#hyperfixations when will you come back from the war. . . | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

monicfever · 2 months ago

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you pulled away for a second and now they’re spiraling 𝜗𝜚 daredevil & punisher cast hcs

characters used ᝰ .ᐟ matt murdock / frank castle / foggy nelson / karen page / elektra / ben poindexter / billy russo / dinah madani / micro

��︵ MATT MURDOCK. 𐂯

gives you space but feels every inch of it like a bruise. overthinks it for hours. you don’t kiss him goodbye one morning and he stands there in the kitchen, frozen, one hand still half-raised like he’s reaching for something that isn’t there.

he’ll say, “i’m fine,” but his tie’s too tight, his smile’s too sharp.

plays your voice messages on loop with his headphones in, forehead pressed to the wall like it’ll stop the ache in his chest.

goes on patrol more. harder. rougher. comes back bloody. says “it’s nothing.” — it’s not nothing.

listens for you even when you’re not around. heartbeat. breath. laugh. when he can’t find it, he panics.

folds your sweater on his bed like it’s sacred. doesn’t wear it. doesn’t touch it. just leaves it there — a ghost of warmth he’s trying not to need.

says “i understand” when you say you’re just tired, but inside? he’s drowning.

you’re the only thing that’s ever felt like peace, and now you’re slipping through his fingers like smoke.

when you finally touch him again, soft and slow, he exhales like he’s been underwater. fists your shirt in his hands like he’s afraid you’ll vanish again.

mumbles “i thought i lost you” into the hollow of your throat like a confession. like he’s ashamed for needing you this much.

⏜︵ FRANK CASTLE. 𐂯

doesn’t say anything. doesn’t ask. just watches you. jaw tight, eyes dark, breathing slow — like he’s reading the air for signs of danger. distance feels like a threat to him, and he doesn’t do well with threats.

your laugh is quieter. you sit on the far end of the couch. your fingers slip from his too soon. that’s all it takes. he spirals silently.

doesn’t confront you — doesn’t want to make it worse — but suddenly he’s fixing everything. the cabinet you mentioned once. the heater that clicks. your favourite snack stocked up.

you didn’t ask. he just needs to do something. needs to prove he’s still useful.

sleeps on the edge of the bed. doesn’t touch you unless you move first. still watches you while you sleep. still memorizes the sound of your breath like it’s the only music that matters.

sharpens his knives at 2 a.m. in the kitchen with the lights off. doesn’t need them. needs control. needs the rhythm. the quiet. the pain in his palm when he grips too tight. anything but thinking about what he did wrong.

you touch his shoulder — finally — and he flinches. not from fear. from relief. like touch has become foreign. his voice cracks when he says, “you okay?” like he’s asking please tell me it’s not me. please tell me you’re still mine.

finds something you left at his place — a mug, a hoodie, a single bobby pin — and stares at it like it’s a lifeline. like proof you were close, even if you’re not now.

listens for your footsteps around the apartment. doesn’t realize he holds his breath until you walk into the room. exhales like a man back from war. like you’re the safe house.

won’t say “i miss you.” won’t beg.

when you finally come to him — kiss his temple, press your hand to his chest — he grips you like a lifeline. like someone pulled him out of the ocean.

⏜︵ FOGGY NELSON. 𐂯

notices instantly that something’s off, but second-guesses himself. “nah, don’t be dramatic,” he mumbles to himself. “they’re probably just tired.”

but then you don’t text back. and don’t laugh at his joke. and don’t say “i love you” before bed. suddenly he’s wide-eyed and spiraling in the dark, whispering “what did i do?”

starts overcompensating hard.

you say one sentence and he’s doing the most — buying coffee, making playlists, texting you memes with “this reminded me of you” — because if he makes you smile, maybe you won’t leave.

hyperfixates on one small thing he said that maybe sounded wrong, and now it’s on repeat in his head like a guilt-ridden soundtrack.

“was that too much? did i come on too strong? should i have not made that joke about their mom—OH GOD.”

says “we’re good, right?” with a soft laugh, casual like he’s joking, but he’s not. he’s checking. he’s scared. when you hesitate, even for a second? he feels like the floor just disappeared under him.

stays up refreshing your messages, rereading your last text like it’s in code. thinks “they said ‘okay’ with a period. that’s bad. that’s really bad, right?”

doesn’t want to guilt you, so he says things like “i know you’ve got a lot going on” and “i’m here when you’re ready” — but his voice cracks a little at the end. because he’s ready now. always is.

starts making you food. baking. cleaning your apartment while you’re at work. not to impress you — to feel useful. to remind himself that he can still take care of you in some way.

calls matt just to talk about anything, but ends up saying “hey, if i messed something up, you think they’d tell me?” matt sighs. foggy just stares out the window like he’s watching a romcom in reverse. practices what he’s going to say in the shower. out loud.

“hey, you’ve been a little quiet, and i totally get it, but—” cuts the water off. “no, that sounds clingy.” starts again.

when you finally touch his face or call him “sweetheart” again like nothing happened, he laughs too hard. kisses you too long. holds your waist like it’s breakable. murmurs, “god, you scared the hell out of me.”

doesn’t even need an apology. just needs you to look at him like you still want him. and he’ll forgive everything.

⏜︵ KAREN PAGE. 𐂯

tries so hard to pretend she’s unbothered. gives you space, keeps her smile in place, says “you okay?” like it’s a casual check-in — but underneath? she’s spinning.

the thing is, she knows what distance looks like. she knows what it means, and she’s terrified.

starts triple-checking her texts before she sends them. deletes the “hey, i miss you” message. adds “haha” at the end of a sentence she didn’t think was funny. she doesn’t want to seem like she cares too much.

but she does. she always does.

pulls back first sometimes just to protect herself. makes herself busy. says she’s working late. but she’s not. she’s sitting in the newsroom after hours with a cold coffee and your last conversation echoing in her head.

reads too far into everything. you cancel plans once? she assumes you’re over it. you don’t kiss her goodbye? she’s already thinking of all the ways she could’ve ruined it. she hates that she thinks like this. but she can’t help it.

plays your voicemail and closes her eyes like it’ll fix something. rubs her thumb over your contact name in her phone like it’s a talisman.

doesn’t say “are we okay?” she says “you’ve been quiet lately.” and makes it sound like she’s just making conversation — but her voice is too careful. her eyes don’t meet yours. she’s bracing for the worst.

keeps it together in front of people, but the second she’s alone? it hits her like a wave. leans against the door. breath catches in her throat.“don’t fall apart,” she whispers to herself. “don’t fall apart.”

still brings you coffee. still remembers how you like it. slides it across the table and shrugs, “thought you’d need it.” won’t say she’s scared. won’t say she misses you. but she’ll show you. in every tiny, aching way.

she’ll spiral quietly. but when you finally touch her, when you say “hey, i’m here” — she exhales like she’s been holding her breath for days. leans into your hand. closes her eyes. “don’t scare me like that again.” soft. raw. real.

the thing about karen? she’s tough. she’s been through hell. but love? yours? it’s the one thing that makes her feel safe — and the second she thinks she’s losing it? it’s like the floor disappears.

⏜︵ ELEKTRA. 𐂯

acts completely unbothered. borderline amused. you pull away during a kiss and she just smirks, says “losing your nerve?” like she’s not already rewriting every interaction in her head, desperate for a clue.

still calls you darling with a sweet, sharp smile. still walks into the room like nothing in the world could touch her.

but her hands shake when she pours her drink. her voice falters for half a second. you’d never notice unless you know her like you do.

says things like “you don’t want this anymore, do you?” low. soft. not quite a question. like she’s testing you. like she’s preparing herself to survive the answer — but she’s not.

doesn't beg. doesn't plead.

but suddenly, she’s showing up everywhere. your favourite café. the gala you mentioned once in passing. leans against the wall like a poem, eyes dark, voice smooth: “fancy seeing you here.”

she missed you so loud and dressed it up in silk and shadow.

deletes a text draft five times before sending “thinking of you.” then throws her phone across the bed and walks away like it didn’t matter at all. (she checks back 43 seconds later.)

if you ignore her? she goes deadly quiet. no jokes. no jabs. just this sharp stillness — a storm with no wind.

when you finally speak she exhales like you just pulled her out of the fire.

says “i’m not good at this” in a way that sounds like a threat — but it’s not. it’s a confession. because love, for her, is war. she’s terrified she’s losing.

kisses you like an apology. like an argument. like she needs to know you still want her. grips the back of your neck with trembling fingers, breath ragged: “you’re still mine, aren’t you?” and it’s not a power move — it’s panic, dressed in velvet.

makes it a game — disappears for a day, waits for you to call.

but when you don’t? she shows up at your door at midnight, mascara smudged, voice rough: “say you didn’t mean to pull away. say it and I’ll believe you.”

⏜︵ BEN POINDEXTER. 𐂯

he won’t admit it, but you pulled away for just a second and now he's analyzing every interaction. every word, every touch — it lingers in his mind. he overthinks it, replays every moment until he can’t breathe.

why didn’t you kiss him back just now? did he do something wrong? did you... see something in him that made you - -

his first instinct is to shut down, retreat into his head, calculating. he’ll give you space, too much space, because that’s what he thinks you want. but his heart is shattering with every passing second you’re not right there beside him.

when he catches you looking at someone else, just for a second, his eyes narrow. his chest tightens. he doesn’t say anything, but his hands curl into fists. the thought of you being out of his control — out of his orbit — it makes his stomach churn like razor blades.

he might smile like everything’s fine when you’re around, but when you leave? he’s running a fever in his mind. why didn’t you call? why didn’t you text back? what did he do wrong?

it only gets worse the longer he goes without hearing from you.

ben’s spirals are silent. his chest tightens. his face stays neutral, but his eyes never leave you when you’re in the same room. he studies the lines of your expression like he’s trying to understand you — decipher you.

the more you pull away, the more he pulls you into his mind, tighter, darker.

he needs reassurance, but he won’t ask for it. he’s the type to turn to you and say, “you’re still mine, right?” but in a voice that’s quiet and almost too calm, like he’s asking for confirmation. like it’s a question that could break him if you don’t answer.

at first, his love is a quiet obsession, a soft kind of pressure. but the more you pull away, the more he becomes a storm. his possessiveness becomes almost gentle at first: "come here." "don't leave me alone."

when the silence stretches too long he becomes frantic. "tell me what’s wrong.” he’ll demand, but it’s almost a plea.

his most terrifying moment is when you make him feel like he doesn’t matter to you. he doesn’t handle rejection. he can’t. when that happens? a switch flips, and he becomes a monster wrapped in a shell of politeness. he won’t beg — he doesn’t need to — but there’s a coldness in his eyes when he says, “you won’t walk away from me.”

when you apologize, even just a little, it’s like the air clears — his chest unclenches — and his fixation on you grows stronger.

you own him in ways that he can’t explain. the thought of losing you — even for a moment — sends him spiraling into his own darkness, desperately clutching at the only thing that feels real.

⏜︵ BILLY RUSSO. 𐂯

if you’re even slightly quieter than usual, he immediately goes “you good?” but not in a gentle way — more like a challenge. defensive, like he’s already bracing for the worst.

you say “i’m fine” and he nods like he believes you — but spends the next two hours replaying every word he’s said to you in the last 48 hours like he’s running a forensic investigation.

texts you “you mad at me?” with zero punctuation. follows up five minutes later with “you’d tell me if you were, right?” and then doesn’t text again, just waits in silence, suffering.

convinces himself you’re over him for a full 30 minutes before you even notice anything’s wrong.

starts doing extra. suddenly he’s picking you up with coffee in hand, ordering your favourite takeout, saying things like “thought you could use a break” when really he’s like please validate me before i implode.

tries to stay casual when you touch him again, but he melts like butter. smirks and says “missed me?” even though he was internally planning his own funeral five seconds ago.

says “you’ve been weird lately” like you’re the problem, just so you’ll explain yourself and he can stop spiraling.

brings up an old fight just to gauge where your head’s at. “you’re not still pissed about that thing from last week, right?” (he’s still pissed about it.)

he’s petty but panicking. like, “no no, it’s cool, you do your thing” and then watches your location like a psycho.

lowkey considers showing up wherever you are just to “bump into you” and make sure you still look at him like he’s the sun.

if you apologize or say something sweet, he tries to brush it off but crumbles. looks away, swallows hard, and mumbles “you scared the shit out of me.” like he wasn’t ready to fake his death five hours ago.

⏜︵ DINAH MADANI. 𐂯

tries to play it cool, but inside? she’s freaking out. a second of distance from you and suddenly, everything is uncertain. her mind starts racing: did I do something? did I push too hard? did I scare them off? she’ll push the panic down, but it’s still there — like a constant undercurrent, gnawing at her.

dinah is fiercely independent, but her love for you runs deeper than she’s willing to admit. she won’t beg for reassurance.

but when she notices the little things — like you don’t text her back as quickly or you’re distant during dinner — the anxiety starts to creep in.

you’re her safe place. she’s terrified of losing it. when you’re not paying attention to her, or when she notices someone else might be your main focus, it drives her insane.

she she doesn’t show it. she’ll make her presence known in subtle ways. a brush of her hand on your back, a low chuckle as she leans in close to whisper something only for you to hear. she’s claiming you, but she does it quietly — like she’s trying to reassure herself, more than anything.

if you don’t kiss her goodbye, or you’re acting a little cold, she’ll pretend it’s no big deal. but when you’re not looking, she’s watching the clock, wondering why you haven’t reached out. she won’t let herself seem weak, but the knot in her stomach grows tighter every time she checks her phone, waiting for your name to appear.

she’s a doer, so if you’ve pulled away, she’s going to fix it — even if it’s in her own quiet, controlled way.

she won’t bombard you with texts or try to push you into talking. Instead, she’ll do something thoughtful — get your favourite snack, take care of something you mentioned needing. she’s showing you she’s here, without asking for anything in return.

when she’s alone is when the doubts start eating at her. she won’t cry, she won’t let herself be vulnerable, but there’s a moment when she sits on the edge of the bed, running her fingers through her hair, staring at her phone screen, paralyzed by the fear of losing you.

she’ll tell herself she’s being silly. that she’s tough. but when she finally reaches for her phone to text you, her hands are shaking just a little.

when she finally speaks to you about it, it’s a fight that doesn’t feel like a fight. more like a need. “are you shutting me out? or am I just imagining it?” she’ll ask, voice a little too low, a little too careful. she just wants to know if you’re still there.

she’ll do everything she can to keep things normal when you’re together. when you’re apart, she becomes a storm. she’ll distract herself with work, throw herself into her cases, pretend she’s okay, but the second she comes back home to an empty apartment?

the silence is deafening. she can’t help but spiral. she can’t stop the thoughts: what if they’ve found someone else? what if they don’t want me anymore?

but when you come back to her, when you reassure her with a simple touch or a kind word, she’s putty in your hands. like she’s been holding her breath for days, waiting for you to remind her that she’s not alone, that you’re still hers, still with her. she’ll melt into your arms, exhaling with a soft sigh, almost embarrassed by how desperately she needed it. she won’t ask for reassurance, but when you give it to her? the whole world softens.

her jaw relaxes. her shoulders drop. she’ll lean in for that kiss, slow and deep, and you’ll feel the tension melt away, the part of her that was holding back, trying not to be too much, finally giving in to the love she so desperately craves.

⏜︵ MICRO. 𐂯

he’s probably the last person to realize that he's spiraling. when you pull away he doesn’t immediately process it. he’ll joke about it. the second you’re out of the room, he’s replaying every little thing — every conversation, every joke, every time you didn’t quite laugh at his bad puns, wondering what he did wrong.

his default is to distract himself. he’ll throw himself into a project, into his work. he’s gotta keep his hands busy. but he knows it’s only because he’s avoiding the obvious: he misses you. and that anxiety? It’s just simmering under the surface. every time he glances at his phone, waiting for a text, his stomach twists a little more.

when you pull back, he won’t call you out on it directly. instead you’ll notice him being a little more quiet than usual.

he’s usually a chatterbox, always tossing out jokes or asking you about random tech stuff, but now? he’s just... waiting. for you to come back. for you to want him again. this is different, and it’s making him self-conscious in ways he’s not ready to admit.

when he gets worried he starts showing up where you are — without meaning to, of course. he doesn’t even realize how much he’s checking up on you, but it’s a pattern. he’ll show up at your go-to diner, at the coffee shop you mentioned offhand once. “I, uh, just needed to grab a burger,” he’ll say, and you’ll know he’s lying. he was there to make sure you’re okay.

he’s incredibly self-aware of his own quirks, so when he realizes he’s spiraling, he tries to cover it up. “hey, I haven’t been bugging you too much, right?” he’ll laugh, but it’s strained, a little too quick. his eyes are wide with real concern, though, like he’s afraid you’ll say something that’ll shatter him. please don’t say you need space... please.

he’ll try to hide his anxiety with humor. “oh, yeah, I guess I could just hack into your phone and figure out what you’re doing... but I’d never do that. totally not my style. not in a million years. definitely not.” he laughs it off, but the undertone? It’s an ask for reassurance.

he’ll convince himself you don’t need him. he doesn’t want to admit it, but his mind starts doing the worst mental gymnastics: what if I’ve already lost them?

when you do check in, when you give him a little attention or even just a smile, the world stops spinning. his whole face lights up, and you can see the relief wash over him. the second he feels like you’ve come back, like you’re okay again, he’s all in.

he’ll go out of his way to do something nice for you, like fixing something you didn’t even know was broken. his way of saying, I’m here. I’m still yours. I won’t mess this up again.

“you know,” he’ll say, voice a little hesitant, “if you ever need, uh, anything fixed or... I don’t know, just someone to talk to, you’ve got me.“

doesn’t always know how to show how much he needs you — but you’ll see it in the way he lingers, in the way his eyes track you when you’re not looking. he’s scared of being too much, so he pulls back when you do, and it’s like a tug-of-war.

started 4.20.2025. finished 4.23.2025.

( masterlist )

©️ monicfever 2025

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criticallyinneedofadar · 7 months ago

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The North

Uh oh. New hyperfixation just dropped.

Pairing: Cregan Stark x Tragaryen!Reader

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The cold cuts through your thick cloak as you descend Cannibal’s side, his black scales glinting faintly in the weak northern sun. Winterfell rises before you, a stoic fortress that speaks of enduring hardship and unyielding honor. The men waiting at the gates, wrapped in furs, watch you with expressions ranging from curiosity to mistrust. To them, you are not the Dragon Queen’s emissary, not a rider of the Cannibal, nor a strategist who has studied every battle fought in the Seven Kingdoms. You are just a girl—a second daughter.

But they will learn.

Cannibal growls low behind you, the sound reverberating in your chest, and the men instinctively step back. You hide your smirk as you step forward, head held high, your boots crunching on the snow-packed ground.

Lord Cregan Stark waits in the courtyard, his gray eyes like a winter storm, scrutinizing you. He is taller than you imagined, broad-shouldered and clad in furs that make him appear even more imposing. A faint scar bisects his left eyebrow, and his expression is as unreadable as the Wolfswood in winter.

“Lady Targaryen,” he says, his voice deep and resonant, carrying over the murmurs of his men. “We do not often see dragons in the North, let alone one such as yours.”

You incline your head, keeping your voice steady despite the cold biting your cheeks. “Cannibal and I go where duty commands, my lord. My mother has sent me to call the banners of the North in defense of her claim to the Iron Throne. The honor of House Stark is known even in the halls of Dragonstone.”

His eyes narrow slightly, but not unkindly. “And yet, she sends you instead of your elder brother. I wonder why.”

The question hangs in the frosty air, a test if ever you’ve heard one. You meet his gaze unflinchingly.

“My mother does not send fools to treat with wolves,” you reply. “Jacaerys flies east, but I have studied the North’s history and strategies since I was old enough to hold a book. I know its people, its lords, its victories—and its sacrifices. You may question my youth or my blood, Lord Stark, but do not question my ability.”

The corners of his mouth twitch, perhaps a hint of amusement or approval, but he says nothing for a moment. Finally, he gestures toward the hall.

“Come inside. The North is not kind to dragons—or their riders—when left too long in the cold.”

You nod and follow him, acutely aware of the curious gazes trailing after you. Cannibal rumbles again as you leave him behind, his presence a lingering shadow even as you step into the warmth of Winterfell’s great hall.

The great hall is alive with the warmth of a roaring hearth, its walls hung with banners of direwolves and the scent of roasted venison thick in the air. You sit at a long table, opposite Lord Cregan, with his advisors flanking him. They are older men, clad in heavy furs and carrying the stern expressions of those who have weathered many winters.

From the moment you entered, they have looked at you as though you are a curious ornament, a bauble sent south to charm and flatter.

“…Of course, it is a delicate matter,” says one, a gray-bearded man named Lord Mors Karstak. His tone is patient, as though explaining a simple concept to a child. “The men of the North value strength, but they also value respect. Perhaps it would be best, Lady Targaryen, if you left the… delicate matters of war to those better suited to them.”

Your spine stiffens, the words wrapping around your pride like a vise. You meet his gaze, your expression unmoving, even as your blood begins to boil.

“And what exactly do you mean by ‘delicate matters,’ Lord Karstak?” Your voice is even, but it carries an edge sharper than Valyrian steel.

The room falls still. Lord Karstak shifts in his seat, clearly expecting you to demur, but you do not give him the satisfaction.

“Well, my lady,” he begins again, his tone softening as though you are a maiden too tender to hear the truth. “The raising of men, the planning of battles, these are tasks that require a certain… authority.”

“Authority,” you repeat, leaning forward slightly. “I see. And what about riding dragons, Lord Karstak? Do you believe that requires authority?”

His brows furrow. “I—of course, my lady, but—”

“Do you ride a dragon, Lord Karstak?”

The question lands like an arrow, and the other advisors glance at him uncomfortably. He clears his throat. “I do not, my lady.”

“Do you command the loyalty of a beast that has lived longer than the walls of Winterfell?” you press, your voice growing colder with each word. “Have you flown above the clouds, stared down armies, or felt the fire of your mount burn away the enemies of your house?”

Karstak is silent now, his face redder than the embers in the hearth.

You lean back, letting the moment settle before turning your gaze to the others. “I may not have gray in my hair or the winters of the North etched into my face, but I am a dragonrider of House Targaryen. My mother has trusted me with the honor of commanding dragons and men alike. I suggest you remember that before assuming I am here to embroider banners or pour wine.”

Lord Cregan remains silent, but there is a glimmer of something in his eyes—approval, perhaps, or at least curiosity.

Finally, it is another advisor who speaks, a lean man with the pinched face of a fox. “Well said, my lady. But the North is no place for grand gestures or fiery displays. It is built on trust and loyalty. And trust is not so easily won by words alone.”

“Trust is earned,” you agree, your gaze steady. “But if you wish to see action, you need only ask. Give me a challenge, and I will meet it. If you seek proof of my worth, I will provide it.”

The men exchange looks, some dubious, others intrigued.

Cregan finally speaks, his voice calm but firm. “That will not be necessary. Lady Targaryen has come here with her mother’s trust, and I intend to see that trust is respected. If any of you doubt her words, you may speak to me directly.”

The tension eases, though Karstak continues to glower. You incline your head toward Cregan, silently acknowledging the support, though you know this is just the beginning. If the North requires proof of your strength, you will give it to them in full.

You are no gentlewoman of the court. You are a dragon. And soon, they will all understand.

#cregan x reader #cregan x you #cregan stark #hotd #hotd cregan #fanfiction

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the-irreverend · 10 months ago

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The Inferno Theory: The Chara Theory to End All Chara Theories

Here we are! Nine years of Undertale. And seeing how Chara is heavily associated with the number 9 (AND THAT TOBY FOX FINALLY TALKED ABOUT THEM), I can't think of a better way to celebrate the occasion than by dedicating this 5000-word-long theory about them? Y'all remember when people used to make long-ass theories about Chara? Yeah, they're coming back with a vengeance! To say I have a colossal hyperfixation is a massive understatement. No character in all of fiction has had a bigger impact on my life than this little rose-cheeked, cocoa-addicted freak. I’ve been a Chara fan for as long as I’ve been an Undertale fan, and you can bet that my understanding of them has changed a lot since. And now I have the pleasure of sharing said understandings with y’all!

Once upon a time, there was an aroace autistic who, like most of y’all, had a very unhealthy obsession with Undertale. And unlike most of you, he thought the Genocide Route was really fun. Most fans talk about how unhappy they felt killing everyone, but for me, I felt like a polar bear at a baby harp seal convention. I got a disturbing level of happiness out of turning everyone to dust. Hell, the only unhappiness I felt was when I couldn’t turn Monster Kid to dust.

Oh well, at least I got a good consolation prize!

I was one sadistic son of a gun, and so I was even more delighted to find out I had a secret admirer/partner-in-crime and that they joined in on the fun because I was such a goshdarn inspiration to them. Not wishing to disappoint my self-appointed partner, I erased the world without a second thought, eagerly awaiting what we might get to do together.

So you can guess I was pretty taken aback when, instead of a warm welcome, they started lecturing me about how I couldn’t accept the world’s destruction and that I was the one fully responsible for it (even though they were eager to take credit for it earlier). I didn’t think much of it at first. Initially, I just thought that they were just irritated that I was undoing what we had worked so hard to accomplish.

But as this game taught me time after time, you should never trust your first impressions. Those first impressions would crumble to dust when they said this.

To say I was completely baffled is an understatement. Why the hell would this prepubescent genocidal maniac be so obsessed over whether or not I think I’m above consequences? So obsessed to the point they would tell me to go to hell if I told them no? It was at that moment I realized there was something more to this character than meets the eye. But for a long time, I couldn’t seem to figure out what that something was. And it didn’t seem like anyone could figure that out either.

I’m very much a veteran of the fan wars that have emerged surrounding Chara. In fact, one might even say I am a deserter of sorts, as I am a former member of the Chara Defence Squad, Offense Squad, and Neutralist Squad. But I’m not gonna be a stuck-up and say everyone’s a canon-ignoring idiot except for me and that I’m the only one who knows what Toby Fox intended Chara to be. Even though I ended up with a very different take than yours (and will certainly argue why it’s the best), I owe you all your discussions a huge debt, and I wouldn’t be here if I hadn’t gotten invested in your interpretations, to begin with. Not to mention that, contrary to what some may argue, you’ve made some valid points to complement them.

And while the debate that resulted from Chara’s ambiguous morality has led to a lot of controversy and even toxicity, it has also been a source of some FANTASTIC CONTENT. Like seriously, would we have gotten those badass renditions of Stronger Than You if no one thought Chara was an awful person? Would we have gotten Man on the Internet’s beautiful rendition of Star if no one thought Chara was a good person (turned awful)?

It would be utter hypocrisy for me to ask of you to approach me and my arguments (or anyone who accepts them) with understanding and good faith only to then not do the same to anyone who doesn’t agree with me. In this theory, I will definitely argue why some points made about Chara are flawed; points that you might hold yourself. But that doesn’t automatically mean that you (or your takes) are intellectually or morally inferior to mine. And besides, I’m not Toby Fox.

So with that said, why did I eventually came to disagree with pretty much everyone about Chara? Because, one way or another, I couldn’t find a take that clicked with me personally as I felt there were various inconsistencies and issues holding them back. I looked at YouTube videos, subreddits, Tumblr essays, Twitter threads, and even forums on the Steam Community. But I couldn’t really find what I thought were satisfactory answers to the questions I had about Chara’s motivations, role in the game, and relationship with the player.

And then, one day, I found those answers. It all happened when I asked myself: “What if Chara didn’t turn against me… because they were always against me from the start?!”

I don’t mean that Chara only saw you as a means to an end. I mean that YOU were the end. What if Chara didn’t use you so they could screw over the monsters but they used the monsters so they could screw over YOU.

You probably think I’m insane, don’t you? And you’re right! I AM INSANE! AND SO IS THIS WHOLE DAMN THEORY!!! But somehow, someway, it just works!! And I’ll show you why and how!!!

What you are about to read is the culmination of six years of reading and critiquing Chara takes and theories of every kind and quality, whether it be Judgement Boy’s Who is the Real Villain of Undertale to Wandydoodles’ Oblivion Theory. Six years of examining the arguments and counterarguments of Chara defenders, offenders, and neutralists alike. Six years of looking in every corner of the UTDR fandom. From the tranquil lands of Quora. To the dark recesses of Reddit. To the intellectual wastelands of Twitter. To the fiery hellsite of Tumblr. So, without further ado, get ready for some of the most pure, unadulterated, high-octane, universe-collapsing neurodivergence you’ve ever seen in your life!!!!!

Part 1: The demonic heritage of the "demon who comes when people call its name".

Have you ever had one of those moments where you’ve asked yourself, “What the actual hell is this guy talking about?” I bet you’re having that moment right now. Everything about their character post-death, including their motives, their methods, and their relationship with you, is perfectly reflected in one of their most famous (or rather infamous) lines:

When most people hear the word demon, the first thing that comes to mind is a being made of pure evil whose only purpose in life is to destroy all things good in the world. Right?

Well, yes, but actually, no. It’s a little more complicated than that. To argue that Chara is a demon because they’re simply “an evil little twerp that enjoys being evil” doesn’t do them or their role in Undertale justice (although that hasn’t stopped people from trying to argue that). To understand why calling themselves a demon is EXTREMELY important, we need to dive into the wonderful (and totally not controversial) world of religious beliefs!

In ancient and modern religions, demons are a little more complex than just ethereal jackasses with a vendetta against virtue and righteousness. Though they vary from faith to faith, most demons have a specific set of qualities and tropes that make them integral to whatever faith they’re in. You also see these demonic qualities in fiction that’s derived or inspired by religions, and since Undertale’s lore and worldbuilding have a heavy emphasis on the spiritual and divine, you can see them in Chara. Since Undertale is a game of “Western” origin, you can definitely see they share qualities that are all too familiar with devils of “Western” religions. In classic devil fashion, they target those with weak integrities or suspect morals; they tempt you with the promise of fulfilling your desires at your and everyone else’s expense; they’re able to control your body as you grow their power through your sins, and hell, they even do the thing where they make a deal for your soul. Also...

But though it's evident that Chara encourages you to do “evil,” THEY THEMSELVES are not responsible for it. Yes, Chara encouraged you to kill, but YOU are the one who acted on those encouragements. In fact, YOU are the one who encouraged THEM to help you out! They walked down the dark path with you, but you didn’t really give them anywhere else they could walk. You had all the power and every chance to turn back and no reason to keep walking. And yet you persisted.

But that does beg the question, why did you walk it at all? What could possibly inspire you to give all of these characters happiness, satisfaction, and peace and then rip it all away? Because you decided that giving everyone the most satisfying ending was not satisfying enough for you. Because there was more that you could experience for yourself, even if it meant making everyone else experience something absolutely horrific. It wasn’t enough for you to fill the glass only halfway. You needed to fill it to the brim. You wanted to reach the absolute. Even if doing the Genocide Run was a bad experience for you, you CANNOT deny it was a fulfilling one. And Chara knows it, too. It ain’t exactly a coincidence that fulfillment and fullness are recurring motifs in Chara’s character.

Like all demons, Chara is able to tempt the wicked and sinful by targeting our greatest weaknesses and deficiencies. It’s no different from how Succubi and Incubi target those who succumb to the sin of lust. That’s why you won’t go after my aroace ass anytime soon. But I digress.

But Chara doesn't just tempt us by exploiting our need to fill the glass to the brim but also because of how they exploit the satisfaction we get from watching it fill up, that is to say, the satisfaction that comes from trying to achieve fulfillment.

We humans are addicted to progression as much as we are to completion, and in an RPG like Undertale, the satisfaction of progression comes in the form of NUMBERS. Not just the numbers that flash on the screen when you battle enemies but also the ones that go up when you finish said enemies off, whether it be your hit points, experience points, and so on. And Undertale isn’t any ordinary RPG; it’s one where its RPG elements are interwoven into the fabric of the game’s universe. Because of that, Chara is able to use these elements in their world to influence those outside of it.

But Chara does not just influence us through the numbers that increase but also the ones that decrease. That’s why the first thing they do when we reach Snowdin is give us a tally.

It’s not just there to measure progress. It’s also there to incentivize us to keep progressing. It gives us a small dose of satisfaction that’s enough to distract us from the mundanity and misery of the murder run, like a loading bar on a loading screen. And just like with loading screens, the farther it progresses, the harder it gets to turn away. Why would you want all the lives you’ve taken and the stats you’ve gained to amount to nothing? Why would you want to hit reset and go through those brutal fights with Sans and Undyne again? You can’t empty out the glass, not when you’re that much closer to filling it to the brim. Speaking of Sans and Undyne, it’s quite interesting that even though they barely know you, they know exactly why you won’t take your foot off the pedal, so to speak.

But that’s not the only thing driving you, isn’t it? Chara knows that there was something else that was spurning you along. Something more powerful and more dangerous than your addiction to progression and completion: PRIDE.

Perhaps the real reason you kept giving in to sin until it was far too late was because you didn’t think it would be too late. You didn’t hold back because you thought you would be able to go back. You thought you could just absolve your sins with the press of a button like you did in countless worlds before. You thought you could dive in, touch the bottom, and come back out of the water. But what were you getting into? How deep would you have gone? And would you have gone in if you knew you couldn’t possibly return? You know you wouldn’t. And Chara knows it, too. That brings us back to the dialogue I showed you at the beginning of this theory. The one said changed everything I knew about this character, and I firmly believe that this is the MOST important line of dialogue in the entire franchise.

PART 2: THE PART WHERE I (PRETEND TO) DESTROY 9 YEARS OF ESTABLISHED FANON!

When I say that that little blurb about being above consequences is ABSOLUTELY ESSENTIAL, I do not say that lightly. It isn’t just important to Chara's character, but the game of Undertale as a whole! Anyone who’s serious about Chara’s character should never take this for granted because Chara sure as hell does not.

It’s not just our refusal to accept the world’s destruction that’s a huge-ass deal to Chara; it’s the arrogance and complacency that accompanies it, rooted in the position and privileges we have as the player. It matters to them so much that they’re willing to completely forgo bartering for our soul (which they say they want) if we don’t admit that we have that belief!

And yet, despite Chara taking this subject so seriously, the people who are analyzing their character ironically don’t. Generally speaking, most people simply brush this line off as nothing more than something they do to help them on their quest to achieve their goals. So, with that said, let’s talk about what those supposed goals actually are.

In all my years of reading and assessing countless Chara theories and interpretations, I’ve discovered that everyone actually agrees on what Chara's goals are. They just can’t agree on why they want them. Said goals are A) reach the absolute, B) max out their numbers/power, C) erase the world, and/or D) eradicate all monsters. But what if it’s actually the other way around? What if those things were the means to an end rather than the ends themselves?

What if the true goal of the “demon who comes when people call its name” was just like that of the demons of old: not to be your partner in crime, but to torment and punish you for your crimes? To make you face CONSEQUENCES!

I’m not making this argument simply because it makes Chara look more badass (though I think it totally does, lol). I firmly believe that Undertale’s post-Genocide content is written so that Chara’s character can only make sense if that was Chara’s goal from start to finish. Because if Chara’s endgame was any of those four I mentioned earlier, their character kinda falls apart because they're awfully inconsistent about fulfilling them. And those inconsistencies are evident in the Second Geno Ending.

Discrepancy 1) They say they will “appear time and time again” to help us “eradicate the enemy and become strong,” and yet they call us perverted for eradicating everyone time and time again.

You can argue that they didn’t want us to recreate the world in the first place and just move on to another world, but if so, why let us come back at all? And if it’s to get our soul, why do they keep around this world after we have it? This leads us to...

Discrepancy 2) They tell us to ERASE the world and move on to the next, and yet they allow us to restore it without a hitch after we give them our SOUL, seeing how there’s no black void when we start the game again.

If Chara was powerless to stop us from coming back, this wouldn’t be such a big deal. But they CLEARLY DEMONSTRATE that they’re able to stop the player from restoring the world, as seen in the first post-genocide ending. And yet they don’t use this power after the first time the world is erased (WHICH YOU WOULD THINK THEY WOULD WANT TO USE SINCE THEY WANT TO ERASE THE WORLD AND MOVE ON TO ANOTHER)! Seeing how the world is back again without us doing anything makes the restoration of the world like something that Chara CHOSE ON THEIR OWN VOLITION. And what makes this all the more damning is...

Discrepancy 3) They tell us they’re down bad for increasing our ATK, DEF, EXP, and LV to the max and erasing the world and everyone in it, and yet they TELL US TO DEVIATE FROM THE ONLY ROUTE THAT ACCOMPLISHES THAT (which, as stated before, they call us perverse for doing it again).

So, let me get something straight. You tell us you want to ”eradicate the enemy” and “ erase this pointless world,” and yet not only are you allowing us to undo all of that, you want us to do something INSTEAD OF THAT??? It’s funny how you lecture us about how we cannot accept the world’s destruction BECAUSE, APPARENTLY, YOU WON’T EITHER!!!!! Also, before I forget...

Discrepancy 4)

WHAT KIND OF MISANTHROPE DEDICATES THEIR WHOLE LIFE TO WIPING OUT HUMANITY, GETS GIFT-WRAPPED A CHANCE TO DO THAT, AND THEN JUST PASSES IT UP?!?!?!

On behalf of misanthropes everywhere, I am DEEPLY disappointed in you!

So it doesn’t matter if you believe Chara is always evil, good, or detached from morality entirely. Because Chara has the same goal across all versions, they all succumb to the same inconsistencies!

Funny how most people see them as this embodiment of the addictive nature of levelling up and consuming everything in a piece of media and all that jazz WHEN THEY SEEM TO CASUALLY GIVE UP ON IT!!!!!!

And if you argue they want a Soulless Pacifist Run when they suggest “another path,” then ask yourself, what does that give them that a Genocide Run doesn’t? Keep in mind, aside from a scribbled-out photograph, we don’t see how many monsters or humans they killed besides the main characters or how much power and stats they gained from it. And it’s not like we see them erase the world afterward since only the genocide run has that infamous wall of red 9s. Not to mention, the genocide run is the most secure way of accomplishing their goals since they have the backing of the player. Not only that, but it’s also the safest and most efficient way to erase everyone and increase stats to the fullest, and we all know how Chara feels about efficiency.

So Chara has no reason to pick the Soulless pacifist ending over the Genocide Run if they want to achieve their end of increasing numbers and consuming the world… unless those things were a means to an end rather than ends themselves.

Indeed it is coming together! That’s the other reason their statement, “You think you’re above consequences,” is so damn important! They’re not telling us why we sinned, but it reveals they intend to make us suffer for those sins, and how.

That’s why Chara is seemingly so inconsistent about erasing the world. Because it was never about the world. It was all about YOU.

[SIDE NOTE: I’m sure many of you will point out that if Chara wanted us to get a Soulless ending in this world, then why would they encourage us to “move on to the next?” I don’t think this is too big an issue for two reasons. First, this line is meant to emphasize that, like all demons, Chara is inescapable and that no matter what world you go to (within their own universe), Chara will always follow you now that you’ve unleashed them. Second, because their goal concerns us and not the world they’re a part of, their character avoids the aforementioned inconsistencies that hamper the other Chara theories much more severely, in my opinion.]

Part 3: Contrapasso

Now I’m sure some of y’all might think that Chara doesn’t need to yearn for our torment to achieve the impact of the Soulless ending and that just because Chara is a demon doesn’t automatically mean they need to screw us over. You are right in that not everyone who makes a Faustian Bargain needs to have malicious intentions toward the people they’re taking advantage of (Kuybey from Madoka Magica is a great example of that). But Chara does need it! Not only does it make their character more narratively cohesive, but also makes their character more thematically impactful. And it’s more in tune with their demonic nature for them to want to torment us.

Because demons represent something more terrifying than evil itself. They represent the terrible price of embracing it, a price that all evildoers fear more than anything, and that all demons want seek to inflict upon us. Like most demons, Chara isn’t encouraging us to sin to fill the emptiness in our soul (or even their own). They did it to perpetuate that torturously empty and unfulfilled state for all eternity, a state which even themselves now endure.

Now, you’ve probably noticed that I’ve talked a lot about the themes of fulfillment and emptiness, and it’s for a good reason since those themes are heavily featured in Undertale. I mean, how could it not? Because concepts of demons, hell, and sins (which are explicitly mentioned in the game) are deeply intertwined with the concept of emptiness. The theologian Thomas Aquinas once defined evil as not a presence but as an absence (of that which is good). Darkness is the absence of light; war is the absence of peace; bigotry is the absence of tolerance; pride is the absence of humility, etc. You see this reflected in not just Christian theology but also fiction as a whole, as a lot of villains are motivated by a desire to obtain something that they believe can’t be without. Whether it be wealth, status, recognition, power, the death of an individual, or even just sadistic pleasure.

Since demons are beings that are inseparable from evil itself, the life of a demon is forever cursed by unceasing and unbearable emptiness. Hell, the word damnation originated from the Latin word damnum, which literally means loss! They’re not exactly partying in hell while your immortal soul is being slow-roasted for eternity. They’re burning in that lake of fire and brimstone along with you! They can’t end their damnation, not because they don’t want to but because they simply can’t. They’re fated to be bereft of the satisfaction or fulfillment found in Heaven or Earth, a fate that is worse than death in every sense of the word, especially since they can’t experience death anymore. Because of that, a demon embodies what is perhaps the most terrifying form of evil of all: not one rooted in a desire to rid the emptiness and unfulfillment within themselves, but a desire to inflict them upon others. Because as a wise philosopher once said:

We see this horrific state of mutually assured suffering everywhere across fiction. From goofy, lighthearted tokusatsu's...

...to nightmarish sci-fi dystopias...

...to a little indie game made 9 years ago.

Oh yeah. Don’t think I was gonna talk about emptiness without mentioning everyone’s favourite homicidal fauna-turned-flora, especially not with lines like this.

Take one to know one! And it can’t be a coincidence that the game emphasizes the theme of emptiness when giving the spotlight to the three characters that have committed the most “evil”: Flowey/Asriel, Chara, and YOU.

Quite the unholy trinity going on here, eh? It truly is fascinating how the emptiness led us to work with each other to exterminate all monsters. And it’s also interesting how the unique kind of emptiness we have eventually led us to work against each other. Whether it be Flowey wishing to preserve his sentimentality for his long-gone sibling, us players wanting to maintain our (perverted) sentimentality for the world of Undertale, or Chara weaponizing these sentimentalities to exact their misanthropic hatred.

Remember how I said that Chara was a lousy misanthrope because they keep letting us bring back the humans they wanted annihilated when they were alive? That does make them a lousy misanthrope… unless their misanthropy found a higher priority target: YOU!!!!!

Chara’s desire to torment us didn’t come out of thin air. The same hatred that drove them to wipe out the humans of their world years ago is the same hatred that’s driving them to get at the humans of our world, even if it means destroying those who once embraced them. And now, that hatred is more potent and destructive than ever before, so much so that it’s no wonder Toriel was able to feel it when she endured that fatal blow after the Geno Run began.

Do you think witnessing what soullessness did to sweet little Asriel wasn’t already terrifying and tragic enough? Just try to imagine what it could‘ve done to a vengeful, traumatized, chocolate-addicted problem child so consumed by hatred that they poisoned themselves just for a chance to wipe out their own kind. All of that hatred of humanity is still alive and well, and now it has no humanity to hold it back.

And what could be a more fitting target for a MISANTHROPE that calls themselves a DEMON… than a HUMAN that wants to play GOD?

After all, the only thing demons love more than tormenting mortals is warring with Gods.

Why else do you think that Chara winks right at you if we make Frisk stay with Toriel? Because that’s who the Soulless Ending was meant for. It’s when they’re finally able to unleash all that animosity and hatred that’s been lurking behind that smile ever since we killed everyone in the Ruins. It’s the moment that they’ve been patiently waiting for because they knew that’s when it would hit you the hardest.

And what makes the Soulless Pacifist Ending very special compared to other “bad endings” isn’t simply because they destroy those we pretend to care about (may I remind you that you did do the genocide run, after all). But they destroy something much more valuable to us as the players: OUR OMNIPOTENCE. Chara doesn’t destroy people for the sake of destroying them. But because in doing so they destroy our arrogant belief that nothing could possibly challenge the invisibility and invulnerability we players take for granted.

It's all too human that those with the most power are the least willing to lose it (or even take responsibility for it). And in a world where we should have absolute power, we thought there would be no consequences for abusing it. So what could be a more fitting and frightful punishment than having to actually face them? Missing out on the best ending in a video game is one thing. But to forever lose the power to achieve it ever again?! Now that’s terrifying!

Throughout myth, legend, and religion, sinners are often punished in a way befitting of the sin they’ve committed. In Greek Mythology, Tantalus was damned for trying to feed the Gods the flesh of his murdered son with eternal hunger and thirst despite being within arm’s reach of water and food. In Dante’s Inferno, those who succumb to wrath are forever doomed to fight each other in a river of mud. And since Undertale is no stranger to concepts such as hell, sins, and demons, you can damn well be sure that there’s going to be damnation fitting for the sins that drove you to complete the genocide run.

You completed the Genocide Run because you believed ending their lives would be fulfilling. Now, you can no longer get any fulfillment out of saving their lives.

I mean, where else can you get your precious fulfillment? Those paltry neutral endings? They only offer a fraction of what the pacifist ending offered. And the genocide ending has been drained of its satisfaction like the pacifist! Would you do all that tedious grinding and brutal boss fights just to hear your so-called “partner” lecture you again on perverted sentimentality and say you should choose another path, even though there’s nothing that they could offer? Of course not. In the end, you’re just like poor Tantalus agonizing in the pits of Tartarus, feeling the water vanish from his hands just before it touches his lips.

The ultimate triumph of Chara isn’t making you suffer a total defeat, but perhaps something much worse to you as a gamer: a pyrrhic victory. It’s like having a Twinkie that's been drained of the creamy center. Everything is still there except the thing you treasure most. You’re damned to play a challenge forever deprived of any and all fulfillment you once got from it, a satisfying journey that will always be doomed to reach a dissatisfying destination.

In the end, Chara leaves you with the world exactly as they described it the first time they met you face-to-face: POINTLESS.

You can have the world exactly as it was before (and the people within it). But in the end, Chara will always have the last laugh.

Figuratively and literally.

Welcome to hell!

Part 4: Why Consequences Matter

Woooooo!!! Man, that was quite the read, wasn’t it? And yeah, I wasn't kidding when I said this is going to be autistic as all hell! I don’t doubt you have a lot of thoughts in your mind, and then you’re gonna share them by the time you’re finished reading this post. Some of you might think this is the Chara theory to end Chara theories. Some of you believe that this is the worst thing that has happened to this fandom since Sebastian Wolff. Some of y’all, I’m whitewashing them because I argue they’re driven by a desire to punish the wicked by any means necessary. Some will think I’m demonizing them because I say that they’re, well, a demon.

[SIDE NOTE: Just so I don’t miscommunicate what I believe about Chara’s morality, here are some key points to take away from this theory. A) Chara sought to make you pay for the evil you committed. In fact, the idea that the Soulless Ending is Chara punishing our sins has been around for a while, especially by those who think Chara was “corrupted. B) However, in this theory, Chara's actions are all done with the intent of accomplishing that goal. This means that Chara was aware of what they were doing, they wanted to do it, and that THEY KNEW IT WAS EVIL. C) But you still have to remember that Chara is also A LITERAL CHILD. And D) They’re a child who endured a great deal of hardship (and possibly trauma), which made them so embittered and vengeful. Also, E) Remember that they’re also soulless, just like Asriel when he was Flowey.]

But I think most of you were gonna look at this interpretation of Chara and feel the same thing that I have about most of yours: a take that’s not without issues, but not without a fair bit of interesting points.

But regardless of what you think of this theory overall, there’s one thing I won’t leave up for debate: I deeply treasure Chara’s character. Not just because I think they’re fun, cool, or interesting but also because I firmly believe they’re invaluable Undertale. And yet, at the same time, I think they’re severely undervalued by the fandom. And who can blame them?

The characters of Undertale speak very little of Chara, and Chara speaks for themselves even less. But just like Johan Liebert from the anime Monster, even though they’re not seen too often, they still manage to exert a massive presence and impact within Undertale’s narrative. And that presence is made all the more impactful because they perfectly represent the themes of the narrative: and that theme is CONSEQUENCES, or more accurately, the CONSEQUENCES OF VIOLENCE.

From the violence that drove Chara to climb Mt Ebott to the violence their brother Asriel inflicted in hopes of being with them forever. From something as grand as a war between two civilizations to something as small as dismembering a snowman. Everywhere you look, you will see that violence (and its repercussions) haunts the story and characters of Undertale. But what makes Undertale stand out from other media that tackles this subject is that it’s not just an integral part of its narrative but also its metanarrative. The most ingenious way it does this is by giving meaning to the actions/mechanics that we take for granted, specifically monster encounters.

Our Lord and Saviour Toby Fox said it best:

Because the monsters of Undetale are treated as something more than just enemies to be killed, there are going to be consequences for choosing to kill them away. Some argue that it goes too far in how it admonishes you for killing even a single monster, even to the point of being preachy (I’m looking at you, ScottFalco, but that’s a response for another day).

That argument is deeply flawed because it fails to account for the fact that without these ramifications, the game’s themes would be rendered null and void. The last thing that a game with a narrative centred around the consequences of violence can afford to do is afford you the luxury of avoiding them. And that principle especially applies if you dare to choose nothing BUT violence.

If you were to bring them all back as if nothing happened, then your decision to commit genocide would be completely meaningless, which would totally disservice Undertale themes regarding violence. There needs to be consequences. LASTING CONSEQUENCES. Undertale can’t drive home its messages and them without lasting consequences. Undertale can’t deliver those consequences without Chara in the driver’s seat. And Chara’s character can only be at their most narratively cohesive and thematically impactful if seeking to make us suffer consequences was their intended destination.

Regardless of whatever detail about Chara you’re discussing or what side of the discussion you’re on, one thing is very clear: they’re absolutely essential to Undertale in the same way that Mephistopheles is essential to Faust, the Cenobites are essential to Hellraiser, and Kuybey is essential to Madoka Magica. And they’re the only ones with the means, motives, and deep-seated misanthropy to hold this whole damn game together.

Sans is right. We deserve to be burning in hell for what we did to those poor monsters. And I can't think of anyone more qualified to have us humans “burning in hell” than a self-proclaimed demon with a seething hatred of humanity.

And how fitting is it that the skeleton who judges our sins is followed by a human child who punishes us for them?

BUT HEY, THAT'S JUST A THEORY!

A CHARA THEORY!

THANKS FOR READING!

473 notes · View notes

whoopsyeahokay · 3 months ago

Text

Wreck It Like A Rumor

summary: prompt fill. Wally saves you from a joke gone terribly wrong the night of the Homecoming dance. what unfolds after is a friendship you desperately cling to as you try to survive the rest of term... what you don't know is that Wally Clark is deader than a doornail until you learn it the hard way. (request)

pairing: Wally Clark x fem!reader

warnings: smut lite. AU - canon divergence. CWC (canon what canon). single mention of a mental health slur. attempted assault. protective behavior. angsty themes. hurt/comfort. bullying. HEA.

note: author hasn't watched S2. all knowledge of new content comes exclusively from GIFs on this platform. (i got tired of filtering Wally content. he's my babe. i am weak.)

bon reading, frens

___________________________🐦‍🔥

Wreck It Like A Rumor

They disguised themselves as friends.

You should've known when the one person out of the group you considered a sister—the girl you'd glommed onto in elementary, who'd been by your side through every shitty thing that'd unraveled your life at the time. You know, your real friend—started acting shifty.

Eyes down, nervous laugh, not giving you a straight answer when you asked her if she was okay.

"Help! Anyone, please! Let me out of here!"

You pound your fist against the door, tears streaming down your face. Mascara smudged, nail polish chipped, kicking and banging and screaming until your skin is red and blotchy.

It's Homecoming. You never went to the dances, tend to avoid a lot of high school social events like the plague since everyone in your grade (and others) treats you as if you're contagious.

But it's junior year, and your best friend begged you to join her as her ride or die since she wasn't super comfortable with her new group of friends yet.

You threw caution to the wind and said yes.

For Oli. Olivia Hazelwood. The awkward daughter of Split River's old-money elite couple, Henry and Marion Hazelwood. You and Oli were awkward together. Outsiders who found a home in each other. You shared everything with her and thought she did the same, but now you question how true that was.

Because, along with her new friends—who she insisted were your new friends, too—she'd locked you in the secret fallout shelter in the school basement.

Cruelty packaged as a practical joke.

You heard Travis cackle to the others before calling through the door, "Get comfortable, it'll be a while 'til the janitor comes to get you!"

It's fucking Friday. You don't know Mr. South's schedule—hell, you don't know if he even knows about the fallout shelter—but you assume he won't be back until Monday like the rest of the staff.

Someone will do a walk-through, you tell yourself, gasping for air as you pace around the space. It's dark, the only light coming from the weird dashboard on the clunky equipment lining one wall.

How Travis and the others found out about the fallout shelter isn't a mystery. You told them, stupidly, when you were trying to bond with Elitzia and Marybelle. Split River trivia you'd collected through hyperfixation research. Hours spent diving down rabbit holes after binging Fallout with Oli over a weekend.

Nuclear winter. Chernobyl. Bunkers. The Cold War.

God, why'd you say anything? Should've kept your mouth shut. Should've known that Travis and his friends weren't actually trying to buddy up, because you're still the school pariah.

After all, you gave Jake Tremblay crabs after you rejected him in 9th. You were a homewrecker and forced yourself on Matt Wilson when his girlfriend caught him shoving his unwanted hand up your skirt. You told Claire Zomer last year that you liked to wear diapers and be bottle-fed like a baby as a result of neglectful parents after you refused to do her English homework.

The mill churned out rumor after rumor, and though you tried to fight it at first, it became too much. Like squashing an ant hill. You stopped, people lost interest when you didn't react, but those rumors still circulate.

Sometimes, new ones join the rotation depending on who you piss off just trying to make it to the last bell.

Oli was the only person who stood by you until Elitzia extended her friendship.

Now you're alone. Stuck in the creepy fallout shelter in the dark. Suffocating on shadows as you double back to the door and start banging your palms against it again. Oli knows you're claustrophobic. She was there when you trusted Sarah Thompson in 5th Grade and climbed into her toy chest.

What is so other about you that makes people hate you so much?

You gulp in harsh breaths, sobbing out exhales, losing energy quickly as you smack and bang the door. You can't hear the music, but you know it's still loud, the dance in full swing two floors above.

"Please," You cough, shaking, "Please, let me out..."

‗•‗

Wally sighs. Tonight's been one giant letdown. He doesn't know why he got his hopes up, especially since it's been obvious from the get-go that Maddie isn't ready for the things Wally wants to try with her. Romance. Dates. Hand-holding and affection and inside jokes.

He understands. Of course he does. Maddie's new-dead. She was murdered. She and her best (and very alive) friend are trying to solve the case, to help her remember so she can find closure or whatever.

Why would she want to take a break from that and hang out at a dumb dance with Wally? Who's been trapped in limbo for the last forty years; same four walls, same seven faces to interact with. Same. Same. Same. Same. Fuck.

It's fine. It's totally fine.

As he lies on the grass, staring up at the stars, the quiet outside giving him space to sulk, he hears it. Bang. Help! Bang bang bang. Please!

It's faint, no louder than a breeze, but consistent. Wally gets to his feet and tries to follow the sound. Back into the school, down the steps, along the first-floor hallway to the basement door. It muffles for a moment when he goes the wrong way, toward the janitor's office, so he backtracks and hurries deeper into the bowels of the school.

Despite having the run of the place, no holds barred, he hasn't been this way before. Never saw a reason to go to the boiler room, not even after Maddie took a seat at the Afterlife Support Group.

The sound loudens, banging and muted pleading, someone clearly in distress. Wally slows his steps as he nears a door he's never seen before. It's old, white paint peeling, made of metal. It shakes when whoever's behind it starts slamming their fists again. Renewed vigor, higher-pitched agony, "Please!! Anyone!!?"

Wally scans the outside of the door for a latch or handle and notices the deadbolts attached to the top and bottom of the doorframe. Quickly, he undoes them and yanks the door open, stumbling back when a figure slumps out.

Small. Trembling. A girl whose makeup is stained with tearstreaks and whose eyes are bloodshot, her skin pale from fright. She's breathing heavy, sniffling, rubbing the back of her wrist under her nose as she gradually calms.

"Uh..."

And that's as much as Wally gets out before she's on her feet, arms around her middle, shoulders up. She takes one look at Wally, mumbles a wet thanks, and then charges through the boiler room, down the corridor, and out of the basement.

Wally's stunned. Because he knows for a fact that that girl is alive.

Not only did she look right at Wally, she spoke to him. Like, to his face. Eyeballs met eyeballs. For the first time in a long time, Wally was part of the living world again.

"No freaken way..."

‗•‗

You keep your head down as you walk toward your locker. Headphones on, blaring angry music to quell the crash and surge of emotion inside you. You're embarrassed, humiliated, hateful. Rightfully so, you think, because the last person in the world you trusted betrayed you in the worst way you can imagine.

Oli tried to apologize over the weekend. A novel of a text that repeated several times how sorry she is about what happened. How she didn't know that was the plan. I swear, I thought they were just going to close the door for a minute.

So why didn't you come back?

She never answered. Either ashamed of her non-actions or annoyed that you won't forgive her as easily as you used to, you don't care.

The guy who saved you—tall, handsome, dressed like a silverscreen leading man—looked just like someone that group kept in the middle of their circle-jerk. Which was why you didn't stick around to thank him properly. He was probably just a little less bad; has what amounts to a conscience for those assholes, and decided to cut the joke short out of guilt.

Definitely a senior, you figured, since you didn't recognize him from your class.

Makes things easier. You intend to steer clear of him just like you will the others. You've got enough on your plate, the newest rumor sticky-tacked to your locker when you finally arrive.

Crybaby got herself locked in a room and couldn't get out! Accentuated with photoshopped baby bottles and crying emojis.

It's stupid. Juvenile. But it burns. You tear the paper off your locker, crumple it up, and march to the trash to shove it through the lid. Even through your music, you can hear the chorus of laughter. Some of it nervous, as if going along with it to avoid the same attention Travis and his cronies give you. Some of it hearty and genuine.

You swallow your discomfort and go back to your locker, wrench the lock open, and almost violently swing the door right into someone's face. Thankfully, that someone catches it before it does any damage.

"Whoa there, Helen Sharp, I'm not here to steal your man." The guy chuckles, giving you what you assume is his most charming smile.

It rubs you the wrong way. You glare back, ignoring the comment as you begin to rifle through your things, exchanging last night's homework for the textbook and notes you need for first period. He clears his throat, keeps standing there awkwardly, rubbing the back of his neck and watching you.

"So, you can't hear me," He mutters, and, weirdly, it doesn't sound like a snide question. Rather, his voice is heavily laced with disappointment.

You stop and straighten, staring right at him when you cock your head and say, "I can hear you just fine." Then, "You come to make me thank you again?" Just like Mike Bower earlier this semester, who pinned you to the vending machine after the cafeteria emptied, demanding you show him your gratitude for lending you a pencil during the History test.

The guy swallows and shakes his head, eyes wide and mouth agape. As if you speaking to him is the most astonishing thing that's ever happened to him.

Your glare intensifies.

‗•‗

Wally can't believe it. You can see him. You're talking to him.

Kind of.

You're mostly scowling at him, but that doesn't matter. He'll take what he can get. He knows you're likely still upset about Friday, how you got locked in the fallout shelter somehow. Which, the fallout shelter was a whole discovery on its own that helped unlock some of Maddie's memories over the weekend, so if anyone should be grateful, really, it's Wally.

"N-no," He stutters.

His shock swiftly melts into excitement, big grin sweeping his face, and he giddily follows you toward your first class after you slam your locker closed and start walking.

"So...are you okay? You didn't look so good, last time I saw you."

You heave a sigh, "I'm fine." And it sounds an awful lot like something you've been repeating to yourself until you believe it. Clearly, it isn't working.

"Right. Yeah. Of course you are." Wally nods sagely. "...What's your name?"

You come to an abrupt halt in the hallway and turn to face him, brows furrowed, giving him a slow once-over that makes his heart skip a beat. Now that he can see your face better, he swallows thickly. Jesus, you're beautiful. Even scowly and off-put. Pretty as a peace lily.

"Why?" You ask, and, wow, okay, has no one ever asked you for your name before?

Wally hesitates, not quite understanding why you're being so hostile until he hears it. A couple of students behind him, snickering to each other, commenting on how, the fucking weirdo's lost her mind. She's so fucked up.

Spinning on his heel, Wally faces the students, ready to put them in their place before he remembers that they can't see him...can they? No. They can't. They look right through him at you, snorting and shaking their heads in pity like you're some kind of headcase.

When he turns around again, you're gone.

‗•‗

It takes Wally a few days before he finds you again. Outside, sitting in a patch of sun, eating your bagged lunch alone as you lean against the side of the school. Without preamble, he plops down beside you.

He spent his time doing a little research. Between helping Maddie and Simon investigate, obviously, he's a good person who has his priorities straight. Still, you were always on his mind. The gorgeous living girl who can see him.

You ignore him, bite into your PB&J, and stare into the middle distance as if Wally doesn't exist. That's fine. He understands now. And, holy shit, the things he'd do if he had a body to do them in. He'd fuck every last one of your tormentors up. Break egos before breaking bones. Guy, girl, he doesn't discriminate; he hates what he's heard.

Can't be sure none of it is real, but from the way you shrink when he keeps his attention on you, he doesn't think any of it is.

"You okay?" He ventures again, voice low and kind.

You shrug. No snarky comment, no anger. Just...resignation.

"I, uh, heard what they say about you..."

You snort, "Great. You come to give me words of wisdom, oh wise one? It's just high school, it won't matter when you get out of here," You mock, clearly some bullshit you've been spoon fed before.

Wally shakes his head, "Nah. Nothing like that." He gives you a smile. Cheeky, "High school's all there is. It really does shape your whole life."

You choke on your next bite and then give him a look of horror. When you catch his impish smirk, your eyes narrow.

"You're an asshole."

"You're kind of a grump." Wally shoots back good-naturedly.

"I think I've earned it."

Wally's smile falters slightly, but he makes an effort to remain upbeat. Softly, sincerely, he says, "I'm sorry you have to go through all that."

"It is what it is." You respond, equally as soft, gaze on the ground.

You and Wally sit in silence for a moment. It doesn't feel awkward or tense the way Wally expected it to. Instead, it's peaceful. A welcome change from the mounting drama he's experiencing on Split River High's metaphysical side.

Eventually, you seem to relax. You and he exchange names. He doesn't give you his last name, not quite ready for that conversation, though he's sure you'll figure it out sooner rather than later. His letterman is a dead give away (no pun intended).

"Do you...have any friends?" He asks bluntly after talking around the point for a few minutes.

Tensing, you stop chewing the last bite of your sandwich, gaze distant as your face slackens in what Wally can only describe as hurt.

"I did. But then she helped her new friends lock me in a fallout shelter even though she knows I'm claustrophobic."

"Fuck..." Wally exhales sharply, "I'm sorry."

"You say that a lot," You accuse, slanting him another suspicious look. "Why are you sorry? Did you know that was the plan? Are you friends with Travis and Marybell and Elitzia?"

Wally tries to keep up with your questions. You must've been thinking those things based on how rapidly you asked them, and it takes Wally aback.

"No," He replies, "I don't know any of those people."

You relax again once you've stared into Wally's fucking skull to see if he's lying. Apparently, you can do that since you give a small nod and settle back against the wall.

"Thank you," You say after another minute of silence. "Really. For...getting me out of there."

"Yeah, of course," Wally says. "I might look like an asshole, but I'm not actually one."

You peek at him, a tiny smile forming on your lips that makes Wally's heart soar, "I'm starting to get that."

‗•‗

Your unconventional friendship with Wally grows from there.

When Wally isn't busy saving the day with Maddie and Charley and Rhonda, he spends his time haunting you. His own little joke, because it appears you haven't figured out how dead he is, and as more days pass, he's more reluctant to reveal that spooky truth.

In the span of weeks, you blossom like a flower for him. He learns how giggly you are when you aren't shielding yourself from the disgusting things your classmates sling at you. It's not often, but it's often enough that Wally never sees you as anything but reserved and quiet when you're between classes.

At this point, he's heard the slew of rumors about you. Gross and inflated, a game of broken telephone that chips away at you a little more every day.

Except when you're with Wally. It's as if his presence is helping you heal, and he can't keep the warm, fuzzy feelings from growing in his chest. Bigger and bigger with every encounter.

You've taken to studying in the library until the very last second you're allowed to stay. Tucked in the back, muffling laughter when Wally tells you about things that happened to him when he was alive. He omits details that might give away the era, but shares everything he can.

God, he loves the sound of your laughter. How your eyes sparkle when you're happy. How your cheeks flush when he sneaks in something flirtatious. How you bite your lip after you say something suggestive in return.

You're not exactly tactile, probably scarred from things that've happened in your past, things that've been said to you, or things that've been done to you. (Wally wants to punch everyone, teachers included.) It makes it easier to hide his deadness. However, it's getting to a point where Wally has a hard time remembering not to reach out and fail at tucking a strand of your hair behind your ear when you stare up at him with those sweet, joyful eyes.

There's always, at the very least, an inch of space between you and Wally. An inch he so desperately wishes he could eradicate. Either way, he can't break that barrier, the energy emitted from a living body preventing him from touching you, even if you did finally welcome it.

You bring him homemade cookies the day you reveal that your parents are rarely around. Break his heart, then heal it with chocolate chip, his favorite. He has to wait for you to turn away before he picks one up, so you don't see how the cookie never actually leaves the container.

When he bites into it, he moans, filthy, sexual, not even exaggerated because, "God damn girl, these are delicious."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Wally takes another bite, moans again, eyes closed as he savors the taste, "Best I've ever had."

You blush, duck your head shyly, "Thanks, Wally." And, fuck, he wants to kiss you. All over your face. Cheeks, nose, forehead. Lips. Deep and slow as he cups your jaw, angles your head just right, pulls you into his lap and—

"Earth to Wally," Your voice breaks through the mist, "You still in there?" Then, to yourself, "What the hell did I put in these?"

Wally blinks himself back to the present, "Sorry, what'd you say?"

"I asked you if you wanted to try the oatmeal-peanut butter ones."

Very seriously, "Yes. And everything else you've made ever, if you don't mind."

He wants to offer to make you banana pancakes or a burrito or anything to show off his skills in the kitchen, but he isn't sure how the food he makes would translate in the living world. His stomach clenches, eyes sad, as he begins to think about all the things he can't do with you. All the things you don't know he can't do with you because he doesn't want to lose you when you learn the truth.

Maddie didn't lose Simon, a part of him thinks, but while that's true, Maddie and Simon are best friends. Have been best friends since fuck knows when. Simon was willing to throw himself behind Maddie being a ghost because of how close they are.

Wally isn't certain you'd react the same way.

‗•‗

Things between you and Wally are...amazing? No, that's too simple a word to describe how his friendship has basically turned your whole high school experience on its head.

He's quickly become the best part of your day. He makes you laugh, helps you with homework when he isn't distracting you from it. He's sweet and compassionate and thoughtful. He remembers everything you tell him, even the mundane, silly shit.

You've never experienced that before. Not even with Oli, who had a knack of steering every conversation back to herself. It wasn't in a rude or self-righteous way, honestly, it stemmed more from insecurity and external processing.

But, yeah, it got old sometimes, especially when you just needed someone to hear you. See you. Know you.

Things with Wally are so incredible that you're even able to ignore the newest rumor about you making the rounds. How you're crazy, talking to yourself like schizo, you need meds, why do they let her near us? Dude, she could be dangerous.

None of it matters anymore. Oli's been fully indoctrinated by her new friends, ignores or avoids you, unable to look you in the eye anymore since dying her hair to look like Chloe's and dressing herself like Kirsten.

Wally has your back. Comforts you with humor or listens when you need to vent. Mostly, it's just bliss. And it's alarming because you've never felt so close to someone like this. You've exposed yourself to him in ways you never let yourself before. Not with Oli, not with your parents, not with anyone.

But he draws it out of you, bit by bit, your personality slowly reestablishing itself after years of being smothered behind the walls you had to build to protect yourself.

He's safe.

And he's hot like burning. Like putting your hand over a lit element.

Another new feeling unlocked; you want to feel his hands on you, even for a moment. Want to feel his lips on yours. Want all of him so wholly and greedily it makes your head spin.

Yes. Everything with Wally is perfect.

Until, one day, he simply...disappears.

‗•‗

It's not Wally's fault. He doesn't mean to do it. He wouldn't have, he promises. Especially not to you. But, Wally has his turn getting stuck in the fallout shelter; Mr. Martin unmasks himself as a bad guy; and Maddie's body is alive out there being used by Janet.

Things go from moderately unhinged to fucking hectic overnight.

He stays away only to help Maddie. Finds out, shit, Yuri Vyarheychyk isn't actually a looper. Discovers a lot of things he never wanted to discover. Wally's lost and despondent, and can't seem to get his head above water long enough to seek you out and apologize for abandoning you for two weeks.

He's relieved when he finally catches sight of you again, a smile on his face as he watches you help put the gym together for his high school reunion.

Just as he's about to approach, he notices you go eerily still, staring at something he can't see from this angle. He steps a little closer, cautious, heart in his throat when he finally gets a glimpse.

"Oh, no."

‗•‗

You were roped into helping set up the space for the class of '84 reunion. You'd reacted vehemently when Travis made a joke at your expense during Math and Mr. Davis immediately issued you detention.

This is how you earn back his respect. Carrying stacks of chairs and fussing over an easel that's to support a picture of that guy the stadium is named after. You're feeling bitter, neglected, alone all over again since Wally hasn't surfaced, and the rumors are starting to pick at vulnerable flesh.

Then, Ms. Monroe clucks at you, hands you the blown-up photo to fit onto the easel. You don't notice at first, and then the shock swoops in and leaves you breathless. Gaping wide-eyed at the face staring back at you.

Wally's smile is exactly how it looks when you say something he calls 'cute'. Charming. Cheerful.

The world fades away, time stands still, and you almost buckle under the realization that you made up a whole person to keep you company. You really are fucking crazy, just like everyone said.

"Hey..." You hear Wally's voice, but it can't be real, pulled from some broken part of your brain that shattered after the fallout shelter.

Slowly, you pan to your right, Wally towering over you, as solid as he was the last time you saw him. You glance back at the photo, then to Wally, rinse, repeat until you have whiplash. A tiny, wrecked sound escapes you and your body shivers, the weight of what this means bubbling inside you like acid.

"Hey, no, it's okay," The figment of Wally Clark, class of '84, dead dead dead, tries to reassure you. "You're not crazy, babe, I'm right here. You can see me."

His words do nothing to calm you down. You need help. Professional help, hard meds, a straitjacket, and a padded room.

Another trembling whimper and you wheeze, "They were right... I'm... I'm insane."

"No!" Wally insists, stumbling after you as you force your feet to move and head for the door.

Ms. Monroe calls out, but you ignore her, not bothering to think up an excuse as you leave.

"Leave me alone," You beg the figment of Wally, covering your ears with your hands to block out his voice as he urges you to believe him, that he's real, he's a ghost, he's been here for forty years, babe, please, stop!

You don't stop. You start running. Out the door, into the parking lot, off school grounds. You run until you get home, where you lock yourself in—parents still in Dubai for one of your dad's conferences, the house empty and cold.

Sliding to the ground, back against the door, you tuck your knees to your chest and cry.

Alone. Again. Always.

‗•‗

Wally's heartbroken after you leave. Never had he ever thought you'd become that important to him until you made it abundantly clear you want nothing to do with him. Because you think he's a figment of your imagination. Some trauma response.

He tries twice to convince you he's real, but it doesn't work. You shrink further into yourself, pale and placid, not even challenging the remarks made behind your back like you'd started doing again.

Unfortunately, shit hits the fan and Wally can't make time, plowing through scars, saving Maddie from herself, encouraging her to run back into her body.

All throughout, he longs for you. Wishes he'd been upfront from the beginning. He'd just wanted to be selfish for a while. To keep you. His own little secret, beautiful and bold, his to indulge in and cherish and...love.

Fuck.

Now, he stands in front of a door, a thick, bright light burning on the other side of it as he holds his key. He stares at the door, feels the warmth beckoning him. There's nothing left for him here. He's done his time, languished within the school for too many years.

Wally takes a step forward.

‗•‗

Without Wally's presence to ground you, you start to unravel. Piece by piece, whittled away to nothing but anger and fear. Right now it's predominantly fear, in large extent due to the empty halls and lack of teachers. There's a commotion outside that drew everyone with any authority out there.

It's well past the last bell, and Travis was leaving the locker rooms when you were headed to the theater to grab a notebook you forgot on one of the seats during Drama. Apparently, despite being fucked in the head, you've been a lot more appealing lately.

"You got a great smile when you aren't being a bitch," Travis leers, crowding you against a wall.

He's big. Huge. Built like a brick shithouse even at seventeen. He's got more muscle on him than you could ever hope for, and the strength of the linebacker he is behind him.

"Get away from me," You demand through clenched teeth, hands shoving uselessly at his chest. He doesn't budge an inch.

"Nah, don't think so, freak." He smirks, massive hand around your throat. Not too tight, just enough to hold you there with the promise of pain if you try to struggle.

That's when you start screaming.

‗•‗

Wally's head shoots up, and he drops the football, takes several long strides toward the exit door. The sound gets louder, clearer, as he nears. It's coming from behind the door. And it's familiar. He knows that scream, heard it weeks ago. The night he rescued you from the fallout shelter.

Without a second thought, Wally kicks the exit door open and barrels through, tripping when gravity hits him for the first time in decades. He gulps in a gasp of air, the taste sharp and bleachy, filling his lungs. Chest expanding, bones and blood and flesh heavy in a way he doesn't remember his living body being.

"Help!" You scream again, the tail-end of the word muffled by the hand of who Wally recognizes as one of your antagonizers.

Travis has you on the floor, his knees on either side of your waist as he grapples to control your arms. Wally fights against gravity, skids forward and then, Stop! Stop it! he charges. Tackles Travis' weight off of you and to the ground.

His knuckles burn as he punches Travis' face in, his lungs burn as he sucks in more air than is probably necessary, his body no longer familiar with the function but quickly getting with the program.

Wally falls back when he's sure Travis isn't getting up. Alive. The guy's alive. Just wrecked and bloodied, groaning as he rolls onto his side and clutches his jaw.

"I've wanted to do that for so long," Wally pants, wiping the sweat from his upper lip.

"W-Wally?"

Your voice is so small, so uncertain, and it gets Wally's attention immediately. He's with you in a flash, hands on your face, holy fuck, he can touch you, and you're so warm, so solid, skin so soft, he doesn't know what sensation to focus on first.

"Y-you're real." You murmur, as shocked as Wally is. "You're..." You lift your hand and place it over his, the touch smarting the cuts he opened on Travis' nose.

"I was always real, baby." He says, chest still rising and falling rapidly, God, he can't take his hands off you.

It happens in the blink of an eye. He can't tell who moves first, who initiates, only that it's pure fucking bliss when he feels your lips against his for the first time. Soft and pillowy and yielding. You taste like Sprite and those chewy watermelons you like to snack on during study sessions.

Wally moans into the kiss, can't help himself, pulls you into him as much as he can just to revel in the feeling of your body against his. Your real, living body against his.

A groan behind you and him reminds Wally that Travis is still there, will likely be found soon, and whoever does the finding will have questions Wally can't answer right now. Possibly not ever.

"Come on, baby, we've gotta go," He says, intending to hide you somewhere else in the school so you and he can talk.

You apparently have other ideas, because you drag him behind you all the way to the bus stop. He tries to tell you, tries to get you to stop before—

"I can't leave school property!" He shouts.

You slow, letting go of his hand to walk a few steps backwards, eyebrow lifting as you stare at his feet.

"But...you are off school property."

When Wally looks down, his jaw drops. He scrambles in a half-circle to measure the distance between himself and the curb. Thoughts flood his brain: He has to tell Rhonda, to tell Charley and Yuri and Quinn. He has to find his friends and tell them about his...what? His aliveness? Is he alive?

"Come on," You urge, grabbing him by the hand again and hauling him away from the school. "We can't be here right now."

You're right, he knows that, but, holy shit! He's off school property. He's breathing oxygen. His heart is pumping, his muscles ache from the exertion of beating Travis to a pulp, his tongue feels too big for his mouth, and his eyes sting from lack of blinking.

Whatever Wally is, he's not a ghost anymore.

‗•‗

You take him back to your place. You don't exactly know where else to stash a forty-year-old ghost, which Wally insists he is and is basically proof of that himself. You looked him up after the reunion. When you weren't so overwhelmed, that is.

Number 57, Walter Clark, beloved son and friend. If he is a fake, the likeness is uncanny.

As soon as you and he are through the door, he surges, lifts you into his arms, laughing, unable to believe the changes he's already taken stock of. He twirls you around, holds you like something precious, and gazes at you with sweet, soulful eyes.

"I can touch you," He murmurs, as if that's the most important development. "I can actually feel you. God, baby, I can't stop smiling. And it hurts!" The last part makes you giggle because he says it with so much joy, it tickles the giddiness right out of you.

You sober, soften like butter in his arms as he holds you. "You can...touch me some more, if you want..."

There it is, the bravest thing you've ever done. Hanging in the air between you and Wally as he viscerally registers your offer.

When he finally gets it, his smile turns into a smirk. A cocky thing that makes your belly warm.

"Yeah?" He glances around, sees the couch, then looks back at you.

Wally carries you to the couch like you weigh nothing, easy, muscles bunching and releasing as he sits down and settles you in his lap. His hands roam under your shirt, his hot touch like a brand wherever he holds you, and, slowly, giving you time to reconsider, he leans in and captures your lips in a gentle, sweet kiss.

‗•‗

Wally doesn't have the capacity to process anything outside of this moment, outside of you, right now. He should probably take a minute to figure out what happened to him when he fell through the exit door, should strategize a game plan for his friends to follow, should do a lot of things, but he can't find it in him to stop.

Your weight in his lap is so much more intense now that he can feel it in a real, human body. Your little whimpers and soft mewls as his hands wander under your shirt—fuck, the feeling of your skin beneath his fingers, it's like a dream he never thought would come true.

He undresses you slowly, worshipping every piece of skin revealed with his mouth and hands. Little nips and flicks of tongue, tasting your skin, hearing your sounds, absorbing your warmth as you squirm against him.

"You like how I touch you, baby?" He asks, gazing up at you through his lashes as he gently, so gently, trails his fingertips down your side and to your ass where he grabs. "I wanna make you feel good." He grinds his hips up, cock harder than he's ever felt it, groaning when the friction sends shockwaves of pleasure through him. "You feel that, baby? You feel what you do to me?"

"Wally," You gasp, your head tipping back and eyes closing, savoring the sensation.

You help him out of his jacket, his shirt; grip his chain to draw him into another hot, hungry kiss that leaves him reeling and desperate for more. His fingers dig into your flesh as he bucks against you, can feel the heat of your pussy through his sweatpants and shorts.

Gone in seconds because he can't wait anymore. Has waited enough time to feel anything again, but this, with you, no. God help him, he doesn't have that kind of patience or resolve. He's not strong enough. Not with how you tremble in his arms when he smears two fingers through your folds, dips them in to tease you as he watches the expression of euphoria that twists your features into the most beautiful image he's ever seen.

"You're so wet for me, baby," He purrs, nipping that sensitive spot right below your ear. Fuck, you start to ride his fingers, greedy little thing, the slick squelch of your pussy fucking his index and middle finger echoing in his ears and fogging his brain.

"Wally, please," You beg so pretty, and that's it. Control gone.

He lines himself up and guides you down, Jesus, you take him so perfectly. Stuffed full, tight as a vise, gripping him inside you as he leads you up and down, up and down, getting him as deep as he can be inside you.

"That's it, baby, just like that. So good for me," He pants, feet planted, hips meeting yours, his hands tight on your ass as you move on him. A fucking goddess crafted by heaven just for him. "Fuck," He chokes, "Fuck, yeah," and bites your lower lip, soothes the sting with his tongue before delving it into your mouth.

It feels too quick, but he can't avoid it. It's been so long since anything felt like this. You're not any better, quivering under his hands, thighs spasming when he starts to fuck into you faster, harder, making you bounce on his cock to take what you need.

When you come, he cries out, eyes clenched shut, mouth open, stars exploding. His climax ripped from deep within his core. His cock pulses as he spills inside you, arms fastened around your body to pin you to his chest, kissing you with everything he has.

"God, baby, I love you," Maybe it's too soon to say it (definitely), but who the fuck cares? Give a no-longer-dead-guy a break. He doesn't know how long his earthliness will last. He can't afford to take chances.

And he hiccups an awed breath when you say, "I love you, too, Wally Clark."

You gaze at him in the afterglow, so soft and pliant and perfect he could burst. You and he stay on the couch for a while, basking in each other's presence, in the realness of it. Eventually, taking his hand, you lead him to your room, where he writes poems with his tongue in your pussy, where you spread yourself open and invite him in again and again and again until sunrise.

You give him the weekend.

He knows he has a responsibility to visit Maddie in the hospital and make sure she's where she should be. Must inform Rhonda and Charley and Yuri and Quinn and Janet (can he still see them?!) that he's somehow regained a pulse.

But that can wait until tomorrow.

It's Sunday night, and Wally has every intention of proving to you that you're not alone anymore. That you have him as long as you want to keep him. And that he'll stay, even if you don't.

"Not gonna happen, Wally, you're stuck with me," You tell him in no uncertain terms, snuggled into his chest.

Wally smiles so wide, his cheeks ache for days after.

🐦‍🔥___________fin.____________

youtube

also on AO3!

Order Up! MASTERLIST

if you liked this, you may also enjoy Best Friends Club.

smut. you've been Wally's best friend since elementary school. and he's had a thing for you the entire time. it would've stayed a secret if, after a shitty date with someone who wasn't him, things changed.

#milo manheim #wally clark #school spirits #wally clark fanfiction #milo manheim fanfiction #wally clark smut #wally clark x reader #fem!reader #wally clark angst #Wreck It Like A Rumor #Order Up!#i wrote this instead of October Moon #if u wanna see this become a multichapter #i can make that happen #just lmk 🫰

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on-a-lucky-tide · 6 months ago

Text

Nik flies. Ghost pines. Price... considers.

cw: hints of a future polyamorous relationship.

“Whit's he daein'?” Soap asked, folding his arms and legs as he watched Nik in the near distance.

Price looked up from the report in his lap, roll up twitching between his lips. Nik was pacing back and forth, fists, hands and arms moving in rhythmic, practised motions in front of his chest, by his hips, occasionally twisting behind him. But there was no opponent, only the imaginary one in Nik's head in the shape of the jet he was about to fly. “Shadowboxin.”

“Aye, ah c’n see tha’, sir. How come?”

Simon shifted on Price's right. He had been watching Nik with a palpable hunger. Even with his mask, the intensity of his gaze was hard to miss. When he spoke, his voice was low, almost husky. Like he was wading out of deeper, warmer thoughts. “Trainin’ exercise to practice his spatial awareness, coordination, and muscle memory before gettin’ in the cockpit. That thing ain’t his Black Hawk. Whole different animal. Second fastest jet in service.”

“That thing? S’massive. Na wey it kin shift. He'd ‘ave more fun in an F-15.”

The Foxbat was the size of a World War II heavy bomber — nine feet longer than an Avro Lancaster, two and a half feet taller than a B-24 and with a gross weight almost twenty-seven thousand pounds heavier than a Boeing B-17. Price had seen old black and white photographs on Nik's phone of Soviet technicians servicing the damn thing; they’d looked like toy soldiers scurrying around in its shadow.

The ride in the MiG-25 was a gift from Laswell as a thank you for Nik's help on a black op. Not even Price knew much about it, but it had to have been gnarly for her to pull this many strings. The Foxbat was fully fuelled and Nik's flight plan had been filed. Nik was going to throw that tank of an aircraft around the skies like he was twenty-two again, and he'd been vibrating with excitement during the walk out.

“Big man, big plane,” Simon murmured, “and he's got’a special attachment to it, even though it's a bit shite.”

Price plucked his cigarette from his mouth and tapped the ash onto the concrete by his thigh, considering Simon closely. There had been a change in him recently, especially around Nik. He spent a lot of time watching Nik - all out staring, as Simon was prone to do - standing close to him during briefings, finding reasons to talk to him in down time. He was flirting without realising it. Price knew why. Nik had told him about the hair incident, and asked whether there was any possibility of enticing Simon into a little more.

Honestly? Price had laughed at the time. ‘Better chance of gettin’ a gobby off of Makarov’ had been his exact words. But now that he had watched Simon around Nik for a month, he wasn't so sure his initial assessment was accurate. Even now, his body was enticed towards Nik. His arms were folded but his posture was open, upper back against the wall but hips in Nik's direction, his feet spread, shifting and twitching like there was something bubbling beneath his skin.

“Oh aye? Why's he so keen on it then?” Soap asked, giving Simon the side eye. The sergeant wasn't thick; he'd seen it too.

“Foxbat scared the Americans shitless during the Cold War. They got these spy satellite photos showin’ that beast, engine intakes the size of small cars. Big wings, potential for more maneuverability ��an the F-4 Phantom II. But a pilot called Viktor Belenko defected and showed her to be a dud. Wife divorcin’ him, disaffected with communist society. In 1976, he left his sortie and went to Japan. Landed at Hakodate, overran the runway, shut down with only thirty seconds of fuel remainin’. Handed ‘em a brand new Foxbat and a fockin’ trainin’ manual to dissect.”

Simon rattled it all off without pause, and Price had to fight his grin to keep his expression passive. Well, that bloody well confirmed it. Simon had hyperfixated on the plane that Nik treasured. There were probably several more encyclopedias worth of knowledge on the damn thing in his head, ready to use with Nik later. That was how Simon tried to connect with people; shitty jokes and learning about them through what they loved.

“‘Ow the fuck d’ye know all that?” Soap asked, smirking. He'd sussed it too.

“I read,” Simon said dryly. “Try it some time.”

“Och, baltic, sir.” Soap sniffed, head tilting the other way. “So, he feels some kinda kindred spirit with Belenko.”

Simon shrugged. “Maybe. Or he's a fockin’ plane nerd and flyin’ that thing would be like the old man wankin’ over those Nortons at Bletchley Park.”

“Yeah, wondered when it'd be my turn,” Price growled, rolling his eyes.

“At least it dunnae need a drip tray and a prayer to stay together, eh?”

“Ya tolkin’ about Price or the bikes?” Simon's head lolled to the side as he spoke, tone rife with wry amusement.

Soap cackled, and Price slapped the folder closed in his lap. “Olrigh’, can it, ya muppets.”

“Aye, sir. Ah, look, mus’ be his slot.”

They watched the Foxbat taxi down the runway under the direction of the flight crew, their exaggerated hand gestures and bouncing completely alien to the three soldiers sitting by the hanger but clearly recognisable to Nik, who made a hand gesture in return before he looked forward.

Price returned his cigarette to his mouth, leaning back to watch Nik climb the jet as the flight crew assembled. Time to take off. Nik bounced a little on his toes before he hauled himself up to the cockpit, shoving the headset and helmet on, aviators still in place because Nik was absolutely permitted his cornier foibles. This was a dream come true for him. Laswell had outdone herself.

Price grabbed the ear defenders nearby and chucked another set across to Soap; Simon was already prepared. The engines roared into life, making the air shimmer with heat and power, and the big jet accelerated down the runway, leaving the tarmac in one of the smoothest take offs Price had ever seen. Well, of course it was; it was Nik after all.

The Foxbat disappeared above the clouds quickly and Price glanced over at Simon. He didn't move until the grey smudge reappeared against the open skies further to the east. The jet rolled and banked, ascending almost vertical for a stall turn that made even Price's belly do a little flip. It shot back past the hanger, the sound of its engines lagging behind its visible position as Nik pushed it hard. Price wished he could hear Nik whooping and rambling in Russian; air traffic control were probably feeling a little uneasy.

Simon never dropped his chin. He remained stoic, his arms folded, but his mind was up in the clouds with Nik. They both were. The difference was that Price knew he would be unzipping that flight suit later and enjoying everything underneath, whereas Simon would deprive himself for fear of being hurt, no matter how much he wanted it. Price hummed, stubbing out his cigarette. Perhaps it was time to indulge Nik’s curiosity, and his own carefully managed and suppressed feelings. Simon wasn't the only one who had denied the obvious for self preservation.

Eventually, the flight had to come to an end. Nik brought the Foxbat down gently, the landing gear screeching against the tarmac briefly as Nik negotiated the short runway. He taxied back round to park her almost exactly where he had pulled away from, and Price smirked as the cockpit popped open and a jubilant Russian bounced up with a roar of triumph, big arms in the air.

Ghost stooped down to his bag and Price heard the tinkle of glass as he removed his ear defenders. Simon clutched four empty glasses in his big hands and jutted his chin at the Foxbat as he glanced down at Price. “Comin’?”

“Lead the way,” Price said, grunting as he rolled to his feet.

“Ey, where's the liquor?” Soap asked as he followed.

“Mechanics used t’ call this thing the Flyin’ Restaurant,” Price said. “The air-conditioning relies on evaporation of distilled water an’ about two hundred and forty litres of pure grain alcohol. She's still got some’uv the brew in her tank."

Soap’s nose wrinkled. “Ye hae tae be jokin’. Yer gonnae drink outta the feckin’ jet?”

“Abso-fockin’-lutely,” Simon said.

Nik greeted them with all the energy of an excited puppy, gesturing at the jet and spilling in and out of Russian and English like his brain was struggling to come down from the sky. His face lit up further when he spotted the glasses in Simon's hands, slapping the lieutenant on the shoulder with a surprised, booming laugh.

The air crew left them to it and Nik did the honours. It helped that the small bowsers used to refill the air-conditioning system had conveniently placed spigots to tap the Foxbat-shaped keg.

“Poyekhali!” Nik said before he knocked back his mouthful of Foxbat bloody moonshine. Soap choked and coughed on his, and Simon grunted in discomfort.

Price grinned, toasting his own. “Za zdorovye, comrade.” He took a deep breath before downing the lot. Oh it bloody burned.

#simon ghost riley #captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #nikghost #nikpriceghost #Poyekhali was said by Yuri Gagarin #considering nik feels like his head is in space it fits #also also sorry to be a nerd #belenko became an american citizen and had a kid btw #also the japanese sent his foxbat back in bits #the russians claimed there were bits missing and tried to bill the.#20mil for lost parts #in return the japanese sent a bill for the damage to their runway lmao

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candy8448 · 6 months ago

Note

Do you have a recs for fics based on the Apprentice arc?

Ooohohoho yesss, you've come to the right person. I have quite a lot of fics to rec (ive been obsessively consuming and hyperfixating like mad on the apprentice arc in particular):

(Also i consider haunted to be part of the overall apprentice arc so there are a few fics based on and set after that episode)

First you can look at the tag "dick grayson as slade wilson's apprentice" on ao3 and there are hundreds of fics, with every dynamic and characters you could want, these are just my favorites ive read (put very very vaguely in an order going down from my most favorites):

Never Alone

My favorite, its a masterpiece, its amazing! After haunted robin continues to have hallucinations and its a finished longfic that gives a really good look into robin's mental illness and how he is still only a human. I made a whole post about this fic and how its perfect in every way, i have not binged a longfic this long in forever but i did this one in a single reading session because i was completely and utterly gripped

More coherent and detailed but completely spoiler free rambles about what makes this fic so good here i cannot stress enough how this is a must read if you like the arc. I like, really really want you to read this one

The voice and gears of sunset

Oneshot set right after robin is rescued from slade in the apprentice arc. It hits so hard and hurts. Robin's recovery and him trying to connect again with the titans after what he had gone through, the titans being there to help every step of the way. The ending melts my heart

Emotional motion sickness

Oneshot set many years later when the batfam is fully formed and robin is nightwing. A good fic with dick and damian's brotherly relationship and discovering new ways to cope. There is an encounter with slade and that scene fills me with so much undescribable emotion

The fight and the war

Oneshot with the batfam. After an encounter with slade, dick is interogated with his family about the way he responded to slade's commands in the battle and how it could have gotten him killed. Dick is forced to admit what happened back when he was with the titans in the apprentice arc. Very good protective batsiblings in a different way to the other fics

Bedeviled

Oneshot set right after haunted. The spores have a lingering effect and robin presses an emergency distress signal to batman who is there for him

To pick at a scab

Years later with the batfam dick comes to the batcave and his younger brothers have some questions about a sound recording from his time with slade. Dick is thrown into a vivid flashback and the batfam break him out of it and help him talk through it. Oneshot

Just the same

Robin deals with stockholm syndrome and cant help but compare how similar or even better slade is than batman. The titans are there to help him figure things out. Oneshot.

Reforming Nightwing

Unfinished longfic. The titans never find iut about the nanobots and dick is forced to be slade's apprentice for 9 years. After Slade is killed and dick is able to excape, he goes to bludhaven where he picks up a new civillian name and the new identity nightwing. Meanwhile tim and steph want to figure out who this new "nightwing" and what his connection is to the villian "renegade"

Do you think batman will give me partial custody?

Oneshot. After the apprentice arc, robin returns to gotham. Unable to figure out how he feels about the situation he goes to his parents' graves where he encounters harely who helps him start a conversation with him about the abuse they both faced

The apprentice

Unfinished longfic where the titans dont discover the nanobots and robin has to continue being slade's apprentice. He spends his time figuring out how to get a message to the titans or to batman or to anyone without slade knowing

Next to my robin and some matchsticks

Oneshot set after apprentice part 2 where the titans patch up robin's wounds and talk about some scars he has, some from his time before the titans and some from slade

Update: since making tthis post, any good fic with the slade and dick dynamic that i read snd liked i have put in this collection

Update update: here are my thoughts on this fic i also found

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the-kr8tor · 6 months ago

Note

👀🤣 may I request a Christmas fic where one/both the twins see R kissing Santa Claus (but it’s actually Hobie dressed as him) and they start an all out war against Santa? Can’t stop laughing my ass off from this idea

- 😅 (@hyperfix-wip )

Hehehe thank you for the cutest prompt!! I've always wanted to write this trope 😘❤️❤️❤️

Pairing: Hobie Brown x fem! Reader/ Spider-Punk x fem! Reader

Word count: 2k

Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader, Dad! Hobie, mom! Reader, Billie and Ramona AU, twin AU, cw food mentions, fluff!

Navigation

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

Billie wakes up with a start, heart pounding in her ears from the sudden wake up call. “What—?!” Her mouth is covered by a familiar hand, silencing her yell. “Mmhm?!” Eyes wide, she hones in on her twin’s face in the dark of their shared room. Save for the light flooding inside from the cracked open door, and their Spider-Man night light, it's pitch black.

“It's me!” Ramona whisper yells, front tooth still missing after she lost it in the playground. “Someone's downstairs. I think it's him!” Her eyes shine with excitement, curls bobbing up and down as she tries to contain her giddiness.

Billie yanks her sister's hand away, frowning at her from the sudden intrusion. “I was having a good dream, Mon.” Her look reminds Mona of her dad's exact expression when he has to mow the lawn again.

Mona ignores her sister's annoyance, “didn't you hear what I said? Santa's ‘ere! At our house!” She whisper yells again, this time loud enough for whoever's downstairs to pause their movements. Her eyes widened, hands covering her mouth to tamp down her excitement. “We should stay quiet—”

“Santa's ‘ere!” Billie is quieted once again by Mona's hands.

After waiting for a minute, the girls slowly and silently go outside of their room, matching holiday socks softly walking across the polished floorboards. Their pajamas are also on theme, with Mona opting for a pink sugar plum fairy matching set, and Billie wearing the classic Santa Clause set. Both that you've lovingly made for them. They're clearly excited, especially when it comes to the big bearded man in red. Billie more especially, after you and Hobie brought them to a local mall to see Santa and for them to give them their wishlist, she's been raving about wanting to stay up to catch him in the act. But after watching home alone and having a belly full of warm milk, she went out like a light. Mona on the other hand wants to see him eat the cookies you two prepared for Santa. It's her favourite, chocolate chips with marshmallows. She's hoping that the big man would like it, especially that she gave him the batch from her personal stash.

As they walk out of the hallway and into the floors of the second floor landing, they start to crawl once they see shadows dance along the walls of the living room. The tree that the four of you lovingly put up and decorated are twinkling with the holiday lights, reds, greens and yellows blinking in and out of the room.

“Do you think they'll like it?” They hear your familiar voice, whispering downstairs.

The girls make it to the stairs that overlook the living room, they make themselves smaller by lying prone on the cold floor, tiny hands grasping at the bannisters. Their eyes widen at the sight of who you are talking to.

Right next to you is the man of the hour himself, dressed in red with a giant sack of presents right next to him. He's taller than they've expected, and slimmer. Maybe Santa's cutting back on the cookies.

Billie grabs Mona's shoulder, shaking her excitedly. They wordlessly communicate through looks, based on their happy expressions, they feel like the luckiest kids in the world. They continue to watch Santa work his magic as he places wrapped presents underneath the tree with their names written on them.

“I know they'll love ‘em. ‘sides, Mona's been askin’ for it since July.” Santa replies to you, brown eyes shining in the string lights. His eyes seem to smile at you sitting in the corner of the room, hand occupied with a warm cup of eggnog. The bottom half of Santa's face is obscured by his big white beard, but he's clearly smiling softly at you. “And Bee always wanted that moon lamp ever since she saw Gwen's.”

Beaming at jolly Nick, you leave your cup on the coffee table to walk over to him. “I know, but what if they suddenly don't want those anymore.”

Santa stretches his hand out to you, beckoning you closer as he abandons the sack of presents on the floor. “Love,” love? The girls look at eachother with furrowed brows. Only their dad calls you that, and maybe occasionally that one shop owner downtown that you always buy fabrics from. “Y’know the girls would still be happy even if we gave them a potato each.”

You come to his side without saying anything about the close proximity to the actual Santa. The girls narrow their eyes at Santa's glove hand splayed across the small of your back, thumb rubbing gently across your soft pajama shirt. Only their dad gets to hold you like that.

Chuckling, you move to half hug him, arm wrapped around his back while you place your chin atop the soft red jacket. “Why a potato?”

“Because they go wild for chips.” He looks at you through gentle eyes, nudging his forehead on top of your own, the faux fur of his hat is soft against your skin.

“That's true, maybe we should've gotten them a whole sack of potatoes instead.” Your grin has the girls worried, especially when you move closer to him that the girls would know that it would have their dad burst into tears if they ever saw the scene in front of him.

“That's why ‘m santa, lovie.”

“Mm-hmm,” now you fully embrace him. The girls share a heavy look. “Why are you in full get up again? They won't be able to see you in this, not while they're snoring away all the cookies they had.”

“I know,” he shrugs, “what if they wake up, it'll be a nice memory for ‘em.” His arm squeezes you, hand dangerously close to your behind. The twins are both pissed, standing up from their place atop the stairs. “Or, ‘m all dressed up for you, love.” Santa winks at you, and you giggle in his arms. “Give big red a kiss, yeah?” As he leans in, the twins run downstairs swiftly, yelling and screaming at him to let their mum go.

“What— girls!” You move away, arms trying to block their attacks from hitting Santa.

“Not our mum!” Billie makes it to him first, clinging herself on his leg, trying to bite him through his red pants.

“We trusted you, Santa!” Mona leaps to punch at his stomach, earning a pained groan from the bearded man.

“Mona, no!” You grab her by the armpits as she continues to flail around, trying to get another hit. Good thing you’ve gotten to her before she aimed at his crotch. “Baby, no, that's—!” You contemplate telling them the truth, but Hobie's subtle head shake has you clamping down and embracing Mona.

“Ow, fuc–fudge!” Hobie hops around the room, trying to wiggle free of Billie, who's still clutching at his leg. “Billie, stop!” The one time that his spidey senses failed him.

“I don't care if ‘m on the naughty list! You tried to kiss our mum!” She chomps down on his leg, and he yelps when her baby teeth sink into the fabric and into his leg.

Hobie has no choice but to grab Billie the same way you did with Mona. He holds her in front of him, an arm's length away, still trying to take a chunk out of him. He feels like he ruined the magic of Santa for them. Not to mention the song.

“Stop–!” Hobie holds out his hand to her to tell her that he means no harm, but she tries to bite at his finger. “Billie—!”

“Daddy!” Ramona screams out, voice echoing and rumbling the house. “Daddy, there's an– an impruder!”

You would've chuckled at her fumbled pronunciation of intruder and told her the right way to say it, but when she's on the verge of tears; the both of them are, you have to think of a solution.

“Daddy!” Billie joins in, now fully sobbing. “H–He kissed mummy!”

“I haven't! Not yet!” Hobie tries to defend himself, or Santa for that matter. But it makes the whole thing so much worse when Billie wiggles herself out of his grasp to run towards yours and Hobie's bedroom while crying for him. “Shi—!”

You meet with his eyes while embracing a crying Mona. Mouthing a ‘Go!’ He immediately knows what you're up to. Your synergy levels with him are off the charts.

He leaves through the window, snow crunching underneath him and almost freezing him in the spot. He slowly rips off the Santa outfit one by one whilst he makes his way towards the back of the house. Shedding the beard and tossing it haphazardly in the backyard, he crawls on the wall, finally making it to the bedroom window just as when Billie opens the door with a loud creak.

Feigning naiveté, he acts shocked at her weeping as he opens his arms to her. “What happened?” She sobs on his sleep shirt, drenching it with tears. As Hobie pats her back, he realises that he's still wearing the gloves which he promptly throws away and under the bed before she could see it. “C’mon, mac, tell dad.” He cups her wet cheeks, trying to calm his little girl down.

“I saw mummy kissing Santa Claus!”

Hearing Mona's cry in the doorway with you carrying her, he knows that you two have a long night ahead of you.

—

“Are you sure you want to change pajamas, Billie? You said it's your favourite. The red suits you—” You try to placate her with a plate of chocolate pancakes.

“Yes.” She says so surely with her arms crossed over her chest, still fuming. “I hate Santa.”

Hobie's sitting right next to Mona, hand rubbing along her back whilst she stares angrily at the empty plate of cookies she left for Santa sitting on the counter. “Me too.” She huffs, stabbing her pancakes with a fork.

You share a look with Hobie, hoping that he has any idea how to calm them down. Hugging Billie seems to tamp down her anger, but she still looks at you with furrowed brows after you've apologized profusely.

“Why did you kiss, Santa?” She asked a few hours ago, stomping her little foot down on your bedroom floor, while her sister followed her lead.

“I didn't!” You stared at Hobie right next to you on the bed, looking like he's about to burst into laughter but is keeping it in. “And I wasn't gonna!”

After that whole ordeal, they seem to simmer down to a silent anger that still reverberates through the house. Maybe opening the presents earlier would make them forget it and make them smile.

“We should make signs, Bee! Like what dad makes so Santa knows not to come back ‘ere!” Mona lights up, you finally got a smile out of her.

“That's brilliant!” Hobie plays along, and Billie agrees with rapid nodding that you had to stop with your hand on her forehead before she breaks something. “I'll get my supplies, you two go finish your pancakes, yeah?” Just as he says it, they scarf down the pancakes, prompting Hobie to grab your hand and speed walk away from the kitchen.

Once the two of you are out of earshot and their sights, he corners you against a wall, hands cradling your cheeks, and sighing as he relaxes atop you.

You laugh against his hair, pressing lazy kisses on his hairline. “Don't forget to grab the outfit outside, Hobie. I made that to tailor you and you only.”

He lifts his head up from your chest, cheeks puffed out from sleepiness. Blowing out air, you giggle at him as he flutters your lashes. “I know, love.” His eyes roam all over your face, looking at every curve and dip until he stops at your lips. “I still haven't gotten my answer.”

“Or what? You'll put me on the naughty list?”

Hobie leans closer, lips brushing along your waiting lips. “Lovie, you're on my list every year.”

“I hope I'm the only one on it.” You say, wordlessly inviting him for a kiss by pecking his jaw softly.

“You and you only.” With a chuckle atop your lips, he kisses you under the mistletoe he subtly put up with the sole purpose of kissing you underneath it.

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princessmisery666 · 20 days ago

Text

Team Effort

Summary: Tension flares when Bodhi brings you, his unmarked partner, to a rebel meeting.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, fluff, Xaden being angry, arguments.

W/C: 1.4k

Pairing: Bodhi Durran x female reader (you, she/her - no descriptions of ethnicity or body type)

Characters: Bodhi Durran,Xaden Riorson, reader. Mentioned: Violet Sorrengail, Garrick Tavis, Sgaeyl, Cuir.

Notes: Set during Fourth Wing.

A/N: I have read Fourth Wing once and am currently on chapter 15 of Iron Flame.

Beta(s): @deanwinchesterswitch - thank you for putting up with my new hyperfixations. Any mistakes are my own.

Graphics: Title card made by me on Canva. Divider by @empyreanevents

Master Lists: Main // Other Fandoms

You know it’s a bad idea before Bodhi leads you to the group meeting under the trees in the Flight Field. A map is spread out on a large boulder, serving as a temporary table. You feel the shift in the air before anyone speaks. It’s tense, quiet, and brittle. You're just thankful there’s no dragon in attendance. Sgaeyl would likely burn you where you stand.

Bodhi’s hand tightens around yours, subtle but sure, like he’s asking you not to run and reminding himself you're still there, still committed to this, to him, even with Xaden’s calm anger staring daggers at the two of you.

“You brought her here?” Xaden’s voice is low, which is as dangerous as if he were swinging a blade.

“She’s not a threat,” Bodhi answers, and you’re grateful for the way he steps in front of you, even though it shouldn’t be necessary.

“I didn’t say she was.” Xaden’s gaze flickers past Bodhi’s, landing on you like a silent accusation. Xaden is a lot of things, but he’s not unreasonable, and that's the only reason you don’t have a knife at your throat. “But she’s not marked. She shouldn’t be this close to war plans.”

You want to point out that Violet isn’t marked either, but you're not going to be the one to call Xaden Riorson a hypocrite, and bringing her into this won’t earn you any points with your boyfriend’s cousin.

Instead, you opt for the safe route. “I’m not the one leaking intel, if that’s what you're implying. I don’t know anything.”

Xaden’s jaw ticks. He doesn’t respond to you, he never does, not directly. You’ve gotten used to it. To him, your relationship with Bodhi is an unnecessary risk, a crack in their armor. A crack that widened when Bodhi, fresh from a battle he wouldn’t talk about, spoke in his sleep, and you jumped to the mostly correct conclusions.

“She doesn’t belong in the rebellion. Not without a dragon.” Xaden says, as if that’s all the argument he needs.

“She’s earned her place here,” Bodhi defends, more forcefully this time, stepping forward. “More than some of the second years we’ve got running recon.”

“She doesn’t have a dragon,” Xaden forcefully reiterates. “She doesn’t have a signet or the protection that comes with those things, and if you care about her, which you clearly do, you’d stop dragging her closer to the fire.”

“I’m not dragging her anywhere.” Bodhi’s voice is like steel. “She walked here, over the Parapet. Same as the rest of us.”

“Bodhi,” you quietly warn, recognizing Xaden’s words for what they are, a mirror he wishes he could have held up to Violet. She had little in the way of choices, but you do.

The two men square off, and you watch with icy dread creeping up your spine. You’ve seen this brewing for weeks, Xaden’s disdain when he watches you not very discreetly slip away together, or when Bodhi wraps his arms around your waist at the lunch table, whispering about futures neither of you is brave enough to believe in yet.

Xaden’s glare hardens when he notices the way you lean into Bodhi’s side. It’s a silent testament, a confirmation you won’t back down. Still, you don’t want to come between the cousins either; they’re family, more like brothers nowadays, and you have no right to put a wedge between them. You know what Xaden has sacrificed, the burden he bears for the marked ones.

“I trust her,” Bodhi says, quieter but not weaker. He isn’t backing down. “If that’s a problem, if you don’t trust my judgment, then say it, but don’t act like this is about strategy.”

Xaden’s eyes narrow. “You’re right. It’s not about strategy. It’s about losing one of our best riders because he’s too busy watching someone else’s back to watch his own.”

Silence stretches as if Xaden’s shadows are blocking out sound.

Bodhi’s fingers twitch, and you don’t know if he’s resisting the urge to throw something at Xaden or agrees with his cousin and is letting you go. He stills when you take a step to stand beside him, you won’t hide behind him, you will fight by his side.

“I know what I am,” you say, daring to look Xaden in the eyes. The resemblance is there, obvious to anyone that they are related, yet they are so different. “I’m unmarked, vulnerable. A liability, maybe, but I never asked Bodhi to protect me. I’ve trained. I’ve fought, just like all of you. I don’t need a dragon to believe in something worth bleeding for.”

Xaden’s gaze finally lands fully on you. It’s not approval, not quite disdain either. He exhales hard through his nose and shakes his head.

“Keep her out of classified strategy briefings,” he says to Bodhi. “And if she dies, it's on your conscience. Not mine.”

He turns and walks away, calling over his shoulder. “Meeting's over.”

The others follow, with a few squeezing your shoulder in solidarity. Bodhi waits until they’ve dispersed and tugs you to turn and look at him. His jaw is still tight, but his hand holds yours tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, running his free hand through his curls. “He’s just...”

“Right,” you sigh.

Bodhi flinches like you slapped him, and guilt crushes your chest. For a moment, the word hangs there, too honest, too heavy. You don’t regret standing your ground, but maybe Xaden has a point that this, you, might be the thing that gets Bodhi hurt or worse.

He doesn’t say anything, just looks at you like he’s trying to figure out if you regret this, him. His thumbs brush against your cheeks, and you trace your fingers gently over a fading bruise under his eye from a sparring session with Garrick.

When Bodhi finally speaks, his teeth are clenched, “I hate that he made you feel like you don’t belong. Because you do. And not just because I,” he pauses, takes a deep breath. There’s a debate going on in his head, that faraway look that tells you Cuir is talking to him. Maybe the dragon is agreeing with Xaden. Whatever it is, when Bodhi continues, he's hesitant, “Not just because I love you.”

Chest tightening, you sigh. “I know I don’t make this easy,” you murmur. “I’m not a marked one, not bonded, not the safe choice.”

“I don’t want safe,” he says, fierce and low. “I want you. Every version of you, the reckless one who almost punched Garrick last week for blacking my eye, the girl who never makes her bed, the one who stands up to Xaden. The one who stands next to me when everyone else walks away.”

There’s so much noise still echoing in your head, Xaden’s words, the warning woven beneath them. But Bodhi’s hands are on your face now, warm and grounding, thumbs brushing over your cheeks like he’s trying to smooth out the ache.

“I get why he’s scared,” you admit, voice shaking slightly. “He’s lost people. We all have. The truth is, I’m scared too. I keep waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to wake up and realize I’m not worth the risk.”

Bodhi’s expression softens, eyes dark and aching. “That’s never going to happen,” he whispers. “You are the risk I want to take, that makes this all worth it. I know it’s not perfect. Hell, it’s probably crazy. But it’s ours. And I’ll fight every damn day to keep it.”

You lean into his touch, forehead pressed to his, and it’s quiet for a moment, quiet in a way that war never is. It’s not peace, but it's as close as you’ll likely ever get.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you promise.

“Good,” he breathes, brushing a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then your mouth. It’s not desperate, it’s steady. Soft. He’s making promises without saying them aloud.

Kissing him back, your fingers gently grip the hair at the base of his neck. The storm may still be coming, but for now, you’re here. Together. Choosing each other.

When you finally break apart, Bodhi gives you a lopsided, boyish smile. “I know you didn’t ask me to protect you,“ he says, “but I’m gonna do it anyway. You’re not alone in this. Not while I’m still breathing.”

You press your forehead to his again and let out a shaky laugh. “Then I guess I’ll have to make sure you stay breathing.”

He grins. “Team effort.”

If you got this far, I would appreciate some feedback.🤩

#the empyrean #bodhi durran #xaden riorson #bodhi durran x reader #bodhi x reader #bodhi x you #fourth wing #bodhi durran x you #bodhi fourth wing

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catras-breakup-song · 1 month ago

Text

catradora's canon status turns 5 today. i also turn 20 today. 🪅

i've spent an entire quarter of my life, a whopping 25% of it now, loving the center focus of she-ra and what this show teaches us...

it's actually pretty wild for me to think too deeply about. truly, it can't not mean something absolutely special (if i love myself, of course) when that much of a coincidence is actually reality.

this story isn't just a hyperfixation, it's a permanent part of who i am. it's shaped my later teenage years and helped me through hard times consisting of confusion and loneliness. i resonated better with catra & glimmer than any other fictional characters i had known before or would ever know since then. i found the art style soothing to stare at all the time. i appreciated the words of comfort we're supposed to internalize. it's been a consistent source of familiarity when i needed nothing more than to rewatch the same scenes repeatedly.

the online community surrounding western queer animation, and particularly this piece of media, kickstarted my hobby of collecting video edits, up to the thousands, that many talented creators have made, on an external drive. unfortunately i lost that project over the summer last year and it devastated me deeply, however i never stopped keeping track of my favorites and supporting the works i loved as i continued coming across them, such as this one to “the great war” by @somanypetals, which i will never stop recommending to others here ─ you can also go through my tag for this topic if you'd like! in fact, i also got back into video editing myself for the first time since 2021 last month!

additionally, it wouldn't be an authentic CBS post of mine if i didn't highlight how beautiful five by five takes' analysis videos on youtube are to me. their writing is a top-tier heart-wrenching gold mine and i've lost count of how many times i've rewatched through that playlist again and again. if you love this masterpiece as much as i do, you'll do so tenfold here. i still remember watching the first part of the series, "how she-ra gives us hope", when it was brand new, and i love bragging to fellow friends about being one of 5X5T's earliest subscribers from this fandom!

i (sort of but not really, which is a long complicated story on its own), came from the traumatized wave of angry voltron/KL fans. thankfully i didn't struggle with trusting the writers to follow through on the groundwork they laid down because it had only been my first fandom and therefore i hadn't been hurt by queerbaiting multiple times, but i say this because it was a big deal when she-ra's finale showed something on screen that could not be taken away or undone. catra & adora's romance helped me find peace & pride in my lesbian attraction. although i ended up not being homosexual despite failing to realize it for another year, i am still very much sapphic and wouldn't trade that gift for the world!

speaking of which, one of the best things you can find in a partner is the relatability of a common interest that brings out the emotional connection between you. i've seen @bluedandylyon around before, but i got to know xim more closely on the SPOP creative flex discord server after i jumped in activity there about a month and a half ago (and i only started being active on this blog again after creating it in 2022 back in august last year, it's amazing what that did for me). the two of us genuinely could not have clicked better with anyone else and i believe we were always destined to stumble into each other eventually. i don't know why the universe decided that time was to be so recent, but after spending half a decade single it's been very exciting to finally leave that break behind. because of SPOP, i asked them if they wanted to date on lesbian visibility day (april 26) and something within me renewed to make me the happiest i've ever been! 💟

my thoughts are too scattered and unorganized for this to feel like a proper essay of some sort, but i know i needed to get this done in time and i enjoyed it. i can't appreciate enough how much my identity, the core essence of who i am inside, has been shaped by this 50-episode cartoon. a simple love letter could never cover how important this reboot means to so many people, even if mattel still refuses to acknowledge it. ⚔️🌈��

#welovespop2018 #she-ra appreciation week #catradora anniversary #catradora canon #spop positivity #spop #she ra #she-ra #she-ra and the princesses of power #catradora #catra #adora #video edit

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cannibal-walleye · 4 months ago

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Skizzpulse band au? Skizzpulse band au! SKIZZPULSE BAND AUU!! SKIZZPULSE BAND AU!! BAND AU BAND AU BAND AU- I scream as I get dragged back to bed

Uh, hi!! I would, LOVE to see more of this lol. Even if you don't have time to actually write/draw for it, I will take literally anything. I cherish any drop of content like crumbs from those delicious sounding apology pastries. If you don't mind, I would specifically love a bit more on skizz & impulses first meeting, have they competed in any band wars? Do they have a lot a mutual friends? And they stupider here than tsots or do they have some common sense? Or just the Heart Fondation! Oh also! What about bdubs and etho? They have a lot of ties (ha. Get it? Ties) to those two! Itd be interesting to see if they have a place in this au.

I will genuinely take anything lol. Your writing FUELS me, and your art is always so pleasing to look at it calms me down?? I don't really know how to explain it. But your doing gods work/vvsilly

BAND AUUUUUUUU

I have LOTS of thoughts on their first meeting--but you don't get to see that yet ;) I have a bunch of art drawn (ft. the most adorable Impulse ever) and all that's left is to write a little blorb of how it went down, which I'll probably do sometime tomorrow :D (I'm very very excited for this lol)

They do have mutual friends, since Skizz tends to know EVERYBODY, but Impulse is a bit of a recluse apart from when Gem and Scott make him get out of the house, so he hasn't met Skizz yet. Skizz happens to have never interacted directly with Gem or Scott either, but they've all heard of each other. As for mutual connections, Impulse does know Tango (who is part of Heart Foundation, obviously), and probably some others, but that's it for important connections I can come up with off the top of my head!

As for stupid levels, these guys are certified idiots, rest assured. However, this one isn't exactly a slow burn! I'd say more, but you'll see soon enough... >:)

Bdubs, I don't have any particular plans for. I'm still brainstorming a lot of the hermits n such. Etho knows everyone, tho (add him to mutual friends list ig), and in particular, the Roomies exist in this AU like they did in secret life, because I love them dearly <3 Other than that, he's a college student, studying tech of some sort, and lives with Cleo and Grian :) (and potentially Bdubs, if I get around to giving him a backstory. Honestly if you have ideas, feel free to share) He occasionally helps out with the sound tech for the Heart Foundation, but it's rare.

And thank you so much! I'm thrilled everyone's liking my silly lil band au thus far, I've kinda hyperfixated on it these past few days lmao. My wrist actually hurts from drawing so much rip, I need to get a proper stand for my tablet so I'm not hunched over the desk like a shrimp. But yeah! I have lots more art and quite a bit of writing I wanna do :D idk how far this'll go, since it's not meant to be serious or anything, but it's a fun experiment

Okie have good day

#skizzleman #impulsesv #hermitcraft #skizzpulse #My Heart Went Boom #tango tek #geminitay #scott smajor #gem and the scotts #heart foundation #ethoslab #walleye asks

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antwuzhere · 2 months ago

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You. I hate you. I never was the type to read AUs, but then you posted your art for “Instructions for stealing stars” and told us to read it, so I read it. And now I’m finished reading it and the one shot that comes with it. So now I have this AU stuck in my head but with no more material to read from it, gone too soon, like a child lost to war. In my despair the only thought that comes to mind is all the other AUs out there that I skipped without a thought due to my own ignorance, all those beautiful, fleshed out worlds spun from the beautiful words of talented authors. And as reparations for the dilemma you’ve put me in I think the only thing you can do is…… please recommend some more fics like this that you’ve read oh my god I literally can’t get them out of my head three-gs my beloved and the setting? MWAH I NEED MORE BEGGING ON MY KNEES THROWING UP SHARE YOUR WISOM😭😭‼️‼️

OK HI THAT FIRST SENTENCE WAS A TERRIFYING NOTIF. 10/10 HEART ATTACK THANK YOU

“And told us to read it, so I read it.” <- i wish I had this amount of influence in the real world and not just on tumblr

LIKE A CHILD LOST TO WAR IS EXACTLY HOW IT FELT FINISHING IFSS

I can’t believe you didn’t read aus WHAT WHAT WHAT

I’m such a sucker for aus especially fantasy ones omds

OKOKOK ILL TRY YOU CAN GET OFF YOUR KNEES !! BUT FAIR WARNING, 9 TIMES OUT OF 10 I ONLY READ FICS WITH SCOTT AS THE MC blame the hyperfixation

ALSO, I FEEL QUITE A BIT OF THE APPEAL FOR IFSS IN PARTICULAR IS THE FOCUS ON A FRIENDSHIP AND NOT A RELATIONSHIP, HOWEVER ALMOST ALL FICS ARE ABOUT RELATIONSHIPS, SOOOO

I TRIED MY HARDEST TO MATCH THE VIBES OKAY 😔 I DID JUST CHUCK IN SOME RANDOM AUS ASWELL

Here’s the original fic for reference:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46129507

Ifss my beloved

And here’s the worlds longest list:

————

The pink titles are the ones most similar vibes/settings to IFSS, the blue titles are for the ones I’m personally most crazy about rn, purples for both, wink

• What happens when the city's most notorious arsonist, a wannabe drug lord, and a terminally overworked police sheriff are brought together by chance, circumstance, and an accidental vehicular assault?

• Well, throw in a dash of gang warfare and a hint of deep relationship insecurity and you get...

Outlaw and Disorder

https://archiveofourown.org/works/6169915

* flower ranchers

* modern fantasy, criminal au,

* Tangos an arsonist, and Jimmys (the police deputy) rival, runs into Jimmys husband Scott, a secret drug dealer

* Basically opens with a meet ugly where Scott hits tango with his car. 10/10 no notes

The Sea Prince, Act I: Hunting Party.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/50204269

• majorwood, pirates au,

• Mind you, this was started before pirates smp was announced

• In a world full of deadly, man-eating sea monsters, teams of hunters find and kill the beasts for the safety of all humankind. The Canaries (martyn Joel grian etc) are a notorious group of hunters, one of the many crews commissioned by the king himself to kill monsters in exchange for gold and other benefits. When they are given the task to hunt down and capture a mythical sea prince, their world changes as they discover secrets they may regret finding out.

• I LOVE THIS I LOVE THIS SO MUCH

cut me loose, said it was creation (deck of cards series)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/55384450

•eventual flower court (martyn/scott/jimmy/tango), joel + lizzie, rendoctyn, mumscarian

• OUGH I LOVE DECK OF CARDS SO MUCH, this is like the first book in the collection but omg - the settings similar vibes to ifss if it was high fantasy instead

• Sausage’s casino is dimly lit, the dark walls and bloodred carpets aiding in only making the space feel intimately close. Close enough for someone to stab you in the back as much as give you a kiss.

• Scott is only one of many players, one of many anonymous and aliased Life Members, those who trade and gamble lives like spare change amongst themselves, forever craving the rush of adrenaline and the sweet promise of power.

• Still, he is influential in his own right. Cool, collected, renowned for making long-lasting alliances and being eternally loyal. And yet, none of his carefully crafted calm saves him from realising just who walked into the casino. A man that Scott bared himself to, and was left bleeding because of it.

• ARF ARF ARF WOOF WOOF

The Cracks in the Lake (a mighty fine grave)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60861130/chapters/155454106#main

* Flowerhusbands and other background relationships, past majorwood and past skizzmajor

* THE ENTIRE KCHL SEREIS IS SO SI GOOD AUGH CHEFS KISS FOR THE WORLD BUILDING

* A canon-divergent empires s1 au, It follows Scott - prince of Rivendell - as he navigates his new arranged marriage to the Codfather. Along the way he runs into a long-lost ex and a host of other problems.

* It felt like it was gonna be very romance heavy but omg? The actual storyline with Scott and his brother and the gods AUGH

Flower Petals and Feathers Tether Me to the Ground

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60132844/chapters/153440713

* majorwood + treebark + whatever Scott and ren are called

* A Third Life Fantasy and Royalty AU - Jimmy, Scott’s husband dies in battle and he is captured by the red army. He is shocked and betrayed to find his childhood best friend, Martyn of Littlewood as the right hand to the Red King. How is he going to handle this new court, both as a prisoner of war and an old friend? What will he become?

Or; An AU where Scott joins the court of the Red King.

* this is such an interesting concept I love it so much

* The angst potential… yum

Canary in a Castle

https://archiveofourown.org/works/62568991

* platonic flowerhusbands, dark fantasy, prince + bodyguard au

* this one covers very sensitive content!!! Frequently!!! So check the tags first!!! But it was to good to not include

* Jimmy never thought he'd be more than an average knight under the rule of the elves.

* He gets a little too good at his job.

Pilgrimage

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63762205

* flowerhusbands fantasy / royalty au

* After narrowly escaping an assassination attempt ordered by his own father, Prince Scott has a plan. He's going to cross the continent, from Rielle to Prismen, and seek refuge with his friend, Queen Lizzie. With only a few pieces of jewelry to trade and the smallest bit of magic inherited from his mother, the journey won't be easy—especially seeing as his last surviving guard, Jimmy, seems pretty determined to get himself killed in the process.

* If they can outrun the bandits on their trail, they may be able to draw the continent back from the brink of war. But with rumors of the four Saints walking the continent again, their world may still find itself on the precipice of change.

* Still fairly new fic but omg the world building in this is so so so good

The Human Factor

https://archiveofourown.org/works/57419476/chapters/146078443

* Platonic divorce quartet + zombiewood

* zombie apocalypse au!!!!

* Shoved together into a two-bedroom, four unlikely roommates carry the weight of what they've lost, and search for something new in the shreds of the world left behind. Will they find it in each other, or will this shaky alliance break itself apart under its own weight? And, really, how long do they have until the unthinkable happens?

* OUGH made me sob

* Divorce quartet they can never make me hate you

forever hold your peace

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56586178/chapters/143822293

• Majorwood, limited life alliances etc

• similar setting/world building (?) to ifss but more modern teehee

• Basically limited life, film noir

• A city of violence, scandal, and intrigue. Rival clubs vying for the upper hand. Crooning club singers and forbidden romance. A presumed suicide that is more than meets the eye. And when a widower makes his way to Martyn’s doorstep, it’s up to him to unravel the mystery tangled amongst it all.

• I’m so upset this hasn’t got an ending (yet) because I love it so much

coliseum

https://archiveofourown.org/works/35706220/chapters/89030053

• like the only one not centred around Scott. Wow

• Scarian + treebark + (a lil flower husbands)

• Grian is on a mission: kill the Red King of the Third Precinct. Unfortunately, when he travels to the capital where the king resides, he lands in a spot of trouble with a local merchant when he accidentally destroys the merchant’s shop. After he enters into a contract to help pay off the damages, he discovers that there might be another side to Scar under the silver-tongued salesman— and that he’s not the only one who wants the Red King dead.

• soo good aosheusjeheh. Really nice world building really nice writing. It’s like fantasy steampunkish

in its own watered version of semaphore

https://archiveofourown.org/works/60024865

* this fic permenantly altered my brain chemistry. It’s only 8000 words IDK WHAT THEY PUT IN THEIR BUT OMGSH.

* Five days of sickness in the fisherman’s house. One day of something else.

* Selkie Scott and fisherman martyn what could go wrong ahahahaha.

* Fucked up majorwood sorry yall 😔😔

*I think about this constantly

* can’t even begin to count the amount of times Ive read this

you looked so good in green

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46802614

* modern au, Scott and pearl try to solve the mystery of Martyn’s death

* (past majorwood, flower husbands, pearl and martyn are siblings, I think brief ahahusbands and treebark?)

* After moving away from his childhood church town, Scott finally has built himself a life, but it splinters as soon as his mother calls with shattering news—Martyn, his oldest friend and first lover, has died—and Scott is told he has to come home. As he returns to his hateful family, he’s reminded of why he left the town in the first place and if it’s even worth staying for the funeral of a man who’d had his heart broken by Scott.

* But that changes as soon as Martyn’s sister Pearl gets there, because she’s determined to prove that it wasn’t suicide, it was murder. And the more time Scott spends there, reliving his memories with Martyn, the more he’s inclined to agree.

* TBF I cried when I read this..

part-time lover, full-time friend

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63489271

* modern theatre au

* Divorce quartet qpr galaxy duo

* Smaller fic, but really cute idea

* Scott is the best QPP Pearl could ask for, and she can’t imagine anyone she’s closer to, or anyone she’d rather give such a role in her life. In the play, though… well, in the play, Pearl and Scott hate each other, to put it bluntly.

Relapse

https://archiveofourown.org/works/64071850

* modern au, New Year’s Eve party setting, snowbugs / flower ranchers

* the interactions between all the characters is gorgeous they are like SO REAL????

* OBBSESED with the friendship between Scott and pearl in this one

* In which Jimmy and Scott used to be friends, Jimmy and Tango are together, and when Scott meets Tango, drunk in the kitchen at a New Year’s Eve party, he is a lot nicer than he expected.

* Alexa play party 4 u by Charlie xcx

* I’m so so so feral about this one… thinking about it constantly

The Hermit Coffee Co.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/52395226/chapters/132544633

* ooo another rare find from my list not centred around Scott

* scarian + grumbo (I think it’s supposed to be endgame mumscarian) background mumscott and ranchers

* When Grian joins Mumbo working at The Hermit Coffee Co., he is thrown into a world of caffiene and chaos, with meddling co-workers, rambunctious regulars, and an absolutely henious amount of group chats. The friends he left back home miss him, Mumbo's college friends (cough, frat bros, cough) keep pestering him, and his new friendship with a certain scarred individual is developing in a way he never expected.

* OR A coffeeshop AU told through the texts between hermits. Now a combination of texts and prose from chapter 7 onwards.

* I’m such a sucker for chatfics I love this

Urban Appetite

https://archiveofourown.org/works/63794953

* Ong how could I not recommend urban appetite

* Bad boys, cannibal Joel, 1980s au, London setting with fantasy elements

* Mean gills are in there and I’m OBBSESED with their dynamic and even just individual characters such a good portrayal of them teehee

* But even past that the concept and execution of this story is so interesting

* Basically : AU where Joel is a nearly immortal being with an insatiable appetite for human flesh and the other two (jimmy + grian) are more or less willing to help.

One Restless Summer

https://archiveofourown.org/works/45165244

* adorable farmboy au I adore it OUGH flowerhudbands ….

* AKA the Farmboy AU. Long before he was the sheriff of Tumble Town, Jimmy lived on the edge of the savanna and dreamed of seeing the world someday. The world comes to him one summer in the form of a colorful traveler.

Omg my hands hurt now. Is this a good enough apology.

Chat hmu if we need more majorwood or flower rancher fics I gotchu 🫡🫡🫡

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