#and like yer I’m queer

[0venatrix]

So the thing is I’m a lot less scared if things, but instead of becoming anxiety riddled I just get mad.

[allzelemonz]

Settle: Merle Dixon X Male Reader

Pronouns: he/him, Reader referred to as ‘man’ and ‘boy’ Physical Sex: AMAB Rating: E/Smut, language Warnings: Slurs (homophobic), Merle Dixon is his own warning, mention of Merle’s SS symbol, typical southern prejudice/homophobia, neck kissing, anal fingering, anal sex, cockwarming, hand job, cuddling, top Merle and bottom Reader Summary: After striking out with every woman in camp, Merle turns to you and ignores the gay aspect of sleeping with another man in favor of getting laid. A/N: Imagine my lack of surprise but utter disappointment in finding no male reader shit for Merle. Written out of spite. Enjoy.

After a third pill and a third strikeout, Merle is almost certain he’ll have to handle himself tonight. No woman in the whole damn camp wants any action, even with a touch of good ol’ Southern charm Merle attempted. Not a bite from anyone. So Merle stumbled through the cluster of tents, only half as high as he’d like to be and blue balls stiff between his legs. Just as he’s about to turn a corner towards his tent on the outskirts with his brother’s, he catches a pretty sight.

Not that Merle is gay. Of course not. But the man is asleep with his tent partly unzipped, shirt off and back arched like a damn whore. How could Merle not stare just a little. His eyes trail over your back, bare and just fuzzied by the drugs in his system that he may mistake things enough to ignore the dick between your legs.

So he kicks your foot, waking you up.

Your hand goes to your knife first, then you turn to see it’s not something dead behind you. “What, Merle?”

“Ya a queer?”

You squint at him, off put by the way he says it. “Why’re you asking?”

He shrugs. “Fella can’t be curious.”

“Not with that Nazi symbol on your bike you can’t.” You close your hand around your knife. “Go away.”

Merle chuckles, raising his hand in mock surrender. “Woah, woah, there… I was just askin’.”

You stare at him for a moment. “Fine. Yeah, I like men. I’m a queer. Are we done here?”

Merle bites at the inside of his cheek, trying to come up with the right words. “Ya let me fuck ya?”

“What?” You ask, sitting up to look at him properly.

Merle scoffs. “Ya heard me. Would ya?”

“Why would you-“

“Ladies ‘round here bein’ stingy.” Merle shrugs. “Hole’s a hole.”

“You’re joking.” You say in disbelief.

“Ain’t like I never fucked an ass before. It’s the same shit.”

You shake your head. “No, it’s really not.”

“Aw, come on, I’ll be quick.” Merle attempts a pout. “Ain’t no trouble.”

You sigh, shaking your head because you know it’s a dumb idea somewhere deep down. “Fine.”

Merle grins. “Atta boy.”

“Get on with it then.” You sigh, watching Merle step inside. “Zipper.”

Merle turns and zips the tent closed behind him, fumbling with it for longer than any regular person would. When he turns his hands go straight to his belt.

You watch his fingers move for a second. “You ever fucked another man before.”

Merle snorts. “Course not. I ain’t a queer.”

“It’s a little different, you know.”

“What?” Merle sneers. “I gotta play with yer pecker er somethin’?”

You shake your head. “Not necessarily. But you have to stick your fingers in for a while and stretch things out.”

“Yer just picky.”

“Maybe. Just do it, asshole, or I’m not gonna let you fuck anything.”

Merle pulls his belt free. “Fine. Pants off then, sweetheart.”

You huff, annoyed at Merle already, but it’s been far too long since you’ve had this chance. You pull your pants off, ignoring Merle’s eyes on your legs and turn around to lay on your stomach.

“Alright.” Merle grins, shuffling up behind you and nudging your legs apart. “What am I doin’ here, sweetheart?”

You turn your head back, half wanting to see the sight. “Put your fingers in your mouth.”

“Why?”

“Spit’s the only lube we have.” You mutter. “Just do it.”

Merle glares slightly, but does as he’s told and presses three fingers past his lips. He sucks on them, his other hand already going to your hip. It’s clear he’s never been the type to do this with any of the women he’s been with either. Without prompting, he drops the hand down and traces until he finds your rim.

“Ya ready for Merle’s magic fingers, boy?”

“Shut up.”

Merle chuckles, circling his finger around before slowly pushing inside. “Whew…” Merle exclaims. “Tight little thing, ain’t ya?”

You open your mouth to speak but Merle’s finger drags against your prostate and all you can manage is a groan as you bury your face down into your pillow.

He leans over you, his hand moving up to grip at the bare skin of your chest. “I find somethin’ good?”

You nod, mindlessly pushing back into him. “Fuck, Merle…”

He repeats the drag, his fingers moving quickly to fuck whatever sounds he can get out of you. You don’t expect much more, but he leans down and presses his lips to your neck. He trails sloppy kisses over your skin, his fingers fully thrusting into you at a quick pace.

“You want me?” Merle murmurs next to your ear. “Want Merle to fuck ya better than some fairy ever could, don’t ya?”

“Yeah…” You answer, spreading your legs as much as you can. “Why you’re here, isn’t it?”

Merle grins against your skin. “You just be a good boy. You’re good at that.”

He sits back up, removing his fingers and positioning himself properly behind you. His hands fix on your waist, pulling you back and propping you up on your widespread knees. You feel his tip press against you for just a second before he presses inside. There certainly isn’t enough lubrication or preparation, so the stretch of being entered hurts just enough to make a few whines form in your throat. Merle pushes all the same, stretching you open and filling you up with everything he has.

He groans as he bottoms out, running a hand over your spine. “You feel so damn good, sweetheart.” He squeezes your hip slightly. “Might turn me gay…”

Before you can think much about that, Merle begins to piston his hips at a quick pace. Both of his hands grip tightly at your hips and the force of his thrusts presses you forward into your pillow, only held up at the waist for Merle to fuck into you properly. You let him, relaxing into the hold and letting him use you because the slide of his dick hitting your prostate feels better than anything else. Merle pushes you down to lay flat, leaning over you and rocking into you as his head dips against your shoulder. The sleeping bag below you rubs at your dick with every thrust Merle gives you.

“Knew I liked you.” Merle mutters, half to himself. “Better than any damn woman… shit, sweetheart.”

Merle’s hips stutter and he groans as he releases, burying himself as deep as he can into you. You take heavy breaths as Merle relaxes on top of you, trying to ignore the squirming feeling of not having finished. Then Merle’s hand snakes under you, pumping furiously fast and gripping hard until you mutter his name and your vision blurs for a moment as you spurt cum onto your sleeping bag.

His hand slows to a massaging tempo and you can hear him inhaling strongly. “Ya gotta let me do that again sometime, boy.” He murmurs. “God, yer making me inta a queer.”

“Happy to help.” You mutter, still catching your breath.

Merle chuckles, letting both arms encircle you as he fully lets himself relax on top of you. “So ya liked my dick in ya?”

You bury your head into your pillow, avoiding his annoying question.

Merle chuckles. “Lemme sleep here?”

“Whatever.”

“Can I fuck ya in the mornin’?”

“If you want.”

He grins, settling his lips right next to your ear. “Ya gonna help keep little Merle warm all night too?”

You groan as he pushes against you, his soft dick still filling you and linking the both of you together. “Just sleep, jackass.”

He chuckles again. “Whatever you say, queer.”

[slamminslamminmcgill]

recent gabriel rb is making think about tommy experiencing boypussy for the first time 🥴😵‍💫 miller brothers would be boypussy whores tell me i’m wrong 🥸😵‍💫

NUH UH IN FACT UR SO RIGHT (this gif is them after dropping you off at home the next morning and giving each other an attaboy hug 😌)

warning: spit, piss, rimming, oral, squirting, anal, dp, slurs, spanking, pussy slapping, daddy/uncle fauxcest, brothers having a threesome but not doing each other

anatomical terms: cunt/pussy, t-dick

half the fun is them trying to outdo each other. classic sibling rivalry behavior.

they like seeing who can get you to do the nastiest thing and they’ll laugh about how much of a slut you are

they’ll be spitroasting you w/ tommy in your throat and joel in your cunt. then out of nowhere tommy pulls you off him.

“hey.” he spits in your open mouth and spins around, “lick my ass, boy. c’mon, get your face in there. use that tongue- oh, damn, that’s perfect… mmm… nasty little queer, ain’t he, joel?”

joel scoffs, “tch, that’s nothin’. yesterday i had him on his knees begging to drink my piss”

“jesus, man, that’s… that’s sick…”

joel shrugs, “take it up with him. he’s the one who wanted it.”

they like to talk about you like you’re not even there. like you’re a doll. like a dumb little thing like you couldn’t possibly understand them. like you’re a dog and they’re spelling out W-A-L-K so you don’t wet yourself from the excitement.

tommy’s in your pussy, “god, he’s so fuckin’ wet… i can’t… can’t believe it… he’s so wet…”

“you try puttin’ it in his ass yet, tommy? he loves it.” joel leans over to spank you, triggering your throat to spasm around his cock, “li’l whore’ll take all the dick he can get.”

they LOVE dping you!!! having two fat cocks in each of your holes, rutting against each other through your walls, fighting for space inside your body and keeping you FULL!!! they know it’s a lot for you tho so they’ll be very attentive throughout (they’re the aftercare gods btw)

joel will have you sitting in his lap facing him with his cock buried in your pussy. tommy comes up behind you, lubes himself up, and slowly, ever so slowly, breaches your asshole. the initial stretch stings, so you cling to joel and whimper into his neck.

“shhh, shh, it’s okay, baby.” he tenderly ruffles your hair and rubs your shoulders, “just relax and let uncle tommy in. just gotta let him in, son, daddy’s got you. yeah, you got it.”

“‘m almost there… doin’ so good for us, sweetheart,” tommy kisses your neck, “such a good boy.”

sometimes joel just wants to watch, so he’ll have you rest your head in his lap and hold your hands while tommy takes care of you 🥺 he loves watching you squirm and talking you through it

“oh! f-fuck! fuck! oh, daddyyy…”

“i know, baby, i know,” he swipes a lock of your hair off your sweaty forehead, “uncle tommy’s doin’ good, ain’t he?”

“yes, daddy…”

“so tell him,” joel tilts your face up to tommy, who gives you a comforting—but still a bit cheeky—smile in return.

“well, kiddo? i feel good?”

“uh huh~! y-yes~!”

“am i bigger than he is?”

“in yer fuckin‘ dreams, tommy. now shut up and fuck him.”

and so he does. he does that very well. and you end up powerwashing his dick when you cum. happens.

joel smacks your overstimulated sopping pussy, “go on ‘n’ get a taste of this juicy little cunt he’s got here. li’l guy’s sweet like a peach.”

and once the first drop of you touches his taste buds, he’s addicted. sucking your lips and t-dick into his mouth, the straw from which to drink you.

“oh my GOD, he tastes good!”

“heh. told ya.”

joel likes to cum in you, and tommy likes to cum on you 😌🤍

[drdemonprince]

Interesting to read yer response to that last ask about yer history exploring gender + transitioning. I guess it’s p relatable to me even tho I think we feel somewhat differently about our own gender. I’ve always felt a very strong internal sense of gender, it’s quite clear to me and it’s definitely not neutral, it’s quite intense. I’ve identified as nonbinary for a long time. But I’ve found the closer I’ve gotten to being in touch with it, the more confused and unwelcoming the rest of the world has become. So I spend all this time thinking about how im perceived and how to navigate that and balancing what I internally want vs trying to manage reactions to me. This is where I see our similarities. It’s gotten especially bad recently as I’ve felt a new connection to manhood and I’ve wanted to explore that but I’ve felt the backlash way stronger cause I feel like people feel much more confident to tell me that I’m failing being a man than being nonbinary. So it’s getting to the point of like, what even is being a man. (Feels like failure is a pretty core aspect of it lol) Like you talk about making these choices to join queer men’s space, which is where I’d feel the most connected to manhood, but I feel like I’d have to make pretty big changes to how I move through the world gender wise to be even allowed or welcomed there. I don’t feel an apathy like you describe, but I can totally see how this constant weighing of expressing yerself vs being seen how you want would end up in apathy

I don't know your situation, but I'd give those queer men's spaces a shot. A lot of them are far less transphobic than you've been conditioned to think. There are trans men in the queer men's spaces around you, there are people who are read as cis gay men who are themselves very much not so, everybody's fucking pansexual and nonbinary these days it's fucking crazy dog. besides, what transphobic bias does exist against trans mascs in men's spaces is so fuckin mild compared to what trans women typically confront in wlw spaces. the worst i've ever had happen to me was someone befriend me on the dancefloor and then helpfully recommend that we all head to a lesbian bar. and he wasn't even being insincere, he just didnt know what kind of person he was talking to. beyond that it's been like a total nonissue even long before i passed. so you should give it a shot, you will learn more about yourself and other people from it. and it has generally for me been pretty positive!

the problem is. finding acceptance into the little gendered club meant there was still a whole lot of Gender there. and i'm so sick of it. this is also an asexuality thing for me too. im so fed up of people being into my body or my appearance. im so sick of the obsession with bodies and appearances and the gendered projections made onto those things. it grosses me out so much. i just feel like putty that everybody's hands have been all over. im so sick of people trying to leave their mark on me.

[straightedgegoth]

Let Me In!

This is an 18 and up post minors DNI this is a short little fic that popped into my head. Credit to the orginial poster @queer--king for giving me the idea.

Teasing Daryl is always fun.

---------------------------------------------------------------------

"Ya fuckin’ mutt! Let me in.” Daryl snarled his red eyes glowing, watching your naked form spread out on the bed. You had slowly stripped in front of him, barring him from your shared room. 

“No, I don’t think I will.” You snickered as he grabbed the doorframe, you could hear the wood splintering as he growled.

“Ya best let me in or I’ll tan yer fuckin’ hide!” You giggled as you lay back on the bed and opened your legs lazily. Your hand circling your hardened nipples, you heard his sharp intake of breath he really didn't need. Your vampire lover, who would've thought, two mortal enemies falling in love.

“Take it back. Then you can have your way.” He snorted, his eyes narrowing as you twist one of your nipples whimpering.

“Ain’t doin’ shit. Ya stink like a wet dog when ya shift. Point blank.” You huffed, one of your hands making its way to your throbbing core. 

“Too bad then, parasite.” You slid a finger against your lips, groaning as you imagined it was his. You were soaking wet, spreading yourself before his gaze. He grumbled and growled and bellowed as you inserted a finger into yourself. Hips bucking as you set a slow pace, your eyes closing as pleasure wracked you. Moaning as you clenched around your finger, then you snapped your eyes open as you heard a zipper. Daryl angrily pulled his thick cock out, his gaze darkened as he met your now golden eyes. His fangs protruded from his lips as they drew back.

“I can’t fuckin’ believe ya’d do this to me mutt. Come on now, ya know ya want me.” You grinned your own fangs lengthening in answer. 

“Poor baby, you’re missing out… I’m so wet.” The final snap of the doorframe being broken reached your ears. The large chuck in Daryl’s fist as his other hand started stroking his cock, his tip glistening with pre-cum. Dropping the wood he leaned against the frame, his focus solely on the ministrations to your pussy. His shoulders heaving as he stroked himself.

“Stupid fuckin’ rules. When I get my fuckin’ fangs in ya, yer gonna remember who ya belong to.” He groaned his pace picking up with your own. Adding a second finger you dragged your other hand against the top of your breast, the claw cutting into your flesh. 

“Ya better not.” Moaning you opened your flesh, blood spilling onto your skin. 

“Or what, Dare?” He hissed his nose twitching as the scent of your blood filled the air.

“Imma make that ass as red as yer blood. Make that sweet pussy ache as I wreck it.” You could see the drool forming against his lips. 

“Is that a challenge?’ Your hips rolled, your orgasm was in sight as you plucked at your nipples, adding a third finger, but still feeling empty. Needing his cock filling you up, fire raced in your veins as you climbed higher and higher. 

“It’s a promise, girl.” You purred at his gravelly tone, your toes curling as your orgasm finally washed over you, yelling his name as your back arched off the bed, your eyes lazily watching his own release spurting onto the hardwood floor. You giggled, his cock still rock hard as you tilted your head. 

“I invite you in, Daryl.” He had you over his knee in a second, yelping as his hand stung your sensitive flesh. 

“Ready fer a long night darlin’?” You had never been more ready for your vampy lover.

[kellyscowboy]

꒰✧ᯇ✦꒱ OUTLAWS OF SANTA FE

ᯇ summary ! ✦ “You know what they say about cowboys who brag too loud about their women.” He sniffed and rubbed his nose. Jack gave a mock laugh. “Anyone in town would tell you I’m not queer. ‘Specially the ladies who pass through. Who do you think you are, anyway?” As the boy pushed his hat out of his face, he made direct eye-contact with the outlaw. "I think I'm the fella that can send the ‘famous’ Jack Kelly home crying to his mama." Jack was silent, stunned. His finger was still pressed into the man’s chest, but it had begun to shake. "What now, Cowboy? I'd tell you to take me down like you promised," Deadwood gave a slight shove to Jack’s shoulder, yet he found himself almost toppling over. "But you're too corned to even stand straight." aka the wild westsies au i've had in my drafts forever ᯇ tag list ! ✦ @bound-for-santa-fe ,, @fandomtrashcollector (taglist form is in my pinned post!!) ᯇ warnings ! ✦ cussing, alcohol consumption, violence, use of guns ᯇ vienna's thoughts ! ✦ here are the meanings of the wild west slang words in here:) paintin' his nose - to get drunk corned - drunk fogy - a stupid fellow dynamite - whiskey ANYWAY, i've had this in my drafts for forever and i just wanted to finally finish is so sorry that the ending is really rushed el oh el. also i recommend listening to Billy the Kid by Tex Ritter before reading!! as always, reblogs & comments are always appreciated <333 ALSO READ IT ON AO3 THE PLAYLIST 2883 WORDS © 2023 , 𝐤𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐲𝐬𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲

WANTED Jack ‘Cowboy’ Kelly $1,000.000 REWARD Wanted for robbery, murder, and disruption of the public. Does not attack without motive. Contact Sheriff Charles Morris of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

WANTED The Delancey Brothers $500.000 REWARD Oscar and Morris Delancey are wanted for robbery and attempted murder. Contact Sheriff Charles Morris of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE Deadwood David $5,000.000 REWARD Wanted for robbery and murder, on a large scale. Does not attack without motive. Contact Sheriff Charles Morris of Santa Fe, New Mexico.

A proud cowboy listened to the chatter of customers outside of Spots Shootin' Saddle Saloon. A cocky smirk played at his lips as he pushed through swinging doors. He heard gasps and the sound of multiple pistols being dragged from his holster. Then, the saloon went silent—save for the high-pitched squeak of wet glass being towel dried.

The bartender didn't even spare him a glance. "Well, well. If it ain’t the famous Jack Kelly."

“I could say the same to you, Spot. Lookit you, got yer own saloon and everything.”

One of the saloon boys perked up. "Jack!” The boy gave a half-hearted excuse to the men he was serving, he made up for his departure with a wink. He eagerly made his way behind the bar and began fixing the ex-cowboy a drink. "What brings you into town?"

Jack gratefully took the drink with a tip of his hat. “You’re a good man, Race.” He downed the drink before addressing the question before him. "Can't a lonely cowboy just visit his old friends?"

"Why, sure he could!” Racetrack grinned, already refilling his glass.

“That is, if that's what he was really doing." Spot added quickly. “Besides, can’t really be calling yourself a cowboy anymore. Not when a wanted poster names you an outlaw.”

“I can call myself whatever I please.” The cowboy realized it was a fight not worth fighting. He waved him off and dragged the newly poured whiskey closer. "Howd’ya know it was me?”

Spot laughed. "What, when you walked in? Yer the only fella I know who quiets my saloon like that.”

Racetrack leaned forward against the counter; his arm wrapped lovingly around Spot’s waist. He rested his head in his own hand, his elbow digging into marble, and gave Jack a pointed look. "Not anymore. Say, Jack; you heard of that David feller, yet? He paid us a visit couple’a days ago. Shoot, we didn’t hear much noise in here ‘till the next day!”

Jack's fingers squeezed his glass, before they relaxed and stretched. "Yeah, I've heard of him. Fill 'er up again, would'ya?"

Spot took the glass and kept his gaze on the outlaw whilst he poured the whiskey. He placed it in front of the boy with a thump, then glared at him through narrowed eyes. "What are you really here for, cowboy?"

"Just paintin’ my nose, Spot." Jack pushed away from the bar, drink in hand. He sat down with a boy who was lazily pulling at the strings of his guitar. “Tell me a story, Al."

The boy responded with a toothy grin, then tipped his hat up and out of his eyes. He slowly looked up and made eye contact with the outlaw. “Long time no see, Jackie." He plucked at his guitar more rhythmically than before. "What'cha wanna hear?"

"Why don’t you tell that one about ole Billy the Kid?”

"Only because you're an old friend." Albert chuckled. He took a deep breath before he put on his story-telling voice. His demeanor demanded the attention of those around him, and he always got it when he was performing. "Some folks do a lot of good in the world, that encourages us to do good. A few people start off on the wrong foot - their black deeds serve as a warning post to us. The song I'm gonna to sing for you now, fellers, is about a boy who sorta wandered off the straight and narrow trail, took up a crooked course. As usual with all outlaws, he paid with his life. His name,” a pause, “was Billy the Kid."

His singing was mesmerizing, just like his stories, and everyone in the saloon slowly began to sing along. Some of them absentmindedly hummed along as they gambled, and others gave the man their full attention. They swayed merrily back and forth with each other, their glasses raised to the gods as they hooted and hollered.

"I'll sing you a true song of Billy the Kid. I'll sing of the desperate deeds that he did. Out in New Mexico, long time ago, When a man's only chance was his own forty-four."

While everyone sang along, a boy slipped in through the doors, entirely unnoticed. He whispered to Spot and kept his head hung low. Had he made any noise, it had been covered up by obnoxious singing. The boy pushed a couple of coins across the counter before he slumped farther into his hat.

"When Billy the Kid was a very young lad, In old Silver City, he went to the bad. Way out in the West with a gun in his hand- At the age of twelve years, he killed his first man."

Racetrack wanted to tell Jack about the man at the bar, but Spot had instructed him to keep quiet. He had been told to loosen the outlaw up, and he did just that. Race kept a close eye on Jack’s drink and made sure he never reached the bottom of his glass.

"Fair Mexican maidens play guitars and sing A song about Billy, their boy bandit king. How ere his young man-hood had reached it's sad end, Had a notch on his pistol for twenty-one men."

To say the drinks had loosened him up would be an understatement. Jack pranced around the table­—dragging Racetrack along with him—with his glass raised. The whiskey sloshed over the side and splashed his boots. He jumped atop the tables and managed to gain the attention of all the customers. It wasn’t long before everyone was shouting and throwing their drinks into the air.

"Twas on the same night, when poor Billy died, He said to his friends, 'I'm not satisfied, Twenty-one men I have put bullets through. Sheriff Pat Garrett must make twenty-two."

Jack tried to sing along, but his mouth had other plans. He rambled to Albert, who just smiled as he sang, about his recent affairs. “I could take down the sheriff!” He bragged. “No! I could take down big ol’ Deadwood David… with my eyes closed!” Al shook his head and his eyes flitted quickly to the man at the bar.

"Now this is how Billy the Kid met his fate. The bright moon was shining, the hour was late. Shot down by Pat Garrett, who once was his friend. The young outlaw's life had now come to its end."

“Don’t make promises ya can’t keep, Kelly.” Spot warned with a sigh. Racetrack cocked an eyebrow from his place next to Jack. He raised the pitcher in question, and moved away from the table when Spot shook his head. The cowboy waved off Spot’s warning as the bartender whispered lowly to his customer.

"There's many a man with a face fine and fair, Who starts out in life with a chance to be square. But just like poor Billy, he wanders astray And loses his life in the very same way."

Everyone cheered in unison for the song; although, some might’ve been cheering for their gambling wins. Albert smiled and tipped his hat before he went back to strumming mindlessly at his guitar. A small grin made its way onto his face as Jack drunkenly droned on.

"D’ya hear Spot? Talkin’ bout promises I can't keep!" He scoffed; a drunk burp made its way up his throat. "I mean- Listen, I've got way more kills under my belt than Billy the Kid had got." Jack took a sip of his glass. Race had been filling it with coffee, but he was much too drunk to notice. “He would’ve never died if he was as experienced as me. Besides, this Deadwood guy’s a total poser. I betcha I could take him on with my-” He looked confused for a second. “With my- my eyes closed!”  

“So you’ve said.” Albert shook his head and chuckled. "Anyhow… the song ain’t a challenge, Cowboy. It's a warning. Don’t mess with something that ain’t botherin’ you.”

"You’re starting to sound like my Papaw, Al.” Jack bumped Albert’s shoulder with his cup. “He don’t look good on you. Oh! You know who looked good on me, though? Them gals over in Tombstone.”

"Yeah?"

"Yeah!" He slurred. "I mean, practically a different girl each night. Gorgeous women too. Unlike any lady out in these parts."

An obnoxious scoff came from the boy at the bar. He circled his finger around the rim of his glass as he spoke, his head still down. “I sure ain’t heard any Tombstone ladies bragging on about pirooting with a Jack Kelly.”

All conversation ceased at the boy’s words. The notes on Albert’s guitar suddenly became more dramatic, and Jack would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so offended. Spot let out an exasperated sigh, but the rest of the customers were visibly tense. Every man had a hand on his gun, waiting for a showdown.

Jack turned and stared the boy down. "Maybe you ain't talked to the right ladies.”

"Maybe you just ain’t worth bragging about.” The boy took a sip of his drink. Racetrack let out a short giggle, then nervously ducked under the counter to make a drink that nobody had asked for. “Or, maybe, you ain’t really been with as many ladies as you claim.”

Disgruntled, Jack got up and made his way to the bar. The boy laughed as the outlaw tripped a little over his own feet. Jack grabbed the man by a shoulder and forced him to spin in his chair. He shoved a mean finger into the man’s chest. The man at the bar snickered, his face still covered by his hat.

“What’s that supposed to mean? Huh?”

“You know what they say about cowboys who brag too loud about their women.” He sniffed and rubbed his nose.

Jack gave a mock laugh. “Anyone in town would tell you I’m not queer. ‘Specially the ladies who pass through. Who do you think you are, anyway?”

As the boy pushed his hat out of his face, he made direct eye-contact with the outlaw. "I think I'm the fella that can send the ‘famous’ Jack Kelly home crying to his mama." Jack was silent, stunned. His finger was still pressed into the man’s chest, but it had begun to shake. "What now, Cowboy? I'd tell you to take me down like you promised," Deadwood gave a slight shove to Jack’s shoulder, yet he found himself almost toppling over. "But you're too corned to even stand straight."

Spot cleared his throat. “I won’t have you dunderheads havin’ a showdown in my saloon. Be respectable, boys.”

“There wasn’t gonna be no showdown, anyhow. This feller’s too drunk to do anything. He couldn’t shoot at me even if he had his pistol to my head.” Deadwood flicked a coin to Spot. “Thanks for the dynamite, Spot.” And with that, he proudly walked out of the saloon.

Jack watched the man leave and stood tall with fake pride. After the man was gone, he made a drunken attempt to sit down but instead accepted his place on the floor. Racetrack sighed and raised the outlaw by his armpits before sitting him on a barstool. Spot scoffed as he handed the outlaw a glass of water. “I told you not to make promises you can’t keep, you stubborn ole fogy.”

"I'm fixin' to keep that promise. But right now,” He started to gag, “I think I'm gonna be sick."

“Steady, Izar.” Jack mumbled. “Ain’t too far from here.” His horse neighed, almost as if she was responding to him. She even sighed as he stumbled into her. Jack could almost hear her complain about his recklessness. “I ain’t that drunk, Izar. Honest.”

He led her into the stable behind the Conlon home. “Spot was kind ‘nough to give us a nice little place to stay in for the night.” Jack looked around the stable and flinched at the smell of manure. “Well, he offered to let me stay in the house. But ya know I can’t leave you, mama.”

“Second I heard about you, Jack Kelly, I knew you were insane.” A voice muttered from the corner. “But I never would’a figured you was the type of insane to talk to yourself.”

Jack groaned. “Fuckin’ Spot. He knew you’d be here. Ain’t that right, Deadwood?”

“Yup.”

A tense silence fell over them, but Jack was far too tired (and drunk) to start a fight. He began to take off Izar’s saddle. “I wasn’t talkin’ to myself. I was talking to Izar.” He explained and gestured to his horse. Though, as Deadwood laughed, he realized that wasn’t a much better excuse. “Listen, I don’t feel the need to explain myself to you.”

“Yet here you are. Doing it.” Deadwood snorted as he pulled his hat further over his face. The hay he was laying in enveloped him as he snuggled deeper into it. “Now, I promise not to kill ya if ya promise to shut up.”

Jack grunted in agreement. His intuition screamed at him not to let his guard down, but Izar had already nestled herself into the hay. At that moment, he figured his awful gut feeling was just the whiskey from earlier. Besides, Izar had a good judge of character, most of the time. She curled around Jack as he rested against her, and the two slowly drifted off to sleep, just inches away from one of the deadliest men in the country.

Yelling voices and the sound of cracked wood startled Jack awake. Once he came to his senses, he realized that Izar was no longer behind him. Panic filled his chest and he scrambled to his feet. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he began to barely make out what was happening in the shadows.

Deadwood had a lanky boy pinned beneath him, his pistol to the person’s head. Another boy laid up against the wall of the barn; he was surrounded by splinters and his own blood. His head lolled against his shoulder, the blood from his nose pooled on his leather vest. The boy had a gun in his hand, the safety off and his hand on the trigger.

David lifted the boy underneath him by the collar of his shirt and shoved him against the wall. “I knew you were pathetic, Morris. But going so low as to kill a man in his sleep? We may be outlaws, but we have some sense of morality.” His hand in the Delancey brothers’ shirt tightened as he pushed the boy farther into the wall; Jack could hear the wood cracking beneath him. “And you don’t kill a man’s horse. Not unless you’re too much of a pussy to kill the owner.” Then, he dropped the man to the floor and spit at him.

Morris used a dramatic hand to wipe off his face before he scrambled to his feet. His hands shook as he moved to grab his pistol. “You place a single finger on that gun, and I will break every single one of your fingers-” Deadwood growled and grabbed the boy’s wrist. “One. By. One.”

After he let go of Morris’ wrist, the boy tripped over himself as he picked up his brother. Oscar barely seemed alive; his only sign of life had been the elongated groan he let out as Morris lifted him. David stopped the two before they could hurry out the door. “You two better never point a pistol at my Cowboy or his horse ever again. Next time, you don’t get a warning. I’ll line you two up and watch the bullets go straight through both of you.”

The two hesitantly nodded (Oscar moved his head down, and that was enough for David). Morris dragged his brother out the door, and it wasn’t long before the sound of galloping hoofs grew quieter and quieter.

“What the hell was that about?” Jack demanded. Deadwood rolled his eyes and led Izar out from behind his own horse.

“Don’t worry ‘bout it, Cowboy. Go back to sleep.”

“You’re losin’ it if you think I’m gonna let this shit go,” Jack argued as he moved to pet Izar’s neck. “They got you riled up enough to call me your cowboy.” He scoffed. “And you called me queer.”

David cocked his pistol in retaliation. “I defended you while you’s was asleep, but I’m not against shooting a man who’s awake.”

Jack couldn’t help but laugh. “Don’t worry, Deadwood. I won’t tell no-one ‘bout this. It wouldn’t be good for my reputation, anyhow. Cowboy don’t need no-one to save him.” He closed his eyes, an amused grin on his lips, and went back to resting against Izar.

The infamous outlaw stared at him, before he broke into laughter. “Spot was right. You are a stubborn ole fogy.”

[skidsbasement]

some queer letterkenny hcs bc brain is BRRR

-darry realized they’re genderfluid enby and use all pronouns after dan infodumps about all the different identities and pronouns he’s learned in ms. tricia’s class

-“yous gots yer he’s and she’s obviously, buts for peoples who donts like hows restrictives those pronouns feels, yous can use theys and thems! gender is actuallys a performance thats we dos everydays so the rules ares limitless”

-this causes darry to do a little self reflection… why did being “soft” always feel the most right, even tho they get ridiculed (w love) for it??? why did he always wear his barn clothes after being told multiple times to change??? why is that so comfortable for them???

-she ends up going to the skids basement to find roald hoping to find some guidance

-roald is happy to oblige and confides that he’s actually a trans man himself

-“I don’t know why but i don’t always feel like a man, ya know?”

-darry breathes a sigh of relief when roald tells them they doesn’t have to be a man and explains his own gender journey. she finds herself relating to a lot of it

-roald is the first person that they feel comfy with different pronouns with and she quickly realizes all pronouns feel okay! they/she being the most right but a he/him here and there is chill too

-one morning as the usual crew is in front of the produce stand, a comfortable silence around them, Darry speaks up

-“so you know how squirelly dan was talking about the gender pronouns stuff? I think I’m uh, not a man. at least not all the time so… id appreciate it if yous used they/she and sometimes he for me”

-daryl quickly misinterprets the lapse of silence as a bad sign before katy gets up and gives them a big hug

-“im so proud of you dar”

-“texas sized 10-4 dar”

-“yous gots it bud!”

-katy helps them start painting their nails and experimenting w mascara (he likes the blue ones since it matches his jumpsuit)

-wayne doesn’t hesitate to kick anyone’s ass who even looks at them for more than 2 seconds let alone anyone who says anything

[dottie-writes-tmnt]

Settled In

This is part five of my story A New Kind of Familiar. Tags and other chapters can be found here!

No summary this time we ballin; Ruby gets his own room tho

Ruby woke up to quiet commotion going on around the couch he was sleeping on. Leo, Mikey, Casey Sr., and Donnie were all begging Red for something.

“Raph, cmon, please?”

“You’ve been saying ‘next year’ for the past 3 years!”

“Red, we should all go. It will be a bonding experience for all of us,” Casey said, oddly formal.

“I concur. Unless Ruby’s straight and/or homophobic, in which case it’ll be horrible.”

“Oh, shit. I forgot those exist. But Ruby’s literally Raph from another dimension. Isn’t he queer by default?”

“There’s always a possibility, Leon.”

“ Ouch,” Ruby snarked, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. “It was already offensive enough when ya said I was straight, but the jump to homophobic was just evil. You guys really need to work on not talkin’ about a guy when he’s in the room with ya, by the way.”

He watched with mild amusement as everyone in the room looked at him in either shock or guilt.

“Anyway, where are you guys tryin’ to convince Red to let ya go?”

In his sleepy haze, it took him awhile to process what he’d heard.

“A pr—“

“Wait a damn minute, Leo’s— you’re all— holy crap, this dimension is so backwards oh my god.”

“Language.”

“You don’t mean to tell me I’m straight in your dimension!?”

“It’s not the end of the world, Leon.”

“You’re not straight all of a sudden?!”

“I’ve known I was gay since I was 6!”

“That’s fuckin’ crazy.”

“Language,” Raph warned, just slightly louder, overlapping once again with the Leonardo ingrained in his mind.

“Ah, right, I haven’t asked any questions about your dimension yet! I have been trying to let you settle in first, but my curiosity is slowly getting the better of me. And what better time to do it than while ‘buying’ more pride things for all of our ever-growing collections?”

“That’s a Donatello way of saying ‘be prepared, bitch, I’m gonna interrogate the fuck outta you’, ain’t it?”

“Third strike, yer out,” Red growled playfully, grabbing Ruby by the top of his shell and lifting him until he dangled in the air.

The turtle swallowed his immediate panic, recalling Raph doing similar things to Leo, Mikey, and Donnie.

“Donnie, you can interrogate ‘im next week. Ruby, ya get air jail for 10 minutes.”

“Haha you got air jail,” Leo taunted, sticking his tongue out at him.

Mikey gasped beside them.

“Guys, we have to go! It’ll be Casey Jr.’s first one, since Raph didn’t let us go last year! Ruby, have you ever been to a pride parade?”

“I’ve been nocturnal for most of my life and spent the rest of it fearing humans for all I’m worth. So no.”

“That’s why your sleep schedule sucks,” the box turtle said like he’d cracked some magic code to the secret of life.

Raph finally sighed.

“Fine, we can go. We’re going shoppin’ today, we’ll go to a parade tomorrow, and we’ll watch old gay movies the next day, and maybe if y’all behave, Raph and Leo’ll make ya some extra clothes, mm?”

The others rejoiced, waking up Casey Jr., who shuffled into the living room and leaned against the doorway, rubbing his eyes to try to wake up. His hair was a mess and he looked like he was back asleep already. Raph set Ruby back on the couch.

“Wha’s hap’nin?” the boy slurred, humming happily when Raph scooped him up and nuzzled the side of his head.

“Mornin’, Casey.”

“Mmmm.”

“I think he’s already asleep again,” Leo murmured.

“No, he’s not.”

The snapper set him down on the couch near Ruby and the teen immediately latched onto him, nuzzling his face into the turtle’s shoulder. He stiffened immediately, eyes going to the teen on him.

“You’re gonna be there awhile,” Donnie informed. 

“Sooo…we call April, Barry, maybe Dad and leave around ten-ish?”

“Yeah, we do need to update Dad’s collection, don’t we?”

That was the craziest shit he’d heard all night. Apparently, during summer, the family was nocturnal.

“Now y’all are just lying to me.”

“About?”

“Splinter is a homophobic conservative. Anything else and you’re lying.”

“Sorry to break it to you, amigo, but Dad is very much a bisexual.”

“You’re lying. Casey drools in his sleep.”

“I know. We’ll get him in a bit.”

“Everybody’s eating before we leave,” Raph growled, glowering at Donnie. Suddenly, music started blaring from Leo’s phone.

“You already know you’re dealing with this shit all month,” the slider said simply as I Like Boys by Todrick Hall played. “Anyway, just lemme know when we’re leaving.”

Donnie rolled his eyes. “Leon, we depart in close to an hour.”

“Yeah, whatever, I’ll see you guys then!”

“He’s going to see Usagi,” Donnie said at the same time Red said “he’s goin’ visit Usagi.”

They both sighed, rolling their eyes.

“Who?”

“You’ll see. Anyway, have fun with Jr.”

“Wait a damn minute!”

“Language.”

“I’m gonna go work on cooking, so we can all actually eat something before we leave.”

“SHELLDON is in need of his routine scrubbing. And I need to continue working on his body.”

“What?”

“SHELLDON is our nephew, only the best little AI in the world,” Mikey chirped. (What.)

“With villain tendencies,” chimed Cassandra, before getting up. “Yeah, I’m gonna get a workout in before we leave.”

“What am I supposed to do about Casey Jr.?”

“Someone’ll swing by to get him or his body clock will wake him up. Good luck. You also look like ya need more sleep,” Raph said, glancing Ruby’s way.

“I can’t fall back asleep once I wake up. Trust me, I’ve got all the sleep I’m gonna get.”

“Alright. I’m gonna watch some Lou Jitsu,” the snapper said simply, turning on the projector and sitting near the couch.

Ruby turned to watch the screen, Casey inhaling deeply, shifting in his sleep as he sighed before he tightened his hold on the turtle and huffed.

“Jr.’s a very clingy sleeper. He lost a lot of people.”

“This’s worse than Chompy,” he muttered, sighing as he rubbed the human’s back. It was a subconscious gesture, his mind drifting to the last time he’d taken a nap with his child.

“Chompy?”

“Turtle alien from the time we went to space.”

“Space?!”

“Yeah. To stop murderous aliens from killing everyone ‘n destroying the planet. Ya know, the usual.”

“That…how old’re you, again?”

“Eh, I dunno anymore. With the whole Dimension X thing, and the whole time travel thing, none of us know how old we are. But I’m the second oldest. I could be anywhere from 15 to fuckin’, what, 17?”

“When did you guys go to space?”

“Well, that was the time travel thing. I think I was 15? We count Leo as being a year older than me, so uh… I think. Why?”

“No reason. Just, y’all were kids.”

“I know. What does that hafta do with anything?”

“Nothin’! It’s great you guys did so much for the world.”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that.”

The two settled to watch the man on the TV scream hot soup and take out enemies courageously.

Some time passed with Ruby watching blurry colors and hearing static instead of the actual movie, the weight on top of him the only thing that kept him from completely being lost. That happened to him a lot.

“—by? Ruby? Hey, Ruby?”

He clocked in enough to hear Red’s voice gain more concern as he still didn’t respond. He couldn’t force noise from his mouth, unsure why he was having such trouble. He grunted, shifting to try to get some life back into himself. Jr. woke immediately, sitting up.

“Raph?”

Mikey.

“It’s time to go,” the box turtle continued, walking over. “Ruby?”

He really wished people would just shut the fuck up and leave him alone.

“Blink if you’re hearing what I’m saying.”

Blink once or blink twice? He didn’t think it mattered, simply blinking anyway.

“Okay. Casey, lay back down.”

The ravenette obeyed without question, one of the turtle’s rumored “Doctor Personas” close to surfacing from the looks of it.

The human drummed nonsense patterns on his shoulder, and Ruby counted each impact for fun. What did they all need, anyway? There had to be a reason they were trying to get a response from him.

“Because it’s time to go shopping like we planned earlier. Of course, we don’t have to if you’re not up for it. We all were going to eat before we leave, though?”

Had he said that out loud?

“Yeah, big guy, ya did. Think you can get up?”

Casey got up again easily, hopping over the back of the couch. The red banded turtle sat up, wishing distantly they’d quit looking at him like that.

“We’ll be in the kitchen.”

He simply nodded. Now he wondered how long he’d been out of it. He shrugged it off in favor of getting his ass up and going to the kitchen. He had shopping to do later.

 

Malls were a lot bigger than he remembered. Leo immediately ran off, screaming about getting a Harry Styles poster. Draxum simply followed everyone to Hot Topic, then going off to buy his own stuff. Ruby stood looking at everything until Casey Jr. mumbled something next to him.

“I’ve never been in one of these stores either. I think we can just get whatever.”

Raph was pondering squishmallows while Cassandra gazed at jackets. Mikey was with Raph and Donnie was looking at pins. The teen beside him nudged him further into the store.

“Just see what you find.”

 

After looking for a while, he did find a nice looking leather jacket that he could modify later. And a few nice looking pins. And if Red caught him staring at a few Hello Kitty plushies and picked them up for him, nobody had to know.

After Leo returned, he shoved a trans pin at everyone.

“Renewing my gender like I do every year,” he drawled, putting it on his sash and brandishing his Harry Styles poster.

Ruby rolled his eyes, and they all went back to the lair. Splinter hadn’t come along but nobody seemed to be even remotely phased. April had been asleep and they didn’t disturb her further. 

“We actually have a surprise for you, Ruby!”

He quirked a brow ridge.

“What if I hated surprises?”

“Well, it’s kinda too late now. Cover your eyes.”

He did so reluctantly, Red guiding him somewhere.

“Open!”

He uncovered his eyes and felt his jaw drop. A subway car, just like the other bedrooms, but the walls were a dark red, and the stool he’d helped Mikey paint was at a desk with sewing supplies.

There was a mattress he recognized pushed into a corner, a bookshelf with books he’d rescued from the scrap yard hanging nearby. There were little bird skulls all over the room, and suddenly everything made sense.

Donnie dragging him into his lab to ask him questions about what shows and movies he liked explained the Corpse Bride poster on the wall, Mikey asking what colors he thought went with which, Leo annoyingly taunting him about the most random things until he could get sewing tips, Red just being Red—

“Holy shit, what the fuck.”

They’d pulled this straight under his beak.

“Do you like it?”

“How did I not notice?”

“Because we’re just that good.”

“That just ain’t true.”

“Soo…?”

“You guys did a nice job.”

“Wooo! He likes it!”

Everyone around him rejoiced and Draxum set a hand on his shoulder.

“This is just how they incorporate others into the family. If you think they were bad before, it only gets worse. I would run while I could, child,” the yokai said, clearly joking.

Mikey’s affronted scoff signed the baron’s death wish.

Distantly, Raph wondered how his brothers were doing. Quietly, he wondered if they cared.

Previous Chapter | Next chapter

[citylitscribes]

Faye Valentine (Cowboy Bebop) gives me many feelings

Cowboy Bebop (The anime series) is a strange/thrilling/sad/slick/sonderous show.

All the characters are worth talking about but I’m always suprised at all the layers Faye Valentine has. She could so easily have been some object, more animated tits than character, or one of those gun girls who we keep getting told is a valkyrie or warrior but still ends up being mostly scantily-clad eye-candy.

(I mean, just look at this pose, it’s ridiculous, she’s being chased by gangsters but still making sure to stick out her butt)

So yes, Faye is shown for a long time as ditsy, addicted to gambling, arrogant, kind of a goblin (i.e. eating a tin of dog food). But the show goes out of it’s way to tell us that all this stuff is a persona- it’s the mechanism a woman out of time and deep in debt has developed over years to keep herself safe. She acts ditsy? Well that makes people underestimate her. The scanty clothes? Perfect for getting free stuff out of shallow men. The gambling? Well that’s probably a genuine addiction, but nothing else in her life is certain, not even her past. So that makes sense too.

So Faye Valentine- big mess, well thought out character- love it.

What really struck me the last couple of times I watched the show was her struggles with her past. Everyone on the Bebop is stuck in some sort of cycle, and hers is never being able to figure out or remember who she was before being put in stasis and waking up a couple of hundred yers later. Most of what she is told about her past is lies, people trying to con her. Even when she finally does get some real evidence on an old video tape (which spike and Jet are totally confused by, it’s adorable).

There’s a moment at the end of an episode where she just stares at this videotape of herself as a kid- a single eye quivers but mostly her face is frozen. It looks for all the world that she’s finally found some sort of proof of her past- but she just can’t remember being that happy smiling kid at all. it’s a self which has become  stranger to her. And it’s heartbreaking.

Stuff progresses for Faye’s story, but this moment struck a deep vein of queer feels within me. I’ve seen the term ‘Queertemporality’ used for feelings like this. In many places, growing up as a queer person means you miss some parts of a typical childhood/early adulthood, or you experience them but not how you’d like to. I’m trans, but I’ll always have the experience of growing up knowing something was wrong. I can imagine what things would’ve been like if I could have grown up as the gender I am now, but even if I do it’ll be like Faye’s videotape. It’s a version of myself I can’t remember being, because it’s not a part of me. And the real version of my own childhood self can often feel like a stranger. And that’s something a lot of trans people share. And it is sad. Like Cowboy Bebop, MY FAVORITE SAD ANIME WITH GUNS AND KING-FU AND SPACE DOGS.

[maximus-tugs]

After All This Time

(Happy pride month! This time I have a short little scene about two gay men reflecting on the past. I'm worried this one isn't my best work but I'm probably overthinking it).

Night was falling slowly. Streaks of daylight could still be seen lingering, despite the late hour. Top Hat lay in bed, beside his partner. The two would be getting up at dawn, but Top Hat still couldn't sleep. Perhaps it was the late night sun. Or more likely it was the various thoughts running through his tired mind. He let out a weary sigh, pressing against Big Mac. Big Mac stirred. "Hm?" he murmured, blinking blearily.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” Top Hat said quietly.

“‘Salright. Ah’m a light sleeper.” Big Mac spoke through a yawn. “Why are ye still up? Can’t be morning yet.”

“I can’t sleep.” Top Hat sighed. “I guess there’s just…a lot on my mind.”

“What kind of things?” Big Mac asked.

“I don’t know. Everything, I suppose.” Top Hat said, staring up at the ceiling.

“I’ve been in Bigg City for nine years now. It’s incredible to me. I mean, it’s felt so long, yet so short and everything I’ve ever known has changed completely.” Top Hat began.

“Ye’ve changed too.” Big Mac noted. “And ah’m glad ye did. Ye were insufferable.”

“I was…wasn’t I?” Top Hat laughed weakly, though winced at the memories. “I think you’ve changed too.”

“How so?”

“Well, you’re a lot nicer to me. And everyone, really.”

“Really? Ah never thought of myself as unkind…well, I was rude to ye in the past.”

“I deserved it.” Top Hat said. “I suppose unkind isn’t the right word. Perhaps…stoic? You used to keep to yourself more.”

“Ah guess yer right.” Big Mac agreed.

A moment of silence passed before Top Hat spoke up again, “I never thought I would fall in love with someone like you. But I’m completely happy with you. I wouldn’t trade this for the world.”

“I hated ye before. If ye had told me nine years ago that one day, we’d be together, I would’ve never believed it.”

“Neither would I. If you had told me nine years ago that I was queer, I wouldn’t have believed it either.” Top Hat admitted.

“How did ye find out?” Big Mac asked.

“Not long after I came to Bigg City, I stumbled into a queer ball. I had never really known that loving men was an option. After all, I had only recently left an engagement behind-”

“Hold on, ye were engaged? To a woman?” Big Mac interrupted.

“I was.” Top Hat sighed. “It was my family’s wish, but I was not at all pleased with the arrangement, though I couldn’t explain my aversion to it at the time.”

“It’s just hard to believe ye were ever engaged to a woman.” Big Mac chuckled. Top Hat laughed with him.

“I used to hate this city so much. I seemed like a disgusting, filthy place filled with rude people. As of late, I’ve come to see its charm, largely thanks to you, I must admit.” Top Hat said. Big Mac rolled over, enveloping Top Hat in his broad arms and pulling him close.

“Ye’ve taught me a lot too.” he said. “Ah love ye.” Top Hat felt his cheeks grow warm.

“I love you too.” he said quietly.

“Now let’s get some sleep. Ah can barely keep my eyes open.” Big Mac yawned. Top Hat nodded in agreement. His eyelids felt heavy and his mind had finally gone quiet. He closed his eyes, smiling contentedly as he began to drift off to sleep, lying beside his beloved.

[allzelemonz]

Finding and Feeling (2.5): The Threat and A Talk

Pairing Type: M/M Rating: M/Reference to sex Warnings: Internalized homophobia, mentions of torture, gelding, asexual character, everyone is queer, platonic relationships, Background and Mentioned Relationships: Javier & Bill, Micah & Bill, Kieran & Mary-Beth, Kieran & Karen, Mary-Beth & Karen, Charles/Arthur, Dutch/Hosea Summary: Bill and Kieran come to terms with things on their own. A/N: You can pry aroace Javier from my cold, dead hands. Other Chapters

Micah can’t find that dumb, drunk, bear of a man anywhere. Lately Bill’s been going out to cause mayhem with him and, as much as Micah doesn’t want to admit it, he enjoys the company. He does find Javier counting cash that Micah’s about three-quarters sure was won off Bill, so he stops to lean on the table and stare.

Javier looks up at him. “Micah.” He mutters.

“Seen Bill?” Micah asks simply, tilting his head to peer at the bills in the other’s hand.

“Maybe.” Javier looks back down at his cash. “What do you want with him?”

“None a’ yer damn business.”

When Javier looks back up, Micah has disappeared. But he did have a point, Bill is nowhere to be found. Annoyed that he’s worried, Javier tucks his cash away and walks out towards the woods. It doesn’t take him long to find Bill. He’s slumped against a napping Brown Jack, out like a flame in the cold just as his horse is. Javier shakes his head, looking around the woods before kicking lightly at Bill’s boot.

“¡Buenos días!” Javier yells in a whisper when his friend stirs, wanting to annoy Bill without spooking the horse. He settles himself down next to the idiot he had held a knife to just yesterday, offering him his flask. “Micah was looking for you.”

Bill grunts, snatching the flask and taking a swig.

“You hear what happened with Arthur and little Jack.”

Bill groans. “Pinkerton bastards.”

Javier shakes his head. “How the hell did they find us?”

Bill grunts again.

Javier looks over at him. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothin’.”

“Bullshit.” Javier mutters. “Tell me, cabrón. I’m great with secrets.”

Bill is quiet for a moment. He takes his hat off his head and sets it on his knee so he can run a hand through his hair. “Did somethin’ stupid.”

“Don’t you always?” Javier chuckles.

“Ain’t funny.”

“Okay.” Javier puts his hands up. “Sorry. Tell me.”

Bill fiddles with the seam of a patch on his pants. “Think ‘m sick.”

“You don’t look sick.” Javier says, tilting his head to look at his friend’s face. “Maybe hungover—”

“Not that kinda sick!” Bill grumbles, putting his head in his hands. “Think I… Think I’m an invert.”

Javier goes quiet, simply staring at his friend. Of course Javier knows, most of the camp has their suspicions, but Javier prides himself on knowing things of romance. Bill has never shown interest in women, not that Javier has seen. He’s passed up some of the prettiest working girls in favor of staring at some other cowboy in countless saloons. Javier isn’t stupid. Which is why he also knows what this is about. That O’Driscoll rat.

“Tell me what you did.” Javier speaks evenly, trying to take on the tone he would want if he ever told his secrets.

Bill sits up, leaning back against the still sleeping Brown Jack with a sigh. “I got drunk n’... went out ta the woods…”

“Ah…” Javier licks his lips as he tries to think of what to say. “And you thought of him?”

Bill nods.

“I don’t think there's anything wrong with that.” Javier says carefully, knowing his friend’s short fuse. “I think of men on occasion.”

Bill looks over at him like he’s crazy and Javier manages a smile.

“Was that all?” Javier asks, fishing cigarettes from his pocket. “Because that’s not very stupid.”

Bill takes the cigarette he’s offered. “You don’t think it’s stupid?”

“No.” Javier says. “Do you think it’s stupid that I don’t find people desirable at all?”

Bill glances at Javier with furrowed brows.

“Just saying.” Javier shrugs. “We have some things in common. I don’t find women attractive either, or men. It’s just a feeling, who cares.”

“Yer confusin’.”

Javier chuckles.

“I mean…” Bill scrunches his nose as he thinks. “What kinda man doesn’t like—”

“Ah, ah.” Javier shakes his head. “We are both men, amigo. Some people are just particular.” He looks over at Bill. “Some men like women, some like men, some like both, some like neither.”

“An’ you…”

“Like neither.” Javier shrugs. “But I still have fun when I want. Nothing wrong with doing something you enjoy.” Javier watches Bill process this for a while before he stubs out his cigarette and stands. “I don’t know what you did to the kid, but you should probably try and win him back, yes?”

Bill nods. “It’s really… okay?”

Javier scoffs. “No one cares. Arthur and Charles have been sharing a bed since Colter, have you not noticed?”

“They…?” Bill nutters.

Javier shrugs. “Not that I care. Just means I get a tent all to myself.”

“But it ain’t—”

“Ain’t what?” Javier interrupts. “Right? Moral? Who gives a shit, idiota. We’re outlaws.”

Bill just sits there, staring at the ground.

“What? You think Dutch hasn’t slept with Hosea before?”

Bill looks up at him with wide eyes.

“You think old Grimshaw hasn’t gone off with a working girl?” Javier laughs. “Or that Sean hasn’t made out with some poor bastard in a saloon?” He gestures broadly at the woods around him. “We’re free out here. No one can touch us.”

Bill stares for a while as Javier steals back his flask, then he speaks quietly. “Help me.”

“With what?” Javier asks.

“With the O’Driscoll.” Bill mutters. “I did some shit an’... I damn well don’t know how ta flirt.”

Javier chuckles. “Let’s go buy him something.”

“Why?”

“He’s got nothing.” Javier shrugs. “He needs things and you have money.”

“L-Like what?”

“He likes horses, yes?”

Bill nods.

“Then a brush.” Javier shrugs. “Or whatever shit you get for this spoiled brat.” He laughs, patting Brown Jack's flank.

Bill smiles to himself. “Could get him some treats fer that little walker a’ his.”

“That’s it, cabrón” Javier grins. “I’ll go with you, I need some things for Boaz anyway.”

*

Karen’s second cup of morning coffee is something folks know not to get in the way of. Most folks anyway. Just as she opens her mouth to tell off the little baby O’Driscoll, she hears the tiny sniffle. And as much as Karen prides herself on being one of the toughest women she’s ever met, it breaks her heart a little.

“What’s wrong?” She asks, keeping the edge in her voice.

Kieran wipes his face before he turns around, attempting a smile. “N-Nothin’’s wrong, Miss… Just—”

Before he can think of a lie, Karen shouts. “Mary-Beth! Get over here, Kieran’s cryin’!”

“I-I ain’t—”

“Hush, darlin’.” Karen sighs.

Mary-Beth rushes over, stopping only to be pulled along by Karen as she pushes Kieran over to the rock he usually sits at. Karen pushes Kieran down to sit on the rock and kneels in front of him, taking his hands in hers like he’s a little boy that had his toy stolen. Mary-Beth sits down beside him, putting an arm over his shoulders in an attempt to comfort.

“”Now, what’s wrong?” Karen asks again, still not quite using a friendly tone.

Kieran sniffles. “It’s nothin’ fer you ladies ta trouble yourselves with.”

“Bullshit.” Karen mutters.

Mary-Beth squeezes Kieran tight and tries to speak as softly as she can. “Somethin’ with Bill, ain’t it?”

Kieran feels a shiver go through him, fearful thoughts rocketing around his head. “H-How did ya—”

“Oh, please!” Karen chuckles. “Whole damn camp can see the way ya stare at ‘em.”

“Karen.” Mary-Beth hisses. “Be nice.”

“Just saying… there was that one time Bill had his union suit with that missin’ button, I think Kieran here nearly passed out.”

Mary-Beth ignores her, turning back to Kieran and trying to be gentle. “You wanna talk about it?”

Kieran shakes his head.

“Might be a good thing.” Mary-Beth presses, hating to see Kieran suffer more than he already has. “Please?”

Kieran shakes when he exhales, as if he was holding in toxic air. “H-He…”

Karen grips his hand, squeezing comfortingly as she gets her sensibility back.

“H-He came up ta me a few days ago… with them tongs…”

“Oh…” Mary-Beth pulls Kieran closer. “You poor thing, Kieran. Are you alright?”

He nods.

“‘m gonna kill that bastard.” Karen mutters.

“How ‘bout I go get Charles an’ he can take ya out ridin’?” Mary-Beth suggests. “Ya like Charles, don’t ya?”

Kieran nods. Charles is one of the few people that was never cruel to him, one of the few he doesn’t have ready reason to be afraid of.

“We’d go, but…” Karen looks off towards camp. “Grimshaw’ll have our heads if laundry ain’t done today.”

“‘s alright.” Kieran sniffles.

Mary-Beth and Karen walk him over to Charles who looks up with kind eyes. He agrees without much convincing to talk Kieran out for a little riding, saying it’ll be good for Branwen to stretch his legs. Kieran drys his face for the last time, already happy to get out of camp for a while. As he nears Branwen he notices a new pair of saddlebags on his saddle and when he reaches inside he finds a new brush on one side and a healthy amount of treats on the other.

A few yards away, Bill grips the dominos table so hard his knuckles turn white. Javier sits across from him, sharpening a knife.

“He like it?” Javier asks, looking up at Bill.

Bill smiles, looking away from the O’Driscoll—Kieran. He’s working on that. “He’s smilin’.” Bill mutters. “Givin’ the horse a peppermint.”

“Good.” Javier sighs. “Just keep spoiling him and he’ll warm up.”

“I feel silly.” Bill mumbles.

“That’s love, amigo.” Javier chuckles. “Warm, fuzzy, and silly.”

[tailsmillion]

Had a talk with me mother

Turns out

She is like

Liberal!?

She appears to be fine with all of me weird clothing stuff

Only thing is

She suspects me to be trans

Because she just like kinda

Stereotype clothing

She’s fine with all queer things

But a man wearing a skirt is weird to her

And oh boy

And I DO NOT have willpower to explain what a Femboy is

But I’ve told her that I’m a man

And I’ll see how this works out

But

Much better results then I was expecting

It was also unexpected

And unprepared

B UT be hen they find yer small stash of clothing which is actually at home

Ya can’t exactly play it off like it’s nothin

[ohyeswaitaminute]

The Night Before

He arched his back. Paul’s fingers rested gently on the piano keys. They automatically reached for a melody—something improvised, or one of those indelible teenage songs that were always ready to hand. His mind wandered in the spaces between the chords. The night before, his fingers had brushed against John’s during one of their late night writing sessions: an accidental, electric touch. 

“Yer hands are bloody soft, McCartney,” John reacted instantly. 

Was it a jibe or a come on? Paul could never be totally sure where he stood in John’s eyes. What did John see when he looked at him? His partner was by turns rude and defensive, then emotionally needy, even tender. He knew John’s moods like a fretboard, but there would be sudden modulations even he couldn’t anticipate.

“And yours are as chapped as that ratty leather jacket you used to strut about in!” Paul replied after some hesitation. “Have you never heard of moisturizer?”

“Aw, you loved the leathers. Maybe not as much as Brian did,” said John, “but all the same.” 

Something in the way John enunciated their manager’s name stuck out. Teasing Brian about his sexuality was ordinary behaviour for John, but what was the implication here? Paul’s heterosexual credentials were well established. He had probably had more sex than the others put together, often as not while a frustrated bandmate was trying to grab some sleep in the adjacent bed.

It was John who was the soft one, anyway. To Paul there always seemed to be something funny between John and Stu, and how about the time he hitchhiked to London to visit that flamboyant beatnik poet? And then there was that trip to Barcelona with Eppy.

“And you know all about what Brian likes,” prodded Paul.

That did it. There was no mistaking the look in John’s eyes now. Embarrassment, rising to anger.

“Come off it!” he shouted, throwing his guitar aside. Paul sought to calm his temperamental friend. 

“All right mate, I’m only joking.” A tense pause held sway over their easy banter.

“If you want to know the truth,” John started, “I do know what Brian likes. I let him toss me off on our little Spanish honeymoon.” 

A sly grin curled his lips, but he seemed utterly serious. That quick temper was gone as quickly as it came. Typical. 

Paul was at a loss for words. He could only listen. 

“And it was fab, man,” John continued. “Blokes know how to work a pecker better than any bird.”

A memory of their youthful wank sessions took hold of Paul’s attention for a moment. It was just a laugh at the time, something all strapping young lads did. But maybe it had been something more for John. Maybe he really was queer.

“So you're...?” asked Paul.

“A poof?” answered John. “I dunno, I ‘spose if you wanna get technical. I'm not exactly queen of the fairies. I mean I dig birds. But I do fancy blokes.”

The inevitable question every clueless straight man asks in this situation left Paul’s mouth before he could think any better of it.

“D’you fancy me then?”

John laughed.

“You? Moi? You with those puppy dog eyes and luscious lips and pitch perfect Little Richard act? Paul McCartney, the cute Beatle? With eyebrows like bloody Roman arches? Jesus, what’s there to fancy? You know what those Little Richard songs are about don't you? Yes, Paul. I fancy you. I’ve fancied ye since the day we met and you sang me Tutti Frutti. You looked like Elvis and you sang like Little Richard. I was smitten, man. You blew me away. You still do.”

Paul couldn't look John in the face, so he looked at his hands. They were beautiful. Rough and ready in an undeniably attractive way. Not delicate like Jane’s, but not inelegant either. Those hands had been the centre of gravity in so many music lessons and writing sessions, Paul sharing the arcane knowledge of chord shapes with his partner, their bodies drawn together unselfconsciously. All at once he felt he wanted to hold John’s hand. It didn't make sense, but he had to touch him right now. John reciprocated.

Paul let a shy gaze meet John’s eyes as they gripped each other’s hands intently. He didn't feel as John did, he had never felt that way about a man, but their bond was too intimate and complex to dismiss John’s revelation. This wasn't some other guy, it was John Lennon. It wasn’t as though he had never thought about the possibility. Every lad asks himself the question at some point. Am I? Could I be? And who would Paul direct that kind of affection toward if not John? He wanted to share his half-formed feelings, but words weren’t coming easily. Paul didn’t have the heart to just reject his best mate, but as expansive as their relationship was, how could it accommodate this new intensity? It felt unwise to let things go any further.

“I…” Paul managed, not knowing how the rest of the sentence might unfold. No matter. John wouldn’t give him the chance to finish it before inflicting a passionate kiss. 

Now Paul dropped his guitar. The atonal thud that soundtracked the moment was no equal to the uncanny beauty of the strange ringing chord that had opened their last film, but the effect was the same. Kissing John was new, shocking, perfect. The hard, hot mouth, the ciggie breath, the prickle of his chin. John took the lead, and for now Paul accepted his leadership, accepted his clumsy tongue and his raw, searching hands. His hands.

Paul was hard. It didn’t take much to get him going, and his tight trousers readily betrayed the development.  

“That’s a good lad!” said John. There was earnest excitement in his voice, no hint of the typical Lennon acerb. First came a tentative squeeze, then determined strokes against the thick fabric of his crotch. “You've really got something here, Macca. Jane’s a lucky bird!”

Paul mumbled something in response, or tried to. His head was swimming, and his body… he had to get ahold of himself. He held on to John instead, feeling him up as he found his bearings. Paul unzipped. It was his turn to lead.

“Like what you see, eh Lennie?” asked Paul. John’s eager nod said it all, but Paul pushed. “Tell me what you see,” Paul demanded.

“Your cock, my darling. Your beautiful knob and your big round bollocks,” answered John in impish obedience.

“Right, and what are you gonna do with it?”

“I'll give ye the best jobby you ever had, mate,” John promised. A high bar, to be sure, but John’s sincerity was apparent as he got on his knees and opened wide. It was clear that John had a little bit of practice in the artform, but his sloppy enthusiasm more than made up for a somewhat amateur technique. Paul throbbed in John’s mouth and John took all of him, gagging and drooling and moaning. Paul allowed a moment’s reprieve and John caught his breath.

“More please,” John begged.

Paul didn’t need to be asked twice. He again fed his dick to his best mate and John hoovered like a man possessed. Paul could feel himself getting close as John kept on working. He arched his back. He cradled John’s head, and his hair was so soft.

“Fffuuuck,” Paul elongated. John swallowed his come gleefully, punctuating the act with an impeccably timed belch.

“Bob’s yer uncle!” John quipped.

The fuck haze began to clear from Paul’s mind. John was cuddled up in his lap now, his cock softening against John’s wet face, John’s heart beating against his thigh. Minutes passed like this as Paul thought about how best to communicate what needed to be said. He needed to be tactful, gentle. He stared at John. There was love in his friend’s eyes where lust had been. Paul adjusted himself.

“I'm not sure I’m able to return the favour,” he finally admitted. “I wish I could, y’know. I mean, that was brilliant. You were brilliant. You are brilliant.” He paused. “But I don’t want to muck up what we have. Our friendship, our partnership... and I’m not blaming you. I mean, I care about you, y’know? About us. I hope you know that.”

John had decamped to the carpet, sitting cross-legged, his hair more mussed than usual, his expression hard to read.

“Yeah, I love you too, ye stupid git,” John replied. “Anyway, forget it. This doesn't change a thing. I didn’t really mean half the things I said. It didn’t mean anything, really. I only did it for a laugh.” He rose. “It’s getting late.”

Paul was hurt, but dared not show it. It was just like John to be totally vulnerable one minute and distant the next. Paul couldn't see-saw like that himself, but he was accustomed to riding John’s ups and downs, and knew when to step back. He got up to leave.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, John.”

“Wait!” 

John reached out and grabbed Paul by the ankles like a clingy kid. It was apparent that John was considering his next words carefully, even as they came as quickly as usual.

“It’s really late, man. You should stay. You’re a shite driver. Wouldn’t want to risk that moneymaker of yours. You’re the cute one, remember?” 

That sly smile reappeared. Those lips. Those hands. Paul stayed.

[violetfoxsketches]

🖊🖊🖊 >:3

You want 3 shorts, you will get 3 shorts >;3c General tw for blood, body horror; these are shorts about Javier's turning

🖊 Hellbent

“Would you get off my back?! I don’t wanna hear it, man!”

Javier snarled at the figure in the passenger seat of his danube blue ‘65 Impala. He’d agreed to drive Lucas home from work, not to another lecture about Riles. As they pulled to a red light, Lucas gawked as Javier propped a cigarette between his lips and flicked a lighter.

“I thought you said you quit last year.” Lucas drawled, “Where are you even gittin’ the money for those? You couldn’t even pay yer half of rent last month.” “Seriously, dude what are you, my ma?” Javier growled in response, “Wouldn't need ‘em if you’d stop stressin’ me out so much with all the lecturin’.”

“I wouldn’t have to lecture yer ass if you’d just break up with yer crazy chick.” Lucas spat in response, “You don't drag yer ass in til dawn half the time, you stopped goin' to Mass, you miss work, and now yer smokin' again? It’s like I don’t even know you anymore, man. Whatever she's doin' wit'chu you ain't right. You need to git rid of her.”

“Lucas, I’m warnin’ you…”

The car fell into silence as the light turned green. The fuck did Lucas know about Riles anyways? He’d hated her ever since he met her. Javier took a long drag and let his breath fill the car with smoke as he eyed Lucas in the passenger seat, almost daring the man to say one more thing about Riles. Lucas glared right back. Then, without warning, he snatched the cig right out of Javier’s mouth, cranked down the window and flicked it out of the car.

“What the fu—?”

“—Stop bein’ a dick and I’ll stop treatin’ you like one.” Lucas cut in.

“If anyone’s bein’ the dick, it’s you!” Javier bellowed, “What the fuck is your problem with Riles? The real one, not the bullshit you keep makin’ up about her.”

“I ain’t makin’ up shit, Javi. I went with my gut and made some calls at work. There ain’t no Riley Reid from Tampa that matches her in the books. She’s lyin’ through her teeth, and yer eatin’ it up!”

“Yeah sure. You’re stalkin’ her records, but she’s the crazy one! Do you even hear yourself, man? Maybe you're the one that's changed.” Lucas went quiet. Javier scoffed.

“She told me you were gonna try and use some bullshit story to scare me away from her.” Javier’s voice grew cold, “Can’t you just go be happy with your fiance and leave me the fuck alone already?” “...I gave her til the end of the month to git the hell outta dodge before I call the feds.” Lucas responded, tone equally as icy, “I can’t let her ruin yer life with whatever scam she’s pullin’.”

Tires screeched on pavement as Javier swerved to a stop.

“You WHAT?!” Javier practically roared, “...Nah. Get out of the fuckin’ car.”

Lucas gave Javier a hard look, but it went ignored as Javier jerked the keys out of the ignition and stepped out in a rage. He rounded the front of the Impala and yanked the passenger door open. “I said, get out of the fuckin’ car, Lucas!” Javier yelled, “Or I’ll make you get out.”

“You can’t make me do shit, Javi.”

That was it. Javier reached in, grabbed a handful of Lucas’ blazer, and tugged him right out of his seat. He didn’t care if it was Lucas, he was gonna feed the jerk his own teeth for threatening Riles. Javier drew his fist back and swung, but Lucas banked to the right and before Javier knew what happened, Javier’s back slammed against the hood of the Impala and Lucas had an iron grip on Javier’s jacket collar. Stunned by the impact, Javier flinched and closed his eyes for a punch that never came.

“Believe it or not, I’m doin' this because I care about you, pendejo.” Lucas huffed, still holding Javier in place by two fistfuls of jacket.

“...liar.” Javier managed, “You just can’t stand the idea that I’m not the sorry little queer that needs your protection anymore. God forbid I find a woman to be happy with. What; did you think I’d never get over you?”

The grip loosened. Lucas looked down at Javier as if those words had been a switchblade to the chest. Good. Javier took the chance to shove Lucas away and got back on his feet.

“Up yours, Lucas. You can fuckin’ walk home.” Javier spat as he fixed the jacket’s popped collar, “You’re not makin’ me late to my date.” Javier slammed the passenger door shut, slid into the driver’s seat, and flipped Lucas the bird before revving the engine and peeling out, leaving the other man to choke on exhaust in the rear view mirror.

🖊 Love Me Dead

Javier felt like he was on fire. His ears were ringing, the smell of something foul assaulted his nose, he could taste an entire ashtray on his dry tongue. His fingers stung as he groped blindly along… dusty concrete?

Bleary brown eyes finally cracked open to take in his surroundings. Blood. It was all over him, old, dry, flakey blood. It was the only thing on him, he soon came to realize.

Okay, focus. Try and remember what happened…

He’d been furious when he got home. Packed a backpack for everything he’d need overnight and tossed it in the trunk of his Impala before going to meet with Riles. She’d cooed and smoothed his ruffled feathers, she’d made him forget his anger, but things got fuzzy from there.

To Javier’s surprise, his sight was the only one of his senses that wasn’t overwhelming him. He was in a basement, or at least, what once was a basement. It looked like a tornado had blown through the place. What had happened down here...?

The world around him was moving too quickly. He crashed into a wooden banister, and splintered it. He went headlong into a stack of old boxes and scattered their contents. He remembered the headache that was denting some kind of pipe. Then there was the door. Clawing and clawing at impossible speed with his bare hands like a trapped animal. Desperate. Screaming. Starving.

Javier rounded what was left of the banister up to the basement door. Deep scratch marks, highlighted with more old blood. His blood, he finally realized. In his frenzy, he’d worn his fingertips down to blood and bone. What kind of drug had he been on last ni— OhhhhHolyMotherOfGod there was a hole in his chest.

“HELP!” Javier’s lungs burned as he filled them with air to scream, “¡AYÚDAME! SOMEONE; ANYONE!”

He grabbed the doorknob. He twisted and pulled and pushed and rattled but it wouldn't budge. He pounded and pounded on the wood, first with his fists, then with his shoulders. Until finally he heard the sound of footsteps.

"LET ME OUT! I NEED A DOCTOR!"

The groan of a heavy object scraping the floor. The rattle of a chain. The sliding of a deadbolt. The twist of the doorknob. He came face to face with…

“...Riles?” Javier uttered. A wash of relief crashed into him, “Riles, thank God!”

She simply stood there, amusement growing on her lips and a folded pile of clothes in her arms.

“Ohh, Pobrecito~” Riley snickered, “Still reeling from that tantrum, I see. C’mon, let’s get you all cleaned up.”

“Riles, you gotta get me to a hospital before I bleed out!” Javier urged, unsure why she was so calm. Jovial, even.

“Baby… you’re not bleeding out. You’re already dead.”

“I’m… —Riles, c’mon, that’s not funny.”

“I’m serious. You’re dead. Although damn; did you come back swinging. What a display.”

Riley chuckled darkly, gazing him up and down with pride in her smile as she handed Javier what he now realized were his duds and jacket.

“Everything is going to be okay now.” she reached up to caress the side of his face. Anxiety and panic fluttered away as Javier practically melted into her touch, “You’re free, Baby.”

Javier found himself grinning right back at her. He wasn't entirely sure why. “Free, huh? Free from what?”

“Your miserable life. Your awful friends. Your pointless studies. Sharing the same fate as your father. You’re more than all of that now. You are the night personified. Beautiful. Eternal. Vicious.”

Riley drew Javier closer with her touch and cradled him against her neck. Something inside Javier stirred. A foreign instinct, demanding to be acknowledged. Or had it always been a part of him? He kissed her, gratefully. God, she was cold as Death.

“Go on; I know you must still be hungry.” Riley whispered as her fingers slid through the hair at the back of Javier’s head.

He was still hungry, and somehow he already knew what to do. He curled back his lip and bit sharply into her neck…

🖊 Teeth

He was met with the bright amber eyes he’d fallen in love with. His senses weren’t screaming, the hole in his chest was gone, and his fingertips were whole again. Thank God it was over.

“I must’ve been on a helluva trip if you stayed with me all night. You never do that.” Javier snorts out a laugh, “I don’t even remember what I took, pero I was loco en la cabeza last night. I was convinced we were both vampires. God; I think I even tried to bite you.”

“Oh there was no try, Baby; you did.” Riley smirked, “And we are. You just might be a little hazy on the details, seeing as you went so buck wild I had to stake you for a couple weeks.”

“Seriously, stop pullin’ my leg, Riles.”

Riley tilted her head and smiled at him in a way that didn’t need words: she was patronizing him. Then she flashed her teeth and Javier’s own smile dropped. His gaze darted to a mirror on the nearby vanity and in what felt like a blur, he was already there, rattling the furniture with an unintentional collision. Reflexively, he steadied the wobbly mirror before it could topple. The sight that greeted him was paler than ever, almost no color to his lips. The dusty eyes looking back at him were sunken and dull. He looked half-dead. Behind him, Riley giggled.

“Cool the jets, Babyfangs, there’s no fire.” she purred.

“Babyfangs?” Javier wrinkled his nose at her reflection.

Instinctively, he curled a lip and sure enough, four massive fangs protruded from his gums.

“...Madre de Dios…”

“Oh Baby… God didn’t have anything to do with this.”

Reality hit Javier like a speeding car and he staggered backwards. Cold arms caught him and snaked around his middle.

“I had to do it,” Riley insisted, “He was trying to take you away from me; look at how much he upset you. You’re better off without him. Without all of them. We’ll hit the road tonight and leave this miserable place in our dust. You trust me, right?”

“Yeah…” Javier found himself saying, almost automatically. Of course he trusted her. “I just need to tell Ma or she’ll worry.”

“Oh, I already took care of that. Your funeral was last week.”

Something hitched within him. Not his breath, not his pulse —he’d already come to realize both were long absent. No, this was something deeper, in the pit of his stomach. His poor Ma.

The arms tightened around him and cold flesh pressed against his back.

“You don’t live in their world anymore, Baby. It had to be done. They can’t come looking for you.”

“...How? What… what do they think happened to me?”

“Oh, you can read about it if you like.” Riley almost sang. She removed one hand to grab a newspaper clipping on the nightstand and handed it to Javier.

Fiery Crash Leaves One Dead And Rocks Nashville Suburb

Javier Andres Peña of Nashville, Tennessee was found dead on the side of Bell Road this morning by police after reports of smoke in the area. He was tragically killed in a vehicular accident on the evening of August 15th, when he lost control of his vehicle and struck a telephone pole. Evidence suggests he had been drinking and that a lit cigarette started the blaze that later consumed the vehicle. There was not enough left of the body to identify, but the plates on the burnt out shell of the 1965 Impala found at the scene matched a title in his name. His girlfriend, Riley Reid, reported he was meant to show up for a date that evening and never made it. Peña was 25 years old and is survived by his mother, Celestina Peña. The closed casket funeral will be on August 18th at 10pm at Our Lady Guadalupe Catholic Church. Wake to follow.

He almost choked. That pit in his stomach started to burn and boil. How… how could Riley do that… to his car. To whatever poor fuck she’d passed off as him. To Ma. To Lucas. Oh God Lucas. He felt sick. Angry.

“Baby… this was for your own good.” she whispered, “You love me, don’t you…?”

“Yeah…” Javier nodded tersely. The arms wrapped tightly around him once more. Guilt suddenly overwhelmed him.

“You trust me, don’t you…?”

“... Yeah.” What was he upset about again? He couldn't remember.

“You want to be with me forever, don’t you…?”

“Of course, Riles. Siempre.” He couldn’t have been more sure of anything in the world.

She turned Javier to face her and stood to meet him. Cradling him close to her neck again and tracing fingers through his hair.

“You’ll feel better once you’ve eaten, Baby. I promise.”

[mundanemomentos]

Alrighty, intro-ish time since I haven’t done this yet. I don’t regularly use tumblr but when I do it’s typically for looking at sick ass art. Yer welcome to reach and yap with me.[ I only bite on occasion ] love drawing but don’t do it as much as I would like to.

All for whimsy, oc x canon is fun as hell. I prefer to interact with other disabled queer folks but got nothing against those who aren’t.

Basic dni criteria no creeps, proshippers, ableists, queerphobes ect. I will say I’m pro-neo/xeno pronouns & genders. As well as a supporter of he/him lesbians. If it ain’t your identity to understand, it ain’t yer place to get all pissy about it. You only live once, get funky with it.

My straw.page and th profile:

[with-love-from-love]

(So let me preface this with the fact that when I wrote this I was in the midst of a mental health crisis, and it most definitely reflects. That being said I’ve read over this letter a number of times and I feel that everything I said was the truth, just take it with a grain of salt. I want this letter and all subsequent letters to be reflections of my actual feelings, the joy and the pain)

The stars that shine, and the stars that shade

(Siouxsie and the Banshees, Dazzle)

So here we are again, another month gone by, more time moving right through me. Unconcerned by my withering corpse, time just keeps on going, and I continue to search for reasons to stay, to remain, to exist. I feel hurt, mostly by myself, I feel like I’m a horrible person, and I know that this may seem like I’m trying to garner sympathy, but fuck it, maybe I am. It’s not that I have nothing in my life that brings me joy, but the emptiness remains. I’m very glad to have stopped looking at instagram, in the past month I’ve only looked at it for brief moments a couple of times, I definitely feel less stressed and less anxious, but I still can’t get a job, and I still can’t make art that really compels me or anyone else. I always want this message to be one of truth, so I would be doing no one a favor by masking how I really feel.

Girl, you are rich even with nothing

And you know tenderness comes from pain

It's amazing how you love

And love is kind and love can give

And get no gain

It's down a rugged road you've come

Though you had every reason

You didn't come undone

Somehow you made it to the other side

You didn't suffer in vain

(Sade, It’s Only Love That Gets You Through)

I really resent being valued for my body, and I know that sounds really selfish, so judge away, please. I’ve caused hurt, I’ve caused pain, mostly to myself, but also to many people who didn’t deserve it. I suppose I’ve always just wanted someone to listen to me, because that was not something I was afforded when I was young. I feel that the only time people listened to me was when I was like, 20 and pretransition. As soon as I started transitioning no one took me seriously, and I feel that happens to a lot of transsexual women such as myself. The cis, straight, and most of the queer world really feigns interest in our pain. Marsha P. Johnson is remembered as an “icon,” yet no one did shit to help her, she was found dead and no one even has a clear answer as to what happened. I really have no right to be this upset, I’m the t****y 1%, I’m white, I’ll probably be fine. Still the pain echoes through me, as I know it echoes through all of us.

I have managed to quit smoking for the most part, and I have two DJ gigs coming up this month, one at gingers on the 17th and one at the pride march in Manhattan on the 25th. I feel really lucky to be playing at such an “important” event. To paraphrase Sylvia Rivera, pride is a capitulation to capitalism, it’s about the almighty dollar, and they want me because I’m a freaky genderfuck and it’s good optics for them. To quote myself, even gay people are straight nowadays. I’ll be really happy to play fun music to a bunch of queers in the hot sun, but I’m not happy that I had to sign a contract and write a bio for myself, I don’t want to market myself, and I don’t want my body to be for sale, but unfortunately, sometimes my body is my number one asset. Jesus this letter is so fucking doomer, but I said I’d be honest.

I guess if yer reading this and you feel pained or challenged by what I’m writing, write me back, come talk to me in real life, I don’t get around too much. If you’re reading this and I haven’t spoken to you in a while, I’m sorry, but right now my spider silk has become very thin, and I might just get blown away by a strong wind. It pains me so much that most people who consider themselves “allies,” know less than nothing about trans experience, especially trans feminine experience. Once, a person who I really kinda despise said they liked me because I’m “well adjusted.” Now, on the list of shitty things this person has done to me, that comment ranks pretty low, but it still stings me today, the implication being that most of us are very poorly adjusted, and what a fucking shock! Who knew it would be hard to be well adjusted when you live in a world where basically everyone hates that you exist, gaslights you, fetishizes you, feels disgusted by your body, and thinks that you are a dangerous pervert. Yet after all of that we still manage to “yaaasss” and “slayyy” and we do it with pride, because that’s all we have. I don’t wanna be a “well adjusted” t****y I want to be a menace to the straight cis world.

If you know me well I’d imagine you are rolling your eyes right now, so let me just say this before I really cancel myself. Pain is double edged, it is neither good nor bad, it’s just gravity. There is no cure for pain, there is only a deep understanding of it. I feel very lucky to have a woman in my life who really loves me and puts up with my ranting and raving, she brings me the most joy out of anything, but we must remember that Goddess cannot be found in other people, we must find her inside, and she is there, in all of us.

This letter really got away from me, but I urge you to continue filling the well that is your life, even in my cursed spiral, I still manage to create. I started making a photobook, it’s just a draft right now, and I’m being harshly critical of myself, but there is a tiny grain of excitement, that maybe I could really capture what little I have to say with my heart. I also have a consultation for FFS coming up this month, which is serving as my beacon right now, I know it won’t fix all my problems, but it will fix the problem of my ugly ass face. In terms of tattooing I don’t really know how much I want to do it anymore. I want to still use it as a medium, but probably just for close friends and dolls who want to feel comfortable. I don’t want to sell my tats, or participate in the clout trap circle j**k that is instagram. Will I be a star that shines? A star that shades? who can say.

“It’s gonna hurt, now,” said Amy. “Anything dead coming back to life hurts.”

(Toni Morrison, Beloved)

Attached are some pictures from the photobook.

With love from love

Sasha Love

Please donate to FOR THE GWORLS, a collective providing mutual aid and support to black trans people. https://www.forthegworls.party/home <3

Also please go subscribe to my best friend’s newsletter. She is an amazing tattoo artist, painter, and writer, as well as a mother to two wonderful cats :) https://tinyletter.com/angelauratat222

Albums to listen to:

The Fragile - NIN

The Velvet Rope - Janet Jackson

Love Deluxe - Sade

Exile in Guyville - Liz Phair

Hyaena - Siouxsie and the Banshees

Stumpwork - Dry Cleaning

The Sun’s Tirade - Isaiah Rashad