#queer writing

[cursedluver]

art that documents queer experiences is culturally vital/valuable/important. so basically what i’m saying is keep making art about your friends, crushes, lovers, heartbreaks, transitions, struggles, all of it!!!!!! art is bad doodles! art is writing in your notes document! it’s all art!!!

[going2hell4everythingbutbeingbi]

[taxidermychrist]

god favors the faggot and the perverted // background photo by george platt lynes

[longlostlesbian]

accepting that love isn’t purely romantic is so difficult. but it’s true. love is everything and everywhere. its your friends. its the soft embrace of a warm spring breeze. it’s picking up a new hobby. it’s the sea spray during summer. it’s the small corner store you went to as a child. it’s everything. the world is built on love.

[yvesdot]

SOMETHING'S NOT RIGHT IS OUT!

“A quietly fantastical wonderland of creatures, queerness, and possibility.” — Max Franciscovich @goose-books, author of Night Shift 

The debut collection returns in a special fifth anniversary edition, repackaged with three new short stories, a new cover, and additional bonus content! A vampire is forced into a compromising situation; a father fears his child's growing plant collection; the undead go to high school; a butcher contemplates whether or not she can be loved. In a captivating debut, yves. opens the door to our world, slightly askew—where the crows work for witches and telephone booths serve as secret channels for prophecy; where a diverse cast of monsters and humans alike are forced to contend with what the world believes is right.

Thank you to everyone who made my weird uncategorizable "Lemony Snicket meets Carmen Maria Machado" speculative fiction an instant bestseller! If you’ve ever felt like a monster, this book is for you.

PRESS: KZSC interview | Santa Cruz Sentinel interview

EXCERPTED SHORT STORIES

BUY NOW!

signed paperback | paperback & ebook (amazon) | ebook (itch.io)

& at all major retailers!

Thank you so much for reading this post about my book. I hope you will share it, and this image of my beautiful black cat, Andy, widely. To queer weird fiction and indie pub! To you, Dear Reader, with love.

[explosivehrt]

I've taken the flesh built from Adam's rib and made it my own, and I put my fingers in his wound and worshipped him like he deserved, because we are not men as god has made us, but as we have made ourselves, and so we have made ourselves gods in our own image, and with my fingers in his flesh i said "Look at us, we are men." Our bodys are holy ground, we made them such and so we took turns worshipping what we created on our hands and knees, inventing devotion. We gave eachother the grace and divinity that such an act of creation earned, inventing faith. We have made ourselves holy all on our own.

[rkmoon]

Horror is so gay and I think thats beautiful

[zoominlumen]

Early reviews are in!

FAULT is a queer sci-fi/horror retelling of Moby Dick and is out August 24th!

[sheavesandbounds]

sometimes her family looks at me and their tongues curl around the name of a dead girl i stare them in the eyes with an unfamiliar smile until they swallow it down uncomfortably they do not know what i am all anyone knows is that she went away and i came back in her place i wear her skin i carry her flesh and bones and puppet them as if they were mine but they do not fit me and so her family wails and cries: how could i desecrate her memory? how could i even consider changing her body? how could i mutilate her? she is not the one being mutilated i have sliced and torn and ripped away parts of my soul to try and fit this body, yet it slowly rots around me i can feel it coming apart at the seams from the pressure of containing even fragments of me and still they call me her name, as if they cannot smell the stench of death

i understand that they loved her they miss her they mourn for her they think that i am doing this to hurt them her can they not see that dragging around this corpse under the guise of being her is more disrespectful to her memory than anything else? can they not see that i loved her too?

the girl is dead but the body remains i will reshape it to fit me and it will be my turn to live.

Inspired by this post and the tags

[master-xochimilli]

I love using sweet names for him, I think I say love a thousand times or more a week, like my love? Sweetheart? Darling? Baby boy? Sweetie? Mi amor? Mi niño bonito, mi vida, mi corazón, mi solecito lindo, mi cielo? My pookie wookie sweetie honey sunshine sparkle lovey dovery wawawa lalalala love????!

[silver-ink-iron-words]

“Are you happy, in this relationship?”

The protagonist’s entire body stilled. “Of course.”

“Really? Because I’m not.”

The two of them were in the most romantic setting the protagonist could think of – a little boat winding lazily down a gentle river, shaded by lush forest on both sides. It was bathed in the soft golds and pinks of early evening.

“I can be better,” the protagonist said.

But their soulmate only smiled. “That’s impossible, dear. You’re already perfect.”

The protagonist’s chest tightened as though boulders were piling atop it.

“You’re smart,” the soulmate went on. “You’re kind. You get my sense of humour. And you have this way of viewing everything . . . [Protagonist], it’s breathtaking to see the world from your eyes.”

“Then why are we having this conversation?”

“You’re my perfect puzzle piece. The matching shoe . . . all that dumb stuff they said about soulmates. But this . . .” They gestured to the romantic scenery. “I wasn’t meant for this.”

The protagonist stared at the slow churning water. “Are you breaking up with me?”

The soulmate gave an infuriating shrug. “I don’t know.”

“Well, alright then.” The protagonist laughed, tight and bitter. “Just tell me when you decide whether or not you’re going to ruin my life.”

“See, this is what I hate about having a soulmate. About being a soulmate. Why do I have to be this wonderful, amazing thing for someone else? The thing you need to live, apparently. Why can’t I just be a person?”

“I never asked you to stop being a person.”

“I’m not making myself clear.” The soulmate sighed. “Just, doesn’t it strike you as odd that they never presented this soulmate thing to us as a choice? Like, of course we were destined to find each other. Of course we’d want to be together forever.”

“Well yeah. That’s what a soulmate is.”

“You’re never just . . . absolutely furious that no one ever told us there were other ways to be happy? That we didn’t have to do this?”

“You’re still not making sense. What could be better than a soulmate?”

“I don’t know. Dinner parties. Family road trips. A bunch of friends sitting around a campfire, getting high together ’til the sun comes up.”

“Those are all things the two of us can do together.”

“But they’re also things we can do with everyone else. Fuck, [Protagonist]. Give me one reason why I have to value one person over literally everybody else in my life. Why do people always insist that I need a soulmate?” Their eyes glistened, and their voice was hitched. Almost pleading. “Sometimes I feel like I’m getting fucking brainwashed.”

“Right. Because loving your own soulmate is brainwashing.”

The soulmate leveled a stare at them. “Do you even love me?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re good at hiding it. And you never take it out on me. Which, in my own way, I love you for. But I’ll see the dark circles under your eyes. And the moments when you go really quiet. And the mornings where we wake up together, and I can tell that it actually hurts you to talk to me.”

“[Soulmate] . . .”

“Tell me right now that you’re happy, and I’ll believe you.” Their eyes bore into the protagonist. “I’ll never question you on it again.”

The protagonist paused. They had what they wanted, right?

The soulmate seemed to imagine an alternative life for themself full of people and community. But in the protagonist’s darkest hours of the night, they imagined . . .

The mud soft beneath their boots, the invigorating rain splashing their face. The smell of rich, dark soil. The sound of wind in the treeline. Of twittering, of rustling, of life. The budding spring branches, reaching like children’s hands up into the infinite sky.

The protagonist, alone. Just them and the wide-open world. It wasn’t lonely, never lonely. It was a freedom, the likes of which they’d never actually known.

But still.

The protagonist peered steadily at the person they’d always been fated for.

I can’t be the fuckup who couldn’t make it work even with my own soulmate. 

“I’m happy,” the protagonist lied.  

----

Loosely inspired by this post by @aromantic-spinda

A-spec stories taglist:

@feline17ff , @piept , @doublericenobeans , @vioqueenofmushrooms , @pigeonwhumps , @thelazywitchphotographer 

[ratracewriting]

hiiii hellllooo hiiiii

So this is my writing/reading account! My name is Sal, pronouns are they/she, I am by all formal definitions a young adult. I like reading a whole lotta genres; weird fiction, fantasy, horror, sci-fantasy, speculative fiction, and more. Some of my favorite works are as follows; The Locked Tomb, Slaughterhouse-Five, Murderbot Diaries, Our Wives Under the Sea, Sir Gawain and the Green Knight, and Disco Elysium. I'm not actually sure what I like to write. I'm trying to figure that out, and just in general be serious about my writing. When I'm not reading, writing, or working I like to play and run TTRPGS, lift weights, and make bad drawings. If you're interested in talking about books, writing, craft, looking for a beta-reader, or just a buddy, hmu!

[taxidermychrist]

“god is not watching / do what you must!”

[longlostlesbian]

no matter what anyone says. im still trans. i could stay in the closet forever and i’d still be trans. you could misgender me on my headstone and i’d still be trans.

even if the world “eradicates” trans people, i’d still be trans. if there wasn’t a word for transgender i would still be trans. if transgender people were erased from history we would still be trans, because we existed and we were trans.

i am and will always be transgender. no matter what people say about us. we have always been here and we still always stay here, even if you dont like it.

[explosivehrt]

You're at a party and you feel a little out of place just like you do at any social event. And you're standing out of the throng of it even if that word doesn't really describe the little group that's attending your best friend's birthday party. But you stand aside making small talk and sipping on your coke and when you go to greet your friend you realize that your friend has fangs. It’s a costume party and he’s dressed up as a vampire. You realize that your best friend has fangs and you're suddenly sleeping beauty, you want to reach out and prick your finger on one as if it’s a spindle.

They poke out of his lips, parallel with each of two crests of his Cupid’s bow, the points make indentations in his bottom lip when he smiles and all of a sudden you realize that you are a boy in love.

He asks you what's bothering you because you haven't stopped staring and you're wondering if there's some sort of hypnosis involved, but your feelings are utterly and terrifyingly real and you jump when your best friend puts his hand on your shoulder. He's looking at you like he's worried and he asks again what's wrong because you're acting weird. You are. You're staring at the space between the corners of his mouth and his voice is sweet as sugar and smooth as honey as he smiles politely and you are a boy in love- in deep, gut-wrenching, heart-pounding love.

And you're at his party and your best friend has fangs and he's paying attention to you and only you and you can't take it anymore, you tell him happy birthday and you beg him to bite you.

[rkmoon]

Song of the Heartless - Coming to you May 4, 2024!

That's the date I'm gonna start serializing it on @project-heartless-serial!! Follow and turn on notifications if you'd like?

If you like: *A primarily aromantic cast being unapologetically aro (aspec identities galore!) *a generous sprinkle of body horror and action *focus on a queerplatonic relationship between the MC and their partner *an egg getting cracked and the exploration thereof (if you know you know) *found family *fighting monsters *fighting against an oppressive system *a rainy atmospheric setting

Then you will enjoy this book!

Further details and a sneak peek of the prologue under the cutoff:

Working Title: Project Heartless Genre: Queer, Dystopian Fantasy, Dark Fantasy, Horror Length: 118K Tag: #projectheartless

The Heartless are empty of morals– just as nonexistent as their heart. That was what Rainier Sandoval had been taught at an early age. As an Inner City dweller, the barbarism in the Outer District, where the Heartless thrived, was hard to imagine. But when his own heart was stolen and crushed on his twenty-fifth birthday, he was exiled to that very place, forced to see for himself. He had thought he was prepared, but the expectations were so horribly different from the reality. Conspiracies were afoot, and the more he stayed in Outer District, the more he realized he had been lied to his entire life.  The monsters he was taught to fear might be Angel City's only hope against threats lurking beyond its borders. In a twist of fate, they might also be Rainier's only hope against his own inner demons.

Prologue

Anger. Pain. Anger. Fear. Anger. Hurt. Pain. Hurt. Scream. Anger. Anger. Anger. Anger. ANGER. 

No…

It couldn't think. It felt. It writhed. There was so much pain. Pushing it together. 

Its mind was screaming. Its mind was filled with voices. So many people crammed in such a small space. Like a box filled to the brim with half-dead corpses. Anger bubbled inside, never-ending. 

It didn't know why. All It knew was the Anger. All It knew was the Pain. From the distance, It could hear a mournful cry. Like a child begging to die. It made the Anger rise, overwhelming. The collective indignance of a thousand souls. It Hurt. It Hurt. It Hurt.

So it ripped. Blood poured out in rivulets. It wanted more. It craved. It hungered.

It felt flesh tear in its hands, but It could not see. It felt blood flow down its arms, but It didn't have any. It heard screams echo inside its head, but there was also someone outside, gasping. Begging. Gurgling.

Screams from the inside. Screams from the outside.

"Rowan!" 

"Stay in formation, Will!" 

"No— ROWAN!" 

"It's coming! Duck!"

"It's too late for him, stay back!" 

It heard it. It heard them. Anger surged, so It raged. It fought. But It also wanted to see. It knew It was but a mere voice in the sea of consciousness, but It wanted to see. It wanted to know. The fear that those voices let out, the tremble in their pained gasps. It wanted to know.

Am I the one hurting them?

But the Anger, oh, the Anger — it was all-consuming. It was so filled with Hurt. They were hurting It. In the distance, the Child was weeping. Begging for the torture to end. The Anger won't stop until the Child was set free. But it had been so long. It's been so long, and It wondered what was the point, what was It doing, was throwing back all of this hurt and pain and agony worth it— 

It wanted to rest. Because it hurt. Being pressed together like this, it hurt. 

We must, we should, we are stronger together, we must destroy, we must avenge, we must save, THEY HAVE NOT LEARNED THEIR LESSON— 

"Rowan! No!"

So It kept tearing. It kept killing.

It will not stop.

"No!" A sob. It niggled something inside it. Even as its brethren whispered, even as they jeered and cheered and wanted and laughed and reveled in their cruelty — It heard, and it didn't feel right because the cries, the sobs, the tears— 

Isn't that also just a child?

So It climbed, It groped the others. It tore through their consciousness as it tried to get a grip. It wanted to see. It wanted to know. It wanted to See.

It doesn't matter, the others whispered. We are killing. We are avenging.

No.

It pushed everything away. It felt the body moving, it felt the body going for the kill. It felt the body fighting against someone. It couldn't control it, but It persisted. Because It didn't feel right. Because It wanted to See.

It gasped as It got control of the eyes. It opened them for the first time in centuries.

And It saw... a young man, no more than sixteen, looking at It as if It was death personified.

Because It was.

KILL KILL KILL KILL

NO.

Its hands were wrapped around the boy's throat. And It couldn't help but think about life leeching out of the boy's brilliant green eyes. 

The boy, the young man, was a human. 

It blinked. Memories in the back of Its head surged through its shattered fragments like a fog. 

Wasn't It human, once? 

What did it mean... to be human?