#but this scene is pre-relationships

[annyeoz]

part 2 of my lil fan comic for @fox-quills fic,,, (part one here - they're not consecutive dw).

(again,, warning,, this fic is explicit,,)

A lot of art got covered up bc paneling so i'll post them separately.

*edit: posted some them here

[flowercrowngods]

based on this concept of steve and mike coming out to each other

🤍 also on ao3

The sun is setting in beautiful hues of pink and purple, tinging the town of Hawkins, Indiana, in a light of serenity and beauty it doesn’t really deserve. Steve’s hands are gripped tight around the steering wheel as he carefully scans the road and the houses he passes.

He almost misses the bike where it’s lying on the curb, carelessly discarded by the looks of it, and a tinge of worry shadows his frown. Worry that doesn’t quite dissipate when he spots the figure sitting on the roof, almost black against the lilac colour of the sky, but he breathes a sigh of relief. He considers grabbing the radio to let the others know he found Mike, but decides against it. Something tells him that maybe they’ll take a while. Something tells him there’s more to Will’s stunned silence and Mike’s sudden departure from where they were all hanging out at Steve’s after another successful Hellfire session. 

With a sigh, Steve cuts the engine and gets out of the car, keeping his eyes on Mike the whole time — ready for him to take off again, ready to go sit a while and wait for him to come back. But Mike doesn’t move, even after he shuts the door and approaches the Wheelers’ house. He doesn’t acknowledge Steve when he pulls himself up to the roof, easier this time than the first time he did this. 

There’s a snide comment in the air between them, a version of Mike that would have lashed out at him, made fun of and insulted him. But this one just sits there, hands in his lap, frown on his face, and stares ahead. 

“What do you want,” he asks eventually, though it doesn’t have the kind of heat that Steve expects. He barely even sounds like a teenager. Just sort of… dejected. Steve aches for him; just a little bit. 

“Just making sure you’re alright,” Steve says, shrugging, looking ahead as well so Mike doesn’t feel watched. Or seen, maybe. 

Because the thing is, Steve does see him. He sees the way he looks at Will sometimes, and the way his eyes fill with something that can only be described as yearning, or aching, followed by regret and fear. Which always, always turn into anger. Into frustration. Into snide comments and rolled eyes and walls that keep getting an inch added to them each day. It’s never directed at Will, that anger, and rarely at the rest of the Party, but Steve still sees it. Gets the worst of it and takes it, because he knows something about how that feels. 

He knows something about looking at someone like that, about feeling that fear, that regret, that worry that come with it. He knows something about never really daring to meet someone’s eyes for fear of what they would see. 

“I’m alright,” Mike says, sounding anything but. There’s a bitterness in his voice. Frustration in the way his thumb is picking at the skin of his fingers. Confusion in the tension of his shoulders, and Steve feels like he only needs to make one wrong move, say one wrong word, make a single sound that’s off key to the melody of this moment, and Mike will jump off the roof and take off again with his bike. 

So all he says, after a moment’s consideration, is, “Cool.” Like he believes him. Giving Mike room to breathe, room to pretend. He knows something about that, too. 

He knows and he sees and he feels. 

And suddenly he wants to say something he’s never said before, something he didn’t even get to tell Robin because she knew and saw and felt, too, taking something from him that he hasn’t yet been ready to reclaim for himself. 

And maybe it’s because he sees something of himself in the way Mike holds himself, in the way he snaps at anyone willing to listen, in the way he frowns in regret and barely meets anyone’s eyes except when it’s in challenge — and, most of all, in the way he never, never meets Will’s eyes. In the way he looks away when the other boy turns to him, and in the way his eyes will snap back and take in everything about his best friend when he’s not aware of it. 

Maybe it’s because the sky is pink and lilac and purple above them, allowing for a certain magic to happen, allowing for a bravery that doesn’t come easy to him; but as he sits on the roof next to Mike Wheeler, the only one of the Party he never really connected with, he closes his eyes against the breeze that catches in his hair and opens his jacket a little further, slithering beneath the fabric as if in a brief embrace, a nudge, a sign to take this leap, and takes a deep breath. 

His heart is picking up its pace inside his chest, taking this leap along wit him, and pulls up one of his legs to wrap his hands around it — just to have something to hold onto. 

He opens his mouth once, twice, three times, but the words never really come out. They don’t know how, and he’s beginning to tremble a little with it, tension building in his chest where the words are still locked away, hidden among layers of truth. 

Mike looks over with a frown and eyes him warily. It makes Steve want to laugh, this sudden change of pace, but he just keeps staring ahead; even when Mike asks, “Are you alright?” 

“Yeah,” Steve says. And then then dam is broken and breaking further, and with another deep breath, still not meeting Mike’s eyes, instead focusing on the tree tops in the distance that shine in hues of purple, he finally says, “I’m kind of dating Eddie Munson.” 

And just like that, it’s out. He’s out. 

He doesn’t know if the world still spins, if time still passes, if he still breathes, because for a moment there is only silence. Mike stops picking at the skin of his fingers, Steve stops trembling, and neither of them moves. 

It’s both anticlimactic and momentous, this silence between them when their eyes meet. When the words unfold and grow wings, when Mike understands, his eyes growing big with something that Steve can’t quite read with how tense he is despite his best efforts. 

The silence stretches between them, surpassing comfort and overstaying its welcome, and suddenly it’s Steve who feels like he’s about to take off if Mike so much as twitches his brows. 

“You… What?” 

Forget it, Steve wants to say. Nothing. 

But also, I’m in love with Eddie Munson. And I used to be in love with Nancy. And that’s okay. Both of that, it’s okay. 

He ends up repeating his words, though, because they know what it’s like to be spoken now. “Eddie. I’m kind of dating Eddie.” 

“But…” It’s Mike now whose mouth is opening and closing without saying anything. Mike who’s blinking, trembling a little, twitching, picking at his skin again, moving further along his hand this time to pinch the skin between his thumb and pointer finger. Steve almost reaches out to stop him, but he doesn’t really dare to. 

“But?” he prompts after a while, not quite comfortable with this loaded kind of silence. 

“Eddie’s a boy.” 

But Tammy Thompson is a girl. 

“I know,” Steve says, his tone carefully neutral, wanting to see, to wait where Mike takes this, to hear what’s on his mind, to watch the wheels turn and the gears shift. He feels awfully raw and open, vulnerable with someone who hasn’t been treating that with care yet. But there’s something about this moment that feels bigger than his own fears, bigger than the light nausea settling in his gut; far more important than the way he wants to run and hide, away from the scrutiny. 

“And…” Mike continues, still battling the words inside his head. Steve wonders if there are too many or none at all. “But you… You loved Nancy.” 

Ah. Smart boy. “I did,” Steve says with a small smile. “And it was never a lie. But I found that… Yeah, I can kinda like boys, too, y’know? And that’s, like, okay.”

A beat. A frown. A confused, hopeful, small, “It is?” 

Steve just nods, smiling in reassurance and relief at equal measures. Silence settles once more, now that the sky has darkened into a deeper, darker blue; but it’s not as loaded this time, not as tense. It’s an invitation. An offering. A promise of I’m here, I’m with you, you can take as long as you need. To get down from the roof, to come back, to come out of wherever you think you need to hide from the world. 

Mike takes it. He stays, pulling up his leg, too, mirroring Steve’s pose and staring ahead, but not as far away. He seems alert, seems to be thinking rather than dwelling, seems to be gearing up for something. Steve watches and sees and knows, remaining patient beside him, his chin resting on his knee as Mike learns to deal with this new world that has been presented to him. This new world that comes with opportunities and chances and possibilities that are scary and big and difficult to make. 

“Y’know,” Mike starts at last, interrupting the silence, playing with it, his voice hushed and quiet to keep it from disappearing completely. “Lucas, when he had that championship game? He told us, Dustin and me, that we didn’t have to be the losers this time. The nerds. The outcasts. Different. And all I wanted was to scream at him, because…” 

Mike swallows his words, keeping them from tumbling out of his mouth, and Steve aches for him again. He wants to reach out, wants to say it’s okay, tell him it’s alright, to take his time. But he waits in silence, lets Mike find the bravery he needs on his own, and waits. 

“Because how could he say that, you know? How could he, when… Will wasn’t there. And all I did, all I ever did anymore, was miss him. And I loved El, I knew I did. And she was gone, too, but…” 

He trails off again, and this time Steve picks it up. To let him know he’s not alone. To let Mike know he understands what he’s saying. He understands. “But she’s not Will. You needed Will.” 

“But I shouldn’t!” Mike explodes suddenly, riled up because Steve adds fuel to the fire, because Steve has that same fire, too; and because they are so, so similar when they want to be. “And now he’s back and it should be fine, I shouldn’t be feeling like this, it doesn’t even make sense! How can I…” 

Steve looks at him, at his expression that is nothing but lost — completely and utterly. He’s seen it on the bathroom floor at the mall; high out of his mind as he was, he’ll never forget the way Robin looked at him, the sheer crestfallen expression. All that confusion, all that fear and frustration and, in the end, resignation. He’s seen it in the mirror, and he’s seen it in those pretty brown eyes that he just can’t get out of his head anymore. 

He offers, gently, “How can you need him when he’s right there? How can you love him when a year ago you loved El?”

And Mike just looks at him before he deflates completely, his shoulders falling along with his face. He nods. Shrugs. Looks away and hides his face behind his leg. 

Steve sighs softly, watching the boy and speaking the words he wants to say the sixteen year-old version of himself. “I don’t know,” he says truthfully. “I really don’t, and it sucks sometimes, having this need to, like, decide. Or understand. Or stop and be like the rest of them.” Like Robin and Eddie, or like the rest of the world. “But I like to think, sometimes, that maybe it’s a good thing. That there’s just… I don’t know, it sounds corny as hell, but like, there’s just so much love to give, we can’t even stick to only boys or girls, y’know.” 

“That does sound real corny as fuck, man,” Mike says, and back is that long suffering tone of his, back is that eye roll and the twitching elbow, ready to nudge Steve in the side. It’s still tinged with that vulnerability, not quite Mike yet, but it’s an offering.

One of many tonight, it seems.

Steve grins, a bit lopsided and raw, shoving Mike gently as he remembers something he overheard once. “Sorry, mister Heart of our group, but I don’t think you have any leg to stand on here.”

That makes Mike freeze, though, and he stares at Steve wide-eyed; caught. Exposed. Reminded.

“What did you say?”

“Uh,” Steve falters, not sure where he went wrong — or if he went wrong at all. “I overheard Will calling you that, talking about you to, uhm. Someone. I don’t know. Why, what’s— What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Mike says, way too quickly, pulling away again with everything he has, hiding behind those walls once more, and Steve feels whiplash from it.

“Mike,” he says, his voice quiet and gentle as he turns to face him completely.

“No.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says. Promises, as much as he can.

“Shut up!”

“You’re not wrong or bad or broken. It’s okay, you’re okay.”

“I said, shut up, Steve.”

“You should see the way he looks at you, too. You should go talk to him. You—“

Mike lashes out, finally coming out from behind those walls again, only to shove at Steve, to push him away — hard enough for him to lose his balance and almost fall off the roof, clenching one hand on the edge, the other in the rainwater gutter with a bitten-off curse.

“Shit, I’m sorry!” Mike reaches for him immediately, snapping out of whatever anger Steve caused, and pulling him back until he’s safe again, apologising over and over, dead to Steve’s promises that it’s alright. “Fuck, I’m so sorry, Steve, I’m so—“

He pulls Mike against his chest, finally reaching out to hold the boy who always pushes people away when they get too close — quite literally, too.

But he doesn’t shove this time, doesn’t move out of Steve’s grasp as the mumbled apologies become heaving sobs.

“It’s okay, you’re okay, you’re so okay, Mike,” Steve tells him over and over as he holds him. The sky above is almost black now and Steve lets Mike cry into his chest.

It takes a while for Mike to calm down, but Steve just holds him through it, ready to let go whenever Mike wants to pull back and snap out of it again — but he never does, and Steve feels a certain kind of affection for the boy that is usually reserved for Lucas or Dustin.

At last, when he’s calmed down, Mike pulls back a little. “Do you really… Does it… Is it really okay?”

Can it be okay? Can I really like both? Is that not just me, being broken and wrong and bad? Will I get the chance to not be alone?

Steve swallows hard, and his voice is hoarse when he says, “Yeah. It’s really okay. ‘N’ I’m with you, yeah? If someone gives you shit for it. Or if you need a reminder.”

And Mike — puffy eyed, snotty nosed, so, so young — looks at him with those trusting eyes and nods, like he believes Steve. Like he trusts him. Like he hopes.

“Just don’t fucking shove me off your roof again.”

Ans just like that, the spell is broken, the tension is lifted, and silence has left them, as Mike almost chokes on a laugh and shoves at him again, lightly this time, before jumping off the roof so Steve can’t retaliate.

“Asshole,” he mutters, shaking his head as he, too, jumps off the roof, dusting off his pants as he watches Mike grabbing his bike. “Hey, Micycle,” he calls, cackling when Mike flips him the bird. “You want a ride back?”

Mike stops, considering as Steve casually flicks his keys into the air and catches them expertly. “What kinda music do you got?”

“The Clash, ‘cause Eddie hates them.”

“Yeah, that’s because they suck!”

Steve snorts, opening the driver’s side door. “Y’know, they’re one of Will’s favourites, actually.”

He watches Mike freeze with a grin on his face, knowing there’s no way the boy would take the bike.

“You’re so annoying,” Mike sighs as he brings his bike close to the garage and carefully lays it on the grass this time before hurrying over to Steve, getting in on the front, rolling his eyes when Steve cackles. “I don’t know why Eddie would date you—“

His words are drowned out when Steve turns up Train in Vain, drumming along on the steering wheel with a shit eating grin. Though the atmosphere is wildly different now, the spell broken and the bubble burst, it’s undeniable that something happened between them. Something big, something important.

Something that makes Mike’s annoyed, long-suffering expression be broken by the smile he’s trying to hide. It makes Steve laugh, elated and feeling something that’s much, much bigger than he himself ever could be.

It’s going to be okay. So, so okay.

Before they know it, they’re pulling up to Steve’s and he turns off the car, is about to get out when Mike makes him still again.

“Hey, Steve?”

“Hm?”

“I think it’s cool. You and Eddie.”

He smiles, relief and fondness washing over him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.” He reaches over and ruffles Mike’s hair — a wild mane these days, but they could make it work with some care and some products. “Now go get your man, lover boy.”

“God, you suck so much, you’re so annoying!”

Steve’s cackling again when the passenger door slams shut and Mike lets himself into his house.

He spots a figure in the dark, their face lighting up when they take a drag of a cigarette — and Steve’s heart stumbles in his chest. He scrambles to get out, attempting to look calm and collected, even though Eddie always manages to see right through him.

“Hello, stranger,” he says, leaning against the wall beside Eddie, hiding away in the dark, where the world won’t see their shoulders touch, or their fingers tentatively playing with each other before they can’t take it no longer and lace their hands, holding on tight.

“Hi,” Eddie breathes. “How’d it go?”

“Fine, I think. But, uhm… I told him. About me. About us. That, uh. That okay?”

Even in the dark, Steve can feel eyes on him, but he just stares ahead, opting instead to give his warm hand a squeeze. He smiles when Eddie’s thumb begins to draw patterns on his palm.

“Hmm. Very. You think they’ll be okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve breathes, stealing Eddie’s cigarette from his mouth and pulling it between his own lips. “Yeah, I think they will be.”

[marragurl]

Saxaphone player Gallagher has not left my mind since the jazz night art dropped AND THEN Robin saying Halovian’s innately have good voices and Sunday used to hum lullabies to her as kids happened in the 2.2 special program, and I’m sure you guys can see where my unfortunate Galladay heart is going with this.

Whoever decided to make this art, I love you. I hope your pillow is cool every night, you’re never stuck in traffic, and your water is refreshing with every sip.

Also the art of Sunday with the White Gentlemen drink in the S.P.A.R.K.L.E jazz night event has also spiraled into me delusionally thinking that’s his go to drink. Which is hilarious since Robin has hinted before that he seems to have a massive sweet tooth in her letters.

(Sunday how do you even make holding a drink menacing, Sunday please get some therapy-)

So imagine this:

Pre 2.0 Galladay, where they’re both wary and suspicious of each other but didn’t do anything outright. Sunday slowly began to visit Gallagher’s bar whenever he had time to observe the Hound, initially on the down low just to get a sense of what he was working with and what to keep an eye on. He always gravitated to that one corner booth that every bar had with the most privacy, and just stalked there for a few hours before leaving. (Smol menacing birb in a tree vibes)

Gallagher obviously knew that Sunday was doing this (even though everyone else seemed to somehow completely miss him, Gallagher wouldn’t be surprised if Sunday was doing some weird Harmony mind tricks), and after the first few “stakeouts,” he bit the bullet and actually approached the table to engage with Sunday, on the off chance this was some weird “test of loyalty” by the Halovian to see if the Hound would swallow his pride to serve his so-called masters.

Nothing terrible happened, but he remained passive-aggressively polite when serving him, and Sunday remained passive-aggressively cool-headed in response. There was some snark of what dear “sweet-toothed” Sunday would want at a bar, and an icy reply of “aren’t you the master drink smith? Why don’t you show me those skills you boasted about?” which led to Gallagher being petty and giving Sunday the White Gentlemen drink, both for the story behind it being such a metaphor for Sunday, and because it was on the more bitter side of alcoholic drinks.

Sunday wasn’t too against the drink; it wasn’t something he would have ordered if it had been his choice, but it wasn’t a bad drink by any means. He couldn’t help but continue to drink it even after Gallagher left his little hidey booth to go back to the main bar, but he’d never stoop so low as to complement the Hound. Of course, he never ordered anything else from then on, only White Gentleman. In fact, over time it seemed to slowly get better, the flavors grew on him, and he couldn't help but look forward to it during difficult nights in the Dreamscape.

If Gallagher tried to needle him into a different drink, Sunday just bit back a “oh? Admitting defeat? I thought this was your best drink for me?” with a little smirk while Gallagher had to use every bit of self-control to not punch him in the face.

As time went on, the bar slowly became a place Sunday frequented to not quite relax, but to get away from the hustle and bustle of Penacony and his duties as one of its main faces. The stresses slowly started piling up, especially with the Charmony fast approaching in a few months and all that came with it.

Gallagher didn’t seem to loosen up regarding his attitude with Sunday, but he did get better at shoving down the visceral hatred he had for everything to do with The Family and Sunday as time went on. He didn’t get soft with Sunday per se, but he definitely kept an eye out for him, and definitely knew when to cut off his drinks on days where it seemed that Sunday wasn’t all that there for their usual veiled comments towards one another when he went to serve him his drink.

It started small, with Sunday staying later and later until sometimes he was the last one to leave the bar to return to reality. Gallagher wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, still wasn’t quite sure this wasn’t some weird long-term test Sunday was devising, especially since he still seemed to be the same ruthless Family member, the same Head of the Oak Family, when Gallagher was working as a Bloodhound outside the bar. For some reason though, within the enclosed space of this strange sanctuary, it was almost peaceful between the two.

One night, there was something wrong when Sunday entered the bar during Gallagher’s shift. He saw a bit of a crowd near the small stage that was within eyesight of his little hidey booth, it seemed some of the musicians of the live band were arguing? He watched as Gallagher came over, seemed to try to speak with the group before honing in on one of the musicians who had been making the most noise and seemed to be about to get physical with the rest. Sunday watched as Gallagher picked up the musician by the scruff of their suit with one hand and carried them towards the doors and lightly tossed them out.

(It was the first time Sunday had actually seen Gallagher perform anything resembling the actual duty of a Bloodhound. It only hit him that he’d only ever seen the other when giving reports, orders, or at the bar. Why was this so shocking to him, he’d seen the man’s arms before, hard not to with his slovenly dress and messy clothing style, as if he couldn’t bother to hide away his imperfections from the world, not like Sunday who refused to be seen by the world, to dare to show one thing off about himself despite his countless failings- he’s getting far too distracted by one meager showing of strength, focus Sunday)

There had always been a live music segment. Sunday was curious to see what would happen with the band missing a member, but was distracted by Gallagher placing his usual White Gentlemen in front of him before heading back to the musicians without a single word to him. Gallagher took a moment to speak with the rest of the band, who seemed to be coming out of their shock and took on worried looks. Sunday could only watch in muted shock as Gallagher went behind the bar and came back with a case, opening it to reveal a saxophone. He then went on stage with the rest of the group, positioned himself further to the side and in the back amongst the shadows within Sunday’s line of sight, and played with the band for the rest of the night.

Sunday couldn’t look away.

He was frozen as he watched Gallagher seamlessly transition from song to song, taking only small breaks to continue serving the other patrons before heading back in. Sunday only remembered about his own drink when his gloves began to get wet from the ice melting into condensation on his glass.

Something felt off within Sunday, and for the first time since Robin’s debut, he couldn't help humming to the music of the band, music that wasn’t of his own sister’s making. He couldn’t help but remember those little concerts the two would have, taking care of his little sister, his only world. He would do anything to keep the Harmony, to keep their family going. When was the last time they truly spent time together? Before he became the Head of the Oak Family? Before he couldn't recognize his own smile?

He was so lost in his thoughts, in memories he thought he buried, that he didn’t realize that it was once again closing time, and he was once again the last one left. He only snapped out of it when Gallagher came by to grab his empty glass, only quirking a questioning brow at him before heading back to the bar.

Gallagher had been keeping a quiet eye on the Halovian that night from the back of the band, in the shadows he felt the most comfort in when in the Dreamscape of Penacony. He had watched Sunday’s eyes glaze over, and the only reason he hadn’t felt offended by the seeming disinterest was the look in the other man’s eyes reminding him of his own when he looked in the mirror. The same look of shame, regret, loss, longing, of the wishes to regain everything he had lost. The same look he strove to hide under every bit of the facade he had crafted of this new self, but came back all too often with every reference of the Family found within his prison in the Dreamscape.

Maybe it was the shared nostalgia within his own heart, that little bit of his true self that he thought died when the Family tore out everything that made him who he was, that made him return behind the bar and begin making Sunday another White Gentlemen, giving Sunday a small nod to beckon him over. He wasn’t expecting anything from it, and he masked his own surprise when Sunday actually left his little shelter to come and take a seat in front of him at the bar. Even while out of it, Gallagher made note of the quiet confidence the other still carried himself. Nothing seemed wrong to anyone else looking at him, only for the lost look in his eyes.

The first time in the many months that they’ve been skirting around each other, and finally they seemed to be face to face.

It was quiet as Gallagher made Sunday his usual drink, a drink he had been slowly changing over the months to be sweeter and sweeter that Sunday never quite seemed to notice, or if he did, he never said anything, only seeming to savor it more each subsequent night. Maybe not even Gallagher noticed his own changes to the drink, subtle as they were.

It was quiet as Sunday took the finished drink, and it was quiet as his eyes slid over the bartop to see the saxophone case laying open with the instrument inside. It was quiet as Gallagher followed his eyes, as he came out from behind the bartop to take the saxophone out and take a seat in a chair only one seat down from Sunday’s. It was quiet as Gallagher began to play to his audience of one.

It was quiet as Sunday quietly hummed along.

It was quiet as they both knew that it would not last.

OK yea so this was all because I heard ‘La vie en rose’ at the end of the Jazz night event and went “Damn I wish that’s Gallagher playing on his Sax” and then we spiraled.

Uh. Idk what it is with me having a small ship moment which then spirals into a full blown writing session. My mind blanked out and as I came to I find out that I made a whole ass little one shot over here then completely forgot about it WHOOPS

So yea, hope my fellow Galladay enjoyers… enjoyed! I think I’ve slowly begun to crave… not domestic or fluff per se from these two, but after every AO3 fic being super dark between them (which I get! They are the toxic yaoi kings of Penacony as of writing this, no one is denying that!) I think I want to see them be explored in a more melancholic sense. Not quite the “forbidden” love angle, but in the “damn we kinda have some parallels, and maybe in another life we could have gotten along but there’s too much baggage and anger, both historically and currently to really even try anything”

I have this feeling this may not be the last time I write about these two… is Galladay going to be the ship that gets me to actually use my AO3 account?

[theluckiestlb]

as a self-identified adrienette girlie....kinda miss them, ngl.

[redriotinggg]

SanUso-ism aside, it’s really disheartening how much Sanji and Usopp have been separated post-timeskip. Their relationship was built up so well pre-timeskip as characters that support and understand each other, fighting and laughing as good friends do. They spent so much time being motivated by each other’s words, actions, or mere existence. Wanting to protect each other and live up to each other’s expectations are huge motivations that drive important moments in the story (Alabasta, Skypeia, Water 7/Enies Lobby, and Sabaody in particular).

To go from that—these two being practically inseparable and integral to each other’s growth, to them barely even being in the same place at the same time feels like a betrayal of their friendship, if I want to be dramatic (I do).

I know post-ts focused more on the plot and moving the story along, but it really sucks that important Straw Hat relationships don’t seem to have any weight besides them being loyal crewmates. It’s undeniable that Sanji and Usopp have a special connection, so right now it all feels… dissatisfying. Like something is missing.

I’m just really holding out for a moment on Elbaf where Usopp protects Sanji and the rest of the crew. A speech that Usopp gives Sanji to re-iterate how important they are to each other and how they constantly, constantly push each other to do better. To feel stronger.

[marvey-sideblog]

Law firm Specter Ross represent gay club in Seattle

[cryptiduni]

“white mourning.”

[johnslittlespoon]

heyyy yk the scene in p4 where colonel harding is like “now, he thinks you sissies could be getting flakhappy.”

what if. in the dog coded fic. that happens, but they're all sat around a table when it does, and gale notices john bristle at the use of sissies (even if it's meant in a lighthearted way– john's just restless and looking to argue, we saw that in the original scene), and gale places a hand on john's thigh under the table to settle him. like putting a hand on a dog's back to calm them when they're getting worked up. hm.

feeling so super duper normal about these two. yuppp

[mossiestpiglet]

I think part of what feels a bit off regarding Tom and Greg this season is that we keep seeing them begin together instead of seeing them end up together, which is not how their dynamic was played for the first three seasons. Particularly from a Tom angle, since he’s the one who controlled the relationship and their interactions for the most part, the pattern was largely that something would happen elsewhere in Tom’s life (Shiv, work, etc) and his reaction would be to go to Greg, an outlet he’d only just acquired. It wasn’t a proactive relationship that Tom was using to try to build things, it was a reactive relationship where he went to deal with the rest of his situation. We can point to their conversation at the end of season 3 as the start of this change, but such an abrupt flip, especially one that essentially happened between seasons and off screen, feels emotionally incomplete. We didn’t see them work through this transition in their relationship to know if it’s supposed to be considered complete and functional (as functional as any relationship in this show can be) or if we’re supposed to be waiting for something to happen that will recontextualize the way they’ve been acting all season.

[shipskicksandgiggles]

The Meaning of Home (also on ao3)

Ever since he learned to drive, Steve had loved his BMW. He wouldn’t let anybody else touch his car, much less drive it. 

He kept it spotless. He wouldn’t consider himself a neat freak, but he kept the carpets vacuumed and trash out of the cup holders and off the floor. 

Not to mention he learned how to tune her up all on his own. His dad wasn’t around to help, and even if he was, he certainly wouldn’t be helping his son with dirty, disgusting work like changing the oil or cleaning out the filter. 

That was work for a mechanic. Someone you paid to get black sludge under their fingernails. 

Learning how to do it himself was a process. Without a positive male role model in his life, he resorted to reading books to guide him, starting with the car’s manual. 

Steve wanted his car in the best hands, and he trusted no one more than himself. 

He knew more about the inside of his car than he had any business knowing. Feeling her purr under his hands was the most satisfying part of his day. 

Even when he drove other people’s cars, feeling the thrum of the engine made him feel like he mattered. Like he had control. 

Nancy’s car was his favorite to drive. It was a shitty old station wagon, but he loved it. He was honestly a bit jealous. 

The truth was, he loved his car the most at first. He was able to use it to get around, to pick up girls, to impress his friends. That was when he was a younger man. 

Nowadays, his usual passengers were three kids and Robin, which his BMW was a bit too cramped to accommodate. 

Driving the Wheeler’s station wagon was a breath of fresh air. Sure, there was a suspicious rattle coming from somewhere, but he had all the kids with him, and he didn’t have to worry about them. He was even considering a minivan for his next car, if they survived all this. 

This being another apocalypse. They must be on four now, maybe five if he missed one last time he took a vacation. 

Not that Steve took vacations. He hadn’t left Hawkins for more than a day since he was 16 years old. Something about being anxious that one of the kids would need him, and he wouldn’t be there to help. 

Even the station wagon was too small to fit their whole group now, and not all of them were in Indiana anymore. Steve might have to reconsider his choice of a minivan. A bus might be a better option. 

Or a Winnebago. 

He could hear faint chatter behind him. The air was tense, but they were all trying to pretend like it wasn’t. 

Like they weren’t watching Max, in case she might float away. Like they didn’t check out the windows every few seconds to make sure they weren’t being followed. 

Like Eddie wasn’t on the run. Like Eddie hadn’t hotwired their vehicle. 

Like they weren’t on their way to get weapons to take out an evil, alternate dimension wizard. 

Steve had a headache, and no one had punched him in the face this time. 

His only relief came in the form of being able to count everyone, confirm they were all okay. 

‘Okay’ might be a bit of a stretch. 

Alive was good enough for him, even if they were all scraped, bruised, hungry, and tired. 

He focused on the thrum of the vehicle under his hands, and took a deep breath. 

As if she was reading his thoughts, Nancy plopped into the passenger seat next to him. 

“How’s it handle?”

“Not bad considering it’s a literal house on wheels.”

She huffed out a quiet laugh. None of them really had the energy for lighthearted fun anymore. 

Steve glanced over at her, and remembered back to when they were barely older than most of the kids in the backseat. They’d grown up so much since then. 

He sighed. “I used to imagine driving one of these actually.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, you know, like when I was older, with a family, a whole gaggle of kids. I’d just pack everything up and we’d travel across the country every summer. Take a different route every year so we’d eventually hit 49 out of 50 states.”

“That’s quite the dream.”

“Well, when you still believe in the American Dream, a road trip with six kids sounds like a good idea.”

“Six kids? That sounds like a horror show.”

“I realize that now,” he said, gesturing vaguely behind him. Six kids were a nightmare.

“I meant for your future wife, my god. What angel of a woman did you picture in this scenario?”

“Honestly? I have no idea. When we were younger, I think I hoped it would be you, but now?” 

Steve turned in his seat to look at the people behind him. Eddie and Robin were attempting to distract Dustin, Lucas, and Erica while Max watched them with her Walkman secured over her ears. Their party had changed so much over the years, but he loved them nonetheless. 

Just as he was about to turn back, Eddie caught his eye. He smiled and winked before doing something dramatic that made Dustin yell. It was amazing how he fit right in. 

“Eyes on the road,” Nancy reminded. “You’ve changed a lot since we first met.”

“Is that a good thing?” he asked, suddenly shy. 

“Definitely,” she assured him. “I’ll let you drive.” She patted him on the shoulder as she went back to join everyone else.

A couple years back, Steve had kind of dismissed his dream. It was right around the time he woke up concussed in the backseat of his own car with Max driving. Kids were out of the question. 

Then he thought maybe he’d travel the country by himself, pack up just his car and drive until he hit the ocean. 

He didn’t think he could leave Hawkins anymore. Not after all this. 

Steve shook the thought out of his head and focused on driving. One day all of this would be over. 

Moments later, someone else dropped into the passenger seat. Thinking it was Robin, he didn’t say anything, expecting her to speak first. 

“I got Dustin and Lucas to explain Hellfire’s last D&D campaign to Nancy and Robin.” 

Not Robin. Eddie. 

“Oh?”

“Figured it might keep them entertained for a while at least. They’ll probably be quieter too.”

“They’re not that bad. You get used to it.”

Eddie snorted. “You must have a lot of patience, Harrington.”

“I’ve just been babysitting them for a long time.”

He nodded. “Since this all started?”

“Something like that,” Steve agreed. “Once you live through the end of the world with them, all the yelling doesn’t seem like such a big deal.”

“Imagine that. Are you sure you’re The Steve Harrington? Like the prom king, king of the school, lady’s man of Hawkins High?”

“That’s what it says on my driver’s license.”

“It says all that on your driver’s license?”

“My wallet’s in my back pocket if you want to check.”

“As inviting as it is to touch your ass, I think I’ll wait until we’re not around the kids. What do you say darling?” Eddie winked. 

Steve felt himself flush. 

Eddie didn’t seem to notice. “But you really have been saving the world this whole time? Kids and all?”

“Kids and all,” Steve confirmed. “It doesn’t get easier by the way, so if you don’t want to stick around for the next apocalypse, I wouldn’t blame you.”

“You stick around,” Eddie pointed out. 

“I’ve got a pretty good reason to.” It was the truth. He loved Hawkins, loved the kids, loved Robin and his shitty job and even his empty house. He couldn’t just leave it all behind. 

Speaking of, he adjusted the mirror so he could see them, and smiled softly at what he saw. Sure enough, Dustin and Lucas were still fully invested in explaining things to Robin and Nancy, who were actually expressing interest. Even Erica seemed to be getting involved, and Max had slipped her headphones off of one ear so she could listen to both her friends and Kate Bush. 

“We’re going to get them out of this,” Eddie said quietly. “Right?”

Steve nodded. 

“They never got to be kids, did they?”

“Not really, no. Ever since Will went missing, they had to grow up too fast.”

“Do you ever wish you could go back and change things, knowing what you know now?”

He studied Eddie carefully. “More than you could possibly understand.”

“So make me understand.”

Eddie looked at him like he held all the secrets to the universe, and Steve took a deep breath, turning his focus back to the road to avoid Eddie’s gaze. 

“Realistically, I know that this was the way things were meant to happen. That I wouldn’t be the man I am today without all this suffering. Still, knowing what I know now, I would go back and be a less shitty person. Because then maybe Barb would still be alive. Maybe Billy would be too. Maybe we could have been friends a long time ago. Instead we’re here, and I know I can’t go back and fix everything, but for what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”

“Please, I forgave you the first time Henderson said you gave him rides home from Hellfire because his mom couldn’t make it.”

“Really?”

“Well, sort of. I thought he meant a different Steve Harrington until I saw your car pull into the parking lot and not leave until his seat belt was buckled. Then I forgave you.”

Maybe he was finally losing it, but for whatever reason, that was the first time Steve had really laughed for the first time in days. They were in the middle of the end of the world yet again, and he couldn’t stop laughing. 

His outburst seemed to surprise Eddie based on his expression. A grin slowly grew across his face. “Something funny, Stevie?”

“No, no, I’m sorry, I just-” he hiccuped. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”

“Didn’t we just establish you’ve saved the world multiple times?”

“Not that, I can totally believe that, but this. This stupid Winnebago and those kids and this. Sometimes I can’t believe I’m here. If you told Steve Harrington of four years ago that he’d be babysitting a group of kids with his ex-girlfriend, his best friend who he got tortured by Russians with, and the freak of Hawkins High, he’d think you were nuts, and yet.”

“Still think I’m a freak?” Eddie asked nervously. 

“Sure, but who isn’t?”

“Welcome to the party, your Majesty, it was good of you to join us.”

Eddie’s dramatics only caused him to start laughing again. “Sorry I’m late, honey, traffic was hell,” Steve mocked in return.

“Are you having a nervous breakdown? I think you have to tell us if you are.”

For a second, Steve thought he’d overstepped and offended Eddie, but a quick glance reassured him that he was just joking. 

“I think I’ll be okay. How are you though?” 

The past few days had been harder on Eddie than it was on most of them, which frankly he was handling like a champ, but Steve still worried. 

“Well, let’s see. I don’t know if I’ll ever get to go home, and even if I do I’ll probably be looking over my shoulder for the rest of my life because the basketball team turned into a murderous gang. Also, I’ll need a list of everyone’s favorite songs because that seems important now which sounds insane, but it’s no less insane than anything else so what the hell, right?”

Steve got it. Not that he’d been accused of murder, but witnessing the upside down version of their town and facing the end of the world did tend to put things in perspective. What about their lives really mattered anyways?

He let Eddie’s words hang in the air for a moment before he figured out what to say. 

“My favorite song is The Winner Takes It All,” Steve said. “For when you start making that list.”

It seemed to take Eddie a moment to process that. “ABBA, Steve? ABBA? Are you kidding me? We cannot be friends, I’m so sorry, your taste in music cannot be that bad.”

His dramatics caused Steve to lose it. “Oh my god, I’m kidding. It’s actually Heroes. You know David Bowie?”

“Do I know David Bowie, he asks. Jesus Christ, Steve, of course I know Bowie. He’s not bad, but still, remind me to play you some better music if we make it out of this alive.” Then he paused. “When we make it out of this alive.”

“You’re already a natural at keeping a positive mindset with the constant threat of the world ending! I’m proud of you, man.”

“Might as well, right?”

“Exactly. And I can’t wait to hear you play. I've heard you’re a part of the best metal band in this part of Indiana.”

“Steve, we’re pretty much the only metal band in this part of Indiana.” 

“Which automatically makes you the best!”

“Fair enough. My favorite song is Rainbow in the Dark by the way. Master of Puppets would probably work too honestly.”

“I’ll make sure we get a tape of both of them, just in case.”

“Thanks.” His response was uncharacteristically soft, but Steve tried not to think too hard about it.  

They drifted back into silence after that. 

“Do you know what you’re going to do after we save the world?” Eddie asked. Sitting quietly for too long set all of them on edge now. 

“Same as always I guess. Might start taking classes at the community college.”

“Yeah? What are you planning on getting your degree in?”

“Something stable. Teaching maybe. If it doesn’t work out, I can always try my hand at being a mechanic.”

“Mechanic? You?”

“Hey, I fix my own car all the time, don’t start. Anyways, people always need mechanics.”

“We’ll always need teachers too, Steve. I can see it now, your classroom full of bright colors and smiling faces.”

“Now you’re just teasing me,” Steve groaned. 

“I’m not! I really think that’s a good path for you. Stability is a good route to go.”

“Would you ever want anything like that?”

“Oh god no. I want to be out on the road! Experiencing real, true freedom,” Eddie said with conviction. 

Steve certainly believed him. The relief was evident on his face, as if that freedom was finally in reach. 

“Really? You don’t even want someone to come home to? Something to look forward to when you’ve been away for a while?”

He could feel Eddie studying him. 

“I guess that doesn’t sound so bad,” Eddie said eventually. 

“Look man, I’m not saying you can’t do whatever you want. If you want to be out on the open road for the rest of your life, that’s what you should do. But I think everyone needs somewhere to call home, and maybe someone who helps make it a home.”

“Yeah?”

“It probably sounds dumb, but-”

“No no no, I think it’s sweet. I just don’t think that’s the kind of future I’m destined to have.”

“Why do you say that?”

Eddie sat back in his seat a bit. “Home for me growing up wasn’t the definition of stability, and I don’t know if I have what it takes to build that foundation with someone. And even that would require someone to want to have that with me in the first place. I’m going to go out on a limb here and say that’s not in the cards for me.”

They lapsed into silence as Steve digested that information. Finally, he spoke again. 

“Okay, don’t take this the wrong way, but are you dumb?”

“Thank you for that, Steve.”

“No, listen to me. You’ve already got a halfway decent start on that foundation, I just think you need to take a step back and see that.”

He looked at him doubtfully, but Steve continued. 

“You created a safe space for a whole group of kids that wouldn’t have that if it weren’t for you, and they adore you. It’s that unconditional love and willingness to accept them that’s going to start you in the right direction. That D&D club of yours is a home of its own if you think about it, and you did that all on your own. Imagine what you could build with someone else.”

Eddie took a moment to think. “What if I don’t want kids?”

“That’s fine. Home doesn’t always equal kids. Good luck getting rid of Dustin though.”

“Which will prove to be a challenge I’m sure, that kid sticks like glue.”

“Trust me, I’ll be dealing with it for the rest of my life too, don’t you worry.”

“Maybe we should deal with it together then,” Eddie said nervously. 

Steve heard the hesitation in his voice like he wasn’t sure how he would react. 

He reached out a hand and patted Eddie’s knee. “I think that could be arranged.”

“Stability, huh?” Eddie asked. 

“If you want it.” 

Steve craved stability more than just about anything else in the world. He couldn’t imagine functioning without some surety of knowing how his life was going to play out for at least the next few months. 

He also craved validation and comfort. One might say he craved love.

A love he wasn’t so sure he could have. 

But Eddie glanced back at the kids and smiled softly, almost privately to himself had Steve not been there to see it. 

“Yeah. I could go for a little bit of stability.”

[tennessoui]

me writing baby obi-wan: you are the cutest kid in the world you are the devil incarnate you are too sweet and innocent you are the phantom menace 

[juniperandtealeaves]

I just went through all 7 stages of grief watching tonight's episode.

Initially I was like oh, they're showing us Bill and Frank's meeting, that's cute but that's going to make what (I thought) I knew was going to happen so much more upsetting.

And then in the scene where they're arguing, I was like oh, they're showing how their relationship started to go south. That's neat.

But no, they set out to absolutely stomp on my emotions. 10/10 never rewatching this episode again my eyes are puffy and I'm upset over fictional old men being in love for YEARSSS during the apocalypse.

[six-of-cringe]

never thought i'd say it. not happy about gay sex

[coldshrugs]

in this state

characters: io laithe / estinien varlineau, alisaie leveilleur word count: 1400 rating: M; descriptions of injuries, language. note: very vague endwalker spoilers. io's friends wait by her side while she's unconscious.

She looks like shit, their Champion.

Battered and bruised, Io lays on a cot in front of where Estinien sits. Her bottom lip is torn, and shallow cuts weave across her bare shoulders and chest. Crusts of dark blood peek through the stitching, and her flesh swells around the wounds.

There is blood in her hair, in the wisps around her face, in the long strands that drape over the cot’s edge. Blood under her nails, too, grotesque in the stark fluorescent light of this room, against the crisp white sheet where someone has neatly folded her arms in feigned comfort.

Her breathing comes slow and shallow, aided by a machine the likes of which he has never seen. It whirs and some mechanism inside pumps, pulling air from the ship's interior and delivering it to her lungs via clear tubes entering her nose. Another contrivance beeps, counting each pulse. Estinien counts too. The starship Ragnarok offers little in the way of distraction, so he keeps track of each feeble breath and endures the pauses that stretch like infinity between the beeping.

They say she will wake soon. That it is only a matter of time. They say she will make a full recovery once her aether has time to replenish and she’s rested…

Not even the Fury herself could grant him enough patience for this.

Alisaie sits across from him, eyes ringed red, gripping the metal cot in place of Io’s swollen hand. She has been here longer than he has, staring down at Io, greeted only by her still face. Occasionally a tear falls between the beeps and whirs, sounding sharp against metal or solid against skin.

Does she realize he stayed behind when the others could no longer bear looking at Io in this state? Does she care that he watches them in silence?

He wishes she would go, just for a few moments. What he would say or do is a mystery–it is not in his nature to plan for something like this. Still, he needs the opportunity to be alone with Io. The girl, however, will not be moved.

“Wake up, damn you,” Alisaie whispers. She inches that much closer, hovering. Aching in a way Estinien feels, too, for her friend to show any sign of progress. “Wake up and tell me what happened to you.”

Estinien lets his head roll back, and it meets the wall with a soft thud. An engine thrums somewhere far off, vibrating softly through the cold metal. He closes his eyes and exhales. It is almost enough to distract him from the repetitive sounds, the nauseating light.

Almost.

“You’re still here.”

He opens an eye. Alisaie looks up at him with the threat of fresh tears. She sniffles.

“Aye.” He crosses his arms. For one brief moment, he considers asking her permission to stay, but he glances down at the still figure between them, and his heart lurches in his chest. No, he will remain at Io’s side until she wakes.

“You care for her, don’t you?” Alisaie asks.

Estinien scowls at the very specific emphasis in the question. He cares about a great many people, Alisaie not least among them. He cares for their causes and their well-being. But that is not what she is asking.

It hasn’t needed a name before now, this feeling. Most often, it is in his chest, unfurling softly each time Io smiles, or rests her head against his shoulder, or speaks kindness to a stranger, until he can feel nothing but her warmth. Other times it shoots up his spine, a radiant pride that strengthens his arm and steadies his aim. It is the knowledge he would follow her anywhere because there is no one he trusts more.

And now it lodges between his ribs, sharp and stinging.

He answers after a long moment.

“Aye.”

Alisaie’s eyes grow wide as if she didn’t expect his frankness. She wipes her tears and sits back. “You could’ve cleared your throat or something instead of letting me blubber all over her like a fool. It goes without saying that this better stay between us, or so help me–”

“I won’t say a thing,” he chuckles quietly. “But I’m not leaving.”

She nods and stands. “Fine. I’ll go see how the others fare. Perhaps there’s some coffee on this godsforsaken ship.” Her steps toward the door are hesitant, eyes sliding between Io on the cot and Estinien seated next to her. “If she wakes…”

“You’ll have returned before then.”

She forces a tight smile and leaves looking a fraction more hopeful.

With the room clear at last, Estinien’s focus returns to Io. Her ragged breathing, her lacerated skin.

He leans over her, a forearm on the cot, and lifts his other hand to her head. His thumb sweeps across her forehead in a delicate arc, careful to avoid the cut near her hairline. He soaks in the warmth of her skin under his hand, the softness of her hair. His fingertips trail down her face, tracing the ridge of her tattooed nose, the curve of her cheek. He burns all of it into his memory, in case–

In case.

“Come back, Io,” he says, too quiet to be heard over the machines. “Don't you want to laugh at me baring my heart to you? We are both in a state.”

And finally, finally, she moves.

Her head turns, settling into the cradle of his palm. Her mouth pulls into a pained grimace and she inhales sharply, a near-silent hiss. The machine counting her pulse speeds up. Estinien's heart beats in his throat, waiting for her eyes to open, but Io stills again.

Except for one word.

One name, scratching its way out of her parched throat.

“Zenos.”

His love, honed to a sharpened point, twists in his ribcage. He fights the urge to recoil lest he worsen her pain. Why, after all this time, after all they’ve been through and the bond he knows they share, is that name the first thing to break her silence?

Estinien hangs his head. “Not what I had in mind."

Perhaps he got ahead of himself, saw more between them than was actually there. Aymeric has, fondly, called him impulsive more than once over the years, and he is not blind to his own recklessness. Perhaps...

No. His instincts have always been strong. His feelings for Io, the signs she reciprocated them, have grown around them for the better part of a year. He is too deeply entangled to let one mention of that bastard make him second-guess what he knows to be true.

Io will have an explanation when she wakes. He is sure of it.

And he will give her time.

“Knock knock.”

He turns to the door, where Alisaie stands, a white ceramic cup in each hand. Her expression is soft as she enters, her eyes locked on the point where Estinien’s hand meets Io’s cheek. He moves away as delicately as he can and leans against the wall.

“Thought you could do with a warm drink. I forgot to ask how you take your coffee, so I just made what I like. Apologies if it's shit.” She presses the cup into his hands. “Did anything happen while I was away? Did she–”

Estinien is not a skilled liar, but Alisaie would worry more than she already does. And for Io, he can keep this secret. He shakes his head. “No. We’re still waiting.”

Maybe it's the coffee or the company, but Alisaie is in higher spirits as she returns to her vigil at Io's side. She sips her drink with a little smile, eying Estinien from behind her cup.

“What?” he asks.

“Oh, nothing...” She trails off with a smile and looks away. It is only a second or two before she turns back to him. “You will tell her how you feel, won't you?–” He groans– “She’d be absolutely thrilled, you imbecile. For reasons beyond my understanding, she thinks the world of you.”

She’s pleading now. Eager to be part of something happier than the sight between them. Even with the quiet rasp of Io’s last word ringing in his mind, Estinien cannot help but smile. Intrusive as it is, her brand of encouragement is endearing, and he can but hope she speaks the truth. 

“One day,” he says, and means it. When Io is well again, when things back home have settled, when the last traces of him have been dredged from her heart. “When the time is right.”

He takes a long drink of coffee, hums a noise of surprise at how similarly it matches his own tastes. Not bad.

Alisaie shoots him a conspiratorial smile. “I’ll hold you to that.”

[juwlie]

wow this game is so immersive, I had a relationship just like this in real life except it was being in a shitty band instead of divine ascension

[bthump]

Hey Moth! So I've had this cycling in my head for a few wash cycles too long and your last couple posts reminded me of it so I'm gonna ask before I inevitably forget again: Griffith struggles to see that people care about him as a person and not as just what he can achieve for them, which I agree with-- but I do end up hitting a snag when it comes to post-torture Griffith. The way the Hawks largely talk around him, it ends up feeling like ultimately what he can achieve for them IS the most important, since they lose hope when they realize the extent of his injuries.

Do you think that's just due to circumstances (ie the year of being on the run & upholding the rescue mission as The Thing That Will Fix Everything) and because Griffith is unable to communicate/express himself due to said injuries, so ablism kicks in an they talk about him like he's not there? Or do you think that on some level, his achievements do outweigh his personhood to at least some of the Hawks? Or maybe Griffith pushing people away is what ends up feeding the latter sentiment? I'd love to hear your thoughts!

Thanks for the ask, Bean <3

tbh I'd want to read the pre-Eclipse sequence as a sort of self-fulfilling prophecy, so yeah, Griffith pushing people away as feeding into the Hawks' attitudes. Because you're definitely right, it's at odds with the take that part of Griffith's problem is not realizing that people genuinely value him. And I do think that's the best reading of Griffith faking his own death in Tombstone of Flame and Guts thinking of him as cruel for it, especially since it takes place after the Hawks' knighthoods are announced, so theoretically Griffith's role is over - he's achieved everything he can for them by now. So their tears are a sign of how they feel about him as a person, rather than a conduit to success.

But yeah like, at the same time he does distance himself, he doesn't really let anyone in to know him except Guts and Casca once, accidentally, he's kind and personable and friendly but as Judeau describes when Guts joins, he's a bit of a mystery.

I guess it could just be a contradiction, but I think you can see the scene in Tombstone of Flame as the positive end of the scale. Like, just before it all ends, we get a glimpse of the genuine feelings and relationships Griffith could've cultivated further by allowing himself to be closer to the Hawks, and which could've grown if Guts hadn't left and ruined everything. The way Guts grounds Griffith and brings him to Earth is kind of illustrated in this scene when Guts is the one to tell Griffith about Casca's dress, which he then compliments. And I think Guts would continue to influence him in that direction if he stayed - treating him like a normal person, to which Griffith responds by acting more like a normal person, and opening up more.

Buuut instead Guts left and everything crashed and burned and yeah if anything Griffith's existence as a symbol to the Hawks grew in his and Guts' absence and overtook his reality as a person. It does make sense from a character point of view imo, considering the position the Hawks are in and how desperate they are, and it also makes sense thematically, as a result of Guts leaving and Griffith losing that potential for healthier relationships and self-esteem along with him. Another aspect of the lost potential of Griffith and Guts' relationship, maybe.

So yeah, I think that's the take I want to go with. What do you think?