#trans bear tim can be something so important

[r0b0-ph0b1c]

This is Canon btw im literally troy wagner

[canmom]

you must have this many dead friends to ride

it's TDOR (well, it was). unable to sleep, i read through all the deaths reported in the 2022-23 trans murder report (a year out of date, I don't think they've released this year's one yet.)

I'm not quite sure why i felt i should do this. if it's a gesture for the victims... well, if someone murders me one day, i don't think it will mean much one way or another if someone in faraway country reads a brief two sentence report that a 30-35 year old trans woman with 'other' occupation was found tied up with burn marks or something. nevertheless, it is the time of year for this ritual.

most of the deaths are reported in central and south american countries, largely due to reporting bias, though there's more reporting now from countries like India and Pakistan - almost nothing from east asia though, probably due to language barriers. it's hard to draw much of a conclusion about anything since many of the reports don't say much, the stats are subject to extreme sampling bias, etc etc. but the general types of story are: "her partner murdered her", "she was killed by gunmen on the street/in her house", "there was an argument and the other person decided to kill her over it", "the mob killed her for extortion reasons", 'her body was found in some awful condition", "the cops killed her" (including Tortugita, who they shot 57 times at the 'cop city' protest), and of course good old "explicitly anti trans hate crime" (which covers Brianna Ghey, the one death from my country, and several from the US).

my murdered sisters are in most cases very young. younger than me.

the statistician in my brain wants me to acknowledge that i don't know the degree that trans women are specifically subject to murder for being trans women or by abusive partners etc, and how much it's "just" about being poor and racialised and living in a place where paramilitaries, gangs etc routinely murder people. sex work is a dangerous line of work for many reasons, but it's also going to be the case that a lot of us are sex workers so even if we were all equally likely to be murdered, a huge number of the dead would be sex workers, just as many of them were beauticians.

but honestly, even bearing that in mind, a whole lot of sex workers were killed.

there is something particularly ghoulish in talking so drily about death statistics; the website uses the painful phrase 'concerning trend' in regards to the demographics of people killed (overwhelmingly trans women, sex workers and not white), as if a perfectly proportional series of murders would be less 'concerning' somehow, but what exactly are you supposed to say? it is of course a window into who a society is comfortable getting rid of, but we already knew that. there's a reason that a sex worker is the go-to plot-inciting murder victim in fiction.

collating death reports like this... in part it is done as a matter of political advocacy, saying 'look, we are being murdered by the hundreds [multiplied by some nebulous but significant underreporting factor]'. but of course, if that's our goal, we are holding our deaths up against, for example, the tens of, likely hundreds of thousands of people killed by violence in Gaza, Sudan and Ukraine in the last year - events which have already divided the world into people who can't stop it, and people who can but don't care to. and what do we want done about it? to beg the state to come down and apply its monopoly on violence more stringently? often the police are the ones killing trans women.

so what remains is ritual. we light candles, and read out the names of strangers who nevertheless have this one important thing in common with us, the ~global community~ of trannies and such - this was a person who refused to take the awful role they were given, asserted their own will to change their body, managed to live a life at least partly on their own terms, and then got killed over it.

but we don't have time to tell the life story, no time to describe the mess of relationships and aspirations that drive a life; there is no time to imagine what feelings we shared, what they enjoyed, what stories we might have laughed about if we'd known each other...

we have time for 'found dead in a car'.

if that.

in my country, we face a very different threat distribution - i don't really expect anyone i know to get murdered (though it's not impossible, there are people I'm close to who have been viciously attacked and there was little to do to stop the attacker coming back), but I'm sure Fall won't be the last of my friends to die by suicide. if we are 'fighting like hell for the living', our project here is more about trying to build lives that are worth living for, and weathering whatever fashy deluge is coming down the political pipes. what does fighting like hell even mean here? i think i used to think i knew.

but this night at least, I'm remembering my friend Fall, who we lost back in 2022. I made this page about her, and the feelings that came up from her death, with writing from friends who knew her better than me. I'd be grateful if you read it and helped some part of her memory live on. (apparently they wrote a little memorial for her in the recent translation of Shōnen Note: Boy Soprano which she worked on.)

I never got to ask what Fall thought of all these TDoR rituals - it's one of many things I didn't get to talk to her about and I bet she'd give me something unexpected to think about, formed some ingenious connection. or maybe she didn't think much of it! but it's as good a reason to think of her as any. she was awesome, she should have been given a much better hand by this world, and it is more shit for not having her in it.

I bet the friends of any of the 321 people on that list, and everyone on this year's list, would be able to say something pretty similar.

entropy always gets its way. but I'll hold onto what I can of her, my fragment of her ghost, for as long as we can. i guess that's the point of the ritual. hold onto our ghosts. tell each other that, one day, they'll stop accumulating so fast.

[radiosandrecordings]

5, jmart? :)

Y’know I really appreciate that TMA never has an ‘explaining to you that these characters are mlm’ scene but also. That does have implications and if they never had a convo off tape where they each learned the other was a Dude Liker, then I am kind of struck with the comedy of “Oh thank god they both were, they just kinda launched into the whole being in love thing without checking huh”

5) Things you didn’t say at all

“What’s up, mmh? You’re staring into space again.” 

Jon looked up from his position on the bed, lying pressed up against Martin’s side, book lying open and discarded on what was probably his hip, under several layers of blanket. 

“What? Oh, nothing really.” 

“‘Nothing really’ always means something. I don’t want to push, if you don’t want to share, but you seem to have something on your mind.” 

Jon spent a few seconds chewing his lip, before craning his neck up to meet Martin’s gaze. “It’s just... It’s so stupid, in the small scale of things? Laughably, almost, I mean there’s so many more big, important, world ending things I’ve spent the last three years trying to figure out and...” Martin gave him a nod to continue, “I just realised I’m not sure you ever actually told me that you like men?” 

“... Well I do. Clearly.” 

There were several seconds of silence proceeding that statement, culminating in an abrupt break into laughter from the pair. Jon’s face was flushed slightly, ducking his head in embarrassment, but managing to laugh along with Martin’s uproar. 

“Seriously? Seriously? I don’t even know where to start with that. I mean, A) Yeah I mean I suppose it wasn’t really a priority to discuss who we thought was hot during our day jobs at the Eldritch Office, but like... B) I am honestly a little offended you couldn’t just tell, I mean, do you know how insulting it is that someone might look at me and go ‘Hmm, that’s a straight man right there’.” 

Jon made noises of protest, none of which ever managed to resolve themselves into words. “It... I never thought about it, really! I knew Tim was bi, but I’m not sure he even knew I was...? It didn’t really come up. And secondly... Well, Georgie used to tell me that I had an abysmal... I believe the term she used was ‘gaydar’?”

“That’s the one!” 

“Right. Well, apparently I’m just a bit shit on picking up on other queer people? I didn’t realise she was bi as well until she mentioned her ex-girlfriend several months into our dating. Apparently she had thought I’d known from her commenting on actresses in movies or the like, but I just... Never really connected the dots. She had just assumed that I was as well, apparently I just radiated the ‘energy’ in some way I’m still unaware of, so I never really formally had to have a coming out talk to her.”

“Huh, I don’t.. I don’t think I ever officially knew you did, either? But, I mean, I do have to agree with Georgie here. Even when you were all stuffy academic boss man, queer vibes. I wouldn’t have given you a second look if you didn’t, not going down that road.” 

“That’s... Good to know, I think?” Jon smiled, before it morphed into a small sigh. “...I don’t think I’ve ever had to ‘come out’ to anyone at all, actually? I rather feel like I missed something.” 

“Oh, well that’s... Hm.” 

“That’s ‘Hm?’” 

“Oh shut up... It’s just that... Well it’s not always a fun time, having to come out, so you’ve kind of saved yourself in that regard, and of course there’s the whole thing of how we have to come out while straight people just get assumed, but... I mean, better late than never?” 

“I mean, I’d rather think you’d have figured out I’m also rather keen on men as well by now.” 

Martin groaned. “Great, my boyfriend is hilarious.” There was an undeniable smile playing at his lips, though, despite the faux-annoyance. Both of them were still acclimating to the term and it resulted in large amounts of grinning and, on occasion, giggling, at each utterance. “I just meant like... If you wanted to. Just to, I don’t know, fulfil the imagined queer quota?” 

Jon blinked, somewhat taken aback by the soft sincerity of Martin’s voice. “That... That might be nice, actually. Uhm. God, how does one even do it.” 

“Different for everyone, I suppose. I can go first though, if you want?” 

Jon nodded. 

“Right. Well, I’m Martin Blackwood, and I’m very trans and very gay, and I’m very much in love with my boyfriend.” As he said the last part he reached forward, fingers coming together to hold Jon’s chin and tilt it up, before pressing a gentle kiss to his brow. 

Jon, somewhat flushed, stammered through his words at first, trying to get his bearings. “I... God this is... I’m Jon, and I am, in the loosest definition of the word, a man and I.. Am biromantic asexual and, what a coincidence, am very much in love with my boyfriend as well.” Here he took Martin’s hand from where it rested atop the duvet and laced their fingers together, pressing a kiss to the back of Martin’s knuckles. 

“Right, well that’s that. One thing off the bucket list.. Christ it’s nearly twelve, we should probably be up by now, right?” 

Jon made a grumble of protest, followed immediately by an attempt to burrow further under the blankets and into Martin’s side. “Five more minutes and then we’ll make breakfast?” 

“...Deal.” 

[mars-the-4th-planet]

Ivy Munger plays Project Libitina (creepy fic for Halloween for my friend, might be disturbing)

(part one of two)

The episode begins with Jukebox herself wrapped cozily in a blanket, which is how all the episodes should start. She was playing a mod for doki doki literature club called Doki Doki: New Horizons on her GBA. She had little else to do what with quarantine and all. Spookbox watched mischievously out the window, silently giggling and rubber her hands together. She slipped through the window and crept into the kitchen, somehow unheard by Jukebox who stayed focused on her game. Spookbox was visibly transparent to the audience the whole time, representing that she is invisible to the characters in TIMS. (the ivy munger show)

Just then, Trolli and Sakura comes strolling and trolling in. Sakura sits perched atop of Trolli's shoulders. Trolli leans over to look at Jukebox's GBA screen. Currently, Jukebox is making Natsuki Island. In the shape of a trans flag, because of the common Natsuki headcanon. Trolli sees it and chuckles. "Hehehehe, a rectangle island Jukebox? I haven't seen such creative talent since Sakura tied her shoes together. Without laces!"

"H-Hey... I told you, I didn't do it! There was an imposter and they sabotaged me!" protested Sakura helplessly. "Sure, Saki. But seriously, a plain rectangle for an island? I know you can do better than that Jukebox. Especially for Natsuki."

"It's in the shape of a trans flag for the trans natsuki headcanon! No need to tease me Trolli."

"Ahahahahaa, trans natsuki? I love trans rights as much as you do Jukebox, but natsuki has been proven many times to be cis." Trolli pointed out.

"Aren't trans flags just the same shape as-" Sakura began, but was cut off by YouTube personified marching in and throwing a throw pillow at Trolli. "DEMONITIZED! Slurs are not allowed on this platform."

Jukebox sighed and rested her head against her hand. Trolli shot back: "What, cis? Cis isn't a slur!" only to get another throw pillow thrown at him. "Okay, okay... I won't say it anymore, happy?"

"Can I just play my game please? Actually you know what I'm getting a snack. You all need to stop this bizarre drama before a fight breaks out in our comment section."

It was too late for that. Already an argument had begun between people saying "cis is a slur" and "cissy lives don't matter" but that wasn't the main problem Jukebox would have to worry about...

She walked into the kitchen, and got an unopened box of cereal out of the cupboard. Jukebox opened up the top, and with a crinkle she opened the plastic bag inside...

Immediately after it was opened, an arm reached out of the box and grabbed Jukebox by the collar prompting a surprised yelp from her. A second hand reached out too, holding a handgun and pointing it at Jukebox's face. She struggled but to no avail. "Mwahahaha... I just caught an imposter~" a voice said behind her. Jukebox heard sound of something phasing out of invisibility right afterward. "What the- Who are you?! Let me go! TROLLI! SAKURA! HELP!" She shouted, panicky.

Trolli and Sakura rushed in. "Oh no! Jukebox! Jukebox? W-Which is the real Jukebox?"

Behind Jukebox was Spookbox, except she wasn't wearing her usual demonic makeup and had clothes on that matched Jukebox. She just looked like an eviller Jukebox with her hands behind her back. Of course, her hands were not really behind her back at all, they were coming out of the cereal box. "I caught an imposter trying to steal our cereal!!"

"What?? Why would you do this imposter--are you the same one who tied my shoes together!? Hmph!" Sakura jumped up and down while asking this. "No! I'm not an imposter! Who is behind me, I can't see them! Stop being weird and help me! >_<"

"It's... You. Is this some kind of prank?" Trolli asked, looking quizzical.

"For real guys, it's me." Said Spookbox. "I think this is M. M stands for Me, so it makes sense that M would take the appearance of Me."

"What are you talking about??" Jukebox replied, still panicky. "I'm not M! I don't even know who M is! What do you WANT?"

"Hmm..." Sakura looked skeptically at the both of them. "Both of my senpais seem kind of sus... How can we tell?"

"It's simple. I'm good at games, so this imposter should have to play a game to prove it!" Spookbox suggested.

"Which game?"

"Project Libitina! It's scary, perfect for a Halloween special! And it fits with our theme, with our DDLC let's play being one of our flagship series!"

"Why didn't you think of that, other Jukebox?"

"To be honest I wasn't thinking about my channel's content at the moment, probably because I have a gun in my face..." Jukebox pointed out.

"Fair enough." Snarled Spookbox.

"So... I just have to play Project Libitina then? That's good I thought you were gonna take my money or something..."

"I'm also taking your money. Or should I say, MY money. Since you're pretending to be me."

Trolli and Sakura giggled at that remark.

"...Dammit"

"DEMONITIZED!" YouTube shouted from another room.

Suddenly, the screen went to black and white and froze in place. A rantsona appeared on screen, although it didn't resemble any real animal. It looked sort of like if you mashed a zubat from pokemon together with a teddy bear, made the resulting fusion really fuzzy and put a green cap with a red star on it. "ACTUALLY!" he said, although his mouth (which took up the whole face) only cut to a frame where it was open instead of having lip syncing. "Spookbox should not have been portrayed as the villain in this episode! She is a working class hero taking DIRECT ACTION against the bougie youtuber who makes millions off of playing video games! She was right to aim for recollecting Jukebox's wealth as a goal."

Sakura spoke up, since she was also a 2D character she could still perceive what was happening. Although she didn't move at all while speaking. "This is OUR video! Kindly bug off! No one wants to hear your deranged and incorrect-"

The odd rantsona shook violently for a split second, and the video cut to black.

Once the video flickered back on, Jukebox was jumping onto the couch, ready to play Project Libitina. "Wow, it feels like this video has been going on for a while! And we haven't even gotten to the game yet! So I'll keep it's introduction brief. Project Libitina was meant to come out in 2018, but Dan Salvado had several delays. Not this was in any way his fault, he claimed that after working on the game his health would rapidly decline and would receive death threats that made him scared to continue work. Eventually though, he was able to finish and now we finally get to play DDLC's sequel! Or... Prequel if Matpat is right."

Jukebox started up the game and watched as the intro played. A warning flickered on the screen, saying that the game was far too disturbing to be played by people without adaquete mental training and preparation.

"Wow can you imagine having that much motivation. Sick, scared, and he still finished the game? If only certain people could work with that much determination."

Jukebox looked indignant. "What, you mean me?"

"No." Trolli looked directly into the camera. This made everyone watching uncomfortable.

Spookbox swatted Trolli. "Cut that out! I'm supposed to be the creepy one."

"But-

"No fighting, I need to hurry up and film the gameplay segment." Jukebox interrupted.

"All right, with that out of the way, the beginning of the game gives you a nice recap on the portrait of Markov. You get to choose between playing as "Mister Jones" or someone just named "Squid". Squid looks kind of depressing, probably because there was pretty clearly an accident involved with her? I'm pretty sure the researchers tried to give her a powerful tentacle arm, but as you can see... It doesn't look like it worked very well."

"Sure this game isn't too much for you Jukebox?" Trolli asked, voice hinting towards actual concern. "Maybe the other box should have to play it first since it was her idea..."

"Nah don't worry, I'm a brave girl!" Jukebox reassured Trolli.

"So, we're playing as Mister Jones. He's a single father, his wife apparently died but it's not that important to the game really. He honestly seems over it, as mean as that sounds to say. But you see a lot of his internal dialouge and he doesn't seem too fazed."

"Right now we're doing an experiment to try and increase control over Libitina. She kept attacking researchers until we gave her a real bedroom. So my task is to watch her through the window until she gets so uncomfortable that she agrees to go back in her sleeping box instead."

Jukebox took a deep breath and swallowed.

"In fact, most of the game seems to be doing experiments on this kid. The catch is that she has mind powers and can mess with you and other characters in all sorts of ways. For example, since she can sense you coming to the window, by the time you look through it she's already staring at the window. As you can see she's pretty clearly scared of us, so she's going to try all sorts of things to get us to stop watching her. But if we can stay firm, she will become so distressed by being spied on that the only way she can feel any privacy is to go into her ventilated steel container we call her sleeping box. The goal is basically to make her wish she never demanded to have a real bedroom like a normal child."

Jukebox said this clearly, but her voice quivered a little midway through. "She will try everything to get you to stop watching her like I said. Right now I'm hearing things in my headphones like something is behind me in the game. Like an animal growling, someone breathing in my ear, twigs snapping from being stepped on. It's tempting to look behind yourself but if you do it reaffirms her power over you and she will get closer to the window when you're not looking. If she gets emboldened enough to reach you, you get a game over screen. But if you keep your eyes on her, it makes her feel powerless. See? She's trying to hide under her blanket. If she does that it gives you an opportunity to tap her window for giving her extra fear. Don't tap her window when she is looking at you though!"

"What happens then?" Spookbox asked, intrigued.

"I don't really want to talk about that, haha. You get a special game over, basically." Jukebox giggled nervously.

"Now, since she has the ability to draw nearby threats to you, you need to learn how to tell what noises are just her trying to trick you and what are actually dangerous. She won't approach the window when things are outside besides just you. So you can shoot whatever's threatening you. For being a chapter of the game where you just watch Libitina through her bedroom window, it's surprisingly unsettling for me- AAAA!"

A ghoulish person wielding a tool so bloody it was hard to tell what it was supposed to be used for yanked Mister Jones around in the game and swung the tool repeatedly at him. It moved with strangely few frames, like a rushed stop motion project. Jukebox was too late in reacting to the attack, and got a game over screen. The game over screen had Squid holding Libitina by her hand and leading her along a road in the middle of nowhere. They both seemed very happy about it.

"Ohh! Oh my god- that-- not going to lie, this game kind of gets to me. But I'm no imposter or a quitter so I'll just cut until after I find out how to beat this part! And that's just one of several things that can kill you in this part of the gsme!"

The camera cut to black just as Trolli started saying something. When it reappeared, Jukebox looked sweaty and Trolli and Spookbox were no longer in the room. "Okay, so, I finally got the win screen. It took a while, but we finally got Libitina to start shaking under her blanket, and at this point she can't or won't pull any more psychic nonsense on us. We still have to be careful about wandering enemies but we can freely look away from the window now. Any second now... Ah there we go."

A distant alarm went off in the game and a win screen popped up. "Success!" it displayed, over a background of research papers that were heavily scribbled on. A 2D anime style clip played of Libitina begrudgingly asking a researcher to please let her sleep in her sleeping box again instead of a bedroom.

"Now we can go on to the next task! Our need experiment is optional, and apparently is important to the lore according to literally the one post I could find online about the mechanics of Project Libitina. Seems like only a couple people have played it counting me, weird. The reason it's optional though is because it's "the main reason for the warning at the start of the game" but I'm a brave girl so we're doing it!"

Text scrolled on the screen as jukebox selected the chapter. "Knife Conditioning: to-"

Jukebox shuddered and turned off the game. "Yeah, no, not a brave enough girl for this. It's one thing to see disturbing stuff, another entirely to be the one causing it. I can see why this is a psychological horror game. It's just too much for me. Right you two?"

Jukebox turned around, and looked confused. "Trolli? Other Jukebox? Where did everyone go? Wasn't someone else here too?"

She shrugged. "Guess they got bored and left. Oh well! I'm Ivy Munger, and thank you all for a wonderful time!" Jukebox thought it over. "Well, maybe not wonderful but thank you for watching! And don't play Project Libitina unless you are REALLY sure you can handle the darker stuff. Apparently the game has a happy ending and I might get to that later in a future episode but I'm not doing the optional chapters I can tell you that much."

[direquail]

An NB reading of Grace in Terminator: Dark Fate

Disclaimer:

Before I start, just want to get this out here: I’m in no way insisting that Grace *has* to be non-binary, that we’re *supposed* to read her as non-binary, or that that’s in any way what she’s “meant to be”. This is just some stuff I’ve noticed that, as someone who sits on the genderqueer/non-binary/transmasc side of things, really resonated with me. Again--read her as entirely woman-identified if that’s what you want to do or feels right to you. I am ecstatic that lesbians and wlw-identified folks have someone that they feel represented in, too. I wish I’d had more characters like her when I was growing up and felt so out of place because of my gender non-conformity. 


But I, for one, would love a non-binary or even trans reading of Grace.

So what I’d like to do instead is just lay out a couple ways someone who is NB-identified *might* connect with Grace as a nonbinary character. Starting with the obvious.

Androgyny Now, I do want to be clear that I know that gender presentation =\= gender identity. And again, obviously, people will latch onto things that they relate to in characters, and I really do believe that there’s no “one right way” to read a character. The character of Grace isn’t a real person; she’s part of a story, told by people, who had something specific to say, and her character reflects that. But from the perspective of the people who watch her, who internalize and connect with her character, there can be points of connection that have nothing to do with the author’s/creator’s intent, and so, Grace-the-character can be many things to many people. The only real way to know how a person IDs is to ask them. That’s it, that’s all. You can’t assume. But also, sometimes, people do “ping” a certain way. They give off a sort of “energy”, and for me, Grace’s energy isn’t the sort of “diaphanous femininity” that even visibly-gender-nonconforming AFAB characters are often framed to exude. Grace’s energy isn’t masculine, either. Her mannerisms don’t seem intended to read that way; rather, they seem intended to read as soldier. I’m not very skilled at breaking down movements, especially when it comes to how actors move and what it all means. It’s totally possible that a lot of what’s unique about how Grace moves is because Mackenzie Davis is, self-admittedly, not the most athletically-inclined person. Grace is long-limbed and rangy and sometimes very stiff/poised, but never stiff through the hips like a Straight Dude(TM), or heavy through the shoulders like a musclebound meathead. She takes up space, too; she’s taller than Dani and Sarah both, and the only recurring characters who are “bigger” than her throughout most of the film are Carl and the Rev-9.

To be clear: Women can be tall, and rangy, and androgynous, and take up space, and that doesn’t make them less women--unless they don’t identify that way. My point with all of the above is just observing that Grace doesn’t move like a “male action hero”—but she also doesn’t seem over-the-top feminine in the way that mainstream-y media will “compensate” for perceived unfemininity, and that’s kind of wonderful. Her stature, her physique, all of that, seem to be chosen and calibrated towards an end goal that isn’t gendered: Combat, efficacy as a warrior. Whether you want to read her as a woman or as nonbinary is largely going to be about your personal preference. This also has the effect of giving the impression that Grace is absolutely unselfconscious about her body and how it looks—and she has no reason to be, not because she looks good or bad, but because what she can do with her body is just so vastly more important, and because she’s so willing to put her body and everything it can do on the line in order to fulfill her mission (and protect Dani). If Grace has a gender, it’d be “Protector” or “Warrior”. And in a way, what makes Grace so appealing to female-identified lesbians is the same thing that makes her appealing to NB people—Her character was explicitly designed not to cater to “the male gaze”, and therefore, she also exists outside the typical gendered confines reserved for “female characters” in media. The emphasis is just slightly different: Instead of a different way of being female, NB!Grace has little to no use for those categories at all. Again, it’s all in how you want to read her. Grace comes from a future where survival and fighting take first priority, and you could project the same tired “Gender isn’t a ~problem~ in the future/after the world ends” approach that a lot of cis and hetero men take to sci-fi--but also, why? It’s tired. Give me a Grace who is preoccupied with survival, yes, who maybe doesn’t have time to think too much about this gender shit--but also, a Grace who finds that this “androgyny” (although she might not call it that) suits her, who takes to this way of moving and being in the world, this way of using her body, and identifies more with that than with being a “man” or a “woman”. 


(Sidenote: as someone who took a fair amount of Queer Studies classes, it does irk me a bit that discussions of mainstream-y speculative media seem permanently suspended between this sort of “genderblind” futurism where “identities” just don’t exist because they’re apparently not needed anymore, or copy-pasting our contemporary discourses about identity into a future that is materially very different than ours. The point of these identities is, in part, to describe our experiences, the good as well as the bad, and those experiences of gender and sexuality don’t exist in a vacuum. So, the words we use will necessarily change to accommodate that—especially in the post-apocalypse. BUT, everything that comes after us will also bear the stamp of what came before it; it’s just a matter of what the creator means to emphasize.) Augments & Body Mods This is a little dicey, because there’s some clear tension in the movie between the idea of robots = inhuman/unfeeling = bad, and humans = good/feeling. And in that light, it’s potentially problematic to (even incidentally) imply that nonbinary/gender-nonconforming = not human.

But I’d like to point out that the film does deliberately challenge any neat separation of “human” and “machine” with Carl’s evolution as a person. 
And based on what I’ve read from James Cameron and Tim Miller interviews, there is some “blurring” intended between human and machine in the franchise.

In fact, Carl and Grace are foils for each other, somewhat, in the sense that they’re on opposite ends of a spectrum where human and machine become blurred, and I love that. As a genderqueer person with a very fluid experience, it appeals to me on a deep level because you could spend literally forever breaking down where does one “gender” end and another begin--emotionally, socially, spiritually, and physically.  


So the fact that there’s (1) no hard binary between human and machine (it’s explicitly subverted), and (2) we’re given multiple points of inflection, especially if you count Sarah and the Rev-9--alleviates a lot of the tension I’d feel otherwise in mentioning this. But I don’t think this is something that should be allegorical or a direct comparison; I think that it operates best on a metaphorical or theoretical level. 


And just, it’s the whole vaguely-cyberpunk idea of modifying your own body, not in a mass-produced or manufactured sense, but in this organic and highly individual sense, born out of contingency and necessity, that makes Grace’s Augments so meaningful. It’s one of the things that makes her read as human, too, because it feels more in line with our tendency to stick ink, steel, bone, what have you, through our skins whenever we get the chance--as opposed to some kind of symbolic dehumanization by “becoming a machine”.

Grace routinely refuses to categorize herself in anything other than the most general terms, or explain the details of her Augments, and she seems very protective of them. Rather than seeming ashamed, this refusal reads a lot like the popular queer identity explanation “not gay as in happy, but queer as in “fuck you’”. Her Augments are part of her, and part of her humanity; she volunteered for them, she owns them, and is even protective of them, viewing CBP’s invasive examination of her Augments as a kind of violation of her bodily autonomy. They’re clearly complicated for her, but they’re anything but depersonalized.

And going even further, the reason why she volunteered for them is so that she can defend humanity--and also someone she loves (Dani). They’re an extension of her sense of family, loyalty, love, and willingness to sacrifice.

And I don’t know for sure, but I imagine that Grace is basically one-of-a-kind, even among other Augments, if only because those Augmentations seem to be performed with the tech that’s on hand--salvaged Legion tech, by the sound of it, at least to start with. So the outcome depends on the parts available, the complexity and maturity of the Augmentation technology and process, and the skill & experience of the surgeons, all of which would vary over time. 


And honestly? If that doesn’t qualify as “beyond the binary”, I don’t know what does.

Some other general observations:

- Grace’s short hair is a constant throughout the post-Judgement Day scenes. As someone who started wearing their hair short as a preteen and hasn’t had hair to my shoulders since age 12, that does seem significant.

- Grace only introduces herself by name after Diego shouts “HEY LADY” in the factory before dropping an engine block on the Rev-9. Granted, most women don’t like to be addressed as “HEY LADY”, either, but it stood out to me, especially because she refused to give her name only a couple of minutes before that. Either way you read it, the line feels like it expresses some level of discomfort with or objection to that gendered statement. Maybe she finds that particular reference annoying or even offensive, but also, maybe she doesn’t really identify as a woman. She’s just... Grace.

- there were multiple times I mistook the back of her tank top for the back of a binder, even though she clearly was not binding.

- she constantly steals mens’ clothes--partly because she’s too tall for a lot of womens’ clothes around her, partly out of utility (like at the factory and CBP, where a lot of the guards are men). But also, it pleases the genderfucking queer in me quite a bit. And, I should note, when she had the option to take a female guard’s clothes at the CBP facility... she didn’t.

But ultimately, when I look at Grace, I see someone whose gender is “Warrior” or “Soldier”. And it’s so wonderful to see that so purely represented on a character we’re meant to perceive as female. So, please believe me when I say I don’t want to “take away” what Grace means for other people. 
And, for the record, I do mostly default to using she/her pronouns for Grace, because that’s how she’s canonically referred to. But just for fun--try this on for size: Using “they/them” pronouns for Grace. They (Grace) came back in time to protect Dani. It rolls off the tongue, right? It feels nice. Let’s re-try a couple of sentences from above: 


- “multiple times I mistook the back of their tank top for the back of a binder, even though they clearly weren’t binding” 


- “Grace’s Augments are about their ability to be a soldier. They were Augmented in order to hunt Terminators... Everything else is secondary to that, and their mission to protect Dani”

- “Grace only introduces themself by name after Diego shouts “HEY LADY” in the factory before dropping an engine block on the Rev-9 ... Maybe they find that particular reference annoying or even offensive, but also, maybe they don’t really identify as a woman. They’re just... Grace.”

And finally: 


Can you imagine the poor sod who tried to make fun of Grace for having a “girly” name? lmao rip

[niffin]

what’s your quietest feeling?

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Rating: E

Pairing: Jonathan Sims/Martin Blackwood

Word count: 3382

CW: mildly dubious consent, implied/referenced noncon/abuse, internalized acephobia

Other tags: trans Jonathan Sims

ao3 link

Martin opens the door to Jon's office, armed with a duster. He's procrastinating recording the statement Elias assigned him, some dusty old letter from well over a century ago - it's waited this long, it can wait some hours more. Jon hasn't spent more than fifteen minutes at a time in the Archives since he'd been cleared of murder charges, and Martin doesn't think he even notices the state of his office when he pops in there, but God knows Martin isn't doing this out of any real hope for recognition and it's basically a matter of personal pride to -

He stops halfway to Jon's desk because… Jon's in the hollow under his desk, his favorite knit blanket (Martin's thrown it over him countless times) wrapped tight around his thin shoulders, and he's just. Staring. 

"Jon?" No answer. Martin hurriedly sets the duster down, then pulls the desk chair out of the way so he can kneel next to Jon without trapping him under there.

"Jon, what's wrong?" Martin can't keep a note of shrill worry from his voice. He looks Jon up and down; no visible injuries, though that hardly means anything nowadays. He checks his watch - how long has Jon been like this? This is the first time Martin's seen him in over a week, but if he's been hiding in here? He could have just returned, or been back for hours. Days. A sneak attack on the Archives? Did someone, something get to him - 

Then Jon laughs hollowly, says, "I'm fine," with that old acerbic tone that used to intimidate Martin. But Martin's not scared of him anymore -

"You're not scared at all?" Jon shifts his eyes to look at Martin without moving his head. Has he slept in the past week? 

"Sometimes I'm scared of you, but mostly just for you." Then Martin frowns at him, anxiety spiking when he realizes Jon's voice had filled with static. "How did you know to ask - like. Like how Elias does -" Jon grits his teeth, and Martin promptly moves on. (How long has Jon been able to do that? How much has he… heard?) "Okay, Jon, that's weird, and more than a little invasive, but right now it's more important for you to be -"

Jon stares at him with unusual intensity. He looks exhausted, and his eyes look almost black in the shadows under the desk. (Martin briefly thanks the Eye for fixing Jon's vision and rendering his glasses unnecessary. Which is the only good thing the Eye's ever done.) "You know I'm trans, right?"

Martin's train of thought is violently redirected to a new track. He involuntarily inspects Jon from head to foot, then kicks himself. It's surprising, yes, but no reason to suddenly inspect him, and now Martin has taken too long to answer. Jon hasn't blinked, expression unreadable. "Um - no, I didn't?" Come on, he knows that's not nearly enough to say when someone comes out. "Well, uh, thank you for telling me, that's, good to know - I'm cis. I think. Maybe? I chatted with Tim, a bit - sorry, this isn't about me so - um… is that? Relevant? To… whatever… this is?"

Jon's eyes flash in an instant so brief and unsettling Martin thinks it had to have been a strange shadow that made them look like they contained too many irises and pupils. "Do you still want me?" 

Static permeates his voice and slips like a heavy caress into Martin's ears, throat, bones; and now Martin is very, very scared. He knows now how there's no denial or deception when Jon compels. He clamps his hands over his mouth, straining to prevent his jaw from opening. "I - I'm -"

Jon's eyes widen and he jerks towards Martin,  holds his hands out in apology, caution. "I'm sorry! Don't - you don't have to answer. I didn't mean - I won't do that again."

Martin clutches at his face for another long moment, capturing those muffled half formed words, until he's sure that hungry pressure is gone, that his tongue is his own again. He lets go to suck in a heaving breath as his heart hammers away. "Jon, why -"

"I'm sorry -" 

"I mean, I - actually, what I want is - is for you to be safe -"

"Martin -"

"That's normal, and e-everyone does too - more or less - "

"Listen -"

"That's it! We are all - just, so professional here, in this, workplace setting -"

"Martin, stop." Jon grabs Martin's hands to hold them still.

Martin stops, mouth hanging open, flushed to the tips of his ears. Jon has such a strange look on his face right now as they lock gazes over their joined hands. He has his answer even though he withdrew the compulsion, Jon's not stupid, but why did - 

Martin doesn't get the chance to analyze it because Jon bites his lip (that's just not fair), pulls Martin's wrist towards him and. He kisses it. He brushes his full lips against the thin skin on the inside of Martin's wrist, where his veins show pale green against sandy skin. His fingers are warm and they fold so gently around Martin's, uncurl them to lay Martin's hand on his cheek where his own flush heats his skin. Jon carefully asks, "Do you want to. Have sex with me?" He presses a kiss to the base of his thumb, and his breath ghosts over it as he speaks.

No static except for the buzzing in Martin's head and everywhere Jon is touching him. His fingers move of their own volition to stroke that high cheekbone, the curling gray hair at Jon's temple, before he arrests their movement. Not before Jon notices, of course. "Are you… You’re not Jon. What did you do with the real Jon -"

"What? No! It's me." A mirthless smile passes briefly over his face. (Even in the midst of total incomprehensibility Martin can't help but marvel at the fact that he is touching the rare wonder of Jon's smile.) "Not entirely human anymore, but certainly no Stranger." 

He had tried to compel him, after all. That blows Martin's theory out of the water. Martin leans back, putting more distance between them, though he can't quite make himself. Stop touching Jon. "You're… interested. In me? You, actually want to -"

Jon's face closes off. He looks away, drops Martin's hand and tucks the blanket in tighter around himself. Martin sometimes forgets how forceful his gaze can be until Jon breaks eye contact and Martin doesn't feel pierced through anymore. "Fine - you clearly don't, so just… do me a favor and don't tell -"

Martin knows there's something else going on, there has to be, God knows he's obsessed about every interaction he's ever had with Jon and concluded every time that his feelings were as far from requited as possible. And it seemed pretty apparent from casual conversation that he had just never been interested in anyone. At all. Ever. (That actually almost made his hopeless crush easier to bear, knowing that it probably wasn't entirely personal.) And the timing, and the state Jon was in when Martin came in - this entire thing makes no sense. But. Martin wants to. Maybe, this actually marks the point where Jon will let Martin help him, since he's reaching out for… Martin can't really see how sex would help anything. But he's just a little too selfish to ruin this opportunity. He seizes his panic, uses it to propel himself past the emotional walls he'd (mostly unsuccessfully) set around Jon, and says, "No, wait! That's not - um, yes. I would like to? Have s… do that. With you." Fear and excitement turn his stomach to ice.

Jon sighs in what sounds like relief, but the tension in his body ratchets tighter. Then he slides out from under the desk without further preamble to wrap his hand confidently around the back of Martin's neck and kiss him hard. 

As soon as those fingers stroke against his neck surprised heat flashes through Martin's body; then their lips meet and Martin's lost. The gentle scrape of teeth along his lower lip reminds him he can reciprocate. Jon had pushed him back with the force of that kiss - Martin grabs at Jon's shirt, shoulders, to give back as hard as he's getting. His mouth tastes like cigarettes and a hint of the black tea he prefers (he never remembers to take the tea bag out when he makes it himself but Martin knows how to steep it perfectly) and it's so warm, soft skin and hard pressure, and his mouth fits just right, and he feels so sharp in his arms and determined in his kiss, and Martin traces his tongue along Jon's lip and presses it into his open mouth -

Jon breaks away, blanket sliding off his shoulders, to push closer and kiss down his jaw. His knees bracket Martin's and suddenly he's practically in his lap, and all the blood in his body drains south. Martin dizzily hauls him in the last few inches to drag his tongue down the cords in that long elegant throat, nip lightly at the curve between his neck and shoulder, breathe shuddering kisses over his scars. God, he's so beautiful, warm solid weight pressed against him, panting and shivering every time Martin touches him like he'd never been touched before. 

Jon makes a soft breathless sound and holds up something in Martin's peripheral vision. He glances at it as he bites Jon's earlobe, and then sits up straight. "W-why do you have a condom - did you mean right now? Right here -"

"Now, and here - has to be - " 

Martin furrows his brow; that's concerning, isn't it? "Jon, why -"

Jon fumbles the buttons of his shirt open as he demands, "Why do you ask? I can handle this, I want to -" And before Martin manages to say anything, he yanks his shirt off and tossed it across the room. Wonder and hopeless awe shove Martin's concerns firmly to the back of his mind. He wraps an arm around him to keep them close, slides his hand over his chest and the round jagged scars on it (he wonders which ones he yanked writhing worms from, blood staining his hands, the corkscrew, Jon's shirt, Jon's voice). His heart glows hot as he kisses each scar - this one is an apology. This one is a promise. This one is sorrow. This one is faith. God, Martin's head swims with want and he's tried so hard not to think about the want (Jon needs him clear headed, effective, useful; and he absolutely isn't when he's thinking about Jon by candlelight and Jon on Martin’s couch quietly reading and Jon in Martin’s bed moaning his name -). 

Jon pulls hard at his jumper and Martin sways forward into it, slides his hands down for a firm grip on his thighs, and stands up. It hardly takes much effort, Jon’s so skinny. He clutches at his chest as Martin resettles him in his arms for long enough to take the three steps to the cot (with how often Jon just falls asleep at his desk, Martin’s not actually sure he remembers it’s there at all. Every time, he imagines carrying Jon there himself, with varying degrees of exasperation). Suddenly, Jon shoves at his shoulders and nearly pitches them both over. Martin drops him on the cot harder than he intended, catching himself on his elbows over him. 

They freeze, staring at each other. Jon does something Martin can only call shrinking away, flattening himself against the cot as his nails dig into his shoulders. Something is wrong. Then Jon turns that convulsive clench of his hands into hauling Martin’s jumper over his head, and it and his glasses get tossed to the side; he thinks, something is wrong. Jon arches his back and now they’re skin to skin, heat pulsing through his body. His hands smooth over his soft stomach, then the fingers curl and drag their nails down his ribs; what is he supposed to do? Something is wrong and if Jon would just give him a second to think, to realize that nagging worry has turned into a klaxon in the very back of his mind, maybe he could fix it. All he can manage is a retaliatory bite on Jon’s collarbone, soft open mouth kisses over his stomach as he strokes down the length of his legs to pull off his shoes (battered old dress shoes that he's been alternating with equally battered trainers since Jane Prentiss destroyed any semblance of this being a normal job), back up to hook his fingers into his trousers and peel them off. 

Martin leans back on his heels and drinks him in, sharp features, slender limbs, and bones a little too prominent (his top surgery scars and stretch marks are starkly pale, though the worms seem to have spared him somewhat. Bad luck, to be so easily marked). Jon refuses to tolerate that for more than a few seconds, squirming under Martin’s gaze before he finally lurches up to work on his jeans. His hands brush his erection and it all feels so real that dizziness strikes him dumb, stops his heart. Martin has to pull away from Jon’s insistent hands; instead drops to his knees between his legs. 

Jon follows him with his gaze, wariness furrowing his brow as he asks hoarsely, “What -”

Martin kisses his hip bone, licks the elongated line of it and earns himself a yelp. So he hitches Jon's leg over his shoulder and mouths at the soft skin on the inside of his thigh, sucks on it lightly and presses his tongue into it hard. Jon jolts and whines, leg squeezing around his shoulder, and Martin agreeably licks his cunt, a broad stripe from bottom to top.

“Martin -” He does it again. Jon’s hands find their way into his hair to tug hard. “Wh - oh, fuck -” He slides his tongue between Jon’s folds, tastes him soft and delicate, satisfaction shuddering up his spine as Jon convulses, bends near in half over him. “Christ -” He flicks his tongue over Jon’s cock -

He’s violently pulled away. Jon’s still breathing hard but it almost has the timbre of panic, and his hands quiver where they’re buried in Martin’s hair. Alarm clears some of the fog from his mind. “Oh no -”

“I don’t like that. That feeling, it doesn’t -” His eyes widen further, the whites showing all around. “I don’t need it, alright? It’s fine.”

Guilt joins the alarm. “I’m sorry, I should have asked if -”

“Just - don’t worry about me, about making me -” Jon swallows hard. “The rest of it is - I want that.”

That reminds Martin, now that he can hear his thoughts. “Jon, please tell me if you don’t, if there’s anything -”

Jon’s mouth works and he leans down, enunciates every word. “I want you to fuck me.” Kisses him, sinks his teeth into Martin’s lip.

And just like that, he plunges back into single minded need. Maybe if Martin had been a better person, he could still have stopped. But the only thought that surfaces with any clarity says there aren’t nearly enough red flags to override all of Jon’s yeses, to override that. 

He devours Jon’s mouth, barely gets his jeans off his hips before Jon rips open the condom packet. Their hands collide putting it on, and it strikes Martin that he would really like to hold that hand. Right after he spreads Jon’s legs open over his thighs and thrusts into his cunt. It feels… it all feels jumbled together into one utterly overwhelming whole, and his mind can’t sift out individual sensations to hold onto, though he tries. He wants to imprint everything in his memory so deep it’ll never fade. And when it comes down to it, what he’s experiencing is almost incidental to… Jon himself; how he looks (greying curls falling in his face, delicate neck arched, bottom lip caught in his teeth) and sounds (subdued moans and gasps - he had imagined Jon being a little more… voluble) and moves (tiny kisses peppered over every inch of skin he can reach, hips canted to meet Martin’s).

Martin takes Jon’s hand, intertwines their fingers, and pushes it into the cot next to his face with his next thrust. Jon makes a choked sound low in his throat and bucks his hips, his eyes closing. Then, without opening them, he unerringly grabs Martin’s other wrist. “Yes. Like that -” Pulls those hands above his head too. Martin swallows hard - holding someone down had been a tame, guiltless fantasy until it was about Jon. So it’s not a hard decision to capture both thin wrists and pin them. 

Jon goes slack, face softening; then he arches violently, fighting against his grip and weight. Martin lets go - or he’s about to, when Jon says sharply, “No!” He hooks his legs around his thighs. “Don’t let me go.”

Jon matches Martin’s confused expression as they lock eyes, but it turns into a very familiar stubborn jut of his jaw. Something inexpressible wells in Martin’s chest. A not insignificant part is the conviction that this is a bad idea. Another part says that worry and stress had fallen away from Jon for that split second, and he can’t remember the last time Jon relaxed. (A third part tries to convince his heart not to read anything into it.) “I… won’t. Until you tell me to.” He tightens his grip to prove it.

Jon growls and fiercely struggles, trying to work his wrists free and nearly succeeding, heels digging and sliding on the cheap canvas. He clenches down so hard on Martin’s cock that he thinks he might come then and there. Then he visibly calms. Martin drives his hips forward hard, eliciting an unrestrained moan for the first time. That, at least, matches his fantasies perfectly. He runs his thumb over Jon’s cheek, kisses him tenderly in time with forceful thrusts (Jon had pulled away last time so he doesn’t try to slide his tongue into his mouth; that does make it easier to fill the space between them with quiet praise, gratitude, appreciation). Jon reacts beautifully. So beautifully.

It feels like an embarrassingly short time before Martin feels he’s about to come. He pauses deep inside him, panting, fingers trembling when he pushes Jon’s sweat-dampened hair off his forehead. He’d said not to worry about him, but Martin can’t help an anxious, “Jon - I’m -”

His eyes open (there’s definitely too many irises, oh God, how are there so many -) and abruptly an omnipresent scrutiny flays him down to his bones. “Look at me.”

Martin wouldn’t disobey even if he could. His voice breaks on Jon’s name and those eyes dissect him and he shatters, and he does not look away.

Next thing he realizes is that he’s crushing Jon, but he’s thoroughly, unreasonably drained. It’s nearly too much simply to force his hand to release Jon. Starts to move off him but is stopped with a hand on his shoulder. “Was it really so inconceivable that I was interested?”

Martin does not comprehend for a moment (he is unspeakably relieved to see Jon looking at him with perfectly normal eyes. Does he know that they… do that?), then catches his breath for a moment more. “I mean - yes? Certainly not in… in me. And I just, had the impression you weren’t into… anybody, that way.”

Jon’s face twists in a way he can’t interpret. “Well, there’s - there’s nothing wrong. With that. I really - and you seemed… okay, with how things were? And I never wanted to push - to push that boundary. I didn’t - I was okay. With how, with how things were.” 

The question looms over them. Things are not the same. They are not the same. Is he okay with that?

Jon pushes Martin off - gently enough, but something brittle snaps in his chest. He slowly sits up, tries to control his emotions while Jon hastily gathers his clothes. 

“Thank you.” Martin’s just put his glasses on and looks up to see Jon paused in the middle of yanking his shoes on, shirt buttoned wrong, looking wholly disheveled. “You didn’t have to. With me. I’m… grateful.” 

Hope chokes him before Jon finishes, “I’m sorry.”

He nearly runs out the door, and Martin’s alone. Again.

“What?”

[biofunmy]

Echo Trump’s Tough Talk, or Lift Tariffs? Democrats Clash Over Trade

WASHINGTON — Democratic presidential candidates clashed in a Tuesday night debate over how they would change course from President Trump’s protectionist trade agenda in fiery exchanges that underscored the depth of the rift within the party over economic policy.

The strength of the United States economy, which has enjoyed steady growth and historically low unemployment in recent years, represents Mr. Trump’s greatest asset going into his re-election campaign and a conundrum for Democrats. On Tuesday night, the candidates strained to paint what Mr. Trump touts as an economic miracle as a mirage, pointing to widening income inequality and trade policies that they argue have done American workers more harm than good.

For two and a half hours, moderate and progressive candidates grappled with whether pragmatism or idealism was the best formula for defeating Mr. Trump next year. It was the subject of trade, which has become the centerpiece of Mr. Trump’s agenda, that most animated the candidates. They argued over whether to revisit Obama-era multilateralism or double down on Mr. Trump’s brand of economic isolationism, which has upended how both Republicans and Democrats think about international commerce.

The most striking example of the fissures came during a heated exchange between Senator Elizabeth Warren, a progressive from Massachusetts, and John Delaney, a moderate former congressman from Maryland, during an argument over what should be done about Mr. Trump’s steel tariffs.

“I’m the only one running for president who actually supports the Trans-Pacific Partnership,” Mr. Delaney said, referring to the 12-nation trade pact that Mr. Trump abandoned upon taking office. “President Obama was right about that. We should be getting back in that.”

Deriding Ms. Warren as an isolationist on trade, he added: “We have to engage.”

[Here are six takeaways from Tuesday night’s debate.]

Ms. Warren unveiled a trade plan this week that included a raft of strict preconditions on human rights and environmental standards that would be required for kicking off any negotiations with other countries. On Tuesday night, she vowed to sideline big corporations and make sure that unions, small farmers and environmentalists took priority in future trade talks.

“For decades we have had a trade policy that has been written by giant multinational corporations to help giant multinational corporations,” Ms. Warren said. “They have no loyalty to America.”

Not to be outdone, Senator Bernie Sanders of Vermont said that he would stop giving military contracts to companies that did not employ American workers to manufacture their products.

“If anybody here thinks that corporate America gives one damn about the average American worker, you’re mistaken,” said Mr. Sanders, a self-described democratic socialist. “If they can save 5 cents to Mexico or China or Vietnam, that’s what they’ll do.”

Republican and Democratic positions on trade have gyrated in recent years as Mr. Trump has employed tariffs, with limited success, as a tool for rebalancing America’s trade relationships. It was less than four years ago that President Barack Obama concluded years of negotiations with Pacific Rim nations to join the Trans-Pacific Partnership, a trade pact widely seen as countering China’s rising economic dominance in the region. But the deal floundered in Congress and was shunned in 2016 by Mr. Sanders and Hillary Clinton, the leading Democratic candidates that year, as Mr. Trump began to outflank them on trade.

This year, nearly all the leading Democratic contenders have embraced a get-tough approach to China. Even Mr. Delaney, the most pro-trade candidate in Tuesday’s debate, framed his support for the Pacific trade deal in part as an effort to contain China. And on a night when kind words for Mr. Trump were rare, Representative Tim Ryan of Ohio acknowledged some alignment with the president’s China policies.

“Look, I think President Trump was onto something when he talked about China,” Mr. Ryan said. “China has been abusing the economic system for a long time.”

That rhetoric suggests that the economic relations between China and the United States could continue to be strained no matter who wins the presidency next year. Thorny issues will remain even if Mr. Trump strikes a trade deal with China before the election, as the United States pushes Beijing to ease state control over its economy, the world’s second largest.

Mr. Trump’s trade fights have gone far beyond China, however. He has imposed tariffs on Canadian lumber, Korean washing machines and European steel, among other products. He recently threatened to levy broad-based duties on products from Mexico in an effort to pressure that country to crack down on illegal border crossings. And the president has repeatedly said he is considering tariffs on European and Japanese cars and auto parts.

Some candidates at Tuesday’s debate drew a distinction between Mr. Trump’s policies on China and his approach to trade more generally. Former Representative Beto O’Rourke of Texas criticized the president for failing to work with allies to isolate China.

“When have we ever gone to war, including a trade war, without allies and friends and partners?” Mr. O’Rourke asked. “As president, we will hold China accountable, but we will bring our allies and friends, like the European Union, to bear.”

Still, candidates offered little detail about how they would achieve better results than Mr. Trump beyond diminishing the influence of corporate lobbyists and fostering greater cooperation with allies. When asked whether they would repeal Mr. Trump’s tariffs on steel imports, most of the 10 candidates hedged.

Mr. Ryan said he would “have to re-evaluate” the tariffs, and that “some of them are effective.” But he criticized Mr. Trump’s approach. “He’s bungled the whole thing,” Mr. Ryan said.

The more moderate Democrats were more cautious in their attacks on Mr. Trump’s stewardship of the economy, largely taking issue with sluggish income growth and what they called the unfairness of the tax code while criticizing his methods on trade.

John Hickenlooper, the former governor of Colorado, outlined a give-peace-a-chance approach with China, arguing that “trade wars are for losers” and that the dispute with China cannot be won with tariffs, which he described as a tax on the middle class.

“There is a way of looking at trade that is therapeutic,” Mr. Hickenlooper said.

Despite the strength of the economy, some economists argue that it has thrived in spite of Mr. Trump’s agenda. The trade tensions caused by his tariffs are widely acknowledged to have been a drag on economic growth. The federal budget deficit has increased an average of 15 percent for each fiscal year he has been in office.

Moreover, Mr. Trump’s handling of trade negotiations has called into question his deal-making prowess. The overhaul of Nafta is languishing in Congress, where it must be ratified. A new trade war with Europe is brewing over digital taxes. Negotiations with China, which resumed this week in Shanghai, appear to be making little progress.

Mr. Trump blames Democrats for many of his trade challenges. Ahead of the debate on Tuesday, the president said countries like China were rooting for one of his would-be successors to replace him so they could get better trade deals with someone else in the White House.

“I think if China had their wish, they’d wait until after the election, they’ll pray that Trump loses, and then they’ll make a deal with a stiff,” Mr. Trump said.

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