#flappin my gums

[groovyinsects]

Pinned Post/About

Mostly want to clean up how this blog looks a bit and give some info about my characters/world building.

This blog focuses on my insect oc’s, their concept art, maybe a bit of world building, and whatnot. I’m working on 3 stories (or at least trying to!) that will take place in the same world, “Insecta.”

As far as basic world building goes, Insecta is a group of islands inhabited by anthropomorphic, rubber-hose styled insects called “Toons.” It is perpetually in a 1930s aesthetic and function (however, elements from the early 1900s, 20s, and 40s are present as well). No one in Insecta knows exactly how the islands came to be. However, everyone knows that the early inhabitants of the islands had “toon abilities” (such as the rubber-hose traits 1920s-1940s cartoon characters possessed, like detaching limbs, arms and legs that can stretch and bend in unrealistic ways, creating objects out of nothing, etc.) Over time these abilities were lost, creating another mystery; how did these abilities disappear, and why? (another trait that Insecta’s inhabitants don’t possess is the ability to fly. I’m not sure whether I want it to be a “toon ability” that was lost over time or something the toons never had in the first place).

                                                   Map of Insecta

Even though these characters and stories are near and dear to me, at the end of the day they’re just for fun. I’m writing about what is interesting to me, which is 1930s cartoon bugs XD

I'm currently working on four stories:

McVee Mansion

Olive, a psychic, and her friend Betts, investigate a haunted and dangerous mansion deep in the woods. Takes place in Clement City.

The Strange Case of Pine Hollow

Othmer, a disgruntled designer, dreams of creating an elixir that will improve the quality of life for everyone in Insecta. (this one was partly inspired by Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde) Takes place in Pine Hollow.

Phantom of the Lighthouse

The lighthouse-turned-cabaret sports a rag-tag team of dysfunctional workers, along with a mysterious Phantom lurking in the walls… (this one is basically poto but. 1930s bugs in a lighthouse) Takes place in Clement City.

A Magician's Secret

Not much to say about this one yet, other than I've got drawings of these characters posted on the blog.

Insecta's site

will update this post as I see fit!

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hello again. XD Would you consider a Calamity Jane!Reader request for Buddha, Heracles, Lu Bu, Rudra? Got her in my brain now and she ain't fittin' to leave anytime soon. A women of action not words, tall, compassionate but crass. Strikes me as the painfully blunt type.

"Listen here stretch, I ain't got no time for yer gum flappin', either ya get to yer point or I'm puttin' some lead between your pretty lil' eyes."

If you want you can use my previous question with Artemis vs Clamity Jane and flip a coin to see who wins. XD I want you to have as much fun with it as it runs through my head.

No rush, please and thank you~!

With a warm apple pie~!

-You were no soft and delicate lady; you were a woman ready to throw hands with anyone who would dare disrespect you; many learned that the hard way when they tried and quickly got either an ass beating or a bullet lodged somewhere in their body.

-You kept to yourself in Valhalla, as everything you needed was provided for you, so there was no need to work hard any longer, but you felt bored just sitting around, so you started a large garden, something you were proud of.

-There were times you missed riding on horses and exploring, scouting out new territories, and you would be able to sate those cravings for a while, getting a horse, borrowed from one of the Valkyries, and just go out and ride, feeling the freedom of just being out and running free.

-Those who lived near to you respected you, as you respected them and protected them against those who just wanted to take, despite having everything they would need.

-Many, humans and gods, learned to leave your little corner of Valhalla alone, mainly because you wouldn’t hesitate to shoot them, and you weren’t known for warning shots.

-It was a time of celebration in Valhalla, after humanity had won Ragnarok, earning their salvation and gaining the respect of the gods.

-You had fought as well, against a huntress goddess, Artemis, who, in your opinion, was one of the few people you respected. And you had greeted her, once all those who had fallen, had been returned to life, with a warm handshake and a hug, welcoming her back.

-Artemis respected you, as you bested her, and the two of you became friends as well as rivals, constantly having competitions and trading wins between the two of you.

-Your hard-won victory in Valhalla had gained quite a lot of attention, as they were all recorded, so those who fought earlier could see all the later fights, and you found yourself being courted by a weirdo, or at least in your book he was a weirdo.

-Buddha- He learned the hard way that you don’t like to be snuck up on. He saw you speaking with Brunnhilde, and he grinned, wanting to ask you questions about your fight, as you were very impressive with your abilities to dodge and shoot at the same time. When he wrapped his arms around you, he quickly found himself on the ground, holding his jaw after you had whirled around and delivered a haymaker, pulling out your pistol at the same time, pointing it at him. He grinned, flirting, “If I had known you liked it rough I would have tried harder.” You cocked your pistol, your eyelid twitching before Brunnhilde stopped you, “None of that now.” Buddha did make it up to you, taking you out for a drink. He wanted to know more about your feisty side.

-Hercules- He was like a dog, if you had to describe him, big, happy, kinda dumb looking, but he was pretty damn cute. When he approached you, asking you for a fight, he began to ramble, praising your fight and going over it. His enthusiasm was pretty cute, but it got old pretty quickly as you grabbed his top, pulling him down into a kiss to shut him up, “Stop flapping your gums- if were gonna fight then let’s get to it!” his lips were stuck in the puckered position, completely shocked on how bold you were before he was quick to catch up you, giving you a shy look, “If I win can I get another kiss?” you couldn’t help but smirk up at him, silently challenging him. There was something exciting about you!

-Lu Bu- He had approached you wanting a fight, wanting to test his strength against your own, trouble is, he did it while you were in the middle of enjoying a nice cold beer at your favorite saloon in Valhalla. You waved at the bartender, signaling for another drink and he was surprised when you pushed it to him, “Drink up- ain’t no fighting happening today. I ain’t nowhere near sober enough to give you what you want.” You were so unlike the women of his time, soft spoken, reserved, you were loud, crass, and to be completely honest, he liked it! He downed the drink and you gave him a smirk, “Is that a challenge, boy?” the bartender could only roll his eyes as he prepared the glasses for your next drinking contest.

-Rudra- When you spotted a god hanging out by your front gate as you were coming home, you glared slightly, wondering if you had another fight, “Hey- what you doing here?” Rudra turned and you had to admit, he was quite the looker as he gave you a friendly smile, “Hello there Y/N, I wanted to come and see you. I have some questions about your fighting technique that I wanted to ask about.” He didn’t seem like he was here to fight, but you weren’t completely sure just yet. He was expecting you to invite him in but surprised him with your crass nature, “Don’t know what you want to ask about it- it’s simple, dodge and don’t get hit and hit the other bastard first.” He couldn’t help but grin, seeing your simple way of thinking about a fight. It took a few visits before you invited Rudra into your home, finding his persistence admirable while he was elated he was finally getting through to you.

[cainluvr69]

Surely, We Can Make Miracles Chapter 5

Previous Chapter

Nero: There ain't any point in eatin' it cold if it's supposed to be served hot! You don't even cook, and all you can do is fuckin' complain about it!

Originally, they'd been whispering to each other, but as Nero's anger mounted, his voice was getting louder. Even if Dianne couldn't hear exactly what they were saying, it was still perfectly obvious there was some kind of argument going on. Bradley leaned in, refusing to give in, audaciously trying to whisper into Nero's ear again even as Nero was glaring daggers at him.

Bradley: I can at least tell when the person makin' it actually has pride in what they're makin'. You ain't the one makin' this shit. Why are you tryin' to cover for 'em?

Nero: Now you're tryin' to preach at me about pride in your work? You're just pretendin' you know what the hell you're talkin' about when you're just flappin' your gums!

Figaro: (You know, now that I'm getting a good look at them…they're kind of obviously ex-partners, aren't they…) (I wouldn't have thought it'd be his friend in the kitchen. Really, preconceptions are never any good.)

Faust: (Nero… No matter how much he might say you're his friend in the kitchen, Bradley's still a Northern wizard.) (Thoughtlessly making him angry isn't going to end well.)

Lennox: (Goodness. Bradley's such a glutton.)

The tension in the air was only getting progressively more electric. And then Shino joined in, keeping his voice low.

Shino: I get what Bradley's saying. Let me be honest. First…

Heathcliff: Shino.

Heath said his servant's name sharply. He was every inch a noble right now, the look in his blue eyes cold and pointed. Shino flinched, and then took a deep breath and started shooting back.

Shino: I'm saying this for your sake. You don't need to do anything.

Heathcliff: You're being arrogant. And you're being ungrateful towards the noble Western Chenon House's Lady Dianne's hospitality, which she's put her heart and soul into… Any furthur critique is out of line. Your insolence is doing nothing but dragging the Blanchett name through the mud. Have some self-control.

Heathcliff's harsh words made Shino snap his mouth shut. He was trembling a bit, his gaze drifting away from him. After a moment, though, remorse showed on his face, and he deeply bowed his head. Heathcliff, too, bowed slightly to Dianne, and then elegantly returned to his meal.

Shino: (Heath's right… It wasn't all that long ago that I was hunting for scraps. Maybe I've gotten too used to living well.)

Heathcliff: (I'm sorry I was so forceful, Shino… But if I didn't say as much as I did, it could've turned into a diplomatic incident…) (She's smiling right now, but she must be furious in her heart… What if one day she says I need to give you up?) (It's possible I won't be able to save you from that, Shino… So…)

An unpleasant atmosphere settled into the silence as our meal continued. About when I felt confident no one else was going to start voicing their displeasure, Bradley leaned back and crossed his legs.

Bradley: But damn!

Nero: Woah! My hand's slippin' on the pepper…!

Bradley: Waugh…! Achoo!!

In the fight against <the Great Calamity>, Bradley had been afflicted with a bizarre injury that affected him when he sneezed--and, well, he vanished. Somewhere in the world, he was cursing Nero and his pepper.

Snow: Goodness gracious, I suppose there was no avoiding that.

White: We shall go to the market and retrieve Bradley.

Figaro: There's no way of knowing Bradley showed up at the market, is there? You two just want to go window shopping.

Snow & White: Gulp…

Figaro: Please don't do anything disrespectful. Rutile and Mitile are both sitting nice and politely…

Snow: You're so wrong! We're just going to go pick up our dear Bradley!

White: We have a duty to supervise him, you know! By the way, Owen dear, what's that cake called again?

Owen: Torta di cocco.

White: Thanks!

Figaro: Jeez.

The twins vanished like smoke.

Mithra: Hm? Is no one else eating? If you're not going to eat, I'll take it.

Owen: Here.

Owen pushed his food onto Mithra's plate, and then stood up from his seat and drained his cup of tea.

Owen: I want more of that cake, too.

And, having said that, he vanished, too. The ensuing silence was so heavy you could cut it with a knife.

Akira: (What should I do… Should I have said something…?) (I wonder what everyone's thinking…?)

Oz: … (Though this is not especially good…) (It still outclasses my own failures.)

Arthur: (I bet he's thinking this is better than his own mess-ups.)

Rutile: (I've made some pretty bad dishes too…)

Mithra: (Everyone's eating so lightly. That means I win.)

Mitile: (It's not very good, but saying that would be rude and wasteful.)

Riquet: (Expressing displeasure with one's meal is to embrace corruption. It is a terrible thing to do. I know that, and yet…) (I'd been wanting to eat something more delicious than this.)

Cain: (Owen's really going to go eat more…? I know that cake was delicious, but he already ate seven slices…)

Shylock: (My sincerest apologies, but I have no intention of putting anything that doesn't capture my heart into my body.)

Chloe: (I need to eat all of this, somehow… I've really gotten so used to eating Nero's food I've gotten spoiled…)

Rustica: (Chloe's ocean-inspired outfits look so good on everyone.)

Murr: (This rules! Watching everyone's reactions to having to keep their desires in check is so fun!)

Figaro: (For now I can just pretend to eat, and then get something from the market later.)

Lennox: (Lord Figaro isn't swallowing any of that, is he…? Is he making it disappear with magic…?)

Nero: (God… I can't do this… As a fellow chef, I can't pretend this is someone else's problem…) (What happened, Borda Castle head chef… Did you forget the seasoning to handle the smell or something?) (He seemed so meticulous in his work, too. Or maybe he got the cut wrong… Or is it someone else's work? Did they hire someone new?) (Maybe he got sick… He must've gotten sick. And now he can't taste things right anymore. That's gotta be it.) (Or maybe he injured his hands… How could things have ended up like this…) (What a disgrace… If it were me, I'd pack my bags and be gone by tomorrow…) (But what if he's got a family to support… Argh! I don't wanna even think about that.)

Faust: (Nero's making so many different faces right now…)

Dianne cleared her throat. She turned to face me and, bright as always, began to speak.

Dianne: By the way, Master Sage, I have a question for you.

Akira: Ah, yes. What is it?

Dianne: Lately, Borda Island has been facing a number of mysterious disappearances.

Akira: Disappearances…?

Dianne: Yes. Both the residents of the island and people visiting it are concerned by them. I'd like to ask your help in resolving them…

✦✧☾✧✦

Let me summarize what Dianne told me.

✦✧☾✧✦

Akira: Ever since Miss Dianne was appointed Borda Island's new lord, people have been disappearing. There's currently nine people missing, including both humans and wizards.

Chloe: Both humans and wizards…

Arthur: This island has its famous wizard market, after all.

Rustica: And this island is beautiful, so many humans come both to sightsee and to permanently settle down here.

Figaro: The development of magical technology has made it so much easier for humans to go where they like. If you look around, you'll see a lot of brand-new big homes.

Lennox: Meaning?

Figaro: There's more vacation homes. Hasn't land on Borda Island and in the City of Nectar gotten more pricy?

Shylock: I believe so.

Rutile: Isn't that odd? Are Southern Country's prairies going to be that pricy one day?

Murr: If there's more people living on them, yeah! The more demand there is, the more profit the suppliers make. Right now, Southern Country's pretty empty. But what if it got a population as big as Western Country's?!

Cain: Basically, Borda Island's a popular place to be for both wizards and humans.

Akira: Yes, exactly. According to Miss Dianne, the repeated disappearances are worsening the antagonism between wizards and humans.

Heathcliff: So they both think the other side is the culprit…?

Akira: It seems that way… The wizards in the market think it was the humans' doing… And the island humans think that it was the wizards' doing. And since Miss Dianne, who's open and friendly with wizards, just arrived…

Arthur: The island residents, already on edge, have been demanding that she leave. They think that a lord who's so close with wizards won't be similarly cordial with humans.

Akira: Exactly. You really understand what's going on, Arthur.

Arthur: It's like I always say. Though I may stand as Central Country's crown prince, I am also a wizard. The wizards think that I'll ally myself with humans. And the humans think that I'll ally myself with wizards. It takes a long time of open and patient conversation to stamp out any misunderstandings.

Shino: Why do you have to be the one to do it? They're the ones that are being stubborn.

Arthur: If you think the person you're talking to is being stubborn, you can never become friends with them. Both wizards and humans have decided that the other side is the one being stubborn. And so an endless cycle is born.

Shino: That's true… Actually, this is a good chance. You're a good guy, so let me give you some advice.

Arthur: You think I'm a good guy? I'm happy to hear that.

Shino: You're too good of a guy. You should let yourself get upset more often. If people don't wanna listen to you, they're not gonna listen. And then you're just wasting your time. There's not as many kind people in this world as you think. You should let up a little.

Arthur: Thank you. You're very kind, Shino.

Shino: Don't mock me.

Arthur: But don't worry. I wouldn't say I'm all that virtuous, either. I do have a goal in mind.

Shino: A goal?

Arthur: It takes time for people to see me not as a wizard, not as a human, not as a prince, but as myself. And for me to see the person I'm talking to properly, I need to take that much time as well. It's difficult to erase one's prejudices and preconceptions.

Shino: …I'm not willing to put that much work into other people. People who don't like me should just stay away from me. And I'll stay away from them, too. It's fine if we don't understand each other. It's enough to know what lines not to cross.

Arthur: I think that's fine, too. Boundaries exist so that you don't experience undue suffering.

Shino: …? Isn't that the complete opposite of what you said, though?

Arthur: I think it's the same. I probably just have much different boundaries from you. It's just about what we're good and not good with.

Shino: Meaning?

Arthur: If human society and wizard society stay separated, one day, they're going to collide messily with one another. I want to avoid that tragedy. I feel like that's the only thing I can leave in this world…

Oz: …

Arthur: What I'm trying to say, is… I'm good at having those kinds of patient conversations, and I have a personal interest in addressing the issue. So it's not something that's as difficult for me as you're worried about, Shino. But again, thank you.

Shino: Hmm… Well, if you say it's fine, then it's fine. Living just seems hard for you and Heath sometimes.

Heathcliff: …

Figaro: Things are getting pretty philosophical here. Both understanding something and misunderstanding something are important in a wizard's life. But for right now, let's just put that topic to the side.

Faust: You're just knocking that philosophical topic off the table like a cat.

Figaro: It'd be nice if it was the kind of topic that we could put on hold like that, right? So to sum it up, Master Sage, she wants us to find the true culprit behind these disappearances?

Akira: That's correct. The island residents are wary of the people in Miss Dianne's castle, so they can't do much at the moment…

Figaro: Got it. Then it's time to start collecting information on these disappearances. But first, Master Sage, can I have a second?

Figaro put his arm around my shoulder and led me away from the group. Once we were a bit of a ways away, he murmured something into my ear.

Figaro: …Master Sage. A lot of people are involved in these incidents.

Akira: The market wizards and the island residents, right?

Figaro: Yes. And there's also the possibility that these disappearances are actually serial murders.

Hearing that startled me. I looked up at him. He shrugged his shoulders with a bitter smile on his face.

Figaro: Wizards turn to stone when they die. Cleaning up the bodies is easy, so it's easy to cover up their deaths. Arthur is Oz's disciple, and Shino's been through a lot of direct combat. Heathcliff's also been taught how to protect his family. Chloe and Rustica have been traveling for years, and I imagine they've seen their fair share of fighting. But, my kids… The Southern brothers, Rutile and Mitile, aren't ready for this kind of thing. I don't think Riquet is, either. For the chance that humans have been killing wizards.

Akira: …How likely do you think the chance of that is?

Figaro: I'm not sure. They did say they're only disappearances, after all. Say you stabbed and killed me right now. All you'd have to do is wrap my stone in my clothes and bury them somewhere, and boom, I'm recorded as missing.

The bright sunlight was making my head spin.

Akira: (That's right. Wizards turn to stone…) (If something happened to any of them, I wouldn't even get to see them resting peacefully afterwards.)

Figaro: So I think it's better if the matter of information gathering is kept away from Rutile, Mitile, and Riquet… Oh, oh dear. Perhaps I should have kept it from you, too. You're looking a little off…

Shylock: Are you okay, Master Sage?

Suddenly Shylock was at my side, supporting my arm. He glared at Figaro, blaming him for my current state. Figaro raised both hands and shook his head.

Figaro: I didn't do anything.

The outline of the sun above glittered with all the colors of the rainbow. Just like the stone of a wizard.

Next Chapter

[smilingmxsk]

∗ 34﹕ sender  is  found  by  receiver  somewhere  they  shouldn’t  be .

100 Nonverbal Prompts| Accepting!

This job was simple. Find the guy who made off with more than his share of the deal, cap 'im, and return the goods. The problem, as usual, is that the fucking coward brought friends. So Margaret had to deal with six different thugs shooting at her at the same time while she hid her bruised, cut-up body looking for a way to navigate around them. Luckily, that part didn't take her long.

Given that these thugs knew nothing about what she was capable of, she had the upper hand from where they were standing. The idiots stood just at the mouth of one of the many alleyways in this city with no firey orange tungsten light to illuminate their escape path. Pure darkness, i.e. Margaret's prime element of advantage. Out of their sight, Margaret reforms from the shadows behind the firing line, wasting no time to swing her shining aluminum right to the brain of the closest goon. The thugs take notice of the sudden ping and meaty thud of a crumpling body, only to have another body join the other on the ground the moment they turn to confront her.

There was no questioning how she got there or the force behind her swings that turned their men's heads into watermelons on contact. There wasn't any time for it. The remaining men ditched their guns for their fists or knives, yet Margaret was all too eager to engage. The third man downed received a bat to the knee, bringing him down to the Fixer's height to have his head properly smashed. The fourth had his face smashed into the nearest metal barrel before having his knife-holding arm twisted off, and the fifth gutted by the knife she borrowed. This left only the sixth man, the one behind the failed deal.

He'd long since dropped his gun, trembling, clutching the sealed briefcase with both arms.

"I won this fair n' square!" Shouted the man, frail in physique as opposed to his late brutish posse. "Y-you can't do dis ta me! Duncan agreed ta his part ov' that deal! There ain't no reason fo' him sendin' someone afta m-me!"

"Shame," Came Margaret's reply, flat and apathetic. "I got called here for a job, an' I'm here t' carry dat out."

"I-I could pay you more than he evah could!" Pled the man. "I got cash, y' see? Loads of it! J-jus' let me go an' I'll... I'll hire you myself! I can pay you, I promise— Hrk!"

The man's pleas are cut short by the clawed hand that shot out and gripped his throat.

"I ain't got time ta hear 'bout what you could do an' whateva th' fuck you're flappin' your gums about. Y' jus' wastin' my time. 'Sides. 'S bad business practice t' go recruitin' anotha man's employee."

She could've crushed this man's windpipe right here. She could dig the claw of her thumb right through it, in fact, listening to him struggle for painful breaths while she carved him a new breathing hole. But she doesn't. Something else has caught the woman's attention from the corner of her eye: pink, sparkling, and oozing with a rebellious spirit. She'd recognize them anywhere.

"...Byan?..."

[honorhearted]

TRY + A CHARACTER ( from Turn ofc ; do robert rogers )

SEND  TRY + A CHARACTER  YOU’D LIKE TO SEE ME ( ATTEMPT ) TO WRITE ! / @seadcgs

"Ah-tah-tahhh." Rogers lifted his leg and entrapped the other man -- no, rat -- beneath his boot, his tongue brushing against one sharp canine with a sneer. "Y'wanna know why you're strugglin', lad? Why you're findin' it so difficult to breathe?"

Any time Rogers honed in on the kill, became shark-like, his brogue grew more pronounced; his senses all heightened, and he could practically taste the panic in the air. As a boy, he'd learned to hunt young. It didn't take his father's patient tutelage to alert him to the cold and painful truth: the world was hard, the world was cruel, and woe to any man who stood in his way.

Although Rogers wouldn't call himself malicious nor unfair, there was a certain thrill in watching traitors squirm and beg for their lives. The greatest pleasure laid in giving them hope -- just the scantest ribbon of faith that they would live to see another tomorrow. And just as that relief settled in, he would yank the proverbial thread and unravel them into the meaningless, godforsaken rubbish heap from whence they came.

"Snake venom," he finally supplied, withdrawing a small vial from his pocket. "While you were so rudely flap-flap-flappin' your gums, I did the neighborly thing and poured us both a glass. Only, I didn't touch mine." Here, Rogers pinged the sherry with his index finger. "I knew I recognized you. If y'wanna catch a predator, y'gotta think like one, boy." He flicked the trembling man's perspiring forehead, tisking as he straightened with a sigh. "When, oh when will Major Andre learn that sendin' a wee pup to do a wolf's job ain't gonna work out, eh? That major of yours is startin' to leave a mighty big trail of bodies. Not my fault, by the way." Rogers raised his arms. "Wouldja blame a lion for defendin' his territory? I'm just doin' as animals do, lad, so I hope y'know this is nothin' personal."

The man choked and gurgled, shaking against the floor as his mouth foamed unpleasantly.

Tucking the venom back inside his coat, Rogers faux lamented, "I did consider lettin' ya live so y'could deliver the message to good ol' Johnny-boy personally, but I grow weary of his vanity and cowardice. Perhaps your death -- one I had to elevate for the sake of gainin' his attention -- will finally be the one that drives the point home, aye?"

When the man finally passed out, succumbing to the poison, Rogers doffed his hat and muttered up toward the darkening sky, "Alas, another foolish soul committed to the stars..." Such a waste. He'd been a good spy, too.

[tricornonthecob]

Full disclosure I did these last night

LK 108: What About Second Continental Congress

(pt1)(pt2)(pt3)(pt4)(pt5)

Henri knows whats up, immediately asking for deets about salary/commission. He spends time on whatever the Colonial version of glassdoor is. Which I guess is sneaking into a tavern and eavesdropping on everyone complain.

Oh honey. Oh no. Nooooo if I tell you this is a bad idea you'll just get mad at me because I'm an adult telling you what to do but honey the feral frenchman is right.

But lets be honest the guy only needed Speech 20.

Check out that spontoon.

Sarah honey, you okay? You look like you bluescreened.

oh my god I love this expression though I need to redraw this.

his lumbago

Look. I'm in this fandom. I was the target audience when the show aired. I know what the consensus is. He just didn't rustle my jimmies like that and he still doesn't. More silver DILF for y'all there's plenty to go around based on that barrel chest.

Fuckin' yeeted that door into oblivion.

YIKES but it tracks. Friendly reminder that Washington didn't provision to free his slaves until he was on his deathbed.

Also friendly reminder to everyone that commissioned an Apotheosis of Washington painting that he was Just Some Guy Who Enslaved People.

Maybe its her. Maybe its Maybelline.

Well now I'm just thinking of Letterkenney

John Adams, ready to fight a bitch.

Sit down, John.

Someone really doesn't wanna be here.

translation: This is a gum flappin' party, damn.

I think I'm clever.

Man the writer's room got silly in this episode. Just wee bit of OSHA-approved silly. As a treat.

jesus fucking christ that door is massive

Fucken accosted that teenager.

And now you're laying hands on a nine year old.

Damn the writers room getting REAL silly for this ep.

He's a real boy!

Of course the recklessness and excitability of James' character on full display here, but I feel like this episode is also trying to teach a lesson in how to spot someone trying to manipulate you into spilling state secrets.

[tokka]

Fuggin' truth was, since 2006 I'd been approached by handfuls of media organizations, indy and documentary filmmakers and news shows wanting me in their various "Nerd #TMNT FANDOM" shows, mini-docs and movies. I even had to film some demo thing for an ill fated #KevinEastman documentary. NOTHING EVER PANNED OUT. I'd been rejected, shunned, passed over so many fucking times, wasted valuable work hours and making connections with media types that just didn't give a fuck about me as a fan, artist and designer ,blue-collar worker, or simply as a person. Yeah sure, a couple things just "Died in production Hell" but I'm sorry, been so jaded by these experiences over the decades I DID not really care about @toys nacelles "#TheToysThatMadeUs". I figured I'd get around to watching it eventually but it brought me so much anxiety thinking about, seriously I put it off indefinitely. #2022 has killed what little "Holiday Spirit " I had left..but I needed something to watch to end the miserable day, so I finally got the gumption to watch the #2019 S.3 #TMNT toy ep. Old friends n allies from @playmatestoys , @blacknerd , @steve_rvarner of @varnerstudios were in the doc and @cowabungacorner told me to watch it with a grain of salt. WASN'T bad. But NOONE told me that old " Masters of the Filthy Codgerverse",#JamesEatock @cerealgeek77 was in the damned show. So he's flappin his gums about #SpockDonatello and that made me laugh hysterically -- so "Thanks,J!! - you made my #BoxingDay" 👍🏼🎄🐢🗯 https://www.instagram.com/p/Cmob36nuMnm/?igshid=NGJjMDIxMWI=

[37q]

whym i so fucking wired rn. i became horizontal and fwoosh im flappin my gums and flooding eardrums even distracting my wife from sleep

[the-sandy-hippo]

Day 5 of a month of ballads: Goadad Emivy

Y'see that big orc ove' there? The one with the bright red hair? That be Goadad, captain of The Suiram. He's one the more... how-to-say, playful captains when it comes ta his pray. Can be quite gruesome I've heard, least in his youth. I'd still keep an eye out tho, he rides under white sails wit a big gay eye on em, she's a slim brigantine but she's fast as oiled lightnin'.

Actually, if ye won't go flappin yer gums to him, I got a fun story 'bout him. He's been round here for a long time, but he wasn't always sum big fearsome capin'.

When he came here he was but a thin as bone babe, think he was 14 or 15, round there at least. Hot headed n stubborn as an ass. Got into many fights, lost as many. I tried givin' him advice but he couldn't stand havin' people tell 'em what ta do! Noone was above him back then, thought he, 'Til he met Mio.

Ta prepare ya a tad, Mio y'see, is a story in an of himself, but what ya need ta know is he's... well he is... we don’t know how long, but he is a bein' of water, many o his crew be too, noone knows why. It's not too obvious, usually, bar the blue skin an' dampness of his coat and- well his focking beard, it's a damn waterfall! Hehe, one time Hooper put a fish in it, took Mio days ta find it!

Haha... oh right Goadad, so me and Mio was just takin' a pint an’ talked briefly, when an already drunk orc burst thru tha door, probably after a raid, I think it was- no it must've been earlier, before his ship, it was when he was shy ta show his chest if ye get my meaning. Must've been before the island then, anyways!

He an some shipmates came in, hollerin' an shoutin'! Mio excused himself, he is a proper man, when he wishes. 'Oi!' Says he, 'Barely through the door and yer drunk already, half pint?' And as he spoke the room fell dreadfully silent, Mio's one of the greats in these waters, if not THE greatest beside... nevermind.

Goadad stumbled t'wards us, and glared daggers at us, the thin orc sayin 'I am as drunk, as I wish, ya got a problem with that?'

'It is of no issue to me.' Mio replied, 'Yer the one who gets thrown out if ye start trouble-' But I tell ya Mio didn't get out another word before Goadad planted his fist in Mio's jaw! Hahaha! Twas not enough ta get a reaction though. His face be as stony as ever as his arm swung! Catchin' Goa by the neck an tossin' him out! Landing ass flat on the cobble! Hahaha!

Oh- shit I think he heard us, act calm!

[groovyinsects]

does anyone else do the thing like--when you say some words you switch letters around on accident? but only the first or second letter in the word? i’ll say “i’m going to dose the clore” when what i mean is “i’m going to close the door.” 

or a “frying pan” will become a “pying fan.”

[magnetikid]

he’s like a hotter jack spicer, y’all

who the hell’s this jack spicer bastard?

[oldfriendsseniorneopetsanct-blog]

aesthetic: glow of the neoboards into a pitch black room at 4AM

[atsumdere]

Nishinoya + Jolly Rancherss

hi, aw ! i am beside myself with everyone's requests !! perfff. and this one? EPICALLY cute. are u kidding me with this, nonni? now, we don't lewd noya on this blog (at least not yet), so this will be all floofity floof fluff and actually sfw cutesy for once. hope you're still down <3

NISHINOYA YUU - halloween costume: funny lobster or deadpool OR danny zuko from grease

noya in a funny lobster costume because....he just would, wouldn’t he?? i mean, boy loves to eat, loves to make you laugh, and bc of obvi timeskip reasons, he is partial to dressing up as a sea creature if he’s gonna fashion aaany food. his lil lightning stripe hair highlight would look so cute poking out of the head hole of the costume and all DAY he’d be makin you giggle with his lobster dance waddle. so don’t get it twisted!! deadpool is def a type of antihero nishi would wanna be like. they both got a fun flappy mouth on them, so i could see noya respecting a guy who kicks ass but who like also doesn’t shut the fuck up, ya know? says whatever’s on his mind. plus, it’s the not typical superhero type, there’s a little bit of mischief in his antics and i think noya resonates with that. and as for danny zuko, i meeean, cmon, need i say more: noya, like danny, always strives to look cool in whatever he’s wearing, so that whole dark-leather-and-converse-shoes look is something he wants to rock, BUT, first and foremost danny z helps him embody his lifelong dream of being a ladies (or guys) man. don’t he? noya would look so SICK in that retro 1950s greaser look esp. with his hair! LIKE- it’s borderline criminal it’s not in a canon halloween panel or something.

aaah, so you see, the thing about nishi and the jolly ranchers is that, actually, he himself would already have them in his possession when you saw him on halloween day. he loves them. a fave candy of his no doubt. he can’t get enough of the variety of flavors and is very into the fact that they are small enough to eat while allowing him to keep gabbing away, blah blah, flappin’ his gums while he has one in his mouth. he can multitask sucking on a piece and get his chatty point across to anyone who’ll listen.

nishinoya stands in a fantastic costume, unwrapping yet another jolly rancher with a fun twist of the two plastic ends between both of his hands’ first two fingers. he’s cradling a chockful of these fruity hard candies in a baggie and you’re the one ogling them. your face is adorned with big heart eyes, like you’re fresh out of some vintage cartoon, laser focused on it, when he catches the sight of it: you, his crush, giving him—well not him, exactly, but close enough proximity-wise, he figures— attention. nishinoya starts flipping out in his chest from your focused glance over to him. also, just as excited that you both have a common interest, even if it is as simple as this one candy.

he’d call your name, with his face beaming, no chill, “oh heyyy!!!! do you like these too?” making his way over, “you want some? i mean, you know what? honestly, you can have the bag. i’ve had way too many already this season. gonna rot my teeth out, so hahah,” he begins to chuckle loudly, almost snorting, “so, you’d be doing me a favor. can have’em all if you want.”

you beam back, say your thanks with a cute and small shy bat of the lashes, looking downward as you respond that you couldn’t possibly take the whole of it. besides, there’s a particular flavor you don’t like anyway, so it would be rude to take it when you would most definitely waste those, discard them.

he shakes his head vigorously, with eyes so earnest, 🥺, waving his entire hand out rapidly with the arm extended all the way towards you, as if to say ‘no way! no worries!’

“uh uh, you’re good! it’s really no problem!” he shifts his cradle of the large baggie over into the gentle hold between two of his hands, presenting the open top, putting into view all the multi-colored sugary jewels of your delight.

“how about this? i’ll pick out all of that one flavor you don’t like or won’t eat, and you can keep the rest.” his warm smile, like the sun, somehow even sunnier than usual when he’s offering something to you, when he’s the one being generous. “i love ‘em all! every single flavor, so i have no problem just taking the ones you don’t want.”

he winks, with a thumbs up at your tickled face. “sounds good?”

you giggle.

“you’ve got a deal, noya.”

and your heart feels like a second sun in the solar system.

closed! : send me an hq, tokyo rev, aot, or jjk character + a candy and i'll tell you what costume they'd wear & write a small blurb with the candy of choice

[alarawriting]

Inktober 2020 #12: Slippery

“Now, you wanna be watching your step here,” Stubby advised Ritz. The rain sluiced down around them, making the smooth bricks of the walkway they were strolling down slippery. “The concrete and the asphalt, they’ve got a lot of bumps, so you’ve got something you can hook your talons into if you’ve gotta, and the water drains away. But this kind of ground, you can slip and fall on your butt.”

“So why don’t we just fly it?” Ritz asked, fluffing his tailfeathers as he scampered after Stubby.

Stubby turned her head and looked at him with one disapproving eye. “You wanna fly in this shit?” She waved a wing at the rain. “’Cause I don’t. That’s the whole point to what we’re doing here.”

“Well, I don’t wanna slip and fall on my butt.”

“So be careful,” Stubby suggested, in a tone that strongly implied that Ritz was an unbelievable dumbass. “Look, there’s grass. You don’t have to watch out for the human feet so much when you cut across the grass.”

“There any food in the grass? I’ve been looking and looking and I haven’t seen any on this slippery stuff.”

“Sometimes there is. Usually other pigeons got to it already, though.”

“I’m hungry. There anything good to eat where we’re going?”

“You bet your booty.”

The two pigeons crossed the green patch and out onto the sidewalk. They dodged easily through the feet of New York City pedestrians, and avoided the puddles as they wove their way toward the shadowy hole in the sidewalk, with detours to make sure that glittery thing or this irregularly shaped thing was absolutely and for certain not a thing that was pigeon-edible. Very little was.

As soon as they reached the shadowy hole, Ritz could see that there were steps leading down into it. Stubby hopped down to the first step, then the second. She turned and glanced back at Ritz. “What’re you waiting for, your mama to tell you go ahead? Come on!”

“That was mean,” Ritz said, hopping down the first step. “You know my mama’s dead.”

Stubby sighed. “That ain’t news, Ritz. Half the pigeons in this city’re orphans.”

“And I think I have claustrophobia. I don’t like it down here.”

“You know who else doesn’t like it down here? Fuckin’ cats. So get your fluffy tail down here.”

Ritz bobbed his head this way and that, nervously. This was not his favorite activity. Stairs he didn’t mind, though these were unusually slippery, but the idea of voluntarily going into a hole in the ground didn’t appeal at all. “There gonna be any room for us to fly down there?”

“You don’t go in the subway to fly, dumbass,” Stubby said.

“No, but what if we need to? Like some human is trying to grab us or something?”

“Yeah, there’s enough room for that. Now will you quit flappin’ your beak and follow me already?”

So Ritz followed the older pigeon, reluctantly. There were plenty of humans coming down the stairs, and going up the stairs, and milling around in general. One of them lost a French fry. It was in Ritz’s beak almost before the human realized he’d dropped it.

Stubby turned her head, checking to see if Ritz was still following. “Oh man! You got a French fry?”

“I’m not sharing,” Ritz mumbled through a full beak.

“Come on, Ritz. I’m showin’ you the ropes and teachin’ you how to be a city pigeon, least you could do is share the French fry.”

“Too late,” Ritz said, stuffing the last of it down his beak. It wasn’t a very large French fry, anyway. “If I see another one I’ll let you have it.”

“Yeah, well, if I see another one I won’t let you have it, asshole,” Stubby snapped. “Now come on. There’s a train coming!”

Ritz followed Stubby. They queued up on the platform, out of the way of the humans. “Wait for it,” Stubby said, as the train pulled into the station. “You gotta wait for whoever’s getting off to get off first.”

The doors slid open, and several humans came out. Before any humans went in, Stubby hopped in, followed by Ritz. “Now we go sit under the seats.”

“There gonna be any food in here?”

“Maybe. Keep your eyes peeled.”

Sadly, no one dropped any food on the subway car. Ritz did find a piece of gum, but Stubby advised him not to eat it. “That thing’s gross. It’s been in a human’s mouth. Those things carry disease.”

“Are you sure?”

“Also, it’s not even food. It’s glue. I knew a cock who knew a hen who ate one of those things and it got stuck in her crop and she starved to death. Couldn’t even get food past her throat.”

“Uhh… okay.”

Three stops later, and Stubby strolled over to the doors. “Come on, Ritz, this is our stop.”

“There gonna be food here?”

“I already told ya.”

Back up the slippery stairs, across the grass, and…

“Hey! This is Central Park!”

“Yeah, numbskull. You couldn’t tell?”

“I’m not good with directions,” Ritz confessed.

“Wow, you fail at pigeon,” Stubby remarked.

“Hey, it’s not my fault I don’t have the whole damn city memorized yet,” Ritz snapped. “I’ve only been out of the nest for a few months.”

“Come on,” Stubby said. “This way. I know where this lady comes out every day and puts out birdseed.”

“It’s raining.”

“Yeah, but I bet she’ll have come out and scattered the birdseed anyway. She’s pretty predictable. And when it rains, most of the other pigeons don’t wanna come out and eat it.”

Stubby took to the air, flying the short distance to the bench where her favorite old lady came out, rain or shine, to toss seed to pigeons, and Ritz followed her. Her weirdly short tail feathers looked odd as she flew, and made her wobble a little in the air, but she made it to the bench well enough.

“Jackpot!” she called to Ritz. “Come on over here!”

Ritz hastily landed. There was birdseed scattered all through the wet grass. His poor empty stomach howled in delighted anticipation, and he began the hunt-and-peck every pigeon lived by, stuffing his beak full of seeds.

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

I’m planning on using Stubby, Ritz and another pigeon who doesn’t appear in this ficlet, Pennifer the ex-racer, in a children’s book, where they will be considerably less fowl-mouthed. :-) 

[thetravelerwrites]

Johnny (Cowboy Minotaur) Pt. 1

Rating: Orange Relationship: Male Human/Male Minotaur Additional Tags: Exophilia, Reader-Insert, Monster Lover, Interspecies Relationship, Male Reader, Male Monster, Gay Reader, Gay Monster, Post Gold Rush, 1860's California, Cowboys, Cowboy Minotaur Words: 3349

Another commission for @severedreamerbeard. The reader is called to a boomtown by his uncle, who is the mayor, to be the new deputy for the sheriff. It doesn't take long for him to realize the stern, stoic sheriff is hiding a secret. Please reblog and leave feedback!

*Note: Bláithín is pronounced "Blaw-heen."

The Traveler's Masterlist

September, 1866. The California gold rush had ended more than ten years ago, but people continued to move out there in the hopes of finding their fortune. As such, small towns popped up all over the west faster than the census could keep up. Your uncle was the mayor in one such town and had written you a letter asking you to come out to help.

A rabble of undesirables had made camp just outside of town, and there wasn’t enough lawmen in the fledgling town of Redington to keep them at bay. He knew from letters with your father that you’d had a tough time adjusting to life in the city after living on a farm for most of your life, so he asked if you’d be interested in coming out to be the deputy for the newly-appointed sheriff, John.

He warned you in his letter that the sheriff was gruff and taciturn with more muscle than charm, having been a lawman for more than fifteen years already. He was a minotaur, which actually put you at ease; you’d worked with minotaurs on the farm before.

After writing back to inform your uncle that you’d accepted the job, you packed your belongings, bid farewell to the few friends you’d made while in the city, and caught a train west.

The train didn’t go right to the town, so you’d had to hire a stagecoach to take you the rest of the way.

“It’s gon’ be a rough trip,” the grizzled coachman said. “We’ll be runnin’ through them ol’ boys territory, unless yer wantin’ go the long way, which is another day’s ride and is gon’ cost you another five dollars.”

“You got a gun?” You asked him.

He snorted and pulled a hidden six shooter and a four-chamber Colt revolver from his vest.

You nodded. “We’ll be takin’ the short way, then.”

He shrugged as if to say your funeral and jerked his chin, indicating it was time to go, and you threw your bags into the coach and followed behind.

About two hours into the ride, your heard a loud whistle and the horses shied, bringing the coach to a standstill. From the window, you could see about four men on horses, leaning over their pommels with guns in hand. None were larger than a .36 or a .44, and most were single shooters.

“Whatcha’ got in there, Earlie?” One of the men said.

“Some city-slicker too cheap to pay for the long way,” The coachman said dispassionately. “Ain’t worth much by my reckonin’, and I ain’t got nothing fer ya neither, Lloyd, so git.”

“Let’s get him out here, then,” Lloyd said. “Have a chat with ‘em.”

The coachman sighed and thumped the roof. “What say you, stranger?”

You took your shotgun and your gun belt out of your bags and slung it around your waist before stepping out.

“Afternoon, boys,” You said, placing your hat on your head and shouldering your shotgun. “What can I do for ya?”

The leader, Lloyd, squinted down at you. He was a dirty mess, like all in his group, but he had contrastingly white teeth that seemed to be the only thing about his appearance he cared for.

“Well, newcomer, I don’t blame you for not knowin’, but there’s a toll to pass through these parts.”

“A toll, eh?” You said, scratching your nose. “Well, I’m afraid I ain’t got no money to give you boys, but I got a job waitin’ for me in that town up ahead. I’d be happy to pay it once I’m set up.”

Lloyd clucked his tongue. “See, now, that’s a problem for us,” He said. “If we let you through without payin’, ever-body’s gon’ think it’s fine to not pay. And then how we gon’ make a livin’, huh?”

“Get an honest job and stop shakin’ folk down with phony tolls?” You suggested.

“Hey!” Lloyd shouted from his horse, making it prancing in place in agitation. “We provide a service! If it weren’t fer us, any good-for-nothing could come wanderin’ into our town.”

“Your town, huh?” You asked. “I wonder how many people in that town would agree with that statement.”

“Hey, you wanna shut your trap?” Earlie hissed. “You tryna get us shot?”

“No need,” You said with a smile, looking at the horizon. “The cavalry is comin’.”

Out in the distance, two horses were trotting up to greet you. On one was your uncle, and on the other was a large, black bison minotaur with a grim look on his face. He wore a grey shirt with a pinstripe vest and dark, sturdy trousers. He also had on a coat with loops instead of buttonholes and a large stetson with holes for his massive horns. He had two sidearms and a bandolier slung over one shoulder. His silver sheriff’s badge shown brightly in the high sunlight.

“Lloyd,” He said, nodding politely, but there was a hint of a warning in his deep, gravelly voice. “Boys. What’re y’all doin’ here?”

“Just greeting the newcomer, sheriff,” Lloyd said, smiling a blinding, disingenuous smile. “Wanted to make sure he understood how things work ‘round here.”

“My nephew, the new deputy, will learn how things work well enough without your help, Lloyd,” Uncle George said.

The smile slipped from Lloyd’s mouth, leaving a sour look on his face. “I reckon he will, then,” He said darkly. “Come on, boys. We ain’t got no more business here. For now.”

The men whooped and hollered and turned their horses, riding off in a cloud of dust.

“Good riddance,” Your uncle said, jumping down.

“Hey, Uncle George!” You said, reaching out for a hug.

George reciprocated. “Good to see you, my boy!” He held you at arms length and looked you up and down. “You’re thin! City life disagrees with you, son.”

“That, I can’t argue,” You said, grinning.

“Son, this is our sheriff, John,” Uncle George said, motioning to the large minotaur.

“Call me Johnny,” He said, shaking your hand firmly. “You handled yourself well. My last potential deputy pissed himself when Lloyd rode up on ‘im.”

You laughed loudly. “Well, I’m used to runnin’ off cattle thieves back on my pa’s farm. That Lloyd feller seems like the same sort of lowlife.”

“Hey,” The coachman said. “This is a lovely reunion and all, but you only paid for the day. You wanna sit around flappin’ yer gums, you can either pay another dollar for makin’ me wait around or I can high tail it outta here, up to y’all.”

“Hush, Earlie,” Uncle George said. “Come on, boy, get up in the coach ‘fore Earlie pitches a fit. Let’s get you to town and settled in.”

You’d been to this town once before, when your uncle, who was a wealthy man in New York, moved out here with a bunch of settlers to put the town up. You’d helped him build his house, and a few of the other houses as well, before your uncle decided you’d done enough for him and sent you home. As thanks, your uncle had left you his house in the city, but you soon found yourself out of your element and uncomfortable there. Getting the letter from your uncle had been a relief.

As soon as you got into town, the coach stopped and you retrieved your bags. Both Uncle George and Sheriff Johnny leapt off their horses and tied them to a hitching post with a water trough.

“You’re still familiar with the town, I assume?” George asked.

“Yessir,” You said.

“Well, not much has changed since you been here last, so I’ll let Johnny here take the reins and show you your job.” He slapped Johnny on the shoulder. “I’ve got some work needs doing at town hall, but I’ll meet up with you at The Sixer’s saloon later, all right?”

“Sure thing, Uncle,” You replied, shaking his hand before he walked off.

“Well, then,” Johnny said, folding his arms. “You got any experience with bein’ a lawman, kid?”

“No sir,” You said.

“But you’ve done farmwork? You look strong,” He said, looking you up and down, appraising you.

You tried not to blush. “I’m a fair hand and a good worker.”

“How’s your shot?”

“Middlin’. Better at long range.”

“That’ll do,” He said. “Lemme show you the jailhouse.”

You followed him to the jail and he opened the door. There were three cells, bare, but there were bedrolls stored on shelves in the walls of each. There was a table with two chairs, a desk full of papers, and a wanted board with a few posters on it. There was a door, which led to a bunkroom with four beds, each with it’s own side table and chest of drawers. Only one of the beds looked used; the others looked brand new.

“Take any bed you like,” Johnny told you. “There ain’t no other deputies, but in a town this small, more’n one is too many.”

“What about them boys threatenin’ the town?” You asked him, laying your bags on the bed across from Johnny’s.

Johnny snorted. “Your uncle’s over-reactin’. It’s nothing I couldn’t have handled on my own.”

“How many are there?”

“Other’n Lloyd and the boys you saw outside of town? About three or four more. Their leader is a minotaur named Randall.”

“I was under the assumption Lloyd was the leader,” You told him, surprised.

“Well, I guess that’s your first lesson, then,” Johnny said, sitting on his bunk. It creaked under his weight. “Don’t go assumin’ things. Randall likes to… supervise, I s’pose. He lets Lloyd take care of his business unless things get rowdy. Randall only likes to jump in when there’s an ass whoopin’ to be dealt. He loves any chance to prove he’s the biggest swingin’ dick on this side of the tracks.”

“Yeah, I knew a few o’ them back in my town,” You replied evenly. “Lemme guess, mean drunk?”

“Right on the money,” Johnny said. “He’s a short, stumpy, angry son of a bitch just about all the time, but more so when he drinks. And he drinks a lot. And often. Other’n that, this job ain’t so hard. Break up fights, arrest troublemakers, that sorta thing. Simple fights get a few days in a cell, assaults are a couple weeks and a fine. Anything bigger’n that goes in front of the judge. Judge Jones makes a rulin’ and we take care of the rest. We don’t hold prisoners indefinitely; long term prisoners are taken to the big house in Sacramento. We do the hangin’s here, though.”

“Have there been many hangin’s?” You asked.

“None so far,” Johnny said, taking a swig from a flask that was sitting on his bedside table. “And I aim to keep it that way.”

“Hence my arrival,” You ventured.

Johnny huffed a laugh. “No offense, kid, but I was doin’ just fine long before that uncle o’ yours got a bee in his bonnet about Randall and his boys. I didn’t ask for help, don’t think I need any help, and you comin’ here hasn’t changed my mind an inch. Just do as your told and stay outta my way, and we’ll get along just fine.”

You ducked your head sideways in acknowledgement. “Fair enough. Hopefully I won’t be sittin’ around all the time, though. I like to be movin’ and doin’.”

“There’ll be plenty for you to do, kid, don’t you be worryin’ ‘bout that,” He said, slapping both of his knees and standing abruptly. “Come on, let’s get you squared away. We’re gon’ need to get the blacksmith to fashion you a badge. You can unpack later.”

As Johnny promised, there was plenty to do, including cleaning the cells, brushing down Johnny’s horse, and mending the corral fence. If you didn’t know better, you were more of a work hand to Johnny than a deputy. You might have been annoyed by this, but it was better than city living. New York was just so damn boring and unfamiliar compared to the farm. This was all more natural to you.

Later that evening, you and Johnny met up with your uncle and an older gentleman in the Sixer’s. They were at a table playing cribbage and eating an evening meal. Uncle George bid the two of you to pull up a seat and asked the centaur barmaid to bring two more bowls of stew and some beer.

“Son, this is my good friend, Judge Herbert Jones,” Uncle George said, pointing. “You’ll be dealing with him mostly when it comes to crimes bigger than simple brawls.”

“Your Honor,” You said, shaking the older man’s hand.

“Jones is fine, boy. How old are you?” He asked.

“Twenty,” You answered.

“Old enough,” Jones said. “Welcome to town. Johnny’s been doin’ a hell of a job before now, but with Randall’s gang takin’ up residence just outside of town, we need the extra hands.”

“I respectfully disagree, Judge, but your word is, in fact, the law ‘round here, so I won’t complain,” Johnny said, leaning back as the barmaid set a his food in front of him.

“I recommended hirin’ on three deputies,” Jones said, pointing his fork at Johnny. “Be grateful you managed to talk me down to one.”

Johnny flicked his hat in acknowledgement and started eating.

“Oh, lord,” Uncle George said. “Speak of the devil and he shall appear.”

I turned to look at the saloon doors and saw Lloyd come in, followed by another minotaur. This one resembled a Shorthorn, dappled red and white, and though taller than you, he was much shorter than Johnny. One of his horns was broken. He had a sunken, sallow look about his face and he had a cob pipe sticking out of his lips. He had an open bottle of something that he took a swig from.

“Oi!” The barmaid said in a heavy Southern Irish accent. She was wearing a leather corset over a lace blouse and a red bolero jacket. Her eugenia riding hat was festooned with silk flowers and feather fascinators. Her brown horse half was unadorned, though her black tail was intricately braided. “Ya can’t be bringin’ yer own booze in my establishment, ya gobshite! ”

“Settle, Bláithín,” Johnny said, standing. “I’ll handle this.”

“Ya better, boy-o,” Bláithín said, folding her arms. “They’re already owed a baytin for bashin’ me windas. Last those mogs set foot in here, they got scuttered and run out all my punters.”

“I got it, I got it,” Johnny said, holding up his hands.

“Hey there, Sheriff,” Randall said, walking up to Johnny. With the two of them standing face-to-face, their height difference was even more pronounced. “Heard you got a new deputy from Lloyd. Made quite the impression, as I heard it.”

Johnny snorted in annoyance. “Kid,” He said flatly. “You got callers.”

You stepped forward and to Johnny’s right. “Evenin’, Lloyd,” You said, raising your hat minutely. “I’m assumin’ this must be Randall. Howdy?”

“Howdy,” Randall said slowly, looking you up and down. “He’s a strong lookin’ fella, John. Thought you liked your boys soft.”

“Shut your mouth,” Johnny said in a harsh undertone, a clear warning in his voice.

“What’s he--”

“Nothin’,” Johnny said, interrupting you. “Don’t meddle in business that don’t concern you.” His tone made it clear he was in no mood for questions.

Don’t concern me? You thought. Wasn’t Randall talking about past deputies?

Judge Jones stood up and folded his arms, looking at the scene dryly.

“Alright, boys, I think it’s time for y’all to be movin’ on,” He said.

“Now, now, Judge, we just got here,” Randall drawled.

“Bláithín’s rules are simple. No bringin’ in your own liquor, so’s I think you’d best be off.”

Randall took a long, long draw from his bottle while staring at the judge. When he was finished, he stepped in close, really close, to Johnny and whispered, “You got this town in your pocket, sheriff, but if I wanted, I could have you hanged with a snap of my fingers. I could bring a whole mob of people here and watch you dangle from a tree. You think on that ‘fore you go around tellin’ people what to do.” He backed up and turned to Lloyd. “Let’s go. We’ll be back, horse girl. Best have your best whiskey out or you regret it.”

“Go score a goat’s arse, you chancer!” She shouted at his retreating back, stamping her front hoof in agitation. They left through the swinging door, leaving silence in their wake.

Johnny was breathing hard. What Randall said had riled him up, but he was clearly struggling to maintain control. His sudden shift in temperament had completely confused you. He turned around mechanically without saying anything and sat back down at the table, continuing to eat his dinner.

“I believe it’s time to call it a night,” Uncle George said. “Interest you in a night cap at the courthouse, Herb?”

“Sounds good to me,” Jones said. “Boys,” He said, tipping his hat as he followed Uncle George out.

You turned and regarded Johnny, eating his stew as if he’d not eating in days, though he didn’t seem to be enjoying it. When he was finished, he downed his beer, threw some coins on the table, and walked out without a word.

You were going to go after him, but Bláithín stopped you.

“I wouldna bother him, buck,” she said. “John’s a solitary man. Needs his time alone.”

“What did Randall mean?” You asked.

“Even if I knew, it wouldn’t be my tale to tell, lad,” She said, wiping down the bar. “John’s a new addition to this town, only been here a month or two, brought on by the judge. Much of his past is a mystery, and he’s not exactly chatty about himself.” She rested her elbow on the bar and put her chin on her palm, sighing. “A shame, that. I’d like a crack at that buck, I’ll tell ya. Laid it on thick when he first got to town. Most of the ladies did. Handsome, stern, and stoic: who wouldn’t like that? But,” She said, straightening up. “He passed on all of us. Dedicated to his work, he said.” She went back to wiping. “Your stew’s gettin’ cold, youngster.”

You sat back down at the table with your thoughts in a roil. What on earth could Randall do to get Johnny hanged? Johnny seemed like an upright, by-the-book man, so what could Randall possibly have on Johnny that would have him so stressed?

You bought another beer to wash down your dinner and give Johnny some more alone time, then finally wandered back to the jailhouse.

When you went into the bunkroom, Johnny was either asleep or pretending to be. You didn’t bother him.

Sitting on your bunk, you began to take off your boots and belt, looking over at Johnny. He had his shirt off and was sleeping in his trousers, faced against the wall. You admired the sculpted muscles of his shoulders as they merged smoothly with the contours of his back and down. His behind filled out his trousers pretty well, leaving little to the imagination. You wondered what it looked like without…

Suddenly, it hit you like a bolt of lightning. Didn’t seem interested in any of the women, didn’t want deputies, kept to himself and didn’t talk about his past, had a secret that could get him hanged. Of course, it was obvious. Johnny was just like you.

You had been attracted to men since you could remember, and when you first told your father at age eight, he’d beaten you senseless. You found out that loving men was considered “perverse” and “indecent” and, more importantly, illegal. It wasn’t an executable offense, but lynch mobs didn’t care much about that. So you hid your true nature all your life, fending off women and keeping lovers secret, not that you’d had many.

You lay back in your bunk and stared at the ceiling, willing yourself not to ogle Johnny in the dark.

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience! To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

[burninitalldown]

Had to remind my Dad that whatever comes out of Rubio's mouth (or Twitter) is generally stupid and received this gem of a line from him, each word delivered with increasing excitement as he realized its genius mid sentence:

"You know they're saying something dumb cuz they're moving their thumbs or flappin' their gums"

You all are welcome.