Queer Writers - Blog Posts

Writing year 1 : Let me open a word document maybe my notes app

Writing year 3 to 9 : here are all my different apps I use them for character sheets and writing and formatting and timelines and

Writing year 10 : let me open a word document and maybe my notes app

So if you are normal, here, you should have said something like, WHAT???

Me, in my very serious uni paper

What I say in my paper: it cannot be said that emotional and moral complexity was absent from literature before the psychological novels

What I mean : if you EVER talk shit about my boy Claudas I will personally fight you.

What I say in my paper : this is an oversimplification that could almost be considered incorrect because of the lack of sources and hard evidence but it allows for a succinct explanation and a clearer point

What I mean : my mom is going to read this and if you’re making me write out the actual explanation for this you’ll be the one picking up the phone when she doesn’t understand

Today on things I wish I could actually say in my masters dissertation :

The religious texts sound weird because they are full of references like and then THIS GUY! showed up, and THIS GUY! is clearly super important, because he is hyped up for a full paragraph but then you get absolutely no detail on THIS GUY! it's just, And then it was HIM, wink wink. You know. HIM. THIS GUY WE DEFINITELY ALL KNOW ABOUT.

My dissertation if I didn't have to be a professional about it : you liked unreliable narrators, you loved dissecting author bias, what if I told you there was a THIRD SECRET THING THAT'S EVEN BETTER!!

When I say "I am a writer, but I'm a researcher first", one would assume that means I write smarter than other people.

It just mean my coffee shop AU and PWP comes with an attached bibliography.

Intro post, hi! Hello!

I'm puckjay, he/him sometimes he/they, trans and somewhere on the aroace spectrum (I usually just say queer)

I'm a creative writing student, and I specialize in classic literature (so medieval and before)

Other than that I write mostly prose poetry, theater and sometimes novel-like things (and fanfictions). Currently I'm working on toxic gay wizards because I support gay wrongs.

Other than that I'm a huge ttrpg fan.

That's most of my personality right there.

"Stop that. You do not flirt with me." "What? Why?"

The answer was, "because I already like you when you pretend to not not like me", and all of the humiliating consequences sweet words would have on his heart and his dignity.

"Because you're bad at it," is what he said.

I have been running to you since my first steps I have been kissing you since my first kiss My Ithaca

"You like them?"

"Yeah. They make the place look alive."

"I'll try extra hard to keep them alive then [...] I'm not much of a green thumb."

Around them, pothos happily climb around on the walls, exotic plants thrive and orchids flower. Less care had been poored into a King's garden.

It doesn't MATTER if there is a WEIRD ELLIPSE in the TOXIC WIZARD YAOI novel I am writing for FUN. IT'S FOR FUN. THEY HAVE MAGIC BIRDS AND PLAY FANTASY ROLLER DIRBY. I CAN PUT ALL THE WEIRD ELLIPSES I WANT. I CAN ADD WEIRDER WORST ELLIPSES ON PURPOSE. NOTHING MATTERS.

On being gay (a poem I regret writing for class)

I am afraid someone will know. I am afraid they will smell the rotten thing in my mouth, on my hands, between my legs.

I'd like to proclaim this rotting growth is dying under bigotry and insults. But I grew around hatred, leaving a hollow shape that looks like kids carrying signs they can't read, holidays for mass I get dirty looks at, "sodomite" the worst thing to be called. My parched broken pieces embrace all too eagerly the sweet poison that smells like cow shit and magnolia.

"What have you done to my little girl", the sentence hovers, unsaid, the knife that is yet to be thrown, that already left a hole in my stomach. "What have you done to my little girl," dad, I'm going back to Ithaca.

Beyond the sea are the best part of me, the haircuts head in the bathtub that stinks of cheap dye and the tattoos I wanted when I was eleven. Behind the sea it's New York in 86.

It's unfurnished apartments, empty cupboards. It's glitter and luxury just a five fingers discount away, envy like ice cube in the spine, anger towards all the honest people who don't convert prices into week-worth-of-groceries. It's sewing in a makeshift workshop when you don't know how to sew, under the careful guidance of a makeshift mother. It's the teeth, the biting, the original sin behind the masks of decency. It's ambition, desperate, relentless, bloody.

I see it, my Ithaca, on a stage in Marseille, and in Arial 12, black and white, on a flimsy piece of paper ; someone saw a man love someone like me and thought,

"This love needs glitter, warm lights and electric guitars."

This poem deserves a steady voice, precise gestures and a perfect mastery that gives an air of clumsiness. It is so sincere, so raw, that tenderness, it needs a ballet of smokes and lights.

Jean Genet loved Abdallah Bentaga and it's like a broken raft in my odyssey. Because I too am a painted creature obsessed with my own spectacle, and when Jean loves Abdallah, it's like he loved me too. 

Even if we need makeup to conquer the unthinkable, the grotesque of what we are. Even if our Venus got murdered on a moldy mattress in a cheap motel ; on stage, in front of a full audience, an old man almost touches an adonis. Even if a man lays with a man the way one lays with a woman, they both did something terrible. Even if we are out too late at night, we go home bruised or we don't go home ; on stage, in front of a full audience, an old man almost touches an adonis.

But maybe we are wrong and they are right to try to save us. Maybe God is real and he hates me. Maybe there is something profoundly treacherous and vile inside of me. Maybe I will have regrets and admit that Oh wasn't Troy that much better? Wasn't there in this time of bloodshed, some kind of comfort? Oh the honors, oh the glory!

But there is Philippe Torreton, at night, in the theater, under warm lights and glitter showers. And holy shit how hot are we, we the faggots, when we love each other on stage. How fabulous for a man to love an artist, how tender, for a man to love a boy trying to kill himself.

I recognized Ithaca when I picked my name. I disown her every time I introduce myself.

"Antharès? Where is that from? Is it greek?"

I answer well actually ehm basically it's it's a star in ehm a constellation and ehm well it shines brighter than the others.

Anthares, it's Trans, actually. Just like Noah, Aiden, Eliott, Alex, Sacha, Ariadne and Jasmine. To the mean laughter waiting to happen, that's the answer. It's trans, and when I picked it it was meant to be obvious. To tell the whole world, fuck the tides, fuck election day, fuck the groundswells, I'm going back to Ithaca.

Not as Captain, but as a half baked writer not old enough to be a fuck up yet, in all the the stain of my obsessive perfectionism, my obsessive ambition, my obsessive pessimism. In all the forbiddance of what happens in my bedroom.

I count the coins of my entertainer's allowance that I put in kraft envelopes for the black priest that will mutilate the divine feminine off of my body. And all of Ithaca's ghosts count with me. They smell of dirty streets and hospitals, they are made of glitter and seafoam. If they send me to hell I'll suck Lucifer's dick like it's the body of Christ and I'll know if angels are circumcised.

Michelangelo saw David in a marble cube, and he saw me too like I was always there. I sculpt the curve of my shoulders with a needle, the flat of my chest with a kitchen knife. I learn my voice and how I smell. I learn with the sweet words of the poets how you say sweet words to a man when you are a man. From boys I learn to be a boy, how to behave and what to say ; what is a man on stage on what do I need to do to be applauded.

I make myself with powders and push ups and birthday presents a body Argos will recognize. I was always there, like the flour before the bread, like the grapes before the wine, like the mud before the home. I am Pygmalion. I am Galatea. My hands are the divine creation. I am going back to Ithaca.

I have been running to you since my first step

I have been kissing you since my first kiss

My Ithaca

I don't need a sugar daddy I need a very rich excentric person to have a fleeting but powerful fancy in my art so they give me a ton of money and when they go on to become a notorious historical figure I am but a footnote on their Wikipedia article saying we had a passionate friendship and maybe a scandalous affair, and weather or not we did hook up is hotly debated amongst scholars.

Anything you spare can make a very bigger difference into our lives, we’re starving, shortage of food, no shelters, we need all your possible support to go through this, we can not have access to work since all people are homophobic they say we’re evil and we deserve to die 💔 we have single lesbian mothers whose kids have never attended school for more than four years so heartbreaking 💔 donate or share and save lives.

Ciao!

Io sono interessato a scorprire le amicizia italiani per parlare con mentre imparo la lingua! Il mio blog è in inglese ma io parlo di scrivere e l’anime (sopratutto my hero academia).

Mi mandi un messaggio se interessa o se hai una raccomanda italiana per i film/le serie, musica, o i libri :)

Shout out to my 7th grade reading teacher who was the first person to ever encourage my creative writing. He took one look at a kid who was struggling to find a way to communicate how much they were suffering, took a look at a mess of a short story they'd written in an attempt to convey all their big heavy feelings, and fully embraced them.

I constantly talked to him about writing and how to get better. I showed him everything I wrote. Sometimes, it was so I could have critiques. Sometimes, it was just so someone would tell me I'd done a good job. I needed that. He gave me a healthy goal to work towards.

I wish he hadn't just been a long-term sub. I wish I could have told him that I go by something different now. I think he'd really like what I'm writing these days.

Write👏trans👏essays👏

Write them. Just do it. Write essays asking questions about trans identities in media and literature. Write them about trans history and its impacts. Write them about scientific findings on trans identities. Write them about yourself! And your own trans experiences! It's a great way to examine your own thoughts on your identity.

Right now, when so many misconceptions on trans identities are being pushed onto us, I feel like we need these resources more than ever. Even if you don't think you can write, even if you think essays are boring. You don't have to share them with anyone, but just doing the research, answering questions for yourself about our existence and history is something I feel is worthwhile.

Don't let people tell you it's too controversial or that you're pulling something out of nothing. Write the essay.

Alright, here ya go. I hope in these trying times a more heartwarming trans story can help people feel a bit better.

Word count: 4,942

Cowboys 

I woke up early on Sunday with the neighbor’s rooster and rushed down the stairs in my pajamas to make it to breakfast. Mama made good bacon, and it was worth scarfing down my share, even if she fussed at me that young ladies don’t eat that way. I never cared much when she tried to tell me about being a lady. I let her tie my hair back into two braids for school, and listened as she called me a pretty girl, but I couldn't stand much past that. I picked at my eggs, sticking my tongue out at the runny yolk spilling over my plate. Dex sat on the floor beside me, pawing at my chair until Mama stopped looking and I lowered my dish below the table to let him gobble them up. 

Papa glared at me from over his paper, his old wrinkly forehead getting all scrunched up as I tried to read the Sunday funnies and ignored him. He didn’t tell on me, he never did, only huffed before looking back down and turning the page. 

Mama took my plate and was starting to do the dishes by the time Pau came slinking down the stairs, a cigarette hanging out of the side of his mouth. He scratched at his scruffy beard, and Papa gave him a mean look as he poured himself a mug of coffee. I always wondered what Papa would look like with a beard, but he laughed at me when I asked him to grow one. Mama dusted off her still-clean apron while muttering to herself about the smell of smoke spreading through the house. I grinned wide at my uncle, sitting on my knees in my chair with my hands pressed to the table to lean towards him. 

“Pau, you goin' to work today? Can I come? I can help.” 

Mama pushed on my shoulder to get me to sit back in my chair, and Dex yelped as my foot landed on his tail. I winced as he ran to Pau’s side who gave him a pat on his head, the mutt sneezing at me. Pau let out a long hum, taking a drag from his cigarette before checking the clock on the wall. Papa shook his head still looking at his paper.  

“Harley, shouldn’t you be studying?” He flipped another page, stabbing at his eggs with his fork. I wrinkled my nose at the thought of wasting the day staring at one of Papa’s history books. They were always about war and never had any of the good shootouts or bank robberies like the Westerns on television did. Papa never liked them, so Pau always watched them with me, and sometimes, when he’d blow his smoke out into the living room, he looked just like Clint Eastwood. 

Pau shrugged at me, already pulling on his boots, “We ain’t gonna take all day. It’s summer, Charlie. She’ll still have months to read all of them books.” He pointed up the stairs while reaching for his hat, “Kit, you got five minutes to get dressed, then I’m gone. Hop to it.” 

I jumped up from my chair and ran to my room as fast as I could, ducking out of the way of the hobby horse peeking through my closet. Its little brown head swiveled back and forth as I rushed to pull on my jeans and boots and grabbed my hat as I left. Mama called after me to stop running but I was already hopping into the passenger seat of Pau’s truck before I even realized she’d been speaking. 

The drive to Main Street always felt slow. I counted red cars to keep myself busy until Pau told me to think of the numbers instead of saying them.  

“Dumb kid. If you keep counting like that, you’ll start to forget your letters.” He shook his head, fussing with the radio as he waited for his light to turn green. 

I gave him a wide grin and laughed, air whistling through the gap in my front teeth. “That ain’t how it works, Pau.” 

Pau squinted at the road like he was thinking hard before he sucked on his cigarette again, letting smoke spill out his open window. “Whatever you say, Kit, you’re the brains, not me.” 

I stared at him a little longer before my mouth twitched, and I started to twiddle my thumbs. “Yeah, it doesn’t feel much like it though.” 

Pau raised one bushy brow, glancing at me before turning into the next street over. “Whatcha mean?”  

I let out a short sigh, picking at the edge of my seat, “It’s nothin’, just sometimes I don’t like bein’ smart.” The vinyl gave way under my nails, and I sat on my hands to stop them from fidgeting, “It makes people think I can handle a lot more than I can.” 

Pau took another drag before parking the car in front of Grant’s Supplies. He turned down the volume of the bluegrass song that was playing before laying his hand on my shoulder and looking at me. 

“Kit, I’ll give you a tip. People are tough on you because life is tougher. Folks just want to make sure you do good out in the real world. That's why even when things seem too hard, the best thing for you to do is to work harder and stay in school.”  

I didn’t meet his eye, instead focusing on the faded kneepads of his blue jeans. “You never went to school.” 

He gave a long sigh after that, opening the door and dropping his cigarette to stamp it out with his foot. “Point proven. Come on, we don’t have all day.” 

The door to Grant’s Supplies had a bell over it that dinged when you walked inside. Everything was made of wood, and every Sunday an elderly man who only spoke in low angry grunts and had his eyes covered by the constant furrow of his brow would come in the store to clean. I ducked past where he was sweeping behind the canned food and peeped at him through a gap in one of the aisles, holding up my fake finger pistol, and aimed for the bridge of his nose. I could practically smell the sheriff's reward of five hundred dollars for bringing this outlaw in, dead or alive. 

“Time to meet your maker,” I whispered, closing one eye and squinting, just about to fire. He must have heard me though. In the next moment, his head snapped to look at me and his eyes grew as wide as an owl’s. With a shout, I ran retreating to the counter at the front of the store where Pau stood with his hat to his chest, leaning into the blushing face of a lady with long sandy blonde hair. I rammed into his leg, sending him sideways a bit with an ‘oomph!’ but he stood to recover just as quickly as he had stumbled. The counter lady helped him up, laughing, and I stared perplexed by her perfectly manicured nails. 

“Oh goodness, are you alright?” She said, leaning across the counter and then looking at me, “Well hello there little lady.”  

I tilted my head away from her hands to squint up at her, still clinging to Pau’s leg. “I’m a cowboy.” 

Pau gained his footing again, looking a bit lost for words, and stuttered his way through an apology before turning to fuss at me. Before he could get anything out though she waved him off. 

“Oh, don’t apologize, I know how it is. My niece is just the same.” She talked with her hands and Pau began to smile before she carried on, “It’s just so nice to see a father hanging out with his kid.” The smile slowly dropped from Pau’s face, a distant look on his face as he turned to look down at me staring back up at him with big round eyes. 

“She ain’t my-” he was cut off by Mrs. Grant coming around the corner, her heels clicking on the floor as she huffed. 

“Well, would you look what the cat dragged in. Paul, I know you’re not flirting with another one of my cashiers.” 

I peeped up from behind Pau’s leg and Mrs. Grant’s narrowed brown eyes softened at the sight of me. “Hey, Harley honey, you helpin’ Paul today?” She slid a caramel candy over the counter, and I was quick to shove it into my mouth. 

“Yes ma’am,” I said. Pau heaved a sigh, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. 

She nodded to herself before turning to the counter lady. “That’s Charlie’s girl. Do you know Charlie?”  

The counter lady’s eyes went wide as she blushed an even deeper red, “Oh, I’m so sorry, I thought she was yours.”  

Mrs. Grant tapped the counter and shook her head, looking at Pau with a heaving sigh and narrowed eyes. “Yeah, you’d think that huh? You two always seem attached at the hip.” 

I lit up at the sound of that. People always thought I was Pau’s little girl. He said it was because I followed him like a lost kitten, so he called me Kit. I never saw it as a bad thing though. Pau was a good person to follow. He knew plenty about the right way to walk and how to talk himself out of trouble. I learned plenty trailing after him, even if Papa didn’t like it too much. After Pau came to live with us, Papa always mumbled about how he hadn’t been able to keep himself out of trouble since they were tots. 

“Yeah, well she’s just good help, that's all. Speaking of, I’m looking for paint. Ms. Carter needs a new coat on her fence.” Pau shrugged, and I watched as one of his hands dropped to his back pants pocket, grabbing at his cigarettes before letting it fall again. 

Mrs. Grant stopped her tapping and stared him down for a moment. It was a mean look that Pau turned away from, and I tilted my head in wonder of why. It didn’t last long as in the next moment she was turning to grab the paint buckets behind her. “White or blue?” 

Pau paid for two buckets of white paint, and then we were back in his truck. I counted blue cars this time, including his since there were fewer of them, and Pau said nothing. When I turned to look at him, he was biting his lip and had both his hands kept firm on the steering wheel. 

“I think that lady liked you, Pau,” I said, and Pau scrunched his face up tight giving a small smile. 

“Yeah, maybe so.”  

I kicked my feet, looking at my boots and the little pink lines painted into the brown leather. “Maybe you could marry her since you don’t have a wife yet.” I heard Pau scoff, “and maybe then I could come live with you two when you buy a house together.”  

Pau lit another cigarette, “Marriage ain’t that simple Kit, and I can’t buy a house.” 

I felt that he was just being difficult, but didn’t go on, instead I watched the cop car that came crawling up beside us at a stoplight. It sat lower than Pau’s truck, and the officer driving it turned to glare at us through the window. His nose looked crooked. I turned to Pau, my grin sharp but hesitated to say anything as Pau kept his gaze straight. He pressed himself against his seat, and the muscles on his hairy arms tensed where he was squeezing the steering wheel. His knuckles turned white from how hard he gripped it. I tilted my head a bit, trying to make sense of the funny way Pau’s eye twitched. 

“Does he know you Pau?” I said, trying my best not to whip around and glare right back at the cop. Pau’s cheeks turned a little red, and he moved his head just enough that I couldn’t see his eyes. 

“Don’t stare Kit. A cowboy has to mind the sheriff.” 

I said nothing, leaning back into my seat just like him until the light turned green and the cop passed by us. As we drove, Ms. Carter’s house and her faded fence appeared around the bend. She was sitting on her porch with a pitcher of lemonade when we hopped out of Pau’s truck. Pau waltzed up to her front steps and I followed behind him, trying to fit into the boot prints he left in the dirt path.  

Ms. Carter filled two glasses and nearly let mine overflow as she giggled over every word that tumbled out of Pau’s mouth, slapping at his arm. I rolled my eyes as she made some comment on liking men rugged, carrying the paint buckets and brushes toward the fence at the end of her front yard. Pau joined me after I’d already painted four posts and I looked at him with a bit of judgment, “She likes you too.” 

He shook his head, “She likes anyone who will talk to her.” He dipped his paintbrush into the bucket twice before swiping it over the fence. Before I could say anything, he was covering my mouth with his free hand, “I ain’t gonna marry her, so don’t bring it up.”  

I almost spit on his hand when he pulled it away, “I wasn’t going to say you should.” I swiped at another post, giving it a funny face before covering it up, “I just think maybe if you had a wife, she could tell Mrs. Grant to stop looking at you so mean.”  

He breathed out smoke and leaned back to look up at the sky like Mama did when she was praying, “There ain’t a woman in the whole damn world who would make Mrs. Grant stop looking at me like that.” 

I painted a stripe across three posts, my lips pursed into a thin line. “Why not Pau?” 

“Because it ain’t about the women. It's just me she doesn’t like,” he said. 

I threw down my brush, kicking at the fence post, “Well that ain’t fair.” He shook his head at me, and I almost kicked him too before I thought better of it. 

“No, Kit, it is.” He paid me no mind, dipping his brush again, “We can’t control how people think of us. We just gotta learn to accept it.” 

“Well, I think that's dumb.” I stuck out my tongue and picked at the grass below me, throwing it up into the air. Pau never did anything to wrong people. He would go out of his way to mow their yards or paint their fences. Mrs. Grant just didn’t know him that well, if she did, she’d see why he deserved her caramel candies too. “You’re good Pau, a real cowboy.” 

He laughed a little, though it sounded strained, and tipped his hat down to cover his eyes. “You’re a dumb kid,” he said, putting down his brush and wiping some sweat off the back of his neck, “But thanks.” 

We finished the fence by the time the sun was beginning to set, and Ms. Carter giggled and swatted playfully at Pau’s arms for an eternity before she paid him. When we made it back to the truck, Pau rubbed at his shoulder where she had managed to smack him with one of her bangle bracelets. 

“You should check for bruises” 

He gave me a look but still rolled up his sleeve, “Hush up.” 

When we made it back home, the earth had turned golden, and I ran through the grass of the front yard before Dex tackled me to the ground, sniffing all along my arms and shirt as I erupted into a fit of laughter. Pau came to lay beside us, his hat placed on his chest. I stared up at the clouds, taking in their sweeping hills that laid out like mountains across our flat horizon like in the movies. 

I let out a whistle, something I had been practicing for weeks now, and Pau gave me a hum of agreement, though he didn’t smile like usual.  

“One day I’m going to head out there, and I’m going to have a ranch, and you can come live on it with me,” I said, and Pau sighed, sitting up and leaning back on his hands. 

“I have to tell you something, Kit.” He said. 

I sat up beside him, combing away at some of the grass that had managed to get stuck in my hair.  

“What's wrong Pau?” 

He had this strange look on his face again, like he was far from me, and unable to draw himself back in. I watched him squint at the sun before he looked at me, the crow's feet by his eyes still showing like he was looking at something bright. 

“I have to,” he paused, his mouth still hanging open for a moment as he took in the tilt of my head, “I’m heading west. I’m gonna go find one of those big cattle ranches you’re always talkin’ about.”  

My eyes got big, and I jumped up to my knees to shake him by the shoulders, “Pau! You have to take me with you.” I said, begging with my fingers laced together. 

He shook his head softly, putting one of his rough hands on top of mine, “No Kit. You can’t come.” 

I felt a deep pain in my chest, stinging enough that I ripped my hands away to wrap around my middle. 

“Why not?” I said, soft and cracking as he gazed down at me. He rubbed at the back of his neck; his eyebrows knitted together. 

“It’s complicated. You have to stay here, with your ma and pa.” He tried to meet my eyes again, but I was too busy picking grass out of the ground, ruthless in my attack. 

“Kit, you won’t have a life if you come with me. You stay here, you’ll get to go to school, get a nice comfy job, and grow up to be someone you should be.” He sounded like Papa, and I never hated Pau more. I tried to plug my ears so he would go away, but he grabbed at my arms. 

“No, you can’t go. It isn’t fair!” I shook my head back and forth, kicking my feet as he just rubbed up and down my arms to calm me down. I wouldn’t. I refused to stop my fit even though I knew it wasn’t helping. The second he let go of me, I knew in my bones he would disappear, so I just kept yelling until his patience ran thin. “I can help. I can be a cowboy. You can teach me.” 

“Kit stop. No one needs me here; your daddy asked me to leave so I’m going.” He grabbed me tight and shook me. I went still in his arms, “I’m going kid, it’s already been decided.”  

“I need you,” I said, my voice soft and my throat tight. The sun felt like it was burning into me, and I wanted to let it, so I could have an excuse as to why I wanted to shrivel up into Pau’s lap and have him hold me. He softened his grip, sighing, and looking down to where Dex lay next to us whining.  

“No, you don’t.” He shook his head. 

“But if you leave I can’t-” 

“I ain’t your daddy, Kit.” He said with finality, and my heart felt cold and alone, “You have one. He's a good man. Don't you ever say he ain’t because I was raised with him, and I’ll know you’re lying. He’s already gotten me out of enough messes to make up a lifetime.”  

I shook my head again, looking down, “He isn’t you Pau.” 

Pau let go of me, grabbing his cigarettes from his back pocket and shoving them in my face.  

“You see these?” He shoved them closer, and I bit at the inside of my cheek to stop myself from snapping back at him 

“You think these are good? Do you think any of the things I do are things I wanna see you do?”  

It was a pretty box, the red always peeking out the top of Pau’s jeans. He took out one of the cigarettes, almost crushing it in his hand. 

“This, this is shit.” He threw it down and stood up to crush it under his boot. He looked giant, and unforgiving, like Papa when he had found out I had broken one of his old globes playing sheriff.  

My nose started to feel runny, and the tight funny feeling in my throat bubbled up until I could feel myself choking on it. The sight of him made my stomach feel hollow, and I ran away before he could say anything else.  

He called after me, but I didn’t listen, crashing through the screen door right into Papa’s arms. He stood shocked as I cried into his crisp white shirt, hitting his sides. The fabric scratched at my face, and my tears left it stained and ugly, but he didn’t push me away, so I stayed. 

“Harley, what has gotten into you?” He said it lightly, one of his hands placed softly on my back. It felt awkward, and he didn’t hold me closer than he had to. He looked around the room, and I knew it was for Mama. I butted my head against his stomach, and he furrowed his brow as he looked down at me. I glared right back, and he sighed, a tired look pulling at his face that made me want to scream. 

“Why don’t you go clean yourself up, your mother is making chicken tonight, maybe you could help her?” I detached myself from him before I could start yelling, running up the stairs to hide in my room.  

I sat huddled up in bed, the quilt Mama had made me drawn around my shoulders until the sun had fully set, and I could see the moon peeking up behind the trees through my window. I opened it to hear the crickets sing and leaned out to feel the warm summer air pass over me. Mama had called me to dinner almost an hour before, but I couldn’t bring myself to travel back downstairs. Pau would be there, picking his teeth clean of chicken and grunting his way through Papa’s questions. They would fight, and I knew this because they always fought, and I would be stuck in the middle of it, trying to defend Pau from any of the nasty names Papa called him. For the first time, I didn’t want to defend him. 

As I began to count the stars starting to dot the sky, I heard the muffled shouts echoing from downstairs. There was a clattering of plates, and as I sunk to the floor to press my ear up against my rug, I could hear Papa from below. 

“-No work for you here! I’ve tried Paul, I’ve always tried to help you, but you haven’t made it easy. Now you’re filling Harley’s head with these delusions-”  

I listened to Pau grumble something, the first part hard to make out until he started to get louder. 

“-Not a damn charity case Charlie, I don’t need it, and don’t you bring the kid into this. This ain’t her mess.”  

Their voices both came and went, in and out, growing louder and softer until there was a large clattering of plates, loud enough I could hear a glass break and mama let out a shout. It was quiet for a moment after, the entire house falling still. I listened as a chair shoved back and his footsteps stomped as Pau grumbled out a response. The screen door slammed open and shut, and as the smell of smoke began to travel up through the window, I shut it as quickly as I could. It felt too late though, my eyes were already watering, and as much as I tried to blink them away, stubborn little tears managed to escape me. I called them shit.  

I must have stood there for ages, staring out my window and crying, because by the time I came back to myself the moon had risen above the trees. There was a knock at my door, and instead of spitting and cussing every nasty word I knew, I moved to slide down against it and knock back, too tired to do much else. 

“Hey, Kit.”  

“Hi, Pau.” I wanted to call him shit. I crossed my arms across my chest and felt as he slumped against the door on the other side to sit beside me. 

“Did Papa tell you that you have to leave tonight?” I looked down at the streaks of light from the hallway that wrapped around his shadow and stretched across my floor. 

“He warned me about a month ago. He just tried to give me money,” he said. 

“Oh. Did you take it?” 

“No.” 

“Oh.” I wanted to curse him, tell him he was dumb, and have him get angry with me so I could have an excuse to do so. I couldn’t bring myself to. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you I was leaving sooner,” he paused for a moment, I heard his head rest against the door with a small thud, “I didn’t know how to tell you.” 

My chest felt tight, and I pulled down my hat to cover my eyes. I didn’t say anything, not trusting my voice. The door’s white paint was chipped at the bottom, and I picked at it until Pau knocked again. 

“You still there kid?” 

I brought my knees to my chest, hugged them tightly, and closed my eyes shut. 

“I could be a good cowboy Pau,” I sounded so shaky and small, like Dex when Mama yelled at him for doing something bad, “I am one.” 

Pau didn’t say anything back for a while, but I could hear him bump his head again, and I wondered if he felt as small as I did. “I know you are, Kit. You’re better than me,” he said, speaking softly but the crackly sound in his throat still broke up his words so he sounded like one of Papa’s scratched records. I never wanted to sound like that. “You have to give these things time, though. One day when you’re older, you’ll still be walking around in your boots, and you’ll be better than all of us at whatever you decide to do with your life.” I could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke, and fighting against every angry bone in my body, I opened the door. 

He had to tilt his head up a little to look me in the eyes from where he was still sat on the ground. It was like he was just seeing something for the first time. His eyes were a little watery, and they squinted up at me like I was a stranger, but there must have been something he recognized because he grinned wide, and I was pulled down into his arms. 

I let him tug me down and rested my head against his chest to hear his heartbeat. It thundered like the sound of horses.  

“You’re a good man, Pau. Mama and Papa are lying.” I said.  

He nodded his head and rocked me in his lap. It wasn’t easy as I was getting taller and my legs stuck out a bit too much to be comfortable, but his arms still cradled around me like I was precious. 

“You are too, Kit.” 

After he gathered all his things from his room and shoved them into little boxes and bags, I walked him outside. I carried his duffle bag across the yard, and he pretended not to notice as I struggled a bit to get down the front steps. By the time I made it to his car, he had already thrown everything else inside. He took the last bag and threw it in his front seat, dusting off his hands after. I copied him, pretending not to hear him snort.  

“Guess this is it, huh kid?” 

I looked up to where he stood, hands on his hips and his head facing towards the open road. 

“Yeah, for now. I’ll see you again though.” I said, shrugging and wiping my still runny nose. 

“That so?” 

“Yeah, when I get a car, I’ll drive out west until I find you.” 

He looked down at me, his eyes going all soft, “Not gonna give up on me?” 

I shook my head, grinning up at him, “Nah, you need someone looking out for you.” 

He gave a big whooping laugh, his head shooting back. I laughed with him, so hard that I had to brace my hands on my thighs to keep myself from falling forwards. Pau pulled himself together after a while, sliding into his front seat with a hopeful spark in his eye. 

“I’ll send you a postcard once I find somewhere to settle down, then maybe, when you get that car, you won’t have to just wander around for too long.” He said, fiddling with the radio until bluegrass began to belt out of his truck. 

“Okay Pau, don’t forget.” 

He tipped his hat to me as the truck started up. 

“I won’t.” 

He drove away after that, and I held my hand up to reach for his car until he disappeared down the street, the light from his headlights fading into the night sky above. 

Does anyone want to read a short story about a trans kid at the age where you don't have a word for what you are yet, or really a full idea of what you are, but you know what you want to be so you cling to it and the people around you that represent it?

Because I wrote something like that! It's called Cowboys (or Good Men, but we won't get into that whole story), and it's about a kid named Kit who wants nothing more than to be a cowboy like 'her' uncle Pau! It's a small slice of life/coming of age story that showcases the unconditional love of a family's two misfits, alongside subtly highlighting a less talked about stage of growing up transgender in the south.

If anyone is interested in reading it, please let me know, and I'll reblog it through this post 👍

Does anyone want to read a short story about a trans kid at the age where you don't have a word for what you are yet, or really a full idea of what you are, but you know what you want to be so you cling to it and the people around you that represent it?

Because I wrote something like that! It's called Cowboys (or Good Men, but we won't get into that whole story), and it's about a kid named Kit who wants nothing more than to be a cowboy like 'her' uncle Pau! It's a small slice of life/coming of age story that showcases the unconditional love of a family's two misfits, alongside subtly highlighting a less talked about stage of growing up transgender in the south.

If anyone is interested in reading it, please let me know, and I'll reblog it through this post 👍

Basic starting premise for another story that takes place in my multiverse

An ageless loli Neko-Kin ( Cat-Girl ) professor along with their mysterious femme fatal alien body-guard, a queer exiled vampire noble and their ghostly former demon-hunter companion walk into out-of-the-way shire-like village during the harvest festival where they intended to have a nice jovial night of drinking and fun only to have the night interrupted by the arrival of two terrified young children on the verge of death who flee into the festival pleading for help to save their mother from a monster they claim has taken over their home and trapped their mother inside. The village elders request that the 4 strangers ( The professor, her body-guard, the vampire noble, and their ghostly companion ) go and aid the children in the rescuing of their mother and defeat the monster.  One of the village residents named Oskar Lochlan ( an Anam-Forge Gunslinger ) with a disturbing past agrees to join them in aiding the children and so together the group sets out as the children lead the way back to their house that dwells along the side of long-forgotten path on which no one ever travels anymore. 

P.S. = I am always looking for those who are interested in helping me create something beautiful, bring ideas to life and hopefully expand the amount of LGBTQIA+ media out there at the same time. If you are interested or would like to talk then please contact me here on Tumblr. Thank you all for your time.

Architectural Words of High-Arcana

This just some words used my the Architects / Gods of my mythos ( The Piper Wars mythos ) to magical control reality. Elementus ( Elemental ) Words: Aiero = Air / Wind Anam = Soul / Spirit Cré = Earth Chronoss = Time Codexus = Digi-Materia / Digital Information Derlana = Electricity Hemoss = Blood Gravtoss = Gravity Lann = Light / Photo Machina = Machines Magnes = Magnetism Matara = Matter / Solid-Material Narcess = Self Necross = Necrotic-Energy / Death Ogher = Ice / Cryonic-Energy Psychiss = Mind Radioss = Radiation Aqiss = Water Tine = Fire / Flame Umbriss = Darkness / Shadow Vitia = Life / Vitality Weapia = Weapon / Implement Vlles = Flesh Silvarali = Silver-Light / Divine Light / Luciferian Light Formus ( Forming ) Words / Actoss (Action ) Words: Armeri = Armor / Shell Ascedor = Rise / Ascend Devos = Deform / Breakdown Dominostrass = Dominate / Control Fayda = Find / Locate Gail = Vibrate / Pulsate Paraza = Bind / Restrain Ga = Go Imprusa = Imprision / Cage Invetia = Invert Kinde = Cone Materia = Materialize Mendri = Mend / Repair Phallicia = Penis / Phallus Pillerum = Pillar / Column Pellta = Pull / Drag Ripola = Ripple / Wave Shaw = Shield Shuriko = Shuriken Straka = Strike / Melee Vortoss = Vortex Zeth = Nebulate / Mist / Fog Targeting Words: Ven = Self / Me Ver = Their ( Targeted area of effect ) Vie = Them ( Unnamed designated group ) Vor = Them ( Single unnamed target )

Character art of Captain Hook for my first book.

Well here is the cover for one of my other books in the works. This is fresh from my artist. I love them so much.