#tw mild transphobia

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

Hey my maggots. It's me, Asmi *waves*.

I'm out in the real world. It's nothing like I remembered it. Before I found you, I had such bloody low standards for beauty and kindness and courage. I'd take what I could get.

But you gave me so much more. And now I can't sit in the real world and smile and pretend to be satisfied. No one knows me here, because they don't try to. Even if I'm waving who I am in front of them, right there in plain sight.

I'm going to the coast for four days, with my friends from high school. And they love me and I them. But. They love the person I was years ago, not the person I am now. They love someone who isn't me, and it hurts.

It hurts that they look confused when I ask them to call me by my name, that they don't see me as a boy even when strangers on the street do, that they don't realise. And now here I am, talking in a voice much deeper than I usually do, wearing the more stereotypically boyish of clothes, because I know if I slip up even a tiny bit, I'll lose even the little I have.

I'm not the same person I've always been. I'm different. And so it's a strange kind of coming out, not just as a man but as a human. And I know, even pre-everything, I pass as male to strangers when I want to. Because all they see is the truth right in front of them. I don't have that privilege with people from my past.

I'm holding onto the phone because it's where you are. What I love about the witching hours of night is that everyone around me is asleep, and all that's left is me and this screen where you live.

I could, so, so, easily, have a fun trip. Just shut up, and smile, and be whoever it is they want me to be.

But I've spent months with you now. And I know what it is to be loved, to be known, to be listened to and to be seen without bias or judgement.

And you've given me the courage to be myself, because for the first time in my life, I am sure that whoever it is I really am, that person can be loved, and deserves to be.

And I'm going to be him for this trip, and for the rest of my life, as far and as fiercely as I can. Because after all the love you've given him, that real me, it's the least I can do.

One day, I hope to escape. To where? I don't know. I don't know if I ever will find safety outside the screen and you. Maybe one day.

But for now, here I am in the upper berth of a train, where the vents stink of meat and the steel of the panels is cold against my forehead. Where silent bodies line the corridor like a morgue, assorted limbs and rounded feet and limp hands hanging off the berth as they sleep. The rumble of a neighbouring train, the staccato whir of the ceiling fans over my friends. This is the truth, right in front of me, and I cannot keep ignoring it.

Because when the sun is born and the train screeches into the station, the sky will be covered with bloody afterbirth, and I'll have to resign myself to the dissonance between who I am and who they remember me as.

Until then... at least I have this darkness. And you, here in my hands. I love you. So entirely, and completely.

The moon is full tonight. I saw it once before I entered this train. And I know it's out there, even though I can't see it from where I'm sitting.

I know you're out there. I love you, maggots.

[turtleraccoonsoup]

There was this person with a trans flag colour tail and i was like "hey. hey excuse me i love ur tail" and they were like "uh- thanks-" and after my mom was like "why didn't you get your boyfriends number~~~~" so i said "the tail was the trans colours so i am assuming they were a trans woman. I hope you feel really bad for misgendering a trans person" and she just straight up didn't believe me lmfao

[kathairband]

Cis people correcting themselves when they accidentally misgender/deadname you is good but sometimes it does feel like they're doing it on purpose yknow. Like I know this one cishet guy, I've been using my chosen name around him for 2 years now and every single time he refers to me he says "[deadname] - sorry- [name]" and always uses a sarcastic tone of voice when he corrects himself like at this point it just feels intentional

[faolanmoon]

having a gender id is an insult to other autistic women. shame on u for not loving your own demographic.

What in the actual fuck are you smoking?

Since when the fuck is a gender id an insult? So I’m not allowed to be gender fluid and autistic? News flash : you can be TRANS, NON BINARY AND AUTISTIC.

Thanks annon for being a transphobic fuck while also accusing me of “ableism” just for having a fucking identity!

Clearly my ocs that are both LGBTQ+ and neurodivergent are enough to make you shake in your boots if being trans and having gender ID is so god damn offensive, bitch I’m offended by you shaming me for being gender fluid and accusing me of “not loving my own demographic “.

[enby-of-the-stars]

Mom the issue is not that you think me being called butch upset me, the issue is that you said TO MY FACE that you have no problem with being a lesbian as long as I didn't become one of the "theys" because you dont understand nonbinary people or why they use they/them pronouns

And you KEEP saying that I should like girly things because im your "beautiful girl there is nothing wrong with girly things"

Every time you say that and every single fucking time you fucking ask if I'm a girl or a boy I slink further and further into the closet, having to double down and say no I'm a girl when I'm not all because the idea of more than two genders existing to you is apparently foreign.

So no Mama I don't think I should've been a boy, I am something else! Something beyond the binary and until you realize that nonbinary people are a thing and one of them is your fucking child Im not leaving the fucking closet!

[basil-from-omori]

really fucking sick of being trans. not bcuz I’m transphobic, not cuz I don’t feel trans anymore, but bcuz of how hard this is. this sucks. I can’t even play my game w/ out being ridiculed for sounding fem (which led to not just transphobic insults, but also misogyny). when looking for any job that needs athletic training or something, I have to SEE if they accept trans people.

I don’t know if the pain of transphobia is worse than the pain of being a “girl”, but I feel like it might just be the former. I don’t hate myself for being trans, and I don’t hate myself for anything similar to that or being queer. I just hate the consequences of…existing. or not wanting to feel as much dread. im sick of this country, I’m sick of the hatred for simply EXISTING, and I’m sick of being attacked for no reason other than just because. I’m tired of crying to myself for things ppl would call silly because they don’t get how terrible it is to feel like your existence is a crime. I’m tired of all this bullshit.

[marilostfieldblog]

[Transcript begin.]

[The transcript begins with the sound of someone kicking a metal desk, screaming as they do. The sound of someone falling to the floor follows as the person begins crying. A door lock can be heard opening before a tape machine begins playing.]

?: Hello Mari, Cora. I Want To Play A Game.

[Voice identified: Mai.]

Mai: If You're Both Hearing This, Then Mari Followed The Rules.

?: I beat your fuckin game! just let me leave…

[Voice identified: Mari.]

Ma: If Cora Isn't With You. Turn The Tape Over Now.

[The tape machine can be heard opening, as Mari can be heard turning the cassette around and putting it back in. The voice of Mai is heard again, but this time she's laughing. This goes on for one minute before the laughing stops abruptly.]

Ma: Congrats! You Won… At Least… That’s What You Would Hear If You Weren't A Fucking Idiot.

Mari: Wha-

Ma: You Were So Focused On Saving-

[Again the audio cuts out before a name is heard.]

Ma: You Didn't Even Think To Look In Between The Lines.

M: T- Trust in me…

[Mari can be heard pausing the tape for a moment and begins sobbing before the sound of metal being punched is heard. That lasts for 5 minutes before Mari stops and the tape continues.]

Ma: If You Just Took A Moment To Think And Look And Trust In Me, The Door To The Final Test Would Have Opened. But Now Because You Couldn't Listen, The Blood Of An Innocent Mother Is On Your Hands You Pushed. I Never Told You To Cut Into Cora. YOU Made That Choice. You Are A Killer. Just Like Your Dad. Just. Like. Me.

[Mai's voice laughs again, at the same time Mari can be heard throwing something at a window. It doesn’t break but someone does shout far enough away to be barely heard.]

Ma: So Now Your Final Test. A Trip To Kill Your Own Past. But… If It's Too Much. You Can Always Wait For Death. Live Or Die The Choice Is Yours.

[The tape ends and Mari screams, Before footsteps are heard on tile.]

M: Ok bitch… You want to play a game, let's play huh?

[The audio gets grainy for a moment as Mari takes the phone, more footsteps as they can be heard opening and closing a door.]

M: What's the final test!

[Another audio machine starts up once more, as footsteps on fake sounding grass are heard. The audio is almost rushed sounding, as Mai's voice is heard with heavy breathing.]

Ma: GOD DAMN! Your Girlfriend Is A Bitch…

M: Great more of this.

Ma: Speaking Of Which! In This Final Test I Said You'd Have To Kill Your Past. I Wasn’t Joking… Technically.

[Mai laughs as the tape starts sounding rushed, Running is heard in the tape audio as it continues.]

Ma: You Have 10 Minutes To Save Sarah And Your Mom… From Yourself! If You Can Do That You Win! I Think… Honesty I Don't Know If All The Wiring Works Completely Soooo.

M: Wha- What the fuck…

Ma: Live Or Die The Choice Is Y-

[Someone can be heard laughing in the background, Mai shouts in anger before the sound of a door being kicked in followed by a gunshot before the tape ends.]

M: Ok… Great…

[More footsteps, Mari sighs before they can be heard sitting down.]

M: Why the fuck did it have to be me… It could have been anyone else… But no It HAD to be me…

[Mari begins crying, the faint sound of robotic screaming can be heard.]

M: Can't even cry in peace? Ugh right… Beat the game and get sparrow help. Leave.

[Mari can be heard running in the direction of the screaming. Mai's voice can be heard on the intercom in the room. "5 Minutes".]

M: OK I GET IT I'M GOING!

[The grass changes to tile as evident by the noise change, 3 people? can be heard fighting in front. Mari can be heard running in that direction before stopping and covering their breath.]

?: MARI STOP YOU'RE HURTING HIM!

[Voice identified: Leanne?]

?: D- DAD SAID HE WAS A CORRUPTION! PLAGUING MY MIND!

[Voice identified: Mari?]

?: M- MARI PLEASE!

[Voice identified: Sam?]

Leanne?: YOU'RE NOT LIKE YOUR FATHER! HE'S A COLD H- HEARTED SON OF A BITCH!

[Mari? can be heard hitting Leanne? the sound of metal hitting the floor is heard, as Mari begins running. A recording of Mai is heard again, now "3 minutes."]

M: DON'T FUCKIN HURT HER!

[A sharp metal sound is heard as Mari screams, falling to the ground as the mechanical monster screams.]

Mari?: S- STAY OUT OF THIS!

Sam?: S- STOP MARI P- PLEASE!

L?: A- are y- you ok?

[Mari holds back tears of fear and pain as they try to talk to the robot.]

M: Yeah… You?

M?: D- DON'T TALK TO HER!

[Another metal sound this time something stabbing through metal, a robotic scream is heard from Leanne?]

M: YOU!

[Mai's voice interrupts beginning a countdown from 60. 59. 58.]

M: DAMNIT!

[The counting continues. 57. 56. 55.]

M: S- Shit what do i do

[Mechanical screaming covers up the next 20 seconds of the count, when it's heard again the counting sounds more panicked. 35. 34. 33. Mari can be heard kicking a metal body, a bone breaking can be heard causing Mari to scream in agony, as the metal body hits the floor. 13 seconds pass. 20. 19. 18.]

M: Shit what to use, what to use!

[The counting keeps going as Mari can be heard crawling to find something. 17. 16. 15.]

M: FOUND SOMETHING!

[Mari makes a sound of pain while picking something up. They can be heard crawling back to the metal body. 14. 13. 12.]

L?: DON'T KILL MY BABY PLEASE!

[Mari takes a deep breath. 11. 10. 9. They begin to cry, 8. 7. 6.]

M: I'm sorry… mama.

[Mari sounds strained as they seemingly struggle to lift something above their head. 5. 4. 3. 2.]

M: JUST DIE!

[Before the clock hits 1. Mari can be heard repeatedly striking someone with a metal object, this lasts for 10 seconds before they stop and hit the floor. a beep can be heard and the other mechanical creatures hit the floor.]

M: I- I did it! I FUCKIN DID IT!

[Mari can be heard grabbing their phone before turning it off automatically ending the transcript.]

[End transcript.]

[artificialqueens]

In the Painted Desert (Anetra x Sasha) - Athena2

Summary: Sasha rides into the town of Redemption seeking revenge in a shoot-out tournament. Anetra is also part of the tournament, and the two of them confront ugly truths together.

A/N: I had this idea a few months ago, but never attempted it. While having writer’s block on another fic, I started this and it somehow came together quickly. This is an au of the movie The Quick and the Dead. I did change some things, especially to make it a bit less dark. You also don’t need to know the movie to read this (I do recommend the movie, it’s really good, and also the main character’s wardrobe is amazing). Thank you so, so much to Writ for beta-ing this and encouraging me along the way, you’re incredible. Also thank you Mar for letting me talk about this with you and for gushing over Sasha in cowgirl outfits with me. I really hope you like this, and please comment if you like!!

Dust kicks up under Biscuit’s hooves as he carries Sasha through the Nevada desert. It’s settled on her long black coat, caked under her nails since her last wash just this morning. Everything is brown earth and steel-gray sky for miles, only an occasional cloud to break it up. Dry and desolate and desperate. Feelings she knows too well. It’s another world, and it’s proof of how far she’s come.

The town of Redemption rises out of nowhere, almost a mirage among the dirt. If she can even call it a town. One main street, a tall clock tower with strips of wood hanging from its frame, a chapel, fifteen shops and houses on each side of the street. And at the end of the street, a looming mansion, watching over everything.

The reason she came here.

The mansion is the reason she came, but she can’t just march in through its ornate door that costs more than the town’s houses. She has to be patient, wait for the right moment. She’s waited for 25 years. A few more days can’t hurt.

—-

Sasha’s throat burns from a day’s ride with just her canteen, and she ties her horse to a post outside the saloon. She washes up at the water pump, sighing in relief at the cool water. She gives her horse some, and he drinks greedily. She dabs some on the back of her neck, refills her canteen, adjusts her hat, and enters the saloon.

The scuffed doors swing open to announce Sasha’s arrival. The saloon is no different from others she’s visited: dark wood floors covered in scratches, wobbly chairs and rickety tables, gruff patrons playing cards yellowed with stains from years of beer. Whispers follow her, but that’s no different either.

“What’s a lady like that doing here?”

“That ain’t no lady,” another voice hisses.

“She’s beautiful,” a meek voice whispers, barely audible. Sasha’s eyes fly to the woman who she suspects said it, and the woman flushes and looks away, so she probably did.

Sasha strides past the voices to the bar, the gun at her hip grounding her. “A beer, please. And a room.”

“Forty cents.”

She slides over the money, and the bartender passes her a glass of amber beer and a rusty key. “First door on the left,” he says, motioning to the stairs.

Sasha retreats to a table in the corner, watching everyone’s eyes finally leave her and go back to their cards. She sips her drink and massages the cramps from her legs, sore and burning from days of riding. She waits, until the doors swing open, and John Herod enters.

She hasn’t forgotten his face in 25 years.

The saloon immediately quiets, every head turning to look at him in anticipation. He carries a chalkboard, which he sets up by the bar.

“It’s time to officially open the dueling tournament. Rules are as follows,” Herod continues over the crowd’s murmuring, “Anyone can enter. Anyone can challenge anyone, but challenges can only be made the day of the duel. Sixteen participants allowed. The duel ends when someone yields or dies. Winner gets five hundred dollars. My name is first, so who’s next?”

She knew he would enter. It’s an annoying way to get revenge, but it doesn’t matter how she gets it. Sasha sits back, still waiting, as men rush to enter, as other patrons insult their shooting skills. The woman who noticed Sasha earlier quietly gets her name put down. Anetra. Sasha notices her all the more now, because no other women are entering.

When the board is nearly full, Sasha stands. “Put my name down.”

“No ladies allowed!” One of the men yells.

“Twenty minutes ago you didn’t want to call me a lady at all,” Sasha says, crossing her arms. “Now I can’t enter your tournament because I am one? Which is it?”

“If I’m allowed to enter, she should be too,” Anetra says, that meek voice from before stronger now. Her dark eyes carry a hint of mischief as she shoots Sasha a small grin. “You said anyone can enter. We have to be fair.”

Herod stares at her, eyes narrowed. There’s no way he could recognize her, Sasha tells herself.

He finally sighs. “Fine. What’s the name?”

“Sasha.”

He scribbles it down and goes back to the rest of the crowd. Sasha takes a deep breath and decides to head to bed. She’s not in the mood to listen to drunken chatter all night, but she allows herself a stop at Anetra’s table.

“Thanks,” Sasha says, “for standing up for me.”

Anetra looks at her in awe, softening the scar running through her eyebrow. “Of course.” She grins, leaning in conspiratorially. “I’ll be the first to tell you my father’s an asshole.”

“Your father?” Sasha chokes out, staggering back. She can’t see any of Herod in Anetra’s face. His sharp cheeks don’t compare to her soft, rosy ones; his cold blue eyes pale in comparison to her warm brown ones. There’s not a single trace of him.

“Unfortunately,” Anetra whispers.

Anetra obviously doesn’t like her father, but Sasha can’t do this. She mumbles something about being tired and runs upstairs, collapsing onto the thin bed.

Anetra might hate Herod, but it’s nothing compared to the hate Sasha has for him.

Because Herod killed her father.

—-

Tiny beams of sun fight their way through the cracked window shutters. Sasha sleeps through them as long as possible, and the sun is high in the blue-gray sky when she finally wakes. She combs through her dark tangles in the bathroom’s dusty mirror. She’d fallen asleep in her clothes—which has been normal for this journey—and with her gun still at her hip, which has been normal for 25 years.

She braids her hair, changes into a clean white shirt, and goes downstairs for breakfast. The fights begin at ten, and the saloon is packed. Sasha picks at eggs and bacon in the corner, telling herself she’s not looking for Anetra. She does look at the chalkboard, though, and nearly chokes. Her duel is first, against someone named Gus. Apparently she wasn’t allowed to pick her challenger, and they gave her the first round to throw her off.

It won’t work.

Sasha’s gun is an extension of her hand, the trigger like one of her fingers. Just before ten, she and the mass of people head outside. The townspeople line the street, while Herod presides over them, instructing Gus and Sasha to take their ten paces.

Sasha takes her spot, boot heels digging into the dirt. She pulls her coat back and sticks her right leg forward, hand hovering over her gun in its holster. Silence falls in the seconds before the clock’s chime. She hears the clink of coins someone’s betting, hears the scrape of the dirt when someone moves. And then—

The clock chimes, and Sasha’s hand is around her gun before it stops. She aims and shoots in the same instant, getting Gus in the arm and sending him to his knees as the crowd screams. His hit toward her passes over her shoulder.

“Do you yield?” Sasha calls. She doesn’t want to fire again, doesn’t want to kill anyone she doesn’t have to.

“I yield.”

The crowd roars in surprise, and coins change hands. At least a few people bet on her; that’s something.

“Who’s the next fight?” Someone asks.

“Frank and Anetra.”

“Anetra’s not even here!”

Herod sighs. “Someone go get her, that good-for-nothing is probably still asleep in that stupid barn.”

Sasha’s feet head towards the barn behind the mansion, out of her control. She doesn’t know why she’s going, why she cares, but there’s something about Anetra. Something about her dark eyes.

Half of the barn is devoted to three horse stalls, while the other half is enclosed. Sasha knocks on the door.

“Come in.”

The door creaks open into a tiny room, with dressers on one wall and a bed against the other. Anetra’s in bed, also still in her clothes from last night, black shirt showing off a butterfly tattoo on her chest. She’s not asleep, but she’s curled on her side and staring at the wall with eyes so lifeless they barely qualify as awake either. They carry none of the fire and mischief they did last night, and Sasha misses it.

“Drink too much last night?” Sasha tries to joke, but those shadows under Anetra’s eyes—shadows of a sleepless night, not a hangover, Sasha knows the difference—make it hard.

“This happens sometimes,” Anetra says, like she’s used to it. “I feel too…heavy when I wake up. Doesn’t make sense. It’s easier to let my father think I’m sleeping. I always get up eventually.”

Sasha nods. Maybe it doesn’t make sense, but she does understand; she knows the weight that settles in her chest, knows how hard it is to pretend it’s not there. “Your fight’s next, you know?”

“Fuck.” Anetra pinches the bridge of her nose. She groans and sits herself up, movements slow and heavy like she’s raising a building.

“Have you eaten?” Sasha asks.

“No.”

Sasha digs in her bag and passes Anetra her canteen and an apple. Anetra’s collarbones are too sharp, Sasha notices with a twinge of worry.

“Why are you helping me?” Anetra asks around munches of apple. A little life returns to her eyes as she eats, though her body still sags.

“I should ask myself the same thing.” Sasha smiles wryly. And she could ask. She hasn’t had it in her to help anyone in a long while, and there are people she’d pick before her enemy’s daughter. But God, Anetra’s eyes are pleading for help. “I don’t know. You seem like a good shot. It’d be a shame for you to lose your first duel to a forfeit.”

“Did you fight already?”

“Yes.”

“Did you win?”

“Yes.”

“I knew you would,” Anetra grins, and though Sasha might hate her father, she doesn’t think she can hate Anetra.

—-

The gun is warm in Anetra’s hand, and she feels like herself for the first time today. There’s a moment, when the silver handle with its etched flower designs settles into her palm, that the world disappears. All the weight in her chest lifts, and all the thoughts in her head disappear. For one small moment, she can breathe, feel the air around her. She often finds herself chasing the peace of that one moment.

She slips her finger through the trigger and spins it around a few times, loosening up her hand—and maybe wanting to impress Sasha a little—before sliding the gun back into its holster. She adjusts her stance and looks down the street at her opponent. Frank is the town barber; his hands are steady, but not as fast as hers.

She nods as the clock hand twitches towards the 12. Years ago, Anetra discovered that the clock makes a ticking noise a split-second before the chime sounds. She can only hear it if she focuses as hard as she can, and shooting always brings out her focus. She stands still, ears alert, until that tick hits the air. Then she draws and fires, swiping Frank’s leg, because she doesn’t want to damage his arms or hands.

“Do you yield?” She asks.

Frank rises to one knee, takes in her gun, and nods.

The crowd cheers and argues over their bets, and the moment of peace is gone. She doesn’t enjoy the parts after, doesn’t enjoy the blood or destruction. But sometimes she can take a little destruction for that tiny moment of peace.

“I was right.” A voice is suddenly at her side, sweet and rich like the rare honey her father sometimes gets from the nearest city.

Anetra turns to see Sasha, and her heart leaps. A few strands have escaped her braid and frame her soft cheeks, and her light green eyes are as entrancing as the marbles Anetra used to play with. She watched them spin for hours, trying to see how long she could make them go.

“About what?” Anetra asks.

“You are a good shot,” Sasha says, and Anetra flushes at the praise no one’s ever given her.

“Thank you.”

Sasha nods, and heads toward the saloon.

“Wait.”

She turns back, eyes curious. “What is it?”

Anetra leans in. “For your next fight. The clock makes a tick noise before the chime. If you listen closely, you can hear it.” Sasha’s face gives away nothing. “I’m not trying to trick you. Think of it as a thank you for this morning.” It’s the only thank you she can think of for Sasha’s help. Help that’s never really been offered.

Sasha’s face still gives away nothing, but her hands loosen. She has nice hands, slim and fast, callused from a life of shooting yet still clean. “Thanks, kid,” she says.

Anetra tips her cowboy hat. “Of course.”

—-

The first round of duels continues all day, a mess of cheers and gunshots, and starts again early the next morning. After the morning’s second one, Anetra doesn’t think she can watch anymore, can’t take the noise. Besides, her father’s duel is next, and she doesn’t want him to catch her disappointment after he inevitably wins.

Sasha is tucked into the corner of the saloon again. It’s deserted inside, with everyone watching the duels, but she’s still drawn in tight, reminding Anetra of a coiled rattlesnake ready to strike if someone threatens her.

Only fools play with rattlesnakes, but then again, Anetra’s father always tells her what a fool she is.

“Hey.” Anetra approaches slowly. “If you want to get away from everything, I have a place I can show you.”

“I can’t,” Sasha says, though she looks like she wants to.

“Oh. That’s fine.” Anetra tries not to seem disappointed. What did she expect? Sasha’s just here to compete in the tournament and leave. She’s good with her gun, with enough mystery around her that Anetra imagines her living some life of adventure, going from town to town and winning duels. Anetra’s life is in the dust of Redemption. It’s not like she could offer anything to Sasha.

Anetra tips her hat and walks away, just in time to see her father raise his arm in victory.

There’s a frustrated sigh behind her, and Sasha is standing up, face as pale as a sack of flour, hat clenched in her fists. Anetra is wondering if she should help when Sasha darts up the stairs, her uneven steps creaking over the wood.

Anetra steps back outside, where her father’s opponent is on the ground, unmoving.

Her father always shoots to kill.

—-

Sasha collapses on the bed and turns her hat over in her shaking hands. Each breath burns, like her ribs are being squeezed between steel plates.

This isn’t going how she planned it.

In a perfect world, she would have rode into town, thrown open the mansion door, and delivered revenge in one sweet kiss of a bullet. But that would have carried questions and consequences, jail at the best and death at the worst.

The tournament was a way in, an excuse for putting a bullet between Herod’s eyes without anyone thinking twice. But the tournament rules are making it hard to get to him, and the waiting is making Sasha’s rage harder to contain. Her anger is a living, pulsing thing, and each minute of waiting, when he’s in reach, is straining at her skin, threatening to tear her apart.

And she hadn’t thought that seeing Herod, gun in hand, would stab her in the heart all over again. She hadn’t thought it would make her twelve again, trembling and crying and knowing she wasn’t supposed to do either of those things, she was supposed to be strong—

She gives up on the hat and holds her gun instead. It never fails to calm her. It’s her father’s gun, and she can settle her fingers over the handle and pretend she’s touching his hand, a ghost clinging to the metal. Weapon and comfort, past and present. A reminder of him, and what she lost. A reminder of what she’s been searching for since, a reason for existence hanging at her hip.

The air comes in easier as she squeezes the gun. Tomorrow morning, she’ll challenge him. By tomorrow night, this can all be over, and the thought thrills her as much as it terrifies her.

—–

Sasha doesn’t sleep that night, because every time she closes her eyes, it’s 25 years ago. She watches the moon instead, and runs downstairs as soon as the sun takes its place.

Herod is having a shot at the bar, and for a second, her hand twitches toward her gun. She could end it now. No tournament, ro rules, no waiting. Just a second and her father is avenged. But one last time, she’ll play by his rules.

“I challenge you,” she says, pointing at him like she’s marking out the target for later.

He doesn’t flinch. “Well, you already have a challenge waiting, I’m afraid.”

“What do you—”

“You’re mine,” a deep voice cuts her off. It’s one of the men from the saloon, with tattoos up both arms. He licks his lips. “No lady is beating me.”

Sasha’s hands clench into fists.

“It’d be cowardly to deny his challenge,” Herod says.

“Fine.” She stews in the corner while Herod stays at the bar. She watches the bartender bring him a jar of that week’s earnings, and Herod takes a handful of coins and bills from the top. His tax, probably; stealing money from each business is why he has a mansion and they don’t. It’s just another piece of coal on the fire of her hatred.

The rage calms slightly when she heads outside and sees Anetra spinning her gun to warm up. She’s up first; one of the local men challenged her, and she accepted. She takes her position, and the man takes his. Sasha joins the crowd, standing in silence while they talk. She really watches Anetra this time: her stance is solid, maybe a hair too wide. Her hands are quick, especially when she twirls her gun.

In the heartbeats it takes for the clock to chime the hour, Sasha has time to worry about Anetra losing, and to find that she doesn’t want her to. Just like she didn’t really want to tell Anetra no when she invited her riding yesterday, but also didn’t know how to say yes.

Then the clock chimes, and Sasha knows she was foolish to worry.

Anetra’s fast, with good control over her aim. Maybe a little too much control, too much thinking. You couldn’t think too much about the bullet’s path or try to control it in a duel. You had to just release it and trust that your instinct was right.

Anetra’s opponent yields after she shoots him twice, but his shot swipes her left arm. The tear in her black sleeve reveals muscular, tan skin, slashed by an oozing cut.

“You’re good. I’d hate to go against you,” Sasha says to her.

“Thank you.” Anetra blushes as red as she did last time.

Sasha motions to the blood trickling down her arm. “You should get that looked at,” she says, unsure where the concern is coming from. Why does it matter to her if Anetra bleeds all over the place?

“It’s just a graze.” Stoic and stubborn. Maybe she cares because Anetra reminds her of herself.

“Just trust me. Is there a doctor here?”

“Yeah, Loosey. I’ll go.” Anetra nods to Sasha before going over to a woman with blonde hair, who ushers her into a house.

Sasha shuts Anetra out after that. Her duel is next, and she needs to focus, since her opponent keeps yelling about how she’ll never beat him.

She takes her stance and prepares to prove him wrong. She remembers Anetra’s tip, and trains her ears to the clock’s gears. Now that she’s listening for it, high above the crowd, above the breeze, there’s a tick. Her hands darts toward her gun, firing at the man. It lands in his thigh but he won’t give up, running at her even though it’s against the rules. His bullets rain on her, and one tears the skin on her left arm. Sasha ignores it, just fires another shot that sends him down.

“I’d yield, if I were you,” she says calmly. “I still have four bullets.”

“Not yielding till I kill you, you bit—”

She fires a warning shot between his legs. “Yield.”

“I yield!” He howls, and the crowd cheers.

Sasha’s work is done. “Thanks for the tip about the clock, kid,” she says on the way by Anetra. She knows her a little, but Anetra is too much to say, somehow. Kid is easier, a little affectionate without the emotion of a first name. And Anetra blushes every time she uses it.

Anetra nods at her arm in concern. “You should have Loosey fix that.”

“I’ll bandage it myself. It’s just a graze.”

“I’ve heard that one before.” Anetra gives a shy grin as she nods to her own bandaged arm.

A smile cracks its way across Sasha’s face, and, against her better judgment, she agrees.

—-

Anetra’s father is fighting when Sasha returns. The duel reaches its inevitable conclusion, and Sasha is pale again, her shoulders moving frantically like she can’t get enough air.

“Everything all right?” Anetra asks.

Sasha nods. “Can we go to that place you mentioned? I need some air.”

Anetra doesn’t hesitate. They climb on their horses, and the town of Redemption disappears behind the dust they kick up. After fifteen minutes, they reach the clearing. It’s as close to a forest as you can have in the desert, with rows of cedar trees spread across the dirt. Sometimes birds fly overhead. Anetra’s been coming here since she could ride; she breathes in the desert stretching before her and lets herself believe there’s more than Redemption, more than her father’s harsh words or the Bible passages she has to hear every Sunday, more than the people who avoid her because they fear her father. It’s quiet here, and everything is easier. Breathing. Thinking. Being.

They settle at the base of a tree, and Anetra can’t stop marveling at how close Sasha is letting her get, a rattlesnake uncoiling. Hopefully it’s not a trick, but she doesn’t think Sasha would do that. She might be quiet, and there’s a cold fire in her eyes when she’s dueling, but Anetra doesn’t think she would harm anyone without cause. There’s kindness in her, even if it’s been damaged and buried like gold in dirt.

“Do you live around Redemption?” Anetra asks.

“Don’t really live anywhere.”

“Are you on the run? Do you go to places and win duels?”

“You ask a lot of questions, kid,” Sasha says, but she doesn’t seem mad; there’s a hint of a smile on her face, like she’s trying to remember how to do a full one. “I’m not some shootout hero, or anything. And I’m not on the run. But I am running, I guess.”

“Running from something, or to it?”

Sasha bites her lip. “Both, maybe.”

Another answer in as few words as she can manage. As efficient as winning duels with one bullet. But Anetra digs through her words, understands that she’s running from something in her past, and maybe trying to run to a new future, but is stuck somewhere in the middle.

Anetra nods. “Sometimes I feel like I’m running even though I’m not moving.”

Sasha sighs. She leans against the tree, knees still drawn to her chest. Anetra points out the desert flowers, a hawk that flies by, and her knees lower until they’re stretched out in front of her, just inches from Anetra’s.

Sasha may not be a big talker, but she listens, when no one really listens to Anetra, and soon she tells stories about the town. When she mentions the time a horse ran through the saloon, Sasha actually laughs, a low, rich laugh that seems to surprise her as much as it does Anetra.

A tumbleweed twists across the dirt. It barely makes a sound, doesn’t even kick up much dust. Anetra tries not to think of if they’re alike.

“Do you ever feel like that?” Anetra asks before she can stop herself.

“Like what?”

“Like you could just float away, and no one would notice you left, or remember you were ever there?”

Nothing lasts in the desert. Sun strips the color off wood, leaving nothing but faded white. Dirt devours the remnants of her bullets, the only thing she’s good at. Wind erases the footprints. Time passes through with the power of a sandstorm. Anetra can’t even remember her mother’s face anymore. If the town of Redemption disappeared, no one would notice, or remember. Just like no one would notice or remember her.

Sasha doesn’t answer. Maybe she’s sick of Anetra’s questions. She’d wanted to come here to get air and quiet, after all, and Anetra kept asking her things. They stay quiet until the sun begins to set, bathing the world in a deep orange, and they get on their horses in unison.

“Anetra?” It’s the first time Sasha’s said her name, and Anetra burns as fiery as the sun.

“Yes?”

“I would notice. I would remember,” she says, and it’s the answer to every question Anetra’s heart ever had.

—-

When Sasha gets back, a letter on her bed distracts her from the dizzying thoughts of Anetra, and how she makes Sasha lighter than she’s been in years. Thick paper, blood-red wax seal with the letter H. She tears it open.

Herod is inviting her to dinner, to celebrate her reaching the last four fighters.

It isn’t an invitation you refuse, not when Herod has two armed guards outside the mansion. Maybe it’ll be a chance to investigate, learn more about him in the hopes it exposes a weakness.

And Sasha would hate turning down a chance to wear her dress.

—-

She pulls on her dress like a suit of armor. Deep red, with a lacy corset and ruffled skirt. It was the first dress she ever bought, and even in the narrow mirror of the dress shop, it felt like she was truly looking at herself for the first time.

His guards pat her down before she enters. She holds herself rigid, squeezing her eyes shut at the memory of how his guards had grabbed her last time, hands digging into her arms as she yelled and kicked, but couldn’t escape.

The mansion’s dining room is just as opulent as the outside, with a tall fireplace and a long table bearing two gleaming white plates. A glass of wine sits at Sasha’s place, but she knows better than to drink it.

“Will Anetra be joining us?” Sasha asks, making the first move. She doesn’t know how to do fancy dinners, especially not with her enemy.

Herod shakes his head. “No, she prefers not to dine with me. I don’t mind. Less chance of her embarrassing me.”

“Your daughter’s a good shot.”

“Daughter.” It’s between a laugh and a scoff, filled with contempt, and Sasha waits. He’s a man who loves to talk, and if she waits, he’ll say more.

“You know, the year before her birth, my wife and I were sailing the Pacific. We met lots of men. Men who had a certain interest in my wife.” He sips his beer. “I don’t even think she’s mine. Makes her disappointments easier, I suppose.”

Sasha can only nod. She doesn’t think Anetra is his either—there’s simply too much good in her to have come from him. Sasha hopes that somewhere, at least, Anetra’s mother had been able to enjoy a moment with someone who cared for her.

Sasha pretends to take a sip of wine. “Is your wife still—”

“Oh, she passed from an illness. At least,” he adds, eyes glowing, “that’s what Anetra and everyone thinks. But the truth is I simply don’t hold for disloyalty.”

Sasha’s hand creeps down to her gun, hidden among the dress’s fluffy skirt. The bullets inside aren’t enough for Herod and what he’s done. He killed Sasha’s father, and casually admitted to killing his wife, because nothing will ever be done about it.

“Why are you here?” He asks suddenly. “I’ve never heard of you entering duels anywhere.”

Sasha forces her shoulders to unclench, taking a slow breath. “I was passing through another town and heard there’d be a tournament here, with big prize money. That’s all.”

“Right.” She can’t tell if he believes it or not. “You look…familiar. Your eyes do, anyway. They’re an unusual shade of green. I swear I’ve seen that shade before.”

She hides a shiver, and her hand shakes around the gun. He’s too close. He doesn’t have the truth, doesn’t have all her pieces yet, but he has enough to know they don’t fit. Enough to be suspicious. “Ex–excuse me. I’m sorry to leave so soon, but I–I’m not feeling well.”

She staggers out of the dining room, but he moves with her, hand clamping over the bandage on her arm. His cold eyes roam over her trembling body, a piece of meat he’s about to devour.

“Who are you?” He asks. His eyes look her over again, but he releases his grip and lets her go.

She shakes all the way to the saloon, then crawls into bed and curls into a ball. Her arm still burns with his handprint, a hand he’s been using to strangle her heart for 25 years. That grip will never leave unless she does what she came here for. If he won’t take her challenge tomorrow, she’ll just beat whoever she needs to, and take him in the championship duel. He isn’t escaping her. Never again. She falls asleep with the gun cradled to her chest.

—-

Anetra doesn’t sleep that night, the orange light of the sun filling her with energy. She spent the day with Sasha, and thoughts of her race around Anetra’s mind. Sasha had talked to her much more than she did to anyone else, as if she trusts her, knows they’re similar somehow. Anetra knows it’s stupid, but something about Sasha draws her in like a horse pulls a carriage. She wants to be around her, wants to do anything she can to get her beautiful face to soften and smile. Wants to feel that funny tingling in her stomach, somewhere between thinking she might be sick and the light-headed freedom she gets riding her horse. No one has ever made her feel that way except Sasha.

She heads to the saloon at first light. She needs to get there first to challenge Larry, because otherwise, she’ll be facing Sasha or her father. Larry is the only one she knows she can beat, but it’s more than just her tournament standing. If she loses now, then maybe she really is the failure her father says. But if she gets to the final, maybe it’ll be enough for her father to tell her she did good, for the others to stop avoiding her. It’s a stupid thing to want, a childish thing to want. But she can’t help it.

The saloon is bustling when she gets there, and her heart sinks.

Larry is at the bar, along with her father, and Sasha. Sasha. She’s in a loose white shirt and a cream vest embroidered with tiny blue flowers, like the red ones along the hem of her long black coat. Brown waves flow from her cowboy hat, and Anetra can’t look away.

“I challenge you.” Sasha tells Anetra’s father, eyes cold as steel.

“No, you don’t,” Anetra’s father says calmly. “I’m fighting Larry. You’ll be fighting Anetra. To the death. If you refuse, I’ll shoot you both myself.”

Anetra’s heart erupts in her chest. “But those aren’t the rules!”

“My tournament, my rules.” Her father looks at her with disgust. He’s faster than her, though she hates to admit it, and she doesn’t even see the hit coming until his palm collides with her cheek. She doesn’t flinch, doesn’t stagger, doesn’t react to the burning red pain. “Don’t disrespect me again.”

Anetra nods.

“Fuck your rules.” Sasha is raising her gun, pointing it at Anetra’s father. “I’ll kill you here myself.”

Her father’s face holds firm, but he motions for his guards, who enter the saloon and point their guns just inches from Sasha’s face. Sasha doesn’t even flinch.

“Would you give your life to kill me now?” He asks Sasha coldly. “All you have to do is kill Anetra today, and you can kill me in the finals. If you can, of course. You won’t have to die for it.”

Veins pop out in Sasha’s hand as she squeezes her gun. Lines cut through her clenched jaw, and beads of sweat drip down her forehead. She finally lowers her gun, and the guards lower theirs. Anetra’s breath erupts in a painful gasp as her father leaves.

“Sasha?”

Sasha stares right at Anetra, but Anetra doesn’t think she’s seeing her. Her eyes seem like they’re somewhere else, their usual sharpness now a dark room with a dim candle.

“Sasha?”

Anetra wants to touch her, but she’d never touch an animal if they were in this state, and though it’s not a fair comparison, it’s better to be safe.

“Sasha?”

She finally nods, though Anetra doesn’t think it was to her question. After a few seconds, Sasha’s eyes settle, like the light returned.

“I want to kill him,” Sasha rasps, “but I don’t want to die for it.” She takes off her hat and runs a shaking hand through her hair, and Anetra thinks part of her is still trapped in that place her eyes went to.

“Maybe we should forfeit,” Anetra says weakly. “I don’t want to kill you.” Sasha has shown her kindness no one ever has, and Anetra didn’t feel so alone around her. She can’t kill her.

“I don’t want to kill you either,” Sasha says, voice soft. “But he’ll kill us if we don’t.”

“What are we gonna do? I don’t want to kill you. I don’t even think I could. But I don’t…I don’t…” I don’t want to die, she can’t say around the lump in her throat. But what’s the use in telling Sasha? She doesn’t want to die either, and the only way to live is killing Anetra. Sasha could just walk away, and put her bullet in Anetra tonight.

But Sasha stays.

“Kid, I have an idea. It’s not great, but it’ll do.” Sasha’s eyes flicker toward the sheets of steel behind the bar, ones the owner uses to cover windows in a storm. “How good is your aim?”

—-

The minute hand creeps so slowly the clock might be broken. Sweat tickles Anetra’s neck as she watches, eyes on the clock so she doesn’t have to see Sasha down the street.

If Anetra misses…

No, she won’t miss. She spent the morning practicing with Sasha, adjusting her stance and learning to trust her aim. She has to do this.

Sasha looks so small, so far away. Anetra’s fingers hover over her holster. The clock hand inches forward, and Anetra hears that tick first, her hand reaching her holster as the chime starts. She draws her gun, its warmth like an old friend in her palm, aims, and fires. Sasha’s shot whizzes by her shoulder—God, she’s fast—nearly a second before Anetra’s shot strikes.

Anetra watches the rest unfold numbly, like it’s happening in a dream and she’s powerless to move or stop it. Sometimes she feels that way even when she’s awake. Her bullet slamming into Sasha’s chest. Sasha collapsing to the ground, blood pouring between her fingers as she holds her chest. Loosey standing over Sasha and pronouncing her dead, then carrying her away while the crowd murmurs. Her father’s hand on her shoulder, saying he didn’t think she had it in her, and realizing that she never wants to do anything that will get his approval again.

After the crowd has dispersed, Anetra slips away and knocks at Loosey’s back door. She opens it and ushers Anetra in quickly.

Sasha lays on a cot in Loosey’s back room. Her shirt is stained with the red paint she’d used for blood, but the deep shades of purple on her chest, and her tiny winces, aren’t fake. The thin piece of steel Sasha hid under her shirt might have stopped the bullet from killing her, but it didn’t completely protect her like Anetra thought it would. She suspects Sasha left that out on purpose. Sasha tries to sit up when she sees Anetra, wincing again, but Loosey stops her and eases her back down.

“Are you hurt? Is she hurt?” Anetra frantically looks from Sasha to Loosey.

Loosey shakes her head, spreading the paste she uses for pain over Sasha’s chest, and Anetra looks at Sasha’s freckles instead of her bruises. “Bullet didn’t break the skin or any bones, but she’ll be sore as hell for a while.”

“I’m fine. I just hope this paint comes out of my shirt,” Sasha says, with a wry smile that finally makes Anetra believe she’s okay.

“Oh, I’ll get it out,” Loosey sighs, rubbing her forehead. “Faking deaths. Fixing bruises. Cleaning clothes. God, I don’t get paid enough for this.” She finishes with the paste and wordlessly passes it to Anetra, motioning to her cheek. The faint red print her father left there doesn’t sting anymore, and Anetra sets the jar by Sasha’s cot.

“Can I stay with her tonight?” Anetra asks Loosey.

Sasha had planned to stay here tonight, so there would be no chance of anyone seeing her. Anetra stayed here once, when Loosey stitched the cut on her eyebrow, making no mention when she wiped tears as well as blood from Anetra’s eyes, no mention when the glass she pulled from the cut matched the beer bottles her father drank. Loosey gave her a lot of whiskey for the pain, and all Anetra remembers after that is watching shadows dance along the ceiling, everything fragmented and scary with only one eye to see from. Even now, the room is still creepy; its only window is blocked by a gnarled old oak tree with branches that click on the glass. Besides, isn’t it better if she stays nearby for Sasha? She could get thirsty, or the pain could get worse, and she’d need someone. And going home means she might run into her father.

Loosey sighs yet again. “You can stay on the other cot, just don’t let anyone see you. Try and get that one”—she nods towards Sasha—“to take it easy, if that’s even possible. And don’t keep me up all night if you talk!” She retreats to her own room, mumbling, “I really don’t get paid enough for this.”

Anetra drags the cot closer to Sasha and settles on top of it.

“You don’t have to stay here.”

“I want to,” Anetra says firmly. Sasha’s used to being alone, but Anetra is too. She knows how the loneliness becomes familiar, all you’ve ever known. How pushing people away becomes second nature.

“Did it work?” Sasha asks.

“It worked. Everyone thinks you’re dead. The final match is tomorrow. Me versus my father.” Saying it out loud makes it real. It’s not just her name beneath his on the chalkboard. It’s his gun staring her down as coldly as his eyes do, and Anetra shivers. “He—he’s gonna kill me, Sasha.”

“Hey, he won’t, remember? That’s the plan. I won’t let him hurt you.” Sasha’s voice is soothing, but Anetra is still shaking.

“I think he planned it.” Anetra doesn’t realize how much she believes it until it’s out loud. “I think he organized the tournament so I’d face weaker opponents, and put us against each other so you would kill me. And if you didn’t, he would. Then he doesn’t have me ruining his name anymore.”

“I—”

“Do you think I’m right?” Anetra asks shakily. She doesn’t know what answer she wants. If she wants Sasha to disagree, say that her father is cruel, but couldn’t do something this horrible. Or if she wants her to agree, to see that her father is as horrible as Anetra thinks.

“Given what I know about your father, I’d believe it,” Sasha says cautiously.

Anetra nods. She doesn’t know if she would’ve preferred the other answer.

“But tomorrow it’ll be done. I’ll surprise your father in the duel, and take him out.”

Anetra nods again. She should feel something about planning her father’s death, but there’s nothing. Just a grim determination where her heart should be. Maybe she should kill her father herself, but she’s grateful Sasha is doing it for her. Grateful to have the gun in someone else’s hand, for once. Sasha doesn’t seem bothered by the planning, but she does feel something about Anetra’s father. Anetra remembers the rage in Sasha’s eyes, a fire that could burn down the desert as she challenged him. A fire of pure, personal hatred. But why does she hate him so much, when she doesn’t even know him?

“Sasha,” Anetra begins, “why is this the plan? I’m grateful you’re willing to fight my father, but you’ve wanted to fight him this whole time, haven’t you? Why?”

The light in Sasha’s eyes dims. “I…I can’t talk about it.”

“Sasha—”

“I can’t.” She sighs. “I’m gonna sleep. I’m really tired.”

Despite the dark shadow under Sasha’s eyes, Anetra knows it’s a lie; Sasha wouldn’t admit to pain or exhaustion even if she was passing out from them.

But if she doesn’t want to talk, if her shield is in place, there’s nothing Anetra can do except grab the blanket Loosey keeps in the cupboard and lay it over Sasha.

—-

The sun burns.

It speaks to a bright day, a happy one. Not the one happening in front of Sasha like a nightmare, while she cries and tries to pull herself from the grasps of four men.

The man named John Herod and his men had tore into town like a tornado, announcing that he had purchased the land and rounding up anyone who disagreed. Sasha’s father fought him, his marshal’s badge gleaming in the sun. Herod overpowered him, made him stand in the dirt with his badge raised.

Sasha doesn’t know what’s going to happen.

Herod strides over to his men. He nods, and Sasha is released, only for Herod to stand her ten paces from her father. He puts a gun in her hand. It’s too big, too heavy, and her arm sags under its weight.

“I’ll tell you what,” Herod says cheerfully. “If you can shoot the badge, your father lives. You have my honor. Three shots.” He’s already laughing, he’s expecting her to fail; she’s scrawny, small for her age, the victim of teasing from the other kids in town.

She hefts the gun and tries to aim the way her father taught her. She doesn’t want to look at him, and maybe it’s good she’s crying, because the tears conceal how small he seems, how far away. Like she’ll never reach him again.

“It’s all right, kid,” he tells her. Not even the nickname—the only one of his that she liked, that didn’t make her feel wrong somehow—is enough to calm her.

She takes the first shaky shot, and misses by a mile. The second is no closer. She aims the third—

“Sasha!”

Sasha shoots upward with the speed of a bullet. She gasps for air, ignoring the burning pain in her chest. She blinks until her father fades and is replaced with the tiny room around her, the worried face in front of her.

Anetra.

“You were having a nightmare,” Anetra says.

Sasha can only nod and wipe the sweat from her neck, willing her heart to slow. She finally sighs and leans back.

“Sasha, whatever you’re hiding, please tell me. You can trust me.”

“I can’t.” How can she tell Anetra what her father’s done, why Sasha wants to kill him?

“Everyone always lies to me. I know my father thinks I’m not his. I know people whisper about how my mother died. Please don’t lie to me too, Sasha. Please,” Anetra says, hastily wiping a tear.

Anetra didn’t cry when she got shot, or when her father slapped her. The only time Sasha’s seen her cry is now, when she wants Sasha to trust her. When she wants to understand Sasha, help her any way she can. If Sasha lies to her, she’s just as bad as the others.

So for the first time, Sasha lets the truth out.

“I’m sorry. Sasha, I’m so sorry.” Anetra’s hand fidgets, like she wants to hold Sasha’s but is stopping herself. Sasha takes a breath and reaches over, lets Anetra take it. Her hands are rough but warm, and Sasha relaxes.

“It’s fine.” Sasha steels herself. “I’ve spent twenty-five years trying to find your father. He—he took my life. He took my life, and I need to end this. I missed those shots that could’ve saved my father. I won’t miss this one.”

“Those weren’t your fault.”

Sasha shrugs. Sure, Herod might have taken back his word and killed her father anyway. But the gun was in Sasha’s hand. The bullets of freedom and life wasted, and it was her fault.

“It wasn’t your fault. None of it was. I don’t know if you believe me, but maybe someday you will.” Anetra is so calm, so kind. A cool wave of water after days in the desert.

“You aren’t going to talk me out of it?”

“No.” Anetra bites her lip. “He’s never been my father. He’s killing this town. He raises the taxes he takes every month. Everyone’s afraid of him. He’ll destroy it all if you don’t. And if you don’t, I think you’ll destroy yourself.”

Anetra looks at her deeply, and Sasha knows she understands. She understands the long nights hugging a whiskey bottle, chasing oblivion in every bitter drop. She understands the days that didn’t feel like days at all, because they were spent staring at a ceiling. She understands the ache in your legs from running, even if you never went anywhere, but running just the same, because you had to keep moving, clinging to life with everything you had.

Sasha rises from the cot, holding her chest. “Let’s go.”

—-

Anetra looks too small as Sasha watches her get in place for the duel. Her leg is trembling, and it awakens things in Sasha she thought had long gone. A warmth in her chest, reaching into her stomach. A burning desire to keep Anetra safe from anyone who would harm her. A lightness tugging in her heart at all the questions Anetra asks, the stories she tells.

Sasha’s doing this for her, and her father, but she’s doing it for Anetra too. To loosen some of the grasp Herod has on her heart too.

Time is passing; Sasha fires her gun into the air, and the crowd screams. The noise only grows as she steps into the street.

“Herod,” she calls, “you owe me a duel!”

He staggers backward, hand shaking as he lowers his gun. “Wh—You’re dead!” He screams, pale as the moon. “You’re dead!”

Sasha shrugs. “If I was, it didn’t stick.”

She meets Anetra, squeezing her arm lightly and sending her into the safety of the crowd while her father is distracted. It’s just Sasha and Herod now, and her body is on fire.

“Who are you?” He demands.

“You know who I am.” Sasha throws her father’s badge. It lands in the dirt, and she watches Herod’s eyes light up as he realizes.

“But you’re not—you were—”

“Name’s Sasha Colby,” she says. “You stole my father from me. You stole my life from me. And now I’m taking yours.”

He’s quick, she’ll give him that, and is reaching for his gun. But she’s faster this time. The gun caresses her hand, a hug from her father as she fires. Her aim is strong and true, whistling right between Herod’s eyes and sending him crumbling to the dirt.

People are gasping, talking, running, but everything melts into the background, like Sasha is hearing it all underwater. She doesn’t even know she’s falling until the pain of her knees slamming into the dirt pierces through the fog, but only for a bit.

She did it.

25 years of waiting. 25 years of running after Herod. Running for a place her father wouldn’t haunt her.

Maybe someday those missed shots won’t hurt anymore. Maybe someday her heart will lose the weight of that day. She’ll be light, no anger or rage or shame to hold her down. But there’s also the enormity of those things fading, leaving behind a space she doesn’t know how to fill. Without those to weigh her down, what if she simply floats away? Finding Herod has been her purpose for over half her life. A reason to get out of bed and keep fighting.

She’ll have to find a new reason.

“Sasha, it’s okay.”

It’s Anetra’s voice, and the warmth around her is from Anetra’s arms. She can’t remember the last time anyone hugged her, and she leans into it.

“You did it. You’re okay.”

Anetra’s words fade, but their comfort stays, and Sasha just stays in the dirt and lets Anetra hold her.

—-

Light is fading, but Redemption is still celebrating. It was small at first, grins from people who always seemed carved out of stone. Now beer is flowing, a guitar is strumming, and people are dancing in the street, celebrating a life with room to breathe. A life without Herod.

Sasha smiles at the celebration as she prepares her horse. She could stay, but leaving is the best thing. She needs to make her own way, find what’s next now that the weight is starting to lift.

She’d left a letter for Anetra, saying that she needed to go. They’d gone to the barn after the duel, falling asleep as exhaustion took over. Sasha woke first and took her time writing the letter, telling Anetra how much she means to her. How she’s made her think things can be good again, someday. But Sasha doesn’t know where she’s going, what she’s doing—doesn’t know if she knows how to stop running—and she can’t guarantee safety for Anetra. Leaving her here—leaving the note—is the only way Sasha can keep her safe, and not hurt her more than she’s already been hurt.

Sasha’s checking her saddle one more time when hooves clomp down the street.

There’s Anetra, bags packed, leading her horse by the reins.

A warmth rushes over Sasha—relief. Maybe some part of her hadn’t wanted to leave. The part that delayed leaving as long as she could, checking and re-checking her saddle in the hopes that Anetra would wake when the bed got cold.

“Did you get the letter?”

“I did,” Anetra says, “and I don’t want it.”

“What—”

“I want to come with you. Please,” Anetra’s voice is so sweet, so sincere.

“I can’t give you anything,” Sasha says.

“I don’t want anything.”

“I can’t give you a normal life, I mean. This isn’t some story, you know? We don’t ride off and have perfect lives. I’m not a hero, I don’t know where I’m going, and I’ve been alone for a long time.” What she said in the letter is true—she can’t guarantee Anetra’s safety, can’t give her a perfect life.

“I’m not asking for some perfect life,” Anetra says. “I’m just offering my friendship.”

Friendship. Someone to ride with, talk to, share things with. Friendship with someone who’s been through this with her, who knows her. Maybe being alone together is better than being alone apart. Maybe they could fight the loneliness.

“There’s something about me…I don’t belong here.” Anetra sighs, eyes intense with the feeling of being wrong that Sasha remembers from childhood. “If you say no, that’s fine, and I’ll stay. But if you say yes, I’ll ride with you as long as you’ll have me.”

Herod might have been destroying the town, but he was destroying Anetra too. Hurting her on the inside and the outside. He might be gone now, but Sasha knows how strong memories can be, and this is no place for Anetra to stay.

“I’d like you to come with me,” Sasha says, flooding with warmth at how true it is. “I’d like that very much.”

Anetra smiles, and she tips her hat again—if Sasha had a dollar for every time Anetra did it, she could buy the damn town, she thinks fondly—before kneeling and kissing the back of Sasha’s hand. The warmth travels into her face, until she’s as warm as the sunset.

They mount their horses, and the sun glows as they ride off into it.

[wetchickenbreast]

to anyone looking for new content to consume after everything that’s happened in the mcyt community, might i suggest youtuber callmekevin? specifically the sims 4 with jim pickens and gta rp with grognak the destroyer. both have a loose story line and fun characters while also being short and easy to follow videos. kevin makes a lot of really fun variety content and uploads pretty much every day

[biohazard-inevitable]

Dont you hate it when you really start to click with someone as a friend and then they suddenly say some shit that makes you realize “oh- i dont know if i want to be open about my gender with this person” cause like- that just happened to be with this guy that claimed he was “neutral” on lgbt issues which, *red flag* but he thinks im cis soooooo

[lesbiantrish]

sorry but some people have no fucking idea how hard / scary it is to introduce yourself when your trans. specifically when you use different pronouns than you used to.

honestly at this point i try not to meet new people because of how fucking horrified i am. im so scared because of the chance of what the person is going to say.

the amount of times ive said “hi im mist and these are my pronouns :}” and ive gotten a response along the lines of “im not very good at pronouns but ill try” or even “oh uh ok” AND THEN and then. i make it clear that i want to know the other person’s pronouns. and then they say something like “im a girl / guy” or “uh she”.

im honestly just really tired of having to constantly being a robot spewing out information.

[pienhime]

my ten manga/game/anime/etc recs for jirai

hiii long time no long ass recs post! i wanna recommend media that is popular w landmine types for newbies to the subculture, and recommendations for those who might have been here long enough to know the most popular media within jirai subculture and want some recommendations beyond that!

so without further ado...

1. Tomorrow, I Will Become Someone's Girlfriend

TW: unsafe sex work, abusive relationships, body dysmorphia, self harm, substance use, misogyny, and parental death

Okay you knew this was coming. It's probably the most popular manga amongst jirai girls as it literally is about Kabukicho, sex work, trauma, and jirai culture. Everyone's seen Yua at this point, and she is a jiraicon, but the other characters are interesting and may be relatable to jirai girls too!

2. Mahou Shoujo Site

TW: sexual assault, r@pe, abusive family dynamics, transphobia, self-harm, suicide, murder, gore, bullying, human sacrifice

This is probably also familiar to people in the jirai community and yandereblr. Super mega fucked-up parody of magical girl animes with a cast of memorable but mentally unhinged and often morally gray-to-terrible characters with a hopeful message at the end. The most unfortunate girls around Japan get given magical girl items to improve their lives, but using them drains their life force- and someone's on the hunt for magical girls, all while the countdown to the apocalypse ticks down on the mysterious magical girl site. DO NOT BOTHER WITH THE ANIME, JUST READ THE MANGA!!

3. Needy Girl Overdose/Needy Streamer Overload

TW: substance abuse, self-harm, murder (potentially), suicide, non-graphic sexual content, abuse (player is being abused by the main character), unreality, internet addiction

Duh. I can't not have this game on here! Created by a renowned menhera subculture artist and featuring Jirai icons Ame-chan and KAngel, this game has blown up unexpectedly since its release, getting art exhibits and collabs with brands like DearMyLove. You play as P-chan, Ame/KAngel's boyfriend and producer, while you try to help her achieve her goals of becoming an influencer and prevent her from killing herself or going insane along the way. If you've been in a relationship like this as the P-chan, I'm sorry we relate but this game was super therapeutic to me so maybe it'll help you process too!! Also the soundtrack fucks. Hard.

4. Neeko wa Tsurai Yo!

TW: agoraphobia, existentialism, substance use (kind of), ecchi (of both adult and high schooler characters), suicidal ideation, internet addiction

This is a super underrated personal favorite I've posted about a few times before. It follows hikki-NEET gacha gamer Niiko, as she faces jealousy of her little sister for being farther in life than her as a high-schooler, the trauma of a particularly horrific job rejection keeping her from going outside or trying for another job, and being totally fed up with her life. It's a pretty depressing read for the first half, but becomes a realistic story about recovery by the end.

5. Wristcut Warriors: Menherachan

TW: suicide attempts, self-harm (duh), parental abuse, parental death, parental neglect, attempted sexual assault, mild gore, societal ableism/sanism

Much more popular in the menhera subculture than anywhere else, but still popular enough with landmine types to be included, and a personal comfort series of mine. This is a satire manga about three teenage magical girls who have to self-harm to transform, meant as an allegory for how suffering and self-sacrifice for the sake of upholding societal norms is seen as more noble in Japan than speaking out etc. It's pretty short with only 20 chapters and some supplemental material, and tons of merch collabs but due to Ezaki being the actual fucking worst i encourage you to only but fanmerch and second-hand.

6. Danganronpa

TW: murder, suicide, ableist depiction of DID, misgendering (kind of, im not getting into ******* discourse so ill put it jic), SA, addiction,and general violence and blood

I'm biased as a Danganronpa multi-kin and selfshipper but I personally think every jirai should play Danganronpa, read the supplemental materials and watch DR3 if they can. Quirky teens with mental issues locked in a school and forced to kill each other or themselves? Prime insanity and mindbreaking ensues, with some really cool characters coming out of the franchise. Despite the premise, theres a pretty hopeful message.

7. Oshi no Ko

TW: stalking, teen pregnancy, exploitation of minors, suicide attempts, murder, terminal illness, age gap relationships, bullying, abortion, parasocial relationships, and... sigh... pseudo-incest is apparently in the manga as well

If you are into idol anime and expect your standard cinderella story about passionate girls and guys hitting it big... Oshi no Ko isn't the idol anime you're used to. This doesn't even follow the hit idol herself- rather, her two children who are reincarnated fans. They have to find their way in the exploitative and often dark showbiz world while trying to solve their mother's murder.

8. Bocchi the Rock!

TW: agoraphobia, alcohol abuse

I only watched this one recently, but it's already an all-time fav. It follows agoraphobic and severly socially anxious Hitori (aka Bocchi), and her newfound friends as they do their best to become a successful local band! They make odd friends along the way and Bocchi starts to try to recover and better herself, with often comedic failures along the way.

9. TUYU's interconnected songs

TW: abuse, substance abuse, unsafe SW, dysmorphia, suicide, self harm, parasocialism

Okay so... ik the timing is bad but I meant to make this list ages ago and this was on it so... a lot of the TUYU songs and MVs are interconnected! Some specifically cover jirai kei and ryousangata otaku topics! My favorite songs and MVs are the ones involving my favorite characters, Anhiro and Anzu, who are heavily featured in the Under Mentality album.

10. School-Live!

MAJOR SPOILERS AHEAD!!!!!! I RECOMMEND GOING IN BLIND FOR THIS ANIME SPECIFICALLY!!

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TW: unreality, major character death, parental death, self-harm, animal death, graphic depictions of delusions and hallucinations

I loved the anime, so I picked up the manga recently. I'm only a little ways in, but I want to complete it since the anime didn't cover it all! You don't even know the plot until the final seconds of the first episode, where it's revealed that Yuki is the only member of the squad who doesn't realize what's going on- she's not in school for class, she's living there for shelter in a zombie apocalypse. Oh, and she sees dead people. She has moments of clarity, and the story often follows other characters' memories and POVs, so you still get to have a clear look into what happened and what's going on for real.

That was my list of my current top ten media recommendations for jirai kei! Please lmk if you decide to give any of these a try! Remember that I also regularly post music recs under #music too! Bye-bye!!

[confusedcunny]

Detrans December Audio Challenge Day 4 For some reason there's been a bunch of trouble with the other files. So here's a (hopefully working) link to every Detrans December file up until today. If you haven't done day 0-3 yet, you still can, I'll skip a bunch of days next week, so you'll easily be able to catch up. Have fun!

Day 0 tw more extreme transphobia (being trans is called a mental illness)

Day 1 tw deadnaming; bio-essentialism

Day 2: tw bio-essentialism

Day 3: tw mild bio-essentialism  

Day 4: tw non that I can think of. 

[dressed-in-pretty-lies]

Hi hi! You can call me Mordred or Achi!

I am the admin of this blog and @happy--prince, I am 19 years old, brazillian (PT-BR + EN), I use he/him.

Also a tw; there will be discussions of triggering topics (in particular; grooming so please keep this in mind!)

Credits:

Icon was made here

Header was found in Pinterest

Dividers were made by @cafekitsune

Media Industry AU was made by @star-tb!

Some of my rules are..

- Please no NSFW content unless you reach out to me privately and we discuss our boundaries before anything.

- Mild gore is fine by me.

- No proshipping or proshippers.

- No transphobia or homophobia.

- I'd appreciate if I was warned if you lost interest in the RP.

The tags I plan on using

✨ ❝ Reblogs ❞

✨ ❝ OOC ❞

✨ ❝ OC notes ❞

✨ ❝ Casting ❞

✨ ❝ Lights,Camera & Action ❞

✨ ❝ And cut! ❞

✨ ❝ OC art ❞

[teruthecreator]

(tw for racism, pedophilia, transphobia, child impregnation mention)

yeah idk why y'all read this

i was originally going to just post this and have some tags with my reasonings, but i realized that opens me up to too much bullshit from people who may think i'm being unnecessarily mean or whatever. so i'm going to explain exactly why the screenshots above are something i hold issue with.

firstly, and i just want to get this out of the way, this post is not intended to be a hit piece against the creator. i've seen how she reacts to any mild-mannered or slightly joking criticism, so i know this post is probably going to not land well. but it isn't my intention to make her mad or anything--she's writing a piece of content for the internet, which means she is just as open to criticism as any other poster. and what i intend to go into in this post is criticism. i'm allowed to do this, as that is the nature of the internet. people are allowed to critique whatever they please, and if you don't want critique then you shouldn't post. simple as!

i am also making no attempts to posit myself as better than the creator. i'm not doing this for clout or moral superiority or any of that dumb shit. i simply want to discuss something that's been bothering me for a bit, while simultaneously warning people who haven't read this yet (who may be sensitive to the issues above) to steer clear. if things like casual racism or transphobia aren't properly tagged, then readers who are affected by such things run a risk reading this! same goes with people who are triggered by lewd content involving minors. i wanna make sure people are getting a more critical scope of this work than what has been hoisted up by others.

okay, now that i've gotten that out of the way, i'm going to get into my points.

firstly, the subtle and not-so-subtle racism throughout this fic, especially in relation to serizawa. i'm white, so there is only so much i can speak on without trampling over the words of other fans of color, but some of this feels so blatant it's odd it hasn't been noted earlier. it's important to note before i go into it that serizawa is specifically written as half-black half-japanese for this fic, in case the screenshots don't make it abundantly clear. but there are just too many moments of casual racism in this fic. i'm not talking about the plot point of serizawa being bullied as a kid for being mixed; i'm not mixed, so i can't speak on the accuracy there but it is well-known that black people face a lot of racism in japan. i'm talking about how it seems everyone else has these racist moments that aren't acknowledged by serizawa or the narration as being bad.

reigen hypothesizing over serizawa's exact ethnic background is just strange. yes he's a fairly observant guy (he has to be, with his job), but there is no canonical evidence to suggest he would immediately jump to theorizing whether serizawa is american or not. and the way it's posed in that first quote--"he has darker skin and the kind of hair texture that would likely indicate African ancestry"--is not great. that's an extremely inappropriate way to bring up someone's race. i don't think most people would stare at someone and be like "hmmm well your nose shape and hair texture would suggest you're of this race". it's racial essentialization that is only slightly covered up by the excuse of "oh he tweets in english". there are some other smaller moments of questionable wording, like calling serizawa's afro "sloppy" when it isnt (which btw there's another issue with the creator only referring to an afro as a "fro". it's a hairstyle; you're allowed to use the actual name of it). even if reigen cuts his hair in canon, he never states it's because serizawa's afro looks sloppy. (also there's something to be said about the casual racism baked into making your employee cut his natural hairstyle for a job, as that is a very real issue many black people face when wearing their natural hair or even protective styles in the workplace.)

i'm especially bothered by toichiro's very casual racist remarks. toichiro in this fic is a general bother of mine (most of which can be boiled down to "he would not fucking say that"), but the way she chooses to characterize him in relation to serizawa feels gross. calling a black man a slave should be a very obvious red flag, but also saying serizawa (again, as a black man) has a "brutal masculine appeal" is also extremely stereotypical and racist. and really there is just no need for it; toichiro's actions in canon prove how shitty of a guy he is without the need for him to be racist (along with other things i'll get to in a bit). as my girlfriend put it: he doesn't need to be a member of the fucking kkk to show he's a bad guy.

there's also, again, the very casual racist remark of calling serizawa a "dog". i don't care if that isn't the intent; when you are writing a character of color you need to be aware of your wording, even in insults (unless she intended to make tsuchiya racist, which i don't think she did).

secondly, the eugenics/child pregnancy bit. it is surreal to even have to write this, but i seriously do not understand the purpose of either of these bits in the story. they are so minor yet so jarring you can't help but wonder why they're there. once again, i do not think you need to have toichiro doing esper eugenics just to prove he is an evil guy. he has nuance, and by making him casually reference child pregnancy (like that isn't an INSANE thing to say) reduces that nuance to nothing. that's the only reason i could see why that bit was included: to make toichiro look worse. but, even still, the author is running the risk of potentially triggering victims of csa or people who don't want to see that by not properly tagging the mention of it (or, at the very least, warning readers in the intro notes). the only other explanation for it would maybe be shock factor??? but that's a pretty shitty thing to use for shock factor, if i'm honest. also the fact that the esper eugenics was referenced again in a more recent chapter just has me very disturbed and confused. there isn't a canonical explanation for why we see less espers who are women than espers who are men, but that doesn't mean we need to jump to fucking Eugenics. it's weird!

thirdly (and this is probably one of my biggest problems and the main reason i wanted to make this post), the weirdly lewd/sexual language shou uses constantly, along with referring to reigen as a pedo or a creep at several points. frankly, i think it's pretty fucking gross for someone in their near-40's to be writing a 12-year-old talking so casually about sex like that's normal. which, i'm sorry, but it's not. yes, teens know about sex and like to joke about lewd shit. but a 12-year-old is not about to make references to a grown man's virginity. 12-year-olds draw dicks on their desk bc they think it's funny. 12-year-olds say the word "buttfuck" because it has the words "butt" and "fuck" in it, and those are the two funniest words on earth to a kid that age. i literally do not understand the purpose of having shou be so lewd all the time. for one, it doesn't make sense for his character. shou is shown time and time again to be extremely mature for his age, but that maturity extends to shit like assembling a counter-terrorism unit and extending a hand to his father to allow him to try again. and even then he's still just as naive as any other kid his age! the omake where he's telling his guys to go to the "far right corner" based on ritsu’s advice proves that he still has plenty of blindspots that are indicative of his age. leaning into this raunchy, lewd version of shou is just weird. and, again, i think it is made a bit weirder given the author's age!!! not ageshaming or whatever--i'm 23 and i write fanfic, clearly i cannot judge there--but it is just extremely inappropriate in my opinion. also having shou be more versed in sextalk than serizawa is odd too and speaks to a larger issue of serizawa's infantilzation throughout this fic, but that's something i can get into in another post if people want an explanation.

also, the way she constantly calls reigen a creep and even has him being accused of being a pedophile during the twitter cancellation is extremely inappropriate when, again, there is NO CANONICAL BASIS FOR THIS! everyone just calls him a fraud and a scammer during separation arc; there is never a reference to reigen being seen as a pedophile in that arc. and, yes, while there are versions of mob psycho where reigen is very clearly written as a creep (looking very specifically at the netflix adaptation), that doesn't mean it's good. honestly, the creep mentions all just feel like really poor jokes that do not land in the slightest.

finally, the transphobia (aka WHY IS SHIMAZAKI A CHASER). i literally do not know what else to say other than: why? why is this a thing? why is he a chaser? what is the purpose of this? is it a joke? i feel like it's supposed to be, but seeing as the author is cis i don't think that's a joke she should really be making. it not only comes out of left field, but it's just kind of a weird thing to ascribe to a character for no reason. not to mention, it's uncomfortable! trans women deal with enough creepy antics from cis men in real life--why must they be accosted by this guy too? it's just weird and uncomfortable.

i wanna round out this post by saying, once again, that i'm not trying to attack anyone with this post. but i do hope people come away from this with a new perspective on this work, and maybe think twice before recommending it uncritically to someone. to the author specifically, i hope you can read my post without rage or indignance blinding you. i might be a little blunt or rude in parts, but it's only because i'm passionate and i don't mince my words when it comes to things i'm passionate about. to the readers, understand i am not judging you for reading this fic without noticing these things. your own life experiences will give you certain blindspots and there's nothing wrong with that. i have plenty of blindspots of my own! it's what makes us human.

there is more i could say, but this post is long enough. i ask that if you come to me in my inbox or in dms about this that you treat me with respect, as i will do that for you. writing something like this took a lot out of me, as i'm usually not so open about my opinion on shit like this.

have a good day :-)

[weirdly-specific-but-ok]

just an update?

Hello my maggots, Asmi here. I'm really sorry that I haven't replied to a lot of the stuff I've been tagged in/reblogs/DMs, it has been a... chaotic two days. I promise I'll get to them soon, as soon as my mind calms down a bit (to its ordinary level of chaos, I mean).

In an update on the 10khaos, for those who haven't heard, my hair is indeed now Crowley red, the Discord server is made (and currently broiling in utter madness, the Youtube channel has also been made and I have an idea for the first video, and I will soon set forth and adopt the Crowley, Aziraphale and Adam plants.

So as for the irl mind stuff, it's basically that the red hair brought up the question of whether or not I'd be able to go through with college, design school starts in May-ish.

(um mild tw for bullying and a mention of transphobia, skip the next two paragraphs if that is a trigger for you)

I've been in college before, that was design too, for three months. And I had to drop out because I was being isolated and bullied by everyone there including the dean, as well as a lot of transphobia and discrimination on the basis of mental health issues.

Soooo... yeah. There's also the fact that the new college will be far more conservative and I live in India and it's all really a shit of a mess. So my mum asked me to think about whether I wanted to do distance learning instead, since I already am a designer and have done projects.

It's a lot to think about. And my head is being all messy, ya know how it is. If any of you have advice or experience with distance learning, that would be amazing, actually.

(Also my family were kind of really mean about my Crowley hair)

(Oh well)

(I love it and I have you amazing maggots so)

Anyway yes I just wanted to say what was going on so that you know why if I don't respond immediately to things going on :") And if you want to interact with the other maggots, the Discord server is always there, links get messed up on posts but I'm sure @arkytiorlecter or @howmanyholesinswisscheese will send you the invite link if you need it. It's in one of my posts, but things do tend to get lost on my blog, don't they?

No matter what I want you all to know that you are so, so loved, you are more than enough just by existing and being your beautiful selves, and you have made my life immeasurably better. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise.

I love you I love you I love you maggots. I promise I'll go through the notes soon and cause chaos :") So beware. It just might take a day or two for me to get back to my usual frequency of chronical onlineness (which is my happy place muehuehue).

Have a wonderful day, and remember to eat and sleep and hydrate and take meds if you need to.

All my maggoty princely love for you, Asmi