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chu-ni · 6 years

Text

miscommunication – ljn.

pairing: jeno x reader

genre: fluff, angst, royalty!au

word count: 19.6k (uff the most ive EVER written...)

warnings: jeno is a lil bit of a dickhead, sorry if the ending is a lil rushed bc i just wanted this fic GONE, hope its not as tedious for you to read as it was for me to write! this whole fic was inspired by this post! happy reading!

In a bid to preserve the future safety of their neighbouring kingdoms from the growing dangers of the northern empire, your parents, rulers of the southern isles, had you betrothed to the immediate heir of the southern mainland, Lee Jeno. You were 8 years old, and quite frankly didn't even know how to spell betrothal, let alone define it. True to tradition, Jeno, with his glasses, bowl cut, and stuffed cat toy came to stay with you for the next four years before he'd have to return to take up responsibilities as future ruler.

Upon first meeting, you thought Jeno was probably the nicest person you'd ever met, if a little boring. He was quiet, soft-spoken, giggly, and a little shy; you'd realised after he'd barely said more than 2 words to you that it would take you a while to bring him out of his shell. You dragged him on various mini adventures as kids (stealing cookies from the palace kitchens, watching the knights train from a bush just beyond the sparring grounds, playing in throne room and impersonating your parents when nobody else was there), and although at first he was reluctant, he became almost as bubbly and loud as you were -- while you preferred to live in the moment, saying and doing whatever you wanted, you were kids after all, he tended to think before he did things, always thinking about what could happen later on. In that sense, despite your differences, he became your moral compass of sorts, stopping you from being too reckless and bailing you out whenever you got into too much trouble. Did Jeno think he'd probably go bald before he turned 20 because of all the stress you put on him, whether that be you ditching tutoring to go climb trees and him reluctantly tagging along, or him having to practically drag you away from the stables before your parents found out and scolded you for the fourth time that week, or even that one time the two of you got locked in the kitchens at 3am with flour everywhere and the two of you had to clean it up and find somewhere to hide until the morning? Yes, and despite his constant state of anxiety and his frequent joking expression of his wish to go home already so he could finally get some peace and quiet, he still cared about you. Would probably jump in front of a carriage for you. Still considered you his best friend above all. Still appreciated you for bringing him out of his shell and changing him for the better. You and Jeno, as best friends would, spent all your time together. Getting married, the betrothal… it was in the backs of your minds, but at 11 ("Almost 12!!" "Shut up, Jeno,") years old, you liked to pretend you at least had the freedom to explore your romantic options (even if you both always managed to find flaws in every girl and boy. "His hair's too long," "She's too short!" "He looks mean," "She looks too nice,"), that you lived a different life, where royalty and alliances and all that jazz didn't exist for the pair of you. Where you were just two kids, two best friends who could do whatever they wanted and never have to worry about the consequences. As much as you liked to pretend, however, it was just that. Pretend. An imaginary scenario that only went on for a limited amount of time before you inevitably had to return to reality. The two of you returned to reality 3 days before Jeno's 12th birthday, when your parents received a letter dating his return to the mainland. It was less than a week before he left you for, well, ever. You had 5 days to say goodbye to your best friend, your closest confidant, your reluctant partner in crime. And you had no idea what to do. Jeno didn't like talking about leaving, so the two of you avoided the topic and hung out just as you'd always done.You were both in the library, his last day before he left, helping Jeno find a book he wanted when you brought up the topic. "Jeno." You murmur, stopping your search to look at him. At first glance, he seemed fine, but you knew he wasn't really. At least, you hoped he wasn't. Not in a bad way, no, never; but you hoped you'd made a strong enough bond as friends for him to feel something about leaving you for whoever knew how long. He replies with a nonchalant "Hm?", eyes still focused on the rows upon rows of literature in front of him. "Do you-" you clear your throat, trying to build confidence. "Do you think we'll see each other again?" He's silent for a moment, lips pouting and eyes to the ceiling, as if in thought, before stating, with confidence: "I know we will." You're not fully convinced, and it must show because the way Jeno smiles as brightly as possible calms your worrying heart. Jeno leaves the next morning, and you say goodbye with a tight hug that Jeno is 53% sure is the reason he wouldn't stop coughing on the boat home, and a pinky promise to write to each other every day, week, month, and so forth. He makes you promise not to cry. You break it as soon as he boards. You keep breaking it every night he's gone for the next 3 weeks, after which your parents are basically forcing you to make new friends. They've arranged playdates, tea parties, dances, balls; but absolutely nobody was going to replace Jeno, which is exactly what you thought your parents were trying to do and as such you made every effort not to let that happen. Did you deliberately cause trouble? Yes. Did you think Jeno would agree with what you were doing? No, but you were doing it for him and you were sure he'd understand anyway. So the next 2 months are littered with failed playdates, ruined tea parties, messy dances, and disgraceful balls, and even though you felt a little bad when you overheard your parents relentlessly apologising to the other adults, a bigger part of you was happy you wouldn't have to talk to any more stuffy noble children. At least not for the foreseeable future. It was only when your parents gave up trying to make you make friends that you, ironically, made one. You met Haechan while exploring ("Trespassing, more like," "Shut up, Haechan!") the knights' quarters one day. You'd overheard shouting and insults, so you peeked through one of the doors to see a kid who looked around your age, eyes pinned to the floor and fists clenched at his sides as the imposing man who stood in front of him spewed swear words and other things you weren't sure you could repeat anywhere else. At that, you immediately stepped in to defend the boy, using your status to take Haechan back up to your own quarters in the palace, where the two of you properly spoke, or at least tried to before a handmaid had burst into your room, panting slightly, saying you'd both been summoned by your parents to the throne room, at which point your heart had leapt into your throat. The throne room, much like the rest of the palace, was lined with windows to let as much light in as possible. The walls were a pastel yellow, with paintings of previous rulers across the walls, and the floor was covered with rugs various shades of verdant green. The thrones themselves were nothing special; the only thing that denoted their specialty was the engraving of your family crest at the top of them. Seated upon them were, of course, your parents. Your mother was tall, lithe, and with an imposing gaze she often intimidated those she came into contact with. Behind all that, however, she was the goofy mother who'd sung made up lullabies to you as a child, who'd laughed when you stamped everything in your parents study with the royal seal, who'd nearly jumped out of her skin when you used flour to 'teleport' in front of her at the age of 6; she just hid it very well. Your mother had always taught you the importance of controlling your emotions, given you irreplaceable advice on the topic, advice you rarely ever put to use, but took in anyway. Your father, by contrast, was short -- well, not that short, but most people looked short when put next to your mother -- on the heavier side, with a trimmed beard and an open smile. Contrary to your mother, he was often the stricter, more disciplined one of the two. He nagged you often, something you didn't think you'd ever not find annoying, but he had your best interests at heart. The two of them, with their almost opposing personalities, made a good match for each other, and you saw the love they had for one another every day; with the way they looked into one another's eyes, the way your father, even with his short stature, would step in front of your mother at the first sign of her feeling threatened, the way they worked together to solve every problem that ever appeared like magic, and you wished someone would look at you like that one day. You and Haechan, gazes fixed to the floor and hearts beating so fast you were sure anyone in a 50 mile radius could hear them, both trembled slightly as your father, who you'd hoped wouldn't be the one scolding you today, let his voice, low and commanding, travel across the room. "Y/N," His tone is expectant, quiet in volume, and you know what that means. You look up at him, and although he appears straight faced, the slight scowl and squint of his eyes betrays his annoyance. You could tell this was going to be another long-winded lecture. "Do you know why you've been summoned here?" He continues, re-adjusting himself to be more comfortable. You mumbled a reply, hating the fact that Haechan would be witnessing what was basically a daily occurrence. He says your name again in warning, and you speak up this time. "….My insolence," At that, he descends into a tirade that you stopped taking seriously once he mispronounced one of his words, at which you and Haechan made amused eye contact and hadn't stopped doing since. You tuned in and out of his rant catching bits of the same old same old story about "Fixing your manners!" And staying out of "Knightly affairs," until your father couldn't be bothered to speak any more and simply brought in the knight you'd scolded yourself earlier. At much pressure from your father and mother, you apologised, not without gritting your teeth and sending an icy glare your father's way. Seeing as your father had summoned both you and Haechan to the throne, you'd naturally assumed he'd also be scolded, but you had to fight your jaw dropped when your father simply apologised to Haechan for the whole affair and sent him on his way. He was midway through opening the door to exit when you interrupted, "But father--" he'd raised a hand to cut you off, already being done with the conversation. "Who is the princess here, Y/N?" You snarled a "Me," under your breath, a part of you knowing you'd lost the argument before it'd even started. "So that makes it your responsibility to control yourself around others." He turned to go, before whirling back around, a finger pointed directly at you. "Especially the knights, damn it!" At that, he left, your mother following behind him, leaving you alone in the throne room. You waited till they were out of sight before releasing a frustrated groan, trudging back to your room, desperate for some alone time to sulk in your own emotions. You groan again when you find Haechan reading through one of your books on economic development (not like you'd ever read it anyways), not even bothering to acknowledge you until you stamp over to him and snatch the damn thing out of his hands, "Don't touch my stuff." You hiss. He pouts, disappointed, before rolling his eyes. "Thanks," he sighs, blasé. "For earlier." You open your mouth to reply, but judging by how he gingerly sits at the edge of your bed, you wait for him to continue. "If you hadn't come in then I probably would've said something I'd regret, and then my parents would be super mad, and then I'd probably have to start something stupid, like alchemy or something. God, I hate alchemy--" As bad of a mood as you were in, you couldn't help but to laugh. His deadpan yet relatable way of expressing himself reminded you of yourself a little, and you smiled softly to yourself. The sound of him whispering an accomplished "Yes!" under his breath causes you to look up at him in question. "That's what I wanted." His gaze softens as his eyes fall on yours, "You looked a lot worse before. I didn't think it was fair, given what you did for me. So that was my way of saying thanks." The two of you sit in a comfortable silence, you also noticing that Haechan's gotten more comfortable on your bed, as you both stare at the ceiling. You break the silence a little while later. "You're welcome." You'd originally planned to end the conversation there and go back to staring at the increasingly mundane ceiling of your room so you could seem cool and aloof, but you had a feeling Haechan wasn't the kind of person to care about things like that. "And….thank you, also." The tables turn. This time, it's Haechan who's looking at you, brows furrowed, lips curled, in question. "I'm not very good at knowing when to shut up, which you've probably noticed," he visibly scoffs at that, and you playfully glare at him in return. "I'm not very good at acting like a princess, either, so I find it hard to relate to other people in my, um, circle?" You question, mainly asking yourself, but he interjects anyway. "Don't you have any friends?" You swallow, gritting your teeth. "I was getting to that," Embarrassed, Haechan slowly turns to face the window to his left. You sigh before continuing, "Anyway, I had a friend, but he moved away. And I hate the other noble kids; they're all the same, with their ugly clothes and weird hairstyles and the fact that they're only nice to me when their parents are around--which is barely, by the way-- and how stupid they all are--" Haechan has turned back to look at you at some point during your rant, and there's a mysterious glint in his eyes as he smirks at you. "You're funny. Like me," he studies you for a second, his smirk growing into a grin. "We should talk more sometime," He sighs, then stretches as he stands from his position on your bed. He says nothing as he opens the door, turns to wave at you, and then disappears, closing the door behind him. To say you were a little confused was an understatement. Not only had you inadvertently revealed more about yourself than you'd learned from him in an attempt to get him to open up, your kind-of acquaintance had also simply up and left in the middle of your conversation. Haechan kept to his word of talking more to you, though, as he'd come to find you whenever his assigned knight (who'd been switched to someone nicer after the incident) gave him a break. Over time you'd managed to find out more about him; that he was born and raised a noble, but had always wanted to be a knight, so had begun his squire training this year in the palace -- it was why you'd never seen him before then, that he was actually a lot like you but a little more ("A lot," "Shut up, Y/N!") sharper-tongued. He liked to express himself through jokes and humour, which was a plus as all the time you spent shedding tears of laughter helped take your mind off of Jeno's departure. Like you, Haechan liked to talk about anything and everything-- sometimes this led to irritation between the two of you because you both always had something important to say and you were both the only people who'd listen -- but you liked hearing what he'd talk about as you knew you'd learn something new from him every time. You meet your second new friend at your 13th birthday ball, something you vehemently opposed the second you heard the idea…except you didn't hear the idea, you were just told it was happening 2 hours before it was supposed to start. To make matters worse, you didn't even have the energy or the time to try and sabotage it given the fact that your parents had someone watching over you at all times, be it a handmaid, a guard, a servant; practically anyone your parents could get their hands on. The ball itself wasn't even that bad, even though you'd never say that out loud. The ballroom was decorated to look like the sun your people worshipped so much; fabrics of yellow and gold were draped across the room in every hue; tables were filled to the brim with fruits, confectionery, and other foods you couldn't pronounce the name of. Musicians were seated in the corner of the room, playing pieces you recognised from your lessons but never really remembered all that well. Did you appreciate the effort? Yes. Did you care for it all, though? Absolutely not. To make matters worse, there was no sign of your current confidant, Haechan, anywhere -- the whole place seemed to have been populated with the same noble children you hated and their equally as annoying parents. Leaving clearly wasn't an option, given the servant currently offering drinks was doing a really bad job at subtly watching you from their position within the group of noble parents. Sighing, you left the buffet table and all of its tasty comforts to explore the floor, taking great care to avoid the group of obnoxious 13 year olds in the centre of the room.

You'd be lying if you said you discovered some amazing secret that would change your life forever in between the designated tables and their vases filled with flowers, the overwhelmingly sweet smell of which was beginning to give you more than a headache. Almost the entirety of the ballroom was the same no matter where you went-- the same old stuffy adults in one corner, the same stuffy disrespectful kids your age in another, the member of staff assigned to you changing every quarter of an hour the only constant, ironically. If anything, you'd say the only thing you'd discovered during the increasingly painful amount of time you'd been here was the fact that you hated birthday balls, and you would be all too happy if someone told you you never had to have one again. Uncaring for whoever it was that was watching you this time, you storm towards the exit, a scowl marring your features. Someone's arm slinging itself over your shoulder and a slightly terrified whisper of "Keep walking, please," spurs you on for the moment, but when you successfully get out of the ballroom (to your own surprise), you fling the arm off your shoulder, stop walking and whirl to face your temporary escapee. Judging by the boyish timbre of his voice earlier, you'd expected someone a little different than whatever the kid currently sheepishly grinning at you was. He was dressed in robes that looked like they'd come from somewhere far away; his face was both adorable and yet belied almost the same air of mischief you'd noticed around Haechan upon your first meeting with him, but there was something different about this one. Unconsciously, your eyes narrowed as you studied him some more, failing to notice the fact that his previous grin had dropped, been replaced by a concerned gaze. You also failed to notice that his mouth had been moving for quite some time now; it's his hand, again on your shoulder, that breaks you out of your trance. "Hello? Are you okay?" He shakes you slightly and you nod before he can cause too much of a fuss. This time, you didn't really care to know who the unnamed boy was or why he'd even snuck out with you in the first place, thoughts of finding Haechan and ranting to him the at the forefront of your mind, but the boy decided to tell you anyway. You'd begun walking, hoping he'd get the hint that you had somewhere to be, but he simply fell into step beside you, continuing his life story. When you bothered to tune in, your mind still set on finding Haechan, and giving little hums here and there to at least give off the vibe you were listening to your unwanted guest, you'd found out a multitude of things. One, that he'd come from the Eastern continent, somewhere you'd only read about in the few books you liked reading, and that he was rich enough to practically be royalty. Two, that the succession crisis over there and the accession of the new ruler caused his family to move to the southern isles to avoid persecution. Three, that his parents own a "nice restaurant in town. You should visit sometime!" Oh, and four. The kid just wouldn't shut up. But you could've guessed that from the moment he started talking anyway. You also found out he was younger than you "Wait," you're cut off by Haechan, eyes widened in recognition. "You're Zhong Chenle? That kid with the huge house?" You look over to Chenle, analysing his reaction "It's not that huge, I mean--" Haechan cuts him off again, and you tune out of the conversation as soon as they start talking about Chenle's apparent neighborhood popularity. You never do find out why Chenle wanted to leave that party so badly, and the thought of asking always slips your mind. What you do know, is that you see Chenle around a lot more often, but that's only cause after trying some of his mom's restaurant's food you haven't been able to stop making orders to the palace for it. There had to be something in that braised beef of hers that made it so addictive, and Chenle delivering it was a plus, cause it meant the three of you could talk and do whatever for as long as you wanted. So you had friends, at long last. The three of you grow up and mature together, Chenle, offering knowledge far beyond his years despite him being the youngest of the three of you, Haechan, getting a lot better at holding his tongue and being less mischievous, and you, though still a little rebellious at times, have managed to ultimately, tone it down. You still stress out your tutor, Taeyong though-- every time you trick him into letting you go early from your lessons and he finds you in the midst of climbing some tree with Chenle, or beginning to mount a horse with Haechan when you really should be studying he swears he loses more and more years off his life. You're less outspoken, more articulate when you speak; You choose your battles more carefully now, instead of blowing up whenever you disagree with someone -- by around a year or so, and called Chenle. During the course of your one sided conversation, punctuated by monotonous hums of agreement from you here and there, you found yourself in front of Haechan's quarters at long last. Unsurprisingly, Chenle followed after you, even as you opened the door to find him half dressed. "Oh my-- Do you know how much I hate it when you do that!?" Startled, Haechan drops to a crouch, trying to salvage some modesty. "You're acting like I haven't seen it before," you sigh, dragging your tired feet over to his bed, flinging yourself down onto it and closing your eyes. Pulling his tunic over his shorts, dragging a palm down his face, he snaps, "That's when it's just you, idiot," he nods at Chenle to come further in (the poor boy had been awkwardly standing in the doorway throughout your exchange,) "At least let me know if you're going to bring guests." He whines, sitting directly on your stomach, using as much force as possible. "Haechan you-- Ow!" You wheeze, the breath knocked out of you. Struggling against the fabrics of your dress, you finally manage to shove him off, kicking him in the process, and not missing the red tinge to Chenle's face and his extremely poor attempt at hiding his laughter. You look to Haechan, glaring, and see him smirking back at you; you make a note to beat him up properly for it later. You take a deep breath, willing your annoyance away, and introduce the two. "Haechan, this is Chenle, Chenle, this is--" that doesn't mean you don't still rip people to shreds if they have a wrong opinion, though (Your parents are still apologising to the western continent's representative after you cursed him out over his 'inflammatory comments', ( "He said women were inferior beings and that it was amazing I could read, given my smaller brain, mother!" "I don't care what he said, Y/N. he is a guest of ours and you will respect his beliefs!" "….") Jeno, while back home, matured as well. He chilled out (he's still a little weird, but only around his friends) in the sense that he's kind to everyone, respectful to everyone, the epitome of the perfect prince; because he has to be. His parents were stricter than yours were, exponentially so due to the growing threat of the northern continent. And although he finds the continuous prim and proper prince act a little tiring at times, and wishes he could be himself (A goofy, weird, sometimes airheaded, huge cat-lover) all the time, he knows his parents would never allow it ( "That's not how a prince should behave, Jeno."). As a result, he's secretly irritated a lot of the time, anger bubbling beneath the surface. No-one would ever know, though; he's just that good at hiding it (Until, of course, he meets you again 6 years later and snaps at you by accident). As the years went past, you'd never really forgotten Jeno; in fact, you still thought of him from time to time-- but it was a lot less than when he first left. You'd first exchanged letters every week, but as time passed and the two of you became busier and busier, him with his preparations to be king and you with your own preparations to take over, the letters went from weekly, to monthly, to barely any at all. Sometimes he'd cross your mind and you'd wonder how he was doing, what he looked like, whether he'd grown even taller, if he was still the same old giggly boy you'd dragged around the palace 6 years ago -- but then Chenle or Haechan would be doing something that you just had to see -- and the thought would be gone. You didn't think Jeno would be returning to your corner of the southern isles any time soon, anyway. Life on the southern mainland, for Jeno, at least was hopelessly, mind-numbingly, boring. Those 4 years he'd spent in the southern isles had gone too fast for him, for now he was stuck back with his controlling parents that never let him just be, and it only got a little better the older he got. Jeno had returned home, to his bland room with its white walls and paintings of old men the only decoration his parents would allow. He'd been practically thrown in the deep end when it came to his royal duties; he was supposed to greet this lady, bow to this lord, smile at this diplomat, pretend, pretend, pretend -- because emotions were never becoming of a prince, of a 'future king'. He'd come to hate those 2 words in coming years. -- Seoyoung was the closest thing to a replacement version of you that Jeno could get. It had been a year since he'd forced himself back into the perfect box his parents had always pressured him to fit into, a year since his unwanted goodbye to freedom and the Southern Isles. The letters exchanged with you had slowly but surely died out, and being left with your own company in a palace as big as the one he lived in was like his own personal hell. Being forced to be a certain way all the time, never being allowed to truly express emotion, along with a clear lack of understanding from his already closed off parents had led to him slipping away from the high walls of the palace and out into the bustle of the local towns beyond. It was there, after running away from some moody teenagers he'd unwittingly bumped into, hiding in the nearest open door available to him, that he'd met her. "Hey!" Jeno whips round, chest still heaving, back pressed into the wooden ridges of the door he'd just shut. "Who the hell are you," she growls, advancing towards him with a pan that looked more and more threatening by the second, "And what are you doing in my house?" Soon enough, he can feel the cool edge of the pan pressed into his neck, and, grimacing, he pleads, "Please, please don't kill me," and he hates how he very loudly whimpers as the girl presses the pan deeper. Her laugh, a tiny giggle that sounds like addictive music to his ears, changes the mood. “Relax,” she snickers, a sly tear coming out of her eye, “I’m not gonna kill you! What kind of person do you think I am?” She’s thrown her head back now, laughing louder, and Jeno can’t find it in himself to get angry. “I wouldn’t know?” he probes, "We just met, so.." Jeno peels himself off the door, standing awkwardly as the girl drags a chair, flinging herself onto it. Rubbing her eyes, trying to calm down, she asks, "Seriously. Why are you in my house." "Oh, I just, like, bumped into the wrong group of people.... I guess I got on their bad side, cause they chased me through town. This was the nearest open door to hide." She starts laughing again, and Jeno's confused once more. His explanation wasn't *that* funny, was it? And the longer she laughed, the more he was beginning to suspect Seoyo was laughing *at* him, not at what he said. He didn't know how that made him feel, but it wasn't good. "I can't believe," she wheezes, "You got chased...by Minho's gang!" she sputters. "Are you new here or something? Everyone knows Minho and his crew are a bunch of boneheads, they were probably just playing with you," Upon reflection, perhaps the smiles those 'moody teenagers' were sporting as they followed him were less menacing and more...welcoming. But he wasn't going to take his chances either way. "So what if I am new here?" He retorts, "They didn't look very friendly when they starting running after me down the street!" She looks at him for a long moment, before mocking his words and laughing again. "Hey!" he snaps, but his voice breaks as he says it and it sounds more like a childish whine.

Pushing herself off the chair, she begins rummaging through cupboards and drawers, pulling out various ingredients as she goes. "You must be hungry," she snickers, but she can tell that any more of her incessant mockery would genuinely offend him, so keeps it to a minimum. "Sit down, and I'll make you something to eat." Tentatively, Jeno sits at the table, round, chipped at the edges, and worn from years of use. An aroma soon fills the air, drifting to his nose. Whatever it was, it smelled better than any of the stuff from the palace kitchens- and when she placed the bowl of soup and vegetables in front of him, it tasted much better, too. "So, where are you from?" He chokes on a carrot. "You said you moved here recently, right? Where from?" Now, it was at this point where Jeno hated the fact that he was never that great at lying, because he now needed to come up with a believable backstory and actually stick to it without giving himself away as the freaking crown prince, for goodness sake. "An island." He states, and hopes she'll be satisfied with that.

"Near the, uh," he downs a spoonful of soup to buy thinking time, "the Southern Isles?" Sounding confused was definitely not going to look believable, but he still prayed to all the gods in the universe, even the ones he didn't believe in, to help him out here. Just this once. "Okay," she sounds suspicious, he notices, but he's thankful enough she doesn't press further and leaves the thought at that. "I'm Seoyoung," and Jeno inwardly screams as he knows what question is coming next, "What's your name?" What was his name? Meaning, what was his fake name going to be? Like an idiot, he almost gives himself away, "I'm Jen-- Jen. Yeah, Jen." He can practically feel the disbelief in her expression, and quickly goes back to the soup to avoid her gaze. "What about your surname?" 'Are you serious?' Is what he wants to say, but plays along for the sake of hiding his identity. "Uh," he notices the material of the table, and blurts out a "Wood. Jen Wood."

"So your name is Jen...Wood." "Yes." She sighs, gets up to wash her own bowl, and shakes her head. "I didn't think you'd lie for that long." Yeah, he's busted. "I know you're the prince, by the way. Nobody eats soup with a spoon around here unless they're a noble, and you gave yourself away when you basically said your name, Prince Jeno."

His shoulders sag, half in relief, and half in an apathetic resignation to the fact that now that she knew who he was, so would everyone else. And then word would reach his parents that he'd snuck out of the palace and he'd have to say goodbye to any sliver of a chance at freedom until he either ascended the throne or died before then. "Do you think, you could, like, maybe, not tell anyone?" Being unsure of yourself and not even putting up a fight was not how his mother had taught him to negotiate, but desperate times called for desperate measures. "Please?" He begs. "I won't say a word. In fact, you were never here," Oh, yes! Freedom was still a possibility- "On one condition." Never mind. "You keep coming here. To see me." Honestly speaking, there was no true reason why Jeno would have to go see Seoyoung on a regular basis, aside from avoiding the wrath of his parents, but even so, hanging out with her more often seemed like an attractive concept on its own. So he agreed. "It's a deal," and it was. From that point on, Seoyoung became his, well, your, replacement. He finally had a friend he could pour out his emotions to, one that wasn't handpicked by his parents to make worthwhile connections with, who he could be the same Jeno from the Southern Isles with, not the uptight prince from the Mainland. The addition of Jaemin, the son of rich merchants who sometimes made Jeno question why he was a prince when Jaemin seemed so much better suited, and Renjun, a noble who understood Jeno's struggles even if he was a little too blunt for his liking, altogether made Jeno, for the first time in a long time, feel at home in his own home. And so life continued like that; going out with Jaemin and Renjun to meet with Seoyoung. Games of tag and hide and seek in the woods soon turned into intense chess battles, mock swordfights, in depth discussions about literature, learning more about the subjects Jeno would soon rule over - there wasn't a single way life could get any better. It's the end of a day spent just with Seoyoung for Jeno. They're sat in their usual spot, across from each other on the same wooden table they had their first meeting on. A candle, mid-burnt, sits in the middle, its wavering light hitting all the right points on her face. Her eyes, a warm brown, are illuminated, her hair, a deep burgundy, looking so silken Jeno's afraid to even breathe in its direction so as not to disturb it, and the curve of her lips, forever locked in a halfway point between the smirk he's grown to love so much and a simple pout, look more appealing now than they ever have done. Locking eyes with her, he moves the candle to one side and leans in, asking for consent. There's a nod of her head and a coy wink and suddenly his lips are on hers and it feels so, so amazing- and then she pushes him away.

"You're a prince, Jeno. We can't do this," she whispers. "What if someone sees you?" He looks at her for a long moment, throwing all thoughts of you out of his mind. Who knew when he'd see you again anyways? "I don't care," he grins, "I'm here with you now, and that's all that matters." He leaves Seoyoung's house that night with swollen lips and a heart so light it could float off into the distance and Jeno wouldn't even notice. He arrives home, cheeks hurting from smiling so wide, parading around his chambers like a lovesick fool, when he sees it. Sealed with the usual blue wax stamp of his parents, resting on his desk, lies an envelope. Tentatively, he opens it, skim reading the contents until he finds the sentence that shocks him so much he has to read it twice: 'You shall be returning to the Southern Isles within the next 3 days. Prepare accordingly.' After removing all thoughts of you from his mind, the memories he has with you return like opened floodgates. The heaviest thing on his mind is how to tell you about Seoyoung- the right thing, the noble thing to do would be to break up with her - but that would break her heart, and telling you about her would break yours. He could always not say anything and spare both of you the pain...Yes. Yes, he could do that. He was going to do that. -- When you got the news that Jeno would be returning to your kingdom, you were, not to sound like a cheesy young adult novel or anything, beside yourself with excitement. You'd rushed to your chambers upon hearing the news, penning letter after letter while also throwing letter after letter away, just until you could find exactly the right words to greet him with. When you received your first letter back from him - your first letter back from him in a long time - you could practically feel through his familiar and yet different messy scrawl just how much he'd changed. Personality wise, that was. You had to admit that the only image you had of Jeno was the bright eyed, quiet little 12 year old you'd waved goodbye to 6 years prior, so you'd envisioned that image when writing to him. When you formally greeted him in the throne room of your palace, though, you were most definitely surprised, to say the least.

Gone was the Jeno whose height you'd always make fun of - now he was taller, had grown into his features - which had gone from rounded cheeks and a soft profile to harsher lines, a defined jawline and an aura that gave off the feeling that he was now more royal than anything else. He was lean yet built, his previous bowl cut, now changed into straight black locks, strands of which fell across his forehead in the best way you could imagine. You were sure that if you looked up the definition of 'prince' in a dictionary, a picture of Lee Jeno would be right beneath it. The fact that you were betrothed to him had never been an important aspect of your thoughts, never something you even deigned to think about, but when he looked like that, you were beginning to enjoy the prospect of seeing him every day in your near future. You walk up to him and curtsey, trying your best to fight the grin arising on your face. "Your Highness," you breathe, eyes sparkling. "Princess," he nods, one corner of his mouth turning up into a half smile, while you try your hardest to ignore the sudden increase in your heart rate. His eyes, a warm chocolate brown, were so intoxicating could stare into them forever, and for what felt like it, you did. You took a step forward, but a quick eyebrow raise from Jeno and a nudge to your side by your mother soon reminds you of your apparent duties as a host, guiding your betrothed to his rooms being one of them. On the way there, you ask him as many questions as you can; how he's been, what he's been up to, what friends he made - but his answers are all short sentences and one worded, a haughty mix of 'yeses', 'no's' and 'I don't know's'. Sneaking a sideways glance at him, you wondered when he'd become so closed off. His expression looks downcast and yet apathetic; like he'd rather be anywhere else than here. You ask him if he received your last letter, and he barely replies with anything more than a noncommittal "Mm." The walk continues, silent and uncomfortable, and when you do finally arrive at his chambers he storms in without a thanks or a goodbye. You're left confused, unsettled, and more than a little hurt. After all, this was supposed to be 2 best friends reuniting at last, not two strangers meeting for the first time. Dinner goes worse. Multiple times you try to make conversation and multiple times he letter away, just until you could find exactly the right words to greet him with. When you received your first letter back from him - your first letter back from him in a long time - you could practically feel through his familiar and yet different messy scrawl just how much he'd changed. Personality wise, that was. You had to admit that the only image you had of Jeno was the bright eyed, quiet little 12 year old you'd waved goodbye to 6 years prior, so you'd envisioned that image when writing to him. When you formally greeted him in the throne room of your palace, though, you were most definitely surprised, to say the least. completely ignores you. You look at your parents, who are engaged in their own conversation, and you roll your eyes - at how oblivious they are not to notice their own 'son-in-law's actions, and how frustrated you are at said son-in-law as well. You go to sleep that night even more confused, and you wake up disgruntled and unimpressed. At breakfast, you attempt to make eye contact with him sat directly across from you only for him to, again, blatantly ignore you. Clearly irritated, you stab at your food, making your emotions (however childish) known. "Y/N, do you have something to say?" Your intense eating caught the attention of your parents, while the one person's attention you wanted was still engrossed in his meal. Great. "No, Father. Just hungry." You try your best to control your tone, not in the mood for another lecture about your attitude at dinner. While they had become less frequent over the years as you matured, times like these, where your temper got the best of you, still arose. "It doesn't look as though you are just hungry. What have I told you about your attitude when eating, Y/N?" ...This couldn't be serious. Much to your distaste, your mother decides to join the conversation, "You should really try to be a little more considerate, Y/N. It's not polite to be so... aggressive around your betrothed." Knowing your mother to be the more relaxed one of your parents, it's hard to say you don't feel a little betrayed at her taking your father's side. Luckily, your father changes the subject and you hold back sighing in relief. "Speaking of aggression, have you heard about the Northern Empire's movements lately?" "Ah- yes, I did hear from one of my advisers - their leader is claiming one of the western border towns as their own - troops are already stationed there, apparently," You look between your parents as your mother shakes her head, running her fingers through her perfectly styled hair, the crease in your father's brow deepening as he frowns in worry. "It seems the the threat of the Northern Empire is manifesting sooner than we thought, dear." The Empire's occupation of the Western border towns meant it would only be a matter of time before they invaded the Southern Mainland, and soon enough the Isles - bad news for you, and even worse for Jeno. "The question is now, what to do before we find them at our doorstep - Y/N, what are your thoughts?" You clear your throat before speaking. "Wouldn't the obvious thing be to send diplomats to work out a deal, but prepare troops at home for when they do arrive?" It made sense in your mind; you had the best of both worlds - peaceful talks with protection if worst came to worst. Your father shakes his head, pursing his lips. "That would take money, resources, and most importantly, time." Looking towards you, he adds, "Time we don't have!" For emphasis. Your lips curl, annoyed at his blatant shutdown of what you thought was a great plan, but school your features into neutrality when he glares at you briefly. "What do you think, Jeno? This is a matter that concerns you the most, after all." Your ears prick up at the mention of his name, mildly intrigued to hear his take - if he even bothered to reply. "I actually agree with Y/N," he says. You hear your mother squeal in joy and fight to keep the cringe off your face. "Darling, how cute," she whispers, "Husband and wife agreeing with each other!" Your father coos along with her, while you look on, unimpressed. You look across to see Jeno blush, and are pleasantly surprised to see that even after 6 years, he still blushes just the same as he used to -- eyes cast down, lips turned up in a shy smile, hand reaching to run through his hair before it stops mid air and falls down again, anxious not to ruin it. Breakfast finishes with no further interruption- that is, until your parents stop the two of you as you're leaving to recommend (read: force) you both to take a walk through the gardens to see how things have changed. -- He's ignoring you. Again. Why you thought there'd be a sudden change in the pattern of Jeno blatantly blindsiding you every time you were alone was beyond you, but the feeling doesn't get any less uncomfortable every time he does it. Having had enough, you pull to one side, the force almost throwing the two of you off balance and into some bushes, but you ask - no, demand - just what exactly his problem is, and his reply isn't what you expect. "I don't have a problem, Y/N." Oh, please. "Someone who doesn't have a problem wouldn't pretend their childhood friend doesn't exist after not seeing them for 6 years, Jano," You hiss, "So I'll ask again. What is your problem with me? What have I done?" You hate the pleading lilt that infects the tone of your voice in the second question, and you hate that you can't help it when he still looks so stoic. His expression breaks though, shoulders sagging for what you notice is the first time since his arrival, a defeated sigh leaving his lips. "You didn’t do anything, Y/N,". "I- I guess I'm just used to acting a certain way back home-- it's hard to adjust," "You were never like this before," "That was then. This is now."

You felt a sense of regret at not sending more letters after Jeno left - as his best friend, you should've done more to let him confide in you. Then, at least, you wouldn't have this uneasy feeling in your chest that you needed to get to know him all over again. "Sorry, though." He continues, "For acting so cold towards you - I guess I was taking out my frustration at always having to be a certain way out on you - you didn't deserve that." "I know we haven't really spoken for a long while, but I'm still your best friend. You can tell me anything." There's a look shared between you both, and you get the feeling that Jeno understands. "You're in my kingdom, now, not yours. Things are different here, remember?" You tease, lightly nudging him with your elbow. The two of you chuckle at that and continue walking, simultaneously falling into step and into the easy, free flowing conversation you'd wanted to have since he'd arrived, It's dotted with reminiscing and head thrown back laughs at old inside jokes - and it's finally like nothing had changed. You listen in rapt wonder as he goes into depth about the adventures him and 2 other boys named Jaemin and Renjun go on, you smile in adoration as he describes his 3 favourite cats he's forced to keep in the servants quarters due to his allergies and the wrath of his parents if they discovered 'vermin' in the palace, as they described it, and you heave a sigh of nostalgia as he complains about not being able to have intense flour battles in the palace kitchens in the early hours of the morning, like the 2 of you used to, when he was here. He listens in content as you tell him about the situations that led you to meet Chenle and Haechan, as you giggle to yourself while describing them, watches the way your expression lights up as you tell him about all the new hobbies you'd picked up, the new places you'd discovered and had quickly marked as yours, and jumps as you grab his wrist and drag him along, through winding paths and bushes of flowers sculpted into arches, into an open spot, surrounded by flora. The vibrance of them almost blinds him, their beauty enough to render anyone speechless. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" You smile at him, pleased at the astonished look in his eyes. "I come here when I want to relax," you continue, understanding his silence. "It's amazing," he breathes, before looking at you with a smile so bright it throws you a little. When you grab his wrist a second time to lead him to other places, the slip of his hand into yours doesn't go unnoticed. -- Jeno was only meant to be staying for a few months this time before it was your turn to visit his lands for the impending wedding. The past 2 months of his stay, although awkward at first, had been just like old times, with the exception of various instances that were more reminiscent of a couple and less of 2 best friends.

It was one instance in particular, though, that signified a shift in the air between the two of you. It was humid in the city - the air hot and sticky and the typical royal wear the two of you wore, although thin, seemed to exacerbate the uncomfortable feeling that dominated you both. You'd been sent on an outing through the town to greet the people and make a good impression, as your father had put it, for once leaving his study to speak to the both of you. The humidity you felt wasn't just because of the weather, though - for the entirety of your walk, every face you smiled at, every conversation you made, every cat you'd be forced to stop and pet - Jeno's hand had been firmly clasped in yours. The only time you were apart was when Jeno had left to 'get something'. What it was, you didn't know. Walls painted a pure white to reflect as much sunlight as possible, Shelves around the shop filled with touches of domesticity - a picture here, a souvenir there - and the slightly irritating smell of the flowers, displayed around the room in bouquets of varying sizes are what welcomed Jeno as he stepped into the flower shop. The florist, a middle aged lady with a twinkle in her eye and a knowing smile, waves as Jeno walks in, him nodding in return as the two make small conversation before she turns to work. "Take good care of her," she calls, busying herself with various bits and bobs here and there, shaking Jeno out of his brief gaze around the store. "I swear to," He replies, running his fingers over the petals of the various bouquets. "Are you sure? The people would have your head if you didn't." He turns to face the florist. Her back is towards him, but her tone of voice commands his attention. It's a beat too long before he replies. "Of course I'm sure!" He smiles, as wide as his cheeks sill let him - the florist turns to face him, her expression mimicking his. He hopes her eyes, seemingly searching for something in his gaze, don't notice the guilty pang in his chest. She seems satisfied with whatever she finds there, breaking the stare and taking a weight off Jeno's shoulders as a result. Busying herself compiling flowers together, a bouquet, she speaks again. "Y/N..." she begins forming a bouquet , picking flowers here and there to add to it. "She's like a beacon to us, you know? She's our princess," the florist pauses for a second, looking nostalgic. "When she was born, the country celebrated for 3 days and nights. I still remember it like it was yesterday." He can see her eyes getting glassy, and he hesitates whether he should make an effort to comfort her or leave her alone. He chooses the latter. "And now... now she's all grown up! Betrothed, to be married! So take care of her," she leans forward, near-pleading. The bouquet is done, and she hands it to him. "I- I will. I promise," Jeno declares, his clasp on the bouquet tightening with his words. The guilty pang returns as he leaves, and increases in intensity as you come into view. The promise he made in there sounded as real as ever - because he'd forgotten about Seoyoung for a second. The closer he got to you, however, the better he saw your eyes light up at his presence, your features breaking into a relieved smile, widening further once you noticed the bouquet in his hands, the clearer it became that he was playing you for a damned fool. -- There's a comfortable silence in your carriage home. Feeling tired from walking around so much, you find your head leaning towards, and then resting on, Jeno's shoulder. It was less than comfortable considering the texture of the road caused your head to bump his shoulder a little too hard every now and again, but you didn't mind. He calls your name, breaking the quiet. "Y/N." You grunt a reply, flitting in and out of consciousness. "Y/N," he calls again, a whine to his voice this time. You grunt again, wanting to stay in your reverie just a little longer. "Y/N~" You look up at him, exasperated. "What?" You cry out, before his lips are on yours and then suddenly gone. It was a quick peck, a mere meeting of the lips, for lack of a better phrase. Short, sweet, but oh-so meaningful. He says nothing for the rest of the ride, but the strawberry flush across his cheeks tells you everything you wanted to know anyway. Yes, Jeno kissed you - just to get his mind off Seoyoung. But the heat he felt bloom across his face and the sharp increase in his pulse made him question if his feelings for Seoyoung were as intense as he thought they were if just one kiss with you made him feel this way.

-- You have to hide the obvious shock in your expression when he starts sitting next to you at breakfast the next morning. "Jeno." "Hm?" "What are you- Why are you here. On this side." "Am I not allowed to sit next to you?" "No, it's just- never mind." You have to hide the embarrassment when he asks himself when you'd become so breathtaking loud enough for you to hear. "You're so beautiful," He breathes. He's sitting a table away from you, in the palace library. "What? What did you say?" "Nothing! Nothing," You have to force yourself not to bury your head in the nearest pillow, fabric, hell, cloth - when he starts sneaking kisses from you at every opportunity. "Y/N, my leg hurts." He's draped himself over the chaise longue in your chambers, preferring to spend most of his time there rather than anywhere else. You’re stood over him, hands on your hips. You found his presence a welcome occurrence, happy to get closer with him. "...Okay, let's go to the infirmary together. I'll walk you," "No, no! Not the infirmary." You frown, suspicious. "I think I need a different kind of treatment..." He looks at you expectantly, batting his lashes. "I don't understand." You hear him grumble under his breath, before his hand snakes around your waist and drags you so close your nose s are touching. "Do you understand now?" He whispers, eyes locking yours into place. His lips brush yours, still holding that gaze, and you almost lose the strength to stand as he kisses you properly, smoothly, before pulling away with a cursed wink. You start as a servant bursts through the doors, chest heaving, running towards Jeno and pressing an envelope, sealed with the familiar blue wax stamp of his kingdom, into his hands before running right back out again. The two of you share a look, then focus on the letter as Jeno opens the envelope and you lean over to read it's contents. The Northern Empire has invaded. Return at once. Concise. Clear. Just like the king and queen of the Southern Mainland. At the news, he immediately turns to leave your room, you following, but struggling to keep up. "Where are you going?" he asks. "I'm coming with you, obviously," you say, a little breathless. You stumble, bumping into him as he abruptly stops. "No, you're not," he says, looking confused. "Yes, I am," you reply, daring him to challenge you on the matter. "If you think I'm going to let you put your life at risk-" "I won't be putting anything at risk, because we'll be together." You caress his jaw, a thumb rubbing circles onto the skin. "I can't protect you all the time. You're safer here," he presses, frowning in worry. "Stay," he begs. "Please?" You take a deep breath, looking directly at him. "Jeno. I'm going with you." You shake your head at his open mouth, stopping him from saying the words he so desperately wants to say. "We're going," your hands move to his shoulders, squeezing them lightly, "to solve this, together. Because that's what a future king," you say, raising your eyebrows at him for emphasis, " and queen do." You continue, still holding his gaze. "And as my future husband," Neither of you can deny the increase in the pace of your hearts at that phrase, "You should have faith in me to defend myself. Okay?" He releases a breath through his nose, eyes fluttering shut in frustration. "Okay," He whispers. "Okay." He says, louder, as if confirming something within himself. -- The first thing you noticed when you stepped off the boat was how fundamentally different everything was. Where the Isles had streets, although a little less than clean, filled with housing that never looked alike, due to the owners having free reign in how they built it, the Mainland had rows upon rows of identical houses, streets so pristine the suns rays practically reflected off of them. Where the Isles had a mixture of well established shops and stalls that the city's residents would set up and put away each working day, the Mainland had stores on every corner. The whole city was organised, like everything and everyone had a place to be. It was mesmerising, to say the least. The palace, and its inhabitants, gave ample reason as to why the city looked the way it did. Matching the overall aesthetic of the city, the Mainland Palace was tall, angular in shape, with white, grey, and blue dominating the overall colour scheme - not a hair out of place - a stark contrast to the golds and greens of the palace back home. The people, especially Jeno's parents, were exactly as Jeno had described in the short months you'd been together and gotten to know each other even better than you did as kids - uptight, stiff, and closed off, even more so now there were northern empire troops; the same troops your parents had betrothed the two of you together to avoid, now stationed further out in the country. You didn’t know whether to feel offended or not when they simply nodded in return to your greeting of them, but an explanation from Jeno as he guided you to your chambers soon let you know that the nodding were his parents actually being nice, for once. Your heart sank as you wondered if this was the kind of atmosphere Jeno had to deal with when he’d returned here 6 years ago, and how he’d even managed to survive it that long. “I know what you’re thinking,” he states, a smirk in his voice. He’s looking directly ahead, but he sensed the change in your mood the second you went silent. You look at him, studying his profile, the same profile you adored looking at so much; studying the length of his eyelashes, the slight to-and-fro sway of his fringe, the natural pout of his lips, and wonder again how a boy so perfect could’ve been subjected to somewhere like this. A place that looked perfect, but seemed far from it. “Don’t feel bad for me,” he warns, turning the handle to your chambers as he stops outside of it. “I’m fine now. I have you, don’t I?” you look at him a beat longer, studying his face for any sign of restraint, of sadness, and slump in relief as there is none. You nod, half-smiling, "Yes. You do," and walk in.

-- It was amazing, you thought, just how fast the Northern Empire had managed to take a quaint little town on the edge of Jeno's kingdom, once filled with the typical repeated angular structure of housing commonly seen in the Mainland, and turn it into a home of their own - every roof of every house was plastered with the angry and intimidating red and black flags of the Empire, a reminder who had control, who would gain more of it if you and Jeno didn't get them out by today. The first thing you noticed, as the two of you trekked up the hill to the Empire's camp, were the fire-lit torches. The smoke they emitted smelled vulgar, the wind that blew never once affected their flame. You could see the opening of the town they'd invaded the closer you came, managed to get a glimpse of a citizen being roughed up by one of the guards, before a figure clothed in red and black, wearing a mask disguising their face, appears. "Royalty," they murmur, their voice travelling along the wind, barely noticeable yet just loud enough to understand. You feel the visible shiver running down your spine, the strangeness to their voice making you uncomfortable. Jeno's clasp on your hand, pulling you backwards behind him doesn't go unnoticed by the figure. "Cute." They chuckle, before lightly beckoning the two of you to follow, heading further into their camp with an unnatural smoothness to their gait. Jeno tilts his head, sure some notes to that quiet whisper of the stranger's voice were familiar to him, that he'd heard them before - a different time, a different place, perhaps. He's so engrossed in his thoughts he barely notices you dragging him along, trying to keep up with the stranger while simultaneously avoiding the harsh gazes of the Empire's guards stationed everywhere. He bumps into your back, and you stumble as you stop in front of what you assumed to be the captain's tent, the stranger who greeted you at the gates clapping twice outside the flaps before disappearing. Mystery seemed a recurring theme amongst the soldiers of the Northern Empire, all including the Captain, hiding every feature but their gaze with the same red and black mask. Personality wise, the Captain spoke in circles, sometimes cryptic, sometimes misleading - but it was worth it when you and Jeno left the tent with a stamped agreement that would soon get the Northern soldiers out of Jeno's lands. "I'm proud of you, you know." You're the first to break the silence, beaming at him as you get nearer to the carriage. "You did really well in there - like a king," you add, elbowing him for emphasis. He scoffs and smiles, a slight tinge to his cheeks at the compliment. "I couldn't have done it without you, though," he steps aside to let you board the carriage first, climbing in after you, "Queen," he teases, mimicking your movements from earlier. The ride back to the castle was uneventful, and neither of you failed to notice the gradual steady slump in each others shoulders the further away you got from the unsettling loom of the Empire's camp.

News of the agreement was music to everyone's' ears - especially those of the rulers of the Southern Mainland. Both you and Jeno have to force your jaws from dropping at the announcement of a ball to celebrate your combined success, but only one of you has to strategically hide his fingers curling into fists, taut with fear at the secret in danger of being revealed from the roving gaze of his parents. -- The palace did not look so different from its usual appearance when sculptures, fountains, and tables you hadn't seen before decorated areas around the ballroom floor. You'd spent the first few minutes of the ball with Jeno; you'd followed with him as he greeted nobles, nodded in his parents direction, and introduced you to his friends, the ones he'd told you about when you were in the humid heat of the Isles, before quickly disappearing off, summoned to his parents side to 'discuss courtly matters,' he'd said. You had no issue; after all, a peck on the forehead from him was a sufficient goodbye until he found you later. Jeno was right in his description of Na Jaemin; the man was beautiful, truly no other way to describe him - and, for the son of merchants, exuded a royal air far stronger, far more used to, than any other royal you'd met prior. Where Na Jaemin was kind words bordering on a flirt, smiles bright enough to melt the coldest of hearts, Huang Renjun was, despite being born into nobility, as you'd learned, more rough around the edges than anything else. It was a wonder, you'd noted, that the two boys hadn't been switched at birth at some point long ago, given the stark difference in their personalities. A contrast to Jaemin, Renjun was blunt, had jokes that sometimes made you question whether he meant them maliciously or not, but overall carried himself with an adult sort of grace that you'd come to respect in your short conversation with him, before both him and Jaemin had been dragged off to dance with ladies neither of them knew of. Jaemin and Renjun seemed like good people - this you knew - but why did their eyebrows raise, why did a look of surprise - however fleeting - mar their faces as Jeno introduced you to them? It was that thought you pondered on, had your forehead lightly pulsing with pain as your brow became more and more creased the further into thought you went, when you found him. Found Jeno, or his silhouette, at least, dancing with a girl whose features you couldn't quite place. Well, dancing wasn't a crime - you could go and say hello, tell him how you were feeling about the ball, about his friends - in fact you'd even taken around 4 steps towards the two, hope rising in your chest, when you saw it. Jeno's forehead leaning against the girls, the two of them sharing a longing stare you'd never seen directed towards you, as they, in the presence of all on the ballroom floor, like they hadn't a care in the world, kissed. Kissed. There's a heaviness in your body, a visceral pang in your chest; you aren't sure if you can even take another step - but you carried on, pressed on, towards their dreaded spot, determined to confront the liar who had been your betrothed through all these months, weeks, years. The girl is the first to notice your presence, and you try not to get to caught up in the fact that your own husband to be was so wrapped up in someone else that he couldn't even deign to notice you. "Oh, hi!" She waves. "Are you a friend of Jeno's?" She didn't even know who you were. Of course she wouldn't. Why would he tell her he was betrothed to marry a girl from a different kingdom and had been for the past decade. You nodded in reply, swallowing to try and get the lump out of your throat. Glancing at Jeno, you noticed how he'd visible stiffness to his posture, like he'd been caught doing something wrong. The problem was that he had. He had been caught doing something wrong, and that made it worse. Why? Because it confirmed that he knew. The whole time since he'd returned to you, he'd known. You didn't think the pain could get any worse. "Who are you, if I may ask?" You can barely get out more than a choked up whisper. Your eyes heat up as her perfect smile widens. "Oh, I'm Jeno's girlfriend!" Four words. Four excruciatingly painful words. Love was never a familiar concept to you, at least not in the romantic sense, but you felt that you'd begun to learn what it was during your time with Jeno. She introduced herself as Seoyoung. The longer you stood there, forcing yourself to act as though you weren't feeling your heart break into pieces, the more you saw the appeal. An angelic smile, a kind voice with an addictive country twang to it - safe to say it did wonders for your own self confidence. Introducing yourself afterward, you curtsied and left as quickly as you could, trying not to be rude but at the same time not really caring. You brushed past Renjun on the way out, eyes hot with tears, and the pitiful look on his face you saw - albeit a little blurry - confirmed everything once more. Just how stupid could you be? How stupid did he think you could be? To lead you on, to make you fall for him, to feed you false dreams while he was living them with someone else the entire time? How could he? Not caring about where you went, just that you needed to be alone, opened the first door that seemed unlocked. What a coincidence, then, that the first door you opened led into the room of the last person you wanted to see. Forest green bed sheets, stark white walls, everything organized and in its place. Vanilla and nutmeg permeated your nostrils-- of course the room would smell like him, it was his room after all. You walked around, finding paintings of him and his family on the walls, papers, organised into neat piles on his desk, a black leather-bound book on his dresser. You had an inkling of what it was, and against your better judgement, you opened it. You read line after line of somewhat mediocre poetry dedicated to Seoyoung, scattered journal entries about Seoyoung, drawings of Seoyoung. Everything was about Seoyoung. And if it wasn't about her, it was about everyone else but you. His parents, his servants, his tutors, his friends-- it was as though you didn't exist. Had you meant anything to him, at all? You hear footsteps, the door opening and closing, and freeze. A hand rests on your shoulder and you whip round, coming face to face with the last person you wanted to see.

"Y/N." he calls, tentative. You have to clench your hands into fists to avoid slapping him across the face. "Can we- Can we talk?" You've never felt more hurt, more saddened, but most of all, embarrassed - the last thing you'd ever want to look like is a fool and yet here he is, someone you thought you could trust more than anyone else, playing you for one. "Why." You reply, cold. As the two of you stand in uncomfortable silence, you begin to connect the dots. "Because I need to explain. Listen, I-" "Was it a lie?" You cut him off, and Jeno hates how defeated, how quiet you are - like he's made you into a shell of the person you were. "What? Was what a lie?" "The explanation. Was it a lie." It made sense, when you thought about it. He wasn't closed off because of his parents, because of the life he had to lead - he was closed off, blunt, rude, every disrespectful name under the sun; because by not getting close to you, it would make it easier for him to go back to his little girlfriend back home and pretend his little stint with you in the Isles was nothing more than a trip for princely activities, if she ever asked. "No, of course not. I could never lie to you about that, Y/N." You scoff, rolling your eyes. "Oh please." You say, having had enough. "You didn't want me to come here because you were scared I'd see her. You only let me come here because you thought you could somehow keep her a secret, have your fun with her and then come back to me and lie to my face. You didn't leave me to talk to your parents. You left me to go and find her. Because you don't care about me, Jeno. You never did." You push past him at that, heading for the door, ignoring his cries after you. "Y/N, will you just wait! Please," He grabs your wrist, forcing you to a stop. "Jeno." You warn, "I want nothing to do with you." At that, he lets you go, and you storm off, through the hallways into your own room, wincing as you bark at a handmaid to begin packing your things, readying to leave. You were over the Southern Mainland. You just wanted to go home.

A crash and a scream break you out of your sombre mood. Opening the door a sliver, you peek out of your room to see absolute chaos - members of the royal guard shouting and yelling at people to be calm, gentry, nobility, and everyone else running to find an exit in panic, and men you don't recognize in familiar uniforms locked in battle with knights clad in the white and grey of the Southern Mainland. Creaking the door wider, as you watched more and more southern mainland knights fall one by one, you realised why the uniform seemed so familiar; because it belonged to the Empire. They'd disregarded your agreement and come to attack anyway - and there's a sinking feeling at the pit of your stomach as you consider the implications of it.

Opening the door wider, you break into a run, heading back to Jeno's room, despite your mind screaming at you not to. Irrespective of how much you hated him right now though, you needed to know if he was okay - if there was anyway you could both try and fix this mess. You find him before you get there, sword in hand, locked in battle with an Empire knight, and you wish you had a weapon of your own to fight with. There - peeking out amongst the mix of the fallen and injured, you grab a sword from a fallen enemy and slam it's pommel into the head of someone behind Jeno, the thud of their collapse alerting him to your presence. "…You saved me," he says, voice heavy with gratitude. "Don't mention it. Where are your parents?" You demand. "I don't know," he admits, "Haven't seen them since I left the ball." A pregnant silence falls. "…I haven't seen her either, if that's what you were gonna ask." "I wasn't." You grit out, picking up the sword again and swinging at another attacker with it. The knight meets the blow with a shield - he stumbles with the impact, but the blow isn't hard enough as he moves to attack again. This time it's Jeno who saves you, subduing the attacker permanently. He looks at you expectantly, but you brush him off, dropping the sword, and break into a light run, signalling him to come along. "We should keep moving. Find your parents and figure out what to do," He nods. You don't say anything else. He doesn't either. Both your minds are too preoccupied with the growing destruction around you - the yells and battle cries, the groans of pain, the screams of civilians -- it almost gets too much, but you shove those feelings away. You can't afford to be weak right now - you have people to protect damnit and you'd sooner die than let anything get in your way. The two of you check a multitude of places in the palace as you look for Jeno's parents - the ballroom, the study, the library- all empty. Its when you check the throne room, however, that you find what you seek. Surrounded by countless soldiers all bearing the northern empire emblem, there Jeno's parents knelt, unable to move. Luckily, you hadn't been discovered just yet, but you could tell from the corner of your eye that Jeno was going to ruin it. Digging your nails into his wrist, you shoot him a look - his eyes burn with protest at first, but he submits as you strain your ears to listen in. The voice you do hear, spitting venom, sends a visible chill down Jeno's spine. The previous bubbly lilt had gone, replaced with a hard, rough growl. Uncomfortable, in disgust, you watched as she kicked, pushed, and laughed at jeno's parents, and you felt Jeno himself shake in anger, ears getting red as he tried to hold it in. Angrier and angrier you felt him become; until he just... stopped shaking. Like a heavy calm overtook him, like he was on the border of extreme anger and extreme apathy. There was no question that you were a hair's breadth away from saying you despised Jeno right about now, but the sight of Seoyoung, someone he obviously trusted, blatantly disrespect his parents made your own blood boil - but so far you'd managed to stay composed. It was only when she asked - no - demanded the king and queen kiss her feet that you broke your silence. "That's enough." Your heart leaps into your throat as you say it, a sliver of regret already entering your mind, and you gulp as she languidly turns to look at you. "Oh? Looks like we have guests." She makes some kind of signal to her guards, you don't know what, but you do know it results in the king and queen being removed from the area, through doors and into a room you don't know the contents of. Your arm begins to ache with how hard you have to grip Jeno to stop him from going any closer to Seoyoung, and it gets worse as he speaks. "Lay a hand on them Seoyoung and I swear-" "-Oh I won't do anything to them," she grins, catlike. "As long as you do something for me." Eyes narrowing, you step back, apprehensive. Seoyoung looks at Jeno stepping in front of you, hand on his hilt, and laughs - quite familiarly, you note, to the figure that greeted you when you went to the Empire's camp a few weeks prior. "Why so afraid? It's fairly simple…. I should hope." "All you have to do," she continues, voice lowering to an unsettling purr, the contrast to her earlier persona still throwing you off, "Is kneel before your queen," she preens, ascending the steps and positioning herself comfortably on the queen's throne. Jeno grunts in frustration, Seoyoung simply grins in satisfaction. "What is it that you want?" He pleads, strained. As slowly as she sat down, Seoyoung rises, making her way to and around Jeno, her movements serpentine. "Oh, I just want what every young girl wants," she sighs, dreamily, trailing a finger down his arm as she circles the room, "True love and a reckoning, blood, fire, a pony…" She stepped closer, lips brushing his ear, "the precious little crown you're going to inherit."

Eyes aflame with anger you shoved between them, "The people would never accept you as their queen." You spat, and with an unnerving tilt of her head, Seoyoung's gaze met yours, lips curved into a half smile. The next second, as she continued to stare, you saw a flash of something flare up in her gaze. You realised what it was as your legs were suddenly screaming in agony, a sharp pain forcing you to kneel and a dark aura radiated from her. Looking to Jeno for help, you tried to get his attention, only hearing his grunts of pain to tell you he was in the same boat. "With all due respect, darling," she purred, bending to your height, her half smile widening into a complacent simper, "I think they will." She nodded at her guards, and together they left with a flourish, the slam shut of the door you and Jeno had entered through finally allowing the pain to stop. Bodies exhausted, dregs of agony still refusing to leave your bones, you help each other up and set off to find Jeno's parents. The walk is rightfully silent, the clack of your shoes against the floor the only sound permeating the air. You find them, thankfully okay, just unconscious and tied up, and the two of get to work undoing the ties. "We should wake them up," you grunt, back towards Jeno, "Tell them to get somewhere safe." "I think we should leave them here. Let them rest and wake up in their own time." "There are people dying as we speak, Jeno, and you want to leave your parents here? To rest?" "At least I'll know where they are. I can send a guard to stay with them-" "Every guard is in battle with the Empire's forces right now! And if we leave them here, you forget that Seoyoung will know where they are as well." You pinch the bridge of your nose, progress to rubbing a thumb back and forth across your brow. "Do you- do you want her to find them?" Jeno is silent as you turn around, looking directly at him. "Are you working with her?" "Y/N, no. No, I would never do that, ever, not in a million years! You know me, Y/N," You give him a long look, taking a deep breath. "No, Jeno. I don't." A part of you feels like you shouldn't have doubted him that much, but a larger part of you knows you were right. You don't know Jeno. At least, not anymore. Once you get both parents awake, you give a brief summary of what went on and warn them to leave - and they do, albeit sceptically. Jeno's worry shows clear on his face, but you say nothing of it as the both of you continue to go through the palace, trying to find an exit that isn't barred by enemies, avoid Seoyoung and at the very least, find Jaemin and Renjun to regroup with all at the same time. Thankfully, you arrive at the palace courtyard in one piece, and find Jaemin and Renjun messily defending themselves against 4 other knights, who's swords kept dangerously close to Renjun's arm and Jaemin's neck. Exasperated, you huff, find another sword to use, and ram it into the nearest soldier - his choked out groans of pain combined with the coppery tang of his blood as it leaked out was enough to make bile rise in your throat, but you force it back down as you and Jeno join the battle to help take the weight off of Jaemin and Renjun. After subduing all of them, plus some extra who had appeared, the four of you leave the palace courtyard, running continuously until you're sure you're safe, and there's another awkward silence, everyone pointedly avoiding your gaze. You feel Jeno's hand still clasping yours, and shake it off, his touch uncomfortable. "So…where do we go from here?" Jaemin's the first to break the quietude. "We go home," you state. Renjun looks at you and then in the direction of the castle, confused. You huff, rubbing your temples. "My home." -- The four of you board a boat to the Isles early the next morning - after barely getting any sleep in the palace stables you'd had to take refuge in the night before - to avoid detection. You'd had no idea whether the Empire's forces had overrun the whole kingdom yet, and didn't want to take any chances by leaving later on when there was currently a bounty on the heads of those travelling with you. You all arrive home in one piece, and go your separate ways upon arrival; you and Jeno towards the palace, and Jaemin and Renjun towards the city to find a place to stay. You blatantly ignore Jeno for the first few days back - you return to sitting across from him at breakfast, you barely reply to his questions most times, and generally act like he doesn't exist. It works - but you know you can't keep it up for long. You conveniently hid the piece of information about Jeno practically cheating on you from your parents,so you knew you couldn't keep ignoring him forever without them noticing at some point and asking questions. It seemed that Jeno had come to this realisation also, as he cornered you in your room on one day that you'd been especially ignoring him, brushing him off whenever he even so much as breathed in your direction. "Jeno, get out of my--" "We need to talk. And I'm not leaving until you hear me out." You folded your arms. "There's nothing to talk about. You led me on, I fell for it, I found out, and now I hate you. What more is there to say?" His face fell. "You really hate me?" You sighed. Of course you didn't. But every time you closed your eyes, you saw the image of him kissing her again - so would it really be such a lie if you said you did? "…Just get out of my room, Jeno." He turned to leave, looking at you one last time, before going, shutting the door behind him as he went. Sighing, you threw yourself back onto your bed, staring at the ceiling, happy to be alone, when the door opened once more. It was Jeno again. "I'm sorry I just--I can't leave without telling you the truth,"

"What truth? That you loved her all along and now that she's shown herself to be some evil villain you think you can just come in here and- and use my feelings as some way to make yourself feel better?" Your voice began to shake, the lump in your throat appeared again, and your eyes watered and you hated that you were crying in front of him, that he'd made you like this because it wasn't fair, Goddamnit.

It wasn't fair that you still hurt so bad, while he didn't seem that hurt at all. If anything he seemed inconvenienced. Inconvenienced that everything had to come out like this. "I'm--I'm sorry, Y/N." His voice was a little rougher, a little choked up, and you could tell he was on the verge of breaking. He sat down at the edge of your bed, placing a hand on yours, tentatively. You don't pull away. "I met Seoyoung a year after I left. My parents didn't tell me when I would see you again; I didn't even think this would happen this soon," You nod, signalling him to continue. "I was lonely, and I found it hard to adjust to the way I used to be when you'd shown me so much more. Nobody but her really understood how I felt. She gave me an escape." A little smile graces his features, and your heart chips at the fact that if you weren't sure he loved you before, you could be certain he didn't love you now. Either way, you were finding this all a little hard to process - some girl he'd barely met when he moved home became his only friend due to his weird relationship with his parents. "I guess I just wanted to live as freely as I could before I was tied down forever." Tied down? Is that really what he thought being married to you would be like? Had he forgotten how close you were as children? "What about the ball," you whisper. "Huh?" his eyes flick over to yours and you meet his gaze. "I said. What about the ball. When I saw you," you struggle to get the final two words out, coming out as a reluctant mumble "….kissing her." He stiffens at that. "I didn't mean to kiss her," You cock a brow, heaving an exaggerated sigh. "Not in there, at least!" "So you meant to kiss her somewhere else? So I'd never find out?" You exclaim, scandalised. "No, no, that's not what I meant-- just listen to me--" "--I am, Jeno. And I'm struggling to see the point." He runs a hand through his hair, trying to find the right words. "I was going to tell her then. That we couldn't be together, that I was betrothed. But she kissed me and I--I don't know. I don't know anymore," "Then why lead me on? Why kiss me, why make me think that you wanted this, why use me?" "Because," he breathes, leaning towards you, "I love you, Y/N. I always have," For a moment you felt as though your heart could explode with joy. Your childhood friend-turned-crush-turned-lover confessing his love for you. If this was a different situation, it would've been everything you'd ever wanted. But you knew better. "Oh, save it. You're just saying that to make me feel better. You don't love me, Jeno. You just think you do." "I meant it, Y/N. I really do love--," You hold up a hand, cutting him off. "You love Seoyoung. Not me. We need to focus on stopping her anyways," The two of you make eye contact, Jeno's intense gaze meeting your stubborn one. Wordlessly, he goes to the door once more, saying one sentence before leaving. "I meant what I said. I'll prove it to you." You knew he didn't,at least you thought so. You thought you knew him better than anyone and you were clearly wrong about that so maybe, just maybe, you were wrong about this. But you had enough faith in yourself to know you were right. You avoided Jeno for the rest of the day aside from dinner when you absolutely had to be around him, and all through that he'd smile at you and pretend everything was okay. It made you sick to smile back, but you pushed through, determined not to let your parents suspect anything. Events in the Mainland and the issue of trying to protect the Isles already commanded most of their attention - letting them know that the practically lifelong betrothal they'd arranged had gone horribly wrong wasn't something you wanted to disclose just yet. Besides, if staying with Jeno meant the safety of your people, a little sacrifice of your happiness wouldn't be too much of a price to pay, you thought. The knights quarters had always been a second home to you - it was where you first met Haechan, where you made friends with Chenle, where you gave advice, got advice, told stories, played pranks, shared secrets - and now you were going there to share the biggest secret of all. You find Haechan's door, and you're about to enter when you pause. You can hear Chenle's signature laugh, Haechan's teasing lilt; that was fine - but why were Renjun and Jaemin's voices mixed in with them? You wouldn't call yourself childish, and you wouldn't call yourself petty either, but hell, you couldn't care less if people called you those things and more because the idea of Jaemin and Renjun making friends with your best friends made you feel more than slightly ill. Your parents had insisted Renjun and Jaemin stay in the palace once you'd told them all that had happened back on the Mainland - at first you'd been somewhat indifferent about it, but seeing them through the crack of the door - heads thrown back in laughter, eyes turned into crescents from their wide smiles - makes you suddenly wish you hadn't told your parents about them at all. You stand at the doorway, swing the door fully open, and wait for them to notice your presence. It's almost laughable, really, how fast Haechan and Chenle brighten even more when they see you, and how fast Renjun and Jaemin lose the smiles and clear their throats, trying to make a quick exit as Chenle grabs your wrist and drags you further in. "Y/N!" He beams, his smile easing the suffering in your heart a little. "Come sit!" You stand, uncomfortable, as Renjun and Jaemin's eyes are both suddenly pinned to the stone tiles of the floor. The grin slowly falls off of Chenle's face as he notices the cooling of the room's mood. "...Uh, guys?" He says, hoping someone other than him breaks the silence and soon. "I think we should go," Renjun suggests, sheepish, him and Jaemin both leaving before Chenle can even ask why. Throwing yourself onto Haechan's bed, just like you used to, you let out a defeated sigh. "Something you need to tell me about?" He jokes, lying next to you. "There are many things I need to talk to you about," you reply. "Hey, what about me?" Chenle chimes in, standing over the two of you. "The both of you," you correct, "There are many, many things I need to talk to the both of you about." And so you vent. You tell them everything, from beginning to end, and by the time you're done, it's a struggle trying to get the two of them not to go and give Jeno a piece of their minds. Chenle can do nothing but sink to a crouch, mouth open in disbelief. "I just don't get it," Haechan breathes. "You seemed so close, how could he- do something like that?" He grabs your hands and pulls you into his arms. "Y/N, I'm so sorry." Face half smushed into his chest, half not, you smile to the best of your ability. "It's ok," you mumble, defeated, "Well it isn't, but it's ok as it's going to be. I guess." Haechan's embrace is warm, tight, reassuring. As his hand rubs circles into your back, slightly rocking back and forth, you wonder if life would've been easier if you'd never been betrothed. If you'd somehow, by some weird stroke of fate, fallen for him instead of Jeno. At the very least, the biggest thing you'd have to worry about when marrying Haechan would be getting him to shut up. Being talkative was one of the traits the both of you shared, to a fault. You untangle yourself from him and meet his confused gaze. "Haechan, I need you to promise me something." "Of course." He nods along, wary. "Please, please don't bring this up to him," you wince as you say it because you can feel his judgement. "Y/N, you can't be serious." "Please, Haechan. I don't- I don't really want to hear about my husband cheating on me any more than necessary, you know?" The way your voice trails off in the latter part of that sentence loosens Haechan's resolve. "Fine," he grumbles, folding his arms. Chenle puts an awkward hand on your shoulder - he'd never really been one for physical contact - finally gathering some words to say. "No matter what happens, Y/N, we'll support you." The two of you nod at each other, and for once, the plague of Jeno on your mind is lifted, as you appreciate just how lucky you are to have friends as priceless as these. The reprieve is temporary, though, as two knocks in quick succession and a push at the door reveal Jeno, looking a little more exhausted than the last time you'd seen him. Chenle moves in front of you, and Haechan stands, the both of them stony-faced. "Is it okay if I come in?" Jeno asks, still standing at the threshold of the door. "I don't know," says Haechan. "Is it okay if I let a liar into my room?" You try to get his attention, to tell him to relax, but his focus is firmly fixed onto Jeno. "You can come in," whispers Chenle, and Haechan's head whips round to glare at him in shock. Chenle ignores it, and continues speaking. "Why did you come here?"

"Because," Jeno begins, "Because I wanted to know if I could make things right. If she'd let me." He tries to meet your eyes, and you can feel him looking at you, but you ignore it. He'd done enough damage, and you didn't even want to give him the time of day. Haechan seems to notice this, and speaks for you. "You want to know how to make things right? Get out of here," Jeno's expression goes from hopeful to crushed - you're glad he hasn't noticed you started looking at him. "Stop walking around here as though everything is fine, and go fix the mess in your own kingdom- a kingdom you're supposed to be future king of - before trying to save a marriage you ruined. What kind of king abandons his country in need?" The ire in Haechan's voice is so palpable you've never been more thankful that you weren't on the receiving end of it. There is a long silence after his speech of sorts, and all you hear from Jeno is a simple "Thank you," before he leaves the room, shutting the door behind him. "Before you get all angry at me, you never said I couldn't say anything about him, right Chenle?" Haechan begs, looking back and forth between you and Chenle, looking at you to make sure you don't kill him, and at Chenle for moral support. "He is kind of right there, Y/N." You groan at the both of them, rolling your eyes. -- You couldn't be angry at Haechan - because you agreed with what he said. He was right in what he said to Jeno, which was why you were angry at yourself for the fact that you were currently chasing Jeno down the hallway, for reasons you'd probably address when you were alone in your room at night - or any other time that wasn't right now. "Jeno!" You call, and chuckle, mirthlessly, at the irony of how it was now you doing the chasing and not him. His hair flutters and settles beautifully as he turns abruptly, and you almost, almost, forget you're supposed to be angry at him when you see the innocent widening of his eyes and slight opening of his mouth as he turns to your calling of his name. You catch up with him, taking a minute to catch your breath, and cursing yourself as you still have trouble comfortably speaking. "I just," you wheeze, "I just wanted to tell you...not to listen to Haechan...he's angry for me," For all that tree climbing you did as a child, it was crazy how you wouldn't be at least somewhat more fit than you were now. "He's right," he replies, and you raise an eyebrow, still trying to catch your breath. "I have a plan - Haechan said I needed to fix things, and I will." Before you can even get out a 'How?', he cuts you off. "Just trust me." He doesn't give you any more information than that, and goes back to borderline running through the hallways, leaving you alone, having caught your breath too late to call after him. -- You're greeted at breakfast the next morning by an empty seat across from you and questions from your parents that you can only make just about believable answers to. A quick search and some asking around leads you to find that Jeno is gone, having only left a note for Jaemin and Renjun notifying them of his departure - meaning if you wanted to know where he'd gone and what he'd gone to do (though you already had a pretty solid idea), you'd have to talk to the two people you most definitely had more of a dislike for than anything else. It's Jaemin who notices you first, unsure of what to do or whether to go as it becomes clear that you're actually approaching the two of them, and not just taking a walk around the palace courtyard. "Y/N," he smiles, and you can tell he's just trying to be polite by the way the smile doesn't reach his eyes and his smile looks more and more like a grimace the longer he holds it. "Is there anything we can help you with?" A corner of your lips quirks a little as Jaemin nudges Renjun to turn around. "Did Jeno tell either of you where he went? I can't find him," Its Renjun who tells you that all Jeno left for them was a note with five words: I'm going to fix it. And with that, your suspicions are confirmed; Jeno had most likely gone back to the Mainland, to 'fix' the problems that plagued it there. However now, and only now, was when you felt angry at Haechan for his outburst a day earlier - because now Jeno was gone, and you still had questions that only he could answer, whether you liked what you would've heard or not. "Um...while you're here," says Renjun, breaking you out of your reverie, "I-" a sharper nudge from Jaemin, one that actually looks painful, causes him to correct himself. "We, wanted to apologise. For the ball. As Jeno's friends, we should've stopped him as soon as it started." You disliked Renjun and Jaemin for their role in the whole Jeno being a cheater debacle, but truth-be-told, you weren't all that angry at them, because they had no real loyalty to you. Jeno was supposed to be your best friend. By principle, he would've been the last person you'd expect to ever betray you. And yet, he did. So you weren't angry at Jaemin and Renjun for siding with their own friend. You felt hurt, by Jeno. "It wasn't your fault." You mutter to the pair of them, before turning to leave. -- It was sickening. Sickening, Jeno thought, how easily he'd let himself be fooled for so long, by someone he trusted so much. As he mounted the steps two at a time into the palace, he wonders if that's how you had felt, when everything had fallen apart just over a week prior. He still felt a pang in his chest every time he pictured the look on your face from that day; hurt, betrayed, disbelieving. As he entered and saw the Empire's flags strewn all over the previously pristine castle interior, he wondered just when he'd lost himself this much. Haechan was right - what kind of king was he? He'd barely any idea of where his parents had gone after that night; if Seoyoung had taken them again, if they were safe; he hadn't even bothered to find a way to check up on his kingdom, which was already beginning to lose its shine and lustre at the occupation draining the life out of its veins. He felt like a waste of a king - no, he was one. But at the very least, the least he could do as a king in its own right was save his kingdom from the invaders that plagued it - he had a plan, and it was going to work. It had to; he had no other choice. Seeing the door of the throne room again brought back memories Jeno didn't really want to think about; it simply reminded him of his own horrible, horrible mistake - but he steeled his resolve and pushed open the door. It's entirely too laughable how Seoyoung is sat in the same place she was when he left - perched on the queen's throne, red hair tied back, and eyes that looked dull and soulless. Was that what he'd allowed himself to fall for? "Jeno!" She croons, beckoning her guards to bring him closer. "I missed you," Her patronising manner of speech, like a mother to its child, felt like nails scratching down a chalkboard to his ears. But he pushed through it, put on the best smile he could muster, and began to execute the first step of his plan. "Really?" He asks, eyes coy. "I thought you would've wanted me gone." He's directly in front of her now, can see in detail just how much the old Seoyoung, the one he used to know, was gone. But was she ever really there? That was a question Jeno had been asking himself since he'd arrived at this place. "Oh Jen," she purrs, and its a struggle not to narrow his eyes at the old nickname, "I wanted everyone else gone," She rises off of the throne to meet him face to face, slinking around him to put her hands on his shoulders, lips brushing his ear as she speaks. "But you and I, you with your crown and I with my power," It's somewhat frightening how absorbed she sounds, "Jen, we could rule the world! You and me," How stupid did she think he was? It was all too clear to Jeno what she was doing; the nickname to soften his resolve, the enthusiasm in her words, the closeness to try and distract him from what she was really saying - that she wanted him to give up his throne to let her rule the world, not them together - but just her. So he agreed. "We can rule the world," he breathes, realisation tinging the edges of his voice. "Together," he half asks, half states. "Yes," she sighs, "Together." -- There are a lot of things Jeno comes to find out, the longer he stays with Seoyoung. One; He was right - ever since he'd agreed to joining Seoyoung's side, she'd taken the lead in everything, and had gotten strangely irritated whenever Jeno tried giving his input (not that he did often, of course). Two; His parents, thankfully, were still safe. From keeping his ear to the ground and bits and pieces of information he'd managed to scrape from the servants of the palace, he'd found out that they were in hiding, and that Seoyoung already had guards looking for them. "To bring them home and keep them safe," she said when he'd asked. But he knew what she really wanted to do with them. Three: You were right - when you said she'd never be accepted as Queen. Jeno soon learns that the only guards who truly respect her are the ones left from the crew she stormed the palace with - and that the original palace guards were still loyal to him. --. They're in the throne room when it all comes together; the planning and secret preparation he'd been working towards for the past 3 weeks. This time he would put Seoyoung away, once and for all - especially now that he'd learned that his parents had been found and that they were locked in the dungeons, courtesy of Seoyoung, of course. "Promise me you'll stay with me forever," she whispers, and Jeno's stomach turns as her lips graze his. "I promise," he says, opening his eyes to find Seoyoung's still shut. It's in this moment where his chance arrives - he clicks his fingers 3 times, and lets out a low whistle; the code he'd devised with the guards a few days prior to summon them. As the guards file in, coming closer and closer towards the two, Jeno's hands rise from her clasp to cup her face - which, from this angle, Jeno thinks, almost looks innocent. He offhandedly wonders what may have happened to make Seoyoung such a contrast to her features. "Jeno." She mumbles, eyes still shut, forehead still leaning against his, a hand rising up to cup his. "What are the guards doing here?" He hums, voice low. "Just trust me," A sliver of a smirk graces his features as he continues, "I have a surprise." He takes her hands and lowers them, still holding them - trying to make it as easy as possible for the guards to slam the restraints on as fast as they can. Slowly, delicately, he steps away from Seoyoung; a tilt of his head signalling one guard to come forward and do the act - and, like a cliché flash, it happens. He lets go, the shackles come down, and Seoyoung's eyes finally snap wide open; the same flash from that night occurs again in her gaze, but it does nothing. The shackles were made of iron - specifically to block her from using any of her tricks to get away. At her inability to inflict harm the way she desired, Seoyoung's expression crumples into a horrid mix of anger and shock. "Jeno," she calls, tone shaky, uncertain. "What are you doing?" He says nothing - simply allows himself to giggle loud enough for her to hear as the guards drag her down to the dungeons. As she should be. As she should've been all those months ago. -- "I'll give you whatever - money, power, control - freedom from your parents I know you hate so much - all you have to do is join me, Jeno." She'd been down here for over a week, allowed no contact with anyone while he tried to restore order in the kingdom above. It seemed, from the borderline feral look in her eyes and the fatigue that plagued her very being, that being in the dungeons was taking its toll. No, it didn't seem so; the longer she spoke, Jeno knew it was so. "What happened to ruling the world, together?" She pleads. Trying to appeal to him using his own words, he notes. He says nothing, simply keeps eye contact with her and lets her continue. A guard barks at her to keep quiet - she glares at them, grunting as the shackles on her wrists prevent her from doing what she so desires, and returns her gaze to Jeno. "Jen, stop being stupid and tell them to let me out, please." Again with the nickname, he thinks. Before, long ago, when he'd first met her, his heart would've fluttered, cheeks would've reddened at her use of the name. Now, though, all it did was send an uncomfortable shiver down his spine. "Jen? Jeno, tell them to let me out." She's less desperate and more irritated now, his silence, his blank, uncaring, stare making her ever angrier. He wonders, as he's done so many times he's had to be around her, as she nags and scolds and patronises, just who Seoyoung even was. If he ever knew her. He wonders, for the second time, if this was how you felt. She's gone back to being desperate now, but with some emotional guilt-tripping to really try and pull at his heartstrings. "If you love me, Jeno - if you ever loved me - you'd let me out. Please," He's silent. "If you love me, you'll do the right thing! Jen, please!" If he loved her. He inwardly scoffs at the thought. What he had for Seoyoung, he realised, wasn't love. No - maybe it was love, at one point. But now, now he realised that it had turned into infatuation. And after her big reveal, that infatuation had quickly left, leaving nothing but disgust in its wake. "You don't get to call me that name. Not anymore," He says, brows furrowed, lips curled into a sneer, as Seoyoung grips the bars of the cell, tears rimming her eyes. "I never loved you, Seoyoung. And I am doing the right thing," he spat, leaving her to rot in her cell, her calls and shouts sounding like static the further away he got. -- With Seoyoung out of action, Jeno uses her as ransom to get the Empire troops to leave - and they do this time. Once they're gone, he stays in the mainland for a while, working on re-establishing the monarchy. For once, he thinks, maybe the title of king truly belonged to him. His parents, since being freed, had done nothing but pull Jeno into a tight embrace, and had then kept mostly to themselves. The embrace was probably the most amount of affection Jeno had ever received, but it was a start. At last, he felt, things were beginning to change. -- You were anxious. More than anxious, you were worried. You'd heard a little here and there of the events that had happened, of Jeno supposedly joining forces with Seoyoung to betray her in the end, and safe to say, your own feelings about him were now a mess of emotions. On the one hand, a part of you was still angry at him for leaving, for putting you through all this, for practically breaking your heart - on the other hand, you had to respect his diligence; he said he was going to fix things, and he did. He also showed that he was done with Seoyoung; he'd had the girl imprisoned, for goodness sake. But still... were you really ready to forgive him? It's these thoughts that have you deep in the trenches of your mind before the doors to the throne room, where you're so nervously pacing, open and shut. You look up, suspicious of who it may be; maybe a handmaid, maybe Jaemin or Renjun wanting to have a chat, maybe- "I fixed it," he breathes. It's him. You're speechless, lost for words, can barely function as Jeno's arms engulf you, as vanilla and nutmeg overpower your senses, as his grip on you becomes just a little tighter, like he couldn't ever bear to let you go. You pull away, putting some distance between you. You missed him, *yes*, but there were things you needed to discuss. You almost rush back into his arms at the flash of hurt that graces his features, but steel yourself. There were things you needed to say, this you knew - so why was it so hard for you to speak? There's a weird silence between you both; Jeno clearing his throat, you fiddling with your dress - you're almost there, have almost found the right words to say, but as usual, Jeno seems to beat you to it. "I wanted to give you a proper apology," he starts. His hands are shaking, and he balls them into fists. "There's no excuse for what I did, at all. And-" he stutters, "And if you've decided you don't want to be with me anymore, then I understand. I'll tell our parents everything. You deserve a lot better than me, Y/N." Your heart finally feels somewhat at peace. All the turmoil, all the heartbreak; It was only an apology, but you felt like you could start to build something with Jeno again. "I do deserve better," you acknowledge, and Jeno swears his heart chips a little at the thought that he really had lost you forever. "But I don't want better." You breathe slow. "I want to give us another try." Jeno grins so wide his cheeks ache, then takes a step towards you. "Also," you continue, "I need to apologise. I shouldn't have doubted you, that time with your parents. I went too far, and I shouldn't have." Jeno shakes his head vigorously, "No, no! I deserved everything I got. If anything, I'm happy you're even willing to have me," He takes your hands in his, leans his forehead against yours, and feels the tension in his shoulders that had been there for who knows how long, finally release. "Could I- Would I be able to-" He sighs in annoyance at himself, and you feel a genuine smile begin to form for the first time in what seems like a long time. "Can I kiss you?" He asks, hesitant to overstep a boundary. You close your eyes, look into his, and see no secrets there. "Yes," you whisper. Jeno kisses with emotion - like you're a fragile thing he simply mustn't break, but also like he'll never see you again. Jeno puts everything he couldn't put into words into this kiss, as though its your own secret language - a language you had no difficulty understanding. As he cups your cheeks, leans back a little, and simply looks, deeply, into your eyes, you catch the second of his unspoken messages. I love you, his eyes say. I love you, say yours.

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ramblingguy54 · 5 years

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Lemme Let You All In On Something

Inspired by @beaglelover62‘s post about DuckTales helping (2017) those through rough times. I’ll leave the link here below for all to check out, if you haven’t come across this post yet.

https://beaglelover62.tumblr.com/post/187179198864/ive-been-inspired-by-a-few-shared-stories-as-of

Whatever Happened To Della Duck is a truly beautiful episode to be sure, showcasing a mother’s undying determination in getting back to her family, despite the harsh many factors stacked against this determined duck. It left a serious impact on me emotionally, easily ranking it high up on my list of favorite DuckTales (2017) episodes for introducing Della into the TV’s adaptation franchise with such phenomenal execution. However, what I especially praise about this episode is how inspiring it can be to others who suffer through very tough times. People need role models in fiction like this to look up to, naturally, as another way to better cope in their unfortunate situations in life.

That was basically how it helped me better cope in dealing with not only my depression, which I’ve had for the past several years or so, but it also gave me a new positive perspective when I tackled those awful anxiety tremors at the tail end of 2018. To give a better context to this, besides depression I’ve dealt with having an Obsessive Compulsive Disorder (OCD) where I can’t relax if I see something that isn’t in order, like say cleaning anything particular for example. It’s hard for me to simply take it easy a great number of times because my mind is hollering saying, “Do this now! You can’t relax until it’s fixed! It has to be perfect!”. Not to mention when I’m analyzing stuff this OCD can cause me to keep re-thinking what I’ve already concluded on in terms of my opinions and it’s beyond freaking obnoxious. I’m no stranger to anxiety attacks either, as they happened quite a great amount in my childhood where I couldn’t control myself because I didn’t obviously understand what was going on internally at the time. Although I’ve had experience before with anxiety attacks, tremors on the other hand I wasn’t prepared to face at all in early December of last year. It was terrifying because I had no control of my mind going a million miles per hour, on top of my body already shaking furiously off and on. My heart felt like it was going to explode outta my chest, considering how insanely fast it was pumping. OCD + Anxiety = One hell of an awful time, being a huge factor in what caused me to have this nervous breakdown where I was consistently panicking. Thankfully, I soon got a medication prescribed which helped me recover from that awful state of mind and have been feeling much better by mid-January of this year ever since.

This story of mine ties back into the massive weight surrounding Della’s situation. She’s in such an highly anxiety inducing situation of having no family, friends, losing one of her legs in the ship crash, going through a Lord knows how awfully painful physical healing/rehabilitation process with her robotic leg, and the cherry on top of all this crap being without social contact toward any living thing. Della Duck suffered without any real social connections for 10 WHOLE YEARS straight. She only has her thoughts to keep herself company in this terrible predicament, which no doubt were looping furiously in Della’s mind all those days spent on rebuilding the Spear Of Selene. It’s honestly amazing Della was able to keep her sanity throughout those many passing hours in that cold painful solitude on the Moon. Many people would’ve been driven to the point of insanity of being alone for that long, but not Della Duck in all of her endearing charm. The thoughts of once again seeing Scrooge, Donald, and reuniting with her triplets was enough determination, of course, to fight back against that severity of her current issues. There’s a lot of symbolism I found here akin to OCD, like say with Della’s thoughts of regret for unintentionally leaving her kids on Earth never leaving her mind, no matter how hard she tried to tune that irrational voice of her’s out on focusing toward the bigger picture of getting back home to make up for all that lost time. Despite putting on a such a cheery headstrong attitude, it’s all of course a facade masking Della’s depression and compulsive thoughts deep down.

Della has a low self-esteem for making the decision to hop onto the Spear of Selene and getting torn away from everyone/everything she loved in life. Anytime I look back on this scene where Della drops the headstrong nature for a split second with tears running down her face, these words just write themselves showing Della’s real inner thoughts.

If I hadn’t made the decision to take that rocket, I could’ve been much happier and better off. I don’t deserve to even call myself a mother. I’m a terrible person for not being by my kids side when they were born and helping them grow up. Della, you’re such an idiot...

Regardless of all that self-hatred and doubt though, Della persevered against it because she knew there’s no sense in crying over spilled milk at this current point. Della knows she deserves to be happy and back at home with her family again, so continues working on rebuilding every piece of the rocket ship.

She put every fiber of her being, mind, and soul into learning the fundamentals of understanding how to properly create a rocket ship. All for the sake of one simple important thing...

Family.

Throughout every day of what seemed like a “solitary confinement” on the Moon Della never once let her mind falter from what she was doing it all for. Even though Della has low self-esteem, struggling with depression among this compulsive internal belittling of herself, she never allows that to break her iron will in accomplishing what needs to be done.

Granted, she sacrifices the key of her gold tooth in poetic fashion to help calm down a Moon Mite mother and her baby, but that is more than rewarded in return by the Moon Landers’ helping her rebuild the rocket once more. After all the years of hardship she had to endure alone, Della finally is able to set out back to Earth instead of just viewing it from afar.

Not gonna lie, every time I look at this shot of Della breaking out into tears saying, “I’m coming boys! Mom is coming home!”, it always chokes me up. This is an individual who has been to put it bluntly, shit on by life hardcore for the past 10 years straight never being able to catch a break in getting home until now. Della, much like her twin bro Donald, has been dealt an awful unlucky hand with how much she had to endure on her own for so long, getting traumatized in certain emotional aspects from all that experience on the Moon.

You can damn well bet my emotions were overflowing, like a waterfall, when Nothing Can Stop Della Duck premiered back in the May bomb of episodes. I’m surprised by how quickly they brought Della into the fray because I genuinely believed they were going to hold off for awhile, until much later down the road, like say Season 3 or something. However, I’m beyond glad they didn’t because, besides shaking up the chemistry dynamic of the family by removing Donald temporarily, that hug was so amazing to behold on screen. It’s all kinds of wonderful.

Anytime I think back on that rough anxiety tremor stuff I dealt with, during 2018′s tail end into early January, Della’s story of her hard-headed never say die attitude against immeasurable odds is one all generations should take big notes on. This beautiful story made me feel less alone in my struggles with depression, OCD, and anxiety. Seeing Della never give up because her family was always there for her in spirit hit me in the heart real good. Much like how it was for me when my family, most notably my mother, who helped me through those anxiety tremors that hit me like a meteor. Also, knowing Della will still struggle with trying to be a better mother figure adds a real layer of humanity to the story, reminding people that just because you’ve gotten better doesn’t mean you’re outta those woods yet. Della’s story is a perfect representation on life overall because it’s okay to still have problems and not feel weighed down by them too. You’ll always have loved ones there to back you up when you’re feeling like dirt. I still struggle with anxiety, depression, and OCD every day, even though I’m not in that terrible state of mind anymore, but my family has always helped me through this when it counts.

So with all that said, please remember to think of this message when you’re feeling very down on your own self-worth.

If Della Duck can overcome not only her emotional insecurities, but the large void of space and solitude that came with it for a decade, then I should be able to handle my own baggage with this same attitude.

Thanks so much for taking the time to read this story of an experience from my life and how DuckTales 2017′s story center around Della inspired a more positive outlook for me in the future. Feel free to share your own perspectives in the comments if you’re feeling up for it!

#della duck #ducktales 2017 #ducktales #whatever happened to della duck #ducktales season 2 #my life experience #relatable #huey dewey and louie #scrooge mcduck #donald duck #ducktales 2k17

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moistwithgender · 5 years

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Monthly Media Roundup (June-July 2019)

Well, I neglected doing a post last month, and now another has passed. I haven’t done too much, about three games each month and not anything else media-wise, so let’s get it all done right now!

Little Nightmares (PC/Steam):

These types of spooky “cinematic platformers”, like LIMBO and INSIDE, never really scare me or fill me with dread. Part of this may be that due to the trappings of cinematic platformers. Checkpoints are very fair, and nothing is too difficult because priority is on delivering the story. Little side challenges exist, like trying to light all the candles or break all the porcelain dolls in the short 3-hour run of the game, but these are also pretty reasonable, even if you’re in a chase sequence. I’m reminded of a youtuber I briefly followed who talked about how horror games aren’t scary anymore, and somewhat unintentionally delivered the point that as you become accustomed to the limits of a medium, and therefore are less likely to be surprised by it, you’re also much less likely to be scared by it. It’s a somewhat unfortunate and inevitable trade-off to becoming more invested in a hobby. When I was a kid, all games held infinite possibility, and so an NPC in Harvest Moon telling me that wild dogs came out at night led me to think that night time held the possibility of ENEMIES in a game without combat. What the NPC meant was that you should build fences. As an adult who has spent my life playing games, I can tell you that a game is almost never going to put you in a situation without the means to deal with it. If there’s going to be combat, you’re going to know how combat works before an ambush. If there’s an escape sequence, you’re going to be in an area that facilitates your escape (often a narrow space that leads you in a direction while also making it as harrowing as possible). Games are theme park rides, and while learning that can make seemingly difficult games more manageable and enjoyable, it also gradually disillusions you. Thankfully, there are always new things to learn if you keep an open mind.

The Legend of Zelda: Ocarina of Time 3D (3DS):

2019 has been about thoroughly enjoying the games that I considered overrated in my young adulthood. I joked on twitter that 70% of my personality was disliking Final Fantasy VII and Ocarina of Time, and honestly, it might as well have been. I earned a lot of undeserved respect in college through arrogantly spouting hot takes about “objectively good art”, and a lot of people reasonably assumed this must mean I know exactly what I’m talking about. The way I process art and media is much looser and more personal than it used to be, partially due to burning out and becoming too exhausted to deal with other arrogant people. I think a lot about how tiring I had to be for other people to talk to. Watching Tim Rogers bleed his personal trauma into his video series on the subtleties of FF7’s japanese script was the most instrumental in turning me back toward the game. When Square Enix revealed gameplay footage of the remake at E3 this year, I was hooting and hollering with the longtime fans.

But, this is about Zelda, not Final Fantasy. I had already played through OoT, as hurriedly as possible, just to say I had done it. It was the better part of a decade ago, at the urging of a then-girlfriend who had nostalgia for it. Frustrations with the Water Temple in the original version are valid despite it being largely well designed, due to some minor shortsighted-ness that blows up into nagging issues, but I think I had put myself in the headspace to dislike it from the get-go. Similarly, I didn’t want to do any collecting in the game as a whole. I had convinced myself that there was no joy to be found in collecting in games (a take bereft of nuance). When the point of Zelda games is to inspire the player to explore every nook and cranny in search of rewards, going in as a player and stubbornly trying to avoid any of that ensures that you’ll miss the point of the whole experience. I’m not sure what it was that made me want to go back. It might be that I wanted to prove my younger, cockier self wrong, and pave over my old evaluations with more nuance.

It certainly worked out that way, as several previous opinions changed entirely. Ruto used to be annoying to me, but was now one of my favorite characters. Doing all the little minigames felt rewarding in itself, and in turn I was unexpectedly rewarded with important items (they really did bet everything on the entire world they’d made). The Water Temple, now tweaked for a bit more convenience in the 3DS version, was extremely interesting. The side quest to acquire the Biggoron Sword was easily doable, whereas I had grown up assuming it impossible. And the story which had never appealed to me (because I wouldn’t let it) now felt relatable in a way I hadn’t expected. Link intends to do good, but through unfortunate circumstances and honest mistakes becomes unable to take part in the world, and it spirals downward for years as he remains trapped in a room, aging but inactive. Something about that mirrors my own experiences with depression. Sure, Link, can travel back to his younger self at any time, but there’s still a powerlessness in the inability to affect the seven year gap. You can flash back, but you can’t change what you’ve lost.

Banjo-Kazooie (N64):

You know, as a kid I probably would have just accepted that Grunty was evil, but as an adult it’s hard not to see her as a product of her environment. Obsessed with asking her cauldron who the objectively prettiest in the world is, she seeks out and kidnaps the younger girl given the title in an attempt to steal her youth. Every character in the game describes Grunty as ugly, rather than evil, and even her own sister shows up in every area to tell you how gross she is and how terrible her lifestyle is. I ended up sympathizing with her more than anyone else. I’ve only played half an hour of Banjo-Tooie, but it was a relief in multiple ways to see her pivot to straight up murder after rising from the dead.

Despite playing Donkey Kong Country multiple times growing up, I’d never really grown to love Rare’s in-house aesthetic of big-eyed cartoony animals. It might be hypocritical, but Smash Ultimate’s reveals for both King K. Rool and Banjo (and) Kazooie made me see the charm in these characters. Something about how Smash canonizes characters as essential pieces of game history always causes me to drop any negative pretense and adopt them as favorites. It’s a little intellectually hypocritical, but I can’t help liking what I like. After the trailer for B-K in Smash, I immediately started up the original game in Retroarch. Thankfully the core I used was advanced enough to play the game without issues (the same cannot be said for Tooie), as other alternatives were expensive or hard to get a hold of. While the slightly-mean humor and talking animate objects took a bit of getting used to, I get it now. I get the children’s show aesthetic they were aiming for, and I appreciate the feel of the physics and control of the interspecies friendship of the protagonists working in tandem with each other, even if the game is at times quite difficult.

Dragon Quest I, II, & III (SNES):

Yes, I did play through three JRPGs in a row! And yes, you might notice that the hero of Dragon Quest XI (and VIII, and IV, and III) was also announced for Smash Ultimate. They recently released, as of this writing! A lot of what I’ve been playing has been influenced by outside forces, whether it be Nintendo news or friends, but I’m not bothered at all when otherwise I might not have the energy to play anything. The games I’ve been playing are also ones I’ve intended to play for a while, so the excuses have been convenient for me. Though, actually, this decision had less to do with the Smash announcement and more to do with the upcoming re-release of DQXI, which seems to be related to the original three games, known as The Erdrick Trilogy. I had heard that you can play XI on its own, but that there is an extra layer of appreciation to be had if you’ve played the original trilogy. Me being me, I naturally queued them up. I chose the older fan translations of the SNES remakes, and though I did finish them, I can tell you that they have their fair share of bugs (DQII even has a game breaking glitch I had to finagle through using save states across multiple versions, phew). Besides that, those old translations lack the modern localizations of the games, so if they namedrop something in XI, there’s a chance it’ll go over my head. Oops! If you want to play these games, the best versions are currently on mobile phones.

Around a decade ago I was in early college, with no friends except for those still in high school or at another university. I was very lonely and nervous. I started playing Dragon Quest V purely by chance, and it served as the perfect salve for that loneliness, with its lonely child protagonist traveling around the world accumulating found family. It’s one of the more poignant and cathartic JRPGs I’ve ever played, and for the next decade I would actually be bothered that the rest of the games didn’t live up to the catharsis of DQV.

In revisiting the roots of the series, and playing it through to see how it develops from title to title, it finally clicked with me, and continues to click with me, as I keep learning more about the series. Rather than comparing every entry to DQV, I should have been comparing them in order. This might sound obvious, but it really did make a world of difference to see that V’s narrative is placed on top of the foundation the previous games set, rather than a singular case of lightning in a bottle. And the games have always featured loneliness, but in differing contexts, and to different degrees. The hero of DQI is almost entirely alone through the full game. In DQII, the princess comes from lonely circumstances, and one of the princes comes down with a sickness that leaves him temporarily unable to help his friends. In DQIII you can make as many team members as you want, but you grow up with an absent father, and your own good deeds receive bittersweet resolution. They are all games built on simple settings and followed through with empathy. The series is at times disarmingly heavy, which is part of what makes the games as memorable as they are. You’re never quite as prepared for Dragon Quest as you think you are.

As of this writing I’m currently half-way through a replay of Dragon Quest IV, and I’m enjoying it a lot more. I’m looking forward to replaying V. I have no idea what VI will be like. I’ve heard it’s a lower point in the series, but that’s what I heard about II as well, and I ended up loving it, so who knows. Dragon Quest is good.

---

Well, I managed to catch up. I didn’t get into the finer details of the DQ playthroughs, but DQIII is honestly so good I don’t want to spoil it for anyone (you should play these games). Maybe in August I’ll actually get back to watching and reading things. Maybe I’ll try to keep these things to a single paragraph per item, to make it more manageable to read. Let me know what you think, if you think.

#monthly post #curry plays games #dragon quest #banjo kazooie #little nightmares #ocarina of time #dragon quest ii #dragon quest iii

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seenashwrite · 6 years

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Changes for Nash

I'm going to be pulling back the time I spend on here in various ways, and if you'd like to know in what ways you can find the basic scoop below the cut.

To new followers - I hate that you've arrived just in time to see this, but I must hit “pause” and look after myself. Story-wise (and otherwise!) there's quite a bit of original content to peruse, so I hope this will satisfy you for the time being.

To all of the Nashooligans - please understand this does not mean I won't still post things and queue things. I've got a ton of stuff in drafts (thank you notes, replies, feedback, etc.) that will get posted in due time. I'm not disappearing. I'm not dropping the friendships I've made and the chats we have/the things we share/etc., nor a couple of challenges I agreed to and the side-blog projects I’ve committed to work on with others.

For those of you who don't read further, I'll close for you with a heartfelt...

Much lurve - Nash.

What’s changing / stopping:

I've been doing some purging offline, and now have starting doing some purging online. As there are many of you I consider friends and as I have a good chunk of devoted readers/participants in my shenanigans around here, I feel I owed you the scoop on what's changing (at least for now).

The TL;DR is that “major” original content (things that require great time investment) are not going to be making an appearance for the near future.

So, here are the things related to how I am choosing to spend my time in the context of my activity in the world of fanfic/SPN for the future/near future:

* Some projects are indefinitely on hold and some projects are cancelled altogether (see freshly updated Works In Progress post); I will fulfill my remaining challenge commitments as promised, and while perhaps it will be more abbreviated than normal, I will do my best not to kick out anything less than what y’all expect from me creativity-wise

* I've pulled everything from FF.net - the user end is too cumbersome, I'm tired of wasting time on it. I've left everything up on AO3, no plans to take it down from there. I've actually been going through the works there and editing formatting that slipped through the cracks. One thing I am doing is ceasing with adding cute images to stuff, simply not willing to spend the time on it; I may or may not remove the things for which images are necessary to understanding references in a story; we'll see

* Speaking of images - and videos and gifs and whatnots - no more any time soon; I promised one to someone and that’s already done, it’ll be stuck in the Q

* The Nail is on indefinite hold, very possibly will no longer happen; I may whip up an abbreviated version with the fics I had prepped for the next edition, or I'll individually reblog them - priority going to those with less than 100 notes - with brief versions of my usual in depth commentary as time permits; we'll see

* CASPN has been a commitment of mine each week > 1 year, minus the 3 weeks or so absence in the fall due to an injury that resulted in an unexpected hospital stay; I know this is a favorite weekly "break" for a good handful of you; I think I just need my own break. I know for sure I'm no longer able/willing to work on the decks, it is likely more of a time-suck than people realize to comb scripts, get the format for workable Qs and As right, maintain the whole shebang, etc.; bottom line: I just don't know. Like I say, I think I need a hiatus. Maybe until the season premiere. I'll keep thinking about it, let you know on Thursday where I'm at.

* The couple of side blog endeavors I’m pleased to be part of will still keep happening, I committed to it and I’m not gonna leave y’all in a lurch. Plus, that stuff’s fun, and not being in charge of ‘em means less stress and less time consumption

* Having said that, I won't be finishing up the substantial behind-the-scenes work I’ve already done on the SPN Theft Watch blog that is still in construction mode; I'm not deleting it, I'm just not willing to invest time in it right now. I still have several outstanding issues to deal with regarding the personal theft that came over to Tumblr and the reblogs that still have not been deleted. There are a few I still need to give a second notice to; the ones who have now ignored me after 2x, I'm reporting

* I won't be taking on "Dear Nash" things that ask for writing advice, offering up the "Dear Nash: Script Doctor Edition" option, re-blogging any of my writing tips; to the Nonners who asked for a complete master post of such, and the Nonners who asked for a post on how to give and accept critique, I'm putting those on the back burner as well; I also won't be passing along writing tips from professionals; basically nothing under the umbrella of “advice” [ETA: I have done this once since this post (months later) and it went okay. Will consider doing again]

ETA - Neglected to mention that I’ve had an idea for a gift for y’all when/if I hit 1K followers - the “materials” have been accumulating in a bookmark folder - and it’s unlike anything/any concept I’ve seen during my tenure in the fandom. It may take awhile, but I do still plan on doing it.

And if you care to know more scoop about the why... well, the “why” of the tipping point(s) that made me seriously ponder on what I’ve been feeling for awhile now... that’s on a page I made here.

(Spoiler alert: I’m not angry, there’s no hurt fee-fees, it’s just realization about what I choose to spend my time on and what I get out of those things, how much joy it would bring me and how that’s shifted.)

#Nash Alerts The Populous #The Nashooligans #Nash Ponders #Nash Makes Changes #time management #life balance #perspective #priorities #Queueby Dooby Doo #Dad's on a blog post and #he hasn't been queued in a few days

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the-chubbiest-dumpling · 7 years

Text

Endings and Beginnings: Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve: Your Pal, Your Buddy

Summary: You’re just an ordinary 25-year-old photographer working in a small studio in downtown Toronto. Your life is as normal as it could possibly be, except the fact that you are given an opportunity most people only dream of.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Word Count: 16 678

Warnings: Swearing. There will always be swearing. Small mention of Neo-nazis.

A/N: Obviously I have no self-control when it comes to how long these chapters are getting.

Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Thirteen Chapter Fourteen Chapter Fifteen Chapter Sixteen Chapter Seventeen Chapter Eighteen Epilogue

Tags: @shamvictoria11 @blazeshira

As promised, Dr. Markson wakes you up at 7:30am for your therapy. It was a shitty sleep, considering you woke up two more times. You’re absolutely jaded, and are not ready for the day. It takes a few extensive shakes to keep you from falling asleep again. You force yourself awake using the fact that Bucky will be with you all day. Maybe. Hopefully. At least some of it. Guaranteed.

Dr. Markson removes your Foley catheter like he said, and also the IV drip after some consideration. He changes your bandages before giving you your breakfast: scrambled eggs paired with a mixed berry smoothie. Not too bad; a healthy way to start your day. You eat moderately, and listen to Dr. Markson as you eat.

“It has now been eight days since your gunshot wound has been treated,” he starts. “I used non-dissolvable stitches. Normally, they can be removed within three to twenty-one days. But since I am who I am, that may not be necessary. I could remove them today or tomorrow. It all depends on how well you do in rehab today. Do not strain yourself, or else you may cause the stitches to break and re-open your wound. And we cannot have that.”

You gulp down your smoothie and nod as you do so. That’s some good news, at least. The quicker you get outta here, the faster you can get back on your feet and do missions. Plus, you were kind of hoping that since Tony has all this advanced technology, and the medical world has progressed so much, a gunshot wound to the leg wouldn’t be too hard to treat. You vaguely remember Natasha mentioning a Dr. Cho. You can hardly remember it, but the woman really seemed like she knew what she was doing with the Cradle thing she created. You’d love to meet her someday.

After finishing your breakfast, Dr. Markson removes the electrodes attached to your chest, and very carefully helps you out of bed. You grip his arm as you put pressure on your right foot. You grimace, the pain instantly shooting up your leg. The moment he realizes that you’re in pain, he leads you over to a wheelchair he brought for this exact reason. Your arms shake as you grip the armrests, and slowly lower yourself down into the seat. Dr. Markson raises the right footplate to ease some of the pressure on your leg. You grunt when it feels better, but it’s still sore. Once you’re situated, he pushes you over to the elevator punches in the number for the second floor.

“How are you feeling?” he asks.

“Can’t complain,” you reply. “I’m just ready to be over and done with this.”

The elevator dings, and Dr. Markson brings you to the office where administrative affairs of the Avengers are conducted. Inside, you’re greeted by a young woman in a pantsuit, her hair neatly tucked up into a tight bun. She smiles kindly as she stands up from behind her desk.

“Good morning, Dr. Markson, _______,” she says.

“Mornin’,” you answer.

“Good morning, Dr. Laine,” Dr. Markson replies.

You’ve never really been in here before. An office is supposed to have a considerable amount of space anyway, but this is just pushing it. The whole room could easily be 500 square feet. There’s bookshelves on either end of the walls, lined with hundreds of books on physiotherapy, psychology, counselling and the like. To your left is a seating area for speaking to multiple people at a time, and on the other end is equipment used for those who require physiotherapy and physical therapy. The one you recognize right away that you might use are the parallel bars. Yawning, you wipe a hand down your face and give Dr. Laine a very tired look.

“For today, we will have a one-hour session,” she explains, rounding her desk to lean against it. “Having spent eight days in recovery already, I would hope that your wound has been healing well. Nevertheless, we are going to take it slow and see where you’re at.”

“Okay,” you say wearily.

“I leave her in your care, Dr. Laine,” Dr. Markson says. “Please update me on any developments.”

“Will do,” she nods. “Have a nice day, sir.”

He nods back, and gives you an encouraging pat on the head before he takes his leave. An awkward silence passes as neither of you two speak. Your new doctor decides to break that.

“Have you tried walking yet?”

“No,” you reply. “I mean, I tried when I was getting in this wheelchair, but it hurt too much.”

“I see. Since most of your time here will be spent training and regaining your strength in your leg, there’s only one piece of equipment for you to focus on.”

She gestures to the parallel bars behind you. You knew it.

“Alrighty,” you say, turning back around. “Now I know what to look forward to every time I come up here.”

She smiles kindly at your dismay.

“You’ll feel better in no time,” she says. “I can guarantee it.”

“Mm. I hope so.”

“Also. Dr. Markson gave me his report on your wound,” she starts, picking up a file from her desk and skimming through the pages. “You’ve been responding well to treatment, and you’re in good health. I’d say the only thing you need is determination.”

“Trust me, doctor,” you cut in. “I am determined as ever to get out of this chair and walk on my own.”

She slaps the file shut and sets it back on her desk.

“Let’s get to it then, shall we?”

Using the bars was more painful than you thought.

Dr. Laine took the first fifteen minutes to explain how she’s going to evaluate you and deem which exercises are the most beneficial to help you recover. And depending on how you progress, you’ll be permitted to push yourself a little more. It sounded spectacular, but it’s going to take time. And if there’s one thing you know about time, is that it’s unpredictable. You never know what may happen.

Currently, she’s seeing how well you can handle yourself while using the bars. She writes down notes for herself as she observes you. You can use them perfectly fine, your left foot firmly planted on the floor. As for your right foot, the most pressure you can use is from going on your tippy toes to avoid having piercing pain spread through you. You exhaust the strength of your arms to keep you upright. For the most part, it’s an easy thing to do, but without being able to use your right leg at all, you’ll have to endure the agonizing pain of using crutches again.

Once you reach the end of the bars, you breathe through the pain as Dr. Laine comes over and kneels down to examine you.

“Can you stretch your entire leg out for me?”

Nodding, you grip the bars and look down as you shakily extend your leg for her. She grips your foot, and gradually starts bending your leg. Your eye twitches in anticipation. When you can’t take the pain anymore, you tell her to stop. Your leg ends at about a 45° angle, then she gently lets you go to write down her findings. She stands up again, holding her notebook firmly in front of her, and tells you to go again.

“This is to get you used to the feeling of walking again,” she explains. “The more you walk, the more you’ll improve. But, as Dr. Markson said, it takes time. So don’t push yourself when our sessions are complete.”

“Un. I know.”

Taking a breath, you turn back around, careful not to bump your thigh into the bar, and begin again.

After your first rehab session with Dr. Laine is over, you thank her, and promise to follow her instructions. She gives you a pair of crutches, as promised, then you waddle your way to the elevator, going back to the main floor. As you exit the doors, you immediately smell something good. You have the strongest urge to go see who it is and what they’re cooking, but you’re still in your hospital gown. You can’t go walking around with your backside showing, so you quietly make your way to your room. No one notices you along the way; you shut the door quietly, and sigh in relief.

“Finally out of that goddamn bed.”

The first thing you do is go to your dresser. You lean your crutches against it and start untying your gown. Letting it drop to the floor, you pick out a brand new shirt, and a pair of loose shorts. You need to be able to change your bandages by yourself when the time comes, so easy access is the key.

You put on your shirt first, then debate how you’re going to put on your shorts. You can’t bend your leg, and the most comfortable it’s going to be is when it’s almost straight. Looking at your bed, you sigh sadly. You opt to limp over, then carefully lay yourself down. You loop the left side of your shorts over your foot before doing the same to your right. Reaching forward, you grab the hem and start shimmying them up your legs until they reach your hips, then button them up. There. That wasn’t so hard. You glance over to your crutches leaning against your dresser.

“Shit.”

You ungracefully flop off your bed, then use the strength of your left leg to push you off the floor and grab onto your desk. You grab your crutches once you’re upright, then make way for the bathroom to fix your face.

A quick face wash, brush of your teeth, and a ponytail later, you’re finally ready to face the day.

Maybe.

You come out of your room again, wondering who’s making the best-smelling thing you’ve ever smelt in the past eight days. As you round the corner, you smile widely at Steve’s Dorito back. Being as quiet as possible, you sneak up to the island and take a seat, waiting for him to turn around. You lean to the side to see what he’s cooking, but you can’t really tell. Something in a pot.

I wonder if he’s used to not boiling things anymore.

You giggle at the thought, which in turn gains Steve’s attention. He does a double-take, and smiles heartily when he realizes it’s you.

“_______!” he cheers.

“Hey,” you say, the biggest grin on your face.

“I didn’t think you’d be up and walking today.”

“Neither did I. It’s more limping than anything, though. Can’t really use my right leg yet.”

“Baby steps is still progress,” he comments, giving a glance to your crutches.

“Definitely,” you agree. “The faster this goes by, the closer I get to being back out in the field.”

“Slow your horses, _______,” he chides, turning back to his pot. “Take it easy for once.”

“I know, I know,” you say, waving him off. “I will. I don’t want the stitches to re-open, so trust me. I’m not gonna be bouncing on trampolines or go roller blading any time soon.”

“Good to hear it.”

“What’re you making, by the way?”

“Stew.”

“Stew? At nine in the morning?”

“It’s for dinner! It takes a while.”

“I didn’t know you could cook.”

“After getting over the fact that I didn’t have to boil things anymore, I got into the groove of things and decided to see what today’s technology had to offer.”

“And you opted for stew.”

“Yup.”

“Something that you can boil.”

He gives you a smile over his shoulder, then nods his head.

“Alright,” you say, holding your hands up. “I’m not judging. I just didn’t expect to see you doing that so early.”

“There’s a lot of things that you wouldn’t expect from me,” he cheekily adds.

“Should I be worried?” you ask.

“I dunno. Should you be?”

“Don’t turn it around like that, Steve Rogers. You’re making it sound like I should expect the worst from you.”

He shrugs indifferently, then focuses back on his stew. You shake your head and laugh to yourself.

“You sure are something, Dorito,” you say.

“And what is it with this ‘Dorito’?” he asks, turning back around. “Do I look–Bucky.”

You look over your shoulder; you didn’t even hear him come in. He looks a little worse for wear. His stubble is scruffier, his hair wilder, his eye-bags a little deeper. Despite his outward appearance, he manages a small smile.

“Hey,” he says softly, looking at you. “Feeling good?”

“More or less,” you say shyly. “I’m gonna be crippled until further notice.”

“That’s unfortunate,” he says, walking up to the island. “Better than being dead.”

“Got that right,” you agree, turning forward to look at him. “But it won’t be all that bad.”

“Why’s that?”

“’Cause I get to hang out with you the whole time.”

You’re surprised you were able to say that with a straight face. The corner of your mouth twitches, threatening to break out into a smile, but you bite the inside of your cheek to keep yourself under control. He smiles and looks towards the floor.

“I don’t know how much fun I’ll be,” he says honestly.

“Don’t worry about it,” you say. “Just having another person around will satisfy me.”

“If you say so.”

Steve stirs his stew absentmindedly, and smiles to himself as he listens to you and Bucky talk. He gives Bucky a quick glimpse over his shoulder. Bucky notices, but doesn’t react. He just plants his hands on the counter and rolls back and forth. You look down at your hands, and pick at a hangnail. Another awkward silence fills the air. Steve slyly stares at Bucky, and rolls his thumb in a circle then nods at you. Bucky doesn’t seem to get it.

“iPod,” Steve mouths, then nods at you again.

Bucky “oh”s, nodding in understanding. He clears his throat and crosses his arms.

“Thanks again for the iPod,” he says, peeking up at you. You look at him too and smile. “It’s uh… I really appreciate it.”

“You’re welcome,” you say kindly. “Have you learned a little bit?”

“A bit,” he confesses. “A lot of things have changed.”

“Good change?” you ask.

“A nice transition,” he clarifies. “It’s different. But I like it.”

“I’m glad to hear it.”

“Mm.”

“Mmmaybe I could show you a little more later. I know Steve made a list for all the things he missed while he was asleep. I could do the same for you, if you’d like.”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

Steve is living right now. Bucky’s finally opening up and talking more with someone that isn’t him. He seems to be doing a lot better these days, but Steve knows how much effort it takes to smile and power through the day when everything seems to be bugging you. He puts the lid on his pot and turns off the stove top.

“You two seem like you’re gonna have a productive day of doing nothing,” Steve announces. You and Bucky turn to him in unison.

“Ah, well,” you muse, shrugging. “I think it’ll be fun. I love teaching people new things. And I’m gonna say right now, I’m sorry if I get a little ahead of myself. Being immersed in technology is a blessing. A little bit of a curse too, because you can never put it down. I get all excited about it, so just be prepared for that.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” he replies.

“_______!” a new sing-song voice chimes in. You immediately know who it is.

“Wandaaa!” you cheer happily. You twist in your seat to accept her hug as she stretches out her arms.

“How are you?” she asks as she pulls away.

“Better,” you say. “I’ll get by with the crutches, but I can’t wait for them to be gone.”

“At least you’re up and walking. Somewhat,” she adds, smiling brightly.

This girl is a dream.

She nods to Bucky to acknowledge him, and he does the same thing back. It’s sort of weird seeing them in the same room together. You don’t really know how they act towards one another. Do they just pass each other by? Or do they have conversations sometimes? You’ll have to ask her that when Bucky isn’t within earshot.

“What’re you up to today?” Wanda asks as she goes to the fridge to get some fruit.

“Not much,” you reply. “Just hanging around.”

She sets her fruit bowl down on the island, and looks towards Steve.

“Is she allowed to go outside yet?” she asks him, biting into a strawberry.

“Honestly, I’d prefer not,” he admits.

“Tony said I’m on house arrest,” you add in. “But who knows how long I’m gonna follow that demand.”

“_______,” Steve groans, shaking his head.

“What? I don’t wanna be cooped up in here until I’m better. Getting fresh air is good, y’know.”

“I know, but–“

“Ah ah ah. I don’t wanna hear it. If I wanna go out, then I’ll drag someone along with me. Deal?”

“…Fine.”

You and Steve shake on it, making Wanda, and even Bucky, smile.

“So, sorry if you wanted to take me out today, Wanda,” you apologize. She waves you off.

“It’s okay,” she says. “I can wait until you’re a little better.”

“Sounds good.”

Wanda takes her fruit bowl and goes back to her room to change before going out. Steve gives you and Bucky a hearty goodbye, then leaves the room as well. You grip your hands, mentally cursing Steve and Wanda for leaving you alone with Bucky. But you might as well get this started.

“Well. Looks like we won’t have our presence graced with anyone else for a while. Wanna start your lesson?”

“Lesson?”

“On technology.”

“Oh. Right.”

You get out of your seat, grabbing your crutches and make your way over to the living room. You plop your self down on the couch, Bucky taking a seat to your left. He’s in for a whirlwind of progression.

You started with the basics: how to use an iPhone, and all that comes with owning an Apple product. Most of the stuff Bucky couldn’t care less for, like iCloud or Airplay. The only thing he would really need a cellphone for is making calls. You taught him the art of text messaging and emojis, also things he didn’t really think were important. Though texting could be useful, he feels phone calls are easier and more efficient.

The next thing was apps, like the built-in ones Apple provides, and additional apps you can either download for free or buy. You don’t have many games yourself, just social media, but you have at least one or two for when you’re bored. After that was the actual social media apps. Explaining Facebook was simple enough; he grasped it easily. Now you’re onto one of your favourites: Twitter.

“Okay, so Twitter shouldn’t be a free app with all the stuff that goes down,” you start, opening the app itself and turning your phone to show Bucky.

“Why?” he asks, leaning forward to look at the screen.

“It’s just… firstly, you’d have to understand a lot of internet humour to know what the hell is going on sometimes,” you explain, scrolling through your news feed. “I get it just fine. But I don’t know if you’d wanna hear me go on forever about memes.”

“Me–“

“Don’t even ask,” you stop him, putting up your hand. “For now, lemme just get through the apps.” He blinks in surprise, but remains silent and let’s you continue.

“On here, you ‘tweet’. Basically it’s like updating your status on Facebook, but much wilder. You can use hashtags too. There’s ‘trending topics’ that hashtags are primarily used for. They let you know what’s going on around the world or in a certain country. This is the search icon, your notifications, and direct messages. When you swipe left, you can go to your profile and settings. You can post whatever you want, but be warned of some triggering stuff too. The last thing you want to see is a neo-Nazi on your feed.”

Bucky turns completely serious, and sits back in the couch, staring at you in shock. He’s frowning deeply, and his hands clench and unclench.

“What’re you talking about?”

You’ve never heard him sound so serious before. It’s kind of unnerving, but you’re not about to tell him that. He’s had enough of people telling him how dangerous he looks. Sighing, you lean back into the couch too and shake your head.

“Believe it or not, there are still Nazis out there,” you say. “Not exactly like Nazi Germany, but they come pretty damn close. There’s… HYDRA still, but even regular people act so terribly because they have beliefs like Hitler. Anti-Semitists, homophobes, misogynists, racists, xenophobes… it’s disgusting.”

Biting the inside of his cheek, Bucky shakes his head, thinking that all he fought for was a lost cause. That he wasted his years as a soldier, fighting for freedom, when in the end, nothing would change. He sighs and closes his eyes, fighting back the urge to punch something. When you notice him tensing up, you change the direction of the conversation.

“But there were also huge victories,” you say. He opens his eyes. “The Civil Rights Movement, breaking down the Berlin Wall, the feminist movement, gay rights movement, legalizing abortion, the invention of the internet… there’s a lot of amazing things that have happened since World War two ended. There’s still a lot of improvements to be made, but we’re getting there. And it’s always something to celebrate.”

Bucky turns his head to you, his eyes drifting downwards before finding your face again. He smiles softly. He’s sure you’ll give him the rundown of all those things after he gets past the technology part; plus, he thinks you’re just trying to calm him down from hearing that his enemies, past and present, are still roaming the earth. He shoves those thoughts to the back of his mind and clears his throat.

“Uhhh. So the, um. Tweeting?”

“Twitter,” you smile widely. You look down at your phone and close the app, then open Instagram. “That’s basically it for Twitter. This is Instagram.” You turn your phone towards him again. “It’s a photo-sharing site. You upload photos of almost anything. There’s guidelines for things you can’t post, like any other kind of social media platforms. Again, this is the home page, the search icon, adding a new photo, notifications, and profile. These bubbles up here with people’s faces in them are their stories. It’s something that all your followers will see. You can also do live videos, like Facebook, but they just copied SnapChat.”

“SnapChat?”

You give him a smug look, but he just raises a brow at you. You pat his thigh, and knowingly shake your head.

“Oh, Bucky,” you say. “This is one of my personal favourites.”

He eyes your hand on his thigh. He doesn’t mind; he’s just not used to people delicately touching him or showing him… affection? You’re touching him so gently, so he’s gonna count this as affection. You open your SnapChat, lean to the side, and tell Bucky to look at you. You tap on his face, and choose the filter that makes your eyes and lips huge. You laugh as you take the picture, then turn your phone around to show him. He blinks in disbelief, leaning his head forward to further examine his photo.

“That’s not what I look like!” he shouts, taking the phone from your hands.

“I know it’s not!” you laugh, shuffling closer to look at it with him. “It’s a filter, Bucky. It changes your face.”

“To look like that?” he questions, trying to zoom in like you showed him earlier.

“More or less,” you say. You take your phone back, and swipe left. “There’s also colour filters after you’ve taken the photo. And sometimes when you’re in a certain city, they’ll have their own personal filters. Aaaaand… looks like Tony has one of his own.”

There’s a border of little Iron Man faces surrounding Bucky’s picture. He doesn’t like it very much, so he reaches over and swipes right again. You snort, and settle on no extra filter. You save the photo to your Memories, and delete the picture.

“What’s the point of this app, then?”

“It’s a photo messaging app. So, I take a picture of me or whatever I want, and then I send it to someone on my friend’s list. You can also send a snap to your story, and it can be seen by your friends list. They last for twenty-four hours, depending on the time you took them.”

He makes a face that still says “what’s-the-point-of-this-app”, so you enlighten him.

“Trust me,” you say. “It’s a lot more fun than it looks. It’s one of my favourite things to use.”

“If you say so,” he snorts. You just give him a smile and move on with your lesson.

“Let’s see. Oh yeah! YouTube. It’s a search engine for videos. You can find almost anything on there when it comes to videos. Past events, songs, webcasts, concerts, movies. You could be on there for hours and never get enough of–Oh. My. God. Speaking of videos, I have to show you this.”

Going a little off track, you open your Tumblr app (you decide not to show him that one because it’s a shitshow sometimes), then go to your favourites where you keep all your vine compilations. You sit up a little more to face Bucky head-on, and turn serious for a moment. Though your smile gives it away.

“Vine is one of the best things to happen, okay?” you start. “Like. You cannot get better than this when it comes to entertainment. A six-second video on loop will make your day.”

Clearly, he doesn’t understand how and why something as short as six seconds could make your day, but he’s certainly about to find out. You show him your most recently liked video, handing him your phone, and side-eye him to see which ones he finds funny.

For the first minute or so, he’s either confused, or blatantly surprised. You cover your mouth to keep yourself from laughing when there’s dicks involved. He really reacts to the guy slipping on a banana peel to see if it’s actually slippery like in the cartoons.

“Oh, god,” Bucky says, covering his mouth. “Is he okay?”

“I-I think so,” you choke out, trying to keep yourself from bursting out laughing. Other than that particular vine, Bucky doesn’t react much. He smiles at the little boy that gets excited about an avocado he got for Christmas, raises his eyebrows at the guy who throws his phone because Flappy Bird is challenging, and nods along when people ask what the weather’s like for outside seating when they came in from the outside.

He hands you back your phone, and you close all your apps. He takes a minute to get his thoughts together.

“That was… interesting,” he concludes.

“There’s a lot more where that came from,” you say. “However. I haven’t showed you one of the most important things ever created. The internet.”

Opening your safari app, you type in “google”. The Google search engine comes up, and you scooch closer to him to show him how it works. Your heart beats excitedly in your chest from being so close to him.

“Google is a search engine,” you say. “Anything you want to know, you can find. And don’t let anyone try to tell you that Bing is better. Because it’s not.” You think about what to search; something safe, and something that won’t trigger anything inside him. That’s the last thing you want to do. Shrugging your shoulders, you type in “types of flowers”. In less than a second, multiple links come up. Bucky squints at the screen.

“Wanna know what kinds of flowers there are? You can search it. Wanna know the meanings of certain flowers? You can do that too. Wanna learn about hanakotoba, the language of flowers, from Japan? No doubt Google will have it. Song lyrics, world events, celebrity gossip, types of cars, medical terms, kinds of animals; the internet has it all. But the number one thing that you must remember, is that not everything on the internet is true. It’s sort of easy to tell when something isn’t accurate, but you never know. And watch out for virus’. They’re a nasty way of getting into your computer and screwing everything up. And possibly stealing personal information and locating you. They’re easy to spot, though. I’ll show you those so you never have to deal with that. But if you ever get confused about anything, just come ask one of us and we’ll clear it up.”

Bucky blows his lips after taking in all this new technological information. He doesn’t know if he’d ever use the apps you showed him, but the internet certainly sounds captivating. Anything he wants to know, anything at all, he can look it up? Just like that? It sounds too good to be true. He looks over at you fiddling with your phone now, wondering how lame he’ll sound if he just says “thanks”.

“Thanks for this… lesson,” he says. Wow. Double lame.

“You’re very welcome,” you grin. “But I don’t want to stop there, if that’s okay.”

“Sure,” he says without missing a beat. Despite having mixed opinions on today’s technology, it’s funny to him to see you talk about something that excites you. He wishes he could do that more often. You struggle as you try to stand up, pushing your hands into the couch to force yourself up, but you end up losing your balance and sitting again. Bucky stands up and offers you his hand.

“Thanks,” you say, squeezing his flesh hand to pull yourself up. You grab your crutches next and lead the way to your room. You push the door open with the bottom of your crutch and walk over to your desk. Leaning over the glass, you open the lid of your laptop and type in your password. Once it’s unlocked, you leave your crutches against the wall and hop over to your bed and sit down, mindful of your right leg’s position. You pat the seat beside you, inviting Bucky to sit with you. He obliges, sitting on your left again.

“Another thing that’s changed–or rather, evolved–is photography,” you start, opening Google chrome. “You probably already knew that, but I like to make comparisons.” In the images tab, you search “old photography”, and up pops hundreds of black and white and sepia toned photographs.

“There’s an obvious difference. The posing, lighting, style, the quality. Reminds you of the old days, doesn’t it?”

“…Yeah.”

Bucky stares intensely at the photos, his eyes wandering all over the place as you scroll further down the page. He noticed some words at the top of the page, and asks you to go all the way back up.

“What’re those?” he asks, pointing to the coloured words.

“They’re suggestions based on your search,” you say. “Just an extra little something in case you want to pair something with your original search.” One of the suggestions says New York City. Giving Bucky a quick glance, you click on it. Multiple images of Times Square come up, along with the skyline and little boys in their Sunday best.

I wonder if he had to dress like that at one point.

Bucky’s expression softens as he looks at the images. Though he was born in Indiana, he has fond memories of him and Steve in New York City. Bits and fragments floating around in his head, wondering if he’ll ever piece them back together. One thing for sure he remembers: he used to save Steve’s ass a lot.

You remove the New York City tag, and instead search “times square 1945”. V-E Day. The very first image is the infamous photo of the sailor kissing a woman in the middle of the street. A sad smile appears on Bucky’s face.

“This was on May 8 in 1945. Victory over Europe day,” you say gently. “When the Allies accepted Nazi Germany’s unconditional surrender. On August 15, the Japan Empire surrendered which ended the whole war.”

Originally, you wanted to show the difference between photography back then and now, using your own photos, but Bucky seems so immersed in the past that you leave him be for a bit. You set your computer in his lap.

“Here. Have a look.”

He nods, and hovers his fingers over the trackpad, and scrolls down using two fingers like you did to look at more photos. You sit back until you hit the wall, and watch Bucky fondly delve into the past. He didn’t get to see that day. He didn’t get to be sent home, nor celebrate with his fellow comrades, the Hollowing Commandos. He’s missed out on so much, but that’s why you’re getting him back in the groove of things. To help him catch up and learn about the world that passed him by during his time as the Winter Soldier. Thankfully, those days are way behind him, so he has nothing to worry about. And you damn well hope that Vision taking away his trigger words stays out of Bucky’s mind. It’s gone smoothly, and you still can’t remember what Vision took away from you first. Vision is close to being perfect in design, so you pray his abilities are permanent.

So far so good.

After a few minutes of silent scrolling, Bucky hands you your laptop back. You set it down beside you and stare at the side of his face. He’s pulling his lips to the side, and bouncing his knee. As he rubs his hands together, you shuffle forward again. You contemplate about rubbing his back, but you opt to keep your hands to yourself. This time, at least.

“You okay?”

He separates his hands, and shrugs as if to say “I-don’t-know”. Very understandable. He didn’t get to be a part of all these celebrations and move on with life like everyone else did back then. Instead, he got pulled into the deepest circles of hell that is HYDRA. Beaten, broken, and used, he crawled his way out to his redemption, all because of Steve. He was Steve’s anchor during the war, but now the roles are reversed. Steve is everything he has in keeping him grounded. He’s still learning to accept new people into his life, like you, but he’s keeping his walls up and heavily guarded. He’s not ready to let himself go yet.

“I’ll be alright,” he answers, gazing at you. You gaze right back, staring at his incredible blue eyes. The only other time you’ve been this close to him was when you were fixing his face after his fight with Sam. But even then you weren’t able to gawk at him like you are right now. The light coming in from the window illuminates his face in just the right places. His stubble could easily be a beard by now from how thick it is. The crinkles around his eyes show his age, probably just shy of thirty biologically. His hair falls over his face in the most perfect way, and his lips… you can’t even begin to describe how amazing they look when he’s not smiling nor frowning. You can’t let this opportunity get away.

“Stay as still as you can,” you whisper.

“Why?” he whispers back.

You don’t give him an answer. You gingerly stand up to go get your camera. You pull the body out of your bag and attach a 50mm, a perfect lens for up-close portrait shots. You turn it on as you sit back down on your bed, and change the settings accordingly before bringing the camera to your face.

“Stay still, Bucky,” you ask quietly. “And look at me.”

You put the focus point on his eye for absolute sharpness. You half-press the shutter before capturing the moment completely. You smile tenderly when you lower the camera from your face. Bucky’s eyes trail to the unknown object in your hands.

“What’s that?”

“A camera. Specifically, a dSLR, but ‘camera’ works just fine.” You shuffle back next to him and show him the photo you just took of him.

Absolutely stunning.

It seems you’ll be receiving the same reaction from him every time you show him something he’s never seen before: complete surprise.

“A little different from what you guys used back in the day, isn’t it?” you smile, zooming in on his face. He raises his eyebrows.

“Totally,” he whispers, watching you zoom in on different parts of his face.

“I can capture something instantaneously, change the colour scheme, change the focus, zoom in and out, look at the photos I just took… there’s a mountain of things you can do with a camera now.”

“Mm.”

He can’t get over the fact that that’s what his face looks like in a photo now. It’s so clear, the background is blurred out, and the sole focus is him himself. You notice he hasn’t taken his eyes away from it. You smile slyly.

“Lemme show you something.”

You turn off your camera and eject the memory card, then slip it into the side of your laptop. A folder for the card pops up, and you open it, then scroll all the way to the bottom to enlarge the photo you took of Bucky. You let him look at it on the bigger screen, and laugh when you see how dumbfounded he is.

“This is…” He can’t even finish his thought. He’s so impressed by the technology that he can’t say anything else.

“If this is the reaction I get when I show you that,” you start, minimizing the photo and opening Photoshop, “then you’re gonna love this.”

You open up the image in Photoshop, and do a basic edit. You create a new layer to get rid of background distractions, like the corner of your desk and the side of your dresser. After that, another layer for a curves adjustment and contrast to give the photo a little more punch. You crop it to 11 x 14, then change the colour scheme to black and white. You don’t even need to erase any blemishes on Bucky’s face; he doesn’t have any. You sharpen the photo, then simply save it as “Bucky” to your desktop. You pull up the two photos to show the difference.

“That’s… amazing,” he says softly, flicking his eyes left and right to see the difference.

“Th–“

“You’re amazing.”

You’re left with your mouth gaping when he smoothly adds that in. You blush and look away, finding the floor a lot more interesting.

“It’s nothing, really,” you say, embarrassed.

“The smallest things can have the biggest impact, _______,” he counters.

Your heartbeat quickens when he tags your name at the end of a sentence like that. It’s such a simple compliment and phrase, and you’d accept it without hesitating from anybody else. But it’s a whole other story when it’s coming from Bucky. Of course, of course you’d crush on the most beautiful man in the world. Steve is way up there too, maybe even tied for first, but all of your tastes tie into Bucky’s entire being. He’s not the same suave, charming, Sergeant Barnes from the 107th infantry regiment anymore; nor is he the merciless Winter Soldier. He’s a mix of the two, even as he tries to push the most corrupt parts of him away. Despite all that, you can’t help but love his little eccentricities.

“What else can you do with this?” he asks, nodding at the screen.

“Oh! Um.” You pause to bring up your own photos again. “Anything, really. It’s used a lot to edit portraits, food, sports, and all that. But there’s also movie posters, movies themselves, and even drawing.”

You pull up a picture you took during the fall of a woman wearing a fancy, red dress made with red and yellow leaves decorating the bottom and boddess. The sun shines right behind her head, giving the photo a heavenly glow. A leaf crown also adorns her head, and in her hands she’s cradling a lotus flower.

“It’s pretty,” Bucky says.

“You think?”

“Yeah.”

“I made this.”

“What?”

“I made this.”

You select the original and edited photo, press the space bar, and go full-screen. You watch Bucky’s reaction again when you go left and right, showing him the major differences and effort that went into making the photo. Surprise, surprise (but not really). He’s flabbergasted. You turn the laptop towards him, and let him compare the photos.

In the original photo, the woman was wearing nothing but a plain red dress, holding a pink lotus flower. The lighting is a little dark and dull, and there’s little distractions on the ground he hadn’t noticed, like a stump, some acorns, and camera spots. Skipping to the edited photo, he notices the drastic difference in brightness. The sunlight is honey-coloured instead of white, the woman’s face is smooth, the flower crown is flawless, and the lotus flower is slightly larger. The overall work of the dress is impeccable, and he definitely wouldn’t be able to tell if it was fake or real.

“I… how do you do this?” he asks.

“With lots of long hours of practice,” you reply. “It’s not often that I take on major edits like this. So if the client is willing to pay for it, then I’ll do it.”

“What happens when you don’t want to do it?”

“I refer them to an expert editor, which happens to be a friend of mine. He has his own team, and they take on projects like this one.”

“You’re pretty talented people, being able to do things like this.”

“W-Well it’s part of our business, so we’d need to hire the best there is…”

“Can you show me more?”

“Uh. Yeah, sure.”

You didn’t think Bucky would take such an interest in this. Being shown the progression of photography maybe, but wanting to see more of your work? It feels intimate, because this is your own personal work that none of the team has seen. Some of your work has been posted to the company’s website with a credit, but you have no website of your own to share what you’re capable of. A lot of your photographs haven’t been seen by the public, and you’re a little bit worried about what Bucky may think. Times may have changed, but he still has his own opinions. It’s naïve to think that he’d give a full criticism about your work, but if he says something even slightly negative, you’re going to carry it around with you. And why? Well it’s obvious.

You like him. And when anything the person you like says something that’s not optimistic, then it’s going to drag you down because their opinion is so valid to you.

Clenching your jaw, you force those thoughts away and instead pull up a slideshow of a family of five (including their border collie) that you made for them. You make it full-screen and play the video for him. You explain that day as the instrumental music plays in the background.

“I was ambivalent about this one,” you start, planting your hands on either side of your hips. You lean back and pull your lips to the side. “I don’t usually work with pets because they’re harder to control. But their dog was pretty tame. Didn’t bark, followed commands. The only thing I had to worry about was getting the right shots. It was sunny, thank god. Makes my life shooting outdoors that much easier. Their two kids got past the stage of screaming and whining about getting their photo taken. This family was a blessing when it comes to stuff like that, lemme tell ya. They were so chatty and loved to play around with their kids. It made for a great day and photoshoot.”

For the whole of the slideshow, Bucky’s smiling warmly. He remembers seeing mothers dragging their little boys around on the streets of New York, making sure they don’t get lost in the crowd. Fathers carrying their daughters around on their shoulders, groups of friends hoop rolling down the sidewalks, and, of course, adults relentlessly chasing down their dogs that managed to escape their leashes. It makes Bucky laugh as he watches your photos come in and out of view. You’re not even watching the video anymore; you’re staring at Bucky again.

He carries his own presence; he can make heads turn when he walks into a room (hopefully more for good reasons than bad). One little smile and your day is instantly brightened. The sound of his voice is so smooth, it’ll make all of your fears disappear. Bucky Barnes. A person to be protected. You look down and continue to fantasize about him.

While you dozed off into fantasy land, Bucky had looked away from the screen to admire you instead. He gazed at your features, trailing his eyes from your eyes, to the tip of your nose, to your lips. He stared at the bandages around your leg, and how you would clench the sheets while you’re deep in thought (daydreaming about him). It wasn’t exactly a requirement for him to know how to read people when he was the Winter Soldier, since his sole purpose was to kill without being seen. But he knows enough to recognize when someone is hiding something, or when they’re being timid. From what he’s seen so far, he inferences that you’re trying to shy away from this situation to calm yourself down. Why? He doesn’t know yet. But he’ll do his best to make you feel comfortable.

When you finally raise your head and see that Bucky’s holding his gaze with you, you quickly flit your eyes to the screen and rub the back of your neck. The slideshow has already ended.

“Oh.”

You sit up and exit out of the window, and absentmindedly scroll through your many sessions with clients.

“Sooo. Yeah. That was that.”

Bucky breaks himself out of his stupor and comes back down to earth, clearing his throat and straightening his posture.

“That was great, _______,” he says, nodding his head while smiling.

“Thanks,” you say. You stop scrolling, your fingers hovering over the trackpad. Your bite your cheek and furrow your brows intensely. Licking your lips, you cock your head to the side and debate whether or not to ask Bucky for more photos of him. He let you take one, probably to be polite, but asking him a second time? You don’t know if he’d be comfortable with that. You know how he shields his left arm from everyone. He’s sat on your left side twice now, away from his metal arm. If he’s so insecure about it, he may say no if you ask.

But you give it a go anyway.

Ejecting your memory card safely, you put it back into your camera and turn it on. You close your laptop and shove it off to the side. You tap your finger on the shutter button, and glance up at Bucky.

“Would it be all right if I took more pictures of you?” you ask, slightly hesitant. His eyes go to the floor to give it a quick consideration. He hopes the photos would only be for your viewing, because god knows Steve wouldn’t stop rambling on about it if you ever showed him. He has enough trust in you to know you wouldn’t publish the pictures to show the entire world where they can find the Winter Soldier. Other than pure enjoyment, he doesn’t see why not. But he needs to make sure.

“They would be… kept in private, I hope?”

“Of course,” you reply. “These photos won’t be going anywhere.”

“Then it’s okay.”

Smiling widely, you raise your camera, and start taking pictures.

Another hour later, and you’re a smiling, giggling mess. You didn’t know having a mini-photoshoot with Bucky would be so energizing. He’s been a good sport about it the entire time, and you even had him laughing at some parts. You wanted him to just be himself while you suggested poses for him to do. Obviously he’s not used to it because he was pretty stiff, but you managed to loosen him up by using your usual relaxing techniques. Your leg would be a bother, shooting out stinging pain; but you would ignore it, because the pain was worth to see Bucky have a good time.

It felt ten times more intimate, however, when you took macro photos of his metal arm. You hate to admit it, but the craftsmanship is unbelievable. Watching the plates shift into place, the soft whirring, the tiny details; it’s a beautiful piece of work. Though Bucky might not think so, you’ll make damn well sure that he knows that you don’t care. You recognize the horrors he’s done and been through, but that doesn’t mean he has to go through it again. His arm will be used to protect instead of assassination.

“You take a good picture, Bucky,” you tell him as you go through the photos on the camera. “You don’t even need to try.”

He smiles and looks down at the floor, licking his lips. You notice he does that a lot when you compliment him: divert his gaze somewhere else, accompanied by a tick. Licking his lips, biting them, fiddling with his fingers. He would do all this before murmuring a small “thank you”.

What a sweetheart.

You plug your memory card back in your laptop to show him. You select all the images and press the spacebar, then press the play button. There’s quite a few of them, well over a hundred, so you hand your laptop to him and go to the bathroom. It’s painful, sitting down then standing back up, but you power through it, and manage to come back out without the stitches ripping open. When you look up, you snort.

“Comfortable?”

Bucky’s sprawled himself out on your bed, your laptop sitting on his lap, his metal arm behind his head. He looks up at you when you hover over him.

“Oh. Sorry,” he chuckles, sitting up again.

“It’s okay,” you say. “I was just gonna get something to eat. I’m starving. Wanna come?”

“Sure.”

He remembers how to stop the slideshow, so he does that then closes the lid before following you out of your room and to the kitchen. You don’t know what you can have to eat, since Dr. Markson said you can’t take solid foods yet. But you don’t want to just keep eating pudding and soup. Surely there’s an in-between. You sift through the cupboards, pushing things around to see what you can have. You leave your crutches against the counter and just hop along the length of the counter, searching for some lunch.

“Ah ha ha!”

You notice some noodles on the second shelf and grab a pack, then use one of your crutches to open a drawer to get a pot. You see Bucky is sitting at the island, silently watching you work your way around the kitchen.

“Want some?” you ask. He shakes his head no. “You sure? I can make you something else if–”

“Really, _______, I’m fine.”

“If you say so.”

Ten minutes later, your noodles are boiled to perfection, and eating them standing up across the island from Bucky. You eat them in silence, and notice Bucky smiling at you amusingly as you slurp them up. It doesn’t feel awkward at all. You’ve been with him since your rehab session ended, so when you have nothing to say, it isn’t as suffocating. Halfway through your meal, you can hear the elevator ding to this floor. You lean to the side to see who it is. Lo and behold, it’s Tony and Dr. Markson.

Oh boy.

You keep your head down as they chat their way into the kitchen. They both give you warm smiles, and nod at Bucky. Bucky nods back, but doesn’t say anything. He knows they’re not here for him.

“_______,” Dr. Markson greets you. He sees the lunch you’re eating, and refrains from commenting. However, you notice his look of disdain and make a comment of your own.

“Technically not a solid food,” you say. “It’s stringy and easy to swallow whole. It’s okay, right?”

“Well–“

“I guess it doesn’t really matter since I’m eating it anyway.”

You scoop another forkful into your mouth and grin at the pair of them. Tony raises a brow as he eats his chocolate covered raisins.

“Still disobeying orders, I see.”

“Still a senile old man, I see.”

Tony scoffs at your remark and plops another raisin in his mouth. He rounds the island and trails his eyes down at your leg.

“How’s that doin’, champ?” he asks, leaning against the counter.

“Fine,” you reply, shoving more noodles in your mouth. “It sucks trying to sit down and stand up again. Or try to put pressure on it. But I can manage.”

“Good to hear it. Markson has somethin’ for ya.”

You look at him, and see him carrying a plastic bag. He sets it on the island and explains what’s inside it.

“Inside are your painkillers,” he says. “Take one every eight hours, everyday, until you run out. When you’re finished, come to me and I’ll evaluate if you need more. There’s some other medical supplies in here as well. Also.” He pulls out two different pieces of paper from the bag and lays them out. “One is how to clean and dry your wound when you shower, the other is for changing the bandages. It has healed enough that you can continue taking them. We gave you a sponge bath while you were incapacitated, but you should–“

“Oh. My god.”

You drop your fork dramatically and slam your hands on the island. You purse your lips in anger–and embarrassment–and glare at Dr. Markson. Given, it’s nice that you’re not completely gross, having not showered properly in so long, but to be given a sponge bath while unconscious? It’s just gross and violating. And having Bucky hear that is just… you could kill someone right now, you’re so humiliated.

“Anything else you wish to disclose?” you grit through your teeth.

“You should shower with some plastic covering your bandages so they don’t get wet. And elevate your leg if there’s any swelling.”

“Great. Alright. Awesome. You can go now.”

“Miss _______, you sh–“

“Nope! I don’t wanna hear it. Thanks for the drugs and cleaning instructions. If something happens I’ll come find you. Goodbye.”

“Come on, kid. Li–“

“Don’t ‘come on, kid’, me, Tony. You can leave too. Hi, hello, goodbye. I’m fine. Enjoy your day.”

“Hon–“

“I said enjoy your day!”

Tony backs off, but smirks, knowing that you’re feeling better, and embarrassed. He stands up straight and walks off with Dr. Markson again, throwing a glance over his shoulder. He’s still not used to Bucky’s presence, clearly. He doesn’t care, though; as long as you’re okay. When you and Bucky are left alone again, you smack your lips together and discard your dishes in the sink.

“Well I certainly didn’t need to hear that,” you say after a moment of silence, grabbing a glass of water. You take one of the painkillers, then shove your instruction sheets in your short’s pockets. You stare at Bucky, wondering what to do.

“Wanna watch some Netflix?” you offer. You know he’s about to ask what that is, so you answer him before he even opens his mouth. “You can stream TV shows and movies. Pretty useful for when you’re bored and have nothing to do.”

“Sure,” he nods.

“Great.”

You scurry over to the living room, and Bucky helps you sit down and elevate your leg.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

You get it set up, enter your account, and start scrolling through your list. You wonder how long Bucky has gone without seeing a movie. Probably since 1944, so he most likely has no idea how much the movie industry has evolved. Or special effects. You don’t know what he’d like, since all movies from his time were in black and white, and a lot of the actors are dead. You hand the remote to him, and let him choose.

“You can scroll over an option and read the description,” you say. “If you think it’ll be good, then press play.” He looks from the remote, to the TV, to you, a little unsure of himself.

“You sure?” he asks, already scrolling through the movies.

“Mhmm,” you hum. “I’ve seen most of them, and they’re pretty good in my opinion. Then again, I usually like every movie I watch.”

After some consideration, Bucky chooses The Revenant. Netflix’s synopsis’ sound like a shitpost sometimes, but they give a good summary anyway. For The Revenant, the summary is “This father will do anything to claim his just revenge; even come back alive from an icy grave”. Short and sweet, but to the point. This time, Bucky sits on your right, giving you a clear view of his metal arm. Relaxing into the couch, you wrap a blanket around yourself, and quietly watch the movie with Bucky.

Usually, Bucky would have shifted away from anyone that got too close to his metal arm. He didn’t know if it would ever go haywire on its own, or if HYDRA secretly added a component that would make his arm controllable from anywhere in the world and given its members access to it. Nothing’s happened since he got out of cryo, but he’s still on the defensive about it. He doesn’t want anyone to get hurt unintentionally because of him. So far so good, but he still worries.

An hour into the movie, he notices you nodding off a few times. He shifted a few inches away before, keeping his metal arm close to him, but now, he places it in the space between you in case you fall over. Or if you want to lean on him. He hasn’t experienced affectionate interaction in a very, very long time. Sure, Steve makes time for him and gives him supportive hugs and talks, but it’s in Steve’s nature. All of his goodness got amplified to a hundred after the serum, so now he’s the world’s most protective man (and sometimes reckless). It’s also a positive reminder for Bucky that Steve will always be around to pick him off the ground when he’s at his worst. Bucky thanks all the gods for Steve, but sometimes, it’s just not what he wants. He’s known his best friend all his life, but now, he wants to connect more with new people. Like you.

Right from the get-go, he’s called you “doll”. He remembers it as an endearing term for an attractive woman. He’s seen plenty of pretty girls in his life, and he knows one when he sees one. He didn’t know why he just had to say it when he spoke with you on the plane ride to the compound, but he couldn’t help himself. His mind must’ve triggered a time when he would throw the word around like the swaggy man he was, and out it came. You seem to have taking a liking to it, since you haven’t protested against him using it in any way.

The face of the modern-day woman has changed drastically over the past 70 years, but that doesn’t stop Bucky from knowing what he likes. It’s no use comparing last century’s women to today’s, since they’re all 100-years-old or dead. And he’s glad there’s someone like you that he gets to be around. You carry a whole other energy with you wherever you go. It’s so different than what he’s used to, but it’s a good different. The girls he used to know were so shy around him, and were quick to be enchanted by his charm. But you, on the other hand, are loud, rambunctious, and carefree. You can hold a conversation with him no problem, and you’re cautious to avoid sensitive topics, which he appreciates. You’re unpredictable at times, too; he would know. You chased after him, Steve, and Sam because none of them told you about the trick glass wall. Some days you would be reserved, other days you would be laughing until you cried. And that just happened to be one of Bucky’s favourite looks on you.

You curled up in a blanket with your eyes fluttering and fighting to stay open is another one.

Instead of pushing himself away, he moves closer to you, careful not to disturb you if you actually managed to fall asleep. He clasps his hands together in his lap, and leans forward a bit, trying to see if you’re awake or not.

You see him peering down at you, so you flick you eyes up to him, a wide grin spreading across your face.

“Don’t worry, I’m still awake,” you snicker.

He nods his head and quickly sits back against the couch, clearing his throat before regaining his attention on the movie. You smile at the fact that he just checked to see if you had dozed off in the middle of a movie.

How thoughtful.

The remainder of the movie is spent in very comfortable silence, and you almost had the courage to lay your head against Bucky’s arm. Almost. It would’ve been uncomfortable anyway because your leg is resting on the coffee table and you would’ve put more strain on it than you’d like. Despite not being about to cuddle the hell out of Bucky, it was nice to spend time with him anyway. You sit up and stretch when the credits start rolling.

“What’d you think?” you ask, looking at him tiredly. He takes a second to get over how cute you look when you’re tired before answering.

“I liked it,” he replies. “Good storyline, amazing acting, beautiful scenery…”

“It’s certainly worthy of the Oscars it received for best director, best cinematography, and best actor,” you say. “I’m glad you liked it.”

You shift in your seat to lower your leg to the ground, then ask Bucky for help again to stand up. You grab your crutches, and slowly bend your knee to reduce some of the tension that built up from being in a horizontal position for so long. You go to the kitchen again, and beckon Bucky to come along.

“I’m gonna try and shower,” you tell him. “Would you mind wrapping my leg in plastic wrap?”

He nods, searching for some cellophane in the drawers. You point to the right one, then tell him where the scissors are. You take a seat by the island, and slowly raise your leg onto another chair. Bucky takes the roll out of the cardboard box, and starts wrapping it around your bandages.

“A few layers should be good,” you tell him. “But not too tight.”

He nods again, carefully maneuvering his hands around your leg. You stare at your leg instead of his face because he’s so close again; you don’t want to be obvious about it. When he’s finished, he makes the cut, and you stuff the end into the top. He helps lower your leg, and you stretch to see how it feels.

“Should be fine,” you say. “Thanks.”

“No problem.”

You pick up your crutches again and go to your room to shower, leaving Bucky alone for thirty minutes. When you come back out, you feel like a new woman. Your hair is shiny and smells magnificent, your skin soft and smooth. Cleaning off eight days-worth of sweat, dirt, and grime is the most satisfying thing in the world. A sponge bath doesn’t cut it; scrubbing away the filth yourself is much more reassuring. You choose to wear a dress this time, as one layer is less troublesome. You pin some of your hair up and let it air-dry. No point in looking presentable if you’re not going anywhere. You take off the plastic wrap, and sigh in relief when you see your bandages didn’t get wet. When you come back out, you don’t see Bucky.

“Bucky?” you call. “You there?”

“Barnes went to one of the training rooms.”

You gasp for air at Natasha’s sudden surprise. You glower at her as she gives you a good-natured smirk. You cannot believe her sometimes.

“Thanks for that heart attack,” you say, gathering yourself.

“All part of the package,” she says.

“Well can I get my money back then?” you joke. “I don’t remember a daily heart attack being part of the deal.”

“I thought you would be used to my sneaking,” she smiles.

“Apparently not.”

You stride over to the fridge to get something else to eat, but after seeing the look on Dr. Markson’s face after he caught you eating noodles, you think better of it. Instead, you decide to make another smoothie. While you gather your fruit, Natasha has a seat by the island and speaks to you.

“How have you been with Barnes?” she asks. You stop what you’re doing, giving her a confused look.

That’s a strange thing to ask.

“Okay, I guess?” you answer cautiously. “He’s been doing well.”

“And you?”

“I’ve been doing well too.”

“I see.”

You give Natasha the side-eye as you reach in the cupboard for the blender. She looks back, a sly smile on her face. She doesn’t say anything else; not until you have the fruit and ice already in the blender.

“You need some flirting lessons.”

You don’t even hear her from the blender being so loud. You stop after thirty seconds to see how well it’s been mixed in. Natasha takes the opportunity to ask again, since you didn’t hear her the first time.

“I think you need some–“

You start the blender again, cutting her off for a second time. She closes her mouth and sighs, waiting again for another opportunity. She’s grown to hold her patience. Something as small and insignificant as you making a smoothie is a walk in the park for her. Once you’re pouring the smoothie in your glass, she speaks up for a third time.

“I’m going to be giving you flirting lessons.”

You nearly drop the glass to the floor. She smiles at your reaction and sits up in her seat. Once you’ve collected yourself, you clear your throat and give her an incredulous look.

“What makes you think I need flirting lessons?” you scoff, taking a sip of your drink. She sees right past your faux confidence. You know as well as anyone that you need a tip or two here and there. Or maybe a whole rundown of the book. You limp over to the island and set your drink down, staring at the quartz.

“When do we start?” you ask quietly, avoiding her gaze.

“Right now, if you’d like,” she says, glad to have you on board without protesting.

“Um. Sure, I guess.”

“First rule of flirting,” she says, jumping right into it. “Never sound passive. It gives off the vibe that you’re susceptible to submission.”

You flick your eyes up to her, nodding in understanding. You keep sipping your smoothie as she speaks, but cut her off for a moment.

“Do I need to be writing this down or…?”

“If you think it would help, yes. Whatever you’re comfortable with.”

“Okay. Gimme a sec.”

Trotting back to your room, you grab an empty notepad and pen, then return to Natasha. She’s moved over to the couch, so you take a seat next to her. You write down what she said about being passive, then look expectantly at her, waiting for her to continue.

“Keep eye-contact,” she says. “Always make sure their attention is on you. Sit with your body open. That means you cannot hold your arms, nor turn away from them. Back straight, chest out, and face towards them. You want them to know you’re interested. So you’ve got to show that you are.”

You haphazardly scribble everything down, nodding along, opting to just get her words and then go back to rewrite everything later in a more organized fashion.

“As you may know, men like to talk about themselves.” You roll your eyes at that. “Inflate their ego. It gets them talking. Move your eyes, as well. A lot can be said with the expression of your eyes. You asked your target to dance. Not a bad angle. Makes it easier for them to lower their guard and for you to take them elsewhere if need be.”

Natasha goes on and on about tips and tricks when it comes to flirting, especially phrases. That’s what you have trouble with the most. Sweet-talking is an art form all on its own, and you want–need, to learn all about it. And what better way than from an expert themselves? It’s certainly one thing being taught, but it’s a whole other situation when you have to execute it in real life. Natasha gives you a solid “C” grade based on your performance on your first solo mission. You’re embarrassed and a little self-conscious at first, but the feeling passes because you know she’s spot on. And that’s exactly why she’s giving you this informative tutorial.

“Now, if you want to make an entire room come to a halt,” she explains, now onto a new topic, “it’s all based on how you carry yourself. Dressing up helps with the seduction. But your self-confidence will grab their attention. Stand tall. Lift your head, push your chest out, shoulders back, make precise, smooth movements. Trail your eyes through the entire room once, never looking at the same person twice. Go to your designated location, and let them come to you.”

That seems like a vital piece of information.

You keep that piece of intelligence in mind in case you ever need to… impress someone. Natasha even gives some examples to help you grasp the material better. You really feel like you’re in school again. She uses herself, of course, and shows you her body language and facial expressions. You write it down in words, getting it as close as you can to what she’s showing you.

And all for free.

Your least favourite thing is when she asks you to show her what you’ve just learned. Now you really feel like this is school all over again. You’re nervous that you’ll mess up and just embarrass yourself even more. But you deem Natasha as sympathetic, so maybe she’ll give you a free slide and tone down her criticism.

She doesn’t.

Being the expert that she is, and that she cares about your well-being, she wants you to get this right for future missions that require you to seduce the target. And next time, hopefully, you’ll be spot on and will not hesitate to make a decision.

You practice with Natasha for almost two hours, and during that time, Wanda returned from her trip to the city, and joined in on the fun. To her, of course it’s fun. She has her own charm that can get her out of sticky situations. Though her power alone is enough. Natasha made you practice on Wanda, as well. That just made your heart beat faster. Flirting with a woman is completely different than flirting with a man. You just get even more tense and nervous. And those feelings double when the woman is attractive as Wanda.

Right as you’re in the middle of playing the cards with Wanda, Steve rounds the corner, sweaty from training. He starts when he sees what’s happening.

“Whoa whoa whoa!” he says, holding his hands out to shield his eyes. “Should I be seeing this?”

You burst out laughing when Steve doesn’t know how to react. You pull away from being so close to her to address Steve. You open your mouth to answer him, but then a funnier response comes to mind.

“People can be gay, Steve,” you say.

He lowers his arms and almost looks afraid. You said it with such seriousness, and he doesn’t know if he’s just crossed a line.

“I-I, uh. I’m sorry, _______. I didn’t mean–“ You burst out laughing again at his reaction. He’s such a sweet man, never wanting to unintentionally hurt someone’s feelings or feel like he’s stepped into sensitive territory.

“It’s okay, Steve. I’m joking.”

He puts a hand on his heart and lets out a shaky laugh.

“You scared me for a second, _______,” he says, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge.

“Sorry, sorry,” you apologize. “I just wanted to see what’d you’d do.”

He smiles fondly, and takes a few sips of his water before nodding towards you three.

“What’ve you guys been up to?” he asks. “Really?”

“I was teaching _______ how to successfully seduce a target into obedience,” Natasha answers proudly. “Despite her naïve way of thinking and inexperience, she’s doing alright for herself.”

Steve’s smile only grows, so much that he can’t even drink his water.

“What’re you smiling about?” you ask, smiling yourself.

“Nothing,” he replies, standing behind the couch. “Just glad to see that my suggestions are being considered and implemented.”

“Steeeve,” you whine, covering your face. He just shrugs his shoulders and wishes you the best before taking his leave.

“He’s such a dork,” you snort.

“He is indeed,” Wanda agrees.

“But he’s also totally precious,” you add. “I love him so much.”

“He is a very good man,” Natasha pipes in. “He’s very admirable for all his work.”

“Got that right,” you agree.

Instead of continuing with the flirting lessons, you’ve moved the conversation to a new topic: Steve. Recalling what you read in the Smithsonian, the internet, and recent events when he did something funny. Complimenting his eyes, hair, new physique, his “good man” nature. There’s nothing bad you can say about Steve Rogers. He’s a total sweetheart to be around, and doesn’t shrug you off when you’re telling him about something that excites you. Of course, he also has his off days, wanting some time alone. And that’s something all of you do for each other. No matter how good of a day you’re having, when another teammate needs their space, you’re more than willing to stay out of their way.

But you’re always there if they need someone to talk to.

Soon enough, you’ve immersed yourself in an Avengers rant about the team. You already talked about Steve, but you add in a few more bits, speaking very highly of him. Next was Tony.

“Okay, despite his arrogant attitude and narcissism,” you begin, “he’s funny, caring, and always willing to put his life on the line for the ones he loves. I mean, when I first saw him as Iron Man, I thought it was amazing. Creating something like that is unbelievable, and shutting down his company was something I’d never thought he’d do. Yeah, I thought he was selfish a while after that, because whenever I saw the footage, he had an essence of egotism. Only fighting for himself. But fighting alongside him made all the difference. He tries to right his wrongs, sometimes being a little too extreme, but all that matters it that he cares.”

After him, Sam.

“Sam is such a treasure. Basically he’s similar to Steve with his boyish behaviour and protective tendencies. But since he’s of this century, it’s easier to talk to him about current events and connect with each other. He’s a total gem when it comes to cheering people up, and when you need a friend instead of a teammate. He’s so agile when he’s using his Falcon wings. I’m so impressed by technology these days, and it’s such a privilege to own something incredible as that. He’s cautious, open-minded, and will not hesitate to cut a bitch if they trample on his friend’s feelings. He’s good like that.”

You make a face as you try to describe Vision.

“Vision’s a little harder to describe because he’s so transparent. He speaks his honest opinion, which I appreciate, but at times, it can get a little annoying. He’s basically perfect, in scientific terms, I guess. That gem in his forehead certainly is something else. Part Ultron and part J.A.R.V.I.S. Two minds in one is… unprecedented, I say. I mean, if anyone could do it, I believe that it’d be Tony. And the fact that he has a British accent is just so fricken hilarious. Did Tony do that on purpose? Or was it an added bonus? Anyway. Yeah. Vision is a character, alright. I’d never thought there’d be someone like him. We’re lucky to have him.”

Since Thor, Dr. Bruce Banner, and Clint Barton are not currently present, you make a brief statement about their heroics and from what you can guess about their personalities from what you’ve seen on the news and internet. You guess they’re very well-rounded men, and also extremely protective and secretive.

Natasha comes after.

“You, are a work of art, if I might say. I just… have you seen yourself? Like… Where have you been all my life? You’re the most ruthless, kickass woman I’ve ever met. I’ve never been so serious in my life. Self-defence, infiltration, gun handling, sweet-talking, hand-to-hand combat, gathering intel, collecting background information… you’re the complete package. I’ve never seen a woman more skilled than you are. You’re a great mentor, and never lie, especially when it comes to me when you’re trying to improve my own skills. You don’t sugarcoat things, and even if it hurts my feelings sometimes, I know you’re just trying to help. You’re also the type of attractive person that makes someone question their sexuality, so thanks for being the best person ever, on behalf of all us girls.”

Natasha smiles fondly as you gush about her. She knows you’re being genuine because of the way your eyes light up in excitement. She also knows that you know that she knows the only reason why she is the person that she is is because she was trained to be able to do everything you listed off. The other women in the Red Room were a makeshift family; but here, with the Avengers, she knows she has a place to be herself. She watches Wanda as you start to ramble on about her instead.

Finally, the best is saved for last.

“And you, Wanda. Wanda Wanda Wanda. You’re the cutest, most precious person I’ve ever met. You’re soft, funny, adorable, and an overall good person. Honestly, your power is one of my favourites. Telekinesis, telepathy, and energy manipulation? Is there anything you can’t do? You kick me on my ass pretty easily when we train together, but you still go easy on me, which, obviously, I appreciate. I try not to go too hard on you too, by the way. I don’t wanna burn your loveable face. And the way you show your power is so different than what I usually see on TV. Like, you can actually see your power, instead of everything being invisible. You use your hands at all times instead of just using your mind to do all the work. And I think it’s beneficial for you because you can see what you’re controlling, which also helps us. Let’s us know where not to be when you’re on attack mode. You’re completely ruthless, and you could step on me any day of the week and I’d say ‘thank you’. You’re such a great person to talk to about anything. You’re basically my sister, if you don’t mind me saying. Also! You’re the soft, bubbly, cute type of attractive. And again, I’d like to thank you on behalf of the girls in this world.”

Wanda’s smiling the whole time, and subtly avoiding eye-contact as she blushes towards the floor. It’s extremely refreshing to have someone tell her how valuable she is outside of her power. She finds that you’re always quick to give her a compliment about any aspect of herself when you’re together: her hair, her smile, her personality. She appreciates it immensely, and she’s extremely grateful to have you in her life.

You let out a huge sigh after rambling on about your friends and lay against the couch. You don’t know if you’ve ever spoken that much in one sitting before. You cover your face with your hands and shake your head.

“I am so sorry if I talked too much just now,” you apologize (Though you’re not really sorry). “I just got really excited.”

“It is not a problem,” Wanda answers, smiling widely. “It was nice to see you in such a state. Especially when you’re injured.”

“No kidding,” you agree. “I completely forgot I was crippled.”

Natasha turns towards you, supporting her cheek with her fist. She wears a smile that suggests that you left something out. You cock your head to the side when you look at her.

“What?” you laugh.

“You forgot someone,” she says.

“I couldn’t have,” you defend, counting on your fingers. “There was Steve, and Tony, and Vision and–“

“Barnes,” she cuts in. “You forgot to talk about him.”

You stop talking, now frozen in place in your seat. Why does she keep mentioning him? Does she just want to hear your honest opinion of him? Haven’t you done that already? You lower your hand and sigh, staring into your lap.

“There’s nothing to tell, really,” you say quietly.

“I think there is,” Wanda says, joining in on the fun. She’s dying to know as well. She may have not told you about the time she took the smallest look into your mind and saw Bucky. A lot. She purses her lips and waits for you to say something.

A small smile appears on your face, now unable to keep your mouth shut about him. You just know that they’ll keep pestering you about him, so you might as well say something to satisfy them.

Unbeknownst to any of you, Bucky is listening intently around the corner, already finished with his training. He feels like he shouldn’t be hearing this, but on the other hand, why the hell not? It’d be good for him to hear your honest opinion of him. He leans against the wall, and listens on quietly.

“He’s really great,” you say, rubbing the back of your neck. “He’s just… he’s been through a lot, y’know? From a small boy to a Sergeant in World War two to HYDRA’s bitch to something in-between. He can’t take back all that he’s done, and I just couldn’t stand the thought of him hating himself and blaming himself for everything that’s happened. So I thought I’d help him, because I wanted to. I know Steve would’ve definitely done it if he knew how. And so far, after Vision took away what needed to be erased, he’s been doing well. From what I’ve seen, anyway. What he does behind closed doors is for him alone. But when I’m with him he’s… calmer. I’ve told him many times that he can come to any of us if he’s having troubles with anything, but I think Steve is his only bet on that.”

You pause for a minute, and stare down at your lap, trying to think of what to say next. You don’t want to reveal anything to them about your feelings for him, so you need to tread carefully. Wanda, however, eggs you on for more.

“I know there’s more than that,” she says, smiling gently. “You know there’s more than that.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you say quickly, trying to wave her off. “I know there is. I just… there’s no one way to describe him, you know? He’s sweet and funny and caring. He can be dismissive and secretive, but that’s who he is. He just wants to live without worrying about if he’ll lose control again… He was so pure when I was teaching him about my phone. He wouldn’t need to use any of it, but it was a lot of fun watching his reactions and showing him modern technology. He’s probably seen it, but not really used it. Oh. My god. And when I’m teaching him, Steve, and Sam the dance? He’s the most compliant of the three. One time, when they finished their complaining, Bucky asked me to keep practicing with him. Which is weird, because I thought Sam would crack first, to be honest. Anyway, Bucky kept at it, and was so serious about it. I got a little fed up when he wouldn’t pay attention, but I was joking about it. It’s always nice to see him laugh. My favourite thing is when he smiles. It makes me happy when he’s smiling, but even more so when I’m making him smile. I’d do anything to keep seeing him like that.”

Wanda and Natasha look at each other knowingly, then peer down at you as you’re wrapped up in your own world.

“Oh, _______,” Natasha starts, smiling sweetly at you. “Sounds to me like you’re a serious love bug.”

“Hm? Oh, I guess so,” you shrug.

“I think so as well,” Wanda agrees. “You have much love to give. And we know exactly where you can put it.”

“A-And where do you think that is?” you ask hesitantly.

Don’t say it don’t say it don’t say it don’t s–

“Bucky,” they say in unison.

You sigh, knowing that they would go there. You wipe your hands down your face and lean your head back against the couch. You stare up at the ceiling, and without even thinking about it, you give them your answer.

“It’s already there.”

Behind the safety of the kitchen wall, Bucky’s eyes widen in shock. He never expected to hear words like that directed towards him again. Ever. Much less from you. He chews his bottom lip, wondering what the hell he’s going to do with this new information. His emotions towards you have been sifting through him, questioning what those emotions are. He’s very fond of you, having helped him and all, but there’s a lot more to it than that. His use of the word “doll”, the fact that second to Steve, he feels at home with you. You don’t judge him, and you make an effort to see him laugh and have a good time. It gets him through the day at times. And when he saw you stumble through the living room, bloody and bruised, he was worried sick. The initial reaction was because his friend got shot, then his mind shifted into the feeling of losing you. He panicked when you fell into his arms, afraid about what was happening to you. And now that he knows your true feelings for him… he’s not too sure what to feel. He hasn’t given himself time to process the emotions he has for you, but he sure as hell has the time now.

Backing away, he decides to retreat to the public showers downstairs to clear his head.

Meanwhile, Natasha and Wanda express their happiness at you finally admitting to them how you truly feel about Bucky. You smile along with them, but you yourself are still a little wary about it all. Is it love, or infatuation? It’d be important to find that out first before going to Wanda and Natasha to divulge their curiosity. It’s nearing dinnertime, so you interrupt their excited chatter to get something to eat. You stop yourself from opening the freezer, then call out to the F.R.I.D.A.Y.

“Yes, miss _______?”

“Is Dr. Markson around?”

“He is in the medical laboratory.”

“Can you ask him what I can eat for dinner?”

“Certainly.”

You tap the kitchen counter as you wait, your back to Wanda and Natasha. You’d rather them not see your face as you continue to have thoughts about your feelings for Bucky.

“Dr. Markson suggests rice and vegetables.”

“Perfect. Thanks.”

One of the easiest things to make, you immediately get to it, no matter how much of an inconvenience your crutches are. You haven’t read the instructions Dr. Markson gave you about binding your leg on your own yet, so you’ll do that when you go to bed. And also take another painkiller. You avoid Wanda’s and Natasha’s pestering questions about your confession, so you either shut them up completely, or offer another topic of discussion. They opt to make their own dinner as well, giving you the chance to eat in peace. That is, only if you were able to go to your room while holding a bowl on rice and vegetables and using your crutches at the same time. You end up eating in the kitchen, and make idle chatter with Wanda and Natasha.

You wonder where Bucky has been the past few hours. Maybe still in one of the training rooms, or out with Steve. Is he even allowed out in the city yet? Or maybe he’s on the second floor shooting billiard by himself. It’s something Steve would do, and already has, so perhaps Bucky would be into that sort of thing too. You’re so immersed in your thoughts about where he is that you don’t even notice him walk behind you three to go to his room. You only notice when Natasha says hi to him, but you only get the view of his back. You finish your dinner with a small smile on your face.

One thing that can be said about you and be 100% true is that you’re a night owl. You drag your night on just to stay up longer, and because you don’t want to go to bed so early. It’s a little eerie since you’re the only one up sometimes, but it’s nice to have a lot of time to yourself to think. It’s currently 11 p.m., and you’re sitting in the living room wrapped in a blanket, watching TV and rereading the instructions on how to change your bandages. It seems simple enough, and you’re sure you can do it yourself, but the thing is: you don’t want to. Why do it yourself when there are other perfectly capable human beings in the building to do it for you? And you’re not talking about the medical staff.

You slide to one end of the couch and put both your legs up, then lay the blanket over yourself. You stare at the TV for a few seconds before looking up at the ceiling. A short nap should energize you a bit. Taking the chance, you shuffle further into the couch, turn your head to the side, and close your eyes.

Turns out, it’s not a short nap.

You’re still snoozing away an hour and a half later, the room dark, the only source of light being the TV screen. You’ve done this many times before: falling asleep on the couch after closing your eyes for a few minutes. All you wanted was a quick ten minutes to freshen yourself up, but it always turns into a snooze fest. Some night owl you are.

And it looks like you’re not the only one.

Bucky comes striding out of his room wearing only grey sweats, and makes a beeline for the fridge. He’s dying for some water, and gulps down half of it in one go. He runs a hand through his hair and takes a few deep breaths. He leans over the sink, and splashes his face with some cold water. He’s found that this has been the most helpful after having a nightmare. It wakes him up, making it harder for him to fall asleep, and gives him the chance to think of excuses to give Steve when he asks why he looks so jaded.

After drying his face, he finally notices that the TV is still on. He takes sips of his water as he walks towards the living room, and is surprised to see you sleeping there. He sets his water down, and squints at you to see if you’re actually asleep. When you don’t correct him, he believes it’s his responsibility to bring you back to your bed. He kneels down in front of you, and gently shakes your shoulder.

“_______?” he whispers. “Wake up, _______.”

You make a pained expression, groaning and shifting around from being rudely awakened from your sleep. You don’t open your eyes, opting to just turn to the side and go back to sleep. Bucky sighs tiredly, but keeps trying.

“_______,” he says again. “Time to go to bed. Come on.”

Groaning louder, you agonizingly open your eyes and look over your shoulder to see who’s bothering you.

“Bucky?” you say, your voice hoarse. You blink a few times to get a clearer vision of him. “What’re you doing out here?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” he smiles. “Come on. Get up. I’m sure your bed is much comfier than this.”

“I don’t wanna get up,” you protest, pulling the blanket closer to your chest.

“_______,” he warns. “If you don’t get up, I’m gonna have to carry you back to bed.”

“Be my guest,” you yawn, believing he won’t do it. You hear his knees crack as he stands up. You think he’s about to just leave you there, but he carefully slides his hands under you and hoists you up in his arms.

“Bucky!” you gasp, clutching your leg. It doesn’t hurt much, but you’re still mindful of it.

“I told you I’d carry you,” he tells you, also picking up his water bottle as he heads to your room. Sighing in defeat, you let him do as he pleases. Besides, it’s kind of rewarding. Bucky gets to carry you, and you get to smell him. And touch his bare chest. The blanket got taken with you, so you get to stay warm when Bucky lays you down on your bed.

“Thanks,” you mumble drowsily.

“No problem,” he smiles, smoothing your hair down. You peek up at him for a few seconds, getting a fantastic view of his body. Once you’re settled in, he starts backing away. You groan in annoyance when you remember something.

“Bucky,” you call out. He stops and turns back at you. “I hate to sound selfish, but could you change my bandages for me, please? I’m too exhausted to do it myself.”

“Sure thing.”

He comes back instantly, and you carefully bend over your bed to grab the bag of medical gauze, instructions, and supplies Dr. Markson left for you. He sits on the edge of your bed and takes out a roll, then grabs the scissors as well. You unravel yourself from your blanket, sit up, then move over to give Bucky some room. You pull up the hem of your dress, then settle it between your legs. You yawn repeatedly as Bucky cuts the gauze already on your leg and when he starts wrapping it back up.

“Sorry ‘bout this,” you say, giving him an apologetic look. “I’m supposed to change it when I wake up and go to bed, but I didn’t think I’d fall asleep for that long.”

“It’s okay,” he says, his eyes trained on your thigh. “I was already up.”

“Oh. Well, still. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. This is looking a lot better, though.”

“Yeah, it is. Still a little gross looking, but the pain’s not as bad.”

“That’s good.”

“Mm.”

You fight to keep your eyes open this time, your head drooping along with your eyes every time you feel like you’re nodding off. Bucky notices and smiles, thinking about how adorable you are when you’re tired. When he’s done wrapping, he cuts off the end and lets it sit on your thigh. He gets the medical tape and wraps it around your leg twice, secure but not too tight. He gently pats your thigh when he’s finished, and gives you a fond smile.

“Thanks,” you mumble, swaying your leg side to side.

“You’re welcome,” he says. When you try to force yourself awake again, he takes notice of how dry your lips look. He hands you his water bottle and offers you some. You mutter another “thanks” and take two considerate gulps before giving it back to him and wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. You shake your head, now being even more selfish.

“Sorry, but could you do one more thing for me?” you ask.

“Sure,” he says.

“Can you grab me a shirt?” you request. “Any black shirt from the dresser on the left. Middle drawer.”

He nods, then gets up from your bed and shuffles over to the end of your room. You blatantly stare at his bare back without shame because of how exhausted you are. Bucky comes back with one of your old band t-shirts and tosses it at you.

“Think fast,” he says as it lands on your face. You huff a laugh before dragging it down.

“How sweet,” you joke. He smiles again before sitting on your bed again. You certainly don’t mind; you just don’t know what you can talk about with him now. Thankfully, one thing comes to mind.

“You disappeared after I showered,” you say, fiddling with the shirt in your hands. His smile drops a little and he guiltily looks towards the floor.

“Sorry,” he says, looking back at you. “I should’ve told you first.”

“No, no,” you wave him off. “It’s okay. I just wondered where you went. Was my technology lesson really that boring?”

“It was not,” he replies honestly. “I myself wouldn’t use it, but I am very informed now.”

“Good. Because you’re gonna have a lot of lessons with me when it comes to all the things that’ve changed over the last seven decades. Movies, music, historical movements. You’re gonna hate me by the end of it because I’ll never shut up about it.”

“I could never hate you.”

“That’s reassuring. I’ll just talk your ear off then.”

“I’m looking forward to it.”

You give him a small laugh before you yawn again. You rub your eyes and swipe a hand through your hair, and Bucky can’t help think about what he overheard earlier today. It’s a little far-fetched to say that you’re in love with him, only because you didn’t say that. You’ve only caught feelings for him, and nothing else. So far. He still doesn’t know what to think, even after pondering it for hours after he heard you say it. He feels like he’s being a bad person because he’s not telling you he heard you, but at the same time, he’s probably saving you the embarrassment of having your confession being eavesdropped on. He sighs, deciding to just keep his mouth shut about it for now. His feelings are still a mystery to him towards you, so he needs to figure himself out as well before he tells you anything.

“I should get going,” he says, standing up. “You should get some rest.”

“As should you,” you say, smiling at him. “I know designer eye bags when I see them.”

“Goodnight, _______,” he grins, making his way for the door.

“Goodnight, Bucky,” you say back. You eye him up and down again when he’s not looking, and wave to him when he shuts the door. Sighing sadly, you take off your dress and pull on your t-shirt before scooching down into bed and getting comfy. You close your eyes, hoping that one day, you’ll be able to muster up the courage to tell him you love him to his face.

Hopefully.

E/A/N: Screw it. I’m posting this. Chapter Thirteen is nearly complete, and Chapter Fourteen is in the works too. In the next chapter, you get to take Bucky into the city finally!

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allyinthekeyofx · 8 years

Text

Fading Light -part 2- 2/6

PART ONE - Chapters 1-6 here

PART TWO - Chapter one

PART TWO

CHAPTER TWO

Scully is sleeping. Not dead, not comatose, not even mildly sedated. And aside from the IVs that snake their way in to her pale skin and the steady beep-beep of the monitors beside her bed, I can almost, almost convince myself that she is going to be fine.

Although, in the short term at least her doctors have assured me that she will be fine. She lost a tremendous amount of blood but missed vacogenic shock by a whisker, and will suffer no immediate ill effects except for increased fatigue for a few days as her battered system regains its equilibrium. I found myself staring blankly at the young intern who had been despatched to speak to me out in the corridor where I had sat looking at my feet for what seemed like an eternity. He congratulated me on my fast response to the situation; that even ten minutes more and the outcome might have been very different. I had no idea how to respond to him, still dressed as I was in Scully’s blood which had dried and hardened against my skin. I could smell it. I think I will probably smell it for a very long time to come. Was I supposed to shake his hand?, to thank him for not letting her die?

I didn’t do either of those things. I just clutched Scully’s necklace in my hand and gazed at him numbly from my seated position; hearing his words but hardly daring to believe them.

“She’s okay?” I’d finally managed through lips that seemed to belong to someone else. Lips that only the night before had been playfully kissing a line along the inside of Scully’s arm as she half heartedly attempted to slap me away. She is incredibly ticklish on the underside of her arms. In fact she is incredibly ticklish all over and she giggles when I kiss her like that. So I kiss her like that as often as I can. If you’d told me even six months ago that Scully was a giggler I would have refused to believe it. But to my delight it turns out that my serious, scientifically minded, straight-laced sceptical partner of seven years can be reduced to a giggling, weakened mess with only minimum effort on my part.

The intern touches my shoulder gently. Under normal circumstances I would probably feel a little awkward, but right now I am grateful for the connection of another human being.

“She’s okay” he affirms although he stresses that she is weak and tired and may sleep a lot over the next couple of days.

I’ll take that. God knows I’ll take it. She can sleep till next week if it means she will come back to me. And it seems like this time at least, she will.

“Can I see her? Sit with her?”

The intern hesitates for just a beat and I ready myself to start arguing. The need to see her is like a physical ache inside of me and not for the first time I wonder how it will feel when one day, that ache will go unchecked and unresolved. I think to be honest that my world will simply cease to be; that my heart will stop beating with the pain of it all. Or at least I hope that it happens that way because a life without Scully isn’t a life worth living. I’m not sure I would even want to try.

But as it turns out, I’ve misunderstood the reasons for his reluctance to allow me in to the room.

“I think maybe first Agent Mulder, we should find you a change of clothes. Let you clean up a bit?”

I smell of Scullys blood.

I nod.

“Thank you”

XXXX

I haven’t taken my eyes off her for even a second since I finally made it in here. I settled myself in to the uncomfortable chair that stood like a sentry beside her bed, gently curled my fingers around hers and just watched her sleep. She looks incredibly pale in the diffused light that casts shadows across her face but I find myself heartened that she is sleeping so peacefully. I’m not sure how aware she was of the horror show that unfolded beside that tranquil lake, or how long she stayed conscious before the shock of the sudden and violent blood loss sent her system in to freefall. Certainly she was unconscious by the time we made it back to the car park, a dead boneless weight in my arms as the blood continued to flow and I can’t help but hope that for the most part she remained unaware.

She has moved a couple of times; sighing softly before settling back in to sleep and I don’t really expect her to awaken at all tonight. Even when nurses have crept quietly in to record her vitals, she hasn’t stirred. And while I know that sleep is what she needs right now, on a very basic level, I wish she would open her eyes just for a moment so I can affirm that she is really here. That she is simply sleeping and not somewhere else far away from me.

But for the time being I just watch her. I can never get enough of looking at Scully and if she had known just how much I had enjoyed observing her during those early years in our partnership, she would probably have been horrified.

Before she had come strutting in to my office in her ill fitting off- the- rack suit, all red hair and youthful arrogance I had always considered myself to have a type. All the previous women in my life had been tall, leggy, big breasted control freaks who had been firmly in command of the relationship. Without exception they had all been older than me, without exception they had all been brunettes and without exception they had all treated me with a certain amount of casual disdain. I think I’d have been considered a catch if it weren’t for the Spooky. As it was I was merely a passing fad. To be picked up and thrown away when the novelty began to wear off.

I had expected the pattern to carry on repeating in the same manner until I finally accepted that love, or even a lasting companionship, was not going to feature heavily in my future. I’ve wondered often why I gravitated again and again to these kinds of women, unable to explain it in any real way other than a lingering feeling of unworthiness; that my past had made me somehow lacking and that happiness was for others but never for me.

Scully changed all that. And despite all my best efforts to the contrary I allowed her to get under my skin. This fiery redhead with a temper to match who never gave me an inch, a constant source of irritation who tested the boundaries in every way possible during the early months of our partnership with her infuriating knack of finding a rational explanation for everything. I mean hell, how do you hope to argue with a woman who has enough arrogance and self-belief to re-write fucking Einstein? She tested me every single day as she steadfastly refused to blindly believe; becoming the perfect juxtaposition; the Yin to my Yang. And with it she brought something to me I’d thought I’d lost forever – a feeling of worth. That maybe, just maybe, there was something within me that was actually worth fighting for.

And even back then I loved her; I loved her with an intensity that excluded all rational thought. From almost the very beginning I loved her. I loved her for believing in me; for refusing to be played by those who had sent her to me and for never allowing them to break her spirit. And almost immediately I realised I wanted her to stay with me; that to lose her, even so early on was unthinkable.

I once told her that she made me whole; that she had saved me; desperate words that I could barely bring myself to admit to her, but I had admitted them. To prevent her from walking away I had allowed at least some of my barriers to fall away and she had rewarded me by remaining by my side. I often wonder now just how different her life would be if I’d simply let her leave; done the right thing for her even if not for me. But for now I swallow the thought and go back to watching her sleep.

Only she isn’t sleeping.

She is observing me through eyes that are heavy-lidded and dull with a combination of fatigue and the morphine drip that keeps her headache at bay. But despite this, she has never looked more beautiful to me; because she is alive and she is still with me.

“I guess I missed the Birthday cake huh?” her voice is raspy and sweet and just slightly teasing, belying as always the gravity of her situation. And as always I play along, leaning forwards to drop a kiss on her forehead which I’m relieved to find is cool beneath my lips before inclining my face to whisper in her ear.

“Yeah. It had candles and everything.”

“How many candles?”

I smile.

“Lots of candles Scully. Lots and lots of candles.”

She leans in to my face and I can smell the jasmine scent of the shampoo she favours. Her skin though smells like hospitals; a combination of starch, antiseptic and a peculiar slightly unpleasant scent that reminds me of illness.

“Mulder?” she murmurs “Have you ever thought about becoming a nurse?”

“Only in my wildest dreams Scully. Why?”

She sighs, fighting sleep as she fights everything else in her life.

“You look.....mmmmm.....the scrubs. Look good...”

Her voice is slightly slurred and I graze her temple with my lips.

“I’ll wear them for you when we get home. Now go back to sleep.”

And for once she does as I say, closing her eyes even as she reaches out to me, an unspoken request that I immediately understand. I perch awkwardly on the bed and enfold her in my arms, resting my chin lightly on the crown of her head, listening to the sound of her breathing become sweet and even as she falls once more in to sleep. I don’t move until morning.

Continued chapter three.

#Fading light #my fic #msr #angst #cancer

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scriptmedic · 8 years

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Disaster Medicine--Brittany’s Personal Experience

Hey there everybuddy! Aunt Scripty here. Everyone’s favorite Brittany (of previous masterpost fame) is back on the block with a story from working in an ER during a flood!

Keep in mind reading this story that Brittany was a medical student when these events took place, and names have been changed to protect the guilty (I almost just typed “donkey” there; I’m tired. But protect the donkey!!)

Also, this post confirmed a suspicion I’ve had about Brittany for a while.... she doesn’t actually have a tumblr. THat’s why I keep not knowing what her tumblr handle is and scouring Medblrs looking, unsuccessfully, for her.

Clever, Brittany. Very clever.

And now, on to the post!

Hey y’all! Brittany, back again. I really do need to bite the bullet and get myself a Tumblr one of these days. I wanted to do a quick post on something that’s more a personal experience than a medical overview this time, so we’ll see how it goes. It’s not so much general writing advice as what I saw, but I figure at least parts of it should be universally applicable to a character in a disaster. Feel free to steal whatever suits your fancy!

Earlier this year, I worked in the ER during a substantial flood that put about ¾ of the city underwater—the kind of thing that made national news, with people getting rescued off of rooftops, the National Guard swooping in, all of that. I don’t have enough experience to speak to the entire disaster response, but the healthcare side of it was fascinating, so I wanted to write a little bit of that.

Our particular flood was so bad because it was a steady, heavy downpour that lasted for more than a week, rather than one really bad flash flood scenario. That meant that it started off subtly enough. That first morning, I kept getting flood warnings on my phone that pushed back later and later, and on my way in to work I saw a puddle on the way to my car, thought it was small enough I’d just splash through it… and before I knew it, I was knee deep, and not even halfway through. After a quick trip back inside to change scrubs and switch shoes, I headed in in time to start the afternoon shift.

The ER that day was interesting; fewer people came because of the weather, but then, fewer nurses were able to make it in because they were dealing with closed roads and flooded houses. Weirdly, though, you still kind of feel distanced from everything there—no one was coming in for flood-related injuries, so it felt like the flooding got put on hold. Finished up around 10 PM, stepped outside, saw that it was STILL raining, and when I got home, my parking lot was flooded.

The next day was when it really started to hit that we were in trouble. My hospital already had a minor nursing shortage, and as the weather got worse, there was a risk of them leaving for home, and being unable to come back. So, right at their shift change, when maximum staff would be present, the hospital called a “Code Grey,” which was where certain personnel (ie nurses) had to stay at the hospital until further notice due to weather. It was a problem for a lot of them because they had kids at home or in daycare, not to mention it’s not as if their own homes were immune from flooding. Things settled into a strict structure for them; nurses who were absolutely sure they could make it home and back were allowed to leave briefly to grab an overnight bag and arrange things for their kids, and everyone was put on a regimented schedule of shifts and breaks with mandatory sleep times in the hospital’s auditorium. “Non-vital” staff, on the other hand, was sent home and told not to come back until things improved. (Petitions to count the hospital’s coffee shop as ‘vital’ were shot down.)

And from there, we basically had to roll up our sleeves and deal with what came to us. We started to get more flood-related injuries that second night, with a lot of people who had slipped and fallen in the water, breaking bones/hitting their heads, hypothermia from staying in cold water, car accidents from the driving conditions, that kind of thing. I guess in movies or whatever, it’s always direct drowning, but it’s the indirect injuries that are actually worse/more likely from what I can tell. Even more notably, there was the delay in getting run-of-the-mill patients to us. One guy had your standard chest pain, but the ambulance got stranded in the floodwater—not drowning, just couldn’t move—and it was two hours before they could get a chopper to him and pull him out to the hospital.

I wasn’t sure if I could make it home and back that night, and even though I’m a student and could be excused, I didn’t want to. It sounds selfish to say but, well, it was great learning for me. Plus I wanted to help. I stayed in one of the resident call rooms (think a teeny tiny hotel room for residents who are at the hospital for 24 hours; if their patients are stable at night, they go there to nap), and from there the days start to blur. The major events I recall include:

—A major hospital near us closed its ER. It was surrounded by water on three sides, with their ER about to go under. They started evacuating all their critical patients to us in anticipation of things going south. I don’t think they actually flooded, but to be safe, they had most of their patients moved to us, plus we were hit by more ER patients because there were fewer places for them to go.

—The National Guard moved in to help. A friend of mine actually got some really cool pictures of the Blackhawks landing at our hospital, but the main result for us was they were ferrying in patients with a lot less thorough handoffs. Normally, we get paramedics that will tell us about the patient, what field medicine’s been done, a list of conditions/medications the patient has, and so on. It’s not until those are all missing and you’re staring at a delirious, blank slate patient that you realize how nice you had it. And, hey, they were doing what they had to to make sure everyone got to safety, I’m not blaming them, but it did make our job more difficult.

—As time passed, we started to get more sequelae of the flood as well. Someone who had cut their leg as they walked through dirty flood water on the first day, and came in four days later with a suspected infection. A lot of dialysis patients who couldn’t get to dialysis and had their electrolytes all out of whack. Patients whose seizure or heart failure meds had all gotten wet and/or been lost in the water and were now suffering from the lack of them, that kind of thing.

As things eased up a little and I hit a couple of scheduled days off, I decided to volunteer at the shelters as well, where there were medical facilities set up, and that’s a whole other ballgame. First of all, I should say that the people who figured the whole thing out were awesome. I think a couple residents who were supposed to be on vacation started the whole thing, basically roping off a couple of side rooms for a makeshift clinic in each of the major Red Cross shelters. In those first few days, while national medical disaster teams all geared up, it was the local doctors who kept things running, and the response was surprisingly efficient/informal. They basically all connected through social media, set up shifts, and asked for volunteers. I know some doctors who didn’t go home for days because they were swinging between the hospital and shelters, but a lot were also outpatient doctors who, with their clinics closed, were able to devote a lot of time to the shelters.

And, as much as the doctors did, the other personnel there did just as much. We had two teams of paramedics standing by to transport any critical patients to the hospital, pharmacists who were getting in touch with all the local pharmacies to get any meds we might need, nurses on triage, and so on.

About the same time as the rain stopped, the state/national disaster teams arrived—the thing about a flood is it’s hard to get into the area if you’re outside of it. They definitely provided a lot more manpower, which everyone was very grateful for, but kept a very close working relationship with the local people. The locals all knew the hospitals, knew which pharmacies were still open, and what the patient population looked like. The two of them working together was absolutely critical; no heroic swooping in from the outside and taking over, it was a huge joint effort.

And… that’s pretty much it. As always, I’m up for answering any questions!

(Also, re-reading this, I worry that it’s going to sound like I’m some hero or martyr or something. No. I was in a bad place at a bad time. I’d like to think I responded well, but I was in no way critical to the response. The actual doctors, nurses, techs, and paramedics—not to mention the search-and-rescue workers—were vital and amazing, but I was more an observer than anything else.)

And here’s your favoritest Aunty again! I hope this post was helpful and useful for all of you about what an ER might look like during a disaster.

I left the last paragraph in to show you all something interesting (I hope Brittany doesn’t mind). Med humans are less likely to give credit for good things happening than we are to take credit, at least in some situations. We often both blame the patient “I can’t get this IV, he’s got terrible veins”) and credit them (”I literally do not know how this guy pulled through”).

Take some credit, Brittany. “All hands on deck” means everyone from environmental to nurse’s aides to pharmacy to, yes, even students, pitching in, doing what they can, and Making Shit Run during the disaster.

xoxo, Aunt Scripty

disclaimer

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#submissions #this post is not intended to diagnose or treat any medical condition #this post is not medical advice #this post is writing advice #submission #masterposts

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larksinging · 8 years

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maria cd case packet: mix notes

MISSING LINK

notes about my song choices under the cut

first off: i like my mixes to have a sort of progression. often that’s a character arc progression, but in this mix i tried to move from most mainstream/relaxed to more dire and surreal sounding songs. a few more really experimental things could have helped this, but oh well

i. i love you - woodkid

“Whatever I feel for you / You only seem to care about you / Is there any chance you could see me too? / Cause I love you / Is there anything I could do / Just to get some attention from you?”

i picked this song as n expression of how desperate maria wants and needs james’ love and affection, and james’ overall lukewarm response to that. i can’t really say why i put this first, but i feel the melancholy desperation feel of the song sets a nice opening tone for the mix

ii. the wrong year - the decemberists

“Could be that he's into you / Could be that the obverse is true / And he wants you but you won't do / And it won't leave you alone [...] The spirit's willin' / Flesh is getting bored / Speakers blaring out some long forgotten chord / Some misbegotten, long forgotten chord”

this one i picked because i feel it really hits the maria is inherently stuck in the wrong time and the wrong place, and how things were never really meant to work out for her and how frustrating that is. there’s more hints at the frustration of james’ lack of interest. also continuing the lovelorn sympathetic kind of song to establish in the beginning maria as a sympathetic, human character.

also: i first considered “make you better” by the decemberists for its mood, but this had more fitting lyrics

iii. black sun - death cab for cutie

“There is an answer in a question/ And there is hope within despair / And there is beauty in a failure / And there are depths beyond compare [...] How could something so fair / Be so cruel”

aaand here’s where i wanted to start throwing in the lowkey omnious mood of silent hill. after all, maria is technically designed as some sort of temptress (regardless of her own agency). anyway, here’s the “maria is pretty and all, but... what’s going on here” song. things are bad in the town of silent hill

iv. ampersand - amanda palmer

“Has any girl in history said / Sure, you seem so nice, let's get it on / Still, I always shock them when I answer / Hi, my name's Amanda [...] But you've got the headstone all ready / All carved up and pretty / Your sick satisfaction / Those his and hers matching / The daisies all push up'n / Pairs to the horizons [...] And I'm not gonna live my life on one side of an ampersand / And even if I went with you I'm not the girl you think I am [...] I'm not the one that's crazy”

okay there’s a lot going on here. first off, the sort of bizarre tone of things like the first set of lyrics above that i feel really show silent hill/born from a wish. the second section (daisies) is directed at james and his own issues and ideas which ultimately are projected onto and burden maria. so the last part is the pushback (”i’m not the girl you think i am” “i’m not the one who’s crazy”), and the anger at james for valuing maria only as far as she’s mary. anyway a disjointed chaotic song for a disjointed chaotic situation

i also considered “olly olly oxenfree” or even “trout heart replica” but the relationship troubles at the heart of this song won me over

v. atrophy - the antlers

“I’ve been repeating your speeches but the audience just doesn't follow / Because I'm leaving out words, punctuation and it sounds pretty hollow / I’ve been living in bed because now you tell me to sleep / In your dreams I'm a criminal, horrible, sleeping around / While you're awake, I'm impossible, constantly letting you down.”

how could i make a sh2 mix without including a song off of hospice? i mean REALLY. to be fair most of the songs are more of a james and mary vibe than maria, but i feel this can work. mary still lingers over it, but that kind of works for how mary lingers over maria. so that’s what this is - the shadow of mary over maria, and how james can never really be satisfied with her because of it

vi. bernadette (post romanian storm) - IAMX

“Winding down your emotions / Family and friends / Becoming ghosts to dream of and pass on / Time will erase every face every name / We are alone /No-one to blame”

here’s where the mix starts to take a turn for the darker. i’d say this is maria as temptation, her existence as a means to try and guilt james. i felt it was important to include that because her existence as a temptress stereotype makes maria’s whole story all the much sadder. also, i chose this version because i felt the more subdued version made it feel more intimate and unsettling

vii. oleander - mother mother

“I make a mess and you'll be there to help me undress / I'll be unclean, I'll be obscene, you'll be the rest / And if you leave me, rest assured it would kill me”

i feel this is a bit of a retread of the theme brought up in “i love you”, but far more desperate and toxic. this helps continue the downward spiral of the mix overall. i think it also helps re-contextualize james and maria’s relationship as something deeply unhealthy, and maria’s desperate need for attention as destroying her.

i also considered “love it dissipates” for this, but went with oleander for the toxic desperation it embodies. also, a poisonous flower seems appropriate.

viii. closer - the tiny

“I met him when the sun was down / The bar was closed, we both have had no sleep / My face beneath the streetlamp, it reveals what it is / Lonely people seek / Closer, closer”

this one speaks more to the loneliness of silent hill, and the loneliness of maria’s existence. also the theme of “closer” - maria’s desperate need to be close to james. this is also the first of the doppelganger songs. two songs i felt fit happened to have the same name, and i decided to use both because the whole thing about doubles and whatnot.

ix. closer - paulina andreeva

“Let me feel no fear and anxiety / I’m not alone [...] Even if you are my insanity / We’re not alone / We’re not alone / Closer /Closer / Closer / Closer to you”

okay. first off. do you know how hard it was to find a video of this? i didn’t want to use the video i found it off of but this video was literally the only other one of this edit of the song i could find. also i had to write these lyrics myself. fucking obscure russian songs

anyway. the second doppleganger song, and the continuation of the closer theme. this one the tone really speaks more than the lyrics. this captures not only the anxious dread of silent hill (”we’re not alone” could be seen as meaning the monsters), but also the way in which staying with james allows maria to not be alone. this is when the downward spiral kicks up a notch

x. reflektor - arcade fire

“Alone in the darkness / a darkness of white / We fell in love / alone on a stage / in the reflective age [...] We're so connected / but are we even friends? [...] I thought I found a way to enter / it was just a reflector. (Just a reflector) / I thought I found the connector / it was just a reflector. (Just a reflector) [...] Just a reflection of a reflection / of a reflection of a reflection of a reflection (ah!) / but I see you on the other side / We all got things to hide [...] Thought you were praying to the resurrector / turns out it was just a reflector”

honestly, i could have quoted the whole song. i think if you had to pick one song to sum up all of sh2, it’s be this song. it captures the confusing, illusionary nature of silent hill, the mary/maria reflection, the feeling of lost love and false love, james’ desire to leave/find something/bring something back that is ultimately nothing but a reflection of himself. maria, after all, is just a reflctor.

xi. missing link - revoluation girl utena OST

“An unconnected me / Yet a connected power / Oh illusions, / Why am I / Here right now? / I never wanted to be born / And yet I was / My heart is just like / An object to be used / To be born and die / To be born and vanish / To repeat this / How absurd! [...] Look, now the vanished me is living”

when the song the mix title is from is at the very bottom of one of my mixes, you know it’s a big deal. and it’s an RGU song. so [cracks knuckles] here we go. (i am using the translation from here. most other translations i’ve seen have been pretty similar, give or take a little.) the end of the downward spiral.

this song, i feel, is the ultimate expression of the despair of maria’s existence. to be born from a wish is a terrible fate. maria was only ever meant to be something to fulfill james’ wish and embody his guilt, and that’s what she’s stuck doing despite having her own existence and agency. a tragic fate.

...but this song has a context, and that too works for maria. she is a bit of a rose bride figure, after all! she exists to embody the male gaze and is an idealized form of male sexual desires. her purpose is not her own, but tied to james. she is repeatedly brutalized for the sake of the male figure and exists only to bear his suffering and cause more. i’m not sure how much more rose bride-y you can get without getting impaled by a few hundred swords, but maria’s been imapled like 4 times so she’s getting there

xii. love psalm - silent hill 2 OST

[instrumental]

i wanted to end with something a little less, uh, existentially horrifying. it was only appropriate to use love psalm, which plays on the credits of born from a wish. more than anything, this is maria’s song, and it felt like ending it with someone that was uniquely hers would be nice. i consdered using the version of this from book of memories with lyrics, since some of them fit. check it:

“To be forced to feel the hearts break / How much of this torture can I take? [...] If you could rewrite our life any way that you please / Would you tear out the pages of our memories? / Would you take back the pain and all the hurt we create? / Or could you be satisfied with the love that you've made with me?”

...but i felt the original instrumental version, the one actually from born from a wish, was more appropriate an ending. so there you go.

extra: in addition to the substitutions from bands used i considered listed above, i also considered “careful you” by tv on the radio. i felt the sound of the song didn’t quite gel with the rest of the mix.

#long post cw #ask to tag #silent hill #i should make a tag for maria

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josephstoontown · 7 years

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Eat at Joe’s, Chapter IV

Chapter IV of Eat at Joe's, a Joseph's ToonTown story.

So, I'd like to mention… this was a nightmare to convert from the… 100-some posts… of the RP? The writing was just fine… but. restructuring things so they had a flow… then, having to fight the page breaks… and, splitting the story several different ways… ay-yai-yai… But, hey. I got it, eventually. And, I was only 13 hours behind schedule the first time I posted this. Not… that anyone would really know, of course. But, hey…

Co-written with: shinkothetoongirl @ Tumblr Word count: 4,935 – Character count: 27,638 Originally written: April 5th - April 25th, 2016 Converted/revised: January 10th - January 12th, 2017 Re-split and revised on: August 14th, 2017

At the end of the day, some ideas… are best left in one's head.

Shinko the Toon Girl and related characters and properties created by and © her creator Tiana's Place, The Princess and the Frog, and related properties created by and © The Walt Disney Company

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“Hey, Shinko…”

Joseph quietly spoke up, his infernal brain not letting him stay cuddled up with her for too long. There was one question that wouldn’t leave his mind… one question that demanded to be asked. And so, he asked his question…

“Are you… in any position for this sort of thing?” He paused before clarifying, “Is everything in your life stable enough for an additional distraction like this, I mean? Relationships have a funny way of changing things in a person’s life…” He leaned back just enough to nuzzle her again, shivering slightly. “Because, um… if I… I mean… if we… um…” He slowly sat up, still keeping his hands on Shinko’s arms as he looked at her. She looked more than a little confused… but, his face could not have been much redder… “I’m really having a hard time putting two words together right now, aren’t I? Must be my nerves…” The ‘toon girl gave a slight giggle and a nod… At that point, Joseph took a slow, long breath and calmed himself before trying to speak again.

“Every part of me wants to give this a try, Shinko. But, as adults – and I almost hate to use that term, even though it fits so well… we need to stop and consider everything else… things that might get in the way or otherwise prevent things from working like we want. Like I said… stuff like this can change lives.” He gently took the ‘toon back into his arms, hugging her close. “And… I’d kick myself if everything went to the Void because of ‘wants’ over ‘needs…’” He paused… then he let his cheek brush against hers, another thought popping up. “You don’t have to decide now, by the way. I just wanted to… ya know… make sure you really thought about this instead of listening to your heart. Or… ya know… O-other things,” he whispered in an unsure tone, giving her a playful nose-bump to the shoulder.

There was another pause between the two before Shinko spoke up, speaking calm and clear, but with a sad smile on her face. “It doesn’t have to be anything super serious,” she commented. “I was thinking more like ‘affectionate friends’ than anything else. Besides, there is one huge problem I can see…” She glanced up at him, her smile fading ever-so-slightly… “At some point… I’m sure you’ll have to go back to your own world… That’s probably something that can’t be avoided. I mean, as cool as it would be for you to stay here… it’s probably not gonna happen.” The fox gave a blink… He was starting to feel bad he’d even brought the whole thing up. However, a giggle and a boop on the nose snapped him right back out of it and caused him to stare at her once more, his eyes crossing for that brief moment she’d poked him. “In the meantime, I don’t see why we can’t enjoy the moments we do have together! Make ‘em stuff that maybe you’ll actually remember this time, right?” she asked with a grin.

His ears perked at her response. Somehow, watching her be so chipper and playful after his dramatic display actually made him feel less bad about things… and more… silly. He suddenly found himself laughing on the inside. He should have known Shinko better than that… After all… she was always pretty darn sharp!

“I don’t know how I ever forgot you, Shinko… and…” The fox leaned in with a grin on his face and tail wagging. “You’re right. About everything. So, that being said…” His grin widened… “I think being ‘affectionate friends’ can be arranged…”

Suddenly, he gave her a little lick on the nose, making Shinko giggle again! He then blinked, staring for a moment as something caught his attention. “W-wait a minute… that wasn’t there before, was it?” Joseph slid his arm out from behind her and reached one hand up. One of her eyes closed as his fuzzy digit gently booped her… nose…? “On your smaller design, I mean. I’m… pretty sure this didn’t just appear in the last five minutes… did it?” Though he was kidding again, he once again sounded unsure of himself. “Well, it actually came around during the late stages of when I was smaller,” she explained as he leaned back. “Huh… I guess I really did miss that, then.” The girl giggled again as she added, “I still don’t have ears though.” Joseph perked. “No ears…?” He reached up to the side of her head with his left hand, gently running his fingers through the almost-static hair on her right side, causing her to squirm. “But how do you heeaaar…?” he playfully asked, being mindful of the volume of his voice as he leaned inward and nuzzled his way through the hair on her left. She giggled a bit, her eyes shutting as his hand and nose seemed to tickle the side of her head. Her shoulders shrugged a little after… but, it wasn’t in response to his question. It seemed like she was preemptively keeping him from going near her neck… though, he didn’t notice. After calming down from the slight tickling sensations, she managed to open an eye to look back at him.

“I listen with my heart,” she replied, smiling back at him. The fox’s ears flicked at her reply and he slipped back enough to look at her. The blush from before returned to his face as he happily admired her. “That…” he quietly said with a pause before smiling. “Was so corny… but ridiculously sweet…” She grinned at hearing him say that. Whatever she could do or say to make him smile always made it worth it. It was part of her nature as a ‘toon to try and make people smile, anyhow! However, her eyes widened and she started to blush again as Joseph’s hands slid up, gently cupping her cheeks. He leaned in a second later, cutely pressing his nose to hers and looking into her eyes with his own half-closed and full of fondness. His own blush had found its way back to the surface, too…

“Why are you so darn adorable, Shinko?” he asked the ‘toon girl with a purr to his voice. “It’s a frustratingly irresistible trait…” “I don’t know…” She shut her eyes and giggled a bit. “I thought all my adorableness left when I grew up.” Her eyes opened again, a fond smile on her face as she looked to her friend… “It’s nice to know someone still thinks I’m cute, though. Or, maybe that just shows how kind you are…” “Trust me, Shinko…” he whispered as he drew a little closer. “If I was just ‘being kind…’” For a moment, the fox seemed to hesitate in his actions… as if unsure of himself once again. A second later, he closed his eyes, took a breath through his nose… leaned in close, and… did something.

There was a moment of confusion for the young ‘toon. At first, she didn’t really seem to know what was going on. However, it didn’t take her long to realize what Joseph was doing… However, she wasn’t exactly sure how to react to it…

After a moment, the fox leaned back just enough to watch her face, his own still bright red under the fur and eyes fluttering open. “Th… then I probably w-wouldn’t be taking this so slowly…” he said with a nervous smile, his ears somewhere between folded and perked. He really did seem to be airing on the side of caution with Shinko, despite her not once telling him “no” the entire day… Was he that unsure of himself? Or… did he just care about her happiness that much?

“A… aa…” The fox gave a blink, his ears flicking as he heard Shinko make an odd noise. As he watched Shinko react… his own eyes opened wide. Akin to watching a thermometer rise in temperature, her skin slowly became redder-and-redder and her expression slowly displayed more-and-more surprise and shock. “Aaaaa-aaaaa-aaaahh!!!” Such was her sound of growing realization that Joseph had just kissed her where her mouth was. The sounds never got too high that she would be considered screaming. However, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from making the sound. As a result, she quickly pulled a pillow out from her hammerspace and turned away to muffle her face with the pillow while her sound of shock continued. Joseph’s his ears perked and his fur bristled while the girl as she did her best imitation of a tea kettle, both in sight and in sound. A lot of emotions hit Joseph all at once then. Concern… confusion… surprise… even a little bit of nervous amusement tucked away in the corner of his mind. But, for the most-part, he seemed stuck on surprise. And… that surprise caused him to lean back, albeit just a little… and, caused his mind to race! I broke her, I broke her–!! he thought to himself. Holy crap…! What did I do…?! Is she gonna… how do I… that… I… this… a-aah…! Of all the reactions he could have foreseen… Shinko utterly breaking was not one of them! Clearly, she was a ‘toon that had never been kissed on the lips, before.

Slowly but surely, the noise Shinko was making seemed to die down the longer she kept the pillow in front of her face. As the same time, Joseph’s face relaxed little-by-little and he leaned forward, just staring. For a while, she laid there against the arm of the couch, not moving. No new key frames updated and no sounds were made. And, that… made the fox perked his ears and lean in a little closer… Suddenly, she let out a gasp as her frame updated to one of removing her face from the pillow, sitting back up straight as she took a deep breath. Finally, she glanced back to him, blinking twice as she noticed him practically tumble off the couch in surprise. She wore a neutral expression on her face, then… as if she was still deciding on what she thought about what had just happened… and, briefly… if she’d wanted to do that again.

“I know you already said you were taking it slow… but…” She managed to put on a smile and shut her eyes happily before asking… “Do you think we could take it slower-still?”

The fox gave a blink. He’d just calmed down from the start he’d given her, panting and feeling anxious from her neutral look… He had started to relax when he saw her smile… but, as she made her request… “Ah… uh… o-oh.” Those were the first noises out of his mouth. After a moment, though, he returned the smile and replied with something a little more coherent… but, a fair bit more nervy, as well.

“A little too much all at once? Heh, I understand. I mean, you’re probably still getting used to that body and I just kinda popped in outta nowhere… and, I’m sure this is all new to you, besides! I mean, I’m sure you’ve seen and read about things like that and been curious and stuff but if you’re not ready then you’re not ready! We– we can definitely– I mean I can definitely slow it down a bit! Absolutely! Eh heh heh… heh…”

Though he sounded cheerful enough and even wore a convincing smile, his body language did nothing to hide his disappointment. His tail had gone limp and ears hung low. The quickened pace of his voice was probably a dead giveaway, as well. She may not have said “no” to what he had done… but, as far as he’d felt then, she may as well have. As Shinko opened her eyes moments later, her smile turned much more sad, being immediately greeted by how disappointed he looked. Thoughts entered her head, then… She certainly didn’t want to leave him upset. The ‘toon in her refused to let that be the emotion that lingered. And so, she put on a patient smile and decided to comfort him.

“It won’t be so bad…” she offered. “You know what I think would be okay? Stuff like this…” Joseph’s ears perked as he was kissed on the nose. A moment later, she sat back and tilted her head. “And… maybe even a little of this.” He then blinked his golden eyes at Shinko, tilting his own head as she leaned in again, kissing his cheek before sitting back and giggling again. “That’d be okay… right?”

“Baffled” would be an appropriate term for the look on the fox’s face as Shinko asked her question. It wasn’t like he was going to say “no” to her… especially not when she was the one who was being affectionate. But, for some reason… “Guess Kris isn’t the only one who can read me like an open book…” He sighed, offering a smile of his own as the redhead gave him a curious look.

“In all seriousness, Shinko? I did mean what I said just now. Every word of it. I think part of my disappointment comes from the fact I’m misreading you. I mean, I have no doubt that you might be interested in a casual-friendly, affectionate kinda relationship with me.” He paused, a look of realization coming over him. “W… wow. That sounded egotistical, didn’t it?” Shinko giggled with a faint smirk and he chuckled a little before he continued. “But, what I mean is that I have absolutely no reason to doubt what you said and still believe it. However… my idea of ‘affectionate’ and your idea may be, ah… a little different? Although…” Joseph stopped again, bringing a hand to his muzzle, a thoughtful look on his face. “No, no… I think you’re a pretty good judge of character… so, that kiss was probably no surprise. I mean, I didn’t just telegraph that thing. I sky-wrote it in glow-in-the-dark smoke! But, when it actually happened… Hmm…” “Hey, don’t hurt your head over it okay?” she replied, trying to get him to calm down a little. “Not to mention, a lot has happened today…” The fox watched as Shinko slowly stood up. “So, I’ll tell you what: I’ll order in some pizza, we can have some dinner, and then we can both get some well-earned rest and figure out what to do tomorrow, okay? Just… try to relax. And, have fun.” “Well… I mean, I thought we’d pretty much decided.” His ears flicked as his stomach suddenly growled. “But… pizza does sound pretty good. Meaty pizza, a movie, and thou.” She nodded at his suggestion and took out an old-fashioned, red-cabled phone receiver from her hammerspace, placing it to the side of her head. As she called and ordered the pizza, Joseph stretched and leaned back against the couch, resting his head against the cushion and closing his eyes. All things considered, she was right… They’d reunited and reintroduced themselves to each other… hung out… then, a lot of things happened all-at-once, while they were at her place… and, all within the span of under twelve hours! It really had been one heck of a day with no real opportunity to… “Relax…” he murmured. “Yeah… That’s what I need to do. Just kinda… chill out. Let my mind wander a little.” As he started to relax, his ears flicked. One eye opened and he glanced at the ‘toon girl. He could feel his cheeks beginning to warm and tail start to wag again as he watched her. “To other topics, I mean” he chuckled, keeping his voice low. He then jokingly suggested to himself, “Maybe a cold shower would help, too…”

After a brief conversation, Shinko tossed her phone over her shoulder, effectively making it recoil back behind her and disappear into hammerspace. She then turned toward her friend, smiling as she saw him relaxing. “That pizza place is really good on their service,” she said with a soft, reassuring smile. “Why… you’ll know they’re here before they even get to the door!” The fox’s ears perked and he sat up, blinking at the odd commendation. “Wait, what?” He chuckled. “How does that work?” “Oh, you’ll know…” she replied with a slight grin.

Just as she spoke, they could hear a bunch of commotion going on outside… the kind of commotion that Joseph hadn’t heard too frequently in his life. Upon hearing what sounded like a car crashing into something, he leaped up and started for the nearest window. Sure enough… a car had crashed and even flipped somewhat, causing both the pizza and its driver to be sent flying up into the air! “What in the–?!” But, before he could finish his thought, his ears caught another noise… one of crash-after-crash getting louder and closer. Confused and alerted, he looked to Shinko, blinking in complete disbelieve as she took a few steps toward the door and casually waved him over. Not sure of what else to do, he walked over… and, almost immediately, he heard the doorbell. Shinko looked back at Joseph with a giggle and opened the door. Shinko seemed excited, for some reason… However, what Joseph saw on the other side of the door didn’t really tell him why. Or… maybe, it did? On the other side, the fox could see… a pizza guy… the same one he’d seen rocket into the air, before! If that wasn’t enough, he was hanging by the edge of his jacket from a sharp end of an opening that led to the floor above, the pizza box safely suspended in his hands!

“That’ll be $15, miss…” he groggily told her. With another small giggle, Shinko handed him a $20 before taking the pizza. “Keep the change,” she told him, closing the door with a big smile on her face. When she turned back to Joseph, she politely asked, “So, ready to eat?” Once again, the fox’s ears perked and his fur bristled. The comedic sight of the pizza delivery guy hanging there was enough to give him a start… but, the way he’d half-casually conducted business made Joseph all the more baffled. Even after Shinko had exchanged her money for the pizza, the fox had to look at her with his head tilted… After another moment, though, he crossed his arms and gave a smirk. “I am…” he said, answering her question, “but, you didn’t tell me the pizza came with a live stunt show! What a…” He paused, running through adjectives in his head. After failing to find an appropriate one, he decided to finish his thought with the word, “surprise!” Shinko giggled a bit at that, grabbing a paper plate and napkin from her hammerspace and placing it on the counter along with the pizza. She then opened the box, showing him that, despite everything, the pizza was completely undamaged by the stunt.

“That guy’s really good with slapstick!” she commented. “His squash-and-stretch is always on-point! I know it’s not much… but, I always figure that, when he delivers pizza, he deserves something extra simply for being one of the most classically comedic ‘toons I know!” She took out another paper plate and napkin and handed it to Joseph. As the fox accepted the plate and napkin, he started to wonder just what else Shinko might be hiding in the invisible space just out of his sight… but, he didn’t ask, thinking it would be rude to ask, and instead looked to the hot, delicious-looking pizza. “By the way, did you want something to drink? Pretty sure I got some soda in the fridge. Or, if you want, I have water, milk, apple juice, and pink lemonade.” His ears perked again as she got to the end of the list of choices. “Pink lemonade?” he repeated. “I haven’t had that in a long while… Yeah… why not? Set me up with a nice glass of pink lemonade, please!” “Coming right up!” she replied with a smile, walking over to her fridge. She then retrieved two glasses from the actual cabinets and poured some pink lemonade with ice for them both.

“Ya know,” he said as he helped himself to a couple of slices of pizza, “I’m really really glad nothing I’ve eaten today has had a face – like, an actual face.” Shinko returned with a giggle, placing one of the glasses of drink near him and the other on the counter closer to herself before she went about grabbing a slice for herself. He took a moment to thank her before continuing his thought. “I was a little worried at the diner that, whatever Woody had ordered, would be staring at me like those buildings or the sun… In fact, I was going to ask that walrus fella if they served ‘normal’ food there. But, honestly? There’s been no need. At least, not so far!” “This is normal food, silly,” she said with a giggle and a smile. “It’s your food that’s odd! Photo-realistic hamburgers and fried eggs without faces? How weird!”

Joseph rolled his eyes, causing her to giggle again. A moment later, Shinko settled-in and took a sip of her lemonade. The fox took a bite of his pizza slice, in the meantime, his tail wagging and a big grin on his face as a trail of stringy cheese stretched from the slice to his mouth. It took him a minute to eat it but the look on his face seemed to say it was well worth the effort. “Man…” Joseph started after finishing the bite, “ToonTown’s been 2-for-2 on food since I got here. This pizza is really good!” After taking another reasonably sized bite of his first slice, he set the pizza and plate down and reached for the lemonade. “By the way… did you know that pizza guy personally? Or, is he just a regular you see a lot or something? You seemed keen to mention his comedic credentials,” he said with a grin before taking a drink. That made Shinko giggle all the more before she answered.

“Well, when I first moved in, I didn’t exactly have a lot of cash, so I ended up eating pizza most nights. As it turns out, he’s the one that comes to my door every time! He doesn’t always do the same routine, of course… but, really, I’d like to think he might’ve been an extra in some cartoon, somewhere. His potential seems too big to simply be a forgotten character.” She gave a nostalgic sigh before shaking her head. “Anyways, he seems like a good guy. And, he’s basically the reason I’ve almost become a regular customer for that place. They have my address memorized by now and everything!” With her thought finished, she finally started to dig into her own slice of pizza. Her smile never left her face as she tasted the delicious baked good.

“Huh. That’s pretty cool…” Joseph hummed, looking at the ice in his drink for a moment. “You know… I like it when you talk about ‘toon history, cartoon physics, and things like that. I’m not sure why… but, you make it seem really interesting!” Joseph took another sip of his lemonade, contently humming as he did. “Plus… I love the way the topic makes your pretty, blue eyes light up. They really accent the radiant smile you get on your cute li’l face.” “Ah–” Her eyes widened a bit as her face turned red in embarrassment. Joseph just offered a grin to the ‘toon girl. He really could not help himself…

“C-come on, now… that’s too many compliments in one day,” giving a little wave. “Anyways, it’s not like I’m knowledgeable or anything. It’s just… well…” She paused… then shook her head. “Never mind. I really don’t want to talk about the past.” The fox’s head tilted, one ear cocked and the other lowered as she said that. Though he’d noted a sudden shift in her mood, again, he decided to leave it be, for once, simply giving her a nod and letting his ears return to a neutral position. He then returned to his pizza, starting on the second slice while Shinko plated another for herself.

“Anyways…” she said, keeping his attention, “I think I’ll be going to bed, now. Feel free to help yourself to whatever and I hope you get a good night’s sleep.” “Wh– um… sure…” He scratched the back of his head as she kept a friendly smile on her face. “And, thanks for letting me hang out with you today. I… I really appreciate everything you’ve done for me, Shinko. I really do.” He gave her a warm smile, wagging his tail again. “Plain-and-simple, you’re a darn good friend and a darn good person. You get a good night’s sleep as well, ya hear?” “Sure.” She nodded, keeping her small, friendly smile. “Goodnight, Joseph.” With that, she headed into her room and closing the door. As soon as she was out of sight, however, she leaned against the door, giving a light, somewhat exhausted sigh.

What a goofy guy… she thought. It certainly will be interesting to have him as a temporary roommate… For a split-second, she wondered about something… But, as quickly as a thought entered her head, it left.

It should be fine… I can trust him. Plus, it will be nice to have some semi-regular company. I just hope… She turned her head toward the door, her smile giving way to a concerned frown, one last thought making its way to the surface. �� I just hope… he’s not upset with me…

With that thought escaping her head, the ‘toon girl decided to go about her business, finishing her pizza and busying herself until she was tired enough to rest for the night. She really was tired… and, it wasn’t like there was any reason to stay up. Right? –––––

It was midnight as Joseph sat on the nicely-drawn couch of his friend’s apartment. He’d finally finished watching the animated movie he was supposed to watch with her and, though he’d enjoyed it, he couldn’t retain much about it. He’d let his mind wander in the middle of the movie and, since then, a scene from earlier that evening had been playing in his mind.

He could remember feeling the rise in her temperature… seeing the brightening coloration of her skin… He could recall the noise she made… and, how she seemed so dismissive of him and what he’d done, afterward… Joseph hugged his legs to his chest, resting his head on his knees and curling his tail to one side.

Why did you do that? he asked himself. Why did you have to go and kiss her for? You were having a good time just being friendly and affectionate and you had to go and… and… do that! She obviously didn’t like it, with as quickly as she changed the subject… and, worse still, you made her feel bad because of her reaction! What sort of friend does that? No wonder she ran off to her room so quickly… His eyes closed and his ears remained folded back as his train of thought continued.

What’s the matter with you, Joseph? She spends the day with you… invites you into her home… and, you go and try to make-out with her? You just barely reunited with her… but, you’re already hitting on her? Why…? I thought you weren’t looking for that sort of thing after Kris dumped you? Why are you falling back into old habits, like that…? He growled at himself for a moment… then, he relaxed.

She… she seemed interested, though… At– at least until you… you took it too far. Yeah, you took it too far. Too much, too fast, too soon! Joseph shook his head and whimpered. As mature as she’s always been, she’s still a young, naive thing, in some respects, Joseph… You knew this would happen but you pushed it, anyway! What’s wrong with you?! You even said it yourself: Your idea of ‘affection’ and hers are probably leagues apart! I mean, it was probably her first time being kissed like that and–

The fox’s ears perked, his eyes opening wide at his own realization…

“Oh, Trinity Above… I… I stole her first kiss. I stole her first kiss…”

Under other circumstances, being able to make such a claim might have been something that would fill the fox with joy… maybe even pride. But, given how she’d reacted… You’re the lowest of the low, Joseph Lithius… he berated himself, head lowering again. You don’t deserve a friend like her.

Joseph looked to the side of the couch, eyeing his backpack. I should leave… But… I don’t want to worry her… But, I also don’t want to stay and make things awkward, again… He gave a whine, digging his dull claws into his denim jeans, his eyes tearing up in frustration. Gods… I… what do I do…? Where would I even go…? He couldn’t answer those questions, himself… but, maybe, he thought… maybe someone else could.

After finding something to write with, Joseph wrote a note for Shinko on the top of the pizza box and left it somewhere she could find it. He then grabbed his backpack and walked to the door.

“I’m sorry for tonight, Shinko,” he quietly said as he opened it. “I’m not sure if I can ever repair the damage I caused… but, I can at least do this much.”

With that, he locked the door, silently closing it behind him, and hit the road.

#fiction #Eat at Joe's #original characters #shinkothetoongirl #Shinko #Essence of Ragnarok #Joseph Lithius #romance #drama

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