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catsteeth · 24 days

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The Caged Bird & The Leashed Dog

Sandor Clegane x reader

+:✿ Chapter - 18 ✿:+ Life, Death, and War.

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Summary: You are the daughter of Jon Arryn, you and your father travel to King's Landing with the intention of arranging a marriage for you. You catch a glimpse of The Hound during your first night in Kings Landing and it creates a mutual fascination even if he won't admit it.

CW: MDNI, SMUT, p in v unprotected sex, pregnancy, doggy style, mention of oral, spanking, hair pulling, WAR, character death, labor, mention of forced abortion, NSFW themes, Sandor “my wife” Clegane, misogyny, angst, VIOLENCE, emotional unavailability, emotional vulnerability, The Hound being abrasive, mention of death, blood, threats of violence,

Word Count: 7.3K

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The days were long preceding the war. Perhaps it was the pregnancy, or perhaps it was the anxiety of the coming war. Most likely the pregnancy. You were mostly confined to your chambers if not seated at the council table to set forth plans of war. A task not many pregnant women have done. Your belly was so swollen you could not see your toes as you looked down. Sleep was a rare thing for you to find, and nothing could satisfy your hunger. Hunger for plum cake, sisters stew, roast goose, and even dirt once or twice. As well as an unsatisfiable hunger for sex, it made you irritable and short tempered. You loathed that you’d have to suffer the discomfort another thirty days. But you would have the Eyrie in less than ten. You would birth in the Eyrie, just as your mother did. Such a bittersweetness.

You began to feel more and more bonded with the little falcon that grew in your belly. Feeling them kick, and turn, even hiccup in your belly. Sandor tried to be by your side as much as he could. However he was the only man you trusted to ready your men for battle, so he took his position with the greatest seriousness. Though not as serious as he took his position as your husband, and father to your child. Any moment he was given he was bringing you meals of any kind you desired.

However this afternoon was one where his duties drove him to the training yards. Lord Royce often did your bidding, sending as many ravens as the North had to as many Eastern houses as he could.

Today, you got a response unlike the others you had gotten. It was from Lady Anya Waynwood. With your growing support against Baelish. Baelish blockaded the Vales resources, sending wheat, grains, fish, meat, and bread only to his supporting households. The smallfolk, and common born people starved with the Highborn houses that supported you. Lady Waynwood was urgently seeking your aid.

“Mhphm.” You groaned and placed a hand on your belly as you felt a kick in your ribs. “I cannot believe it either.” You mumbled to the babe, before shrugging, “Well actually I can. Still it upsets me so.” You said narrowing your brows as you continuously rubbed your belly, pacing your room.

You looked over your shoulder as the door to your chambers opened. Your husband hunched down as he entered through the door, too short for his stature.

You placed the piece of parchment over an open flame, letting it burn away, “He has allowed the small folk of the Vale to starve whilst he feasts.” You said with an annoyance turning towards him. “And I have been asked to assist somehow.”

“You slept?” He huffed stepping towards you, this scene was all too familiar now.

You looked up at him, “I did.” hardly, but you did sleep. Between the constant tending to the babe and the constant tending to the war that nipped at your heels you found little time for such luxuries.

“How long?” He placed a large hand on the back of your neck, halting your steps and guiding you back to your bed.

“Long enough.” You sighed as you laid back down. You groaned in discomfort as you attempted to make yourself comfortable “Maester said-”

“Maester? You let that old greasy cunt-” He interrupted you, and you interrupted him.

“He knows best. Unless you can tell me how well my child grows in me– I am forced to allow that old greasy cunt to poke around my insides.” The thought did not please Sandor, but he chuckled lowly to himself. You rarely swore without his cock in you. But he always liked it when you did. He removed his boots, muddied from the training yards. You continued your previous remark, “Maester says that the babe strong, says it’s strong and progressing well.” You smiled softly running your fingertips along your stomach. Sandor turned away to remove his clothing. You could not see it, but the corner of his mouth slightly twitched upwards in what some would call a smile. Happy to hear the steady and healthy progression of your babe. Perhaps this one would be different from the one his mother suffered, or yours.

As his last bit of clothing hit the cold stone floor, he was left in his small clothes. The sight made your hunger for sex rise. “Says it‘s all thanks to their father, strongest man in the seven Kingdoms.” You reached for the hand of your husband.

As you squeezed it, he gripped firmly onto yours. Turning towards you, and laying in bed beside you. Though only late afternoon, he knew you’d only truly sleep in his presence. The weight of him entering your bed, made your body roll into him.

He groaned softly, placing his free hand a top your stomach. “Let’s hope that’s all they get from me.” His eyes trailed down to your thighs, made more plump and lovely from your pregnancy. He grabbed hold of your inner thigh, running his hand up and down them.

It was strange. You wanted him, wanted him to touch you this way, wanted him to fuck you good and well enough that you’d not have to think of the war and the discomfort that sat on your bladder. But a bit of you, a large bit, could not allow yourself to feel desirable. Your thighs now had scars, not of battle but from your skin stretching to prepare for your baby. Your body had changed. You grabbed ahold of his hand, “Stop it.” You said with annoyance.

He knew by your tone, it was not a tone of disgust, or unwilling, but of insecurity. “Never had an issue with it before.” He grumbled, losing his grasp on you and gently rubbing your thigh.

You shifted uncomfortably, “I didn’t look like this before.” You looked into his deep brown eyes, as they gazed down at you.

He bit his lip, his eyes ravaging your plump form, “I like it.”

You turned onto your side away from him, “Liar.” you rasped.

He sighed at your unwillingness to see how beautiful you were. But seeing you in that chemise, he found himself hardening. The thin white fabric covered hardly anything at all. He admired the curves of your body, the new “That feel like a lie?” He asked, pressing his hardened cock into your ass making him groan, and making you tighten around nothing. He grasped your chin in his large hand, forcing you to turn your head to look at him, “Don’t give a fuck what you look like. I’ll never tire of you.” he rasped into your lips. His tongue darted against your bottom lip. He pulled away from you, and his teeth grazed your ear as he whispered, “Get on top of me.”

You felt heat rise in your body with his breath against your ear. You reached behind you, your hand roaming his hard stomach, getting closer and closer to his cock but never touching it. You knew just how to innocently tease him, “You always say a man is meant to fuck his woman.” You whispered as his mouth began to roam your neck.

He sucked onto your sensitive skin, and it made an audible noise when he pulled away from you. “Aye. I’ll be fucking you. I just want to see you. All of you.” He kissed the skin of your shoulder as he pulled your chemise down.

You turned towards him, “Sandor-“ you whined as you grasped hold of his wrist.

His motions stopped, he looked at you “You don’t want it?” He was not angry, annoyed, or disappointed, simply wanted to know how to please you best in that moment.

“I do.” You whispered, still insecure despite the encouragement your husband was eagerly bestowing onto you.

He took your hand that held his wrist, and intertwined his fingers with yours. “Then let me serve you.”

You looked into his eyes deeply as he pressed his forehead against yours. “My body…”

“Yes, your body.” He groaned, kissing your lips once more, he kissed you like he were drinking the finest and rarest of wine. As he pulled away he rasped, “That’s the fucking point, it’s yours. That’s all that matters. That it’s yours.” His hands grasped ahold of the pathetically thin fabric of your chemise,

Your eyes never left his face as he tore it off your body with ease. As your breasts became exposed, his rough calloused hands grasped them without mercy. His mouth sucked onto the tender skin of your neck as his fingers pinched at your sensitive nipples.

He began to grind his clothed throbbing cock into your ass. He grabbed hold of your thigh, lifting it to give his cock better access to your cunt. You could feel the tip of his cock, warm and already leaking for you, pressing against the hot and swollen lips of your cunt. As if his cock were kissing the lips of your cunt.

“I want it.” You moaned as you arched back into him, his lips still attached to your neck. “I want it so badly.” You squirmed against his touch, lost in the ecstasy of your heightened sensitivity.

“I want your cunt in my mouth,” He groaned into the hot flesh of your neck,

You shook your head, tearing away from his grasp, and turning to face him, “Fuck I want you, Sandor.” You said as you held his face in your hands and tried so hard for your lips to catch his, desperate for any touch he’d give you. “I need you inside of me.”

He liked to tease you, “Not sure I can give you that yet.” He said with a smirk, “I want to taste my wife first.” He rasped.

You panted pathetically. You finally pressed your lips into his own, as you inserted two fingers into your own cunt, moaning into his mouth. He watched you in awe as you pulled your fingers out of your cunt, and presented them to him. He took your fingers into his mouth, taking in your taste. “Please,” You whimpered.

He moaned as you pulled your fingers away from his mouth. “Fuck me,” You whispered sweetly.

His mouth ravished yours as you practically clawed his underclothes off of his body. He pulled you off of him by your hair, “Get on top of me. I like to see your face when I sink into you.” And so you obeyed. Though you were unsure of how you’d support your weight under your weak knees long enough to ride him. But he’d thought of that, “I’ve got you,” you whispered as his large hands grasped your hips. He took you in for a moment as you straddled him, in awe of your beauty. His cock twitched beneath you as he took you in, you felt it tap at your core for just a second. You smiled at him as you lined his cock up with your wet cunt, “I’ve got you.” He whispered once more.

You began to lower yourself, pressing his length into you. Your face contorted with pleasure and you threw your head back as you felt him pulsing inside of you. Sandor groaned in pleasure, and he ran his large hand from your throat, to your breasts, then your sides, then finally gripping your ass. “Fucking hells, woman.” He moaned through gritted teeth, his eyes unable to close for even a moment as he watched you bounce on his cock. He gripped onto your ass even harder as you clenched around him. He landed a firm slap against your ass, making you squeeze around him even harder and your eyes widened as you looked at him with surprise. “You liked that before.”

“Again.” You moaned with a smirk,

He smirked back at you, “There she is.” he groaned as he spanked you again, making you clench around him again, he hissed through gritted teeth. The pleasure your cunt gave was better than anything. This was sweeter than killing, this was sweeter than any wine or ale, sweeter than any whore he’d paid for. The best thing he’d ever had.

Also uncontrollably he began to buck up into you, the head of his cock hitting your soft spot deep inside your cunt at an unforgiving speed. He looked up at your sweet face, eyes shut and face contorted from the pleasure, “Say those words again.” SPANK, “You know the ones.” he commanded through gritted teeth.

You opened your eyes, “I love you.” You moaned, “I -Ah!- Love you!” You could hardly speak a full sentence with his speed ever increasing, thrusting in and out of you.

SPANK, “Again!” he commanded, SPANK,

Your eyes rolled back, and you smiled as you moaned from the euphoria. “I love you,” you steadied your eyes and looked at him deeply, “Sandor Clegane-“

That was his breaking point, he pushed you off of him. You looked confused as he made you stand.

Sandor walked you over to a chair in the room, but not to sit. No, Sandor began to position you, “Kneel.” Sandor commanded, and you obeyed. Kneeling in front of the cushioned seat. “Hold onto it.” He rasped into your ear as he took a hold of your hair.

You leaned forward, laying your head against the cushioned seat, and your hands holding onto the arm rests.

Sandor spread your legs, and you arched your back in response. Taking it a sign of your eager desire, he plunged himself back into you. This time thrusting himself in and out of you even harder, and faster. You now understood why he told you to hold on.

One hand of his gripped at the plushness of your hip whilst the other kept a firm hold on your hair. His grip would tighten pulling your hair just the right amount. “My woman likes it hard,” he groaned as your cunt tightened around him, “I’ll give it to her hard.” He said with another firm spank. “Because she can fucking take it-“ he moaned, cunt drunk. His hand snaked around your thigh, and found your needy and neglected clit. His fingers toyed with it, pinching and circling it, finding just the right rhythm you needed.

You moaned out louder and louder, not caring who heard you.

You felt yourself release only this time it was different, somehow you released so much so quickly it was as if your water had broken. Only you knew it was that.

The wetness splashed around Sandor cock making a vulgar noise as his cock continued to sink in and out of you. He’d never made a woman release like this before. He’d heard men in the kingsguard, or in brothels and taverns gloat about making a woman do what you’d just done. But he’d always believed they’d lied.

But fuck, you did it, and for him.

He hunched over as he felt himself cumming into you, kissing your shoulder in an attempt to mask his pathetic moans.

“Was that wrong?” You whimpered into the cushion of the chair, too tired to get up.

Sandor kissed your cheek, and plucked you up from the ground, carrying you to bed. “You’re perfect.” He grumped softly as he laid you into your warm sheets.

As the both of you laid there. He held you close to his chest. You were nearly asleep when all of the sudden it came to you,

“I’ve an idea.” You shot up in bed, no longer tired or worn out. “Write to my uncle Edmure Tully. Request his aid in feeding the small folk of the Vale. And Write to each of the largest houses in the Vale, I wish to speak to them in person.”

Sandor covered his eyes and groaned. Even a good fucking couldn’t put you to sleep.

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But he did as you asked. And so your uncle agreed to aid your cause as it was what honor demanded of him, and with such a great ally in such a seat of power as yourself he would do all he could to ensure your alliance was strong. Edmure sent Tully knights to deliver packages of food to the small folk of the Vale, and the many houses who supported you. All in your name.

The people of the Vale now only furthered their support of you, and so did the great houses. Most were eager for the feast Lord Royce had created in your name. It was held in Runestone. You tried your best to wear something other than a robe and with Sansa’s sewing you managed to wear a gorgeous blue gown.

At the table of the feast, you sat at the head of the table. Beside you, your husband, and to your other side, your brother. Lord Royce sat at the other end of the table and seated on either side of the table were heads of some of the largest houses of the Vale. Houses Belmore, Corbray, Egen, Grafton, Heresy, Hunter, Melcolm, Redfort, and Templeton. And of course houses Torrent, Longthorpe, and Borrell of the three sisters.

You stood, raising a cup towards the heads of the great houses in front of you, “I thank Lord Royce for hosting such a feast in his home, and offering us all guestright. And I thank you all for coming here. I understand it is an uncertain time. And uncertainty can breed mistrust, paranoia, and unsteady judgment. So allow me to set your uncertainties right.” You said graciously, placing your cup down, “I am the Lady of the Vale. The King's command died with him, but my fathers did not. I am heir to the Vale, as declared by the North, Lord Royce, most of the Vales people, and my own brother Robin.” You said looking over to Robin, he smiled and nodded to you. Your voice turned slightly sterner, “I do not need any of your blessings to take these titles; however I understand and respect how long your houses have sat on this land. I want you all to know a war will be fought on these lands.” You said wanting them to know war was coming, and it was time for them to decide where they fell, “You’ve been starved. Smallfolk have been starved. I have brought you food, brought the smallfolk food, not Littlefinger, but I.” You reminded them as they ate the very food that you graced them with, “I ask for you to not forget your oaths.” You finished as you sat in your seat.

You looked around the table, waiting for someone to say something.

Lady Waynwood stood, “Your rations have fed our people, saved some from death itself. You have come to our side, offering aid in a time of need and without us begging for it.” She raised her cup towards you, “We shall come to yours.” She said with a nod.

Lord Belmore stood as well raising his cup to you, “Woman or no, you are the blood of Jon Arryn.”

You looked over to Sandor, exchanging glances at the Lord's thinly veiled prejudice. Then turning your gaze back to the Lord, and smiling with a nod of gratitude, taking any support given.

“Fuck Littlefinger.” Ser Symond Templeton grumbled as he stood holding a cup towards you, “We’ve not forgotten.”

Lord Horton Redford stood holding up his cup, “To Lady Arryn, the mother of the Vale!”

“Nay, the defender of the Vale!” Lord Eon Hunter interjected, as he raised his cup as well.

And with that each of the Lords at the table stood, cups rose in honor of you. Even Lords Longthorpe, and Borrell of the three sisters stood. You felt for a moment, a wave of relief, Tyrion was wrong. You would not need to send the Hill tribes to do your bidding and perhaps you’d created peace, a new generation of unity by House Arryn and the Three Sisters. Something your father was never interested in doing.

However, as your own brother stood for you, you looked over to Sandor who was glaring at a man down the table. Lord Torrent, Lord of Little Sister. The man sat not cheering and celebrating like the other Lords and Lady did. He frowned and ate from the food your family gave to him.

“Lords and Ladies.” You said, making them all halt their celebration, “Lord Torrent, clearly has something to say. By all means, my Lord Express it.” You said with a calm and gentle tone. However the grimace on your husband's face set a much more tense feeling in the room.

The lords all looked towards Lord Torrent, who scoffed as he spoke, refusing to look at you, “I have something on my mind. I speak of this perversion done to this land.” He said angrily, his eyes settled onto you angry and piercing, “Never hand a wench a-”

“Sword when she has her blood.” You finished his sentence, unafraid of him “I have heard the joke.” You said with dark eyes, your husband beside you clenched his fist.

“Shut your mouth, you drunken oaf!” Lord Royce demanded,

“Why should I?” Lord Torrent snapped back at him,

“The Arryns saved you from the Starks long ago. The rape of the Three Sisters, you swore felty to her house!” Lord Borrell shouted.

Torrent looked towards you, “Your house’ done nothin’ for us.”

“She’s fed you!” Lady Waynwood attempted to defend you.

Torrent's eyes didn’t leave you, “One meal after a generation.”

You leaned forward, “Your house sits upon my land, if I find you are unworthy of its soil… I will shake the ground it sits on until the vermin shatter out of it.” Your eyes narrowed.

“You wouldn’t dare-“ Lord Torrent stood,

“But I have. Did you not hear me? I have dared.” You smirked and nearly hissed at him,

Lord Torrent, sat reluctantly, huffing to himself like a spoiled child.

You did not release him from your violent gaze until he let out a final sigh and nodded. Silently agreeing to aid your cause.

Now you would be able to tell Tyrion you were right, you would not need the aid of anyone to gain the sisters allegiance.

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You did not relish in such a victory for very long however. You were soon back and seated at the council table in Winterfell.

You stared intensely out the window, unsure of the future and uneasy by the many possibilities of it. “War shall be fought on the marrow. At day break.” You declared.

Tyrion nodded, “We’ve the support of nearly each house within the Land. The others, though few, remain neutral.”

You contemplated as you asked, “What is our standing?”

“We greatly outnumber the pretenders.” Lord Royce said proudly,

“How great?” You pushed the question further.

“Greatly.” Tyrion said before continuing “Though we set forth to accomplish a supposed impossible challenge. And one that if accomplished allows for speculation of how invulnerable the Eyrie might be.” He said cautioning you.

You raised an eyebrow at Tyrion, “Though that might be. It is a necessity.”

“But perhaps,” Tyrion attempted to continue,

“I was right about the hill tribes, Tyrion. Allow me to handle the well being of the Vale.” You said calmly but sternly. Setting him in his place. You then pulled out a scroll of parchment, “I’ve written this. This is the plan of battle you and your men will follow.” You held out the scroll towards your husband but pulled it away before Sandor could grab it, “None of you can open it until you’ve left for battle.” They looked at you with confusion, “The element of surprise is key. If it were to be exposed all would be lost.” Sandor nodded and took the scroll from you. “I shall see you off on the Marrow then.” You said to the rest of the men in the room.

As you and your husband walked out of the council chambers your brother caught up to you,

“I want to fight. Fight for you, and your child. For my mother. For our father.” Robin said as he walked alongside you.

You nearly rolled your eyes, and smirked at him “You believe you’re cut for it?” you asked, not halting your steps.

“I know that I am.” Robin said confidently,

“Or you’re young and arrogant.” You said, not meaning to be mean but meaning to convince him to stay away from the fight.

“Or I’m not.” Robin retorted,

“Or you are.” The two of you were arguing like brother and sister. It was a new role you played being a sister, but you enjoyed it. You smiled as you placed a hand on his cheek, “You’re the last living male Arryn. It is a heavy burden you hold.”

Robin felt himself wanting to cling to the nurturing embrace you gave him but he was no longer a child. He sighed, “Your child could be a boy-“

“A Clegane.” You corrected, “As honored as I am to bear it, they will not be an Arryn.” You said knowing your husband was there to hear it.

Robin stepped closer to you, “There is precedence for noble ladies keeping their own name and giving it to their children in order to keep their families line. Whatever child inherits your titles would remain an Arryn.”

Sick of circling the subject, you said plainly, “I have mourned all the family I can, Robin. Do not challenge me.” You said placing a hand on his cheek once more.

“Do not coddle me like my mother did.” He said removing your hand, and looking at your husband. Sandor, the Hound, a man who was quite clearly the complete opposite of Robin, “Your husband fights for you, so I shall fight beside him.” He said with a confident and determined nod.

Your steps halted once you reached your chambers. You looked at Robin defeated, “I cannot keep the sword from your hand either?” Robin shook his head, and you sighed “Fine then.”

“I will not disappoint you, sister.” Robin vowed with confidence,

You shook your head, “You couldn’t.” You said with a smile that thinly veiled your worry.

WIth that, Robin smiled somberly and left you as you and your husband entered your shared chambers.

As Sandor closed and locked the door behind you he contemplated speaking his mind on this topic, but did anyway. “He’s not ready.” Sandor said with a sigh, knowing it would be a bad idea.

You huffed in frustration as you threw your hands up, “He’s nearly a grown man. I cannot stop him Just as I cannot stop you.”

Sandor stepped closer to you, placing his large hands on your sides. “Someone should be here, with you.”

You smiled softly as his concern, “I have my cousin. I have the maester, and all the midwives a woman would care to have. Besides, it is too early for laboring.” You ran your hands down his arms, “I don’t want you to fight.”

He shook his head, placing a hand on your stomach, “I told you I would get you that castle.”

“I release you from that promise.” You said, knowing your words would change nothing.

“I don’t. What husband doesn’t fight for his woman, for his family?” He rasped

You held onto sandors wrist, “You must come back to us.”

Sandor nodded, knowing he could not promise that he would.

He looked at your face, wanting to memorize every bit of you. Tomorrow war may take him from you, and he was determined to keep your image with him. He wanted to memorize every bit of you, “Take this off.” He said as his eyes trailed over your body with a lascivious gaze.

You held back a giggle as you smirked, “You want my favor before you go to battle?”

He leaned in closer to you, making you tilt your head, “I want to taste your cunt before I go to battle.” He groaned against you.

“That shall serve nicely as my favor.” You said looking up at Sandor with half lidded eyes.

You let out a small yelp and squeal as Sandor picked you up and carried you to the bed. He would make sure that night you slept.

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Sandor had left you in your bed, naked, and sound asleep.

He was not going to wake you no matter how many times you told him to wake you before you finally fell asleep. He watched you as long as he could before it was time for him to set off.

He believed you to be in a deep sleep, but without the warmth of your husband you woke.

So you could imagine Sandor’s surprise to see you walking towards him in the courtyard of Winterfell.

“What are you doing?” Sandor asked frustratedly,

You responded with a matching frustration, “You know what I am doing.”

He stepped closer to you, “You need to be in bed-”

“I am staying here, as you have insisted once again. I cannot send men into battle without offering them my words.” You interrupted him, and leaned in closer to him, “I won’t be seen as weak again.” You told him in a whisper. He understood no matter how reluctant he might have been.

He turned away from you and looked towards the crowds of soldiers that readied to depart for war. “Your Lady has words for you all. So fucking listen!” He shouted.

You hid your nerves by holding your head high, “Northernmen, you march forth to fight for house Arryn. A house that has meant nothing to any of you for generations. But I have fought for your lands, your lords, and your lives. You now fight for loyalty and honor.” You knew Northerns had much less reason to aid your cause than the Valemen did, so you clung to honor. “Valemen, you march forth to fight for House Arryn. Ancient blood, of an ancient house. You fight for a rightful succession. Though none of it matters really. What matters is that your land is held hostage by a usurper. A man who drove the crown into debt, a man whose success was built upon the foundations of brothels and secrets, a man who has seen no battles, a man who has allowed your families to starve.” The Valemen began to murmur, and shout words of support, “A man who killed your Lord and Lady.” You said somberly, “You fight for liberation of your people.” You said confidently, “You set forth to succeed an impossibility. No one has ever done what we set forth to do. But the Eyrie is weakened without you all. After today, the realm will know our wrath, and will come to fear the color blue.” As you finished the men pointed their swords in the air and they railed in support.

“Sister.” Robin said sweetly as he approached you,

You placed a hand on his cheek as you said, “Be vigilant, brother.”

Robin hugged you quickly, too scared to let the other knights see. Once he released you he nodded and took his place on his horse.

Your attention turned as Sandor took your hand.

“Wife.” Sandor said, his way of saying goodbye in front of other men.

You however would not allow him to leave without a bit of you. “My favor.” You said as you handed him a handkerchief that was embroiled with your initials.

He took the cloth from you, looked at the initials embroidered onto it, “You already gave it-” He said, teasing you.

“Another.” You interrupted him as you took him by his cheek. You and he kissed one last time before he rode off.

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Though your armies greatly outnumbered Baelish’s, he held the advantage. The Eyrie held high ground and archers.

You knew this, and if they did not open their gates willingly, even with climbing spokes it may take a mountain of dead men to climb the walls.

Tens miles out from the battle, Jon, Royce, Sandor, and Robin opened your highly secretive plan.

Royce looked it over, “She wants us to fake a surrender.” Lord Royce scoffed, “Is she mad?”

“Easy.” Sandor said with hard eyes, warning Royce.

Robin nodded, “We will need to take the Eyrie from the inside.” He said confidently that you knew what you were talking about, “This is the only way inside. She knows we will need an offering of flesh.” He thought for a moment and then said, “I’ll do it.”

“No.” Sandor snapped, knowing if something were to happen to Robin, you would only blame yourself.

“Yes.” Robin said, making Sandor huffed at him, making Robin’s confidence dwindle, “I-I mean it is only that he would only believe a surrender from an Arryn.”

“The young Lord is right.” Jon said with reluctance.

Sandor knew he could not stop it, so with a sigh, he continued “I’ll lead the men inside.”

“We’ll be behind you.” Jon said with a nod.

Royce, though not thrilled with your plan, committed himself, “Our men will use the climbing spokes once you’ve overwhelmed them inside. Then we will open the gates.”

And with that, the plan was in motion. The battle of the Mockingbirds and Falcons began. As your men arrived at the Vale, they hid themselves behind the natural advantages of the landscape. Hiding behind large rocks on the edges of cliffs.

Only allowing Robin to move in. However your men were not far behind.

The arches at the top of the gate aimed as Robin walked towards the Bloody Gate, holding a crude white flag. Robin waved it desperately.

“The Lady Arryn asks for mercy for her and her child!” Waving a white flag of surrender, Robin fooled Baelish’s commanding knight and several soldiers.

They opened the gates, the commanding knight stepped out with several soldiers beside him. . The commanding knight looked at the horizon seeing no sign of an ambush, he sent his men out to investigate if they had truly surrendered. Robin bent the knee as he drew his sword and offered it. His distraction allowed for your forces to approach unnoticed. One soldier takes up the sword and inspects it, only for your own arches to ambush the soldiers. Drawing and releasing their arrows killing the commanding knight and the soldiers that accompanied him. This offered some time for Sandor and Jon to rush the gates with their men.

Sandor and Jon along with their men proceeded to kill all of the approaching soldiers as Sandor made his way closer and closer to the gates of the moon, causing them to send out more men. As the battle continued, the archers were overwhelmed. Lord Royce’s men took it as an opportunity to climb the walls of the gates. Killing all the remaining archers. Royce’s men then opened the gates allowing the Eastern forces to charge in and cut down the remaining soldiers.

The battle raged on, though Baelish’s forces dwindled quickly once your forces passed the gates. As the Eastern houses fight off the last of the Baelish’s soldiers, Sandor pursues the Eyrie. Cutting down each man in his path.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You looked out your window, waiting impatiently for a raven to arrive with news, any news at all. But all you saw was snow. How terrible you felt watching snow fall, knowing miles away your family fought for you.

As Sansa enters the chamber you began, “I feel like a coddled child by both my Husband, Lord Royce, and somehow SweetRobin of all… Even you.” You looked at her with slight contempt.

“All people who hold fondness for you.” Sansa said coldly as she stepped towards you. “None of us desire to see you or your child harmed.”

You shook your head softly, “I’d not fight. Gods knows I can hardly see my feet anymore.” You said, making Sansa chuckle softly. “But I am left here, to worry, and pray that those men I entrusted with such plans do not disregard my orders and take their own.”

“Your husband would not allow it.” She said, and you knew it was true.

“Left here to worry for who will fall.” You said solemnly. You worried once again that you would leave without your husband, and now you worried for your brother, and your cousin.

Sansa took your hand, “Then we shall worry together.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

As your forces laid a successful siege to the Eyrie, Baelish knew his reign was over. He opened the doors to the Eyrie, stepping out of it he looked at Sandor. “I surrender.” Baelish said with a smug sigh, as if he expected to be untouched if he surrendered willingly.

He was however wrong. Sandor marched over to Baelish. Sandor pummeled his fist into Baelish’s face. Amazed he didn’t break his jaw on impact, Sandor grabbed hold of him by his throat,

“I take it you want to crush my skull, break my bones? Is this how Clegane’s define justice?” Baelish attempted to ask as his windpipe was being crushed.

“Aye.” He said roughly, he relished seeing the fear in his eyes. The eyes of the man who kissed you without your say, the eyes of the man who held you against your will, the eyes of a man who forced you to drink moon tea, the eyes of a man who attempted to marry you off to the Boltons. He knew that he wasn’t his to kill. Sandor let him go, “But that’s not how your Lady defines it.” Sandor turned to the knights around him, “Put him in a cell. Do nothing until my wife takes her place here.”

“My Lord,” Ser Leon said with some urgency, “It is your brother by law.”

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Sandor and Ser Leon made their way to the gates of the moon. As he arrived he saw many soldiers mortally wounded from the battle. But the one that caught his eye was your brother. Robin lay with an arrow through his chest.

Sandor looked to the healer that was standing over the boy's body, “The boy is dead.” The young healer said plainly.

Sandor looked upon the boy, he did not know him well. But when he looked at the boy's face all he could think of was you, and how your heart would break. “Seven fucking hells.”

“Send a Raven to our Lady.” Ser Leon said to a young squire somberly with a sigh.

“No.” Sandor commanded, grabbing the squire by the collar, “Speak nothing of it.” He said with intensity in his eyes. If you were to know, it would be told to your own ears with him by your side.

The squire swallowed nervously, then squeeked, “My Lord-“

Sandor’s grip on the boys collar tightened as he pulled him closer, “If my wife- Your Lady hears of this from a piece of fucking parchment it’ll kill her.” His tone was raspy, dark and deep.

The squire, though terrified, blurted out, “My Lord, a raven has already been sent.”

Sandor let go of the squire's collar, stepping away for a moment. He knew his time was running thin, he knew this news would break you. If he left now on horseback, and did not stop until he reached Winterfell perhaps he could get there before the raven did. “Give me my fucking horse!” Sandor barked as he turned back to squire.

꒰ ୨୧ ─ ・┈ ・ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ─ ・┈ ꒱꒱

You and Sansa sat in the council room. Waiting for news, a sign, anything. Just as you did days before.

The wait was horrid. The uncertainty was worse. You could only hope and pray that you were not a widow.

What you did not know was that your husband was only a few miles away on a horse charging towards you, and you also did not know that a raven had just arrived.

As you stared out the window of the chamber, Sansa looked to you.

“What is it like?” Sansa asked. Looking at your swollen belly.

“Like carrying a child in your body. A child that kicks at your ribs and makes you sick in the mornings.” You said in a blunt and snarky tone, it made Sansa smile slightly. “It is wonderful.” You said more genuinely as you ran a hand along the side of your belly.

“You carry it well.” Tyrion said as he and a guard entered the room,

Sansa helped you as you stood from your seat, walking towards the council table, “Has there been any word?” You asked with furrowed brows, desperate for any knowledge.

Tyrion and the Guard looked pensive as the Guard began to speak. “My Lady, the Eyrie has been taken in your name. Littlefinger was taken alive, he is being held as a prisoner awaiting your judgment in the Eyrie.” Sansa breathed a sigh of relief for you as she grabbed hold of your hand. You looked to her, in disbelief as a wave of relief washed over you, “My Lady, there is more.” You looked back at the guard with terror in your eyes, not wishing to hear the words you knew you were about to hear. “Your half brother Robin Arryn was struck down by an arrow-“ Your knees felt weak as the guard continued to talk, “whilst your armies laid siege.”

You grasped your throat, and felt yourself become breathless. “Are you alright?” Sansa asked you, placing a hand onto your back,

You ignored her question, “What of his condition?” Your voice was strained as a pain in your back began.

The man paused briefly, unsure of how to phrase his words best, “He is dead, my Lady.” the man said softly.

Your tears came, you grasped onto the table and hunched over in pain as the pain grew and grew, “Fuck,” You hissed exasperated through your tears. You grasped onto your stomach as you felt a warm liquid trickling down your leg, “The babe, the babe is coming.”

Tyrion stepped closer to you, concerned, “Are you certain? It is too soon.”

“Fuck!” You struggled to say the words as your water broke, falling onto the floor.

Sansa tried to take hold of you, to prevent your knees from buckling and falling to the floor.

Tyrion turned to the guard and shouted, “Get the Maester, and as many midwives as Winterfell has!”

꒰ ୨୧ ─

Once Sandor reached the Gates of Winterfell his horse was near death from exhaustion. He looked to the Guards at the top of the gates.

“Open the fucking gates!” Sandor barked,

The guards knew who he was immediately. A man like the hound is not one that you would ever forget.

As the gates opened Sandor grabbed a hold of the nearest guard,

“My Lord-” The guard nearly squeeked,

“Where is my wife?” Sandor growled,

The guard, frightened, began “S-she has begun her labors, my Lord.”

Sandor felt his heart drop to his stomach, and his stomach drop to his feet. He didn’t know this feeling very well, was it excitement? Fear? He did not know.

“How long?” Sandor questioned.

The man shook his head, “Not even an hour, my Lord… She began when she heard of her brother's death.”

Sandor groaned, angry that he was not faster, “Fucking hells, bring me to her, NOW!”

NOTE:

HI- i’m literally so sorry this took so long. if you girls knew what was going on in my life….. omg. anyways please enjoy !!! again i’m so sorry lol. but that isn’t stopping me from blue balling yall with the baby AND Baelish getting canned.

K love you, xoxo

Bambi

Support or Request > ♥️♥️♥️

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wrishwrosh · 2 months

Text

The most common word in the mouths of American soldiers has been the vulgar expression for sexual intercourse. This word does duty as an adjective, adverb, verb, noun, and in any other form it can possibly be used, however inappropriate and ridiculous in application. Many soldiers seem hardly able to utter a sentence without using it at least once. Apparently they derive a vague satisfaction by invoking the word itself, habitual and thoughtless as its employment becomes.

j glenn gray, the warriors: reflections on men in battle (1959)

Some scholars have argued that during and after World War I and World War II, people began to swear more than they had in the past. The particular horrors of those wars—the constant threat of death by poison gas and machine guns, trench warfare, incendiary bombing—led to feelings of rage and helplessness that needed an outlet in frequent swearing. […] Swearing in the armed forces was so ubiquitous that fuck really wasn’t such a bad word.

melissa mohr, holy shit: a brief history of swearing (2013)

[Obscene expressions] are applied to situations and experiences of crucial importance to the person but which are apparently devoid of sexual connotation. They are merely expressive of the conception of virility, masculinity, and freedom from social restraint of an exclusively male world.

frederick elkin, “the soldier’s language” (1946)

Some of the licensed obscenities of soldiers may be grounded in a folk belief about the advisability of turning away any compliment with a deprecatory remark that might serve to ward away the evil eye. “Fuck you,” “go fuck yourself,” “get fucked,” “fuck off,” and “fucking” used as an adjectival modifier were derogatory usages that were voluminously used by some soldiers to deride or devalue anything of a serious nature that was said by anyone.

les cleveland, “soldiers’ songs: the folklore of the powerless” (1984)

#and in conclusion #any sentence in band of brothers that doesnt include fuck is ahistorical and cowardly #in the wastelands of google trying to find the evidence i know exists on the contemporary decisionmaking re profanity in the show #and found a great deal of very interesting greatest generation dismemory abt how grandad didnt say those naughty modern words!!#a dismal gay lincoln attitude of ‘modern degeneracy creeping backward and infecting history’#and to that i say haha suckers heres citations #histfic

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morganitering · 10 months

Text

Survive the Night (Mahito x fem!reader)

Warnings: Non-con/Rape, Graphic Depictions of violence

Contains: Smut, PWP, PIV - penis in vagina sex, degradation, psychological/emotional manipulation, face-fucking, threats of violence, fuck or die, sexist language, reader is into it lowkey

Word count: 5,1k

Summary: You had readied yourself for a party with your best friend, only to find Shibuya in a disarray, and yourself caught up in a war that wasn’t yours. Somehow escaping the monsters, you end up running into the lap of another kind of predator - an intelligent one.

A/N: Hey hey, this is my first fic and first smut! And ofc, I started with the most degenerate bs I could do. I don't even simp Mahito, but my bestie is down bad and what type of friend I'd be if I didn't help them out. English isn't my first language and no beta. Be aware of the warnings, they are there for a reason. Otherwise enjoy and feel free to like and comment <3!

Read on ao3

It was utter madness. There were screams so chilling that your heart started to ache in an empathetic rhythm, but this was no time to be kind and understanding. It was time to survive and survive you wanted, but your legs refused to move.

You saw people running around like headless chickens, crossing the roads, bumping into each other, as creatures of various sizes and colors roamed the heart of Shibuya, hands and mouths gaping open, reaching to anyone they could. You stood still despite the sheer fear in you.

You looked at your friend, cold sweat forming on your brow as you assessed the situation. Her golden wig falling on the ground in the force of a purple hand grabbing her. She cried out to you. Her Sailor Moon wand replica fell to the asphalt with her other belongings. You had a good bit of distance between the two of you since you tried to run over the crossing road in a hurry towards KFC.

The purple hand squeezed remorselessly. You could see it in her face, the sound of little crackling of her rib cage turning to bits and pieces inside her body, puncturing every vital organ one by one.The hand kept on squeezing, probably not even using force. The creature dropped your friend’s body next to her items. She was disfigured and limp like a soggy rag doll. You had seen death once after losing your grandparents, but this was no peaceful death due to old age, this was a god forsaken massacre.

It was supposed to be a fun night out. You hadn’t dressed up in anything special, but you wanted to support your friend so you had gone to her place, a few hours prior ending up going outside, hoping for the warm buzz of alcohol in your veins and maybe, if you were lucky, a lover you could regret in the morning.

But in all honesty, this was a script from a horror movie. You had always joked with your friend how you both would be the first ones to die in one, but neither of you had been serious about it.

“Fucking move!” You heard a man yelling, snapping you out of your trance. The purple creature’s multiple eyes were all looking in different directions in search of another victim.

You did what the stranger told you to.

Your body pumped out adrenaline forcing your limbs to finally move with strength you did not recognize in yourself. You started running as fast as your legs could take you, neon lights of advertisements flashed on your face as blood of other party goers covered you as they were snapped open, ripped in half, guts and viscera leaking on the ground. Puddles of blood splashed on your calves when the soles of your boots hit the ground. You were just livestock running away from the butcher in a small room, knowing full well that there was no escape.

Metallic taste popped in your mouth as you evaded monsters and people alike. Some folks were brave enough to fight against the creatures of the night. You were not one of them.

You took a turn on the left. An alley behind some type of shady restaurant. You noted that somehow the screams had quieted down. Your breath came out at an uneven pace as your lungs fought for their life to give enough oxygen to your struggling body.

You leaned on the brick wall, heart beating in every part of your body utter exhaustion knocking on the door. Instead of collapsing you just trembled. This is not real. This is not real. This is not- a sob interrupted your frantic mind.

Searching for the source of the sound your eyes adjusted to the dimly lit alleyway locating a hunched over figure. A man? He cried heavily, rocking himself back and forth on the dirty ground as his hands fisted the black fabric of his trousers. He was sitting next to a dumpster that was filled to the brim with plastic bags almost not being able to contain the multitude of waste. In hindsight you probably should’ve left the man on his own to tend to the trash.

You assumed him to be a victim of the attack too. Or maybe he was just drunk, you told yourself with suspicion in your mind.

“Sir? Are you ok?” You asked as you got closer to the sobbing man. It seemed like he didn’t even notice you, he just kept shaking and muttering to himself in between sobs. You were fairly sure that he knew you were there and since there was no answer you decided to attempt consoling him.

You dropped down on his level and stroked his arm gently. You weren’t the best at this type of stuff, but you felt pity towards the blue haired stranger wallowing in his thoughts. Suddenly you felt his arms stretching around you holding onto you like a child embracing their favorite toy during duress.

Panic seeped into you. You didn’t know this man at all, but you figured that he needed this and honestly maybe you did need it too. Awkwardly you placed your hand on his head, your blouse getting wet from the stranger’s snot and tears. His hair was luscious and soft, in a different situation you might have even been jealous.

“It’s going to be.. okay?” That was honestly the best you could do in your state of shock. There was a weird sort of kinship in his breakdown. Had you not been still full of fight or flight reaction you would probably be in the same situation as he was. Instead you felt calm as a day almost clear headed.

Bit by bit he collected his demeanor. His shoulders still shook, but it no longer felt like he was a spare leaf in a summer storm.

“I know a place,” he said, head still against your chest. You heard him but you were confused by his words.

“What?”

He raised his head now looking at you with his mismatched eyes. His face was full of stitch patterns as if he had been broken down and put together multiple times. You soon noticed him having that on his arms as well.

“Sorry, I meant that I know a place. I don’t think we are safe on the streets yet,” he said sniffling pathetically.

“You’re probably right. Where is it?” You asked.

Patch faced man stood up and offered his hand towards you which you gladly took and pushed yourself off from the asphalt. Having been in this place longer now, you really did not want to spend the last moments of your life next to the smell of biowaste and piss.

You walked behind the man who took determined steps towards the main street that was completely empty.

“Sorry I probably gave you a big scare,” he brushed his hands through his hair, swaying a few sections of almost ponytailed hair to the other side of his shoulder.

You wanted to say that there was no bigger scare, than the stuff that went down in the heart of Shibuya. A crying weird dude was a welcome change to the horrors, but you stayed quiet.

“My name is Mahito. Thank you for being there for me,” he smiled gently at you. You tried to return his smile as you told him your name.

“I like your name,” his tone was easy going and friendly.

“Here,” he pointed at an empty restaurant a few blocks further away from the alley.

The restaurant was still lit up, but completely empty. Its decor was homely and somehow very industrial. The lighting was warm and yellow with few pink-ish tints on the brick wall with a statement piece made out of pipes and lightbulbs. Overall it looked like a hipster’s favorite lunch place.

Some of the tables had half drunk beverages and meals. There were some spots where tableware had dropped on the floor and pieces of porcelain lay on the ground with napkins soaking into cream sauce.

Mahito found you both a clean booth and sat you down there as he sauntered over to the restaurant bar. You looked at him in confusion as he grabbed two clean glasses pouring soda from the soft drink dispenser.

“No harm in drinking something sweet after all this, right?” He said trying to smile again, yet it did not really reach his eyes. He seemed awfully cheery for a person that you had found crying just moments ago. It was as if he was wearing a mask. Maybe it’s a shock reaction, you intellectualized his behavior to yourself.

Mahito placed the drink in front of you as he sat next to you on the booth. You were squished between him and the restaurant window with nowhere to go. You hadn’t really noticed how big he was until now. You took a sip from the sweet drink looking at the bubbles that were forming on top of the dark liquid.

“So what happened to you?” You asked him, curiosity taking the best of you.

“I-,” he started confidently but quickly stopped. Mahito looked down at his hands that were placed on the cold table. You saw sadness on him.

“I watched how my friends died," he said quietly. “It was horrible. We were supposed to go to our favorite club. They were supposed to have some type of costume competition,” he explained.

“What are you supposed to be? It looks neat though, really real.” Maybe you tried to lighten the mood or maybe you were just really socially inept.

“Thanks, but uh, I’m not really supposed to be anything. I just learnt to play around with some sfx makeup. My big sis taught me,” he reminisced.

“I hope she’s not here too.”

You both fell silent, whether it was awkward or kind of nice you couldn’t decide. You had not even thought about your other friends that might have been stuck in the area as well. If there were any gods left you would make sure to pray to them every day were you to survive this hell of a night.

“I saw my friend dying too, by those monsters,” you said, sharing your own story.

“Really? What was it like?” His face seemed to light up in awe and as he did that you raised your eyebrow in slight annoyance.

“Sorry, that came out wrong. I just. I don’t know. It all happened so fast,” he quieted down again, seeming regretful of his words.

“Disgusting,” you said, not addressing his apology.

Mahito’s eyes were now on you staring at you like a hawk. You didn’t really notice that as your eyes seemed almost glassy looking at nowhere in particular.

“She had spilt her guts onto the street,” you choked out the words as the picture of your friends dead body stayed on your mind like a thistle.

“Was there a lot of blood?” You felt the warm breath on your cheek, but you were so deep in your mind that only displayed the picture of the hand closing on your friend. You saw her eyes again, her mouth open in a shrilling scream that almost got drowned in the other voices, but to you it was almost amplified, it was the only scream that really mattered. You saw the blood that she coughed up as her own body got crushed and what was meant to protect her and hold her upright punctured her to death.

“Yes.” It was just a whisper of a voice. A tear fell down on your lap and your lips were slightly parted, your body shuddering at the horrible memories. Mahito’s face was now nuzzled in your neck and his eyes were half lidded with a slight smile decorating his face.

“You poor thing,” he cooed. “I’m sorry”, something about his words did not feel sincere at all. The blue haired man’s body started shaking and you heard the most absurd sound that returned you to this moment. You knew you had not said anything funny, so why was he laughing?

Mahito was almost doubled over as he roared next to you. He started clapping his hands like this was the best thing he had heard in the century. He opened his eyes that were now watering from all the laughing and placed his hand on your shoulder.

“You humans are truly pathetic!” He kept on giggling. You pushed his hand off from your shoulder, your mind still in disarray trying to grasp the things he was saying. His words hurt you and it felt unbelievable that this is the way he would react since he had lost someone too or was his sob story a lie? Part of you wanted to curse at him, but some part of you, supposedly the sane one, told you to tuck your head down.

“Oh noo, my little friend had spilt her guts onto the street. Oh woe me! I saaw someone diiiee.” Mahito drew out every syllable as he was mocking you and your tone, making exaggerated sad expressions and he brought his fists to his cheeks to make a boo-hoo movement.

“You idiots die all the time.” Mahito’s face turned serious as he sneered at you. His mismatched gaze steeled on you as he stared you down saying nothing for the time being.

Every alarm was blaring in your mind. Time felt like it was stopping just like it did during the attack. Mahito no longer looked like the almost boyish lost figure that you had found having a panic attack. Now he reminded you of a crazed beast toying with its food and you weren’t about to stay to find out how far his unhinged behavior could go. You had to take your chance of leaving.

You pushed the table with all your might as you took hurried steps out of the booth quickly giving thanks to whoever had decided to not to nail the furniture on the ground permanently. Glasses of soft drink toppled over and rolled to the floor and shattered into hundred little pieces as you hopped clumsily over the crazy man’s body.

“Nuh-uh-uh,” Mahito grabbed your wrist, his nails tugging into your flesh painfully. He had now stood up and was towering over you with an unreadable face.

A faint smile appeared on his face and he looked almost gentle again.

“I’m not going to kill you,” his voice was smooth like one of the finest silk.

“Look- I’m sorry for you and whatever happened to you, but this clearly was a mistake. I hope you have a goo-”

“Shut up.”

Mahito inhaled as if he was smelling the most appetizing meal, relishing in the lack of your voice.

“Much better.”

He was still holding onto you as he raised his free hand on your face to caress your cheek in an attempt to calm you down. Guess it was his turn to be in this role, although at least you had been sincere about it.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Mahito repeated, his eyes trailing down to your lips.

“I do have something else in mind,” he said, taking his gaze back to your eyes.

You gulped audibly and managed to squeak out a question of what he had in mind then. You knew already. Of course you did.

“This theme of death and destruction. It reeaally has got me worked up,” Mahito monologues on.

“I might be a curse, but I’m not beyond needs. I am interested in the human soul and its weaknesses as well as its wickedness,” he kept talking as his thumb started to trail down slowly towards your jawline “but I’m also interested in this”, his hand stopped at your throat.

His touch was feather light and had it not been this psychopath of a man touching you you’d gladly welcome it. Mahito’s words didn’t make a lot of sense to you, but you got the gist of it with threats and all.

“You can choose to fight me.”

He now had his whole palm on your oesophagus, his mismatched eyes shining dangerously.

“But you will lose.”

Mahito squeezed gently as a warning and let go of the wrist he was holding. He grabbed you by your scalp, bunching up some of your hair to tilt your head upwards.

“Do this with me and I’ll let you live. Maybe you even have a good time as well, or maybe I don’t care for your comfort at all and I’ll ditch you to the streets half dead with your panties tangled up in your ankles for the whole world to see your shame,” he blabbered on and stopped. He looked like he was thinking about something really important, pursing his lips together, tipping his head side to side like a cartoon character.

“I haven’t really decided yet,” his voice was sinister.

Your body had gone cold. Do this and he’ll let me live, you thought to yourself fighting the urge to flee. You didn’t want to anger him further, not that there was any winning chance with this man at all. Everything had gone the way he wanted from the moment you had laid your eyes on him.

“Okay, I want to live,” you rasped out.

Mahito looked content, almost affectionate. ”They always do.”

After those words the world turned into a haze. His lips were soft and plump. He was a demanding kisser, not that you even had imagined him to be a kisser in the first place. You thought that you would be simply bent over, but Mahito proved you wrong. Not because he cared, but because he simply did what he wanted to and this was what he desired.

He might have promised you pleasure, if you agreed to do this somewhat willingly but his soul was tainted, and you knew that were you to find enjoyment under him, it would be just a happy surprise to you.

His tongue delved into your mouth. It felt gross. Invading. His hands had moved to your waist going all the way down to your ass squeezing too hard to your liking. He swiftly lifted you up and placed you on the now dirty table where you had been hanging out just moments prior. His boots made crackling sounds as he stepped on the pieces of glass.

You felt sticky as the cola seeped onto your skirt’s fabric but Mahito did not seem to care. He pulled your hair, exposed your neck and bit as his other hand groped your breasts with force bordering on pure pain. Tears were forming in your eyes as your body and mind fought each other.

“You know you should feel special,” his breath felt hot against your neck. “Not everyone is able to see me, let alone touch me”

“Yet here you are.” He pressed his tongue on your cheek and licked away the one spare tear.

He ripped open your blouse cold breeze kissing your torso, before Mahito’s hands were on it. He grabbed your bra, stretching out the fabric with both of his hands until it snapped. He threw the remnants of your underwear on the ground placing his palms on your bare chest. He played and kneaded the tender flesh, arousal waking up in your core.

Mahito pulled you closer to him, your skirt hiking up till your hips with the fabric pressing on your skin, leaving you feeling uncomfortable. You felt him against your clothed sex, only his trousers, your stockings and panties between the two of you. Your breath hitched and his eyes darkened even more.

“I like this look on you humans, when you feel conflicted as to what to feel,” he teased you with shadows dancing on his face as the overhead light got covered by his head.

“He’s a bad man, he’s a crazy man, but why oh why do I like it?” His voice got higher as he imitated a feminine voice, playing up the caricature of a woman.

He pressed his hand between your legs, swiping slowly up feeling the moisture that had gathered there.

“Case in point,” he grinned satisfied. His fingers stopped at the sensitive bud and he started making slow circles looking intently at your face savoring every micro expression as you involuntarily bucked your hips up.

Your cheeks were burning up as small moans escaped your lips. You fought with yourself, tears threatening to spill over as your body moved on its own. What would your friend think if she saw you like this? She had suffered the most tragic death and this man had mocked you in the middle of a crisis and now you were enjoying his attention.

It was as if Mahito knew what buttons to press to get you going. You closed your eyes as you panicked under his touch. He applied more pressure on you as you helplessly grabbed the side of the table. Mahito’s grin widened the stitches on his face stretching out.

“Any self respecting woman would have run by now, even if it meant that they’d get killed in the process, yet you chose to spread your legs wide open to me,” he mused as he continued playing with you.

“You really must want me!” He let out a cold chuckle. Everything he said and did felt like an amateur theater student’s performance. He loved excess, big movements, big emotions - he was like a chaos incarnate. Insane, you thought to yourself, that’s what he was.

His fingers traveled on your panties over to the spot where he reckoned your entrance was and pressed lightly inside leaving a wet mark on the fabric.

He snaked his hands under your stockings waistband and started pulling them down with your panties. The only clothes you had on yourself were the buttonless blouse and a miniskirt that hid nothing. Mahito opened his trouser’s zipper and pulled himself out, giving a few languid pumps to his length.

“What do you say, you show me how much you want me and we’ll see how wet you can get when you service me?” He proposed already dragging you off the table and pushing you towards his cock.

You lost your balance and both your knees and an arm pressed on the glass shards on the stone floor as you tried to not to fall on your face. You winced from pain and you saw blood trickling down as Mahito laughed at your discomfort. Thankfully the pieces were not very big and they’d only leave a surface level wound but it still didn’t lessen the pain.

“Say aah!” Mahito grabbed your chin pushing his cock on your lips, smearing himself over your face.

You took him in your mouth hesitantly, a slightly salty tasty spread on your tongue. Unlike you, he did not hesitate and quickly snapped his hips forward setting up a brutal pace. You tried to be careful of your teeth as Mahito’s hands found themselves in your scalp.

It was hard to breathe, drops of saliva dripping on your chin and bare chest. All you could do was gurgling pathetically at his assault.

Mahito’s grip on your hair tightened as he hummed and moaned happily, an expression of pleasure on his wicked features. His voice got loud, unashamed of the way he was sloppily face fucking you. His sounds did something sinful to you, sending sparks straight to your core. It was a losing war you were fighting and Mahito reveled in it. You moved your own hand into your folds in a desperate attempt to relieve the burn in you earning genuine laughter from the man.

“Now we are talking, you’re getting into this aren’t you?”

Mahito pushed you towards his pelvis forcing himself down your throat, your nose pressing onto his skin. You were choking and your body involuntarily thrashed around him, but he kept you firmly in place.

“Relax, keep it there,” his voice was out of breath as you spasmed around him helplessly. You tried to bear it, but every passing second proved your task harder. You squeezed your eyes shut feeling the trails of mascara in various stages of drying on your cheeks.

Mahito pulled himself out with a loud groan. You were gasping for air as violent coughs shook your frame, his cock still standing in front of you in all its glory.

“You’ve got a splendid mouth, but right now I’m craving your cunt.”

There were no breaks for you as he manhandled you up and pushed your torso against the table. Your tits pressed against the cold wood, your hips pressing on the sides of the table. You felt messy, degraded even, as your slightly wet face came in contact with the surface.

Mahito started pushing in you carefully and you gasped, when you felt him widening you forcing you to make space for him.

“W-what about protection?” You talked for the first time.

“Not on the pill, eh? Well don’t worry your pretty head about it, it wouldn’t work anyways,” he said and sheathed himself fully in you.

Then it began. Skin against skin, noises of pleasure filled the empty restaurant leaving only your ever increasing cries reverberating in the establishment. His hips kept snapping onto yours, chest heaving as he panted and moaned. You loved the sounds that you both made your cunt tightening around him when an especially beautiful whine left his mouth.

You cried out loud when he found that one spot inside of you after one particularly powerful thrust. Your brows furrowed, hands seeking a place to hold onto as you quietly said his name. You hoped that he wouldn’t notice, but of course he did. Riled up from your reactions he made sure to angle himself so that he’d get to see your further succumb to the decadence of his actions.

His hands trailed towards your neck admiring how your hair was sprawled out messily, some strands sticking to your swollen lips. He massaged your back finally digging his nails into it and scratched it for fun.

“Isn’t that- ah- something”, you tried talking, “I’m supposed to do?” You were referencing his peculiar actions.

“Already thinking of the next position? We’ll see about that,” he jested but his words lacked bite as he pleasured himself using you.

Your back was burning as he kept swiping across leaving pink streaks on your skin. He grabbed your throat and squeezed gently, not trying to restrict the flow of your breath. He had had enough of that for now. It was merely a gesture to show who had the real power here.

You were getting close feeling the familiar coil about to snap. His movements got rougher and more sporadic. He drove into you like a beast, going deep into you at times hitting your cervix. You babbled incoherently, no longer caring for how you appeared, the only thing occupying your mind was the need to sprint to the finish line.

Your thighs trembled as you were on your tiptoes. The table inched forwards every time Mahito drove his cock in you. He was nearing his own end. He placed his fingers on your clit rubbing it haphazardly, partially disregarding how sensitive it was, hoping that this would drive you off the edge.

You didn’t know where pleasure and pain started or ended. They melt together creating one hell of an addicting concoction and you wanted more. Gods, how you did want more, your juices dripping on your thighs. You felt lightheaded and suddenly the sparks turned into a flame that engulfed you, spreading to even the most distant parts of your body.

Mahito fucked you through your orgasm and somewhere in your haze you felt him still when his cock pulsated in you as your body involuntarily returned the favor. Some part of your brain that was still present wanted to push him off, tell him to mark you somewhere else, anywhere else but there.

The blue haired man collected his breathing as relaxation coursed in his body. He pulled himself out of you looking curiously at the spot where you were just connected, delighted when he saw him trickling down your cunt. “Beautiful,” he muttered to himself as he looked at the wreck of a woman in front of him. The woman stayed put, probably too tired to move.

The restaurant door opened and heavy footsteps thumped on the floor.

“Is this really the best usage of your time?” He was disapproving.

Ah Choso, ever the killjoy. Mahito turned around not caring that the man who just came in would see all of him.

“God, put that thing away,”Choso said exasperatedly.

“We’ve been looking for you. Geto’s getting antsy when he doesn’t know our whereabouts,” Choso explained, taking a quick peek at the woman laying against the table not looking one bit more aware of her situation.

You were vaguely conscious, body and mind bruised from the event that just took place. Hands still ghosted over your skin even though you knew that Mahito was not paying attention to you at all. You felt exhausted, so exhausted that you felt yourself slipping to your mind looking for somewhere safe. It was like a dark veil was put on you, your vision blurred looking at the two outlines of men. Who was the other one again?

“Aw, that’s a bummer. I wanted to have more fun,” Mahito said, pouting.

“I think you’ve had enough of that already. Let’s go,” Choso turned his back to the idiot of a curse.

“Goodbye sweetie, try to get into a better position. You’ll break your neck like that,” Mahito addressed you jokingly as the wooden door shut behind them.

Breathing heavily you watched the two men walk outside from the huge windows. Mahito was practically skipping forwards while the dark haired man put his hands in his pockets and shook his head. Muffled laughter reached your ears and you were sure you’d recognize that sound for the rest of your life.

You maneuvered yourself up, body wobbling as if you were training to walk on a tightrope. You stretched out your arms rolling your shoulders to relieve the tension gathered in your tired muscles. You pulled your skirt down and tugged at the remnants of your blouse against your chest in a desperate attempt to cover yourself up.

You looked around the restaurant spotting a low table with couches as the seats. They were too small for an adult to lie down on, but that would do. You fluffed up the pillow and curled up into a ball skin feeling sticky due to all kinds of substances, but that was the least of your problems.

You wondered miserably, did this count as survival. If it did, the gods that let you still draw your breath had a shit sense of humor.

#tw: noncon #mahito x reader #mahito x you #yandere jjk #yandere mahito #idk does non yandere mahito even exist but ig i'll tag it like that

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armoralor · 10 months

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[TW: homophobia, threats of physical violence, SA, gun violence]

IMPORTANT: do not interact with the person mentioned below. please do not send hate or harass ANY of the accounts mentioned. the point of this post is to warn the community of a serious threat, not to dog pile or stir a hate mob. his accounts have been reported and local authorities have been made aware of his potential for harm. Last updated: 01/30/2024. New information begins close to the bottom, starting at the red text.

Some of you may already be familiar with the homophobic incel that was previously filling the Ahsoka & Sabine Wren tags with vile misogyny. He's gone by many names due to banning and deactivations: @sabezrastan01, @longlivetheemporer, @imperialloyalist01, @standorando, and @imperialsycophant. Here's the guy that gave us this classic:

Now, as meme worthy as that post was- it's unfortunately just the tip of the iceberg. Despite his exile from this social media site, he continues to be active on Instagram and TikTok. He also continues to get support from some of the same folks that have been painting sapphics and wolfwren shippers out as vicious bullies.

I didn't intend to find everything I did, but this man constantly comments under official Star Wars media posts calling queer women "degenerates" and "beasts," so it's been hard to miss. It honestly hurts to reread this shit again, but I want to warn anyone who 1) may interact with him without realizing he's a incel neo nazi 2) may be harmed by his continued harassment.

First thing to remember about him- he doesn't just complain about shipping, he has wished death and harm upon multiple people. On top of the two screenshots below, he also discussed wanting to put a bullet in Dave Filoni's head (the alt account was taken down before I thought to screenshot):

He wrote "these people need to be beaten" on a dozen anti-wolfwren posts before his most recent account was taken down. He has embraced the common anti-LGBTQIA+ rhetoric of queer people being pedophiles and rapists:

He repeatedly brings rape up unprompted, especially when talking to nonbinary folks and women:

Plus buys into the "woke agenda" causing queer relationships to happen in media:

You'll notice the irony of him "worrying" wolfwren shippers are going to threaten the actors, despite him previously threatening to kill Dave Filoni and beat wolfwren shippers. He seems to be projecting a lot of his own desires and wishes onto other people, which will become even more obvious further down this post.

Now, thankfully his last tumblr account was taken down for inciting violence, but as i mentioned before, it's hard to miss him on other platforms:

Out of morbid curiosity I clicked on his account, and it's unfortunately what you would expect for from an incel. His follower and following list is littered with white nationalists, militia groups, tactical gear stores, weapon vendors, alt-right religious orgs, and 4chan neo nazis.

Instagram Followers:

Instagram Following:

It's clean he's unhinged and a danger to those who don't share similar interests. He seems to make allowances for anyone who ships sabezra, but otherwise is a diehard supporter of alt-right Christian nationalist beliefs.

One of his previous account names on Instagram was @cajunminuteman, with a confederate flag as his pfp. In current alt right groups, a minuteman is a person who is ready to pick up a gun and fight on a minutes' notice, typically in a militia against the government. His previous account also followed a number of Christian Southern Nationalist accounts:

There are a number of shippers that continue to interact with this man. Most sabezra shippers I've chatted with are very sweet, some of you even share discord servers with me and have so much love for this fandom. I'm only asking those of you who choose to ignore this man's threats of violence to revaluate how far you are willing to go to support a fictional ship.

Wolfwren shippers have bore the brunt of fandom hate and harassment since Ahsoka started airing. We continue to get called degenerates, rapists, pedophiles, and threatened with physical violence. This is not the same, or in any way equivalent, to silly jokes made about fictional ships being made canon. It's exhausting to get constant harassment in real life AND online.

Are there mean wolfwren shippers? Absolutely. I'm sorry queer people sometimes cheer on cishet ships not becoming canon, I know it sucks when it's over something you like. No, enjoying cishet ships doesn't make you any less queer, and I'm sorry there was an asshole out there that said that shit. But can we PLEASE stop acting like sapphics and wolfwren enjoyers are ALWAYS bullies? That we're somehow always the ones threatening people? It plays into the alt-right rhetoric of the LGBTQIA+ community being predators and I'm so sick of it, especially when there is so much outright vile hate for queers.

If there are any wolfwrens sending hate and/or threats, I am begging for an example or name so they can be reported properly. None of us condone any of the nasty shit that's been sent, we deal with enough hate irl. This man's closest friends aren't much better, joking about wanting to hurt wolfwren shippers and how the LGBTQIA+ community is a bad thing:

The most recent return to tumblr was under account @imperialsycophant where he tried to pretend he wasn't the same incel loser:

He eventually went mask off, realizing that most people weren't foolded:

On January 24 2024, his most recent Instagram account (@imperialloyalist01) was taken down. Less than 24 hours later, a sabezra shipper DM'd me asking me to delete this post. I explained to the shipper that the point of this post was to warn the fandom as a whole of this guy's behaviour, and at multiple points I make it clear everyone should stay away + not engage any of the accounts involved.

Everything included in this thread is public information taken from public posts or public accounts. The shipper who DM'd me still demanded I remove this post, as it could "hurt their friends."

The context of who the incel associates himself with is helpful when conveying the severity & underlying motives of his actions. There are approximately two non alt-right/neo-nazi accounts in the following/follower lists I shared. Those who were following @imperialloyalist01 up until January 24th were both privately and publicly made aware they were following a person threatening harm against others, but they continued to like, comment, and follow the account. This does not mean any of them should be harassed or bothered. It simply provides additional context to the situation and will hopefully aid others in forming their own opinions on who they wish to befriend.

When I reminded the shipper who DM'd me that their friends were continuing to make jokes about hitting/hurting wolfwren shippers, AND tagging wolfwren in those edits, I did not get a response. However, what I did get was mass spam reported.

Shortly after I sent the above message and the sabezra shipper realized I would not be taking this post down, my account was hate reported and temporarily terminated. Tumblr has an automated feature that bans accounts immediately (out of safety) if they are reported by a large group of people at the same time (which is fair, say someone posts torture or something terrible). Thankfully, after I emailed the abuse support team and explained the situation, they reinstated my account:

I will not be sharing the name of the sabezra shippers who tried to take down my account. I already get harassed enough, and I don't want anyone to go through the same shit. Please remember that a small group of bad people do NOT represent an entire community. There are plenty of sweet sabezra shippers that do not support this kind of disgusting and hateful behaviour.

Key takeaways: don't send hate or threats. Let people have their fun online while they attempt to avoid the Horrors of real life. Please don't support people spewing vile hate JUST because they like the same fictional ships as you.

Other posts related to him: (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x)

#updated Friday Jan 30 2024 #sabezra #wolfwren #ezrabine #sabine wren #ezra bridger #bluebean #swr #rebels #shin hati #ahsoka #tw homophobia #tw sa #tw violence #text #mine #i reported him but who knows what will come of it- i just want everyone to stay safe. do not engage for your own safety please.

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indigos-stardust · 5 months

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Flicker

Hundreds of years ago the fire moth people, or Nari'shi, lived on volcanic Islands to the South. Unfortunately, there was a catastrophic period of forest fires in the nearby lands that spread from the wild, to crops, and finally villages.

The Nari'shi contain the ability to generate enough heat to create flames. This is because they naturally have a sixth sense to read energy through their antennae and have a much higher resistance to the natural heat from the volcano's they live nearby and depend on. Due to these factors, they can use their own stores of energy and release that through the friction their thick fur creates in fast movement. They even had group dances that would create sparks from the fast movements and touches.

However, that ability to create flame is why they were blamed for the tragedies that continued, even if they was no real evidence they had done those things. Due to complicated politics of the time, including the greed and power tactics of many leaders, they were used as scapegoats for not just the fires but many other things.

During their season of Dormancy And Rest, or Winter, many attacks were made against them using cruel techniques. IN the end their rule was dismantled and they were forced to pay for "retributions." Having no home and no wealth, they agreed to contracts that essentially trapped them and their families in generations of forced labor, abusive surveillance, and working conditions that violated many human rights.

Most work in the Fire Works, where their energy is used either to forge weapons with their fire or create magical energy capsules for a variety of purposes. It's a grim and gruesome reality. Schooling and any method for empowerment or escape from that lifestyle are banned using racist ideas to back it up.

Red, or rather Flicker in this au, worked and lived in those horrible conditions. One day, an older man who had taken care of him, was being yelled at by one of the surveyors. He was too slow. It didn't matter that he was overworked, exhausted, and slowed down by the years of intense labor. He'd be punished for his slowness anyways. Most of the time, the only reason it happened was just to make an example.

At a certain point, everyone reaches a limit. Even though it was stupid, and the elder man begged him not too, Flicker tried to defend him. Tried to make an excuse or aid him in some way, to make the pain less. Things only escalated unfortunately. Then other people were roped into it. More serious threats were made.

Flicker, well, he ended up determined to defend him. And with his own temper his own flame flared up. So hot it broke his own restraints. Apparently, he was "gifted" with a strong fire. People like that were sent down to the Tartarus Plant. No one ever came back from there. No one that ever went there saw the sky again. The beautiful sun would be a dead memory.

So he ran. Sure, it was a rather explosive escape. Sure, if he was caught he'd face a fate worse than death itself. Maybe he accidentally did cause several fires because of the adrenaline and lack of restraint paired with this "gift" (more like a curse.) Miraculously he manages to escape on a raft. Or well, he would've been shot down if Flicker did that. The Island was full of guards.

It's more accurate that they thought he died and then he thought he died when the small boat exploded around him. Flicker wasn't exactly sure what happened. A selkie folk, who knew the ocean and its depths, wouldv've realized that he'd been dragged off by a vicious rip current. And managed to survive purely because he was entangled in a boyyant piece of the small boat he stole.

As for the whole "drowning" issue? No clue on that, for all anyone would ever guess is that either some guardian spirit was watching over him or maybe he just was so near death and hot that he just created an air bubble from all the water he was heating up. Who knows honestly.

Of course, when he washed up in some small cave on the cliff side of some foreign land, he had to admit he was relieved. Sure, there was no way out due to the tides that blocked the exit of the cave. Perhaps, he'd never leave this place and he'd just starve inside, it wasn't like he could swim. Honestly, it was better than whatever fate was awaiting him at the Fire Works.

But then he noticed a frozen chunk of ice near the corner of the cave. At first, he thought it was a strange rock, he'd never seen ice before. There was even clams growing around it as well. He felt droplets melt as he touched it. While he observed the strange thing, he noticed a strange shape inside. So, he melted through it. And then...

A MEAL- Okay, it was probably some dead disease infested animal that died some unfortunate death- But cmon! It PROBABLY wouldn't kill him and honestly- Maybe he could make this work! He'd get enough energy from eating that weird freaky looking animal and maybe he'd learn how to fish! He could just- Drink the water dripping from the stalactites above! He'd survive!!

Well, that's what he thought before he was about to try to cook the dead thawed thing and then it suddenly opened its eyes and shrieked and bit him. Oh, and then it turned into a whole freaking man with weird white hair and crap.

Then the guy started screaming more! Sure, maybe it was because Flicker was screaming too- But in his defense he didn't expect his dead meal to just BECOME A RANDOM GUY?

Things calmed down and they established that they didn't want to kill each other. Then they both demanded what the hell was up with the other dude in the cave. Apparently "Buwe" was trapped in ice or cursed or something. He seemed strangely concerned for Flicker though, Flicker couldn't really understand why.

After a bit of peace and making up for the "accidentally trying to eat/bite you" scenario with some fish that Buwe had caught they chatted some more. Buwe was determined to take Flicker home with him. But the more Buwe talked.. Yeah, Flicker wasn't exactly schooled, but he started to realize everything this guy was describing.. From money and the state of the kingdoms and whatever else? He sounded like he was alive when the Nari'shi were free.

So, they started to put together that Buwe's entire family and tribe were probably dead because apparently he'd been frozen in ice for over two hundred years.

Buwe, brilliant man that he is, decides he's going to cope by adopting Flicker. Flicker, who doesn't want to die and is appreciative of this strange man who has provided food and protection find's himself accepting this agreement. Even though he's literally an adult but apparently, "Smol brother is smol brother" was enough reasoning for Buwe so this was just his life now.

They tried to go back to Buwe's old village, but after seeing the way the grief absolutely wrecked Buwe, Flicker encouraged them to find a new life elsewhere together. Buwe agreed and they set off.

#fs #fs au #four keys #four keys flicker #my art #four swords #four swords au

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dyouwanttoknowasecret · 6 days

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Due to the inactivity of all of the other Beatle confession blogs, a new one rises!

Here, you can confess your thoughts, secrets and hottest takes on The Beatles, their music, albums, lyrics or whatever you'd like - anonymous or not, you won't be judged for what you confess (not from the mod at least, haha!).

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(⁠ﾉﾟ⁠0ﾟ⁠)⁠ﾉ⁠→ | BEFORE YOU INTERACT: Posting confessions won't always be so quick. Won't be picky on confessions or takes UNLESS they're disrespecting, offensive or going against the guidelines in some way. DMs for inquiries are open.

〈⁠(⁠•⁠ˇ⁠‿⁠ˇ⁠•⁠)⁠-⁠→ | GUIDELINES: The usual. Nothing disrespectful about The Beatles & their families, nothing targetted or insulting. Nothing homophobic/transphobic/racist/ableist, no slurs + no death threats, nothing about self-harm or suicide. (ANY KIND OF TAKE THAT HAS ANY OF THESE INCLUDED WILL BE DELETED.) Confessions or submissions that insult others will also get deleted - friendly debate is allowed with other confessions but nothing of an actual fight. No "John beet wif" jokes and all of that; serious discussion is accepted but jokes about the matter will also go deleted. Keep it clean, folks!

Anything relating to their solo careers, their wives and their children is completely a-ok, also applies to books, movies, fanfictions and all of that! Just make sure it relates to the Beatles somehow.

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Current mod: Paul (18. he/him)

Last updated: 21/09/2024 (DD/MM/YYYY)

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hajimedics · 1 year

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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 :]

#LONG POST AHEAD!!!#welcome home #welcome home puppet show #wally darling #sally starlet #frank frankly #poppy partridge #howdy pillar #barnaby b beagle #eddie dear #julie joyful #home #senja writing

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