#bless these fags

[iforgottoavoidthenoid]

i am back to drawing noid yaoi......

[yourfavesaysfag]

Mayor Evermore from spooky month says fag. He can reclaim it but he's not. He's using it as a slur/j

Narciso G. Evermore aka Mayor Evermore from Spooky Month says fag!

[shadowsbrainrot]

im abt to be problematic on the internet but

i fucking love calling dean winchester a faggot

[barbedwirechain]

hi!!! I've been questioning some uncertainty in my identity and you were the first person on t I saw when I looked into the "butch fag" tag, I'm really curious about what it means to be butch and on testosterone, or being butch and navigating the world passing almost as a cis man? for lack of better terminology, sorry if it's not right.

I've been out as trans since I was a kid (almost 22 now.) and I've always went back and forth on my identity bc I don't relate with other trans men or cis men in general but I knew transitioning was what's right for me. detransition doesn't feel correct at all, I'm so happy being on testosterone. im uncertain in my sexuality but have always found comfort with lesbians and butches, and I've always felt the explanation of butch dysphoria sounded more clear to me than wanting to wake up with the body of a cis man. what I mean is I think I'm a butch fag but I don't know what that means, I don't know how or if I'm ready to come out with that. I'm afraid of my future with dating or navigating queer spaces if I claim to be butch or lesbian aligned while still presenting full beard and no desire to change that.

I don't know how to navigate exploring this at all, especially because lesbian spaces online kind of scare me since its so easy to end up following terfs if you don't know what to look for. I don't want to be harassed or make anyone else uncomfortable with my presence. I want to connect with other butches on T. do you know of anything I could do to reach this kind of understanding?

i’ll say if you already see uh butch fag in yourself or find whatever it is in me, in you you’ve already started to reach that understanding. exploring online spaces where you have unprecedented access to people with these more “complicated” identities (more accurately—identities that are generally less referenced than others or not recognized outside of the community for better and for worse) and hanging out in adult oriented city spaces helped extend my understanding of myself as butch.

the longer i understand myself as trans the more i’m comfortable frankensteining my identity (for uh lack of uh better term). i say this to explain why i call myself the most appropriate word for me “dykefag” but butch fag… or faggot butch (on T or not) has uh community precedent. there’s articles and quotes of people saying that term or uh form of it and they’re also transsexual and/or lesbian, although this was something i found only after seeing myself in the phrase.

i understood myself as uh dyke for most of my life and uh lesbian as the most neat version of my sexuality; dyke is something i’ve reclaimed being called that as uh child and call/ed myself that for over ten years now (aside from uh brief period of bisexuality). after being on T though for almost two years i noticed people are less likely to see me as uh dyke so that word begins to feel more personal and intimate for me. but butch?

butch is always exactly right. its not something i reclaimed or have complicated relationship to, i just am.

i am and i mean it with no irony or “meh”-ness; i am butch and i think i’ll die butch.

uh good two years after beginning to call myself butch and right after starting T I leaned into my lifelong attraction to butches, already holding an interest in “‘queer’ masculinities” via research in college. eventually i realized i wanted to be that. i wanted to be masculine ina way that never didnt hold uh layer of unspoken queerness. even in my current “mostly cis-man passing” form (i don’t take it as an insult, i present more masculine than androgynous like i used to for comfort and safety) i’m always butch. most people assume ima cis gay man or uh very hairy bulldyke and at some point i was like… these lines are so easily blurred because of how i decide to embody butchness, on purpose, and (what’s read as) faggotry through my attraction to other butch and queer masc people. i experienced the difference between dyke and fag fade away and began to tag my shit with dyke fag and butch fag to be in the same spaces as other gay trans people who had this line also fade away.

maintaining my attachment to being butch and loving butchness led me to follow “butch4butch” pages and explore butch4butch tags and see myself as a butch4butch gay more and more solidly. and the more i searched for butch4butch, the more i came across trans fags and nonbinary butch lesbians (and both!!). similar to going on tumblr in 2011 and finding out there were people who didn’t believe in the christian god, lex and tumblr specifically led me to uh set of trans people who embodied this faggot butchness, whether dyke (lesbian) or faggot (gay boy) identifying— not to mention all the gay boy dykes and the fagboy trannies. i found/find myself relating to their appreciation of masculinity and consideration of transness and gender noncomformity more than any other space, including ones that are for lesbians which, in my honest opinion, always end up catering to terf-bubbles or narcissist echo chambers that define themselves through gender essentialist ideas about masculinity/men of which i no longer see any viability in.

inside, exploring tags online or apps for Gay people who do Gay shit and have Sexy and Fucked up understandings of gender can help you understand yourself further by identifying and also dis-identifying with others without having to “conflict”. outside?… i rarely explain what i am. and for better or worse, i don’t try to. i let people think i’m whatever they think unless someone directly asks or when cis men try to approach me and to conceal my agab and also deny them i kinda just straight up lie and play cishet man. i recognize we exist under 20 million ___ or ___ binaries, both imaginary and tangible, new and old, outside and inside—shit even nonbinary and binary began to feel like another binary to me recently and the only thing that alleviates that is 1) going through butch(4butch) tags and seeing cis, trans, and who knows butches loving each other in coexisting without pretending they’re at war and 2) being in community with other dykesfags, or fagdykes, and butch faggots irl. and like, lesbians in person are also jus way more awesome. *whispers* like most people. i understand this is, unfortunately, only as easy as your access, space, transportation, and work and personal life allows. most of my adult queer experience is in non-sober spaces ina city that i lived around or in and that can't be disregarded or forgotten.

to wrap this up, i didnt look for em (us haha) til i felt i was one of them but We’re Everywhere. not uh majority but uh presence, and that’s enough. and if i’m being honest even if i never found any of these people, i felt so intensely about being uh butch faggot and uh dykefag i saw myself simply going with it—but going with it with the knowledge that it’s near impossible to make anything up at this point. someone has almost surely shared the idea or identity regardless of if they publicized it or let it be archived. and even as much of this response IS about that, i can’t overemphasize that even if it’s something you did made up, all alone, 200% you, the feeling is true, yea? the beauty of frankensteining your [trans] identity is seeing that you can kinda be whatever the shit you feel as long as it’s truly comfortable and honest to the time with reasonable respect to yourself and your community.

[planarbindings]

finally found my fucking classroom

[bibleofficial]

finally on the plane that was 10 mins delayed but honestly ??? this bitch is not leaving for the next 10-15 minutes 😭😭😭

[aeoris4lovers]

“i’m attracted to men, unfortunately”

well i just spent the last two hours watching the men of critical role play just dance on repeat and i for one have never felt more fortunate to be a man lover so jot that down

[iphisesque]

i think id like to work in the publishing industry

[appropriate-as-always]

loved that time a hot actor who looked like a high school crush of mine fully grabbed me by the hand during Sleep No More, lip-synced to a jazz standard, pulled me into a phone booth, closed the curtain, pulled up my mask, whispered sweet nothings in my ear, left, then killed a man and, fully nude, showered off the blood while I (and others) watched

truly a formative experience

[insectwmn]

never read the black butler manga but was curious to see what arc is gonna get adapted in the new season. was anyone gonna tell me that the weston college arc is like something out of a 70s BL manga or?

[samwisefamgee]

everyday I join lethal company lobby to Just Vibe and am sent Multiple Friend Request

[yourfavesaysfag]

larry from sally face says fag! (he starts in chapter one as a sixteen year old, but as chapters progress and time is skipped he gets older. by the end of chapter 4, he’s 23)

Larry Johnson from Sally Face says fag!

[korpseboy]

my idol ヽ(≧∀≦)ﾉ

[synchlora]

yo what r those gay vampire bitches doing over there

[gatheringbones]

[“Coming out was very lonely. I had very few friends. Most of the adult lesbians I knew were alcoholics, chronically unemployed, prone to violence, self-hating, apolitical, closeted, cliquish. Lesbians hated each other. If you found a lover you stopped going to the bar because you could not trust other lesbians; they would try to break up your relationship. My first woman lover went into the military, where she turned in other lesbians so she would not be exposed. One of my dyke friends got a job as a supervisor in a cabinet-making company and refused to hire lesbians because, she said, they were unreliable employees who were disliked by the other workers. The only thing that seemed worse to me than the apolitical lesbian community I came out in was the strangulation of pretending to be straight. I came out only because I could not go back; there was no place for me to stand in the het world. I was driven out.

Moving to San Francisco improved things somewhat. There was more public lesbian space there—six bars instead of one. But it did not alleviate the loathing with which my family viewed me. Nor was San Francisco in the early seventies any sort of gay utopia. We had no gay-rights law, queer bashing was a frequent event, and everyone had lost at least one job or been denied a place to live. It was a relief to be surrounded by other lesbian feminists, but only to a point. Bar dykes and feminists still had contempt for one another. Feminism rapidly became a way to reconstitute sexual prudery, to the point that it seemed to me that bar dykes were actually more accepting of and knowledgeable about the range of behavior that constituted lesbianism. In the bars or in the women’s movement, separatism was pretty much mandatory, if you didn’t want to get your ass kicked or be shunned. Separatism deteriorated into a rationalization for witch hunts in the lesbian community rather than a way for women to bond with one another and become more powerful activists. The lesbian community of that decade did terrible things to bi women, transgender people, butch/femme lesbians, bar dykes, dykes who were not antiporn, bisexual and lesbian sex workers, fag hags, and dykes who were perceived as being perverts rather than über-feminists. We were so guilty about being queer that only a rigid adherence to a puritanical party line could redeem us from the hateful stereotypes of mental illness and sexual debauchery.

What did I gain? I came a little closer to making my insides match my outsides, and that was no small blessing. The first time I met other dykes I recognized a part of myself in them, and knew I would have to let it out so I could see who I was. For a time, being a lesbian quieted my gender dysphoria because it made it possible for me to be a different kind of woman. That was an enormous relief.

For a long time, I hoped that by being strong, sexually adventurous, and sharpening my feminist consciousness, I could achieve a better fit between my body and the rest of me. Lesbianism was a platform from which I could develop a different sort of feminism, one that included a demand for sexual freedom and had room for women of all different erotic proclivities. I had a little good sex and discovered that I was not a cold person, I could love other people. It was as a lesbian that I began to find my voice as a writer, because in the early days of the women’s movement, we valued every woman’s experience. There was a powerful ethic around making it possible for every woman to speak out, to testify, to have her say. But there were always these other big pieces of my internal reality that lesbianism left no room for.

The first big piece of cognitive dissonance I had to deal with, in my second coming out, was S/M. I date my coming out as a leather dyke from two different decisions. One was a decision to write down one of my sexual fantasies, the short story that eventually became “Jessie.” At the time I wrote the rough draft of that story, I had never tied anybody up or done anything else kinky. I was terribly blocked as a writer. I kept beginning stories and poems that I would destroy. I have no idea if they were any good or not. My self-loathing was so intense, my inner critic so strong, that I could not evaluate my own work.

So I decided to write this one piece, under the condition that I never had to publish it or show it to another person. I just wanted to tell the truth about one thing. And I was badly in need of connecting with my own sexuality since I was in the middle of what would be a five-year relationship with a woman who insisted we be monogamous, but refused to have sex with me. So I wrote about dominance and submission, the things I fantasized about when I masturbated that upset me so much I became nauseated. Lightning did not strike. As I read and reread my own words, I thought some of them were beautiful. I dared show this story to a few other people. Some of them hated it. Some of them were titillated. Nobody had ever seen anything like it before. The story began to circulate in Xerox form, lesbian samizdat. I found the strength to defend my story when I was told it was unspeakable or wildly improbable.

In October of 1976, I attended a lesbian health conference in Los Angeles and went to a workshop there about S/M. In order to go to a workshop, you had to sign a registration sheet. I was harassed by dykes who were monitoring this space to see who dared sign up for that filthy workshop. On my way, I had to walk through a gauntlet of women who were booing and hissing, calling names, demanding that the workshop be canceled, threatening to storm the room and kick us all out of the conference. The body language and self-calming techniques I had learned when I had to deal with antigay harassment on the street came in very handy, but how odd it was to be using those defenses against the antagonism of other dykes. Their hatred felt like my mother’s hatred. I am so glad I did not let it stop me.

When I got home from that workshop, I knew that I was not the only one. Not only were there other lesbians who fantasized about sadomasochism, there were women who had done these things with each other. I decided to come out again. If there were other leather dykes in San Francisco, they had to be able to find me, so I had to make myself visible. This meant that I often did not get service at lesbian bars, or I was asked to leave women-only clubs and restaurants. I was called names, threatened, spit at. I got hate mail and crank calls. But I also found my tribe. And because I had already experienced my first coming out, I knew we were not going to be an ideal, happy family. I could be more patient with our dysfunctions, and see them as the result of being scared, marginalized, kicked around. Being a leather dyke took me another step closer to dealing with my gender issues. I could experiment with extreme femme and extreme butch drag; take on a male persona during sex play. I gave up separatism because I needed to take support from any place where it was available. Gay men already had a thriving leather culture, and I wanted to learn from them. I also wanted to have sex with them. It still wasn’t okay as far as lesbian feminism was concerned to be bisexual, to be transgendered, but I could bring those folks into my life and make alliances with them. I could defend them in print. There was even more good sex, and people who loved me and received my love despite the fact that it was dangerous for us to show ourselves to one another. I faced my sexual shadow, and she bowed to me and then danced beautifully in profile against the white walls of my consciousness. My writer’s voice was unlocked.”]

pat califa, from layers of the onion, spokes of the wheel, from a woman like that: lesbian and bisexual writers tell their coming out stories, 2000

[bluerazberrysoda]

i went to barnes & noble a little while back and the only books i bought were:

the sun and the star

song of achilles

heaven's official blessing

and i think that was more openly gay of me than if i were to hold up a sign that said 'im a fag' with a big red arrow pointing downwards

the cashier also gave me the ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) look