found your account and I am in LOVE. I know this is a sort of very specific ask, but could you write Spencer Reid dating a masculine/trans masculine person? I think it would be really cool so yeah lol thank u in advance 🥺🥺💖💖 (ur literally so damn talented)

A/N: Thank you so much for the request, anon! Sorry it took a long time to get to but I’m glad I’m getting it out before the end of the year. This is my first masc trans reader fic out of two in my requests, so I hope you enjoy it! Please let me know if there is anything I can improve on or anything you would like to see in my next masc trans spencer reid fic that I didn’t portray well here. I did a bit of research to make sure my portrayal was accurate but I am always open to improving my work especially so readers feel comfortable and represented while reading. Hope you enjoy and happy reading! 💕

Couple: Spencer Reid/Masc trans!reader

Category: Fluff

Content warning: None just pure ~fluff~

Word count: 2.5k

————-

You threw on your favourite flannel to complete your outfit. You looked at yourself in the mirror one last time to fix your hair properly before Spencer arrived. He might not be a fan of styling his hair but making sure your hair was to your liking was your thing. Especially after getting a fresh cut it was important to you that you made the best of it before your hair started to grow back.

You then quickly checked your beard to see if there were any noticeable razor bumps. You didn’t see any visible ones but the ones below the surface were always the dangerous ones. You ran your hand over your beard to feel for any up and coming bumps. You stopped your finger over a spot that felt tender to the touch.

“Ah, you already feel as if you’re going to be a pain,” you mumbled to yourself.

You heard soft knocks on your door before you could continue your battle with your soon to be razor bump. You grabbed your wallet and keys off of your dresser before leaving your bedroom to answer the door. You opened the door to see Spencer standing in front of you with his hands gripped on his satchel strap and an excited smile plastered on his face.

He gently lifted his satchel to bring your attention to it. You chuckled as you saw how full it looked. You looked at him with a quizzical expression as he started to laugh himself.

“I thought we could read some light literature as we indulge in these breakfast burritos you’re so excited about,” he said.

“I haven’t read a good book in a while let alone encyclopedias,” you chuckled.

“They’re not all encyclopedia’s. Just one,” he said.

You laughed as you closed the door behind you. You didn’t believe him one bit about only having one encyclopedia in his satchel but you weren’t going to overly tease him about it. You were more interested in him trying a breakfast burrito for the first time.

You originally didn’t get the hype over breakfast burritos for a while until you were running late to work one morning and saw a food truck nearby. They convinced you to try their breakfast burrito and you’ve been loyal to them ever since. You knew Spencer was more of a coffee and go person but you thought he might enjoy trying something new.

“We’ll find out the truth after we get something to eat,” you said.

Spencer smiled and nodded as he loosened his grip on his satchel strap. He let his hand loosely fall to his sides. You smirked as you reached your hand out to him and he immediately grabbed it. To say he was forever touched starved was an understatement.

You were glad you could give him something he didn’t already have plenty of in his life. Touching books and case files all day definitely couldn’t give him the physical touch he deeply desired. You were happy every day for the past six months you could be the one to embrace him in any amount of touch. Bonus points for him always smelling good as well.

Spencer pressed the button for the elevator. “Are these breakfast burritos really as good as you say they are?”

“You’re doubting me now?” You asked.

“No, I would never do that. I’m just saying we sometimes have different tastes in things,” he said.

“Oh? What kind of things?” You asked.

“Well, you prefer listening to more contemporary artists while I’m more into classical,” he said.

“Musical taste is whatever though. I can get down to Mozart any day,” you chuckled.

He laughed. “Well, you take your coffee with oat milk and three brown sugars. I take mine black with a little sugar.”

“If you think half the sugar canister is a little sugar then I don’t wanna know what you consider a lot of sugar.”

You both laughed as the elevator doors opened. You both stepped into it and you pressed the lobby floor. You looked at him with a smirk before grabbing his chin. He smiled at your touch as he looked lovingly into your eyes.

“What?” He asked.

“I think there’s one thing we can both agree we have good taste in,” you said.

You leaned in and kissed Spencer on the lips which you knew he longed for. He didn’t hesitate to embrace you fully into his mouth. You don’t think you’ve ever kissed a guy with softer lips than him. He latched his hands onto your face and started to stroke his thumb against your beard. It ran over the growing razor bump but you didn’t mind if he touched it.

You parted your lips from him before you changed your mind and opted to spend the day with him in your apartment. He chuckled and didn’t move his hands away from your face. It didn’t seem as if the good doctor was quite finished with you.

“You want another taste?” You joked.

He nodded. You obliged and leaned in to kiss him again. You could have him for breakfast all day every day. Since breakfast was taken up by a breakfast burrito with your names on it, you guessed you could have him for lunch instead.

————

You and Spencer had found a rock to sit on near the lake. The park was quite full for a Sunday morning but with such nice weather you couldn’t blame people for wanting to be out and about so early. You watched Spencer carefully as he took his time eating his breakfast burrito. You couldn’t quite tell if he liked it or not based on his blank stare into the water as he ate.

“How do you like it?” You asked.

He quickly snapped out of his long gaze into the water. He looked over at you and smiled but it couldn’t fool you. You knew something was running around that big brain of his and you wanted to know what.

“I like it. It’s definitely an interesting concept,” he said as he took another small bite.

“Spence, what’s wrong?” You asked.

He shook his head in response to you as he finished chewing. You gave him a second to finish whatever was left in his mouth before he started talking. He let out a drawn-out sigh before licking his lips.

“I was going over case files this week and went over this one from a few years ago. This little boy’s family was murdered  and he was the only survivor. Found out he left his aunt and uncle’s house to go into foster care. Apparently, he’s been having a hard time no matter where he goes,” he said.

“Well, from being a human I can tell you family sucks but from working in social work I can tell you the foster care system sucks. It’s hard to look at some of these cases and talk to these children having a hard time for sure,” you said.

“I just don’t feel as if I’m making a difference,” he confessed.

You shook your head in protest. If anyone was making a difference it was Dr. Spencer Reid. You knew how doubtful he could be of his capabilities sometimes but you knew he just needed a little reminder here and there.

“Are you kidding? You’re out here risking your life to catch serial killers every day and you don’t think you’re making a difference?” You asked.

“But it just stops there. The lives ruined never get fixed. The survivors never know a sense of peace. I just help solve cases and then move onto the next thing,” he said.

“You don’t have to deal with the social work or therapy side of these cases because there are people who take that area over for you. You do enough, Spence,” you said.

“And you do the most, Y/N. You’re so good at social work and when you’re not doing that you’re dedicating your time volunteering for homeless youths,” he said.

“It’s easy to volunteer though. Anyone can do it,” you said.

“And here I am not doing that.”

Spencer stared back into the depths of the water as he took another bite from his breakfast burrito. A bigger bite this time. You were honestly impressed. He probably took a bigger bite so he had more time to chew and less time to talk about his worries. A true genius.

You looked into the water yourself. The waves coming in reminded you of what one of your coworkers said to you once. You laughed to yourself which brought Spencer’s attention back to you.

“You know when I first told one of my coworkers I was transgender they asked if my transitioning period felt as if that one scene in Mulan where she looked at her reflection and knew she was supposed to reflect who she was inside and then decided to pretend to be a man to go into war on behalf of her father. I said not exactly and before I could explain to them why their analogy wasn’t really accurate, they hugged me and said they were proud I was able to reflect who I was inside on the outside,” you said.

“The lake reminded you of your coworker’s ignorance?” He questioned.

You chuckled. “No, it reminded me of that scene in Mulan and then that reminded me of my coworker’s ignorance. That being said though they did tell me how a lot of people they know are unsung heroes. I asked what they meant by that and they said unsung heroes are people who are trying their best but aren’t acknowledged or are overlooked by others or themselves.”

“Are you trying to say I’m a little harsh on myself?”

“Just a little.”

He looked back out into the lake again. You could see the wheels in his head turning as he thought about what you said. You continued to enjoy your breakfast sandwich as you let him ponder on your words. Usually it was the other way around and the words you were pondering were a bit more complex but you were nonetheless glad you could get him thinking.

By the time he looked at you, your burrito was nearly done. His whole time thinking he hadn’t taken another bite of his burrito. You didn’t know if you were happy he was about to talk to you about his insights or upset because he made a good breakfast burrito get cold.

“You don’t think I’m an unsung hero do you?” He asked.

You shook your head. “Of course not. I think you’re just a hero who wants to save the whole world at once but can barely finish a breakfast burrito.”

He chuckled. “This thing’s huge.”

“And so is the world but just like your bites, you have to solve issues within it in small nibbles,” you joked.

He laughed as he took another bite out of it. He tried to chew it with a smile on his face but you knew he hated the fact it was cold. You laughed at him as he swallowed the remains of his bite. He carefully wrapped his half-eaten burrito before looking at you with a wide smile. You were glad to see him smiling again and the doubt lifted from his face.

“I think you’re right,” he said.

“You think I’m right? Say that I’m right again and you might just have to hand over your Ph.D. to me,” you joked.

He chuckled. “Which one?”

You both laughed. When Spencer made a joke, it was definitely one for the books. However, when he made a good joke it was one for the history books. You believed the longer you two are together the better his humour could become.

“All jokes aside, I want to spend my free time volunteering with homeless youths with you,” he said.

You looked at him surprised but a smile soon appeared on your face. You grabbed his hand and squeezed it. He looked at you with those big, beautiful brown eyes of his filled with hope. You nodded your head.

“I would love for you to volunteer with me. I think the kids would love learning a thing or two from you,” you said.

“Teach?” You said.

“Yeah. Every Friday we teach youths a different arrangement of skills that will help them in life. It’s a great sight seeing them have hope in their eyes again. I first started with counselling transgender youths in the program and have branched out to other members of the LGBTQ2S+. I now help homeless youths who have been victims of physical abuse. It’s definitely hard stuff to hear but seeing their faces when they know they’re being helped through their problems is the biggest reward I could ever ask for.”

Throughout your whole speech you could see tears at the brim of Spencer’s eyes. He tried to wipe his eyes before any tears could fall out but you already knew you had touched his soft spot. He smiled brightly at you before letting out a soft chuckle.

“I hope they like physics,” he said.

You laughed. “Taught the Dr. Spencer Reid way, I think they will have a new appreciation of the science.”

You both broke out into laughter again. You broke the laughter by kissing him on the lips. You could never get over how happy he looked every time you kissed him.

“I love you, Spencer,” you said.

He grinned. “I love you too, Y/N.”

“How about we get you some real breakfast and head back to my place for lunch?” You said.

You stood up on the rock and placed your hand out for Spencer to use to get up. He gladly grabbed onto it as you hoisted him up. For someone with a Ph.D. in physics you would think that he would have a better sense of how to balance. It was just another cute quirk of his you loved.

“Some real breakfast?” He questioned.

“Yeah, your coffee with a “little” sugar,” you said.

“Ah, my real breakfast. So what’s going to be for lunch?” He asked.

You grabbed his hand to hold as you two walked through the park. You smirked at him as you looked him up and down. He blushed as he let you examine him from head to toe.

“Your encyclopedia’s of course,” you said.

“Wait, what? Why my encyclopedia’s?” He asked.

“Ah-ha, so there are more than one in your bag,” you said.

He sighed. “Was this your way of making me confess that you’re right again?”

“Yes.”

“So there’s no lunch?”

“You’re lunch.”

“Ah, I see you’re on a diet then.”

“You know what? I love that my humour’s rubbing off on you so well.”

“I think it’s a sign we belong in each other’s life for a long time to come.”

You laughed. “I’m not the romantic type but I have to agree.

“So how come I’ve told all my friends from work you’re the most romantic person I know?”

“Oh? I guess I’ll show you how romantic I can be during lunch.”

—–

MASTERLIST

Tagged: @shadyladyperfection, @slutforthegubes, @pinkdiamond1016, @spencerreidsthings, @itsmyblogandillreblogifiwantto, @slutforsr @bxtchboy69, @fallinallinmendes @haihappen5 @mgg-theprettiestboy @siltuz-png @ptrs-prkrs @tclaerh @agentadhd @alexmarie29 @closetedreidstan @mac99martin @blxckhearthood @jesspavlik0vsky @katexrichardson @keniaasf @reidbuck @corishirogane3 @thegoddamncrazycatlady @keniaasf @pastelbabygirl19 @shadybagelsludgecolor @bootycrackraisinjuice @vintagebeauty1496 @bluerose512​ @laneybobeczko-g​ @averyhotchner​ @littlewierdalien @cynbx @mggsprettygirl​

[purrincess-chat]

Marinette Dupain-Cheng’s Spite Playlist: Remix CH12

It’s ya boooooy! Malin is here!! Super huge shout out to @salty-french-fry for bringing him to life. I commissioned her to draw all of my OC hero babies, so you can see Malin in all of his anime boy glory here! We stan a trans bicon. And for those who are unaware, Malin is another name for fox in French, but like with the connotation of calling someone sly or tricky. I hope you all enjoy this chapter! I tweaked it quite a bit from the original. ;)

Previous     First      Next     AO3

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Chapter 12: WTF Do I Know

“I know our duty is to the city, but I can’t help these feelings stirring my heart. Every time I see her brilliant blue eyes shining in the moonlight, I am overcome with passion and admiration. She truly is Miraculous.” Eliott looked to Marinette sitting cross-legged on the floor for approval. “How was that?”

“Incredible! You really have Chat Noir down,” she said.

Eliott rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks, but I still feel like I could do better. Opening night is only a week away, and I’m playing one of the leads. Everything has to be perfect.” He paced the length of the stage, adjusting his black mask.

“I’m sure you’ll be fine. You make a wonderfully convincing Chat Noir.” She assured him—and she should know.

“Wonderfully convincing isn’t perfect. This play is a tribute to Ladybug and Chat Noir’s triumph on Heroes’ Day. If I screw up then I’ll be dishonoring them.” He turned and gestured to the impressive backdrop of the Eiffel Tower.

“No, you won’t.” Marinette stood up and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’re an amazing actor, and I know you’re gonna kill it.”

“Places in five everyone!” The director swept through the stage.

Stagehands rushed around the set. Costume designers made last-minute alterations, and each prop was meticulously tested and placed for ease of access during scene changes. Marinette never realized how chaotic theater was behind the scenes.

Eliott let a deep breath past his lips, and Marinette offered him a smile. “I’ll be watching in the audience. You’re gonna do great.”

“Thanks, Marinette,” he said. “And thanks for coming to watch our dress rehearsal.”

“Thanks for inviting me.”

“Sorry I’m so crazy about everything, I just want to be the best.” He fiddled with his gloves. “I’ve been studying English since I was little because my dream is to perform on Broadway. I know it’s a long shot, but it’s what I’ve wanted ever since my grandma and I watched a play together when I was a kid.”

“You’ll get there, and I’ll be sitting in the front row with Macy, Martin, and Adrien.”

Eliott smiled at that, pressing a soft kiss to her knuckles. “I actually owe you, Marinette. You’ve helped me a lot as an actor since we met.”

“Me? How?”

“You taught me to take risks. Before I met you, I was just coasting through life, staying out of the way, playing it safe, but now I can stand up for other people and speak out,” he explained. “You helped me find the courage to step outside my comfort zone.”

Her cheeks burned, but she smiled at the sentiment. All of her new friends gave praise so easily—something Marinette wasn’t used to. Helping others wasn’t about getting rewarded, and in most cases, the attention just made her squirm. She helped her friends because she cared. Although, even if their compliments embarrassed her, it was nice to know she was appreciated.

“Watch where you’re going!” A nasally voice grabbed their attention.

“Sorry!” A tiny stagehand shrank under the icy glare of her aggressor.

Eliott sprang into action to diffuse the situation. “Margot, is there a problem?”

“She bumped into me! Can you imagine if I had fallen and broken my wrist a week before opening night? How can I play Ladybug with a broken wrist?” Margot shouted.

Eliott stepped between her and the stagehand, holding up defensive hands. “I’m sure it was just an accident. No one got hurt, so why don’t you go cool off? We’re almost ready to start.”

“Ugh, whatever. Just stay out of my way!”

As she stalked off, Eliott turned to the small girl. “Are you okay, Lisette?”

“You know my name?” Her eyes widened.

“Of course. You hand me my props before I go on stage,” he said. “Don’t let Margot get to you. She’s just nervous because the show is in a week, and it’s her first time playing a lead.”

“It was my fault. I wasn’t watching where I was going,” Lisette said.

Eliott tucked a strand of her blonde hair back into place, brushing her cheek with his thumb. “Hey, don’t worry about it. We’re all a little high strung right now.”

“You’re not.”

Eliott flashed her a playful grin. “I’m a good actor.”

“I know,” she said, and when Eliott quirked a brow she fumbled to add, “I-I’ve kind of had to watch you for the past several months. You’re really good.”

“Wow, thanks, Lisette. I’m flattered that a pretty girl like you is a fan of mine,” Eliott said.

Her cheeks flushed, and she gave a small nod before scurrying off to her position at the director’s order.

Marinette couldn’t help the smile on her lips as Eliott found his mark and took a few deep breaths to center himself. He’d grown a lot since they met, and if someone had to play Chat Noir, she was glad it was him. She’d been uncertain at first, but Eliott really was worthy of being a hero, even if his costar was the worst. How could they cast such a brat to play Ladybug?

Taking her seat in the audience, Marinette thought back to her encounter with Gabrielle several nights prior. True to her word, Gabrielle hadn’t bothered them since, but what she was doing out on her own like that? And what was up with the apron in her bag? Something fishy was going on with her, but at least she was keeping her word. It was about time Marinette got some peace and quiet.

♪♫♪ I’m Not Calling You a Liar ♪♫♪

When the school bell rang, Alya remained seated, lips pursed. Her other classmates gathered their backpacks, eager to enjoy their weekend plans. Adrien paid her no mind as he slung his bag over his shoulder and followed everyone else out. They hadn’t spoken since their last encounter, and Alya still wasn’t sure what to think. He sounded so sure of himself. After being friends with Marinette, she knew far more about Adrien Agreste than she ever cared to, and truthfully, Alya didn’t think he was capable of being malicious.

Don’t believe everything Lila tells you. Be a journalist. Investigate.

But how? It’s not like Alya could just call up a bunch of celebrities and foreign princes to ask them to corroborate all of Lila’s stories, and even if she could, what would Lila think if they proved Adrien wrong? Or worse, what would Alya think if they proved him right? If they proved Marinette right…

It had been two weeks since she left. Two weeks since they… Alya had been hurt at first, and her heart still ached thinking about it now. In the grand scheme of things, she hadn’t known Marinette that long—only a few months—so it was possible that there were things Alya didn’t know about her. Dark secrets she kept hidden. But if that were possible for Marinette, couldn’t the same be true for Lila? And why was Alya so afraid to go looking?

“Alya? Did you hear me?”

She blinked out of her trance. “Sorry, what?”

“You’ve been awfully spacey lately,” Lila remarked. “I was just saying that I have an important meeting today with my youth ambassadors committee. Clara Nightingale has promised to sponsor our clean water initiative, and today’s the only day we can meet with her. Is there any way you can take care of that thing Mlle. Bustier needed for me?”

Don’t believe her.

“Actually, Lila, I have to go pick up my little sisters because Nora has practice this afternoon, and Mlle. Bustier did ask you to do it,” Alya said.

Lila’s eyebrows raised, but just as quickly, she puckered her lips into a pout. “Is there any way you could have Nino pick up your sisters? This meeting is really important.”

“Nino promised Juleka he’d help Kitty Section with their sound system today so they can practice before their gig this weekend.” Her heart pounded as Lila’s lip twitched.

“I mean, I guess I can put off my meeting. Those kids in India will just have to go a little while longer without clean drinking water…” Lila eyed her.

“Ya know, if you’re too busy to keep up with your class rep stuff, you can always tell Mlle. Bustier to let us elect someone else. I’m sure everyone would understand,” Alya said pointedly.

“And let Chloe become the class rep again? I couldn’t do that to you guys.” Lila shook her head.

“True, but I can’t cover for you all the time. I have my own stuff going on. Maybe I’m not saving third world countries, but sometimes I have a life to live too,” Alya said. “You were elected to do all of this, you know.”

“No, I understand,” Lila sighed. “I’ve been putting too much pressure on you to do my job. It’s just so hard to juggle going to school and saving the world. I’ll figure out a way to do it for all of you because you’re my friends, and my friends are just as important to me as any starving, third-world country.”

“Good. I’m glad to hear that you’ll be putting in more effort.” Alya stood up. “Have a good weekend.”

“Oh, I’m sure my weekend will be better than those thirsty children in Iran.”

Alya stopped in the doorway. “Don’t you mean in India?”

“What?”

“Earlier you said the meeting was for children in India. Now you just said Iran,” Alya said.

“Oh, yeah, that’s what I meant,” Lila said. “I have a different thing for Iran next week. It’s hard to keep everything straight when you’re so busy.”

“Right.” Alya’s eyes narrowed. “Well, good luck.”

“Give your sisters a hug for me!”

Alya’s hands shook as she headed up the hall. It was probably nothing, just a simple mix up like she said, but… Given the circumstances, it was a little suspicious. One thing was certain: Alya would be keeping an eye on her.

♪♫♪ Thnks fr th Mmrs ♪♫♪

“Your rehearsal was amazing,” Marinette said afterward over tea. “Well, except for Margot’s prop mishap. I thought she was going to have a meltdown.”

Eliott stirred his drink with a smirk. “She’s a great actress until something goes wrong,” he chuckled. “I just feel bad for Lisette. She looked like she wanted to kill her.”

“Speaking of Lisette…” Marinette gave him a knowing look. “I think she might have a crush on you.”

“Lisette? Nah.” Eliott averted his gaze, taking a sip of his tea. “I’m not anyone important. There’s no way she’d be into me.”

“That’s not true. You’re an amazing actor,” Marinette said. “I mean that, you don’t have anything to worry about.”

“Thanks, I guess the thought of someone liking me just makes me nervous.” He bit his lip.

“Come on. You flirt with everyone all the time,” Marinette said. “You flirted with me on my first day of school.”

“Flirting is different. Just because I flirt with people doesn’t mean they have to like me back,” he said, then biting his lip, added, “Do you really think she likes me?”

“As someone who struggles to get two coherent sentences out around the boy she likes, I think she likes you more than you know,” Marinette said.

“Speaking of… You and Adrien sure seem to get along.” He sipped his tea with a satisfied smirk as Marinette’s cheeks burned. He didn’t waste any time flipping the script, but it was her fault for opening that door.

“Oh, do we? I mean, of course we do. We’re just friends, I don’t have feelings for him at all,” she said with a nervous titter.

“I never said you did,” Eliott said.

“Oh, um, yeah, well then I- don’t tell Macy.” She hung her head in defeat.

“Your secret’s safe with me.” He shrugged. “But you don’t have to worry about Macy’s crush. It’s superficial. She fixates on some famous guy for a while, then moves on when something new catches her eye.”

Marinette relaxed. “Good. I’ve just liked Adrien for a long time, and ever since I left my old school, he’s been paying more attention to me, so…I don’t want it to come between us.”

“Nah, I’m sure if she knew she’d back off,” Eliott assured her. “She’s extremely loyal to her friends and would never try to take away something you wanted even if she wants it too. One time she and I argued for twenty minutes because she convinced herself I wanted the last cookie on the plate. We ended up breaking it in half.”

“That’s a relief.” Marinette let out a breath.

“Though I do have to wonder which sounds better, Marinette Agreste or Adrien Dupain-Cheng?”

Marinette nearly choked on her tea. “Eliott!”

“I’m kinda partial to Adrien Dupain-Cheng myself.”

“Stop!” She covered her face, cheeks burning, and Eliott threw his head back with a laugh.

A herd of people stampeded up the sidewalk right before a loud crash sounded a few blocks over. Debris fell from the ceiling, and Eliott tackled Marinette to the ground, cradling her head.

“That sounded close, we should run.” He pulled her to her feet. “My yacht isn’t far from here, we can hide there.”

As much as she hated to do it, Marinette needed to get away. Gradually, she let herself slip from his grasp in the crowd. Eliott turned over his shoulder in an attempt to reach her again, but too many people stood between them.

“Marinette!”

“Go! I’ll catch up,” she called.

His eyebrows furrowed worriedly, but he pressed on without question.

Marinette ducked into a nearby alley and opened her purse. “Ready, Tikki? Transform me!”

Ladybug tossed her yoyo across the street, tugging the slack and launching herself into the rooftops. Racing down the row of buildings, she followed the civilian trail to the scene of the attack. Overturned cars and broken windows signaled that she was on the right track, and she arrived at the same time as Chat Noir.

“Well, well we meet again, m’lady.” His flirtatious lilt echoed between the buildings as he staff-coptered down to join her.

“I would hope so since saving the city is our job.” She flicked his bell. “I think it’s about time we clocked in, don’t you?”

“Ladies first.” Chat Noir bowed as Ladybug tossed her yoyo and shot into action. “Don’t mean to interrupt your tirade, but I’m gonna need to see some license and registration for that car,” he said as they landed. “What’s the matter? Rough break up?”

The akuma turned to them with a growl, tossing the car aside, and Ladybug spotted a small blonde girl cowering underneath.

“Civilian alert!”

“On it.” Chat Noir charged forward, brandishing his staff.

“Ladybug! Chat Noir! I am Showstopper, and I’m about to give Paris the performance of a lifetime after I get rid of her.”

The small girl on the ground cowered under Showstopper’s glare, her blonde buns oddly familiar…

Ladybug gasped. “That’s Lisette which means Showstopper must be Margot! She really was upset by that mistake.”

Lisette attempted to run, but Showstopper served a ball of light at her with the tennis racket—the lucky charm prop from the play and likely where the akuma was hiding. The attack froze Lisette in place, but before Showstopper could make her next move, she blocked a blow from Chat Noir’s staff. A few seconds passed, and the magic faded, sending Lisette toppling forward.

“So that’s it,” Ladybug said, then to Chat Noir called, “Don’t let her hit you, or she’ll freeze you for a few seconds!”

“Got it!” He dodged an orb.

Once Showstopper drove him back several paces, she dashed after Lisette, launching a bus to the end of the street to block the exit.

“Going somewhere?”

“No, but you are.” Ladybug hooked her yoyo around Showstopper’s ankle. Showstopper lobbed several orbs at her before she could pull the slack, and Ladybug backflipped out of the way, diving for cover with Chat Noir behind two flipped cars.

“We need a plan to get that girl out of here.” He peeked over the side.  

Ladybug palmed her yoyo. “Lucky Charm!” Her eyebrows raised as a paper lantern landed in her hands.

“Oh great, you can light the way for her to wreck that girl,” Chat Noir said.

Ladybug pursed her lips contemplatively. “I need to go to Master Fu,” she said. “Can you handle things until I get back?”

“Just don’t keep me waiting too long.” Chat Noir nodded before they broke off.

Leaving in the middle of a battle was always risky, but this wasn’t a fight they could win alone. She just hoped that she could find an ally in time.

“Master Fu?” Marinette knocked, peeking her head inside.

“What is it, Marinette?” He glanced up from his book.

“I need to borrow a Miraculous to win this battle.”

Master Fu retrieved the Miracle Box from the phonograph and placed it on the mat in front of her. “Have you found someone you trust to wield it?”

Marinette contemplated her choices carefully, running strategies in her head. After she and Alya split up, she wasn’t sure she’d ever trust someone enough to replace Rena Rouge, but her new friends proved her wrong. Taking a deep breath, she nodded and reached for the fox. “I know exactly who to pick, and I won’t let you down this time.”

Master Fu offered her one of his proud, grandfatherly smiles. “You never have. I have always had faith in you, Marinette.”

Her chest swirled with pride as she stood up. “Transform me.”

Eliott’s yacht was empty when Ladybug touched down on the deck. He told Marinette to hide there, so she’d been certain it was where he’d be. Then again, Eliott wasn’t the same cowardly boy he’d been when they met, and he didn’t turn his back on a friend. She knew where to find him.

“Marinette?” His voice echoed between the buildings of the abandoned street, and he flinched when Ladybug landed behind him. “Ladybug! Thank goodness, have you seen my friend Marinette? We got separated, and I told her to meet at my yacht, but-”

“Don’t worry. She’s safe,” Ladybug said. “Actually, I need your help.”

“My help?” He arched a brow. “I mean, sure, I'll do anything.”

“Eliott Chasse, this is the Miraculous of the fox which grants the power of illusion. You will use it to fight for the greater good.” She extended the box to him.

“Whoa, you're giving me a Miraculous?” he gasped. “But wait, why me? What happened to Rena Rouge?”

“She's...not around.” Ladybug averted her gaze. “Will you help me?”

“I-I dunno. I think my friend Marinette would be way better at this than me.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

“Eliott…” Ladybug smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You are the right person for this job. Have courage and believe in yourself. That's all you need to be a superhero.”

Eliott pressed his lips together, then accepted the box with a nod. Shielding his eyes from the bright light, he gaped in disbelief as Trixx materialized. “Whoa!”

“My name’s Trixx. I’m a kwami, and if you want to transform all you have to say is ‘Trixx, transform me!’” she explained as Eliott fastened the clasp of the necklace.

“Alright then. Trixx, transform me!” When the orange light faded, Eliott examined his orange and white suit with wide eyes. “Wait, is this really happening?”

“Do you know how your powers work?” Ladybug asked. There was no time to waste.

“Of course. I studied news footage in preparation for my role as Chat Noir in an upcoming play. I wanted to accurately portray the team's dynamic,” he said.

“Good, then follow me.”

Ladybug tossed her yoyo and shot off. Eliott hesitated only briefly, taking a few steps before leaping over the building after her. He touched down lightly beside her before they shot off again.

“I know it's a lot to take in, but we don't have a lot of time,” Ladybug said. She pulled up the news coverage of the akuma. Showstopper had taken the battle all the way to the Eiffel Tower. She skidded to a stop behind a chimney and closed her yoyo. “Hmm…Lucky Charm!”

“A bottle of soap? At least the villain will be squeaky clean?” Eliott shrugged.

Ladybug turned it over in her hands, a plan forming in her mind. “Okay, here’s what we’ll do.”

- - -

Showstopper held a frozen Lisette over the edge, and Chat Noir held up defensive hands as he attempted to negotiate.

“Hand over your Miraculous, or I'll drop her!”

“Maybe we can come to a compromise,” he reasoned, but Showstopper was in no mood.

“You have five seconds. One!”

“There has to be something else you want.”

“Two.”

“After all this is murder we're talking about.”

“Three!”

“I'm sure she didn't mean any harm.”

“Four!”

“Ladybug, hurry up!”

“Five!”

Before Chat could react, Showstopper released her grip, sending Lisette plunging toward her doom. Chat Noir attempted to dive after her, but Showstopper pitched another orb at him. To his relief, Ladybug swung in to deflect it just in time, but there was no time for gratitude.

“Ladybug! The girl!”

“Already taken care of,” she assured him.

- - -

Lisette unfroze midway down, eyes widening in fear as the ground grew closer. Just as a scream reached her throat, Eliott caught her, carrying her safely back to the Eiffel Tower. Her screams echoed across the bars as she clung to him for dear life, but they quieted the moment she looked into his eyes.

“Falling from heaven, angel?” He set her down gently. “Stay hidden. Showstopper can't see you if we want our plan to work.”

She blinked in shock, cheeks flushing. “Wait!” She caught his wrist as he turned to leave. “W-Who are you?”

“Uh… Call me Malin.” He winked, giving a two-finger salute before leaping up to the rafters.

Malin summoned his Mirage on the way up, cheeks still hot. Now wasn’t the time to worry about what Lisette thought of him. First, he needed to save her.

“You're too late!” Showstopper proclaimed, and Malin cleared his throat.

“Are we?” He clocked a brow.

Showstopper spun around where Malin held his fake damsel. “No!” she growled.

“New friend?” Chat Noir sized him up.

“I'll tell you later,” Ladybug said.

Malin set his illusion free with instructions to run, and as expected, Showstopper gave chase. Ladybug really was a wizard at coming up with plans. When Chat Noir moved to follow, Malin stepped in front of him with a wink.

“Who are you?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“Name's Malin, and you are one foxy feline in person, Chat Noir.” He looked him up and down.

“Less flirting, more running. Phase two,” Ladybug ordered. “Kitty, follow me and get ready to use your Cataclysm. Malin, you know what to do.”

“On it.” Malin nodded, leaping back over the edge with a whoop.

Showstopper pursued the fake Lisette to the second-floor restaurants, falling right into their trap. She skidded against the soapy floor as Malin's illusion faded before her eyes. A broom perched between two chairs clotheslined her, sending her tennis racket flying from her grasp right into Chat Noir's waiting Cataclysm.

Malin helped Margot up as Ladybug captured the akuma and returned everything to normal. “Seriously, losing your cool over a prop malfunction is so lame.” He chided. “You're playing Ladybug, so my suggestion is: take a lesson from the real thing and let go of that bad energy.”

Lisette peeked up from the stairs timidly, pacing over to join them. “I'm sorry your yoyo string was tangled. I should have checked it,” she said.

“Yeah, whatever.” Margot rolled her eyes. “Sorry I tried to throw you off the Eiffel Tower.”

“Technically, you did throw her off the Eiffel Tower,” Chat Noir said pointedly.

“You were awesome, Malin.” Ladybug nudged him with her elbow.

“It was your plan, all I did was help.” He rubbed the back of his neck.

Ladybug shook her head. “You saved this girl, and we couldn't have done it without you. Be proud. You're a true superhero.”

Malin bit back a smile, surveying his suit and squaring his shoulders with a new sense of purpose. Ladybug was right. He had his doubts when she asked him because he still had a long way to go before he would consider himself an actual hero. If anyone deserved the title without a Miraculous, it was Marinette, and he owed this opportunity to her. He never would have had the courage to accept Ladybug’s offer without her. It was a shame she’d never know how much she truly changed his life. Maybe one day he could tell her this secret, but for now, he’d wear his secret identity like an invisible badge of honor.

“Pound it!” The three heroes said in unison.

Malin turned to Lisette and bowed formally. “Perhaps I will save you again someday,” he said.

Lisette bit her lip before stretching up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Ladybug took his wrist and toted him off as a dopey grin spread across his lips. They retreated to a private corner at the base of the tower, and Malin returned the necklace to Ladybug. Shoving his hands in his pockets, Eliott shifted his gaze to his shoes with a sigh.

“What's wrong?” Ladybug asked.

“Nothing, just… Lisette kissed Malin, not Eliott.” He kicked at the ground.

“You really like her, don't you?” Ladybug asked.

Eliott flinched, rubbing the back of his neck. That morning the thought of falling in love with someone terrified him, but now… Maybe he hadn’t come down from his heroic high, but with Lisette’s kiss still burning on his cheek, he smiled.

“Yeah, I do,” he said.

“Well, Malin is very charming, but I think she might need someone to walk her home. Think Eliott can handle that?” Ladybug pointed to where Lisette was stepping off the elevator.

Have courage and believe in yourself.

On any other day, the fear of rejection would have convinced him to walk away, and maybe tomorrow it would. But today, today he wasn’t afraid.

“Lisette! Wait up.”

[nightswithkookmin]

Goldy I never thought I would reach out to any Jikook blog but after your last post I have to. I am an east asian american and trans. I have never spoken on this issue, commented or posted about this. I am a Jikook supporter but sometimes Jikook supporting blogs don't feel like the friendliest place. I want to thank you for changing my opinion on that. It is an insult to BTS to say Jikook don't know they seem gay or that they don't know what gay looks like. It is an insult to fans like me to say it would be OK to do the things they do if they were cisgendered straight men. I personally saw a few people say or dance around this and they got intimidated by big blogs for it. I would never name names because I beleive in free speech and the right of people to express themselves, as long as it isn't hate speech. Supporting lgbt people and making sure they don't feel endangered is MORE IMPORTANT THAN STANNING A KPOP BAND and I say this as a 4 year long bts and Jikook stan. So many people don't want to touch this issue and I understand why.

But thank you for supporting ACTUAL lgbt people as well as bts and showing stubborn people that BTS mean gay rights when they say gay rights.

I don't know why but this Ask made me cry...

I've been reading it over and over for the past two days and each time I feel humbled by it. Thanks so much for sharing this with me.

I think the era of the obsessed 'kids' and '13 year old shippers' in this space is coming to an end. I think it's time for a more nuanced mature conversation on what it means to ship and stan our faves in today's sociopolitical climate.

Let's intellectualize shipping and use it as a vehicle for social change not just pleasure. Sabotaging political hashtags is a start. Trending and donating to BLM is equally important. Fighting for gay rights and recognition is the next step and a natural progression from here- and about damn time!

Gone are the days where celebrities and idols were immune to accountability and personal responsibility. We live in a world where everyone is required to be converstant in and sensitive to social issues. Awareness is woven into our collective consciousness and for some of us we cannot divorce that from our pleasure receptors.

Hate to quote my pastor but, 'As a kid, I spoke, thought and reasoned like a kid. As I grew up, chilee darling, I put my ghetto ways aside. You feel me?' Lol. Yea, my pastor hood like that. Lol.

The fact of the matter is, BTS has a higher mature demographics now. Majority of us grew with them, if not past them. They are not seventeen anymore, Jin is almost thirty, the youngest in the group is past twenty three and majority of their fanbase are breaching Young Adult well into Adulthood and beyond.

We simply cannot view them with the same lens anymore. If we did, we would be infantilizing them if not enabling them.

We ought to be able to have certain conversations that reflect our age, hearts, backgrounds, experience, values and beliefs.

We can't sit behind our television sets and smart phone screens in this day and age and assume BTS sat through a performance like this and did not for a second think about what it meant, why the crowd cheered at certain moments or even understand the impact, message and intent behind it- especially not when Halsey, an openly bisexual woman and advocate for LGBTG rights is an acquaintance of thiers.

I don't know how a fraction of this fandom can assume BTS would have a collaboration of this nature and not know anything about the gay rights discourse or what queer baiting is or not consider how their actions may or may not be contributing to the marginalization of persons as these- to not have agency and personal responsibility or empathy.

JK cannot stan a gay artist such as Troye Sivan and divorce his music from his sexuality because it flows from it. Not when Troye has openly spoken about the struggles he went through as a closeted gay man, coming out and how that affected his mental health.

JK knows what gay is, he is aware of the struggles queer people face on a daily. His decision to cover, license and recommend songs by this artist is a deliberate act coming from a place of being informed on the matter.

Jimin knows. RM knows. Suga knows.

BTS cannot prepare a speech like this while oblivious to the plight of the LGBTQ plus community. I refuse to believe that simply because it's not true. Anyone who says otherwise is a scammer. Lol.

And I think they are intelligent enough to have cognisance of the fact majority of the world view certain aspects of their home culture as problematic and non-progressive and that this same world is watching them and what they do in this space matters.

They are part of the conversation. And it's in their interest to present themselves as queer a queer friendly band and company by distinctifying themselves from these 'traditional' Kpop bands.

I believe they know that being woke gives them a competitive advantage as MCs and advocates for the youth in today's world.

I believe they are aware certain things in their 'fan service culture' doesn't fly in the space they compete in and want to compete in. They are competing and rubbing shoulders with top LGBTQ plus advocates, sharing seats with them at awards, standing next to them- they best to look sharp.

It's obtuse for anyone to fall on the 'culture' rhetoric to excuse certain behaviors of their idols when actual queer people from and within that same culture fight against it.

Most S. koreans I know and have come across complain about their 'culture' and some even harbor strong resentments against this whole fanservice culture.

Holland, an openly gay Idol from South Korea, has equally spoken out against the 'fan service' culture prevalent within Kpop on several occasions and laments how it depoliticizes queerness and affects actual queer people within S.K.

And isn't it funny that the same conservative Christian population who strongly oppose homosexuality in S.K often lead online campaigns against Jikook for 'promoting homosexuality' because of certain fanservice and skinship they do?

If skinship is normal and fanservice is culture, why does conservative S.K keep pushing back against it? It's their culture uno?! Lmho.

Queer south Koreans and conservative Christians hate fanservice culture and yet here we are using their culture to defend it as if it's all black and white. Lmho.

Did they or did they not see South Korean's reactions to this performance by Jikook? The mixed feelings most had about it?

Men can nibble on men's ear but God forbid they toss them in the air and catch em💀

South Koreans are not a monolith. Their culture is nuanced like any culture. It's not static and not clear cut black and white either.

It's one thing to respect other's culture, it's another to perpetuate it in ignorance. Perpetuating their culture and being religious about it does not allow for the dynamism inherent in their culture.

Troye Sivan talked about how he'd stop in the middle of his concerts and performances upon seeing the hyper fangirls in the front row and then think to himself, 'I know they know I'm gay, so why are they still here...'

And this was before he came out.

Jikook know we know they are queer or that we think of them as queer. When Jimin talks about 'those that love me for me' he knows exactly what he is talking about or rather who he is talking to- it's not these hets I'm afraid.

Troye also talked about being privileged because he lived in a rather queer friendly neighborhood where everyone is gay and so he'd always felt safe coming out.

Isn't that what JK is doing?

Now this is a person who's without a doubt had a lot of influence on JK in his early formative years as an Idol right down to his decision to move into a much queer friendly neighborhood of Itaewon.

They know we know. Jikook is gay.

Thankfully, there are reports of a rising number of LGBTQ plus in South Korea, a lot of allies, a lot of queer folks coming out and a lot of companies opening up to working with gay idols and aspiring idols.

It's such a relief but a lot of work still needs to be done and I stand with them on behalf of Jikook and any queer folk in SK.

My sister is helping me reach out to an LGBTQ plus advocate from Seoul for an interview for my blog. If everything goes well, I'd love for her to share her thoughts on queer passing, queer baiting and fan service within Kpop and how that affects LGBTQ youth in South K.

It's a conversation I'm really passionate about and interested in.

I love me some ships, but I also love me some queer advocacy and human rights uno? Lol.

Thing is, I may quit BTS one day, but I can never quit being me. Being human. Always put the human first is my motto.

Oh and I hear people are plotting to cancel me? Chilee. Y'all do that but:

Let it echo.

Signed,

GOLDY