#violent homophobia

[magnetothemagnificent]

My heart goes out to the victims and to the community at Colorado Springs, Colorado.

And on Trans Day of Remembrence, too.

May their memories be a blessing.

[campgender]

Because I quickly got the message in my first Lesbian-feminist CR group that such topics as butch-fem relationships and the use of dildoes were lower class, I was forced to understand that sexual style is a rich mixture of class, history, and personal integrity. My butch-fem sensibility also incorporated the wisdom of freaks. When we broke gender lines in the 1950s, we fell off the biologically charted maps. One day many years ago, as I was walking through Central Park, a group of cheerful straight people walked past me and said, “What shall we feed it?” The it has never left my consciousness. A butch woman in her fifties reminisced the other day about when she was stoned in Washington Square Park for wearing men’s clothes. These searing experiences of marginality because of sexual style inform my feminism.

from “Butch-Fem Relationships: Sexual Courage in the 1950s” by Joan Nestle

published in A Restricted Country (1987)

[unlimitedbutchworks]

like i need you understand how the egg who goes on /mu/ to post dogshit albums for laffs and calls other anons on /v/ and /vp/ a fag for bad taste in Pokémon is like… like these actions are not even close to as reactionary as earnestly spreading thoughtpieces about the inborn violence of the rape organ and internalizing other radfem shit, like tons of people on here used to constantly do and excuse as “just learning about feminism”

[fookinstevienicks]

Blocking Anonymous Works on AO3

You can't mute Anonymous on ao3, which means you can't get rid of works that malicious twatwaffles post anon

Or can you?

here's the skin for blocking any work on AO3:

.work-58129216 { display: none !important; }

the ID number comes from the end of the work URL

the above skin comes pre-loaded with a certain violent buddieblr homophobe's untagged child rape story

we all know who created this environment, now go forth and mute assholes abusing the anonymous function

[chirpsythismorning]

Mike Wheeler and Will Byers… Run.

[maxanor]

so anyway-

[intersexfairy]

Last week, two young Black men were murdered. 33 year old Ricky Cobb II was shot to death by Minnesota State troppers. 28 year old O'Shae Sibley, a Gay dancer, was stabbed to death while playing Beyoncé's music and vougeing with his friends.

The cops responsible for Ricky Cobb's death are Ryan Londregan (the shooter), Brett Seide, and Garrett Erickson. His relatives (and many others) are fighting to have these troopers held accountable. A currently unnamed 17-year old turned himself in for stabbing O'Shae Sibley, although he was accompanied by others.

I don't know if Ricky Cobb's family has a crowdfund set up or not (if so, someone please add on), but O'Shae Sibley's family does. You can find the GFM here.

O'shae not only was the glue to this family, he was a great dancer and performer for the majority of his life. His spirit lit up every room he stepped in. His smile was contagious! To know him, was to live him. He did not deserve this. Everyone loved his spirit ❤️

-- from the GoFundMe started by O'Shae Sibley's father, Jake Kelly.

From Ricky Cobb's relatives:

"I'm exhausted. My heart is heavy every day for the last three days. Waking up, I have migraines. And I'm hurt. I would like those officers to man up. I'm here to be a voice and stand strong like a rock that I am for my son and speak out." -- Mother, Nyra Fields Miller

"My brother was a good man. He was a provider for all of us. He protected all of us." -- Sibling, Octavia Ruffin

These men should still be alive. Their families, friends, and community should not be going through this loss and grief. If there's one thing any of us (nonblack people) can do, it's not let them go through this unheard and unseen.

Rest in power Ricky Cobb II. Rest in power O'Shae Sibley. Abolish the police.

[thepoisonroom]

'I flirted with the idea that instead of being trans that I was just a cross-dresser (a quirk, I thought, that could be quietly folded into an otherwise average life) and that my dysphoria was sexual in nature, and sexual only. And if my feelings were only sexual, then, I wondered, perhaps I wasn’t actually trans.

I had read about a book called The Man Who Would Be Queen, by a Northwestern University professor who believed that transwomen who were attracted to women were really confused fetishists, they wanted to be women to satisfy an autogynephilia. And though I first read about this book in the context of its debunkment and disparagement, I thought about the electricity of slipping on those tights, zipping up those boots, and a stream of guilt followed. Maybe this professor was right, and maybe I was only a fetishist. Not trans, just a misguided boy.

About a year later, on the Internet, I come across a transwoman who added a unique message to the crowd refuting this professor. Oh, I wish I remember who this woman was, and I wish even more that I could do better than paraphrase her, but I remember her saying something like this: “Well, of course I feel sexy putting on women’s clothing and having a woman’s body. If you feel comfortable in your body for the first time, won’t that probably mean it’ll be the first time you feel comfortable, too, with delighting in your body as a sexual thing?”'

-Casey Plett, Consciousness

[shartfinz]

what's the political climate around being an erasermic fan in 2023?

[coffin-hopping]

I ain’t even that deep in the mouthwashing fandom but I saw a post that was like “if jimmy just admitted he loved curly he wouldn’t have attacked anya and crashed the ship lmfao” 😐 what the fuck are we doing here man

[proudfreakmetarusonikku]

ppl forget that dream threw a hissy fit about a Mexican man stopping hanging out with him after he bought a trump flag as a “joke” spend over a week posting about how much he wanted to beat him up and liking art of them as real life people making out and then blamed his doxxing (which is obviously horrifying and wrong but that shit was going around since 2019 quackity didn’t even know he Existed when it started) on Quackity muting his ass bc he treated racism against him as a big joke, made comments about wanting to be violent towards him, and pushed romantic fanart after they’d stopped even being friends. like bro Quackity wasn’t reading your messages because he, quite rightly, assumed you were going to be an asshole to him bc you were talking about wanting to fight him in public and making up this whole feud bc you were pissy he didn’t quietly accept the YEARS of casual racism towards him from the dteam any longer like. it’s such blatant obvious racism dream was weaponising white tears bc his friends stopped hanging around his ass bc of his constant fucking casual bigotry. like his ass is not progressive people just apparently don’t recognise basic fucking white supremacy anymore. like. what the fuck.

[pinkeoni]

Okay another short fan script. Zombie Boy mention. Some pointed homophobia. The boys got done playing dodge ball (not related to previous dodge ball related script)

[iheartmoons]

ian constantly comparing his relationship with mickey while dating caleb is so heartbreaking to me, because he goes on about how not soft and caring their relationship was and while it may be true, he completely brushes over how mickey was so domestic and compassionate when looking after ian, trying to get him to take his meds and speaking so gently towards him etc

[starsarefire824]

Demons of Change & Wildflower Eyes

They ride in silence for a long while after Mike asks for Will’s address. Mike knows the area, past Hawkin’s lab. It’s near Max’s trailer park. Quiet and dead and poor. Mike doesn’t say anything though. And Will doesn't offer up any other directions, assuming Mike already knows the way. Some old song comes on the radio. A mournful, eerie love song from the fifties or something and Will shivers when Mike rolls down the window. Mike notices as he pulls his sleeves over his hands and gathers the hood around his neck. 

“Are you cold?” Mike asks awkwardly into their suddenly heavy silence. 

Will shakes his head as he looks out the window. “No, I’m fine.” 

“Are you sure?” Mike asks again, noticing the way his mouth twitches in discomfort. 

Will looks over at him and a smile spreads across his face. Something soft and sweet and used to hiding sadness. 

“Yeah,” he says again. “I’m fine.” 

Mike works his jaw and turns his attention back towards the double lined country road. He spots an old, familiar barn in the distance. They are coming up on old Merril’s farm. He can smell the sickly sweet stench of cow shit in the breeze. 

He watches the breeze blow the dead tips of corn left unharvested for cattle feed. They are no longer green and lush, but brown and dry and whispering to them in the wind. 

Mike pulls over quickly, dust flying up on the edge of the road as he rolls into the shoulder. 

Will grabs onto the handle of the car. “What are you doing?” he asks urgently, his shoulders gone stiff with alarm. 

Mike shifts his car into park and shrugs off his seat belt and jacket. 

“I have an idea,” he announces with a slight smile, suddenly feeling the need to make the night last longer. To spend a few more moments with this strange boy, on this strange night, the day before Halloween. Maybe there is something in the air. Maybe it’s Hawkins ghosts spurring him on. Maybe it’s Zombie Boy himself. He is a ghost too after all. Will Byers. The queer. The freak. The boy who came back from the dead. 

Troy had lots of conspiracy theories about what happened to him, most of them involving around being kidnapped by some other queer for sexual favors. Says that's what the cops told his dad. Mike isn't sure if he believes any of that, but if Troy only knew they were together. That they had hung out. Well, Mike doesn’t want to think of that right now. He’d be dead. He’d be beaten to a pulp. It’d ruin everything.

Mike shoves the door of his car shut against the thought and stomps over to where the grass meets the cornstalk wall, dirty headlights shining behind him like a spotlight. 

He smiles and turns around. “Come on,” he says, waving Will forward. 

Will is still standing next to the car, hands in his pockets and wearing a leery expression. He guesses that's fair enough.

“Come on!” Mike urges again, feeling desperate to coax Will out of whatever cocoon he’s woven around himself. 

“Mike—“ Will sighs with a nervous smile, looking down the road as if expecting something. “What are you doing?” 

Mike’s eyelids flutter and he stuffs his hands in the back pockets of his worn black jeans. “A race,” he announces with a goofy smile. “We’re gonna race.” 

Will ambles around the front of the humming car and snickers as he stands before him. “A race?” He asks, his thick eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“You and me,” Mike answers matter of factly. What else would he think? “I dare you.”

Before Will can answer Mike’s already counting down. 

“Three!” Mike crouches slightly.

“Two!” His heart beats in his chest.

“One!” He pushes off! Running head on into the sea of dried corn. Mind blank and the dew already soaking the ankles of his pants.

“Mike!” He hears Will’s voice call out. “Mike—- wait !” 

Mike is vaguely aware that Will is behind him. That he's running too.

“Mike!” He calls again, but Mike can feel Will at his back. He’s gaining on him. And so he pushes forward. 

Runs faster. 

“Come on!” He calls back to Will. “Catch me!” 

Mike squints, ignoring how the corn stalks slice his bare arms, his cheek, and the skin along his ribs.

The light of the car has dimmed and he can’t really see in front of him. There’s nothing but the faded blue light cast from the sliver of moon left in the sky. Mike doesn’t know what he’s doing out here, past midnight on a school night trespassing in a forgotten field with the last person he’d ever expected. Yet he is . And he feels alive for the first time in a very long time, and so he pushes forward. Revels in the way his body shivers at the cold and the dew and the stranger’s fingers tugging at his bicep. 

“Mike!” he hears Will call once more before he’s tumbling, the sea of corn turning around him like a shaken up kaleidoscope. He doesn’t know where he ends and the field begins, like when he was nine years old and got caught in a wave when his family went to the ocean on the East Coast one summer. He’s falling and he’s sure that Will is going with him. They twist and turn, hands gripping for dear life and legs flying over their heads. 

The two of them land in a jumbled heap and Mike cries out in pain when he feels something sharp jab him in the ribs. It could be an elbow, a hand, a rock. He isn’t sure. There is something strong gripping his back, fingers prodding at his shoulder blades.

The air is thrown out of his lungs and his gasps turn into laughter. When he lifts his head he can’t breathe, because Will is beneath him, mouth slackened and lungs heaving in his chest, eyes dark and excited and utterly shocked. His breath is hot upon Mike’s cheek as he breathes.

They’re chest to chest and Mike must be crushing him. His pelvis digs into his and the insides of Will’s thighs brush along the sides Mike’s legs. They’re basically hugging, like two lovers screwing in some sun beaten field in one of the romance movies his mother loves. His laughter dies on his lips.

Mike blinks at Will and sighs out. He watches him open his mouth as if to say something, but can't seem to find the words. Mike feels Will’s nails dig in at his back where he’s clung for dear life as they fell. 

Will looks terrified and Mike feels his body go rigid beneath him.  

“You have a cut,” he finds himself saying, his thumb swiping blood across Will’s full bottom lip. It stains it a deep shade of pink and Will breath quivers as much as his body. 

Mike watches his tongue dart out, licking away the blood and leaving his skin wet with spit. The sight of it pulls at him. Lures him, like some fucking siren in one of the poems he read in English class. He brushes a wavy chestnut tendril back from Will’s eyes and…presses his lips to his. It’s almost nothing at first, featherlight. A barely there touch of their lips. Mike’s heart pounds in his chest and he breathes out as he lets his tongue slide along Will’s lip. He tastes like blood and earth and sweet like maple syrup. Then Mike takes hold of his chin and when he feels Will’s fingers press gently at the back of his neck slides his tongue in his mouth in a blood-sticky, slick, and hungry kiss. 

Will hums underneath him and his thighs press into Mike’s sides, making a sharp, jarring ache stampede through his body and he forgets himself. Forgets who Will is. Who he is. Forgets that this isn’t normal. This isn’t right. But he can’t help it. He feels so good. And Will kisses him back and his hand slides gently down his back. Mike wants to press closer to him, he wants to rock his body against him, he wants to lift up his shirt, undo his pants, and feel his skin, press him harshly into the dirt and make his body shake with his mouth. 

But that doesn’t happen. Instead there’s a firm shove at his chest and he’s falling backwards, rolling roughly on to his back, the smell of damp earth and decaying plants twinging his nostrils. Will sits up, his heavy breathing puffing out in thick clouds and eyes the same color as grass and dirt are frenzied and wild. They sit there frozen and staring at each other for Mike doesn’t know how long. 

Mike rests on his elbows and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. “Sorry,” he mutters, a wave of shame coming over him. You are so fucking stupid. Some kind of nasty faggot. Slut. 

“No,” Will says quietly and Mike peels his eyes away from the ground and forces them to meet Will’s. He’s surprised to find something light tugging at his lips. Almost a smile. 

“Yeah?” Mike sighs, still catching his breath.

Will nods at him and swallows heavily. “Yeah—I mean…I’m just surprised.” 

“You and me both,” Mike says with a cautious smile, wiping his hair back from his face and tucking it behind his ear. 

Will picks at a thread where a patch in his jeans is tearing away. “I should get back though. My mom is probably home from work and freaking out.” 

Mike nods and shoves himself to his feet. He turns to offer a hand to Will. He takes it. 

[riphimopen]

we were down at the courthouse yknow and. well one thing led to another😳

[altschmerzes]

one day my wife and i are gonna compile our enormous 'this is why this is garbage and everyone who wants to kiss this author's ass should so some serious personal reflection and also read another book im fucking begging you' review of all for the g/ame and then it will be over for all of us