#one of the first ways -even small- i first started expressing that queerness and it’s neat :>

[e1dritchqueer]

listening to janelle monae again and remembering back to the time young closeted bisexual me listened to their stuff on gay ass bi playlist and got excited about the thought of being queer and expressing that queernessa

[babyangelsky]

I know we're all still sweating over the first half of this episode (or I am at least) but since I'm feeling chatty today, I really wanna talk about Mut and Tongrak's conversation at the restaurant and how much I loved it. There are so many little moments that deserve appreciation and recognition.

This is the first one. When the auntie comes over to sing Mut's praises, he doesn't look at her or at Tongrak, he just ducks his head. From what she says, we can gather that this isn't the first time he's brushed off compliments so it isn't that he's not used to praise. I think there's a little more to it.

And look at Tongrak's expression after the auntie leaves.

And the way he looks at Mut afterward. There's fondness there. There's respect and admiration. We've had small moments before this where the way Tongrak looks at Mut changes but this feels like the first time he really sees him. He's getting a clearer picture of who Mut is and what he means to the people in the village.

And it's because of that that he looks genuinely surprised and a little shocked when Mut reveals that his father kicked him out at 15. You can almost hear him asking himself, "how could anyone ever do that to this man?"

Mut talks about how he went to live with his aunt and started supporting himself relatively casually but there's a faraway look in his eyes when Tongrak asks why he doesn't go home.

And he looks down because despite his tone, it hurts to remember why he can't go home. It makes him sad to remember why he considers the fishing boat only his father's instead of theirs, as a family.

There's a defiance in his expression when he says that his father never takes back what he says and neither does he, and there was something about this specific wording and look that made me think that the reason his father kicked him out has to do with him being queer.

I have not read the novel (nor am I asking for spoilers) so I could be very wrong but this moment just read so queer to me. It unfortunately wouldn't be unheard of for a parent to kick out their queer child and for that child to cut ties with them because of it.

The shift in expression when Mut asks Tongrak if he thinks he's pitiful is so tiny but it's so significant. It's like he's daring Tongrak to pity him and resigned to it simultaneously, like pity is a foregone conclusion. It tells me that Mut is used to being pitied. He says himself moments before this that Tongrak could ask anyone on the island for his story so I'm sure there's no shortage of people who do pity him.

Maybe that's why he reacts the way he does when the auntie praises him. Maybe for him it's rare to be praised for his successes without having it be qualified or run through the filter of his personal history.

Even before Tongrak said a word in response, I knew what his answer was going to be. There's sympathy (and maybe even some empathy) in his expression. There's a sort of...I don't know how to describe it. Defiant kinship? that says, "why would I pity you?"

He shakes his head and gives a firm, decisive no. He doesn't pity Mut. He may not say it, but his face says that he's very quickly growing to admire and respect the person Mut has made of himself.

Of course he doesn't pity Mut. And hearing it makes Mut smile. A true, genuine smile that reaches his sparkly eyes and softens just a little bit when he says thank you.

This conversation felt like such a big shift for them. I have no doubt they're going to continue to bicker and annoy each other and piss each other off but from here on I think and hope there's going to be an undercurrent of understanding to it.

Tongrak is open to learning more about Mut and although Tongrak isn't willing to reveal too much of himself yet, the desire to learn more is there on Mut's part, too. He's not gonna push though. He accepts Tongrak's answer of why he became a writer being only for the fun of it.

And he does what no one else has before and praises Tongrak for it.

Which Tongrak was not expecting at all because why would he when no one has ever complimented him before? For Mut to be the first means a lot, and so does the fact that Tongrak compliments him right back.

Because I really do think that his compliment is coming from a place not only of respect, but from solidarity as well. We know that Tongrak doesn't want the people in the village to think badly of Mut for being affectionate with a man in public, and that moment also read very queer to me.

Queer people are like magnets and, in my experience at least, not only are we drawn to each other, we look out for each other. Tongrak doesn't give a damn what people think or say about him both because he's secure in who he is and because he's only a tourist, but Mut lives there. Despite his snark and snippiness, I don't think he wants Mut to have a hard time existing in his home.

Anyway! Those are just my few cents for this episode. This scene really stuck out to me and I wanted to talk about it because the whole time I was just:

Fort and Peat did some beautifully subtle acting and I didn't want it to get lost in the horny shuffle.

[daryl-dixon-daydreams]

Words: 6,623 Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader Era: The Whisperers Reader pronouns: she/her Warnings: language, discussions of past trauma (nothing super graphic), discussions of violence, allusions to child abuse (Alpha to Lydia), alcohol A/N: You can find the other parts to this series on my Master List! Check out my pinned post. Previous part here!

Daryl had to ram his shoulder into the door of the little cabin a couple times before it gave way, ripping off part of the doorframe in a shower of splinters. He thought you shot him a bit of a look afterward but he couldn’t be entirely sure what your intention with it was or what it was even about. After all, you weren’t happy that he’d, umm, tagged along. He signaled for Dog to enter first and he followed after with his crossbow at the ready, but the interior of the small cabin was completely quiet.

Inside, the rooms seemed to still be stocked with almost everything someone would need to actually live there. The furniture was shrouded under sheets to keep off the dust and most of the windows had been reinforced or boarded up, although their glass was smudged and dusty and a few panes were now cracked or broken out from wayward branches or hailstones. Daryl drifted back to the front door to call you inside. He found you staring at the building with a queer expression on your face, almost a haunted look. Your arm was draped across your body to press your hand to your side right over the bandage that hid Alpha’s knife wound.

“Hey,” he said gently, snapping you out of whatever had been going on inside your head. “S’clear. C’mon.”

You nodded and whistled to Achilles, who burst out of a tree above and landed on your shoulder. The noise of his wings as he fluttered down was reminiscent of wind through leaves. You climbed up the steps and across the small wooden porch to follow Daryl in. As soon as you could, you relieved your body of the burden of your pack and quiver, setting your bow beside them as well. You started pulling the dusty coverings off the furniture and clouds of speckles drifted in what little late afternoon light could still filter through the gray panes. You moved around in a way that suggested to Daryl that you knew this place well; uncovering this but not that, running your fingers along the oak mantle over the fireplace. He drifted after you as you went into the kitchen and he watched as you thumbed open the pantry. Inside were rows and rows of dusty canned vegetables, clearly homegrown and preserved.

You seemed to have felt his eyes on you and looked over before quickly shutting the cabinet again. You squeezed past him where he was standing in the doorway, nearly brushing your body against his, and stepped back into the main room. Daryl’s heart seemed to have jumped into his throat for a moment, inexplicably. He tried to gulp it back down where it belonged.

“What is this place?” he asked you. Dog had already settled down on the rug in front of the hearth like it was an old home he’d warmed his fur in many times. But Dog had a way of making himself at home that Daryl envied.

You paused, halfway through tugging a sheet off an armchair by the fire. “A cabin,” you said, looking at him with a tinge of annoyance.

Daryl sighed and frowned at you. “Ya know that ain’t what I meant. And that ain’t just it.”

You stayed frozen there for a long moment before you finished tugging the sheet off the chair and then glanced back at him, your expression distant. “It’s just—someplace I stayed once… a long time ago,” you said vaguely.

Daryl chewed on his bottom lip and nodded. “Alrigh’,” he drawled, but you could tell he knew it was more than just that. “I’ll take the couch,” he said, tossing his pack down.

“Obviously,” you retorted. “There’s only one bed and only one of us has a stab wound.” He was surprised to hear some note of jest in your voice and he looked up to catch just the momentary wink of a smile at the corners of your mouth. “You’re far too noble to make me sleep on the couch. You barely let me walk out of that community today.”

Daryl huffed a little and sat down on the couch, his mouth tightening into a thin line for a moment. “If I’d had my way—ya wouldn’t have. Ya’d still be in that clinic with Enid watchin’ ya.”

“And probably you too,” you retorted. “Yeah, I know. I’m well aware… and now I have a tail to shake off,” you retorted, easing yourself down into the armchair you had just uncovered. Your cautious movement wasn’t lost on Daryl. Your body ached and panged. You let out a heavy sigh as you sunk into the cushions.

“Good luck. Dog can track. And so can I.”

You smiled at him, a small one that seemed almost knowing. Daryl’s brow flinched down for a brief moment. On your shoulder, Achilles let out a happy sound and his large bill began to pick through and nibble your hair as if he was preening you. Your eyes crinkled in a smile as your head tilted toward the glossy black bird. You reached up and stroked the feathers on his breast and he let out a sound that was almost like a purr. You whispered something to him that Daryl couldn’t quite hear.

“How’d ya end up with him?” Daryl asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he sat forward on the edge of the couch, his attention intense.

Your eyes met his and they were tired, but soft. “Probably the same way you ended up with Dog. He came to me,” you said. Achilles climbed down your shoulder and perched beside you on the arm of the chair. He let out a harsh click click click and looked inquisitively at Dog as he lifted his head and stared back at the bird, his head tilting and his ears at attention.

Daryl nodded. “Dog wandered up to me when he was just a pup. He started comin’ round and hangin’ at my camp,” he said. He ducked your eyes and you could tell he was holding some piece of the story back, but you didn’t begrudge it.

“Your camp?” you asked.

“Mhm,” Daryl hummed, staring down at his hands and fiddling with a rough spot on the back of his thumb. “Ain’t like I’ve always lived inside walls. Lived way more outside of ‘em. Even before the world went to shit.”

“Mm,” you acknowledged, studying his features; his wavy hair, the sharpness of his cheekbones and jawline, the scar running above and below his left eye. You stroked Achilles’ head feathers as he bent toward you in a bow, asking for attention. “Achilles was an orphan. Fell or pushed from his nest when he was far too small. Ravens are usually cared for by both parents, so I can only assume that one or both of them were lost in a storm or to predators… I’m not sure. But he was just this tiny, helpless thing. I hand fed him and kept him warm, safe. Taught him to use his wings when he was big enough. Ravens are incredibly smart. He did the rest pretty much.”

“And now he lets ya use his feathers as a thank you?” Daryl asked, mainly joking.

You caught the jest in his tone but answered more seriously. “We’re bonded. To him, it’s like the bond he’d have with a mate or family member. Ravens are highly social. As for the feathers, it’s just that black feathers are the strongest and the most resistant to wear. A convenient fact,” you said. “And he’s kind enough to share.”

“S’that true?” Daryl asked curiously.

You met his blue eyes and a strange sensation ran through you when yours connected with his. You couldn’t quite name it, but it was… almost destabilizing. You sat with it for a moment before you answered. “Yes. That’s why many white birds, like seabirds, will have black edges to the feathers on their wings and tails. The dark pigment, melanin just like in people, actually strengthens the feather structures. It’s why they work so well for fletching.” You returned to stroking Achilles’ back, watching the shine shifting in his dark feathers as he moved.

“Hmm,” Daryl hummed, nodding. “He got anymore tricks I should know about? Besides yankin’ out my hair on command?”

You allowed yourself a small amused exhale and Daryl liked how the corners of your mouth turned up subtly and stayed there. He thought it was maybe the first actual smile he’d seen on you since he’d looked up at you in that damn tree as you told him to forget about you.

“He can talk, mimic sounds he hears. But he’s not a parrot. He won’t do it on command. Ravens are—” you paused thoughtfully, searching for the right word. “—suspicious. He’s not comfortable around new people or even new objects sometimes… Everything must be thoroughly vetted,” you explained. “If he does talk around someone, it means he’s comfortable. That he’s accepted them. They’re very wary.”

Kinda like you, Daryl thought. But he didn’t speak it. He nodded and glanced at Dog who had gone back to snoozing. “Hungry?” he asked you, climbing to his feet.

“Not really.”

“Well, too bad. ‘Cause ya gotta eat somethin’. Need to get your strength back up. Ya’ve got a lot of healin’ to do.” He started toward the kitchen and your eyes followed him across the room and through the doorway.

“You’re gonna cook?” you called after him. Achilles took off from his place on the arm of the chair and soared over to a large armoire and perched on the top.

He appeared in the doorway again and the expression on his face nearly made you laugh. “What? Ya think I can’t cook?” You shrugged and now did laugh a little. “Alrigh’, I may not be no damn chef but I can cook. I mean, it’ll at least be edible.”

“Well, that generally is the most important quality in food—that it’s edible,” you said, pushing yourself up to stand, wrapping an arm around your midsection again and pausing as some pain shot through you.

“Would ya just sit down and—”

“You aren’t exactly inspiring confidence in me about your kitchen skills,” you argued.

“Nah,” he scolded you, shaking his head. “Sit yer ass down. Now ‘m gonna really have to figure somethin’ out in here,” he drawled. “Ya should be restin’ and I dun want ya breathin’ down my damn neck while ‘m workin’ out here.”

“Breathing down your neck?” you laughed. “Christ, I wasn’t planning on that.”

“Well, I dun want ya—supervisin’ or starin’ or judgin’ me anyhow, so sit back down,” he scolded you again.

You considered him for a long moment but being on your feet again reminded you of how tired you were. “Fine. I’ll just get a fire going and then I’ll sit out here with Dog. Just try not to burn the place down or waste my ingredients, would you?”

Daryl rolled his eyes but disappeared back into the kitchen. You soon heard the clanking of pots and pans and the slamming of cabinet doors. You glanced up at the armoire to see that Achilles had made himself comfortable and tucked his head under his wing for a nap.

“Hey—anywhere to get water ‘round here?” he called out from the kitchen.

“There’s a covered well out back—least… there was when I was last here. But you should probably boil the water just in case,” you said.

You heard the back door being unlocked and tugged open. Dog lifted his head from his paws to look toward the kitchen, apparently concerned about his master leaving.

“He’ll be back,” you told the Malinois. You walked over to the hearth and Dog’s eyes followed you. You sank down to sit on the hearth, wincing at the pain running through your torso. “Fuck,” you murmured, wrapping you hand around your middle again.

Dog tilted his head and whined lightly, looking at you with bright, inquisitive eyes.

“Oh, hush. I’m fine. I don’t need you worrying about me too,” you told him, straightening and turning your attention back to the fireplace. You leaned in and opened the flue, wiping the dark smudges of soot that transferred to your hand on your pants. The basket beside the hearth still had faded newspapers, tinder and kindling piled in it and there was a large stack of dry wood beside it too, now shrouded in cobwebs and coated in dust. But you reflected on the fact that it really looked like no one had been here since you’d left… and that had been years ago.

As you busied yourself with getting a fire started, you heard Daryl enter the kitchen and get back to whatever he was doing in there. You soon had a happy blaze crackling away and it cheered and soothed you instantly, casting the previously gloomy and neglected interior in a warm glow.

Dog had already settled his head back down on his paws, but as the flames licked around the logs, he shifted more closely to it and it drew an appreciative chuckle from you. You slipped off the stone ledge of the hearth and knelt beside him on the floor. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” Dog let out a content sigh and closed his eyes, the fire warming his back. You sunk your fingers into his soft fur and he quickly exposed his chest and belly for scratches, which you provided with a smile. In no time, Dog was snoozing on his side again and you propped your back against the stone ledge of the fireplace. It warmed your back and shoulders. It felt good. It helped your focus on something besides the pain in your body from your fight with Alpha. Your fingers ran through Dog’s thick fur absently, almost meditatively, and you let your mind drift for the first time since you’d left The Hilltop.

Daryl appeared in the doorway and looked in, surprised to see you nearly cuddled up with Dog on the floor. You must have felt him looking at you because you glanced up, and it was like a lightning bolt shot through him at the exact moment your eyes met his. His heart jumped in his chest and he found himself inexplicably nervous. “Dog’s won ya over, huh?” he drawled. “I might have to ask him for some tips.”

“Not anything you could emulate,” you joked.

“Nothin’?”

“He’s not a person. I tend to prefer most animals to people.”

Daryl smiled briefly. “Yeah. I think tha’s fair.” He ran a hand nervously over the back of his neck. “Well—food s’almost done. Can’t say whether it’s any good or not—”

“It smells good,” you remarked. “Even if I don’t feel much like eating.” You started to try to climb to your feet, grimacing and struggling to even get your feet under you at all, let alone stand up. Daryl hesitated for a split second before rushing over.

“Uhh—can I—can I please help ya up before ya rip a damn stitch?” he asked.

You struggled for one more second, but sore and exhausted, you relented and gave him a hesitant nod. He extended his hands and you delayed a moment longer, looking unsure, before placing yours in his. He gently pulled you to your feet and for some strange reason the two of you were frozen for a moment. The time had passed when he should have let go and you both felt it. Your breath seemed caught in your throat until he finally slipped his hands softly away from yours, tingles left behind like the ghosts of his touch, and he cleared his throat. “I’ll just go check on the—the food. Ya should go sit down,” he drawled, and he made a hasty exit for the kitchen.

Ten more minutes passed and Daryl came out with two steaming bowls. Funny enough, both Dog and Achilles perked up as he handed one to you where you had sunk into the armchair again. “S’just—some dried beans and bunch of those canned veggies ya had in there. Tomatoes, onions, garlic, uhh… peppers, I think? Careful. Bowl is hot.”

“Thank you,” you murmured, accepting it by the top edge of the bowl. Your fingertips brushed the back of his hand and Daryl swore there was a static charge, though you didn’t seem to react as if you’d been shocked. Achilles stretched and then fluttered over to perch on the back of your chair, letting out a squawk and interested trill as he peered over your shoulder at what was in your bowl, tilting his glossy black head this way and that. Dog trotted over to beg at Daryl’s side and while he watched Daryl eat, a string of drool grew in length until it touched Daryl’s knee and pooled a bit on his black pants.

He let out a disgusted noise. “Agh… Dog! Dammit, get back!”

You couldn’t help chuckling a little as you scraped at the last of your meal.

Daryl looked up in surprise. “What? Yer laughin’?”

You glanced up still smiling and shrugged a little. “Maybe,” you said, unable to hide another chuckle at his expense.

“Yeah, real nice. After I cooked ya this five-star meal,” he joked.

“It was actually pretty good,” you admitted. “Maybe I was hungry after all.”

“Ya should be,” he murmured, chewing his last bite and wiping at his mouth with his sleeve. “Ya ain’t had anything in how many days?” He stood and came to collect your bowl.

“No—I’ll deal with the dishes,” you argued. “You cooked.”

“Nah—look at ya,” he growled, taking your bowl. “Ya can barely stand up. And ya sure as shit ain’t haulin’ more water like that. Just lemme do this.”

You watched his broad shoulders retreat toward the kitchen. “I can stand you know! We walked how many miles today?”

His voice rang out from the kitchen again. “Exactly. Ya did yer standin’ and walkin’. More than ya shoulda. Ya should’ve been in bed all damn day!”

You rolled your eyes but got to your feet anyway and threw a couple more logs onto the fire, blowing on the coals to get them to catch. Dog came back to the rug in front of the hearth and circled a few times before laying down. You wandered over to a painting hanging over a long, low bookshelf. It depicted an early morning landscape shrouded in fog. The grass was luminescent with dew and you could practically taste the verdant smell of the meadow as you looked at it. But you lifted a hand and nudged it aside. It swung on the wire hanging over the nail and revealed a little nook behind it.

Daryl was walking back out of the kitchen and froze at the threshold. “What’re ya doin’?” he asked, his brow furrowed. He watched curiously as you withdrew a glass bottle and then replaced the painting. You straightened it carefully before you looked over at him.

You held it up so the light from the fire cascaded through the deep amber liquid inside.

He frowned. “Uhh… should ya be drinkin’ in yer condition?”

This drew another dry laugh from you. “I’m not pregnant. I have a knife wound. And… some other bruises. It’s fine.”

His brow furrowed. “Dun ya have a concussion?”

“It’ll be fine. Look—I need something to take the edge off, alright?”

“Yeah, ya should’ve stayed in the clinic,” he said for what felt like the fiftieth time that day. “Enid woulda had pain meds for ya.”

“Well, I didn’t,” you replied. “Am I drinking alone or what?”

He fixed a long stare on you and then sighed, giving in.

“Great. Get some cups from the kitchen, would you?”

He returned with two mugs and handed you one. You poured in a healthy share of whiskey and then held the bottle up to offer him some. He held his mug out. “Not sure I should be encouraging this…”

“Come on. After all the trauma I just went through you can’t let me drink alone,” you joked wryly.

He shook his head at you but took his glass over to the couch and sat down, planting his boots up on the coffee table and taking an exploratory sip. “Mmm. S’pretty damn good whiskey.”

“Yep. Medicinal grade,” you said, gulping down a good amount. You were hoping it would ease not only the pain in your body, but quiet your anxious thoughts a little too. A slightly fuzzy head sounded good at the moment. Either way, a nightcap hit the spot after the decent meal and with the fire crackling in the fireplace… You could almost forget outside was a hellish nightmare of death and violence. Almost. You never could completely forget.

“Pretty nice place ya got here. And pretty well stocked,” Daryl said, interrupting your train of thought.

“Who says it’s my place?” your retorted.

“You did.”

“No. I just said I stayed here once.”

Daryl gave you a knowing look. “Alrigh’. Maybe ya didn’t say exactly, but ya know where the damn hidden booze stash is… And I could tell even before that. Ya moved around in here like ya knew it. But… ya left so many things behind, especially all that food in the kitchen. Ain’t exactly like ya can walk down to the grocery store and pick up what ya need anywhere.”

You ducked his gaze and ran a finger over the curving handle of the mug in your hand. You raised it to your lips and took another big sip. The burn down your throat and into your stomach felt good.

“Ya have to leave here in a hurry?” he asked. You didn’t answer, but Daryl didn’t seem to need you to and he wasn’t deterred. If you had looked up, you would have seen his blue eyes narrowed perceptively, flickering over your features. “Ya left it all here on purpose. As a… like a safehouse,” he said, nodding. He didn’t ask it as a question. “As a ‘just in case’,” he finished. “Yeah. Ya seem to live your whole life with a ‘just in case’.”

You looked up at him, your brow slightly furrowed. “What does that mean?” you asked, an edge to your tone.

He shrugged. “Nothin’. Sorry. I dun mean anythin’ bad by it. Prob’ly just means—ya didn’t have a ‘just in case’ sometime when ya needed it. And ya ain’t ‘bout to make that mistake twice.”

You gulped, feeling how exquisitely close to the mark he was deep in your midsection as a tense knot materializing somewhere behind your navel. You downed the last of your whiskey and eyed the bottle again.

“Must be a lot for ya to have me here, lettin’ somebody else know ‘bout it. Thanks for trustin’ me that much.” You did. You didn’t know why, but you did. You couldn’t even remember the last time you’d trusted some—wait. Yes, you could. “Ya won’t tell me a thing more about ya? About what’s happened to ya?” he asked. “Bout the trees? Bein’ up there?” His voice was gentle and patient. Your eyes flickered back over to where he was sitting reclined on the couch, his hands absently twirling his mug.

“Why do you want to know my story?” you asked in a low voice.

He shrugged. “‘M just—tryin’ to understand ya,” he drawled.

Your brow furrowed. “But why?” you asked softly. “Why does it matter?”

Daryl fiddled with his now empty mug and shrugged again. “It just does. To me. Ya saved my life and I can’t shake the feeling that yer in somethin’ with these Whisperers, Shepherds as ya call ‘em. And if ya are, I want ya to know that ya dun gotta do it alone. My place, the communities ‘m tied to, they’re full of good people. People who’d help ya. People who did help ya.”

“And this has nothing to do with the fact that I recognized Lydia and know about The Shepherds? All these questions,” you said.

“No. But I ain’t gonna lie and say I don’t wish ya’d just tell me what ya know.”

You grabbed the bottle and poured in a generous amount of whiskey again. You leaned forward, ignoring how it sent a sharp pain through your stomach, and set the bottle in front of him on the coffee table. You considered him for a long moment. You thought about his people who had saved you, about the place they’d brought you to. It had seemed wholly good. He seemed wholly good. Your gut was telling you, over and over, that you could trust him. It had told you that since the night he’d ended up at your tree in the storm. But you’d been wrong before and you had to consider this all carefully. What harm could come from opening up, just a little bit, to this one person? Logically, you didn’t think much, but it still felt… scary. You took a small sip of whiskey and let it sit on your tongue a moment, the smokiness of the oak. “I can’t really tell you one without the other, I suppose.”

“What d’ya mean?”

“About them and about me, at least some of it. In some—sick way, we’re connected.” You froze for a moment, truly wondering where to start. Daryl leaned forward and poured another share of whiskey into his glass before sitting on the edge of the couch, leaned forward, ready to listen intently. “I know a lot about The Shepherds,” you said. “More than probably anyone alive who isn’t one of them.” You gulped and tried to suppress the flashbacks that were threatening to surge forward. Your hand shook as you raised your mug to your lips again and took a big drink. “Alpha is not someone you want to fuck with lightly. She’s ruthless, even to her own people. The things I’ve seen her do—” You broke off and shook your head, shutting your eyes for a moment as you tried to retain your composure. You licked your lips and went on. “Look, without going into my whole backstory since the world went to shit—I was part of a community once. One that was probably a lot like yours. All of a sudden, Alpha comes out of nowhere and starts telling us that we’re trespassing on her lands when we’re hunting the same areas we’d been hunting for years. She threatened us with consequences if we didn’t pay attention to her borders. But the reality was that we had hungry people, hungry kids to feed. It was winter and game was already scarce. Supplies were tight. I wasn’t going to wait around listening to the leaders sitting on their asses talking while kids starved. I went out and hunted like I felt I had a right to. The way I had been…” You felt as if a concrete block had just materialized on your chest. It was built of residual anger and grief and guilt and blame… “‘Fuck her borders,’ I thought.” You averted your eyes to stare down into your mug, swirling the whiskey inside and chewing on your bottom lip. Daryl swore he could see the color draining from your face. “One of them saw me. Of course they did… we didn’t know they wore the dead’s faces then... But I figured it out real quick when what I thought was a walker started attacking me with a knife. That one and two more ended up dead.” You sighed and your head fell back against the chair. Achilles, still perched on the back, picked at your hair and let out a soft rasp. “If they’d managed to kill me, that might’ve just been the end of it,” you thought aloud. “Probably not. But maybe.”

Daryl gulped. He had a bad feeling about where this was going. “What happened after that?”

You let out a dry laugh and blinked away the moisture burning in your eyes. “Alpha went back to my community, where the leaders themselves were enjoying the venison and rabbit and quail I had shot, and offered them a deal. But she didn’t come alone this time. She brought a horde with her, and delivered a note into their hands. A final warning. If no one else crossed her borders again, she would leave the community alone. But there was a caveat. She wanted me in exchange,” you said.

“Dun tell me they—” but Daryl broke off, reading the answer on your face. He couldn’t even begin to contemplate that level of betrayal.

“They did. More than that, they did it right proper, with a vote. Yay, democracy,” you said wryly. “They traded me for their safety. Turns out one of the ones I killed was Alpha’s number two. Beta. Not the same Beta she has now, obviously. A different one. And she was pissed. She was pissed that I’d killed them, but more than that she was pissed that I had defied her, ignored her. If there’s one thing Alpha hates, it’s people who aren’t intimidated by her. She wants people scared, even her own. It makes her feel… powerful.”

Daryl stared down into his mug and then downed the whole thing. “I’ve known—plenty of people like that.”

You nodded. “Yeah. They seem to do well these days.”

“So, what? They took ya prisoner? And your community just went on livin’?” The rage in his chest was starting to boil over.

“Not exactly.”

Daryl’s brow was low over his blue eyes, casting them in shadow. “So, what happened?”

“I was taken to Alpha’s camp as a prisoner,” you said, resting your hand over the knife wound again, which seemed to pulse and burn as you talked about the one who’d given it to you. “I think I’ll—I’ll gloss over the finer points of that experience…” Your voice went soft and trailed away.

He ducked his head. Though across the room, he could feel the waves of pain and suffering radiating off you. He cleared his throat finally so you’d look up at him again. “Look, ‘m sorry. Ya dun gotta tell me any more of this if—if it’s too—”

“We already started,” you said, straightening up again. “Might as well finish.”

He nodded. “Where’d Lydia come in?” Daryl asked.

Your expression unstiffened, became less stony. “She was really just a kid then. Little. I saw Alpha beat the shit out of her countless times for screwing up, which was really just being a kid with normal needs. Sometimes, at night when she couldn’t sleep which was often, Lydia would come and talk to me. She’d ask me questions about the old world or about where I came from. Bring me whatever little bit of food or water she could. There was a—a kindness in her that her mother couldn’t kill. But it didn’t stop her from trying. Eventually, Lydia saw that they were going to kill me. I was going to die. Whether it would be from exposure, or hunger, or sickness, or the fighting, or whether Alpha just decided ‘today is the day’… neither of us knew, but I was going to die there.”

Daryl drew in a sharp breath as he realized. “She let ya go. Lydia.”

You nodded. “Yeah. And I tried to take her with me, to convince her that she didn’t deserve everything her mother—” you broke off and shook your head. “She wouldn’t. She was young. She was afraid. She almost didn’t remember any other kind of life…” Daryl watched you wince at the thought of leaving her behind.

“S’not yer fault,” he said. You looked up at him quickly, vague surprise on your face. “Ya tried. Ya can’t help people if they ain’t ready for it.”

You let out a wry laugh. “That sounds familiar… considering recent events,” you joked, giving him a semi-sheepish look.

“So, what happened after ya escaped?”

“I… went back. After what I’d seen out there, I had to try and warn them. Even if they’d traded me like a fucking sack of corn, I had to tell them. They betrayed me, maybe as good as killed me in some ways, but there were plenty of people in there who didn’t deserve what would come from The Shepherds, from Alpha. They were scared…”

Daryl’s brow furrowed more heavily. He stared in disbelief. “Ya went back… to the damn people who—”

“No.”

“No?” he repeated, confused.

Tears welled up in your eyes again and you fought against them, blinking rapidly to clear the blur. “No. I was too late. There was… nothing to go back to. No one. They were all dead. The whole place was ransacked, destroyed. Alpha had brought her horde in. She’d lied. There was never any fucking deal. She put the community board’s heads on pikes,” you said, your face distorting in disgust and anger as you remembered it, could almost taste the copper in the air.

Daryl’s heart sunk into his boots. “Fuck… ‘m—‘m sorry.” The distant look grew in your eyes again. You seemed to fade away, behind some gray veil where he wasn’t sure he’d be able to reach you again. Your voice drifted out from behind it.

“I still wonder if I hadn’t gone out hunting there again,” you shook your head, “maybe none of it would have turned out that way. All those people… families. Kids. They’d still be alive. Maybe the community would still be standing.”

Daryl’s chest ached. He felt hollow. Not just because of what you were telling him, of what had happened to you, but at the thought that it might happen to the people he cared about—The Hilltop, Alexandria. “Look, I’ve done things—things that I felt led—to some real bad shit happenin’. Got people killed.” Flashbacks of the line-up burst behind his eyes and he had to close them for a moment and steel himself before he could go on. “But we dun get to know. We don’t. It ain’t how it works. So, ya can’t keep on carryin’ that guilt. Maybe shit woulda turned out different, but maybe it woulda turned out exactly the same. Hell, maybe it woulda been worse. Ya made a choice to try and feed some of yours. Ain’t no blame in that.”

You looked up at him for a long moment and finally sighed. “After that, I just… I left. I hid.”

“Here?” Daryl asked.

You nodded. “Yeah. I found it and I built it into some kind of a life until I was ready to go after them.”

“Alpha.”

“And the others. She has a lot of loyal followers who are nearly as fucked up as her. If I get the chance to take them out, I do.”

Daryl set down his empty mug and clasped his hands between his knees. “Why was Lydia so angry with ya? When we went to see her at The Hilltop?”

“Because I’m killing them. Because she knows I want to kill Alpha. Because she knows she should have left with me? I don’t know. All of the above.”

Daryl’s mind was whirling, but he could see that you were exhausted, physically and now emotionally. “Thanks for tellin’ me,” he said. “I mean it. That—that can’t be easy to talk about. And… I understand why ya felt—unsafe at The Hilltop. It’s a community and it’s got people and I sure as shit would have some fuckin’ trust issues after that,” he said.

You let out an amused exhale. “Trust issues? Who says I have trust issues?”

“Oh—Nah, I—No, I didn’t—”

You let out a laugh and it broke the tension immediately. “Relax, Daryl. I’m kidding. You nailed it. But—I also suspect you may have some,” you said perceptively.

“Me?” he retorted. “Nah, I trust ev’rybody. ‘M a real open book…”

“Uh huh…” You leaned to one side as Achilles suddenly took off and landed almost silently on the rug beside Dog. He hopped closer and tilted his head one way and another, puffing up the feathers on his head and chest. Dog lifted his head lazily and turned to look at the bird. Achilles let out a low croak and strutted closer. “Achilles,” you said in a warning tone. “Be nice.”

He flapped his wings a little and walked around toward Dog’s tail. “Achilles…” But the raven showed no sign he was listening. He took a hop toward Dog’s long tail, the Malinois looking on, and then seemed to consider something for a moment. He made an exploratory grab at Dog’s tail, which the Malinois quickly flicked away and punctuated the action with a low growl. Achilles’ head tilted this way and that, thoughtfully, but the next second he hopped closer and repeated the annoyance. Dog rearranged himself more strategically on the rug, flicking his tail away again and curling his front toward the bird. He let out an annoyed noise. Achilles flapped his wings and gurgled, taking in Dog’s much closer muzzle and watchful gaze. Then, apparently undeterred, he darted forward, took hold of the end of Dog’s tail in his bill, and pulled. Dog lunged and barked. “Achilles!” you scolded him as he flew away with his prize, a tuft of Dog’s fur, and soared a victory lap around the room back up to the top of the armoire again.

Daryl couldn’t help himself and laughed at the bird’s antics. You rolled your eyes. “Don’t encourage his bad behavior,” you said. “Achilles, come on!” you said, pushing yourself up to stand. “Bedtime. Let’s go.” You held out your arm and he soared over and landed gracefully. You scratched his head affectionately. “Sorry, Dog. He can be pretty incorrigible.” The Malinois blinked at you, sighed, and went back to sleep. “Alright,” you sighed. “I’m pretty tired so… I think I’ll turn in.”

“Yeah. Yeah, good idea,” Daryl said, standing abruptly and awkwardly rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “Dog and I will hold down the fort out here…”

You nodded and started toward the door that led to the bedroom. “Night.”

“Night…”

When you got to the threshold, you looked back at him. “I meant what I said, you know. About Alpha. You and yours should take The Shepherds seriously. Especially since you have Lydia, the whole community could be in danger. To her, Lydia is a possession.”

He nodded, a little confused by the abrupt warning. “Yeah. I got it. Thanks again, for tellin’ me.”

With another nod, you disappeared into the bedroom and shut the door softly behind you.

[hotvintagepoll]

Propaganda

Loretta Young (The Farmer’s Daughter, The Stranger, Love is News)— Her cheekbones!! Her lips!! Her big eyes and small nose and not quite classical features!! The planes of her face hypnotize me and her smile clears my mind of anything else. She’s an interesting beauty, not a standard one, almost in a Mads Mikkelsen type way (I repeat: cheekbones). Also I’m begging people to watch The Farmer’s Daughter, a charming rom com where my babygirl Joseph Cotten falls through the ice while skating because he got distracted by how pretty she was, and where Loretta puts on a 40s-bad Swedish accent and runs for Congress! Girlboss!

Marlene Dietrich (Shanghai Express, Witness for the Prosecution, Morocco)—its marlene dietrich!!!! queer legend, easily the hottest person to ever wear a tuxedo, that hot hot voice, those glamorous glamorous movies.... most famously she starred in a string of movies directed by josef von sternberg throughout the 1930s, beginning with the blue angel which catapulted her to stardom in the role of the cabaret singer lola lola. known for his exquisite eye for lighting, texture, imagery, von sternberg devoted himself over the course of their collaborations to acquiring exceptional skill at photographing dietrich herself in particular, a worthy direction in which to expend effort im sure we can all agree. she collaborated with many other great directors of the era as well, including rouben mamoulian (song of songs), frank borzage (desire), ernst lubitsch (angel), fritz lang (rancho notorious), and billy wilder (witness for the prosecution). the encyclopedia britannica entry im looking at while compiling this propaganda describes her as having an “aura of sophistication and languid sexuality” which✔️💯. born marie magdalene dietrich, she combined her first and middle names to coin the moniker “marlene”. she was a trendsetter in her incorporation of trousers, suits, and menswear into her wardrobe and her androgynous allure was often remarked upon. critic kenneth tynan wrote, “She has sex, but no particular gender. She has the bearing of a man; the characters she plays love power and wear trousers. Her masculinity appeals to women and her sexuality to men.” in the 1920s she enjoyed the vibrant queer nightlife of weimar berlin, visiting gay bars and drag balls, and in hollywood her love affairs with men and women were an open secret. she was an ardent opponent of nazi germany, refusing lucrative contacts offered her to make films there, raising money with billy wilder to help jews and dissidents escape, and undertaking extensive USO tours to entertain soldiers with an act that included her a playing musical saw and doing a mindreading routine she learned from orson welles. starting in the 50s and continuing into the mid-70s she worked largely as a cabaret artist touring the world to large audiences, employing burt bacharach as her musical arranger.

This is round 2 of the tournament. All other polls in this bracket can be found here. Please reblog with further support of your beloved hot sexy vintage woman.

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

Loretta Young:

[additional propaganda submitted under the cut.]

"ms dietrich....ms dietrich pls.....sit on my face"

"First of all, there are those publicity photos of her in a tux. Second of all, I have never been the same since knowing that she sent copies of those photos to her Berlin lovers signed "Daddy Marlene." Not only is she hot in all circumstances, but she can do everything from earthy to ice queen. Also, she kept getting sexy romantic lead parts in Hollywood after the age of 40, which would be rare even now. She hated Nazis, loved her friends, and had a sapphic social circle in Hollywood. She also had cheekbones that could cut glass and a voice that could melt you."

Bisexual icon, super hot when dressed both masculine and feminine, lived up her life in the queer Berlin scene of the 1920s, central to the 'sewing circle' of the secret sapphic actresses of Old Hollywood, refused lucrative offers by the Nazis and helped Jews and others under persecution to escape Nazi Germany, the love of my life

Her GENDER her looks her voice her everything

“In her films and record-breaking cabaret performances, Miss Dietrich artfully projected cool sophistication, self-mockery and infinite experience. Her sexuality was audacious, her wit was insolent and her manner was ageless. With a world-weary charm and a diaphanous gown showing off her celebrated legs, she was the quintessential cabaret entertainer of Weimar-era Germany.”

"The bar scene in Morocco awoke something in me and ultimately changed my gender"

"Her manner, the critic Kenneth Tynan wrote, was that of ‘a serpentine lasso whereby her voice casually winds itself around our most vulnerable fantasies.’ Her friend Maurice Chevalier said: ‘Dietrich is something that never existed before and may never exist again.’”

"Songstress, photographer, fashion icon, out bisexual phenom (notoriously stole Lupe Velez and Joan Crawford's men, and Errol Flynn's wife, had a torrid affair with Greta Garbo that ended in a 60-year feud, other notable conquests including Erich Maria Remarque -yes, the guy who wrote All Quiet on the Western Front- Douglas Fairbanks Junior, Claudette Colbert, Mercedes de Acosta, Edith Piaf), anti-Nazi activist. Marlene was a bitch - she had an open marriage for decades and one of her favorite things was making catty commentary about her current lover with her husband, and her relationship with her daughter was painful- but she was also immensely talented, a hard worker, an opponent of fascism and the hottest ice queen in Hollywood for a long time."

"She can sing! She can act! She told the Nazis to fuck off and became a US citizen out of spite! She worked with other German exiles to create a fund to help Jews and German dissidents escape (she donated an entire movie salary, about $450k, to the cause). She looks REALLY GOOD in a suit. If you're not convinced, please listen to her sing "Lili Marlene". Absolutely gorgeous woman with a gorgeous voice."

Gifset link

"Bisexual icon and Nazi-hater. Looks absolutely stunning in the suits she liked to wear. 'I dress for the image. Not for myself, not for the public, not for fashion, not for men'."

"Did a bunch of humanitarian work during ww2, pretty sure a shot of her from Shanghai express was the inspiration for one of queens album covers and also her in the suit in Morocco (1930) CHANGED LIVES. I’m sure she’s already been submitted but I wanted an opportunity to submit one of my favourite pictures of her for the poll"

"would you not let her walk on you?"

[whereianonymouslypostfics]

Distracted

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Word count: ~1.8k

Summary: Wanda and Y/n spend the night in a club

A/N: This came to mind while I was riding my peloton bike, idk why

Warnings: fluff, angst

Wanda tried to feign interest in the rather one-sided conversation she was having while she sipped on her drink and kept an eye on you. 

Tonight she was working which wasn’t abnormal, but it also happened to be one of the few times where you had accompanied her. She’d decided that it was acceptable for two reasons. One, she wasn’t expecting this meeting to be particularly dangerous, and two Bucky and Steve were both here as well.

They blended in well with the patrons at the night club that Wanda used as her meeting place. It was busy enough that not many, if any people took notice of her in the VIP area, and it wasn’t like it mattered much anyway. Wanda only really cared about keeping an eye on you. 

You had invited some friends out tonight, and you and your group of friends were enjoying the queer-artist inspired set. Although all of your friends were taken, Wanda had to remind herself multiple times not to get jealous when she caught one of them dancing closer to you than she deemed strictly necessary. 

“Do you agree, Ms. Maximoff?” 

The only sign that Wanda was caught off guard by the question was the subtle tightening of her fingers around her glass. She kept her expression neutral as she turned back to the woman across from her and nodded despite not having any idea what she was talking about. Last she remembered; they were reviewing notes for the meeting that should be starting any minute now.

She knew that she had to be more attentive for what came next. The woman she was talking to was visiting from the East Coast to discuss a supposedly mutually beneficial arrangement. Apparently, the sudden surge of competition Wanda found herself facing was due to a runaway wannabe drug lord. She knew she could probably handle it on her own, but when the leader of the most influential group of criminals in New York asked for an audience, she knew she shouldn’t say no.

That said, she wasn’t sure what Bianca Sullivan had to offer her, and if she’s even be able to match it. She realizes she should have paid more attention to her talking points than how you continued to dance with your friends, but it couldn’t be helped. She was only human after all, and you looked way too good in those shorts. 

The first sign that Bianca had arrived was the appearance of two of her guards setting up shop in the VIP area. When Wanda glanced toward the back entrance, she noted unfamiliar faces introducing themselves to her guards and then there she was. 

The brunette was exactly what she expected. She had a severe expression and gave off the impression that she didn’t take shit from anyone. Wanda could respect this and she found herself smiling slightly as she stood up to greet the woman she’d only spoken with once. She watched out of the corner of her eye as her assistant left to get a waiter’s attention. 

“Ms. Sullivan, welcome. I appreciate your willingness to meet here.” 

Wanda didn’t bother to say that she wouldn’t have met her anywhere else. This was her territory, and it was only polite for the brunette to meet her here since she had something she wanted after all. Luckily, she sensed that the woman who offered her a brief yet firm handshake had a formidable business sense. She merely nodded before she settled into the plush seat across from Wanda with an enviable amount of grace. 

“I appreciate you meeting with me at all, Ms. Maximoff. I know it’s a little unconventional.” 

Although it was unnecessary, Wanda offered a small nod before she glanced to the waiter who brought Wanda a new drink and asked Bianca for her order. She isn’t surprised in the least by the other woman’s order, but she keeps her opinion to herself. 

“I have to admit I’m intrigued. The group I’ve been dealing with has only grown since they first declared themselves a couple of weeks ago.” 

Wanda watches as the brunette scowls at the thought, but she doesn’t get a chance to ask for the reason. She’s surprised by how upfront the other mob boss is. She discloses that someone she believed to be her ally, betrayed her, attempted to murder her, but when she’d failed, she fled here. It seemed like a random choice, but Wanda’s realized that very little that happened in her line of work was random. 

It seems that she was right. 

“I’m surprised that she made it this far, but unfortunately, for you, she’s causing trouble.  I think I know how to handle her.” 

Wanda finishes up her drink listening to the woman’s proposition. It seems simple despite the inherent complications of having Bianca’s people operating in her territory for a minimum of three weeks while they work on cleansing her city. She understands why Bianca doesn’t ask her to do it. Simply watching her talk about her former friend is telling enough. She feels responsible for her, and she wants to be the one to take her down. 

“If you’re open to it, I’ll stay for as long as it takes to get rid of her.” 

A familiar song reaches Wanda’s ears and she has to force herself to ignore it as she considers the cons of such an arrangement. She knows that the other woman isn’t here to stay and steal her business, but her presence is going to cause confusion and maybe even panic. She’ll have to spread the word that they have a new ally. 

After almost a minute of deliberation, Wanda nods and sits up in her chair so she can set her glass down on the table between them. 

“I don’t see why not. We’ll work out the arrangements and make sure my people don’t get in the way of yours.” 

Bianca finally cracks a smile and Wanda is in the process of returning it when her gaze moves to over the brunette’s shoulder. 

Baby don’t you like this beat? I made it so you’d sleep with me. 

The way you dance to these words gives Wanda pause and she knows that the woman across from her notices. Still, she recovers quickly and tries to scrub the way your hips move against your friend’s from her brain. At least for now. 

“Have you made hotel arrangements yet? I can offer a few suggestions if not.” 

Bianca politely declines her offer with another genuine smile that Wanda feels is reserved for very few. 

“Thank you, Ms. Maximoff, but my fiancée has already taken care of it.”

Wanda nods and the pair continue to talk logistics until Wanda’s distracted again a few minutes later. She plans on wrapping things up quickly so she can join you. Or maybe drag you from the dancefloor and into the nearest dark corner. 

After arrangements are made to meet again tomorrow and talk strategy, Wanda decides to cut this meeting short. She sees Bianca’s gaze drift over her shoulder once again toward where her guards are, and she wonders who just arrived. 

“Well, I won’t keep you any longer. I look forward to speaking with you again, Ms. Sullivan.”

Bianca nods and they both stand at the same time, their minds already on something else entirely. 

“You as well, and thank you for your hospitality, Ms. Maximoff.” 

Wanda barely notices her leaving the way she came as she makes eye contact with you. You’re smiling at her, and as soon as you realize you have her attention you take advantage of it. Wanda watches your mouth move, and you raise an arm and motion her toward you. 

Baby, why don’t you come over?

Wanda doesn’t hear you say the words, but they still have their desired effect. She abandons the VIP area for the bustling dancefloor nearly running into half a dozen people on her way to you. She notices none of them and they seem to scatter the closer she gets to you. You’re still smiling and dancing as she reaches out for you, and she barely notices how your friends have discreetly turned away and formed a barrier between you and everyone else.

“It’s about time, Wands. I’ve been trying to use my feminine wiles to summon you for ages.” 

Wanda rolls her eyes at your exaggerated tone before she pulls you closer by the hips with a huff. She takes a moment to admire the way you move as the beat of the song picks up. She tightens her hold on you when she remembers that you’ve been dancing like this without her for almost an hour. 

She leans in so she doesn’t have to shout, and she smiles as you wrap your arms around her neck. 

“I’m lucky that I’m the only one you summoned dancing like that.” 

She hears you laugh and she pulls away to see you smiling mischievously before shrugging seemingly unconcerned. 

“What can I say? Your meeting was taking too long.” 

Wanda rolls her eyes again before she leans in to kiss you like she’s been wanting to all night. She pulls you flush against her and allows herself to pretend that it’s just the two of you. Even if it’s only for a few minutes. 

Bianca smiles as she embraces her fiancée with a tired groan. It’s past 2am their time, and she’s exhausted, but at least she’s accomplished something. She’s glad that Wanda is amenable to their alliance because now she’s one step closer to ending things once and for all. 

Maria puts an arm around her shoulders and shoots her a knowing look. She’s suddenly so relieved that her fiancée was willing to make this trip with her. Forget the fact she may not be in New York again for weeks. She always felt more settled when the redhead was around. 

“Is it time to call it a night?” 

Bianca considers having another drink with her fiancée, but it’s loud and she’s practically dead on her feet. So instead of cozying up here, she decides that the hotel that Maria booked will be more than sufficient. 

“I think so. It’s been a long day.” 

Maria smiles as she guides the taller woman down a dimly lit hallway toward the back of the club where they’d parked. She ignores the normal shadows that follow them everywhere and considers how she can help her future wife decompress. 

“Agreed. I think a hot bath and a massage would be a perfect way to end this day, hmm?” 

Bianca smiles brightly as she follows Maria out into the parking lot. She pauses just long enough to plant a kiss on her lips, much to the chagrin of her bodyguards, before nodding in agreement. 

“I couldn’t agree more.”

Masterlist

[forest-hashira]

Birds of a Feather

happy pride everyone! finally some explicitly queer content (even tho nothing i write is cishet in my mind). another coming out fic. idc if it's cliche, it's a big deal for our girl and i'm very proud of her ok? also you legally have to be nice to me and her this whole month bc it's pride. also, this is my entry for @dearbraus's "blooming into you" collab! be sure to check out the rest of the masterlist 💜

series masterlist | read on ao3 | wc: ~2.4k | cw: gender neutral reader, transfem gojo, coming out, fluff, super light angst (she's nervous to come out), gumi's in this one!, hints of parental gojo/mentions of gojo raising megumi, megumi is a trans man in this au

Satoru continued to grow her hair out after you first trimmed her undercut, continued painting her nails, and wore her clear lip gloss to the school more days than not. She seemed content with things as they were – and if she was content, you were content – but when her hair got long enough for you to braid out of her face, she decided it was time to take another step in her transition.

“Don’t you think it’s time I told someone else about… well. About me, I guess,” she asked one evening while you were in the kitchen.

The question caught you off guard, and you finished setting up the rice cooker before turning to face her. She was avoiding your gaze, instead staring down at her nails; her polish was starting to chip a bit, and you’d been trying to break her of the habit of picking it off when it would chip.

“That’s not really my decision,” you responded gently, watching her closely. “Are you ready to tell anyone else?”

She hesitated, still not meeting your gaze. “I think people are starting to notice anyway.” Her words were so soft you nearly missed them, but the anxiety that permeated her words broke your heart.

“What makes you think that?” You stepped closer, crossing the room and taking her hands into your own when you noticed her start to pick at her nail polish. The odds that anyone had been cruel to her were low, but it didn’t ease the surge of protectiveness that flared in your chest.

“Nobara,” she said quietly. “She mentioned my hair, and my nails.”

Your brows furrowed; of course it was Nobara who said something first. “What did she say about them?”

A shrug. “Nothing in particular, really. Just pointed them out. She’s mentioned my nails a couple times.” 

“Didn’t you say Yuji really liked your nails the first time Nobara pointed them out?” The smile Satoru had worn when sharing that piece of information with you a few weeks back had been so sweet, bashful but excited, nearly giddy that someone else liked the small changes she was making to her appearance.

“…Yeah,” she agreed, the corner of her lips twitching slightly. “He did. He had Nobara paint his nails after classes that day.”

A smile tugged at your own lips then, and you gave her hands a gentle squeeze. “See? Your students don’t think poorly of you for any of the changes you’ve already made. You don’t have to take any steps you’re not ready for yet.”

Finally, she looked up from her hands and met your gaze, managing a small and still slightly nervous smile. “I think… I think I am ready to tell someone else, though. I think it’ll help me feel better about all of this.”

You gave a small nod. “Alright, ‘Toru. If you’re really ready, I’ve got your back. Do you know who you want to tell?”

Her smile faltered slightly, but it didn’t disappear entirely. “Not really,” she admitted with a sigh. “I know I’ll tell everyone eventually, somehow, but it feels…” Satoru trailed off for a moment, and you could tell from her expression that she was trying to find the right words. “I dunno, just feels odd to rank how important people are to me, y’know?”

“Yeah, that makes sense,” you assured her. Another moment of silence passed as you considered the best way to reframe it for her, hopefully make it easier for her to decide who to tell first. “Well, think about it this way: this isn’t about how important each person is to you, at least not for what order you tell them in. This is about who you’re comfortable confiding in, or who you’re comfortable being open with. It’s about you, princess, not everyone else.”

Something in your girlfriend’s expression shifted as you spoke, almost like it was clicking for her, and you watched some of the tension bleed from her shoulders. “Yeah,” she agreed, smiling a bit brighter again. “Yeah, this is about me. You’re right.”

Seeing her more at ease had you smiling a bit brighter, too, and you squeezed her hands again. “Can I make a suggestion about who to tell?” you asked. “You can say no, of course. This is a big step forward, and I don’t want you to feel like I’m trying to make the decision for you.”

“No, it’s okay, go ahead,” Satoru said. “I still don’t have anyone in mind, so I’m open to suggestions.” Her expression was earnest as she looked down at you, all of her attention focused on you.

“I think Megumi would be a good choice.”

The suggestion seemed to catch her off guard, and she blinked a few times before she spoke again. “Really?” she asked. “Why Gumi?”

“‘Cause he’s trans, too, remember?” you reminded, still smiling gently up at her. “He’ll understand.” 

“Oh, yeah.” A fierce blush spread across her face almost faster than you could process, and you couldn’t help but giggle softly at her. It honestly didn’t surprise you that she had sort of forgotten about that detail of Megumi’s gender; it’s not like it was something that was discussed frequently between them, since Megumi was already presenting as a boy when Satoru first met him, and the revelation of him being trans didn’t come along until the boy started puberty. Megumi had always just been Megumi, and nobody that mattered had ever treated him any differently because he was trans. You knew that the boy would think the same of Satoru, and that he would even likely be one of Satoru’s fiercest advocates after he learned of this development.

“I think I will tell Gumi first,” Satoru said after a few moments. “Like you said, he’ll get it, and I think… I think that understanding is what I need to start with.”

“I’m really proud of you for recognizing that, ‘Toru,” you told her with a grin. This process hadn’t been all that easy on her, so being able to identify and verbalize her needs herself was a good sign.

As impossible as it should have been, she seemed to blush even more at your words, the red now stretching from the tips of her ears all the way down her neck, and all you could think was how much it made her eyes pop. Unable to resist, you pushed in closer, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek before settling back into your former spot. 

“You want some more time to think about how you wanna tell him?” you asked curiously, thumbs rubbing over her knuckles absentmindedly. You were a bit surprised when she shook her head, though.

“No,” she said softly. “If I think about it for too long I might talk myself out of it. I’ll tell him tomorrow after class.”

“Would you like me to be there with you when you tell him? For moral support?”

“...Yeah,” Satoru whispered. “Yeah, I would.”

“I’ll be there, then.”

The beep that indicated that the rice cooker was finished nearly made you both jump, but you just chuckled softly. “Alright, princess, we’ll figure everything else out later. For now, let’s eat.”

Just as you promised, you went to the school with lunch for yourself and Satoru, knowing that the break between classes and training was when your girlfriend was planning to speak to Megumi and share her life update. You arrived just as Satoru was finishing her lesson, and waited patiently outside the door, not wanting to interrupt at all. When the door slid open a couple minutes later, you took a half step back to give the students a bit more room to leave. You smiled at them as you saw them.

“Hi Nobara-chan, Yuji-kun. It’s good to see you,” you greeted as they passed you, but you reached out to catch Megumi before he could slip away. “Megumi, could you come back in with me for a moment?”

The boy paused when he felt your hand on his arm, and his brows furrowed slightly when you used his full name, rather than a nickname like you tended to do, since you’d known him so long; if you used his full name, it meant something serious was happening. “Yeah, of course.” He looked up when Yuji called out to him, and he quickly waved his classmates off, promising to catch up with them soon.

A slight sense of relief washed over you as Megumi agreed to come with you without any argument; he wasn’t as combative as he’d been when he was younger, but it was still nice when he didn’t make a fuss. The two of you stepped back into the classroom, where Satoru sat at her desk. She brightened a bit when she saw you and stood from her chair, though when she saw Megumi right behind you, it seemed to hit her all over again what was about to happen.

“Hi, ‘Toru,” you greeted, sliding the door to the classroom shut once Megumi was fully in the room with you. The action seemed to make him a little apprehensive, but he didn’t say anything, and he didn’t make to leave, either, which was another relief to you, and, you assumed, to Satoru.

Your girlfriend murmured a small greeting in return as you stepped closer, and allowed you to tug her around the front of the desk without fuss. She held tight to your hand as she came to stand beside you, though, and you could feel the faintest tremor in her grip.

“Is something wrong?” Megumi asked, glancing between the two of you, though his gaze lingered on Satoru a bit more; his teacher was rarely this quiet, so it was a definite sign that whatever this conversation was about, it was serious.

“No,” you answered right away, wanting to ease any nerves the boy might have. “Nothing’s wrong. Satoru has something to tell you, that’s all.”

You looked up at your partner then, offering her a soft smile when she looked back down at you, and when she seemed to hesitate, you squeezed her hand, silently encouraging her to share her news; you couldn’t do this for her, even if you hated how nervous she was about doing it herself.

She gave you a tiny nod, taking a deep breath and turning back to look at Megumi. “Well… I know you’ve noticed some changes with me recently,” she started. “Nobara was pretty insistent on pointing out my nails, and how my hair is growing out now.” With that, she pulled her blindfold down, allowing her hair to fall into her face completely for a moment before she ran her fingers through it, tugging lightly on it in a self-soothing motion. Despite the fact that her eyes were no longer covered, she still wasn’t quite making eye contact with the boy she’d spent the last ten years raising. 

Megumi nodded at Satoru’s words, though he said nothing, clearly not wanting to interrupt and throw his sensei off from whatever it was Satoru was trying to tell him.

The snowy haired sorcerer let out a shaky breath before she continued. “Before I started painting my nails, or intentionally growing my hair out, or anything like that, I did some reflecting, and I… I realized that I’m not, uh. I’m not—”

You frowned when she got a bit choked up, and you squeezed her hand again, leaning in a bit and resting your head on her arm in silent support. The touch seemed to punch a small gasp from her, but it was enough to let her take a steadying breath and keep going, to let her finish what she started without fully breaking down in the middle.

“I realized that I’m not a man. I never have been, I just… didn’t have the words to explain it. Or the option to even consider it, really.” A small, almost bitter laugh escaped her then, but she shook her head slightly, likely pushing any of the lingering negative feelings aside.

Finally, she met Megumi’s steady gaze. “I’m still me,” she said. “I’m just… not a man. I’m a woman.” She shrugged slightly when she finished, and it wasn’t long before she dropped his gaze again.

The boy was silent for a few long moments, his expression unreadable as he nodded again, but when he finally spoke, you could feel the tension bleed from your girlfriend’s frame. “Do you still want me to call you Gojo-Sensei?”

Satoru’s head shot up at the question, her expression brightening. “Yeah,” she laughed softly. “Yeah, that’s fine. I like my name, I don’t plan on changing it.” She hesitated for a moment, unsure, then asked, voice small, “Can I give you a hug?”

The blush that dusted Megumi’s face at the question was endearing, and it made you smile, especially when he mumbled that yes, a hug was fine. Satoru was quick to release your hand and close the distance between herself and her ward, wrapping her arms tightly around him.

“Thanks, Gumi,” she whispered, face half buried in his hair.

His arms came up to wrap around her in return. “Just tell me when I can start correcting people about your pronouns and everything,” he replied. He peeked at you around his teacher’s arm, and you could see a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“You gonna get into fights defending me?” the sorceress asked, somewhat teasingly; given Megumi’s violent streak in middle school, it wasn’t entirely impossible.

“If I have to, yeah. Nobody’s getting away with that shit on my watch.”

She let out a choked half-laugh, half-sob at his words, and squeezed him a bit tighter. “I love you, Gumi.” 

The words caught both you and Megumi off guard, his face going an even deeper shade of red; Satoru hadn’t said those words to the boy since he was little, probably because he’d been resistant to the sentiment – understandably so, after everything he’d gone through so early in his life.

This time, though, he didn’t try to squirm away from the affection, or deflect or ignore what had been said to him. Instead, he squeezed Satoru a bit tighter, and whispered something that sounded an awful lot like “Love you, too.”

i'm an animal rn apparently sorry guys. i've finished 3 fics in 8 days (even tho i've spaced out posting them here). i hope you're enjoying my insanity at least AHAHA. also peep the new divider!!! i'll be using it going forward bc it's cute and is perfect for this series 💜

taglist: @mitsuristoleme @redlikerozez @dr-runs-with-scissors @teddybeartoji @gods-landing @dearbraus (sign up for my taglist here!)

dividers by cafekitsune

[graciereadshannigram]

NBC's Hannibal really Did That and created the most compelling and beautiful allegory for coming out in a world that is inherently violent towards queerness and treats it as horrifying, disgusting, and psychotic.

top of mind right now is Will's Becoming, started in S01E01 and fully completed in S03E13. buckle in folks, this may end up being a long one.

following the allegory, both episodes feature Will and Hannibal sharing a queer experience with one another.

in the first, Will (at this point, deeply closeted and in denial) engages with GJH in an effort to protect Abigail. Hannibal (also closeted, but more out of self preservation, certainly not out of shame) isn't directly involved, merely a passive observer, but he did orchestrate the experience by calling GJH to warn him they were coming. obviously, his actions at this point are driven by curiosity. what will GJH do? and what about Will? clearly, Hannibal has clocked Will as similar to himself (aka queer), but can see that Will is in deep denial and terrified of his urges.

and it's just so powerful to see that Will's first explicitly queer experience is within the context of self sacrifice for the good of someone else. he wouldn't have chosen it, but he had to do it. at this point, this is the only way his psyche will accept his queerness. this scenario also gives him plausible deniabilty about his reasons for engaging GJH. it allows him to admit to Alana that he feels "good" after the whole event, claiming that he feels good because he saved Abigail. even though we know at least part of the reason he feels good is that he finally got to indulge this particular urge.

but even so, the whole point of season 1 is Will struggling with his guilt. he has nightmares. he thinks he's a monster.

(side note: i also think it is just so perfect that it takes Will ten shots to get GJH, like of course our sweet baby queer boy having his first queer experience isn't very experienced. i can hard relate)

fast forward to the series finale, we find Will and Hannibal having yet another queer experience with one another, but this time they are equal participants and it is Will, not Hannibal, who ultimately orchestrated this encounter.

and what is so wonderfully interesting to me is that a (very) small part of Will seems to remain conflicted about what his role will be in this scenario right up until it is actually happening. will he walk away, leaving Hannibal and the Red Dragon to their own devices, and return to his heteronormative family? will he be an active participant with Hannibal? will he simply be a passive observer? the moment Will decides he's going to participate is so clear and this is the moment he fully, 100% comes into himself and arrives at full self acceptance.

and then, when it's finally over, and Hannibal holds him while saying, "see? this is all i ever wanted for you. for both of us." and Will, his eyes quite literally shining with joy and love says, "it's beautiful" while clutching Hannibal and resting his head on his chest, enjoying the embrace (do NOT get me started on Hannibal's expression of pure ecstasy, i will explode).

and to wrap it all up, we see Will quite literally take a leap of faith in the arms of his most beloved before tumbling off the cliff. together.

like. that is so fucking beautiful???? and i don't think there is ANY piece of media that will ever have this type of impact on me again?

anyway. congrats if you made it this far and stay tuned for more ramblings as i get my thoughts in order lmao i just really fucking love this entire show.

[gerrystamour]

you're in the walls that i made with crosses and frames [gift fic]

Explicit★Steddie★7600 words★Complete

Happy birthday @legitcookie !! I hope it was a lovely one!! And yes, wee collab with @sentient-trash with the art!! ;p Summary: The expression on Eddie’s face was smug, his chest puffing up proudly under Steve’s hungry stare as he reached him. “Careful, Harrington, you’re gonna start catching flies,” Eddie spat venomously as he brushed past, his studded shoulder catching Steve’s arm and almost knocking him off balance. Steve’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he looked away. Honestly, he deserved Eddie’s coldness… Tags & CWs: Break-up, getting back together, semi-public sex, blatant scene theft from Atonement minus the angst, hurt/comfort, love confessions, anal sex, barebacking, Creampie No Condom Nation, top steve harrington, bottom eddie munson

[ READ ON AO3 ]

The sounds of the gala fell away as Steve reached the top of the stairs and rounded the corner he saw Eddie disappear around. The other man was moving fast, already at the end of the hall and turning at the next corner. It was dark upstairs, the wall sconces turned on but kept low, and the live music from downstairs was barely audible through the formidable soundproofing. All Steve could hear as he quickened his steps was the jingling of the chains that adorned Eddie’s outfit.

It had been overwhelming seeing Eddie walk in with his band earlier that evening, in more ways than just the deep-seated ache in Steve’s chest.

Steve had been trying to distract himself without getting hammered while he watched the entrance, forcibly taking his time with the glass of wine Robin had grabbed for him.

“Maybe he won’t show,” Steve said hopefully as the first hour of the gala passed.

“You know he’d never pass up the chance to make your dad shit his pants,” she said blandly, and Steve looked down at her skeptically. She shrugged, raising her eyebrows. “What? Maybe I haven’t actually met ‘im yet, but I think that’s a fair guess.”

“Robin! I need your help!” Vickie materialized out of the crowd next to them, reaching out to touch Robin’s wrist gently. Steve watched with no small amount of amusement as Robin blushed lightly and immediately followed after Vickie, not even waiting to hear the crisis.

Once he was standing alone, he made a point to look around at the other guests, trying not to watch the entrance like a hawk.

It was a charity gala, something that was mostly for Steve’s father to save face after his campaign accepted a donation from an organization with concerning ties to a white supremacist group. John Harrington’s PR team had been insistent that he arrange an event, inviting the spokespeople of a handful of charities that had been trending positively on social media recently.

All but one charity declined the invitation. The only one that accepted the invitation was a charity for homeless queer youths, which Steve knew to be connected to Corroded Coffin. For them to accept the invitation meant that Eddie was absolutely going to be showing up, and he was going to be making a statement.

Despite preparing himself for the moment he saw Eddie again ever since Corroded Coffin returned their RSVP with a giant yes, Steve was still nearly brought to his knees at the sight of him.

At first, Steve didn’t even realize they had arrived, successfully distracting himself with people-watching while some friend of his father’s chattered at him. It was only when the man stumbled over his words and stared over Steve’s shoulder at the entrance that he turned to look.

The first thing Steve noticed was that all four of them were wearing their battle vests or jackets; loud garments adorned with patches, pins, and spikes. Except these particular garments had political statements on them more than they were decked out in band patches. And of course, Eddie’s leather battle jacket was the loudest out of the four with several patches condemning white supremacy, all surrounded by a sea of shiny spikes.

The man practically glittered as he stepped into the light of the foyer.

It wasn’t just the jacket that had enough metal on it to catch the light but there appeared to be several chains adorning his outfit underneath—no, not an outfit, the dress. Eddie actually showed up to Republican Congressman John Harrington’s charity gala in a dress, and Steve had never been more in love with him than he was right that second.

But that was the problem, though—Steve being in love with Eddie.

The voices of the mingling ambassadors, politicians, and investors hushed as more people took notice of the newest arrivals, their expressions sour, some even angry, though it wasn’t lost on Steve the way some of their eyes lingered on the four of them just a bit too long to be strictly disdainful.

From Steve’s vantage point, he could tell that Eddie’s dress was pretty simple except for the chains with a wide neckline that rested at his collarbones, but it looked like there were two slits following each leg and ended quite high on his pelvis. Those had Steve desperate to see Eddie walking with his full stride, to see how the skirt moved around his legs and showed them off. At that distance, Eddie didn’t look too much taller, so Steve was sure he wasn’t wearing heels, but he still had gorgeous legs with tattoos covering almost every inch of his skin. Already, Steve was formulating a plan to get closer to Eddie, wanting to see that dress up close, to see Eddie in that dress up close.

Returning his attention to Eddie’s face, his breath was taken away at how fierce his expression was, the way it was accentuated by the make-up he was wearing—it was his concert make-up, if a bit dialed back since it wasn’t for an arena to be able to see but a slightly more intimate affair. Their current tour had a lot of Satanic overtones to it, so the look was dark, very smoky and gave Eddie’s brow a permanent sort of scowl. Of course, Eddie’s curly mane of dark hair was left down, wild around his face and shoulders and Steve hated that he knew how it would feel to bury his hands in it.

It was then that Eddie’s eyes met his from across the room and a sneer twisted his features. It was pathetic just how much that condescending look did for Steve.

“Carry on, gentlemen,” Eddie addressed the gawking bystanders nearest to them before he began crossing the room in Steve’s direction, granting his wish of seeing that dress move around his legs, and good God, Steve was not prepared for this like he thought he’d be.

Yes, Steve had always been obsessed with the rockstar’s legs, the way they were thicker than one might expect, strong and covered in tattoos. Except all that was visible of Eddie’s legs were his thighs, since he was wearing a pair of knee-socks under his clunky combat boots. The dichotomy of the battle jacket, the dress, and the boots was captivating. It was impossible to look away from the man, even if Steve was worried about how he would react being so close to Eddie again for the first time in weeks.

As Eddie got closer, a flash of red somewhere in Eddie’s outfit caught Steve’s attention and he nearly choked on his tongue. Through the slits in the skirt, Steve could catch a glimpse of whatever underwear Eddie was wearing and Christ, he was pretty sure he saw something red and lacy. Another thing that Steve was able to tell now that Eddie was closer was that the chains on the dress were not actually part of the dress, but attached to a leather harness he was wearing over the dress.

It was one of the harnesses Steve had seen him wear lots of times in the past, though that was often with a lot less clothing and in the dim lighting of the bathroom at a gay club.

The expression on Eddie’s face was smug, his chest puffing up proudly under Steve’s hungry stare as he reached him.

“Careful, Harrington, you’re gonna start catching flies,” Eddie spat venomously as he brushed past, his studded shoulder catching Steve’s arm and almost knocking him off balance.

Steve’s mouth snapped shut with an audible click, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he looked away. Honestly, he deserved Eddie’s coldness.

The last time they saw each other, it was yet another hurried, desperate hook-up. They were sprawled out on the couch in the green room after Eddie’s show in Seattle, the rest of the band already on their way back to their apartments. Eddie was practically naked, since he really only wore a pair of tight, black jeans while performing while Steve was still wearing his entire outfit. Nimble, grasping hands had managed to unbutton Steve’s shirt enough to get to his collarbones, and Eddie made a delighted little sound as he wiggled where he sat on Steve’s cock.

“What?” Steve chuckled breathlessly, tipping his head back as Eddie stooped to kiss and nibble the spot just beneath his collarbone.

“Nothin’,” Eddie crooned as he began to bounce, sighing as he said, “Just my favourite freckle. Looks a little like a heart.”

The comment shot through Steve, and he almost choked on it, the way his heart clenched and how badly he wanted what they had to be more than just casual fucks in back rooms, public toilets, and occasionally the backseat of a limo. It wasn’t a surprise to Steve to realize that he was actually in love with Eddie—hell, he flew out there just to see the rockstar because he knew it was Eddie’s birthday last week.

As they panted for breath, Steve had considered asking Eddie about the comment he made, about the possibility for more. But looking around the room, eyes landing on the battle jacket, and he couldn’t help but remember the way they started this.

It started with something that could only be called hate-sex. Sex that was mean and punishing, that left them both bruised and limping most of the time. The first time they hooked up, Eddie had shoved Steve to his knees so hard he’d needed to wear his old knee brace for a couple weeks.

“Shut the fuck up and put that mouth to good use for once in your life, Harrington.”

Eddie never hesitated to rant about Steve’s father, which was understandable. He felt like he hated his father for the same reasons, too. But there was that knowledge that Eddie hated his father, and John hated Eddie just as much, and—fuck, they were both too famous to keep a relationship secret. They were already pushing it with their little arrangement as it was. Steve was already trying to figure out how he would get out of there without being recognized.

And ultimately, it wasn’t even about Steve’s father, but everything John stood for and his voters, his following. It would be dangerous for Eddie to be with Steve, and even if the rockstar wanted to take that risk on—and he knew Eddie wouldn’t—Steve wouldn’t ask that of him. And mostly, pathetically, Steve just didn’t want the man to fucking laugh at him for catching feelings. Christ, he’d had enough of that to last him a lifetime.

“You have a hotel room?” Eddie asked, still catching his breath as he lifted himself shakily out of Steve’s lap with a grimace. Getting off the couch, he crossed the small room to start turning his pants the right way out.

“Nah, I was gonna fly back out to D.C. on the first flight out and that’s in, like, four hours. Just had to sign some things at our firm here,” Steve fibbed as he watched his cum drip down Eddie’s thigh.

“What are you going to do for four hours?” Eddie snorted, looking over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow before pulling his pants back on.

“There’s a lounge at the airport for me to relax in,” Steve replied easily as he tucked his cock back into his boxer briefs and did his fly back up.

Eddie snorted. “You could crash at my apartment if you’re too stingy to spring for a hotel room,” he said with a derisive eye roll, and Steve’s chest squeezed with want.

With a haughty sigh, Steve stood up and fixed his hair in the mirror. “I actually meant to say something before you threw yourself at me,” he said blandly, and Eddie scoffed. Steve met his eyes in the mirror, and to his dismay the rockstar was grinning in a very real way, his dimples deep and easily visible from outer space.

“Oh, so I threw myself at you, did I? The ego—” Eddie started, and Steve looked back at himself in the mirror.

“I think it’s time we stopped this,” he interrupted, and the silence that filled the room was suffocating.

“What?” Eddie asked, his entire tone changing as his voice raised in disbelief. Steve hated to hear the laughter leaving Eddie’s voice, and he loathed himself for being the one to chase it away.

But he wasn’t strong enough to keep this going when he wanted more, wanted too much.

Steve rolled his eyes with a feigned aloofness, knowing Eddie could see the motion in the mirror. “I said,” he explained slowly, as if he was talking to a child, “that I think it’s time we stopped this.”

“Why?” Eddie demanded, and Steve refused to even glance at him in the mirror again, knowing he would crumble the second he did.

“It’s time I actually settled down, started a family. Plan my future,” Steve replied, bringing back his Trust Fund Baby persona that Eddie hated so much at the start of all this.

There’s another short silence. “You’ve… found someone already?” Eddie asked, his tone almost mocking.

“Maybe,” Steve said easily. It wasn’t a complete lie; he did find someone he wanted to settle down with, it just couldn’t happen. “Can’t really pursue that with you sending me dick pics daily,” he added, voice flat and condescending.

“As if I am ever the first one to send jackshit, Harrington,” Eddie snapped viciously, and only then did Steve look at him. The man was furious, eyes wild with his anger and Steve deserved all of it. If Steve was braver, he would face the ridicule for his honesty rather than hide behind the persona curated for his father. Despite the casual nature of their relationship, Eddie deserved better than being lied to.

Then Eddie’s mouth twisted in a sneer as he said, “What the fuck ever. I hope your miserable ever after with whatever bland, good little Christian girl daddy dearest picked out for you is fucking worth it.”

As if realizing he was still naked for all of that—Jesus, Steve really knew how to make a break-up hurt, if it could even be called a break-up—Eddie hurriedly began pulling his pants back on. Steve looked away, letting Eddie get dressed in some semblance of privacy after embarrassing him as much as he had.

When Eddie was done getting dressed, Steve finally looked at him as he paused at the door of the green room.

“I’ll text you and let you know if the coast is clear,” Eddie said coldly, and Steve’s heart ached at how the other man was still going to help keep this a secret. “After that? Forget my number. If I ever see you at one of my shows again, I’ll kick your teeth in.”

That was the last thing Eddie said to him, and then weeks later they were forced to spend an entire evening in relatively close proximity. Well, Steve was forced by virtue of being a Harrington with a campaigning father; Eddie legitimately chose to come, which was definitely deliberate considering the dress, the harness, and the lingerie. Even the make-up was on purpose, since that was what Eddie had been wearing that night in Seattle.

Steve kept his distance as much as he could, even if he couldn’t keep his eyes off of Eddie, watching him make his way through the crowd, being his charismatic self despite his entire get-up. He and his band were the guests of honour that evening, after all. Watching Eddie constantly, though, meant that he was caught doing so, and every time their eyes met, Eddie would scowl darkly at him.

As the night progressed, Eddie’s anger and disdain began to wear on Steve. He felt stupid and selfish for being annoyed, especially with the way he ended things, but really? All of this anger and hatred just for being dumped by a high-risk booty call?

“You okay?” Robin asked as she appeared beside Steve, tangling her fingers in his and giving his hand a squeeze.

With a huge, relieved sigh, Steve pulled her into a loose hug. “Yeah, I’m fine. Just… it’s a lot seeing him again,” Steve admitted, just loud enough for her to hear.

Robin hummed. “I ran into him earlier, by the way,” she said after a moment, and at that, Steve pulled back without letting go of her completely.

“Did he say anything to you?” Steve asked and Robin shook her head.

“Not really, asked if I was your fiancée, I was like, ‘according to the tabloids’ and then he looked at me like he wanted me dead,” she replied, raising her eyebrows up at Steve. “You sure he only wanted casual?”

“Of course, he did, Robs,” Steve scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Why would he want more with me of all people?”

Robin just looked up at Steve sadly before she stepped away from him. “You okay if I go grab us a couple drinks?” she asked, deciding in a rare move to let something drop.

“Yeah, Robs, thanks,” he said, meaning more than just the drinks and nodding as she turned to walk away.

When Steve looked back across the room toward Eddie, the man was staring at him, and his expression was wrong. It wasn’t the glare Steve had grown used to over the evening, but he was too far away for Steve to even try to read it. Jolting a bit, as if shocked or burned as he realized Steve was looking at him, Eddie said something to his bandmates before turning on his heel and heading up the staircase.

Before Steve even realized it, he was making his way carefully through the crowd, dodging questions and greetings thrown his way until he reached the stairs.

“Steven, speeches are in twenty minutes,” John warned him as he passed.

Without even glancing at his father, Steve waved over his shoulder and took the stairs two at a time.

Now, as he turned the corner after Eddie, Steve paused near the only open doorway. It was the study, which had a massive built-in bookshelf filled with books Steve was fairly certain no one had ever actually read. There was a light on inside and Steve could hear Eddie muttering. Was Eddie meeting someone else up here? Was Steve about to hear Eddie fucking someone else? That thought filled Steve’s veins with ice, that some creep who was schmoozing downstairs and sneering at Eddie less than five minutes ago would be touching him.

No one at this gala deserved to touch him like that.

Again, Steve reacted before he even realized, storming into the study ready to fight if he had to, just to stop short when he realized that Eddie was alone. Not only was he alone, but he looked close to tears, eyes wide and glassy, his eyelashes shiny with them.

“Eds?” Steve finally managed after several long moments of staring at each other. Eddie sucked in a harsh breath, blinking rapidly as he flinched back, and a tear fell down his cheek.

“Don’t call me that,” Eddie snapped, shaking his head and wiping the tear away. “Fuck you.”

“What—why are you crying?” Steve asked, but he didn’t have to. Steve might have been slow on the uptake, but he wasn’t stupid.

“Because you’re happy. I saw all the stupid magazines, and all the bullshit clickbait, and I was so fucking sure you were miserable,” Eddie laughed bitterly, crossing his arms over his chest. He was an imposing figure, even with the tears in his eyes, clothed in leather and metal, almost his entire body hidden under his armor.

As if reading his thoughts, Eddie opened his arms and gestured down at himself. “I wore this just to—I wanted you to be miserable so fucking much, and that you’d see me and feel even fucking worse,” Eddie bit out through clenched teeth, dropping his hands and staring up at the high ceiling.

Steve stepped closer to Eddie and the rockstar shuffled backward, keeping the same distance between them. “I know I ended things badly, Eddie—”

“See, that’s just it, Steve, you didn’t ‘end things badly,’” Eddie practically snarled with exaggerated scare quotes, storming right up into Steve’s space. “You made me feel like you actually wanted me and then you fucking ripped my heart out. You fucking ruined me, and you just left me and you’re happy. You wanted to settle down, and you’re going to get that, when all I wanted was for you to choose me. Why couldn’t you settle down with me?”

Steve stared at Eddie, wide-eyed and holding his breath, the full realization of how much he fucked up in Seattle crashing down on him. He could feel his own eyes stinging, his vision blurring. Steve could’ve had exactly what he wanted all those months ago if he was just braver, and now it appeared he blew it completely. Something softened at the corners of Eddie’s eyes, even if his mouth stayed set in a severe line.

As the silence persisted between them, Eddie tipped his chin up almost defiantly. “Anything to say? At all?” he asked, condescension clear in his voice, but there was something desperate underneath it, something painfully earnest. Something so close to begging, it hurt Steve’s heart to hear it.

And Steve wanted to say that he was sorry, that he should never have done that, that he was a coward and that he would do anything for a chance to go back and stop himself.

“Do you hate me?” Steve asked finally, and he internally grimaced at how childish that question sounded. It seemed to catch Eddie off-guard as well, his wet eyes widening slightly before he laughed hollowly.

“Jesus H Christ, I wish I did,” Eddie said, and his expression was so deeply sad that Steve wanted to just gather him into his arms. “This would be easier if I hated you.”

“I don’t want you to hate me, Eddie, I don’t—I’m not happy,” Steve confessed breathlessly, blinking rapidly as more tears formed, and one fell down his cheek. “I’ve been as miserable as you wanted me to be. I never stopped wanting you. I wanted so much, and I thought it was too much to ask, so I ended things.”

Eddie’s face twisted into something so full of anger that Steve considered stepping out of swinging range, but Eddie just glared at him. “You didn’t even ask me—”

“No, I didn’t. Because what did I have that you’d want? I’m the closeted queer son of a Republican Congressman and you’re… you,” Steve said, his tone far more reverent than he intended as he gestured to all of him. “You’re free, and loud. Proud of who you are and so fucking brave, Eds. You’re an inspiration to so many, and I just—why would you want me?”

Eddie was looking at him with wide eyes, his mouth hanging open as all of his righteous, hurt fury left him. Then Eddie shook his head gently and looked at Steve with an expression that was so unbearably soft, he had to fight to not shy away from it.

“You still want that?” Eddie asked, his voice quiet, nearly a whisper. “Too much?”

“Yes, Eds, I want everything,” Steve breathed, taking a step toward Eddie and lifting a hand to tentatively cup his cheek. This time, Eddie didn’t dodge him or move away, and Steve sighed in relief. “I do want you, to settle down with you. I’ve always wanted you.”

Tipping his chin up in that defiant little nod of his, Eddie took a deep breath through his nose. Steve jolted when cool fingers wrapped around his other wrist and guided his hand to wrap around Eddie’s hip. “Prove it, big boy,” he challenged, his voice low as he tilted his cheek into Steve’s hand.

The hand on Eddie’s cheek immediately shifted until it was tangled into his hair, tilting his head back as Steve crowded him backward against the bookshelf. They hit the shelf with more force than Steve intended, but Eddie only arched his body against Steve harder, eyes wide as he looked up at him. The quiet stretched between them, and Steve stooped as if to kiss the beautiful man in his arms, but he hesitated, still so unsure despite all of Eddie’s confessions.

But then the ghost of a smile, a real one with dimples, twitched the corners of Eddie’s mouth up as he looked at Steve’s lips. When those impossibly dark eyes met his again, Steve was almost too distracted to notice Eddie’s small nod. As Steve leaned down, his lips hovering just above Eddie’s, he savoured the quiet, breathless moment before everything changed again.

In the next breath, their lips were sliding together, gentle and slow, testing the waters as their tongues met in the middle. Sliding his arm around Eddie’s waist, Steve splayed his broad palm and long fingers across his back before grabbing one of the straps of the leather harness. Pulling Eddie in tighter, Steve groaned as he deepened the kiss, licking into the rockstar’s mouth as they clung to each other and rocked their hips together.

Steve pulled back, panting heavily against Eddie’s lips as both of his hands began wandering. “Should we be doing this?” Steve asked, rocking his hardening cock against Eddie’s hip.

“Probably not,” Eddie admitted with a laugh before dragging Steve back into a kiss by his hair. Steve went willingly, sighing as he slipped his hands under Eddie’s dress through the slits, reaching around to grab two handfuls of his perfect ass.

“We should talk,” Steve added, shuddering when his head was pulled back by his hair so Eddie could kiss and bite at his throat.

“We definitely should,” Eddie agreed before lifting his head to meet Steve’s eyes. “And we will, just—please.”

It was the ‘please’ that broke the last of Steve’s restraint. It was the softness of it, the way Eddie’s voice cracked around it, the nearly fearful look in Eddie’s eyes, as if he expected this moment to end just as abruptly as it started. When Eddie said please like that, Steve couldn’t deny him anything.

“Yeah, okay, baby,” Steve breathed, kneading the mostly bare skin of Eddie’s ass before frowning. Squeezing his cheeks again, Steve asked, “Are you wearing assless panties?”

Eddie bit his lips as he smirked mischievously and shrugged. “Technically, I think it’s a jockstrap, but lacy,” he admitted, his face darkening with his blush at the admission.

Groaning thickly, Steve groped his handfuls roughly. “Oh fuck, I have to see this,” he moaned, but when he pulled back and moved to lift the front of the dress, Eddie grabbed his wrists.

“You first,” Eddie whispered against his mouth before kissing him again, and Steve nodded quickly as he returned the kiss sloppily.

Lifting both hands to the shelf on either side of Eddie’s shoulders, Steve waited as patiently as he could, kissing Eddie hungrily as deft fingers undid his belt and fly. When Eddie began shoving his pants and briefs down his thighs, Steve took the hint and toed off his shoes so he could kick his legs free of the garments.

“The coat—lose it,” Eddie demanded, and Steve didn’t hesitate to obey. He removed his blazer clumsily before throwing it vaguely in the direction of the nearby desk. By the time Steve’s hands returned to the shelf, Eddie was fumbling with unbuttoning his shirt. With a grunt, Eddie snapped, “Oh, fuck this.”

Without so much as a pause, Eddie gripped Steve’s shirt on either side of the buttons and yanked, popping every single button off and sending them clattering across the floor. It was hot, leaving Steve breathless with how desperately hungry he was for Eddie. It barely even occurred to Steve that he should be concerned about his shirt being ruined, about how he would return to the gala downstairs without the buttons. When Eddie pressed his hands to Steve’s chest he whined and pushed him back a bit.

“Oh, what the fuck, of course you’re wearing an undershirt,” Eddie complained as he looked down at Steve, his jaw promptly snapping shut with a hard swallow.

Steve felt a bit silly standing there with his cock out in his socks and undershirt, the dress shirt still hanging from his shoulders. He must look ridiculous, especially with the damp patch of sweat on his chest and stomach.

“It’s not fair that you’re somehow hotter when you aren’t even naked,” Eddie grumbled, treating himself to a slow, nearly ravenous look at Steve’s body. His eyes lingered on Steve’s legs, his expression almost pained as he asked, “Steve, are those garter belts for your fucking socks?”

Steve jolted and looked down, shrugging as he looked at the bands around his shins, just below his knees. “Yeah?” he responded, and he hated how lame his response sounded.

“Why?” Eddie asked explosively, and Steve smirked at him as he caught on.

Stepping into Eddie’s space again, Steve slipped a finger under one of the suspenders running down the length of his thigh, pulling it away from his skin a bit. “I think I’m wearing them for the same reason as you, right?” he said teasingly, pressing Eddie back into the bookshelf once again as he released the strap, letting it snap lightly against Eddie’s skin. “To keep your socks up?”

Eddie groaned thickly, arching against Steve desperately. “No, you asshole, I wore mine to drive you in-fucking-sane,” he admitted as he smoothed his hands up Steve’s stomach and onto his chest, thumbing his nipples teasingly through the fabric of his undershirt. When Steve jolted, Eddie let out a breathy chuckle and swept his hands back down to slowly, torturously, push it up past Steve’s chest.

“Well, mission accomplished, I guess,” Steve sighed through another groan as Eddie’s hands resumed playing with his nipples. Groaning, Steve stooped and crushed their lips together, his hands finding their way back under Eddie’s dress to grope his ass again.

“Can you take off your battle jacket, Eds?” he asked breathlessly when he pulled away, and Eddie hesitated, slowly opening his eyes to search Steve’s face. After a moment, Eddie nodded once and reached into a pocket to pull out a chain of condoms and a packet of lube before shrugging the jacket off and tossing it onto the desk nearby.

The sight of Eddie’s shoulders beneath the jacket was captivating; Steve hadn’t realized that the neckline of the dress was so wide he’d have a mostly unobstructed view of Eddie’s shoulders and throat. The only thing that interrupted the pale expanse aside from a couple visible tattoos was the collar of the harness. The sleeves of the dress were long and fit snugly all the way from shoulder to wrist, the dark, stretchy material accentuating the lithe muscle underneath. With a steadying breath, Steve turned his attention to the items Eddie had removed from his pocket, and he couldn’t help the way his eyebrows shot up.

At Steve’s expression, Eddie rolled his eyes and dropped the lube and condoms on the shelf above his shoulder, his cheeks actually turning pink under his gaze. “Don’t look at me like that. Yes, I came prepared to get fucked tonight, and yes, before you ask, I hoped it would be you,” he grumbled in a rush, pulling Steve back against him and tilting his mouth up for a kiss and Steve couldn’t deny him even if he wanted to.

Everything else fell away as their lips moved against each other, desperate and frantic, their teeth clacking together until they found their rhythm with each other again. Pulling away from Eddie’s mouth, Steve kissed his way down his cheek and the thick column of his neck, kissing and biting until the pale skin was littered with marks before moving to give the same treatment to Eddie’s shoulders.

Steve would have spent the rest of the evening like that, just kissing and biting until Eddie was so thoroughly marked that neither of them could pretend this was just another meaningless hook-up. Just like Steve had never been completely naked in front of Eddie, they had also successfully refrained from giving each other hickeys, from marking each other up and raising questions.

“Steve, please,” Eddie whined, and Steve sighed at the plaintive cry, rocking his hard cock against Eddie’s. “Fuck, Steve, enough teasing, we don’t have all night.”

Lifting his head, Steve recaptured Eddie’s lips, moaning against him as they ground their cocks together, the only thing separating them being the layers of Eddie’s dress and jockstrap. Fuck, Steve wanted to see him in just the jockstrap, but Eddie was right; they didn’t have all night.

Sliding one hand down the back of Eddie’s thigh, Steve hooked his hand under his knee and lifted his foot off of the ground, directing him to hook the clunky heel of his boot over one of the lower rungs of the ladder next to them. One of Eddie’s hands flew up to hold onto the ladder as well, lifting himself up just enough to wrap his other leg around Steve’s waist. It was frenzied as they made out and rutted against each other like that, moaning filthily into each other’s mouths.

Reaching down between them, Steve quickly pulled the front section of the dress out of the way, tossing the fabric over Eddie’s leg before looking down at the lace jockstrap. The sound that left him at the sight of the sheer fabric straining around the bulge of Eddie’s hard cock would have been embarrassing if Steve had the capacity to care about anything beyond fucking Eddie. There was a shiny, wet spot on the red lace at the tip of Eddie’s cock that Steve desperately wanted to taste, to wrap his lips around the head through the fabric and suck and lap at the precum that formed there.

Groaning, Steve shifted one of his hands on Eddie’s ass, slipping his fingers deeper and froze as his fingertips found the flared base of a plug. The thought of Eddie walking around the entire night with a plug in his ass was something Steve would be revisiting in his dreams repeatedly, he was sure.

“Jesus, Eds,” Steve practically growled against Eddie’s mouth, hooking his fingers under the flare and tugging at the toy, just to hear Eddie whimper. “You’ve actually been wearing this all night?”

“Already told you, was ready to be fucked,” Eddie gasped, his eyelids fluttering as Steve pulled on the plug a bit more deliberately until it popped free of his hole. Steve happily swallowed the cry that spilled from Eddie’s throat, groaning as he pressed two fingers into his twitching, slick hole. The sound that ripped from Eddie was wounded, high and reedy and nearly sad, and Eddie dropped his head back against bookshelf. “Please, Stevie, don’t be a fucking tease.”

“Okay, okay, I’ve got you, baby,” Steve breathed, and when he tried to put some space between them to put a condom on, Eddie’s leg tightened around his waist. “I can’t put the condom on like this.”

“Forget the condom, just fuck me,” Eddie demanded, and Steve chuckled sadly.

There was a time when they could just do that because despite the allegedly casual nature of their relationship, they were both exclusively sleeping with each other. At the time, they both explained it away as being too busy and too famous to mess around with more people. In hindsight, it was all stupidly obvious they were both in it far deeper than they were willing to admit. Steve hadn’t been able to get back out in the scene since the split-up in Seattle—hell, he hadn’t even been looking for anything when Eddie had fallen into his lap the first time either, months ago at a different charity event, at the start of his father’s campaign. But Steve couldn’t expect Eddie to have stayed celibate, too.

“Eds, we haven’t—” Steve started, and Eddie looked him directly in the eye.

“I haven’t fucked anyone since our Seattle show,” he said meaningfully, his gaze unwavering. “Have you been tested?”

Steve let out a soft, sad sound, faced again with how badly he hurt Eddie, how poorly he read the entire situation. He’d truly done a number on Eddie, and Steve thanked whatever higher power that was listening for his second chance.

“Haven’t been with anyone since Seattle either,” Steve said, leaning forward to kiss Eddie’s lips sweetly.

Eddie scoffed at that and turned his face away, but Steve could tell he was grinning behind his hair. Grabbing the lube, Steve tried to pull back again so he could slick his cock up properly, but Eddie was still clinging to him too tightly.

“C’mon, Eds, just let me get my cock nice and slick, then you’ll have me, okay?” Steve sighed against Eddie’s ear, living for the way the man shuddered and moaned.

When his leg loosened enough for Steve to rock back, he poured a liberal amount of lube over his cock. Before Steve could finish putting the lube back on the shelf, one of Eddie’s cool hands wrapped around his cock. The moan that was punched out of him was deep and guttural, the sensation of a partner—of Eddie touching him again, fingers of a guitarist and clunky rings driving Steve wild.

Before Steve could really register it, he was fucking Eddie’s tight fist, pressing breathless, open-mouthed kisses against the sharp line of his jaw and groaning. Distantly, Steve could feel the touch changing, that Eddie wasn’t squeezing him as tightly, and then the head of his cock was nudging just behind Eddie’s sac, sliding further back and catching on the rim of his hole. On one pass, his cock slipped inside, just the tip, and Eddie dragged him closer with his leg around Steve’s waist.

Eddie’s cry as he was filled, hard and fast, was loud in the quiet of the study and Steve struggled to hold still, groaning thickly at the tight, perfect heat around him. Part of him wanted to take, the way he knew Eddie loved it, the way they would always have it before. But this was different, Steve knew that just on principle, but there was a certain charge to the air that brought tears to his eyes. Steve would wait a thousand years before moving if Eddie asked him to.

A cool hand cupped Steve’s cheek, smearing lube across his stubbled jaw and lifting his gaze to meet Eddie’s again.

Eddie’s eyes were shiny and bright in the dimly lit room, tears collecting on his lower lashes and so close to falling, his kiss-bitten, red lips hanging open and panting.

“Stevie,” Eddie breathed, the corners of his mouth ticking upward in something close to a smile, even as the next fluttering blink had the tears barely clinging to his lashes falling down his cheeks.

And Steve was helpless, staring up at the beautiful man in his arms, and he had to blink his own tears away as they blurred his vision. “Eds,” he said, not even bothering to hide just how awed and overwhelmed he was to have Eddie like this again. Steve made a promise to himself that he would make up for every single day he made this man feel unwanted, unworthy, unloved.

As if hearing his thoughts, Eddie sobbed and dropped his hand to Steve’s shoulder, pushing his undershirt aside to brush his thumb over a spot just below his collarbone—Eddie’s favourite freckle, the one that looked like a heart. 

“I love you, Stevie,” Eddie whimpered after a few moments of breathless staring, lowering his lips to hover over Steve’s.

“I love you, Eds,” Steve gasped immediately, breathless with the intensity of his feelings, and closed the distance between their lips.

They slotted together perfectly, Steve buried to the hilt inside him, their mouths moving languidly against each other while Eddie adjusted. After what felt like only a few seconds, Eddie lifted himself as much as he could before dropping back down on Steve’s cock with another cry.

It was as if a dam broke. The pace was frantic, fast, brutal even with Steve’s desperation and Eddie’s willing body, the sounds of bare skin slapping together filling the study and likely perfectly audible from the hallway if anyone wandered in this direction.

“Steve, Stevie, fu—fuck, Stevie, so good,” Eddie sobbed brokenly against Steve’s lips, not even pulling back to try and get a hand between them to touch himself. “Already so close, been so close all night. Please, Stevie, give it to me.”

“Gonna, baby, promise,” Steve gasped, and when Eddie’s hand flew up to hold onto a higher shelf, he reached up to tangle their fingers together. “Gonna give you everything you want, forever, never letting you go without ever again.”

Eddie sobbed and nodded furiously. “Damn right you a—ah, fuck, you are,” Eddie whimpered, readjusting his grip on the ladder to meet Steve’s thrusts, sweet little sounds getting punched out of him with every snap of their hips. “Never getting rid of me.”

“Perfect,” Steve grunted, the coil in his gut pulling taut as his release barreled forward. He could feel the way Eddie was clenching around him, knew he was barely hanging on, trying to outlast Steve.

“I’m your—oh! Your problem now,” Eddie added, throwing his head back with a shuddery cry as Steve changed the angle of his thrusts a bit.

“I’m yours, too,” Steve sighed almost dreamily as he thought about it, of a future together, maybe living out in Seattle in the eccentric little apartment Steve had only seen snapshots of in the various selfies Eddie had sent him. Of growing old together. Tears stung Steve’s eyes, which he tried to blink away again but there were too many. “I’m your problem, too,” he repeated weakly, his movements growing erratic as his release boiled in his gut.

“Yeah, yes, Stevie! Mine, you’re mine, mine,” Eddie keened, pulling his hand away from Steve’s so he could hold his cheek, wiping the tears from Steve’s cheek. “Say it, Stevie. What are you?”

“Yours,” Steve breathed, eyes rolling back as he willed his release back.

Eddie’s brief composure shattered, and he let out a loud whimper. “And what am I, Stevie?”

“Mine,” Steve answered immediately and angled his cock just so, driving the head of it directly over Eddie’s prostate and sending him tumbling over the edge with a surprisingly quiet cry considering how noisy he had been. Though Steve wasn’t looking, he could tell Eddie made a mess of them already, could feel the hot spend through the lace against his lower abdomen. 

The tight heat of Eddie’s core spasming and clenching around Steve’s cock was the last straw. Steve only managed a few more sloppy thrusts before he was coming, hips flush against Eddie’s ass and spilling his cum deep inside him.

They clung to each other while they caught their breath for what felt like hours, kissing each other slow and sweet, practically chaste after everything else they had done together. Eventually, Eddie pulled away, tipping his head back to look down at Steve, biting his lip and grinning.

“Can you say it again?” Eddie asked after a bit, his voice shaking nervously.

Steve grinned up at Eddie, lifting a hand to cup his cheek gently. “I’m yours, you’re mine,” he sighed dreamily. “I love you, Eddie Munson.”

“Jesus, I’m not gonna survive this,” Eddie half-laughed, half-sobbed as tears filled his eyes all over again. “I love you, Steve Harrington.”

It was that moment when they heard a gasp from the doorway of the study, and Steve froze. Eddie held onto him, not letting him pull away, but also not letting him turn around.

“Take a picture. It’ll last longer, sweetheart,” Eddie sneered, and whoever it was just squeaked and quickly retreated from the room.

Steve took a slow breath in through his nose. “Who was that?” he asked slowly, watching Eddie’s face closely as he grimaced.

“Listen, I’ve met her only twice, and both times I was distracted by you—”

“It was my dad’s assistant, wasn’t it?” Steve asked flatly and Eddie cringed.

“Yep,” Eddie confirmed, chewing his lip nervously.

Steve sighed, and nodded, and he was thankful there was an event happening downstairs because that was the only reason John wasn’t already storming into the room.

“What’re we gonna do?” Eddie asked, and Steve smiled up at him, willing his nerves away.

“Let’s go back to my place. Get you all cleaned up, maybe make love to you in a bed for once? Perhaps wake up next to you in the morning?” Steve suggested, grinning broader as Eddie flushed and turned his face away.

“I meant right now, Steve,” Eddie said, shifting where he was still pinned against the bookshelf.

“Yeah, so did I,” Steve said, his expression softening. “Seriously, Eds, let’s go back to my place.”

“You’re just—You’re okay going down there? With your dipshit dad probably knowing about us?” Eddie asked incredulously, eyes wide and hopeful.

“Yep. No time like the present to get disowned, right?” Steve said, and even if he worded it like a joke, he was dead serious. Eddie seemed to believe Steve this time, and a smile split his face.

“As if your piece of shit dad won’t figure out a way to spin this for his campaign,” Eddie teased and lowered his mouth to Steve’s for a slow, contented kiss. When Eddie pulled back, he grinned mischievously. “You should wear my coat out, and I’ll wear yours.”

Steve’s eyes lit up and he nodded quickly. “You’re a genius, Eds,” he sighed, leaning up to recapture Eddie’s lips.

[ READ ON AO3 ]

[spacelessbian]

thoughts on Agatha All Along FINALE

Full spoilers ahead, 100% don't read if you haven't seen episodes 8 and 9.

I really enjoyed the finale, both episodes had a lot to offer and overall I am quite happy with how the show concluded. Things that I liked in no particular order:

The REVEALS. There is simply nothing better than a reveal that recontextualizes everything. And we didn't get just one, but two! Personally I found Agatha running a con and murdering women for centuries the more fun one, but Billy actually creating the Road was also really good and even though I've only seen the show once (unlike many people on here, no doubt), I can name many points in the story and in the dialogue where this is worked in and suddenly makes sense. Really great stuff.

Agatha and Nicky. I was dreading this part a little bit because I know Nicholas Scratch is some sort of big name in Marvel comics and I truly couldn't care less, so I'm pleased with what we got – a genuinely sweet yet tragic story of a mom and her son, destined to death even before being born. I was surprised (but in a good way) by Agatha's quiet reaction to Nicky's death because we know his death hurt her badly, but that's just how it is sometimes.

Agatha and Rio. I won't say I'd always had fate in Marvel to not mess this up, so yay! I don't think they did. This relationship is the heart of the show (and it is black and beats for the queers) and I think the writers did it justice (apart from one thing which I will get to in the next section). The kiss was intense, sexy, beautiful and also tragic and both Kathryn Hahn and Aubrey Plaza did a fantastic job with every piece of dialogue and every expression. I want them to play doomed lovers in five more projects, at least.

The coven. I already blogged about Jen but man, is it funny. Even this was Agatha all along, but she is such a menace she hasn't even realized that. I'm truly happy for Jen making it through and getting her power back. I'm glad we saw Alice's last moment and I liked how much Billy cared about her, Lilia and Sharon.

Agatha's death. I can't help myself, I need to go to that moment again. I was destroyed by that. It was so beautiful, both thematically and also visually and all. The flowers and mushrooms? The sun coming up? I kept thinking about Hozier's Work Song: When my time comes around, lay me gently in the cold dark earth. No grave can hold my body down. I'll crawl home to her. (whadup, Rio reference)

Agatha and Billy specifically in that last battle scene. She was blue you guys, she was just completely blue and in the exact same blue that Billy wears in his silly Marvel costume. And Billy just offered her his power, without questions and without wanting anything in return! And she didn't kill him! (Writing that down, the bar is on the floor for Agatha lol.)

There are other small things (like the Subaru lol), but I am ready to go to the bad section now. Two things I did not like (hidden for lenght but also because not everyone wants to read negative stuff):

Agatha's ghost. I'm gonna say it. Agatha as a ghost looks fucking terrible and her existence itself diminishes her death scene. I do understand why they did it and even why she looks like that (Agatha in the comics, as I understand it, is Wanda's mentor and also an older white haired lady, so they wanted to keep that but it didn't make sense with Wanda anymore), but I just hate it. Especially the wig.

The Marvel stuff. Yes, I realize this sounds stupid, it is a Marvel show after all. We wouldn't get a stupid gimmick like ghost Agatha joining Billy to look for his brother if this wasn't a starting point for the Wiccan. And I like Billy, I do, I also (obviously) love Agatha, who was first introduced in WandaVision (I realize the hypocrisy), but it just doesn't work for me. I would rather think about the beautiful death scene with it's poetic tragedy than about white haired Agatha floating on a washing machine, I'm sorry.

That being said, I really really liked the whole show and I am happy to say I hooked in my best friend (if you are reading this, you are contractually obliged to like the post, you know how it is) and that I actually know other people irl who watched it and enjoyed it. I'm sad it's over and even sadder that in this day and age, noone will talk about it in about two to three weeks. Anyway, it was lovely.

[fandomfics]

The Trouble with Love

Part 3

Pairings: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x John Hancock x fem Reader

Description: After a mishap in the wasteland you are left to wonder if the ghouls you care for and have traveled with for years feel anything for you. The answers you find are not what you expected and leave you with more questions than answers.

Part 1 Part 2

⚠️ WARNINGS ⚠️

18+ only, MDNI

Unprotected anal, creampie, light dubcon? But like not really, queer, thruple, masterbation, Dom/sub dynamics, name calling, pet names, punishment, oral (m), praise/degradation, teasing, edging, violence, drugs

Not a long wait for the good stuff

Your head snaps up and your eyes meet his, "what the hell?" You blurt out.

"Yeah, when we started comin round Goodneighbor. Late night at the bar. Got carried away betting on who the better shot is. One thing led to another and we had a grand ol time."

You can't tell if the smile he cracks at that moment is because he's joking or he's amused by the expression on your face.

"You're messing with me, right?"

"God's honest truth sweetheart."

"Well that's....uh... Kinda fuckin hot." You say unable to keep yourself from imagining every lurid detail, your core throbbing at the thought. "I guess we should probably go work this whole dynamic out with him.....figure this out before we all get too deep."

"Heh, sure thing sugar." Cooper gets up with a groan and you follow. After you've redressed you head over to the statehouse to find Hancock in his office.

"Close the door on your way out Fahrenheit." Hancock turns to you both with a deep inhale.

"You two smell like you were up to something." He chuckles before making his way to to the couch. He sinks into it and gestures for you to sit too.

"We should talk about us...all of us" you say looking into his obsidian eyes.

"Look, whatever you decide I'll respect."

"I want to be with you both. I...I want the three of us to be together. I don't want to choose between you. I know neither of you are the sharing type, but I think this could work for us."

A pregnant pause comes over the room before Hancock turns his gaze to Cooper. "So does that mean you and I can also resume our elicit activities?"

"Oh God yes. " You blurt out shamelessly. Cooper nods to him with a wink and a small chuckle.

"Count me in Sunshine."

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Days later you lay on your back with your head in Cooper's lap and your legs draped over Hancock's while chems course through you. You've spent a lazy afternoon getting high in your room, needing the relief. Not even an hour after walking into Hancock's office someone burst in frantically looking for your trio, their loved one needing to be rescued from some nearby super mutants. Of course you couldn't say no, but you couldn't help but feel disappointed that you couldn't bask in the newness of this relationship.

Now that you're back you're determined to take a bit of time off, "One week. No jobs." You demanded. Neither ghoul protested, knowing it was going to futile to do so even if they had wanted to.

"So... Who wants to tell me the story of your first encounter." You suddenly say breaking the companionable silence that had settled in.

"Well, I had won a bet-" Hancock starts

"Like hell ya did, you cheated you dirty bastard!" Cooper raises his voice mockingly challenging Hancock

He shrugs nonchalantly "Landed me that pretty little ass of yours didn't it."

"I s'pose it did." Cooper chuckles "as much as I'd love ta tell ya, I think ya'd like it more if ya saw it. Be back in two ticks." Your eyes light up at the delicious thought, Cooper leaves for just a few minutes before returning with a holotape.

"Maybe sometimes I have the good doctor record my time in the loungers..." He gets the tape in the TV and it hums to life with black and white images of them. Cooper takes his seat as your pillow and you focus your full attention on the ghouls on the screen.

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Somewhere around 2am in a dimly lit alley in Goodneighbor Cooper silently stalks Hancock. He pushes him against a wall, hand covering his mouth.

"Ya no good sonofabitch," Cooper hisses "Ya cheated me, ya owe me 100 caps!" He removes his hand from Hancock's mouth to allow him to speak.

"No idea what you're talking about." He replies coyly

"I know the bet was rigged, now give me my caps before I split ya open."

A mischievous smile plays across Hancock's face, "Is that a promise? I do have a thing for handsome angry cowboys."

"What the fuck are ya talking about?

One of Hancock's hands finds it's way to Cooper's bulge and he's momentarily startled before replying.

"Ya think this is a game? Give. Me. My. Caps."

"My bad," Hancock raises his hands in surrender "come up to my office, I'll get em for you!"

Cooper releases Hancock and follows him closely inside the statehouse. Once in the office the door closes and Hancock bends down to open a drawer at his desk to retrieve the caps.

"Stay right there." Cooper gowls and positions himself behind him to ensure that he's not reaching for a weapon. "Put the caps on the desk slowly. "

Hancock obeys and starts to straighten until he feels a hand on his back, pushing him down face first into the desk and Cooper's groin against his ass.

"What do ya s'pose yer punishment should be."

Hancock smirks "you did promise to split me open..."

"Well now, yer gonna stand right there, not movin a muscle unless I say ya can."

"Yes sir." Hancock is obedient

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Your face is hot and you can feel yourself starting to get wet. You shove your hand into your pants and start to swirl your fingers around your clit. Both ghouls notice immediately and let their hands wander your body.

"Ya like that doll?" Cooper says letting an ungloved hand grab your breast over your t-shirt while Hancock runs his fingers lightly over your thighs.

You hum in response.

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Cooper lifts Hancocks frock coat until the bottom is resting on his back and roughly unbuttons his pants allowing them to pool around his ankles.

"Stay." Cooper wanders the room checking drawers, nooks, crannies, and cabinets until he finds what he's looking for. A bottle of cooking oil. "Yer lucky I'm a gentleman. This kindness is more than ya deserve after what you pulled"

"Thank you sir."

He places himself behind Hancock again as he removes his gloves. After diping a finger into the oil he spreads his ass and begins to massage the other ghouls tight hole. Hancock moans loudly as Cooper let's a finger slide in and begins pumping it inside him. He slowly adds fingers, priming it for his own needs before bringing them back out.

"Get down on yer knees." Hancock does as he's told, now looking up at Cooper as he frees his erection from the constraints of his pants. Hancock immediately moves to take it greedily into his mouth, eager to please.

"Just couldn't wait ta get a taste could ya, ya lil whore" Hancock hums in agreement, taking all of Cooper's cock into his mouth.

Cooper places both hands on the back of Hancocks head and bucks into him slowly building speed with each thrust, watching his eyes water as the tip hits the back of his throat. Eventually he moves to stroke his own but is stopped, "tsk tsk, what did I say?" Cooper says disapprovingly. Immediately he corrects himself and moves his hands behind his back to avoid the temptation.

"That's it, good boy." He says with a moan, he stops with his cock fully embedded, "Are ya ready for yer punishment?" Hancock nods as much as he can with his mouth full of Cooper. With his member withdrawn he pulls Hancock up by his coat and bends him over the desk, pushing the frock coat out of his way once more.

He massages Hancock's asshole with the tip of his dick, slowly working it in, a long drawn out moan from each resounds.

▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️

The ghouls have undressed you as you still lay across them. Hancock lazily teases your clit with his fingers while Cooper watches on, pinching your nipples. You're eyes are still fixed on the screen.

▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️

Cooper grabs Hancocks hips and ruts into him hard and quick. The sounds of moans and skin slapping skin fills the room. Hancock claws at the desk in pleasure, every thrust is hitting home by the look on his face. He's flush with anticipation and need, clearly desperate to chase the high of climax.

"Sir," Hancock pants "can I cum, I'm so close..."

Cooper reaches around and holds the base of Hancocks cock and balls to prevent him from finishing, and whispers "No, ya can't."

He continues to fuck him hard until hes good and ready to spill inside of him. Cooper shudders as his rhythm is thrown off and he gives one last deep thrust, holding himself there for a moment. When he's finished he steps away, finally releasing Hancock.

"Alright, you were a good lil whore, go ahead." As soon as Cooper's hand leaves his member Hancock is unable to hold himself back and spills all over the floor and desk.

"If ya need anymore punishin', let me know." He says as he rights his clothing before grabbing the caps and leaving the room.

▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️

The screen fades to black and you find yourself still being teased, "She's a dripping mess Coop." Hancock smiles

"Guess we're gonna have to take care of that now aren't we..."

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

Was I the asshole for burning the bridge w my half brother last xmas?

(pls read to the end, tw for drug use mentioned and death mentioned, r slur mentioned)

So I (23, agender) am the youngest of 4 siblings, all my older siblings are from my mom's first marriage and I'm from her second. I grew up with my 3 siblings as my siblings, no half sibling language bc it doesn't matter. However, the one who was born before me, S (31, m) has never particularly liked me, he was kind when I was very small, we played hockey together briefly in the gym of my old church, he showed me miniclip games, etc. but at one point due to my oldest brother's (would be 35 this yr, rip) drug problem S was sent to live w my grandparents, my grandfather is very against hugging or crying for men and just caused S to bottle everything. Plus, my mom suspects that S felt abandoned understandably by the family. But my mom had a bipolar husband, a son w undiagnosed BPD and a c-ke addiction, my sister was, iirc, either in another province with her bio dad and I was under 6 years old. She was going through it and just physically couldn't handle any more than she already had. She had a nervous breakdown a few years after the whole older brother thing. After my oldest brother died, and I came out as agender I just kinda became bitter, I was raised in a very conservative christian environment so I wasn't encouraged to be queer and my initial coming out caused a lot of pain. A few years later I got into a relationship with my fiance and just overall started wanting to run away, something I'd been thinking for years, but it was even stronger. Even my sister ran away in her way. My brother too. My dad passed away last year in March, and that was just...the last straw for me. My dad, despite all his flaws was always there for me, and now he was gone. Throughout all this time (the 13 years sibce we were last a happy family), anytime I'd express interest in something, S would call it r-t--ded, he'd put down anything and everything I liked, I'll admit I always was a cringey kid, but it's no excuse to call me that. Over this time, he'd make little comments and things and my dad would also make small mentions that led me to believe that some of the gifts he'd given me were stuff he didn't want anymore, so he just handed them to me. One bday he gave me his old gameboy and a few games. No wrapping or anything, just my mom reminding him it was my bday and him calling me over and handing it over. I loved that gameboy mind you.

Cut to last xmas! I was bitter and feeling petty. S at this point had never bothered building a relationship despite my attempts. Relationships, family or otherwise, are a 2-way thing imho.

So, I gave him some candies, this reindeer dog thing he had given me when I was like 10, and wrapped it up w a card I wrote that said "I burn this bridge" and a few other things. He was disappointed with the plush, I thought it was bc he had actually put thought in that one. He said "no it's just the principal of things!"

So, Tumblr, am I the Asshole?

What are these acronyms?

[hajimedics]

On Puppets, Agency, and Fate

I’ve been writing this thinkpiece for around a week while looking further into Welcome Home’s symbolism through queer/neurodivergent lenses; strengthening my belief that its themes of freedom and fate cannot be separated from the struggles the characters face as queer/neurodivergent folks.

This writing is going to be a mix of canonical content and my personal interpretation as I make many connections to various readings. Not to mention that the story is very far from done according to the words of the creator himself, so please take the things I say with a grain of salt.

You can view this thinkpiece in Google Docs format here.

CW: mentions/discussions of homophobia, transphobia, ableism, and abuse

I've always adored explorations of humanity and their deteriorating, fluctuating psyche through characters constantly challenged by the narrative (example: Phos from Land of the L*strous, Kris from D*ltarune, Guts from B*rserk, Mae from N*ght in the W*ods) and how they struggle to find their place in the world and freedom. To progress, humanity has always desire freedom. Freedom of expression. Freedom to think. Freedom to honestly, unapologetically be who one wants to be. Humans and humanity are not always synonymous. Welcome Home is a case of this too, its ensemble cast consisting of puppets.

Clown has stated that themes of being queer/neurodivergent are very integral to the story in many aspects, from the characters to the metanarrative. I want to talk about the things I've noticed, the analogies they carry, and how every character's identity contributes to the themes or the story.

First off, the neighborhood.

The neighborhood in general

From the perspective of Welcome Home Puppet Show’s creators, the neighborhood is the idea of a perfect, idyllic community through the lens of cisheteronormavity from the 70s. It is something out of a children’s dream with the colorful imagery, the peaceful yet eventful neighborhood filled with fun activities where everyone in the neighborhood is happy and there are no realistic problems like capitalism, oppression, relationship problems, sickness, and death. Of course, it’s the given obvious because this is a puppet show we’re talking about. A show aimed at kids.

Everyone has a role to play in the neighborhood – the shopkeeper, the mailman, the baker, the bug nerd – they all fit the traditional, stereotypical, cartoonish American mold of what the dream urban life is like in the 70s (and it still is in my small hometown, in Indonesia! We’re quite traditional in a sense) especially with the lack of serious overarching threats of aforementioned human problems.

Welcome Home first aired on 1969 and abruptly ended on 1974. A possible theory is that they cannot keep up with the competitor shows at the time (Sesame Street started on 1969 and The Muppet Show started on 1974, fun fact!), but seeing the amount of merchandise they put out and the way it stood out from various angles, this theory can be thrown out the window. The “about” page for WHPS also describes the show as well acclaimed and doing well during its runtime.

Another one is that the sentience of the puppets (and their desire to have autonomy over their own lives) have possibly impacted the writing of the story, given how they have their own identity outside of the one given by WHPS’s writers to them. Even more when you take into consideration that WHPS is produced during the era when LGBT history in America is at a major turning point. As cited from The Atlantic:

“Those years that followed, the decade of the 1970s, represent a remarkable period of transformation for gays and lesbians, particularly those living in America's coastal cities. At its core, that transformation was about visibility. During those years, there was the first gay television movie (That Certain Summer); a sexy on-screen kiss between two men in Sunday, Blood Sunday; and the release of Cabaret, which has been hailed as the first movie that "really celebrated homosexuality.

There were gains in politics too: Edward Koch, then serving in Congress, "became one of the first elected officials to publicly lobby on behalf of the homosexuals of Greenwich Village," Kaiser writes. Gay Pride Week was established. Perhaps most significantly: In December of 1973, the board of the American Psychiatric Association* voted 13-0 "to remove homosexuality from its list of psychiatric disorders."

The laws that no longer criminalizes or dehumanizes queer folks are being written. Changes are made. Even when LGBT movement was going on a fairly optimistic path, oppression and bigotry towards the community was still rampant. After all, oppressors just can’t change their views in a whim! Their hatred comes from their own thoughts and not because the higher ups told them so.

I won’t turn this into a writing about queer history instead of focusing on Welcome Home. Though, I think it's all worth mentioning given the things I'm going to discuss here and how Clown stated that these themes will become prevalent throughout the story. I decide to write this thinkpiece as an outlet for my thoughts and how I connected many of the story's aspects to the themes of freedom – both from their status as puppets and their identity.

Now that the overview is out of the way, time to bring in the big guns.

The neighborhood and Playfellow Workshop

If we take Playfellow Workshop's involvement in the characters' lives outside of episode recordings, Welcome Home becomes a huge transgender allegory, wrapped in a neat colorful package called "being puppets whose view on the world is much more narrow and simple in which they are controlled by beings above their comprehension".

Playfellow Workshop is the company that creates WHPS and owns its characters. They act as the "parents" to the "children" – WHPS' characters – in this comparison. They house the characters, have them as their responsibilities and assets, and, as any show production goes, they most definitely have staff that takes care of the puppets to see if there are any rips or tears in their bodies, making sure they are fit for the show production. It's just like how parents house their children when they cannot afford housing or live on their own, taking care of (or rather monitor) them, giving them shelter and food.

They are controlled both literally and figuratively by Playfellow Workshop – former because they're hand puppets made for children's entertainment and latter because of their status binding them to their duties. Just like how a parent has authority over their children under the guise of “you live under my roof, you live under my rules.” The rules in questions are the episodes which are produced on story scripts, and the puppets follow said scripts. 

Playfellow Workshop is extremely important to the puppets, whether the company is taking a positive role, a neutral role, or an antagonistic role. If the puppets were to break free from their grasp, who would take care of them? Who will place them onto their cases, or fix their rips and tears, or make sure they're in good shape? Playfellow Workshop may have taken a toll on the puppets, but no one can take care of the puppets better than Playfellow Workshop. 

You might be wondering, “But Senja, this can be read as a typical controlling parent and clueless children dynamic. Why so specific about it being a trans experience?”

It can be read like the former! I made more connections and thus thought "Hm. This is so true to my trans experience". 

There are multiple transgender characters in the story such as Frank, Poppy, and Julie. I was struggling on how to put my thoughts into words about the ways the producers of WHPS (could it be that they thought about the puppets not being cis?) can write in trans characters in WHPS, but I believe Clown himself and the wikipedia page for Gonzo from The Muppets said it best. 

A similar case for the puppets can be applied to the trans characters of Welcome Home! Still, the way the puppets present themselves to the audience is also ultimately a decision made by Playfellow Workshop, especially during episode recordings. Clown also said that they won’t reveal much about it since he doesn’t want to give out spoilers. Perhaps regarding to the nature of Playfellow Workshop, too?

The puppets and the scripts can also be a stand-in for how trans folks who still live with authoritative adult figures (especially those that don't accept them or begrudgingly does) are handling autonomy over their own bodies and actions. Although not shown for now, I predict there’s going to be an eventual identity dissonance between who the puppets truly are and who the puppets are according to WHPS’ writers.  It reminds me of my experience of when I was much younger, being a closeted trans person who often struggles with disassociation, looking into the mirror and feeling like me and my body are not one. Not myself. It's like they're two separate beings, "me" who is what I truly am, and "my body" that is dictated and dressed up by my parents. As much as I love my body, little me wanted to claw out and break free if it means I can have a semblance of independence over my life. (Things are much better these past few years, though!)

Again, I don’t like accusing Playfellow Workshop of purposefully mistreating the puppets or even taking pleasure in hurting them because we are just getting started; getting to know the personalities and character dynamics between each character. Authoritative parents won't exactly be abusive to their children. Maybe Playfellow Workshop is just doing their job. They take care of the puppets because if they're damaged, the show won't go on. They act indifferent towards the puppets because well, they're just puppets. No personal feelings. That's just how business goes.

We do know that Playfellow Workshop is a big problem regarding the WHPS’ cancellation and the puppets’ worrying fates.

Playfellow Workshop aside, what about the community regarding the puppets?

The neighborhood is a small town consisting of nine residents. Everyone knows each other, and it’s hard to keep secrets from one another with just how tight-knit everyone is; the experience of living in a small town rings true to mine. Almost everyone in my quaint hometown knows many details about each other and their families because our community strongly believes in the importance of bonds and our culture is built on the word "family".

The neighborhood is a family that does not fit the general criteria of what the traditional structure of a family is. There is no concrete "father" or "mother" or "siblings" assigned here – they're also not the typical found family where they meet one another by chance. They are placed inside the set by the creators of the WHPS, lives already decided by its writers (like a traditional family), but they find solace in each other, having their lives intertwined with one another through bonds that they also take part in building, even outside of the show's production (like a found family, as seen in the "answer" pages). They are friends. They are family. Not to mention how the neighborhood is called "Home", a place where a family lives.

But they also cannot get out – as in get out of WHPS instead of just the neighborhood. I will be covering connections to freedom for each character later on (Sally falling from the sky, Poppy as a flightless bird, Howdy as an adult caterpillar) but the way their existence is bound by the colorful stage sets and rainbow props can also be seen as a small analogy that traditional families are expected to always stick with each other no matter how bad things are. 

Themes of family aside, I’ll talk about how the so-called “long lost and unknown of number” episodes. WHPS’ episodes start with Wally leading the viewers through the cacophony of the neighborhood. Then other characters join in, with many of them having notable activity segments. The episodes then end with Wally, who has finished journeying with the viewer, when the day has ended. It is most peculiar and harrowing that the agency of the puppets regarding the show is dependent on Wally and the time of the day. Wally plays the central figure of the story, first being placed in the position as the protagonist and most important character in WHPS, then having to act as their savior because he is the only puppet thus far that has contact with the restoration team and you, the viewer. He is akin to a child who has to take the lead as the head of the family even though he is not prepared for it.

Nobody remembers Welcome Home. Nobody remembers who the puppets are. At the time, the puppets only have themselves and each other to rely on for support. Then again, it’s not even clear if they are with each other when they went missing or scattered around.

Now that I've covered the connections I've made regarding the neighborhood as a whole, I’d like to analyze its residences one by one.

Wally Darling

Wally is a very complex character and by far the most – ironically – human out of everyone in the cast. The word "freedom" is written all over him and the word "love" is sewn into every inch of his body.

Wally is shown to show little to no interest in romance or dating. He allowed his friends to get touchy-feely with him (examples being sleeping with Barnaby and getting hugged by Eddie) and doesn’t hesitate to show his affections to them, but it’s been said that he never found them romantic. Wally’s lack of interest in romance gives me the impression that he is in the AroAce spectrum. Clown even mentioned that he doesn’t know what to do if someone confesses their love to him. Wally knows what romance is, he knows what romantic love is, he just doesn't see himself finding a partner anytime soon.

Wally's view on love not only ties into his queerness, but also his neurodiversity – his autism. He is not good at reading social cues or acting "as accordingly" to the situations presented to him. Clown also suggested that Wally cannot process emotions “the way humans do”. They also entertain the idea that Wally is “emotionless”; but I’d rather interpret it as Wally having low empathy and possibly alexithymia, traits shared by many autistic folks (including me).

He expresses his love in a way that accommodates his neurodiversity: real actions.

Wally has been shown from time to time as someone who absolutely, truly loves his friends. The way he loves others cannot be categorized into simple boxes such as “romantic” or “platonic” or “familial”. Wally loves his friends dearly and it is deep and true, simple as that. He also loves you, the viewer, and a hidden page in the Welcome Home page says that "Wally is your best friend". When he was communicating with you, it read to me more like fascination, curiosity, and cries of help instead of macabre obsession as I normally would expect in psychological stories such as Welcome Home.

All of this makes the struggles he faced after WHPS' cancellation and getting separated from his friends more tragic.

Having the world that he knows ripped away from him must've been traumatizing to him. The world that he has always known is gone. The people that he knew and met everyday are scattered everywhere. Although there are many image file names that suggest he has contact with some of his friends, he doesn’t know if everyone is fine. He’s now left to pick up the pieces and try to stick them back together. He has so much to think about, too much to think about, and so he decides to reach out to you.

When you take into consideration that autistic folks often rely on self-made sets of rules, Wally's situation turns from sad to depressing. Autistic folks rely on schedules and routines (also seen through Frank) to give them a sense of control over their lives and help them ground themselves in reality. When Wally's "routine" is ripped away from him, he has to immediately make sense of his situation and make himself accustomed to a life full of uncertainty. His adaptation to change isn't simply about comfort – it's about surviving. His struggles don't only stop there. 

Wally's intentions are read wrongly, some people interpreting him as "creepy" or "malicious" instead of just "awkward" or "desperate". Interestingly, this flanderization and misconception of his character comes from the internet's view on him instead of from the audience/staff in-universe. His autistic traits that cannot be deemed "cute" enough (the way he stares, his mannerism, how he talks slowly, or his fixation on the viewer) is considered creepy in a way that appeals to the fandom and thus extrapolated into something more extreme; him being a lovesick obsessive love interest, him being a religious cult leader, or him being the overarching villain of the story. The way that people outside his universe are the ones demonizing him is poetic in a way – reflective of the world that we live in where ableism towards autistics are so embedded even in the way we view tragic characters with low empathy.

Maybe Wally’s mannerisms are written that way because it’s to add more mystery, but knowing that Clown likes to play with secrets and says that neurodivergency plays a huge part in the story makes me think it’s also the other way around. His behavior as an autistic and traumatized character is what makes people believe that he's the villain. It’s unintentional on his part, but people who fail to read between the lines can think otherwise. It reminds me that when autistic folks cannot express emotions "correctly” or act a certain way that is expected regarding certain social situations, neurotypicals immediately jump into bad, unsavory conclusions about their intentions.

In reality, Wally is a desperate person who just wants the viewer to know and realize his presence and (assumedly) save his friends. Sure, he isn't straightforward in his words when communicating to us through hidden audio files, but his intentions are getting more clear to me. He’s thrust into a situation where he now acts as the guardian for his friends instead of Playfellow Workshop. He wants to get in. He's not a saint. He's not a villain. He's a struggler.

Sally Starlet

Sally! Her name is a fun one. She’s a star. She’s also an actress/play writer, related to the phrase “star of the show”.

So far, Clown hasn’t confirmed anything regarding her sexuality or gender identity, but the interactions she has with other characters from various audio files gave me some clues.

Her interactions with male characters are comedic or bossy in a comical sense, definitely stays true to her bombastic personality. She's not particularly fond of having Barnaby or Howdy star in her plays – the former not taking it seriously while the latter advertising his products in the middle of her plays. She also likes bossing Eddie around as shown in Eddie's Big Lift and is entertained by his antics, from him calling her "ma'am" to him not being able to refuse any of her commands. 

Sally is noticeably more mellow around women like Julie and Poppy, notably the latter. Despite getting tired of Julie messing up the script of her plays, she isn’t annoyed with her and thinks of her antics as amusing rather than annoying. She is also patient with Poppy, not getting deterred by her always worrying nature and talks to her calmly. She encourages her ideas, help her to be more confident in herself and is very supportive of her! Their personalities bounce off one another really well, and she is just so sweet. Sally also endearingly calls Julie “Juliet” and Poppy “dear” and “darling”, something she doesn’t do with the male characters.

She gives me the impression of being a lesbian. She reminds me a lot of Lady D from RE VIII who’s a canon lesbian, calls Evan “manthing”, and speaks/acts in the same sophisticated manner as Sally, haha!

Besides her queerness, I found an interesting connection to freedom from her backstory. Sally was originally a star from space that falls to earth in order to pursue her interest in acting. She fell from a place that is vast and endless to a place surrounded by trees and predetermined fates. Also her working with play scripts… the show running on episode scripts… hm…

A falling star has a close definition to a meteor, burning brightly due to the pressure but then losing its spark and mass during its journey, ultimately burning into nothingness. Possibly just a coincidence, but the symbolism when related to Sally is sad.

Frank Frankly

Amidst the cheerful technicolor citizens of the neighborhood, Frank stood out the most by having grey skin and a constant frown on his face. He’s the bookworm character archetype of the show and is described as “arguably the smartest person in the neighborhood”. He’s also one of the handful characters that doesn’t have any information regarding where he was before he came to the neighborhood.

Frank is autistic. As I’ve mentioned in Wally’s part of this thinkpiece, Frank relies on routines and familiarity to give himself a sense of agency and control over his life. He likes arranging things in the order they’re supposed to go, he has a keen eye on organization and structure, and he wants things to be done right in his own ways. “This is the way things should be done, not that way.”

There are drawings Clown made depicting him stimming and infodumping about his special interests, those being entomology and insects. 

Frank and Julie are paired together in many Welcome Home-related content. They are best friends who does things together and spends time playing together. They perform a comedy duo; Frank is the "straight man" to Julie's "funny man". His friendship with Julie is very important to both the show and the overarching story. They are something more than simple friends, something less than lovers, and something just right and deep for the both of them. Not that Playfellow Workshop thinks much about that. 

The animation cells for “Julie-rella” has given me a very thin theory that themes of cisheteronormavity will be at play as the story goes. Frank is the prince charming, while Julie is Cinderella – fated to be together when the story ends. Well, maybe it’s just Sally, being her over-the-top self and her reenacting a classic fairy tale with her personal spin, but I just can’t help but think harder about the implications of it. Frank is not a cishet man, and Julie is not a cishet woman. I have talked about it in this short writing I made about Eddie and Frank.

Frank is canonically nonbinary and gay. He and Eddie are each other's love interests, something that isn’t outright shown. One can argue that they don’t exactly “act” like a typical couple from what we’ve seen, and their interactions in WHPS’ audios and merchandises gives off the feeling that they’re amicable at best (referring to the link I embedded above). They are noticeably closer in the “answer” page, though. It is not certain that their relationship at the time WHPS was still going and before Welcome Home Restoration Project’s involvement was already established or they’re just starting to get to know each other  – though many audios in the WHRP website leans more towards the latter. Either way, it reminds me of the way some queer people have to hide their relationships in public to avoid getting hate or persecution.

You know that one art of a terrified Frank with a bright red rectangle and many appendages surrounding him that can be found in the staff-only page? Regarding his status as the bookworm character, I have a feeling that the phrase “ignorance is bliss” will come at play here, subverting his character. 

Poppy Partridge

This sweet, poor bird who is always shaken by everything around her. Poppy grew up in a nest with her family, though growing up to become the biggest bird out of everyone, eventually leaving the nest and moving into the neighborhood, living inside a barn and rarely leaving it because of her anxiety. Poppy is described to not be based on just one bird, as Clown said. She is said to be a mix of “flamingo from father’s side, hen from mother’s side”, fitting with how unique everyone is in the neighborhood.

It is heartwarming that she is surrounded by people who are understanding of her anxiety. Nobody makes fun of her fretfulness or forces her to be “more social”, Howdy brings her groceries to her barn, and she even has her own baking business! She’s not the greatest at the things she likes doing, but it’s nice to see that she founds joy in them.

Poppy is canonically a trans lesbian. She’s very close with Sally, whose personality is a stark contrast to hers. Poppy feels like she can trust Sally with handling the jobs she’s supposed to do and Sally encourages her to be more true to herself. Poppy feels at ease whenever she’s around Sally and even seems to act more flustered around her – a possible love interest between the two. It’s also cute that Sally likes to drag Poppy in her antics, with the latter not being too bothered about it. They trust each other very much. Also their dynamic is also just really good, y’know?

Connected to themes of freedom in this story, Poppy is a flightless bird, yet another symbol of her state of freedom as a puppet to Playfellow Workshop. Many birds have the ability to spread their wings and fly away to the places that they desire while Poppy cannot. Like the rest of the cast, her world is limited by the trees around the neighborhood. She also left her nest not because she has big dreams like Sally or ambitions like Howdy, but because of the circumstances she cannot control on her own.

As I’ve mentioned earlier, Poppy grew up to be the biggest bird out of her family and it became the reason why she left for the neighborhood. And when she got there, she prefers being inside her own barn instead of going around and socializing with everyone.

Howdy Pillar

Ohhh my god. This guy. He originates from an apple as a teensy little caterpillar, then leaving the place where he was raised in because of his dreams (similar to Sally, different to Poppy). He is shown to be very proud and confident in himself, having a clear ambition on opening his very own shop and takes great pride in what he does. He’s a great talker and can easily convince even the proudest people in the neighborhood to purchase his wares, and his character gives me the impression that he prefers being around people that understands his dreams.

I cannot find any notable queer readings regarding Howdy, but his interactions with Barnaby gives me the impression that they’re close to one another. Howdy considers Barnaby his favorite customer, and is seemingly happy that Barnaby is willing to listen to him ramble about his family gossips.

I do find connections between his physical appearance and the story’s themes of freedom.

In a caterpillar’s life, when they’re about to reach their adult stage and move on from their juvenile stage, they turn into butterflies. Not the case with Howdy. He’s an adult caterpillar whose family are a bunch of butterflies. Like Poppy, whose symbolism of lack of freedom is the same as Howdy's, he cannot turn into a butterfly and fly away from the grasp of Playfellow Workshop – outside the neighborhood, outside the town surrounded by colorful trees and dictated by scripts.

Unlike Poppy however, Clown mentioned that Howdy has the possibility of turning into a butterfly someday. Poppy is also an adult bird, the last stage of her life cycle, while Howdy is an adult caterpillar, the beginning stage of his life cycle. A possible foreshadowing for his fate regarding freedom later on…? Or maybe just a fun little trivia.

Barnaby B. Beagle

Barnaby, the comedic relief who's the most emotionally intelligent. The jokester who knows that something is amiss when the situation calls for it, the comedian who can be honest and straightforward in what he finds amusing and not, the humorist whose appearance is always met with cheers, claps, and boos, as if he’s the main character of a very long winded sitcom.

As far as I’ve noticed, there aren’t as many connections to themes of freedom regarding Barnaby as there is on other characters. Though I can say that Barnaby can stand his ground more than Eddie, another character who is usually put in situations where he gets the boot to the head and usually lets people do as they please. I cannot put these into concrete words, but Barnaby has an air of professionalism to him despite his character archetype being the comedic relief. 

Barnaby is close with Howdy (see the writing regarding his character above!), sharing jokes and puns with him. Barnaby is also considered Howdy’s greatest customer, always making the latter crack up and their personalities bounce off one another really well.

Another resident that Barnaby shares a close bond with – closer even – is Wally. Barnaby is very close to Wally. They are best friends, and many art for Welcome Home depicts them together a lot of the time. Barnaby includes Wally in the things he does like getting hotdogs together or sharing jokes. Besides Home, Barnaby knows Wally the best. He is also quick to notice changes in Wally’s demeanor, getting concerned about him when he doesn’t react to his words the way Wally always does in the last “answer audio”. 

Clown also said that in any universe, Barnaby and Wally will always become best friends. They are the definition of soulmates. Platonic, romantic, whatever you call it – but like I’ve said earlier, the puppets’ view on love are not as complicated as humans’, and I can say that they love each other deeply, simple and true as that. Like someone once said, they’ll find each other in any universe. This makes me fear for their relationship even more, given that Wally and Barnaby are most likely not near each other when WHPS ended.

Eddie Dear

Eddie! Neighborhood’s creative, kind, and hardworking mailman. He has a good eye on arts and craft, and is more than delighted to lead the viewers of the show with the things he wants to create.

As Clown have stated, Eddie is a gay man. I’ve covered most of the things I’ve said regarding their (blooming) romantic relationship in Frank’s section of this thinkpiece however, so I implore you to go back there if you don’t want me to rewrite the whole thing all over again here, haha!

A recurring trope with him is that despite his adherence to work ethics and schedules, Eddie tends to forget a lot of things. The Welcome Home website says that he hails from a town far away from the neighborhood, but he always gets the name of the town wrong and oftentimes mentions names of places that doesn’t exist. He talks to inanimate objects to aid his forgetfulness (also for endearing character traits) and Frank once suggested that he ties strings to the things he doesn’t want to forget, but this doesn’t always work. Eddie also doesn’t remember where he came from and his character profile says that he and the post office appeared out of nowhere one day.

Eddie is also accident-prone, always getting himself into situations (a bug landing on his paper chains, getting chased by Barnaby) and is mainly depicted as the unwilling comedian. Many of his character aspects are depicted as a source of comedy, even by himself. Eddie also has tendencies of prioritizing what others want before himself because of his even-tempered nature. So far, Eddie doesn’t express any serious frustration over this, but with the themes of agency recurring in this story, I’m afraid that it’s going to be a matter of time before we see Eddie express discomfort over this.

Throwback to what I have said: Frank is a smart person who constantly searches for logical answers to things, while Eddie is more laid back and isn’t very focused on finding the right answer and just wanting problems to be handled. This contrast on their personalities and how their backstories are foils of each other (Frank coming from unclear origins, Eddie not knowing the name of the place he’s from) make me think: Is ignorance bliss to Eddie? 

Julie Joyful

The sunshine of the neighborhood! The bringer of rainbows in Welcome Home! Julie stays true to her surname, always depicted with a bright smile on her face. She is the one that can turn Frank’s frown upside down. She is the one that can bring a tinge of comedy in Sally’s tragic dramas. 

Julie joins the side of the neighborhood that has clear origins. She once lived inside a cave with her siblings, but ultimately leaves under her own volition to find life for herself. Regardless, she is a character that is known for her constant interactions with other neighbors, notably Frank, her best friend.

Her friendship with Frank is extremely special for both of them – if you want to read about it, you should go to Frank's section of this thinkpiece as I've covered most of my thoughts about Frank and Julie's friendship there, but I want to add a few more things.

She is the "funny man" to Frank's "straight man", forming the neighborhood’s comedic duo. She drags him into her shenanigans, like the time they played “Business Woman In The Big City”. They’re also quite competitive when participating in the games that Julie conducts. She brings out the best in Frank, always making sure he feels included and happy in any activity they do. Julie is the “spontaneity” to Frank’s “routinity”. Julie is the “fun” to Frank’s “frown”. They’re inseparable from one another, like Barnaby with Wally.

As stated by Clown, Julie is genderfluid and bisexual. She doesn’t have a love interest set for her, but what’s important is that her character is emphasized with her connections with others. When Frank couldn’t play with her, she plays with Sally and enjoys spending time with her and even stars as the main character in many of the latter’s plays. There are lots of love inside her, after all! She is also said to be quite touchy with her friends, often hugging them and encouraging them to go through with the things they want to do. It doesn’t always have to be seen as “romantic”, like I’ve said before.

Onto her status as a puppet for Playfellow Workshop. Something funny is that Julie has a tendency to go off-script as shown from her interaction with Sally while practicing for a play. She has issues getting into the mood of her plays, making scenes that are supposed to be emotional… comedical, instead.

Is this supposed to symbolize something further? Is this habit of hers pointing towards how she’s going to express her unwillingness to be a mere cog in the big machine? The puppets are very much sentient, but I am not sure if they are aware if their actions in the WHPS episodes are controlled by the script. Time will tell, and perhaps, Julie too.

Home

Finally, we get to the last but one of the most important characters in this story – Home.

Home is the ninth residence of the neighborhood, though it’s not a puppet but a stationery character. It houses Wally, the main character of this story. Unlike the rest of the cast, Home talks in onomatopeias, like creaking its doors or opening its windows to produce sound as means of communication. Its eyes are very expressive and is constantly moving. Unlike other houses in the neighborhood, they’re very expressive.

Their importance isn’t only limited to being Wally’s house or being the only character in Welcome Home that cannot walk or talk.

The mobile characters of Welcome Home never expressed annoyance for Home’s non-verbal trait and instead put in effort to understand them and include them in their activities. They accommodate for Home, making sure they feel comfortable, wanted, and not left out. Home feels… at home around them.

Wally writes for Home to help it communicate and makes his canvas face Home whenever he’s painting, Julie teaches it how to hula hoop, Eddie makes small talk with Home, Barnaby makes jokes and laughs with Home, Frank tries to include home in games of chess, and so on! Home isn’t just a building like the rest of the cast’s houses. They are part of the family. It makes me so happy to see that their existence isn’t considered a burden or an annoyance or have their traits be seen as sources of comedy. It hits close to home for me as a physically disabled person.

Regarding the overarching story outside of WHPS, Home is a character that plays a significant part in Wally's journey. Wally loves Home dearly. He takes care of Home and makes sure he is in great condition. He is the caretaker for Home and becomes its communicator when the situation calls for it. In return, Home makes sure Wally is safe and sound inside their cavity and expresses their love for Wally through communication from creaking noises and even lightly squishing him between their door and door frame. Home is also quick to notice changes in Wally’s behavior and shows their concern for him, signifying just how deep their relationship is.

As I’ve mentioned many times before, their closeness cannot be boxed into the usual types of love humans are used to. You just know they are extremely linked to one another and that their relationship is not only important in WHPS, but also the story as a whole.

Home and Wally are inseparable from one another. They have their separate personalities and are distinguishable from one another, but ultimately they will always be one. Home is Wally’s fortress. Home is the shield to Wally’s sword. Home is the pericardium to Wally’s heart. After all, “Home is where the heart is”, right?

Afterwords

Yay! Whew! Congrats on making it to the afterwords! I’ve spent more than a week writing this whole thing and having my friend @rxveriecaeli proofread this thinkpiece (Morfe if you’re reading this I love you bestie). Huge HUGE shoutout to them because I’d be lost without them giving the finishing touches! 

I know, some people will say that I’m reaching or thinking too much about this story, but hey! That’s why it’s called a thinkpiece and not a theory or concrete proof of X or Y. I cannot say that I’m 100% sure about where the story is heading or what Clown has in mind for certain characters, but I just want to think and love making connections and my brain just keeps producing questions after questions after questions. Are the feelings they have with each other theirs and not the byproduct of the script commanding them? I believe so. 

What if Poppy is a flightless bird because she's based on Big Bird and not because it's an analogy for her not being able to fly freely away? What if Howdy is an adult caterpillar because he just IS and not because it's an analogy for not being able to turn into a butterfly that can fly? These options might be so, but even if Clown someday confirm that their design choices are simply because they're inspired by other puppet characters, I'm just happy that I manage to find symbolism that I can connect to their character designs.

I think it's too early to assume that the puppets are surely seeking freedom. At most, they just want to be saved from the tragic states they’re in, and Wally is on the lead. I mean, the show's canceled and they no longer live by following the scripts made for them! We don't even know the true fates of them aside from being nearly forgotten to time. And even if the puppets do achieve freedom, what will be of them? The producers aren't around anymore, the employees that treat them as toys but also take care of them aren't there anymore, and they have to fend for themselves in the big world.

I am not a native English speaker and I cannot put some of my thoughts into words both because of my language barrier and my ADHD. I do not intend on expressing malicious or harmful subtext through this writing, but do tell me if I had worded anything incorrectly and I will fix it. I would love to hear your thoughts about this thinkpiece too, so don’t hesitate to leave comments or tags in the reblogs (though please be patient with me!). Not that I will tolerate hateful or bigoted comments, however!

Please do not start accusing me of spreading the rhetoric that “being queer/neurodivergent is painful and constantly suffering and if you don’t suffer you are not part of those groups”! Being queer is fun and liberating. Being neurodivergent or disabled is something to take pride in. I’m proud of who I am and I encourage others to be so too. The experiences of queer/neurodivergent won’t always be easy, though, and I made this analysis and the correlating connections based on my own experience as a queer, autistic, and physically disabled person. 

That being said, thank you for reading!

Fun little trivia! The characters' favorite colors form a rainbow when put in respective order, just like the colors of the original pride flag :]

[leupagus]

Selyse is not a "who's this bitch" kind of person but honestly, she should be forgiven for meeting Sansa like this and going "who's this bitch"

Just then there was a call from outside the tent, asking for the king. Davos opened the flap and a young solder ducked inside, bowing low to the king first, then to Lady Melisandre, then to Selyse. "Your Grace," he said, "riders were just spotted on the pass below, making their way up to our camp."

"Spotted on the pass?" snorted Davos. "Are they riding snow bears? Or elks?"

As though in answer, an horn sounded in the distance. The king started, his expression as queer as any Selyse had seen on his face in their near twenty years of marriage. It seemed almost...hopeful. "That call," he said, as though to himself.

Davos shook his head. "I don't recognize it, Your Grace. Do you?"

"Oh, yes," said Stannis softly. "I remember it very well."

The party climbing up the pass was small — a hundred men at most — in two long rows, the banners of all of Stark's promised houses unfurled. They were mounted on the great lumbering beasts that passed for horses in the North. In the pearl-grey of dawn, Selyse could see the front pair dragging behind them a curious leather-and plate device. It was shaped for all the world like the prow of a ship and it cut through the snow with ease. The party moved only slightly slower than a full canter; even as she watched, the two horses affixed to the contraption slowed and stopped, their riders giving them full rein to blow out great puffs of air into the snow. The whole party halted in an orderly queue behind them, and the two mounted soldiers directly behind circled round to unhook the lead pair (without bothering to dismount) and attaching their own horses. The party then resumed its swift pace up the mountain pass. The two who had been in the lead rejoined smoothly at the end, where the snow been packed down to a tidy path.

"Ingenious," remarked Davos. Lady Melisandre said nothing, only quirked an eyebrow. Shireen asked some imbecilic question about something, and the king made a patient response.

"Perhaps these men of the North will bring you the miracle you seek, Your Grace," said Lady Melisandre, as the riders at last drew level.

"Certainly they seem to have performed the miracle of moving in this snow," Stannis observed.

Most of the riders remained at the foot of the camp, but a small group began to make their way toward them, their behemoth horses even more ridiculous as they drew closer, with their hoofs near as wide as platters and their tails cut short as a broomstick. As they halted before their king, the riders dismounted. Despite the bitter cold, not one of them showed any sign of discomfort, their thick boots and cloaks making them appear almost as outsized as their horses.

The king took a breath, as if to ask for their leader, when a hooded figure on a great chestnut beast came out from the midst of them. Her cloak and skirts were dirty from the road and snows, her copper-bright hair in a simple peasant's braid as she pushed back her hood. A half-dozen young men surged forward to hand her from her horse, but it was a giantess in armor who helped her down and followed closely behind as she approached them.

It took Selyse a long moment to realize who the girl was: Sansa, Catelyn's eldest daughter. (Eldest child, now that the usurper Robb Stark was dead — and Catelyn too, and Lord Stark before them.) She had more of her mother's look to her than her father's, which must have pleased the Imp when he married her; Tyrion had always liked his whores pretty and clever. There was something in the way that she carried herself, however, that made Selyse suspect Sansa might be rather too clever.

The girl made no move to bow to the king, merely drew within a length as her retinue fanned out behind her. "Your Grace," she greeted Stannis. At least she had the good sense to recognize her rightful king. "I am Lady Sansa, of House Stark."

"Lady Stark," the king replied, or began to, because at that moment the damned direwolf, that unnatural creature the Lord Commander had foisted upon them, came hurtling in from wherever the devils he'd been and lunged for the girl, sending her sprawling to the ground with a scream more chilling than Shireen's, horrifyingly cut off as she—

As she laughed, the creature licking frantically at her face with its great tail wagging. The girl brought her arms around its monstrous neck and hugged it closer to her, burying her face in its fur, unconcerned entirely by the spectacle. Her Northern lords looked well pleased, in fact, nodding and smiling at one another in shared understanding. He'll recognize her, Jon had told Shireen when she'd asked how Ghost would know who Sansa was. The pack knows its own. It seemed the whole of the North knew.

The king's people were nearly as susceptible. Davos was smiling like a dolt and Shireen looked as though she wanted nothing more than to join in the undignified affair. Lady Melisandre, at least, showed little sign of being moved; she was watching with an air of interest but no warmth. Only the king was truly inscrutable, as he stared down at the tangle of girl and dog with another expression she had never seen before. This time, she could not guess as to what it meant.

At long last, the beast allowed Sansa Stark to rise, once again accepting help only from her giantess. "My apologies, Your Grace," she said. Her smile was broad and bright even as she wiped at a streak of mud across her nose. "But as you might guess, Stark reunions are rare these days."

[blorbingqls]

Karan and Achi beyond the mask

okay, so i am not okay from the last episode of Cherry Magic Thailand. i personally relate to Karan and Achi a lot, and i felt like writing something on this.

so, in ep 1, we saw Karan to be this perfect guy in the office: winning the awards, getting better oppurtunities and being a great cheerleader for everyone. but, we saw the "mask" shatter when Achi heard his thoughts.

our thoughts, which are so personal in real life and usually are so restricted to ourselves - its hard to imagine what they might get out of it. and, the fact that Karan, while being so perfect, is so mysterious and private of his feelings, really hits hard when you see him internally squealing over being so close to his crush. And, that is why, his crush made us go:

(but in a relatable sort of way...)

As we moved on from episode to episode, we are seeing the said mask get shatter every moment or as shrek goes:

and we first see that reflect once we understand how Karan feels about having those feelings for Achi. which he thinks is beyond shameful. but isn't love something we are told to cherish so fiercely? and thats where i related it with my initial feelings of being queer. societally, we have been told us much on not being gay that when you actually do feel it, it feels guilty. it feels wrong to have these feelings; its a shame to have them because its only just you who has it. (but it is not like that)

Karan, in his whole life, has only been perceived as a mask. a mask of good looks who somewhat can do the job. he's perfect, mysterious and flawless. but, unknowingly, he's very sad and tired of it. so much so that he was scared for Achi to discover that he reads manga. his life, beyond his office is comparatively lonelier.

then the incident happened. his first year of working with the company: in a meeting with his seniors to learn all about the trade. he has prepared everything, he did the research and practiced what to speak in front of the client, only for his boss to reduce him to "the junior who has good looks."

Achi noticed that and later, was the only one who saw beyond the mask at his lowest. Achi said things which made sense to him, because he understands how bad it is be reduced to that mask because Achi goes through that low self esteem every day. however his kindness doesn't let him get it to others around him. for him, he is okay to be behind the scenes, as along it makes him feel happy.

cheering up Karan wasn't something Achi did in order to get something out of Karan. he only did it because he wanted Karan to feel better. and Karan saw that.

to like someone who sees you beyond what anyone is willing to show to the outside world and doesn't demean for it, means a lot to someone like Karan. and that's why, Karan's small acts of care for Achi made sense. because Achi's small acts of kindness towards the office is so similar to what Karan does for Achi. that's why, even though Achi doesn't believe it yet, but, Karan and Achi are similar in a lot more ways than he thinks.

so when Karan gets so close to Achi, he starts feeling so so special. initially, he was so happy with this small acts, it would make his day when he could just interact with Achi. but as Karan and Achi got to know each other more, with Karan's feelings out there for Achi to know, Karan also started feeling so special to Achi, even though the uncomfort lingered around.

with Achi's mask of being the ordinary, clumsy guy as the world sees him, his esteem made him fear the love Karan gave him, as he got closer to him. but he didn't understand how his ideas of buffers actually left Karan feeling so unacknowledged of his place in Achi's life all of a sudden.

so even if Achi knew Karan's feelings way before than Karan expressed it to him, he still didn't know what to say 'cause his heart couldn't reassure him of the genuinity of the feelings he felt for Karan or Karan's feelings for him.

with that post it note, Achi figured out the sincerity of Karan's love.

and for me, that is both of them reaching out beyond their masks and come out of their comfort zones to embrace the said love.

[rambleonwaywardson]

Clegan Astronaut AU - Part 3

Masterpost

AU Summary: the boys as modern day NASA astronauts. Taking place in 2025, Bucky is about to head to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is back-up commander and CAPCOM at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).

Author's Note: Uh oh, the chapters are getting longer. Hope y'all will stick with me because I have plans for these boys. Heads up, this chapter does contain some expressions of homophobia. Also there's no new terms that I think need defining here, but I'm thinking of creating a term definition post for those I've already used.

--

‘John Egan and Alex Jefferson to make history as first queer and black representation on the moon’ 

‘Artemis III crew ready for liftoff in one month’

‘So three bachelors and a homosexual walk into a bar, er, a rocket…’

‘NASA targeting November 6  launch’

‘NASA’s diversity campaign’

‘What having a gay man in the space program means for the future of America’

‘NASA press conference gets heated after probing sexuality questions’

‘Biddick goes after reporter to defend fellow astronaut’

–

September 30, 2025

Johnson Space Center, Houston, TX

As NASA’s Artemis Public Affairs Officer, it is Marjorie Spencer’s job to relay information about the Artemis program to the public as well as to coordinate press events between the media and the crew and/or mission control. As Public Affairs Officer, it’s her job to wrangle a bunch of rowdy astronauts and convince them to play nice with the press, even when the press doesn’t play nice with them. With this particular crew, it can, often, be like wrangling a bunch of rambunctious, highly opinionated, and incredibly stubborn teenage boys. Or a bunch of selectively trained dogs whose selective training just happens to be whatever they feel like remembering in the moment.

A lot of people don’t truly appreciate how, as Public Affairs Officer, it is Marge’s job to make these boys – ahem, grown men – look presentable to the public when behind the scenes they are the bane of her existence. In the most loving way possible.

Public Affairs Officer, however, is only one of her jobs.

As Best Friend, her job often includes the emotional damage control that flies high above a PAO’s paygrade. 

As she finishes up welcoming a room full of reporters to Johnson Space Center, she reminds them that this will be the last press conference that the astronauts will take part in before starting their pre-launch quarantine process in just a few weeks. They will have another pre-launch press conference while in quarantine a couple of days before they board the Orion crew capsule, before they strap themselves to the top of NASA’s most powerful rocket ever created.

“Please welcome NASA’s Artemis 3 crew,” Marge says smoothly. “Major John Egan, mission commander. First Lieutenant Curtis Biddick, lunar module pilot. Dr. Robert Rosenthal, crew physician. Alexander Jefferson, mission specialist.”

One by one, the crew members, dressed in their NASA flight suits, walk up onto the small stage at the front and take their seats behind the table, which is emblazoned with the NASA logo. They each have a gold astronaut pin on their flight suit collars, signifying the fact that they have already successfully flown in space. These four men are some of the most qualified people currently in the space program, and they were hand-selected two years ago to fly this mission. Together, they have logged nearly 1,000 hours of training for Artemis 3, including crew module sims, lunar module sims, zero-gravity EVAs in the neutral buoyancy tank, and lunar terrain sims. In five weeks, that training will be put to use for the chance to put the next human footprints on the moon.

At first, the questions are typical, what the crew is prepared for. They’ve been answering similar questions through much of the training process. How does it feel to be going to the moon? What will each of their roles be on the mission? What kind of training have they been doing? Do they feel prepared? What does it mean for each of them to be on this mission? What do they think it means for the general public and for the future of science? For the space program? For Bucky and Curt, how does it feel to be the first men since the 70s to step foot on lunar soil?

The crew answers them all genuinely and professionally. They joke with the reporters, a trait that has made them endearing to much of the public. They wax poetic about flying to the moon and how they’ve all dreamed about it, how they’re honored to be a part of something so grand, what they hope it will symbolize for people all over the world. They say exactly what the reporters, and the public, generally want to hear. 

Until they can’t. Because at some point, no matter what you say, to someone somewhere it will never be right. 

To be honest, Bucky often stops listening to the reporters names and affiliations during these things. So he isn’t sure who asks this question, but he perks up when the man says “This question is for John Egan.” Bucky nods and the man goes on. “This crew has become well-known for being a crew of young bachelors, except for you. You’re getting married in just a couple weeks, correct? To Major Gale Cleven, also a NASA astronaut.”

Bucky nods again. “Yes, that’s correct.” 

“Do you or Major Cleven have any concerns about you going to the moon just days after the big day?”

Bucky smirks. “Well, which big day are you referring to? The wedding or the launch?”

The reporters in the room chuckle quietly. “The wedding,” the man says.

Bucky tries not to roll his eyes. You get married and suddenly it doesn’t matter that both spouses have been professional and highly trained adrenaline junkies for years before this. “Of course, there’s always concerns when it comes to hurling yourself off of a planet,” he replies. “But Gale and I have been through this together, more than once. We know the risks, and we support each other 100%. The only thing that will be different is I’ll have a wedding ring with me.”

As reporters clamor to get the next question, Marge points and a woman stands up, introducing herself. “Major Egan,” she starts. Two in a row. Bucky clenches his jaw, worried he knows where this press conference is about to go. “How do you think coming out as a member of the LGBTQ+ community affected your role within NASA and within the Artemis program?”

Bucky takes a quiet but deep breath. “My sexuality has never been a secret,” he answers. At least, it hasn’t been since high school. And yet the media still aren’t comfortable with words like gay or homosexual or queer or even LGBT. When they do say these words, it’s almost hushed, like it’s something terrible. “It wasn’t a secret when I flew on the ISS two years ago, and it isn’t now. My qualifications and experience, I think, speak for themselves as to why I am on this mission.”

“Do you consider yourself a role model for the queer youth of today?” Someone jumps in.

Bucky hears Curt stifle a laugh beside him, and he almost smiles himself. “I’m not trying to be any sort of role model or anything,” he says honestly. “God knows you could find better than me. But I am an Air Force pilot, I am an astronaut, I am an engineer, and yes, I am also going to marry a man next month. And that man has been the love of my life for over a decade. So if those facts can somehow align to give others the opportunity to dream, to believe in themselves and in a better future, then I’m glad.” He glances over at Marge, who looks a little wary of where things are heading, but she gives him a thumbs up for his answer.

“So this isn’t just a publicity stunt in NASA’s diversity agenda?” another reporter asks. At the same time, someone throws their hand up and says “what kind of message is NASA trying to send by putting you on this mission?” 

The questions and excited mumbling of other reporters jumble into some cacophony of muddled sound, and Bucky bites down on the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something out of line. Because as a public figure, anything he says now will be ‘out of line.’

Another reporter stands up, unbidden, before he can even think of an appropriate answer to either of the questions he was able to hear. “For the rest of the crew,” he calls out, before Marge can direct him to take his seat. “How do you feel about having a gay man in the spacecraft with you?”

Bucky can taste blood as he bites down harder. Marge steps up on stage in a hurry, saying something about that being enough questions about Major Egan’s personal life, and any further questions should be directly mission related.

But Curt has already moved to stand up, and Rosie and John simultaneously reach out from either side to push him back down. Alex leans forward at the other end of the table, intent on putting that question to rest with a facial expression that is as close to a glare as can be managed without getting called out for being ‘unfriendly’ by the media. “This crew is like family,” he states with an overwhelmingly exaggerated sense of calm. “John is one of the best pilots NASA has. We are all proud to call him our friend and our commander.”

Marge, now standing firmly next to Alex at the end of the table so she can moderate more directly, nods at him in approval. As she moves to select someone for the next question, though, one of the reporters near the front scoffs and not-so-subtly mumbles something under his breath that leaves Bucky dazed, his ears ringing. Next thing he knows, Curt’s chair is clattering backwards as he shoots to his feet – “What did you say? What the fuck did you say!” Rosie is holding him back from jumping the table with all of his grip strength, and the newsroom is erupting in shouts from the reporters. Questions and insults fly across the room, directed at one another and at Bucky, too. He just sits there quietly, his elbows on the table and his chin resting on his folded hands, letting the words slap him in the face and settle like stones in his chest. He forces himself to stop biting down on his cheek, and watches numbly as security barges into the frenzied crowd to begin escorting reporters out of the room.

When Rosie finally releases his grip, Curt grabs his chair and sits back down with an angry grunt, shaking his head. “Stupid fucks,” he mutters. Marge ends the press conference after that.

As the room is cleared, the crew is shuffled out of the newsroom and into Marge’s office down the hall. She sighs and puts her head in her hand, pacing the room, her heels clacking methodically on the tile. The men stand quietly in a line, looking anywhere but at each other. Finally, Marge takes a deep breath and looks them each in the eye. “Well,” she says. “That could have been… well. That was bad. Okay, that was bad.” She looks at Bucky. “You did great, John. Thank you for how you handled that. I’m so sorry. We’ll figure out a way to handle this better for your pre-launch press conference.”

Bucky just nods. “Yeah,” he says distantly. “Yeah, no big deal.”

If we’re lucky the fag will die up there.

“It’s a big fucking deal,” Curt mutters angrily. They’re used to this kind of thing by now; between John, a gay man, and Alex, a black man, the crew has become overwhelmingly and depressingly aware that the world has not yet changed quite enough to escape derision over difference being normal, over people existing outside the boxes that society has designed. They deal with it, they move on, they do their job. But today was more… well, it was just more than usual. Like the closer they get to launch, the more the media is concerned about all the wrong things. And the more comfortable they are with voicing it. 

“It’s fine,” Bucky insists. “Nothing that I haven’t heard before, really.” He can hear it in his own voice, though: He isn’t sure how much he believes himself.

If we’re lucky…

Rosie pats him on the shoulder. “Like Alex said, we’re family. We’ve got your back, and we won’t tolerate this shit.” Bucky tries to give a little half smile. 

…the fag will die up there. 

Marge nods and checks their schedule on her tablet. “Let’s, um, let’s all take a breather, okay? We don’t have any major press engagements until right before launch.” She looks up at them, and she fights a frown when she sees the varying states of anger, frustration, and dejection on their faces. She knows it’s not her fault, but it’s her job to coordinate and moderate these events. She tries to smile reassuringly instead. “I’ll work with each of you on your own interviews and media appearances over the next few weeks, but I need you boys to focus on the mission. I’ll take care of addressing how this conference ended, and I’ll work with public relations to make sure we can avoid things getting out of hand in the future.” She knows she has a strongly worded email from the director of the human spaceflight program – or possibly even an impromptu meeting – coming her way any minute. She has to work out how to tidy up this mess, but it can’t be her priority at the moment.

She hugs Alex, Rosie, and Curt as they exit her office. Then she looks at Bucky, who has barely moved at all. “Hey,” she says, putting a hand on his shoulder. 

He glances up at her before looking back at his shoes. “Hey.”

“You okay?”

Bucky shrugs, but doesn’t answer for a long, long moment. “I should be,” he finally sighs. “I’m used to it, really. It’s been the same since my astronaut candidacy was announced. Hell, it’s been the same my whole life.” He scoffs. “I don’t know. It just feels… worse somehow, this time.”

He looks up at Marge again, and Marge feels her chest tighten at the tired sadness in his eyes. Even the toughest men she knows have never been bullet proof. She pulls him into her arms and lets him hold on for as long as he needs as he tries to keep himself together. 

If we’re lucky…

“You’re one of our best,” she tells him quietly as she rubs his back. “Anyone who says otherwise is wrong.”

“I know,” Bucky says, but his voice chokes on the words. “I…” He holds onto her tighter, and he can’t bring himself to say anything else. 

If we’re lucky…

When he lets go, Marge squeezes his arm. Her assistant knocks on the door then, here to tell her that Neil Harding, the director of the human spaceflight program, wants to see her in his office. She thanks the woman and takes a deep breath. “Okay,” she tells Bucky. “I’m going to work on cleaning up this mess. But once I do, I’ll meet you at yours for some good old fashioned damage control.” Damage control meaning drinks, snacks, and general mayhem. Bucky kisses her on the cheek, thanks her, and watches her strut out of the room, off to fulfill her third role: certified badass.

–

Just minutes after Marge leaves Neil Harding’s office, Gale finds himself outside the very same door, wondering why he’s been summoned out of the blue in the middle of his work day. He’s greeted by a woman who he hasn’t seen in years, looking as prim and proper as ever even in her European Space Agency flight suit.

“Sandra?” He asks. 

She turns around and smiles politely at him, that charming and yet almost disarming way she always does. “Gale! Wow, it’s been some time hasn’t it?”

Gale nods, but eyes her carefully in confusion. “Sure has. Nice to see you again.”

Sandra looks unphased though, exactly as he would expect her to. This woman could be faced with a dead body or three or ten – and probably has been – and wouldn’t bat an eye. She is, perhaps, the strongest woman Gale knows, and NASA really is full of strong women. “How are you?” she asks. “And how’s John? Or, Bucky I believe is what people call him around here. You Americans and your funny nicknames.”

“Good, good,” Gale says. “He’s going up on Artemis 3 in November.”

Sandra puts a hand on his shoulder and almost looks… sad? “Oh I know. It’s all the buzz, isn’t it?”

Gale arches an eyebrow, not quite sure what she’s getting at. Before he can say anything, though, the door to Neil’s office opens and the man himself is ushering them inside. 

“Gale! Sandra! We have a lot to cover so get on in here.”

–

When Marge finally lets herself into Buck and Bucky’s home with a spare key, armed with ice cream and alcohol, she stops short as she walks into the living room. She leans against the doorframe, one hand on her hip and the other holding the groceries. It’s only 4pm and Bucky, who went home early after the whole fiasco with the media, is slouched down low in the middle of the couch, bundled in an old Yankees sweatshirt with Pepper curled up at his side, her head in his lap. The news is on, a clip from their press conference earlier. A reporter is talking in depth about the incident, and the entire “controversy” over NASA’s “agenda.” As he watches, he doom-scrolls on his phone, and Marge knows he’s digging himself into a deep, deep hole filled with social media comments. His eyes are red, but his face is dry.

“John,” Marge says. He looks up at her and smiles weakly. She motions towards the TV, where the reporter is now reading an official statement from NASA, saying that the organization supports Major John Egan and the entirety of the Artemis 3 crew 100%; that the crew was selected based on merit and capability; that each member has been extensively trained and has shown that they are highly qualified and prepared for a lunar mission; and that NASA stands by all of their astronauts and employees, regardless of identity, and will not tolerate attacks of any kind such as those that occurred today. 

Bucky watches the report blankly before shifting his eyes over to Marge. She sighs before walking over to the coffee table, where she sets down the bag of groceries and picks up the remote. The TV clicks off. “Enough of that,” she says. When she collapses down next to Bucky and Pepper on the couch, she peeks over at his phone. Social media comments, sure enough. Supportive and detrimental both. She plucks the phone from his hand and turns it off, placing it face down on the coffee table. “And enough of that.”

John just stares at it on the tabletop, idly stroking Pepper’s ears. He won’t look at Marge, so she reaches over across Pepper and places a hand on his shoulder. “John, look at me.”

He does, and he takes a deep, shaky breath. He opens his mouth to speak but closes it again, biting down on the inside of his lip. Pepper licks his hand. He takes another breath and looks Marge right in the eye. “There’s death threats,” he says. When Marge just frowns, he rubs a hand over his face. “For me. And for Gale. Not many, thank God, but they’re there. I read them.” 

“Oh honey,” Marge says sadly. She gets up to switch to his other side, so she can wrap her arms around him properly. He lets himself settle into the embrace and closes his eyes, letting his most trusted friend ground him on one side and his dog on the other. 

“Thank you for issuing that statement,” he mumbles. 

Marge lays her head on top of his. “Harding wants to talk to you tomorrow, and he wanted me to tell you that the human space flight program fully supports you and always has. I think he wanted to give you some space today. Once you’re up for it, we’ll bring the whole crew in to discuss how to handle this in the future.” Bucky gives a small nod of acknowledgement. “You know it’s not really about you, right?” Marge asks. “Those things that people are saying. It’s entirely about them. None of them know you, and no one can, in any meaningful way, deny that you belong on this mission. This is about their own problems and their own prejudices. You,” she squeezes him harder, “have done everything right.”

Bucky is silent for a long time, until finally he says, “I don’t really want to talk about it right now.”

“Alright,” Marge says easily. She leans away and looks at him, grinning. “Time for some damage control.”

–

By 6:30pm, Gale can’t get the door of their house open fast enough. He hasn’t heard from Bucky all day and needs to tell him about the meeting with Harding. When he gets inside, though, he’s greeted by loud music pumping through their stereo speakers. As he walks into the living room, he takes in the sight of half empty cocktail glasses and beer bottles, open ice cream cartons and abandoned spoons, a bag of chips and a plate of fruit, and the throw pillows strewn all over the floor. He pauses in his tracks, staring at the carnage as his excitement drains rapidly from his body. 

Damage Control. 

Fuck. 

Pepper runs out of the kitchen to greet him, tail wagging so hard her whole body goes with it. Gale tilts his head and smiles at her. Throwing his keys on the coffee table next to Bucky’s abandoned phone, he crouches down and scratches under Pepper’s collar. “What happened, Pep?” He asks her. 

She just bumps his hand with her wet nose and spins around once before trotting off back to the kitchen. He follows her tentatively and peeks through the kitchen doorway, where Bucky is sitting on the counter while Marge stands, leaning back against the center island across from him. There’s flour and dirty cooking utensils everywhere, and it smells like tomato sauce. 

Marge looks down at Pep and then up at Gale. “Hey there,” she says. 

They’ve been laughing and singing and dancing all evening, but when Bucky looks up and sees the hesitant half smile on Gale’s face, the furrow in his brow, he knows Gale has already figured out that something is wrong anyways. The smile falls from Bucky’s face at the same time it falls from Gale’s. “Buck,” he says, but it barely pushes past his throat as a whisper. 

“What’s wrong?” Gale asks. He looks from Bucky to Marge and back. “John?”

Bucky shrugs and averts his eyes, watching Pepper instead as she flops down dramatically on the tile floor. “I’m fine,” he says. 

“Come on, John,” Gale sighs. But Bucky won’t look at him, so Gale looks at Marge instead. 

She brushes a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Some things were said at the press conference today,” she supplies. “We had to end it early, with security pulling some reporters from the room.”

Gale frowns. “What kind of things?”

“Mostly about John’s sexuality. And your relationship. They were pretty innocent at first, but-“

“If we’re lucky the fag will die up there,” Bucky bites out. Gale feels frozen in place. He blinks, shoves his hands in his pockets, takes them out again. “There’s been worse online,” Bucky adds. 

“John,” Gale says quietly. He steps forward, one hand outstretched, but he stops short when Bucky crosses his arms protectively over his chest. 

“It’s not a big deal,” Bucky says, ducking his head. They both know that’s not true. ‘Damage Control’ isn’t for things that aren’t a big deal. Bucky shrugs. “At least, it shouldn’t be a big deal. Hey, I’m used to it right? I just gotta keep on going.” He laughs bitterly, but when he looks up at Gale, the hurt on the other man’s face squeezes his chest all funny and he looks away again. Then there’s a warm arm around his back, a hand on the back of his head. He feels Gale standing in front of him, and he lets his head fall forward to rest against his. Slowly, he lifts his arms to wrap around his fiancé, and he grips the fabric of his shirt in white-knuckled, shaking hands. 

After a couple of long, silent minutes, nothing but their careful breathing passing in the air between them, Bucky takes a deep breath. “Wow, way to put a damper on this little party, huh? Let’s uh, let’s go back to the part where I don’t have to think about this tonight.”

They both know they’ll have to talk about this later, but Gale nods and lets go. Bucky grabs tightly to his hand, though, wanting a tether to stop this feeling of drifting away. 

Marge motions for them to go back out to the living room. “Pizza in the oven. I’ll bring it out in a minute.”

When she does eventually follow them into the living room, carrying a tray of pizza, she walks in on them dancing in the middle of the room to “Can’t Help Falling in Love” by Elvis as it plays over the speakers. Bucky smoothly twirls Gale around before pulling him close again, and Marge is, not for the first time, in awe of the pure adoration that passes between the two of them. “Shouldn’t you save your first dance song for your actual wedding night?” she asks as she sets the pizza on the coffee table next to Bucky’s phone, still upside down, and Gale’s keys. 

They slow to a stop and look at her. Bucky shrugs. “Gotta practice so I don’t trip over myself and embarrass my bride.” 

Gale blushes and half-heartedly mumbles “stop calling me that.” 

Bucky grins. “What? My bride?” He gently pulls Gale down onto the couch with him, wrapping an arm around his waist and kissing him on the temple. “But I love the way it makes you blush.”

Marge gags dramatically and tells them to eat their pizza. 

As they’re polishing it off, even giving Pepper her own little piece, Gale licks his fingers and says nonchalantly, “I have some news.”

When he doesn’t go on, Marge rolls her eyes. “Care to share with the class?”

Gale is quiet for a second, but then a grin spreads across his face as he looks at both of them. “I’m going to the moon earlier than we thought. Artemis 4.”

Bucky jumps up so fast he bangs a knee hard on the table and Marge has to lunge forward to keep the pizza tray from falling to the floor. Pepper jumps up in alarm as Bucky spins to face Gale, ignoring the pain shooting through his leg. “You’ve been home for-“ he checks the clock on the wall. “An hour! And you didn’t say anything until NOW?”

Gale shrugs sheepishly. “There were more important things-“

“No!” Bucky cries. “No… Wait. How in hell did you get yourself onto the A4 roster?”

Artemis 4 is planned to launch in just over a year. Crew selection had been made months ago. Gale rubs the back of his neck. “Well, the two ESA astronauts that were supposed to go got bumped cause of health concerns. ESA was able to put in one other astronaut, but NASA wanted a more experienced pilot in the lander. Harding called me in today.”

“Gale, that’s amazing!” Marge says, crawling across the couch to hug him tight. “Oh my god, this is so amazing. Congratulations!” She’s in part already thinking about the press coordination and social media posting that this necessitates, but holy shit that can wait for now.

When she pulls away, Bucky reaches down and wraps his arms around Gale’s middle, pulling him up from the couch and spinning him around. Then he kisses him hard and spins him again, Gale laughing as he yells for Bucky to set him down. “What!” Bucky exclaims. “You gotta get used to being helpless in the air again, you’re going to the moon!”

Gale rolls his eyes as Bucky sets him down. “Who did ESA toss into the thick of it?” Bucky asks. 

“Sandra Westgate.” Gale raises an eyebrow as he says this, watching for Bucky’s reaction. 

It’s Marge, though, that jumps in as Bucky tries to process that. “No way, Croz’s old flame?”

“Yep.”

Bucky shakes his head, trying not to laugh. Harry Crosby, Houston’s best flight dynamics officer, had spent a hot summer a few years back – before he and his now-wife Jean got back together after a bit of a break – gallivanting about town with Sandra Westgate. She’s top class, one of the best astronauts in the European Space Agency. Gale is lucky to be flying with her, really. But damn. “Does… does Croz know?” 

Gale nods, chuckling. “Yeah, he knows. Saw him gaping at her like a fish as I showed her around this afternoon. They’ve both moved on, but…”

“Awkward,” Marge cringes. 

“She’ll be sticking around Houston for the next year, starting in a couple weeks,” Gale explains. “To train with us.”

“Plenty of time to un-move on,” Bucky muses. 

Marge throws a pillow at him, but he dodges it and watches as it crashes into a fake plant in the corner of the room. “Don’t say that!” Marge reprimands. “Croz and Jean are very happy together you ass.”

Bucky shrugs. “Sorry.” He looks at Gale, who is still standing facing him. “Now don’t you go getting any ideas either. Sandra’s a strong and lovely woman.”

Gale cups the back of Bucky’s neck and kisses him softly. “I would never,” he whispers, before he falls back onto the couch. Bucky collapses next to him, grabbing Gale’s hand again so he can fiddle with his fingers. 

They look at each other, and Bucky presses his lips to Gale’s knuckles. “I’m so proud of you.”

“I’m proud of you, too.”

Marge takes one last bite of pizza. “It’s sickening how in love you two are.”

Gale smiles shyly. “Always have been.”

Bucky smiles back at him, but too many thoughts are swirling around in his head, and he feels the words choke and fizzle on his tongue.

…

Part 4

[lasalebete]

I DIDNT . REALISE YOU HAVE OCS. GIVE

[crawls out of a hole wiht dirt caked up under my nails, covered in blood and coughing up violently] I'm a mentally ill queer on tumblr, of course I have OCs!

i also want to preface this by saying im writing it while watching a show and listening to a song on repeat. dunno how coherent this'll be

Okay, so! There are, like. An endless number of little guys is living in my brain. So. The one I'll present here is the 'verse I've been doodling obsessively for two days and which got beamed into my head during a six hours nap literally yesterday.

So, literally the base for this is that They Have Wings, but, um. Make it complicated.

The first recorded mutations have no really known date, but they've been around for long enough that we had centuries worth of data surrounding them, and so we can observe their evolution. The most common mutation is simply winged individuals, following the schemas of birds found in nature. Therefore, there are multiple categories of individuals based on which species they're the closest to, but they're also categorized by the type of mutations they're affected by, eg if they only have the usual wings, the size and function of said wings, the presence or absence of a tail, having more than one pair of wings, etc.

Mutations are visible since birth, except for some rare ones that develop later in life, although there has been a slight increase of those in the latest years.

Not all winged individuals are capable of flight. It greatly depends on the size, anatomy and placement of the wings. Some mutations also bring out disabilities, like when wings replace the individual's arms, or when a small pair of wings replace the ears and render the individual deaf (regarding this, a modified sign language is available to those people where then can use their wings for punctuation, intonation and such, for which people without this additional feature have to use their face only. This addition makes it easier for people who struggle with facial expressions to communicate).

Regarding wings' sizes, there are MANY existing possibilities. Some individuals have proportioned wings that allow them to fly just fine, those sort of common. Some have small wings that do not allow them to fly, and they are still a major part of the population. Some are subject to gigantoalastia, a pathology that causes a GREAT disproportion, making the wings gigantic. These individuals are capable of flight, which requires a lot of effort, but need to do a lot of stretching and back muscular reinforcement because it causes lots of back pain.

The fashion industry is hell, btw. Like if you have gigantoalastia or if wings replaced your arms, your clothing options are quite limited.

Non-winged humans still exist! Around 12-13% of world population is not affected by any kind of mutation. But! That number is actually decreasing, slowly. We might be looking at an all-winged population in a few days or centuries. Mutations are also starting to make individuals more and more birdlike, with characteristics like tails or bird feet. Some beaked individuals have also started to make their appearance, with characteristics developing after birth. Scientists are wondering what this means for the future of our species, and also begs the question of our ancestors!

Both these questions greatly distress people btw. Religious groups primarily. They're divided in different factions, some think at the beginning we were all non-winged humans and that we're evolving towards something holy, some think that at the beginning we were something Other and we lost our whatever-privileges along the way and are only able to reclaim them now. Ofc then there's also exclusion, thinking that non-winged individuals should all be killed, that certain mutations should be wiped out, yk. All that. Which is not even especially religious but can also just be bigotry/eugenics. YK.

OH YEAH ALSO MALFORMATIONS!!!! Disability has of course been Thought About. Some people are born with malformed wings and so fundamentally unable to fly. Other mobility aids are more or less equal to those we have today but flight ones are harder to come by and also hard to design.

Also also sometimes people like to customize their wings with piercings and such :3 dyes are also a thing but temporary because of. Well. Shedding.

(theres supposed to be like. two main guys but actually i thought about the whole entire world before even finding their names. so all you get to know is that they're gay and in a toxic relationship . because thats my brand)