#experience my gay rage over the biphobia

[steviewashere]

What's A Boy in Love Supposed To Do?

Rating: Teen and Up CW: Biphobia, Eddie Being Kind of an Asshole at First, Use of the Word Queer (But not as a Slur) Tags: Post-Canon, Angst, Hopeful Ending, Aware of Own Bisexuality Steve Harrington, Gay Eddie Munson, Angry Steve Harrington, Pre-Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson, Temporary Unrequited Love/Feeligns, Rejection, (But not completely because Eddie doesn't know how he feels yet), Steve Harrington Loves Eddie Munson, Confident Steve Harrington, Bitchy Steve Harrington, (And he deserves to be here), Eddie Munson Being an Idiot, Eddie Munson Figuring Things Out, Eddie Munson Has a Crush on Steve Harrington, (But He's Not in Love Yet), Mild Resolve, Dialogue Heavy, Author is Bisexual For @steddieangstyaugust Day 24 Prompt: "Go, see if I care." Title from "Oh l'amour" by Erasure

🏳️‍🌈—————🏳️‍🌈 “As flattered as I am, Steve, I don’t want to be somebody’s experiment.”

He blinks at Eddie. Rigid to the cushion he sits on. It’s an instantaneous reaction: the flush of his cheeks, the pull to his lips, the narrowing of his eyes. A rage, he doesn’t think he’s felt since Jonathan Byers and his camera, begins to fill him. Can feel it low in the pit of his stomach and pulsing in the center of his forehead.

The gall of this asshole, Steve thinks, I can’t believe this shit.

Steve clicks his tongue on the back of his teeth. “Excuse me?” he asks thinly, “what the hell are you talking about?” His hands lay on his knees and squeeze harshly, fingernails digging through the denim of his jeans.

Eddie’s mouth twists. A sharp breath shoots through his nose. He looks away from Steve’s face, shrugging. “I mean,” he says slowly, “I mean…you like girls, Steve. This could just be a fluke. Like a…like maybe you should put more thought into this.”

Can’t help himself, Steve scoffs loudly. “Genuinely, Eddie, what the fuck are you talking about? I come out to you, I tell you that I like you, and you—what—turn this around as if I’m stupid about my feelings?”

“I guess?” Eddie answers, honest in a way Steve thinks he shouldn’t be. “You’re just…you’re confused. You’ve got some wires crossed or something. Maybe it’s just because I share some features with Nancy. But you don’t like me, Steve. Not really.”

He’s honestly not sure how to respond to that. Part of him is wilted. Part of him is alive with fury and flames, with tension, and unease. This feeling through him is the thing he doesn’t know. Steve falls back into his seat on the sofa, arms crossed over his chest, and avoiding all of Eddie he’d be able to see.

“Can’t believe this,” Steve mutters, “can’t believe you’re treating me like this, too. Why does everybody think that.”

“What do you”—

“I’ve been to queer bars, y’know,” he explains bitterly, “been in there searching for people who catch my eye. Because, get this if you can, I’m not a picky person.” Steve glares daggers at Eddie. “Because, and if you can believe me on this, I know what I want. Surprising, I know. But you wouldn’t know that because you treat me like everybody does—like I’m some brainless fucking low-life who only knows how to use his dick and bat his eyes.

“I go out and tell these people at the bars that I’m bisexual. That I’m into guys, that I’m into girls. Tell ‘em that, yeah, I only have experience getting in bed with a girl. But it’s not like I’m not interested in that aspect with guys, too—I just haven’t had the chance, you understand me on that, I’m sure.” And that maybe hits a little too hard; knowing that Eddie’s gay and that his experience with sex is very limited. He continues, though, “Yet, as soon as I try and explain myself, I get pushed away. I get looked at all weird. One time, a guy told me I wasn’t queer enough to be with him. Like…what the fuck does that even mean?”

“Steve, I”—

He points a finger in Eddie’s face, hand shaking and palm sweating. “Don’t interrupt me. You came out to me and I listened all the way through; you get to hear me out, too.” Steve huffs. Draws his hand back towards his lap, immediately going to his habit of picking at his fingers. Trying to allocate the nerves he has, the ones that were so intense a few moments ago. “How queer do I have to be to want to kiss a guy?” he speaks rhetorically and quietly, “how queer do I have to be to appreciate the way they smile at me? Or…or how queer do I have to be to want to hold your hand, Eddie? Seriously. What’s it gonna take? Is it ‘experimenting’ if I know that I want it? Is it ‘experimenting’ if I know how much I already love you?

“Because I do, if you can believe that. I fell in love with you before I really had the words. And I fell in love with you before I came to the realization that I like guys, too. But I know my own feelings. I’ve been in love before, I think I can understand that part of me.” He looks down at his hands in his lap, eyes burning, throat stinging, and face flushing hot. “I wish I didn’t have to explain something I already know. But I guess I will for however long people question the authenticity of my sexuality. Including you, I guess.”

The room fills with tense silence after that. Air so hot and so thick, he can feel it heavy on his shoulders, weighing him further and further, and making him sink deep into the cushion underneath him.

Sure, this isn’t the first time he’s been rejected. Nancy did. Robin did. Now Eddie is. He’s been rejected by guys at the bars and clubs. Maybe he doesn’t have the whole knowledge or ‘etiquette’ to this yet, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to learn. He wants to call a guy his baby, hook his finger into their belt loop, drag them into a dark corner and kiss them soundly and breathlessly. Wants to take a guy home at the end of the night and hold his hand as they figure out each other’s bodies. Kiss him in the morning, if the guy sticks around. Wants to relish in the scratch of facial hair on his sensitive skin.

He could see himself with men, that’s the thing. He knows that in his fantasies—whether it be imagining himself with the men in the centerfolds of gay magazines, or the daydreams of being in love with Freddie Mercury—that he’s completely comfortable with the thought of being with a man. Loves the thought of it so much, that he finally realized he wanted that with Eddie especially. Because a night-in with Eddie, watching a movie, arm around his back, cushioning his cheek on Eddie’s shoulder, kissing each other slow and soft—all of that sounds like heaven, a dream that could animate and he could make real.

On the couch, distance between them, Steve’s never felt so far away from a dream of his. Even that initial daydream with Nancy sounds more probable than falling in love with Eddie slowly and surely. He sort of, really, hates that.

“Steve,” Eddie breathes. “I don’t know what to say.”

An apology might be nice, Steve sourly thinks. He just shrugs, though. “I don’t know what I want you to say, so,” he states quietly.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Eddie give one sharp nod. “This is…a lot to take in. I should just leave.”

Of course. Run away, Eds. Run away like you always do. “Go. See if I care,” Steve murmurs. Face at his lap still, tears ready to spill down his cheeks. A part of him thinks that he’ll never see Eddie again. He doesn’t want that. But maybe…maybe it’s for the best? It’s the one thing he doesn’t know.

Eddie stands up, walks towards the door, but stops in the doorway to the living room. He raps his knuckles on the doorframe. Steve can’t help but look up. “I accept you,” Eddie says quietly, “even if it’s too easy to say or too easy to hear, but I do. Just let me have a little bit of time to think about your confession, Steve. I think I feel the same, but I want to be confident like you. I don’t want to hurt you again.”

He inhales slowly and lets out a soft breath through his mouth. Steve wants a better apology, but one thing at a time, he supposes. It was hard when he figured things out for himself; it’s harder to hold a grudge against somebody doing the exact same thing. “If you find out you feel the same,” Steve says hopefully, “can we hold hands?”

“Stevie, when I’m confident about how I feel, we can do whatever you want. I’ll be back, I promise. I’ll have better words and a better apology, too.” He lets go of the doorframe, where he rested his hand after knocking on it. But before he can leave, he looks Steve directly in the eyes. Says, “And there’s no such thing as ‘queer enough’. You’re perfect as-is, Steve. I’m just stupid. And those other guys are complete assholes for not even attempting to get their heads out of their asses and go out with you.

“You deserve the world. And I want to give that to you.”

“Let’s cool off first.”

Eddie nods again, smiles small, and Steve returns it. “Yeah, we should do that,” he whispers. Lets out a deep sigh. Softly, “Take care of yourself tonight, okay? I’m sorry for…I’m sorry for being an ignorant pile of shit. I’m gonna do better, no matter how long it takes to prove myself to you.”

After that, Eddie lets himself out. And Steve lets him leave, doesn’t chase after him, even when every part of him panics about letting Eddie get away. But this is for the better, he thinks. Knows that not everything works itself better overnight. It’s a start, though. Not a satisfying one, but it’s the beginning of something.

🏳️‍🌈—————🏳️‍🌈

[gatheringbones]

[“Before I was a year old, I became aware of my body, my thoughts, my emotions, and my surroundings- during the first of many child- battering episodes. I don't know if this has anything to do with my being into S/M, though I could easily devise a theory that would make sense. I won't, because I've never cared why, any more than I've ever cared why I'm gay. I simply am: an S/M dyke of color and enjoying it, whenever and wherever and with whomever I can- and I don't want to be" cured."

I've purposely arranged my identifying tags (“S/M dyke of color") in the order of their significance for me. Sadomasochism has been the lifelong theme running through my erotic fantasies; even my wet dreams are mostly spanking dreams. When puberty hit me at nine (yes, honey, that's when my periods started), my hormones began to rage, usually but not always pointing clearly in the direction of certain other females. Somewhere along the line Mom explained to me that we were" colored" (that was fifties lingo, I'm forty now), and she gently disclosed the historical reasons why that made a difference in our lives. Then she taught me to read books— and television filled me in on the rest.

What I have to say here will be about my sadomasochistic soul. Whatever other things I happen to be, I intend to mention only where they become pertinent, because ul- timately they do mesh, to make me who I am. My focus will be on how S/M is necessary for my soul. The expression of my true sexuality is a deeply spiritual experience for me.

Leathersexuality comes of age

Having grown up in an increasingly violent world and survived it, I am dismayed at how in the 1990s our society is regressing to its earlier repressive ways. I am also angered, and anger, carefully channeled, can be a great motivator. Instead of using violence to expel energy the way I did in my younger days, I choose S/M as the vehicle for expressing the emotions that threaten to overwhelm me.

When engaging in S/M play I am free to feel all my feelings, and thereby be a whole and integrated person. For that moment, the world makes sense to me. To me, S/M is a point of sanity that serves as a formidable buffer against the insanity I see all around me on a daily basis. I don't even have to play often, to have lasting effects, because a little goes a very long way. And the best part is that S/M has all the passion, drama, and emotion that is lacking for me in vanilla sex. In the evolution of sexuality as I see it, leatherpeople are the next generation.

the importance of being out

Being black plays a significant part in my sexuality. Up to now, almost all of my lovers have been white. This is because I am strongly attracted to contrasts: black, white; butch. femme; tall, short; top, bottom. To me this is all very erotic. As for S/ M being politically incorrect, especially for me as a black woman who plays with white tops (occasionally a white male top), people say that because of history I shouldn't being enjoying this, let alone wanting it.

Frankly, it surprised me to find that some white leather- dykes didn't want to play with me unless they were bottoming for me. For some reason (my naiveté, I suppose), I had reasoned that S/ M people were above all kinds of prejudices. and certainly all sexual hang-ups and taboos. I know that by becoming a part of the leather community I have been able to get over major issues such as my biphobia (fear of bisexuality) and my heterophobia. The S/ M scene is the perfect arena in which to confront one's fears of crossing the color line or breaking the most rigid of taboos. One thing's for sure: You will find support, and with diligence and luck, partners to play out your scenario, if you need them. At least you'll find people who won't ridicule you for being weird, even if you are instead, they'll applaud you, because you are a kindred soul. I become ab- solutely ecstatic at the sight of fellow black leatherwomen and leathermen out in the S/M community. So whenever a white butch is “worried" about topping me and isn't sure if she can hit me because she doesn't want to “hurt" me, I hasten to calm her fears and convince her just how badly I would like her to hurt me and she immediately gets over it.

If someone desires a scenario such as plantation slave and master, or cowboy and Indian, as long as it is mutual and done in a loving spirit, that's all that matters and all I care about. When healing happens in an S/M relationship, that's great. I know that it does, because of the emotional, spiritual, and physiological benefits I get from it. Now that I get to do real S/M, I no longer use historical fantasies- although they were a handy tool to get me off when I was still trying to “convert" my vanilla lovers. I like being in the new gay nineties, and with the right partner there is no need for me to fantasize at all- that's how good it is sometimes.

I need to have people in my life who understand me. It is not enough that they merely tolerate me. They must love me for who I am, not in spite of who I am. We are only here in this life for so long, and I intend to make the trip worth it. My life is an adventure, to be enjoyed and shared. When people start telling me they can't share my joy because they have" issues" with what I do, I have to get away from them— fast. (Such people have no sense of humor and are no fun anyway.)

I equate this kind of intolerance with homophobia and racism: If I'm around it long enough, it can become internal ized within my psyche. I grew up being exposed to the attitude that black people were inferior to everybody else on the planet— except for gay people, who were the lowest of the low, and who are still ostracized in the black community. I do not need to listen to that nonsense today.

Ties that bind

In many ways, sadomasochism has contributed to my mental and emotional health. Even though S/ M relationships I can have their share of problems, there are sane, creative, and even fun ways for the partners to resolve them. I remem- ber when a lover broke off our sexual relationship and she I came by to drop off the heavy wooden paddle I had been keeping at her place. As I was too angry for words, my tall, good- looking ex invited herself in. “You know, Tina, I've been thinking," she said as I reached to take back the paddle." I realize that I've been much too easy on you." With that said, she ordered me to strip and bend over on the bed, ass up. Hesitating just long enough to shake off the shock, I quickly obeyed. Then she proceeded to whale all the rebelliousness out of me, relentlessly.

By the time my punishment was over, I was crying tears of gratitude and forgiveness. She held me, tenderly, and told me what a good girl I was. When she left I was on an orgasmic high that lasted for weeks. The bond we share today is a special one that keeps our friendship intact.

S/ M enables me to confront the world and people I have to interact with in extraordinary ways. By releasing a great deal of the tension and stress I've carried within me my entire life I gain energy, and I feel empowered to say no to unacceptable behavior. I don't let anyone get away with abusing me any more. S/ M has provided me with the ultimate assertiveness training, not to be found anyplace else. I have gotten better at distinguishing who I can and cannot trust, so I make saner choices in all my relationships.

The power of role-playing

Role-playing is essential for me; but it doesn't work unless it comes naturally. I am a bottom. I have tried topping, but it simply is not me. Still, I can be butch, as long as I'm not doing S/ M. Actually, in my everyday life I do dress and act in an aggressive manner for a couple of reasons: I enjoy it when I'm in that mood, and as a woman it's a safer way for me to be out on the streets, especially late at night.

I'd also like to be able to say that I am exclusively into S/ M sex, but there is a shortage of suitable tops. So, from time to time I take what I call “vanilla vacations." (Incidentally, very often during vanilla sex the boy in me ironically comes out and I like to get on top.) I can and sometimes do enjoy sex just for the sake of sex. It has its merits, which are and is my favorite form of adult play with people I am attracted to. Some of the best sex I've had in my life has been the casual one-night stand with a sexy stranger I just met. But with S/ M sex, it's not that easy for me to be casual, because the experience is so deeply emotional.

For instance, after a couple of recent traumatic breakups with vanilla girls, then no sex at all for eight months (I define sex as with a partner or partners, otherwise to me it doesn't count), boredom was starting to set in. I was ready to check out the leather scene again. I had been hearing talk of some women-only dungeon parties in town and, never having seen a real dungeon before, I was curious. To be truthful, I didn't expect that much new action, Boston being such a small city, with a tiny women's leather community. Without even dressing for the affair, I halfheartedly went.

I wasn't there long at all before I made eye contact and exchanged smiles with a sexy-looking butch all leathered up and exactly my type. Because I wasn't wearing the usual femme garb I reserve for S/M play, I felt out of character. And it didn't help that my one object of desire was rubbernecking at every obvious femme in the place.

Finally after following her around for half the night making small talk, I decided to try the direct approach. First, I asked if she were a top, just to make sure something I learned from past mistakes. (Before I was introduced to the S/M scene, I thought all tops were butches and all bottoms were femmes.) After I got the answer I wanted, I said: “I'm a bottom, if you wanna play." Well, that did it.

Several of my major fantasies were fulfilled for the first time that night by my hot leather lover. I had always wanted to be taken by a total stranger in some dimly lit spot. My first surprise was the black rubber dildo that my head was being forced down on. Never before had I so enjoyed sucking anyone's cock. Later I was getting fucked by this stud in the black leather jacket who fucked just like a man. As a matter of fact. it felt like I was being fucked by a man, except that this was the first time my cunt had ever responded, which amazed me. It was the most pleasurable orgasm I have ever had, before or since. I was impressed- and hooked.

The transformation that comes over me in femme bottom space is so gratifying, and so emotionally freeing. And with the vulnerable the way I want to- in other words, I get hot. It is right top, as on that night, I feel safe enough to be sexually usually the butch dyke top who brings out the submissive femme in me; that's the type I respond to most strongly. I love my sexual alter ego. She has a lot of fun.

getting there, getting real

My S/ M needs, though vitally important, are not that complicated especially since, as a submissive, my greatest need is to please my top. A great scene can bring my hottest fantasy to life. The very shape of my consciousness changes, and all negative thoughts are driven away. Afterwards, I always feel awesomely peaceful and relaxed, loved and lovable. No other high can match or surpass it. It makes me feel so totally alive, and all there- as opposed to numb. Life can be such a pain at times, that I cannot afford to stay in this particular reality for too long. In an S/M scene, I know that I am safe from harm while being carried off to a different dimension- and when I get there, I get real.

In these days when society's progress is seeming to go backward, threatening to drive people back into their closets, it is more vital than ever that we come out all the way, and be real. In S/M you cannot get away from yourself, you have to be totally you. I see the extreme of S/M self- expression as the ultimate act of defiance in a world where we are told that our natural sexual desires are sick and evil.

S/M is a gift that has allowed me to deal with a lot of my hurt and pain of the past, accompanied by guilt and shame that was not mine. Today I hold my head up and join my leathersisters and leatherbrothers in the streets, as we come out and claim ourselves completely, and with pride.”]

[“Tina Portillo is a forty-year-old black writer whose S/M short stories have appeared in Bad Attitude magazine and the journal Outrageous Women. Portillo has also written the in- troduction to Testimonies: A Collection of Lesbian Coming Out Stories, and most recently edited Dykescapes: Short Fiction by Lesbians (Alyson). One of her favorite traditions is to kick off the gay pride parade in Boston every year with the women's motorcycle club she belongs to.”]

tina portillo, I get real: celebrating my sadomasochistic soul, from leatherfolk: radical sex, people, politics and practice, edited by mark thompson, 1991

[ramblingsbyadork]

some siuan/moiraine shippers really be out here like “it’s homophobic to ship thom/moiraine or gareth/siuan” and then say shit like “it’s my headcanon that those relationships never happened and siuan and moiraine are lesbians” like that isn’t being biphobic at all.

and my personal favorite: “if you like them with each other and their respective male relationships that’s gross because ew dating men”

i’m sorry but are you dumb

please fuck off and let me enjoy things

[hematomes]

WHAT. THE. FUCK.

As a lesbian, I would like to speak on that bizarre rant if I may. This is gonna be long. CW for mention of s//icide.

Yaeyato shippers, or any m/f shippers for the most part don’t just ship m/f ships to be lesbophobic. Myself along with many other lesbians actually quite enjoy some of the m/f ships in Genshin, and were actually talked over—by non-lesbians—when we stood up for the m/f shippers being harassed.

It’s incredibly insulting to compare someone shipping two characters with undefined sexualities to ‘oppression’. The ship is legal, the characters don’t have canon sexualities. Oppression is not seeing a ship you don’t like.

It is not lesbian erasure if the character isn’t canonically a lesbian. Yes, it’s a popular head canon with Yae, but that’s all it is, a head canon.

The anon tried their best to brush over the fact that a lot of m/f shippers have been being harassed—“the w/w shippers who SENT THREATS ‘had good intentions’”. Take it from someone on Twitter, threats are the very least of what m/f shippers get. The yaeyato tag was spammed with irl gore, nsfw, and s//cide baits. A few artists had their art “fixed”, too. I’m not sure how sending death threats and spamming tags with gore can be counted as “good intentions.” I very much hope you don’t condone the harassment. I’m ashamed of every one of these freaks who thinks

How can straight people “take” the characters? Everyone can and does enjoy the characters in the way they like. Through shipping, whether it be gay or straight. Once again, NO ONE in Genshin has canon sexualities.

I guarantee the people who like Ittosara and Jeanluc purely to be lesbophobic are few and far between. They’re cute ships, just as cute as Jeanlisa or Sara x the shogun. Also Jeanluc is my jam, so fight me. I can’t speak on behalf of bi folks, but a close friend of mine who is bi loves IttoSara and went through hell for it, so I could be wrong but there seems to be a bit of biphobia in the mix as well from what she told me.

I’m getting tired of people comparing ships they don’t like to oppression.

The ‘representation’ caters to no one and everyone, since no one has defined sexualities.

“It’s stupid to compare death threats to oppression” no, it’s stupid to send gore and death threats to people over a ship. If you think someone shipping something that goes against your head canon is oppression, then you sure are privileged.

I apologize if this is aggressive, but that post made me SO FUCKIN MAD. I love representation as much as the next lesbian, but this ain’t it. Harassing, doxing, threatening, all because of a character who’s not even confirmed to be a lesbian?! I’ve seen the argument that Yae is based off of a lesbian honkai character, but this is a completely different game. Yae can be straight, lesbian, bi, pan, ace, as can all of the Genshin characters, because none of them have confirmed sexualities. People like this just make us look bad.

Yes there are some lesbophobes who ship m/f ships, absolutely. Some of the stuff I’ve seen is revolting. But honestly my heart goes out to anyone who experiences harassment over perfectly fine ships. I really don’t think it’s fair to say m/f ships exist to spite us lesbians or wlw shippers. From what I’ve seen yaeyato shippers and any ‘straight’ ships get a lot of hate, and comparing a freaking ship to oppression? Touch some grass, Anon. Bottom line, both wlw and m/f shippers are always getting harrassed by each other and I’m so fucking sick of it.

Ship IttoSara. Ship KokoSara. Ship JeanLisa. Ship Jeanluc. Ship Eimiko. Ship YaeYato. But FOR THE LOVE OF EVERYTHING UNDER THE FUCKIN SUN stop comparing harmless ships to the oppression we face. Trust me, we have much bigger issues to worry about than a ship not being gay.

Once again the rage is targeted at that freak who made the ask. I’m very thankful to you for being a good ally and refraining from speaking on our issues.

—🍓

i am simply gonna post this for exposure, im glad you took the time to write all of this /gen thank you very much

(edited bc i put the wrong tag like a dumb fuck)

[michael-drummey]

Achilles x Patroclus: Part 2, Harmful Stereotypes in Modern Media

**Since my last post on this blew up! Here is just a little more on the subject & some of the nonsense I have seen & experienced on said topic online & in other forms of media**

For anyone who needs proof that Achilles & Patroclus were always and originally presented as a gay couple in a committed relationship mapped out in The Iliad (see my original post here) SOME in our society (not those who are properly educated) like to project harmful & stereotypical LGBTQ+ tropes on Homer’s material & their representation in other forms of media that are still prevalent today such as:

 “Gay as not the Main Character” - The Iliad starts with the lines “RAGE: Sing, Goddess, Achilles’ rage,” so right at the start this Story we meet Achilles; obviously he is crucial in the story’s plot, yet even for his importance in this story it is not named for him, the focus is on Troy. Achilles is “Greatest of all the Greeks” but is remembered for all his bad qualities, while others like Agamemnon who is also deeply flawed or Odysseus, get the recognition of trying to reason with Achilles, and are seen as the more reasonable leaders set on winning the war. Achilles and Patroclus get reduced to just once aspect of the story, then once they are dead, we get The Odyssey and our new main boy Odysseus. The wily & super straight war hero trying to get home to his darling wife and son, which leads us to our next trope...

“Bury your Gays” - Achilles and Patroclus are obviously coded as homosexual even though the Ancient Greeks did not have a word to use for gay, but it is none the less glaringly obvious. Patroclus is killed by Hector when he rides into battle to help his fellow Greeks and retain Achilles’ Honor, thus setting in motion the events that will unleash Achilles’ Rage upon Hector and the Trojans. We also find out later in The Odyssey Achilles died when Odysseus meets him in The Underworld where he stands off with Patroclus so check check for both stories. This is a huge piece of Homer’s story, but so many times Patroclus is forsaken and treated as a plot point not as a character who’s fate changes the course of the story, they view him as a “gotta go” kind of sidekick to Achilles.

“Depraved Homosexual & Loose Bisexual” - Either perverse and/or murderous the “depraved homosexual” trope portrays the gay character as possessing all quirks and qualities one/society considers undesirable. Achilles is vengeful and refuses to fight when Agamemnon tarnishes his honor, then when Patroclus is killed Achilles is completely inconsolable, wishing to end his life, he weeps for days on end in bed with the body of Patroclus. When he unleashes that grief (The Rage of Achilles) he is reduced to a killing machine hellbent on nothing but avenging his beloved’s death, which eventually will lead to his own demise. He is rarely referred to as a 3-dimensional character with complex emotions from this point on. As one who has suffered in this war, lost his honor & lost the love of his life, which has caused all that is human in him to die as well; he succumbs to his pain. His wrath is what so many know him for even if they haven’t read the story, They just see him as a ferocious warrior, but so few know the full context behind his actions, or love to claim he did what he did because his “best friend” was killed. Some forms of media love to also portray them as bisexual, where we are given over the top sex scenes, and shown two men who are meant to be “less than” for their sexual freedom/lack of sexual morals. While it really has nothing to do with that and just creates more biphobia and erasure. We are never are shown them happily and honestly committed to each other, which leads us to our next stereotype.

“Everyone is Straight” - SOME Historians, Scholars, Writers, Movies love to predominately present characters as “all straight or only straight”. Since The Iliad was recorded people have been debating if Achilles & Patroclus were an item or not. Personally I think the evidence is overwhelming and plain as day, (you do not share a tent & bed with just your homie, Rage as Achilles did at Patroclus’ death, then keep his body in your bed yearning for his “μένος” (menos) aka manly vigor and semen, then get your ashes buried together in the same urn, just for someone to say “They were Best Friends Forever!” There is more than enough evidence to say Homer wrote them as gay, but some love to throw the “Briseis Argument” out there saying he intended to marry her, and she was his girl, ie. lots of gratuitous sex scenes to follow. If that were so, why does he only take her into his bed once at the end of Book 24? He had 10 years what was stopping him? And why did he wish her dead when he receives the body of Patroclus? Truthfully you would be sad your friend died, but at least its not your lover, right? Unless, wait what happened to Achilles when Patroclus died?... oh right, that’s the reaction of a man who has lost his best friend, lover, basically entire world, so “Bye Briseis!” you were a broken man’s booty call, time to move along. (Not that there is anything wrong with being a booty call, but in The Iliad that’s what Homer gave us to work with and this ones more directed at Hollywood and Straights™ who like to ignore all historical context.)

Now we know that these tropes did not exist when The Iliad was recorded, and Homer did not set out with the mind set “gotta kill these gays!” the word homosexual did not exist until 1869, it is not like being LGBTQ+ people just popped up then too. But viewing the story with some of these lens we can more clearly see these modern tropes and stereotypes 1. Can exist in pieces of art and literature despite the time the story was told. 2. Hurtful stereotypes affect the way people translate & view stories, peoples, cultures, etc. A prime example I still find it shocking when people say “weren’t they just cousins!?” (NO) 3. Not thinking critically and thoughtfully about such a piece, prevents others from truthful experiences, and devalues the meaning and emotion one gets from reading or telling such a story. 4. It is modern weaponizing & blatant erasure of those LGBTQ+ (fictional and non-fictional characters) that came before us to present a false narrative of heteronormativity. 

In the end, as I stated, Homer did not use these stereotypes, these stories would have been sung and told in a way that captivated its audience, which they obviously are still doing today. Homer is a phenomenal storyteller, truly a classic and one of the best, but some still feel the need to straightwash these characters. So next time someone tries to say Homer never wrote Achilles and Patroclus as gay lovers, there is no evidence in The Iliad to support it, and that we cannot look at them through a modern lens. Or call out others who choose to ignore history, facts, and context, you can say “You Can! and Yes, Achilles x Patroclus are 100% in a committed gay relationship!” 

[gay-jesus-probably]

Bisexuality didn't "feel right" as a label because you're biphobic and will do anything to distance yourself from bisexuality. Get well soon, the bi community will be here when you're ready.

Are you the raging homophobe anon back for round two or a new guy? ...It doesn’t really matter, you people are all the same.

If you are the same anon, then now I’m extra pissed off at you because do you have any idea how difficult it is to make fun of your messages? You’re making this really hard for me. First you send a five word ask declaring me a homophobe with no details, and it took a lot of thinking to come up with a vaguely funny response to such a lackluster prompt. You’re a really bad improv partner.

And now you send me this shit. Sorry everybody, no jokes today, now I’m actually just fucking furious.

Let me tell you a story, anon. When I was an innocent little twelve year old back in the far of reaches of 2011, I first discovered Tumblr, and soon enough I was learning about different genders and sexualities, and began exploring my own identity. As you already know since you’re sarcastically quoting me talking about my own fucking feelings, I’d been having a minor sexuality crisis for several years at that point, since gay, straight and bisexual were the only label I’d known before then, and none of them fit me. Despite me trying all of them. Multiple times. You condescending piece of shit.All this was resolved by me stumbling across a post defining pansexuality, and that being the first and only sexual identity that’s ever actually felt right for me. It clicked instantly, and has continued to be my sexuality for literally a decade now.

But back when I first started entering the queer community, pansexuality was actually pretty controversial. So was bisexuality. The two were just lumped together actually, because according to the exclusionists back then, bi/pan people are attracted to the opposite sex, and therefor are basically just straight. Actually they rarely cared enough to bother differentiating between bisexual and pansexual people, they just lumped us all in together as a bunch of heteros pretending to be gay for attention and oppressing the real gays. What a bunch of special fucking snowflakes, pretending to be gay for attention. So there I was, a twelve year old queer kid with a brand new identity, being welcomed by a bunch of exclusionists angrily yelling about how I was definitely just a hetero faking it for attention, and being pansexual was Wrong and Bad. But it was okay, because the exclusionists knew better than me. They knew how I really felt, and what my real identity was. They could fix me. I just had to agree with everything they said and become the person they decided I was supposed to be.

I didn’t do that.

Let’s jump forward a few years. I was older, and still perfectly confident in my identity as a pansexual. I hadn’t considered any other parts of my identity. Why would I? I just never really thought much about gender. Then shortly after my fourteenth birthday, I watched a short film online about a trans boy figuring out his identity and working up the courage to come out to his mother. I don’t remember what it was called or most of the details. All I remember was the last scene where the boy and his mother got into an argument about him not feminine enough, which ended with him screaming that he wasn’t a girl. And then I unexpectedly burst into tears because neither was I.

So that was a fun surprise. Once I pulled through that unexpected sobbing breakdown in the middle of the night and re-evaluated my entire life, I realized that yeah. I really wasn’t a girl. I wasn’t a boy either. Fortunately by then I knew that nonbinary people were a thing, so I had plenty of options. I spent awhile feeling things out and experimenting with different labels and pronouns before finally settling on agender and they/them pronouns. Which was great! I felt better than ever, and was confident that I had my identity down and everything would be fine. But everything was not fine. Because I’d been so happy about the biphobia dying down that I hadn’t quite noticed the exclusionists switching targets. Now the nonbinary people were lying. What a bunch of special fucking snowflakes, pretending to be queer for attention. The ones who wanted to medically transition were declared to actually be poor confused trans people who couldn’t get over their internalized transphobia to accept their True Identities. And the rest of us... well, we were just a bunch of cishet special snowflakes playing at being trans for attention, and oppressing the real trans people. I wasn’t agender. I was a cis girl making up fake identities for attention, and calling myself nonbinary was Wrong and Bad. But it was okay, because the exclusionists knew better than me. They knew how I really felt, and what my real identity was. They could fix me. I just had to agree with everything they said and become the person they decided I was supposed to be.

I didn’t do that.

Step forward a few more years, now to eighteen year old me. There’s no dramatic revelations or long struggles this time, just a slow realization. Because I’d been single for years, and I wasn’t bothered by that. I actually enjoyed it. Marriage didn’t sound very appealing. Neither did dating. I’d dated people before, but I wasn’t sure if I actually wanted to; it was just... the thing I was supposed to do. I found people attractive, sure. But I hadn’t wanted to flirt with anyone. Actually, now that I was thinking about it, had I ever felt romantically attracted to anyone? I didn’t even want romance in fiction! So I experimented. Went on some dates just in case age made it more appealing (it didn’t). Began calling myself aromantic, and was pleasantly surprised to find that the longer I used it, the better it felt. It was right.

But once again, the exclusionists were back and even angier than ever. Because now aphobia was in full swing. After all, asexuality wasn’t really queer. It’s just not having sex! It’s basically straight! What a bunch of special fucking snowflakes, pretending to be queer for attention. And the aromantics, oh the aromantics who weren’t asexual were even worse. Because everyone knows that love is what makes us human. How could someone not feel romance? Us aro people weren’t just lying about our identities, we were pretending to not have feelings so that we could get away with using people for sex without commitment. Being aro meant I was an abusive sex crazed monster taking advantage of all the poor innocent allo’s. I wasn’t aromantic. I was a sexual predator making up a fake identity to take advantage of people, and even though I wasn’t actually sleeping around calling myself aro was Bad and Wrong. But it was okay, because the exclusionists knew better than me. They knew how I really felt, and what my real identity was. They could fix me. I just had to agree with everything they said and become the person they decided I was supposed to be.

And I didn’t fucking do that.

Look. I’ve been here for a very long time, and I have dealt with so many versions of exclusionist bullshit. Every aspect of my identity has been met with random fucking strangers online smugly informing me that I was wrong about myself and they were right. And that’s just the ones that wanted me to pretend to be something else; about half of the exclusionists didn’t make any attempts at conversion therapy, and instead skipped straight to suicide baiting. I’m not even getting into the actual homophobes I’ve had to deal with, or the TERF’s that have come after me under the assumption that I’m a trans woman. My point is, I’m pretty fucking used to this sort of thing.

This just hurts a little more, because like I said earlier, the first round of exclusionism I faced was just expanded biphobia. And the bi/pan community banded together in the face of that. We weren’t the exact same identities, but we were being treated the same, and we were similar enough that nobody really minded the difference. It was wonderful. Bi and pan people were a tightly knit group, and that was a sense of community I desperately needed when I was young. I’ve been seeing this coming for awhile. There’s been increasing amounts of bi people getting drawn in by exclusionist bullshit, and I’ve seen anti-pansexual sentiment growing. I just... really hoped it wouldn’t get this far. It’s sad, y’know? It feels like losing an old friend. I’m really disappointed that you think trying to force people out of their community is right. It’s fucking pathetic, and I hope that someday you’ll rediscover basic compassion and realize how much damage you’re doing to yourself and others. This sort of thing doesn’t help the bisexual community. It drives people away. It’s like the damage that TERF’s have done to the lesbian community; this sort of thing poisons the whole well. I hope you re-evaluate what you’re doing and find a more healthy mindset.

...But also at the same time: Who the fuck do you think you are? Take your condescending bullshit and shove it directly up your ass you fucking waste of oxygen. How the fuck dare you. Do you realize the fucking audacity it takes to claim to know someone's identity better than they do? You self centered egotistical douchebag. Your parents should feel ashamed for having raised such an utter failure of a human being. I’d tell you to go fuck yourself, but I can already tell you beat off twice a day to how fucking clever you think you are. If you ever darken my inbox again you’d better be damn sure you keep it anonymous, because if I find you I’ll kick your fucking teeth in, you smug piece of shit.

[le-birb-boi]

Today's experience:

This morning I was out with my friend and this is important for later on: They are nonbinary and like only women, I'm bisexual but prefer women (but remember bis who prefer men are valid too). Also, I am a cis female. Please respect pronouns and no homophobia, biphobia, transphobia, none of all that stuff.

So be and my friend were about to go to the shop but then I realised I forgot my scarf, and I particularly like this scarf because its rainbow and we love the lgbtq here. I was just walking back when this woman stops us and hands us a leaflet, and when it's too late i realise- this is a christian thing.

Bow before you get your knickers in a twist, I've had experience in the past with Christians and well- I just dont like christianity any more so go ahead and say I'm going to hell, but theres my point of view.

So 5 seconds later me and my friend are standing there like idiots listening to this woman and then my friend says "if we're gay do we go to heaven" and that's where she really gets started.

Now I think this woman meant well- but she certainly didnt do well. She basically said "being gay is a sin but god loves you whether or not your straight and he hopes you stop being gay so you can coem to heaven" and at this point I'm just like "here we go" but I dotn say anything because my introvert social anxiety ridden arse is too unconfrontational and shy to. I'm litterally standing there with my friend as she repeats this point over and over and then she says "I used to be a lesbian and do lesbian practices and abortion" yes ladies, gents, and non binary folks she said ABORTION. Yknow, the controversial thing that is a tough decision for the poor girls who might have to. She litterally said it. Now, I'm not here to start a rage so if your gonna comment about abortion please contain your anger (if you have some) and be polite. So yeah after that line she said "but I realised I loved god and i should go back to him so i stopped being a lesbian and i went back to him" and I'm just shook, and passers by keep looking at us and many of them are giving me looks like "oh hunny I'm so sorry for you right now" and she litterlaly made it sound like being gay is a decision and you could just stop it! Also she compared gayness to FRICKIN PEDOPHILES and I was just like really? Like, come on girl that's not how it goes. So then she went ahead and told us consequences of actions and she said apparently she visited hell and offered to give us another leaflet with someone who apparently also visited hell and at that point I kinda was just like hell nah so I just said "we really should be going now" and me and my friend rushed away, and when we were out of site, chucked the leaflet in the bin and got my scarf. Also becuase we're frickin bitches we played girl in red as we walked past her again and I dont think she got it but oh well at least we knew.

So yeah that's what happened today and I'm still shook from it and just wishing I had never taken that darn leaflet. Sorry it's so long lol. Also I might be an asshole for doing that last bit but screw it

LE END

[dilutedheartbeat]

So, there's a weird part about growing up queer in a queer family, surrounded by fellow queers of all walks of life. You still get shit on by the world, and it hurts - hurts SO FUCKING MUCH - but there's a disconnect there, as well. After all, my family understands. They truly do understand the pain of changing what parts of you that you share with the world, with your friends at school and at their homes.

I already did this because of our religion, the additional editing barely registered.

I take that back, I was more open about being raised a Witch by other Witches than I was that sometimes I didn't feel like a girl or that girls and boys were roughly equally interesting. I was more open about the fact that we could name every single person who had passed on our religion going back over 500 years than the fact that several of my Aunts and Uncles in the community - both the Queer and the Pagan, and there were several that, like us, lay in the overlap - crossed gender boundaries in one way or another.

I grew up knowing first-hand how the AIDS crisis affected people. My Uncle Clemeth died when I was around 7 years old. I hadn't seen him in months because of the rules for the hospice house, after a lifetime of seeing him a few times a month. I'd barely seen his partner (not husband, because that was still over 20 years away, and not his domestic partner because that was still about 15 years off) in that time, because he'd been at the hospice house every day, every second he could, watching the love of his life waste away. The only person that could spend any time with him was the in-home caregiver who'd been caring for Clemeth before he got too ill, and I am very happy to say that the two of them are still together, still taking care of each other now as legally recognized spouses.

I grew up never worrying that my parents would be disappointed in whatever path I took. I was extremely privileged for that, and only wish I could do the same for my own kids (their father's family has them terrified of their own shadows, and I am slowly working through legal shit trying to get them away from that). I didn't have to worry that my parents would tear up my books or posters, destroy my jewelry or clothes over me choosing a different religious path. That I had been vocal since about 3 years old regarding which Gods called to me actually never factored into any of that. I didn't have to worry that my openly Bi parents, who were also openly polyamorous, would every shame me for my sexual wants or desires; they only made sure that I could talk to them about what I wanted or needed, and would help me safely explore.

I can still laugh at my mom buying me my first vibrator when I was 16, and the years later conversation in my twenties about how sex was weird as I'd recently discovered.

I can also still feel the warmth of her rage when she learned some of the shit that asshole pulled, and the way I felt safe telling her. I hope my siblings could feel the ice of my own when he tried to target them later.

I grew up going to Pride, marching in it, gleefully introducing my first girlfriend to my parents, even though we were only "out" to a handful of friends at school. I still think of her fondly, and hope she's well. I got to grow up around IT workers, social workers, authors, sex workers, tattooists, and people from every other walk of life. I got to dye my hair, cut it however I wanted. I got to choose when I got my first piercing, where it was (my ears, boringly enough, at age 4, though i plan on at least two more once it's safe) and when I wanted to gauge up they got me the jewelry and had me talk to some fellow poly Pagan friends about care and taking it slow.

When, at age 8 I was repeatedly trying to kill myself, my parents sought help. One of them sat me down and talked about her own struggles, and they found me a professional to talk to, and they made an effort to spend more time with me. Just because my problem was bigger than that didn't mean it didn't help, and they checked with me regularly about it; when I was in high school and spiraled heavily, they got me to the doctor, talked to her and let me talk to her privately, and reminded me to take the meds I was prescribed. When that med didn't help, they listened to me after I had to change to an entirely different med class, and shared their happiness that I was doing better.

They had learned after not listening to my younger sister, you see. My parents aren't perfect, and that whole talk I had when I was 8 scarred me heavily. Don't fucking tell your kids that you have it worse, okay? And maybe, just maybe listen when your kid tells you that the prozac makes them too manic and don't insist they can't be bipolar like mom's side of the family only depressed like yours, nearly killing your kid in the process. My sister is much better these days, but that was one of the first big experiences after the amnesia, and is still understandably bitter over it. Our older sibling and I are, too.

As an adult, I still had to deal with people being bigoted pieces of shit, now without the buffer of my parents. I had to deal with abusers who saw my barely acknowledged bisexuality as an easy target. I had to deal with classmates and coworkers mocking a later boyfriend for being gay. He wasn't, is still straight and cis, and unfortunately now a shitty dad, but because he taught ballroom dance that made him gay apparently. I still had to deal with lesbians insisting I just needed to pick a side. I still had to deal with homophobia, and biphobia, on top of defending my religion.

People fucking suck, okay?

As an adult, who grew up queer in a queer family surrounded by a queer community, though, it has brought me great pleasure to watch people try to make bigoted arguments, to convince me that somehow, at some time in some way I understood (understand) why it's a problem to let people be who they are. It's not a moral standpoint. It's not an ethical standpoint. They just really can't comprehend that I don't hate myself on some level, because I was never taught to. My exposure to that kind of bullshit was extremely limited to public school and visiting my grandmothers. Even then, the kids didn't know what they didn't know, and at least one of my grandmothers only cared that she got to see us.

Every place we went, every one of my parents' friends we visited, I was surrounded by people who were queer or part of my religion, and frequently both. I was aware there were bigots in the broader Pagan community, but my parents didn't have the time for that, so it wasn't really in my sphere. I could be me, in public. If I was a boy that day, I was a boy that day, and no one said boo about it.

Even now, years and years later, seeing the uptick in TERF bullshit and purity bullshit and people trying to rewrite the history of my communities (both queer and pagan, and they can all fuck right off), I'm not ashamed. I'm not confused. I am who I always have been. Labels may have changed with time as people find new words that fit them better, but even as safe as my upbringing was, we all still are part of the same community; the world outside still existed, my parents simply took the hits for me.

I guess the reason I'm writing all this, sharing all this when I usually keep my personal stuff offline is that I'm seeing a lot of queer people under every label talking about how they somehow can't do all... ^^this... for their own future kids - whatever form those kids come in. Y'all, my parents are a Boomer and a Gen Xer. I'm still doing what I can for my kids. There's not a cis-het person in my immediate family! You can do this.

Please don't give up hope, or leave that hope to the wider world being more acceptable. That acceptance comes at the cost of lives and loves and so much time. Raise your kids in the community. Adopt kids in the community. Be an Aunt or Uncle or Adjacent Adult Figure of whatever term fits! Let kids know themselves and that you are there for them. I believe in you.