#i mean reason is likely that's how he used to it being like when henry was still around

[cripplecharacters]

Hello! Hi. Hope you guys are doing well. I wanted to ask about referring (pretty blatantly) to autistic characters before autism was a formal diagnosis. One of my characters is nonverbal and autistic and communicates primarily using a notepad (in the Victorian era). Her family (positively coded characters) doesn’t really care or like think negatively of her for being autistic, but they still recognize that she’s not neurotypical, however other characters who appear (not the villains necessarily but negatively coded characters) do care that she’s “abnormal”. Are there any words that really shouldn’t be used to describe her (I have been using ‘odd’ by both groups of characters) or that only one group should use (for example having the ‘mean’ characters use ‘abnormal’ but the ‘nice’ ones use ‘odd’) so I can clearly specify that she is autistic and that it’s not a big deal, while also making sure that the characters who think negatively are portrayed in a negative light (even though they’re not the main villains). While still, not offending anyone or accidentally referring to the character in a pejorative light.

Hi asker,

I'm including some extra context, not just for you the writer, about the Victorian era but also to anyone else reading this ask to learn a little more and maybe be able to apply information to their own characters as well.

The Victorian era is used to refer to the period roughly from 1820 to 1910 in the UK, and often the use of this word for the time is extended to the US as well. Sometimes people use it for other places in Europe, even though Queen Victoria herself only ruled the UK and from 1837 until 1901.

Your character might have been described as 'dumb' or 'mute,' at the time, since she does not speak; for both clarity and reason's sake I would avoid using 'dumb' and only use 'mute' instead. 'Dumb' is, these days, only used as an insult.

Other words people might use for her in the time to denote her as being 'strange' but not necessarily negative might have been (aside from 'strange' and 'odd' that you've already stated): peculiar, eccentric, or unusual. They might use 'queer' as well, as in behaving outside of the norm and not as in gay; that meaning was more by the 1920s.

'Weird' as in "off-puttingly strange" is a more modern word, but it started in the 1820s, so people could conceivably call her weird, especially if they mean to speak ill of her. 'Bizarre' might work, but earlier or in its usage it also had a connotation of unpredictability, too. These two would probably not be used by her family or those who think highly of her, but might be used by people who are fairly neutral on her.

A note on 'moron' and 'imbecile,' which were diagnoses in the early 19th century of intellectual disability but also applied to other people they didn't know how to categorize and could include autistic people: they are definitely used as insults now and were definitely used as insults then when they were diagnoses, but they wouldn't be used on your character because they were not used in that way until the 1910s and 1920s. 'Idiot' is an older word, but it usually was used to refer to people who had more severe intellectual disability; I don't think this would be used for your character much, nor would I recommend it. I don't think it would work to convey what you want the readers to get out of it. Not to mention, it's still very much an insult today.

Now, there's two people from a bit earlier in history who might have been diagnosed as autistic today: Henry Cavendish and Hugh Blair of Borgue. (Obviously we can't know for sure, they've been dead for 200+ years.)

Hugh Blair (wikipedia link) lived from 1708 to 1765. He was described as 'eccentric' and 'daft,' and his behaviors as 'unusual.' He was nicknamed "the daft lad of Borgue." He engaged in a lot of repetitive behaviors, seemed unaware of social norms, and had very strong interests. It's noted that despite being seen as strange, he was generally well-liked.

Henry Cavendish (wikipedia link) lived from 1731 to 1810, so a bit closer to the Victorian era. He was a scientist, a very wealthy man, and notably very shy. He was close basically only to his family, was very solitary, had trouble speaking to others and was noted as wearing old-fashioned clothes. Since he was so solitary, he had trouble publishing his findings, even though he put a lot of work into them. It seems people referred to him as 'solitary' and 'eccentric.'

Some people suggest Emily Dickinson (wikipedia link), who lived from 1830 to 1886, might have been autistic. I am less familiar with her than the above two, but am including her because she is directly in your time period so the way people in her lifetime described her can be relevant. She was very socially isolated, although she was also very affected by deaths around her during her life, and later often ill, which can also be reasons for isolation. She mostly communicated with others via letters in her adulthood. She was seen as an 'eccentric' by others.

I will note that all three of those people were wealthy, so their eccentricities were more tolerated by those around them. A poor person might not have been afforded that second thought.

Now that I've said... all that, I will add my final note:

I think more important than the words themselves is how other characters use the words to describe her.

"Elizabeth is such an odd woman, I should like to write to her and see what she thinks about this" is very different from "Elizabeth is such an odd woman, I can't stand to be around her when she's doing that!" So is "My cousin is a bit peculiar, she does not speak but she can understand you just fine; if you can be patient she will write out her answers" versus "My cousin is incredibly peculiar, she doesn't even speak for goodness's sake! Can you believe it? It's ridiculous."

The way your characters speak about her will not be entirely dependent on the specific words the use, but also in the way they describe her and refer to her. Especially in a time where many things are referred to with euphemisms or vague words (which 'odd' and 'strange' and 'peculiar' definitely are or can be), which the Victorian era absolutely was, both groups of characters can use the same words but their intent can come across due to what else they say about her.

Sorry this is super long, but I hope it helps!

mod sparrow

[become-mop]

Hi! I'm a catholic. I hope you're doing well!

I believe there is some misunderstanding going on here. I'm not an expert, or have all the details memorized, but I will do my best to share what I know, as a catholic. You are free to look these things up to learn more, if you'd like.

Little lengthy post, but here we go:

- Catholics believe that Jesus Christ is God, together with God the Father, and God the Holy Spirit. They are the 3 persons of the same one God. (This is the Holy Trinity, a divine mystery. It is impossible for us to fully understand on this side of eternity. But we have faith in this as truth.)

- Jesus founded the church in 33 AD, when He said "You are Peter--and upon this rock (Rock/Peter mean the same thing in Aramaic), I will build my church. And the gates of hell shall not prevail against it." (Jesus' church will stand; Nothing can destroy it. Some individual humans unfortunately might fall into sin, but the church itself is indestructable.) If we follow Jesus and His instructions, we are Christian.

- The church had a council somewhere in the 300s AD, called the Council of Nicea. The church leadership gathered in Nicea to sort all things written that were claiming to be inspired by God, and put what was truly inspired by God into one book. That book is the bible.

- At the Council of Nicea, the bible was comprised of 73 books. The catholic church always has, and always will, hold these books to be the bible. The catholic church has neved changed, added, or removed any of these books. There were translations made so the bible may be read in other languages, but that is the only exception.

- I will admit that I'm less versed in the specifics here, but from what I understand, protestantism started when King Henry the VIIIth of England wasn't able to convince the pope into allowing him to get divorced from his wife. She wasn't bearing him sons, and King Henry the VIIIth really, really wanted one.

Since he was King, he figured he could make a loophole. He declared himself as the head of the "Church of England", so that he could give himself permission to get divorced from his wife. It was a personal/political reason that the church of england exists.

Martin Luther was a catholic priest, who had some personal disagreements about decisions being made in the church. He wrote out his thoughts and nailed them to his church's door. This paper is called the "95 Thesis". He was protesting the church, which is where the term "protestant" comes from. A small group of followers supported Luther.

Back to the church of england, (I think it was King Henry the VIIIth), ordered England by lawful decree, that all citizens MUST follow the Church of England. He made participating in the catholic church ILLEGAL in England.

(Once again, all because he wanted a son and a different wife.)

As succeeding english royalty went on, protestants and the church of england grew; both turning in catholics to the law. Catholics were in hiding because it was made illegal to be catholic in england. They were being persecuted, imprisoned, and killed there.

- King James' translation of the bible, is a bible where there are only 66 books. I don't remember which person did it, or what year, but they removed those books because they interfered with their personal beliefs/agenda. There were some changes made in certain books as well. Protestants took this version of the bible and ran with it. The catholic church still believes in very first version of the bible put together at the council of nicea.

- In the middle ages, Islamic nations were enacting jihad (religious war) across Europe. They were strong militarily, and made travel between the eastern/western parts of Europe incredibly difficult for catholics to do.

The Pope at the time, allowed a bishop in Constantinople to keep watch and help lead the catholic church in the eastern half of Europe (due to travel/logistic difficulties). A patriarch, to lead. This is how the Orthodox came to be.

- For the different sects claim, I need to preface my response first. "Catholic" means universal in Latin. Which means that the catholic church is open for all peoples to be able to participate.

The islamic geographic divide over europe ended up lasting a very long time... Since the pope wasn't able to easily communicate with the patriarch, some cultural differences/thoughts regarding how best to practice the faith arised. Relatively minor differences, compared to protestant ideas. In fact, the catholic church considers eastern orthodox to still be in communion with the catholic church, and prays they may rejoin back one day.

Yes, there are some different sects of the catholic church around the world. This is because of some differences in culture, which may desire to worship God in slightly different customs. Some hold the same beliefs, and are in communion with the rest of the catholic church. Just slight variations in how their faith is celebrated.

Some unfortunately, are not in communion with the rest of the catholic church. We pray that they may return back home one day.

From when I last looked, there were somewhere around 20 or 30ish sects of the catholic church. (Not fully sure, but it's something like that).

For comparison, there are somewhere over 30k or 40k different sects of protestantism.

I am sorry I don't have all the details memorized, but I hope this historic/theological explanation from a catholic helps out! (What I've written here isn't hard to find on the internet, if you need to verify.)

Catholics aren’t Christians, Just like how Orthodox Christians aren’t Christian. (orthodox is a cover for all different sects of different religions).

Catholicism is a completely different religion than Christianity, it’s not a subsect of it neither. Catholicism came around when King James(Yes that king James who translated the Bible) and George Villiers were alive (1500 something) it was ostracized by the English and Protestant. It’s not Christianity. Catholics were in hiding well past Queen Elizabeth the firsts reign as well.

Catholics, Christians, Orthodox all have vastly different beliefs, views, bible translations, opinions, etc. they all share Jesus, God, Angels but so does Islam and Judaism.

Catholics, Christians, and orthodox even have all different crosses they wear or don’t wear, even prayer and church styles, imaginary as well.

There’s even different sects of Catholicism. Ie: Roman, Italian, Spanish, Mexican.

[the-acid-pear]

Y'know something I really like about Dave is that despite being the obsessive archetype he kind of... Respects boundaries in some oddly specific ways. Like when actually interacting with Jack he doesn't tend to push him that hard? A simple "fuck off" is enough to make him go "ok :)" most of the time. Like when he's like "fuck took you so long old sport?" And Jack just like "none of your business" and he's just like "fair".

Even the whole stalking thing is like. He only shows himself before Jack (in 2, since DaveTrap is very obviously on the window but can you blame him he's a huge bunny it's hard to sneak) when they're closer than ever, otherwise he just kind of stays on the sidelines. Which by no mean is GOOD but like, could be worse, you know?

[gghostwriter]

If You Love Me Right

Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Part 1 || Part 2 Summary: Emily asks an all important question regarding the next step of your relationship with Spencer Trope: Fluff! Just fluff! w.c: 1.2k a/n: Back at it again with something Short n' Sweet. Unsure if this will be the last of this album inspired fics but so far the album is still on repeat. I think out of all the fluff I've written, this is the one where I could just feel how much of a green flag Spencer would be as a partner, if only he wasn't fictional. Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated! 💗 masterlist

“Have you thought about it?” Emily asked, wine glass on hand as she slid into the seat next to you.

The sun was just starting to set, covering the lush backyard in multitude of pink & orange hues. It was a Sunday and Rossi had invited the team and their extended families for an early Italian dinner feast. When Spencer inquired about your availability, it warmed your heart to hear who you are to him.

“Are you sure you want me there, Spence?” your voice coming out soft and muffled as you burrowed yourself further into the warmth of his slender neck. His invitation was a big step in further solidifying the relationship and having been in questionable situation-ships, you had to be sure where you stood.

He pulled back, doe eyes inquisitively staring into yours. His gaze had this way of making you feel known and at home. It was as if his soul has recognized yours from eons ago and needed no further introduction.

“Of course,” his calloused fingers softly pushing stray locks behind your ears. “You’re my person now and it feels right to have you there with me.”

Emily cleared her throat binging you back to the present. “Well?”

“Thought about what?”

She nodded her head in Spencer’s direction. “Having genius babies with our boy genius?”

You softly smiled, watching your boyfriend of one year perform magic tricks for Henry and Michael. It wasn’t like it never crossed your mind. If you were being honest, by the sixth date and the first time he stayed over for the night, the idea of growing old and starting a family with Spencer by your side had started to solidify. 

“Maybe,” you drawled out. A half truth that the seasoned profiler caught on right away.

“And has this—” she lifted her hands to form quotation marks in the air. “‘maybe’ been discussed with the potential baby daddy?” 

You brought the wine glass up to your lips, the outer corner of your lips tugging upwards your face as you took a sip. Dating a man of Spencer’s caliber had given you the comfort and stability to discuss any little insecurity, adoration, and realization without the unease of thinking he’d judge you for it. Gone were those nights of second guessing and reading too much in between the lines and in its place were honest discussions between two consenting adults. 

It was a real breath of fresh air.

“Do you think we should have a baby?” you casually asked, laying on his lap as he was propped up against the headboard with a book on hand. “I mean, not this second but—yeah, do you?”

There was a rustle of pages before a soft thud. “Sweetheart, don’t take this the wrong way but are you by any chance ovulating?”

“Uh—maybe?”

He smiled, looking down at your slowly reddening cheeks. I—uh, have actually been keeping track—” he bit his lip before rushing out to explain himself. “—not to use the information for nefarious reasons but my brain just started to notice the patterns and it feels like an invasion of your privacy and—are you angry?”

“Oh Spence, no. Not at all,” your hand twining with his to stop its nervous movements. “It might be weird but I know you meant well. Now, will you tell me some facts about why you thought I was ovulating?”

“Well, studies had shown that women feel more flirty, sociable, and more physically attractive right before and during ovulation. Some studies also support the idea of increased libido which makes sense since that is the peak window for propagation of the human species.”

You giggled, always welcoming his rambles even if it had to do with your own reproductive system. “Right, but you know what else got me thinking about it?”

A slight scrunch in between his eyebrows appeared as his mind no doubt rewound the day for any trigger. His eyes brightening when it clicked. “Was it the picture of me holding Henry and Michael?”

“Definitely,” you breathed out, starting to feel warm just thinking about how secure his hold was to the newborn babies and that smile on his face that reached his molten hazel eyes and radiated from his whole face.

He pressed feather-like kisses all over cheeks and forehead. “There’s actually also a study on why that affected you so much. It all comes down to women seeing their partners acting as providers—” he cut himself off to land a kiss on your lips. “—I’m not saying no—I’d actually really like that but maybe we can revisit the idea again in two weeks? I want to make sure this is something you really want and not something your biology has dictated on you.”

“Okay, that sounds fair. I love you, Spence.”

“I love you too.”

Spencer’s laughter floating through the air brought you out of your reverie. A slight shiver passed through you—either from the wind or the imagery of him carrying Michael and holding hands with Henry on the other as they slowly made their way back to their mother.

You turned to face Emily, no doubt that the blush on your cheeks giving you away. “Maybe.”

“Huh,” she tilted her head slightly to the left—a subtle tick you’ve grown to read into.

“What?”

Shaking her head, she leaned in to clink her glass with yours and a teasing smile forming on her face. “Nothing. Well—you’re welcome, by the way. And as a thank you, what do you think about naming the maybe baby after me?” 

You laughed. The trio had taken full credit for bringing the couple together—something that they had always brought up like it was their greatest contribution to earth.

A layer of warmth was added to your shoulders and a faint scent of books and wood wafted to your nose. Tilting your head backwards, it was Spencer sans his black coat that was now adorning your body. His garment effectively marking you as an extension of him, as if the necklace around your neck with his initials 'SR' wasn't enough already. A priceless jewelry that had a partner with your own initials that found its home around his neck. “Hi love.”

“Hi sweetheart,” leaning down to give your lips a kiss. “You looked cold.” 

You were both wrapped up in your own little bubble to notice Emily’s eyebrows arching towards her hairline. “It won’t be long now, I guess. So how many?” 

“One would be cute—” your eyes never lingering on his face as if you were tracing the all his angles and memorizing all the stubbles that had started to grow on his jaw line. 

Spencer without further explanation continued on. “—two would be better.” 

“You know, you both have to stop finishing each other’s sentences, it’s getting creepy,” Emily quipped.

You both laughed, turning to face her, and although your gazes were no longer meeting, the gentle caress of his thumb on the back of your hand was enough to communicate everything and anything in between.

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

[sci-fi-pony]

No matter how many times I watch this episode, THIS. MOMENT. just gets me every time. Regardless of how I feel about Henry and his "parenting" skills, this is such a good moment between these two.

Because Shawn has just been through a horrifically traumatic day. In which, among other horrors, he found out that yet another psychopathic serial killer is obsessed with him, meaning everyone he loves is once again in danger. And he has to face his childhood stalker again for the first time since she tried to murder his mother in front of him. And almost lost two people who are very important to him, knowing he'll blame himself for whatever happens to them since they were only targeted to get to him. But, in typical Shawn fashion, he's going to play it all off as no big deal. In another minute, he'll be back to cracking jokes and snarking at Lassie and pretending that he isn't going to have nightmares for the foreseeable future because of this. He's just fine(TM). Like always.

But for this one moment — when everyone is busy elsewhere and he's still reeling from the relief of everyone being okay — the mask slips and he's absolutely not fine. Cue Henry, who's been struggling this whole time between his desire to protect Shawn, and the fact that he can't offer much actual comfort because their dynamic doesn't work that way (mostly through his own fault but anyway). But here's his son, sitting alone on the dock, soaking wet, shivering, and looking absolutely wrecked. Their guards go down and Henry pulls him into a fiercely protective hug. And Shawn, who so badly needs someone to reassure him that everything is going to be okay (even though it's not, since Yin is still out there and will definitely be back for more and they both know it), just melts into that hug. He clings to his dad's reassuring presence and Henry holds onto his son like he'll disappear if he lets go. And you can see how desperately they hold onto each other for just that one brief, heartbreaking moment.

I have some issues with this episode (even though it's overall a work of art and so so beautifully made) for reasons I won't get into, but this scene gets to me every time. This scene is beautiful. Also, extra kudos to Corbin and James for absolutely nailing the emotions, and without using any dialogue to do it.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In The Cold

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, social dejection, mentions of religion, and other dark elements. Not all kinks or triggers are tagged. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Summary: Your Christmas is set to be a lonely one, but you do your best to share the cheer with your only friend.

Character: Arvin Russell

Day Seven of the December Daze Challenge.

Prompt - cottage!core 

Note: As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The tension is something you’ll never be used to. The silence is as bad as the hushed voices and the sneering side looks. It's all so suffocating. 

So much as you might’ve earned your judgement, it cannot make them righteous. What was it the pastor extolled; ‘let he who be without sin...’ And why is it that the stones they cast are aimed at you and not the man who joined you in your misdeed? The very one who cozened you into the act?  

Henry still sits on the town council, he still goes home to his wife and other children, he still gets a ‘good morning’ or a ‘good day’, and none bat a single eye along the pew. You can’t even get the same from him these days. He’s a stranger now that your dresses are too tight and your gait is wider and wobbly. Now that his adultery has grown inside of you and continues to, he runs from it. 

You pay at the counter for your meagre fare. Janie fired you not long after the minister’s scolding and none-so-subtle remonstrance of straying innocence. Like your mother and father, she abandoned you to your dejection. You would not stain her Christian mantle. 

The shopkeep, Ted, packs up your goods in the bag without a word. He drops your change on the counter and turns away as you gather it up. Despite that, you still thank him. You lift the bag and hug it above your bump. 

You keep your head down as Esther steps up to the counter with her basket. She makes a comment about the holiness of the coming holidays. Of how Jesus’ birthday should be kept sacred. You know she means you to hear but you don’t show that you do. 

You step out into the chilly winds as they swirl around with a gust of powder. You nearly collide with another as you do. The chuckle that comes with the near-catastrophe eases your nerves. In an instant, the weight is scooped out of your arms. 

“There ya’are,” Arvin greets. He’s the only person in town who talks to you.  

In fact, he’s the only reason you have a place to lay your head. He did up his old shed so you could live there for a while. A barter you insisted on. What would people think if you accepted his invitation to stay in the spare room? Surely worse than the already do. He does not deserve to be tainted by you. 

“You all done for the day?” You ask as you keep your arms crossed. 

“Oh yeah,” he answers brightly, “what’d you get? Anything good...” he sniffs the top of the bag, “I smell cinnamon.” 

You chew your lip, “yeah...” 

You glance at him. He wears his fleece lined denim jacket, the collar greyed with age and a button missing on the right chest pocket. It’s not really enough for that kinda cold. Knockemstiff lives up to its name quite often and the winter will be sure to freeze your bones. 

“Sorry, I’m being nosy,” he chuckles. “You want some candy? Got some in my pocket. Mr. Callahan sent them in with Edwin.” 

“Oh, no, I’m okay,” you blow into your woolen mittens. It’s bitter these days. “Um, I was hopin’... I could make ya dinner tonight. Since ya done so much for me. ‘Fraid I don’t got much else to give right now.” 

“That’d be awfully nice,” he accepts with a bounce in his step, “here.” He shifts the weight of the bag into one arm and reaches into his pocket. He pulls out a long shape wrapped in brown paper, the top twisted and tied with ribbon. “Butterscotch.” 

“Arvin, I told ya--” 

“I got lots,” he insists. 

You take it with a thank you. You continue down the packed snow. He’s entirely oblivious to the way Charmain passes with a glare but you feel it in your chest. 

“I was thinking, before the baby comes,” you swallow as the thought bubbles up from the pits of constant dread. “I should leave.” 

“Leave?” He wonders aloud. He looks over at you as snow gathers in his hair, the cold nipping pink his cheeks. He’s two years older than you but looks and seems much younger than you. “Where to?” 

“I got an Aunt a few townships over. She’s the only one still answering my letters. She never had no kids of her own. They all... none of ‘em made it, ya know? I been writing to her and that.” 

“Oh,” his disappointment tweaks in his throat. “Well, you don’t gotta, you know? I don’t mind ya stickin’ ‘round.” 

“I mind. You been so kind already. Once I got the babe, no one gonna take me then neither. No work here, and I’ll be lucky to get a pew on Sundays.” 

“Yeah, well, all these folks be saying they’re godly and how do they act?” His tone edges hotly. “Ain’t godly to turn a soul out. My mama always said so. No soul’ll make it through this world with a dent or two, but the lord’ll forgive.” 

“Mm, she sounds like a nice lady,” you say. 

“She was,” he sniffs. “And so I wouldn’t be puttin’ no shame on her memory by bein’ selfish, ya know? So’s as long as you need it, the shed is yours. I told ya, though, there’s a room inside.” 

“No, no,” you loosen the ribbon and peek inside the paper. The candy stick of twisted sugar is all shades of caramelly brown. You smell it and it plucks at your bottomless hunger. “I don’t mind it. Pa never had the stove goin’ less the snow was past our knees. He always says, if you’re cold, put another sweater on.” 

“Huh,” he scoffs darkly. 

“What?” 

“Yer pa’s the reason you’re in my shed,” he harrumphs. “Sorry for sayin’ it, but I wouldn’t take no advice from a man who’d disown his own blood. He’s the one brought Henry ‘round. They still gettin’ drinks down at the tank.” 

That information is more chilling than the cold. You didn’t know that. You try not to hear things about your father or the man who put this curse in you. 

“I...” he begins crisply, “I’m sorry. I wasn’t gonna tell ya.” 

“Woulda found out soon enough,” you shrug and shove the butterscotch stick in your mouth. You suck on it pensively. It’s sweet but you can hardly enjoy it as your eyes burn with a glaze of tears. 

“So,” he coughs, “what’s for dinner?” 

You pop your lip off the candy, “it’s a surprise,” you say. 

“Oh, I like surprises,” he smiles, not that he ever really stops. Not around you. 

“Well, I hope you like this one,” you drone. 

💝 

You wash the plates from dinner as dessert bakes in the oven. The smell of cinnamon fills the house as you hear Arvin tinkering in the next room. He’s always messing around with something mechanical. You’re not always sure if he’s fixing them or just taking them apart. 

You dry and stack the dishes away. The old house is cozy, quaint. You know it belonged to his parents. It’s still strewn with their memories. As if he’s preserving them in those walls. So you do your best not to disturb it. 

You take the pan out of the oven. The rolled-out dough is perfectly baked and the colour is pristine. The shape resembles their namesake; elephant ears. It’s only dough, sugar, and cinnamon, but so so delicious. Your grandmother used to make them. Despite your current predicament, you’re nostalgic for the simper days. 

You put one on a plate and peek at the doorway. You pause to dig out the parcel you hid under the sink then bring both items out to the front room. You keep the latter behind your back as you approach Arvin. He sits on the floor in front of the burning firestove as he pokes at an old clock with a screwdriver. 

“Here ya go,” you offer him the dessert. “I could make some coffee or tea?” 

“Nah, I’m good,” he puts down the clock and tool, then wipes his hand on the cloth draped over his knee. He reaches up to the take the plate. “Smells good.” He brings the dish down to examine the pastry, “what is it?” 

“Called an elephant ear. Not super fancy.” 

“Looks good,” he grins. “And what’s that?” 

He lifts the baked dough and bites into it as he angles his head as if to see around you. You bring your hand out and present the parcel. 

“Merry Christmas,” you say. “I know it’s not much, and a bit early but it’s gettin’ real cold.” 

He places the plate on the rug and claps his hands off as he chews. His dark eyes sparkle as he takes the bundle wrapped in brown paper. He brings it over his lap and carefully unties the twine. You sway on your feet and rub your stomach as you watch anxiously. 

He uncovers the knitted scarf and cap. He already has thick gloves that he wears for his work. He feels the wool and examines it quietly. You’re suddenly very unsure. 

“You made these? For me?” He looks up. You nod. “Wow, it’s... you lined the cap?” 

“I had a few old pieces I repurposed,” you shrug. 

“It’s...” 

“Not too much. I know. I’m sorry. I don’t make too much these days. People only hire me if no one knows and it’s gettin’ harder to sneak around.” 

He huffs and shakes his head. He lowers his chin and pets the scarf. “It’s everything.” He continues to examine your work. “I hope you don’t mind, my gift’s not ready yet.” 

“Oh, Arvin, you don’t gotta get me nothin’. You done enough.” 

“I want to,” he says. “Now,” he lays down the wool on the rug neatly and grabs his plate. He uncrosses his legs and stands. “Why aren’t you havin’ some dessert? You need to sit down. Let that baby rest. He mustn’t sleep very much with you titterin’ around all the time.” 

“He’s already titterin--” you go to argue and stop with snort. “I think he knows we’re talking about him.” 

You feel your stomach as the baby kicks. Arvin watches your hand on your belly as his brows rise up his forehead. “You think it’s a boy?” 

“Could be. Not too sure. Oof.” You twitch as the baby kicks harder. Then wince again as Arvin puts his hand on you without warning. It’s surprising but not unwelcome. His warmth seeps through your dress. 

“Oh!” He exclaims as the baby beats on your insides. “I can feel him.” 

“It’s a bit early,” you reach back to brace your hips, “he usually waits ‘til I’m in bed.” 

He keeps his hand on you, watching your belly as the baby continues his dance. He seems awestruck by the ripple under your skin. You’re more exhausted of it. 

“I’ll have your present ready soon,” he says. “Promise.” 

💝

Arvin’s truck rumbles up to the house. You were surprised when he drove it into town today. He doesn’t usually start it unless he’s going to fetch firewood or going off for long trips. 

You open the shed door, a blanket around your shoulders as you peek out. His headlights shine through the greyness. It’s still early by your count, unless you lost track again. 

He hops out and stomps through the snow. He waves at you as his hair curls out from under the cap you made him. He wears it every day. You’re happy for that. 

“Merry Christmas,” he calls out. 

“Christmas... it’s still two days away,” you stay behind the door to shield yourself from the winds. 

“Two days!” He claps as he approaches. “Since you gave me my gift early, I got yours ready too.” 

“Mine?” 

“Mmhm. You’re not the only one who can do surprises. So pack a bag.” 

“Pack...” you wonder. 

“Ah, ah, just get a bag, alright?” 

You can see him jittering in excitement. You hate to dampen that but you also feel bad. You made him a hat and scarf. He’s got something planned out that’s gonna at least cost him gas and his time. 

“Oh...” you murmur. 

“Don’t,” he wags a finger. “Really, come on! I wanna get there by dark.” 

“Alright, I’ll be fast.” 

You gently close the door and retreat. You can’t deny him. His words trouble you though. By dark? How far are you going? You don’t want him to do too much. 

You don’t have a lot to take. A few dresses that still fit, some stockings, your sole pair of boots, your coat, and other things just in case. It doesn’t sound like you’ll be coming back tonight. 

You come out in your coat and boots as Arvin keeps the truck idling. He meets you near the hood and takes your bag before he helps you up into the front seat. He gets in the other side and puts your bag between you. 

“Do I get a hint?” You ask. 

“Nope,” he shifts into gear. “Just hold tight.” 

💝

It’s a few hours before Arvin stops. Your eyes scour the sentinel pines all around and fall upon the painted wood of the cabin’s face. The porch pillars are stained a dark blue as the siding stands as white as the snow. It’s only the edgework along the window frames and door that make it visible amid the winterscape. 

You gasp, “Arvin?” 

“Surprise,” he exclaims. 

“What...” 

“My grandfather built this place. Ma’s dad. I been workin’ on it,” he proclaims. 

“Workin’ on it?” 

“Yep! Ma wouldn’t want you raisin’ that boy in a shed.” 

You mull his words and stare at the cabin. “Arvin, my aunt--” 

“I know, she’s a nice woman by the sounds of it. She can always come see us but you know, not many place around that’ll be as nice as her. Not when’s they see a mother with no husband.” 

You shrink down. He’s right. 

“But I’m not--” 

“Like I was saying,” he interjects, “you’re gonna be a mama. Means you need a proper house.” 

He doesn’t wait for you to argue. You don’t have any to offer as you reel in disbelief. Why would he do all this for you? It’s not his baby. You’re not his problem. 

He comes around and offers his hand. You climb out, gripping him tightly, as you flick away your tears. You sniffle and keep your head down as he leads you across the snowy yard. 

“You’re upset?” He asks as he kicks snow off the steps. 

“I’m... surprised,” you croak, trying to hide your face. “Arvin, it’s too much.” 

“Not much at all,” he counters. “But I got a new stove in and the fireplace real nice since I redid the bricks. And I got it all wired up to a gas generator.” 

“Oh,” you puff out as you climb the steps, still latched onto him. You hiccup as your tears flood over. 

“Oh?” He echoes. 

“Arvin,” you babble behind your hand. “Why-- why would you go and do all this for me?” 

“Why wouldn’t I?” He tugs you toward the door. 

“But...” you choke on your words. 

You kick off your feet before you enter. He moves behind you, guiding you from behind with his hands on your arms. He stops you in a dark doorway. He lets go of you and you listen to him shifting around the dimness. He shines a flashlight into the front room. 

“Once I get the lights on, it’ll look better,” he assures. 

You shake your head, “it’s too much.” 

“Nothin’s too much,” he argues again. “Look, you need this place and you need me. You need a husband, don’t ya?” 

“Husband? Arvin, you can’t--” 

“I wanna.” 

“But--” 

“Baby boy’s not mine. No one else needa know. Them folks in Knockemstiff, the don’t go so far. And the next one will be mine. Maybe a girl--” 

“Next one?” 

“Uh huh, gonna give this one lots of brothers and sisters,” he puts his hand on your stomach. 

“I...” your heart sinks from on high. 

He’s quiet, measuring the silence as you do too. You peer into the front room then wince as he turns the light in your direction. You shield yourself as it shines in your eyes. 

“Well, you gonna tell me no?” His voice is low and silty. “Cause I don’t think no one’s gonna take you away from me. Ain’t no one else want you.” 

It’s like a knife sinking into your gut. Your frown and grab his hand, trying to shove it off your stomach. Why would he say that? He twists free of your grasp and clings to you instead. He turns the light under his chin so it casts his features in a sinister glow. 

“Without me, you and that baby’d be frozen to the side of the street,” he sneers. “All’s I’m tryna do is give you everything, you could at least do the same.” 

[theemissuniverse]

“DYNAMITE” HENRY HART X ENEMY FEM!READER

SUMMARY : You and Henry haven’t really gotten along since you’ve known each other. Henry’s put up with it for far too long. (Both 18, graduated high school. Relationship is sort of like Freddie and Sam from ICarly.)

CONTENT : suggestive content, slightly explicit

MASTERLIST

No one and I mean not a single soul anticipated you and Henry ever being a couple. From early childhood to the end of middle school, the two of you were kind of like enemies. You would ‘bully’ him and the two of you would argue constantly up until when the two of you graduated high school.

The only reason why the two of you spoke was because Charlotte was your best friend and Henry was her friend too. Henry couldn’t even understand how you could like Jasper more than him.

He was tired. Tired of the teasing, tired of the hitting, tired of you. Especially because he had actually no other reason to dislike you. He honestly thought you were really cool when you weren’t dishing out all your misery onto him.

Tonight? Tonight was the final straw.

You were so mad at him that you almost exposed he was Kid Danger at a party Jasper was throwing at the air n b. Henry immediately took you into a bedroom and closed the door before looking at you, furious.

He was even more mad was because the only reason why you were invited to the party was because he told Jasper to. Jasper was afraid of you and didn’t want you to come but Henry didn’t want you to feel left out.

That’s just the type of person Henry was.

He was never this angry at you. He was used to you but he was boiling with anger.

This was it.

“What the actual fuck is your problem?”

You were caught off guard. Henry wasn’t really the swearing type unless he was joking or being funny. You had to of done it.

Henry didn’t even let you speak. He just kept going. “Teasing me since elementary school? I can handle. Throwing me into lockers in middle school? I can handle. Making me get detention after you blamed me for everything you did through out high school? I can handle. But exposing my secret? My secret to the entire party for me merely existing is something I can not fucking handle anymore.”

You looked at Henry in sort of a guilty and sad way. “It wasn’t for nothing.”

“Oh it wasn’t?” Henry begins to sarcastically say. “Oh, then please tell me what the problem is! Enlighten me! I really wanna know what grinded Ms. Nothing is ever Perfect gears tonight?! Hmm? What was it?”

You looked down in shame, not even wanting to say why. “You were talking to Ashley.”

Henry was even more confused. Why did the thought of talking to Ashley bother you? “You almost exposed me…because I was talking to Ashley?”

“See, when you put it like that, it sounds bad.”

“It is bad!” Henry scoffed at you. It’s like he couldn’t believe what and who he was seeing. “See, you’re ridiculous. I don’t even know why I wanted you here at this party in the first place.”

When Henry had said that, your eyes lit up. “You wanted me here?”

“Yeah because everyone is so afraid of you and thinks you’re a….the very not nice word that starts with a ‘B’ but I’m said ‘no, she’s just going through a lot. She’s not that bad’ but you know what? You are that bad. You’re crazy! No! Insane even. And this whole thing was crazy for me to even-“

Henry was cut off abruptly by the motion of you kissing him, directly on the lips. He stood there in complete shock. The kiss was so short, he didn’t even get to appreciate how soft your lips were. How comforting they felt.

He looked at you confused. He blinked a little, trying to process what just happened. “Um…what was that?”

You bit your lip and looked down to the ground. You couldn’t even look at him. “I know I’ve been extra…I’ve always been extra it’s just…I always thought you were cute and…I kinda liked you. Even though I gave you a wedgie four times…and ate your lunch every day….and made a dog eat your homework and when you told the teacher the excuse, you got detention but…I guess that was my way of expressing that I liked you. And when I saw Ashley flirting with you and you…enjoying it…I freaked out.”

Henry was completely stunned by your confession. Never in a million years would he ever hear from your mouth that you had a crush on him. The entire time.

And then he thought about it. How every Valentine’s Day at school he would get candy grahams but never knew who it was. How quickly you reacted to him even slightly grazing your hand. How sometimes you would just stare at him and he would have to ask you if something was on his face.

And then he thought about himself. How every Valentine’s Day he secretly hoped it was you. How he hoped you didn’t mind him purposely grazing your hand just to feel your contact. How sometimes he wanted to grab you by the hips and give you the most passionate kiss you’ve ever had by the way you looked at him.

“I’m sorry, Henry. I’m sorry I’ve been a bitch. I’m sorry I ruined everything.”

Now here’s something he’d thought he never see. You were crying. Tears. Actual tears not sweat. You had never cried in front of him before. Never.

Henry bit his lip, feeling bad. Was it still justifiable for him to be angry? Yes but he finally understood at least why you’ve been acting like this towards him.

You went to try and walk away but Henry wouldn’t let you. He grabbed your arm and spun you around. This time Henry’s lips landed on yours.

It was your turn to be surprised. You didn’t think after everything the two of you went through that Henry would even remotely feel the same way as you. But he did. Every bit of it.

You pulled Henry down more since he was taller than you. Henry held onto your waist as he deeply kissed you. You were melting right in his arms. Nothing felt better than his kisses.

Henry wasn’t expecting for your hands to go to the belt on his jeans. He felt you unbutton him super quick.

You slowly took the belt off this time, grazing his abdomen with your nails softly. The gesture made Henry let out a low growl that he himself had no idea where it came from.

Henry picked you up by thighs and had you up against the wall. Held you in place while you broke the kiss to kiss and suck on his neck.

“We-shit-need to talk-damn.” The sucking on his neck made him moan relentlessly.

“Talk about what?” You asked while taking off your shirt.

“Talk about-“ Henry cut himself off when he say how good your chest looked in a tightly fitted black bra. You smirked, seeing his reaction. You took his hands and placed them on your ass.

He forced himself out of his own trance. “I don’t just want to have sex with you. I like you.”

“Then have me.”

Henry looked in your eyes and then back at your lips. All before kissing you but this time, he did it lovingly. Like you were made of glass.

You were his now. In a strange way.

[aglionbyacademia]

Okay fuck it all, here are some reasons to love the shit out of Gansey:

• the way he cares about his friends, like he just loves them so incredibly much and always feels like he doesn’t deserve them and he sees all that potential in them and just wants them all to be save and happy and healthy

• every time he calls one of his friends “marvelous creature”

• the yearning. The yearning for Glendower. The yearning for knowledge. The yearning for every single one of his friends. The yearning for blue

• the way he doesn’t do favorites. He loves all his friends so obviously equally and even when blue joins the group and he falls in love with her he’s still not choosing her over the guys or the guys over her

• the way he makes mistakes all the time and does his fucking best to learn from them and improve

• the way he does things just for the aesthetic. His journal? The Camaro? Monmouth manufacturing? The books laying around at Monmouth? His bed in the middle of the fucking room? None of it is really practical and there are way more modern and sensible alternatives he could use but NO bitch boy has got to be extra and live his 80 year old grandpa life for the a e s t h e t i c of it all

• his intelligence. I know we talk about how smart Adam is a lot (which duh! He is.) but guys!!! Gansey is so fucking smart. He’s close behind Adam in most classes and that all the while searching for Glendower and as opposed to Adam he doesn’t need to be good. (Also he never seems to study much in the books. It’s mentioned that Adam studies a lot. It’s mentioned that Ronan studies once. It’s never mentioned that Gansey studies. I mean sure, we can assume he does study a bit but by all means not even close as much as Adam and he’s still right behind Adam in most classes!!). But also, let alone all the research and shit he did for Glendower? All the random unnecessary facts he has floating around his brain?

• so he comes from a rich white family of Republicans. Red flag, right? But no, not with Gansey. You might thing a character with that background would probably be controversial and idk man racist and homophobic and what not. But not Gansey

• he literally couldn’t give any fucks about Ronan being gay. When he finds out about Ronan and Adam all he says is that Adam better not play with Ronan’s feelings because he’s vulnerable. Also, it’s to assume Gansey already knew about Ronan’s sexuality and he never made a big deal out of it (because it is no big deal).

• Also, when Ronan made slightly racist remarks about Henry, Gansey called him out on it (and that happened like twice at least)

• number one Adam Parrish stan

• number one Ronan Lynch stan

• number one Henry Cheng stan

• number one Blue Sargent stan

• number two Noah Czerny stan (sorry but I think blue and Ronan are fighting for first place so Gansey got pushed to second because he wouldn’t want to get into that war)

• the peacemaker!!! Literally such a pure boy who hates fights so much and all he ever tries is to solve them and get going

• all he ever tries is to help and support his friends and give them all the love and best life they deserve even if he’s pretty shit at it at times (i. e. whenever he tried to help Adam with money. We know you mean well Gansey but that’s not the way to go with Adam you should know that by now)

(• the way rarely sees fault in his friends. Ronan literally once thought about how Gansey always acts like Adam is such a saint while he’s really not (Ronan’s words, not mine) and literally Gansey would excuse any bullshit Ronan does in a heartbeat without even thinking about it twice)

• how he’s always worried about his friends. When he still thought Ronan tried to kill himself how he always worried about it happening again and he keeps blaming himself for not being able to help or Adam getting hit by his father and Gansey not being able to help him out of there

• all. he. wants. is. for. his. friends. to. be. happy

• his need to always please everyone no matter what

• “Gansey was just a guy with a lot of stuff and a hole inside him that chewed away more of his heart every year. They were always walking away from him. But he never seemed able to walk away from them.”

• the amount of times he thinks of Ronan and Adam as his brothers. The unconditional love he has for them

• it might not be evident at all times because Gansey is a clumsy mess around women (Blue) BUT he did drink his respect women juice. Sometimes he just says dumb shit he doesn’t mean and learns from it

(• all the emotions and thoughts he keeps on hiding and shoving down because he doesn’t want to burden his friends with his problems?? Like, baby this is not the way to go you gotta let it out but also super sweet you don’t want to put it on your friends (which you should tho because that’s kinda what they’re there for and you’re also always so eager to hear about their problems and help them with it). He already knows he’ll die soon but he tells no one because he knows they will try to help prevent it and that they’ll get hurt because of it so he never tells them.)

(• His panic attacks. His ptsd. His insomnia. He’s trying so hard to be the positive and supportive and helpful dad of the group while he himself has major problems but he always feels like his friends are more important than that.)

• “With force, Gansey kicked off his shoes. One flew over his miniature Henrietta and the other made it all the way to the side of his desk. It slammed off the old wood and slid to the ground. Under his breath, Gansey said, "Yee haw.”

• the poetry of his thoughts and speech. Like,,,, dream me the world,,,, safe as life,,,,, excelsior,,, that’s all there is

• his almost kisses with blue and just the way he always describes and thinks of her and he’s just so. in. love

• “And everywhere, everywhere there were books. Not the tidy stacks of an intellectual trying to impress, but the slumping piles of a scholar obsessed.”

• the way him and Declan just,,, raised Ronan??? And Gansey was the parent that made Ronan feel very loved and accepted while Declan was the strict parent who just wanted to protect without giving much freedom

• wanting to use the favor to bring Noah back to life??? Like??? He could use it for anything in the world but no if he gets it he wants to use it to bring Noah back because he just loves his friends so. much.

• he died to save his friends even though he was so so terrified about dying. I mean he did it once and never wanted back. He thought about not wanting to die so so so many times. So many conversations with his friends about just how scared he is to die and how easy it would be for him to die with his allergy and all and then he just puts his life on the line for them in the flicker of a heartbeat

[noneorother]

The puns are never ending : Aziraphale's miraculous "visable" bullet.

Aside from this closeup diagram of how to perform the bullet catch being objectively hilarious, it's also got a pretty fascinating *spelling mistake*.

If you look closely at the part of the pamphlet in red, you'll see that the bullet should be hidden in the mouth where it won't be visable. Not "not visible". Not visable. Seems innocuous enough right? But of course, the layers are never ending.

"Visable" is actually a Middle English word, *not* a modern English one. The last time it was used was before the printing press was invented, so pretty old. Here's a little background :

What's really fascinating though, is that just like the expression "dark horse", the word has two meanings : one is "Capable of good judgement, prudent" the other is "Tractable and docile".

There are also only two examples of the word in context that I can find, and they really should be sending you into orbit :

The first one is actually from Henry Lovelich's translation of the French epic poem "The Romance of Merlin" also known as the first English treatment of the Arthurian legends. It's modernized as "He was a worthy knight, valiant and visable in every fight." Which uses the "good judgment" meaning and sounds... a lot like Aziraphale in his role of guardian and protector.

Why do we care? They are standing literally in front of Excalibur, Arthur's sword.

The other one is from "Ipomadon", another middle English epic poem about a hidden identity romance between a beautiful but proud heiress, and her dark knight in disguise. "She was... visable and virtuous, meak and mild, and marvellous." Which clearly uses the "tractable and docile" meaning, but also... kinda sounds like Aziraphale in his damsel in his distress mode, which:

Ahahahah fuck off. But wait, there's more!

I originally twigged to this error because if you, like me, also happen to speak the language of la plume de ma tante, you know there's a reason why the uses happen in epic poems that originated in France: it's a loan word from old French, and still exists today in modern French, but it doesn't mean tractable and docile...

For the non-french speaking among you, it's a derivation of the verb "viser" :

Verb 1 To aim 1.To aim, to carefully direct one's gaze or a weapon towards a goal to throw something at it.

And so, if you happen to be, oh I don't know, a demon and have been alive for thousands of years and can definitely speak all the languages on earth and happen to have participated in the Arthurian age in England, when you read that pamphlet really carefully because someone is making you do a crazy stunt and there's a miracle blocker on, you could *conceivably* have read the instructions as:

"IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT YOU LOVE, DO NOT SHOOT AZIRAPHALE IN THE FACE." ________________________________________________________ Thanks to @thebluestgreen and @embracing-the-ineffable as always.

[fleetingcalypso]

HIIII, if you don't mind me asking!

I have a prompt in mind thanks to a post I saw the other day on Instagram, and I think it's PERFECT for an Henry Winters fic, so here it is!

It is said that the ancient Greeks used the throwing of an apple to propose, and if you accepted the marriage proposal you caught the apple mid air.

Imagine that, after years of friendship and relationship, Henry proposes to y/n by throwing her?them? an apple and they caught it 👀👀👀

I'D LOVE TO HEAR YOUR OPINION

≋ Thank you for being my very first companion in this new beginning. I'll happily indulge you. I can only hope my vision is satisfactory.

≋ Henry Winter x GN!Reader ≋

≋ Word count: around 2,4k words.

≋ TW: Slight misogyny, probable manipulation and toxic relationship, Edmund "Bunny" Corcoran.

Henry Winter is a disease. I took notice the first time I laid my eyes on him. He carries himself as if he is Atlas, mantaining the entire world on his shoulders and as if the it weighs nothing at all. His friend group is not any better, quite frankly: twins, incestuous ones clinging to each other like abandoned pups, a queer young man, with hair as red as the sunset and a mask to put Melpomene and Thalia to shame, an insufferable brat and a clean slate of a man, completely and utterly empty inside, stuck in his fantasy. For some insane reason, I found myself part of this whorehouse as well.

Henry Winter rises above all of them, I fully believe that. The world bends to his will, it always has and it always will. He is the tempestuous sea that grinds down the cliff, he is the wind that bends trees with only a light breeze, Henry Winter in his magnificence is the Sun which the World revolves around. 

He stands on the edge of the lake as I see him, towering over the calm surface, trusted book resting in the crook of his elbow and a red apple in his hand. If I squint and let the sun go into my eyes for a moment, I can wholly see him as Zeus, King of the Gods, unshackled by any guilt or any error he might have upon himself, he grips the fruit of sin in his palm, his thumb stroking the skin of it as if it was a lover’s cheek. “Henry,” I call out to the wind and I feel the Heaven I had created in my mind collapse when my voice reaches him. His gaze breaks from the horizon, it sets itself upon my figure, it feels like I’m no longer standing near Francis’ lake house, instead I’m perambulating through the Elysian Fields, at the edge of the world. This man is a disease, he is a drug, and I am but a servant of his world slowly stealing crumbs of what he offers me, becoming an addict before I can realize it.

“You should have stayed back with the others. I’ll be but a minute.” He speaks and it’s a subtle order the one he gives me, but I’ve never been one to follow instructions, even if given by Gods of his caliber. I am unable to move from my spot. It is an impossible task, almost herculean, how could it be anything else when this is one of the very rare moments we can catch, with just us present.

At my insolent inobedience, his lips tilt up into a grin. It is a swift motion as he tosses the apple to me, an even swifter motion as I grab it. And it ends there: Paris has chosen the one to whom the Golden Apple belongs to. He wordlessly approaches me, spins me around, rests his warm hand on the small of my back and guides me back to the house.

A week later, as I’m nursing him back to health after he's found himself victim to a vicious migraine, his kitchen acts as my sanctuary and it isn’t until after ten minutes of pure silence that his house phone rings, on the other side of it none other than Bunny. “How’s Henry?” He asks, and I doubt he is looking for an honest answer, “He’s resting,” I reply, hoping he might find some other poor sinner to bother. To my displeasure, he keeps talking, tasking me with the lowly chore of having to listen to him.

“That’s too bad! I’ve been meaning to talk to him about something of the utmost importance,” He professes, his smirk perfectly audible in the tone of his voice.

“I’m sure I can pass along the message, what is it, Bunny?” “Oh, I was just wondering if he could lend me a couple hundred dollars before he begins going mental trying to organize your wedding.” Now, this was one of the most dumbfounding sentences Bunny had ever spoken into existence. Even if it was for a fleeting moment, my mind could not comprehend him: ‘your wedding’ he had said, like he expected me to agree as second nature. “My wedding, Bunny?” I sought further information, with not little confusion in my voice, his newly founded dubiety mimicking my feelings. 

“Yes? Your wedding. You know, the one Henry proposed to you not so long ago? Have you really forgotten?”  His ‘know-it-all’ tone doesn’t do much to help me find what grain of peace of mind I have lost. “No, Bunny. Henry did not propose to me, you must be mistaken. We are not engaged, whatever you are drinking is doing you more harm than good.”

“Ah, but I’m as sober as a stone carving, dearest friend,” and there it is again, the mockery that so perfectly encapsulates what Edmund ‘Bunny’ Corcoran is. If Henry is a disease, then Bunny is the plague itself. “And I am not mistaken, I don’t know what the point of acting secretively is now that we all know about your engagement. You’re acting ridiculous.” 

For once in my life, I find Bunny’s words interesting, and for as much as I would love for it to be reality, I know an engagement with Henry never occurred. Lest I was too inebriated to properly recall it.

“I for one,” he keeps talking, much to my dismay when I see Henry staggering into the room, “Would be heartbroken if my Marion were to forget a romantic proposal such as the one you experienced. Ah! I can feel it shattering already, my poor heart.”

“Bunny, I have to go.”

“Wait! What about the mon-” I’m quick to interrupt him by hanging up. With time it’s become almost an artstyle: ignoring Bunny’s requests this way is something not even Henry himself is able to do.

My fingers are still tightly wrapped around the handset, the only noise I hear is Henry’s rugged breathing as he struggles to keep himself upright. Such a prideful man, bested by a migraine. Were I not caught up in an internal turmoil I would have precipitously scrambled by his side, wrapped my arm around his body and guided him to his armchair, but now? Now I watch him, and he watches me. His eyes are like a hawk’s, they pierce right through me.

He hasn’t heard what Bunny said, I know it, I’m certain of it. Then, why is it that I feel like in front of me is not a man, but judge, jury and executioner. He’s waiting for me to do anything, my Achilles’ heel is waiting, standing right in front of me and it seems unsure of what to do: to mercilessly bore himself through me as a spear does to an enemy soldier  or to let me make the first step into the battlefield unharmed.

“Bunny called.” My voice is unrecognizable to me, his hum is enough for me to keep talking, “He is often unruly, foolish and to be completely honest unbearable. One can always expect to be mocked when in his presence,” Why I find myself detailing our friend’s manners is unclear, perhaps I am searching for a grain of context where I can find only unsureness, “But he said something peculiar today, to my surprise. Something I find myself clinging on. It was but a short-lived conversation, yet, it flooded my mind with ‘what-ifs’.”

“Even Bunny has his moments.” His attempt at a joke is but a mere flicker of light humor, a fickle attempt to avoid this situation we are both stuck in. Knowing him, Henry right now would love nothing more than a glass of whiskey and for me to start working on his dinner. So I do. A sigh abandons my lips as I move to the kitchen, and before I know it I’ve abandoned the subject at hand, focusing instead on the sound of the bottom of his glass makes as it makes contact with the wooden table.

Henry, my gentle savior, pops me out of my bubble with just a few words. “I have yet to properly thank you for taking care of me this way.” I feel he wants to say more so I don’t interrupt and as expected my transcendental divinity blesses me with his voice once again, “My kitchen feels right with you in it, there’s a dent in the place you always occupy on the couch, for some reason I can’t bring myself to fluff it out.” A beat passes, “My bed feels warmer with you in it.”

Nights with him weren’t all that rare, but they also weren’t a regular occurrence. I know I’m not the only one to have seen Henry in his most intimate moments, the sheer passion we have shared wasn’t one that he kept locked away just for me. He is a giver, at heart. His heart, although cold and behind bars, has a need to give, all the time. I fear he thinks that if he does not give, then he has nothing himself. 

“Are you saying I should move in with you?” I ask, the spoon I’m using to stir his dinner almost abandons my hands to fall into the pot. He is easier to read than he thinks, or maybe I am a fool with a crooked halo. 

“I feel it is only proper.” His presence behind me is noticeable only when his arms wrap around me, his chest presses against my back and I delude myself this is a display of affection for an invisible audience, I mislead myself into imagining we are in  a house full of people gazing at us with a soft smile on their faces, being participants of what could be our affection for each other. I know better. From the way his arms twitch, my beloved Henry is only using me as a crutch to make sure I am not burning his food. 

“Is it?” The ability to form sentences seems to have fled my mind, “And why is that? Simply because I nurse you back to health?” 

“I won’t lie and say that’s not part of why I want you here. I would have thought you had understood by now.”

Maybe I don’t know Henry as well as I do, because his words strike me with each syllable. “What Bunny said, he said something about a wedding. My wedding, your wedding, our wedding.” 

And just like that the bandaid comes off. And a response never comes. His hair tickles my neck and the cold rim of his glasses sends goosebumps down my neck when he nuzzles his face in my shoulder. Now I’m sure I don’t know him at all.

“Our wedding.” He finally breaks the silence when he notices the spoon inevitably fell into the pot. I hear his soft whisper directly into my ear.

As my head turns to try and find his gaze, my eye falls onto the basket of apples set on the counter. Red ones, like the ones near the lake house. Red, the color of love, of passion and of blood. It ties together the two most gruesome things in human history, a pair that cannot be undone not even by divine intervention: Love and Murder.

“I thought you’d be overjoyed to be my bride. Was I wrong?” There’s a challenge in his tone, he wants to be challenged, almost wants me to deny him, but Henry knows. He knows I cannot deny him, ever. I don’t want to deny him. 

Now it seems so obvious. Henry must think me a fool for having taken so long, even so, teasing him tastes just like sweet ambrosia and no matter how much I try, part of me cannot be restrained.

“Throwing an apple at a girl to claim her as your bride might have been the fashion back then,” His smirk is pressed into my skin as his lips kiss the spot right under my ear, “But might I have to remind you, Henry, not all of us are as knowledgeable about Ancient Greece's customs as you are. It was such an ephemeral moment it did not seem to have much meaning.”

“I’m offended, I’ll have you know I put quite a lot of thought into it.” His hands rest on my waist as they have done so many times, only now it doesn’t feel as inconspicuous as it used to be. I’m the last one to know, this is a first. 

“I doubt aiming a fruit at my face took you much thought.”

“On the contrary, dearest. Were my toss too strong it would have hurt you, and that was not my intention.” His hand is warm, it’s all I can feel when it rests on my cheek, and as he did while holding the apple that day, his thumb strokes my skin. “It was entertaining to see you so oblivious, I have to admit, even if I owe Bunny around two hundred dollars now.”

“What for?”

“He bet everyone that you would not understand what my action meant until someone brought your attention to it.”

“That bastard.”

I have a sneaking feeling a diamond ring will sit on my finger before tomorrow, but for the time being, this is fine. Jewelry, accessories have never meant much, it’s just gold, silver, rubies. The way his lips press against mine to muffle my laugh means much more than any diamond ever could. I’ve spent long trying to not fall in love with Henry, and now I’ll spend even longer knowing what being loved by him feels like. 

He is my Paris, kidnapping me from my rotten existence to be with him, and unlike Helen I accept this fate. Unlike Helen, I love my abductor, I love him so much this doesn’t even feel like a transgression. Henry holds my heart in his hands, as he did that apple, and it is his choice to chuck it as far as he can or to gently place it in a basket in his home. For the time being, he is being as generous as to handle me with nothing but love and care. If our story is to be narrated, like a Greek myth, like a victorious hymn, let it be forever like this, while we hold each other in our kitchen, exchanging the first kisses of our real, unmasked love.

[allurilove]

It's Henry's first day at kindergarten but reader can't take him so Yan's husband goes instead

It’s your husband’s day off, and he would just absolutely love to spend it with his petulant son. Yandere husband dressed up Henry in his dark blue overalls, and even did his hair. He bought Henry a tiny green backpack that was filled with the essentials, and he made sure to buy supplies for the class too.

Yandere husband parked his car near the front of the school, and he glanced back at Henry who was strapped in his seat. Henry was pouting, his arms crossed, and his cheeks slightly puffed up.

“You look great.” your husband said with a small smile, and he reached over to give Henry a pat on the head. Henry scowled, his brows dipped with anger. The kid hated being alone with his father.

Henry leaned away before his father could touch him. “I know,” he said, with a tight grip on the shoulder straps, wringing them to control his first-day nerves. “Can you Facetime Mom now? I want to see her before I go to school.”

Yandere husband nodded, patting his pockets for his phone. “You know, your mother has a good reason why she couldn’t be here.”

You were at the doctor’s office, finally being able to see them after months of rescheduling and being rescheduled. Yandere husband knew how much this was important to you, and he got out of work for the day. He wanted to be there for you and Henry—to be a good husband and father. Of course, his son wouldn’t be too enthusiastic about spending a couple of minutes with him before school, but yandere husband would still be there for Henry.

“…and you know how she feels. She’s absolutely gutted-“ they both said at the same time. Henry rolled his eyes, hearing the whole speech of excuses the first time was alright, and hearing it again just made him feel worse. He didn’t like being away from you, and he dreamed of his first steps into his new school would be with you.

The car fell into silence as they both waited for you to pick up. Henry looked out the window, watching the swarm of kids with their parents and guardians— all with big and happy smiles. He felt a pit forming in his stomach when he heard his father dial you once more, but you must’ve been too busy to answer. Henry knew you wouldn’t have left him hanging if you saw that he was a nervous wreck. He usually had this extroverted facade around you, and acted like a kid that was ready to take on the world. However, he still needed you to hold his hand. He needed you to pick up and tell him that everything was going to be okay.

Yandere husband watched his son’s expression fall as he rang you for the third time. “Oh, uh—” he nervously chuckled, putting his phone back into his pocket. “She’s probably doing something important—” What was more important than him? “You know how it is, right, kid?”

Henry was used to hearing that about his father, but not about his mother. Mom always picks up, she would never miss a call. She always made time for him. “Call again.” Henry shook his head. “Keep calling her.”

You never answered any of your husband’s calls. Henry got out of the car with his father by his side, and they both held hands as they walked to the front doors. The young boy stared at the random permanent drawings on the brick wall, the words “hell” and “turn back around” standing out to him.

Sensing his son’s hesitation, yandere husband got down to his eye level. “The first day is always scary, I know that. I’ve had many first days, and I never got used to it, but it gets better every time! The feeling subsides—“

“What does ‘subsides’ mean?”

“Never mind that, Henry. You’ll meet new people, hang out with your friends, and make amazing memories,” yandere husband went on and on.

“Chin up, kid. You’re about to have the best—or the most mediocre—time of your life, and that’s alright!” he ended his speech with a solid slap on Henry’s back.

“Real encouraging, Dad.” Henry mumbled to himself, crossing his arms for some comfort. Henry then took a deep breath and shuffled forward. He turned around to give his father a brief wave, and he disappeared into his class.

[aaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh]

yaknow

all the players of dndads bring the same stuff each season but like message wise

Like Mat is big on "though I recognize my problems that doesn't mean I'm stable"-with season1 Darryl knew that he probably wasn't the best dad and wasn't doing the best stuff, even as he tried to be stable his arc was kinda realizing that and also helping grant.Link understood his dad wasn't ok and he wasn't ok and he realized and pushed him and his dad to get help. Kelsey understands her addictions but always pushes herself to be batter and teach her students, but truly she still has problems and that she realizes that she can't solve everything and I feel that is beautiful.

With Beth it's more anxiety and how others pressure. With Ron it's how the pressure of his father and how his childhood trama caused him to be more "unaware" and caused more anxiety to be good. Scary had this anxiety that she was the reason her dad wasn't with them and the stereotype of goths hating everyone and not caring. She also reaches out to willy who is distant like her father and that's why she looked ro him so much. Trudy is about the pressure that society has on women and what they are "supposed to do" and are "made for"

Freddy is more about 2 sides of a coin. Glenn,even though he seems immature, he realizes the impact Morgan's death has on Nick and gives up everything for him. Taylor is a weed and silly but he still has the impact of his dad not being there for him on the inside and uses anime and swords as coping. Though Blake is a silly not great plummer who doesn't care and stuff he still struggles with his abilities.

Will let's his characters break and realizes things, he shows that bottling thing isn't good and even if you thought you got over things they might come back and that is OK. Henry holds himself in this high standard were he has to be the most zen and crunchy munchy guy, but when he sees his father he realizes that he isn't perfect and isn't what he holds himself to but that he shouldn't hide who he is and nor force himself and just be himself. I'm season 2 Normal hides behind this mask of teen spirit and thinks that if he makes other people good their good deeds will also make him loved and if he tries to make everyone better they will love him, but he realizes that he shouldn't hide and just keep going(kinda)

But idk you tell me

[bethanydelleman]

Writing Villains (Advice from Jane Austen)

One of the reasons that I find Jane Austen's novels so wonderful is that they have amazingly realistic villains, some that are fully fleshed out characters. Austen's biggest strength is that she gives her villains clear, logical motives. In fact, for many of her villainous characters you can turn the entire story around and see a rational story from the other side.

For example, Lucy Steele. She doesn't attack Elinor out of mindless evil, but because Edward Ferrars is her golden ticket to wealth and she knows that Edward loves Elinor. Lucy might twist the knife a little on Elinor out of sadism, but generally she attacks Elinor in an attempt to secure Edward. When it comes to other characters, Lucy is overly sweet if she wants something from them, otherwise she acts normally. As an example, she leaves Marianne alone because Marianne is not competing for Edward and also can't do anything for Lucy. Anne, Lucy's sister, likes her. Lucy has friends and family she stays with, she's a fairly well-rounded person.

You can put yourself in Lucy's shoes, you can turn the entire narrative on it's head and play it out from her perspective and it would make complete sense. You could even make Lucy sympathetic! She probably sees herself as a hardworking underdog, trying to wrest her one chance at prosperity away from the conniving Elinor Dashwood. I'm sure she thinks the pain she causes Elinor is justified.

If you can't do that with your villains, then there is a good chance they are just evil for evil's sake. I picked Lucy Steele on purpose because I hate when the entire motivation for a antagonist female character is "bitches be crazy". Bitches may be mean, but almost always for a good reason.

Even Mrs. Norris, who is probably the most cruel of Austen's female villains, can be perspective switched. Her life is about being useful to the Bertram family so she can feel important because her married status/wealth is lower than she wished. As she must always be deferential towards the Bertrams, she takes out her negative emotions on those below her, the servants and Fanny, while also showing off how good she is at "managing" those people. (And yes, she is your childhood bully)

We often hear her perspective and she clearly sees herself as a useful part of the family and a defender of Sir Thomas's wealth. She thinks she's a good person! Which is also an important point: most people doing wrong do not believe that they are doing wrong. That is what really makes a villain scary. Mrs. Norris thinks she's helping Fanny in a very twisted way by teaching Fanny her station in life. If you asked her, she'd give you a self-justified answer and she'd probably actually believe it.

Another way to do a good villain is to just make a person very selfish. Henry Crawford doesn't sit around all day laughing about how much pain he causes women, he doesn't think about it. He only thinks about the fun of flirting for himself, not the harm to others. The glimpses we get into his perspective are not cruel at all. It's the same with Willougby, he thinks only of his own pleasure and tries very hard to ignore that he has crushed Marianne and destroyed Eliza Williams. When he is forced to accept that people were hurt, he blames everyone but himself.

Wickham thinks that he's a victim, Caroline Bingley is ambitious and doesn't care who she steps on to get to the top, Mr. Elton is insulted that Emma could even dream he's a match with Harriet but he can't touch Emma so he punches down at Harriet. They all make sense, they all probably believe that their actions are justified.

Also, imagine taking the heroine/hero right out of the story, would the villain still act the same way? If Anne didn't exist, Mr. Elliot would still try to bring himself into the Elliot family because he was afraid of losing the title. If Elizabeth didn't exist, Wickham would have had another favourite in Meryton. If Fanny didn't exist, Mrs. Norris would have found some other puppy to kick. The villains don't just appear for the plot of the main characters, they have their own reasons for moving around and messing shit up.

Lastly, explaining but not excusing (though unfortunately some people will excuse anyway but that's not your fault). Mary Crawford is mercenary and doesn't seem to believe that love is even a real thing. It's pointed out several times in the novel that her defects have to do with being raised in an immoral environment and a broken home. She was taught by her aunt to marry for wealth and disregard love. Austen doesn't excuse Mary, she doesn't give her a happy ending, but she does explain how she came to be. She's not just greedy, she has been taught that wealth is the best recipe for happiness. As an adult now, it is her responsibility to question that maxim or remain a villain.

Austen wrote amazing morally grey characters and "villains" (a term I used a little liberally here, some of them probably only count as antagonists, not full blown villains). I love how real and human she made her characters, it's something I aspire to myself!

Linking my Caroline rant because it's related, people remove her motives so often and flatten her into a "bitches be crazy".

[royal-chandler]

temporary/maybe permanent title is winter interlude. written for the lovely @caressthosecheekbones ✨

--

Henry is certain that he's only just fallen asleep when he’s nudged awake, Alex’s soft scratched voice at his ear and his hand giving Henry’s wrist a slight squeeze. Henry’s answer to his name is a long groan. 

“Hen, baby. Can you wake up for me?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Please?”

Henry groans once more and burrows further into the pocket of warmth that’s been conjured from sleep, their thick cloud-like duvet, and Alex’s arms. He keeps his eyes shut and silently, drowsily wishes for Alex to concede. And of course, no such luck.

“I’ve got an amazing idea.”

“That for some ungodly reason can’t wait until morning?”

“It’s uh,” Henry feels Alex slightly shift away, imagines that he’s checking the nocturne glow of their bedside clock, “one thirty-six right now so technically...”

“Don’t even bother finishing that sentence.”

“Come on,” Alex draws out. He shakes Henry some more, as if he can transfuse enthusiasm through vibration or using Henry like a ketchup bottle that’s been sitting too long. “Come on, we’re losing starlight. Let’s get a move on.”

“Christ, Alex, what for?”

“It’s stopped snowing. We should go sledding.”

Henry snorts, incredulous in the quiet. “Fuck off.”

Clearly Alex has gone bonkers because there is no way on earth that Henry is dragging himself out of bed to charge down a hill of snow on a plastic death trap in freezing temperatures in the middle of the night. 

*

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” Henry says, trudging through snow that’s at least twenty five centimetres deep at the rear of the White House. 

At Henry’s side and tugging him and his sledge the last bit to the crest of the hill, Alex says, “It'll be fun.”

“Ah, yes.” Henry nods. Editorialised with bone-dry sarcasm, he continues, “Whenever I think about fun, frostbite is the first thing that springs to mind.”

“It is nowhere near cold enough for that.” Alex brings up their joined hands. “Plus, you’ve got your little cute gloves on. You’re good.” 

The Aztec patterned gloves are secondhand from Alex, dug out of a closet cubby as he had pointedly made sure to mention that they were a gift from his abuela when he was thirteen and no longer fit. 

Alex had also emphasised that Henry didn’t need to give them back. That it was a transfer of ownership. And they are very nice, the fingerless sort that convert into mittens. The yarn stretches comfortably and the pouches slip over Henry’s fingers just right. 

“Everything will be fine,” Alex promises. He reaches out and clicks on Henry’s headtorch. His already lit grin is brilliantly illuminated. “Trust me.” 

“There’s no question of that,” Henry returns. “I only ask why this couldn’t wait for the daytime? You know, how it’s normally done.”

Alex simply shrugs, his grin gentling into something flagrantly affectionate. “Because right now it's like the world is just us.”

And fuck, what is Henry supposed to argue against that?

*

“How are you winning?!” Alex drags his sledge behind him with one hand and wildly gestures with the other. “You didn’t even want to do this. I did not plan on you winning.”

Above him and at the top of the hill already, Henry props an elbow on his now vertical vehicle that’s planted in the snow, watching Alex with amusement. His boyfriend is exceptionally precious when he pouts. “My being reluctant to sledging doesn’t mean I’m not skilled at it.”

“Best of seven,” Alex huffs upon arrival. 

“You have a problem. The terms were already agreed upon.”

“You scared?” 

Alex then proceeds to emit the noises of a fowl.

“Resorting to primary school tactics, are we?”

Alex only lifts his brow, his expression dancing with challenge.

“I'm going to need some proper motivation, darling,” Henry says, sliding on a smirk.

“I could be a victim of clichés and offer mind-melting sex if you win but you get that all the time anyway.”

Henry breaks into helpless laughter and agrees when he finds the cold air to do so. 

“So, instead, how about the next time I’m at the palace I take you up on those horseback lessons finally,” Alex says. 

“Truly? You’ve always seemed—uncomfortable around them.”

“Well they are huge, intelligent beasts that can buck me off and launch me god knows how many miles an hour into the air.”

“Dramatic." He pauses, shaking his head. "Really, Alex. You don’t have to.”

“You love it and it’s something we can do together. I’d like to try it out,” Alex says and he sounds sincere. “If I don’t enjoy the experience, I won't be shy about it.”

“And if you win? What do you want?”

“Here’s where I do get pervy."

"Of course."

"I win and you let me buy you a pair of cowboy boots and a Stetson and you wear them for me.”

“Nothing else, I’m assuming.”

“Anything else would get in the way, Henry.”

“You’re on.”

*

Minutes and minutes later, victory is Henry’s and he graciously accepts Alex’s request for a final run, plopping down on the front of Alex’s sledge when he makes a grabby motion for Henry, his legs open. Their combined weight rips them downslope, easily the record of the night. They’re a powdery pile at the bottom when they come to a stop short of the treeline with a sharp turn and tumble off the sledge. 

“You alright?” Henry asks. 

“I should be asking you. You’re the one who cushioned my fall. Am I smothering you?"

“It's all fine for now, love. You’ll be nursing my aching bruises later.”

“Obviously.” Alex animates the line of his brow. “Just call me the love doctor.”

“Won’t be doing that, thanks," Henry comments. Using his teeth—due to most of him being trapped under Alex—Henry yanks back the pouch of his right mitten. He assesses the snarled wreckage of Alex’s hair that’s been freed of the headtorch and clumsily combs through it with chilled fingers. There’s a small scratch by Alex’s temple. Henry thumbs away the paper-cut thin trace of red and finds Alex’s perfect eyes. “You didn’t let me win, did you?”

“Me? Never. I lost,” Alex insists, sweetly leaning his head into Henry’s touch. His adoration is spotless if not his honesty. “Life rolls on.”

Henry considers calling Alex out but a shiver distracts him, stalls his tongue. 

Alex’s arms around him tighten and with their physical arrangement, it’s plenty awkward. It’s also loving. He ridiculously presses a kiss to Henry’s wintry-wet palm. “Cold?”

Spellbound, Henry murmurs, “A bit, yeah.”

“I’ve got a way to get you warm,” Alex shares quietly. 

*

Henry moans and licks at his lips, chasing the flavor off his mouth. “This is sinful.”

“I know,” Alex says after a long sip from his UT mug. “Nothing beats Mexican hot chocolate.”

“And the amaretto? Ugh, chef’s kiss.”

“Discovered that little addition four Christmases ago.”

Henry smiles at him and eats another mini marshmallow. “The man’s a genius.”

“Yeah, my ideas aren’t all shit that will have us needing Icy Hot the next day,” Alex replies, his gaze dropping to where their sock feet share the spindle of a kitchen stool.

Henry lightly kicks him. Kicks him again to get his full attention. “Tonight wasn’t shit.”

“No?”

“No.”

Alex sighs, abandons his drink to rub at his stubbled jaw. “Snow felt like—like a fresh start. A renewal, I guess. Getting rid of yesterday. I know it’s not that easy, that it doesn’t work like that and it’s fucking stupid—”

His heart sore and swollen, Henry closes the distance that parts them, hushes Alex’s doubt with a slow and open kiss. He kisses past the cling of sugar and spice, until it’s clean. 

“I love you,” Henry says. His words are only a fraction of what he means but he knows Alex can read the spaces between. Thank you. It helps. You help.

“Love you still. Love you always.” Alex curls into him, his hand over Henry’s knee. 

He’s there. He’s there, Henry knows because he can read Alex’s spaces just as well.

--

please forgive any mistakes. i read over it but it was written very quickly. also, i’m fairly sure there are no hills behind the white house. the grounds are pretty flat but for some reason this fic insisted on being there.

[will80sbyers]

even your fav artist kidovna says that will is not the main character, delusional

el is the mc whether you like it or not

You people are so dumb and rude that it's incredible to witness this sometimes... I still get genuinely surprised after all this time and the amount of hate asks you send unprovoked because you're a complete piece of shit with zero morals

Kidovna said it has an ENSEMBLE cast, focusing on multiple characters, I'll make it easy for you to understand since you don't know how to Google things

which is technically right

What is not clear maybe to them too, but most definitely to you, is that when we bylers talk about Will being main character in season 5 it's because we mean his story will be one of the most important ones (like Mike was focused on in season 1 compared to Lucas and Dustin) because of his connection to Vecna and his coming out storyline with Mike which will most likely be part of the climax in the finale - everything will be connected to him (and Mike, actually - they will both be mains in my opinion) in the finale because that's what they have been working towards since the beginning, he's the character that has to face the last challenge against his foil... which is the main villain

Will is the Bastian of The neverending story even if El is "the hero" the Atreyu character

watch it if you haven't, maybe you'll learn something about kindness and love and be less of an asshole online

El's story was already told multiple times - OBVIOUSLY no one on Byler Tumblr believes El will not also be focused on since they did focus on her since s1 and usually use her as the face of the show for marketing because in season 1 she got the most recognition so they used that for money AND there's Max's story to end which is connected to hers so obviously she will be focused on... like for all the others btw they will not be neglected either

I personally have always said they will focus on all of them even if Will is going to be at the centre of the storyline because of his connection with Henry, they won't forget all the other characters either even when they have less screen time, for example I'm pretty sure Dustin is gonna get a fire storyline because they had him lose Eddie in season 4 and they did that for some specific reason

Also... if I was you I wouldn't want her to be THE main character in season 5 because if she is then it's gonna end up being true that she's gonna be killed off at the end, I don't want that personally since the amount of abuse she already went through, but I guess that's what you secretly hope for lol

[obey-me-disaster]

MC running away(and failing) after the demon brothers call them cute

A/N: Sometimes I think about the time I ran away out of instinct when a girl called me cute...I nearly tripped over a chair too. I would be a total mess in Devildom...

Lucifer

All he did was to call you cute after you made some coffee for him and you ran away. You managed to run into the door too before you opened it.

He gave you some time to calm down before before going to ask why you ran away. He was worried about having made you uncomofortable with his comment more than anything.

When you tell him it was just out of reflex cause you don't know how to react when people flirt with you he took a minute to process things. He was expecting anything but that.

Now that he knows you aren't uncomfortable with him calling you that, expect to be teased by him whenever you two are alone.

On one hand is to get you used to it, on the other hand is because he finds your reaction cute.

Mammon

He called you cute without realizing. You two were hanging out in his room and he was thinking how it would sound but unfortunately for him, he said it a bit too loud.

When he saw you start running his heart broke a little, but it was quickly forgotten when you tripped over some noodle cup on the floor.

After he made sure you were fine he went into full tsundure mode, going between not meaning it to 'Ya should be grateful the Great Mammon called you that'

You had to explain that you just panicked since you don't know how to handle people flirting with you. He honestly felt really stupid for his reaction after that. This shit will keep him up at night.

Leviathan

It was one of the few times where you were ranting about something you liked and not him while sitting in his bathtub. This whole scenario reminded so much of one of his favourite romance manga that he didn't realize he called you cute.

He only realize what he did when you suddenly stopped talking and your mind seemed to be all over the place.

He was about to start apologizing and take everything back when you try to run out of the room. Too bad you lost your footing while trying to get out of his bathtub of a bed and fell face first on the floor. At least that made him stop apologizing.

Literally efused to believe at first that you were not used to being flirted with. You were his Henry, how were normies blind enough to not notice you?? At least he took it as an opportunity to say that you two had one more thing in common

Satan

You two were cuddling in his room while he was reading a book outloud so you could hear it too. The whole atmosphere was so relaxing that you were begging to fall asleep while curled up to him.

Seeing how adorable you looked he was quick to tell you so giving you a kiss on the forehead. It took a few seconds for the words to register in your mind, but when they did you fell out of his bed and nearly brought one of his bookshelves down with you. to your defense his room is absolutely messy, one wrong move and you are burried in books

Despite the fact that he stopped the shelf from even coming close to you by using his magic he was still worried by your reaction.

To both his surpirse and amusement you turned out to just not be used to being called anything like that. Don't worry, he will keept that information in mind. Not for the best reasons, but at least he won't forget it.

Asmodeus

He discovered that being cute makes you run away out of instinct pretty early on. He really couldn't fanthom why more people didn't do that in the past, so he took it upon himself to compliment you and flirt with you to the moon and back

It took him a while to get you used to his compliments but it was all so worth it when you genuinely start to get more comfortable with being called all sorts of nice things.

The first time you didn't seem to get flustered by him calling you cute(or at least not flustered enough to run away and trip over something) he tackled you into a hug. You still ended up on the floor but at least it was not from running away.

He was so happy that he started to tell all of his brothers about it and try to convince them to flirt with you more. God bless Asmo or I guess not but he will put into an early grave at that rate

Beelzebub

It was after you offered to cook something that he called you cute. He was so happy that he was about to eat something made by his favourite person that the word just slipped out.

You tried to put the finished dish aside and and quickly make your retreat only to run face first into Beel's chest. Apparently he was standing way closer than you would have expected.

To make matters worse, he took your failed attempt at running as you wanting to give him a hug. Your only saving grace was the fact that he was beyond hungry so he didn't pay too much attention at the fact that you were flustered.

When you finally manage to exit the kitchen so you could go calm down your poor heart Beel was a bit disappointed that you didn't stay more it takes asmo or belphie to explain the whole thing when you run again anothef time

Belphegor

He is a little shit. He saw how you react when others call you cute and decided to use that knowledge to torment you.

You two could be cuddling or simply staying right next to one another when you feel his arms going around your waist. Thinking he only wants to use you as a pillow you don't move away from his touch.

Only when he starts teasing you and calling you cute do you realize it's all been a trap. You can't run away since he has an iron grip on you. the attic incident 2.0

Good luck at making him stop tormenting you. He adores too much how flustered you get to stop. You have better chanced at making him fall asleep than actually stop