#I hate being called a faggot or fag

[foxgirlmoth]

I made it look like my gf told someone to seethe and cope over slur discourse how's everypony else doing tonight

I guess I wrote most of my thoughts in the notes oops

[fattystoriez]

Cursed Pigs

Content Warning: Incest, Weigh Gain, Homophobia, Misogyny

Mason was about to go on a date with his girlfriend, he sent a snap to his story to show off his body. Mason was a sophomore in college, he loved to workout, he’s the type of man who could easily steal your girlfriend.

Mason was an arrogant asshole who didn’t care who he was mean to, he was as homophobic as it gets, genuinely being disgusted by gay men. If any girl he dated had a gay best friend he’d force her to drop him, and they’d always listen because he was extremely good in bed. He hated fat people the most, found fat women to be disgusting and fat men to be pathetic. He learned all of this from his father of course, who he was on his way to visit for Labor Day weekend. His father was a muscular daddy type, if Mason had been in his 40s they could be twins.

He couldn’t wait to meet his dad for Labor Day, he and his father and they were planning on going camping. Mason had gotten home and called out for his dad. “

“Dad! I’m home!” Mason walked into the living room where the tv was on and his dad was in his cushioned arm chair, but his dad looked different. His dad had become fat, his once muscular body had been covered in blubber. There was a thick musk in the room, and he was just in underwear that had been clearly stained with cum and piss.

“Dad what the fuck happened to you, when did you become a fatass?!” Masons dad said nothing, instead he let out a rank fart. Frrrrrbbbbttt. “Oh god dad that reeks!” Mason didn’t realize what was on the tv, it was playing a weird sound and as Mason looked closer there were fat fags feeding each other with junk food. “Dad what the fuck are you watching?? What’s wrong with you!” As Mason yelled his minds started to feel numb, he started watching the TV and taking his shirt off.

A drip of drool started to fall from Mason mouth as he watched the fat men stiff each other with doughnuts, cake and burgers. He watched as the fat men started getting fatter, he was feeling hungry. “D-dad… what’s happening?” His dad continued to stay silent as he rubs his stinky crotch. Masons body started to soften, all of the hard work he had put into his muscles was being wasted.

The softening of his body continued, a feeling that was foreign to Mason. “You’re started to look good, boy” Masons father finally said something, his voice had gained a southern twang, which made no sense since they were from Jersey. Mason had a hard time getting his words out, he tried really hard to protest, but his cock was starting to stiffen.

“Da- daddy please… what’s happening?” Mason’s belly started to hang over his waistband, his chest was quickly becoming plump moobs. His v-line has become a u-line. “I-I’m getting fat… daddy why am I talking l-like a fag-got…” Mason grabbed his fattening belly, causing him to moan.

Masons body began to become covered in body hair, where he use to shave regularly, now he looks like he’s never seen a razor. A piercing formed into his nipple, his dad got up and tugged on it. “Smell my musk, boy” Mason’s daddy groped his moobs and played his with sons growing belly. “Mmmm your cock is getting covered in fat, boy. Fat boys don’t get big cocks, you know that piggy.”

Mason reached down and felt that his once 8.5in cock shrunken down to a 3in nub. Fat was swallowing his body and Mason fought with the urge to run and the urge to worship his daddy’s smelly cock. Mason was starting to get smellier and smellier, BO and musk emanating from his body.

Masons transformation was almost over, as his daddy played with his fat belly his brain was becoming foggier and foggier. His cock a useless nub that he can’t use to fuck bitches anymore. The misogynistic muscle head was gone and was replaced by a slobby, stinky fat pig.

What Mason didn’t know was that his father had pissed off a fatass on twitter, and she cursed him and his jock son to be fatass faggots. Because of her, Mason and his daddy were closer than ever before… and they could no longer spew ignorance because they were too busy shoving food into their mouths.

[burning-sol]

JRWI PCs react to being called a faggot.

Chip: *pulls you aside* Who told you, I want names.

Jay: *turns around to see if you were talking to someone else but no one is there* Who. Me?

Gillion: Fagging it up, Gillion Fagstrider!!! Champion of the Undersea, Hero of the Deep, The Faggot!!! Yes, i am faggot.

William: *does a wispy laugh* Hahahah!!! I'm making a callout doc on you what is your twitter handle.

Vyncent: You can't say that in Prime, it has a different meaning here :(

Ashe: Huh? *takes off headphones* Sorry, what did you say?

Dakota: WHAT. WHAT THE FUCK. THAT'S ILLEGAL.

Kian: *smiles* Nice dude. What up my fellow fag.

Rand: *coughs* Huh? What. no man get your own fags.. *squats in the alley doing fuck all and continuing to smoke*

Rolan: I'm being hate crimed.

Rumi: *looks completely shell shocked like they'll never recover*

Emizel: *KILLS YOU KILLS YOU KILLS YOU KILLS YOU-*

[wishmaster]

I need to take revenge from all jocks who bullied me for being gay. Can I take their muscles for my own, Wishmaster?

Such power but all you need to do is touch them and the wish will do the rest.

Your first target was Todd, a true ass hole who loved calling me faggot. I touch his arm as he shouted get away from me you skinny fag.

About 5 minuttes later he thinned out loosing his muscles, those beautiful pecs vanished. He thinned out wore nothing but pink now and while not a typical fag, he had changed enough to alienate him from his homophobe friends.

What's wrong guys? he asked in his new higher pitched voice, the way he ran after them seemed a bit comical. He'd stop to enjoy a sweet firm cake every now and then, not only had I taken his muscles, I took his straightness as well.

Next cam Todd's friend Brad, with a subtle finger swipe he lost everything he held dear to his jock heart.

Within seconds Brad was a needy twink, looking to have his ass used by an alpha.

Could I have merely left them weak and skinny. yes. but where is the justice in that they needed to become what the hated in you. Bullied for just being yourself?

Finally there was Judd leader of the football team and your biggest bully, he's made your life hell since middle school.

The new Judd hated sports and instead enjoyed shaking his new firm ass for all the hot studs who came to the club to see his sexy Twink self perform.

As for you, You had taken all their muscle and looked like a true muscle stud..no.. an Alpha, their Alpha, all these former bullies worshiped you now.

Life was going to be so much better with your new boyfriends, who says bullies always win?

[madmilkproductionplant]

medic is hot as fuck. that’s why i made this blog. welcome to the medic appreciation zone. other mercs will make an appearance as well :]

MINORS AND AGELESS* DNI. this is an 18+ blog. i dont wanna hear it. no minors. no ageless. talk to the hand 🤚

*if you don’t want to put your age on your blog, i’m fine with you messaging it to me. i just need to know it somehow

favorite ships:

mediscout/blunt trauma💕⚾️💉

heavymedic/red oktoberfest

heavymediscout/blunt force trauma

cheavyscout/sprint and steel

engiemedic/science party

scout x scout/a headache/scunt double

but i enjoy most ships except spyscout!! 🍅🍅🍅

cuntboy extraordinaire. scuntboy even. switch, leaning just slightly on the subby side. pre-everything trans man, professional fag (bisexual) and absolute hoe for medic from tee eff two. like it’s a problem. uh

call me RED scout. BLU scout can suck my cock. either in a hate way or in a homo way i don’t really care

transphobes transmeds yada yada screw off chucklenuts this blog aint for you

more info under cut

things i WILL post about:

lots of mediscout, lots of transmascs, forcemasc, medical kink, examinations, restraints, edging, denial, overstim, begging, basically a lot of pathetic sopping wet guys because i am one lmao

i also enjoy sounding. no it doesn’t hurt when you do it right. yes it can be dangerous when you do it wrong. be safe and be smart

pain, cnc, light somno and gunplay will make occasional appearances. they will be properly tagged

things i WILL NOT post about:

torture, angst, actual rape, drugs (except weed), self-harm, extreme gore, unsanitary kinks (except occasional bladder play, MAYBE), inflation, weight gain/loss (besides some muscle mass gain forcemasc stuff), extremely unrealistic stuff, fauxcest/incest, feet and general yucks like that, along with forcefem and detrans because it makes me extremely dysphoric.

trigger-wise, things i currently tag for (please feel free to ask me to tag other stuff):

gunplay, intox of any kind, cnc, somno, any pain that’s more than some slapping or biting

asks open! be weird in my inbox :]

stuff i’m ok with being called: scout, dude/bud/other casual masc terms, slut, fag/faggot, babe or cuntboy if you’re feeling fancy. please don’t call me anything more feminine than that. i am a man. do not call me fakeboy i will maul you

bodily terms i’m ok with: cock, cocklet, dick, hole, cunt, chest, masc terms

bodily terms i’m not ok with: clit, vagina, lips(cunt-related not mouth lmao), vulva, labia, boobs, breasts, tits, fem terms in general

original horny yapping will be under #bonkposting

other yapping under #modposting

jokes under #comedyposting

ask tag #mad milk asks

idea tag #mad milk brainstorming

reblog tag #mad milk arbys

(get it. cos ‘rbs’ sounds like arbys. i’ll leave now)

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Andrew Doyle

Published: Mar 11, 2024

As a child of the Eighties and Nineties, I remember well that homosexuals were fair game in the mainstream media. One columnist in The Star railed against “Wooftahs, pooftahs, nancy boys, queers, lezzies — the perverts whose moral sin is to so abuse the delightful word ‘gay’ as to render it unfit for human consumption”. After the death of Freddie Mercury, sympathy in The Mail on Sunday was limited. “If you treat as a hero a man who died because of his own sordid sexual perversions,” one writer cautioned, “aren’t you infinitely more likely to persuade some of the gullible young to follow in his example?”

It was sadly inevitable that the AIDS crisis would exacerbate this ancient prejudice. A headline in The Sun declared that “perverts are to blame for the killer plague”. And while a writer for the Express held “those who choose unnatural methods of self-gratification” responsible for the disease, letters published in its pages followed suit. One reader called for the incarceration of homosexuals. “Burning is too good for them,” wrote another. “Bury them in a pit and pour on quicklime.” Someone had been reading his Dante.

I happened to come out in a much less hostile climate. In the early 2000s, we were enjoying a kind of Goldilocks moment, neither too hot nor too cold. We weren’t generally on the receiving end of homophobic slurs, but nor were we patronised by well-meaning progressives. My memory of this time was that no one particularly cared, and I was more than happy with that. Being gay for me has never been an identity, it’s simply a fact, as unremarkable as being blue-eyed or right-handed.

And so it has been troubling to see a resurgence in the last few years of the kind of anti-gay rhetoric that was commonplace in my childhood. Of course, it could be argued that the rise of social media has simply exposed sentiments that were previously only expressed in private. As Ricky Gervais has pointed out, before the digital era “we couldn’t read every toilet wall in the world. And now we can.”

Yet the most virulent homophobia appears to be coming from a new source. Whereas we have always been accustomed to this kind of thing from the far-Right — one recalls Nick Griffin’s remark on Question Time about how he finds the sight of two men kissing “really creepy” — but now the most objectionable anti-gay comments arise in online spheres occupied by gender ideologues, from those who claim to be progressive, Left-wing and “on the right side of history”. The significant difference is that the word “cis” has been added to the homophobe’s lexicon. Some examples:

“Cis gay men are a disease.”

“Cis gay men are truly some of the most grotesque creatures to burden this earth.”

“I hate cis gay people with a burning passion.”

“If you’re a cis gay man and your sexuality revolves around you not liking female genitalia I hope you die and I will spit on your grave.”

“Cis gays don’t deserve rights.”

“There’s so many reasons to hate gay people, most specifically white gays, but there’s never a reason to be a transphobe.”

“It’s time to normalise homophobia.”

Of course, any bile can be found on the internet, but these kinds of phrases are remarkably commonplace among certain online communities. Even a cursory search will reveal innumerable examples of gender ideologues casually branding gay men “fags” or “faggots”, praising the murder of gays and lesbians, and claiming that the AIDS epidemic was a positive thing. Many thousands of examples had been collated on Google Photos under the title “Woke homophobia: anti-gay hatred & boxer ceiling abuse from trans activists & gender-identity ideologues”. The site was taken down last year, presumably because it violated Google’s policy on hate speech — or perhaps because it revealed the toxicity of the ideology the company has spent so long promoting.

If such ideas were restricted to the demented world of internet activism, we might be justified in simply ignoring it. But we now know that the overwhelming majority of adolescents referred to the Tavistock paediatric gender clinic were same-sex attracted. Whistleblowers have spoken out about the endemic homophobia, not simply among clinicians but also parents who were keen to “fix” their gay offspring. And of course there was the running joke among staff that soon “there would be no gay people left”.

And now a series of leaked internal messages and videos from WPATH (World Professional Association for Transgender Health), has revealed that clinicians in the leading global organisation for transgender healthcare have openly admitted in private that some teenagers mistake being same-sex attracted for gender dysphoria. The result of the “gender-affirming” approach has amounted to what one former Tavistock clinician recently described as “conversion therapy for gay kids”. Homosexuality was removed from the World Health Organisation’s list of psychiatric disorders in 1993, and yet here we are medicalising it all over again.

So how did we reach the point where gay conversion therapy is being practised in plain sight by the NHS? Much of the responsibility has to lie with Stonewall, a group that once promoted equal rights for gay people but now actively works against their interests. It has even gone so far as to redefine “homosexual” on its website and resource materials as “same-gender attracted”. It should go without saying that gay men are not attracted to women who identify as men, any more than lesbians should be denounced for excluding those with penises from their dating pools. What trans activists call discrimination, most of us call homosexuality.

Indeed, activists often claim that “genital preferences are transphobic”, or that sexual orientation based on biological sex is a form of “trauma”. The idea that homosexuality is a sickness was one of the first homophobic tropes I encountered as a child. Now it is being rebranded as progressive.

As for Stonewall, its former CEO Nancy Kelley went so far as to argue that women who exclude trans people as potential partners are analogous to “sexual racists”. She claimed that “if you are writing off entire groups of people, like people of colour, fat people, disabled people or trans people, then it’s worth considering how societal prejudices may have shaped your attractions”. It is worth remembering that Stonewall is deeply embedded in many governmental departments and quangos, as well as corporate and civic institutions. Anti-gay propaganda is being reintroduced into society from the very top.

Meanwhile, the Crown Prosecution Service has been meeting with trans lobby groups such as Mermaids and Stonewall to discuss changes to prosecutorial policy in cases of sex by deception. Since these meetings — only revealed after sustained pressure from a feminist campaigner who submitted Freedom of Information requests — the CPS has recommended what Dennis Kavanagh of the Gay Men’s Network has described as “a radical trans activist approach to sex by deception prosecutions that would see them all but vanish”. In trans activist parlance, the barriers to having sex with lesbians and gay men are known as the “cotton ceiling” and “boxer ceiling”. Now it seems the establishment is attempting to support the coercion of gay people into heterosexual activity.

Consider a recent post on X by Stephen Whittle, OBE, a professor of equalities law at Manchester Metropolitan University. In a reply to LGB Alliance’s Bev Jackson, Whittle took issue with the notion that “love is all about genitals” (an argument that Jackson has never made). Having dismissed this straw man as “a very hetero/homo-normative perspective”, Whittle then claimed that “a lot of gay men can’t resist a young furry ftm [female-to-male] cub”.

While it is true that there are some bisexuals who identify as gay, it is simply not the case that homosexual men “can’t resist” certain kinds of women. As Jackson rightly noted in her response, this is rank homophobia, “disturbed and disturbing on every level”. Yet it has been expressed by an individual who has been described as a “hero for LGBTQ+ equality”. With heroes like these, who needs villains?

Another example is Davey Wavey, a popular online influencer, who has encouraged gay men to perform heterosexual acts in a video called “How to Eat Pussy — For Gay Men”. It may as well have been called “Gay Conversion Therapy 2.0”. We are firmly back in the Eighties, where gays are being told that they “just haven’t found the right girl yet” and lesbians are assured that they just “need a good dick”. And yet now these demeaning ideas are being propagated by those who claim to be defending the rights of sexual minorities.

The Government’s recent guidance on how schools are to accommodate trans-identified pupils — in which biological sex will take precedence over identity — has been met with horror from gender ideologues. One of the common refrains one hears from activists is that it represents “this generation’s Section 28”. But this is to get it precisely backwards. Gay rights were secured on the recognition that a minority of the population are same-sex attracted. In dismantling the very notion of sex and substituting it for this nebulous concept of “gender identity”, activists and their disciples in parliament are undoing all of the achievements of previous gay rights movements.

The widespread homophobia of the Eighties, epitomised by Section 28, was based on the notion that homosexuality was unnatural, dangerous and ought to be corrected. Present-day gender identity ideology perceives homosexuality as evidence of misalignment between soul and body. In other words, it seeks to “fix” gay people so that they fit into a heterosexual framework. It is no coincidence that so many detransitioners are gay people who were simply struggling with their sexuality. Gender identity ideology is the true successor to Section 28.

The proponents of this revamped gay conversion therapy dismiss our concerns as “transphobia” and “bigotry”, or as part of a manufactured “culture war”. Worse still, the new homophobia is being cheered on by those it will hurt most. While prominent gay figures continue to feed the beast that wishes to devour them, we are unlikely to see this dire situation improve any time soon. It was bad enough in the Eighties, when gay people were demonised and harassed by the establishment. Who thought we would have to fight these battles all over again?

[genderoutlaws]

i presented on this panel a hot minute ago about like being trans in the workplace basically and it’s really so encouraging to be able to speak out to a range of ppl but especially to the older trades union guys who like, kinda have no idea about anything, but are actually super eager to learn and support this new face of labor organizing as their comrades all the same.

there was a question from a guy about like the use of queer nowadays tho, since i introduced myself as a genderqueer transsexual, and because when he grew up like that was so full of hate. and i answered like yknow, i wouldn’t broadly apply it still because it is full of pain for so many people, but as with AIDs activists in the 80s and 90s like, it’s reclaimatory, it’s meant to be punchy, it’s meant to make you uncomfortable.

but i keep thinkin n i’ve landed on a more solid answer for myself which is like. i’ve Really struggled with the word queer bc i grew up in a small rural conservative area where that was not said with love, where kids on rooftops threw rocks and called me a faggot when i walked by, where i couldn’t even go through a taco bell drive thru without being called a dyke. and the thing is now as times get a lil more socially conscious, as i live in a city with more liberal values, as i am in a workplace that at least claims itself to be LGBT friendly, i’ve realized that just because they stopped calling me a queer doesn’t mean they stopped treating me like one. so i think that’s why i’ve been able to take on words like dyke and fag and queer, out of pride And out of pure spite.

[emocxnteddie]

Hi! I loved your platonic markiplier fic! I was wondering if you could make something similar but with Ethan? And reader is his trans brother who gets bullied and Ethan teaches the bullies a lesson? <3

!-! Brotherhood !-!

Pair; Crankgameplays/Ethan Nestor x FTM!Reader.[He/Him Pronouns]

Genre; Platonic fluff & angst-ish.

WARNINGS; Swearing, blood, violence, fighting, transphobia, homophobic slurs, bullying.[Let Me Know If More Is Needed.]

A/N - I decided to base this on an au where Ethan is in his last year of high school & M/N is in his second year of high school.

M/N stood in the hallway of his high school, trying not to be seen. He had been relentlessly bullied for the past year for being trans. M/N hated it, always being called names.

M/N's older brother, Ethan was however always by his side. Though Ethan wasn't fully aware of everything, he didn't know his brother was bullied for being trans specifically.

Then one of M/N's classmates, a guy named Derek walked up to M/N along with Derek's minions. "Look! It's the faggot!" Derek laughed as he pushed M/N into the locker.

"Leave me alone, Derek," M/N muttered as he was pushed into the locker. He hated high school, all because of the bullying. Derek didn't stop, of course, he didn't. Derek just continued pushing M/N into the lockers, taunting him.

"C'mon, fag! Fight me! Fucking coward!" Derek laughed and M/N tried to push him off but it wasn't so easy. Then he saw a figure dash towards them, it was Ethan. He had gone to get something he'd forgotten in his classroom when he saw his younger brother being bullied by Derek & his group.

"Leave him alone, you piece of shit!" Ethan yelled as he pushed Derek to the ground. Derek stood up and glared at Ethan. "Why are you defending this homo freak!" Derek said in an angered tone. Ethan spaced out and just swung at Derek, hitting him in the face.

"That homo freak is my brother! So you keep his name out of your fucking mouth!" Ethan yelled as he kept punching Derek until he got enough of it, his fist being bloody and Derek's face being bloody. Derek ran off with his friends, yelling names.

Ethan looked at M/N and laughed. "Sorry, got a little carried away," Ethan said in an embarrassed tone and M/N just laughed along. "Thanks for protecting me, Ethan," M/N thanked his brother and Ethan just ruffled his hair.

"You're my brother, I couldn't let those punks treat you like that, I'm the only one allowed to tease you," Ethan said proudly as he heard teachers. "Oh fuck, gotta run! Catch you back home, bro!" Ethan said as he ran away, M/N just chuckled and nodded.

"Yeah, see you back home, brother."

[antigonenikk]

twin size mattress

part 1

pairing: eugene sledge/snafu shelton

summary: He doesn’t notice Snafu then. Snafu, resident class reject, drug dealer, and altogether complete fuck-up, staring at him from the minute he entered the party. Staring at him as he confronted Sid. As he followed Sid outside and alighted upon him with hard violence. Staring like Eugene was a revelation.

If he had. Well, there’s no way to change the past. Sitting in his hospital room, gown on his emaciated body, picking at the IV in his arm, he’s not sure he would even want to.

In the chair by his bedside, his Mother is sleeping. Her face is puffed out and worn from crying. Gene is too tired to care.

tags and warnings: drug addiction, dubious consent, emotional manipulation, toxic relationships, homophobia and racism, high school au, etc.

Gene storms out of the house with Bill trailing behind him. He feels dizzy and so angry he could start swinging and screaming and never stop. In front of him, Sid stumbles and turns around, his face just as red as Eugene knows his own is. Overcome by hate and rage.

“What the fuck did you just say to me?”

He knows he’s being too loud. A whole crowd of people are milling about. Inside the house, 21 Savage is being blasted over the speakers. The bass is moving through his bones, pumping and shifting until his jaw aches.

32 SHOTS IN THE K

“You heard me, FAGGOT!”

Bill grabs his shoulder, trying to hold him back, but Gene feels the sting of betrayal so deeply it’s like he’s not even in his own body.

From inside the house REDRUMREDRUMREDRUM

Gene opens his mouth and it's like someone else is speaking.

“And was I a faggot when you let me fuck you, huh? Was I a faggot when you sucked me off with Mary in the other Goddamned room? Was I a FAGGOT then SID?!”

Sid turns even redder. The music switches over. In the background he notices the flash of multiple phones turning on, recording. He doesn’t give a fuck. Let the whole world know. Let the whole school know. If he’s going down he’s taking Sid with him. He hopes it goes viral. He hopes this shit is on fucking Barstool tomorrow. Hopes the whole world knows Sid is just as queer as he is.

“You’re fucking lying. You freak! You’re delusional! I ain’t never fucked you. You’re so in love with me it’s SICK!”

Mary, next to Sid, her face is turning whiter than a ghost. She looks like she’s going to puke. Gene feels a vindictive glee. His anger is pushed further. Like hell he’s gonna let Sid get away with this shit.

“Yeah? You got one thing right. I woulda’ never let you fuck ME. But I know for fucking sure I had you bent over your fucking shitty ass couch LAST WEEK. Or was that someone else begging me to fuck him harder. Like some goddamned whore. You shoulda’ heard yourself!”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!”

“Oh GENE! Oh GENIE! FUCK ME DADDY!"

He feels the punch before he registers it, rolls with it until he’s on the ground. He touches his lip, and laughs when it comes away bloody. He watches as Bill tackles Sid to the ground, laying in to him. Gene gets up and pushes him off. Bill steps back without a fight. This isn’t his battle. This is Gene’s. This is Gene’s Sid. His best friend. His whole world until ten minutes ago when he heard him and his asshole football buddies talking shit, calling him a fag. Saying he was a fairy. Saying he should kill himself to save his family the shame. And Sid agreeing.

He can see Bill getting into it with one of Sid’s overgrown steroid-ridden friends, and he covers his old pal with his body. A sort of perversion of what they did just two nights ago, wrapped up in each other’s arms in Gene’s room, trading secrets, kissing each other’s eyelids, pretending they were in love. He hits Sid in the face. And gets a punch back for good measure. The blows take the place of words. Blurring. He can feel tears in his eyes, or maybe he’s just bleeding. But it’s all getting blurry. The music has been turned off completely. All that’s left is silence and the sound of skin hitting skin. And then Burgie comes out, his uniquely Texan accent screaming about the cops, and Gene is being dragged off his best friend, beaten and bruised and bloody, and tossed into the back of Bill’s shitty 2004 Honda Civic.

He doesn’t notice Snafu then. Snafu, resident class reject, drug dealer, and altogether complete fuck-up, staring at him from the minute he entered the party. Staring at him as he confronted Sid. As he followed Sid outside and alighted upon him with hard violence. Staring like Eugene was a revelation.

If he had. Well, there’s no way to change the past. Sitting in his hospital room, gown on his emaciated body, picking at the IV in his arm, he’s not sure he would even want to.

In the chair by his bedside, his Mother is sleeping. Her face is puffed out and worn from crying. Gene is too tired to care.

________________________________________

Gene is sorting through his textbooks. He can’t see out of his left eye. It’s completely swollen shut. A smaller body sidles up to him, leaning against the cool, worn blue rows of lockers.

He looks over and sees that it’s Shelton. Snafu. That’s what everyone calls him, though. Situation-Normal-All-Fucked-Up. He got the name from Burgie. Back in eighth grade when he snorted a line of coke in the back of the school bus on the way to the annual DC field trip and then immediately puked up bile onto the seat in front of him. Back then Burgie and Snafu had still been childhood best friends, so he had been in the splash zone so to speak. This was before he started running track with Gene and Bill in 9th grade and fell in with them instead.

He had shouted with disgust, and declared his friend was acting completely and utterly fucked in the head. Robert Leckie, pretentious asshole extraordinaire, sitting a row in front, had turned in his seat and with his dumbass smirk had said, “So, then, he’s acting like his normal self?”

Burgie, still livid about the whole thing, turned to Shelton and told him, “Yeah. A real fucking Snafu.”

After that it just sort of stuck. Gene had never really spoken to him. They had gone to different Elementary schools, Snafu moving to town at the end of 5th grade from some Bayou in rural Louisiana. They barely had class together in middle school. Shelton lived in the trailer park, and Gene lived in the nicer part of town. So their families didn’t speak either. By tenth grade Snafu was dealing to half the school, and had OD’d twice. No one knew what on. Gene had absolutely no reason to know or talk to the guy. And yet now that he’d been outed by his former best friend/boyfriend/what-the-fuck ever, he was being approached. The idea turned his stomach. Everyone knew that Shelton was gay. It was hard not to, the way he simply didn’t a fuck. Probably came with the whole drug addiction thing. Gene wished he didn’t give a fuck. That had always been his problem. He cared too much. He smothered.

“Yes?”

“Nothin’. Just standin’ here. That illegal?”

Gene gave him an unimpressed once over, snorted, and then shut his locker with a bang. He was late for AP Calc.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Shelton followed him through the halls like a dog, sniffing around for a bone.

“So whachyu doin’ tonight?”

“What?”

The question left him at a loss. Was Shelton….hitting on him? He had thought maybe. But it was equally likely that the guy was just trying to push drugs on him.

“You heard me, Sledgehammah.”

Christ. Not that fucking nickname. No matter what he did, it followed him. Started as a way to humiliate him back when they were all little kids. A real clever play on words. Then the kids at school had discovered he was actually good at sports. Could run fast, and hit a homerun like nobody’s business. Then it was an endearment. “Sledgehammer’s gonna run those assholes from Valley Prep into the GROUND this weekend.”

For a while, it felt good. To be valued for something. To have a nickname at all. Now though, now that he was kicked off of both the track and baseball teams for fighting, it felt like a taunt. He wasn’t gonna be beating Valley Prep. He wasn’t even allowed within ten feet of the fucking gym equipment.

“I’m not interested.”

He was nearing the door to Mr. Martin’s classroom. With any luck he could drop Shelton at the door. Everyone knew he was in all remedial classes. No way he was ballsy enough to follow him into an AP class.

“Yeah? You got some plans I don’t know about? Last I heard your friends had all ditched you. Don’t wanna be seen around a fag.”

Gene stopped. Collected himself before he got into a fight he couldn’t win. He turned back to Shelton. Tried to look at him like they were meeting for the first time. He was pretty. Eugene could admit that much. His eyes were a light sea green, almost blue, made all the more striking by the way they contrasted with his dark skin. His hair was perfectly curled somehow. He wasn’t big by any means, but he wasn’t totally scrawny. Maybe an inch or two shorter than Eugene himself. For a moment he found he couldn’t look away. Stripping off all the history just left an image in front of him. A painting that was lovely and frail and captivating. He tried to shake it, but he was caught in Shelton’s web. And from the way the man was smirking, he knew it.

Alright then. It’s not like he was wrong. Practice would be running until 7 tonight. He had no friends now other than Burgie and Bill. Sid had placed a fucking fatwah on him, basically. He might as well try for a rebound fuck and some free weed to numb the pain.

“What time?”

He could feel students passing them by, rushing to get inside before second bell rang. Snafu looked taken aback for a moment. Like he thought his play wouldn’t actually work. He must have underestimated just how lonely Eugene was.

“Ah…I’ll pick you up after last period. We can chill at my place.”

“Cool.”

“Yeah. Cool.”

Eugene opened the door to Mr. Martin’s classroom, ignoring the stares from his fellow students, and slunk to the back of the class. A piece of paper was flung at his head. He ignored that too. Staring straight ahead. He found himself cheered up, against his will. Snafu sure was something.

________________________________________

They met up in the school parking lot, Eugene huddling into his sweatshirt to keep the chill away. Snafu was leaning against the shittiest looking car Gene had ever seen in his entire life. The left door was somehow a different color from the rest of the vehicle, blue and red. There were decals all over, but it looked more like someone had scribbled them on more than anything else, and with a child’s handwriting too. Shakily written on the left bumper were the words “GOD CRAWLED IN AND BACK OUT”

Snafu must have caught him looking, because when Eugene slid into the passenger seat he simply said,

“My little sisters. They like to draw on the car.”

“Ah…”

After that it was silent. Not uncomfortable silence. Just silence. All the way to wherever Snafu was deciding to take him, they sat and listened to the CD that already been playing. Eugene recognized the song, barely. He thought it was Elliott Smith. How the hell Snafu knows about someone like Elliott Smith is anyone’s guess. It made him feel a bit ashamed. He had assumed a lot about the guy. That he was a scumbag moron burnout freak. But so far he had been cool. He had good taste in music, and he wasn’t a dick. Wasn’t loud. It was a nice change of pace from the guys he hung around with. Bill was great, but sometimes he was too much work. And Burgie and him had been pulling apart for the past few months, what with him dating Florence and Eugene spending so much time tagging along behind Sid, desperate for an ounce of affection.

Eugene wondered about Shelton’s friends. He knew he hung around Jay, and sometimes Hoosier too. Saw them beneath the bleachers, smoking. Beyond that though, he was a mystery. He came to class only when he felt like it. And when he did show up it was beneath a dark black hoodie year round.

Eugene sat still as the car idled. The track ended and Gucci Mane started playing. Christ. Maybe Eugene should take the thing about good music taste back. He felt those light blue-green eyes on him again, and turned to see Snafu lighting up a cigarette. Gene pulled out his Chocolate-Mint flavored vape and took a puff, waiting to see what would happen.

He watched with rapt attention as Snafu, cigarette hanging loose from his lips, started rolling a joint on his ripped up jeans. Gene exhaled and brought more smoke back into his lungs. He loved his vape. He had spent a whole week jerry-rigging it so the settings were just right. It was calming, taking the thing apart and putting it back together. Gave his hands something to do. Eugene realized as he looked out the window that they were at the quarry. So Snafu did want to fuck him after all. Okay. He could do this. He could sleep with someone other than Sid. Fuck Sid. Fuck Sid.

He jumped when Shelton put the expertly rolled joint up to his lips. He leaned forward and let him light the end of it with the red butt of his cigarette. This close, he could see small little freckles all over the bridge of Shelton’s nose. He could make out a tiny scar beneath his left eyebrow. Gene inhaled.

Oh. Fuck.

The joint wasn’t just weed. He could tell right away it was laced. It didn’t taste right. He started to cough, eyes watering as he leaned forward, feeling sick. A hand started rubbing his back, then his neck. The joint was plucked from his lips, and slowly, slowly, Gene felt his head being moved over to the seam of Snafu’s jeans. The hand in his hair gripped harder. He could do this. His heart was beating out of his chest, the feeling was like drinking five different cups of coffee all at once. He felt like he could jump off the roof of a building and just–fly.

Opening the zipper he pulled out his cock. Eugene forced himself to keep his mouth shut. Maybe it was the drugs. But the idea of sucking someone’s uncut dick became so funny he felt like he was about to lose it. Closely bobbing his head up and down he started to choke as Snafu gripped the back of his head and tried to start fucking him hard. He started slapping his thigh to get him to stop, but he didn’t let up. Fuck. If he kept going Eugene was actually going to puke all over him.

It would serve him right. If he had just ASKED. He struck his hand out and felt as it landed on Shelton’s skull, rocking him back into the cushioned seat. He coughed, eyes watering with tears as he sat up.

“No. We ain’t doin’ it like that.”

Then he grabbed Snafu by the back of his neck, fingernails scratching into skin. He inhaled when Snafu blew smoke into his face. Then he smashed their mouths together, determined not to let this fucking twink get one over on him.

He felt the smirk on Shelton’s lips, felt his large hands grip at his hips, shifting him until Gene was sitting on his lap, panting. Everything was starting to feel good. Really, really fucking good. If he could just–he reached out to the side of the front seat, letting the handle go slack. The seat violently fell back, and took the both of them with it. He felt like, if he let go of Shelton for singular moment, he would float away. Just cease to exist entirely. He wanted to crawl inside of Shelton’s chest. Claw out his insides. Hold them in the palm of his hands, bite into them.

________________________________________

On the drive home Gene felt like all the trees were starting to blur together and warp into some sort five mile long monster. He gripped the handle above his head and ground his teeth. Snafu looked over at him.

“You good?”

Gene didn’t respond.

That night he waited. Waited for sleep. Waited for the walls to stop moving. Waited for his father or mother to come up and check on him. It wasn’t going to happen. They fucking hated him now. Everyone did. Even Bill and Burgie, secretly, he could tell. They were disgusted with him. With the way he was all wrong wanted all the wrong things if he had been born right if Sid had been a girl if he had been a girl or if God loved him enough to save him but no one did No One did the walls had bugs crawling up the sides and they kept breathing like a living thing Gene sucked on his vape so scared because the world was ending dying in a burst of flaming light and nothing and no one could stop it he was shaking and his face was wet but that wasn’t right because why would his face be wet he was afraid–

________________________________________

He sat on the bleachers, watching the baseball team practice, sunglasses blocking out the light. Inside of him everything was muted, black. A lack of light. This morning he got up and went down for breakfast and it was like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t spent half the night crying muffled into a pillow. His parents both sat, straight and stiff. His mother placed his eggs in front of him. Deacon sat at his feet, drooling for a piece of bacon. He slipped him one when no one was looking. His mother cleared her throat. They were all pretending that things were fine. But they weren’t very good at it.

His father slipped a pamphlet over to him.

Gene held that same pamphlet between his hands now, squeezing the paper, unable to bring himself to rip it up.

Snafu walked over and sat beside him, eyes red and bleary. Gene watched as Coach called a foul. Snafu snatched the paper from his hands. He didn’t try to fight it.

“What the fuck?”

He had no response. It was the same thing he had thought this morning.

The pamphlet read: “New Horizons Youth Program.”

Inside the pamphlet were unconvincing anecdotes from former attendees about how God and the camp had cured their inclinations. Had straightened them right back out. Gene knew, hoped, his parents weren’t going to send him. He wouldn’t go. He’d rather die. He could feel anger radiating off of Snafu in waves, warming his side. He didn’t know why Snafu would be angry though. It’s not like they knew each other. They had fucked, once. And it was barely even good sex. That didn’t count for anything.

Still, as he felt his hand being grabbed in Shelton’s the warmth of his rage traveled between them like an electric current, bringing Gene back into the here and now. He knew Snafu wasn’t angry on his behalf. Not really. But it would be nice to just pretend.

“Let’s get you out of here.”

They ended up in the Walmart parking lot. Shelton handing him a cigarette. Normally Gene thinks they’re disgusting. But the menthol on his tongue, the aching cold of the smoke coiling in his gut, calms him down. His foot keeps tapping on the floor of the car.

He wants to call his brother. It won’t help anything. But he still wants to.

Shelton pulls out a bottle of pills, handing one off to Eugene. He doesn’t even think before he palms it and swallows it down. Doesn’t ask what it is. He thinks for a moment he should. After the horror of last night— but really. He just wants to forget.

He holds his palm out again, asking for another. Shelton snorts. Hands it to him. Turns the car radio on. Eugene dry swallowed the first, but the second he washes down with the water bottle given to him. He chokes on the disgusting raspberry flavored vodka. If he doesn’t think he doesn’t exist.

He stops thinking. A hand in his hair, petting. Lips on his. He might, maybe, exist. But the world doesn’t. He feels loose and heavy at the same time. Sinking into the seat. Euphoria washes over him. He feels so fucking good. He has never worried about anything before. He starts to laugh at the tickling sensation of lips on his neck. He grabs Shelton in a bear hug, squeezing his sides. Biting on the other man’s neck when he yelps. Licking over the bite. It feels so much better like this. Everything.

________________________________________

Later, sitting in the backseat together, jeans half unbuckled, Gene looks up at the dirty fuzzed up roof. Under his feet are a pile of McDonalds wrappers. From very far away, the sound of the highway, all those warped pieces of hulking metal, release a rushing sound. It travels through space and time just so he can hear it. The world is truly a beautiful, beautiful place when it wants to be. He falls asleep on Shelton’s shoulder. He can’t believe that just two days ago he would have sneered at the other boy in the hall. Now he can’t imagine being without him. He wonders if that’s the drugs, or something else entirely.

________________________________________

The next week is a blur. He sits with Burgie and Bill in class. Their voices wash over him as if he’s underwater. He doesn’t think about what they talk about during practice. Without him. He doesn’t feel jealous. He doesn’t speak to his parents. His father is on call, sleeping at the hospital. His mother stares at him across the dinner table each night, lacking all understanding. Like he’s some sort of freak show attraction. The pamphlet is not mentioned again. But he can feel it, the specter of it, every waking breath he takes.

Every day after school he gets into Snaf’s car and gets high on whatever he deigns to give him. Most of the time they’re too out of it to fuck. Most of the time they just sit there in silence. But it’s easier, with someone just as fucked up as he feels most of the time. There’s no need to pretend. He doesn’t have to be Eugene. Eugene with the 4.0. Eugene who is going places. Eugene star-hitter. Eugene faggotdissapointmenthatefulanxiousdisgustingfreak. He doesn’t need to pretend to be happy. He doesn’t need to pretend like his world hasn’t fallen apart all because he trusted the wrong person, all because he let his anger get the better of him. Again. A tidal wave he can never control.

One week on the dot from when they actually spoke for the first time Eugene’s face is finally healing. He is… somewhere. Some empty abandoned parking lot. In Mobile, with the steel mills all shut down, the docks barely used anymore with bigger, better, more useful ports, there’s a lot of abandoned parking lots. Lots of abandoned buildings. Lots of rust and decay and rot that won’t ever leave. Hidden behind a careful veneer of southern hospitality and denial.

Gene feels it more keenly as each day passes, each day since he was handed that brochure–each day since his love of God had been turned against him, stuck into him like a knife. And each day since he was expected to sit there and wait for the sword of Damocles to fall and knock his head clean off. Each day since then he’s felt the rot eek it’s way more deeply into his bones. Not even laying in bed with Deacon helps anymore. The bubbling resentment and otherness that he has always felt living in this town keeps nagging at him. And it fuels the loneliness. The only thing that eases it now is Shelton.

Snafu says to him, that afternoon, smoking on the hood of his car, that his friends are all pieces of shit. His family too. They don’t understand Gene. But he does.

“I get it. It’s all...just fuckin' crap.”

Eugene doubts that he does understand, not really, but with someone like Shelton, who is so uncomfortable with showing compassion, even the attempt at comfort is appreciated. It means something.

He lays down on the hood, watching the sun set. Trying to figure out a way to defend the people that he loves. He can’t muster up the energy. Maybe Snafu is right. The only thing, lately, besides his presence that eases the deep ache of blackness in his breastbone is the drugs. Pills handed to him that make him tired and light and free. Never as good as that first night. But still, the unbearable lightness of his body finally weighted down. He feels himself, later, nodding off as Snafu drives around town, through neighborhoods filled with empty McMansions. Empty. Empty. Abandoned. All of it a ghost town.

He wants to know Snafu better. This one person who has come out of the woodwork, almost miraculously, and taken all of his pain away. Who continues to take it away, and shoulder it for himself. Who tries to comfort him. Who bites his lip when he kisses and uses too much tongue, and swears a bluestreak when he’s got oxy-dick.

Eugene is led in by his hand, dragged, into one of the many empty houses. The lights are all off. The house is in escrow. Snafu leads him up to the master bedroom. He can tell from the cans of food stacked in the corner and the detritus usually found in the room of a person who hates cleaning that the place is obviously being squatted in. They lay down in the bed together. And Eugene places his head on Snafu’s chest. He thinks to ask him something, anything. Needs his deep desire for knowledge sated.

“What…what’s your favorite movie?”

The question comes out half slurred.

“The fuck you askin’ that for, cher?”

Eugene shrugs. He feels like he should know at least something about the guy he’s fucking. But admittedly that was a stupid question to ask.

“Wanna get to know you.”

He feels Snafu stiffen beneath him.

“Ain’t nothing worth getting to know.”

What bullshit. Fine. He’ll pull the heavy lifting of the conversation if he has to. Even if he’s only half awake.

“I like Encounters…"Encounters at the End of the World." Its about…penguins. In Antarctica. They go down there and there’s all these penguins an’ shit. They mate for life, they got. They’re real interesting birds. They can go crazy too. And the director just follows them around. How they live and survive and die. It’s…”

“They go crazy?”

Eugene puts his nose into Snafu’s hair for a second. He smells like grease and menthols. He likes the smell. It’s really really nice.

“One penguin. He loses it. Just keeps walkin’ away into the distance. And they let him go cause they know he ain’t ever gonna give up on dyin’.”

“You got a fucked up sense of taste. You know that cher?”

“Yeah. I know. I like you, don’t I?”

That gets him a laugh.

“Shelton….”

“Merriell.”

“Merrie—Mer… will you pass me my vape?”

The chest beneath him rumbles with laughter again. Then he feels a hand slipping into his back pocket, pulling his vape out, and placing it to his lips. He inhales the sickly sweet tang of peppermint and blows it out. This is nice. He closes his eyes. Just for a moment….

________________________________________

On the way home Eugene is sober enough to stay awake but not so sober he feels hungover. They stop at TacoBell, and Snafu makes him laugh for a near half hour with his impressions of their various classmates. When he manages a perfect rendition of their fucking insane gym teacher Coach Haney Eugene snorts so hard his Mountain Dew goes all up into his nose, leaving him heaving and shrieking with laughter. Merriell looks so pleased with himself it’s shocking his head doesn’t actually double in size. His smile is sweet, Eugene notices. It lights up his face in a way he didn’t think was possible. It makes him look beautiful.

When Shelton drops him off at his house an hour later, Eugene shocks himself by kissing him on the cheek before slipping out of the car, tripping over the curb before standing up, ignoring the fact that Shelton's shit eating grin is so large he can feel it from five feet away. He slips inside the house and doesn’t look back at Merriell even once, his face a burning red.

[gayhenrycreel]

i am so fucking sick of trans women acting like trans men arent oppressed, and im sick of trans men acting like theyre more oppressed than trans women

not fucking sorry to break it to you, but the patriarchy sees us all as faggots. stop hating on people who have no power over you.

i wont name anyone but i just went through a fantastic blog run by a trans woman. seemed fine. she had some good takes. she had some different ideas on leftism from me, but leftists gotta stick together right?

no.

she thinks trans men are basically cis men in terms of power. of course that does not mean shes a bad person. there is always room for improvement, and being wrong about something does not mean someone is bad.

it is true that trans men can experience male privilege. ive experienced it myself. but as soon as people know im trans that privilege disappears.

the instant im outed im just another faggot. im pretending to be a man. im just trying to gain power. im tricking people. im a pervert.

trans women go through this too. trans women are seen as perverts, tricking people and pretending to be women.

trans women are judged for being feminine in the wrong way. they are seen as performing feminity wrong.

trans men are judged for being masculine in the wrong way. we're just weird dykes.

the reason trans men are viewed as confused lesbians is because patriarchy believes that women cant make their own decisions. women are too stupid to have autonomy, so they cant decide to be a man.

patriarchy changes how it views trans people to suit its function.

if a trans man is experiencing emotions seen as anger (even if hes just defending himself) he is a disgusting violent man and a predator. this happens to trans women too.

if a trans woman is butch, she is faking being trans to gain power (even if that power does not exist). if she is angry, she is just another violent man.

if a trans woman is in a stereotypically feminine view by society, she is a clueless woman and shouldn't have autonomy.

if a trans man is not angry and cis passing, he is a confused woman who shouldn't have autonomy.

see?

this is about women having autonomy.

transphobia is just misogyny rebranded.

trans men and trans women are not opposites. because men and women in general are not opposites.

trans women are oppressed for being transgender women.

trans men are oppressed for being transgender men.

patriarchy is not logical, because it has no scientific basis. if a man is a man in the wrong way he will be oppressed. trans men suffer misogyny too because we are seen as women.

misogyny targets anyone who performs gender wrong.

i argue that cis men can experience transmisogyny too.

cishet men get called fags if they are not the peak of masculinity. they get called sissys if they arent strong enough.

the reason for this is that anything feminine is seen as weak, and anything not perfectly masculine must be feminine.

@our-queer-experience and @genderkoolaid are some of the only blogs ive seen be normal about both trans men and trans women.

stop drinking the terf koolaid. terfs believe that men are inherently violent abusers, and apply that to men and women who are feminine wrong.

have you not seen all those terfs fighting each other because one of them has leg hair?

yeah. terfs think women are biologically incapable of having body hair. some terfs have even ganged up on jkr herself because they think her jawline is too masculine.

terfs are so misogynistic that they think women can only be real women if they fit into a perfect little made up box.

out of all great apes, humans have some of the least sexual dimorphism. you cant automatically tell if someone is trans.

terfism is self destructive. its killing feminism. its misogynistic. its transphobic. if you pay attention its also racist and antisemitic.

yeah, terfs go after women of colour and women with big noses and say they arent actually women because they have features that arent white.

newsflash, not all races have the same features. what might be considered masculine features in white people might not be that masculine for people of colour.

humans are a variable species. there is no singular "masculine" or "feminine" face.

im a trans man and ive met cis men with more stereotypically feminine features than me, and cis women with more stereotypically masculine features than me.

humans evolved to have facial variation so we could recognise individuals easier. not so we could fight over whether humans should have variations.

im not even on testosterone yet and i have chest hair. its normal. cant you see the beauty of the human form? we share so much DNA and we all look so different.

terfs think women cant be women if they are gendering wrong, just how patriarchy does.

patriarchy also thinks men cant be men if they gender wrong.

patriarchy and terfism both believe that people are lying about themselves if they dont conform.

patriarchy is forced conformity.

and its whats killing the queer kids.

hating men is not a cure for misogyny.

[fencesandfrogs]

three letter words

my cousin tells me, "if i use gay as an insult, it's not because i hate gay people. it's just what i do." i can't remember what prompted him to tell me that, but for the rest of my life, it's the first time i'll remember someone using the word gay.

my mother tells me, "queer is an slur." i have been calling myself queer for three years already. the best word i have to describe myself, and she wants to take it from me, as if it could be replaced so simply with words i already know are insulting.

my friends tell me, "if gay isn't an insult, why are you upset when we call people gay?" and i fumble to explain that i know they mean it to be insulting, but we're in middle school and no one teaches middle schoolers how to explain this sort of thing.

i scream, "climb the fence, maggots," and one of the same friends tells me, "don't say that, it sounds like faggots," and i'm so upset that she thinks i'd use that word that i forget she had just called the other team gay.

my mother tells me, "there were no aids protests in the eighties." i show her the pictures. i don't say that i knew about this when i was ten. i don't say that there's a book on my shelf about a girl with hiv, and i wonder if it would still be considered YA if she were gay.

my father tells me, "i guess i should stop making lesbian jokes around you." i respond with something trivial. i'm at the age where labels so much and it's only the way i look at my best friend that i know there's something odd inside me. what he calls me doesn't matter.

my boyfriend tells me, "i haven't met your father." like everyone i date, he never will, but this is a matter of both of our safety. it's one thing to be a lesbian: it's another to be a gay man. it doesn't matter that i'm neither; what matters is the words people see.

green day says, "maybe i'm the faggot america." my cousin and father both have endorsed this song and eventually i hear it enough i stop flinching. i hold hands with boys and think about kissing them and know one day i will have to assign a word to myself.

my college friends call people "fruity" and are surprised when i'm upset. i wonder what history we share. they flop their wrists at me and i don't understand it. i have already crawled out of high school with my soul bared to everyone i knew. all i can hear from them is mockery.

here is something my mother will never understand: no word is safe. so what if i'm a fag? that word has never been apologized for in my presence. why can't i be a dyke? didn't i already pay the cost of being one?

[omegawizardposting]

Reclamation as a form of rebellion has always been difficult for me to wrap my head around, because even if I call myself queer, I can still be beaten to death while being called queer. Bigots don't care. It doesn't bother them at all that I call myself a tranny faggot. They'll still use those words as weapons to murder me with.

Maybe this worked on folks who were on the fence, but people deep enough in their bigotry will never give these words up.

So that's why reclamation is personal in my eyes. It's about finding the words that resonate with you, not taking them away from bigots. You can't take them away from bigots. It doesn't work. Queer is still the go-to slur where I live. Its wide reclamation did nothing down here. I've never once heard my parents call anyone a tranny or a fag, but they'll call anyone and everyone who breaks the mold a queer. Not even its corporatization has stopped bigots from wielding it as a bludgeon.

I call myself a tranny faggot not because I think bigots will cower in fear, but because those words make me happy--and at least on the Internet, where I can't be beaten to death, they might occasionally shut a bigot up.

It makes me wonder about other places, these liberal paradises queer folks seem to be living in where reclamation can silence all hate. Maybe it's different in Portland or Seattle. Maybe saying, "I'm queer," protects you. Maybe it makes bigots scream and wail and fall to their knees.

It ain't like that where I live, though. I can say, "I'm queer," and they'll say, "Okay, queer," as they kill me. They don't care. It's still their word to them, and it's still just as deadly as ever.

[springboggle]

so basically u believe lesbians cant be fags because fag means "mlm" but it literally doesnt. give me one source where that is said

Nah nigga miss me with this discourse 😭😭😭 do what you want forever I'm not your mommy or daddy, and as a bisexual person the last thing I want to do is impose like. Rules onto other people. I don't care. I'm secure enough in my sexuality that someone using Special Words "wrong" means nothing to me.

However, what I am saying (assuming this is about my tags on the "fagdyke as an identity has morphed into a sign of being homophobic/transmisogynistic rather than just another way of being") is that there are a lot of people who are fagdykes on this site but seem to kiss the memo on uh...what a faggot is. Yes, lesbians, and bi women as well, can be faggots-ask any transfem/transmasc person who are part time dudes/women or identify as men and women...ask ME, if you want. But its really weird to see people identify this way piss and shit and moan about gay men+gnc men+trans women+really any amab/masc/transfeminine queer sexuality or just not participate in faggotry at all yet call themselves this.

I guess my point, and many people's point is that why identify this way if you have no cocksucker tendencies+you can't be normal about other cocksuckers/people who identify with being a faggot, which is half the label. It's very tiresome trying to meet others like you and they're a masc/butch woman that thinks fagdyke is a variant of butchness where you win lesbianism but now you call yourself a new word when it's more about (in MY OPINION-everyone sees it differently) identifying with both gay men and women in some way and expressing yourself in that way, hence the mishmash of slurs. The last thing people need is trying to find others like them just to be hit with the "I hate faggots they're all predators and oppress me and make me and my wombyn sisters feel unsafe" beam when visiting a so-called fagdyke's blog.

If anything, I'd rather get an ask explaining that than an ask accusing me of being a gatekeeper. Do what you want forever. What I want to know is what the appeal of this label is to people that have all dyke no fag in them AND disgust for faggy people and trans women. Like why do this. Lol

[spacelazarwolf]

This dyke-discourse reminded me of the fact that some people would gladly say I can't reclaim the word "faggot" because I'm not a cis gay man. Sorry? I got called a fag and had to deal with the fear of being around hateful assholes, I'm reclaiming the word that was used against me.

i feel like a lot of people see reclaiming slurs as a status symbol within the queer community, which is like. entirely not the purpose of reclaiming slurs. the purpose is exactly what you said, taking back a word that has been used against you.

[ylsterman]

I don't know how it will be taken and I don't usually talk about this, but it is so damn frustrating that in the same gay community (I'm not saying all of them) feminization in passive men is ridiculously fetishized. I REALLY hate when they says "fags aren't men, fags are just holes, male isn't man" or something like that shit. It's okay if you want to call yourself a "girl/fag/wife/etc.", it's okay if you want to have a "heterocoded relationship," but saying that ALL bottom men aren't men, they're women is so disconcerting to me. Not all bottoms/gay men are comfortable using those terms.

And straight men (and especially porn) don't help either. This stupid "alpha male" culture (which I read in a tweet was debunked by the "creator" himself) is so ridiculous.

It's like, creating more insecurities in young boys who are being bullied just for being gay, sometimes they don't even have to be effeminate to be.

So there you have them, doubting whether they are "men" or not. And (sorry if that sounds transphobic, I swear that's not my intention), no, hey, bro, calm down:

You can be a man and not have a beard.

You can be a man and not have chest hair or muscles.

You CAN be effeminate AND be a man too.

Stereotypes don't have to define you.

Cry if you want, allow yourself to be emotional and whatnot without the fear of being called a "girl/faggot."

You are a man too.

Don't let any "alpha male" or "gay-who-calls-his-girl-but-isn't-trans" make you doubt that.

Anyway. I really had to vent about this shit.

[jadedgabe]

The first time they have sex, Steve cries. Billy tries to comfort him, but Steve shrugs him off almost violently, asks him to leave before Billy can even get his pants back on. He goes, and doesn't hear from Steve for weeks.

The next time they talk, Steve totally blanks him. Acts like it never happened, like they were nothing. Like it meant nothing. Except, he just had to throw in a little dig at Billy's expense, like he was the stupid one for getting his hopes up.

Billy was used to it, 'straight' guys were all the same. It hurt worse this time, though, because it was Steve.

Billy cuts his losses the same as he always does. Avoids Steve as best he can, but it's hard to ignore the looks. When he thinks billy isn't paying attention, Steve can't stop staring at him with stupid sad eyes. Too fucking bad.

"I'm not some fag," Steve has told him once. Billy hadn't believed him then and didn't now, but Billy was and he was sick of Steve acting like he was the one hurt by all of this.

It went on until summer, until one day Steve shows up at the pool like he was under duress. Billy gave him a taste of his own medicine, pretended he wasn't there. Steve just ambushed him in the parking lot.

"Billy,"

"Nothing to say to you, Harrington." Steve deflated. Asked if he'd ever earn back the right to a first name basis. Billy said he might be grovelling for the rest of his miserable life.

"Ok, grovelling. Got it. I can grovel."

"Man, I don't actually need you to fucking grovel. I need you to admit to yourself that you're a fucking faggot."

"I- Billy, I'm not..."

"Not what, Harrington, I'm all ears. Not queer? Felt pretty queer when you were balls deep in my asshole, somehow."

Steve had that same look in his eye like he had that night, like he was all messed up inside.

"I know. I'm sorry. I don't get me, either. Just missed you, I guess."

"I can't be pals with you, man. Either you're all in or I'm out." Steve just nodded. Wouldn't meet Billy's eyes. OK, if that's how things were gonna be, fine by Billy. He tried to get into his car but Steve grabbed his wrist. Billy hated himself for wanting the touch.

"You're too good for me, Billy." He knew. "I'm not used to all this faggy shit. I'm going to fuck up. I'm going to be shitty. I'm selfish, though. I don't want to never see you again."

Billy took a deep breath. His instincts were screaming at him to run. Steve really fucking hurt him before, was admitting he would again. But Billy wanted to be selfish, too. Wanted to keep something for himself even if it would only ever hurt.

"First of all, you gotta stop saying 'faggy shit' until you can actually call yourself a faggot without having an aneurism."

Steve looked like he was a sad puppy who had just narrowly avoided being kicked.

"OK, yeah, I can probably manage that."

It wasn't really good enough for Billy, but it was a start.