#me: oh this is going to have fantastic consequences | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

the-irreverend · 3 months ago

Text

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!

215 notes · View notes

brucewaynehater101 · 3 months ago

Note

I have a vent fic wip that I may or may not finish so I just need to tell someone that I am...feeling so many things all the time about the consequences of the 16th birthday but...

primarily, right now, at this moment. without Robin/Bruce, Tim thought he would lose Dick and everyone else he knew through Robin. and then a little bit later when he quit for Jack, he got radio silence for Months until he became a potential victim, and even then it was just Cass stopping in to give the message and be like "I'll watch you to keep you safe 👁️👁️ ok bye" and he had actual Proof that without Robin, he would lose everyone.

and then. Dick "you're my equal (even tho I'm drastically changing your life without your knowledge or permission), you're my closest ally (even tho you don't even have a name to go out in the field to assist me as backup), I need you (even tho, as mentioned, I made a huge decision without your input because I didn't need it because I know best actually)" Grayson.

skipping over the fact that Dick didn't even have the time to say "you're fired" or anything resembling that, when Tim lost "Robin" to Damian, he felt like he lost everything else too. it didn't matter what Dick said about "equals" or "allies" or "needing". he already had Concrete Proof that it was all false. cheap words that are easily disproven do nothing in this situation, Dichard!

(disclaimer: I love and respect Dick Grayson, I just also think Dick Stopped Existing as soon as he made Damian his Robin for the most pathetic stupid illogical risky-ass excuse he could ever give for making anyone Robin (or a vigilante in general). "because he'll kill someone again". who the fuck says that?? who thinks "oh no oh god oh fuck this kid is gonna go off the rails he's gonna kill someone, I need to Put Him In A Place Of Power Over Oblivious Innocent Untrained People Who Are Expecting A Kind And Empathetic Hero To Save Them" hUH???? ok sorry, I just wanted to rant about what Tim "losing Robin" meant)

I agree with ya. Dick Grayson is fantastic, but it seems weird that he nuked his entire relationship with Tim (a very strong one that other fans have referred to them as "The Brothers") for the new kid.

Yes, Damian is a ten year old traumatized kid who just lost the dad he didn't really have the chance to get to know. Yes, Damian needed guidance, boundaries, and compassion.

But DC spent so much time and effort building up Tim and Dick's rapport only to obliterate it once the "blood son" came in (I also love Damian. This is not hate on the kid. This is confused commentary on DC's choices). It's just a strange idea, but that's also why it hurts so much when Dick does that to Tim.

Then you tie in Tim losing Robin by Dick to Tim's experiences before? Fuck. You are so right for that.

As far as the RR run, Dick could've handled Tim believing Bruce a bit better. I don't necessarily blame him for that one. I get why he wasn't supportive in the way Tim wanted, even though I would've chosen differently for my siblings.

Dick taking Robin, though? That was fucked up. I, honest to the gods, do not see how that was a justified course of action. I can understand his perspective, but it's still not okay. At all.

There's your very adequate analysis:

Robin, for Tim, is his tie to his loved ones. He has proof (twice) that without it, he does not have access to the people he cares about and his support system.

Dick said a lot of pretty words about "equals," but his actions were precisely contradictory to his "intentions."

Tim has had Robin taken from him before or had to give it up. He chose to go back despite this. He obviously feels strongly about being Robin

Damian has not proven, at this point, to be trustworthy as a vigilante (someone in power without oversight). He has instead shown use of excessive force

This isn't even going into the way he found out. That's just an extra layer.

The way Tim has repeated lost and regained Robin (even after RR) as well as his title as Red ROBIN are, to me, a sign that he's still trying to hold on. It's my belief that he would have moved onto a new title, like his predecessors, if it hadn't constantly been an unsure role.

His start was rocky as hell due to Bruce not initially wanting it. Tim had to prove himself and put himself into the costume.

He "quit" twice before it was taken from him in a traumatic way (nothing like being instilled with the fear that the position you've held for four years can suddenly be yanked out from under you without warning)

Damian and Jason both vehemently protested to him being Robin

It would make sense if all of these factors combined to Tim's unwillingness or inability to just let Robin go, especially when we factor in his reason to be Robin. Since Bruce never really gets "better" and continually falls back into bad habits, Tim needs to maintain his task of pulling Bruce back from the edge. We could also throw Jean Paul into this to further how Tim is forced to play as the barrier between a grown adult and their desire to harm others in the name of good.

So, Tim's time as Robin is marked by consistent instability while contrasted with his inherent position as Bruce's leash and the batfam fixer. While the other Robins did have times of doubt, the predecessors of Tim did not have the pervasive role insecurity with regards to Robin.

They had their big moment at the end and some smaller moments in-between, but not quite on the continous scale of Tim. Tim had three big moments and was still sucked back into Robin when Damian quit.

To be Robin is to earn Bruce's love and the ability to be part of the Wayne family. To lose Robin is the risk of losing that (at least to the perspectives of the Robins if not 100% the reality).

I'm not sure I'm articulating this accurately. Regardless, no wonder Tim clutches the title of Robin with bleeding hands no matter how much it cuts him and costs him.

#tim drake #character analysis #kind of #thank you for the ask!!!!

229 notes · View notes

fatecantstopme · 2 years ago

Text

Fake It Til You Make It

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Summary: You’d just broken up with your boyfriend of 2 years after he cheated on you. Chris Evans, your best friend since childhood, suggests pretending to be your boyfriend to get back at your ex. You execute the plan flawlessly, but it has unintended consequences that threaten to change everything.

Warnings: RPF. Cursing. Fluff, angst, SMUT! Oral (F receiving), unprotected sex (P in V), dirty talk, over-stimulation.

"There is absolutely no way I'm going to this damn party."

"Aw, come on, (Y/N/N)," Chris chided. "It's Saturday night. What else are you gonna do?"

You sighed. "Sit in my pjs on the couch, watching a serial killer documentary, obviously."

Chris laughed and threw a dish towel at you. "As fantastic as that sounds, you're single now! You have to actually go outside and meet people."

You tossed the towel into the washer and grumbled, "What if I don't want to meet people?"

He rolled his eyes. "If you don't come, then I'll have no one to gossip with."

"As if I'm your only friend."

"You're my best friend, and as such, you have a very special role to fill. It's required."

You groaned, back leaning against the front of the washer. "Chris, I have nothing to wear." He was about to respond, but you continued. "Besides, he'll be there."

Chris's expression changed, anger darkening his features. "Who cares about him? He was never good enough for you anyway."

You crossed your arms over your chest. "You literally introduced us."

He threw up his hands. "Mistakes were made."

"I know it's been a couple months, but it's just...I don't know. I don't wanna see him. Especially if he's with one of the girls he cheated on me with."

"Even if he's there with an entire brothel, you can't let it bother you. You deserve so much more than that."

You sighed. "I know, I know. I just don't wanna go alone."

"You'll be with me!" he insisted.

You laughed. "Not exactly what I meant, Chris."

"Oh. So you'd rather go with some lesser man?" he teased.

"Oh stop," you said with a chuckle. "But seriously, he's gonna be there with a girl and I just don't wanna be the loser ex who shows up without a man on her arm."

"Since when do you care what other people think?"

"I don't...I just--" you sigh. "I wanna make him jealous."

Chris raised his eyebrows. "Well then...I have the perfect plan."

"Oh?"

"We go together."

"Yes, you already said that."

"No, you misunderstand," he said with a quick shake of his head. "You and I go together...make everyone believe we're dating. He'll be out of his mind with jealousy."

Normally you wouldn't have considered his suggestion...the deception just wasn't your style. But your ex had really fucked you over and you couldn't deny that getting back at him was very appealing. Especially using Chris...your ex always thought you and Chris were too close, that something was actually going on between the two of you.

"So we just pretend to be dating to piss him off?" you asked.

Chris nodded.

"Okay," you say. "Against my better judgment, I'm in."

He grinned ear to ear. "I'm brilliant, aren't I?"

You rolled your eyes. "Shut up and help me find something to wear."

He laughed and followed you to your bedroom closet. "There's gotta be something in here you can wear."

Your closet was packed with clothing, but you didn't really see anything that appealed to you. "Nothing looks good."

He rolled his eyes and grabbed a dress off the rack. "How 'bout this one?"

"Too trampy."

"This one?" he asked, pulling out a different dress.

"Too formal."

"Maybe this?"

"Doesn't fit right."

He groaned. "Then why do you have it?"

"Because it's cute and I'll get it altered at some point."

"Women are so weird," he grumbled as he dug through several more dresses before pulling out what he deemed to be the perfect one. "This has to be it."

You cocked your head to the side as you looked at the dress. It was cut just above the knee, jet black, form-fitting, and all around beautiful. Plus it did accentuate all of your assets. "Hmm. That might actually work," you said thoughtfully. "I'll throw it on, you go find shoes that'll go with it."

You walked back into your bedroom to change as Chris dug through your massive shoe collection in an attempt to find the perfect pair.

"Heels, right?" he called.

"Obviously," you yelled back.

"Black?"

"Just pick something sexy, Christopher! We're trying to make someone jealous here."

You heard him laugh and mumble something you couldn't quite make out. You shook your head as you started changing. Chris had been your best friend since you were little kids...you'd known each other so long neither of you actually remembered meeting. Even after he became a famous actor, who he was never changed. He never pulled away from you or made you feel inferior. He never stopped being the person you loved, your best friend in the world, your solid rock. You were more thankful for him than you would ever admit to his face...mostly because he would tease you relentlessly for it for the rest of your lives.

You'd managed to get the dress on, but you needed help with the zipper, so you called for Chris to come help you.

"Whatcha need?"

"Zip this for me?" you asked, turning your back to him.

He froze for a moment, but recovered quickly, thankful you hadn't seen his reaction. He quickly crossed the room and slowly zipped your dress up, trying very hard to not linger against your skin.

"Thanks," you said warmly, completely oblivious to the change in his demeanor. "Did you find a pair of shoes?"

The question brought him back to the present, eyes shifting back towards the closet. "I found two that could work."

You picked one of the pairs of shoes and finished getting ready. Chris needed to change his clothes before heading to the party, so he drove both of you back to his place so you could arrive together. He was quick to change into a laidback black suit with a white button up, top buttons undone and the sleeves rolled up. Even you had to admit he looked damn good.

"Ready, buttercup?" he asked teasingly.

"Oh god, please come up with a different pet name."

He slipped his arm through yours and dragged you towards the door. "How 'bout 'snookums'?"

The look on your face told him exactly what you thought about that particular name.

"Okay, okay. Maybe 'peach'?"

"I'm not a fruit, Christopher."

"Oh come on, that one's sweet!"

"Was that a pun?" you teased.

"Wait, I've got it. Sweets?"

You paused for a moment, mulling it over. "That one can stay."

"Brilliant. But fair warning, I'm totally gonna squeeze a "googely bear" in there at least once."

"Isn't that from Monster's Inc.?"

He grinned. "Yup and I have no shame, smoochie poo."

You groaned. "God, you're the worst."

He gave you the biggest shit-eating-grin you'd ever seen. "You love me and you know it."

You laughed. "Yeah, yeah."

Chris opened the car door for you and helped you into the vehicle. As he was walking around to the other side, you thought about what you were about to do. You knew this could end very badly in more ways than one, but for some reason, you were positive it was worth it.

**********

When you arrived at the party, people immediately took notice that the two of you arrived together. Most people made the obvious assumption: you were best friends and both single...so why not just go together?

But some people's gazes lingered longer, whispers passed amongst each other, the gossip mill already flowing.

"Damn they move quickly," you mumbled.

Chris chuckled. "Welcome to Hollywood."

You knew he wasn't wrong. While you weren't famous, you'd been dating a celebrity for the past two years. Plus, Chris was always dragging you to movie premieres and red carpet events, so people knew who you were by association. As such, you were no stranger to the rumors and the gossipmongers.

Chris spoke softly, leaning into you so only you could hear. "How far do you wanna take this?"

"What do you mean?" you whispered back.

"Do I make out with you in a corner or just hold your hand like high schoolers?"

You laughed lightly. "Let's just play it by ear, you weirdo."

He grinned. "So that's a yes to the make out?"

You smacked his arm affectionately.

"I think that's considered domestic abuse."

You were about to respond to his joke, but a deep voice from behind you sent a chill down your spine, silencing you instantly.

"(Y/N), Evans. Surprised to see you here."

You turned around slowly, Chris directly beside you. "Andrew," you said, trying desperately to sound normal.

"Why so surprised?" Chris asked in his best 'fuck off' voice.

"Well, (Y/N) hasn't exactly been a socialite in the last few months. I assumed she wouldn't want to show up to a party like this."

"I'm literally right here, Andrew," you said, annoyed.

"Yes, I see you, (Y/N)," he replied, turning his attention back to Chris. "How'd she coerce you into bringing her?"

Chris looked surprised, but his expression quickly changed to anger. "She's my best friend. She'd never have to coerce me." He turned to you with a smile. "Besides, we're together now, so you'll see us out together a lot more often."

You returned his smile and stood on your tip toes to place a soft kiss to his lips, which he returned in kind.

You could feel the annoyance and anger rolling off your ex in thick waves. "You were fucking him behind my back weren't you? I fucking knew it, you slut," he hissed.

You felt Chris's body tense and knew he was about to take a swing, so you grabbed his arm and did your best to cut the fight off before it started. "No, Andrew. Unlike you, I know how to keep it in my pants."

A couple people had gathered close to the three of you to eavesdrop on your conversation. Several "Ooo"s and an "oh damn" came from the group.

Andrew's jaw tightened and he clearly wanted to say more, but thought better of it when he noticed the group of onlookers quickly enlarging.

Chris, however, wasn't quite finished with the conversation. He leaned forward, face a mask of unreadable emotion, and said firmly, "If you ever call my girl a slut again, I promise you'll regret it."

Even if you hadn't known the man your entire life, you would have known he was deadly serious. Every single one of his words dripped with animosity and his eyes burned with an intensity you had rarely seen. To your surprise, the way he called you his girl had your body reacting in a way you didn't expect.

You gently pulled on Chris's arm, dragging him with you and away from the conversation, no longer wanting to talk to the man you used to love. "Let it go, Chris," you said softly. "He's not worth it."

"You're right," he murmured, eyes still burning like the sun.

You managed to get him to follow you into another room before turning to him to inspect his expression. He was fiercely protective by nature, but you didn't want him to feel like he needed to protect you. You could still feel the remnants of his temper festering beneath his skin, so you gently pressed your hand to his chest, bringing his attention back to you.

"As much as I appreciate you defending my honor, you don't have to," you said gently.

"Of course I do."

You smiled softly. "You and I both know that's not true, but I appreciate it nonetheless. There's no need to hold onto your anger, though."

He realized you were right, your hand pressed firmly against his chest somehow grounding him. He took a deep breath and placed his hand on top of yours, giving it a little squeeze. "You're right," he admitted. "Thanks for keeping me from punching him right in his smug face."

You chuckled. "As much as I would have loved to see that, I figured it wouldn't be good with so many witnesses."

"Smart," he said with a wink. "Now that we've made it clear we're together, I think we'll need to up our acting a bit...ensure he knows how badly he fucked up by losing you."

"And how exactly do you propose we do that?"

He grinned. "I've got some ideas." He grabbed your hand and started to pull you towards the main room of the party. "Step one, we dance."

You groaned as he dragged you onto the dance floor. "You know I can't dance."

"That's not true. You have excellent rhythm. You just need to get out of your head for a second and let the music guide you."

You stared at him in silence, but finally succumbed to his silent pleas. "Fine. You can put the puppy dog eyes away now," you teased.

He shot you another wink. "Works every time."

"I hate you," you grumbled as you allowed him to pull you closer.

"No you don't." He started to move to the music, hands traveling down to sit on your hips.

Your cheeks burned and your body reacted to his touch in a way it hadn't in a long time. You'd thought those feelings were long-since buried, but the way he was looking at you brought everything you'd ever felt for him back with a vengeance.

"You're right, I don't," you whispered.

"I know, baby girl," he said softly. "Now, dance with me."

You tried to ignore the feeling in your stomach when he called you 'baby girl', choosing instead to focus on the beat of the music. Your hips started to move, his hands helping to guide you in time with his own movements.

"See? I told you you could dance."

The song ended and switched to something a lot more sensual and your body immediately froze. "Not to this I can't," you insisted.

Chris laughed and quickly spun you around before pulling you against his chest. "I'll teach you," he murmured against the skin of your shoulder.

You didn't know if it was the song, his voice, or the way his arms wrapped around you, but your body responded to him instantly. Your breath caught in your chest and wetness pooled between your thighs as Chris moved behind you in a shockingly sexual manner. Your normally stiff body loosened up in his grasp, moving to the rhythm he set.

"Perfect," he whispered breathily.

You moved with him, body acting of its own accord. You looked up, gaze landing on Andrew, who stood fuming on the other side of the room.

Chris seemed to notice him at the same time. "You see how angry he is, sweets?" he said softly.

"Mhmm," you hummed.

"Keep staring directly at him, okay? Keep your eyes on him as you move."

You did as he said, eyes never leaving your ex's, even as Chris's hands began to wander, moving around your body in the way only a lover's would. His lips placed soft kisses to your shoulder, neck, and ear, hot breath leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

You couldn't help the reaction you had to his touch, it was as if your body was no longer your own. It was obvious to anyone who bothered to pay attention that you were aroused, and Andrew was definitely paying attention. You could see his anger from across the room, but more importantly, you could see jealousy in his eyes.

You'd gotten what you wanted. You'd made him jealous. For some reason, however, you couldn't find it in yourself to care. The plan had succeeded, but it had also had unintended consequences. You didn't give a shit about Andrew...all you wanted was Chris.

The only problem was, Chris was an actor. Every single tiny thing he was doing was an act designed specifically to elicit a reaction from Andrew. He didn't want you, he never had. You'd always known that, so you had always been careful to hide your feelings from him, pushing them down so deep inside of you that you'd almost forgotten they'd existed...almost.

With that painful realization, your brain overpowered your body, allowing you to pull away from Chris. You turned to him without making eye contact and mumbled a quick excuse about having to use the restroom before bolting from the dance floor.

Chris was very surprised by your sudden escape and he quickly chased after you, calling your name.

You found the nearest bathroom and rushed into it, slamming the door behind you with force. Your preoccupied mind neglected to remind you to lock the damn door, so Chris came barging through moments later. His brain, on the other hand, appeared to be functioning just fine as he locked the door behind him.

"Why'd you run off?" he asked gently.

You shook your head, eyes looking anywhere but at him. The bathroom was small...there was nowhere to go, no escape. You were trapped in this tiny room with the man you'd loved your entire life and you suddenly felt like you couldn't breathe. The walls began to move in, within moments they would crush you to death and this pain would be over.

In the same way you knew Chris like the back of your hand, he knew you, so he could see the distress you were in. He grabbed your hand and squeezed it tightly, a reminder that he was there. "(Y/N), you need to breathe."

This wasn't the first panic attack he'd witnessed you have, but it had been several years since you'd had one this bad. "(Y/N/N), breathe for me. Come on," he said again, voice gentle but firm. "In, 2, 3, 4. Out, 2, 3, 4."

He continued breathing and counting as you began to breathe with him, heart rate slowly coming back down, body relaxing, his warm hands grounding you to him.

"That's it. Good." He took another deep breath. "I've got you, (Y/N/N). You're okay."

You took a shaky breath and closed your eyes, the panic subsiding. "I'm sorry," you whispered.

"Hey," he said softly, reaching up to tuck a hair behind your ear. "You don't have to apologize. I just wanna know what caused it."

You didn't want to tell him the truth, so you said the first lie you could think of, "Andrew."

He looked taken aback, almost hurt, by your statement. "Andrew?"

You realized that may have been a big mistake, but it was too late now. "Yeah, I just--it's hard to see him."

Chris looked crestfallen. "You still love him, don't you." It was a statement, not a question.

In truth, you didn't love him. Perhaps you never really had, but that didn't matter now. What mattered is whether or not you were going to choose to break your own heart. "Chris, I--"

"Never mind," he said, cutting you off. "I don't wanna know." He spun around and unlocked the door, storming out before you could say another word.

"Chris, wait," you called as you chased after him.

He moved through the crowd quickly, cutting through the throngs of people like he was parting the red sea. He moved so fast that you actually stopped and took off your heels so you could run to catch up with him.

He made it outside before you finally caught up. "Chris, wait! Please!"

He stopped and turned towards you. You caught a glimpse of a mixture of anger and pain etched onto his face for just a split second before an emotionless mask slid into place, his acting instincts taking over. "What, (Y/N)?"

The coldness in his voice stopped you in your tracks. It was almost enough to make you stay silent, maybe even walk away, but you'd made a decision in that bathroom and you'd be damned if you backed out now. "You didn't let me finish."

"Finish?"

"Answering your question."

He couldn't help the look of intrigue that crossed his face even if he'd wanted to. "Go on, then."

"When we were in high school, I--I made a decision--a choice--to protect myself."

"How is this an answer to my question?"

"Would you just shut up and listen to me?" you snapped.

Surprise lit up his handsome face, along with the ghost of a smirk. He always loved it when you stood up for yourself, even if it was against him. "Okay, I'll be quiet."

"Thank you," you exhaled slowly. "I wanted to protect myself from pain, or heartache, or whatever you wanna call it. I pushed every emotion, every feeling, so deep down inside of me that, for a time, I forgot they were there. It was safer that way. I could go on pretending, and we could go on being best friends. It was worth the pain."

You could see the confusion on his face, and realized you needed to be more straightforward. Before you could, he interjected again. "I don't understand. What were you pretending?"

You closed your eyes for a moment, picturing the girl you were at 16 when you realized you were in love with your best friend. You knew it had been the right choice for you at the time, but it hadn't been easy. You opened your eyes again, gaze falling on that same man, now all grown up. You couldn't help the tears that welled in your eyes nor the ache that blossomed in your chest, the years of bottling up your emotions finally taking its toll.

"I pretended I didn't love you, and I've been pretending ever since."

Whatever he thought you were going to say, it sure as hell wasn't that. His jaw went slack and his eyes widened, body completely frozen in place. He recovered quickly, but the shock of your words was still evident on his face. "You--you love me?"

You nodded. "Since I was old enough to understand the concept."

He ran his hand through his hair. "Why the hell didn't you tell me?"

You were surprised by the annoyance in his voice. "Well, I--I umm...I didn't want to lose you."

He looked exasperated. "(Y/N), you're telling me we could have been together for years, but you didn't want to tell me how you felt because you thought I would leave you?"

You were stunned silent, so he kept going.

"I've had to watch you date so many men that weren't good enough for you--for years--because I thought you didn't feel the way I do. You never once let on that you wanted more--not once."

"So..." you began, trying to find the right words. "Are you saying that you love me too?"

Chris seemed to realize what he'd essentially just admitted, and immediately calmed down, eyes softening significantly. "Yeah, sweets. I've loved you my entire life."

For a moment, the world stood still. The two of you stood there in silence, staring at each other, the shock of your admissions still sinking in.

Then, just as quickly, you both came alive, bodies coming together, lips colliding in a passionate, searing kiss that would live on in your memories forever.

When you separated, breathless, your brain finally caught up with what was happening. You held onto his neck, almost afraid to let go.

As if he sensed what you were thinking, he pulled you even closer. "I'm not going anywhere, baby."

You looked up at him, eyes swimming with emotion that matched his own. "Will you take me home?"

"That depends...whose home are we going to?"

"We?" you asked in a teasing tone. "Isn't that a little presumptuous of you?"

"We just admitted we've been in love with each other since we were kids. I'm pretty sure that means we have a solid 15 years of missed sex to make up for."

You laughed lightly. "As crass as that was, I actually agree with you." You pulled him down for another kiss. "Your place is nicer than mine."

He grinned. "You've got it sweets."

He practically dragged you back to his car, body in overdrive, the need for you so overwhelming he could barely think. Your own desire was so intense you were quite certain you were going to die if he didn't touch you immediately.

Your friendship had always been an open one...which meant both of you had shared your fantasies (most of them, anyway), as well as your sexual escapades. You both knew what the other person liked...so you were both confident the sex you were about to have was going to be mind-blowing...and boy, were you right.

**********

"Chris!" you gasped loudly.

The man in question simply moaned in response, not moving from his position between your thighs, tongue and fingers assaulting your pussy in the most pleasurable way possible.

Your fingers dug into his thick locks, tugging slightly as the pleasure continued to build within you. You weren't surprised by his skill, but you were surprised at how he played your body like an instrument he'd been playing all his life. Every touch, every movement, every sound, sent waves of passionate fire flying through your veins.

When you came for the second time, you tugged at his hair with more force, body squirming from sensitivity. "Too much," you whispered.

Chris finally relented, lifting his head up to look at you, grin etched on his handsome face. His beard was coated with your slick and he licked his lips with a moan. "Sorry, baby. You just taste so damn good."

You laughed lightly, breathing still heavy from the intensity of your orgasms. "If you're a good boy, I'll let you taste me again later," you teased.

Chris laughed and crawled up your body, pressing his lips to yours in an adoring kiss. Whether he intended to or not, as he leaned forward his cock pressed against the entrance to your core, eliciting a gasp from each of you.

"Fuck," Chris groaned. "Baby, I don't think I can wait much longer."

You reached up and pushed his hair back, the tousled locks having fallen onto his forehead. "Who said anything about waiting?"

His lips fell against your neck as he started to push into you. You gasped at the feeling, his large cock already stretching you more than you'd ever been stretched. Your nails dug into his shoulders and he groaned against your skin.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. "I know it hurts."

"It's fine," you murmured. "Please don't stop."

He raised his head to look into your eyes, worried that you didn't mean it. When he saw no reservations and nothing but lust, he continued to press into you, moving a little more quickly this time.

Once he was fully seated within you, he gave you a moment to acclimate to his size. You swore you could feel him everywhere, every part of your body was completely filled with him. The sensation quickly turned to a burning need and you begged him to fuck you.

"Anything for you, baby girl," he murmured as he began to move.

If his neighbors hadn't already been awoken by the sounds of your moans, they would be now. You'd never felt so good in your life, the way his body meshed with yours was as if they'd been created for this specific purpose.

"That's it, baby. Let me hear those pretty moans."

"Chris--it--it feels so good," you moaned loudly.

He moaned as your pussy clenched around him. "Fuck, sweets. This sweet little pussy was made for me. So tight and warm."

He leaned back, tilting your hips up to give himself a better angle. He began hitting your g-spot with each thrust, and you cried out in pleasure, fingers digging into his biceps. "Chris!"

He placed his hand on your lower belly and pressed gently. "You feel that baby? You feel how deep inside you I am?"

You whimpered in response, voice reduced to nothing but sounds.

"Aww, is my sweet girl too cock drunk to talk?" He began circling your clit with his thumb as he taunted you. "Pretty little thing turned dumb by a big cock."

"Please," you begged, not sure what you were begging for exactly.

Chris smiled, movements never faltering. "Yeah baby? What you begging for?"

You didn't respond--couldn't--whimpering moans and heavy pants all you could manage.

"I know what you need, sweets," he whispered, thumb speeding up against your clit, keeping time with the rhythm of his hips. "You need to come, don't you?"

You nodded vigorously and you dug your nails more deeply into his biceps.

He groaned at the sensation, his own orgasm mere moments away. "Then come for me, pretty girl. Soak my cock."

As if all your body was waiting for was his command, you came with a cry of his name. Your hips jerked up, body spasming beneath him as he helped you ride out your high.

Your pussy was pulsating, clenching and releasing his cock rapidly, quickly pulling him towards the edge. "Fuck, baby, I'm close," he gasped.

He was thrusting more quickly now, chasing his high. He wanted to fill you up, needed it more than he'd ever needed anything.

You knew him better than you knew yourself, so you knew exactly what he needed to get him over the edge. "Chris," you murmured. "I need you to fill me up." You clenched your pussy as tightly as you could to punctuate your words.

Chris came with a shout, hips jerking wildly as he spilled inside of you. "(Y/N)," he gasped, hips faltering, and slowly coming to a stop as he pulled out of you, collapsing beside you with a groan.

"Holy shit," he whispered.

You laughed loudly. "My thoughts exactly."

He grinned. "I always could read your mind."

You turned your head to look at him, taking in his love drunk appearance. Somehow, he was even sexier like this, completely fucked out and satiated. You could have stared at him for hours.

"You're staring. It's kinda creepy," he teased.

You laughed. "Oh shut up. It's not my fault you're so pretty."

He groaned. "Did you just call me pretty?"

"I did and I will not take it back."

He rolled on top of you, covering your body with his. "You better take it back," he warned.

"Or what?" you challenged.

He didn't say a word, choosing instead to kiss your neck, mouth sucking and biting at your most sensitive spot. He knew exactly what it would do to you and he wasn't disappointed.

"Chris," you whispered.

He grinned against your skin, ignoring your warning tone. "Are you gonna take it back?"

"Nope."

He moved with the speed and agility of a panther, settling between your legs before you could even register what was happening. His lips were mere inches from your core, his hot breath making your body shiver.

"What are you doing?"

"Giving you one last chance to take it back."

"And if I don't?"

He grinned like a Cheshire cat. "If you don't, then I'll make you come until you cry. The choice is yours."

Your eyes widened in surprise, and maybe a little bit of desire. You weighed your options, but you were too damn stubborn to take it back. "Try me," you challenged again.

"Oh, baby...you're gonna regret that."

He dove into your pussy with the hunger of a wild animal, completely unleashed, unable to stop himself from enjoying your delicious taste. He didn't stop until he saw tears sliding down your pretty face, and even then, he made you give him one more orgasm.

Once he was done with your 'punishment', he carried you to the shower where he gently washed you before taking you back to his bed and laying you down beneath the covers.

He crawled in beside you and pulled you close, lips pressing soft kisses to any skin he could see.

"Thanks for tonight," you said softly.

"For what?"

"Ya know...for everything."

He understood what you were trying to say, a small smile playing on his lips. "I love you, (Y/N)," he whispered.

Those four words said so much more than just 'I love you'. There were promises, hopes, and dreams all wrapped up in a beautiful bow. There were years of things left unsaid, feelings and emotions hidden beneath the surface. And of course, there was the true meaning of the word 'love', a word neither of you had really understood before this moment.

"I love you too, Chris," you whispered back, your own words laced with the promise of tomorrow and forever.

#chris evans x reader #chris evans x reader smut #chris evans smut #rpf fic #chris evans fic #chris evans x best friend!reader #chris evans RPF

3K notes · View notes

secondbeatsongs · 6 months ago

Note

Hello, you said in some tags in a poll that Speed Racer (2008) is your favorite film. If you’re okay with it, I’d really like to hear more about why you love it. I love the Wachowskis’ work (they’re among my favorite directors), but I kinda ended up bouncing off Speed Racer (2008). So, hearing that it had a real impact on someone makes me very curious why. I’m not interested in criticizing your opinion or arguing with you, I’d just really like to know why you love it in the hopes I might be able to enjoy that movie more in the future.

oh god this is from seven months ago, I'm so sorry - but I do love almost everything about Speed Racer (2008) and I still think about it nearly every day.

I love that it's so bright and colorful and absurd. I love that it's an anime in live action form. and I love that at its heart, it is a story about love.

it's about the mistakes people make out of love, and the consequences of that. it's about the way children grow to understand why the adults around them make the choices they do, and maybe choose to do the same things. it's about taking risks for the people you love, and the pain of failing to change the world, because everything is capitalism and everything hurts.

(and it's also about being transgender btw. like, that's one of the main things about it - it is very much a movie about being transgender)

what if your father's choices hurt your older brother, and your older brother's choices hurt you, and now it's you and your younger brother staring down a future where you're going to end up hurting him by making the same choice?

and then...what if you can escape that? what if the broken parts put themselves back together, and the hope doesn't run out, and you're not alone with the things that haunt you? what then?

and now you're at the end and mistakes were still made, people were still hurt, but everyone's grown and changed and they're different now. and they've figured out that maybe, just maybe, you can change the world by doing something you love, by creating art and beauty and making people feel things.

maybe you really can defeat capitalism by driving a car really fast. and even if everyone thinks you can't...don't you have to try anyway? shouldn't you fight with the skills you have, the only way you know how?

what if it works?

and I'm not even gonna get into most of the Racer X stuff (because I want people to go watch this movie, and most folks probably won't be spoiled for it), but his whole deal is just...everything. I love him.

(if there's a guy from Speed Racer that I want to put in a jar and shake every so often, or maybe wrap in a blanket so he can have a nice nap, it's Racer X. he's a great character. prime blorbo material)

anyway I've been rotating this movie in my head ever since I saw it for the first time, and I think I've seen it...seven? times now? and I still cry at the final race, and I still get blown away by the intro sequence.

(the beginning of the movie is genuinely one of the best things I've ever seen - it does an amazing job of introducing you to the world and the story of the characters, and gets you emotionally invested in it right from the start. it's fantastic filmmaking)

also like. story stuff aside, from a technical standpoint, the movie is a masterpiece. it's the type of thing that people hated when it first came out, but when you look at it now and see how it was made, how it intentionally looks bizarre and cartoonish, plastic and surreal, you can see the exact vision the Wachowskis were going for, and it's brilliant.

the way they did the visual effects, the way they made the outdoor scenes feel so detailed, the way the driving and the tracks work - they put so much thought into that, and the behind-the-scenes vids show how cool their process was.

also uhhh cars go vroom, crash into each other, flip upside down, explode, maybe have bees and hammers in them sometimes?

(the above is me complimenting the unhinged vibe of the races themselves, which I love very much)

anyway I could make other full posts about the script of the film and how much I love it, or the cool side characters, or the fanfic potential of the amazing world of the film, or how I can prove that it's set in 1991...but I guess if anyone wants those rants, they'll just have to watch the film and then come talk to me. :)

(please. please come talk to me about Speed Racer.)

so, yeah! I kinda lost my mind there and made this post way longer than I intended, but I do feel strongly affected by this movie, and I hope this has helped explain why.

#asks #crescentwench #speed racer #speed racer (2008)#speed racer 2008 #the wachowskis #my beloved #also it's important for anyone who hasn't seen the movie or cartoon to know #the main guy. his name is Speed Racer #first name Speed last name Racer #also the movie has vague found family vibes because Sparky and Trixie are here and are a part of this family #don't worry about it. they belong here #and so does chim-chim #he's their youngest child #and also a chimpanzee #sbs rambles #long post

172 notes · View notes

vigilskeep · 7 months ago

Note

i have never thought of the bg3 paths as railroaded before but oh my god... i see your vision. i think that, for all that can be picked apart in the writing of dragon age, the worldbuilding in that series is so so interested in complicating all factions that you can envision a character who /makes sense/ while bouncing through various ideologies. and the sort of fantasy writing in (most of) the forgotten realms doesn't really allow for that.

dao is particularly the light of my life because the origins mechanic is specifically intended to let you create a character who has a distinctive perspective on the world that’s grounded in the worldbuilding. one of my favourite aspects of this is several origins having completely different codex entries on their own culture as opposed to those an outsider would get. it’s really good! it’s also a reasonably grounded world (while obviously silly) because, like, the basic fundamental premise of thedas, from which they ikea flatpack built almost every feature, is “how would people react to magical and fantastical diversity? the same way they react to human diversity.” you’re meant to feel like, aside from i guess the darkspawn, people are normal and have real motivations. sure it has to fulfil certain roles in a story, and dragon age was manufactured too quickly and purposefully for everything to land feeling authentic, but evil in dragon age should feel recognisable. and in most of the origins they give you a chance to do something that is bad, but also totally makes sense, because of the context of your character belonging to this world where these things happen

in dnd/the forgotten realms it’s a bit different because capital e Evil exists, so there are people and deities and devils (and, to open another can of worms, races) whose entire goal is to Do Evil. it’s also harder to produce grounded evil because in a world where i’m being given basically no context and just told to make whatever i want, i don’t have an inch of the kind of social information i get from for example a dao origin: what my character has been taught to believe they should do to survive, who they are willing to sacrifice, whatever. bg3 also happens to have a main plot goal that is, at least for the first part of the game, broadly selfish (“i am sick, and i need a cure”) which works really well for getting a bunch of people with vastly differing moral standards to band together for the same goal, and not so good for any kind of “greater good” type blurred morality, so that’s out too

however much the worldbuilding factors into this, bg3 specifically went for quite a clear distinction between the good path and the capital e Evil Path, and i find it pretty hard to vary up the good path. when i say railroaded i mean you either do the specific thing that gets you a quest down the line or not. i was really disappointed actually in my playthrough where i totally fucked up in the druids’ grove and caused a fight to break out, because it immediately instakilled tons of characters i knew i would need down the line. the few it spared needed some of the dead ones to stay alive in later quests, so it’s like... oh. that’s just... over. for both factions. bg3 arguably lets you do basically anything you want but they are able to do that because if you fuck around it just breaks the entire quest line from coming up again, which means playing a character who fucks up is not even really going to get me consequences it’s just going to cut content from the game. does that make sense? and then the Evil Path is just straight up evil, like... there’s no way for me to complicate and empathise, here, especially playing a blank canvas character whose motivations i would have to make up from nothing, and who faces basically no consequences for not doing this. the only neutral/cowardly/self-interested option in act 1 is to do neither path, which gets me the least content because i literally don’t get to play the fucking game

i don’t know, i’m not saying it’s necessarily bad just that it’s hard for me, personally, and how i like to create characters. especially when you have my constant restart disease and you have to do this all over again a dozen times just for a handful of different dialogue. does any of that make sense

188 notes · View notes

lewmagoo · 9 months ago

Text

six summers | bob floyd

description: it's been six years. six years since you walked away from the man you loved. six years since the night that your own foolish actions led to the disappearance of sixteen-year-old melissa seresin. you’ve spent these last few years living with crippling guilt. and after everything that happened, the last thing you are expecting is an invite to return to the camp and reassume your role as counselor. but here you are, staring in disbelief at a letter asking you to do just that. providing you with the opportunity to make things right. will you be able to come to terms with the past and allow yourself to accept this second chance? or will you let your guilt consume you?

characters: bob floyd x reader, the dagger squad as their respective characters, pete mitchell, penny benjamin, a number of my own ocs

warnings: 18+ only, mentions of death, guilt, references to sex, mentions of anxiety

series status: ongoing

listen to the playlist here!

this story is inspired by @ryebecca and this fantastic moodboard she made ; i also drew some inspiration from riley sager's the last time i lied

*this is my own original work - i do not consent to having it reposted or redistributed in any way

July 30th, 1980

1:15 am

All you felt was terror. Icy cold, like someone had shoved their frigid fingers beneath your shirt, digits pressing harsh, angry bruises into the skin while they were at it. Your arms were wrapped around yourself as you stood in the damp morning air, your eyes flitting about nervously, your gut churning with nausea.

“You do realize that your negligence in this situation is going to come with consequences, right? How could you be so stupid?!” Penny Mitchell’s voice had a sharp edge to it, despite her lowered tone. Her eyes were piercing. You couldn’t look at her.

“Don’t try to pin this all on her. I’m just as much to blame.” That was Bobby’s voice, coming from beside you, an air of protectiveness emanating from him as he stepped closer, standing in solidarity with you.

“Oh, trust me, I’m holding you responsible, too. But she’s the one who was supposed to be in charge of that cabin. If she would have been at her post, this wouldn’t have happened. But no! The two of you were off doing God knows what, while one of our campers wandered off into the night!”

Penny got into your face, pointing her finger, her anger palpable, radiating off her in waves. “You had better pray that girl is still alive, because if she winds up dead, her blood is on your hands, counselor.”

May 18th, 1986

10:30 am

“Mail’s in!” The voice of your roommate carried through your apartment, pulling your attention from the rhythmic tapping of the antique typewriter you’d picked up from a yard sale. Without a second thought, you sprang from your chair, flinging open your bedroom door, bare feet quick against carpet as you hurried toward the kitchen, where Margie was just walking through the door with a stack of mail.

“Any of it addressed to me?” You asked, a hopeful inflection in your voice.

Margie nodded, tossing the envelopes onto the countertop. “Yeah, you’re popular, got two letters addressed to you.”

Eagerly, you shuffled through the stack before you located the letters she was talking about. One had no definitive markings, so you had no idea where it was from. But the other had a promising logo on the front– The Capital Gazette.

“The Gazette sent something back!” You exclaimed, flipping the envelope over, fingers trembling as you tore into the seal.

Margie gasped, her attention immediately zeroing in on the letter you held. “What did they say?!” She exclaimed, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

“Gimme a minute!” You shot back as you rushed to unfold the paper. Your eyes hurriedly scanned the contents, but within moments, your shoulders fell, the thrill of hope fading away to heavy disappointment. The words we regret to inform you were all you needed to read to know what the letter was about.

“I didn’t get the job,” came your glum statement.

“What?” Margie snatched the paper off the counter when you let it drop, reading it for herself. “Oh, come on! You’re the best damn writer I know, how could they turn you down?!”

You shook your head, fighting the tears of disappointment that had gathered on your lash line. “They don’t need me. They’ve got better writers.”

“That’s bullshit!” She huffed, shaking her head, knocking some of her unkempt curls loose from her haphazard ponytail.

“Whatever,” you said, bitterly. “There are other newspapers I can apply to. Other magazines. People are hiring all over the place,” you said, hoping to instill hope in your own heart. But it did little to lift your spirits.

Your roommate sighed softly, reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. “I’m sorry. Really.”

“Thanks, Mar. So am I.”

Her attention shifted to the other, unopened letter on the counter. “What’s that one say?”

With a clueless shrug, you reached for it. All it bore was your address in handwriting that was oddly familiar. Tentatively, you tore into the envelope, brows furrowed as you unfolded the paper and began to read.

And then, “holy shit.”

“What is it?” Margie demanded, curious. When you looked at her, she noticed the expression of worry etched into your brow.

“Camp Mitchell,” you whispered.

At that, the woman’s eyes went wide. “Oh my God.” And then, she waved her hand, motioning you on. “What does it say?”

“They…they want me to come back as a counselor.”

I hope this letter finds you well. I am reaching out to you because I wanted to extend a formal invitation to return to camp as a counselor this summer. I know that things ended on a sour note for all of us involved, but Pete and I desire to breathe new life into this camp. We want to give other campers the chance to experience the wonder and magic of summertime at Camp Mitchell. I understand if you would prefer not to return, but it would be an honor to have you back with us again. Think we can agree to let bygones be bygones? I sure do hope so. Please give me a call at the number below and let me know if you would like to return and reassume your role as a camp counselor. Arrival deadline for counselors is May 24th. Hope to see you soon!

Best wishes,

Penny Mitchell

You stared at the words in absolute shock. They wanted you to come back? After everything that had happened? After your own foolishness had resulted in a girl going missing? You had to admit, it was a bold move on Penny’s part.

The police had heavily investigated you when young Melissa Seresin went missing six years prior. Penny had even blamed you for the girl’s disappearance. It was hard to imagine her wanting you to come anywhere near her camp ever again.

“I need to sit down,” you muttered, tossing the letter back onto the counter and stepping toward the kitchen table, where you hurriedly pulled out one of the chairs and lowered yourself into the seat. Two life-altering events had just taken place in the span of five minutes. You needed to process all of it.

As you tried to regain your wits, Margie scanned over the letter. Then, she sauntered over to you, letting out a sigh as she pulled out the chair across from you and flopped down into it, her legs parted, arms falling down to dangle over the sides. She blew a pesky curl away from her face.

Sympathetic brown eyes landed upon you, and the girl before you smiled softly. Understandingly. “What are you gonna do?”

“I really don’t know,” you said. “Since the job with The Gazette fell through…I might have no choice but to take up the offer to go back to camp. At least I’d be making some kind of income during the summer while I try to figure things out.”

Margie raised a dark brow. “Listen, you do what you think is best for you. But…after everything that happened there, are you sure you’re ready to go back? It’s only been six years.” She was not coming from a place of judgment. She was coming from a place of genuine concern for her friend.

You groaned softly, placing your head in your hands. “I dunno know what to do. Honestly, I’m not ready. But then again it might give me closure. And maybe that’s what Penny is thinking. If she wants to make things right with me after the way things ended…maybe I should go.”

The girl sighed. “Yeah, I guess closure might be something that comes outta this. I just don’t want you to have to go through all that shit again, though.”

Your mouth quirked into a grateful smile. “I know, Mar. I’ve gotta think about it, first. I’m not making any decisions yet.”

“Well, let me know what you decide. Whatever choice you make, I’ll support you.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

As Margie left you at the table to be alone with your thoughts, you considered the weight of the situation. It had all happened so fast, and you felt as if you were caught up in a whirlwind. You only had a week to make a decision, because you had to be at camp on the 24th if you decided to go.

Were you ready to go back, after only six short years? The thought made your stomach turn. Camp Mitchell was a place that held a lot of trauma for you. Your life had fallen apart there.

You had been a first-year counselor in the summer of 1980. A job meant to get you through the summer, before you returned to college in the fall. You remembered being so hopeful and excited about what the summer held.

Camp Mitchell was a camp situated in Michigan’s wilderness. Secluded, surrounded by forests as far as the eye could see. Quaint little wooden cabins. A mess hall. A volleyball pit. A lake. All the other amenities that a typical summer camp would have.

You were put in charge of the junior/senior girls' cabin. Eleventh and twelfth graders. You were slightly intimidated because you were only a few years older than they were. You worried that they would not respect you. But much to your relief, the girls accepted you with open arms.

Throughout the many weeks of camp, you bonded with several different girls who passed through your cabin. But none of them connected as well with you as Melissa Seresin.

July 1980

She was the younger sister of one of the other counselors, Jake Seresin, and she was sweet as could be. She attended camp most of the summer, because her brother worked there, and she didn’t want to remain stuck at home alone while her parents traveled for the summer.

So, she tagged along with Jake. Unlike her brother, she was not cocky. She had a very kindhearted demeanor. A little spoiled, once in a while, due to being the youngest and only girl of rich parents and a doting older brother, but nothing you couldn’t tolerate.

Melissa remained a semi-permanent fixture in your cabin, even as groups of girls from different places — schools, church youth groups, family groups, so on and so forth — passed through all summer.

She knew the camp like the back of her hand, and had spent a few summers there already. You didn’t have to worry about her like you might other campers, because she was well aware of the camp’s procedures.

That was why it was so jarring when, one night in the middle of the summer, she disappeared without a trace.

Late one night, after lights out, the girls in your cabin noticed her absence. Melissa was always in bed come lights out. Not always asleep, but certainly always present. Her neatly made, unoccupied bed raised suspicions, but it was her missing backpack that made the girls think that she had left altogether.

You were not at your post like you were supposed to be. Earlier that night, you had enforced lights out, but soon after had slipped out into the night to meet someone. The girls ranged from fifteen to eighteen years old, so you were not particularly concerned about them getting up to mischief. But in your haste to leave, you neglected to double-check that Melissa was present.

To your utter shame, you had left to meet up with another counselor. The head counselor of the seventh and eighth-grade boys' cabin, Robert Floyd. Bob to his friends. Mr. Bob to the campers. Bobby to you, and only you.

It wasn’t in your nature to sneak around. Neither was it in Bob’s. But you had gotten tangled up in an impassioned summer fling, and you took advantage of every free moment you had to be together.

It was in that time span of you and Bob sneaking off to the lake, that Melissa had gone missing. And when you returned to the cabin an hour later, the girls were all awake, in a slight state of upheaval.

“Where have you been?!” Asked Claudia, one of the senior girls. “I was about to leave and go find Mrs. Mitchell!”

“I needed some air. Why, what’s up?” You cautiously asked.

Claudia motioned to Melissa’s empty bed. “Melissa never made it in for lights out.”

You stared at the bed, its covers untouched and meticulously tucked in, as a hotel bed would be. That was the way she made it every morning. She hadn’t been in that bed since last night. “No, she was here when I left!” You insisted.

“Um, no she wasn’t,” Marissa, another senior, piped up. “Plus, her backpack is gone.”

“Oh, God. Well, that’s my bad for sure. Okay, um, I’m sure she can’t have gotten far. She knows this camp well. Don’t worry, I’ll go take a look around. The rest of you, stay put. Lemme just do a count to make sure nobody else went off with her.”

After a headcount, you came up with fourteen girls. Melissa would make fifteen, so she was the only one missing. Huffing out a sigh, and attempting to keep yourself calm and neutral so the girls wouldn’t panic, you squared your shoulders.

“I’ll go grab another counselor and we’ll take a look. Claudia, you’re the oldest, so you’re in charge. Make sure no one leaves. The rest of you, try to get some sleep. I know you’re a little freaked right now but it’s gonna be okay.” The biggest lie you could have told them. It was, in fact, not going to be okay.

“What should we do if she comes back?” Claudia asked, running a nervous hand through her thick brunette locks. Her dark eyes were fearful, although she was trying to appear brave, just as you were trying to do.

“Just make sure she stays put. I’ll come back and check in a bit, if I don’t find her, and we can touch base then.”

Once you were certain the girls understood the plan, you excused yourself again, stepping out into the humid July night. Crickets sang as you ambled down the path that led to the boys’ cabins, but the pounding of your heart in your ears drowned out the sound.

Your hands shook, unsteady as you held your flashlight before you. Tears blurred your vision, and the heat of embarrassment washed over you. How could you be so stupid? Here you were, off getting laid while one of your girls was nowhere to be found.

You had to look for her, but you weren’t going to do it alone. Hurriedly, you ascended the steps of cabin 13, the first of the boys’ cabins. Light on your feet, so as not to step on any squeaky boards, you crept closer to the door.

Three soft raps, five seconds apart. That was your code. And sure enough, within moments, the door inched open, and there was your Bobby. You had just seen him twenty minutes prior, but he’d already changed into his sleep clothes. An old camp shirt and basketball shorts.

Brow furrowed, he quietly closed the door behind him, stepping out onto the porch. You reached for his hand and guided him off the porch, onto the soft, sandy ground. “What’s goin’ on, Kit?” He asked. The nickname he’d dubbed you for reasons so much more lighthearted than the situation you were facing.

“Melissa’s gone,” you whispered. “The girls said she was never there for lights out.”

“Huh? But you checked on them before you left.”

“I did, but I…I guess I just missed Melissa. I thought she was there, but tonight was so chaotic…God, I can’t believe I could be so stupid” You despaired.

“Shh,” Bob soothed, reaching out to run comforting hands down your arms. “Hey, she probably just went for a walk. I’m not close to her, but I know she likes to go and write in that journal of hers a lot. She’s probably doing that.”

“But that’s not like her. Yeah, she writes in her diary but she’s never done this before. Just…up and left like that. I’m scared, Bobby. I think something might’ve happened to her. And it’s all my fault.”

But he was already shaking his head. “No, don’t even let your mind go there. You’ll drive yourself crazy.” His hands had moved to cup your cheeks. “Tell you what, I’ll help you look for her. If we don’t find her in the next hour, we can tell Penny and get a search party goin’.”

You prayed it wouldn’t come to that, but the sick feeling in your gut told you otherwise. It was your fault, no matter how much Bobby tried to assure you it wasn’t. If Melissa was truly missing, then you were the one to blame. But you didn’t dare speak it into the air. You couldn’t.

“O-okay. We can look together, then.”

And so, the two of you set off on the search for Melissa Seresin. Missy, as her brother liked to call her. You thought of Jake, who was in charge of the senior boys’ cabin. You knew he’d be pissed that you didn’t wake him up immediately and tell him what was going on. He was very protective of his baby sister. But you didn’t want to involve him just yet. You had to try to find her yourself, first.

You set out to search all the places she frequented. Melissa wasn’t as outgoing as her brother. She had a vibrant personality, but also had introverted tendencies. She cherished her alone time, so it wasn’t odd for her to be at the lake, or the horse stables, writing. But she was always visible, and she had never sneaked off before. And certainly not after dark, either.

These woods were terrifying at night. It was easy to get lost in their vastness. Even a girl who knew her way around could get lost. But you prayed that wasn’t the case.

You took to searching her usual hangout spots. The lake, even though you and Bob had been there a half hour ago, and hadn’t seen her. Sure enough, she wasn’t there. Then, you took a peek in the horse stables. The camp had not yet obtained horses to occupy the stables, so it was just an empty building.

Hopeful, you followed Bob inside, holding your breath as he called out, “Melissa? You in here, honey? It’s Bob Floyd.”

But you were met with dead silence, so deafening it brought a shiver down your spine. “Oh, my God. She’s gone. She’s gone forever. This is all my fault!” You panicked, burying your face in your hands.

Bobby, ever the calm and steady one, gently soothed you. “Hey. Hey! Look at me.”

You lifted your tearful eyes to his face, illuminated by the yellow glow of your flashlight.

“It’s gon’ be okay, alright? We’ll find her. We just need to go get Penny and Pete and tell ‘em what happened. We can get a search party organized. We’ll cover more ground that way.”

Lovingly, he took your hand, and together, you made the trek back toward the main part of camp, where the office, mess hall, and staff quarters were. The entire walk, your mind was spiraling with all the possibilities of what could have happened to Melissa.

Something was wrong. You knew it.

And, as it would turn out, you were, unfortunately, right. Melissa Seresin never was found. Not when you and the other counselors organized a search party. Not when the police got involved. Not when Jake and Melissa’s dad, an agent in the FBI, got his team involved. It was as if she’d vanished into thin air. Gone without a trace.

Jake blamed you. But that was okay, because you blamed yourself, too.

Your own negligence was the reason Melissa was gone. And the police grilled you for it. Much to your utter relief, the Seresins chose not to press charges. But you were left to live with the guilt, and that was punishment enough.

And now, here you were. Six years later. Wounds from the past only partially healed. Presented with an opportunity to go back to the place where it all started, and ended. If you did return, would those wounds reopen, and drain the blood from your veins? Or would those wounds finally heal?

And most importantly, did you have the guts to find out?

One Week Later

A ticket reading Harper, Michigan was clutched tightly in your hand, the paper rumpling from your grip. Your suitcase and duffel bag were beside you, as you stood at the bus depot, waiting for the Greyhound to pull up and take you to your destination.

“I still think you’re crazy for this,” Margie spoke from beside you. She’d come to see you off.

You turned to her, taking in her soft smile, despite her disapproval of your choice. “I know,” you replied.

“But I also understand why you want to do this. I really hope it gives you the closure you’re looking for.”

You threw your arms around your friend’s shoulders, hugging her tight. “Thanks, Mar. I’ll try to give you a call at some point in the next few weeks, but the only phone on the property is the one in the main office and I doubt I’ll have time.”

“Don’t worry about it. You can tell me all about it when you get back,” she assured you.

You took one last good look at her, as you knew you wouldn’t see her for a few months, if you fulfilled your commitment to work the entire camp season. The late morning sun shone down from the sky, illuminating her dark curls. Always so unkempt, but the style suited her.

“I’ll be seeing ya,” you finally said.

She nodded, squeezing your hand. “Take care of yourself. And good luck.”

The bus pulled into the stop as you bid your final goodbyes, and then, you handed off your luggage to the attendant to pack away beneath the bus before you climbed the steps into the large vehicle, flashing your ticket to the driver. You took a seat toward the back, settling in and placing your purse beside you, hoping that you would get two of the tackily upholstered seats all to yourself.

As soon as you were settled, you fished your Walkman out of your bag, unraveling the headphones and placing them on your head. As soon as you hit play, the opening sound of the 1975 Eagles album, One of These Nights, filled your ears.

You had purposely chosen this tape to accompany you on your trip, because it held a lot of nostalgic memories for you. Namely, it had been a gift from your Bobby. He’d given it to you in the beginning stages of your romance, after you’d expressed to him that the album was one of your favorites.

“I want you to have it,” he insisted. “A memento that you can have all the time, to remind you of what a great time we had together here.”

And you did have a great time. But the trauma of Melissa’s disappearance had soured the whole thing. All you had left of Bobby was this tape, and a few braided jute bracelets he had made you, from plant fibers. You still wore them on your wrist to this day.

He had tried to keep in contact with you after the camp shut down. He’d sent letters. Called your home phone. But you never answered. As much as you loved him, the reminder of what had happened was too painful, and you let your connection to him fizzle out.

But as you listened to the familiar cords, a rush of memories flooded you, the wave so intense that it took your breath away. Flashes of Bob’s beautiful face. Twinkling eyes, blushing cheeks, a crinkled button nose. The prettiest laughter you’d ever heard.

Large, warm hands exploring. Lips trailing searing kisses down your sternum. Whispers of your name. Groans of pl–

With a gasp, you snatched the headphones off your head, eyes flickering about, as if someone around you could have heard your thoughts. But everyone else was in their own little world, completely oblivious to the salacious flashbacks you had just experienced.

But they made you warm with shame nonetheless.

You’d be foolish not to admit that you’d thought of Bobby over the years. Looked back on your encounters with fondness. With desire. You’d been sexually involved with a few other people since then, but the entire time, you could only think of him. It was why you’d stopped seeing other people. They weren’t your Bobby.

You wondered if he thought about you, too.

More importantly, you wondered if he’d be returning to Camp Mitchell like you were. Were you ready to face him again? The thought made your stomach flutter with butterflies.

You imagined he’d moved on. He had to. Hell, he probably had a wife and kids already. Imagining such a thing sent a queasy rush through you. You still weren’t over him, and you supposed you never would be. He was your first great love.

But he wasn’t the only person you would potentially face from your past.

Your mind went to the other counselors you’d worked with that fateful summer. Specifically, you thought of Jake Seresin. Surely he wouldn’t return to camp, right? Not after his baby sister had disappeared from that very place. It had to be too painful for him.

Little did you know, everyone you had worked with was also traveling from their own respective homes and cities, headed right for Camp Mitchell, just like you were.

The camp was founded by Pete and Penny Mitchell, a husband and wife duo. They had started it with the best of intentions. It was in its fifth successful year when you came on staff. And that just so happened to be the last year it was in operation.

Until now.

What had made the couple decide it was a good idea to reopen the camp, you had no idea. But you were going to give it a chance. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad, after all.

But several hours later, as the Greyhound pulled into the station in Harper, a tiny town boasting of a general store, a bus depot, and a long, winding road that led up to the camp itself.

As you stepped off the bus, you realized one very important detail: you had no idea how you were even getting up to the camp. Would they send a driver down to retrieve everyone?

Your question was soon answered when you caught sight of a large white poster board propped against a nearby lamppost. CAMP MITCHELL STAFF WAIT HERE. A DRIVER WILL ESCORT YOU TO CAMP.

With a sigh, you rolled your suitcase over to the post, hoping you wouldn’t have to wait long. And you didn’t. About five minutes later, an old teal-colored truck came down the road, its engine obnoxiously loud. On the side, Camp Mitchell was printed in bold letters.

You straightened, smoothing out your travel-rumpled clothes as you grabbed your belongings, prepared to help load everything into the truck. It didn’t even occur to you that you might know the driver. You expected to meet someone entirely new.

As soon as the vehicle pulled to a stop at the curb, you were already moving to the truck bed, hoisting your duffel bag over the side, letting it land with a satisfying thump.

“Here, let me,” a familiar voice spoke up, and in moments, a pair of hands were stealing your suitcase away, heaving it into the bed.

You looked up at the man assisting you, and your blood ran cold. As he turned from putting your luggage in place, he froze, too. Wide blue eyes, no longer hidden beneath a pair of wireframes, locked with your own.

You didn’t speak. You couldn’t.

But he did. In a voice as smooth and soft as butter, yet breathless with surprise. “Kit?”

You squeezed your eyes shut.

Kit. The nickname he’d dubbed you six years ago. It was something so simple. So silly. You’d had an affinity for KitKat bars that summer. They were the only candy bars you liked from the camp store. As a joke, Bobby had said “I should call you KitKat, since you like those things so much.”

And thus, it was shortened to Kit. The name stuck.

Hearing it again made your head spin. You felt woozy on your feet. You swayed a little. A memory flashed in your mind. You and him. Sitting under the old weeping willow. His fingertips wiping chocolate from the corner of your mouth.

It sent a burning ache through your chest.

“Oh my God,” you whispered. “B-Bobby.” The first words you’d spoken to him in six years.

He let out a breath, shaking his head in disbelief. “I didn’t think you’d show.”

You gathered yourself, trying to regain your composure. “I didn’t either,” you whispered.

He offered a tentative smile. “That doesn’t mean I’m not happy to see you, though.”

You lifted your head, brow furrowed in confusion. “You are?”

“Gosh, I am. It’s been too long. I didn’t…didn’t know what happened to you. You never responded to my calls or letters. I thought maybe…” He wouldn’t speak it out loud. He couldn’t.

But you inferred what he meant from his tone. He’d feared that the trauma of what had happened had been too much for you to handle. That you’d succumbed to it all.

“I was working on myself. Trying to heal.”

He nodded. “Understandable.” The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled again. “I really am glad to see you, though. You look well.”

You shrugged. “I’m workin’ on it. And I’m glad to see you too.”

You looked at him, really looked at him, and you realized how much he’d changed, but also stayed the same. He’d filled out. His shoulders were more broad. Muscular. His glasses were gone, presumably replaced with contacts. His hair, once close-cropped, was longer now, curling at the nape of his neck, peeking out from beneath the baseball cap he wore. His jaw was shadowed with stubble.

He looked like a man.

But there was still that boyish glint in his eyes, and hiding behind his smile. Still that same gentleness reserved particularly for you. It was overwhelming, and you could feel your chest beginning to tighten.

“Are you, uh, are you ready to head up there? Or do ya need a minute?” Bobby asked, his voice low. Laced with concern.

You stepped back. “I thought I could do this. Maybe I can’t.”

He let you have your space. “Take all the time you need.”

The rush of memories flooding you was overwhelming. The last time you saw him. The last thing you said to him.

Six Years Ago

The day you left camp, it was raining. Pouring from the sky in sheets, washing everything in a gray hue that made the world look like a watercolor painting.

The sandy ground squashed beneath your feet as you walked toward that old truck, with the camp’s logo on the side. Your luggage was stuffed into the truck bed, wrapped in plastic garbage bags so it wouldn’t get wet in the downpour.

As you climbed into the cab, Bobby came running out of the main office, making a beeline for the truck. He scrambled to wrench open the door and join you inside, breathing labored as he settled into the seat.

For a few moments, it was silent, save for the sound of him moving to start the engine. He fiddled with the heat dial, hoping to reduce the fog on the windows, as the rain had made the air unseasonably chilly that morning.

You both sat there, staring out the windshield, watching the water trickle down the glass. He made no move to put the truck in gear.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured.

“Bobby—”

“No, listen to me. I’m sorry it came to this. It shouldn’t have.”

“What’s done is done. Please, let’s just get out of here. I can’t stay in this place another minute.”

Bobby lingered for a moment, his eyes on you, even as you refused to look at him. You were afraid that if you did, you’d melt into a fit of tears. So, with a soft sigh, he put the truck in drive, and began the journey down the winding dirt road that led out of camp.

The trip was silent. You had nothing left to say, because you’d exhausted all your words these last few weeks. Countless hours of interrogation. Recounting that night over and over again. The conclusion was that a girl was missing, and it likely would not have happened if you’d been doing your job. That was a sense of guilt that you would have to live with for the rest of your life.

Bob pulled into the bus station fifteen minutes later, and you didn’t hesitate as you hurried to slide out of your seat, shoes colliding with wet asphalt. Your chest was tight, eyes blurring with tears as you rushed to grab your luggage.

“Would ya stop for a minute?!” Bobby exclaimed, reaching out to gently grab at your arm.

But you jerked away from him. “Please, don’t…don’t make this harder than it is,” you whispered.

He stared at you, brilliant blue eyes wide, filled with emotion. “So, what, you won’t even say goodbye?”

You feared that saying goodbye would break the dam, and you wouldn’t be able to hold yourself together. You’d fall into his arms, sobbing your heart out, and you would never get on that bus. The man before you sighed, shaking his head before he moved to haul your suitcase out of the truck, placing the plastic-covered bag on the sidewalk.

“That’s it then?” He spoke, his tone grim.

Squaring your shoulders, you nodded, forcing yourself to hold it together. “Goodbye, Robert.”

You turned to leave, and he watched you go, his heart falling to pieces within him. He was losing you, perhaps forever, and there was nothing he could do to stop it. He wanted to go after you. Wanted to shake you and tell you to just listen. But you were so entrenched in the trauma of what had happened that he wasn’t sure you could listen to reason at all.

So he let you leave. He watched you climb onto that Greyhound, bound for home, all while he was left there with a wound in his heart, wishing that things could have ended differently. Wishing that your love for each other had been enough to keep you with him.

But it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t enough. And that was something he had to live with.

May 1986

Seeing you again was a lot for him. You were just as beautiful as he remembered. Even more so, now, if that was possible. He was also hit with a rush of emotions. He never thought he’d see you again. When he’d received the letter from Penny, inviting him back to camp, he had thought about you, and was sure you wouldn’t come back.

But here you were, standing before him, uncertain and anxious, and he found himself wanting nothing more than to pull you into his arms and comfort you. But he kept his distance, not wanting to invade your personal space. You weren’t his any longer. He could not touch you the way he used to.

You took a moment to pull yourself together, taking a deep breath, counting to ten, trying to ground yourself. Then, you fixed your posture, and nodded in Bob’s direction. “Alright. I think…I think I’m okay. We can, um, we can leave if you’re ready.”

“Okay. Let’s go then.” He opened the passenger door for you, and you climbed into that old truck once again, just as you had six years ago.

Everything had come full circle.

Bobby rounded the truck and settled into the driver’s seat, and soon, he’d started the engine, pulling away from the curb, turning onto the road that led up to camp. Your gut churned with anxiety. You were really doing this. There was no turning back now.

The radio played softly as Bob drove. Some old country song. Hank Williams, you thought. Its grainy, peaceful tune did well to calm your anxiety. Your hands had stopped trembling.

“It’s been a while,” the man beside you murmured. His accent seemed to have gotten thicker, a slight twang to it.

“I know,” you replied, staring down at your lap. Then, “God, I’m so sorry, Bobby. I shouldn’t have gone no contact like I did. I got the letters you sent. And I got every message you left on my answering machine. But I just…I couldn’t bring myself to respond.”

He shook his head. “No, I get it. I should’ve given you more space. I know everything that happened was a lot for you.”

“But that’s no excuse for me to just ignore you. It wasn’t right of me. I’m really sorry.”

“Apology accepted. It’s in the past, Kit. We can leave it there.”

It was that easy. A soothing sense of relief washed over you, warming you from head to toe. That exchange made you feel a little more at ease, and the conversation soon shifted.

“Did everyone come back this year?”

He nodded, humming lowly. “Most of ‘em, surprisingly. Bradley, Natasha, Mickey, Reuben, Javy. Half got here last night. The rest came earlier this mornin’.”

You hesitated, picking at a jagged nail on your right hand. “And…Jake?”

Bob was silent for a moment, his jaw tightening. “Yeah, him too.”

You recoiled in confusion. “But…why would he come back?”

“Penny didn’t say it in her letter, but they’re doing a dedication ceremony for Melissa. There’s a new garden area they installed in the main part of camp. It’s gonna be called Melissa Jo’s Garden. They had a plaque made and everything. Jake agreed to come for the ceremony. I dunno if he’s staying all summer though.”

“Oh.” It felt like all the oxygen had been sucked from your lungs. You had not left things on a good note with Jake. He harbored deep resentment toward you for neglecting to watch over your cabin. He blamed you for his sister’s disappearance.

“He seems to be handling everything alright. He might actually be okay with seeing you again.”

But you weren’t so sure. There was that nervousness again, roiling in your gut. Did you have the nerve to face him? And how would he react? You doubted he’d welcome you back with open arms.

You’d soon find out, because just up ahead, the Camp Mitchell sign could be seen. Large, deep green in color, with white lettering. So familiar, yet so foreign all at once.

You couldn’t believe you were back. What if this turned out to be the most foolish decision you’d ever made?

You didn’t have time to consider that, because Bobby was pulling into the common area in no time, and killing the engine. It was time to face the past you’d been running like hell to get away from.

As Bob got out to gather your luggage, you pushed the old, squeaky passenger door open and let your feet land in the soft sand.

The scent of pine and honeysuckle filled your nose. It sent an intense wave of nostalgia through you. So much had changed, and yet nothing had, all at the same time.

The layout was still the same. Clinic. Main office. Mess hall. Common area. But in the middle of the main entrance was a small garden. Stone paths weaved throughout. Spindly bushes, multicolored flowers, and other plants decorated the soil. Right in the middle of the garden was what appeared to be a large stone, covered with a tarp. You assumed the plaque for Melissa was hidden beneath the tarp.

And then, a voice caught your attention. You looked up to find Penny Mitchell approaching you. Blue cotton shorts, accessorized with a belt. A blue and white striped t-shirt tucked into them. A pair of hiking boots were on her feet. Practical, that one was. Always ready for an outdoor excursion at a moment’s notice.

You braced yourself, unsure of how she would behave toward you. She had rightfully held you responsible for Melissa’s disappearance, and you weren’t sure if she’d moved on from that. But, if she’d invited you back, she had to have at least found it in her heart to forgive you. You hoped so, anyway.

“Welcome!” She said, sweeping her arms out in greeting. “I’m glad you could make it!”

“Oh, um, thanks. Me…me too,” you said, unsure of the proper response.

Bobby sidled up beside you. You didn’t feel so alone with him there.

“Did Bob fill you in on everything on the drive up?”

“Kinda, yeah,” came your answer.

Penny nodded. “Once everyone is settled, Pete and I will take you on a tour. We’ve made a lot of changes these last few months.” Then she looked at Bob. “Would you show her to her cabin? We’ll put her in cabin five.”

“Sure thing,” he replied.

“We’ll have a little orientation meeting after dinner. There’s a whole itinerary we have to go over. I put a schedule in your cabin. Any questions?”

Yeah, lots. You stared at her for a moment. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why did you invite me back? After everything that happened?”

She regarded you silently, her expression neutral. Then, she said, “Because I believe in second chances. Or, rather, my husband does. He wanted to bring all of you back and start with a clean slate. Whether or not you’ve earned that second chance remains to be seen. But I hope you have.” Her words sent a painful ache through your chest. You didn’t blame her for being wary of you, but it still hurt.

As she excused herself, you were once again left alone with Bobby. “Y’alright?” He gently asked, cadence low and comforting.

You processed his words for a moment. “Yeah…yeah. I’m okay.”

“You need a minute?”

“No. Let’s just get my stuff to my cabin.”

With a single nod, he grabbed your suitcase and duffel bag, moving to walk up the hill. You followed closely behind, letting the rush of memories ebb through you. The cabins were small, build from dark wood, with green paint detailing the shutters and doors. They looked like they’d received fresh coats of paint, but otherwise, everything was still the same.

It didn’t take long to reach cabin five. Bob carried your things inside, and you slowly followed, your heart quickening as you stepped through the door. The scent of cedar and pine was familiar and painful all at once.

This wasn’t the cabin you’d been in when you were here last. You were in cabin two then, just one over from this one. Even so, it looked so eerily similar that for a moment, you were transported back to the summer of 1980.

Funnily enough, Bob had been the one to show you to your cabin for the first time that year, too.

“You’ve still got ‘em.”

Your eyes flickered to him, and your brow furrowed. “Huh?”

“The bracelets I made you.”

Oh. You looked down, eyeing your wrist, where the two braided jute bracelets remained, from when he’d made them for you that year. Dyed faintly with berry juice. Fraying at the edges, but still intact. “Um, yeah…I do. Guess I just could never bring myself to take them off.”

He stepped forward, reaching his hand out. You let him gingerly take your wrist into his palm. His fingers brushed against the braided rope, and his touch sent goosebumps across your skin. “After all these years,” he whispered, afraid that if he spoke any louder, his voice would fail him.

All at once, you were floored with an intense wave of emotion, so powerful it nearly drove you to your knees. It hit you out of nowhere, like a gut punch. “Bobby,” you whimpered.

Shocking blue flickered to meet your wide-eyed gaze, and his face crumpled, bottom lip quivering. “Kit.”

You weren’t sure who moved first, but you were in each other’s arms then, holding on tightly, as if the other would float away if you loosened your grip. The sound of soft sobs reached your ears, and you realized that they were coming from you.

“I never should have walked away from you. Never, ever!” You cried against his chest. “I’m sorry!”

“No, shhh,” he soothed, cradling your head against him. “Don’t do this to yourself. It’s okay, you’re forgiven.”

You pulled back to look at him, shaking your head. “It’s not okay!”

Two large hands came up to hold your face. “It hurt me, alright? I’ll admit that. Broke my heart in two. But I never held it against you, because…because I knew everything you’d been through. I know that summer was the worst time of your life. It made sense to me if you didn’t want to speak to me ever again. I would’ve just been a reminder of everything that happened.”

“But I did want to talk to you, Bobby. I did. I just couldn’t get past the goddamn trauma.”

He shook his head, his face kind. “I know. But we’re here now, together. That’s gotta count for something.” Maybe we’ve been given a second chance, he wanted to say, but he didn’t want to move too fast. He was well aware that your romance might never be rekindled. However, he was content to just remain friends with you if it meant that you would be in his life again.

You went quiet, letting your head fall against his chest again. You couldn’t believe you were here, standing in the middle of a cabin at the place where you had lost everything. It felt so surreal. It was as if a million years had passed since you saw him here last, and yet, it also felt like no time had passed at all.

There was so much that needed to be discussed. But there was no hurry. For now, you were just relieved to know that you had not burned a bridge with your first great love. If nothing else went right for you this summer, he was the one good thing that would come out of it.

“I’m glad…I’m glad it was you who picked me up at the station,” you admitted.

Bobby smiled softly. “So am I.” He searched your face, as if memorizing it. “I really thought I wouldn’t ever see you again.”

You hummed in agreement. “Me too. But I guess fate wanted us to meet again.”

“She’s a tricky one, that Fate.”

“Don’t I know it.”

Finally, he parted from you, though the absence of his body made yours feel cold. He didn’t want to overstep. “Well…I guess I’ll let you get settled.” He moved toward the door, but your voice gave him pause.

“Actually, wait for me. I don’t want to face everyone alone. I’d prefer it if we walked together.” Bobby might be the only person in this damn place to accept you again. You wanted to cling to that, and the security it provided.

He gave a single nod. “Alright. You want any help getting settled, then?”

Together, you set about getting everything situated. Bob went around and checked the cabin for spiders, because he knew you weren’t a fan of the little (and sometimes big) guys. He found one, which he very gently coaxed into his hand (murmuring “c’mon, little buddy” as he did) and released it outside.

Once you had your stuff organized, and did a quick clean sweep of the cabin, you were ready to join everyone else. There was a paper posted on the wall just beside the door, detailing the itinerary for counselors and other camp staff. In about fifteen minutes, dinner would be served in the mess hall.

Directly following that, there would be an orientation meeting in the meeting hall, a place where staff meetings usually took place. Assemblies with the campers were also held there. It ws in that hall that you would be forced to face people from your past. Namely, you’d have to face Jake again.

The thought made your stomach churn, and your hands tremble. But then, Bob’s gentle presence brought you back to the presence, and your racing heart calmed down a little.

He offered you a kind smile. “You ready?”

“Yeah,” you said with a nod.

Together, you walked out of that cabin and into the camp grounds, falling into silence as your steps synced up. There were so many things Bobby wanted to say, but he didn’t want to inundate you with questions and confessions, so he left it. He knew you had to be terribly overwhelmed as it was. He didn’t want to be the cause of more stress.

So, silence it was, all the way until you got to the mess hall. He stopped to open the door for you, and you hesitated.

“It’s okay,” he assured you. “I’ll be right here with you the whole time.”

You liked the sound of that.

So, with a deep breath and squared shoulders, you stepped through that door, entering the room. Dark wood stretched out before you. The mess hall was a similar design to the cabins, just much bigger. High ceilings with unfinished wooden beams. Wooden floors and walls. Dark green paint detailing. Windows on each wall to let in natural light. A large stone fireplace in the middle of the room.

It was very cozy, but as your gaze shifted to the table of faces to your left, you felt a chill run over you. Here goes nothing.

You appraoched the table, taking in each person seated there. At the head of the table was Pete Mitchell, Penny’s husband. He lifted his head and offered a smile, but you couldn’t quite place the look in his eyes. Beside him, Penny glanced up at you.

Then, to her right, you saw Natasha Trace. Another person you had once had a connection with. She was good friends with Bobby before you met him. The two of them had gone to school, and eventually college, together. Beside her was a woman you’d never seen before, but judging by the way Natasha held her hand, you inferred that they were in a relationship. It was no surprise to you. Nat had always made it clear that she only had eyes for women.

Then, on the other side of the woman was Mickey Garcia, another one of Bob’s good friends. His best friend, in fact. Mickey offered you a smile, and you took that as acceptance of you. He always had been rooting for you, all those summers ago.

Beside Mickey was Javy Machado. You couldn’t get a read on him. His face bore a neutral expression as he regarded you. Back then, he’d been best friends with Jake, and had therefore been completely on his side. You assumed the sentiment was still the same.

Then, of course, there was Bradley Bradshaw. He was Pete and Penny’s surrogate son, in a way. After Bradley’s mother died when he was a teenager, Pete had brought him on to learn how to run the camp. One day, he would take charge of the place, after the husband and wife duo retired.

All of them were seated around that table, but you noticed that one was missing. You had no idea where Jake was. Maybe he wasn’t joining everyone for dinner. Maybe he’d left. A part of you hoped so.

“Wanna sit here?” Bobby asked, motioning to two seats next to Bradley.

You nodded, and he pulled out your chair for you. Once you were seated, he took his own seat beside you, between Bradley and you. The other man leaned over the table, and you got a look at his face for the first time in six years. He’d lost his baby face, and was now sporting a defined jaw. A neatly kept mustache shadowed his upper lip. You thought it suited him. “Good to see you again,” he said.

Bradley’s statement seemed to break the ice, and a few murmurs of greeting echoed around the table. Even still, an air of awkwardness hovered over the group. You wanted to crawl out of your own skin. But you were here now, and there was no turning back.

The food was set up around the table like a regular family dinner. Simple foods. Sandwiches. Veggies and dip. Chips. You grabbed a sandwich, but you found your stomach in knots, and the thought of eating anything nauseated you.

“Well, Penny, you did it. Got us all to come back. Good on you,” Natasha spoke up.

Penny shrugged. “Pete and I have been talking about it for a while. I know the way things ended back in ‘80 was…bad, to say the least. But we really feel that this place has potential, and we could breathe new life into it.”

“What do the Seresins think about that?” Javy asked, his brow raised.

“We think it’s an okay idea,” a voice spoke up from across the room.

The group looked up all at once to see the man stepping through the door. You tensed, taking in a breath. Your heart rate picked up, thudding against your chest as the chill of anxiety crawled along your spine.

“Really?” Natasha piped up.

Jake nodded as he approached the group. “Yeah. Seeing as how Penny wants to dedicate this place to Missy. We all remember how much she loved it here. I firmly believe she’d want it to keep going.”

Penny smiled. “I’m glad we’re on the same page, Jake.”

He stopped at the empty end of the table, hands coming up to rest upon the back of the chair there. “But I do have one question.”

“What’s that?” The woman asked.

Jake smiled, but you could tell is wasn’t a real smile. In fact, when you looked at his eyes, the pale green was filled with snake’s venom. “What the fuck is she doing here?” He jabbed his finger in your direction, and you froze, your eyes growing wide.

That was more like the reaction you’d been expecting.

Penny faltered, her smile fading. Beside you, you felt Bob stiffen. But you didn’t dare pull your eyes away from Jake’s accusatory glare.

“I-I just thought that–”

“I don’t care. Look, Penny; I really appreciate you putting this all together, but in what world did you think it was okay to invite the person who had a hand in my sister’s disappearance?”

“She isn’t the one who wanted to invite her. I am.” Pete stood from his seat, his eyes narrow. “I thought that she deserved a second chance. And I wanted you to find it in yourself to allow her that chance.”

“Oh, really? What, is she gonna bring my sister back? Hm?” Jake’s gaze was so cold. You wished the ground would swallow you up. How on earth could you have thought this was a good idea?

“No, but–”

“If she stays, I’m refusing the dedication. She’s the reason I lost Missy. She doesn’t get to just stand there and pretend she’s sorry, while my parents and I are still grieving.”

Your eyes had blurred with tears, and your chest was tight. You should never have come.

But then, “leave ‘er alone, Jake.” Bobby stood up, facing the other man.

“Oh, you coming to her rescue is rich, Baby on Board. Wasn’t it your dick she was sucking when my kid sister went missing?”

The room went dead silent.

Bob took a breath. Then two. “Don’t you dare talk about her like that. She’s here, whether you like it or not. And she deserves another chance, just as much as anybody.”

“No, you know what? You’re right. This was a mistake. I should never have come,” you spoke up, rising from your chair.

But Bobby grabbed your arm. “No. Don’t let him drive you away.” His eyes were pleading.

You pulled away from his grasp, sadly shaking your head.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. Then you turned to Jake. “I wish I could bring your sister back. But I can’t. You need to know that I cared about her. And I should have been more thorough when I did bed check that night. I regret it every day, and I’ve lived with that guilt for the last six years. But my guilt is nothing compared to the loss you and your parents have had to endure. And for that, I’m so fucking sorry. I’ll leave, if that’s what you’d prefer. I never should have come in the first place.”

With that, you ducked your head, pushing your chair out of the way as you scrambled toward the exit. You could hear Bob calling your name, but you ignored him, your legs carrying you quickly toward the door. Your vision had tunneled, and your chest was heavy. You had to get out of that building. You felt like you were suffocating. Like someone had pulled a plastic bag over your face.

You threw your arms out in front of you and shoved the door open, letting out a great heaving sob as you stumbled down the front steps. You made it a few feet from the stairs before you leaned forward, hands braced on your knees as you fell apart.

“Oh, God!” You cried. You heard footsteps quickly approaching. It made you whirl around. “Just leave me the fuck alone!” Came your wail.

“No! I don’t care what he says, you deserve to be here!”

It was Bob, you realized.

“What do you want me to do, then?! He doesn’t want me here, Bob! And I never should’ve come. So just…just pull the truck around and I’ll get my luggage and get the fuck out of here.”

“No.”

“Either you take me back to the station, or I’ll get someone else to do it!”

“No other buses are running until tomorrow morning, so you can’t leave anyway! You’re stuck here for the night.”

“Goddammit!” You yelled. “I just want to leave!”

He grabbed you by the shoulders. “You’re not listening to me! I can’t handle watching you walk away from me again. I lost you once, and I’ll be damned if I let Jake Seresin be the reason I lose you again!”

And then, silence.

“Oh.”

He released your shoulders suddenly, his face stricken. “I-I’m sorry. I’m coming on way too strong. This is probably super overwhelming for you and I’m just making it worse.”

“No. No, you…you aren’t.” A pause. And then, “I don’t want to walk away from you again, either.”

“If you want to leave, then I’ll take you to the station tomorrow morning. But I just want you to try and stay. I know Jake doesn’t want you here, but I’m sure Pete can convince him to at least give you a chance.”

“I’m not so sure about that.”

However, back inside the mess hall, a discussion was happening. “I’m sorry, Jake. I know we should have told you we invited her back. I take full responsibility for that oversight. But your parents…they knew she was coming. We checked with them beforehand. Your mom is of the belief that we should give her another chance.”

“What?” Jake asked, incredulous.

“Yeah. So, I know it’s hard for you, but if your mom is willing to forgive, then I’m going to respect that, and give this girl a chance. You know she’s lived with this guilt for so long. I think that’s punishment enough.”

The blonde sighed, shaking his head. “I don’t like it. If it was up to me, she’d be on the next Greyhound outta here. But if my mom wants her here…” He looked out the window, eyeing you and Bob as you spoke to each other. “It boggles my damn mind, but I’ll respect my mom’s wishes. That doesn’t mean I forgive her, though. I don’t think I ever will. But you go ahead and keep her on staff. Something tells me it ain’t gonna end well, but what do I know?”

And with that, Jake stalked off in a huff.

He swung the screen door open, and your head shot up, your eyes widening as you saw him coming down the steps. Bobby took a protective step toward you.

“You can stay,” Jake said as he walked past. “But only because my mom is the one who wanted you here.” Then he leaned in close. Well, as close as Bob would allow him to get. “But just know this. If you fuck up in any way, shape, or form, I’ll ship you back home myself. We clear?”

“Y-yes,” you responded with a curt nod.

“Good.”

And with that, Jake Seresin walked away.

You let out an unsteady breath, your shoulders slumping. Bobby looked at you, his gaze questioning. “What are you gonna do?”

You shook your head. “I…I don’t…”

“You don’t need to decide now. Just sleep on it. Make your decision with a fresh mind, alright?”

“Yeah,” came your whispered reply. “Yeah, that’s–that’s what I’ll do.”

He took his baseball cap off, running his fingers through his hair. “I’m sorry. I know this is a lot for you. Do ya wanna just turn in early? I’m sure they’d understand if you skipped orientation.”

You considered his words, and finally, you shook your head. “No. I’ll, uh, I’ll try to go, and see how I do. But I think I’m going to just go and lay down for a while until then.”

“Want me to walk you back?”

“I’d like that.”

With a soft smile and a nod, Bobby began to guide you back toward the cabins. Your hands were shaking, and your head was spinning. It felt like someone had shoved their hands into your chest and taken hold of your lungs, squeezing them with all their might.

It was a painfully uncomfortable feeling, and you hoped that it would pass soon. But as long as you were here, in this place that held so many memories, it would probably remain a permanent fixture in your body. The only thing that soothed it was Bobby’s presence.

Even after all these years, and after the sour note you’d left him on, being near him still felt so comforting and peaceful. It was an odd, but welcome, sensation. You hadn’t expected it to be this way. When you thought of seeing him again, you imagined it would be painfully awkward, or that maybe he would refuse to speak to you.

But this was Robert Floyd you were talking about. He didn’t hold grudges. And if he did, then he’d been deeply hurt beyond repair. It was a relief to know that things were not beyond mending between you. At the moment, you were too overwhelmed and emotional to even consider what it might mean for you in the future. You were just grateful that he was near you again.

So much had changed. When you’d left him, he’d been more gangly. Twenty-two years old. Large wireframes perched atop his nose. All round cheeks and softer features. Now, he seemed a little taller. Or maybe, his slight bulk made him appear so. Gone were those gangly limbs, replaced with muscle that had been defined by physical labor.

His hands, though. His hands had stayed the same. They’d always been big, but he’d grown into them. They suited him now. Strong and steady. Farmer’s hands.

“You want me to come get you when it’s time for orientation?” The low cadence of his voice jarred you from your daydream.

“If you would? I forgot to pack my battery alarm clock, so have no way of keeping time.”

He nodded. “Sure. I can get ya one of those clocks. I actually have two, you can have one of mine.”

“You sure?”

“Yep, I don’t need two anyway. I’ll bring it to you later tonight.”

You shot him a grateful smile. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

Together, you stopped just outside your cabin, lingering at the foot of the stairs. Bob’s face was gentle, his eyes kind. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. I know it’s a for you lot to be back here. And Jake didn’t help anythin’ by reacting the way he did. But if no one else is happy to see you, I want you to know that I am. I’ll respect whatever decision you make, but I really do hope you’ll stay.”

You considered his words, mulling them over in your mind. He didn’t expect you to decide at that very moment, and you knew your brain was too overworked to make that decision then as it was. So, the best you could do was nod your head. “I’ll see you in a bit, Bobby.”

He hummed, mouth quirking into a smile. “See you in a bit, Kit.”

You watched him walk away, his footsteps sure, his stance confident. He had a swagger to him that he didn’t have six years ago. It suited him well.

With a soft sigh, you finally turned and made your way into the cabin. As soon as the screen slammed behind you, you surged forward, collapsing into your bed, which was right near the door. Immediately, you buried your face in the pillow, and everything you’d been keeping inside came spilling out of you in bitter waves.

What had you gotten yourself into?

to be continued...

taglist (tagging those who showed interest; if you want to be added let me know)

@withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts @ryebecca @up-thereinthesky @oldfangirl30 @attapullman @sebsxphia @delopsia @damrlova @fairyheart @hangmanapologist @laracrofted @callsignspark @bobfloydsbabe @milesmillergf @bradshawsbitch @bradshawsbaby @floydsmuse @senawashere @creatchie8

#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd fanfiction #bob floyd smut #bob floyd angst #story: six summers

239 notes · View notes

churrochamp · 3 months ago

Text

Let's talk about Merlin and lying. This isn't meant to be character bashing, but it might not be the most generous take either.

In All About Love, bel hooks writes: "In our culture privacy is often confused with secrecy. Open, honest, truth-telling individuals value privacy. We all need spaces where we can be alone with thoughts and feelings - where we can experience healthy psychological autonomy and can choose to share when we want to. Keeping secrets is usually about power, about hiding and concealing information."

(hooks has a lot more to say about the reasons why people lie in relationships, and our need for love and difficulty with love in general. Book is fantastic, highly recommend.)

The question is: was Merlin's years of lying about his magic, and all that he did in Arthur's defence, justified? Why'd he do it?

I've been trying to think through how the fandom generally interprets Merlin's character and choices in the show, and how this character makes me feel. It's really complicated and interesting (to me at least lol).

I often see the claim that Merlin lied about his magic for years out of fear for his safety, but it's never fully satisfied me as an explanation. Given that as a fandom we pretty much all agree that magic can be a metaphor for queerness, there's a natural alignment with the claim that queer people aren't ever obligated to come out, for any reason, but it's often said, especially if their physical safety might be jeopardized (which I agree with btw).

And it's true, given Camelot's genocidal laws, Merlin's life could be threatened if he revealed himself as a sorcerer. On the other hand, Merlin is basically all-powerful in the universe of the show, and I don't think the rest of Camelot could do much to him if he were prepared.

What's more convincing to me is the claim that Merlin's afraid of the potential emotional harm that could come from revealing himself. What if Arthur hates and rejects him? That's something his magic can't defend against.

I think Merlin's heart is in the right place. He believes all his work is done in service of Arthur and their joint destiny, which is the good of Albion. And he does save Arthur's life a whole dang lot.

The issue is, probably a good half of the show's major conflicts directly relate to Merlin's actions and inactions - usually, lies he's telling (Morgana, Mordred...). Conflicts that maybe could have been resolved with much less harm if Merlin, who often is the only one with crucial knowledge, had made different choices (and Gaius too oh my GOD). Dude is shooting himself in the foot. Merlin's lying isn't just about personal privacy and autonomy. It becomes a fundamental part, baked into his relationship with Arthur and his role in their prophecy (and the governing of a kingdom jeez).

In addition to plot SNAFUs, the way I see it, Merlin's lying has two major consequences for him:

His most important relationship, with Arthur, is deeply flawed and incomplete.

Merlin remains the most important, influential character in the show. His energies go to trying to keep the power for himself.

As bel hooks argues, there can't be true intimacy in a relationship if one or both parties withhold and deceive the other. This could look like lying to manipulate the other party to get what you want, or even lying to make the relationship go easier. Relationships built on untruth aren't fair to all parties - the deceived person can't make informed choices in the relationship, and the deceiving person robs themselves of the opportunity to be fully supported and loved for who they are. When Merlin lies to Arthur about magic, when he tells Arthur that magic is evil, even if it is for "his sake," he's taking choice away from Arthur often at crucial moments, for both their relationship and the well-being of the kingdom. Without knowledge of the truth about magic, and about Merlin, Arthur can't make fully informed choices as a king or a partner. Things go to shit, and it's terribly lonely for both of them, even if only one of them know about it. Merlin's reason for this might be fear of pain. However, when you don't give someone the opportunity to love or reject you for who you are, how can you feel held by that person? You deprive yourself of the chance.

Another reason to lie can be desire for power and control. By keeping the secret of his magic and their destiny, Merlin keeps all the responsibility and power to himself. This is the premise of the show: Merlin is the only person who can turn Arthur into a good king, save magic, secure Albion's future well-being--and he must do it all secretly. The show jokes about it, the characters joke about it. This premise is a kind of power-fantasy - being the secret power working from the shadows, using all your wit and guile to succeed despite the secrecy, risking life and limb for no recognition, but having the satisfaction of knowing that you are instrumental. It's very James Bond. Without the secrecy, what would be the point of Merlin? The secrecy might be part of what makes Merlin feel special, worthwhile.

As the years go by, the lies compound and the relationship becomes inseparable from them. The most significant on a personal level, probably Merlin's poisoning Morgana, Mordred, Ygraine, and Sophia.

Merlin can't control all the factors, he can't do it all by himself, he can't make Arthur into the ideal king and boyfriend of destiny, and from the start it's a doomed endeavour. Luckily Arthur loves him all on his own, and does get to see him at the very end, and they'll get a second chance.

So in summary, why does Merlin lie about his magic and his actions for so long? Fear, love, and power, is what I suggest. And ultimately it leads him and Arthur to ruin. It's not exactly exemplary behaviour, but it is very very human.

#actually with gaius and kilgarrah as mentors this show is basically merlin's indoctrination into becoming a lying deceiving old man #laying it out like this makes me appreciate Merlin more as a character #but i'm drawn to disasters and YMMV #this is a whole freaking half an essay #bbc merlin #bbc merlin meta #merthur #long text post #merlin emrys #i will add an anti tag if it makes folks more comfortable - lmk

97 notes · View notes

undreaming-fanfiction · 10 months ago

Text

For A Handful of Bandaids

This is my entry for SpicySixWinterFanworksChallenge organized by the lovely @thefreakandthehair.

“Hey Steve, do you know where we’ve got some bandaids?”

In hindsight, Eddie should have known that a simple question like that would never prompt a simple response from his boyfriend. Steve was many things - brave, loyal, a great cook, wonderful in bed, but most of all - he tool Eddie’s well-being very seriously. He was a raging bull whose red flag was anything related to health, injury, sickness or danger, no matter how small.

Well. Not really raging. More like anxious, caring and always ready to whip out half of a pharmacy.

So of course, the answer wasn’t “they’re in the second drawer,” nope.

Instead, Steve stood up, grabbed Eddie by his shoulders and started checking him for injuries. “Eddie, are you hurt? Did someone in town attack you again? Shit, I thought things’ve calmed down, did you recognize them?”

It would have been hilarious if Eddie hadn’t hated making Steve worried.

He reached for Steve’s hands, still on his shoulders, and put on his most persuasive voice. “Steve, baby, I swear I’m fine! No attacks, no black eyes, no broken bones. I’m completely fine!” He even grabbed his collar and moved it to the side so Steve could check. “See? No strangulation marks. Uh...no new strangulation marks, post-bat.”

Steve seemed to be calming down, good. Fantastic. “So...” he said slowly, “...you don’t need them for yourself? Did one one of the kids get hurt? Wayne?”

Eddie really wanted to punch himself in the face now. Why hadn’t he spent those five extra minutes looking for the bandaids himself?!

“No. Look, Steve. I need them for myself, but for something small. Something very very VERY tiny. I just made a not-so-ideal decision and now I want to treat the consequences.”

Steve’s eyes narrowed and his stare traveled directly into Eddie’s soul. “Eddie. What. Did. You. Do?”

“...I think it would be easier to show you.”

---

In another hindsight, it would have been easier to tell Steve. If Eddie thought seeing the crime scene would calm his boyfriend down, he was dead wrong.

Steve’s eyes traveled over the destruction. Eddie’s books, neatly arranged on bookshelves that morning, were now lying everywhere. The books from the bookcase didn’t fare any better - except the bookcase was now lying on them, over their bed. Speaking of the bed, the plant that they saved from a local dumpster and nurtured back to health? That plant was now depotted over Eddie’s pillow.

He sucked in a breath through his front teeth. “Did someone break in?”

Eddie shook his head so fast his hair became a tangled mess. “No. Nono. Steve. No one invaded our wonderful home. No one damaged our property. I mean, someone did, but it was...very much deserved.”

“Eddie. Explain. Now.”

“Oh yeah. Sure. Will do. Um...how long a version do you want?”

“Concise.”

“Right. In short - Ozzy did this.” Noticing Steve’s disbelieving stare, Eddie quickly added: “But I deserved it. Totally.”

Steve sat down onto the single clean and empty spot on their bed. “Are you telling me that our cat knocked over a full bookcase?”

Eddie had the decency to look guilty. “Oh no, that was me.”

“I take back the “concise” request. Tell me everything. Step by step.”

“Right.” Eddie’s eyes darted between each aspect of the crime scene, trying to put together a reasonable explanation. “So. I was sitting on the bed with Ozzy. He didn’t like something I did and decided to run away, but I was...sort of connected to him.”

“Sort of connected...?”

Eddie waved his hand. “I’ll explain. But as he was escaping, I had to go after him, because you know...connected. And he really didn’t like that. So he jumped up that bookcase and we were still-”

“-connected?” Steve didn’t seem to understand or believe any of it, but he was certainly entertained.

“Yep. So I tried to climb the bookcase and get him down.”

Steve’s palm connected with his forehead with a resounding slap. “Eddie. Do you know how physics work?”

Snorting, Eddie shook his head. “Of course I don’t, Steve. Failed high school twice, remember? But I also know your grades and because of that I dare to say - neither do you. Not that physics would have gotten Ozzy down.”

“That part is true.” Steve was grinning back at him, imagining the chaos. “So, you climbed the bookcase and it fell on you. What next?”

Eddie pointed at the sad remains of Steve’s plant. “I knew how much you love that plant, so I decided to save it. Since it was on that bookshelf. I heroically leapt from the bookcase and towards the plant, but I have miscalculated my daring rescue.”

Steve’s eyebrows did that adorable confused scrunch. “You what?”

“I jumped too fast and it fell on my head.”

“Oh.”

Eddie nodded, touching a sore spot on his nape. “Yeah. And my head gave it that extra bounce to land on the pillow. Wrong side up, I’m afraid.”

Steve reached out to the plant and picked it up, examining its leaves. “I think she’ll live. She’s a strong girl. Continue.”

“Not much more to tell,” Eddie shrugged. “Ozzy used the commotion to disconnect himself from me and darted outside. I got soil out of my hair and went to ask you for bandaids.

Steve was stroking the plant’s leaves, checking for damage. “The one thing I don’t understand is this. How didn’t I hear it happening?”

“Oh, it was much faster than it sounds. And I believe you were washing the dishes.”

“That explains it,” Steve nodded and set the plant into its miraculously unharmed flower pot. “One more question then. How were you connected?”

Eddie started chewing on his hair and looking at the ground instead of Steve. “You know...it’s almost Christmas, right?” he asked in a quiet voice. “And you love Christmas. Everyone knows you love Christmas, so...”

“Eddie. How were you connected?” he repeated slowly, carefully.

He smiled sheepishly, pulling something colorful from his pocket. “Do you know how they say that fate connects you with a red string? Something like that. The rest shall be revealed when we find Ozzy. I think he’s hiding under the sink again.”

Steve stood up and sighed the deepest sigh Eddie had heard in ages. “I have no clue where this is going,”

---

Ozzy was, as Eddie had predicted, hiding under the sink. He was hiding really well, 10/10 would not find the cat, except for the red wool that led from the corridor directly to the bathroom. And when they finally got the unhappy cat out with promises of treats and even more treats, Steve finally saw it and laughed.

“Really, this is what you did?” he asked and reached out to free Ozzy.

Despite his prompt escape, Ozzy still bore wounds from his brave fight against Eddie. Except those weren’t wounds, it was a half-unraveled red Christmas sweater. Steve thought he recognized Claudia Henderson’s work. No matter who knitted it, Ozzy obviously hated the idea.

Eddie was, just like the sweater, bright red. “See, it was nearly finished and I promised to try it on him, just to see if it fits. And when he decided he didn’t like it, which was pretty much immediately, I think one of the loose threads got caught on my rings. So...yeah.”

Steve pulled him into a kiss and scratched Ozzy’s back, now free from the wooly prison.

“You really thought you could get that sweater on our cat? You’re adorable. I’ll get those bandaids.”

#SpicySixWinterFanworksChallenge #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie fanfiction

241 notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 1 year ago

Note

Relationship headcanons for Slade Wilson & Clark Kent with gn s/o?

I kinda got carried away with the Clark relationship head-cannons that I forgot that you also wanted Slade…oops. 🦦

Baby girl

Malewife

Certified himbo

Golden retriever energy!

Heart of gold, dumb of ass-

Okay I’ll stop but you get the gist, this man would honest to god, worship you. Look me in the eyes and tell me that he wouldn’t cuz we all know he would.

No thoughts, head empty; just full of ways where he could love on you.

He’s a cutie! And he probably trips over or unintentionally hurts himself because he can’t help but admire you and all of your handsomeness/beauty/gorgeousness.

Hell I bet before you two were dating Clark’s confession must’ve been the most sweetest, heartfelt, and the most adorkable thing ever.

He would probably be on the fence whether or not in telling you he’s Superman because he doesn’t want to put you in any sort of danger but then again being in a romantic relationship with him was already putting you in danger; so he would probably have to sit you down for that conversation, hold your hands within his bigger ones and pray that you understood his reasoning behind the secrecy.

His love languages have got to be one or all of the following;

words of affirmation: he will call you any and every endearing word in the dictionary even if you were only just getting up to start your day. He’s your hype man in every sense of a word and will not allow you to be harsh or look down on yourself. He’s not having it, so he won’t hear it because how can you not see yourself the way he sees you?

To Clark, your phenomenal, exceptional, extraordinary, amazing, incredible, excellent, talented, fantastic, handsome, beautiful, charming, gorgeous and above all else; you. That’s all he wants you to be. Yourself.

acts of service: as I said before Clark lives to serve and with that I’d like to think of him taking on chores that he knows you don’t particularly like doing just so he could relieve the stress of having to do it off of your shoulders. He’d also attempt to make breakfast, but your better off helping him so he doesn’t accidentally breaks the handle off of any appliance you have at your disposal by unintentionally using excessive force.

Clark would do stuff that would be considered small to other people such as leaving out clothes you found most comfort in, neatly folded in your dresser, or bending down to help you in tying your shoes, but to you they were the biggest expressions of love one could ever experience.

Physical touch: this man is a cuddle bug and no one can tell me otherwise. Oh yeah don’t get me wrong but just because he’s stronger then the average man don’t mean he ain’t gonna hold you tight against him -though not too tight- and still be extremely cautious of the usage of his strength. he doesn’t wanna hurt you in any capacity at all. He’s so, so gentle and frequently worried about the consequences that would come if he didn’t handle you with enough care.

Hand holding is a staple in your relationship.

He’s a big spoon and a little spoon in terms of cuddling because he wants to feel as though he’s protecting you in your most vulnerable form and also wants to be comforted by you as he lays his head on your chest. It’s almost a comical sight, you spooning this Greek god of a man but it’s such a sweet and tender moment between the two of you finding comfort in each others presence and being able to be your most vulnerable with them that it completely negates all of that.

back hugs in the morning from either you or Clark because I just adore the idea of this man coming up behind you and hugging you with his strong arms caging you at the waist as his head is buried into your neck as he whispers you a good morning. I also adore the idea of you just going up behind him and hugging him as tightly as you could, not knowing that you couldn’t possibly hurt him physically even if you tried.

Quality time: while unfortunately yes, being Superman is a full time thing. That don’t mean Clark wouldn’t at least attempt in making time just for the both of you and besides you found his deep rooted want to help anyone and everyone extremely endearing and admirable; but sometimes he does need to be reminded that not everyone wants to be saved despite how difficult that maybe for him to understand. But that doesn’t mean he won’t stop trying to help. It’s the one thing no one can change about Clark.

So when you two do get some time together it’s pretty much just spent doing whatever it is that you two like to do together like watch a movie, read books, etc or separate whilst still being within the same room as one another in a comfortable silence. Clark is trying to make up for lost time but it’s the fact that he’s trying is all that matters to you.

Plz hold his face in your hands and squish his cheeks! Plz. He will melt into your hold as he brings his bigger hands up to hold against yours his face as he closes his eyes and visibly relaxes. Precious bean deserves to be pampered with love and affection.

You’d defiantly be stealing his cozy beige/cream coloured jumper. You loved how it made your hulking boyfriend look like the epitome of soft, so of course when he’s away you immediately sift through his things and pull the jumper over your body, where for the rest of the day you would be doing stuff in your shared home whilst in his clothes that were *probably* way too big for you and that you had to face the continuous task of having to push up the sleeves constantly so that they wouldn’t get in the way.

So when Clark comes home and sees you wearing his cozy little jumper, he’s utterly enamoured as though it was the first time he’s seeing you all over again. It’s cute and the soft sappy expression on his face will forever and always melt your heart; his soft blue eyes staring at you adoringly like you were the one to have painted the stars in the sky, the slight blush upon his pinch-able cheeks, and the dopey smile upon his pretty lips.

‘Something catch your eye handsome?’ You’d say one day upon catching him gawking at you from the doorway, taking great pleasure in watching him squirm and stumble over his words as he tries to justify his staring without it coming across as creepy. ‘I wasn’t- I’m sorry-‘ you didn’t let him continue as you walked over to him and moved your arms to hold his face in your hands, your thumbs running across his warm cheeks that only seemed to grow warmer beneath your touch.

‘It’s okay, I know you didn’t mean anything weird or creepy by it. I’m just teasing you, you know I love it when you look at me because when you look at me…I feel more seen then I ever have with anyone else.’ You admitted to him, pressing your head into his tits chest, ‘so please don’t stop looking at me in that way for it reminds me that this is real and not some fever dream.’

411 notes · View notes

hannahbarberra162 · 3 months ago

Text

Struck Twice By Lightning, Chapter 13

18+ MDNI on Ao3

Link to all chapters

TW: jealousy

A few days later and you were laying on the bed in the early evening, resting after a huge supper. You felt like a snake, basking in the sun after a large meal. And like a snake, you didn’t think you’d want to eat again for another month. Damn Lucky and his fantastic chicken pot pie. Laying there, you heard the ringing of your den den mushi.

Puru puru puru puru puru puru

You looked at the Buggy snail and your mouth twisted. You still hadn’t called him back after all his missed calls. You didn’t want to worry him but you hadn’t wanted to hear how he was right, how you screwed up, and how you shouldn’t have gone with Shanks in the first place. The worst part of it all was, he was right. But he didn’t deserve to be left hanging for so long. You rolled off the bed and grabbed the snail, bringing it to sit on the bed with you.

“Hi.”

“About time, babe. I was getting worried. I was gonna leave for the Grand Line if I didn’t hear back from you soon.” You felt guilty, Buggy really was a good friend.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I was just kinda…going through it.” Buggy hummed through the snail.

“Yeah, I’d imagine so. Everyone and their Captain saw the article. That's all anyone is talking about.” You cringed. You had some small naive hope that everyone would forget about it after the next big story broke. “You looked great, though. At least they got a good picture of you.”

“Yeah, I mean but did you see Shanks? That asshole has never taken a bad picture.”

“Fuck him, did you at least stab him? I have no doubt that it’s his fault somehow.” You laughed, something Buggy could always get you to do. It was Shank’s fault, but you didn’t want to poison Buggy against Shanks even more.

“Unfortunately, I didn’t. Thought about it though.”

“Do you want me to come get you?” You knew Buggy’s offer was sincere. But you’d thought about that too - the only place that you’d really be safe would be with an Emperor. Buggy was strong, but not if someone like Linlin or Kaido wanted to get you. They’d send wave after wave of powerful fighters, Emperors had a shared quality of being goal oriented when they wanted something or someone.

“No, but thanks. I’m gonna ride on the Dead Horse with Stanks. I think it’ll be OK, at least for a while. If I need you, I’ll make my way out to the East Blue.”

“Like hell you will, if you need me, I’ll come out there. We can stab that idiot together, as a bonding activity.”

“Hi Buggy!” The man himself had appeared, entering the cabin through the doorway. He walked over and sat next to you on the bed, leaning back on you as if you were a sitting pillow.

“Fuck off,” Buggy replied angrily. This was the first time they’d directly interacted since you’d been on board.

“Aw, c’mon Bugs, I haven’t talked to you in forever.” Shanks was pouting. He had a lot of love for Buggy, but it wasn’t always reciprocated. You understood why, but it still made you a little sad.

“Fuck off,” Buggy repeated. “Why do you have to fuck things up for everyone you’re involved with? It’s like the Mierdas touch, everything you touch turns to shit.” Shanks laughed.

“That’s a good one, never heard it before. But it's not true! How was I supposed to know -”

“- that your actions have consequences? Gee, Shanks, I don’t know, it’s a lesson most of us have learned by our thirties. Anyway, fuck you. Doll, listen, say the word and I’ll set sail. Kisses.”

“Love ya, Bug.” You hung up the snail. Shanks was looking at you with an amused expression. “What?”

“Why did you call it the ‘Dead Horse? ‘Stanks’ I get, no questions asked. Buggy’s been calling me that since we were 12.”

“Oh, ‘cus the presence of your ship is like beating a dead horse. We get it - you’re Shanks and the Red Haired Pirates . No need for all the fuss.” You waved your hand at him dismissively.

“It’s not my fault we’re greeted with fanfare everywhere! I didn’t ask for it, people like me!” Shanks scoffed.

“ Some people like you, sure,” you said, rolling your eyes with a smirk.

“And some people like being tickled,” Shanks replied. Your smirk dropped but as soon as the words came out of his mouth, he’d grabbed your foot with his hand and yanked your leg into the air.

“Ha! Whatcha gonna do now? No other hand to tickle with!” You were weakly trying to kick him.

“This.” Shanks licked the sole of your foot, causing you to shriek.

“Shanks!! That’s absolutely disgusting! Don’t do thaaaaa-” but you couldn’t finish your sentence as he licked it again and you were laughing.

“You’re right, that’s too hard with one hand. How about here?” He pinned your legs under his and started tickling the inside of your thighs. You were laughing hard.

“Stanks! Stop!” You weren’t serious, you knew he’d stop if you changed your tone.

“Stanks, is it? You really want to play hard ball, huh?” He pinned your arm under a knee and tickled your side up to your armpit. You were laughing so much tears were coming out of your eyes.

“O-k ok ok I surrender! I won’t call you Stanks!” He moved off you, freeing your arm while your giggles subsided. “Fake surrender!” You launched yourself over him and started tickling him back. You knew Shanks was letting you hold him down, but it was still fun. The two of you were goofing off for a while, ending with you leaning down over him, breathing heavily, with his one large hand pinned by both of yours.

“So, what do I get for defeating the Emperor?”

“You can keep me as a prize of war,” Shanks rasped, wrapping his legs around your waist. You moved your face closer to his.

“Mmm, not sure about that. What makes you worth keeping?”

“This,” he said as he leaned forward and kissed you on the lips. You pressed forward, lying down on top of him, releasing his hand. You ran your nails down his chest, feeling the muscle twitch under your fingertips. You’d been having a lot of soft moments with Shanks recently. You still fell into bouts of sadness and loss, but there was no other solution you could see. You were sailing back to your island and you’d be there before you knew it. Life would continue in some kind of way, but right now you were enjoying time with your…husband.

You kissed him along his prominent collar bones, leading to the hollow of his neck. You spent some time there, flicking your tongue on the sensitive areas. Shanks was moaning, gripping your ass and thrusting up slowly, turned on by your actions. You whipped off your shirt and bra, throwing them onto the floor. You leaned forward so your breasts dangled in front of his mouth. He quickly captured one nipple in his mouth, sucking and biting. He released it only to put the other in. You had undone his belt and were shimmying his pants down his legs. You didn’t want to wait any longer, you could feel you were already wet.

You didn’t even remove your own clothes, just moved your skirt aside. You sat up a bit, taking your breasts away from Shank’s eager mouth. You hooked your panties to the side and sank down onto Shank’s eager cock. As you lowered yourself, you groaned. This is exactly what you needed. The stretch always felt good, but this time you wished you could make it last. You started bouncing on Shanks, pulling your hips down harder with every stroke.

“Come on, Love. I’m here for you,” Shanks was talking to you sweetly as you used him to get to your peak. You suddenly felt tears pricking the corners of your eyes but you didn’t know why. You shifted yourself to lay down next to him, hoping Shanks would take up the mantle and fuck you while spooning. You wanted to continue but were feeling too raw to have Shanks watch you. Shanks looked down at your face but didn’t say anything. He pulled out and fixed your panties, covering you up once more. He pulled your back flush to his front, gently kissing your face, while your tears threatened to spill.

“Where’d you go? Come back to me,” Shanks said softly. That made the dam break and you started crying.

“I’m s-sorry Shanks. I don’t know what’s w-wrong with me,” you cried, covering your face with your hands.

“Nothing’s wrong with you. Take whatever you need, I’ll always wait for you.” That just made you cry harder. Shanks comforted you until your tears ended, letting you cry into his chest.

“S-sorry,” you eventually said. You felt bad about starting something you couldn’t finish and ending it with a huge crying session. Shanks turned your face to his and kissed you.

“Don’t be. I love you.” You blinked. That was the first time he’d said it directly. Maybe you weren’t the only one guarding your heart this second time around. He joked and teased and beat around the bush but rarely expressed his emotions so frankly.

“I love you too.” You put your forehead against his. “Guess you’re stuck with me now.”

“Wouldn’t want it any other way,” he replied.

~~~

It didn’t take too long to get to your island since you’d only been with Shanks for a few weeks at that point. The closer you got, the more anxious you became. You were nervous to see what remained in and of your house. You were on edge as the Red Force docked near your island and you were chewing your nails to shreds as the dingy brought you to the wharf. Unfortunately, the article had brought notoriety to the island and to you, so locals were waiting to catch a glimpse of you and Shanks together.

“Leave,” was all he said. He was serious, intimidating, and had his hand resting on Gryphon's hilt. The villagers, all of whom you knew, quickly dispersed to their houses.

“You didn’t have to do that, they’re just townsfolk.” You felt awkward that the people who sold you milk were being threatened by one of the most powerful pirates in the world.

“Did you want one of them taking another picture of you and I together to sell to Morgan?” You pursed your lips. You were hoping the story would die down, Shanks had a point. You walked hand in hand towards your little house. From the outside, it didn't look too bad. Your garden was a little trampled, but someone had been watering it.

You pushed open the now unlocked door, braced for the worst. Shanks trailed in behind you, inspecting various trinkets you’d gathered over the years. You were surprised to see most of your belongings still in their places. You went from room to room, looking for your favorite possessions - a knife from Buggy, an empty bottle from the first sake you’d sold, old pictures of friends, and they were all where you expected them to be. You went into your office and found someone had rifled through all your documents, but you had been expecting that. You yelled to Shanks through the open door of your office.

“Shanks, you’re not going to believe this, almost everything is still here! And unbroken, too. I was so sure this place would have been looted, but no -” Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a shock of blond hair.

“You’re welcome yoi,” said a familiar voice.

~~~

You skipped up to your old friend and gave him a hug around his middle. “Marco! What are you doing here?”

“Buggy called in a favor and asked me to watch over your house yoi. Prevent looting, stealing, that kind of thing. He said you’d be by soon and I was in the area anyway.” God, you loved Buggy. You really needed to send him a gift after all he'd done for you.

“Honeydew, I can’t believe you kept this old shell from that beach -” Shanks was walking back to you, holding a shell in his hand. He stopped short when he saw Marco. Internally, you groaned.

“Shanks, Marco’s the reason the house wasn’t looted. He’s been staying here.” Shanks smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Thanks, Marco. Owe ya one.”

“That’s so kind of you, Marco, I really appreciate it.” You beamed at The Phoenix, who popped a tomato in his mouth. “Was it you who watered the plants?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t leave them parched. You have a great little house yoi. It’s so cozy and comfortable, I relaxed more than I have in years. You have great taste in interior design yoi.”

“Yeah, she does, doesn’t she?” Shanks had come to stand next to you and hooked his arm around your middle. You wanted to roll your eyes - you’d already told Shanks you hadn’t slept with Marco, he didn’t need to be jealous.

“Thank you, I spent a lot of time over the years getting everything just right. Listen, I’d like to invite you to dinner, it’s the very least I can do,” you said. You were incredibly grateful, he’d saved you a lot of heartache.

“-That WE can do,” Shanks interrupted with a laugh. You’d meant the invitation to include Shanks, but hadn’t specified.

“Thank you, that sounds great. But it really was no problem yoi. Always ready to help a friend in need,” he said, smiling. He leaned against your office bookcase, holding a tomato from your garden in his other hand.

“Here, would you like it? They’ve been coming in, they’re good yoi.” Marco underhand tossed the fruit to you. Shanks let go of your waist and caught it.

“Thanks, bud.” Shanks was trying to speak casually but was failing. He looked like he wanted to throw you over his shoulder and haul you off to the nearest cave. The twinkle in Marco’s eyes told you he was enjoying riling up Shanks. This time you did roll your eyes. This would not end well for someone, probably you.

“Quit it,” you whispered angrily, turning to Shanks. Marco pretended not to hear. You turned back to Marco. “Please, feel free to stay here as long as you’d like. I’ll get dinner later today, I still need to get my house in order. It will be our pleasure.” You dragged Shanks out the back door of the house by his empty sleeve.

“What are you doing?!” you whisper yelled at him.

“What am I doing? What are you doing?” he wasn’t yelling, but Shanks wasn’t happy. “ You’re the one trying to go on a date with Marco.” You tutted at him.

“You’re being ridiculous, and you know it. Marco was helping as a friend after Buggy called him. You heard all that, right? Behave or I’ll uninvite you to dinner.” You would too, you didn’t have a lot of patience for Shanks’s jealousy. Shanks huffed.

“Fine, we’ll have the rooster over for dinner. But I’m gonna call you my wife the entire time .” If your eyes rolled any harder, they’d be out of your head.

~~~

You hadn’t specified that you’d be the one cooking dinner for a reason. You weren’t the best cook on the Grand Line, to say the least. You bribed Lucky to make the dinner for the three of you with a large bottle of sake. He obliged and made a fantastic orange duck dish with jasmine rice. Of course, you brought out a nice bottle of wine and some sake, unsure which Marco would prefer. You were setting the table while Shanks sat in your overstuffed armchair.

“This thing’s great, we should bring it back to the ship.” You hummed in response.

“I know it’s great, that’s why I bought it. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with the house and most of my belongings. It’s not like I can bring it all with me.” Shanks was messing around and finally found the lever for the footrest. He pulled it and launched himself backwards, enjoying the full recline.

“Oh yeah, this is definitely coming with us. Now, if I had this chair when you first came on board I wouldn’t have had to sleep in the bed.”

“Shanks, be serious for a minute. What should I do with the house? I can’t be here at any regular intervals. I guess I’ll have to sell it.” The thought made you sad - you really loved this house.

“Sell it? Why?” Shanks asked.

“Well, it’s not like I’ll be here to stop anyone from taking things, and I don’t want to ask Marco -” Shanks cut you off with a wave of his hand.

“No one’s gonna take anything from here. I’m gonna spread the word that this is my vacation house. No one will touch it. And maybe we really can vacation here, this place is great.”

“Do you think that will work?” You gnawed at your fingernail, while setting the final silverware down.

“Sure, I’m not an Emperor for nothing. Keep your house, keep your stuff, take whatever you want with you. But we’re bringing this chair.”

~~~

The dinner was lovely, except for two things. The first was Shanks and the second was Marco. Shanks was in a pissy mood, trying to cover it up but not quite succeeding. Marco kept making little comments to annoy Shanks and they hit their mark every time.

“Thank you again for watching over my house, Marco,” you said, pouring him a cup of sake. Shanks had sat right next to you and kept trailing his fingers up your thigh during the meal. Which was incredibly obvious because he had to stop eating to do it, due to having only one hand. You slapped it away as discreetly as you could.

“My pleasure yoi. I always enjoy coming here.” Marco gave a little half smile as he sipped his drink. Shanks stiffened incrementally. “This is excellent, is this aged?”

“Yeah, this is an older batch. It’s pretty good, I was thinking of entering it in a competition.” Maybe you could enter neutral territory by talking about work.

“My wife is so modest, it’s better than ‘pretty good.” Shanks kissed your cheek. He had kept his word and was referring to you only as his wife.

“Mh. Speaking of which, were you thinking of gifting Whitebeard another bottle for his birthday? I can bring you that tokkuri if you want to use it again.” You rubbed one temple. These two idiots were going to be the death of you.

“I didn’t know you made sake for Whitebeard. How…thoughtful of you.” Shanks said through his teeth.

“Just once, and no, I don’t think I can. I’ll be sailing with Shanks now, and the ship isn’t a great place for brewing.” Maybe you could move to Laughtale and live happily ever after by yourself.

“So you are still married? Last you said, you wanted to get divorced yoi.” Marco said it like he was talking about the weather but you swore Shanks’s haki was starting to build. Maybe you’d kill Marco before you moved to Laughtale. Or Shanks, whichever made your life easier.

“We’re still married,” Shanks gritted out, taking your hand in his. “My wife couldn’t get rid of me so easily.” He kissed the back of your hand. Marco smiled calmly.

“It’s rare to see you like this, Shanks,” Marco said with a raised brow and knowing smile. Shanks was already moving his hand towards you under the table.

“Like what?” You said as you swatted Shanks’s hand for the millionth time off your inner thigh.

“Jealous. I only ever see you relaxed or serious, with nothing in between yoi. Your wife is the only person I’ve ever seen inspire such feelings in you. It’s endearing.” Shanks barked a genuine laugh.

“Only person I ever met who was worth being jealous over.”

~~~

The rest of the dinner went slightly better but not by much. You were doing the dishes while Marco insisted on clearing the table. Shanks had gone back to reclining in the chair, still drinking.

“Leave them, I’ll do it.” You felt bad your guest was helping.

“I don’t mind yoi,” Marco replied. “Have you decided what you’re going to do with your house?” You nodded.

“Shanks is going to spread a rumor that it’s his vacation home to keep it safe. I think that’ll work. You can come here when you want though, it’s not like we’re going to be here all that often.” In your house inspection, you’d found that Marco had fixed a number of small projects you always meant to get to. That alone had earned him a permanent visit invitation.

“Thank you, I just might. Nice to get away from my siblings now and again.” You hummed in response, still working on the dishes. “By the way, yoi. It seems like things are patched up between you two. But if you ever need to go somewhere else, you can come aboard the Moby yoi.” You paused for a moment. You hadn’t considered the possibility of staying with Whitebeard. He was another Yonko, you'd be safe. Before you could answer Shanks was by your side, leaning against you casually. But nothing about his demeanor was relaxed. Laughtale was looking like a better and better plan.

“You invited my wife to come with you?” Shanks was speaking in a clipped tone. Marco was unphased, still carrying plates. You looped your arm around Shanks, to attempt to calm him down.

“Shanks, stop. Marco, send my thanks to Whitebeard, but I’m staying with Shanks.”

“You’ve gotta be needed back on your ship, you’re the doctor after all,” said Shanks coolly. Marco laughed.

“You’re right, and I’ll be leaving soon. It’s nice to see you both again, yoi. Thank you for the dinner.” Marco deposited the remaining dishes in the sink. You said your goodbyes and you walked him to the door, giving him a final hug goodbye. He partially transformed and flew off into the night. You sighed, it was always so beautiful to watch him in his Zoan form.

“Show off,” Shanks grumbled. You walked back to the living room and plopped down on your couch. Shanks laid down next to you with his head on your lap.

“You’ve been such a brat all night! Marco was just being helpful.” You weren’t mad at Shanks but you’d wished he could contain his jealousy better.

“Inviting my wife onto another Yonko’s ship isn’t helpful, ” he replied. “Besides, Marco was provoking me!” Shanks’s mood was already on the mend with Marco gone.

“Mmm. And the all powerful Emperor just had to take the bait, right?” You jiggled your legs, making his head bounce slightly.

“I can make your thighs shake more than that,” Shanks said, turning his head towards your body.

“Show me, husband .” Shanks grinned. You hadn’t called him that yet. Hopefully the last of his jealousy would dissipate. And if not, well, jealousy sex was always fun.

#shanks x reader #red haired shanks #op shanks #reader x shanks #reader insert #tw jealousy #second chance at love #second chance romance #op x y/n

57 notes · View notes