i think we should be ridiculing them more for this. you don't get to try and go all "queer website" when your staff likes to go on nuking sprees targeting the trans fem users
would be remiss not to mention that the rainbow notably straight up just removed the trans flag colors from it. like they’re gone. it’s the progress flag minus the trans flag colors.
So apparently they're doing a profile reveal/art countdown until the gdcg webtoon launches ... here's soleum's for day 1... i'll keep u guys updated...😳
murderbot and arts first meeting is literally so funny. like imagine you meet a biblically accurate angel and instead of being all 'be not afraid' it says actually you SHOULD be afraid. and then when you are in fact afraid it goes oh shit oh fuck. not THAT afraid, sorry. wanna watch tv? and then you watch tv with it and it keeps telling you to pause it when its favourite characters are in danger so it can calm down. and then it asks to do surgery on your bones. Asshole Research Transport character of all time
i just think that if the whole thing is a metaphor for feelings or love growing inside you and taking over your body from the inside, that instead of flowers you should start growing parts of the person you were unfortunate enough to fall in love with until it kills you and they open you up to find their hair in your lungs and their bones in your throat and their skin caught in your teeth.
wrote a short. gave the concept a name (bc obviously, no hana to throw up anymore lmao). barely edited it. whatever. take it dhshsj
恋吐き病 || KOIHAKI-BYŌ
The light of your life has the loveliest night-dark hair. You vomit a length of it up on a sunny Tuesday morning.
It snakes up your intestines and idles by your throat, long enough that you desperately cough and beat your chest in an effort to get it out. Clumps of it scratch your gums. Strands get caught between your teeth.
When you finally spit it all up, and it lays in the bottom of your sink swimming in your saliva and bile, you think this is the closest you will ever get to kissing her hair, to pressing your lips to the crown of her head and telling her how much you love her.
---
You throw up three fingers the following week; still hers, you can tell—her right pinky finger has a burn scar from when she accidentally brushed it against a hot kettle. Her left middle finger has a nick across its pad from when she sliced it open on a box cutter. Her right index has a mole on the middle.
She likes to gesture a lot when she talks and you watch every flick of her wrist, every bend of her arm, every pop of her knuckles. You watch when she taps an impatient beat on the table, when she twists a loose thread around a finger and pulls taut until her skin chokes and bruises. You can map out the veins on her palms, can find your way back if you were lost in the maze of her circulatory system.
Even before you saw the marks on the fingers you threw up, you already knew. You could feel her fingertips scouring your esophagus, dragging across the length of your tongue. She touched your arm once, to get your attention, and your skin memorized the groves of her fingerprints. You could recognize the press of them against your stomach lining.
---
Her blood floods your lungs while you're at the supermarket. You cough a river of it up your nose and mouth; it splashes all over your shoes and stains the white tiles of Aisle Five.
Strangers scream and yell for help as you collapse. You think someone pulls you back before you hit your head on the edge of a fruit display. You're not sure—the air smells like iron and your mouth tastes like salt; you've always figured she would taste sweet like all the candy she loves, but perhaps it's different when she doesn't love you back. She won't hold you in her mouth with affection, won't part her lips and welcome you in with excitement. You just daydream in the sickly white lights of the grocery store and drown in the salt of her inattention.
Someone pats your back to help you cough the blood out. You try to choke it all back down, try to keep as much of her as you can inside of you, but your body is loyal to its base instincts. Every animal wants to live, and that's hardwired into your biology. It betrays you for survival and gurgles all of her out. You watch the blood seep into the gaps between the tiles, ungrateful and unknowing of what they have received.
---
When you vomit her eyes out, you make sure to keep them with you this time. You wash them clean of the stomach acid and phlegm that's clung to them, and stick them in a jar while you look up how to preserve body parts.
But you know nothing about embalming—not yet at least. Her eyes cloud and discolor; after a few hours, her irises lose their natural shade of hazel and melt into a galaxy of dirty white, muddy blue, and rust brown. They don't resemble her eyes anymore.
You sit and stare at the jar. In a few hours, you're just going to have a putrid puddle in your hands, at least if abiogenesis doesn't make quick work of the eyeballs. You can't keep these, parts of her or not—but maggots spawning and feasting on her flesh seems unfair. They won't know to care and savor every part of her, won't appreciate that her cells will keep them alive a little while longer.
You pop the eyes into your mouth and let the sour taste seep into your tongue; familiarize yourself with her decomposition. She will fill your belly and spark energy into your cells, twine herself with your flesh in this way, keep you alive. The least you can do is choke down her rot.
---
You learn. You don't want to flush her hair into the sewers or pour her blood into tile gaps anymore, so you learn how to keep them with you. You collect the nails you regurgitate, the kidneys you hack up, the tongue you retch out. You learn to keep them from rotting, and when you have enough, you learn to stitch them all back together.
The body doesn't move, of course. You don't expect it to. But the work teaches you the softness of her thighs, shows you the route of her capillaries. You layer skin on meat on bone, hair on scalp on skull.
How tragic, that the closest you will ever come to having her is after you violently heave parts of her out of yourself. Connection through emesis. Union through suffering.
---
She starts growing inside your marrows. This time, your body can't betray you and get her out, no matter how much it wants to.
The pamphlet the nurse hands you sears your eyes with its garish colors; it tells you this stage of the disease is deadly. Soon, she will start growing vertebrae inside your veins, teeth between your brain folds, eyelashes in your spleen.
People like to say that love changes someone. Perhaps that's why your body is desperately trying to carve a space out for her to nestle in; twisting and contorting your ribcage to make room for her skull, hollowing out your spine to make room for her hands.
Or perhaps she's a parasite, finding home in your dying flesh, but that seems too caustic and you don't like to think of her cruelly. Your misery built shelter for her and greedily welcomed her inside your joints; you don't think that makes her worthy of blame.
That night, you sit in your tub and soak in the warm water. You wrap your arms around yourself, around the her that lives under your fingernails and behind your cornea and beside your callouses, and wonder if all love turns people into cancerous masses of those they adore. If a wife's tongue grows over her husband's, and that's why people learn to laugh like those they treasure.
When they find you in the morning, you are cold and dead, her arteries wrapped around your throat and her heart growing out of your cranium.
hey boy don't kill yourself. green's dictionary of slang is available online and allows you to explore 500 years of english vulgarity. you can search by part of speech, source, time period, etymology, and usage. there's a whole category for gay slang. they even have specific citations listed so you can see the exact context for yourself. boy did you know that in 1927 "to kneel at the altar" was slang for "to sodomize"
Princess: an effeminate and relatively youthful male homosexual or lesbian (1931-4)
Daffodil: effeminate young man (1925)
To throw a fuck into: to have sex with (1919)
Top sergeant: a masculine lesbian (1939) [‘she takes command of the girls’ privates’]
Lily: penis (1919)
Wolf: sexually aggressive man (1847); a homosexual top (1918)
Soul kiss: a deep kiss, involving putting one’s tongue into one’s partner’s mouth (1907)
Tom: a lesbian (1909); [in 'old tom'] prostitute catering to lesbians (1966)
Church mouse: a male homosexual who frequents crowded churches in order to fondle any potential sex partners. (1941)
Discover one's gender: to accept or acknowledge one’s homosexuality (1941) / Lose one's gender: To return to living as a heterosexual
Minty: a masculine lesbian (1941)
Also a lot of early 20th century vulgarity is recorded in Letter from My Father, which is a collection of letters published by a man who's dad was, in short, a major slut and human disaster who wrote about his sex life for his son. It's insane. You can find copies of it online & it's a wild fucking read (literally!) and I think a really interesting look at the life of a person who goes against our stereotypes of what people in the past were "supposed" to be like.
Anyways feel free to add y'all's favs to this post. & if you use this for gay historical fanfic please share with the class
#OH THIS IS EXTREMELY EXTREMELY HELPFUL#writing#resources#saving for later#maybe i should move my 1920s story from '25 to '27 because..... bro..........
note for writers: these are dated to the first time they were recorded, not necessarily to their first use. I imagine for many of these, they came about naturally through spoken language before they were written down anywhere. This is especially true of more underground slang because it's probably being recorded (in ways we still have) the least. So if you wanna use a term but it's a little off date-wise, give yourself some wiggle room.
also gonna take this moment to highlight two more i found recently:
Best boy: a sweetheart, a boyfriend, a husband. (1893) [w the obvious equivalent term 'best girl']
Honeydripper or honeydrips: a sexual partner (1917)
Like. Honeydripper?????? That's so horny I can't stop thinking about it. We need to bring THAT back
This is so validating because the respondents in this paper are saying some of the same things I've been feeling and thinking for years.
I'm asexual. I figured that out not long after I first came across the term in high school. But figuring out my gender took a lot longer. I didn't really think about my gender identity for years, it wasn't until I was in college that I started trying to figure out what my gender was. That process took years.
I didn't really feel attached to my assigned gender, but I also didn't feel the gender dysphoria that trans people described. I didn't particularly feel like I was neither of those either. For a long time, I honestly didn't feel like any of the gender descriptions and identities I was coming across really fit. I just didn't care that much about what my actual gender was. Eventually I decided upon the agender label as that seemed the most apt. As the paper says, it's really hard to be truly without gender in this highly gendered world. Agender is a way of defining myself in a way that people who experience gender might be able to understand when "I'm just me." isn't really an acceptable answer to the "what's your gender?" question.
I don't mind being perceived as a gender, none of them are offensive to me. While I do like when I am perceived as male or at least not female, I think that more has to do with growing up female and not wanting to be pushed into traditional female roles and values than a connection or repulsion to any gender. I'm impossible to misgender because I frankly don't care.
Honestly, the biggest problem I have with my gender, is trying to define it to people. There's been a large push in recent years for asking people for their pronouns, or including pronouns in things like email signatures and surveys. And don't get me wrong, I'm not saying this is a bad thing! This is very affirming for a lot of people. But it feels like I need to pick something that doesn't quite fit. At pride, for instance, there's always pronoun buttons. But they're all she/her, he/him, they/them, she/they, he/they, it/it, xe/xir, etc etc. And that's great. I'm always glad that there are a lot of options for people. But there's never any pins for any/all pronouns. I've never picked up a free pronoun pin at pride, despite always looking, because they all feel like picking what pronouns I don't want poeple to use and the answer is that I don't care. I fround an any/all pronoun pin once at a queer museum and I cried.
I really suggest you read the paper if you haven't. Not just the article, the whole paper. This is probably the most seen I've felt in a long time.
so apparently the dsm 6 is being structured around bio-pathologizing mental illness specifically in the direction of biomarkers…if u aren’t concerned about this maybe you should be…
Psychiatry is hard at work crafting the newest edition of its diagnostic bible, DSM-6.
…so they’re now trying to search for “biomarkers”- which are essentially genes, or circumstances of conception/birth/what have you, that can “increase the risk” of mental illnesses. how is this any different from people wondering if there’s a “gay gene?” or autism speaks trying to find a genetic or reproductive “cure for autism?”
it’s not. this is barely disguised eugenics that they have ACKNOWLEDGED may (will) do more to harm than good for people with abnormal mental states. what else could the end result of finding a “mental illness gene” be than a reason to further marginalize those who are already marginalized, already branded as more likely to be (or even inherently) “mentally ill” and eventually discourage them to reproduce, either by coercion or force?
it’s more obvious than ever now. everyone should be anti psych
Psychiatry as an institution functions to obfuscate the causes of mental and emotional disturbance (economic exploitation, abuse, lack of access to resources, etc) by describing mental illness as an individual pathology that needs to be recognized and treated by science.
Given where these hardships cluster most intensely, it is extremely useful to white supremacy and eugenics to have a "scientific" method of proving that pathology is more common among "degenerate" populations.
The DSM's various incarnations have corresponded to shifts in which part of this process have been considered more or less important to prioritize - the latest restructuring to focus on biomarkers is just a recalibration to better suit the needs of the imperial-capitalist white supremacist project.
You Are On Native Land collects stories and art donated by some of comics' biggest Indigenous creators such as Jon Proudstar, Maria Wolf, and Steph Littlebird. Tales of Native resistance; family and kinship; love and grief fill this beautiful collection, which includes a special reprint of TRIBAL FORCE #1, credited as the first comic to feature a superhero team made up entirely of Indigenous heroes.
GUYS THIS COMES OUT SEPTEMBER 2026 I NEED EVERYONE TO PULL THIS IT LOOKS SO PEAK
EDIT: since this is getting so many notes now i wanted to say, you can pre-order this comic from Simon & Schuster, Indigo, Barnes & Noble, and Amazon!
big fan of when a character is dead and the narrative frames them in a very angelic, soft, gentle manner but then it turns out not only are they still alive (plot twist) but theyre alive in the most gruesome and horrific way. your loving kind mentor who motivates you to fight in their memory came back wrong and theres blood and dirt under their fingernails from clawing they way out of the grave.
janainaart
areudirty
origamiaround
gummygunk
prguitarman
germansingergirl
blakekathryn
snowghoul
jacobvanloon
theartofmadeline
