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mae-i-scribble · 2 years

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Having recently gone through the beginning of orv bc i adore the webtoon, i really have to be in awe at the amazing way orv presents the character vs person argument in the first third of it’s story. Because I would say up until after the demon king selection arc orv is can be assumed to be an isekai/power leveling fantasy deconstruction. And as and entire novel, it is somewhat, but it moreso encompasses themes much broader than a genre deconstruction, along with kinda throwing out that typical story structure halfway through to do its own thing.

And personally how orv goes about presenting the character vs person argument is not only the best i’ve seen in an isekai context, it sets up a very nuanced interpretation of how kdj sees the “characters” around him that is not just “oh he saw [insert name here] as a character until [some event].” Nor is it “oh kdj refuses to understand the people around him because he only sees them as a character.” From the beginning kdj has been shown to realize that the people around him weren’t simply characters following a script, and out of every character who read the WoS novel, he’s by far the one who treats them with the most humanity, even if his assumptions on their behavior are flawed. I’ll only be talking about the beginning sections of orv in this because while the entire novel build on that character vs person conflict, this beginning section is where it is best presented as a deconstruction of genre tropes. It also is what is responsible for setting the groundwork for those big moments later on in the novel, and without this section of story establishing Dokja’s perspective on the issue those moments would lose their tension.

I’m not really going into this with any sort of proper essay format or organization of thoughts besides for vaguely chronological, so if things are all over the place I apologize in advance.

While orv begins with Dokja sort of “shell shocked” at the novel he’s followed for so long coming to life around him. At this point, he very much treats Namwoon, Hyunsung, and Joonghyuk as characters only. He kills Namwoon out of personal dislike and the belief that Namwoon would never change his psychopathic ways. Hyunsung he admires, making comments along the lines of “i never imagined i would be able to meet his character in real life.” Joonghyuk is a similar story only with far more disdain, because Dokja realizes just what a bastard Joonghyuk is at this point. I do think it’s important to know that while Dokja was ultimately wrong about Namwoon, he was absolutely correct in reading Joonghyuk’s intentions when they first meet on the bridge. So even when Dokja sees novel characters as being ripped straight from the pages, he is not completely right nor completely wrong in his understanding of them as people.

As we are introduced to more novel characters with Jihye heralding Joonghyuk’s return, the most important thing to examine with the character vs person aspect is how Dokja interacts and interprets their actions. And for all purposes, there is not a single difference in how he treats party members like Sangah and Heewon vs Joonhyuk or Jihye. None of how he presents himself changes drastically, regardless of the status of the person. The only thing that changes is the fact that he knows what to say to poke and prod at them in the ways he wants to, whether to motivate, or to annoy, etc etc, because he has such extensive knowledge of them from following their story. And even then, even then Dokja has those assumptions shoved in his face when Joonghyuk occupies one of the hidden safe zones during the 3rd scenario. If he were any less resourceful then that assumption would have cost him his life, and he clearly recognizes it as such. When Hyunsung mentions how it seems Dokja has known him for a long time, Dokja doesn’t brush it off or treat it as a useless comment, he recognizes the weight of what Hyunsung is saying- of what he himself is doing by pretending to be a distant friend while knowing so many details of Hyunsung’s life, and it clearly bothers him a bit. Already, Dokja is moving away from the perspective seeing novel characters as characters only, because from the beginning all the novel “characters” are asserting their agency and personhood.

The next major moments come with the cinema dungeon, first up being the scene when the company is in the titanic movie. When Jihye moves to kill the simulations, saying that it doesn’t matter because they’re real and the simulation is just a character, Dokja is left looking on to think over her words. Again, his perspective is challenged and Dokja seriously considers the implications of such. When they get to the sea battle reenactment, and Jihye breaks down, Dokja doesn’t use his knowledge of her as a “character” to convince her to stand up again. He tells her his honest thoughts, the same attitude he’s shown to Gilyoung and Sangah and Heewon. That she isn’t wrong for wanting to survive. That she cannot atone for her actions with death but must live on. Frankly, I have a hard time believing that such an emotionally charged speech comes from any point of distancing the same way one would if they only considered a person to be a character who needed the right catchphrases.

Concerning the fight between Dokja and Joonghyuk in the cinema dungeon, I actually don’t think it has much to add to this character vs person argument orv is building, but it does go to show that even if it were true that Dokja sees all WoS people as being characters only, that perspective is not without emotion or humanity. Dokja wasn’t simply a reader watching over a story, when he read WoS he was fighting alongside these characters, urging them to keep going, to keep fighting for a better world.

Now, next up comes the most important distinction, and one of orv’s best ideas when it comes to expanding on this character vs person conflict: introducing other readers of WoS. Now Dokja is our baseline to compare to others in similar standing to him, and the results are incredibly telling. The apostles refuse to even acknowledge any novel character as human, let alone treat them with decency. When Dokja confronts them about it, they shrug it off, claiming its sad that these characters don’t even know they’re characters. When attacking Dokja’s station, they target Jihye specifically because she is a character, reveling in beating/humiliating her. This is what it means to only see a character as a character, and it is nothing like what Dokja has been doing.

After that, we get the other brilliant twist that when apostles reach a point past where they read, they become “characters,” complete with acting as if other character have always been a part of the world. This, to me, is when Dokja stops separating the people from the characters. In a world where a person can become labelled as a character under his skill, who’s to say what the difference is? Certainly not Dokja, who even when he did have that distinction changed very little about how he treated them. Now it’s simply people he read about in WoS vs people he did not.

A small sidenote here regarding Sooyoung, while being an author herself, she’s certainly much more scathing in her interactions with who she considers a “character,” and while not quite touched upon in the webtoon, she tends to deny the agency of those she considers characters far longer than Dokja ever did. Although the two of them end up in very similar positions later down the line.

Now, all of this is not to say that Dokja seeing Joonghyuk and co as characters first doesn’t impact his relationship with them, because it undeniably does. But none of that shows in how Dokja treats them, it shows in how he perceives their intentions, most notably with Joonghyuk. But considering that as the sole reason why Dokja does so is to ignore the fact that Dokja is not the best at interpreting any sort of positive emotion directed towards him, even more so in the very,,, roundabout way Joonghyuk goes about showing that he trusts Dokja and regards him highly. He has no idea how high a pedestal his little gang is setting him on despite spending literally all of his time around them. When people like Hyunsung and Sangah mention wanting to get to know him more he’s completely befuddles as to why they would even want to.

Additionally, citing the fourth wall as responsible for creating the distance between Dokja and WoS characters doesn’t hold up to me because the fourth wall creates a distance from anyone and everyone, regardless of status. It lets him perceive all of reality as fiction, not just the cherry picked portions. Thus creating another layer of non-distinction for him- equally distant from everything and everyone, the only person in the world who can see it quite the way he does.

Another argument that can definitely be made in more detail is that Dokja’s understanding of Joonghyuk as a character in the beginning is the key factor in letting their relationship blossom. Had Dokja not known what he does, had treated Joonghyuk in reverence like the other apostles do rather than the bastardy coniving way of his, Joonghyuk never would have opened up. What makes Dokja stand out to Joonghyuk is that he keeps challenging the regressor. Challenging him and winning. It’s the speech in the cinema master dungeon where Joonghyuk realizes Dokja cares about him far more than he realized, even if he cannot comprehend how or why.

Anyways, I won’t go any further than that, and if anyone made it this far, here have a cookie for your troubles thank you for sifting through all that. While I think a lot of what I’m saying is like, basic textual shit that doesn’t deserve such a long post for, it still means a lot to me to say it. I feel like the most common fandom interpretations of the character vs person argument and the fourth wall at the beginning of orv so greatly oversimplify and honestly ignore what orv is trying to say in a bad faith reading of the text. Whereas Dokja’s growth is far more complex and subtle than just “he stopped seeing people as characters.”

#orv #omniscient reader #kim dokja #yoo joonghyuk #joongdok #while not a romantic post it is regarding their relationship which i consider inherently romantic so-#should be webtoon only reader friendly #let me know if not #anyways this is too many words for one night never let me do this again

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irhinoceri · 2 months

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Ok, I have finished Part 1 of My Lady Jane… which more or less encompasses all of the season 1 timeline, and the differences are significant. A quick run down, hidden behind a cut for length and book spoilers:

Henry the 8th was a Lion Ethian. He declared that being Ethian was no longer illegal.

Edward knows about Guildford being a horse.

Lord John Dudley poisoned Edward—Mary and Bess found out and so Lord Dudley pretended that he was helping to get Mary on the throne. Mary believed him and decided to let him do it, Bess pretended to agree but secretly tried to help Edward.

Seymour, much like in real history, is long dead at this point and does not feature in the book at all.

Edward escapes the tower by turning into a kestrel. He meets a Scottish girl named Gracie who is also a fox and she helps him get to Elizabeth of York (gran) where Bess is waiting for him. There is no Fitz or Margaret Beaufort. Edward is not gay and is in love with Jane but also falls for Gracie.

Jane’s 9 days as Queen is barely touched upon save for a scene where she refuses to make Guildford king and he gets upset and they fight, so he spends most of the week completely avoiding her. Neither of them pay any attention to what is going on until Guildford overhears the peasants toasting to Queen Mary in a bar and realizes that Lord Dudley who has been gone for days failed to stop her from coming to take back her crown.

Mary herself is barely in the book at all. She hates Ethians and co-signed Edward’s poisoning but is otherwise not cartoonishly evil and is willing to pardon Jane and send her to a convent so long as she denounces Ethians and endorses burning Guildford at the stake.

Lord Dudley gives up very quickly and throws his support behind Mary, denouncing Guildford and claiming he never even knew that his son was a horse, yeah he’s a real shithead. RIP show Dudleys and their daring rescues and familial bonding.

Edward does not return to the castle and decide leave again. He has barely just reached his Gran at this point.

Guildford’s mother is still alive. There is no dark secret where he accidentally killed her the first time he transformed. He does not ask Jane to cure his horse curse. He would like to learn to control his shapeshifter nature at will, but doesn’t really try very hard, and Jane finds that annoying about him.

Susannah does not exist, Jane’s sisters don’t exist, Stan does not have an affair with Francis and is barely in the story. Archer doesn’t exist (yet?) and the Pack is only featured once terrorizing peasants and are there to show Jane that Ethians, while persecuted, also cause hardship by stealing livestock and terrorizing innocent peasants. They are never invited to court and Jane doesn’t sign any laws to end division because there are no division laws, owing to the fact that King Henry the 8th was Ethian.

The pack does not rescue Jane and Guildford, Jane saves them by turning into a Ferret and breaking them out of their tower cells before the executions can happen. She’s a very cute ferret.

Jane and Guildford have not yet consummated their marriage or even kissed beyond one chaste kiss at the wedding altar. Also they are historically accurate aged 16 and 19, and they seem like teenagers, whereas in the show they are very much lusty 20 something’s.

That’s the major stuff. It’s a breezy read and very fun, though I did feel short changed by how little time was given to the actual 9 day period when Jane is Queen. We experience most of that from Guildford’s perspective, too, and most of that is just him brooding about as a horse. I can see why they devoted more to it on the show and expanded Jane’s actions as Queen to trying to be a reformist… though that required changing the fact that Ethians are actually more accepted in the book and that King Henry was one.

#my lady jane

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deltaruminations · 1 month

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Following the approach that EggMan Gaster and Goner_Maker Gaster are two different shards of the fractured whole (which i do believe), how do you think him being shattered in this manner will affect the whole conflict between him and the Angel?

GOOD QUESTION this is very interesting to think about

on a symbolic level, we could guess that Tree Man, to Gaster (or Gaster as we know him, “The Voice”), is sort of what Gaster as a whole is to the Angel (or the person acting on its behalf; i’ll just use “Angel” as shorthand for both). Like mollystars pointed out in TDT3, there's an irony or maybe hypocrisy in how Gaster seeks to free deltarune from the Angel’s narrative, while insisting on some amount of compliance to his own Prophecy. Tree Man, then, is the glitch in his game (or at least one of a number of glitches lol), an ungovernable force that encourages players to behave in ways beyond what the Prophecy prescribes. in a sense, Tree Man might be the most radical distillation of Gaster's actual values – freedom, curiosity, compassion, etc. — as well as his flaws — maybe, above all, a weak sense of boundaries. Tree Man, perhaps not unlike Gaster, may just want to help. but his presence is inherently destabilizing – change is inherently destabilizing – and even Gaster, the agent of entropy, might not be comfortable having his own internal order disrupted by an interloper he didn’t invite.

resolving Gaster’s “internal” conflict, asking him to acknowledge his blind spots or “Shadow” (encompassing, among other things, the faults in his perspective and his approach), might be a prerequisite for any meaningful intervention with the Angel, because he needs to understand why the Angel is receiving his attempts to “help” as antagonization. he has to understand how he’s making the situation worse before he can try to make it better.

it makes sense to me that meaningful intervention would start with Gaster; Gaster is the one we're closer to, and as the agent of Curiosity and Freedom, the one who's constantly inviting input and feedback, it seems reasonable to say he's the one who's more receptive to, you know, re-evaluating his beliefs based on new information lol. the main hurdle might just be getting him to see and acknowledge the information to begin with. the Angel (or whoever) is the tougher nut to crack, because its entire ethos is seemingly to resist challenge, resist feedback, resist change. the Angel’s position might be that maintaining the status quo of the story is better than risking it being made worse; or, rather, its fear of a worse story matters more to it than any belief or hope it might have for a better one. and to be fair, the Weird Route is basically the ultimate confirmation that those fears have a real basis. so how do you really “help” someone who’s that afraid? i mean, you stop doing shit that scares them even more, obviously. but then what do you do? you can’t guarantee them that it will only get better, even if you do happen to believe in that. you can’t control an uncertain future any more than they can.

maybe there’s nothing more to be done than for someone to just meet them where they’re at, in the Darkest Place, and ask them: what do you want from a better world? if i said a better world was possible, would you help me make it? if i said the world needed you, really needed you, would you believe me? would you take that responsibility? and if you make a mistake — when you make mistakes — if i said someone would be there to ride out the pain with you, and help you pick up the pieces, would you believe that, too?

of course, they’d need proof that such a person exists in order to believe it. and certainly there’s no character we can think of who by that point will likely have proven themself, if sometimes in flawed and clumsy ways, to be supernaturally determined, radically optimistic, infinitely patient, and stubbornly devoted to causes (and perhaps people) that matter to them, who also exists on the same metaphysical level as the Angel and might be capable of actually matching its power long enough to be able to talk to it. surely, no one like that, exists,

#$ waltz of a shattered man

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phantomspiderr · 2 years

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New Year

Pairing: Marc Spector x gn!reader

Word Count: 2.5k+

Summary: Layla invites you to her New Year's Eve party where you get the chance to meet her ex-husband

Warnings/Tags: mentions of drinking and partying, kind of want drunk Layla around now, Marc maybe being just a little creepy, he really doesn't know how to act around people sometimes, fireworks are mentioned too, again no real mentions of readers appearance or gender(I tried to use they/them so it's a little more neutral), Steven gets a lil mention, a little swearing too. As always if I've missed anything please let me know!

a/n: Thank you, thank you all so so so much for making this year better. If you're a casual follower of my very infrequent posting or this is the first time you've come across my work, I thank you. Being able to express myself in this way has been freeing, and stressful but I'm glad I could bring any amount of joy to even one person. Thank you for every like and every reblog and every comment. I wish you all the best for this new year, may it come with happiness and joy and hopefully more really good fanfiction to read. Sending you all a little bit of love🤍

･☆: *.☽ .* :☆

Music blares throughout the flat as you weave around the people littered through the hallway. Parties definitely aren’t your favourite place to be but for your friend, you’d do anything she asked, plus it’s New Year's Eve so you thought why not. You may not have recognised a single person since you’d arrived but this is fun, this is what you’re supposed to do at your age right? Before you have any more time to fret a squeal sounds from behind you, your name quickly following, “you came!” When you turn Layla is quickly coming towards you with her arms wide open, a few people looking in your direction now because of the noise. You only manage to squeak out a hi before you’re encompassed by Layla, her arms tight around your shoulders, the force of her body against yours knocking the wind out of you. She pulls back only a little to cup your face in her hands, “I’m really glad you’re here.” You can tell by the tint of red on her cheeks she’s already a few drinks down which apparently makes her a bit more affectionate.

“Layla!” A small group of people enters the room immediately drawing the attention of the beautiful host to them, her hands dropping down to yours and she squeals again. Quickly turning back to you for just a moment, “I’ll come find you later! Have fun! Enjoy!” And just like that, she’s off running to greet more of her friends.

You wander around the decently sized flat for a while after that, finding a drink in the makeshift bar set up in the kitchen along the way, briefly chatting to a few people around, and then of course you find yourself a quiet corner. Looking amongst shelves filled with treasures and memories of Layla’s many adventures, she’d told you stories over casual lunches, even invited you on her next one. Still, even after being friends for very nearly a year, there’s still so much mystery that follows her everywhere she goes. You eventually come across a picture of someone you recognise, Layla’s father, the one person she was more than fond of talking about. She’d told you many, many tales about her father, about all the places he’d been, the things he’d discovered, and about how she wanted to be just like him. You admire the picture in its intricate gold frame, a small pendant hangs on a chain over the top of the frame, something you’re sure is a treasured possession. Your hand moves upward, fingers extending to the pendant just to get a better look at it-

“I wouldn’t touch that if I were you,” your hand retreats to your chest so quickly you almost knock the drink out of your other hand. The person who spoke much too close for your liking, and then the chuckle that follows your gasp is short-lived as you turn to the source of the warning. You’re met with an incredibly good-looking man, his hair loosely slicked back and an amused smirk gracing his really handsome features. If he hadn’t just creepily snuck up on you you’d maybe be interested in talking to him and your expression clearly shows that when you turn back around in hopes he’ll just disappear. He doesn’t. “Sorry, it’s just that she’d be devastated if that went missing.”

“I wasn’t going to steal it.” You snap a little too harshly but then again you think he’s insinuating you’d steal from your friend. You’re increasingly becoming more frustrated the longer he stands over your shoulder, his presence is too much for you.

“I didn’t say you were. I’ve met a lot of thieves, you’re definitely not built for that.” You’re annoyed now, scowling at this complete stranger when you turn back around.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” Just as the man opens his mouth to reply Layla appears again, her arm hooking around your waist to pull you closer and your face instantly changes, smiling at your ever-so-happy friend. Your own arm wrapping around her, glad for the interruption, she scrunches her nose as you exchange cute little hi’s.

“Are you having fun?” The people pleaser in you manages to get out an 'mhmm' and force a fake smile, not that Layla would notice right now. You’ve only seen her in this state maybe a handful of times, she’s less observant and much more carefree. Your eyes flicker back to the stranger still lurking across from you, Layla only now registering his presence, “ahh Marc! You met Marc!”

Marc? That’s Marc?!

Layla had told you all about Marc and even tried to set you up with her ex-husband. What kind of friend tries to set you up with their ex-husband? That is exactly what you’d said to her before changing the subject, every time she tried to bring it up. You’d somehow managed to miss every opportunity to meet most of Layla’s other friends, lots of them living in different countries and only coming to visit for short periods of time but you knew Marc had lived here and you’d personally avoided trying to meet him, not wanting to make things awkward. You knew Layla’s type for partners, they were all extremely good-looking and in your opinion way out of your league and you just didn't feel like having another unrequited crush.

“This is the husband?!” You finally manage to get out with confusion etching your features as you look between the pair.

“Ex! Ex-husband!” Marc is a little too quick to correct. You’re sure you hear a ‘smooth’ and when you look at Layla she’s grinning. Marc only gives her a grumpy look before quickly excusing himself from the conversation.

“Soooooooo,” Layla draws out as she turns to face you, her hands slipping into your free one, “what did you think?”

“Of Marc?” Your face scrunches, to which Layla just scoffs, “you didn’t tell me he was a creep.” She scoffs again, this time giggling a little.

Layla leans in as if to whisper, she even has the audacity to lift her hand to the side of her mouth but the alcohol in her system inhibits her from being able to lower her volume, “he’s just nervous to be around you. He gets weird like that around people he likes!”

“Excuse me?!” You go wide-eyed, did you hear her right? But of course, before she gets a chance to reply someone calls her name, and her head whips around, your conversation was completely forgotten to her now.

“Oh, come on they're playing beer pong!” Layla tugs at your hand, a disappointed pout appearing when you shake your head and begin to decline, “please, please, please.” She begs in the way she knows you can’t say no to and so you let her drag you toward the kitchen, still thinking about the short conversation you'd just had.

It’s almost midnight when you stumble out of the kitchen, many games of beer pong down and an even drunker Layla staying behind to do shots. Drunk Layla has exactly no inhibitions and is definitely more affectionate than normal Layla. Now you’re in need of some fresh air, all of the laughter and closeness in the kitchen is proving a bit much for you. Luckily you can see no one has made it out to the little makeshift balcony so you awkwardly climb through the window. Once outside you feel like you’re able to breathe again, you truly hadn’t realised how stuffy it had been inside. You manage to take in a deep breath before the cold hits you hard, and your body immediately reacts. Your arms wrap around your body, hands rubbing along the tops of your arms to create some warmth.

“It's cold out.” You jump again at unexpectedly hearing Marc’s voice, turning on your heels thinking he’s behind you only for no one to be there. “Up here,” you look up to the side when he talks again, there he is perched on top of an old chimney, giving you a shy wave.

“You know you have the whole creepy stalker thing down,” you speak half-heartedly but still he chuckles.

“Hey, you came to me this time.” He raises his eyebrow and shrugs his shoulders.

“You are the one sitting alone like some bird on the rooftop,” your arms fold over your chest now and Marc mumbles something you don’t quite hear before he effortlessly slides off of the chimney and casually walks down the slight incline of the roof like he’s done it a hundred times before.

“I’m not really one for parties,” you watch as he shrugs off his thin jacket, leaving him in just a t-shirt and you wonder how he isn’t freezing out here and why he's even taking his jacket off, to begin with. “Y’know it’s December, you really shouldn’t go out without a jacket,” he holds the material out to you which your confusion-clouded brain takes. Then he turns away to lean his elbows down on the balcony railing, looking out onto the lively streets of London. You feel yourself soften a little, maybe you were a bit quick to judge him and brand him a creep.

“Me too,” you pull the jacket on and join him next to the railing, watching people in nearby streets celebrating.

“So, how come you’re here?” Marc twists his head to the side so he can just look at you.

“Layla,” Marc hums in agreement, “said she’d disown me if I didn’t.” That makes Marc laugh which turns out to be a pleasant sound when you don’t think he’s trying to be some kind of perv.

“Sounds like something she’d do.”

“She didn’t actually say that, it was more like,” you think for a second, preparing yourself for your best Layla impression “‘please you always miss my parties, I want everyone to meet you!’” Your hands had somehow gripped onto his bicep in the process, exactly how you remembered the conversation with Layla going.

It all makes Marc laugh again, “that sounded nothing like her!”

“Eh, close enough,” you lean your elbows against the railing, mirroring Marc’s stance now. The balcony is so small that you have no choice but to stand a little too close to him. There’s a little pause, Marc’s laughter dying out but the sound of the party still flowing through the window. “So, how come you’re here?” You nudge your shoulder against his arm to draw his attention.

“Uh, something similar.” Suddenly he’s acting a little hostile, his body goes more rigid and his expression hardens a little. Then there’s an awkward silence and you just try to focus on some passersby on the street below. “She was a bit more like ‘please! I want you there and you need to leave the house. Plus I know you want to meet a certain person and I promise to make sure they’re there!’” You lock eyes together for a quiet moment before both bursting into laughter.

“That was terrible!” You choke out between laughs and before Marc has time to reply, loud calls draw your attention away. Everyone inside seems to have crowded around all facing the tv and all shouting along with the countdown appearing on the screen.

“Hey look out right over there, between that gap in the buildings.” Marc points out off to the side, stealing your attention back and you look hard for what he’s trying to point out. You can only see the hue of light coming from buildings and street lamps, nothing else.

“There’s nothing-“

“Just wait,” you look at him confused for a moment but his eyes are transfixed on the horizon and you can just hear him whispering along with the loud countdown coming from inside.

3…2…1…

The sky explodes into colour in front of your very eyes. Fireworks light up the night sky, far enough away that the bangs aren’t too loud but the view is still spectacular. You can hear cheers all around, from inside Layla’s flat to the pubs down the street. Marc’s face glows with the colours in the sky and he’s smiling while he watches the fireworks. He almost looks childlike like this, like he’s never experienced it before and he’s captivating.

“Happy New Year then.” Marc straightens suddenly, catching you completely off guard, almost like he’d just snapped back into his body and he just holds his hand out toward you. Slowly you raise your own hand into his, replying with a simple, “happy new year.” You both shake hands, probably the weirdest way someone has ever wished you a happy new year.

“Oh come on!” You both turn to see Layla on the other side of the window, the look on her face one of exasperation, and her eyes lock with Marc’s, “if you don’t kiss them now then I will!” Immediately you snap your head back around to look out at London, trying desperately to hide the flustered look you’re sure is showing on your face right now. Sober Layla definitely isn’t that forward.

Just for a second Marc’s accent changes as he starts spitting out apologises on your friend's behalf, "I-no-we don’t have to-" he pauses for a second as if he’s centering himself, takes a deep breath, and talks in his normal voice again. “I think I’m just going to go sober her up a bit.”

“Yeah good idea,” you try to suppress the laugh at Layla’s disagreement to be sober and the way she runs off to hide as Marc tries and fails to catch her arm before she can disappear. He lets out a big sigh before climbing back in the window, leaving you to your own devices for just a second before his head pops back out the window.

“Don’t- uh, don’t leave yet okay?” His face contorts a little like he doesn’t know what to do with it before he gives you an awkward smile.

“Okay,” you chuckle out, immediately pausing when he smacks his head off of the half-open window, "oh-oh my- are you-"

“‘m fine, it’s fine.” He holds onto the back of his head, eyes shut real tight for just a second and he just awkwardly turns away and back around, lifting his hand almost like to wave before dropping it again, "okay I’m just-" he turns and walks away. You move to stick your head through the window into the flat just to make sure he’s okay and you only just hear him mutter, “for fucks sake Steven.” Steven?

You retreat back out of the window and only then do you realise you’re still wearing his jacket. Quickly you peer back into the flat to try to catch him, “Marc-“ your eyes scan across the room, “and you’re gone.” You sigh before moving away from the window again, surely him asking you not to leave meant he wanted to see you again, or something like that, right?

You pull your focus away from your thoughts, instead looking back out at the night sky. It’s rare to see any stars in the London sky but littered around are little white dots accompanying a beautiful half-moon. Maybe this year wouldn’t be so bad after all.

#marc spector x reader #marc spector x you #marc spector fanfic #marc spector fic #marc spector #moon knight x reader #moon knight x you #moon knight fluff #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight fanfic #marvel fanfiction #marvel fic #marvel fanfic #marc spector fluff #marc spector fanfiction

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piastrinorris · 2 years

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busy streets and busy lives • ralph penbury x reader

A strange day at work gets even stranger when you meet a man who claims he's from 1926. With no certainty as to when he can get back, you decide to take him in until that time arrives.

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Tags: Timewasters (series), modern!au, slow burn, mutual pining, idiots in love™, fluff, some angst, swearing and mentions of adult themes throughout, eventual adult content, alcohol content, drug content, penbury is a fanon surname

Word count: 8.3k

A/N: Fun fact: with this chapter, the BSBL timeline now coordinates perfectly with our own! Ralphie's living in real time now :)

This chapter does define a specific family dynamic with reader, which I know puts a lot of people off because it's not identical to theirs, but I needed to make it something so that the story could progress. I hope you still enjoy it!

“What on earth is that monstrosity?!” Ralph asks with disgust as the door closes behind him.

“Good afternoon to you,” you say in a voice that mocks Ralph’s before returning to your own usual tone. “Good afternoon, Ralph! How was your day at work? Oh, it was quite spectacular, I helped transform a gentleman into another man named Elvis, not that I’d know who he is or why he’s so important that people want to dress up as him, but nonetheless, what a marvellous day! Why, you look absolutely swept off your feet, what sort of old-school gentleman would I be if I didn’t insist on helping? Oh, well that’s very kind of you, Ralph, thank you so much for offering!”

You look up and burst into laughter at Ralph’s highly unamused expression. “You didn’t answer my question.”

You point at the object in front of you. “’S a tree. Big thing, grows outside, birds live in it. Mind you, that’s the real deal, this thing’s just made of plastic,” you wriggle a branch up and down as if that demonstrates your point at all.

“I know what a Christmas tree is, I mean are you really putting all those lights on it?” He asks with an upturned nose.

“What’s wrong with these?” You ask as you lift up the chain of Christmas lights from where they’d been resting across your shoulders.

“All the colours, it’s so… Where’s the consistency, where’s the theme?” he asks.

You roll your eyes, “Oh my god, I should have known you’re a white-lights guy. Anyway, it’s no fun limiting yourself to just one colour or whatever. If I see a decoration that I like, I buy it. Simple,” you shrug. “I could really use a hand with these, though, if you’re free,” you offer, waggling your eyebrows.

He frowns, "After all that?!"

You sigh in exhaustion, "Sorry. Twenty minutes untangling these pissing lights has made me a bit of a bitch.”

Ralph offers a small smile. “Then I suppose I should prevent your mood from getting worse, shouldn’t I? Um, where should I -?” he asks, gesturing and leaning from side to side, his eyes following the wire that encompasses you as he tries to find the end.

You giggle, “Here, I’ll keep this end, you get ’round the other side of the tree and I can hand the lights over to you. Just make a little gap between the wires,” you show him how, “every now and then and put it round a branch. Got it?” Ralph nods, looking at the tree intently.

On three separate occasions, Ralph worries that the lights aren’t long enough to fit all the way around the tree. You promise him that they’ve been long enough for the last three years, and you’re sure they haven’t shrunk while they’ve been in storage. “And how did you even manage this ordeal on your own for this long?!” he asks incredulously.

“It’d start off with me kicking the tree stand around and around,” you explain, “until it got to the lower, wider parts and I’d just give up and throw the lights over the top and pull them back down again.” Ralph giggles at the mental image before continuing the job at hand.

“Now, what did I say, hm?” Ralph eventually asks exasperatedly, gesturing towards his side of the bottom of the tree. “Not enough for this area!”

You crane your head around to look and grin, “Nah, that’s perfect!” He looks at you, bewildered, and you laugh, “Look, you just,” you start pushing the tree around so that the one bald patch is facing the wall next to the socket the lights plug into, plug the lights in and step back with arms out to show off the tree. “See? Looks great! We did it!”

He frowns, “It’s not… Perfect, though.”

“Well, maybe not,” you shrug, “but we did it, and the effort we put into it is what makes it perfect for this little flat.” Ralph’s ears turn pink at the notion of you potentially calling something you’ve done together perfect. “Right, now it’s time for the ornaments. And no judging them, okay?”

Your warning doesn’t stop him. “What on earth is this?”

You look over and grin. “It’s a monkey! Look at its little face,” you coo. “I got given it ’cause I like monkeys.”

“But why is it skiing?” Ralph asks, poking at the crocheted skis stitched onto its crocheted feet.

“Because it’s Christmas, duh,” you deadpan sarcastically, squinting at Ralph as though it were the most obvious thing in the world as you point out the Santa hat it’s wearing. He mimics your expression back to you, making you laugh, which only makes him smile as he eventually admits defeat and puts the ornament on the tree.

Once the tree is decorated, you step back and huff out a harsh breath. “Please tell me it’s all over now,” Ralph groans.

You giggle, “If you wanna stop, then fine, but I still have to put the decorations around the rest of the flat.”

“N-no! We have to - we’re decorating together, aren’t we?” Ralph asks hurriedly.

“Well, yeah, but we don’t have to if you don’t want to, I can take it from here, I only really needed help with the lights -”

“No! It’s fine! I can help!” Ralph rummages through the box closest to him and pulls out something long, plastic and green. “What is this?” he frowns.

“Oh!” you laugh, embarrassed. “Oh, we don’t have to put that one up this year. That’s, um… Have you ever heard of mistletoe? The plant you’re supposed to… kiss under?” At those words, the fake sprig flies out of Ralph’s hands as though he’s been poked by a cattle prod. You watch it eventually land on the other side of the flat, impressed at its airtime, before continuing. “Yeah, it’s a dumb joke everyone makes about me being chronically single, so they put it up over the door in case I happen to come in with someone else, but obviously now I… I have you here, so… It’d. Be weird,” you falter as you instead focus on digging out a garland of tinsel to drape across the table, and definitely not on the thought of potentially having an excuse to kiss Ralph without consequence. You definitely don’t keep staring at the fake mistletoe on the floor and you definitely don’t consider hanging it up anyway.

Of course you can’t. Ralph blushes at the mere thought of his hand being held, to force him into a situation where he’d feel coerced to kiss you is far worse than never getting to. Instead, you just find a natural excuse to move over to that part of the flat to kick it out of sight. No need to acknowledge it any more.

Not that Ralph could acknowledge it anyway, either, his mind’s too full of thoughts of being able to hold the mistletoe between you two whenever he had the urge to kiss you and you having to comply, followed by his own silent self-scolding of how vastly inappropriate such an action would be.

Once the house is finally all decorated, you and Ralph collapse on the sofa. “Well, thank goodness that’s all over!” Ralph exclaims exhaustedly. “Though, I must say, it does still look… Festive. Even if not all of it is coordinated.”

“Wanna know the worst bit?” you hold back laughter. “We’re not even gonna be here to appreciate this on actual Christmas Day.”

“We’re?” Ralph asks, before nodding in sad realisation. “Ah. Because you’re going away and I can’t be trusted to provide for myself, still,” Ralph scolds himself quietly, but you frown, leaning yourself against him sympathetically.

“It’s not that! You’ve been doing pretty well lately, actually,” you smile at him. “No, I’m going to my parents’ for Christmas, and they wanna meet my new friend, Ralph.”

His ears turn bright red. “You - You, want… Want me to meet your p-parents?”

“Yeah! They already know all the others, they like to stay up to date with all the people in my life. Figured it’s about time they met my flatmate, eh,” you nudge him with your elbow and he laughs half-heartedly.

“Yes, quite,” he replies faintly. He still hadn’t found the right time to tell you about his encounter with Pete, and the momentum of bringing back anything from that weekend especially has long since gone. So as far as you know, he’s still on borrowed time. And now you want your family knowing about him? What sort of motivation would you have for taking him with you?

Unless, of course, you had been telling Ralph a white lie when you’d said it’s not that he can’t be trusted in the flat by himself. You probably just still want to keep a close eye on him. That has to be it. There’s no other logical reason.

~~~

“Remind me again how you two met, then?” your dad asks Ralph at the dinner table.

From memory, Ralph recites the backstory you’d created on your way there in a slightly stilted tone, “I am a family friend of Connor’s, who I know you’re familiar with.” You ignore the disapproving looks your parents share - of all your friends, Connor was always the one they were the least keen on, which is why you felt it safest to use him as a backstory since they’re the least likely to talk to him - as he continues. “I had recently left an… Unfortunate situation, I sought him out, he unfortunately had too many housemates as it was, but…” Ralph looks over at you, seeking approval in his storytelling.

“But then I came to the rescue,” you beam, quickly squeezing Ralph’s hand in affirmation under the table. The pink of his ears is obscured from your view when he looks over to you, as you smile at him proudly while your parents aren’t looking.

“What I don’t understand is,” your mum starts, takes her time chewing an entire mouthful of food, then carries on, pointing her fork at you, “have you moved and not told us, then? ’Cause I swear you were living in that one-bed, unless…” she waves her fork between the two of you with raised eyebrows, and you roll your eyes.

“There’s a sofa too, Mum,” you explain. “It’s fine, honestly.”

“Well, still, the sofa is no place for a young man like him to sleep on long-term, what about his poor back?” she asks.

Ralph looks at you like a deer in headlights, silently asking you if you should admit that he’s not the one sleeping on it. You try your best to give him a reassuring look as you rack your brain to think of a response, but your dad catches on, dropping his cutlery onto his plate in outrage. “Do not tell me you pay almost a grand a month to sleep on your own sofa.”

Ralph’s head hangs in shame, but you come to his defence. “I don’t! Ralph pays towards the rent now that he’s got a steady job, and it only started because I didn’t realise he was going to be staying this long.”

“So, I assume you’re saving up for your own place in the meantime, then?” your father asks Ralph, who has been too busy focusing on eating the rest of his meal in silence. Ralph simply nods at him, and your dad grunts, “Well. At least you’re getting there. And you both haven’t killed each other, yet, so things must be going well!” he laughs loudly, and Ralph forces out his own laugh in slight fear.

You roll your eyes again, “God, Dad, you’re so weird sometimes. C’mon, Ralph, help me clear the table.” You gesture with your head as you stand up and start collecting the plates. Ralph follows suit, following you into the kitchen. You mumble, “Really sorry about them. If it helps, my dad’s only ribbing you that much because he likes you. It’s his weird way of scoping you out to see if you can take it.”

Ralph nods with a frown. “So, should I also be as verbally biting back to him? Is that what he wants?”

“No! No, no, no,” you reply quickly, shaking your head. “Just laugh along with him, maybe a quick quip back every once in a while to catch him off guard if you can think of one, but not too many. He’ll just get offended. You know how dads - Fuck,” you slam the heel of your hand into your eye. “You - yeah, sorry, I forgot.”

“It’s quite alright,” Ralph reassures with a small smile. “It’s actually quite refreshing to see parental figures who are… So invested in their child’s goings-on.”

You give him a quick hug. “If it’s too much, just excuse yourself and shoot me a text and I’ll be right up with you, okay?”

Ralph nods. “I should be alright, but thank you for your concern nonetheless.” His smile is faltering, but he’s trying to keep it up.

Once you’ve both washed everything up from dinner, you go to take both your bag and his up to the bedroom, but Ralph soon chases after you to take his own. “I can take it if you want,” you assure him, but he shakes his head. “You scared to be left alone with my parents?” you ask, amused, and he shakes his head again. You narrow your eyes. “Are you lying?” Ralph hesitates before shaking his head again, and you giggle.

Bag in tow, Ralph hurriedly makes his way halfway up the stairs before stopping and leaning over the railing to look down at you with a frown. “I am going the right way, aren’t I? Only you don’t seem to be following me.”

“No, no,” you stay stood there, crossing your arms and smirking with a sarcastic smugness. “You clearly know exactly where you’re going, don’t let me stop you!”

Ralph meekly makes his way back down the stairs to you, and you grin wickedly, “Why’d you come down for?”

“W-Well, because you sai- Excuse you!” Ralph exclaims as you rush past him and run up the stairs, laughing maniacally. Ralph sighs wistfully. If you were his, he would chase you up the stairs and into your bedroom until he could wrap his arms around you and tackle you onto your bed. He would tickle you mercilessly until you relent, both of you breathless and grinning and mere inches away until he would kiss you, and then you’d kiss him back, and then he’d kiss you back, and -

“Oi! Ralph! You coming up, or what?” Your voice from the top of the stairs pulls him back to reality with an almighty thud.

“Y- Uh, coming!” he calls up, running up the stairs to meet you. “So I really was right?”

“You ought to believe in yourself more, Ralphie boy,” you tease. “But also, yeah, you might have ended up sharing a bed with my parents instead,” you giggle before leading him into your childhood bedroom.

It’s no longer quite your childhood bedroom - the posters of boybands are thankfully stripped from your walls, most of your old toys have either been collecting dust in the loft or given new homes by now, and there’s a desk that takes up most of the room now even without the added fold-out bed. But it’s unmistakably yours.

Ralph takes out a plush toy that’s certainly seen better days and smiles fondly at it. “You did say you liked monkeys,” he notes, holding it up towards you.

You take it out of his hands and look at it affectionately, “Yeah! This was one of my first ever toys. Man, we’ve been through some stuff together.”

“Is that so?” Ralph moves from sitting on the fold-out bed to sitting next to you on your one. “I can’t particularly imagine you being the type to parade around a comfort toy.”

“I mean, not now, obviously! But as a kid, we were inseparable.” You tell Ralph stories from throughout your childhood, both from your own memory and ones recited by your parents. He listens attentively as you ramble on, so deep into your storytelling and pointing out other things in your room to help accentuate the story that you can’t see the adoration in Ralph’s eyes as he revels in hearing you speak.

Ralph can tell that he’s doing it. He knows he’s playing a dangerous game. Perhaps he can let his guard down a little, surely. After all, he knows that he’s not exactly on borrowed time anymore. Perhaps he could allow himself the luxury of assuming that the only barrier between friendship and more with you, is simply that you don’t know.

Not yet, he reminds himself. There’s still some work to be done. He manages to regain his composure in time for you to look back at him. “Ugh, but you don’t want to hear me keep on about all of this.”

“No, actually, I’ve rather enjoyed it,” Ralph blurts out, and you hide your face so that Ralph doesn’t see you blushing at such a simple comment.

Your parents call the two of you downstairs and you squeal, gently slapping down on Ralph’s thigh as you clamber off of the bed. “C’mon! It’s time!”

“Time for what?” Ralph frowns, trying desperately to ignore the warmth that lingers from your touch.

“All the real Christmas traditions to start!” you beam from the doorway.

“Ah, then I’ll simply be intruding on your family. I’ll be just fine waiting up here for you all, I shan’t interrupt,” he nods meekly, but you furrow your brow at him.

“You’re included too, idiot,” you grin affectionately, “now come on!” You wave him out of the door with you and he follows, dumbfounded.

You join your parents in the living room, sitting on the floor by the tree. You pat the spot next to you for Ralph to sit, too, which he does, crossing his legs as he gets comfortable. “What is all of this about?” he asks. “Why are all of the presents tucked behind the tree?”

“We get those out later, so they don’t get confused with these,” you point out the two gifts in front of you. Ralph studies them both, perplexed, and so you explain, “These are our Christmas Eve boxes!”

“Wh- what is a - I didn’t prepare for this,” he mutters to you, looking upset.

“Oh, don’t be! This isn’t an everyone tradition, it’s just something Mum and Dad always did for me, and any friends that’d come over for Christmas Eve,” you shrug. “That includes you!”

Ralph wells up, “I - I don’t know what to say.”

“It’s nothing, really,” your mum waves off. “It’s just some silly things we put together for the night ahead. Gets us all into the Christmas spirit, you know?”

You nudge Ralph’s box towards him and grin. “Ready to open?”

Ralph kicks his knees up and down excitedly, “Yes! Oh,” he stops himself immediately, “but you should go first.”

“We can open them together, you big silly,” you roll your eyes exaggeratedly before placing your hands ready to rip at your gift and looking at Ralph expectantly. He nods, and you both open your boxes at the same time.

As always, there’s a set of Christmassy pyjamas, some fluffy socks, a small packet of hot chocolate along with various toppings and various snacks. Ralph has identical contents. You beam up at your parents, “It’s a movie night this year!” You quickly explain to Ralph that your parents either plan Christmas Eve night to be a movie night, game night or some other activity that they provide the necessities for in your Christmas Eve boxes.

“Yeah, well,” your dad shrugs, “we didn’t want to subject Ralph to a family game night just yet.”

“Yeah, we want him to like us, first!” your mum laughs, and Ralph’s face lights up.

“Oh, please, rest assured, Mrs -”

“Oi!” she interrupts, and Ralph’s face falls again, but she softens immediately. “No formalities here, alright? We’re family here.”

He’s family. Ralph once again battles the urge to cry as he simply states with a smile, “Right, well, there’s certainly no chance of me being anything but eternally grateful for your generosity.”

“Now why can’t you be more like him, eh?” your dad asks jokingly. “How come we get all the sass?”

“Because I was raised by you,” you point out with a smirk, and your dad barks out a loud laugh, ruffling your hair as he does so.

“Go on, away with you both, get yourselves ready!” he ushers you both away and you scoop your box up in your arms as you get up. Ralph does the same, and you tell him to get changed in the bedroom while you go into the bathroom. You meet back in the hallway, and instinctively hold your cheeks at the sight in front of you. Whether it’s the delusion the two of you wearing matching outfits creates, or just the sight of how adorable Ralph looks while drowning in fleece, you frantically regain yourself long enough to take a photo in the big mirror on the wall to send to the group chat before leading Ralph to the kitchen to prepare your snacks.

You make up the hot chocolate for the pair of you while Ralph has the simple task of pouring sweets and snacks into corresponding bowls. Once he’s done, and placed them out in the living room, he returns looking quite proud of himself. “Alright, ready to top off your drink?” You ask as you grab the can of whipped cream out of the fridge, shaking it and squirting a dollop into your mouth for good measure. You point the can at Ralph, who looks at you quizzically before opening his mouth out of curiosity. You give him a mouthful, too, which he tastes with delight spreading over his face. You mirror him. “It’s good, innit?” He nods excitedly and you wave him over to where your two mugs sit. “Okay, so you wanna get it at the right angle, you want it on the drink, but you don’t want it to blow the stuff out of the mug. Got it?” Ralph watches you with great intent, nodding slowly, and you hand the can over to him. “Now you try!”

You really should be utilising the time making sure Ralph gets his aim right, or at least by adding the rest of your favourite toppings, but instead you’re having to spend it restraining yourself from thinking all kinds of thoughts about the way Ralph’s tongue pokes out between his lips as he concentrates, especially when it moves around with the nozzle.

It’s only when you notice the pile of whipped cream looking especially tall that you finally grab his wrist with a giggle. He breaks his trance to look over at his compared to yours, and he ends up laughing as well. “Oh, drat, I’ve rather overdone it, haven’t I?”

“Just a little,” you laugh before grabbing your favourite toppings and adding them to your drink.

Your parents laugh when they see the state of your drinks as you and Ralph sit on the sofa together, and you quickly look over to make sure Ralph isn’t offended by it, already planning on your damage control spiel, but he seems to have… Accepted that they aren’t laughing unkindly at him. Your heart swells at the thought that he feels just at home with your family as he does with your friends. If only you could all keep him around all the time.

Despite you being the one to pick out your favourite Christmas movie to show Ralph, it’s hard to concentrate on it when he’s grazing at his whipped cream like a baby cow to grass, especially when some of it gets caught on his nose. You stifle a laugh at that, but he hears and looks over at you in confusion. You swipe it away with your thumb, then suck at your thumb to get it off of yourself as you turn back to watch the movie. Ralph is grateful both that you decided to look away, and that the room is so dimly lit, though his ears burn so harshly they could well be glowing regardless.

You’re not certain how far you made it into the movie before you drifted off to sleep, but you definitely don’t remember being leant against Ralph with a blanket over you at the time, despite that being how you wake up now. As you stir, you jump up suddenly, which alarms Ralph, too. You notice your parents are no longer in the room. “Ah, finally, I was going to, um, perhaps try and wake you myself so that you weren’t down here all night,” Ralph explains.

“Too used to sleeping on sofas these days,” you smile sleepily, and Ralph chuckles under his breath. “How come you’re still here?”

“Well, I’m at the end of the seat, so you would have just… You know…” Ralph mimics the motion of you falling flat onto the couch cushion with his hand, making you giggle. “Can’t have that. I, um, pulled the blanket over from the back of the seat, too. I hope that’s okay with your parents.”

“Why wouldn’t it be?” you ask with narrowed eyes. “Blankets are for sleeping under.”

“Yes, but… I didn’t know if it was just there for decoration,” he explains.

You shake your head. “Ralph, mate, we’re not rich enough to have decorative shit and purposeful shit. It’s all… Shit,” you shrug with a laugh. You flash your phone up to check the time, “Ooh, it’s almost midnight, we’d better go upstairs before Santa gets down here!”

“You know he isn-” Ralph cuts himself off and starts again, softer this time. “You really do get into the whole Christmas thing, don’t you?”

You shrug as you both climb the stairs, “It’s all about spending time with loved ones and showing each other you care.” Loved ones. Loved. Ralph has to squeeze his thumbs to make sure he doesn’t visibly show any kind of reaction to those words.

You clamber into your old bed, and Ralph does so into his little camping bed for the night. “Goodnight,” he calls. “Pleasant dreams.”

“You too, Ralphie.”

The next morning, you wake up super early, as per usual for you. No matter how old you get, the excitement of Christmas morning never leaves you. You happily text all of your friends a Merry Christmas and catch up on some social media posts, silently reminding yourself to make sure you get a good photo of Ralph later for his.

He stirs not long after you, looking up at you and smiling sleepily. “I guessed you’d wake early. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you, too,” you grin. “Ugh, yeah, but now Mum and Dad insist on having a “lie-in” and having “breakfast first”,” you make air quotes with your fingers and roll your eyes.

“Well, if you wanted to exchange some gifts early, I could, um… Well… There’s one that I can give and another that’s… Sort of… More abstract,” Ralph stammers, looking and feeling around for his bag.

“Calm it, Ralph, it’s okay. Here, can I give you mine first, and then you can figure out all the… Logistics of yours?” You gesture around with your hands, and he nods.

You take his present out of your bag and hand it to him, and he immediately frowns. “This looks big. Little on the heavy side, too.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” you smirk.

“Well, I should rather hope you didn’t spend too much on me, since you’ve already done more than eno- Oh, heavens!” Ralph exclaims as he reveals his present. “Is this -” You nod with a grin, and he gasps. “But, how could you - I mentioned seeing it one time when we met up for lunch that day weeks ago, I - This must have cost a small fortune -”

“Hey, having other friends in the same industry helps. I got it for cheaper than you’d have seen it for, if that makes you feel better accepting it.”

“I should very much like to try it on, but perhaps while wearing something a little more… Dignified,” he says softly as he admires the coat you’d picked out for him. “Anyway!” He folds it very, very carefully and then protrudes his ukulele from his bag, plucking at strings to make sure it’s still in tune.

You gasp excitedly, “Ralph, did you write me a song?”

“Oh, heavens, no, I could never write a song worthy of all you have done for me!” He shakes his head violently. “No, but, well… I know we’ve sort of… Never really spoken about, about that weekend that we were away, but I knew that I would only say the wrong things, and… And on the drive back, Anna had told me that sometimes songs exist to put words to things that you can’t do yourself, and so… I mean, of course, not all of the lyrics, pertain, but enough of them say what I want them to… Oh, fiddlesticks, I’m rambling now…”

You cock your head to look at him with a humoured grin. “Ralph… Can I guess who the original singer of whatever you’re about to sing is?”

His ears tint pink. “Can I just… Play it, please?” he asks nervously.

You nod sincerely. “Of course. The stage is yours.”

Ralph starts playing a song you recognise as Afterglow by, of course, Taylor Swift. You’ve heard the song on occasion, but coming from Ralph, with nothing but his strings accompanying him, the lyrics really start to hit close to home. “I blew things out of proportion, now you're blue / Put you in jail for something you didn't do” … “It's all me in my head, I'm the one who burned us down, but it's not what I meant, sorry that I hurt you / I don't wanna do, I don't wanna do this to you / I don't wanna lose, I don't wanna lose this with you” … “I lived like an island, punished you with silence / Went off like sirens, just crying”

Other lyrics sound an absolute delight in Ralph’s voice. If it weren’t for his little disclaimer that not all of the words echoed his thoughts, you could have convinced yourself he was singing to you. “Why'd I have to break what I love so much?” … “Just wanna lift you up and not let you go / This ultraviolet morning light below / Tells me this love is worth the fight, oh” … “Tell me that you're still mine / Tell me that we'll be just fine” … “Tell me that it's not my fault / Tell me that I'm all you want”

You’re moved close to tears by the time he finishes, but you still make sure you applaud him, in fear of making him think you feel anything less than an immense appreciation for him. “That was… Beautiful, Ralphie. Thank you,” you mutter quietly, trying to hold yourself together. “But… You know, you don’t need to shoulder all of the blame for that night, right? I was bang out of order, too, it was just a lot of built-up stress and - and alcohol, and -” You shake your head. “Anyway. Those words are… So sweet. Too sweet. It wasn’t all you. And look! We didn’t lose anything, right? And we’re not gonna.” The last part catches in your throat. You are gonna lose him, eventually. Whenever Homeless Pete informs you of your doomed fate. You instead pull Ralph in for a hug to show your gratitude.

Ralph can see something bothers you about the words that you’ve said. Now is the time, he tells himself, giving himself a little pep talk. Now he can tell you all about what happened, why he went ‘missing’ that weekend. He can tell you that he’s here to stay, as long as you want him to.

But instead he watches you push him out of the hug, hold him at arms’ length and shake your head. “No, that’s it, I’m not getting any more upset or else I’ll get your nice new PJs all snotty. From now on, that weekend is a banned topic of conversation. We’ve both said our piece, now. There’s no need to revisit it. Deal?” You hold your pinky out at him.

Defeatedly, he links his little finger with yours. “A promise,” he says with a nod, before realising. “Oh, heavens! There’s another part to your gift, isn’t there!”

You frown, “Mate, you’ve only had one paycheck so far, I hope you haven’t blown it all on me!”

“Not all of it, um… This is more of a… Well, I spent more in effort than I did in money, let’s put it that way.” He leans down to pick up a small parcel that now rests on the fold-out bed, that you open to find a small binder. About the size of your palm, but longer. You start to flip through the coloured slips of card kept in the plastic wallets of the binder. This coupon entitles you to: a night out at that jazz club we liked. “Apologies,” Ralph pipes up, reading over your shoulder to see which one you’re looking at, “I forgot the name of the club itself. But you know where I mean. They’re all colour-coded, so the purple ones mean ones where we go out somewhere, blue means I do something around the house - something big, mind you, we share the jobs, I haven’t forgotten - green are to do with yo- our friends, yellow are…” He scrunches his face up as he tries to remember, “Oh! Yellow is for more fun things to do that don’t cost much, orange ones are ones that have a time limit on them, and red, well… Red are… I’m not sure how to explain them."

You thumb through the binder. This coupon entitles you to: one three-course meal cooked by me* *My cooking will be fully supervised by a separate third party. This coupon entitles you to: a full-group picnic that I will facilitate. This coupon entitles you to: a phone-free movie marathon evening. This coupon entitles you to: Exactly three days’ access to that blue jumper you like so much.

You bark out a laugh at that last one, “Only three days at a time?!”

Ralph pulls a face, “Be thankful you’re getting any days without guaranteed complaint!”

“True,” you nod in acceptance. You flip to the first red coupon and your heart sinks. This coupon entitles you to: kick me out of the flat for a whole day. “Ralph…” you state quietly, sadly.

“Yes, well…” Ralph’s voice is stilted, too. “I know that I’m an awful lot to be around, and I’m not saying that for pity’s sake! But if you ever need a day all to yourself, you can just… Hand me one of those, and I’ll find something to do with myself instead.”

You look through all the red slips. Several entitle you to a Ralph-free day, as well as switching you both between the sofa and then bed for a period of time left blank for you to determine. Another few simply state that they entitle you to tell Ralph to stop talking. “Why would I want that from you?” you ask softly, showing him that coupon specifically.

He shrugs, “Well… If I’m prying too much, say, into things that are too personal, instead of arguing again, you can just give me this and I’ll have received the message, loud and clear.”

You nod slowly, and Ralph’s eyes widen as you start taking out red slip after red slip. You look him dead in the eye and say, “I respect the time and effort you put into these, but,” you grab a handful of them and rip them in half, “you’re gonna have to think of a new thing for reds to be. Sorry.” You keep ripping them up until there is no more entitlement to suppress Ralph being Ralph. “I do love all of the others, though. Really. This is the most thoughtful thing anyone’s ever done for me.” Once again feeling the urge to cry, you hug him again. This time, it’s tighter. It’s warmer. It doesn’t seem to have an end.

Until you finally hear your parents call you down for breakfast.

After you’ve all eaten, and you and Ralph have cleared up the kitchen for your parents, you make your way to the tree, where your parents have sorted out three small piles. Ralph looks perplexed at the small box left over. “You seem to have forgotten one, should I put it with - Oh,” his eyes widen as he picks it up and reads the words To Ralph written on the label. Looking up at your parents, he shakes his head. “Oh, p- please, you and your family have already shown me far too much generosity, and I haven’t got a single thing to share with you -”

Your dad waves him off, “We’ve heard that you’ve been in a bad spot up until now, and just thought you deserve a little something nice to see the year off with.”

“Why don’t you start us off, dear?” your mum encourages him to unwrap his gift, and he does so tenderly, looking agape at the box as it’s revealed.

“Oh, wow, what a beautifully packaged - Well, that smells delightful!” he chirps as he takes a small bottle out from the box.

You look at your parents incredulously. “So, when I’d known you for all eight years of my life at the time, and I asked you lot for a Furby, you got me some cheap knockoff from the market that was definitely possessed by the devil since it wouldn’t shut up even after we took the batteries out, but you know Ralph for five minutes and you give him -” You glance over at the bottle filled with a viscous purple liquid to read the label and then look back at them - “Dior soap?!”

“Well, yeah, we like him better,” your dad teases, laughing loudly.

“We just… Have a bit more money these days, and like you said to us, he deserves to be spoiled a little after the time he’s had,” your mum simpers.

“Yeah, well, next year I want my Furby,” you grin, taking the bottle from Ralph’s hands and smelling the lid. “Oh my god, that smells amazing!”

“Doesn’t it, though!” your mum chirps. “And, get this, the main reason we bought it was because we saw the photos of him that you’d sent us, and the man on the adverts for that particular scent -”

Your dad interrupts her with a groan, rolling his eyes. “Here we go again, you know what your mother’s like for her lookalikes.”

“What do you mean!” Your mum frowns at him. “He did look like Ralph!”

“You expect me to trust the same person who thinks Ryan Reynolds and Ryan Gosling look identical?” You raise your eyebrows at her, and she frowns.

“They’re very easy to mix up!” she defends.

Once presents are open, it’s time for your favourite part of the day. You’re not sure what brought on your insistence on this tradition, but you’d warned Ralph ahead of time, and he’d gone on a little shopping spree with Scott to pick out his “fancy outfit” that has been the dress code for your family Christmas dinner for as long as you can remember, now.

Once again, you opt for the bathroom as your changing room of choice, and tell Ralph to meet in the hallway when you’re both ready. Feeling confident that you’re looking especially ready for the family photos this year, and excited for Ralph to be included in them, nothing could prepare you for what he’s dressed in.

You rack your brain trying to remember a time when you’d ever told Scott of the ideal outfit you’d always imagined your ideal partner wearing whenever you’d envisioned these fancy family dinners. Because here Ralph is, in a powder-blue dress shirt with just a few buttons undone, underneath a brown striped sweater vest paired with brown corduroys. His now-classic neck chain and rings adorn him. You try not to let your jaw hit the floor as you see him looking… Absolutely everything you’d spent your life imagining your perfect partner would look like.

“My goodness, you look… Radiant,” he gushes to you.

“Thank you! You’re looking especially handsome yourself,” you allow yourself that compliment to him. It’s a perfectly normal thing to say to your friends. You’d say it to any of yours. Definitely. Justifying yourself to your internal monologue is a completely normal thing to do.

You take some photos of him for his Instagram, though only one makes it:

The family dinner is as amazing as always. Ralph finally looks at ease around your parents as everyone compares Christmas cracker jokes, and your parents regale stories of past Christmases with you to him, to Ralph’s delight.

It seems such a shame to have to leave this little bubble, but unfortunately, the real world awaits. As does the next week of Pure Retail Hell that is the Boxing Day sales. You leave shortly after dinner so as to get plenty of rest in tonight.

Ralph gasps with delight as he realises, “I can wear my new coat with an outfit this nice!” Just when you thought the outfit was enough to see you off, it being topped off with the long, tan coat you’d bought him makes you want to grab it by the lapels, push him against the wall and kiss him until his brain short-circuits.

Instead, you focus on one particular feature of it, “Oh my god, it’s so swishy!”

Ralph looks at you, perplexed. “Swishy?!”

“Yeah! Like, look, go like this,” you rock yourself from side to side, mimicking the motion you’re expecting the coat to make with your hands. Ralph copies you, and positively giggles as he watches the swishing in motion.

“Look at it go!” He practically twirls himself around your parents’ hallway as you say your goodbyes.

“Keep hold of that one,” your mum says into your ear as she hugs you. “He’s a good’un.”

Your dad echoes a similar sentiment of, “Well, I don’t hate him.”

~~~

The next week is a blur of non-stop sales, returns, and most of all, Karens. You’re relieved to finally get a day off on the 31st, which is when you and your friends have decided to celebrate your own Christmas together.

Ralph insists that he will give everyone their own gifts as soon as he can afford to, to which everyone waves him off. “You’ve given me the gift of being able to yell about Taylor Swift to someone who has no idea what I’m on about. That’s all I’ll ever need,” Anna grins at him, ruffling his hair.

“Yeah, and now I’ve got a new best mate to jam out with!” Connor nudges Ralph with his elbow. “Your uke’s just the beginning, wait until I teach you the guitar, and then, oh! We’ll be unstoppable, you and me!”

“Yeah, where would any of us be without our Ralphie, eh?” Grace asks, simpering at him.

“So, with all that being said…” Scott protrudes a final gift and hands it to Ralph. “We all clubbed together to get you something from all of us.”

“Not again!” Ralph wells up, looking at you sadly, but you grin.

“Go on, then! Open it!” you encourage him, and once again a familiar box appears beneath the wrapping paper.

“Oh! This is just like the soap your parents bought me, isn’t it?” Ralph asks, and you study the box.

“Yeah, but this is an actual aftershave, so you can smell like it even more now!” you explain.

“Aww, no more lemony Ralph,” Grace mutters sadly as Connor realises something.

“Did your parents happen to suggest that one because they thought the guy advertising it looked familiar?” Connor asks with a wicked grin, leaning towards Anna, whose face falls.

“Oh no, please don’t tell me your mum and I both thought the same person looked like the same person,” she groans, and you laugh.

“Don’t you think that Harry Potter kid was so good as Frodo in Lord of the Rings?” Connor teases in an impression of your mum, and the whole group laughs.

“Okay, in Mum’s defence, that’s one of her better comparisons,” you comment.

Anna frowns as she spots something poking out from underneath your kitchen counter. She goes to investigate and her curiosity becomes absolute glee as she protrudes the fake mistletoe from where you’d forgotten to pick it up and tidy it up. “What’s this doing here, then?!”

“Piss off,” you laugh, chasing her around the flat trying to take it from her, but she passes it onto Connor who brandishes it proudly.

“Ooh, I was wondering why this wasn’t in its usual spot! Who’ve you been smooching, hmm?” He waves it in your face as you approach him to snatch it out of his hand.

“Nobody! That’s why it’s been forgotten down there!” you frown.

“Yes, I think that’s rather my doing, I… I picked it up and then learned what it’s used for and I didn’t want anything… Presumptuous to occur,” Ralph admits, faltering as the sentence goes on. You don’t see the looks your friends all give each other as you frantically put it away in the first drawer you can find and usher them out.

“Okay, okay, this isn’t getting all the food and drink ready for later before all the shops shut, now, is it?”

As the day turns into night, you and Ralph get ready to celebrate at Connor’s. His place is the biggest, after all, and his housemates are all braving the bars of London on New Year’s Eve. You and your friends are all happy enough just bringing various platters of food and drinks each and ringing the new year in together.

Ralph insists on wearing his Christmas outfit again, much to your own dismay. You’ve already been ribbed enough by your friends over a simple plastic decoration, if they spot any sign of you showing any kind of genuine affection for Ralph then it’s all over. They’d want to play wingman, and you’d have to admit that you can’t pursue him. You’d have to tell them why, and admit that you’ve been lying to them for almost four months.

When you do show up at Connor’s, everyone’s obviously obsessed with Ralph’s outfit. Scott constantly makes sure some of the praise is returned back to him for choosing the clothes. You keep yourself busy while Ralph’s the main topic of conversation by organising all the food that everyone’s brought.

Several hours, several plates of food and several drinks later, the TV’s on with 10 minutes to go until midnight. Once you excuse yourself to the bathroom before the big countdown, everyone else nods to each other, setting their own plan in action. Connor and Grace each take a spot either side of Ralph, grinning as they simultaneously stretch out a, “Heeeey.”

“Hello,” Ralph looks at them both, confused.

“So, don’t know if you know this, what with you being all… Shut off from the modern world or whatever you had going on,” Connor starts. “But… There’s this sort of… Tradition when it comes to New Year's.”

“Of course, you kiss your loved ones. I’m not completely out of touch, we had that one growing up as well,” Ralph admits with amusement.

“Right, but obviously not all of us are loved up, see,” Connor continues.

“So, those that aren’t, can still get in on it, because obviously it’s bad luck for the whole year if you don’t get kissed at midnight,” Grace manages to keep a straight face as she lies to Ralph. “And we’re really superstitious here.”

“Y- You are?” He asks, his eyes darting between the two nervously.

“Yeah, but it’s easily avoided,” Grace wraps her arms around one of Ralph’s. “If you’re single, and it’s midnight, you just kiss the closest single person to you,” she looks up at him hopefully.

Ralph feels his mouth go dry. “Is that so?”

“Yeah. And flattered as I may be, mate, I don’t think it’s gonna be me,” Connor laughs.

“Right. Well, I appreciate you for keeping me in the loop,” Ralph nods, and the pair return the gesture, smiling coyly at each other before running off.

Two minutes to go. Everyone that’s brought a date is actively chatting away to them. Ralph is standing by the wall, anxiously looking around. You make yourself busy by making yourself another drink, and Scott notices, peeling himself away to quickly jog over to you. “Hey, uh, I think Ralph was looking for you.”

You frown, “Is he alright? He’s not gotten drunk already?”

“No! He won’t say what’s up, you know what he’s like, he’s in one of those where he doesn’t want to call for you, but we can all tell he wants something. Y’know? And you know him better than anyone. Better hurry it up, though,” Scott adds with a slight grimace before running back to his partner.

It takes a moment to find him, skulking in the outskirts of the room. He doesn’t even notice you approach until you nudge his arm. “You alright?” you ask him, and he looks at you like a deer in headlights.

“Um… Uh… Well, yes, but rather… Oh…” He flounders as everyone starts chanting a countdown from 10. Ralph licks his lips, his eyes flicking down to yours before quickly snapping back up to gauge your reaction nervously.

It almost seems too perfect. He smells of his new aftershave, all woody and floral but still that classic citrus note remains. He’s wearing that outfit. His big brown eyes are almost enough distraction from the way the tip of his tongue pokes out to trace his lips, but not quite enough. You feel your breath getting heavier as the sound of your friends shouting drowns every other thought in your head.

“- 5, 4, 3, 2, 1 –!”

A/N: I know. I'm the worst. Happy New Year, babies. ;)

next chapter

#ralph timewasters #ralph timewasters x reader #ralph timewasters x you #ralph timewasters fanfic #ralph timewasters imagine #ralph penbury #ralph penbury x reader #ralph penbury x you #ralph penbury fanfic #ralph penbury imagine #ralph timewasters fluff #ralph penbury fluff #bsbl #fic: bsbl #*myfics

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starrygraving · 9 months

Text

So Undertale Yellow is a new obsession of mine, I've been a fan of MasterswordRemix for a couple years now, and even played the game's demo a while back. But just, wow. Go play it if you haven't.

Spoilers under the cut.

I just finished the pacifist run, and many people have talked about heartbreaking it is, how much they cried and such. I, foolishly enough, spoiled the game for myself while being stuck on a certain part of it (cough cough, El-fucking-Bailador, cough cough) so I knew what the ending was going to be like.

Most games that end bittersweet or in tragedy break my heart and leave me with an empty feeling, desolation over the fact that the experience ended and someone suffered in unfair misfortune.

But Undertale Yellow just felt unfair. Clover didn't have to die like that. Their friends knew that too, but Ceroba and Clover knew that there were too many uncertainties. The game never confirms how soon Undertale is after Yellow. Could have been a year or so, could be decades. Clover might not have even lived long enough to meet Frisk, with the Royal Guard chasing after them.

Even in the Neutral ending where Martlet offers you to stay with her, Flowey steps in and stops it. No matter what route (except genocide but that's not really canon) Clover can never escape their fate. An unjust fate set in stone by Asgore, strung along by Flowey, and tainted but inevitably reached by their friend's hopes and dreams.

The soul of justice reaches an unjust end, with their friend's grievences eventually moving onto better places to continue their lives. Frisk knows none of this. No one in Undertale knows this (ignoring the obvious Doylist reasoning) and they likely never will. Clover is integral to saving the entire Underground from its fate, whether by choice or not, and barely anyone but their friends know their name.

They never got a real choice. To save monsters or kill them, the truth of the future just lies plainly there in the source material for all to see. And there is the tragedy. They never got a choice to be anything but a cog in the machine, it was the only choice they could even make by their own hand. And they're a kid. It's fucked up, not just at all, no justice to be found for someone encompassing it. It left me mourning a death that makes

Frisk's time in the Underground look like a fucking miracle because of how many people didn't fear them. Frisk was lucky, lucky to be strong enough with determination, to befriend the right people who could change the Underground for the better, and to get to end the monsters' suffering. Clover never gets any of that. Just used as part of a tool to break the barrier, dragged along and struggling against foes that takes ages of pain to beat. Those six kids got done dirty by the game, we barely got to know anything about them, except for the objects that were left behind. Undertale Yellow fills this gap, telling a forgotten story in hopes to keep the memory of those sacrificed alive. That's why it's so special.

Funnily enough, that vibe fits with the narrative point of Hadestown, my favourite musical ever, how fun.

Anyway thank you for coming to my rambles for whatever fucking reason.

#undertale yellow #undertale fangame #text post #txt #random ramblings #i am not okay about this game

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beefromanoff · 6 months

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Going Under Ch. 34

summary: the next morning, Bucky sees a doctor for his injuries, Steve and Nat fly in and get caught up.

characters: Bucky Barnes x OC

soundtrack: wake me - bleachers

warnings: fluff, pop star fantasy x love story, set in an AU where the Avengers reunite after Civil War, pre-infinity war, slight angst, hurt/comfort, lonely reader/OC.

author’s note: i'm baaaack! I really wanted to let the last chapter sink in for a while, so I've been writing for my other story (master list) but this one isn't over yet! the main story arc is pretty much complete, but if you love this story and want me to keep going for the sake of fluff and fun and these characters we love, just let me know! I have so much fun writing them and I love to hear that you guys love it, too.

thank you to @charmedbysarge and @wasalreadyhere for the love and reviews on the last chapter and making me feel special. ily ily ily.

XO, ENJOY

chapter list

"You better mean it. Once you say those words, I'm never letting go of you again." He met her gaze with a seriousness that matched hers.

She leaned forward, gently resting her hands on his cheeks as she leaned close and pressed the softest kiss to his swollen lips. "I mean it," she whispered.

Gianna's heart fluttered as she gazed into Bucky's eyes, the intensity in them threatening to overtake her. Their lips had just met in a tender kiss, the first in weeks. Her breaths were shallow. For a moment, time seemed to stand still. The world around them, the pain and the heartache of the past few weeks, all of it faded away. All that was real sat across from her, bruised and blue-eyed, and so heartbreakingly beautiful.

Before she could take another breath, he moved. One hand cupped her cheek and the other grasped the nape of her neck, fingers tangling in the still-wet ringlets. He pulled her close, leaning forward with the slightest groan to meet her in the middle. Their lips collided. The kiss was deep, desperate, all-encompassing. Her hands held his head, grounding her, reminding her that this was real. He was here. He was finally here.

His hand trailed down her back, holding her so close to his chest that she could feel his heartbeat. Or maybe that was the throbbing of his swollen ribs. Shit.

“Bucky,” She pulled away breathlessly, worry etched on her face. His eyes were hazy, still focused on her lips.

“No,” He muttered, voice low. “Not yet.”

His lips met hers again, warm and familiar and greedy. Gianna felt herself sigh into the kiss. How long had she been waiting, dreaming of this? The past few weeks had felt like withdrawing from a drug. Now, here she was, high all over again. His lips worked in perfect sync with her own, slow and deliberate, but unrelenting. Parting his lips, Bucky gently angled her head in his palm, his tongue tracing hers as her own lips separated. Gianna’s heart pounded in her chest, her stomach, her toes.

She wanted him, all of him, now and tomorrow and always. She wanted him in her bed, on her counter, on this goddamn dining room table. She wanted his kiss, his smile, his groggy morning eyes, his laughter, his tears, his darkness and all of his light. She wanted everything. She wanted it so badly she felt another round of hot tears spill out and streak down her face. He must have felt it on his hand, pulling away from the kiss, brows knit together.

“What’s wrong?”

She titled her head, running a hand along the side of his face, tracing his jawline. “Absolutely nothing. Everything is right.” She leaned in, and gently kissed his cheek, lips featherlight on the bruise there. “Almost everything.”

Bucky gave her a half-grin, hands still holding her close. Removing one from her back, he ran his thumb along her lower lip, wiping the corner. “Almost everything.” Glancing down, she saw blood on his thumb. His blood. “Sorry.” His eyes showed anything but regret.

“I’m not.” As if to prove it, she leaned back in and kissed him, hard. He tasted perfect and salty and metallic, sweat still coating his skin and fresh blood leaking from the newly opened split lip. His hands tightened on her lower back as he shifted beneath her. The kiss was sloppy, tears and blood and long overdue kisses all melting together to create one intoxicating cocktail. Time became a long forgotten concept.

As they parted, Gianna's concern returned as she noticed the subtle grimace on Bucky's face, a silent testament to the pain he was enduring. With gentle fingers, she traced the outline of the bruise marring his jawline, her touch tender yet tinged with worry.

"Bucky, we really should to get you to a doctor," she urged softly, her voice laced with apprehension. Bucky's response was a barely perceptible shake of his head, his gaze unwavering as it met hers.

“I’m fine.” His eyes remained fixed on her lips. “See?” Again, he shifted beneath her, showing her just how fine he was.

Biting her lip, Gianna did her best to extinguish the fire inside her. “Buck, I’m not going anywhere. We have time.” She tucked a strand of dark hair behind his ear. “I promise.”

His eyes flicked up to hers. “Just…not yet. I want to be here with you," he murmured, his voice laced with a mixture of vulnerability and longing. “Let me have tonight.”

“I’m calling Steve first thing tomorrow morning. You’re seeing a doctor.” Her eyes narrowed at his grin.

“Fine.” He leaned back in to kiss her, but Gianna gently gripped his chin.

“No extracurriculars tonight, either. You are in no condition.”

Bucky opened his mouth to protest, but Gianna pressed her palm to his chest, putting light pressure against his collarbone. He instantly grimaced, leaning back in the chair. “Point proven.”

He looked like he wanted to argue again, but knew she was right. They had time. This, them together, it was long overdue, but it wasn’t going anywhere. He had waited for months to even get to kiss her. Then he’d lost her, and spent weeks agonizing over what he’d lost, not knowing if he’d ever find it again. Now, she was here, on his lap, staring down at him with worry-laced green eyes. The world felt like it had stopped spinning. If that was the case, if time had truly stopped and they were to live in this moment, in this apartment, with only each other for the rest of time…he’d thought he made it to Heaven after all.

“Come on,” Gianna stood to her feet, tugging on his hand. “I’ll warm up the bath.”

“Fuck,” Bucky sucked in a breath as the doctor tugged on his shoulder with a scrape and a click.

Gianna blinked, returning to the present moment as she found herself back in the Avengers’ Tower. She’d called Steve first thing that morning, he and Natasha had met them at the compound with one of the SHIELD doctor’s in less than an hour. The atmosphere was charged with a mix of concern and relief as Dr. Cove tended to Bucky's injuries with practiced expertise. Usually stationed at the compound, she was an older woman with a no-nonsense attitude who was incredibly well-versed in emergency medical and orthopedic injuries. She was the one who met the team in the hangar if a mission had gone sideways. Patching people up was her specialty, bedside manner, not so much.

“Keep still,” She instructed, her accent thick as she fitted a sling around Bucky’s right shoulder. He met Gianna’s eyes, winking at her from where he sat on the medical table. The medical wing at the Tower was yet another floor she hadn’t seen. It was smaller than the one at the compound, but equally as sleek. Frankly, she didn’t care for it. Memories of the attack at her concert and the fear following it peppered her mind. Bucky must have read her gaze, winking at her. Leave it to him to be concerned for her as his collarbone was being set.

“How’s it feel, Buck?” Steve stood, arms crossed, grinning. Clearly unconcerned about the injury, likely having seen much worse on his friend. In all fairness, the worst of it had healed by the time they woke up that morning.

Gianna had a fitful sleep, waking up every few hours to make sure he was still there, still breathing. She worried that waiting to go to the doctor would make things worse, that somehow in the night, all the bliss would go away. Bucky, however, had slept like a rock. Something that, judging from the dark circles beneath his eyes, hadn’t happened in a while. He’d kept one arm firmly wrapped around her waist the whole night, but hadn’t stirred. When they woke up this morning, the bruises were mostly green and yellow, save for the worst ones on his ribs. The swelling had gone down, cuts and scraped all scabbed and sealed.

“Good as new.” Bucky turned his attention to Steve, looking just as ornery as his friend. Beside her, Gianna saw Nat roll her eyes.

“What’s his downtime look like, doc?” Steve asked Dr. Cove. She looked at him over the top of her glasses, unamused.

“No activity, one week. No lift, no fight, no fuck.” She stared directly at Bucky, unflinching, although she was still much shorter than him while he was sitting down. “You understand.”

Bucky coughed, stifling his chuckle. “Yes. Yes ma’am.”

With one last disapproving glance at him, she tossed the roll of bandages back in her drawer. “He is fine. Check in if pain bad.”

“Thank you, Dr. Cove.” Nat said warmly as the doctor walked out of the room, waving her hand over her head in acknowledgement.

“You’re the best, doc!” Bucky called after her.

“I know.” Her voice echoed in from the hallway.

Steve exchanged a knowing glance with Nat before speaking up, his tone gentle yet probing. "So, you gonna tell us what happened, or do we not get that privilege?"

“I mean, we did fly all the way out here to help.” Nat kicked Bucky’s shoe playfully.

Bucky's gaze flickered briefly to Gianna before he replied, his expression unreadable. "Just a little run-in with an overzealous robot," he quipped, though there was a hint of evasion in his tone.

Nat arched an eyebrow, her keen gaze fixed on Bucky. "Really?" she remarked, her tone teasing yet perceptive. “That’s all you’re gonna give us, Barnes?”

Bucky's lips twitched in a wry smile as he glanced at Gianna. "It’s kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got time.” She shrugged. “Steve, you got time?”

He made a show of looking at his watch. “I’ve got lots of time, as a matter of fact. I’ve got all day.”

Running his tongue across his teeth, Bucky watched Gianna, who shrugged. “Fine. It’s not like I can do anything fun today anyway.”

“We’ll try not to take that personally, Barnes.” Nat rolled her eyes as she linked arms with Gianna. “Sounds like it’s time for a breakfast date.”

_____________

The cozy diner exuded a welcoming atmosphere as the four settled into their booth, the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the aroma of sizzling bacon and eggs. Bucky sat with his back slightly leaned against the wall, his right arm cradled in a sling in front of him. An uncharacteristic grin played on his face, having been there most of the morning. The group gave a chorus of thanks to the waitress who poured them all cups of coffee, doing her best not to overpour as she ogled at the group.

"So, Buck, how's the arm feeling?" Steve asked, sipping the coffee.

“Haven’t felt it in a few decades, seems to be doing okay.” Bucky lifted his left arm, the metal glinting as he flexed his hand.

“Someone’s feeling chipped today.” Nat smirked. “Could it be this mysterious and miraculous reunion?”

Gianna blushed, sipping her own coffee to avoid answering the question.

“Oh, come on. Enough with the games.” Nat rolled her eyes, sitting back in the booth. “I was here, what? A week ago? All I know is Wanda and I had a come-to-Jesus with you, Barnes, then you suddenly come back to life and insist we go to New York that night because you just had to find Gianna. We get our asses in gear, put lipstick on while flying a Quinjet, for God’s sake, and next thing I know…you leave us at the club.” She crossed her arms, looking at Bucky expectantly. “I think I deserve some details.”

Looking at Bucky incredulously, Gianna set her mug down on the table. “‘What?! You came to New York last week? You went to a nightclub?”

Steve looked blankly between them as Bucky ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah…I uh, planned to do the whole last night thing about a week ago.” He shot Natasha a thanks a lot look, but she only raised her eyebrows at him. “I wasn’t doing so hot there for a while.”

Natasha scoffed, as if to say understatement of the century. Gianna fought a smile, turning her attention back to Bucky, clearly uncomfortable at having to explain his feelings in front of everyone, even three of the closest people to him.

“I was having a hard time and Wanda and Nat called me out on it. They…opened my eyes to what mattered and how much of a dumbass I was being. I found out you were out with Steve and the rest of ‘em, and I just…I had to see you.” He looked at Gianna sheepishly. “As soon as I realized what a mess I made, I just wanted to clean it up as quickly as I could. I wanted to tell you I was sorry, that I love you…” He trailed off, seeming to remember he wasn’t alone with Gianna. “...you know the rest.”

She gave a shy smile. “So why didn’t you? I saw Nat and Wanda that night…I looked for you,”

Bucky’s heart twisted. “I saw you…it sounds so stupid now. I saw you with Sebastian and I, uh…you just looked happy. You looked happy and normal and I didn’t want to fuck it up. So I went back to the Tower.”

Nat and Steve sat in respectful silence, letting the story come out.

“The team went back to the compound, the girls stayed with you, and I just stayed behind. I needed to clear my mind, figure out what to do. I had it in my head that you had moved on, that you were happier now and with someone else and I almost talked myself out of it.”

“So why did you show up at my apartment last night?” Her voice was soft.

“Well,” Bucky chuckled. “Ironically, I ran into Sebastian again.”

Gianna’s eyebrows raised in surprise.

“I was out for a run, I happened to bump into him, literally. He introduced himself and just started talking about how helpful you were and how much you must care about me to help him with the role and I just…I felt even dumber.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “I basically ran back to the Tower to clean up and went straight to your place.”

“Which is when you fell into the garbage disposal?” Nat pried.

“Which is where I found out that my dear friend Nat hadn’t programmed me into the Iron Legion’s list of acceptable guests.” He shot her a dirty look.

If she felt guilty, she didn’t show it. “Maybe if you ran your plans by your dear friend before you acted on them, then this wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Well, I heard something happening in the hallway,” Gianna interrupted, picking up the story. “I looked through the peephole, and there he was.” Her eyes went distant as she remembered the scene. She nearly shivered. “He was…not in good shape.”

She reached for Bucky’s knee under the table. “I brought him in and cleaned him up and…we talked. Clearly not about everything…but about enough.” Gianna smiled at Bucky. “But he insisted I didn’t call anyone until this morning. I swear I tried to call you last night.”

“What happened to not doing anything stupid?” Steve raised his eyebrow at Bucky, who shrugged.

“If the ends justify the means.” He grinned.

The waitress interrupted with plates of pancakes and another metal carafe of coffee, saving Bucky from another round of interrogation. As they doused their plates in syrup, they caught up on the past few weeks, with Natasha making sure Gianna knew just how much of a terror Bucky had been without her. She even joked that the SHIELD agents might be sending her ‘thank you’ notes for finally snapping him out of it.

After a long and food-coma inducing meal, they waltzed back out onto the landing pad of the Tower to see Steve and Nat off.

Natasha engulfed Gianna in a tight hug. “I’m so happy for you, G.” She pulled back and gripped her arms. “You deserve this. You both do.”

“Thank you, Nat. For everything. It sounds like you’re the reason this all turned out okay, after all.”

“Story of my life.” She winked, turning to head back to the Quinjet. “Don’t be a stranger. I want monthly visits!”

“Likewise!” Gianna called after her, giggling.

A few feet away, Steve pulled Bucky in for a brief but tight hug. “Don’t mess it up this time, okay?”

“I’ll do my best.” Bucky gave him a lopsided grin.

“I’m guessing I’ll be taking over your training sessions for a while?”

“You don’t --”

“Buck,” Steve cut him off. “I want to.” He clapped Bucky on his good arm. “You deserve this. Plus, who’s to say I have any reason to want to leave the Compound.” He smirked and nodded at Natasha’s retreating form. Bucky raised his eyebrows in question but Steve was already backing away. “I figured you’d be staying in the city for a while. There’s a bag of your stuff in your old room downstairs.”

Grinning, Bucky waved at his friend as he strode to Gianna, putting his arm around her. Steve stood on the ramp, pausing as it raised to close. “Oh, and Buck?”

Bucky cocked his head in acknowledgement.

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back.”

#avengers #bucky barnes x oc #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes #bucky fluff #sebastian stan #bucky fanfic #winter soldier #winter soldier fluff

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bearmemesreviews · 6 months

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FotW: SDMI - The Shrieking Madness

As you can tell by our episode's title, today Mystery Incorporated tackles the Chthulu mythos! Gotta love those weird ugly squid gods, and the fact that their writer chickened out when it came to describing them only adds to their charm. Everyone loves designing creatures that can "break" the mind of anyone who looks at it directly.

Scooby-Doo was neither the first nor the last children's show to tackle this topic, but MI is our first real representation of it for the franchise. Let's talk about it and the gang's first college tour.

Backstory: The gang are all driven to the Darrow University by their parents whose motives are far different from their children's. Meanwhile, the college is playing host to two popular writers who couldn't be any more different. Harlan Ellison is a no-nonsense tightwad whose work is more "respectable" than the cosmic horror tales written by H.P. Hatecraft - this universe's version of our H.P.

One of Ellison's fans disparages the works of Hatecraft, and is swiftly attacked and kidnapped by the main villain of those stories. The gang mostly stumbles into this mystery by accident, preoccupied by their early brushes with college life. Daphne becomes a communist, Fred is put through homoerotic hazing, and Shaggy points out that he's no longer voiced by a vegetarian in a very unsubtle way.

Velma is the one who actually came to meet Ellison at a book signing, and the gang soon cross each other's paths before finding Ellison being terrorized by green Squidward.

The gang still have their hang-ups, much more strained thanks to everyone's love troubles. They even get distracted from the mystery thanks to their previous college antics, until Char Gar Gothakon attacks Shag and Scoob directly. When the gang confronts Hatecraft, he first gives them the "whispers from another world that I translate into the best-selling written word" spiel. However, to dispel the beast he decides to reveal to an entire class of people the truth.

He made it all up, there is no dark force from an alternate dimension giving him material to write. This upsets his number one fan, but that pales in comparison to how badly Charizard Gengar Gothita takes the news. The Gangrene Illithid kidnaps his creator and takes him back to Hateman's house, which is also where the Ellison fan was being kept prisoner in.

Chary Gary becomes another attempted murderer, deciding that Hatecraft deserved an appointment with the ground after a trip to the roof. The gang distracts the monster long enough to save both Hatecraft, and Char Gar Gothakon, when they nearly fall off the roof. They finally muzzled his tentacles, a trick Fred learned from his college buddies, solving the mystery you already did several minutes ago.

Design: Char Gar Gothakon is a humanoid octopus-human hybrid wearing cultish robes, obviously based on Chthulu and Illithids from D&D. Octopus-faced monsters are just awesome, with the sea creature they're based on already being some of the coolest things on our planet. Did you know all of them are venomous, and some of the best hunter-killers in the sea? They're like wolves in that way, creatures we can both hype up as supernatural omens of death and real-life predators you don't mess with.

Char Gar Gothakon: The Beast with no name, is rather lanky despite how stocky its wearer is. It has diamond-shaped eyes with orange irises and yellow sclera and pupils. It has a globular smooth head and wriggling tentacles encompassing most of its lower face. It's body, especially its "forehead", is covered in skin patterns resembling green splotches like the markings of a frog. It also has small siphons, two on each side of its head, in place of ears. Another easy to miss detail are the gillman-like fins on its forearms.

Its outfit is rather flamboyant, resembling a priest's dressing with a turned-up high collar that's too large for its already giant head. Its shoulder pads are gigantic and connected to the rest of the outfit by the belt. It's belt and bicep bracelets are all gold.

It doesn't even wear a shirt, the middle piece of its outfit being mostly made-up of intersecting strips that expose its shoulders, ribs, and V-line.

Honestly, it's a pretty slutty costume. Besides it's vertical striped long skirt it also wears fingerless elbow-length gloves that also have gaps to expose MORE of its skin.

For powers, it uses a sonic screech that's powerful enough to Launch a grown man onto a car's hood. Its face tentacles can also stretch out, revealing a large circular maw full of sharp teeth underneath, to entangle a victim. The tentacles also stretch and contort in a way that shouldn't even be physically possible since they were taken from a real dead octopus.

Reveal: The true culprit turns out to be Hatecraft's own superfan and student assistant, Howard E. Roberts (named after Robert E. Howard). He decided to bring Hatecraft's monster to life to get back at the haters. However, when Hatecraft declared himself a fraud the superfan decided that the author needed to be destroyed. He made his sonic death blast technology with the help of his college courses by the way.

It is actually through deriding their fans that Ellison and Hatecraft actual find companionship, leaving the gang to discover the archived documents stolen by Mr. E left in the Mystery Machine.

The plot thickens.

5/5, Western Media needs more Mindflayer rep. Nice Gregorian Chants by the way.

See, you can talk about Lovecraft without mentioned his cat being named after the N-Word.

#bmoreviews #scooby doo #scooby doo mystery incorporated #bmoreviewsmysteryinc #mystery incorporated #illithid #chthulu #char gar gothakon

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inkykeiji · 4 months

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https://docs.google.com/document/d/1-4fGPKi34xddcFk3msZFnc_UWYCMndkquW7UkGQE83I/edit

AAAA OKAY SORRY SORRY TRY NOW!!!

-💤

IT WORKS NOW eeeee yay thank you so much!!!!! this made me so emotional (in a good way!)!! i just cannot tell you how honoured i am that you did this for one of my stories like.....i genuinely don’t even have the words to describe how incredible that is and how lucky i am to have you here with me. thank you so much for sharing this with me, i will cherish it so very much ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

my thoughts on each song beneath the cut!!!

family tree - ethel cain

i totally see what you’re saying here!!! ugh god i love ethel cain so much, her music is just so perfect for so much of my work in terms of vibes and atmosphere yk what i mean??? so i was so glad to see that u included her here!!

demolition lovers - mcr

there’s a dozen reasons in this gun has got to be one of my favourite lyrics ever, wow!!! but also, i loved the whole last minute or so of this song!! i know that’s where the lyrics you selected are from, but i just feel like that entire final verse describes the trajectory of dabi and reader’s relationship??? from their first meeting to that last scene with keigo in the hospital.

i would die for you - in this moment

okay, YES. yes, i completely get what you mean LMAO. just that ravenous, all-consuming, downright obsessive love, us against the world type, those who continuously swallow each other whole just to spit them back out again and repeat the entire process. loved it so much <33 VERY dabi x reader!!!

voodoo doll - the funeral portrait

oof okay this song hit so hard it made me sob. as i’ve said before, tag you’re it is a very personal story to me, having grown up with and lived with (and been parented by) addicts for my entire life. because, honestly, addiction doesn’t just hurt the user, it hurts everyone who cares about the user, too. i’m not gonna go too deep into that but i loved everything you had to say about this song and i agree with you one million percent, you hit the nail right on the head!!!

life vest - the material

okay let me just take a moment to bask in the fact that the motel scenes are your favourite because i worked SO insanely hard on those scenes LMAO <3 two bodies with one beating heart oh i love love love this. but yeah!!! at that moment in the story especially, dabi is her life vest; for the majority of their time there (right up until the end) he discards his manipulation and casts off his selfishness and allows himself to just be with her, to be there for her, for completely selfless reasons, because he truly does love her. it is a crucial point in their relationship!

tears don’t fall - bullet for my valentine

ooooh yes okay!!! one of the lyrics that really stuck out to me in this song is there’s always something different going wrong / the path i walk’s in the wrong direction because it feels very keigo, especially since he was the golden boy who fell from grace, essentially. adding onto your selection of lyrics, the her conscience calls the guilty to come home also kind of reminded me of the guilt reader feels for leaving keigo, and how that guilt kind of repeatedly calls for her to come back to him, sometimes in the form of keigo himself.

everybody sells cocaine - motionless in white

holy fuck i LOVED this song!!! and you’re SO right, btw!!! dabi is constantly tempting keigo, taunting keigo, ‘testing’ keigo in the most twisted, unfair ways ever. i don’t even have anything to add, i just agree with you wholeheartedly.

jupiter - flower face

omg yes this is VERY dabi x reader during their budding relationship in part one especially. also, these silly games we play / stupid ways to make you stay / my heart’s split open on display / i can’t wait another day pretty much encompasses them fully <33 also also, rly loved the lyric it must be holy to feel something so pure makes me think of dabi as he initially starts to truly fall in love with her—real, pure, sincere! okay i just got to the end of the song and tbh, i think there’s even an argument to be made here for part two as well, and the way their relationship progresses, the concept of home, etc.

luna - wisp

feeling u hardcore on the chest aching with this song. it’s just the melody, you know??? it feels so infused with raw emotion. this one also kind of reminds me of the sex scene in part one AHAHAHA but that’s more due to how hazy and fragmented reader is <3

bottles - the material

oh yeah, for sure! alcoholism is still substance abuse, and it is still addiction. oof this is another one that made me like, super emotional. just rly struck a chord!! i love everything you’ve pointed out here, and i also love how the chorus (in particular the lyrics those bottles are everywhere / and i can’t be everywhere / to keep them from you) reminds me so much of how reader feels towards keigo’s addiction for the majority of the series; she so desperately wishes to save him from himself, she so desperately wants to help, to be useful, but she truly cannot be everywhere cataloging all of his actions all of the time

aaaah WOW sleepy!!!! incredible playlist, thank you again for sharing it with me and the rest of us here on inkykeiji!!! your selection of songs and the order in which you curated them was just genius, i am so blessed to be able to experience this <333

#so so so good #i feel like you understand the series SO well #and i think the fact that some of these songs made me seriously emotional just speaks volumes to how well you got the story #and possibly how hard it hit with you as well #aaaah i just want to keep saying thank you hahaha #this was such a treat sleepy!!! i am going to be listening to this playlist like all day tomorrow ehehehe #i hope you have a splendid week sweetpea #pls stay safe and drink ur water <33 #💤.anon #clari gets mail #tag universe

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daniellasthoughts22 · 4 months

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Sentenced To Reflection: Dissecting The Layers of Compassion and Cruelty in Stephen King's The Green Mile | BY CELIS EMMYDWAINED & PATROLLA DANIELLA

Have you ever been scared to go into the bathroom after watching a horror movie? Have you ever watched a movie that kept you up at night, letting it sink in your head? Have you ever watched a movie that made you feel a certain uncomfortableness that made you want to rewatch it over again? These are the feelings that I've felt when I watched Stephen King's horror movie, The Shining, for the first time. The movie was eerie and the pacing was slow but it has that certain creepiness into it that haunted me for days. I remember asking my mom to watch me while I go to the comfort room because I was so scared that the twin ghost in the movie might come for me while I am inside of the bathroom. I have read somewhere where they said that Stephen King can make a normal thing into horror. He is capable of taking something normal for other people, and making it into something creepy. That's probably why people like his stories so much. The Green Mile is one of those stories that haunted me for days, not because of how scary the monsters are but how it is so realistically possible. There is no particular villain that has something peculiar or supernatural power that enables them to do something horrifying to the protagonist. As a matter of fact, it is the opposite—the protagonist has supernatural power, a healing power. The real villain that was portrayed here is someone you would think of calling when someone broke into your house and robbed you—a police officer. The villain that was portrayed are the very people we meet and interact in our daily lives.

Exploration of Compassion

In the story, the prison’s facility was just like any ordinary prison hall. The prison was called the “E-block”, but it was mostly known as “The Green Mile”. The Green Mile was called “The Green Mile” because obviously the floor was covered by a green linoleum. There were many things that have happened in The Green Mile. Just like in any prisons also at this present time, cruelty is not inevitable. In the story, there was a scene where the prison guard beat up a prisoner because it accidentally touched the prison guard. There were lots of cruelty that can be seen in this story but it also encompasses the thought of being compassionate. Upon reading the story of “The Green Mile '' it showed me that inside of the prison, even if there are people who showed no mercy or remorse towards killing and bringing cruelty to other people, they still know how to offer compassion and kindness to others. John Coffey as the protagonist of the story, he is the character that I think mostly showed compassion to other people that surrounds him. It was mentioned in the story that Coffey was no ordinary person just like among all of us. Aside from being described by the author as being a huge black man, he also has some sort of supernatural powers. He used his powers to perform “miracles” as from what Paul Edgecomb described it. Through this supernatural power, Coffey had been able to show compassion, most especially in the scene of the two dead girls, the urinary infection of Paul Edgecomb, and the mouse “Mr. Jingles”. He was accused of murdering the Detterick twins even though he was just trying to save the girls. One more thing is when Paul was suffering from his groin or urinary infection. That kind of infection is not a joke actually. Because as a woman who experienced that thing, I can’t actually walk and stand properly. Paul was suffering from it for days and months, but when Coffey noticed that he could not bear the pain that he was feeling, he called Paul and started to perform the ritual he was doing. And surely, the pain was gone like it never existed. Another proof that John Coffey did show compassion to others when he resurrected the mouse of Eduard Delacioix, “Mr. Jingles”. But, when Coffey said to give the mouse to him, he had performed the “ritual” and whispered words into the dead body of the mouse—it had miraculously become alive again.

John Coffey is not the only character in the story that showed compassion throughout the story. Paul Edgecomb was also seen as compassionate to the prisoners but it was different towards John Coffey. Despite the huge features of John Coffey that made the prison guards afraid of him, he was the first inmate that Paul shook hands with. He mentioned it in the book “Night Journey” Chapter 6. Another thing is when before the day that John Coffey was going to be electrocuted on the lap of “Old Sparky”, he and Brutal (Brutus Howell—the other prison guard in the green mile) first asked him if there were things that he wanted. He also asked him if he wanted him to take him off the mile and let him go. Therefore, it implies to us that even at first up to the last part of the story, we can see that Paul Edgecomb definitely showed compassion towards John Coffey and was willing to help him and grant his desires before he was going to put on his death.

Exploration of Cruelty

Upon reading the book, you would see that at first, it was just a normal fiction book—that there is no magical aspect that can be read in it. You can see how racial injustice was evidently being portrayed in it. In the first novel, titled as The Two Dead Girls, set in 1932, when America is cloaked in the Great Depression, racial prejudice and racism is so imbedded in American’s life, It narrates how Paul Edgecombe first met John Coffey in the E-block and also, how John Coffey was convicted of murdering and raping the two Detterick twins. Paul Edgecombe found out how the twins were brutally and cruelly murdered. It was also narrated that when the search party and Mr. Klaus Detterick found Coffey, upon seeing the two dead girls, they saw Coffey crying while hugging the twins saying, “ I couldn’t help it” “I tried to take it back… but I couldn’t help it” after hearing this, they had their guns pointed at him and spat on him while they read Coffey’s Miranda’s right thinking that Coffey had murdered and raped the twins. Upon a “not-so-lengthy” trial, John Coffey was convicted of the murder of the Detterick twins. He was then sentenced to death, sitting on Old Sparky’s legs in The Green Mile. Cruelty is probably one of the things that is imbedded in humanity, we live our life correcting our mistakes and trying to be good but as you grow, you realize that even though you can better yourself, there will always be cruelty prospering somewhere and one of the cruelest thing that mankind has been fighting over ever since is racism. In an era where America is experiencing the Great Depression, racial division is widely normalized. It is heavily portrayed in the book: racism was shown through the experience of John Coffey by the hands of the justice system, but also Eduard Delacroix had experienced it in the hands of one of the prison guards, Percy Wetmore. Percy Wetmore is one of those people who are vicious and who incites violence and unpredictability in the environment on E block. He likes to show that he has connections with those who have high positions and that he can do whatever he wants to do—this includes abusing the inmates of the E-block. In the second book of the novel, The Mouse on the Mile, In this book, it explores the relationship of the mouse called Steamboat Willy but later on was named Mr. Jingles. In this, the cruelty of Percy Wetmore towards the prisoners and other prison guards was explored, he enjoys terrorizing the prisoners, mainly those who have a different racial background like Eduard Delacroix. Paul Edgecomb multiple times said that Percy hated Del so much that he wanted to be the one who will lead the execution of the latter. These acts of cruelty from Percy Wetmore is a pattern throughout the novel. As someone who is supposed to be making and maintaining the order in the Block, he was the one initiating one, aside from Wild Bill. This cruelty of Percy Wetmore significantly impacted the life, or should I say death of one of the prisoners—Eduard Delacroix.

In the fourth book of the novel, entitled, The Bad Death of Eduard Delacroix, the cruelty of Percy Wetmore towards Del was greatly emphasized. When I was a child, my brother would keep on making fun of me in everything that I do. He would make fun of me from the way I talk to the way I dress myself. It was so bad that I would constantly think of ways that I could, to get back at him. I would think of the cruelest prank or even worse—I wish him death. However these things are part of growing up and good thing, I grew out of it. The feelings that I felt back then can be compared to the feelings that Percy Wetmore felt when he was choked and sexualized by Wild Bill and was laughed at by Eduard Delacroix. This incident served as a turning point for Percy Wetmore and would become his ultimate reason to perform one of the cruelest scenes that happened in the novel—the death of Eduard Delacroix. Eduard Delacroix is a character that I grew to like in the story, although he was in the death row for committing heinous crimes—raping and murdering a young and to cover this up he burned the body that spread to the apartment building. He was a character that despite the things he did, you cannot avoid liking him because he was one of the prisoners that had a character development because of Mr. Jingles. Therefore his death was one of the cruelest things that happened in the book. I think we all have been bullied at least once in our life-time, most of the time, it happens during our elementary to high school years. However sometimes, there will always be that one person in our adult life that will forever be a bully even in their adult years. That person is William Wharton, William Wharton, a death row inmate, embodies sadism. He takes pleasure in hurting others, even after being condemned for various crimes. We can see this when he tried to kill Dean, and when he made the lives of the prison guard a living nightmare when he arrived in the E-block. His sadistic way of torturing the guards even after was imprisoned is one of the things that made his character villainous. Cruelty is one of those things that will always persist in the world of this book, it is engraved in each corner of the book and even in the simplest thing like hating something progressing into being the reason for someone's horrible death. They say, people who’s kind always go to heaven, will that be the case with John Coffey? I remember watching and reading it, the line of Paul wherein he said that God put that healing power to John Coffey as he is pure and God would not give it to someone who is not. That’s why when John Coffey was on his way to his death, not only did Paul tried to ask him if he wanted to get out of that situation but because of John Coffey’s pureness, he refused, saying he was tired of the bad things that he kept on seeing in this world. He was tired of the cruel things that kept on happening in front of his eyes. He was too pure to this world, and the world does not deserve someone like him.

Compassion and Cruelty impact on the conclusion of the story

Overall, the themes of cruelty and compassion really made a big impact on the story of Stephen King. This story explored the complexities of the justice system of America. The characters as well created a huge impact on the given story in a way that their attitudes portrayed the compassion and the cruelty in the given narrative. The theme of cruelty is visible in the character of Percy Wetmore by being described as a brutal and ruthless prison guard. Wetmore clearly represents the theme of cruelty. Through his attitude of having a great pleasure in making the life of the prisoners like hell and making them suffer, Stephen King as the author used his character to highlight the cruelty as well as the dehumanization of punishing them through the death penalty. On the other hand, in this story it does not only emphasize the cruelness of the people inside the green mile. Stephen King used the other characters of the story to represent the theme of compassion just like John Coffey. John Coffey is shown in the story as a person with a supernatural power and with this he represents the innocence and the purity as a human being and his character served as a representation that there is still a way to show compassion and empathy towards other people. The character of John Coffey as well as the character of Paul Edgecomb provided a huge representation that despite how cruelty dominated the plot of the story, there's still a compassion that can create a difference for the lives of other people.

#nostalgia #the green mile #stephen king

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