#gun + gay cowboy = bullet holes

[yourmoodboards-areonfiirree]

Mcdoon moodboard with Related inspo!

☼︎ rq'd by anon! ☼︎

(all images found on pinterest)

[gothic-thoughts]

A Kiss Before I Go

FIRST GAY FIC 🎉🎊

Satoru Gojo x Black Male Reader Fluff

Ex-friends2lovers, Deputy!Reader, Cowboy!Gojo

CW: he/him pronouns, reader gets shot, gojo a rich bounty hunter, a lil angsty

TW: blood mention, passing out, shooting/killing mention

Word Count: 1154 (give or take)

"Ya really came all this way to find lil' ol' me...?"

I look up to see Gojo Satoru standing on the second-floor balcony with his revolver pointed back at mine. Despite the black bandana over his eyes, I could tell by that smirk that he looked down on me in amusement as I stumbled into his house.

"That's sweet~" He finished, "Ya really that desperate for my attention, (Y/n)?"

"You killed the mayor!"

"Aht, aht, don't gimme that. Ya know I don't just go on killin' folk; I was paid, he was a criminal. Simple as that."

"So how come other folks are dead?"

"Cuz they got in the way of my work and I happened to have 5 bullets left." 

"Well, I'm here finishin' up my work so you're under arrest."

"And what if I don't wanna?"

"Then..." I stumble a little, "Then I'd have to kill ya."

"Kill me? Really now, ain't that bordering on vigilante territory? Not gon' lie, I'm kinda hurt, thought we were thick as thieves."

"I don't give a rat's ass h-how close we were. Put ya hands up and walk down those steps real slow like and maybe I'll visit ya in jail."

"Were?"

"Were."

He scoffs, loosening his grip on his gun.

"I had to kill him with no witnesses or I don't get paid."

"W-well I guess it's too bad ya got one. Now, reach for the sky and walk down the steps. I'm t-takin'...."

Gojo pauses and presses his pelvis to the wooden railing to lean over the balcony. He squints.

"You bleedin' already?" He chuckled, "I ain't even shoot you yet."

I look down just in time to see a couple droplets of blood fall from my hip and crash into the small puddle of previous drops made on his old wooden flooring.

"What the fuck, you okay?" He asked, straightening up, "That amount of blood ain't nothin' to sneeze at... y'sure y'alright?"

"Don't act like ya care." I pant.

"(Y/n), did you ride all this way wit'--"

Everything became fuzzy and the next thing I knew, the back of my head stung with pain and I was now staring at his high ceiling. Rapid steps echoed around me and all I had to do was blink before seeing Satoru kneeling beside me and quickly lifting my shirt to see the hole where the blood was pooling out. He muttered curses to himself.

"Who did this to ya?" 

"L-leave me alone."

"Shut up and tell me who did this."

"C-cops."

"The fuck they shoot ya for?!"

"I was the only one holdin' gun in the crowd... They thought I killed 'im."

His face contorted into shock as he took out a different black bandana from his pocket and pressed it into my wound.

"Why the hell do you have a second bandana?" My voice strains as the pain grows slightly more intense.

"Case I get mine ripped inna bar fight. Now hush, I'mma getcha back to town, 'kay?"

"Think I'd rather die, actually."

"What, ya still don't trust me~?"

"You the reason I'm shot, Satoru. And I was here to arrest you."

"Well since y'already blamin' me, I'll tell ya old friends ya made a valiant effort before I shot ya."

He starts to help me up, slinging my arm over his opposite shoulder as he helps me outside to horse and carriage. I stared at it but despite my pained, glazed-over eyes, I was in shock.

"You tellin' me... you a bounty hunter but got a carriage 'stead of just a horse?"

"I got horses too, I just cain't help it if I'm a lil' high-maintence." He laughs, "And lucky for you, my driver ain't here; so you get to have the pleasure of me takin' the reins." He winks.

"If I wanted to die, I woulda just stayed on ya living room floor."

"Oh shut up and c'mon."

Satoru helped me climb onto the carriage floor, and I didn't even bother pulling myself onto the seat since the pain was so bad. As soon he closes the door, I roll onto my back with tears stinging my eyes. My head rolled to the side as the horse's galloping fell deaf on my ears as I felt the bullethole gush more blood.

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

"Gojo!"

"Huh, what!?"

I looked at his panicked face before looking to the other side of my bed to see a tray of bloody cotton balls on a medical cart. Satoru walks towards the bed and I shift towards him and immediately stop and wince at the feeling of tight pulling at my side.

"Hey, hey." He soothed, resting his hand on my knee, "There's stitches in there, so relax."

"What?"

"You in the hospital, 'member?"

I punch him across the face to which he jerks his head from it. He smiles smugly, as he rubs his jaw.

"I shoulda shot you on sight."

"Right, yeah-yeah, 'course, keep that energy for after you recover. We'll can continue this lil' meet up somewhere else."

Satoru cupped my face in his hand and pulled me into a deep kiss, almost like he missed me. I try to keep my eyes open in surprise only to slowly succumb to the passion. But as they start to close, his lips are torn from mine with a smug chuckle.

"Been waitin' on that for a while." He smirks, "And that's the only thing that's gonna keep me goin' 'til we meet again."

"If we meet again, I'mma kill you where you stand!"

"Like I'd let you do that..." He places another peck on my lips, "Besides, I just gave you some incentive not to."

"Wait, what--"

"Don'tchu die on me now, officer."

He tips his hat and jogs out of the room. He didn't kiss me like he missed me, he kissed like he was going to. 

"Gojo!"

I painfully stand up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, and use the iron headboard to help me stand. I hold my side and limp after him into the brightly lit hospital corridor only to see nurses and patients calmly walking the corridor as if nothing happened.

"Sir, please." A nurse worried, "Your stitches need to heal."

"Where did he go? He ran out of my room!"

"Where did who go?"

"Gojo? Satoru Gojo?!"

"The... bounty hunter...?"

I roll my eyes, "Yeah-yeah, he was in my room and just ran out! You tellin' me you ain't seen 'im?"

"Sir, you ain't had any visitors since you were admitted."

"Riddle me this; who emitted me then?"

The nurse grabs and reads a chart, "Says here, your brother did."

"Wha-- and you believed 'im!?"

"Had no choice... Fella insisted he write it himself."

She showed me the sign-in sheet, pointing at the bottom, to see he wrote my name for the patient's column and then literally wrote "his brother" in the admittees column. I scoff and curse under my breath, half pissed off yet half impressed. That bastard brought me here, then snuck back hours later for a fuckin' kiss. But thinking about them again, almost makes me feel better about potentially losing my job.

"You seen what he looked like though, right...?"

"Tall fella, all black get-up...hat hid his face and hair though."

I groan. "'Course it did..."

[thefandomlesbian]

lay your dead hands on me (try to make me sleep)

I felt obsessive enough to write another Gunsmoke fanfic. Lo and behold, a multichapter study of PTSD in the American West wrapped up in a shipfic about gay cowboys!

Chester faces Matt, whiter than a winter sky, eyes wide and glazed. Then, they narrow, troubled, like he's trying to remember something.

His next breath catches in his throat. His hand opens, fumbling, dropping the bucket of fish. It dumps over. The water splashes their boots, the dead fish sloshing along with it, the light glinting from their scales, as Chester's hand rises to his chest. Matt's gaze darts there where a scarlet patch blossoms in the front of his flannel, as he pats there blindly, like he can cover the bullet hole with his palm. His knee buckles, bad leg skewing out from under him.

Matt lunges forward to catch him. "Chester!" A hand flies to his back, where the bullet entered, and his front, pressing where it exited, holding him together as he eases him to the ground.

Gun thunder roars in his ears. As he cradles Chester's lean body between two broad hands, he doesn't think it will ever quiet again. ... In which Chester is severely wounded, but Matt is the one who walks away with scars.

[maevesdarling]

Take me home tonight

Sooo, I decided to post chapter 1 of the story @unicorn-cloud and I have been cooking up for a while. This plays post series in an alternative universe. There’s mentions of gore and canon typical violence in both this and the second chapter, basically Walt is not dealing with things as good as he thought... I’m not sure how many chapters this story will have, probably around 3 to 4, also please be kind to me it’s been a long time since I uploaded my works to Tumblr, thx!  

Chapter 1: The Call

Later, after he put his gun and badge down and moves further away from the border, Walt gets a call from an unknown number. He contemplates not picking up. It's been years since Kiki's death and operation Leyenda. He thinks, for a moment, that it could be Miguel Angel, calling him from his jail cell to taunt him, but no, he's not important enough to that man and besides, Miguel Angel doesn't wield as much power as he used to.

There are others. New players in this fucked up game, Walt knows that. He saw them rising on the horizon like a looming thunderstorm, ready to destroy the earth in it's path. But for now, he decided to enjoy his peace. His back's been bothering him more as of lately and he's got a few more grey hairs. He quit smoking about a year ago, after his doctor told him to do so. He's had a few setbacks since then, a half finished pack is always hidden underneath his kitchen sink, just in case he needs a fix. But overall, he's trying to stay away from the cigarettes and eat more healthy, even though the microwavable dinners at the supermarket look damn tempting, especially since it's only himself he's cooking for.

He's up in Colorado these days. The DEA was kind enough to leave him with a nice sum of retirement money, probably to shut him up after all the shit he pulled of during his career and to be fair he doesn't blame them.

He buys a nice enough house on the outskirts of town, with some additional property, a rundown barn and an old apple tree orchard that he has no plan on using. The weather's less hot, and there's a few lakes where he can fish, but otherwise, it's pretty much like any other town he's lived in. The dark red sandstones dotting the farmland remind him of Mexico. Of sitting in the hot sun and watching a small airfield in the distance, with a pair of binoculars in his hand. Sal's voice next to him asking about their next move. It's nostalgic in a way.

The first day, after he finished dropping off his stuff in the small, rundown house, he sets off to drive around, get familiar with the place. He finds a shabby bar, a small supermarket, a post office, a family owned diner and a few farms, with cows and hundreds of chickens roaming the surrounding fields, that sell local products. Over time, he ventures out further and discovers some more bars, supermarkets and, to his surprise, a gay club.

It's well hidden, two cities over, wedged between an antique bookstore and a barbershop. It looks nothing like a club from outside, and from the inside, it's hardly distinguishable from any other bar Walt has ever set foot in. But he knows where to look, it's something you learn over time.

The first time he orders a drink, his eyes fall on a guy sitting on the other end of the bar. Dark hair and dark eyes, with a bristly moustache. He's wearing a black cowboy hat and a jeans jacket, it's not what he would have worn. Plus he only looks a slight bit like Sal, his face is much older, more weathered from years of hard work in the sun, but it's enough for Walt to give in to his yearning.

He buys Not-Sal a drink and they fall into an easy chatter. Two hours later, Walt is driving him back to his house. Not-Sal is more experienced than Walt had thought when he starts undressing him with steady hands, his fingers touching in all the right places, he's already prepared, as if he'd been expecting this to happen, and doesn't mind it when Walt accidentally let's Sal's name slip at the height of his pleasure.

They lie together afterwards, sharing a cigarette between them, neither of them ready to leave yet. Walt is slowly falling asleep to the feeling of another person combing their hands through his hair. When he wakes up the next morning, the house is empty. There's a note on his kitchen table, a short thank you message, that's it. Next time he's at the club, Not-Sal is gone. He finds someone else. A different man, with dark hair, dark eyes and a friendly face, and then another and another. Some of the men he brings over are kind, they'll stay the night and sometimes even the morning, to share a quick meal with him before they move on, others leave almost immediately after they finish. Some of them yell out Walt's name as they come, others don't. And some yell out another man's name, but that's okay because so is Walt.

He's careful with the company he keeps. Always making sure that no one sees him leaving the club with another man, driving different routes back home and of course he's always stocking up on enough condoms because he's not stupid, he knows how important protection is.

Even though he's had a few men over, none of them return for longer than a couple of times. Its fun, to fill the mornings with senseless chatter, and to fall asleep in another person's arms. But they're not Sal.

He's longing for him. Even after all those years he's still longing for him. It's been three, almost four years since he last heard from Sal. He was moving to San Francisco. The DEA wanted someone new up there and Sal was growing tired of the shit hole they had placed him in after Mexico. They had called each other almost everyday, sometimes they would even meet each other, for a quick chat and an even quicker fuck. There was never enough time.

Sal wanted to call him back, he promised, once he was in San Francisco, to call him every day. Write a postcard. But nothing came. The telephone was silent for two whole months and Walt was desperate. First, he checked the newspapers for any missing or recently deceased people, when that search came up empty, he started to search the phone book for Sal's new address but of course that came up empty as well. He kept buying new phone books, just in case and by now, there was a small bookcase filled with old phone books in his house, and not a single one held an address for Sal Orozco. It was almost like he never exited. Only Walt's memory kept him from going insane. The fading photos on his wall, the one he kept in his wallet, next to a picture of Greg and his family. One of Sal's shirts he forgot in Walt's apartment in Texas, it had long stopped smelling of him, but nevertheless, Walt would pick it up and inhale deeply, thinking that the ghost of Sal's smell was still there, etched into the fabric. He slept with the shirt, on those nights when he woke up drenched in sweat, screaming and with a thundering heart. He wrenched his eyes open but he saw them anyway, Amat, Ossie, Danilo, sometimes even Kiki. He saw them die, he saw their bodies, bruised, burned, riddled with bullets, standing in front of his bed, he could hear them calling out his name. "You killed us, Walt." They'd point at him, blood dripping from their fingertips onto his bedsheets. Those nights were the worst. Sometimes they could only be stopped with an entire bottle of whiskey.

The dreams had gotten better since he found the dog. The dog didn't have a name. He was a stray, with dark, golden fur and dirty white paws. He picked him up on his way home from an unsuccessful night at the club, the dog was covered in ticks and fleas, one eye had been badly bruised and he was tied to a tree by the side of the road. Clearly abandoned. He expected the dog to bark at him, or worse, bite him, when he kneeled down beside him to untie him, but instead, it sat down in front of Walt and started wagging it's tail, as if he'd known Walt all his life. He took the dog in and gave it a bath, making sure that no ticks or fleas survived, before driving him to the vet the next morning to check out his eye. The vet couldn't save it and so Walt decided to take him in, just another broken thing keeping his company.

He put a collar on the dog and called him his, they slept in the same bed and sat on the couch together, watching football games and stupid action movies. The dog went fishing on the lake with him, even though he was no big help in catching the fish, he also liked to run around the orchard and sit on the front porch to sleep, and Walt liked to sit beside him and think, scratching behind his fluffy ears. Sometimes he wondered if Sal liked dogs. What he'd say if he met his dog.

The other animals were intentional. Walt bought a couple of chickens to sell their eggs at the local farm, and to keep himself busy. Then he renovated the old barn as best as he could and bought three goats to sell their meat, but once he saw them in their pen, he decided they weren't going to the slaughter house and kept them for their milk instead. He also fixed up the orchard as best as he could and started collecting the apples. Soon the onslaught of apples was too much for him to handle and so he collected them in a few boxes, along with the chicken eggs and sold them to the nearest farm. Surprisingly, the people around town started knowing him once he started visiting the farm more frequently. He would have regular conversations with some of them and at some point, even started looking forward to see them. He didn't go to the town hall meetings, or to Sunday mass, and the people had been weary of him, but once they saw him with his dog and the boxes of apples in his trunk, they warmed up to him.

He enjoyed his new life. It wasn't luxurious, but that wasn't what he wanted for himself anyway. He was no Miguel Angel. He didn't need a fleet of private planes and a couple of hotels to be happy.

The phone rang again and reminded him of his current situation. The dog had stopped wagging it's tail on the couch beside him and was looking at him with his one eye, almost as if he was saying "what are you waiting for?"

And so Walt picked up the phone, fully expecting Jamie or Ed or someone else from the DEA to yell at him to get his ass back to Mexico.

"Hello... is this Walt Breslin?" The phone slipped from his grasp and fell, he caught it in his suddenly sweaty palms, pressing the shell back against his ear. Three years silence could not erase the memory of that voice. Hushed conversations between them, hiding behind a parked car as they watched over a suspect, a gasp and then a low moan, while Walt kept hitting that one spot inside him, that set Sal's body on fire, a chatty conversation over two mugs of steaming coffee in a diner that ended with both of them laughing hysterically. Walt had enough memories for an entire lifetime with that voice, he would recognize it anywhere.

"Sal-" He breathed, rearranging the phone against his ear.

"Is- Walt is that you? Oh my god- fuck- I found you!" There was a short pause on the other end of the phone and for a moment Walt thought he was imagining things, then Sal's voice returned. "I- I'm sorry, Walt. I'm so sorry-" He sobbed, apologizing over and over.

"Sal- How did you find me? Wh- Are you alright? Is- do you need help?"

"No, no, I'm fine, Walt. I am. I just- fuck- I missed you so much. Where are you? I called you're old address so many times- I thought something happened to you…"

"Shh, I'm okay. I'm in Colorado. Small town near Denver. I'll give you the address… That is… If you want me to…"

"Yes! I mean... yes I want- I want to see you. If that's okay. I need to- need to know you're okay."

He contemplated with himself wether to ask this or not, but in the end, Walt did it anyways. "It's been three years, Sal. Why did you never call? What's changed?" Another sobb from the other end of the line. "I'll tell you. In person. Friday? Is that okay for you?" Walt squinted at his calendar. Friday was in two days, he needed to clean the house, buy some groceries and pack the car for Sunday's apple delivery.

"Yeah, Friday works."

"Alright. I'll see you on Friday… Walt… I missed you."

"… Missed you too Sal."

He put the phone down slowly, feeling like he was still in a dream. The dog had noticed something was off about his behavior and was staring at him in concern. " 's alright bud, I'm just… surprised, is all. We'll meet a friend of mine on Friday. I hope you'll like him…"

Lost in his thoughts, Walt began his evening routine, closing the chicken pen, checking on the goats and refilling the dogs food in case he got hungry during the night, only when the brown cibbles hit the kitchen tiles did he notice his thoughts slipping off. The only thing on his mind was Sal. Sal with his kind face and the warm, dark brown eyes, Sal wrapping an arm around his hips and pulling him closer, Sal whispering into Walt's ear. A hushed love confession neither of them dared to talk about. So, so many memories they shared between them, how was he supposed to wait any longer to see him again?

Friday couldn't come soon enough.

[poppinsx]

a comprehsive list of the best lyrics in each taylor swift song (my opinions <3) since fearless:

jump then fall: but i’ll hold you through the night until you smile

untouchable: untouchable like a distant diamond sky

come in with the rain: i know you by heart, and you don’t even know where i start

superstar: i’m invisible and everyone knows who you are

other side of the door: and the faded picture of a beautiful night

fearless: you take my hand and drag me head first, fearless

fifteen: when you’re fifteen and your first kiss makes your head spin ‘round (how did she know!!)

love story: i was a scarlet letter

hey stephen: all the other girls, well, they’re beautiful, but would they write a song for you? 

white horse: this is a big world, that was a small town

you belong with me: i know your favorite songs and you tell be ‘bout your dreams

breathe: but it’s killing me to see you go after all this time

tell me why: why do you have to make me feel small so you can feel whole inside? 

you’re not sorry: and you got your share of secrets and i’m tired of being last to know 

the way i loved you: and my heart’s not breaking cause i’m not feeling anything at all

forever & always: were you just kidding? 

the best day: don’t know if snow white’s house is near or far away

change: it’s hard to fight when the fight ain’t fair

mine: braced myself for the goodbye ‘cause that’s all i’ve ever known

sparks fly:  my mind forgets to remind me, you’re a bad idea

back to december: it turns out freedom ain’t nothing but missing you

speak now: i lose myself in a daydream

dear john: i lived in your chess game but you changed the rules everyday

mean: you have pointed out my flaws again as if i don’t already see them

the story of us: you held your pride like you should’ve held me

never grow up: remember that she’s getting older too

enchanted: my thoughts will echo your name until i see you again

better than revenge: no amount of vintage dresses gives you dignity 

innocent: today is never too late to be brand new 

haunted: something keeps me holding onto nothing 

last kiss: i never planned on you changing your mind // i’ll watch your life in pictures like i used to watch you sleep and i’ll feel you forget me like i used to feel you breathe (this song is too much of a masterpiece to choose)

long live: i had the time of my life fighting dragons with you

state of grace: we learned to live with the pain, mosaic broken hearts

red: moving on from him is impossible when i still see it all in my head

treacherous: i can’t decide if it’s a choice getting swept away

ikywt: and the saddest fear comes creeping in, that you never loved me

all too well: you call me up again just be break me like a promise, so casually cruel in the name of being honest (naturally)

22: it’s miserable and magical

i almost do: i can’t say hello to you and risk another goodbye

wanegbt: this is exhausting (hehe)

stay stay stay: you took the time to memorize me

the last time: all roads, they lead me here

holy ground: for the first time, i had something to lose

sad beautiful tragic: you’ve got you demons and darling they all look like me // silence, train runs off its tracks

the lucky one: you don’t feel pretty, you just feel used

everything has changed: all i know is pouring rain

starlight: we could get married, have ten kids, and teach them how to dream

begin again: thinking all love ever does is break and burn and end

welcome to new york: kaleidoscope of loud heartbeats under coats

blank space: stolen kisses, pretty lies

style: could end in burning flames of paradise

out of the woods: the rest of the world was black and white but we were in screaming color

ayhtdws: i’ve been picking up the pieces of the mess you made 

shake it off: and to the fella over there with the hella good hair 

i wish you would: i wish you knew that i miss you too much to be mad anymore

bad blood: bandaids don’t fix bullet holes

wildest dreams: someday when you leave me i bet these memories follow you around

how you get the girl: i want you for worse or for better

this love: this love left a permanent mark

i know places: love’s a fragile little flame, it could burn out 

clean: just because you’re clean don’t mean you don’t miss it

ready for it: burton to this taylor

end game: your handprint’s on my soul

i did something bad: you gotta leave before you get left

don’t blame me: i would fall from grace just to touch your face

delicate: are you ever dreaming of me?

look what you made me do: i’ll be the actress starring in your bad dreams

so it goes: you did a number on me but honestly baby, who’s counting? 

gorgeous: whiskey on ice, sunset and vine 

getaway car: but with three of us, honey, it’s a sideshow

king of my heart: say you fancy me, not fancy stuff 

dancing with our hands tied: i’m the mess that you wanted

dress: even in my worst of times, you could see the best in me

tiwwchnt: feeling so gatsby for that whole year (bonus points for the haha i can’t even say it with a straight face)

call it what you want: i brought a knife to a gun fight 

new year’s day: please don’t ever become a stranger whose laugh i could recognize anywhere

i forgot that you existed: it isn’t love, it isn’t hate, it’s just indifference

cruel summer: he looks up grinning like a devil (!!)

lover: with every guitar string scar on my hand

the man: they wouldn’t shake their heads and question how much of this i deserve

the archer: i’ve got a hundred thrown out speeches i almost said to you

i think he knows: lyrical smile, indigo eyes

miss americana: american glory faded before me

paper rings: the moon is high like your friends were the night that we first met

cornelia street: that's the kind of heartbreak time could never mend

death by a thousand cuts: but if the story’s over, why am i still writing pages? 

london boy: don’t threaten me with a good time (also the intro, ofc)

soon you’ll get better: desperate people find faith, so now i pray to Jesus too

false god: you’re the west village

you need to calm down: shade never made anybody less gay!

afterglow: fighting with a true love is boxing with no gloves

me: i know i never think before i jump

it’s nice to have a friend: you’ve been stressed out lately, yeah, me too

daylight: the luck of the draw only draws the unlucky

(update 1/14/21)

the 1: you know the greatest loves of all time are over now

cardigan: trying to change the ending, peter losing wendy

the last great american dynasty: and in a feud with her neighbor, she stole his dog and dyed it a key-lime green

exile: you never gave a warning sign/i gave so many signs

my tears ricochet: when you can’t sleep at night, you hear my stolen lullabies

mirrorball: the masquerade revelers

seven: please picture me in the weeds before i learned civility

august: you weren’t mine to lose (but also, just the entire song)

this is me trying: you’re a flashback in a film reel 

illicit affairs: a dwindling mercurial high

invisible string: one single thread of gold tied me to you

mad woman: it’s obvious that wanting me dead has really brought you two together

epiphany: sir, i think he’s bleeding out

betty: i don’t know anything, but i know i miss you

peace: all these people think love’s for show, but i would die for you in secret

hoax: you knew you won so what’s the point of keeping score?

the lakes: i want auroras and sad prose

willow: life was a willow and it bent right to your wind

champagne problems: she would’ve made such a lovely bride, what a shame she’s fucked in the head

gold rush: at dinner parties i call you out on your contrarian shit

tis the damn season: to leave the warmest bed i’ve ever known

tolerate it: i know my love should be celebrated, but you tolerate it

no body, no crime: good thing his mistress took out a big life insurance policy (honorable mention to the way taylor says “just” in “she thinks i did it but she just can’t prove it)

happiness: i hope she’ll be a beautiful fool

dorothea: you’re a queen selling dreams, selling makeup and magazines

coney island: do you miss the rogue who coaxed you into paradise and left you there? 

ivy: your touch brought forth an incandescent glow, tarnished but so grand

cowboy like me: forever is the sweetest con

long story short: long story short, i survived

marjorie: you loved the amber skies so much

closure: i’m fine with my spite and my tears and my beers and my candles

evermore: barefoot in the wildest winter

right where you left me: she’s still twenty-three inside her fantasy

it’s time to go: that old familiar body ache that snaps from the same little breaks in your soul

[dcnativegal]

One degree of separation

September 2017

I’m learning just how small a ‘town’ is Lake County, home to 7500 souls. A store owner is related to the father of a child of one of my clients. My clients are one degree of separation from each other, two at the most. Sometimes my colleague and I schedule our clients so that they’ll have joyful, mini-reunions, in the hallway, like our foster care kids who are now in separate homes. Other times we stagger appointment times with at least an hour in between so that two sworn enemies are not in the building at the same time. Sworn enemies because they got involved with the same knucklehead who didn’t use a condom.

I, personally, am grateful that the deputy’s office is the next door in the hallway.

A recent Relapse & Recovery support group had 3 women in it, all related to one another by marriage.  All by the way, recovering very nicely. New worlds ahead of them.

If I want the backstory to someone in North County, either my therapist colleague and/or her husband the deputy will tell me stories that would curl your hair. This knucklehead had an affair with the mother of that other kid, who’s now in therapy for cutting, or for pot smoking. Or that kid is another ‘throw away kid’ as my colleague puts it; sleeping on the couch, sometimes at grandma’s, dreaming of a single wide or 5th wheel of their own.

Let me not mislead; I see a skewed sample of the population in Christmas Valley where I work. I have met and had breakfast with 3 different amazingly wise and accomplished women. I hope we’ll become real friends. Therapists are kinda like white blood cells. We rush to the site of the wounded part of the body politic, and all we see is the wound, slowly healing. Our clientele constitutes the wounds of the county, and some of them are healing quite beautifully, thank you very much.

I have woven a parachute out of everything broken, my scars are my shield.    William Stafford

I took a walk with my friend Toni the other evening. I asked her who lived in one of my favorite houses, the one that was a church and still has a bell tower. She told me all about the now-deceased owner, who was a kind and thoughtful woman, born in Poland and brought to the USA by her mother during the war. (You know I mean WW2, right? Isn’t that funny? At least to baby boomers, there are two wars: the one that impacted our parents, and the one that impacted us, the Vietnam war.)  Anyway, this Polish girl grew up to be generous to children who were new to the USA, and those kids included the foreign students here in Paisley from other countries, learning English and living in the dorm for a school year.

Toni knows everyone in Paisley, and their backstory.

By association with Valerie, I am known somewhat here in Paisley, and known by association as a therapist with the mental health clinic that operates in Lakeview and in Christmas Valley. I see former clients in the Safeway, or the Chevron in North Lake, which serves as gas station, fast food joint, and grocery store in one. Otherwise, I am a stranger driving a blue Honda Fit with a rainbow sticker on the back windshield. I have grown patient with the slow pace of this ‘getting to know’ business because there’s no way to rush it. I know at least two or three people whenever I walk into the Homestead (the diner) or the Pioneer (the pub) in town. I know several of the teachers at the Paisley school, the town librarian and postmaster. I live in the house with the crocheted American flag outside, which I made because Valerie suggested that such a thing would be a hit with the cowboys. It has purples and oranges in it, but those subversive elements are less visible from the road than I’d hoped. I know those colors are there, and I celebrate the rebrowning of America that is happening nearly everywhere else but in Lake County. Eventually, here, too.

Valerie and I were in line to get barbeque at the 31st Annual Mosquito Festival a few Saturdays back. Valerie started talking to the folks right in front of us who are part of one of the big families here whose ancestors hail from Ireland. They have several beautiful daughters who are growing up and out of town. Valerie chatted a while and then she turned to me and said, And this is Jane. So I said, Hi, I’m Jane, Valerie’s partner. Valerie told me later that she knew that they knew who I was, but I didn’t know that, and I wanted to be clear, and out. Of the closet. In any case, we chatted some more, and it came out that I am a native Washingtonian, the DC kind, not the Seattle/Spokane kind. And the woman said, oh we’ve been there and thought it was great… (wait for it…) Of course, we also knew to stay down near the mall, because otherwise we could get shot!! Right!?!

Sigh.

This perception that DC is Beirut circa 1985 has surprised me my entire life, whenever I am outside the DC area. I once got my hair cut in Minneapolis, it was 1980, and when I told the haircutter I was from DC, she said, in the suburbs? And I said, no, in the city, and she said, I didn’t think any white people lived there.

Sigh. This white person used to.

I told the Irish lass that, actually no, it’s very safe there, but I know DC has that reputation.

This nice woman in the barbeque line had the same attitude that an Australian woman expressed when my kids’ dad and I were taking a train across Europe in 1991. She said something to the effect of, oh you’re American?? How do you keep from getting killed? Doesn’t everyone have guns there?

Well, no, but it does seem like that.  (Especially in Lake County.)

You know what? It’s okay. One year into my transplantation to Paisley, it’s okay that Eastern Oregonians think that DC is horribly dangerous. I thought the same of Eastern Oregonians. (T shirt I saw just yesterday: God, Country, Guns. With a mock bullet hole in the O of Country.) I thought I’d get shot here because I have a rainbow sticker on my car, or because someone with a rifle figured out where we, those aged lesbians, live. I was half expecting a brick through the window when I first moved in. And relieved when we decided to move our bed to the loft so that we were out of range from the road.

We fear what we do not know.

The fact that I’ve grown calm about the woeful ignorance of the blessings of, and community strength found in, urban life, and DC life in particular, does not mean I am not going to Represent. I will gently correct the misconceptions, one by one. Meanwhile, I know there is woeful ignorance about how fabulous gay people are, and how much straight people need us around. Like I said, I will gently correct the misconceptions, one by one.

I have a former client, who graduated from the 90 days-sober-program, triumphant. Figured out I was gay, not that I hide it, except from one or two very fundamentalist, “Christ told me to do this, or that” kind of folk. I told the former client that I was a little worried that someone who really hated gay folks would find out about me and picket the Court Annex where I work. And this client said, you call me, and I’ll have a bunch of folks out here backing you up. That felt good.

Valerie, the other day, told me something that made me feel so much better about being out here. About having some sort of purpose, and place, and positive impact, especially to my clients as a ‘behavioral therapist’. I wish I had written it down. She said, to paraphrase: these people have no idea what wonderful worlds you will open them up to.

She said another thing, too. Her daughter knows everyone in town, and had lunch with one of the ‘city mothers’, who is over 80 and suffers no fools. I don’t know how I came up, but she said something to the effect that, “I know Valerie is concerned that Jane feel welcome, but everything I hear about Jane is that she’s really nice.”

Valerie actually doesn’t worry about it. She tells me, fret not. I’m glad I seem really nice. I think I am really nice, genuinely nice, but I am biased.

I will slowly memorize who’s who in Lake County, what their names are, and how they are related to several other people I know or know of. I will slowly memorize the backstory. Or stories. I’ll take the stories with a grain of salt, and form my own opinion.  I’ll continue to meet potential friends at the diner or the pub for coffee or breakfast or lunch or dinner and slowly find out who are progressives, who knits, and with whom is it okay to cuss. Until everyone in the county is one degree of separation away from me.

“Perhaps the secret of living well is not in having all the answers but in pursuing unanswerable questions in good company.”                                     Rachel Naomi Remen