#and henry's like ????????????? are you okay??

[brujahinaskirt]

It's not even about the vindication of calling a ship, okay. It's that the supposedly anti woke studio wrote about 3 million words of medieval fiction centering the relationship of the two main characters who are in most ways (or in all ways if you follow the obvious canon momentum of the story) meant for each other, as counterparts who help each other survive the great travails of their lives and who challenge/complete the other to become fuller, braver, kinder people. It's so clear these two people are soulmates, platonically or romantically, something observed consistently by the world around them and by themselves.

Except their society (feudalism, Catholicism) dictates that they are intended to be completely incompatible by nature and divine law. Not just for the obvious fact they are both men, but they are separated by what is arguably an even steeper chasm of social class. Their existence even as friends utterly spites, interrupts, and threatens feudal order right down to its theological and philosophical roots. They should not see each other as human and yet.

It's the fact that they do. The fact that the entire story has been about this--that these two protagonists fit together, undeniably, and grow to love each other fiercely (a love that deepens superbly from their knee-jerk playful puppy-friend-love in kcd1 to something selfless and mature by the end of kcd2). And they do so despite the immense opposition by their world, their social circles, their faith, and indeed their fandom.

And yes, it really does fucking matter that all of this culminates into a deep onscreen romantic love (if you get out of the way and allow it to) between two fandom-beloved male main characters (not just side characters rammed in for an optional gay romance but THE main characters of the duology; the "you" as in the player character and your erstwhile dick-jokes bro you have perhaps grudgingly at first been invited as the audience to love) in a historical fiction story that has been wrongly touted by the worst of our contemporaries as the holy grail of cultural conservatism.

Holy shit. Warhorse -- y'all. I'm sorry I doubted you. So few game writers understand how love works and indeed how people work, let alone translate it so well onto the screen.

Calling this an "optional romance" is not technically incorrect, I suppose, because it's true you can opt out and choose to remain platonic friends. But this language feels like a disservice, as if Henry & Hans's romance is a typical RPG wham-bam fanservice makeout with a minor fan fave character who never interacts meaningfully with the player again. Or as if it's a Bioware-style "give this NPC the right gift and do their side quest and you get to see a jankly ugly-bumpin' montage" situation.

Kingdom Come: Deliverance is so very much not that. The "main, optional" romance scene in question is just one consummation event of two people who have been growing up and falling in love in front of us over the course of some 200-300 (or god knows how many) hours. The fact these protagonists openly love each other is very much not optional.

This is, sincerely, groundbreaking storytelling in this medium and this genre. How fucking cool that we all got to see it now.

[peetaparkker]

“world class insomniac” EXCEPT when sleeping with alex!

[bruhstation]

you never change, do you

[wouldntbehim]

mix: firstprince (taylor's version)

[kineticallyanywhere]

Time & Space pages 1-2 ( This is the start || ao3 (not yet!) || next ) Starts less than 24 hours after the death of Willy Stampler. With the job done, there's finally time to sort some things out. They just need the right amount of space.

[beausprouts]

FNAF au where literally everything is the same but the Fazbear Frights employees force Springtrap to be the guitarist in their shitty metal band

[fazgoo-connoiseur-1987]

okay okay so William's son dies and, obviously, he is devistated but he's been squashing down his own emotions for so so so long he just kinda files that away with everything else. Compartmentilises the fuck out of it. So Michael wakes up the day after to his dad humming while making breakfast. Henry sees him a week later at work and he's still smiling and chipper. Everyone is uneasy.

[hawkeyeslaughter]

if there was one thing henry blake could do it was eat people UP with those one liners if he was annoyed enough

[north-noire]

It's 1987 - two years since Charlie had been murdered at Fredbear's. Her murderer still hasn't been found.

Elizabeth wants to know more about Circus Baby, but with no luck from either Michael or her father, she hopes Henry will know a thing or two about her.

On the other hand, Cassidy tries to go to Freddy's to get her mind off things, but the past always finds a way to remind her of what she used to take for granted.

Hidden Hands Chapter 8 is out!

AO3 Link Previous Chapter First Arc Chapter

Hey, I would appreciate it if you reblog this post! I try my hardest for this AU fic, so reblogging it and being able to share it goes a long way!

[y2ksnowglobe]

Me: *happily relistening to episode eight* Will: Henry definitely got spanked as a kid Me: *slowly turns to look at my mental conception of Barry* Me: Just when I thought I was finally hating you the correct amount...

[leonenjoyer69]

I don't think we as a fandom talk enough about the fact that Jekyll probably has a slapping kink, and/or Lanyon for that matter.

But yeah, just something I saw while looking back through all the mind stuff lmao

[bakersdaughter21]

one thing that i’m always just begging for is one of the OG Dads (granddads) to look at one of the grandkids and just go “Oh you must be Henry’s/Darryl’s/Ron’s/Glenn’s grandkid” OR JUST AS IMPORTANTLY “oh you must be Sparrow/Lark’s/Terry’s/Grant’s/Nick’s kid”. I want the dads to recognize their friends in their descendants. I want them to recognize their friends KIDS in their descendants. I want them to see them still creeping through the next generation. I want them to say it like it’s so obvious, like it’s so easy to recognize parts of their longtime friends in their family

[zenryverse]

Icarus, the swan—Henry, the boy—who wielded wings of wax, craved to touch the sun—Zack, the golden boy—whose neck completed his half-heart.

- How to Graze the Dawn Without Embodying Embers (An Ode to the Sun) by @babbieblabs // ☆⭐︎

[firenati0n]

wip wednesday <3 :)

hello :) happy wednesday, hope everyone is having a nice week so far! thank you to @heybuddy-drabbles @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @zwiazdziarka @itsmaybitheway @bigassbowlingballhead @wordsofhoneydew @ships-to-sail @eusuntgratie @captainjunglegym @theprinceandagcd @getmehighonmagic @songliili @nocoastposts @magicandarchery @sherryvalli @littlemisskittentoes @kiwiana-writes @suseagull04 for the tags :)

here's a snip from "the full spectrum of human emotion" aka the proposal au aka my child aka my beloved:

They go back and forth, questions flying to fill the flight time. Alex learns about Henry’s morning routine (rigid, a bed-maker through and through) and his favorite cologne (something expensive he’s currently wearing, clean linens and fresh grass meant to drive Alex completely fucking insane), and Henry learns about Alex’s guilty pleasures (eating cajeta straight from the container while watching trashy reality tv) and the last thing that made him cry (an Instagram reel of baby goats). Many opinions are exchanged, numerous jokes made—mostly at Henry’s expense, he makes it way, way too easy. It feels a little too natural and lighthearted and Alex is free falling as he learns more and more about Henry Fox-Mountchristen, little details that add color to his life, softening the harsh edges and melting the cold exterior. Alex feels pretty fucking good about it all, until he realizes they haven’t touched on a major topic, one that is relatively uncharted territory for the both of them.

xoxo roop

+ tags under the cut <3 and open tag as usual :)

@ninzied @dumbpeachjuice @leaves-of-laurelin @inexplicablymine @priincebutt @whimsymanaged @futureseaempress @happiness-of-the-pursuit @tintagel-or-cockleshells @cricketnationrise @tailsbeth-writes @lizzie-bennetdarcy @myheartalivewrites @onward--upward @celeritas2997 @affectionatelyrs @tinyarmedtrex @14carrotghoul @rmd-writes @anchoredarchangel @gay-flyboys @cultofsappho @welcometololaland @gayrootvegetable @rockyroadkylers @orchidscript @cha-melodius @candyspandemonium @onthewaytosomewhere @junebugclaremontdiaz @violetbaudelaire-quagmire @anincompletelist

[wormthing]

i scribbled this out after watching Frankenstein (1931), i thought it would be interesting if the creature('s brain) had a sense that he was alive before...

[astrum-aetherium]

hi dear

no because i love anything domestic and mundane and with henry even more.

you know those sweet little things. like washing the dishes, drying them, cooking, glances across the room, reading quietly together, falling asleep on his lap, oh and if i saw one of those small smiles adorning his lips i would never stop grinning ( or sobbing) while looking at him ( honest id love to see what he'd do if he saw me staring at him with a big smile upon seeing one of his smiles). i so so so need this.

im violently sobbing rn

-A

i, too, am immensely fond of domesticity and the simple things, specifically applied to a character as cool and otherwise indifferent as henry. it's very mellowing, so tender, and comforting beyond all comprehension. i wholeheartedly love the few ideas you've pitched in the request, they're marvelous. let me see what i can conjure up on the basis thereof.

doing the dishes for him after a long, taxing day; knowing he is merely situated in the adjacent room, working; being reassured of the fact by the waft of smoke curling its way into the kitchen. washing mugs that previously harbored tea he'd made for you, precisely the way you like it; drying plates that were previously used to serve a meal you'd brought from home for the two of you, a loving gesture he appreciated so much he couldn't help but press a gratuitous kiss into your forehead, specifically because he had been so busy lately he couldn't even bring himself to cook. but there you were, swooping in, and saving him from the brink of giving up on himself once more.

finishing up the dishes and tiredly lowering yourself into his couch with a book as he sits at his desk in the same room and continues working on something so tremendously important to him. flicking through the pages placidly, calmly, at utter peace — lighting yourself a cigarette when and if you feel like it, having wordlessly snuck one from the pack of luckies lain by his dominant hand. indirectly and passively listening to how he breathes, how his pen scratches ink into the firm paper, how he turns over book pages of his own and sighs every now and again with a heaviness that awakens sympathy in you. all the while, you read, immersed in either a story to get your mind off of your studies or matching henry in productivity by reading something on the curriculum.

soon enough, he would rise, and flick off the desktop lamp — thereby marking his work time done for now. without detaching your eyes from your book, you'd know that his would be looking for you, only because mere moments later, you'd feel his tired, large frame sinking into the very same couch you're curled up on. he would gently grab hold of your legs and place them on his lap, tenderly caressing them through the dark tights posing a barrier between his digits and your bare flesh. you'd sigh, then, laying your book aside — only to be met with a mellow, soft glance exuding from him. he'd smile upon having locked eyes with you, albeit lightly — tiredly. that smile would simultaneously cause your heart to swell and bleed, aware of how much relief your presence provides him but also due to the bitter recognition of how much he needs said relief in the first place due to constantly being burdened and plagued by his studies, his environment, and his problems.

"read that to me, please," he'd request, then, nodding at the book you will have lowered in your lap. "and come a little closer, if you'd like."

because of his kind, meager proposition, you'd be propped against his shoulder, his arms tenderly encasing your body, in no time. you'd be lowly reading to him, regardless of whether he is familiar with the content of the book or not; he would merely delight in listening to the velvety, quiet flow of your voice. every now and again, his lukewarm fingertips would drift across the stretch of your arm, your waist, or your legs — whatever he will be holding onto. once you would end up falling asleep on him in this way, he would slowly lull you into a more comfortable position, and then light himself a cigarette — descending into contemplation and worry once more, ready for yet another sleepless night, which would merely be sweetened by your warm and comforting presence asleep in his grasp.