queer signalling: louis and harry living their beautiful queer lives, collected by me
since we must take note of our fellow queers when they signal that they are very much one of us, despite being closeted. since i've had a very very queer few years thanks to them, thanks to their signalling, thanks to them being brave.
(!! this list isn't exhaustive, and if i've forgotten your favorite, by all means let me know. there's always room for another edition. it's been a while since i made a compilation and felt there was a need of a new one on my blog. this one goes a few years back, since my last one dates from 2021 :'o. so yeah. here we go.)
harry in my policeman, playing a closeted queer man, based on the book that's long been one of his favorites. lauded by the director and co-stars for how well he portrayed this character, how well he understood.
harry wearing a green flower on his chest for the mp premiere, placing himself (once again) in the same line of history as oscar wilde.
louis's green flowers on his initial 28clothing jersey at the first afhf, which includes bonus roses and 28s all around
the entire late night talking mv bc!!!!!
louis's rainbow stage lights during sibwawc. he really did that. every single night.
the entire dazed magazine happening. “I’ve always tried to compartmentalise my personal life and my working life,” he explains. / “I have unlocked an ability to be myself completely, unapologetically,” he says with conviction." / “I think through my own sense of self and personal journey, I am realising that happiness isn’t this kind of end state.”
louis's gay exit songs: most notably 'ever fallen in love (with someone you shouldn't've)'
harry flirting with stanley tucci
louis and his gay ass tank tops !!! we must point it out !!!!!!
all along
harry kissing a pride flag during harry's house ono in nyc
rainbow flare during the btm mv
harry being gifted a mask of his own face at munich n2, which prompted him to say that he feels like he's wearing a mask sometimes
28 in a triangle for 28clothing!!!!!!!!
kit connor soft launching 28 clothing. a young actor starring in a queer coming-of-age series, who was forced to come out after being accused of queerbaiting. he was the first one, besides louis, to wear 28clothing
harry's grammy's speech "people like me" (which ppl sadly misunderstood), echoing what he's been saying on tour for years. this doesn't happen to people like him. if they only knew, right?
harry's freddie-inspired outfit for the grammy carpet (which also brought back his theme for clown/jester fits, like harryween 2021 n2. wonder why)
louis's merch graphic where a boy is trying to smash a glass ceiling
harry posing for david hockney, actual living legend, gay artist of the ages. "Styles seems to know how lucky he is, adding, with a tinge of disbelief: “I’m in awe of the man with enough one-liners for a lifetime.” As to what those one-liners might be? Styles and Hockney’s mutual silence on that question suggests that what happens in the studio, stays in the studio."
louis having suspicious visuals during back to you, the only visuals of that type on tour
harry's 2022 harryween outfit: dressed as danny (literally. he did that. he went grease on us.) but wearing sandy's jacket
louis at barricade aka held safely in the arms of strong security personnel
harry singing man, i feel like a woman and still the one with shania twain. while wearing a rainbow discoball jumpsuit (parallel with kacey musgraves wearing a rainbow dress to sing it with him years ago.)
louis's gay ass merch for the away from home festival
harry dressed in nina ricci by harris reed, an explicitly gender-fluid line. "At 18 I found myself living in london creating ruffle blouses, corsets, fabric flowers and flares from my kitchen floor (...). My creations at the time were met with nothing but criticism for being “too feminine” or “costume”, teachers said I should focus on “menswear” or “womenswear”. l remember it really wasn’t until I started dressing for myself and who I was that it all clicked. @harrystyles was my first ever client who embraced the fun, fluid and expressive clothing I was creating."
continuous bluegreening. to name a few: harry's werchter fit, all this time lights, satellite caps in two colors only, louis's smiley flickering bluegreen on tour in 2022, the james cordon shit, louis in uncasville. enjoy this post here
harry's snl shoot unseens: him as ariel
louis out in amsterdam at a gay bar
harry going to the women's only swimming pond (on a day it was open for men, but this is important to me okay)
harry's use of orchids in his visuals during 'she' during love on tour '23
the 'hairy mermaid' tour visuals
harry as a mermaid during the mfasr mv. as a supreme physical manifestation of harry as the mermaid he truly is inside. but in his true form he gets chopped up and consumed. literally
as it was mv and its parallels with the matrix, hints to harry as the woman with the red dress.
louis jumping up on barricade against the one spot where a pride flag was draped over it
oh yeah that exact same thing happened in 2022 too
harry forming a skirt with a pride flag in brasil after his pants ripped
that gay ass denim getup with the fur collar?? while wearing the fucking peace ring????
harry and phoebe breaking gender norms in the tpwk mv dance. no i'm not over it yet shut up
louis wearing a basquiat t-shirt, another famously queer artist joining the ranks
harry bought an actual genuine basquiat. flex
harry dressed in skirts for gucci
"happy pride! happy pride! 'tis the season! can you tell i'm relaxed?"
"isn't all of this sparkly bi music?"
satellite mv rainbow planet tshirt
louis's bigger than me promo where he's literally george michael like??? IM SORRY???????
harry kissing lewis capaldi at the brits
harry kissing nick kroll at the dwd premiere. lol
and... harry as friend of D O R O T H Y. sang over the rainbow. we all cried. especially me at this clip of harry glancing in relief at his band after over the rainbow.
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Hey Saint did you know you're funny and cool and you should totally say more about this coffeeshop au of yours
hey milk did u know we are kissing at present
[ID1: two sketches, the first of Martin, a fat trans man with chin length wavy hair, wearing a half binder and an open shirt with the sleeves rolled halfway up his biceps. He is staring down at a paper, a pen in hand, with an intense look of concentration. Text below him says “his ass is NOT taking adequate breaks”. The second sketch is of Sasha, a fat woman with long hair and glasses, and Tim, a stocky man with short hair, both innocently cradling their chins in their hands and smiling. Text below them reads “*scheming*”. Beside both sketches there is more text which says “Elias owns the cafe (which is named The Serapeum) but he’s always away on dubiously nefarious business. This leaves T&S sooo much time to cause problems on purpose.”
ID2: A four panel comic. In the first, Jon, a thin, moustachioed man with short curly hair, stands looking displeased. His internal monologue is written in bold around him: “This is RIDICULOUS why can’t I just stay in my OFFICE in PEACE I am NOT being paid enough for this nonsense.” In the second panel, he turns around, a dark spiral denoting irritation next to him. In the third, it is revealed he is looking to Tim and Sasha, who are beaming at him and giving enthusiastic thumbs up. Text above their heads says “put Jon up to this” as Jon sighs. In the fourth panel, Jon, now blushing profusely, says “Um. A- Anyway. We, um. Could. Uh. Go out. Sometime. Together. If you want. I don’t CARE.” Text beside him reads “[avoiding eye contact*] *autistic”. End ID.]
poor jon his hand has been forced because mart is too much of a gentleman to ask someone out when they’re working bless him
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wherever you want to go with this but i trust you -- prompt: blood
[uh @unicyclehippo & i are writing joan of arc themed lil fics bc … hello ava 👀 & mine is undoubtedly the more deranged of the two but ... here u go lol]
//
ava comes back gentle; ava comes back covered in blood.
‘i came back,’ she says, in the middle of the night when neither of you can sleep, after she’d stood in the shower until the water ran cold, scrubbing red from her skin, in the middle of a beautiful valley in france that has crumbling wine caves and a slow river, covered in reeds, currents that remember its history, the rot and death and face-down bodies.
‘i came back,’ she prays into your skin, her fingers tracing the curve of your ribcage like she’s remembering a church she worshipped at centuries ago, an organ and its pipes; your heart and ventricles and your own blood, faithful. ava touches you like she’s lived a thousand years; maybe she has. her eyes are the same brown as they were when you met, when she’d only been resurrected once, when she had cried at the marvel of the ocean and her own hands, and sometimes you wonder if you’re worthy of a strength like this — worthy of sacredness and consecration and your mother’s voice — i’d rather you take your own life than be gay — and maybe for so long you had taken your own life and shoved it down into the hollow of your throat, into the spaces between the bones of your wrists; you had discarded your want and offered up your slow-beating heart in its place.
ava kneels before you and scrapes her teeth along the inside of your thigh, the skin there pale and soft. it’s dark until she brings her mouth to your center and moans, and then the room glows: gold and blue — ava, ava, ava: life; some kind of god, some kind of — i am begging you to touch me; oh, i’m on fire, oh, i’m on fire; history and elegy are akin; you are my sweetest downfall, i loved you first. the holiness in ava is not of this earth — the metal, the burn — but she is, dirt under her fingernails when she came through the portal, blood coming out of her ears, covering her face. ava’s tongue is soft and she holds your body in the palms of her hands and the room is blue and gold, a room where you get what you want: crosses held before you while you die and eternal salvation and her name like a goddamn hymn and fuck, fuck, baby and your hips grinding down on her mouth and your hands tangled in her hair — hair that you had cut when you had wished for a home amidst the mountains and the tender press of her spine in the morning blue and hair that you had cut again a few days ago, trembling hands both times because she was beautiful, a blade at her neck and curls floating to the floor. she had asked you to, and now she asks you to do something for her again — to come, to come, to come. you hold your breath when you do, consecration.
the holy and the horror — the light comes in the name of the voice — and ava comes back ready to dance with you and laugh and ava comes back with enough power to detonate bombs with her hands. you kiss her and she tucks a flower behind your ear, waiting for your next battle at a convent in the countryside. ava eats without apology, whatever she wants, and drinks wine that stains her lips red, and kisses you in front of everyone; she is hot when you touch her, when her walls flutter and curl around your fingers and you touch her. sometimes you don’t know what to say so you just tell her what you know: primeval forests are so remote that humans don’t belong there, that people die when they go there, that there are wolves and moss and weather so cold humans can’t feel their hands. ‘what do you think our past lives were like?’ she asks, one day as you spar, divine powers aside, and you wonder: were you always her protector? have you always been by her side? have you watched her die, every time? ‘one,’ you say, like you remember it in your hands, ‘we were happy; we lived on a farm and we were poor, but we had milk and eggs and bread you knew how to make. i’d go out in the morning with the dog and you spun wool and it was quiet, and green.’ she sits against you, the halo and the divinium in her back against your front, enough to kill you, and her, many times over. ‘verde, que te quiero verde,’ she says, ‘we grew old. who died first?’
‘does it matter?’
‘no.’ she’s quiet; a ship slowly goes by. ‘we’d wake early, for breakfast and you rested your head in my lap when you were tired.’
‘i have loved you a long time.’
she traces a pattern along the lines of your hand, a scar straight across the passes right through them.
the days move on and ava heals and ava bandages your cuts and bruises and a broken wrist when you don’t, when you are human and frail and strong; ava falls asleep, too wild and small and lonely and beautiful, her spine curled against your chest. she wakes you with coffee and once, after a particularly bad battle, where you can’t move the next morning, a blow to your head too hard, she stays with you all day in bed, reading and running her fingers through your hair. she wears a soft sweater and socks with little dogs on them and says you’re a miracle, you’re such a miracle, i would destroy the world before i lose you and it’s true; it’s scripture it’s sacred it’s heresy it’s a blessing. a promise from a god, while you feel woozy and nauseous and your neck aches — a promise from a god, weighty and beautiful and sighed into your skin in the afternoon rain.
ava comes back in love with you; ava comes back —
there’s an explosion inside the sepulchre and everything is on fire; you have not been scared for so long — forgive us, we lived happily during the war; but on the wild nights who can you call home? only the one who knows your name — and you wonder if ava died staring at a cross; you wonder if you will grieve in this life, as you had before. you wonder if ava knew, if ava has always known, if ava was tired.
but then ava comes back — again, again — sooty and with torn armor and a gash across her face that hasn’t healed, blood streaming down. she walks through fire, unburnt, a smirk, even, on her face. ava comes back and kisses you and you taste blood and ash and dust to dust and the strawberry chapstick she had put on in the van before the battle, tucked in into her pocket with a wink. you have seen many miracles but this is one of an order you will never understand, one that will stop people from killing each other, one that is catastrophe and heaven.
‘let’s go home, bea,’ ava says, and you search her mouth for a sacrament and find it in the press of her tongue on the backs of your teeth. ‘let’s go home.’
and you do — the ocean, and in bed weeks later, the cut across her face red and shiny and healed, the edges pulled together taught, the burn on the palm of your hand a webbed scar right in the middle —
‘did you know,’ she says, in the moon and the quiet, ‘that joan of arc was put to death for wearing men’s clothing? she was so theologically clever that they could only order an execution if she relapsed into heresy; the guards at the prison she was at only gave her men’s clothes, which they eventually used to convict her.’
you kiss ava’s temple; her skin smells like lavender. she presses her lips to your pulse point.
‘being a girl,’ she says, her brow furrowed, your bodies stretched and tangled under the sheets. ‘she burned at the stake for being a girl.’
‘do you — do you remember?’
she turns toward you, different than you remember but still the same, still exuberant about the sea and ice cream and books she loves, texting and movie theaters and petting every dog you pass on the street; ‘sometimes.’
‘okay.’
’there are days —‘ she laces your fingers together — ‘that i feel a call backward, in my palms, in my knees, in the back of my skull. to understand, to see. there are days when all i know of this life is to love you.’ she presses a kiss to the divinium tattoo on your forearm that glows blue in the dark when she’s near. ‘this is how i know you. you are what i know.’
‘i will never watch you die again.’
‘i’m not sure i can.’
‘well then i’ll join you, wherever we go next.’
‘yeah,’ she says, so sure, prophetic, ‘you will.’
ava comes back for you —
what did the voice tell you when you returned to your room?
it told me that i should answer you bravely.
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