#queer outer worlds

[thedashingcaptainweird]

Max & Orion, out for a walk with Anubis

[thedashingcaptainweird]

Snippet of a WIP --- post yours too!

"Well I don't trust myself as far as I can throw me," the Captain admits. 

"Captain, I've seen you leap between buildings that were nearly a canyon's width apart," Max notes.

Orion sheds his leather eye patch and sets it aside on the table, even its negligible weight somehow too cumbersome for the task at hand.

He squints at his lover and casts a coy smile. "What, precisely, are you saying, My-love-my-dove?"

"I'm saying," Max replies, his smirk changing to a full smile at the casual use of a new pet name, "That I think you can throw yourself quite far. When the need arises."

"... And I can jump pretty high…"

Felix perks up. "Whoah… are we sayin' that jumpin's the same as throwin'?"

"I think we're sayin' that this plan is gonna work," Parvati says with a confident smile.

[thedashingcaptainweird]

Captain Orion Augustus and Vicar Maximillian DeSoto, a queer interstellar romance.

[thedashingcaptainweird]

WIP Whenever

I was tagged about a week ago by @the-lastcall. Thank you!!

I think I'm just gonna throw this tag to everyone who follows me. Anybody who needs this push to share something they're proud of! I needed it.

I'm not posting very often because my life is an absolute nightmare horror train wreck, but I really wish I could. I'll just catch as catch can, I guess! Gotta seize those little moments.

I think I'm just gonna throw this tag to everyone who follows me. Anybody who needs this push to share something they're proud of! I needed it.

So, have some Angry Max!

Max reaches out for Orion’s bruised, bloodied cheek, his brow furrowing further as he watches the Captain try in futility to hide the pain and fear and maintain a brave demeanor. The vicar’s hand uncharacteristically shakes until he forces it to stay still, but he stops short when his fingers are a hair’s breadth from making contact.

He’s been pulling in a breath, slow and nearly undetectable since he first saw the captain, and it’s at its peak. It comes out only partially in a short, wavering hiss and catches behind his teeth. He withdraws, runs his palm over his mouth and steps back, back, back, his eyes looking away from Orion's face not out of shame or fear, but to protect him from seeing this blind rage.

The energy of his anger crackles around him, more alive now in his quiet movements than it has been in any battlecry he’s ever uttered. It’s the electricity of his oldest furies, the long-dead violent lapses in control that haunt him in every lonely moment, colliding with an indisputably righteous cause. Add love, however unrequited, and you’ve thrown an ocean of rocket fuel on a forest fire.

All he wants is to hold him. To take Orion into his arms and kiss his forehead and comfort him with the compassion and tenderness he now knows, deep down, is his true strength. He aches with the guilt of being rendered useless by his own fury when he should be rushing to help with the others. Max's conscious mind is screaming that he's failing the captain when it matters most, while at the same time the fire in his body lies to him and tells him he's helping. He can’t touch Orion. Right now, he’s nothing but a loaded gun, not a pair of open arms. Regressed to a state he had hoped was behind him.

He doesn’t want to meditate it away. He wants to act.

[thedashingcaptainweird]

Meet Captain Domingo "Sunday" Flores:

He's 45 years old (115 if you count his years on the Hope).

Sunday signed up for the voyage of the Hope with a pioneer's spirit and an aim to be of use. He envisioned himself helping settlements get off the ground with their agricultural needs. He's very easygoing, so when Phineas woke him and informed him of the 70 year gap, he took it in stride.

He loves pistols, bourbon, and beautiful men (especially gun-totin', whiskey-drinkin' preachers).

He's a man of few words, carrying himself with quiet confidence.

Sunday doesn't ever go looking for a fight, but if one throws itself at him, he won't back down, and he never needs to surrender. He sees the world in shades of grey, and doesn't clutch pearls.

I'm still writing his story in my head and it shifts and changes, but I know quite a bit about him already, so if you wanna know more about him, send me an ask! :)

[thedashingcaptainweird]

Quick Little Scene

As he crosses from the galley entryway to the icebox, Orion stops to place both hands on the back of Max’s chair and kisses the top of the vicar’s head. Max’s hair always smells amazing. Like rosemary, mint, and pine. Or, at least, Halcyon’s approximations thereof.

The preacher starts and straightens up a bit, surprised and seemingly ready for a fight, but it only takes him a moment to realize that the attack from behind him is simply one of affection. He tilts his head back to look Orion in the face, and smiles. "Only you can catch me unaware, my Captain. I forget how skilled you are at moving silently."

"I always forget not to sneak up on you. I’ll end up needing the other half of my teeth replaced with gold,” Orion jokes. “I’ve gotta be more careful."

"What you should be more careful about is walking on these floors barefoot,” Max counters, gesturing at the grated steel down the hallway. “It must be akin to walking on knives."

Orion does a hop and a startlingly beautiful little dance to illustrate how little he has to worry about. "I think I’m managing just fine. Haven’t lost a toe yet,” he gives Max a canary-cat grin. “Anyway, when I woke up to find your side of the bed empty, I rushed out half-cocked, beside myself with worry. No time for shoes."

They’re alone in the galley, the old men of the bunch, plagued by rotten sleep schedules and bad habits they’re long past being able to break. Orion imagines Max would have an easier time sleeping if he didn’t drink so much coffee and tea this late in the artificial night, but who is he to judge when his own midnight forays are for sugar and cigarettes.

As a matter of fact, after an upside down kiss and a traded chuckle, Orion lights up and continues on his trajectory toward the refrigerator. Upon reaching and opening it, the corners of his mustache droop in a cartoonish frown.

Max unnecessarily declares, “The spread is thin, Captain. It's fortunate that we'll be docked at Groundbreaker by this time tomorrow.”

“Did you drink the last Nanner Spank?”

Max chuckles, then catches himself. “Ha, excuse me. The name always did get me. No, I did not drink your neon-dyed, carbonated, high fructose tobaccorn syrup with artificial flavoring and a delightfully suggestive title.”

Orion turns around and squints at him. “Preacher. Don’t make me come over there and smell your breath.”

Max groans. “Fine. I know when I’ve been caught. In my defense, we were out of coffee.”