#queer triple a

[queer-triple-a]

A Homosexual Homestead

Introduction

Hello!

Today I have a story to share with you, which is told through Journals. I really enjoy the story here; however, I do need to preface these with some information.

This story involves a lot of discussions and actions related to the Westward Expansion of white people in the United States. Specifically the Homestead Acts of 1862.

This expansion was done with little to no respect for or acknowledgment of Indigenous Peoples and their cultures or their use of the land. While the people whose stories are chronicled in this journal never encounter indigenous people (or they never wrote it down if they did), they are still using a racist tool of a colonizing government to lay claim to land which their government had no ownership of.

At the end of the story, I’ve linked information and resources if you’d like to learn more about indigenous people, westward expansion, or The Homestead Acts.

I think there is still value in sharing this story, but I wanted to make sure it existed with the proper historical context.

The story below is precious and heartwarming. I hope you enjoy it.

Happy reading

Content Warnings:

Familial expectation to marry

Mentions of family death

Colonization of Indigenous land

Also posted assumptive-anthology.com

Journal

April 29th

I’m suffocating here. There is not enough space to love her. 

Today I told Opal I wished we could leave this town. We fought, and I think we nearly left each other over it. I would not blame her if she left me. I have become irritable and upset as of late. The frustration of this life is binding me so tight that I lash out at her. If we could leave, perhaps it would be easier for me. But she does not want to leave, and I am trying to make peace with this knowledge. 

It would be different if she acknowledged that she felt the same, but it's like she doesn't even care. It’s as though the fact that no one understands what we are is perfectly fine to her. It’s not fine to me, though. I want to love her loudly. I don’t know if I should be hurt or not, that she is okay to love me quietly. Not just quietly, but to love me in secret. I guess maybe I should be happy she doesn't need what we can't have. Maybe I should do what she does and not let it bother me. I could try, at least. 

I don't like hoarding all of this anger within me. Which I suppose is why I told her about this in the first place, though she wanted nothing to do with that anger.

The candlelight is dwindling, and she is coming to bed soon. If only she could sleep beside me. Our separate bunks will once again haunt my dreams. 

April 30th

I deemed it necessary to write in the morning today, for late last night, I spoke with her. I was mistaken. She is not happy either. She merely does not see a solution and has thus pushed her pain aside. I also see no solution, but do not possess the same ability to ignore this. We spoke for quite some time about the pain and strife, and I was reminded of the joy of sharing my life with her. I felt much lighter after having spoken with her. We shared our fears, and we have similar concerns. It felt good to hear that I was not alone. As I have grown to expect, she is walking with me on this journey. 

May 4th

Opal’s ability to hold her pain so close to her chest has broken. When I returned home from dropping off a client’s dress today, I found her inconsolable on the floor of our kitchen. She would not let me touch her for some time. She only handed me a letter from her mother’s sister. Her aunt informed her that Opal’s mother intends to steal Opal away from me. She does not trust my seamstress wage to sustain us both. She doesn’t understand why Opal moved away from home- she never has. Apparently, she is insisting that Opal would do better living at home. She wants to come remove her from my life- from our life. 

I have rarely in my life felt so helpless. I sat with gentle tears rolling down my face as the love of my life sobbed with all of her energy. It is a testament to her strength how long she was able to continue the exhausting act. 

Eventually, her body’s shakes turned to trembles and the sobs to sniffles, and she allowed me to hold her. I carried her to her bed and held her until she fell asleep. I tried to think of something to say, but every word rang hollow in my mind, and I knew it would be meaningless in her pain. I only left her now to use the restroom and write down my experiences of the day. I have forgotten what else of my day I had intended to write here. 

Nothing matters except her. 

Opal is stirring. I shall rejoin her and stay in her bunk tonight.

May 5th

Today was better. I had several dresses for local girls, which I was to finish sewing, and Opal is to hear back soon on her application to the new shoe factory. We are hopeful that if she gets a job, her mother will relent in her insistence that Opal is better off at home. 

It is said this factory will accept female workers there if they are skilled, and I know my love is skilled. Her father taught her much when she was young, and now I suspect she knows more about shoe making than many of the men who are hired. (Sometimes, I have heard her wish aloud that she was a man, that this might help her receive better jobs and higher wages. I remind her that her feminine charm is what attracted me to her, and she often grows quiet. There is a smile on her face in those moments that I yearn to understand.)

With Opal’s permission, I burnt the letter from her aunt in the fire. She was not in the room, but I couldn’t pull my eyes away. The anger at those who have caused her such pain roared within me as the fire turned their words to embers. 

May 7th

Opal did not get the job. 

May 8th

I have been talking a lot about running away. I don’t know exactly where I’d go, but I know I want to leave. The idea of getting out to a world where I can dance with my love without worrying someone will enter without our noticing is intoxicating. I desperately long to be near her in public, outside of the confines of our home, and to live our life together with less interference and opinions. 

I do not think Opal likes these conversations, though she has told me she doesn’t mind. Her expression sours when I bring it up. Yet I cannot help but talk about it. I feel trapped, and I can see the way the cage is holding Opal as well. 

I think the discussion of leaving makes her feel guilty. I think the idea may be more radical than she is comfortable with. She has a family here. She has a life and a history here. 

And I would stay for her. If she is never ready to go somewhere else, then I will never leave. I hope she knows that. Maybe tomorrow I’ll tell her. Right now, she is asleep across the room. 

The moonlight is perfectly angled tonight. It glows upon her pink cheeks and shines off of her brown hair. She always insists she is jealous of the curl of my hair, but the glow of the moon would not bounce off of mine in such a luminous way. 

She sighs a lot in her sleep, as though she is having an exhaustive conversation with me in which I insist eating nothing but bread and butter would be perfectly acceptable for the rest of our lives. I can nearly hear her mutter “flavor” as she sighs. But she does not. I know this. In the 3 years we have been living together, I have never once heard her speak in her sleep. One night when both of us were suffering from a fever, I believe I heard her whistling through her nose, but otherwise, she remains a quiet sleeper. 

Her eyelids are moving gently in dreams. It crinkles her face some, and a selfish part of me hopes that one day she grows wrinkles where sleep folds her face. Wrinkles that only I would understand. 

Part of me hopes I one day will get to kiss those wrinkles with the window’s blinds open without the fear of gossip. 

To write by only the light of the moon has begun to give me a headache. I shall retire to admiring her silently until sleep takes me.

May 12th

Opal’s mother, April, came over today. She has never been a shouter (According to Opal), but the disappointment was clear on her face. She did not take her shoes off as she entered. Upon arriving (without giving us more than a half day’s notice), she began to judge the size of our small home. She asked about money and how much work I got. At one point, she implied that no husband would ever let Opal live in such a terrible place.  

The worst was over dinner. Our friends Austin and James (two gentlemen much like ourselves in their struggles) came over since we did not have time to cancel our plans. She spent much of the night trying to enquire about why none of us were dating. Had we ever dated? Well, why not? Surely it was worth trying? What types of dates would one even go on around here? Oh, to the pond? Well, HER Opal loves the pond. 

It was exhausting. And we did not yet get a chance to apologize because April insisted on walking them out with us. The only thing which would have made the evening more embarrassing is if April had thought it appropriate to comment on the brown color of either man’s skin. Thankfully she held her tongue in this regard. 

We went to bed early, and I didn’t dare even hug Opal before we went to bed. To risk such behavior would have caused Opal nothing but worry. Her mother is staying the night. We hope she will leave in the morning. 

May 13th

Opal spent most of today with tear stains trailing down her face. I did not see her cry, though I suspect she pulled herself together whenever I entered a room. I wish she knew she did not need to do that. I tried to talk to her several times today about what had happened, but all she would say is that we should have Austin and James over soon to apologize. 

We sat together for much of the day. I had sewing work to be done as she looked through the paper and read a book. Since losing the opportunity of employment, she has taken to reading more during the day when chores do not occupy her. 

Austin and James were able to come over tonight. Opal cleaned up well before dinner and seemed less upset throughout. Though once our friends (who were more than understanding about last night) left, the facade fell, and she left me alone to clean up. I found her on her bed. When I attempted to hold her, she asked for space. She apologized and said she hoped her spirits would be raised tomorrow. I hope so too. And I hope April never visits us again. 

May 14th

We are moving next week. For a small fee, we can move to land in the countryside that is uninhabited and claim it as our own. The government will basically give us this land if we help them to cultivate the empty space. They say no one inhabits the entire center of our country. 

It wasn’t even my idea, my Opal, my radiant Opal, the joy of my life and keeper of my heart, read of this opportunity in the newspaper yesterday. She recommended this path for our lives, and I had only to imagine our free future to become convinced it was the best option for us. 

Opal seems better today as well, her spirits are not quite as crushed as they were yesterday, and my optimism about her suggestion seems to be contagious. She suggested we discuss this with Austin. He is more like me and has often talked of “getting out of this town.” Now we have our chance. 

I am going to retire from writing early tonight in hopes that my Opal’s mood is optimistic enough that she will let me lay beside her tonight. Oh, how she makes my heart flutter. 

June 3rd

We have bought a wagon and a mule, and tomorrow morning we will head west. James has been conversing with several more knowledgeable people about the best paths to take. He shall lead our small caravan out to our freedom. We four will share a plot of land to start. Though we hope to each own our own plots eventually. They say single women, such as myself and Opal, and men with brown skin, like James and Austin, can own and farm the land. We will start with a single home to house all four of us, but we plan to eventually build two homes on the land we amass. One for each couple. Though we will eventually separate our living quarters, we will always visit frequently. I have had to promise this to Austin many times in the past week in order to assuage his fears. He may be more nervous than my Opal. 

My Opal has just sent the letter to her mother, and I await her anger and wrath tomorrow morning. I pray we will leave before her fastest carriage can pull her to our home, but I fear she will be determined to have her words heard. Though a part of me worries she will convince my heart to stay here and that, by extension, I will stay here, I also trust Opal. She has said that she will go no matter what her mother says. I shouldn’t doubt her.

I must go. Opal has beckoned me to bed with her one final time in this cottage. It would be unforgivable for me to leave the dazzling lady waiting a moment more.

June 4th

It was her singing which made the travel bearable. When making our plans, we did not prepare for the possibility that my stomach would turn in knots as our mules pulled us forward. The only thing that brought some peace (in the form of distraction) was her singing. She has such a beautiful voice. Like a gentle wind chime playing just for me. 

James and Austin stopped less frequently than we were forced to, but our friends were kind enough to stop before the sun set. We caught up to them just as the darkness overtook the gentle colors of the sky. I am grateful for the solid ground tonight. In our plans, we had discussed driving in shifts and sleeping on our wagons. I do not think I would have slept. The ground does not move and sway beneath me. My stomach has finally settled as my head rests on the ground beside my love. 

She sang me a song I had never heard her sing before. It was mournful and gentle in its tale. It wove beautiful melodies together with the tale of an absent father. I wonder if her mother taught her the song. I wonder again why she has never mentioned a grandfather. 

In her song and the lyrics she chose to share with me on our first day’s journey, I felt her pain. To leave behind my family was simple. We are not close, and my parents are not kind. My only regret is that I am leaving behind the graves of my 3 siblings, who never got to grow up. I do not mourn for the living. I think Opal does. I think she misses her mother, despite the misfortune of their last few encounters. 

April was a kind woman. She was not one to give in to bouts of rage and, until the past year, had loved each of her children equally and loudly. The clearest image of her in my mind is of her face as her eldest son was wed. She wore a face of such ecstasy as tears of joy were patted away with a handkerchief. It was the kind of joy that leaked out of a person and into everyone lucky enough to stand around them. I only wish she could have seen a future for Opal in which she wasn’t dependent on a father or a husband.  

Opal is telling me to stop writing by firelight and go to sleep. She is, of course, quite wise, so I shall listen to her advice. 

[Between the two pages shown, there were many small notes about how the building is going. They seem to eventually have a house that the 4 of them will share for the winter, and they will build a second one on a second plot of land next spring. Homesteading was hard and a lot of effort. The journal passages are short and often just venting frustrations. None of them contain many contexts and seem quickly written. They’ve been omitted here for length and continuity of the story I’m trying to tell.]

September 21st

I have had too much on my mind to write for the past few months. This journal has sat abandoned. Yet tonight, I find I must record the events that have occurred. 

I have never had a better day than today. This morning as the world began to wake up, I had my breath stolen from me by Opal’s easy beauty. I couldn’t help but once again profess my love for her aloud. She giggled and kissed me sweetly, telling me how she felt the same about me. 

I thought both men had been out in the yard working, but as we held each other close, James asked, “Would you be married?”

After we were startled for a moment, Opal said, “We can’t.” 

The magic of the moment had left her quite quickly. Wanting to keep it alive a little longer, I said, “Yes, of course I would.” 

Opal stared at me as if this surprised her, though I don’t understand why it should. 

“Of course, I would marry you,” I repeated, taking her hands in my own. 

“You’ve never said,” Opal told me. 

“I thought you knew,” I told her. Besides, it’s not like we’d been able to be loud about how we felt before. Even now, to have spoken those words makes me nervous. 

She kissed me, and I swear I melted into the floor. Her answer was as clear as day. She’d marry me too. 

We didn’t stop until James coughed from where he stood and got our attention. I tried to pretend to be ashamed of it, but I wasn’t. I moved west, so I didn’t have to be ashamed. 

Then James asked, “Wanna have a ceremony?” 

It took Opal and me about 10 minutes of questioning to understand what he meant, given that there were only four of us and none of us was a pastor, but we did it today. We all put on our best clothes, and Austin married us. 

It’s not official, but it was never going to be. Opal couldn’t stop crying the entire day. She kept looking at me, blushing, and looking away. At first, I was worried this wasn’t what she wanted, but just before we went outside to hold our “ceremony,” she kissed me and told me she’d been spending the whole day trying to figure out how lucky she was to love me and to be loved by me. It took a lot of restraint not to kiss her senseless right then. 

We stood holding hands as Austin spoke of our love and what he’d seen in the time he’d known us. He journals like me, but I think his is more poetry than mine. When I’ve seen him get drunk, he often starts trying to speak in verse. It’s clear to me now that when sober, his words can hold so much weight. He told our story with joy and tenderness. 

I’ll admit that I cried. So did Opal. (So did James, but he denies it even though I absolutely watched it happen).

 I’d sewn some cloth into rings for us. They won’t last long, but they served their purpose today. Maybe eventually, we’ll have the money to buy real rings. I don’t care either way, and I don’t think Opal minds either. 

I didn’t realize just how much this small party would mean to me until later in the evening. Drunk on the excitement of the day (and two mugs of ale), James sat with me, watching Opal and Austin dance like fools.

“You’ve got a beautiful wife,” he told me. 

A wife! I’ve got a wife!

I’m getting so excited by this that I nearly can no longer write. The only thing keeping me from putting down my journal and dragging her to bed is the sound of her voice singing songs with James by the fire. It would be a sin to stop her from singing. And she looks so happy and free. I think I’ll just keep watching her, soaking in her joy and turning it into my own love, until her songs grow quiet for the night.

Outroduction

I hope you enjoyed reading this charming love story! 

I didn’t have enough information to find the record of their official acquisition of the land, so unfortunately, we don’t know how the story ends for these couples. 

We do know that for that moment in time, they were in love, and they were able to exist happily within that love. 

I hope that moment lasted for a very long time. 

Thanks for reading. 

Links

First Nations Knowledge Center

This Land by Crooked Media

Native History Project from Grinnell University lesson on the Homestead Act 

Crash Course US History on Westward Expansion

Link to Purchase An Indigenous People's history of the United States

[mars-writes-1999]

An Assumptive Anthology

Story 8: A Homosexual Homestead

Two women feel trapped within the expectations of their current situation. They long to be able to love each other in the open.

Rating: T

Chapter Word Count: 3500

Introduction | A Vibrant Pair | A Shared Experience | A Fateful Friendship | A Parting Party| A Victorian Scheme (part 1) | A Victorian Scheme (part 2) | A Hopeful Proposal | A Pretty Man | A Homosexual Homestead

[kittycathat]

"the A in LGBTQIA is for Ally, and nothing else" no thank you sir how about you die

x

[texaschainsawmascara]

Charlie Hunnam, Papillon

[thattheater-kid]

Figuring out that I was aplatonic made so much sense.

I’ve never made a friend on my own. All the friends I’ve made approached me and made me their friend, or I met through friends. I’ve never felt a desire to have friends. Even as a child I never felt I needed them, which made adults think there was something wrong with me and peers think I was stuck up, thinking I was “too good” to be friends with them. I was seen as a mean person. Adults pulled me aside to ask me why I was by myself, and I told them I didn’t like people. I told them I didn’t want to be around people. I said there were more important things to worry about. This got me sent to school counselors, who would ask me why I pushed people away and didn’t want friends and I didn’t have a reason. I enjoy my friends’ company, but I don’t miss them when I’m away. I never understood why it mattered so much, even as a kid. I always preferred to be alone, honestly. I thought for the longest time it was related to being autistic and ADHD, and maybe it is to an extent, but I simply never liked people and never had a desire to be friends with them.

I’d already known I was aroace. I never felt a desire to have sexual or romantic relationships. I never saw a point. I felt no attraction towards anyone and had no desire to. My life was enjoyable without it. Once I learned about aromanticism and asexuality, I understood that that was what I am.

However, aroace spaces put so much emphasis on platonic love that I never felt like I really belonged in the aroace community. I felt like I was still weird and gross. I felt like a freak who was destined to be alone, someone who could never be fulfilled and would always be missing something. I felt like a freak in my own community because I felt no love. I didn’t feel platonic love or attraction and frankly didn’t want to.

I found the word “aplatonic”. Someone who feels no platonic love or attraction. Now I understand that’s who I am, and that’s not a bad thing. My life is no worse without love. I’m not missing something. I still live a fulfilling life. I’m still human.

[romanarose]

Banner by @winniethewife

Oscar Issac/Pedro Pascal Fan Art and Fiction Pride Event 2024

Hello friends!

Let's try this again and I'll try to be more clear to not invoke discourse. That being said, it is *my* event and if you'd like to run one a certain way, go nuts. However, this is how I'm doing it.

I had a lot of fun doing Dead Dove December and the Triple Frontier Anniversary Event so I decided I wanted to do an event for pride this year! I know it seems far away right now, especially given how many of us in north America are still cold af, but I wanna give everyone time!

Each week of pride will have a theme to write or draw for (you don't have to do all of them! Think of it like kinktober.) at the end, I will put out a masterlist (or multiple depending how many)so we can all share each other's work.

Why?

Oscar Isaac and Pedro Pascal are both allies to LGBT people, Pedro having played multiple queer rolls and having likened his sexuality to that of Prince Oberyn. Despite none of the characters being canon queer, Triple Frontier specifically lends itself to queer stories. Recently, theres been a rise in stories of Oscar characters in relationships or Pedro characters in relationships which I love.

What I'd really like to do is encourage people to think past x fem!reader or canon presentation of characters. I want to encourage gay, lesbian, bisexual relationships, trans readers, trans interpretations of characters etc. More content guidelines will be in the what section.

Where?

Primarily tumblr.com, our very own shithole hellsight. However, especially given tumblr's censorship vs. twitter, I am encouraging posting on twitter or wherever you'd like. If you post something elsewhere, send me a link or send me a post you made about it on tumblr and I'll promote the link.

Additionally if you only write on ao3, I'd love for you to participate too! Once again, just send the link!

When?

in order to do the week by week themes and hold all of June, there will be 6 weeks from May 26th-July 6th

Each week will have themes. I won't be policing the weeks and these so if you do the 1st week on july 3rd, that's fine. The themes are keeping in mind both artists and writers. I only got one artist for DDD, a great piece and I've love to see more! Ideas are just for spit balling, do your own take!

May 26th-June 1st: Coming out. Ideas: Coming out to family, lover, friend. Finding gender affirming clothes/hair, first pride

June 2nd-8th: Transitioning Ideas: Surgary, surgery scars, starting T or E, binding (safely!!!)

June 9th-15th: Sex/kissing First time together, first time with certain biology or the same sex, sweet kisses, smut showing scars,

June 16th-22nd: Food, fashion, fun

All things queer culture and culture of different religions, racial or country backgrounds, queer fashion, gender affirming clothes, Keshet (קשת), listening to Lady Gaga or Bruce Springsteen, watching a queer movie

June 23rd-29th: Struggles Rejection, reconciling faith and identity, missing family that rejected one, comfort, candlelight vigil, day of remembrance.

June 30th- July 6th:Strength Asserting ones or a partner/friend/family's pronouns, standing up against hate, being loudly and proudly yourself, pride events

Who?

Writers and artists in any form are welcome. I also want to encourage working with each other, writers and artists together!

For characters: Any Oscar Isaac or Pedro Pascal character has to at least be in the relationship. Other characters in universes can be done, such as FishBen.

Reader can be anyone, just properly tag! If you want to come out to Marc Spector as bisexual, do it!!! If you want Joel to take care of you after top surgery, do it!

YOU DO NOT NEED TO BE QUEER TO PARTICIPATE!

However! Please do your research if writing or drawing an identity not yours. There are trans, nonbinary, gay, lebian etc bloggers all over tumblr who write about their experience, please divert to first person testimonies rather than assumptions.

What?

A few rules

MUST contain more than male character x fem!reader. Male character x fem!reader x male character does not count unless the two male characters are romantically or sexually involved or one or the reader is trans. Any Q's, dm me!

This is not a dark event. I'm not going to be policing the content matter but I really want to primarily focus on the pride. However, as a bisexual, gender non-conforming person I know a lot of pain can still be involved. What we are not doing is suicide, death, self-harm, or non consensual activity. If you have questions or would like to make a case for something, just dm me!

This is not inherently NSFW, but there is absolutely NSFW allowed. Always tag everything properly.

The usual no's like bestiality, incest, underage nsfw etc

As far as minor characters, SFW MINOR CHARACTERS IS ALLOWED. You can write or draw lgbt themes because being LGBT is not inherently sexual. For example, teenage Santi coming out as trans to Frankie or your own version of Ellie and Joel's talk about Ellie and Dina kiss. That being said, I'd prefer to reserve this to teens. Again, any questions or ideas that don' quite fit into parameters, just ask!

As always, I am allowed to use my discretion. If I do not want to include something, I won't. However, I know that there are rifts in the fandom. I won't be excluding you out of personal bias. As long as I don't have you blocked and you haven't plagerized or done something really bad to people, you'll be included. I'm not letting petty beefs get in the way. Harmful actions will, however. I need to protect my peace and keep

NO REAL PERSON FANFICTION. Do not write about Oscar Isaac or Pedro pascal being gay or trans and do not make any assumptions about their sexuality or gender identity. Oscar is happily married to a woman and Pedro has expressed his sexuality is like that of Oberyn Martell but has not elaborated much further, nor should he have to. Just leave ‘em be. You can speculate elsewhere but that’s not what this event is for.

How?

Simply tag me, @romanarose and use the #OscarPedroPrideEvent2024 please please please use BOTH so it's easier for me to find!!!

When the event is over, much like DDD I will compiled them into a masterlist and posted. This is a chance for every blog, big and small, to get a moment in the sun and to share each others works! Remember, reblogging, comments, and interacting is what makes this a community! I want to create an environment that is welcoming and we all help each other.

Please feel free to reach out to me for any questions or clarification!

However, if you go issues with me writing men kissing, chracters being trans, queer readers etc, I'm not really open to debate.

~A nonbinary bisexual <3

[perotovar]

INTO THE BEAT OF THE NIGHT — masterlist (18+ minors dni) -> AO3

summary: frankie morales thought he had himself figured out by now. he liked both men and women, had dated both in the past. but when someone that challenges what he thinks that means comes into his life, in an unlikely place, he truly learns who he is, and more importantly, who he loves.

series warnings: discussions of sexuality/gender, limited knowledge of the military (i make gifs and write fic now, i'm not a miracle worker), discussions of drug addiction/recovery, an abundance of goth references/stereotypes (because that's fun), frankie/will/benny/santiago being uneducated and thus not knowing/saying the wrong things sometimes but being supportive, unprotected piv sex (wrap it up!), handjobs, fingering, more to be added as it happens.

oc/love interest is non-binary and afab. they like penetrative sex and their genitals are referred to as a pussy. they're described as very androgynous. if you are non-binary, you do not owe anyone androgyny to be non-binary. this character is a work of fiction and does not speak for/represent all non-binary people. a lot of this character's experiences/opinions are very similar to my own.

if you have any questions/concerns, i encourage you to reach out to me directly or conduct your own research on the matter. thank you.

chapter i — transmission chapter ii — fear of the dark chapter iii — self control (18+) chapter iv — thin flesh (18+) chapter v — human fly chapter vi — precious (18+) interlude — shake (18+) chapter vii — in my side (feb 22 ✨) chapter viii — come feel (18+) chapter ix — dreams chapter x — fade to grey

incredible art of river and frankie commissioned by the talented @lights-on-the-ridge

there are three separate playlists for this fic. one for the fic itself, mostly for vibes/plot points. one for river, full of music they listen to. and one for frankie, full of music he listens to. take your pick at whichever one you wanna vibe to!

there's also an official pinterest board for all your vibe and aesthetic needs~

thank you so much for taking a chance on my first real fic! ♥

for notifications, follow @oakslibrary

[burythecarnival]

i thought you bbies might like a post with my big-eyed ghost face 👻 i may looove getting head & getting fingered until i melt BUT i also need nose kisses, massages that last more than two minutes *cough cough* & feeling safe & cared for while you big spoon me. call me baby & spoil me with love, please.

[zeroducks-2]

Hi.

(Justice League: The Flashpoint Paradox)

Today in "I swear I was not watching porn you just walked in at the wrong time-"

[for-a-longlongtime]

Top Me, I Deserve It Pairing: Santiago Garcia x Francisco Morales Word count: 231 Warnings: Swearing, lube mention, 🏳‍🌈 bi as fuck boys, idk A/N: @my-secret-shame posted this edit, to which I added the Frankie gif...

... and then @sin-djarin and I were chatting and she said "You know he did nothing to deserve it", mentioned them in a bank and, well, we drabbled because that's what these idiots make us do. Figured I'd post it so I can justify why this took me away from my actual WIP, lol.

Frankie is probably in the fucking bank or something and Santi’s just whining about having to be there. The two of them there for hours, waiting to speak about Frankie’s card getting blocked. Stressed.

“We could be fucking but instead we’re here. Should have just cancelled your card in the app and ordered a new one. We wouldn't have had to leave the bed.”

“Pope. You’re not helping right now. I have no money. I spent the last of my cash buying that fucking lube.” Frankie just stops after that realising how ridiculous this conversation is in a fucking BANK.

“And it was good stuff right? Could be using it right now, too. Get your money’s worth.” Santiago sighs exasperated. "What the fuck you want me to do to help? Here," he pulls his wallet out of his back pocket, thumbs through the cards, and then pulls one out. "Use this for stuff until you get a new card. They probably can't even fix it right now."

“Are you fucking kidding? You’ve let us sit here for hours and you had this all al—Jesus fucking Christ. Let’s go. Now.”

"You hate it whenever I try to stop you from fixing things yourself. YOU were the one who insisted on coming here because 'it would be more convenient', remember?" Slapping Frankie's ass as they're headed out. "Now top me. I deserve it."

Santi gif 1 by @nightofthecreeps, gif 2 by @stardewsvalley, Frankie gif by @uuuhshiny | Dividers by @saradika

Tagging: idk this is just silliness, so ummm @qveerthe0ry @lotusbxtch @alltheglitterandtheroar @ohforficsake @marisferasiop

@romanarose @writefightandflightclub @wardenparker @nerdieforpedro

@rhoorl @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @i-own-loki @avastrasposts @musings-of-a-rose

@pimosworld @theywhowriteandknowthings @my-secret-shame @beefrobeefcal @vivian-pascal

@legendary-pink-dot

[hauntingjasper]

(Headcanon!) Do they know something he doesn't

[queer-triple-a]

A Hopeful Proposal

Introduction 

Hello, Lovelies!

Today I want to show you a letter between two super tight friends! 

But first-

Since today’s document is shorter, I wanted to discuss something. When I’ve told my friends about this, more than one has suggested I am looking for Aphros stories. I’m not, but I wanted to address it because I get where they’re getting that impression. 

In case you don’t follow the news, evidence has surfaced of some different types of love stories that have defied science (i.e., immortal couples, couples with proof of reincarnation, psychic soulmates, etc.). People call them a lot of things (I’ve also seen them referred to as “Eros”), but in what little scientific literature there is, they seem to have settled on Aphros.

Aphros love stories are so rare that there are only a handful of examples worldwide. I know there’s a lot of hype around them, but I don’t follow much of that. I understand the interest, but it’s just something I never had a big fascination with.

From what I know (which is admittedly limited), there’s no proof of a relationship that counts as Aphros that is “queer,” as we would call it today. They’re all either heterosexual romances, friendships, or siblings. I’ve seen some queer scholars point out that this is likely at least partly b.s. cause we know a lot of people in history aren’t as cis and straight as we think.  Also, we suspect there are a lot of people who are in an Aphros relationship who intentionally hide it (I think). 

Obviously, if we find evidence of an Aphros story in the documents I’m finding, it would be amazing. For right now, I think they’re all relatively normal people living their normal lives. 

So to summarize, I’m aware that Aphros relationships exist, but I’m not actively looking to find one. I just like looking at this stuff. Nothing extraordinary needs to be here for it to be beautiful. 

Now, onto our document for the week!

This artifact is about titled “A letter between friends.” It is a letter that was found by a distant relative of Elouise in a book that had been passed down. I’ll let you decide whether or not you think these two women were friends or not. 

Content Warnings: 

Mentions of Death (Spousal)

Mentions of Infertility

A Letter from Veronica to Elouise

[Back of an envelope with a gold floral wax seal on it The paper is yellowing]

Veronica

720 Bay Street

Keslo, England

[Front of an envelope. The paper is yellowing and stained]

Elouise

36 Bloomfield Lane

Thorndron, England

[The outside of a paper folded to be the envelope. It has both adresses above in a different perspective as well as the seal]

[A yellowing creased sheet of paper. The text of the hand-written letter is below]

September 5, 1814

My Dearest, Elouise

I apologize for the fortnight without communication from me. It is too long. In truth, I have been trying to write this letter since I received mail from you last. I want to ask something of you, but I realize this proposition will ask more of you than any question I’ve asked you yet. I do not take this lightly, my dearest. Therefore, in an effort to remind you of my love for you (and perhaps of your love for me), I shall spend most of the letter recounting our personal history. I hope this recantation will persuade you of the seriousness with which I make my final proposal.

Of my thirty-two years of life, I lived the first half without your presence. I did not meet you until, by chance, we stood by the same shelf of my favorite bookstore at the same time. I had a pocket full of money from my recent sixteenth birthday, and you were looking for a story which would delight you during your travel back home. Though our conversation started with book recommendations, we continued to talk for nearly an hour.

Our first encounter came to an end when your elder brother (if I recall correctly, it was Charles) arrived to bring you to the train station. I must admit, my heart ached even then when you walked away. To my surprise, you had ensured that it would not be the final time in which we spoke. Your home address was left inside the cover of the book which you knew I intended to buy. I will never understand how you managed such a feat, and I suspect you will never tell me.

Our correspondences were immediately long and frequent. Though the trip between our homes was 3 days drive, we made do with letters. When the post would be delivered, I would rush downstairs in the hopes that a letter from you had arrived. When this was the case, I whisked it away to my room to enjoy it in private. I do not believe I ever told you, but during our early days of communication, before our families had met, my mother was convinced I was communicating with a suitor whom I did not tell her about. She suspected me of the same deceit she herself had committed when my father courted her. Have I told you how their love began? It is a story remarkably similar to our own. I shall make space for it in a future letter or conversation.

As our friendship blossomed, so did our respective social lives. Though we had met in person only once, you knew more about me than my closest friends as I began the dreadful work of searching for a husband. I will not bore you with a recantation of my trials and tribulations during this time.

You were fortunate and found a man with which you could live amicably. We were able to meet in person again when you invited me to your hometown for three weeks to prepare for and celebrate your betrothal to dear Edward. I had come with joyous news of my own. Between the letter I had written and my arrival, I received the offer of a job. The local seamstress was so impressed by my work she took me on as an apprentice. My mother held her promise to halt her search for my suitor if I became employed. I was a free woman, and your husband was a lovely man.

That visit was wonderful for me. It is the first time I remember hearing your laughter and feeling my own face form a smile at the sound. You were sat in the golden chair your mother kept aside the window. I do not remember what I said which invoked such a reaction in you, but I recall with perfection the way your chin tilted back as your shoulders shook with joy. There were creases beside your eyes that pointed toward your beautiful hair, which bounced as you moved. I knew then that I would be your friend for as long as you would have me. 

For ten years, our relationship kept us both afloat. As I struggled with the trials of my apprenticeship and then my own store and learned intimately the difficulty of being a single woman in an economy built for married men, you offered me solace and advice. Your kindness and gentle humor kept me optimistic on my darkest days. You offer not just precious advice and kind humor but an open ear to which I can regal my struggles. Elouise, you are my rock. 

In turn, I did my best to offer you the care and peace you deserved as you and Edward began the trials of marriage and tried desperately to begin a family. I knew of the heartache you felt and did everything in my power to support you. Your sorrows and anguish became mine, but I shared in your joy as well. We learned from each other, we grew with each other, and in the end, we mourned with each other.

[the back of the above sheet of paper. It has half a page of text which is transcribed below. Words and ink stains from the front are visible through the paper on the bottom half of this side]

I still remember in vivid detail what I was working on when your letter arrived. To learn you had lost your husband filled me with such pain. I shall not dwell on that suffering, for I do not wish for you to have to relive that pain for my sake. I will only say I hope my visit to you during your time of mourning brought you comfort.

In the three years since, I have seen more of you than I could have hoped. I am afraid this is a double-edged sword, for though I greatly treasure our time together, it has made me even more desperate for your company when you are away. I hope I am not ignorant in assuming you feel the same about me. I have felt the joy in your heart when we reunite and seen your downcast expression when we must part. We both seem to feel much more attached now than we had in years prior. We are closer than I ever thought was possible. I have heard it said that absence makes the heart grow fonder, but I cannot imagine this is true. It is through our closeness that I have become more endeared to you.

It is with this endearment in mind that I make my proposal: Elouise, will you move to Keslo and live in my home with me? There is no one on this earth who I would rather spend my days with than you, and it is much more possible to do so if you live nearby. Should this move be too much to ask of you, then would it be too unbecoming of me to make my way to your town? To start my business over may be taxing, but it is nothing compared to the thought of continuing to live away from you.

I understand that my question begs time to formulate a response. I do not expect haste in your answer. Know, I have spent the past month ruminating on this question and the past fortnight drafting my letter to you now.

If this proposal is too much or you feel it is inappropriate for a spinster and a widow to share a home, please know I will think nothing less of you. No matter your response, I hope to remain your best friend, as you are mine.

 All My Love,

         Veronica

Outroduction

Love when Gals are Pals.

Despite thinking they were friends, the archive this letter was stored in did some research on these particular girls. I am happy to report to you that in the census following this letter, Elouise and Veronica were living together in an apartment in Keslo. 

I really hope these two women were able to live out the rest of their days together in happiness and love. 

In two weeks I’ll have another story for you all; in the meantime stay queer and take care of yourself.

Chrys

[mars-writes-1999]

the story im putting out tomorrow on @queer-triple-a for An Assumptive Anthology is maybe my favorite story I’ve written. It’s lesbians in victorian england. They’re gay and in love. I love them both with my whole heart and I cannot wait to share them!!!!! 

It also has a (not so subtle) OFMD reference, but I don’t remember if that’s in the first or the second part of it.......... 

[millerscoffee]

at my fingertips

⟣ queer friendly fic ⟢

2.3k | frankie morales x santiago garcia x f!reader

rating: 18+ MDNI

warnings: THROUPLE – everybody is dating each other!!, established relationship, threesome obv, smut w/ fluffy bits, piv (unprotected), oral (m - m receiving, m - f receiving, f - m receiving) – everybody's sucking fish's dick ok, cum play, kissing (m/m, m/f), dirty talk – this is all dirty who am i kidding. hints of sub!santi + sub!frankie + dom!reader. probably not the best spanish you've ever read - sorry! no use of y/n.

summary: you, frankie, and santi are celebrating your one year anniversary in costa rica after everyone ignoring their feelings for each other for three years – though frankie and santi for way longer.

A/N: just doing the lord's work, hold your applause. JUST KIDDING. idk man i've been thinking about this a lot lately, and i have a soft spot for two tough ex-military dudes (who look very bbg) making out (etc.) in reader's presence idk IDK IDK. please let me know if you enjoyed this!

An entanglement of three naked bodies bathed in the sunlight of a California King sized bed. It had been a year exactly, today in fact, since you and your boys decided to do this. To really do this, not just skirt around the subject for three years. You met them volunteering, hitting it off immediately. None of you knew it would end up like this. But three years is exactly how long it took for you all to come to your senses about this.

Now here you were, sandwiched between your two favorite humans somewhere in paradise.

Costa Rica, to be more specific. It was humid, skin sticky between the three of you as you begin to shift, a reaction from morning light spilling over your eyes. Santi shifts with you, an inhale thick through his nose as he pulls you closer. You feel protected between the two of them, a lazy grin to yourself when you notice Frankie has taken the position of little spoon – his back splayed against your chest.

Your eyes remain shut while you drape your thigh over Frankie's hips and nuzzle your face against the back of his neck, letting your hand shift over top of Santi's when it snakes around your waist. Frankie's not remotely awake yet, but you can sense Santiago's eyes creeping open from the touch of your fingertips.

There's a part of you that knows he will always be on high alert from the life he's had, the life they've both had, but in this moment he is not awake in defense or protection, or a dream that has left him in a cold sweat. No, this morning is in full surrender. He feels vulnerable against your back as you press against him, his nose brushing into your hair, and you will your eyes open.

Gingerly, Santi thumbs over your abdomen in this lazy formation and it's enough to make you want to stay like this forever and feel a rush of heat pool at the base of your stomach.

You think you stifled the shudder fluttering through your body, but as always, Santi knows you better than you think he does. Without a word, Santi's fingers walk down your pubic bone, just over the mound at the top of your clit. You huff out a breath, noticing that you'd been holding your inhale. His touch bringing you back to earth.

This breath against the back of Frankie's neck makes the man to move a bit in his sleep and you both freeze to notice if he will wake up, not really wanting to disturb him. "Cariño," he whispers, his voice gruff and full of sleep and it's the sexiest sound in the world. You can tell he's barely done anything to make you believe he's awake, but Santi's fingers spread your lips apart and he marvels at how wet you are when he dips his middle finger between your folds.

"Amor, ella está muy mojada." The bass from Garcia's low voice vibrates against your back, and you try to not completely fall apart at the drop of a hat. But you can feel Santiago's cock stiffen, notice Francisco's body become more awake at the sound of his boyfriend's words, and it's almost too much to take. The heat in the room turns your cheeks and lips a feverish colour, and you bite down a whimper when Frankie rolls onto his back to witness Santi playing with your pussy like two animals in heat.

From behind, it's like you can hear Santi's lips form into a hazy grin the second he sees your shared lover – half proud and half eager to get him involved. He pulls his fingers from you slowly, and the lack of friction would make you whine if you hadn't witnessed those same fingers tempting onto Frankie's tongue. Like a kitten, Frankie laps at them, suckling your wetness at the tips of Santi's fingers with his big brown, sleepy eyes staring at the both of you.

It sears right through you.

Frankie wraps his mouth around Santi's fingers to tease you both, and a groan can be heard from behind you at just how good he is at teasing you both and you groan in response, pushing your ass back against Santi's cock. A hitched sigh escaping you when Frankie moves Santi's fingers from his mouth for one of your breasts. He moves down the bed to greet them as the lover behind you eases one, then two of his fingers into you. There's no need in preparing your body, you're so wet, after all... and a bit prepared from the night before.

Panting as you push the back of Frankie's head into your tits, his skilled tongue flicks at your nipples. Santiago has different plans, however, as he replaces his fingers to line his cock up against your hips. Hissing when he takes a handful of your ass to pull it back and expose your pussy for him. "Christ," he mutters under his breath, teasing the head of his thick cock against you. You moan, urging Frankie up to meet your mouth and you kiss him hard. With tongue, your explore his throat and a guttural moan comes from you when Santi pushes into your walls. He's thick and deep into you in no time, his trained cock rubbing against that spot inside of you just over the hilt.

"Ajustada– fuck. Fucking tight," you hear a growl against your ear, and you've done this enough to know just how your body gets to them both. You stifle what would be a scream when he moves his hips, and you desperately search for Frankie's cock with your hand. However he pulls your grip away and shakes his head, causing you to moan and let out a frustrated whine at the same time. New record.

Instead, he presses his forehead to yours for the moment, and insists you look into his dreamy eyes. "That's it, you're being such a good girl taking Santi's cock like that. I know, he's so big. Isn't he, princesa?"

The way Frankie is speaking to you sends your body into overdrive. Santi's cock now snapping into you with no remorse as his calloused fingers rub your clit just the way you do when you show off for them. Garcia's free hand grips into the front of your hip, urging bruises to come to the surface later on in the day, but it feels so delicious in the moment all you can do is cradle your bottom lip into your mouth and keep a furrowed brow.

You can't see Santiago behind you yet, but you know how hot he looks when he's fucking: concentrated, his hips moving almost magically, and the occasional groan leaves his throat right against your ear. It sends a shiver down your spine.

What's worse is Frankie knows just how fat and thick Santi's cock feels inside of you because it's been in him too, and it makes your skin hot to know his words are from experience. So many times you've seen them together in one way or another, and there is nothing you three haven't shared with each other. You're irrevocably in love, and it brings your heart to new heights every time you're together.

This morning those thoughts flood you when you can't quite look into Frankie's eyes anymore. They're rolling into your skull, cock-drunk and all you can hear the squelching of your drenched pussy from Santi moving in and out of you.

You can feel him start to brink, too.

Morales won't let you slip just yet, though, and firmly grips your jaw, your body tensing. "Look at me, keep your eyes on me," Frankie is usually smooth when he speaks, but this demand is a bit harsh. Pope hisses at your tightening pussy in response to the man in front of you and you come hard without much more warning. Your eyes loll as your mouth slacks open, and Frankie knows better than to shove his tongue in your mouth – not yet, not til you've come down. "Thaaat's it. Just like that, babygirl. Our good girl." His whispers turn into petting of your face before his gaze is just above your head, watching Santi come apart, his hot load spilling itself into you when his toes curl.

Being a pilot, it makes sense that Frankie has a knack for taking care of people, but it's another level when he's like this. Your ears are ringing and stars fill your eyes, but you can still feel their presence as they praise each other. When Santiago leans over you to mouth and lick into Frankie's mouth. You groan at how it feels, how much it makes me want to stay like this forever. You lean up into their mouths lazily, licking into their kiss and they gladly invite you in. Tongues crash, and you feel Santiago squeeze you, holding you tight because you're their girl and nothing would ever change that.

The comedown feels like heaven with a view of the jungle just outside your window, and you nestle your neck into Frankie's jaw, his fat cock catching your eye from the position your head is in. "Can we share you, please?" You look up at him with an amorous glance, and Santi grunts at the prospect. Both of you making strained noises when he pulls out, but you know what the moan was really about.

Fish's face is still soft from sleep, but more possessive as his pupils are blown. Without saying a word, he takes your arms to help you onto your knees and positions your body to straddle his head. Your breath staggers, not really knowing if you can take another orgasm, but you can't help but sink down onto his mouth. His goddamn mouth.

Santi has other plans, sinking his body between Frankie's legs and he looks so fucking gorgeous like this. It was a long build up of years to see him this vulnerable, and you savour it every chance you get.

His mouth teases Frankie's cock and to watch it twitch uncontrollably sends your senses ablaze. He's a natural in wrapping his mouth around the leaking head. Frankie's cock must've been aching from just waking up from how flushed it was. It's too much to take in, blood surging towards your cunt in desire once more.

This isn't anything new, nothing to make you raise your eyebrow or question why things were happening the way they were, and when you sink your hips down over Frankie's mouth, you let out a sigh of admiration for the two of them. Your boys with their mouths preoccupied, love coursing through the veins of everyone in the room. Your body is still warm from sleep, growing stickier from the muggy weather and the heat rising between the three of you.

It's then Frankie's skilled tongue flicks over your cunt that you tremble. Bracing your hands on the soft form of his belly, his hands encourage you to sit down more and bring your weight on top of him. All the while, it's Pope who's in front of you now. Whose eyes are heated as they stare into yours, working the other man's cock in his mouth with precision. The sound of Frankie's muffled moans vibrate your core and send your hips to grind down against his tongue. A gasp rattling your ribcage, you feel him suck and lick Santi's cum from your cunt. "You're so fucking dirty, Frankie. You know what he's doing, baby?" You speak with seduction, ogling down at Santi.

"He's lapping your cum right from my hole. Such a filthy thing."

Both of your men moan at that, loving when you speak to them degradingly. You've never been too shy to put them in their place.

"Good boy, honey. Keep that tongue on me like that," taking your tits into your palms, you tug and roll your nipples. To feel the sensation, but you notice Santi's blowjob getting messier from his mouth watering at the sight of both of you.

Frankie's hands make contact on the breadth of your ass and it's cause for your voice to quickly turn from sultry to a slew of desperate whimpers. His tongue now merciless on your clit until, "Frankie!" Yours thighs are shaking on either side of him, unable to hold your balance, your body gives into bending over his chest. Now face to face with Santi and Frankie's cock.

Riding out the waves of please, Santi pops off his mouth on Frankie's cock, feeding it to you without giving you choice – he already knows you want this. Want to send Morales over his edge as you taste the perfect mixture of Frankie's increasing precum and Santi's saliva. His own mouth preoccupied with the balls of your shared lover. That's just when Frankie can't take anymore. "Ah, mierda!" You hear Morales behind you, his face pressed behind your thigh. His cum hits your mouth, almost taking him all down, but not quite – saving just enough to kiss Santi with. To share Frankie's cum with him, your tongues mingle.

---

When you all are spent – giggling at each other, making fun of each other lightly from just how taxed you all really are, it tugs your heart. To be held close in the comfort of Frankie's strong arms, Santi lazily stroking the other man's hair while you swirl your fingertips over the hairs on his thigh.

The three of you finally got it right.

After a group shower, the three of you spend the day exploring the jungle and beach, eating fresh fruit. You're all walking down a beach when lean down to pick up two seashells. A grin spreads over your face, knowing they'd have to put it back, but keeping it for the walk wouldn't hurt.

You turn around, handing them each a symbol of your appreciation for them in their own unique ways. Your companions.

"Happy anniversary, goofs."

[gutterslimed]

fuck it. shawnter edit

[badolmen]

Listening to James Somerton’s videos is bizarre because now that I’m aware of the plagiarism it really is glaring that he’s just reading other people’s words based on the syntax alone like. He just doesn’t have a personal writing style, there’s no grammatical quirks or phrasings he uses, because it’s all coming straight from the work of different people. If you read enough of one person’s work you pick up on their style and habits - words they like, how they structure and organize their sentences when making a point, that sort of thing. Jimmy boy has no style at all because he’s a mess of stolen words glossed up in fancy expensive editing transitions.