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@faithgranted
hey yall im back

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sexuality & gender diversity headcanons.  hereâs one for the lgbtq+ muses: put a number in my ask, and iâll tell you about my museâs gender or orientational identity and their relationship with it. tw: topics of homophobia, transphobia, dysphoria and discussion of internalised oppresive attitudes in some of the questions. if you want to help your followers to pick out questions a bit, tag this post with your museâs label(s) as you reblog!
what do you label your muse as, and how do they label themselves? is there a difference, and if so, why?
has your museâs understanding of their own identity changed after realising they arenât cishet, and do you see it developing further in the future?
when did your muse first realise theyâre attracted to the gender(s) that they are?
when did your muse first realise theyâre not attracted to the gender(s) that they arenât?
when did your muse first become aware that theyâre not cis?
when did your muse first become aware that their gender identity isnât within the binary?
how public is your muse about their gender / sexuality / romantic attraction?
is your muse out as lgbtq+? how specifically and in what situations, if that varies.
how much does your museâs gender identity and presentation differ from one another? is this a source of issues, or does the relationship between the two feel natural?
how does your muse feel about not being cis or straight? are they content with it, proud, ashamed? would the situation be the same if the culture or surrounding support systems were different?
have there been other meaningful people of the same or similar identities in your museâs life that theyâve looked for support or understanding from? how did that go, and was the impact positive or negative in the end?
what are your museâs feelings towards stereotypes relating to their identity? do they affect their self-image, or how they perceive others?
was your muse ever in denial about the matter? do you have any examples of specific instances where it was particularly obvious?
has your muse had feelings or experiences that seem to / do conflict with their identity? are these general knowledge? does it alter how others see them, or how they see themselves?
if the thing that originally caused them to realise / start the chain reaction to realising they werenât cishet had not happened, how much longer would it had take to end up here?
do they consider to âalways have beenâ, or do they see the phases in their life before coming out as âback when i was [cis/straight/allo]â?
how are their feelings towards pride and related phenomenons?
how does their family feel about the matter? friends? coworkers?âand does their thoughts matter to your muse?
whatâs your museâs relationship with the current state of their body?
what are your museâs feelings towards the culture of romance and sexuality as it pertains to their identity?
what words do they reclaim, what are they okay with being reclaimed, and what do they do not want to used to describe them?
bransleâ:
@faithgrantedâ  // from đ
there were few things that dorian found appealing about the countryside. from the beige to scarlet heat - blistered dust roads, to coyotes, to bumbling idiots with guns. but, as he noticed arthurâs eyes linger on his body, he supposed not everything about it was too bad.
oh yes, the country was filled with SAVAGE ANIMALS; one of them walked with him â eyes felt hungry, like a starving WOLF stalking its pray. or, well â perhaps he was being just a bit melodramatic with that line of thought. arthur seemed gentlemanly enough, and dorian was by no means some HELPLESS RABBIT waiting to be eaten.
âwell, itâs a good thing you found me out here. my pretty head feels so much safer.â hands raised to lightly press fingers against the exposed muscles at the edge of rolled up sleeves, and dorian thought that he must have made a nice adornment upon arthurâs arm, âif anything tries to eat me, youâll protect me, wonât you?â
though posed as a question, dorian wasnât looking for any reassurance; he knew the answer, and there was undeniable pride in his voice. even in the breathy laugh that escaped his lips.
âunless you try to eat me. what could i possibly do, then?âÂ
it quickly became apparent that an entirely separate conversation had begun to flower in between the lines of their dialogue, and it was becoming impossible to ignore. even the shrubbery urged him to slow their pace, snagging on the threads of his sleeve as the stranger squeezed in beside him on the narrow path
â well mister, i donât rightly know. â arthur breathed, fingertips splayed across the small of his back as if dipping his toes into an icy stream only to find it warmer than he expected, â reckon yer lucky i like to play with my food. â
there was no mistaking their chemistry; how their bodies leaned into each other all too easilyăź how their fingers danced. arthur saw little reason rush their return to civilization, to hold his feelings back. ( never mind he hadnât even caught his name yet )
the old oak a few paces ahead was as good a place as any to press the stranger against. his touch was insistent, but delicately, almost gentlemanly so. hip bones ghosted into each other, hovering only inches apart, and half-lidded eyes trained on the stranger, tuned into every minute expression that fluttered across his pretty faceÂ
â feelinâ pretty lucky myself. â arthur whispered against full lips, just shy of a kiss; a message to the man that he was only his prey if he wanted to be
Not related to this blog at all, but Iâm gay and I donât want to see anyone saying being gay got you the death penalty in 1899.
âThe most surprising thing about homosexuality in the Old West is not that it was rare in the rugged, macho world of the cowboy, but that it was so common and so not a big deal.â
âSociety didnât really designate people as homosexual or heterosexual through most of the 19th century; it was not really until the 20th century that those identities crystallized.â
âBut nobody would have called them gay or even homosexualâa word that wasnât even used until 1868. (Heterosexual is an even newer word, which first appeared in print in 1924.)â
âThey may have been called punk⌠There was even a name for same-sex âmarriagesâ⌠cowboys and miners settled into partnerships that other men recognized (and sometimes referred to) as âbachelor marriages.ââ
âAs early as 1948, Alfred C. Kinsey in Sexual Behavior in the Human Male shocked many when he found âthe highest frequencies of the homosexual we have ever secured anywhere have been in particular rural communities in some of the remote sections of the country⌠There is a fair amount of sexual contact among the older males in Western rural areas⌠These are men who have faced the rigors of nature in the wild. They live on realities and on a minimum of theory. Such a background breeds the attitude that sex is sex, irrespective of the nature of the partner with whom the relation is had.â
(Male) homosexuality fell under the blanket term âsodomyâ during the 1700s and 1800s. âSodomyâ was no longer punishable by death by the late 1700s (except in the Carolinas). ALL recorded trials against âsodomyâ were cases of rape until 1880, meaning consensual homosexual sex was not really being punished by the law at the time.
âIn the 19th century, lesbians were only accepted if they hid their sexual orientation and were presumed to be merely friends with their partners. For example, the term âBoston marriageâ was used to describe a committed relationship between two unmarried women who were usually financially independent and often shared a houseâŚ"
Fast Facts
The poet Walt Whitman wrote openly about homosexuality in the 19th century.
What is known as the first gay American novel was published in 1870.
In the same year was the first published categorization of sexual identities, ie. homosexual vs. hetersexual.
âLesbianâ was used as early as 1732.
Not particularly relevant, but this trend of acceptance for gay men and women continued growing until the mid 1930s.
Sources:
True West Magazine and Wikipedia. I donât have time rn to pull more sources but feel free to do your own research.
               WESTERN sentence starters.  Â
feel free to adjust them to your liking.
â you ainât a kind man. â
â i know your type. iâve killed your type. â
â thatâs right. walk away. â
â somethinâ bout the rain that calms me. â
â nothin a womanâs touch canât solve. â
â itâs a downright mess. it all is. â
â not a kind bone in your body. â
â youâre a rotten feller, ainât ya? â
â donât know why i expected more from you. â
â weather ainât let up. you still headinâ out? â
â itâs nothinâ some rest wonât solve. â
â heard there were some unsavory folk âround here. â
â i would kill you if i knew i wouldnât end up dead alongside you. â
â you ainât ever known love. i know that now. â
â oh, what a foolish man. â
â have a drink with me. â
â have we met? i swear i know your face. â
â you always had a way with people that i could not grasp. â
â dreams donât live long out here. â
â if you shoot that gun. you better shoot to kill. â
â you donât look too friendly partner. â
â i got a way with more than just women. â
â youâre cold enough with them eyes. come join me by the fire. â
â whatâs a man gotta do to earn your respect? â
â iâd like you better with that dress around your ankles. â
â share a whiskey with me. â
â i could do with a warm body next to me.â
â ainât enough kindness in this world, friend. â
â i donât reckon we oughta be fightinâ with the law on our tails. â
â can i stay? i wonât be much trouble, honest. â
â i ainât too fond of them. women. â
â i donât reckon we got much of a choice partner, unless youâd rather freeze to death. â
â i never quite realised how lovely you could be. â
â there are a lot of good men out there. i ainât one of them. â
â could you stay a bit longer? â
â i reckon you could use a wash. â
â donât you dare track that dirt in here! â
â my lips would surely like to meet yours. â
â not too fast. i ainât had a good look at ya. â
â i need a warm meal and a hot bath. â
â from the looks, i say theyâre tryinâ to rob us. â
â i donât need your violence today, i ainât in the mood. â
â you look lonely and lost. â

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my dash is too active so im gonna clean up my mutuals, i apologize in advance if u dont survive the cut, its really nothing personal !
not sure what man needs to hear this but leave her the fuck alone bro
My blog ISNT a safe space for inc*st, r*pe/noncon, genderbending, or underage n/sf/w. I will drag the hell out of you.
hey my parents just threatened to kick me off all their insurance policies and the phone plan if i donât come up with some money ASAP and i donât get paid for another week and i canât afford insurance and a phone on my own, i need at least $60 to appease them
"everywhere i turn, it's like some wild animal â or wild man â is waiting for the chance to tear into me."
arthurâs steps faltered and he chuckled at that before forging ahead once again; he felt a little called out despite his best attempts to contain himself around the man. what was a lingering gaze or two among men anyway ?
â city folk tend tâ attract a lot of attention out here. jus somethinâ irresistible âbout them, i sâpose. â arthur mused lightly, then examined himself more seriously, â maybe its his cologne. or the way he moves them hips. â
only thing for certain about the stranger was that he was dangerous. definitely not your average new york milksop that ended up lost, alone and penniless in the country side. he had eyes that cut like diamonds and confidence that wasnât just born from fatherâs fancy estate and years of baseless self-aggrandizing. he was desirable and he knew ităźÂ arthur worried he might end up the one feeling lost without him if he didnât watch himself
â donât worry yer pretty head none, weâre nearly back tâ town now. âÂ
//Â @bransle

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pumpkinâ:
usually, such things as mending wounds and sewing in sutures hardly bring the farmer pause, but this was ARTHUR. itâs a man he loves to pieces, ( doesnât wish to bring anymore harm to the bits of him thatâd already suffered enough ). â â yâer hide means more than oneâa my quilts. â he idly retorts, eyes only sparing a seconds glance away from his work to watch the outlaw avert his own gaze. with all the stitches heâs put in people at this point in his life, teddy has found that always appeared to make the process easier for them.Â
itâs true; heâs purposefully trying to be extraordinarily delicate. not that heâd ever been striving to be painful prior. now, his efforts at gentleness were only made obvious. dutiful digits continue to pull through the metallic twine, watching to be sure nothing goes amiss. thereâs a fair trickle of blood he pauses to wipe clear, offers a droop of his shoulders. â â yainât the only one who brings trouble, so donâtâchâa go sayinâ that. â if arthur wanted to go with that argument, they could go back and forth all day. never would a negative PEEP be leaving the farmerâs lips. last stitch is tugged, scissors cutting the remainder loose. â yâer a good man fâr me, arthur. ainât nothinâ iâd change âboutâ yâa anâ yâa know that. â
teddy knows what bringing outlaws onto his land entails, ( and always has ). arthur isnât that same noxiously ROWDY crowd heâs been dealing with for years. his heart is a little more clear upon his sleeve. less digging than usual, the farmer finds. everyone has one, mister morgan is simply willing to share his.  â â yâa know, my pa wouldâa loved you. wouldâa called yâa somethinâ likeâa righâ gentleman. â hand beckons, chair scooted, â here, lemmeâ wrap it good. â
every hushed sentiment the farmer shared felt like another blow to the chest. he yearned for them to be true, and it ached far deeper than the wound throbbing under the bandages teddy carefully applied. gaze never left him through the one-sided exchange, brows creasing and lips parting as he only became more parched for words. teddy looked so beautiful to him now. blond curls desperately needed a trim, they danced over freckled skin and obscured his eyes when his head dipped in concentration. ( making the moment those sky blues finally tilted up and met his gaze all the more electric. )
â would have liked to âve met thâ fool. â arthur finally managed, promptly swallowing a lump in his throat
for a flash, arthur saw another path his life could have taken. pictured himself young and dumb and looking for work, finding it in a soft-hearted mister fischer rather than the handle of dutchâs gun. many sweaty summers and fruitful autumns passed in this vision, muscles practically aching with the labor of it. it ended all too quicklyăź with his heart pounding and hands twisting around greasy neckerchief before the old man. eyes darted from his graying hair to his smile lines that settled in all the same places teddyâs started to and asked for his blessingÂ
maybe it wasnât too late. his good hand reached out cupped the other manâs face, expressing shifting to something infinitely more desperate and sincere than he had ever dared to show him before; breath shallow
â ... think i love ya, teddy fischer. â
continued from â || @outlawsaviour
â that settles it then. â grin was almost devious in itâs languid reveal of his teeth, catching his bottom lip in excitement, â mâ sure riley will manage without us fer a couplâ a days. â
no further warning was givenăź little husband ( thrashes and giggles and all ) was collected in strong, tanned arms and hoist over his shoulder. arthur manhandled him with ease, playful palm cupped the curve of the farmerâs behind as he stole him away. teddy squirmed; with delight or meak-heartedness, arthur wasnât sure but his eyes crinkled in adoration for his love all the same; a fond smile playing across his lips
as arthur approached the idle blonde shire with a penchant for being the second dullest tool in the shed, ( he had earned that title himself fair and square, dammit ) it became obvious that preparations for this venture had already been made. they exchanged a brief glance, then arthur gave teddy a boost; tucking him between saddle horn and tent roll. the saddle bags were already fat with supplies and ready to go, but that didnât make arthur a man that enjoyed taking hostages any more
â last chance. yâsure ? â he asked. it was a big, big world outside these few acres, and that was a scary thought,  â now yâ already know yâ donât gotta do nothinâ you donât wanna, but itâll be fun. nâ thatâs a promise. â
â iâm done with it. always wonderinâ if someoneâs going to kill you in your sleep.â
cowboy meme || not accepting
â ainât no one gonna kill you in yer sleep, boy. â his face scrunched up as if he sipped something sour, â now mâ not gonna act like i can speak fer all of us crooks, but most aâ th boys here would prefer you awake while we killed ya, sâ jusâ no fun if yâdont squirm a lil. â
he gave himself a little chuckle at that, so ludicrous to him that anyone could fear these folkăź what with half of them so drunk they could barely stand without wobbling at the knees. the poor fool worried more than he ought to. though, it seemed it was simply in the manâs nature to worry, and he hadnât spent his life surrounded by these bums like arthur had, either. he supposed it wouldnât kill him to be a little more understanding
arthurâs attention eventually faded back to the gesture of a deer etched into his journal, eyes creased with residual amusement
â really now. youâd know if anyone here wanted you deadăźÂ namely on account of thâ fact youâd be dead already if they did. loosen up a little. â
@alosthorse
bledwestâ:
@faithgranted
     Abigail smiled kindly at the outlaw as he made his way back into      camp. Her and Jack has been waiting for him to come back for      awhile now. Especially her darling little boy- constantly asking when      uncle Arthur would be back with supplies. Once he was down off his      horse and made his way into camp, she quickly made her way to him      and placed a hand tenderly on his shoulder.             âHowâd you get on, Arthur? No trouble, I trust?â
â not unless you reckon an irritable shop keep is â trouble â. â he teased, but he appreciated her concern.  ( not many women were as patient with him as abigail was. ) heavy with tools and foodstuffs, arthur shed his bag like a sack of potatoes before pulling her in by the nape of the neck, pressing her head to the spot her hand once warmed him. his nose lingered in the roots of her hair; always smelling of some cheap, sweet perfume he quite enjoyed
â in fact, think i got sâmthin yer gonna like.â from the sack, a gangly-limbed plush toy was unearthed. it was a little goofy looking, and he werenât sure exactly what it was supposed to be, but it looked like it would fit well in tiny, idle hands, â fer thâ boy. â
desertouchedâ:
(( @faithgranted liked for a starter ))
        it was mid-morning when she made into the general store of the small town. Eli rarely made her way into civilization unless there was a need, too many people complicated things in her eyes. eli hated the stares, the whispers, the gossip that the saloon girls and old men tended to spread. she had been content to live in her corner of the world, alone.Â
        she was reaching for the last serving of C O F F E on the shelf when another hand snatched it away. the blondeâs head snapped around eyes widening just a little. âhey, thatâs mine,â she frowned.
â is it now ? got yer name on it ? â brow cocked, inspecting the tin with a sarcastic sparkle in his eyesÂ
â jus soâs you know, i got some cranky old men back home thatâll be none too happy if i turn up withouâ their fix. butăźÂ â coffee tin was tossed into the air, just outside of her snapping grip before his fingers closed around it again, â maybe i can justify makinâ the detour if you give me somethinâ of yers fâr thâ trouble ... yâgot yerself a real fine watch there, if i do say so mâself. â

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yall might think im clowninâ ya when i call arthur a himbo but he really is, he really jus falls in love with every man he meets and cant be stopped
continued from â || @outlawsaviour
like salmon swimming upstream in glacial waters, teddyâs fingers wriggled up arthurs spine and inspired a sense of dread so palpable his skin crawled and jolted with itÂ
â gităźÂ git out of there now, â arthur warned, reaching around himself to arrest the offending digits, yanking them from his shirt and cupping them between two large palms. a honeyed smile stretched across his lips, pinched with both amusement and adoration as if he had just captured something coveted, â you nasty lil thing. â
pale knuckles were brought to pink lips, placing a single, prickly kiss on âem
â could always jusâ ask nicely if yâwant me tâ warm ya. â