G.T. Anthony 🏳️‍⚧️🦇

#QueerWritersChat
Definitely physical. But lately, I've been really liking romantic intimacy in my writing, especially between Avery and Tristan. I deeply love depicting their relationship, because for me it's the purest example of trust in the entire story.

#QueerWritersChat
Avery is the younger MC in WitchXHunter WIP, & he feels the most intimate with his boyfriend, Tristan. There is no other person he trusts to be vulnerable with.

Theodore felt the closest to the family he lost before the story began. Later, he begins to feel that way again w Elias.

#QueerWritersChat
It means different things for the three MCs
Elias: It's a connection on an emotional and physical level (emphasis on emotional)
Theodore: A deep sense of shared safety and comfort.
Avery: A deep sense of trust beyond words and affection to have with someone.

Hi! I'm Gabe (he/they), and I'm a transmasc writer. I'm working a standalone t4t enemies to lovers story I've been calling WitchXHunter WIP. The main plot is about a witch that guards an ancient forest and the vengeful hunter that was hired to kill him. Things don't go as planned, feelings ensue.

I think people should be pretty angry that a handful of men unilaterally decided culture, art and civilization should be fed into a woodchipper so they could attract VC funding.

Thank you! ❤️ I had a lot of fun in the planning and worldbuilding stages and was like, "Hey, it'd be neat if..."

“Þeir eru nú í friði,” she said. “Engi Þrautir, enginn sárleikr.” Lucian sniffled, trying to nod his head. “Aftr til jarðar.” “Þat er rétt.” She rubbed his shoulder. “Aftr til jarðar.” She kept speaking to him after that, a sad little smile on her face. Whatever she said, it brought him more comfort. He was trying to dry his eyes, and he saw that I was still near. He held out his hand. “Svala said it was a good idea that I left him alone. You were right. He wouldn’t have gone far.” I pressed a gentle kiss to his fingers. “Do you want me to go with you to find him?” He paused, squeezing my hand. “Please?” he whispered. “Stay with me.” We gave Auðunar an hour. Most of the company gathered their tents again in case they needed to camp out here again. Ewan and the rest of my group came back, and by then, Lucian was growing anxious. He did most of the leading, what with my bum leg, and he kept to my right side to support me. “What was that she told you earlier?” I asked. “That phrase. ‘Engi thrauter.’ Er…” Lucian smiled. “Engi Þrautir, enginn sárleikr. ‘No suffering, no pain.’ Even though they died as horribly as they did, now they will be at peace. That was the most important thing to remember.” He was reverent with my arm. “And aftr til jarðar means, ‘back to the earth.’ In Brømkhald, death is seen as part of the natural cycle. To return to the earth means that your body becomes one with the land to help it grow. You have a renewed purpose, even if your soul has departed.”

«Auðunar?» Svala came over just as Jorund parted ways with me. «We are ready.» «Good. Let’s see how well these Sunderish fools can keep up.» Speaking of, I turned my attention back to the wagon. Lucian was there, putting the last remnants of our provisions onto the bed. Tobias was handed lighter objects to place in it all the while. Brya was not quite in the way, but she was circling around the wagon and occasionally nudging right at Tobias’ leg. He humoured her at points by resting the stump where his elbow ended near her head. “So, ‘já’ is ‘yes.’ And ‘nei’ is ‘no?’” Tobias’ dialect was as strong as the Colonel’s. I found I did not mind it. “Já.” Lucian giggled. “You already are a fast learner.” “It helps that you are a good teacher, love.” He smiled. “Now, how do you say, ‘Can I kiss you?’” Lucian scoffed, his cheeks flushed as he smacked his arm. That just made Tobias laugh, hearty and full of mirth. It did not take long for Lucian to smile, and he shook his head. “Just as fiendish as you always were,” he huffed before devolving into more giggles. “I couldn’t help it,” he grinned. Lucian rolled his eyes, his hand now gentle when rubbing his arm. “Má ek kyssa Þik?” “…Huh?” Even I snorted when Lucian did, and I covered my mouth. “Can I kiss you?” Lucian repeated again, in Sunderish. When he translated again, he did it slower as he leaned in. “Má ek kyssa Þik?” “Má… ek…” Tobias was saying each word carefully. “Kyssa… tik?” He grinned. “We’ll work on it,” he said before kissing his lips, soft and slow.

«Auðunar, you all right?» That was another voice that I never thought I would hear again, and I was not sure if it would ever bring me any comfort. Olaf was always broader than I, and it was no different in this dream. I was not sure whether to feel relieved or sick when seeing the temporary concern on his face. «I’m fine.» I tried to stay calm, stoic. «The moment we reach the gates, let nothing stop you from reaching the stronghold.» «Very well.» He clasped my shoulder. His fingers curled into it, and his nails tried to dig into my skin through the fur and wools. «Don’t get us killed.» «I don’t plan on it.» I pressed my hand on top of it, and I found myself leaning in to kiss him. I always tried to placate him this way. «We will get out of this, you hear me?» “Já.” He sighed, releasing me. «I hear you.» I composed myself. With that, we began.

"If I use these," it's in Sunderish.
«If I use these,» it's in Brømkhaldic.
I have here some examples and translations within the text! All 3 are from the WIP of book 3 (4/4)

They translate for one another, and Lucian is also trying to teach Tobias (his other boyfriend) the language.
I like to sprinkle in Brømkhaldic in the text with footnoted translations, and I use different quotation indicators. Both languages are integral, so I like to have distinction. (3/4)

It's such a prevalent fact about them both that it's the reason why they meet and can work together in Book 2 of the series. They frequently switch between languages back and forth when talking to each other.
And in book 3, there's a language barrier between Lucian's group and Auðunar's. (2/4)

#AwesomeCharacters
Lucian speaks multiple languages (one of his special interests!). Sunderish functions like English in my queer dark fantasy WIP, and Auðunar's first language, Brømkhaldic, is similar to Old Norse.
Lucian is fluent in Brømkhaldic, while Auðunar has a good grasp on Sunderish. 🧵(1/4)

One of my favorite tropes is an older guy being like, “I’m old, I’m past my prime, sex can’t be a priority for an old man like me, I should give up—“ and a younger man looking at him like “I want to erotically hunt that old man for sport”

Eoghan being edged by Jerome

last of my #tdickxmas entries ✨
3. edging/being edged
Jerome is going to drive Eoghan insane

This was very fragmented, and then I was gonna share spicier bits, but I chickened out 😅
I hope you enjoyed these little snippets! It's definitely helping motivate me get this story off the ground.
If you enjoy enemies to lovers, old trans men, and weird dick feelings, stick around I guess! 😅✨

“I had been selfish. I’d been cruel. He’s right. He was right all along.”
He wished he had thought to answer Elias’ question instead of making a bigger mess of things. He wanted to take that chance. He wanted to end this cycle. But without Elias, he was not sure if he knew how.

END.

All he could think about was Elias and that fearful, hurt look on his face when he was pushed away.
Praying to God was not helping. He grimaced, curling further and trying not to give in to his pain.
“I don’t know what to do anymore,” he confessed to whoever would listen.

A path to acceptance for what he had lost. But did it all come too late? And did he just ruin that by trying to kiss the man that was giving him this chance?
God, why did he do it?
He knelt down to pray, to seek guidance, but he found none.

At the same time, this destruction was an act of mercy. A kindness. Because for the first time in a long time, Theodore was given what he needed. A tough but enlightening lesson.

Elias was a wildfire. His influence was spreading through Theodore, tearing apart the world that he clung to when he thought he had already been burned enough. It was crumbling into cinders, and he had yet to feel relief.

Such a debilitating spell was placed upon him. It was disorganising his thoughts. This had to be a bewitchment. There was no other way he would have done it. But if that were true, then why would the witch in turn push him away and reprimand him?

He thought about it while working on his inquests with the limits he posed on himself. He thought about it late at night, in the dark, when the world would not judge him for being too self-indulgent.

Part Three - Crisis

Why did he do it? Why?
Theodore was left to ponder it, which was dangerous. *Why* did he try to kiss the witch? He could not understand it.
He furiously thought about it for several days. He thought about it while at Sabbath.

He could smite every witch in the world. He could scour the earth for the rest of his life to root out all magic, even fragments of it that supposedly were not conjured by the Devil. But no matter what he did, it would never bring them back.

He began to realise something as he tried to settle for bed, once again all alone in a room far too big on a bed far too devoid of companionship.

He missed them terribly. His husband’s kisses, his daughters’ laughter, their bright energy filling his home with love and comfort.
“Forgive me,” he wept, shaking while kissing his ring. “Please, forgive me.”

His throat burned when he choked, barely registering his tears when he brought his ring finger to his face. He wanted to feel the cool metal of his wedding band. He could never bear to part with that, even after this long without him.

Sterling gathered up his clothes, though he felt dirtier than he did before his bath. He would see this witch die on a pyre as soon as he met his end of the bargain. He was going to turn him in, hear his agony as he burned. All for the new curse he inflicted upon him.

Clarity was suddenly thrust upon him like cold water. He lost his breath in his shock, jerking himself out of his lustful fantasy. What was he *thinking?*

CWs for grief, implied violence and child death

Until his vision changed. Blood splattered on the wooden floor, covering the walls, staining his hands after feeble attempts at revival. Three bodies lying broken on the floor. Three bodies that were once his entire world, snuffed in an instant.

His fingers curled into his jaw, but he could barely muffle his deep groans, his utter satisfaction.
For a brief moment, he imagined how pretty the witch would look when coming undone. Would that infuriating smile of his be stretched across his lips? Sterling wanted to kiss it off his face.

His cresting pleasure was upon him far faster than he ever expected. His mouth hung open, his hand feverishly stroking himself until his thighs shuddered and his head pressed back hard against the wall.