#so going out of your way to blame a grieving lover who witnessed the death is fucked up and an asshole move

[starry-marshmallow]

This is something that’s been bothering me since I started playing mystic messenger and well I personally haven’t seen anyone discuss it.

For reference this is mainly about the Another Story and V Route timeline but it still applies to other timelines since it’s prevalent in the entire game.

Yoosung’s behavior towards Jihyun is made even more horrid considering how he admits multiple times that he doesn’t know much about Rika and V’s relationship and even Jihyun himself.

Whenever you ask him about their relationship or Rika and Jihyun as individuals, he just states that Rika was a happy person, Rika seemed happy with V, and that he doesn’t know much about Jihyun.

Despite this he’s so adamant about blaming Jihyun and suspecting him, so adamant about Rika not having mental health problems and not being “the kind of person to take her own life”.

He didn’t even know about Rika’s family and when he spoke to them himself and learned what they’re like and their thoughts on Rika. He still pulled the “V did way worse to Rika than her parents did”.

He’s speaking on a man and woman and their relationship despite not knowing much. They clearly wanted to keep certain things private and yet Yoosung does not respect or care to understand that.

And then Yoosung gets pissed when the other members step in and call him out for this shit or exclude him from certain things (e.i going to V’s house, going to rescue V and MC from Mint Eye, going to Rika’s apartment).

Saeyoung and Jumin were close to both of them and even they knew better than to cross obvious boundaries, antagonize, and harass someone whose behavior all points to a result of grieving.

There’s a clear lack of understanding of grief, mental health, and mental illness that Yoosung shows and doesn’t seem to really care to unpack which is extremely upsetting to see when you’ve been suicidal and/or lost a loved one and are grieving. Grief lives with you forever and you have to handle it in a healthy way. Yoosung doesn’t do that either.

[peeterparkr]

jaundiced & surreptitious; Anthony Bridgerton

sham, pride and illicit affairs | fic masterlist

read part one here read part two here read part three here read part four here

summary: you once loved each other, your hand belongs to him but it’s promised to another. 

jaundiced: affected by bitterness, resentment, or envy. surreptitious:  kept secret, especially because it would not be approved of.

word count: 8.3k (sorry I like writing)

pairing: anthony bridgerton x reader

warnings: anthony is an idiot, this is really idiots who are lovers, like genuinely they’re so stupid. poor benedict has to deal with him. 

wanna be tagged?

read part one here  read part two here   read part three here

next part.

Okaaaay so thank you so much for your support! I can’t believe you guys liked it as much as I did! Especial thanks to @steve-harringtonnn​ and @erodasghosts for helping me out with this chapter!!! 

Anthony would often disregard the pain he’d felt before. He would never say it out loud but he had lost faith after his heart had been broken. The sun had never been as warm. Grieving was one of his favorite activities to live by, silently, to himself. The bloody-minded Anthony would die before ever admitting that his feelings had been impaired.

He was obstinate, he was well aware of that. And he was scared, and he wondered where he’d gathered the courage to walk through the crowds to her two nights before, as if it hadn’t pained him. Perchance his pride had led him there, or maybe his broken heart looking to be healed did. The wandering thoughts that would cease every so often. 

Anthony loved to mourn, or make sure people think he was mourning. He often tried to be the smartest person in the room, he always failed. But he tried, and he counted himself on it. 

He was flawed, he knew that. But he would try his best, so he’d pride himself on.  However he could not forgive himself for being flawed enough to be rejected by Y/N. 

Her eyes were carved in his mind, and he’d be reminded of her every morning when the sun dared to warm his skin, and with every flower petal that he saw her eyes would find their way back to his most wounded intellect, her eyes were her biggest sin, though he could be blamed for other blunders, he thought her sight was the biggest offense, for her eyes could see through any of his lies and hypnotize him enough to lose his reason, or the lack of it. How inconvenient he found that every beautiful morning belonged to her, and it would only hurt his heart. How inconvenient was it that her entire soul mesmerized him. 

It was hard not to see her as a villain, however, maybe that’s why he tried avoiding the music, dancing was but another warning, triggering him of the night he’d seen the dress flying as she vacated the ballroom. And every time he found himself in the middle of a ballroom, he felt agony and despair. Anthony had always feared death, but he realized that he had already died once, when she’d left the ballroom. Being away from her had killed Anthony, and to be dead while still having to survive could be one of the most dreadful and painful things to endure. Anthony was now sure he’d died on that night, and he was sure that whatever death might feel like it wouldn’t be as painful as to be away from her. He thought his pain would be forever, that eternal sorrow. 

His hand had felt cold since she’d left. Though, one could argue that his hand had been warm since the night before, as if he’d finally come back to life. The act, as most immoral as it was, had been the closest he’d been to a heavenly discovery of love and life. A very magnificent distraction. 

There was light again. 

He would deny it, but the darkness was the time he felt the loneliest, hence why he had searched for Sienna’s love, an escape from the life he would’ve loved with y/n. He was so desperate to be covered on something else, to erase y/n from his body that he’d try to find the closest thing to love on someone. 

Worst thing had been he did find it, in a very unconventional way. 

He would rather be a rake to the world than to ever admit that he had been broken-hearted. A man shall never seem weak to the world, though he was broken. Hushed to the night. 

Yet, now he wanted to scream to the world that he was loved by the woman he loved. An iridescent glow coming from his chest, as he rode back home. 

He had chosen the prettiest of the flowers, though they were very little to recommend and they’d look pathetic and sad beside the beautiful woman. 

Anthony never liked being seen as a fool, yet he should not mind looking like one with her. Why would he be ashamed to say he’d fallen for such a remarkable lady. 

Gardenias and peonies. He knew she’d love them. Not roses this time, he found the roses to be very contrasting to the delicate gardenias. 

He couldn’t hide his eagerness as he’d arrived at his former household. Though he had not slept, he couldn’t have more energy. He hopped to the drawing room, in expectation to see the possible suitors that would come for Eloise, though she was not eager for them, and was rather trying to avoid any significant encounter. 

Anthony couldn’t hide the beam, as he tried the sweets that his mama had displayed. 

Eloise was plopped on the couch beside Benedict, as Violet tried to beg her to sit with grace and poise. Eloise had the latest copy of Lady Whistledown as Benedict tried to peek and read. 

“Stop reading that nonsense,” Anthony said. “Such a lovely morning, is it not?” 

Benedict scrunched his nose at his brother, mostly confused. Anthony stole one of the desserts Benedict had on his plate earning a groan from him. 

Lady Violet watched her son, “I would like to address your behavior last night.” 

The younger siblings smirked, knowing well that though their brother was an adult, he would often yet be scolded by their mama. 

Benedict chuckled, “How come, mama, his behavior was rather impeccable.” 

Eloise giggled. Anthony glared at his siblings. 

“To suggest a fake proposal,” Lady Violet said with severity. “Most imposing irrationality. You shall not play with such calamities.” 

“Do not worry, mama, a real proposal shall come soon enough, I shall be more rational in the future, ” Anthony declared. “Just this morning I sent Lady y/n flowers to thank her for her… most stimulating company,”  Anthony coughed. “And as an apology for my behavior.”  

His younger siblings looked up with confusion. 

“Are you going to propose to Lady Y/N?” Asked Eloise. 

Anthony cleared his throat, “I did not… say that.” 

Eloise frowned. “Did you not find her disagreeable? Or why else were you bickering-?” 

“Please, Eloise, that is Anthony’s way of courting, and I’m sure Y/N found it just as stimulating and flattering,” Benedict hissed. 

Eloise cackled, “as if y/n would rejoice in any avow Anthony could make.” 

“How come, brother you seem to be captured again in some possible infatuation when only last night you merely only barked towards the Lady?” Benedict inquired. Anthony tried to avoid his brother’s remarks. 

Of course, he would not tell them how his night had been accomplished, and how the despair had transformed into a very pleasant evening. He shall keep the secret for it was, though most pleasant, very unsuitable and outrageous for the standards of the society. Though Anthony did bear some guilt for the scandal and the impropriety he thought it was most  formidable to try and deny the linkage had been but an ardent reminder of his noble sentiments for the woman. 

“As you mentioned, brother,” Anthony remarked snarkly, “Lady y/n and I share a very perplexing demeanor to show our affection towards each other.” 

“Perplexing? Stupid, you mean,” Benedict mocked. 

“Is there affection?” Lady Violet inquired. 

Anthony huffed, “I guess there is no reason for me to harbor and censure my sentiments anymore,” he admitted. “However I shall not give any other explanation to this subject.” 

Benedict glared, “Why the sudden change? I thought you did not regard y/n so dearly.” 

Anthony paced around the room nervously, he did not want to address his feelings. How stupid would it be to admit he felt alive, and that he was entranced by her. 

“She is a good friend,” Anthony alleged. “Why are you enquiring my sentiments? I would’ve believed you’d be wallowed with my announcement.” 

His mother grinned, “I am.” 

“I am not,” Benedict laughed. “Forgive me, but you can understand my confusion, are you suggesting you are friends now?” 

“We have been,” Anthony hissed. “In any case, I’ve always been fond of her.” 

“I must signal how your bickering has hindered us from believing there is some kind of attachment,” Eloise pointed out as she watched her eldest brother. 

Anthony rolled his eyes, it had been a point in their bickering, to hide to them and themselves really.  But really, challenging each other was but their way of admiring their wit.  Anthony was stunned, not only with her beauty but with the way she spoke her mind. He was always left wanting more when it came to her, she rarely gave him anything but a headache, and apparently that was something very compelling to earn his heart. Not sure why. 

Benedict laughed, “I think I understand now Eloise, we seem to have forgotten how big of a fool our brother is,  the elusiveness Anthony has shown towards Lady Y/N has been but a lame attempt to tempt Miss Y/N and delude her enough for her to give some attention to our brother. Has it not?” 

“Has it succeeded?” Inquired Eloise. 

The night before was only proof it had. And it had not been elusiveness, he was transfixed on the lady’s wit, he couldn’t keep up with her, that was the reason. He was dotted with her surliness, the way she’d wag his words. Anthony loved being a fool for her, such a capable woman she was. However, it shall be noted he loved being fooled by her intellect and the false peevishness, not by her exclusion.

“What has?” Questioned Colin, as he had walked into the drawing room. Lady Violet was rather annoyed the only men in the room were but her own children and not any possible suitor for Eloise. 

“Anthony’s bickering,” Eloise looked up, as she reached for a box of sweets to nibble by her own. “Apparently his arrogance and stupidity were but to woo Miss Y/N,” explained Eloise. 

Anthony winced,“May we change the subject? I believe it is a matter of more importance—“

Colin laughed, interrupting him. “I believe those attempts have succeeded, were you not here last night? Was Miss Y/N not looking forward to not running away this time? Even after Anthony suggested such a scandalous scheme?” 

Anthony rolled his eyes, “Are you not to go elsewhere?” 

Benedict grinned, “Why? Are you not to share with him your news?” 

“News?” Colin frowned with curiosity. 

“Apparently our brother might attempt to court Miss Y/N,” Benedict mocked. “I believe.” 

Colin faked surprise, “Really? Are we suggesting that Anthony could have any sort of sentiments that aren't self depreciation and remorse?”  

Benedict and Eloise laughed, hardly. Their mother only directed a glare towards them. 

“How amusing,” Anthony barked. “However, if you must know, there is affection towards her and I must try and delight her,” Anthony cleared his throat, Benedict snickered. “And I hope she gives me the honour of accepting my hand.” 

He knew that the bomb he had dropped would be enough to shut his siblings. And it was. 

Lady Violet smiled, ignoring her sons and daughter’s remarks. “Are you really planning on proposing?” 

Anthony tried to hide his excitement, and embarrassment, for the matter, he’d never been keen on showing any kind of excitement for any infatuation. Besides, he didn’t believe it himself, how he would dare to propose. “I am not sure where my compliments might take me, however I am not here to talk about my attention and regards to Lady Y/N, we are here to try and persuade any respectable man to bestow any attention to our lovely sister.” 

“However, you shall make sure your infatuation is reciprocated,” Benedict advised. “Be sure the lady will not leave amidst dancing.” 

“I believe it was Anthony  the person who gave me the advice that eventually my heartbreak from Miss Thompson would disappear, and that it would be as if I had never loved her at all.” 

Anthony glared. 

“Yet he is going after the person who broke his heart, did your own precepts fail you?” Colin asked. 

It  was something that did bother Anthony, and that he did fear, he knew y/n to be the most unexpected and inopportune to make her decisions. She often hesitated and reconsidered her thoughts Y/N was very volatile and her emotions would go from extreme affection to utter rage and while it was something he often appreciated, it was something he feared now. He feared the remainder of his heart would be scattered across the place. Anthony would never say out loud how much he feared ballrooms now. Almost as much as he feared bees, but he wouldn’t ever admit it. He knew he was but a fool to fall for y/n, eerie and untamable. He didn’t regret it, however. 

Anthony coughed, “I could’ve never erased my feelings for her.” 

Eloise glared at him and then finally turned to her copy of Lady Whistledown. Anthony rolled his eyes, it was no secret he didn’t like reading Lady Whistledown. He would try and not feed her with anything. He was definitely not a vivid reader. He found her rather vapid, if he were honest. He was never a fan of gossip and avoided it, most of the time. However, since Lady Y/N’s arrival, he could not help but read whatever Lady Whistledown could say of her, just to feed his dislike against her. She spoke of y/n in a way that was most repulsive. Derision seemed to be the only language the woman spoke. 

He did not like the way the pesky Lady Whistledown spoke of y/n, or her history with him, if he was to be honest. Anthony resented that she’d written about his own pride and his heartbreak when there was barely any information he understood himself about it. It was for them to know. 

However, he was rather relieved that Lady Whistledown did not know of the… affairs he’d held with Lady Y/N. Though now guilt was killing him, he did not regret it. He felt alive whenever he was with her, and he didn’t feel alive often.

After the heartbreak, he had decided to lock his heart and never use it again. Though Sienna had managed to almost get it back, his heart had not felt the warmest but until the night before. 

 And though he had promised to never use his heart again, there he was again, with a foolish smile. 

“She is talking about you again,” Eloise pointed out. “And Lady Y/N-” 

Anthony chuckled, “Expected,” he commented. “Now, dear sister, there is no soul here and I must say this is not my fault,” he cleared out. “I have not jostled any suitors from you, I know better.” 

Benedict scoffed, “She jostles them herself, no need for us to.” 

Violet took a deep breath. Anthony smirked as he picked up a cup of tea. 

Eloise turned cold as she finished reading. “She is to be married-” 

“Who is?” Violet grinned. “You? Most certainly-”

“No, mama,” Eloise commented, and then watched Anthony. “Y/N’s hand is promised to Lord Collins.” 

The cup of tea shattered on the floor, though the Bridgertons were not sure if the shattering porcelain had been what they’d heard breaking. Anthony’s face had gone stiff and pale. 

“I beg your pardon?” Was all he managed to ask. 

“It says it here,” Eloise explained. 

Violet snatched the paper from her daughter, “Is she toying with the lack of heart Anthony Bridgerton holds and is she trying to fool everyone just to appeal more to Lord Collins, who according to the ton has her hand promised already?” Read out loud. 

“Did you know about this, mama?” Questioned Collin. 

“I certainly did not,” Violet assured her son, and turned to the eldest who was going through a very familiar feeling. He did not say a thing, he only clenched his jaw and widened his eyes. 

There he was again, transported back to the night when the moon had not made an appearance, and when the poison had flourished from the floor to apprehend him down to his sorrow. He felt as he had been pushed off yet again down a precipice. 

Benedict and Colin only watched him, expecting the very worst. Instead, Anthony only took a deep breath. Anthony despised having his heart broken, and instead decided to be angry, for its a manlier sentiment. He stormed off the room anyway, quietly. 

“Am I supposed to follow after?” Questioned Benedict, and then proceeded to, seeing as his brother rushed down the stairs and off the household. “Anthony!” He broodingly called. 

Anthony pushed his way through, not noticing there were gentlemen going up to see his sister, he was rather too angry to even add more jealousy to his displeasure. 

“Anthony,” Benedict called again. 

Anthony ignored. 

Benedict ran this time to stop his brother, stopping the fuming man as he glared at him. “What?” 

“I believe I should stop you before you do anything stupid, which judging by your look, you’re on your way to do so,” Benedict barked not letting Anthony through. 

Anthony gave him a warning glare, “Let me through.” 

“You’re being an idiot,” Benedict said. 

“You don’t even know what I’m going to do,” Anthony said 

“And that is why I must stop you,” Benedict said. “If I don’t know you any better you’re on your way to kill Lord Collins.” 

Anthony scoffed, he had not thought of that idea but now he found it rather exhorting. “I am on my way to speak to the Lady,” he tried walking through but Benedict stopped him once again. 

“Shall I know what’s going on through your head? Last night you both were  opposed to even being on the same room and then this morning you come with the idea of proposing, I do not even know what is-” 

“I love her,” Anthony snapped. “That is what is going on through my head.” 

“How did you even change your mind-” Benedict paused and then watched his brother. “Did you go and see her?” He asked in a faint whisper. 

Anthony coughed and looked elsewhere, “I did not, I just realized my childish act was but an antic to evade my actual feelings for her.” 

Benedict did not buy it. “Do you really expect me to believe that?” 

“I don’t see a reason why you shouldn’t,” Anthony glowered. 

“You really don’t?” Benedict bristled. “What amuses me is that you try to justify your childish acts and stupidity with love when we are both aware those are but a matter of your personality.” 

“How amusing,” Anthony scowled. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” 

Benedict grabbed him by his arm, “I shall think you know better than to go and throw a tantrum to Miss Y/N. I know you’re capable of fucking up, but this goes beyond your usual behavior.” 

Anthony opened his mouth to defend himself but knew he couldn’t actually contradict him. “I do not plan on throwing a tantrum, I will only recover the flowers I sent her this morning, I find it improper to try and court an engaged lady.” 

“So you will not fight for her, then?” Benedict queried, astonied. 

Anthony did not know if he could. “Shall you suggest I do?” 

Benedict coughed, “I would think it would be reasonable but… In a civil way, not in an Anthony way.” 

“An Anthony way?” He questioned. “I beg your pardon?” 

“Since her arrival your stupidity has escalated in immeasurable ways, I certainly am very impressed because I did not believe that to be possible and yet you are here,” Benedict cackled. 

Anthony glared. 

“Look,” Benedict sighed. “We could give this more thoughts, and see the best way we can proceed with this, however, today we shall get our lovely sister to the park, she needs to be seen,” he reminded him. “You can be stupid later.” 

He would, Anthony knew. He was the most illogical human being when it came to Lady Y/N, and he did not know how to proceed. He was lying, he actually had planned on throwing a tantrum to her, for he was not yet to be fooled again and let there standing like a complete idiot. 

And a complete idiot you were too, you were the one in need to throw a tantrum, for you did not want to meet Lord Collins and you certainly did not want to be betrothed to him. You were well aware that he was a fair gentleman, and you knew he was one of the most eligible bachelors the ravenous mamas were hunting for, but you did not want anything to do with him. 

You thought of it, the possibility to ruin your reputation, it could be a way to untangle yourself from said arrangement. What if you admitted that you were corrupted? How big of a scandal would it be? 

No, you would not dare to bring Anthony down. Not now that he was being so soft to you, and that was not Anthony in the slightest. Though it did surprise you he had not yet stormed into the room like the complete idiot he was. 

Had he… read it? 

You knew Anthony better, he probably did not follow the gossip, and if you were lucky he’d think that Lady Whistledown was but inventing things. She was not but if he used any kind of reasonable sense he would know better. But this was Anthony and he used anything but his mind to think, and he would not be reasonable. He never was before and you doubted he’d be now. 

“I cannot marry him,” you said to Lady Danbury, who had been watching you pace around the drawing room for a while now. The flowers Anthony had sent were displayed in the middle of the room. 

You were not sure but you could tell Lady Danbury suspected something, she’d always been observant but the woman’s stare was telling, she could easily see past your sweating hands. 

“I’m afraid I’m not the one to make that decision,” Lady Danbury commented. 

“Shall I write a letter to my father to beg him to not offer my hand?” You asked. “Don’t I have any saying on it? It’s my hand.” 

“I would think you’d need to have another proposal,” The woman explained to you. “However, I am not sure if there will be any more.” 

“There might be,” you mumbled, and continued to rush through the room, as if moving faster would get your thoughts fast, too.  “Can I reject his hand?” You questioned. 

“He will grant you security,” Lady Danbury watched you, “He is a respectable man.” 

“I am well aware he is.” 

But I do not… love him, you thought. 

Yes, the man was respectable, and a very handsome one, but rather cliched. Eager, but the man was rather thoughtless. You knew his conversation was boring, only compliments and questions about the weather, he was very boring. Always agreeing, and what fun was it in someone always agreeing with you. And he liked to talk about the moon and made it seem like the most horrendous and tedious thing to ever be seen, he liked to talk about anything, but not any kind of pleasant conversation. Very tiresome if you must admit, full of banalities. 

Probably you’d have a very insipid life if you were to marry such a bland and hacky man. One that most ladies would want, however. 

Anthony, on the other hand, the brooding and plucky man, always had you on the edge. He was an adventure for you. He was incredibly handsome. Or maybe he wasn’t and it was just your nonsensical sentiments for him blinding you. 

“Lord Collins can offer an idyllic calm life.” 

“I can recognize that,” You admitted, you made your way to the window, a window where you’d talked to Anthony the day before. You took a deep breath, you could see the back house in the garden, a place that you found most intimate now. That was idyllic for you, the taste of his lips, to feel like it’s a June afternoon when it’s a cold December morning only because his smile warned your heart just enough. 

You were sure Lord Collins wouldn’t be able to offer that, and that he would not like to avoid the balls because he loved them, though you despised them. You knew he would not listen to your piano forte, though the melodies you played were very tepid, and telling. 

You knew you’d have to walk through his household, bored every morning and share the most ordinary conversations, leading to a miserable life, only because your hand had been promised to a man who you did not love, but who was adequate. Only because your instability had not been able to accept the proposal of whom your heart held dear. 

You still stared at the cottage where you could see the shadows of your hands. What if you escaped? Forever. Would he escape with you if you dared to ask him? 

“I presume security is the outcome expected from a marriage,” you said. “Love is a bonus, is it not?” 

Lady Danbury yanked her head. “I suppose so.” 

“Is marriage really only but a security arrangement? Or is it merely to satisfy men's lust and appetite.” 

The woman coughed in surprisement, “I would rather not engage on such improper subjects of conversation.” 

“Is it not?” You frowned. “I believe marriage to be only that, to bare children, to relieve men from their sins. Build a legacy.” 

“I believe marriage is also to prospere,” Lady Danbury added. “When a marriage is founded on love then it shall be the most prosperous, not sinful.” 

“Yet here I am, with an offer to a disagreeable partnership,” you barked. “I thought those arrangements to be deemed contemptible.

“Lord Collins is not disagreeable,” Lady Danbury coaxed. 

You sighed, “I guess not, he is a fair man, and most kind,” you admitted. You didn’t want to give in to your fate just yet. Seemed old fashioned, very 18th century. You were assumed to tolerate him, and you knew your father would not choose a beast for a husband for you. However, you did not want to dread this, to be offered tolerance and not love was an atrocious destiny. “I presume he can offer me a calm life.” 

Lady Danbury watched you, “However, Lord Bridgerton might be able to offer such a life, too.” 

You smiled, “He most certainly would not.” 

She raised her eyebrows, “Oh?” 

“No, not calm, Anthony is anything but calm,” you chuckled. “Maybe that is why the life he could offer me would be most enticing.” 

You knew that it would be fun, exciting. And that he would not mind if you woke up early to see the dawn, and he would join you and not expect you to be the most respectable lady, but he’d respect you, if you wanted to be respected that is .  

Lady Danbury only caressed the flower petals and walked to you. You needed to perish the thoughts of love, though. 

 “You’re never one to watch with melancholy,” She pointed out. 

“Oh, I certainly am, gloomy as I can be, and am I expected not to?” You wondered. It was the worst chastise one could have possibly thought for you, to marry a boring man. To marry to tolerate. 

“I guess not,” she admitted. 

You sighed. 

“He is yet to propose,” Lady Dabury remarked with mischief. “I know Lord Collins is respectable enough to want to court you properly.” 

“He wants to court me?” You questioned. 

Lady Danbury smirked. “Yes, though he is aware your hand is promised to him, he is someone who will pursue your love.” 

“My heart belongs to another,” you stated. “He will find it rather impossible to pursue my love.” 

Lady Danbury chuckled, “How impossible?” 

“Only one man has been able to conquer my heart, and his way of doing so was rather eerie and unusual.” 

Lady Danbury smiled. 

“I must ask, do you believe that if I ensure another proposal I might be able to rid myself of such entanglement?” You questioned. “After all, he’s not yet asked for my hand.” 

“Do you think you could ensure it?” 

“Probably already have,” you said. 

“And who may that be?” Lady Danbury asked, not because she did not know but because she wanted you to say it out loud. 

Before you could, a servant announced, “Lord Collins is here.” 

Your heart stopped, your bethrote. And suddenly the perfect morning you had had just hours ago had disappeared. You knew you could not stop the rain from falling but this particular sorrow was not the best way to receive the man who had your hand promised. You would not be able to smile and you would not be able to have any kind of courtesy. 

He walked in, though, the man was clean and proper. Handsome, with flowers. Red roses, freshly cut you could see. You saw one petal fall down as he approached you. How convenient, you thought, for you could find the petal on the floor more interesting. 

It felt cold, and you were unaware why. You’d fancied yourself in love with another man who was not offered your hand. 

“Lady y/n, good morning,” he said. “How radiant you are this morning.” 

You suppressed the urge to roll your eyes, you were never fond of compliments. You also had the urge to run away. You wouldn’t, though it was tempting. He was a respectable gentleman, and respected he should be, no matter the opinions you held of him.  You found him very dull. 

Lady Danbury nudged you lightly, seeing as you had only remained quiet with your eyes wide open and with a wide strained smile. 

“My apologies, I seem to be inattentive this morning,” you answered. “Good Morning, my Lord,” you said. “Thank you for your compliments, and flowers.” 

Lady Danbury watched you with dashing hopes. 

“I was hoping I could tempt you with a promenade on this fine day,” Lord Collins grinned. “I know how fond you are of walking.” 

“How lovely,” you said. 

How dreadful, you thought. You were, though, fond of walking. Gave peace to your mind, and it had helped you those months before, to try and suppress the memory of the eldest Bridgerton. It had most certainly failed you.  

Before you could even think of escaping, you found yourself promenading with Lord Collins, the sunlight was indeed lovely, and there was barely any sign of the storm from the night before. Lady Danbury was following shortly behind. 

Was there any sign of your compromised body? You wondered if they could tell, maybe it was noticeable.

You wondered if Lady Danbury noticed how jaded you were, as you faked to listen to the man talk, and talk, and talk. Whoever told men they were interesting to listen to was clearly deaf or another idiotic man, for who could ever find joy in listening to such banal and brainless individuals. However,  he did not cease his talking. He never listened to you, you’d barely said any words. 

It gave you time to go away to whatever world you could escape to, and you thought about how much Anthony did listen. He did converse with you, and he did listen, mostly, you knew, because he loved to pride himself on being brooding and pensive and quiet. You could say that it was because he was but a fool and not a single thought roamed his mind, but whatever his reasons were, you loved that he would listen, even if it was only to contend and fuss you. 

There was magic in Lord Collins, you had to accept that. The man was so interested in listening to his own thoughts that he did not realize you were not nearly even paying a gram of attention to him. You guessed that if you did end up wedded to this man, the positive outcome was you did not have to try and pretend to be interested, for he would not notice. 

Your mind was trying to find a way to reject him, knowing that Lord Collins was honorable enough to accept your rejection. But how would you reject him? 

Why had it been so easy to reject Anthony, the man you loved, but it came nowhere as easy to reject Lord Collins, a man who you had no sentiment for,  perchance just indifference. And would you even be able to? Your hand was promised, and though you believed Lord Collins to be a fine gentleman, you knew he could show his dark side, every man had one. 

Though you’d met him before, he had claimed to love you. Lord Collins had once said it to you. 

But you didn’t love him, you couldn’t possibly. How could you? After Anthony, no one would ever touch your soul and heart  like he had. Though he was a wrecked mess, he was the man who you decided to hold dear to your heart. 

Perhaps you could admit you were corrupted, and maybe Lord Collins would end the disgraceful engagement that was yet to come. 

Your glance diverted on the park, the trees and the flowers that had bloomed this season, lovely, or so bad Lord Collins pointed out. The other couples trying to court, and their respective chaperones. Vicious mamas in the haunt, some of them sending you the most unwelcoming glares. 

You were walking near the tents, you  saw the Featheringtons’, with their bright colored clothing, you wondered how they could be so deficient in their clothing taste. You did not know what had happened to them, a man was standing nearby and you knew barely anything about their story after Lord Featherington passed. Penelope was your favorite of the Featheringtons, you often believed her to not belong in such a pitiful family. You acquainted them from before, knowing that Prudcence and Philippa often showed their slight infatuation with Anthony. You never blamed them but thought of it rather foolishly.  Though at some point you did find it annoying, how dare them fancy the same man you did, though you were thankful that Anthony saw them as piteous as you did. You wondered if they had continued to try and impress them with their dubious talents, you had nothing against them, honestly, before you’d learned their infatuation you liked them just fine, however after learning they fancied him, you were not as courteous with your regards. 

It was no secret you were a jealous person, but Anthony was, too so it balanced. You always were thankful that Anthony despised dancing, as much as you did. You barely could deny any invitation to dance but at least he did not dance with anyone else. 

You kept your way, and then another tent was seen, the Bridgertons. Displaying the family in their splendour, as they were sitting , with Eloise quite unamused. You knew she’d rather be dead than to face any possible forms of courting. 

Your breath failed you, as the dress felt rather tense. You did not want to see the Bridgertons and you knew Eloise had most definitely already read Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers. She would know, and besides, the man was by your own side. 

Lord Collins, still absorbed in his own conversation, pranced beside you. You tried not to see the family, knowing that they’d end up feeling your stare and Anthony would see you. 

Did he know? 

But your glance could not be stopped, as you then glanced again, and it had been as if it was planned, for his sight was locked with yours. His eyes widened as he watched you. With terror. 

In all honesty, all you wanted to do was to drop and shove Lord Collins out of the way and run to the man who’d compromised you, body and soul, but who you loved nonetheless. 

But he was glaring at you. Or at Lord Collins, or at both. 

You saw him quickly rise to his feet, for he had been plopped on a stool. He didn’t do anything but to stare at you, as if with merely staring he’d be able to get the man away from you. His eyes tried to work as daggers, and they often did, his glance though most adoring to you, was now nothing but frightening. 

You knew Anthony well enough to know he was tormenting with jealousy, and if you knew him well enough, you could tell he was idiotic enough to believe that Lord Collin’s sentiments were reciprocated. 

Anthony was fuming, though you were not sure if it was jealousy, or if he believed to be fooled again. You wished it was only jealousy. 

He was about to walk your way, but you saw Benedict rise to stop him, he failed. 

Anthony was making his way to you even when his family had tried to call for him. He ignored them, he was good at doing that. 

Lord Collins wasn’t even aware of how you had lost your breath and how you had held some type of staring contest with the oldest Bridgerton, whose hands were in fists as he decided to go on a different route instead, Benedict on his heels. You watched him approach the Featheringtons, you saw eagerness in Lady Featherington as she ushered Philippa to join Anthony. 

You scowled, what in the world was the man doing? You believed him to be stupid, but stupid enough to make a Featherington join him in his promenade was rather a most idiotic decision. 

Your eyes were glued to him, unbeknownst to Lord Collins, as Philippa was rather ungraceful as she walked along Anthony. Benedict was also joined by the other sister, Prudence, who also seemed to be happy to be joined by a Bridgerton. You could listen to their absurd giggles from afar. 

Did Lord Bridgerton think the Featheringtons would bring you jealousy? If anything the animosity was for the thought alone that he would think it would bother you. 

But Anthony was walking fast, and poor Philippa could barely keep up with him, you chuckled to yourself, it was amusing to think the poor girl believed she was actually being courted and rather not used as a jealousy device. 

“Collins,” Anthony called as he was close enough, Philippa watched you. “Lady Y/N, how delightful to see you both here.” 

Benedict threw an apologetic stare at you, before yanking his brother’s arm. Prudence gushed after. 

“Lord Bridgerton,” Collins gave him an unfeigned smile, as he was finally restored from his conversation. “Such a fortunate coincidence, ladies, how beautiful you look this morning.” 

You wondered how big of a coincidence it was. 

“Anthony,” you quickly said but then cleared your throat, “My apologies, Lord Bridgerton, how delightful to encounter you,” you said. “Philippa, Prudence,” you smiled at them as they tried to not glare at you. “Lord Bridgerton,” you saw Benedict struggling to keep a calm facade. 

“Forgive me, I shall defer my raptures for another occasion,” Benedict said. “I’m afraid we are promenading with these ladies,,” he tried pulling Anthony back but the man did not move. 

“I am sure you can keep promenading just fine, Benedict,” Anthony warned. “It won’t hurt us to engage in some conversation.” 

“Who would’ve thought we would concur here?” Lady Danbury said from behind as she approached you. “Lords Bridgerton, ladies.” 

“Lady Danbury, may I say you look astonishing,” Anthony said and then directed his glance at you. 

Lady Danbury watched him with suspicion. “I’m flattered,” she said. “I’m pleased to see you gentlemen opportuning this lovely day to parade with these ladies.” 

Philippa grinned, as she kept watching Lord Bridgerton’s face, as if his face had some kind of magnet she had to be glued to. 

You thought of it pathetic, from Anthony of course, as you could see his obvious chagrin. You knew that he was not fond of them, because they were always trying to raise their… talents, if one must call it that way, to find a proper husband. They often failed. 

“It is a lovely day,” Anthony agreed. “Seems to be the proper weather after having to engage on such a turbulent night, the storm was unpleasant.” 

“Was it, my Lord?” You quickly enquired. “I would have believed you were very fond of the rain, and… turbulent storms.” 

Anthony glanced at you, he was disappointed but he knew you did not talk about the rain.  “You are mistaken,” he said severely. “I do not like to fret on the rain when I am not well aware if it will cease. I find uncertainty disturbing.” 

“I believe the rain to be rather bitter,” Philippa intruded. 

You did not even look at her, “I do not,” you said. “I believe we can find beauty in the rain for most dreary that it can be, especially when it offers such a sight.” 

Lord Collins grinned, “I agree with Miss Y/N, the rain is rather soothing.” 

Anthony scoffed, “Of course it is soothing, when you’re aware the sun will eventually dawn.” 

This was not about the rain. But neither the Featheringtons or Lord Collins was aware of that. 

“I believe the rain to be essential,” Lady Danbury interrupted. “We shall enjoy the beauty of it when it starts and when it dares to cease,” she spoke starkly. “However, Lord Bridgerton, I must praise you for the flowers you sent this morning, they were lovely, were they not, Miss Y/N?” 

Lord Collins blinked in surprise. “Flowers?” 

Philippa scowled at you. 

“Lovely, indeed, thank you, Lord Bridgerton for the most exquisite flowers,” you said. 

Anthony ignored your sight. 

“Flowers?” Lord Collins asked again. 

“Yes, I sent Miss Y/N some flowers to thank her for her company last night,” Anthony said with  arrogance, you blushed immediately knowing exactly for what company he was thanking you for. “She joined my family and I for a lovely dinner. Besides I find the lady to be deserving of the most magnificent flowers.” 

Benedict frowned watching between Anthony and you. 

Philippa cleared her throat, “I love flowers,” she commented. 

“How considerate,” Lord Collins said, you could tell he was not fond of Anthony. He was probably aware of Anthony’s proposal, or attempt to propose, and it was no secret that in your past season, Anthony would not leave your side. 

“Yes, her favorite,” Anthony continued, ignoring the lady beside him. 

“Roses?” Lord Collins questioned. 

“I like roses,” Philippa commented. 

“Gardenias,” Anthony snarked with a smirk. “She’s fond of gardenias, are you not, Miss?” 

“I find all flowers delightful, however I do have an attachment for gardenias,” you admitted. “Thank you, Lord Bridgerton for remembering.” 

He wanted to scoff, he cleared his throat instead. “My pleasure,” he said. “ I must admit the true reason for me to approach you,” Anthony slurred his words with poison. “I recently became acquainted with the news, so I am here to congratulate the two of you, I heard about your engagement.” 

He knew, then. 

Benedict squeezed his eyes shut, he seemed tired of his brother. 

You blinked with fake surprise, “Engagement? Oh, we are but promenading, I was not aware walking led to a betrothal. Shall I assume you and lovely Philippa are to be married as well?” You asked with a smug smirk, knowing he’d be bothered. 

He was, Anthony glared at you. He knew you were faking ignorance. 

Lord Collins huffed, “You flatter me, Bridgerton, thinking I am already to be married to this beautiful lady, however, I know better than to assume the Lady will marry me without a proper proposal.” 

“I think I’d be aware if I was to be married,” you hissed. 

“Absolutely, you would be aware, how could you not?” Anthony raised his eyebrow.

Benedict watched, “Seems that this is the first time the lady hears of the news.” 

“It happens to be the first time,” you lied. 

“How convenient,” Anthony said with gritted teeth.  “Well, I am not to engage in gossip, however-” 

“Lady Whistledown announced it,” Philippa commented 

“Yes,” Anthony confirmed. “The ton happened to be loud enough for your engagement to be announced on Lady Whistledown’s society papers.” 

“Well, if we were to believe everything she writes then I’d be worried if I were you,” You claimed watching Anthony. “She seems to not be fond of you, my Lord. Are you suggesting we shall believe everything she writes?” 

Anthony clenched his jaw. 

“The Lady’s right,” Lord Collins said. 

Anthony cackled, “Excellent news then,” Anthony said. “I offer my apologies to you, both.” 

Lord Collins watched him with disdain.

“Is your hand not promised, then?” Asked Prudence, finally making an appearance behind Benedict. 

Everyone turned to her, but Anthony directed the most special glare at her. No one dared to say a thing. 

“Fair question,” Anthony intruded. 

“And one that is too bold to be enquired,” Lady Danbury stepped in. “I advice you young Lady not to meddle in Miss Y/N’s business, and rather take care of your own matters.” 

“The Lady shall decide if she concedes me the honor to take her hand,” Lord Collins answered. 

Anthony chuckled, “I shall wish you good fortunes.” 

You took a deep breath. 

Benedict cleared his throat, “I believe we shall continue our stroll.” 

Anthony did not move. 

“Excellent idea,” You conceded. “We shall not waste the lovely weather, a promenade is most invigorating.”  

“Shall I suggest walking and talking, then?” Offered Anthony. “I think the activities are not exclusive.” 

You closed your eyes, you did not want to continue engaging in the conversation. 

“How amusing you’re suggesting that, Lord Bridgerton,” You poisoned. “Here I would have assumed you’d rather have some solitary time with ravishing Miss Featherington here,” you derided. 

Philippa grinned. 

He raised his eyebrows, he was trying to tell if you were jealous. You were not, if anything you were amused of the entanglement he’d dragged himself into with his attempt of bothering you.  

“Are you not finding this conversation pleasing?” Anthony questioned you. “I would have believed you to be more fond of conversing.” 

You chuckled, “I rather be taciturn and quiet.” 

“I find that hard to believe,” he smirked. “Shall we?” He started to walk. You directed a glare at his younger brother who only sighed. 

Lord Collins raised his brow, “The Lady is quiet, I do not know why you’d find that hard to believe.” 

Anthony laughed somberly,  “You seem to be puzzled, Collins,” Anthony remarked. “Miss y/l/n is never quiet, unless she is engaged in other kinds of activities.” 

He was being an arse. 

“Other activities?” Philippa questioned. 

“Lord Bridgerton is speculating,” You cleared up. “I assume he is suggesting I’m quiet when I play the pianoforte, or embroider.” 

“Absolutely,” Anthony grinned. “However, I’ve been acquainted with you my whole life and I must remark you’re a woman who finds interest in chatter.” 

He was mocking you. 

“Not when I find it impertinent,” you sassed. 

Lord Collins smiled, “A talented and accomplished woman.” 

Anthony raised his brow, watching him. He was hurt, but he then proceeded to watch you as if asking you if you were serious with this. 

 You tried to look away, you could not believe how big of an arse he was and you could not believe his stupidity. Had he suggested you were aware of the engagement? And would he do anything about it or just keep being an arse? If he rushed his proposal he might be able to free you, however you knew Anthony to be an idiot. And you knew the man to be su full of his pride, that he would possibly try to be the biggest idiot he could before making any reasonable statements. You were in the need to have a word with him. 

Lord Collins started talking again, Philippa listened this time. Eagerly. Seemed like the pair was rather absorbed in their own conversation for your own fortune. Behind, Benedict was trying to not die of awkwardness as Prudence and him were not even trying to engage in small talk. Not even about the weather. 

Anthony was only peeping at you every now and then, brows furrowed. You slowed your pace, letting Lord Collins be wrapped in his words enough to not notice you’d fallen behind with Anthony. 

“I suppose it is unworthy to try and explain I was oblivious to it,” you whispered. 

Anthony shrugged, “You must understand why said statement is hard to believe,” he growled.

“It is honest,” you said. 

“I’ve always known how fond you are of keeping secrets,” he barked. “Forgive my hesitation, but my doubts are not unwarranted.” 

You glared. “Your behavior is.” 

He grinned, “Fine, then I shall withdraw, I do not wish to vex your pleasant morning,” he said. 

“Anthony,” you bellowed. 

“I must excuse myself,” Anthony announced loudly for Lord Collins to turn around, it seemed Lord Collins only listened when it was another man speaking. “I need to disengage from this pleasant promenade.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

“Lord Collins, always a pleasure, I hope we can meet again soon, perchance at the ball this weekend, however I shall not retire without giving you fair advice over Lady Y/N, be careful, for her hand and heart always seem to belong to someone else,” he hissed. “Excuse me,” he then said softly and smiled at Lady Danbury cynically before storming off, leaving everyone in shock. 

Benedict closed his eyes with strain as he was left with the two Featheringtons now at his care. 

“I despise my brother,” he declared. 

You only clenched your jaw, you agreed, you despised him, too. 

next part

ext part (coming soon) feedback is appreciated!

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[dontcare77ghj]

Guilt

Steve x reader x Bucky x Peggy

Your relationship with Bucky, Steve and Peggy was the worst kept secret of the war.

Everyone knew, even though you all believed them to be clueless to your love.

It was not difficult for people to find out. Many had witnessed the softer moments of your relationship. They walked in on innocent embraces, passionate kisses, and moments of weakness they only saw when the four of you were together. 

Though, it was not to be said some people had not walked in on much more private, intimate, moments.

In 1945 those around Peggy, Bucky, and Steve watched the three retreat into their relationship after Y/N L/N fell from a train. Peggy herself had not been on the mission, but she had to watch her boys suffer in their grief. Bucky and Steve, unfortunately, had been on the operation, and they blamed themselves for Y/N plummeting from the train. 

It was less than two months later when Steve and Bucky crashed the Valkyrie into the ocean.

Peggy threw herself into her work. She was a strong woman. Peggy refused to allow herself to give in to her grief.

It was not even a month later before Howard approached Peggy with a proposition. He offered to inject Peggy with the same serum he'd used on Bucky and Steve.

Peggy said yes, not giving it a second thought.

It turns out being injected with the serum came with consequences. It was 2012, and Peggy had not aged since 1945.

There were many positives to Peggy's immortality. Peggy had helped build S.H.I.E.LD. up and had become godmother to Howard and Maria's son.

Peggy had also been alive when Howard and Maria were murdered, leaving her godson orphaned. 

In 2012 Peggy felt the wear of being alive for so long begin to take its toll. She was in charge of SHIELD and trying to ensure her godson did not do anything too stupid. 

She had been alone for so long, never having anyone to truly confide in as she had with her three lovers.

Until 2012. When Peggy learned that they found Steve and Bucky. And not their corpses, but their living, breathing, bodies. She had two out of her three lovers back.

The three were happy. Steve, Bucky, and Peggy been reunited after so many years, given a second chance, but they were still mourning for the loss of Y/N. Peggy had years to mourn the deaths of all her lovers, yet she never moved on. Steve and Bucky had been frozen only two months into their grieving process.

In 2014, it was suddenly revealed to the public, as well as the three, Y/N L/N was not dead. And had never been.

It had been a torturous process, finding Y/N and breaking her out of her brainwashing. It felt like years since they started the process of helping her regain her memories and who she once was.

There were many days that it almost hurt too much to watch Y/N suffer as they attempted to help her. But, knowing she was suffering worse than they were was enough for them to stay. To help Y/N become who she really was.

And they did. The four did it together because that's all these individuals really had. The four had each other. The four were finally openly together, and everything seemed perfect. Everything was perfect except for the guilt they all carried.

Steve felt the most out of the four of you. When he was smaller, during the war and after, he felt more. He felt more strongly than all of you. 

When you had fallen off the train, Steve took the blame. Though Bucky had been on the train with you both, Steve was the one to lose grip on your hand. He was the one who was not able to pull you back up, he was the one who failed to save you.

And not just from death. He was unable to save you from the trauma you were forced to live through for seven decades.

You knew how Steve felt. You loved him too much to not notice he was drowning in his guilt every time he looked at you.

And you were not the only one to notice. Bucky had, so had Peggy.

It had been a year since you fought your way out of your head and HYDRA's brainwashing, you felt you were stronger for it, but Steve still treated you as if you were a porcelain doll.

"Here, doll," Steve said, handing you a cup of tea. 

"What's this for?" You smiled, kissing his cheek in thanks.

"Just 'cos." He shrugged. "Do you need me to do anything for you?" He asked you, taking a seat next to you on the bed.

"No, Stevie. I'm fine." You smiled, curling into his side. 

"Are you sure? You don't want me to grab you anything? Make something to eat?" 

"Steve, I'm not an invalid." You said, pointedly. Your mechanic arm had malfunctioned last week, and as a result, you'd had to send it back to Shuri for repairs. She wasn't sure why it acted out as it did, she wanted to be sure nothing would happen again.

So, for the foreseeable future, you would be working with one arm. You were managing very well and living life as you usually would, but Steve had been especially attentive. Especially suffocating.

You and Steve were watching a movie while Peg and Bucky were out for the day. It was when you moved to place your cup on the bedside you let out a hiss.

"Y/N? Are you okay, doll?" Steve questioned you rapidly.

"I'm okay, Steve." You assured him, rubbing your shoulder. "My shoulder is just really sore." You said, groaning as you moved wrongly.

"Take your shirt off," Steve told you, shifting on the bed. Not saying a word you did as he asked, well demanded, and pulled your shirt off. Steve gently pushed you onto your front and straddled your lower back.

Steve gently began to massage the area, causing you to let out a breathy sigh.

"I'm sorry." Steve breathed after several minutes. "I'm so sorry."

"What for, Stevie?" You questioned him, quite confused.

"I'm the reason you fell. If I had just held on, you wouldn't have been tortured for all those years. You would still have both your arms." He said, hands stilling as he spoke.

"Steve, I don't blame you for any of that." You told him, crawling out from under him.

"You should," Steve muttered, not meeting your eyes.

"I don't." You said firmly. "The train was not your fault. I fell, anyone could have. And you can't blame yourself for anything HYDRA did to me." 

"But I could have saved you," Steve said, looking at you sadly.

"It's not your job." You assured him. "And I don't want you torturing yourself over things you couldn't control. You're not allowed to feel guilty for this. I won't let you."

"I don't think you can just tell me what to feel." Steve managed a laugh.

"Watch me." You smiled, taking his hand. "Steve, I'm fine. I'm okay, and I'm going to be okay for a long time. Okay?"

"Okay." He finally smiled.

Non-reader POV

Peggy did not feel as much as Steve did. Steve felt every emotion and let them take control of his entire being. But Peggy rarely allowed her feelings to take control of herself. Especially the negative ones.

During the seventy years Peggy had been alone, Peggy had spent her time building SHIELD up into the organization it was today. Peggy had focused her grief into attempting to destroy HYDRA.  It was because of HYDRA she had lost the three people she loved. 

After finding out the three of you were still alive, Peggy backed away from SHIELD to watch over the three of you. She entrusted SHIELD into Fury and his team's hands. 

And then SHIELD fell. It fell into HYDRA's disgusting hands.

Everything Peggy had worked for, for seventy years, had all been for naught. With the fall of SHIELD, any real SHIELD agents had to run. Identities were changed, safe houses were at maximum capacity, and lives were broken.

Peggy, Steve, Y/N, and Bucky had all had to run. HYDRA was coming, and Peggy refused to allow them to touch anything else she held dear. Again.

The four had a home of their own that could not be traced back to any of them. They had kept the place clean, furnished, stocked with enough food, and drink to survive the end of the world, but they rarely had time to stay.

It had been a week since the four had arrived at their home. Peggy had enjoyed their slip into domesticity, they all had, but she was still punishing herself.

"Who's winning?" Bucky asked, appearing behind Peggy. Peggy was standing at the window watching as Steve, and Y/N playfully spared in the fro\nt yard. 

"Neither. Y/N's pulling her punches, and Steve's trying to let Y/N win." Peggy hummed as Bucky wrapped his arms around her waist. 

"What's going on in that beautiful head of yours?" Bucky questioned Peggy, punctuating the question with a kiss to her temple. "What are you thinking about?"

"SHIELD." Peggy sighed, not willing to lie to the man.

"Doll." Bucky sighed.

"I know, I know, I shouldn't make myself sick over this, but I can't help it," Peggy said, leaning back in his hold.

"Peg, what happened to SHIELD was not your fault," Bucky told her. "SHIELD was my responsibility. For seventy years, I was in charge, I leave for a couple years, and the whole thing falls apart. If I had been around, I could have prevented everything." Peggy argued.

"Peg, I don't know if you want to hear this, but SHIELD's been rotting for a long time. You couldn't notice because HYDRA are sneaky bastards, and it's their job." Bucky reasoned with the woman.

"I should have known," Peggy complained. "I dedicated seventy years to SHIELD, how did I not see it was crumbling right under my feet?"

"Because HYDRA is good at that," Bucky told her. "We know better than anyone what they're capable of. We know what they do, and we know how good they are at it."

"I keep thinking if maybe I hadn't backed so far off, if maybe I had kept an eye on SHIELD, I could have seen what was coming and stopped it."

"So, you're saying if you could go back to when you made the decision to back away, you'd stay?" Bucky asked her.

"No. No, I wouldn't be able to do that." Peggy shook her head. "I love you three too much to distance myself from you."

"You can't go back, Peg. What's happened has happened. The only way to go now is forward." 

"Maybe you should start writing Steve's speeches." Peggy giggled, causing the man to also laugh.

"Better?" Bucky asked her.

"Much." Peggy smiled, leaning up to kiss the man. "Let's bring those two in." She suggested.

Bucky had a firm grip on his emotions. Always had. Back in the forties, Buck was the one always looking after everyone. He took care of Steve, who was forever sick, made Peggy take a day off every now and then, and he would always be the one to comfort Y/N after dealing with her mother.

Bucky was a caretaker. He didn't focus on his own emotions as much as he did with those around them.

"New phones for all." Tony declared, passing out a box filled with new Stark phones.

"Very nice, Stark." Y/N commented, taking one of the phones and passing the box down.

"I aim to please." Tony smiled, making himself a drink. "It's top of the line, not available to the public, and only for this team. It's got all the best features, and even better, it's got a holographic projector."

"Why do you need a projector?" Bucky asked, fiddling with the phone.

"No-one needs a projector. It's just a perk." Tony shrugged. 

Hours later, Bucky was seated in the bedroom the four of you shared when staying at the tower. He was sat on the bed, staring at Stark's new phone.

The once glimmering, brand new item now had several deep cracks, and he couldn't get it to turn on anymore.

Bucky attempted to press the button one more time, and when it didn't turn on again, he threw the phone at a wall just as Steve entered.

"Buck! It's just me!" Steve yelped, jumping away from the shattered phone.

"Shit. I'm sorry, I didn't see you coming in." Bucky sighed, resting his head in his hands.

"Buck, you just got this a couple hours ago," Steve said, examining the remains of the phone.

"Yeah, and it was fucking broken or something." The brunette grumbled.

"Did you tell Tony?" Steve asked, picking up the pieces and putting them on the bedside.

"No, I didn't. The phone was broken when I got it, I swear." Bucky said, looking up. "It's okay, I'll just use my old one. I know how to use that one, at least."

"Tony's phone isn't that hard to use. He had to show me how to use the projector feature, but it's pretty simple to use otherwise." Steve shrugged

"Of course, it's fucking simple for you." Bucky snapped. "Everything's always so simple for you and everyone around me."

"Buck, I didn't mean to make you feel bad. I'm sorry." Steve said, going to leave the room.

"Wait, no, Steve, I'm so sorry." Bucky apologized, jumping to his feet. "I didn't mean that. I didn't mean to say that."

"Want to tell me where that came from?" Steve questioned him, turning around and folding his arms across his chest. "How long have you been bottling that up?"

"Too long." Bucky sighed, sitting back on the bed.

"What's going on, Buck? None of us have seen you in hours, and you've been in a mood since Tony gave you the phone." Steve said, taking a seat next to the man.

"I can't catch up. You and Y/N and Peg, you're all catching up so quickly. I get Peg, she was able to evolve with it. Hell, I even understand how Y/N can keep up. But I just get so jealous when I can't keep up, and you can." Bucky admitted, cheeks burning red as he refused to look at him. "I feel like I'm still stuck in the forties, Steve."

"Oh, Buck." Steve cooed, shifting closer to the man and grasping his hand tightly. 

"I'm sorry, Steve. I'm sorry I'm acting like this." Bucky apologized. "I shouldn't be jealous that everyone's acclimating, but I am, and I hate it."

"Buck, it's nothing to be ashamed about. We lost seventy years of our lives, and we never spoke to anyone. We never addressed it. You're allowed to be slow with modern advances, and it's nothing for you to feel bad about." Steve soothed, pushing hair from Bucky's face.

"Are you sure?" Bucky asked meekly.

"Positive." Steve smiled. "And I promise I'm going to help you. It'll be discreet, and no one will have to know if that's what you want."

"I'd like that Stevie." Bucky leaned over to kiss the man. "Thank you."

"Of course, James." Steve smiled. "But there is one thing you're going to have to do on your own."

"What's that?"

"You're going to have to tell Tony you broke your phone."

Reader POV

In the forties, you had been the most carefree. Never really caring what anyone said, apart from the comments your mother spewed, you didn't care what people thought. 

You wore pants before it was accepted, proudly held hands with any of your partners, and you gladly got into fistfights in alleys with Steve.

You never felt bad when people would complain about how unladylike you were. You would never feel guilty when your mother would cry about how you would never give her grandchildren because you weren't going to attract any men if you wore pants. 

You liked who you were, and each of your partners enjoyed how carefree you were.

After breaking free from your mind control, this was no longer the case. You weren't as carefree as you once were. Emotions ruled you, especially guilt. 

Guilt over everything you'd ever been forced to do while under HYDRA's control.

Therapy had been a help. The therapist Tony recommended had helped you see it wasn't your fault what had happened. The therapy had brought back some of your carefreeness, and you were starting to remember who you used to be.

You had been warned from the beginning that it wouldn’t just be good days. There would always be bad days, it was just the therapists hope that they would soon lessen.

She was right, they did lessen. The time periods between the bad days grew and could be months apart from each other, but they still came back.

Today was a bad day.

As soon as you awoke, you knew it wasn’t going to be easy today. Everything felt heavy. Everything hurt. Even though it was a warm summer day, you found yourself donning a long sleeve shirt and usual glove.

You couldn’t stand the sight of your arm that day.

“Darling, you’re going to give yourself heatstroke. At least take the gloves off.” Peggy said.

“No, it’s okay. I’m not that hot.” You denied, pulling your sleeves further down as you grabbed a Coke.

“Darling you’re sweating.” Peggy pointed out. “Y/N, do we need to call Yasmin? Do you need another session?”

“No. I don’t need another session.” You said quickly. “I’m fine, Peg.”

“I thought we agreed you weren’t going to lie about the bad days, Y/N.” Peggy said, moving behind you. “We’re here to help you.”

“Well you shouldn't be.” You snapped, spinning around. “You’re all wasting your time on me when you could all be doing better things.”

“Y/N, darling, that’s simply not true.” Peggy said, moving closer. “We’re not wasting time on you. We love you.”

“You love a murderer. A disgrace of a human being.” You scoffed, eyes stinging as you looked away.

“You did not kill anyone. HYDRA is responsible for those deaths, not you.” Peggy forcefully told you. “Y/N, we are not wasting time. We love you. We have loved you for seventy years and no matter what has happened to you, we are not running. We’re in this ‘til the end of the line.” Peggy said, stepping forward and grabbing your hands in hers.

“I’ve killed people, Peggy.” You whimpered. “I’ve killed a lot of people.”

“It wasn’t you, darling.” Peggy shushed you, squeezing your flesh hand as she took off the glove on your metal hand. “And we’re not scared of you. You don’t need to carry all this on your own anymore.”

Peggy took another step forward and pulled you into her arms. As her arms wrapped around your body, your knees gave out and you had to hold onto the Brit for strength. 

“Do you want me to call Yasmin?” She asked you again.

“No.” You shook your head. “I just want you and our boys.”

“Okay.” Peggy whispered, pressing a kiss to your crown. “How about you head back to bed, think about changing, and I’ll get them from the training room?”

“Okay.” You nodded. “I love you, Peg.” You murmured, quickly kissing her cheek before walking back to the bedroom.

Guilt was an easy emotion. Everyone felt it, but not everyone got over it. It was a good thing the four of you had each other.

The four of you were the worst kept secret of the war, Avengers, family and each others. And only one of those titles really mattered.

Taglist

@rvgrsbrns @smilexcaptainx @hopingforbarnes @starlingelliot @piper-koko-barnes-rogers @jelly-fishy-babie @skeletoresinthebasement @agent-barnes40 @reann-loves-sebstan @skadikh @summergeezburr

[tiaragqueen]

Au Revoir

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Kirishima Eijirou x Reader

✂ Word Count: 1,8k+

✂ Trigger Warnings: Possessiveness, strangulation, implied stalking

[Edited]

***

A sequel to this that nobody asked but I did, anyway. Probably more dramatic than the first one. Quarantine really set off my hidden drama queen side.

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“Let this be a sermon, I mean everything I've said. Baby, I'm determined, and I'd rather see you dead. You better run for your life if you can, little girl.” - Run For Your Life [The Beatles]

Kirishima didn’t think he could love someone as much as he did to you. Sure, he was fond of his ex. There were times when he gazed through the window and wondered if she missed him the same way he longed for her presence if his death left an empty spot in her heart that just seemed impossible to replace by anyone else. But time had slowly altered the nature of his romantic feelings into something more… subtle. Mild. Bearable.

Ever since you came to the picture, Mina had eventually blended into the background. Someone who he occasionally reminisced, but never thought about much.

Was this what ‘moving on’ felt like? It sounded so… cruel. Like he was trying to forget her, but he didn’t. He wasn’t that heartless, he swore! He cherished every memory with her and sometimes wondered if things could’ve gone differently.

But people come and go, don’t they? Nobody lived forever, and if his ex had found a much better life, why shouldn’t he? There was nothing wrong with being happy with a new person, right? If Mina came here and brought her new boyfriend, Kirishima was certain he’d congratulate her. It’d hurt, sure, even the idea still sent a dull ache that throbbed his inert chest. But, at least, it was better than seeing her grieved face.

She deserved all happiness in this world. Though, he couldn’t help but wonder if he was just making excuses for his feelings. That he wasn’t actually moving on, more like, rebounding.

Still, nobody could blame him. He’d been lonely for so long, constantly praying and regretting the past. It was time for him to find happiness, and the Gods just so happened to bless him with a new friend. A beautiful, kind young woman that he never got tired of watching even in her slumber.

Again, nobody could blame him for wanting to grasp that blessing forever, right? He was sure that your existence was actually a fruit of his sufferings.

However, you seemed to think otherwise.

“I’m gonna house-sit to my friend’s house tomorrow.”

Kirishima paused, his hand hovered over the clean plate that he’d been helping you to put away. It took much of his stamina to maintain a corporeal appearance, so he settled with his normal transparent figure. So if anyone were to see you, they would’ve thought that you were talking to yourself. The sheer insanity didn’t bother you, though. As long as he minded your boundaries, you could care less if you looked like a madwoman.

Unbeknownst to you, he’d long overstepped the lines. Not that you would’ve known.

“… Why?” The voice echoed in the quiet kitchen, hanging heavily the same way he clung to your presence as if it was his lifeline.

You shrugged. “Why not? She pays me, so I don’t see any reason why I should reject the offer.”

“But I thought…” He nearly choked on his saliva once he discerned your definite tone. “[Name]-chan, you’re not serious, are you? You’re just joking, right? Tell me you are, please.”

You raised a brow, silently questioning his growing desperation. Throughout the weeks you’d come to know him, Kirishima was an affable individual who was hell-bent on assisting even when you insisted otherwise. You didn’t know the full story of how he became a ghost in the first place; he looked uncomfortable when you asked about his past life, so you promised to never bring it up again. But you did know that he’d been living in this humble, suburban house for a long time. Alone. Trapped. Isolated.

So, as confusing as his distress might seem, you understood that he was lonely. For all you knew, you might be his first friend in so many years.

“No, of course not.” But your job only paid so much. There were things that you had to fix, and your savings were thinning in each day. Thus, the extra cent became something that you very much needed. You were lucky that you purchased the house at a low price, otherwise, you would’ve been sleeping on the street by now.

You chose to overlook its vague description when you asked the seller about why the place was abandoned, and how she looked mildly restless at the question.

The plate almost fell from your hands when he suddenly clutched the sleeves of your shirt. You couldn’t see his face, but you were certain that he was pleading at you.

“No, please, don’t go. Don’t leave me alone.” he sobbed, gripping the cloth as though you’d disappear from his sight if he didn’t. “I’ll do anything for you. Just please, don’t abandon me.”

“What? No, I won’t abandon you. Don’t be ridiculous.” You bit your tongue once you heard his soft whimper. “I-I mean, you’re my friend and this is my house. So there’s no way I’d move out just like that.”

“How would I know?” he asked. “How would I know that you wouldn’t change your mind and choose to live in there instead? How would I know that you still want to be with me?”

“Because, as I said, you’re my friend.” You crouched in front of him and patted what you thought was his head. You hoped it was his head. “And friends don’t abandon each other.”

Kirishima examined your face; all the freckles, acne, and tiny scars that adorned your mesmerizing features. All the sparks that brightened your eyes the same way the stars lit up the universe. You were being earnest, he realized it that much. The way you correctly stroked his hair, the way you looked into his bloodshot eyes so tenderly (almost like a lover would), the way you lowered your tone to a soothing whisper, and the way you smiled to appease his raging anxieties. There wasn’t any trace of insincerity in there, and that was why it hurt.

It hurt because he no longer wanted to be your friend. He didn’t want to be just a housemate to you. He wanted to be something more. Someone special. Someone who you’d remember fondly on your deathbed. Someone who would walk with you through all the events – big or small, important or not, it didn’t matter – despite the knowledge that you couldn’t marry him.

But you didn’t know it, did you? And if he told you someday, would you listen? Would you accept his offer for eternal friendship? Would you accept his dogged devotion towards you?

Would you care to know?

You patted his head for one last time and retired to your room, but he couldn’t hear it. He merely stood by the dishwasher, looking at nothing in particular. He didn’t want to entertain the thought of you going to some stranger’s house tomorrow. He didn’t want to imagine what would you do in there, while he waited for your return like a faithful dog. But it almost felt as if the idea was as inevitable as time itself, and nothing he did could change that.

Surely, there must be a way, right? You’d get angry for sure, but you’d understand his reason. You had to. He refused to think otherwise.

***

That was odd. Kirishima usually appeared the second you hollered his name, sometimes even when you barely opened your mouth. But today, he didn’t heed your summon. Perhaps, he was still sulking about yesterday? At the very least, he could’ve come to bid you farewell, right?

Whatever. If he didn’t want to see you, then you wouldn’t force him. And whether or not he wanted you to go, you’d still go nonetheless. The money wouldn’t wait for him to relent to your wishes.

Climbing into your car, you pulled the door shut and turned on the engine. Or tried to, because it refused to turn on for some unknown reasons. You tried again and again, but the engine remained immobile. How strange, you could’ve sworn that it was fine yesterday. Why was it any different now? Did someone mess with your car without your knowledge? You hadn’t spotted anyone suspicious, though.

You clicked your tongue and hit the steer wheel in frustration, resting your head against the headrest. The day hadn’t even started, and yet, you already felt like blowing off some steam. Your tired eyes glided towards the glove compartment, where a piece of paper stuck out inconspicuously. Curious, you undid the compartment and snatched the folded paper. You tentatively opened it and peeked inside, mentally chiding yourself for anticipating the worst. It could be a useless brochure that you’d accidentally brought, for all you knew. There was no reason to get suspicious, right?

Mine forever.

Frowning, you reread it and attempted to comprehend the hidden meaning. Aside from the scrawl, you couldn’t discover anything that might lead you to the sender. A secret admirer, perhaps? If they did, they sure were quite… aggressive. But why would anyone send you this? Who would admire you so much to the point where they broke into your car? You couldn’t think of anyone that had a crush on you, or maybe it was just you being oblivious to your surroundings. The constant pressure from work helped to dull your perception of special sentiments.

Well, you had no time to further inspect the awfully cryptic message. Time kept ticking, after all.

Shaking your head, you put the letter back to the compartment and locked it. You glanced at the rearview mirror to check your makeup, and that’s where you saw it. A shadow sat ominously on the back seats, its crimson eyes glaring daggers to your head. But it wasn’t the abrupt presence that shocked you, rather, the identity of the said shadow.

“Mine forever.”

A pair of hands slithered from behind you and clutched your neck. You tensed up almost immediately and gasped for air, trying to claw the transparent hands away but scratched your skin instead. You could still discern half of his face through the mirror, lacking any cheerfulness that you’d come to associate with him. Years of solitude had molded him into a desperate man, hell-bent on clutching the only light left in his dark and empty life.

But you didn’t expect him to actually murder you.

“Kiri… shima…” you heaved, desperate to knock some sense into his head yet incapable of doing that. It felt as if a part of his shadow had clogged your nose, too. How long would it take until it successfully closed your respiration?

“I’m sorry, [Name].” You heard him whisper in your ears. He felt so close, yet so far. Specks of darkness slowly filled your sight as you struggled to breathe for the last time. Was this how you were going to end? How disappointing it was to perish at the hands of a man you used to trust. Maybe this was the punishment for not listening to your guts. Maybe this was the punishment for heeding security more than your life.

Maybe this was the punishment for giving him false hope with your friendship. But how would you know?

“… I'll see you soon.”

You finally went limp.

[skelffricat]

Good grief, Charlie Brown.

I’ve never owned an electric toothbrush. I’ve never had a dishwasher. I am the dishwasher. I like washing dishes. I never bought an iron. I don’t have a hairdryer. I find it strange that I get advertised these reusable alternatives for things that I never use anyway. Alternatives to cling film. I put another plate over the dish. Alternatives to cotton buds. I use my finger. (Ew, you may say, but surely a finger’s that size to fit in ears and nostrils? Or whatever orifice you please. Wash your hawnds.) Alternatives to cotton wool circles. What? I dont know why these thoughts have come into my head, when I want to write about my youngest child. Really, I’m meant to be working, but an annoying email from my dead daughter’s school sent me down a suicide rabbithole. Perhaps those other thoughts come about as my classic brain avoidance schemes. Like when you hoover instead of doing an essay. Positive procrastination, I used to call it. I wanted to visit some friends last night- a fun thing! but I was feeling all solitary and awkward. I cleaned the bathroom ceiling at first, instead! I had to really talk myself into going to see them. I was looking at my bed and it was saying, “Get into me! and read your book!”

Then I went, and I had a lovely time, of course. I still finished the book I was reading, when I got home at midnight, until three am, making myself ever so tired. I’ve stopped taking the tablets- beta blockers and mirtazapine (more by accident rather than design. They’re still up in the chemist waiting for me. I’m rather disorganised) and so sleep doesn’t come as readily. I have to take deep breaths for ages sometimes, to get over. And I awake in the night hearing things that aren’t there. I heard The Woodcarver calling me, one night, plain and loud as day. Another time, I heard my son knocking my door three times, sharply (or was it a burglar? I said that to someone and they laughed. Burglars don’t knock! Oh, hello there, wake up, I’m robbing you blind!) Bounced out of bed. Heart hammering. Called him. He was fast asleep. Was it her ghost? I don’t believe in ghosts, really. Kind of wish I did. She’d be a mischievous one, no doubt. Is it always 5:57am, when I awake? The same time. Time to find your dead child. 

I’m often in the house alone, now. They didn’t want to leave me alone, and there were so many people in the house, for ages. Then all of a sudden, it stopped. And I changed lovers... I changed to the one I’d been in love with for over a year, the one who seemed too young, the one who wasn’t interested. Suddenly he was interested. Well. It wasn’t sudden. It took a few weeks. Seven weeks? The seven week itch? It coincided with when the Scottish lover asked me to stop letting other people come to the house. He wanted me to himself. Which is kind of fair enough, though I knew it wouldn’t last anyway. (People coming to my house, I mean, not the relationship. I really enjoyed having a relationship with him. He is very sweet, funny, intelligent, and kind. The sex was great. He can cook wonderful food and play guitar well. I liked to sing with him. I am ashamed to say I was bothered by his being smaller than me, though. His face tended to itch me, too- he never quite grew a beard long enough to stop that. As he kept shaving it off, not because he couldn’t. That was the first time he kind of annoyed me, though.)

Lockdown doesn’t help, of course. We were all breaking rules in our grief. Covid is cancelled, my mother said. Masks off. Hugs all round. A friend told me you need extra oxytocin when you’re grieving. I was getting plenty of it. Good grief... 

Now I am frequently alone, and as my new lover is very busy studying (or perhaps less interested in me again now that he has my attention back? Though his reticence in getting with me stemmed from his concerns about the uneven nature of our interest in each other...) I haven’t seen him all week. I feel myself becoming depressed, and withdrawn, and paranoid, yet I still don't feel particularly sad about my daughter’s death. Which is strange. Isn’t it? Here is the email I received from her school this morning (it had her name and class at the top of the email): 

“Good morning

I hope this email finds you all well.

A number of years ago I signed the college up to the campaign against period poverty. I receive and distribute sanitary products to girls, primarily on free school meals, but any who are in need of the products and either can’t afford them or it is difficult to get them. The products are normally distributed by myself, during P.E and games, unfortunately this can’t happen at present.

These products are still available during the school closure. If you wish to avail of them, please contact our school info account (which is only read by one member of office staff) your request will be directed to me and I will contact you directly regarding collection.

These are difficult times for many at present and to quote my favourite supermarket, ‘every little helps’.

Kind regards...”

I was really with her until she quoted Tesco. And said they were her favourite!! Ugh! I mean, it really is a great idea. Though they really should check if the people they are writing about are still capable of bleeding. My heart bleeds....

I replied thus:

“Hello there.

Great idea, but as (my youngest daughter) has died, she won't be needing them any more. I hate Tesco- they ruin many little businesses.

Maybe take me off this mailing list?”

Then I attached one of her seven suicide notes: the one for school. Which I had previously not shown them. I only found it on Christmas Eve. Can I attach it, here? It has no names... 

There we are. Is it wrong of me to find her notes amusing? She is so angry, people say. I wonder how much of it is literal, and how much of it is using the school as a big nameless scapegoat. She was funny in the rest of them, too, and very loving. I found them comforting, like a fucked up Christmas present.

Then I started reading articles about suicide, and they were about how we shouldn’t call the people who do it selfish, about how depressed they are, how they need pity, not anger. I’m tired of the pity (though I’m not the suicidal one). I’m not producing enough sadness from myself when people pity me, either. Where is my sadness? Am I too acceptant of it all? We are all going to die. Is suicide like a C-section? Is it cheating death, like I thought my Caesareans cheated birth? Is suicide self euthanasia? Why do I not miss my daughter more? Is it because she had already left? Was she released, happy, free as a bird, swooping away on an Awfully Big Adventure? Trapezing her way into the æther? I googled to see if I could find any positive reactions to suicide. Is this my nature, to try and find the good in everything? To try and make light of the horrific? Is everything a joke to me? 

I found this blog post, from Andreas Moser.

I love it. Am I trying to take the blame away from myself? The NHS? The school? Should I be reeling and railing against the systems that let my daughter get into that state? Why am I instead trying to find ways to applaud her behaviour, accept it, even enjoy it?! When I read his words, “I admire their courage (because logical as it may be, it’s not easy) and the determination to make the ultimate decision in life oneself.” I felt a strange sensation of relief, that someone else could think those things. I had been thinking them, but trying not to, because it seemed like such an awful thing to think. But then I think, why does anyone else have to be to blame? It was her decision. 

The book I was rereading is called Life After Life, by Kate Atkinson. It’s my favourite book, I have decided, for now. Do favourites stay favourites? I was looking at my old Couchsurfing Profile today (because of Andreas’ blog- he, as a hippy hermit, is, of course, on Couchsurfing). One needs to update these every so often. Explain that you have watched another film in the last twenty years, that there is one less sofa in your living room, one less child on your earth. Even though no-one is allowed to move around, really. No visiting. No exploring. Perhaps she killed herself to escape the boredom. 

In Life After Life, the main character, Ursula, lives again and again. (I forgot that to live again and again, she had to die again and again. It's a very sad and graphic book, spanning two wars- read it. It is, ultimately, uplifting.) I wanted to read it again to make my daughter live again, and again. We need to write her alive. Show her drawings and paintings. Listen to her songs (they're hilarious). Read her poems. Admire her photographs. Tell the stories of her antics.

I know that really she was actually depressed and withdrawn. I know it isn’t a glorious escape. That her wee head was broken, and that sometimes it’s just easier to say, it was unfixable, she was determined, this is what she wanted, than to contemplate it as my (or anyone else’s) failure to help her. I know that she used to be confident and gregarious. She would have danced in front of people, inspiring others. She was always upside-down, tumbling, twirling, cartwheeling. She had a dry, cheeky wit, and rather an amusing obsession with poo and wee. She was kind, and wise. She liked to bake vegan treats. She could draw, and paint, and sing so beautifully. She played the ukelele, but by then she was hiding away. She had started to write poems- songs? She wouldn’t show us them. We had to beg her to perform on the trapeze for her Granny’s eightieth, in July. She did so, beautifully, but you could tell she hated the attention. Four months later, she hanged herself on it. 

Had we all withdrawn into ourselves, this 2020? Was there really nothing else to do? Yet I remember the start of Lockdown seeming idyllic. All that free time, all that sunshine. Was I just trying to convince myself, as usual? The only people we saw were the Woodcarver and the neighbours. She taught the wee boy next door to ride his unicycle. When she died, he brought in a picture he had drawn, of them on their unicycles, she as an angel above herself, a rainbow arcing over the three figures. His sadness affected me. I felt like I could only be sad through other people. Where is my sadness? Where is my grief? Good grief, bad grief, no grief? Alternatives to grief.

[songficsbyrissi]

Got Your Back (T’Challa x Reader)

Warnings: angst, depression, mentions of death, but fluff eventually comes

“When you're high (for when it's all good), when you're low (to when it's all bad)Well I promise I will never let you go (now what you call that?)Said I got, I got, I got, I got your back boy (you got my back, right?)I got, I got, I got, I got your back boy (I know you got my back, right?)” - T.I. Feat. Keri Hilson

A/N: I don’t know if this was already done or whatever but this is T’Challa grieving his father’s death and the reader, his wife, dealing with him and his depression. Will you have your husband’s back through it all?

***************

You thought you knew T’Challa. You really thought you did.

Until the day his father T’Chaka died.

That’s when you saw a completely different side of your husband. To make matters worse, he was present to witness his father being killed. You, your mother in law Ramonda, and your sister in law Shuri were in Wakanda when you were informed that there was a bombing at the Vienna International Centre where the father and the son would be. You remember crying and praying that your husband and father in law would return to you safely. Then the news broke. T’Chaka had unfortunately passed. Although there was relief that the prince was alright, the grief for the deceased king was too much. You and the other two ladies of Wakandan royalty sobbed and grieved together as you awaited T’Challa’s return home. It was late at night when you finally decided to retire to your bed chambers. You laid on your side trying your hardest to sleep but the weight on your chest was too heavy. T’Chaka was a second father to you and he was just gone like that.

You heard the door to your shared bedroom open and shut but you kept your eyes closed in efforts to sleep. It was probably one of the Dora’s checking up on you once again. You felt a presence in front of you. It lingered there and you slowly opened your eyes. The sight in front of you managed to tear your broken heart into even smaller pieces.

Your husband stood as a broken man before you. He stared down at you with a frozen expression. You could see he was in agony and you were preparing yourself for whatever he was going to do.

“Umyemi....” you broke the silence sitting up. T’Challa knelt before you, still keeping eye contact. You placed your manicured hands on your husband’s face and he put his larger hands over them. He bowed his head and began to shake as loud sobs exited his mouth.

“Ngoba?! Ngoba?! Why Bast take Baba away from me?!” You heard your husband yell as he pounded on his fists on the bed. You wrapped your arms around his muscular body, resting his head on your chest.

“Ndiyaxolisa kakhulu, uthando lwam” you whispered soothingly as tears flowed down your cheeks. “I’m so sorry, baby.”

T’Challa looked up at you and gained a tight grip on your hands. “Please, sithandwa sam, never let me go.”

You nodded caressing his chin and pecking his lips softly. “I will never let you go. I promise.”

However, it was difficult keeping your promise. You had to witness your husband go through all the stages of grief except the last one. After he got past denial, he went through a continuous cycle of anger, bargaining, and depression. When T’Challa wasn’t enraged with Bast, he was begging the deity to bring his father back in return for something else. When he wasn’t doing that, he was sobbing and blaming himself. When he wasn’t doing that, he was distant. Physically and emotionally.

“T’Challa, my love, we have to finish the funeral arrangements for your father.” You shook him softly out of his slumber.

He mumbled something into his pillow and you furrowed your eyebrows.

“Please get up.” You pleaded moving the blanket and your despondent spouse snatched it back into its place.

“I will get up. Just leave me alone.”

“T’Challa, please. I know this is very difficult. But I’m here for you. Do not push me away.”

“Leave. Me. Alone. Please.”

You sighed deeply standing up to grant his wish. As much as it was frustrating to you, you had to be patient with him. Love is patient, love is kind. However, you felt the distance between you two grow and grow. You wanted to be there for him but he kept pushing you away. T’Challa had shut down on you. It was hard. Especially when you were grieving too. You needed some time alone.

“I hear that Prince T’Challa and his wife are going through a rough time.” One of the kitchen staff members gossiped to another. “He’s been an complete Umgqobho wempundu. How is he fit to be a king if he is not even fit to be a husband? If I was Princess Y/N, I would leave him.”

“I take it that you do not have a lover since you want to talk so much about mine.” You faced the two women who grew embarrassed looks on their faces.

“Princess Y/N, we were just having a private conversation.” The other woman squeaked.

“Well, I could not help but have my ears ring at the mention of MY husband. My husband just lost his father so I apologize on his behalf if he can not be full of joy at the moment. And to suggest that I leave him at a time like this is absurd and disrespectful. Do not worry yourselves about me and my husband. We are doing just fine. Worry about your own husbands if they exist. If they do not, it’s probably because of those toxic mentalities you two have. I will be informing T’Challa about this incident.”

The two women mumbled their apologies and removed themselves from your presence. You made your way to the gardens that grew behind the palace. You observed each orchard that grew that began to glow since night was approaching. You plucked one dull blue flower and your hands trembled as you attempted to hold yourself. You began to silently weep to yourself thinking about your husband, your family, your deceased father in law, and those women’s words. How could people think he is not meant to be a king? Did everyone think your marriage was in turmoil? Was it in turmoil? Should you be worried about your marriage?

“I vowed to love him for better and for worse. This is the worst but I’m not sure how we can get through this.” You stared down at the flower in your hand and lifted your head up sniffling. “But we are going to get through this. Bast, give me strength.”

“Y/N?” I heard T’Challa’s voice approaching and you looked in his direction trying to read the expression on his face from a distance. As he got closer, you viewed the fearful yet hopeful look on his face. It turned into relief when your husband was a foot away from you.

“Is something wrong, my love?” You stood up from the bench moving towards him. T’Challa said nothing and pulled you into a tight hug. You held him as he breathed heavily.

“I was so scared....”

“Scared of what?” You questioned pulling away from his embrace and viewed the mix of joy and sorrow T’Challa displayed.

He still had his hands on your hips. “I was scared........that you left.”

You felt your chest clench at his words. The terror he must’ve felt thinking he lost his wife right after he lost his father. You must’ve been gone for a long time for him to worry like that.

“I told you, myeni wam. I’m not letting you go.” You spoke softly pulling him into your embrace.

“I feared when I told you to leave me alone, you would do it forever.” You heard the sadness in his tone. You could hear his frown. “Trying to be strong for my family is very tiring.”

You looked up at him and caressed his dejected face. “You do not have to be strong by yourself. You do not have carry all of this by yourself. That’s what I am here for. So you do not have to do this by yourself.”

T’Challa placed a soft kiss on both of your hands. “Ndiyakuthanda.”

“Ndiyakuthanda wam. Shall we go inside?” You headed towards the palace but he stopped you.

“Can we.....just stay here...please?”

You nodded at his plea and sat back on the bench. Your beautiful, distressed prince laid his head on your lap and your hands found the coils on his head. The quiet was killing you. How could the silence be so loud?

“Do you want to talk about it?” You whispered still playing with his hair. “Please don’t push me away. I see your pain. Your pain pains me. It hurts me even more when you do not allow me to relieve some of it.”

He didn’t reply and you bit your bottom lip fighting back tears and taking that as a no. You knew talking about it wouldn’t bring his father back but the lack of communication was a silent killer. With your husband’s head on your lap, you prayed for the strength to keep holding on.

The next day was the royal funeral. It was public so the people of Wakanda can say goodbye to their beloved king. You were drained between comforting Ramonda and Shuri, talking to guests, and trying to stay by T’Challa’s side. The need to break down and cry once again was strong but you fought it. T’Challa was hurting enough and he didn’t need to see you crying. You held your husband as he stared at his father’s body. He was broken and you convinced yourself that by holding him physically, you were doing it mentally as well.

To be completely honest, you were not sure you were correct in your methods. You never seen your partner like this. You didn’t know this side of him. You didn’t know if he needed his space or needed you around him 24/7. You had no idea if he needed to be coddled to heal or be pushed and motivated to heal. You didn’t know if he needed to be numb or feel everything to be ok. You didn’t know a lot of things and that scared you. It was a hard pill to swallow.

You didn’t know your husband as much as you thought you did.

The day after the funeral, the council called for a meeting. You knew what the meeting was for. It was to discuss T’Challa becoming the next King of Wakanda. Your melancholy spouse sat next to the throne but not on it and you stood right next to him, questioning his seating choice. That’s when it hit you. T’Challa didn’t feel like he was ready or worthy to be king. T’Chaka was a great father but he failed his son by not preparing him for life after his death. However, you knew deep down, your baby got this.

“Prince T’Challa.” One of the council members spoke breaking you out your thoughts. “We collectively do not believe you are ready to take the throne as king.”

“Nonsense! My son is more than capable of the throne!” Ramonda bellowed with a stern look on her face. T’Challa gestured for his mother to settle down and cleared his throat. staring at each member. “My father wanted me to be king so I must take the throne.”

Another one spoke up. “We are aware of that, however you are not emotionally prepared for it. Look at your composure, prince. Please take no offense when I say you do not carry yourself as a king should.”

You felt your blood boiling as T’Challa answered. “I am not sure what that means. I believe this is my rightful title. I believe-“

One cut him off. “M’Baku is the better fit until you are emotionally mature. That is all.”

That’s it.

You spoke up. “Pardon me, but last time I checked, my dear council, no one interrupts the prince while talking and no one continues to question and debate with him as well. My husband was destined to become king since birth. You say he doesn’t carry himself like a king. Well, must I remind you that his father unexpectedly passed? He may be royalty but he is also human. My husband is grieving but do not ever question his ability to be an effective king. He has already said he is taking the throne. He is going to be King of Wakanda so there’s no need to argue. He should not have to repeat himself and I hope after this, I do not have to as well. Do you all understand?”

The room was dangerously after you finished talking. The council members were stunned but shook their heads in comprehension. You stood back satisfied and you dismissed yourself to your bedroom. You finally released your tears of sadness and frustration. T’Challa was probably not pleased with you scolding the council but they needed it and you couldn’t stand by and allow them to doubt your man. That was the last thing he needed. Once you finished, you used the bathroom and went back to find your husband sitting at the edge of your king sized bed. You were frozen in your spot and couldn’t read his face. Was he mad? Sad? Annoyed?

“Come to me, my love.” T’Challa commanded softly and you obeyed standing in front of him and he took your hands in his. He looked at you and a small smile graced his face. The first one you’ve seen since the tragedy.

“I have been neglecting you and for that, I am sorry.”

“Do not worry about it, love.”

“Didn’t you say you shouldn’t interrupt your king?” T’Challa asked in a playful tone which caused you to smirk.

“Sorry. Continue, my king.” He pulled you in his lap with his arms around your waist and your back to his front.

“As I was saying, I know I have been unbearable to deal with. I was distant. I kept pushing you away and I feared I would push you too far. When my grandfather passed, my ex....did not stay with me.” T’Challa breathed in deeply. “I’m glad you stayed.”

You turned to face him. “Of course I stayed but to be honest with you, I wasn’t sure what to do. I’ve never seen you like that. I wasn’t sure if I was doing the right thing. I thought I knew every part of you but I didn’t. I was questioning myself. I was-“

T’Challa interrupted you with a finger to your lips. “Hush, my love. You did everything right. I didn’t need much from you. I just needed you to be here for me. To be my strength when I was weak. You were exactly that. Do not question yourself. A queen never questions herself.”

“A queen?” You stared at your husband in confusion causing him to chuckle.

“I see you forgot that your husband is a king so you become a queen.”

“Ohhhh.” You looked away in embarrassment. “Sorry. I was so focused on other things. I forgot I was going to be queen.”

“Yes, you will be an effective queen. Just like I will be an effective king, as you let the council know.”

“I apologize if I was out of line.”

“But you weren’t. I appreciated that. You had my back.” He gazes at you lovingly. You smiled pecking his lips.

“I love you. I will always have your back.” You nuzzled yourself closer to him. “You’re my husband, the father of my child, and my soulmate. I’ll have your back even in the afterlife, my love.”

“Father of your child?” T’Challa inquired with his eyebrows furrowed. You giggled nervously taking out the white pregnancy test out of your bathrobe pocket and showed it to him.

“We are going to have a baby, T’Challa.”

He grew a huge smile kissing you repeatedly and caressing your stomach. To say he was happy was an understatement. 7 months later, your son T’Chika was born and the whole palace was in awe. Your son grew up bearing strong resemblance to his father and late grandfather. T’Challa wholeheartedly believed that Bast had taken his father but gave him back in the form of his son. For every loss, there is a gain.

“Alright, T’Chika, you are tiring your baba out and he has a lot of work to do.” You stood in T’Challa’s office with your hands on your hips watching your four year old son play wrestle with your husband. T’Chika ceased his play and pouted.

“But mama!” He whined.

“Don’t argue with your mama, my son. Trust me, you are not going to win.” T’Challa looked up at you mischievously and you playfully rolled your eyes. “Besides, it is bedtime. If you do not get enough sleep, you will not be able to play with your sister when she arrives. You don’t want that, do you?”

The little boy gasped. “Oh no!” He rubbed your pregnant belly and kissed it. “I go to sleep for you, usisi. Good night!”

T’Chika ran off and T’Challa got up getting behind you. He held your belly lovingly and kissed your cheek whispering.

“I can finally get my work done. Thank you for saving me.”

Your hand found his on your rotund stomach and intertwined your fingers with his and laughed as you watched your son rush to his room excitedly.

“I will always have your back, my love. You know that.”

Translations:

Umyeni- Husband

Ngoba- Why

Ndiyaxolisa kakhulu, uthando lwam- I’m so sorry, my love

Umgqobho wempundu - asshole

Myeni wam - my husband

Ndiyakuthanda (wam)- I love you (too)

Usisi - sister

Tags: @brianabreeze @iamrheaspeaks @chaneajoyyy @dramaqueenamby @marvelpotterlove @purple-apricots @brattywriters-anonymous@cancerianprincess @blowmymbackout @ljstraightnochaser @blackpinup22 @airis-paris14 @vibranium-chakra @sociallyawkward18@chefjessypooh @mychemicalimagines @nerd-lovely @slimmiyagi @imasmille @ashanti-notthesinger

[kylandara]

A very interesting take. I would sadly agree Jon fell from grace, because whether political Jon is true or not, he enable Dany this far to cause the destruction she did. Not that Dany doesn’t get the max blame, but Jon has his share for his own soul. I can almost imagine his PTSD when this is all over. Onwards

——————-

The hysterical reactions to Dany’s dark turn were initially amusing to me because I enjoy suffering, but as this week has gone on, I have grown more disconcerted by 8x05 myself. I am not an emotional person by nature, but each day I am more agitated by the episode rather than less. I didn’t know exactly why it bothered me so much until I realized that I was running through the same stages of grief that Dany stans were.

Both of us lost our heroes.

I had been laughing about Dany stans not seeing where her arc was going when there is ample foreshadowing in books and show as pointed out in articles, metas, posts on Reddit, answers here on Quora, YouTube videos, wherever it is you go for GoT fan content, Dark Dany has been discussed. I thought the proof was so overwhelming that to not see it meant you were in denial.

I did not know I was in denial myself.

I thought Dany stans were watching a different show than the rest of us.

The truth is, I was watching a different show than some of you.

As much as this has frustrated me to no end, I think it has been the greatest success of GoT that D&D have exposed us to ourselves. Or at least, it would be if we pulled ourselves away from our feelings long enough to acknowledge what’s been staring us in the face the whole time.

Dany was not the only hero who fell from grace Sunday. I have been grieving for my own.

Dany burned thousands, tens of thousands, possibly hundreds of thousands of people Sunday, a horrific and inevitable event.

My hero stood by and watched. Worse, my hero knew it was likely to happen and enabled her. Even worse, my hero marched his men South to help her. And still worse than that, when Varys looked him in the eyes and said they knew what was going to happen, Jon refused to even try to stop her.

My hero did not commit the inexcusable evil that Dany did (Yes, EVIL. Yes, INEXCUSABLE.) But my hero did not take a stand. My hero was not heroic. My hero stood by helplessly while children were burned alive. How harshly did I condemn Stannis and the Red Woman for burning Shireen because I loved her? How harshly should I then condemn Dany for the same crime tens of thousands of times over? How harshly did I judge Stannis’ enablers for not stopping him? How harshly must I then judge Jon for not doing something, anything before Dany burned King’s Landing?

Dany stans justified every life she took before 8x05. I justified every life Jon had taken. No, there is no moral equivalence between those, but on Sunday, both committed wrongs that there is no justifying. Again, there is no moral equivalence between Dany’s actions and Jon’s inaction, but I realized my emotions as a Jon fan have been paralleling to a much subtler degree, Dany fans.

They are shrieking about bad writing and OOC behavior, and I have been saying much the same of Jon. But, maybe I was just as deluded as they were, believing what I want rather than paying attention to what I was seeing.

I thought the Battle of Winterfell was bad writing. I didn't think D&D were actually trying to tell us something about Jon, but maybe they were. Yes, his strength is uniting people, but if they are being led by the wrong person, it is meaningless to do so. As seen on Sunday, the wrong leader leads to madness.

The events of 8x05 may be the narrative punishment for Jon not taking up his crown with further spiraling yet to come, or, perhaps it was the rock bottom of him refusing his destiny and what we witnessed is what motivates him to rise up. We might see him well and truly defeated in the finale by what he has participated in, or he might take a stand.

Either way, I don't think this season has been the total destruction of his character I initially thought it was. I think what we’re seeing is writers allowing a hero to suffer the emotional and psychological impact of what he's been through. I wish they would let us experience it with him, I wish they would have give us more that a rare glimpse, but just because I wanted something different doesn't mean they weren't being purposeful.

I resent what they've done because they took my hero from me and gave me a broken man. That's too realistic for me to enjoy, and I wanted to enjoy this season, not suffer through it. I did not want my vision of a victorious hero thwarted for anything. And that’s when it hits me. This is why it hurts. I can either morally compromise myself to pretend like Jon wasn’t wrong, or I have to allow my hero to fall.

Many were upset by Jaime returning to Cersei because we bought into his version of himself as a man escaped from his captor. We thought he had become good. We wanted him to be with Brienne. Yet, how can we objectively say that staying with a new lover is the morally superior choice to trying to save the life of the woman who bore his children? The woman who was pregnant with his child? In falling from grace in the eyes of Braime shippers, Jaime made the right choice.

Jaime is a better person for having died trying to save Cersei than he would have been had he chosen to fulfill his own selfish desire to let her die alone. He wasn’t good enough for Brienne before, he certainly wouldn’t have been if he had let his child die without attempting to save it. In breaking the hearts of shippers and fans around the world, D&D (damn them for making me appreciate them after I decided I didn’t!) turned Jaime into a morally superior character in 8x05 than the Breaker of Chains. A guy who pushed a child from the window attempted to save life while our Khaleesi took it.

Just because we have a version of a character in our head and a path for them to follow, just because we know what we want and are upset when we don’t get it, doesn’t make it better. Jaime chose better for himself than we would have chosen for him. Shame on us for being so morally incompetent that we didn’t recognize it immediately. By leaving her and trying to rescue Cersei, Jaime was closer to deserving Brienne than he ever had been before.

Another surprise in the episode is that The Hound had more moral clarity than Arya. The Hound who murdered for a living became the voice of sanity when he told Arya that if she followed where he led she would only find death. He told her to choose life even when he couldn’t. Arya listened, she chose to put aside vengeance and preserve life rather than take it. And here, we, the audience had been cheering her quest for vengeance, only to then cheer on the new decision, because we are led by our emotions and dumber for it. The Hound had better morals than we did. THE HOUND.

Cersei, that power crazed woman was just another victim. The bells rang and Dany burned them all anyway. And all the Dany stans who are finding ways to excuse, rationalize, or simply crying out “character assassination” are just in denial. Your hero failed the test of basic humanity because she has always wanted to. Her first instinct has consistently been to burn and destroy, she’s just always happened to have someone holding her back before.

That’s not bad writing. That’s making your audience question what we’ve been accepting and reject what characters say about themselves and think critically about what we have witnessed with our own eyes. It’s mental torture, but it’s the right kind of subversive because there are threads we can find that were always going to lead us here.

Some of us had been condemning Cersei and cheering on a woman who was essentially doing the same things. We just didn’t recognize it because we didn’t want to. Because Dany was framed as a hero, and we all know Cersei is a villain, we didn’t stop and think about what Dany has been doing for years and ask if it was right.

Jon didn’t know as much about Dany as we did. Maybe he hadn’t heard of what Dany did before coming to Westeros. Perhaps he didn’t fully comprehend what happened during the loot train attack, but he saw her talking about wanting to burn the Red Keep in s7, he saw what dragons were capable of beyond the Wall and during the Battle for Winterfell, he heard his queen threaten Sansa’s life for the horrible crime of asking what they were going to feed the armies. And yet, he refused to ever question her.

I don’t know that he had a good alternative, but Varys chose to defy the queen and die rather than take part in her plans. Jon refused to help him. Was Jon being a fool or was he being cunning? I still don’t know, but either way, he stood by while an innocent man burned. Either way, he did nothing. Nothing is never the best you can do. Except, nothing is what humans do all the time. I was prepared for Jon to lie, to be sneaky, to outsmart and use people. I was not prepared for that. I wanted clean margins around my hero, and they didn't give them to me.

People wanted Jaime to kill Cersei because we all know she’s evil, never mind the fact that Jaime has done his fair amount of evil, never mind that she was carrying his child. We don’t mind evil, we just don’t want it to upset us. In our heads, murdering Cersei was fine, but hurting Brienne wasn’t. We accept the grey, the dishonorable, the bad, but only when it’s in line with what we want.

I wanted Jon to be darker this season than the Jon we’ve had before, but I wanted it to be in line with the hero’s journey. I wanted it to be justifiable. I didn’t want it to be in the form of a mistake. I didn’t want it to be him misjudging the character of his queen. I didn’t want it to be at the cost of the lives of countless children.

I was willing for Jon to stray from the hero’s pretty, pretty path just enough to make it interesting, not enough for it to matter. This was a detour I did not expect, that I can’t just ignore, and that is a brilliant move by the writers. Oh geez, I’ve just complimented D&D again. Someone save me!

Jon, no matter what he does next, is stained in blood. He can’t be the hero I wanted him to be, there is no erasing this mistake. I didn't want him to fall prey to a cult of personality, I didn't want him to be stupid. I still don't believe he’s a total idiot, but while I watched 8x05 I took notes and when I reviewed them, I sounded like two different people. One screaming at Jon for being a moron, the other entirely sympathetic because he didn't have a choice. Both views were guided by my emotions. Whether he fell in love and was in denial or if Pol Jon is true and he believed he had no choice, Jon was complicit.

Either because he allowed love to blind him, or desperation to take over, while I still have hope for him, I can't deny what I saw. I hated seeing Jon as he is now: a man made less than what he is. He isn’t the hero I had fabricated in my head. I didn’t even know I had done that, but I had. This isn’t what I wanted. It’s not how the story is supposed to go.

But it is how this story went.

I wanted the fairytale. I wanted Jon to be untouched by what Dany did. I wanted him to remain innocent. I didn’t want him to be weak. I didn’t want him to fall. I wanted him to be above this.

But on Sunday our heroes fell.

What happens when they fall?

We can deny, excuse, insist its solely bad writing, claim it’s OOC, or we can accept that we are simply upset because it isn’t what we wanted. The second step is to acknowledge that this is what it means to have morally grey characters. This is the realism in fantasy GoT has always been touted for, we just never had to suffer so much for it all at once. We never had to face the reality that our heroes aren’t pure goodness, our villains aren’t pure evil with such high stakes before. It’s one thing for Jon to miscalculate and be murdered by his men, it’s another for him to not prevent a city of people from burning alive.

The “grey character” idea only works if you still recognize good and evil. We can��t twist right and wrong to make sure our heroes are always in the clear. Grey characters does not mean we should be morally colorblind. It means that the good and bad still exist, but that both reside in each character and in each of us. We have to choose how to act, and in certain situations, we will wander closer to one side than the other. It’s saying, let’s make heroes falter and villains sympathetic and force ourselves to see ourselves in what we hate, and what we hate within ourselves.

We had seen the good side of Dany intermingled with the bad, but the bad emerged in an unprecedented way on Sunday, and suddenly now we know that how we had masked it was always about protecting our own feelings, not about understanding who that character was at her core. Some in the audience have found strength in Dany, and to see her fall tore at parts of themselves that she had impacted.

Jon is still lighter grey than Dany, but on Sunday, I saw a streak of something repugnant to me, something that is the natural fallout of Jon’s behavior all season, but I had been ignoring it. Before this season aired, I expected victorious Jon. Now I think, even if Jon survives, I don't know how he'll live.

It is shocking to me how much it hurts to let go of my delusions and think, this is it. This is what all those words I’ve been spouting off about complex characters mean, and now I have to accept it. I have to “Look the truth in the face” as Sansa says, and as silly as it is since it is a tv show, it genuinely hurts! To a certain as yet to be quantified amount, Tyrion and Jon refused to do this. To a greater extent, Dany stans refused to.

I refused to.

So, what do we do when our heroes fall?

We must choose to be heroic ourselves. We acknowledge the truth. No more complaints or excuses. Our heroes fell last Sunday because this is that story.

I mentioned in a previous answer that I had a general feeling of defeat this season, and I think this is why. Jon has been slipping off the pedestal, and I have been trying to keep him up there anyway. Whether Jon was a “Northern Fool” or unsuccessful “Political Jon,” he isn’t the man I wanted him to be. D&D emphatically knocked him off his hero perch Sunday. Silly to be so attached to keeping him there, but I was. Emotionally, I was depending on my hero to make it all better. Maybe the point is, there is no hero who can?

Dany climbed too high and fell too far. She isn’t coming back from this. In my eyes, Jon hasn’t. D&D just made him fallible. He made a grave error and thousands upon thousands of people paid for it. I thought he would rise up a hero and prevent this, but there was nothing in this season to indicate that he could or would, and when the time came, he didn’t. I didn’t expect to see consequences for his “My Queen” routine, heroes don’t usually suffer those, but it is right that Jon see where that leads. It is good that we see it.

I think that’s what I’ve been mourning. I wanted hero Jon, not human Jon. Seeing Jon stand there with Drogon over his shoulder while Varys burned was very upsetting. I couldn’t reconcile it with who I thought Jon was, but that’s because I was thinking in the traditional sense of hero. In other books and shows, that wouldn’t happen. But, Jon made a series of choices that led to his presence and inability to do anything at Sunday night’s slaughter. Based on his decisions this season, Jon’s fate of standing there while people were murdered was just as inevitable as Dany’s fate of being the one to burn them.

It is much harder on the audience to endure this kind of story, but GoT has never tried to be easy. I didn’t want this, but it’s okay to not always get what we want. It’s okay for the writers to crack my rose-colored glasses.

Regardless of my misconceptions, in spite of his mistakes, Jon is still Jon. I still have faith in him. He’s just not impervious to failure, and somehow, I had forgotten that. And, for the first time, I genuinely do not know what the cost of this will be. That’s why I am so disturbed. I don’t want Jon to suffer, but his inaction may require narrative punishment. Maybe what we witnessed is the only catalyst that would force him to do what he needs to do, but it may be his mental and emotional undoing.

I don’t want that. I am uneasy after this episode because for the first time, I am genuinely wondering if I was wrong all along. Maybe this story isn’t building up to Jon defeating all odds, maybe the odds defeat him. So, instead of insisting that the writers are wrong, I am wondering what story it is they are telling. Is this a story about what it takes to make a man who can survive the game? Is it about a man who refused to play the game and will therefore be punished? Is it about a man who tried to play the game and learns that there is no winning without losing? Is the point that there is no winning at all?

I don’t know anymore.

So, in this, I have sympathy for the other side of the fandom that has broken hearts this week. And it isn’t entirely because D&D made bad choices, wrote this season poorly, should have had a longer season. I am upset because I am not liking the story they are telling me. I am not sure that that is anyone’s problem but my own for not recognizing what this was from the beginning. I’m still hopeful, I don’t know what we will see in the finale, but I have to accept that my hero fell on Sunday, and I don’t know if he will get back up. He could, but it is possible that he won’t

[thefangirlslair]

PERPETUAL WINTER (A Sasusaku Fanfiction) Special Chapter

Note: Hi everyone! I'm back to give you the special chapter for Perpetual Winter, set as a flashback that will show how and why they broke up in the first place. I couldn't believe this is nearly 12k words, wow. Thank you to everyone who reviewed, followed and favorited on ffnet, and also who are waiting for the next parts to come. I love you all! Please leave a comment, like and enjoy. 💕  also, I really wish i could have written this in first POV, in Sasuke’s, but it would’ve been more painful. Besides, this was too hard to write. Forgive me!!

PS. I hope this would be enough for you until I write the part 2 and 3. It's all too angsty in my head, so sorry in advance to everyone. Don't expect a happy ending in this mini-series. Lol. So I've decided to write an alternate version which will be have a happy ending. I will post it at the same time with the final part/part 3. Please bear with me. Hugs! Xoxo

--

Excerpt: She just buried her face on his clothed chest, murmuring his name on her sleep. Sasuke felt her arm wrapped around his waist and her leg lifted to his hip. His heart ached.

'It hurts. It hurts so much. Please.'

With a kiss on her forehead, a face buried against her neck as his eyes gathered moisture, a pair of arms wrapped around her tight as if embedding her to him — Sasuke lets go.

-

Sasusaku Pairing (11,799 words) 

A Poor Attempt at Writing Fics

SasuSaku Edition VIII

Perpetual Winter Special Chapter

7 years ago

"You don't have to do this, Sasuke."

The melancholy and heartbreak behind his mother's words are heard that he almost choked. He can't look at her eyes, at both of his parents' eyes, because they'll know he's weak. He's crippled by the death of his one and only brother, the weight of his new responsibilities as the heir, and the inevitable impending doom of his relationship with Sakura.

He's absolutely terrified.

It's been a week since they buried Itachi, gone too soon because he chose to be the martyr, as he always do.

'Did', Sasuke corrected in his mind. 'The bastard.'

He gave a long sigh, still with his eyes glued on the table. He never saw the sympathy from his mother's eyes, as well as the concern on his father's.

It was a long week for him. It almost felt like years. He had been running on autopilot since then. How can you function when a big part of yourself died? The part of him where Itachi occupied, and will always occupy, is now a giant void in his being. He felt hollow. Numb. Dead.

The only moments he felt he's somehow a real person, alive and breathing, is when Sakura's holding his hand, whispering love and patience, loving him in tenderness and compassion.

Memories of her voice coming through his phone when he called her that night of Itachi's incident pierces his heart. He remembered his barely coherent words of disbelief and agony tumbling from his blubbering mouth; the echo of his voice saying 'He's gone, Sakura. He's gone. Itachi's gone' as if saying it will make it less real; and the reassurance he felt when she said that he needs to hold on because she's coming to him.

She's the only anchor he's got right now and the thought of letting her go because of his newly acquired burdens is so painful already. He felt his chest tighten. He's scared as shit, not knowing what to do. He knows that he has to do this, to do what Itachi would've done.

But there's a voice inside his head and his heart saying, 'But you're no martyr, asshole. You're not Itachi. You're Sasuke and you're a selfish prick. What the fuck are you doing?'

His father's voice echoed through the empty living room as he spoke, getting Sasuke out of his reminiscing, "I don't want to force you into something you don't want to do. But you're right.. I need you. I can never trust anyone else other than you to take care of this, Sasuke."

"But he's still just a kid. He's just 19 for god's sake, Fugaku! He has his dreams to take," Mikoto retorted. Her eyes are welling up with tears, Sasuke knows this even if he doesn't see it. He can hear it from her voice and it makes him ache on the inside.

"He's not gonna be 19 forever, Mikoto," Fugaku answered back. "I gave him a choice on this matter, and he's decided."

Mikoto cried, "Don't you think it's too soon? I just buried my first-born just barely a week ago and now we're discussing how you're gonna ruin my youngest's life just like you did with Itachi?!"

The way her voice cracked when she said his brother's name broke his heart. She's still grieving, probably forever, and here they are talking about Sasuke's suicide.

His mother turned to him and said, "Sasuke, you can say no to all of this. I don't want you living your life like Itachi used to. I don't want you missing out on the world you still have to experience." She's all-out crying now, her tears streaming down her face. Sasuke is trembling from fighting the urge to look at her face.

"Sasuke," she whispered brokenly. "Please."

Fugaku just turned his gaze away from his wife and son. He didn't want to do this either. He saw how this changed Itachi's life, how his eldest son slowly deteriorated before his eyes because of the responsibilities he had to carry as the heir of their company. But he heard no complaints from him — always a smile on his face saying "Don't worry, father. I made my choice, and I choose our family." As much as it made him proud, it also made him feel regretful and guilty. Itachi never experienced the life he always wanted, and for that, Fugaku will always blame himself. Now his youngest son is going to do the same thing, and he's here yet again to see it all unfold.

Conflicted as he is, Sasuke has decided. He will continue what Itachi started. He will take on the role of the new heir and take over the company. He'll take care of it, as much as Itachi did for these past years.

It will cost him a lot, too much, but he will do it for the memory of his dead brother. He will take on the role of the martyr he never was, and take on the life his mother fought so hard not to taint him.

"I'll do it," he finally whispered to his parents. He took a deep breath and faced them for the first time since they started talking. "For Itachi."

The living room of the Uchiha household that night witnessed fear, pain and heartbreak — Fugaku's fear over the effects of all these on Sasuke, Mikoto's pain over the decision of her only living son, and Sasuke's heartbreak over the course of action he's gonna take after this night.

Tonight will be the last night.. and he had never been more scared in his life.

--

Sasuke went up to Sakura's apartment right after his talk with his parents. Walking around the city towards her place felt like a lifetime ago when he finally reached her door.

He didn't need to knock. After almost 2 years of being together, they both have a key to their place — he to her apartment, and she to his house and room. Sasuke inserted the key to her door and silently opened it.

Sakura's one-bedroom apartment is slightly dimmed. The short hallway that leads to her small living room with a sofa and a flat-screen tv is silent as he closed the door.

As soon as her scent hit his nose, he was flooded by memories from when they were friends til they became lovers — the two of them playing chess on the living room floor with, of course, her always beating him in every intense game; them watching horror movies while sitting on her couch and eating whatever he cooked for them; both of them with Naruto on the small veranda, talking and bickering until dawn; him kissing her on the cheek for the first time on her doorstep before he left her place, her looking up at him with those damned eyes of hers; them never making it on her bedroom after a huge argument that ended up with them having sex against the wall right beside her front door. Sasuke turned to look at it and remembered how hot and intense that was, and it only made his heart constrict more.

He wished this was only another silly argument that will inevitably end up with them tangled on each other, breathing each other's breath, and the same intense emotions running through their systems as they come high and come together.

Because that's the only way for Uchiha Sasuke and Haruno Sakura — they might fly to another place, leave for another planet, escape to another universe — but they always come back to where they belong.

Together. With each other.

His feet dragged him further into her apartment where he feels more at home with than his own house. Almost two years of being in Sakura's arms, basking every day in her love and support, really does that to anyone. Even the toughest of men can become a puddle just by letting your gaze linger too long on her. That's how powerful she is.

He stopped when he reached the slightly opened door of her bedroom. Sasuke always chastises her with her lack of regards for her safety but with the heaviness of his heart at the moment, he can't seem to care about it. All he wants right now is to see her and sleep this nightmare off. He opened the door silently and he saw her.

With her comforter up to her chin, he couldn't see what she's wearing. But knowing her, she might be wearing one of his old high school tshirts that she stole from him. She likes to flaunt it to him whenever he's there for sleepovers, and he's always there to make sure she gets the attention she deserves.

She's sleeping now, her pink hair in a messy knot at the top of her hair and her green irises currently hidden by her closed lids with those curled eyelashes. Her mouth is slightly opened and a soft snore can be heard where he stood by the doorway. His eyes soften at the scene.

Normal. Nothing new. Constant.

But it never fails to make him feel like it's the most extraordinary sight to see.. only for him though. Only for him.

But this will all stop after this night. He will never be able to see this scene ever again and it eats Sasuke on the inside. He fought the choked sound that threatened to come out of his mouth as realization hits.

'Why did you fucking agree to this fucked up shit, you dumbass? Why did you have to bring this upon her? Upon the both of you?'

As if sensing the turmoil in his whole being, Sakura shifted in her sleep. Her brows met and she let out a soft grunt as she turned to her side. A few moments later, her breathing went back to an even tempo and Sasuke knew she went back to sleep. He let out a pained breath.

Sasuke gently closed her door and approached her side of the bed. He slowly knelt on the floor facing her, his hand traveling from the soft mattress to her cheek. He traced her jaw with his finger gently, afraid that she might finally wake up.

How many nights has he done this? How many nights has he soaked in his reality that Sakura is there with him, all loving and soft and true? How many nights did he spend just looking at her sleeping face, praying to a god he doesn't believe in anymore that she will stay by his side forever?

He pulled away his hand, folded it on the mattress together with his other hand and laid his chin on them, boring his dark eyes onto her face. He can hear the faint sound of her clock ticking, as if reminding him that this is the last time.. that there is no time. But he paid no heed to it because right at this moment, there is still the two of them in this four-cornered room where they made love for the first time; where she first laid her guards down for him to see underneath her pinks and greens; where he first thought he can never love anyone as much as he loves Haruno Sakura.

They still exist at this moment, and he will treasure every single second left.

He stood up and went to the other side of the bed to pull off his sweater and his pants, leaving him in his black tshirt and boxers. He gently lifted her comforter and slipped in beside her at her back. His arm went under her neck to wrap around her shoulders, and the other on around her waist to pull her closer to him. He held on to her as tight as his wide-shut eyes. Sasuke inhaled deep and smelled regret, longing and love.

He felt her move. Her hands softly caressed the arm on her waist and gently squeezed. Her gestures only made Sasuke more desperate to hold her so he tightened his grip on her, only to loosen it a bit for he felt her moving around to face him.

Sasuke never saw her lids reveal those orbs he already miss, and he never demanded it. He thought it's for the best, for he knows his strong façade will crumble once he sees those eyes of hers. They have always been his weakness. She will always be.

She just buried her face on his clothed chest, murmuring his name on her sleep. Sasuke felt her arm wrapped around his waist and her leg lifted to his hip. His heart ached.

'It hurts. It hurts so much. Please.'

With a kiss on her forehead, a face buried against her neck as his eyes gathered moisture, a pair of arms wrapped around her tight as if embedding her to him — Sasuke lets go.

--

'"Let's break up. I don't want this anymore. I don't want you anymore, Sakura."

Words I don't even mean came out of my mouth. I don't know what I'm doing. What is happening to me?

I saw her face then, and I wish I never did. She looked so devastated, her tears silently rolling down her cheeks while her eyes spoke a million things.

Wait! I don't mean them! Don't cry! Please! I love you!

I desperately wanted to scream these words out loud, but all I do was just stare blankly at her. I don't see my face but I know it's in that cold expression I show everyone except her. Never to her. She's everything to me. I love her. I love her so much.

Her voice came ringing into my ear, utterly devoid of life and the Sakura-ness of her tone. "I hate you."

I saw her spit those three words and I braced myself for the pain but nothing came. All I felt was cold detachment and I wanted to punch my face to feel something. What the fuck is wrong with me?!

Sakura turned around and ran away from me. I will my legs to move, to follow her, to chase her and never let her go. But my damn self just continues to stand there and follow her retreating form with my blank eyes.

Until I heard a loud screech, and then colliding sounds of metal to flesh. Then, a scrunch. I followed the sound with my gaze, and found Sakura on the road, her blood spilling beneath her head. It's pooling underneath her small form and the pink cashmere sweater, my favorite, that she wore for me absorbing the crimson liquid of her life.

I screamed inside, but still, my feet won't move. I continue to watch as she struggles to breathe, as she cranes her neck to the sky to take a breath to her lungs.

Sakura! Sakura! Sakura!

I don't know what the fuck is happening. This never meant to happen. I never wanted this. I don't want this. Please. Please. Please. Someone!

People with blurred faces started to crowd over her dying form in the middle of the road. They're all staring at her, watching her slowly die. Some even took pictures and some even scoffed as if it's a joke. Can't they fucking call an ambulance?! Help her!

A figure from the car that hit her emerged from the dark. The headlights of the car illuminated the scene, and made the face of the driver unrecognizable. Then he spoke, using a voice that sounds so fucking familiar.

"You killed her."

The crowd opened up and the dark figure stepped forward to crouch beside Sakura's now dead body. I can finally see the gruesome scene — her eyes are open revealing green eyes now dull without light in them, her mouth slightly opened as blood came out.

The headlights now illuminated the driver's face and the sight made me tremble from within.

The driver is me.

I killed her.

"You killed her, Sasuke," the man who is me beside Sakura told me again. He reached out to lift her head for me to see her dead face clearly. He looked at me as well and I wanted to scream. I wanted to look away but I can't.

Please. Make it stop.

I killed her.

"You killed her!", he shouted out. Anger, frustration, pain — all in those three words. "You killed her, you fucking coward!"

Then the blurred faces of the crowd slowly turned to me one by one, revealing their faces that made me want to die.

They're all Sakura, bloodied cheeks and lifeless eyes and all that she isn't supposed to be. And one by one, they chanted the same thing.

"You killed me."

"You killed me."

"You killed me."

"You killed me."

"You killed me."

It never stops. In my head, it never stopped. It all started on a whisper and now they're all shouting it to the heavens and I'm desperately gasping for air and I killed her and I killed her and I killed her and I wanted to die.

I want to die.

Someone. Please.

Sakura!'

--

"Sasuke!"

Sasuke woke up with a gasp, his hand automatically reached out to his chest as if trying to hold his beating heart. His eyes are wild and frantic, his skin bathing in cold sweat that made his t-shirt cling to them. He felt hands running over his chest and arms, and he heard soothing noises beside him. His eyes, filled with quiet dread, found her awakened form leaning over him and wearing his white high school t-shirt with those eyes showing concern and support.

'You're alive,' he said in his thoughts. He didn't know he said it outloud when he heard Sakura answer.

"It's just a dream, Sasuke-kun," her soft voice found its way to him, somehow calming his frantic heartbeat. Her hand is now on top of his chest, the other brushing his hair away from his sweaty face.

"Y-you.. you died," Sasuke stammered under his breath, his eyes roaming all over her face, checking for some speck of blood or evidence of her tears. His fingers found her cheek, slowly traced them as his eyes do the same.

He continued with his voice slowly becoming softer and softer, "I saw you.. you ran a-.. you ran away from me and then t-the car hit you and it was because of me and I ki-.."

He stopped abruptly. His hand fell away from her face and Sasuke looked at her, eyes wide open reflecting horror and pain. He opened his mouth to speak but they won't come out.

'I killed you,' he wanted to say, but he got choked up with the words and now he's seriously trying hard to breathe. He's gasping for air again, still looking at Sakura, and he can see how she tried to calm him down and let him breathe. He can't hear anything other than his heart beating too loudly against his chest as if trying to get out.

Sasuke suddenly found himself being lifted by Sakura, still trying to calm him down. He's now sitting on the bed, and she's kneeling on it facing him, running her hands over him as she slays his demons down.

"I'm here," he heard her murmur under her breath. "I'm here, Sasuke-kun. It was just a dream. I'm here. I'm not going anywhere."

He's now sagged against her, his terrifying nightmare finally taken its toll on him that it made him feel like he's made of jelly. His head is now cradled by Sakura against her chest, making him hear the pounding of her heart, and letting him know she's alive.

That lone fact made Sasuke's heart constrict, and made him release a quite breath of relief. His arms found their way around her small figure, tighten them and crushed her against him for him to feel her more.. to really know that she's there and not dead.

A whimper came out of his mouth because of too much emotion, but he smothered them by pushing his face against her neck. Sasuke breathes her in and thinks 'she's alive she's alive she's alive' as her scent and warmth greeted him back. He felt her own face on his hair, soothing words still spilling from her lips.

"I got you, Sasuke-kun," she says. "I got you. I got you. It's okay, I got you."

It's all not enough for Sasuke so he pulled his head away from her creamy neck and faced her. He saw her green irises and her pink lips and he loves her, so he grabbed her head and kissed her hard on her mouth.

Sasuke is still gripped by fear and the hard pounding of his heart says it all. It won't go away even as he roughly kissed her, drowning himself in the pleasure of hearing her quiet moans and tasting her delicious tongue. He pushed her down the bed and leaned over her. His hands found her knees and spread them wide open, only to grind himself against her. They moaned together.

But the image of her dead form bathing in her own blood is still vivid on his head, so he kissed her harder with his trembling hands running all over her body. His hand found his way under his old thin shirt she was wearing and grasped her breast, while his other hand is tightly wrapped around the hair on her nape. His lips are now on her neck, biting and sucking and kissing, and her moans and grunts are now loud and needy.

Sasuke left her neck to push up her worn shirt, only to place his hot mouth on her aching breast. He thoroughly sucked her hardened peak, earning him a low moan of pleasure, and in his frantic state he still felt his dick hardened in response. He moaned in return and continued his assault on the other as his hand traveled down to her panties and inside them.

He almost growled when he found her already wet and ready for him. Sasuke removed his lips from her chest and looked at her face. She's panting and biting her lip hard, her hands both wound around his neck. Her eyes stare back up at him hidden in half-closed lids, her mouth agape. His long fingers found its way inside her and he heard her gasp of surprise but later turned into a mumbled version of his name as his fingers picked up its pace.

"Sasuke-kun," Sasuke heard her voice laced with desire and lust that he couldn't help but kiss her for it, and he almost came right then and there when his tongue entered her warm mouth. His fingers abruptly pulled out from her and tugged her panties off, almost ripping it in half in his aggression. He heard her gasp in pain for a second but he paid it no mind. All he could think about at the moment was being inside of her.

He tugged his boxers down, not even taking it off completely. In his mind, if he's not inside her in the next second, the nightmare is gonna get her and he's gonna lose her for real and he couldn't take that. Being deep within her, that's the only thing that will ensure his fears of being far away from her.

Sasuke gave his hard member a few pumps before he slowly put on his tip against her clit to rub several times, and finally went down to enter her. His eyes almost rolled at the back of his head because she's gripping him tightly inside her and he couldn't help but curse aloud.

"Fuck," he panted against her neck. His tongue darted out to lick her skin coated in her own sweat and his saliva. Sasuke inhaled deeply as he pulled out completely before slamming into her again.

He's afraid he might see her with dead eyes and her mouth full of blood so he kept her face on her neck, never even thinking for a moment that he's now fucking her like a madman. Her cries of both pain and pleasure reverberates around her room, her hands desperately hanging onto his clothed back, clawing at his shirt for support. Her slender legs are tightly wrapped around his hips as he's gripping her thighs while he pushed in and out of her fast and hard. He couldn't hear a thing except his own mind.

'Don't go. Stay with me. Don't leave me.'

He didn't even hear himself whimpering throughout.

He closed his eyes tightly and focused on ramming into her, desperate and almost out of breath but he continued plunging into her, until he felt her hands holding his head to face her.

Sasuke stopped his movements as they both looked into each other, both panting and flushed, still joined as one. Her green eyes roamed his face, searching for something he can't tell. "Hey," she whispered.

His breath comes in puffs hitting her mouth and vice versa. He can feel her hot breath on his face and he badly wanted to look down to admire her opened mouth but her wide eyes are slowly sucking him in. He couldn't let him self look away even with his blurred vision.

Sakura kissed him gently on the lips, brushing them together once, and then pecked him again. "It's alright. You're here. We're here, Sasuke-kun."

Then he felt her fingers wipe away his damp cheeks. Not from sweat, but from his tears.

It's been a week after Itachi's funeral, and he never cried since. He never cried in front of anyone that time, not even Sakura. He let it all out once he got the chance to enter Itachi's room after the service, and he cried himself to sleep on his dead brother's bed.

And now, his tears silently rolled down his cheeks. Looking at her now, he sees it all — her in a white lab coat as he picks her up from work, her in a white wedding dress as she walks down the aisle, her in a white apron as she cooks for him and their future children.

All these possibilities, all these dreams; it hasn't even begun and now it's all ending. He remembers his responsibilities now as an heir, and remembers the promise he made for his parents and Itachi.

'Itachi was supposed to marry someone from our business partner clan when he turns 25. Unfortunately, the incident happened and now we're left with another decision to make,' he remembered his father explain. 'So we came up to an agreement to let you focus on your training first, as Itachi did, and then wed you to their daughter.'

He remembers the numbness that gripped him when his father's words sank in. He said yes and nodded like a robot throughout, steeled his heart and reminded himself that this is not for him but for his brother.

This is why he decided to make this last night with her memorable. He simply just wanted to lie down with her on her bed where they first made love, and hold her as she sleeps. He said to himself that he will be content with the memories, and that he is thankful for the chance to love her and to be loved back by her.

Sasuke is still looking at her with his eyes still shedding tear after tear. He'd rather lose her like that than lose her like he lost her in his nightmare. He'd rather lose her by letting her go than lose her by death.

Sakura's hands held his face between them and let her thumb graze his lips, fingers the valley of his nose and cheeks as she wipes away his tears.

"I'm sorry," Sasuke whispered to her. He found confusion on her irises and he continued, "I'm sorry for everything."

'I'm sorry for letting you go, Sakura.'

She continued to look at him. She stared long, but with soft eyes. Then she shook her head, "No."

She said it with so much strength and conviction he will never ever have and it took his breath away. She proceeded, "We are going through this together. We'll make it." Then she smiled at him, soft and tender. "You have to try harder than that, Sasuke-kun. You can't get rid of me that easy."

He knows that she's thinking about his dream. She knows him too much that even if he doesn't speak out loud, she knows what he's thinking. Right now, Sasuke knows Sakura is thinking he was so shook by his dream about her dying by his hands that he wants to get away from her to protect her. It's Sasuke's nature to bring it all upon himself, and then blame his own as well. Add that to the previous death of his brother, Sakura would think it's about Itachi. And he would like to be alone, as he always does.

Sasuke thought of telling her the things he has to do — the company, the training, the marriage in 6 years to a person he still doesn't know about. He thought of telling her the truth — that he already let her go, let them both go, let their futures go. It's inevitable, and by breaking up with her now, it will spare them both of the pain and heartbreak they might face if they continue this.

He let go. He really did. No matter how much it pained him, he decided to. He uncurled his fingers one by one around the person he's held onto tightly for so long.

But those eyes.. those powerful eyes of hers. They know. They know what he's trying to do and they won't let him. He can see the fire within her orbs, her determination to stay with him burning in her emeralds.

'I can't, Itachi. Give me more time,' he pleaded his brother. Before he came tonight in her place, he's decided that this will be their last night. But now he selfishly chose himself, his happiness, for once.

'Give me this one, aniki.'

And so Sasuke once again wrapped his fingers around his person, and held on for dear life for he knows it's not gonna be easy.

Still inside her, he softly pressed his mouth against hers, a polar opposite of the way he ravaged her lips earlier. His lips curled around hers, silently acquiesced with her statement. He gently pulled himself out of her, then slowly went back in.

He shivered in the way she called his name in pleasure, her teeth clamping on his shoulder and her nails dragging his shirt off him. He did the same to her when he's free of the cloth, and kissed her again.

They slowly built their pace; gentle and sweet at first, but then as they fill themselves with emotions, hers with understanding and him with trepidation about his current predicament, it turned into a wild frenzy of fear, lust and love. She's scratching and he's biting and she's moaning and he's grunting and they're both desperate, trying to give each other the solace they need.

She knows something is wrong but she kept going, still giving him all the love she could give in this time of desolation because of Itachi's death.

He knows something is wrong but he kept going, still giving her all the love still left in him in this time of desperation because of Itachi's death.

They both know something is wrong. But they both know that there will always be something right — this.

He went harder and faster, and her moans went louder and stronger. His hands spread her thighs wider, and her hands grabbed and pushed his ass deeper. His endless black found her bright green, and both panted through their open mouths.

"I love you," she whispered to him, heartfelt and true. Her words traveled all the way to his veins and he knows it's too late because he's in too deep. He was in deep the first time he ever saw her face.

In the midst of their tryst, she cried out her release and Sasuke bathed in the image of her underneath him, moaning in ecstasy with her eyes closed and her mouth wide open. He stored it in his mind for him to remember when everything is over.

He followed shortly after, his climax hitting him hard, making him out of breath and nearly delirious with pleasure. He buried his face on her neck and he felt her hands run over his mane.

He is aware that this might be the last time he's gonna be able to say it back, even though his original plan of breaking up with her tonight has changed. He's aware he's being selfish, but that's the only thing he's good at. He's not even good at loving her.

He's good at being selfish enough to stay with her for as long as he can.

And so he pulled away from her neck and looked down on her, finding that she's already peering up at him. She never asks for an answer whenever she says those three words because she already knows that he does. But tonight, he says it back, as truthful and as painful as it is.

"I love you, Sakura."

She smiled. Sasuke doesn't know if he wants that smile or not.

—

Days turned to weeks; weeks turned to months. It has been almost 6 months after Itachi's death, and it also has been that long since he made love to Sakura.

Don't get him wrong. They still have sex occassionally. But whenever they do it, which is seldom compare to before when they do it like rabbits, it always feel so rushed, angry and desperate. No more lazy morning sex or rare romantic nights after a dinner date.

Sasuke even forgot their second year anniversary, which obviously made Sakura down, but he knows that she gave him the benefit of the doubt. After all, Itachi's death was 2 weeks before their anniversary. The wound was still fresh not just for Sasuke, but to all of them as well.

It all just came spiraling down after that. Sasuke dropped out of the university completely to focus on training for the company. His dream of becoming a lawyer was locked away at the back of his head and the bottom of his heart, never to see the light of day again. His father wanted him to see how the company works first before he studies business officially.

He rarely see Sakura anymore. She calls him everyday, but he doesn't pick up often. Sometimes it's because he's busy on his training, but most of the time, he doesn't accept the call in purpose. He doesn't want to hear her voice sounding so achingly sad. He knows he will crumble and go see her and they run away together where nobody could find them.

Sasuke knows he's hurting her. He barely take her out to a spontaneous lunch date or a surprise movie night-out. When they do see each other, it's almost awkward that he could taste it in his mouth. He couldn't even look at her in the eyes for more than five seconds and not look away. When they touch each other, it takes all of his control not to flinch. When they have sex, it's all a blur of pained green eyes and dead black ones.

The guilt is eating him from the inside, and his outside nonchalance for their dying relationship is eating her.

Sometimes, he wishes that she takes the initiative and leave his sorry ass because he knows he's not strong enough to leave her. Sasuke tried it once, and look where that got him — still holding onto her and watch as she slowly deteriorates in front of his very eyes.

He knows.

He knows it's only a matter of time. But his selfish self still wants her, even if that means breaking her; ruining her. Because if she's not there with him, what is he? Who is he? So he holds on to her — leaving bruises on her soul and splattering crimson streaks of guilt on his own being. He knows he's going to hell.

He might as well be there already.

—

At the eve of his 20th birthday, he finally met the family of the girl he's supposed to marry when he reaches 25. And surprise, surprise — the Uzumaki's.

He's been friends with Naruto since he was young and the Uchiha's has always been good friends with the blond's family. Mikoto and Kushina were classmates since high school and throughout college while Fugaku and Minato have been rivals just as long. Plus the fact that their family is one of their business partners, he should've known.

His dark eyes found red behind slim black frames, and Karin Uzumaki nodded in understanding.

Before this said dinner, they met beforehand to talk privately. Thanks to his loudmouth of a best friend, Naruto told him that he overheard his parents talking to Minato and Kushina about the said merger. The issue of a wedding made Naruto choke on his ramen and immediately called Sasuke. At first, Naruto thought about his own wedding. He's bethrothed to someone but he still yet to know. Sasuke heard the relief, as well as the concern, on his best friend's voice.

Sasuke already knew who she was, of course, being Naruto's only sibling that's only a year younger. But he never really paid any attention to her, except when there are business and family gatherings. He knows her as loud as her brother, but could be tightlipped and calm as her parents.

They talked about this upcoming wedding and what they thought of it. Sasuke informed her that he's involved with Sakura for almost 3 years now. He learned that she's single and has never dated nor been in love with someone.

Sasuke was asked why did he agree on this and he said the truth about Itachi. Karin, in response, said that she only wants what's best for their company.

"Besides," she added. "I don't have anyone else. Might as well just marry you instead of being alone. Plus, you're not hideous."

"Hn."

"What does your girl says about all this, by the way? She must've been an extraordinary one to keep up with your stony face all the time."

He didn't answer. Besides, Sakura knows nothing about all this. She's aware of his new role as heir and his responsibilities that comes along with it, but not this arranged marriage shit. He couldn't tell her.

Sasuke was taken back to their current dinner when he heard Karin clear her throat. He looked at her and she glared back, obviously annoyed by his daydreaming.

"Pardon?" Fugaku sternly asked. He seemed to be surprised by whatever Karin previously said.

Kushina also seemed to be perplexed. She looked at Minato briefly then turned to Karin and asked, "You both want to what?"

Even before Karin turned white, Sasuke rescued her by saying, "We both want to postpone the engagement."

At the corner of his eye, Sasuke saw Naruto look back and forth towards the two parties and silently slurped his water.

"Sasuke," his father coldly looked at him. He continued to be unfazed. "You cannot. We already prepared for the announcement next month. You can't just decide about these things without informing us."

"I did not say cancel. I only said postpone," he bit back just as coldly while looking directly at Fugaku. His father's eyes flashed for a second, surprised again by his tone. He continued, "Karin and I would be the ones getting married. It's our wedding, therefore, it's our shots."

Karin immediately added, "We just don't want to rush it. The wedding will be in 5 years time, anyway. Don't you think it's a bit weird to be engaged for that whole five years?" Karin looked at Sasuke for a brief moment then said, "We want to be engaged on the year of the wedding. Then you can announce it to everyone."

Minato thought about it for a while, then he smiled. "I understand." He turned to Fugaku and Mikoto then, "Let's give this one to the kids. Marriage is not an easy chore. They could get engaged in the year they're gonna marry. No big deal."

Sasuke noted with the way Kushina glared at Minato when he used the word 'chore' for marriage. Apparently, Minato shares the same thoughts with Mikoto. They're both against arranged marriage because they both experienced the same thing. Yes, it all turned out well for them since they grew to love Kushina and Fugaku. But nothing is certain, especially to any relationship. It would be hard as hell, and as parents, they don't want their children to suffer.

Kushina rubbed her temple by then and released a heavy sigh. She looked fondly at Mikoto and say, "We both have stubborn children, my friend. We might as well agree on their terms."

Mikoto saw her husband ready to retort but she put a hand on his arm and smiled at her friend, "I understand, Kushina. Of course. We'll support them." She looked at Karin to smile at her, then at Sasuke to give him her supportive glance. Sasuke can clearly see that his mother was relieved because of their decision.

On the way home that night, minutes before the clock strikes midnight for his birthday, the Uchiha's were silent throughout the ride home. Sasuke can still feel the dark aura surrounding his father. Fugaku was not impressed by his display of authority. Sasuke couldn't give two shits. He just wants to go home.

They finally reached their home and entered it. Sasuke continuously walked towards the stairs to his room when Fugaku's voice pierced through the silence.

"When will you tell Haruno that you're supposed to marry someone else?"

Sasuke stilled at the cold query, his fists automatically balled into fists as he fight for self-control to talk back at his father aggressively. He didn't see the clenched hand of his mother on Fugaku's arm.

He controlled his breathing and quietly said without looking back, "Sakura." He turned his head sideways, still not looking at them. "Her name is Sakura."

Fugaku ignored the way his son's seething voice. He continued to pry, "You should've cut your ties with her a long time ago. You're only making this harder for the both of you."

'Don't you think I don't know that?!' Sasuke wanted to scream aloud. 'Don't you think this isn't painful enough?! Don't you think I'm slowly killing her?'

But his father couldn't hear his silent pleas unlike Sakura, "You're gonna marry Karin Uzumaki. You should stop seeing her by now."

Fugaku was relentless, and Sasuke knows he got this from him. He's been living all his life jealous of Itachi because his aniki got all his good traits from their mother. He was gentle and would've been so, so good to his future family. Meanwhile there's him, sucking all the hard traits from their father. His competitive streak, arrogant way of speaking, harsh words — it's all Fugaku. And suddenly, he feels so exhausted.

Fugaku was still talking about the consequences of his actions and Mikoto was still trying to stop him when they both saw Sasuke looking back at them. The sight nearly made them nervous.

Moonlight comes in, illuminating the eerily cold and empty house. They saw their son with his head looking back at them, dressed in all-black like someone just died again. His dark eyes were hollow and Mikoto put her hand on her chest, feeling her beating heart aching for her son. Then he whispered.

"I love her."

It was soft and quiet, but his parents knew it was solid and true. It was in the crack in his voice, the shake in his hands on the banister, and the vulnerability in his eyes. They continued to look at him as the clock struck 12.

That awake Sasuke in his stupor and the walls on his eyes were seen again. Mikoto tried not to cry and Fugaku stood still, feeling like an asshole.

"But don't fret, father," he coldly stated, turning his head back to continue walking up the stairs. He took one, two, three steps; then he stopped for a second jusy to say, "I'm keeping my promise."

Mikoto and Fugaku Uchiha watched as their son dissapeared upstairs to his room, the first day of his 20th year looking bleak and weary as the first splatter of heavy rain was heard in their household.

—

It was the first snowfall of winter, he'll remember once he's bereft with only his remorse to keep him company.

Months passed by and they could feel the upcoming winter. Autumn leaves were long forgotten and frigid air came howling for a few weeks now. Sasuke feels restless. He feels something is coming up apart from the winter he's starting to hate ever since his brother's passing. Something gnaws at his gut and he couldn't focus.

He was driving towards Sakura's apartment, picking her up for their dinner. It's been almost 3 weeks since they last saw each other and Sakura finally convinced him to have dinner together. He booked a reservation in a classy restaurant in autopilot, already dreading the upcoming reunion.

"I miss you," she simply said through the phone. Sasuke bit back words such as 'I miss you, too' and 'Forgive me' and 'I love you'; only to utter a cold and detached, "Aa." He didn't get a reply after that, but he thought he heard a faint sniff on the other line before it went dead.

When he got to her apartment, he simply honked the horn of his car. It's been too long since he had been inside her place, knowing that there are too many vivid memories living inside it. He couldn't risk being in there. He knows he won't make it out alive.

A few moments later, Sakura emerged from the white door of her flat. And just like it always did to Sasuke, it all happened in slow motion. 'What a fucking cliché,' he thought.

Wrapped in a plain black sweater and red coat, lean legs in faded jeans, feet in her favorite sneakers — she looked beautiful. Even with those dark circles under her green eyes, she looked absolutely stunning to Sasuke.

Every step she takes as she makes her way to his car made his heart squeeze itself. He wanted to bury himself in her, to live inside her bones and just stay there so he could escape this reality. This is his reality now — no more dream, no more Itachi; and pretty soon, no more Sakura.

'It hurts,' Sasuke thought. 'It hurts, aniki.'

It has been a habit of his since Itachi was gone. He talks to him in his head. Sometimes, he could pretend enough that his brother answers him back. Tonight, Itachi's as silent as a dead can be.

Sakura finally reached the passenger door and slipped inside the car. She turned to face him, her face litting up and her mouth curling upwards. She shyly greeted him, "Hi."

Sasuke continued to stare, his eyes roaming around her face. He noted the slight pink of her cheeks, and he knows it's not just from the cold. There was an urge to smirk, but he fought it. She could just sit there and do nothing, and Sasuke would still be more of a mess than he already was.

After a while, he mumbled back. "Hi."

She smiled then, and slowly leaned towards him. She brushed her lips on his once, then pecked him lightly. Sakura brought her hands up and cradled his face, "You look thin. Are you eating well?"

Sasuke only nodded in response, not trusting his own voice not to crack under pressure. He could smell her — peaches and cream. He could see her — pinks and greens. He could taste her — mint and home.

'I missed you so much.'

He pulled away, making her hands drop. He couldn't look at her face. He knows she have that fake smile ready for him when he hurts her. Sasuke had already seen it a hundred times for the past year.

"I'm fine," he said. "Put your seatbelt on. We're gonna be late."

Sasuke didn't hear a response, and he didn't wait for any. He just started the engine and started to drive away for the 20-minute journey to the restaurant.

The awkwardness and the tension is palpable in the confines of his car. It took all of his control not to groan out of frustration. He just focused on the road, but Sakura is making it a hard time when he knows her gears running on her head.

Three minutes in and she cracked the silence.

"How's your training, Sasuke-kun?," she inquired. "I hope they're not exhausting you too much."

Sasuke wanted to say that it already took too much of him and now he feels bereft. But as the coward that he is, of course he can't say that.

"It's fine," he answered, his tone clipped and straightforward. "I'm okay."

He could see her nodding her head through his peripheral, "That's good. Is it hard? I know you can handle it, but I hope you're getting rest. I don't want you getting sick."

Her sweet and thoughtful tone made him grind his teeth. Instead of making his heart flutter, it made his gut churn that he wants to vomit right there and then. He doesn't know why but he feels sick. Something is coming up, he can feel it. It's like a flu that you know is coming but you couldn't do shit about it. It made him absolutely nervous.

Because of this, he answered in his usual response, that he rarely use with Sakura: "Aa."

Sasuke felt her look towards him at that. His heart spiked up because of nerves. He knows she's assessing the situation. She's always been good at that. 'Damn it,' Sasuke thought to himself.

"Sasuke-kun, is everything okay?," she asked.

'No. Nothing has ever been okay for a long time. It's all falling apart and I'm terrified of what's to come. I don't know what to do.'

Sasuke forced himself to sigh and look as if exasperated with her question to cover his true emotions and thoughts, "I'm fine, Sakura." He gave emphasis on words to carry more weight and to prove to her, and to himself, that he's really okay. He focused on driving. 15 minutes more and they will arrive.

It's the longest 15 minutes of his life. The tension he feels is suffocating.

Sakura is as relentless as him so he should've known that wouldn't budge her because she talked back, "Obviously there's something wrong. You could always tell me, Sasuke-kun. You know that."

This slight nagging of hers was slowly getting on his nerves so he blurted out, "Jesus, Sakura, I said I'm fine. Okay?"

Anyone who heard that would hear the slight irritation from it, as well as the frustration and exhaustion. He was gripping the steering wheel too hard and his jaw was clenched too tight as he heard her gasp in surprise from his lash out.

He briefly looked at her and saw her looking down at her lap and biting her lip. It's a habit of hers when she feels insecure and afraid.

'Great job, asshole,' he thought inwardly. 'You managed to get her fears back with just a few words. Keep this up and she might leave you after this. As she should.'

Sasuke ran his hand through his hair, his eyes still digging holes on the road. He exhaled slowly and softly said, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do that." He knows it wasn't enough but he kept going. "I'm just tired, that's all. Forgive me."

It took her a few moments to recover but she looked at him and smiled lightly. She then said, "I understand. Of course. I'm sorry, too."

They continued the heavy silence until they reached their destination. Sasuke has always been a silent person, but he almost cursed the deafening silence at that moment that he could feel the words at the back of his throat.

--

The dinner was all a blur to Sasuke. They did small talk throughout the course, too casual for lovers of almost 3 years. There was no intimacy that always prevails in any of their activity, whether it's drinking coffee together or making love or holding hands. It made him remember that he already forgot when was the last time they had sex, let alone be asleep on the same bed and cuddling like bears like they used to.

They only talked about their current activities; him with his company training and her with her subjects at the university. He misses the times they spend together when they both have free period, when they were classmates at literature with Kakashi as their professor that blatantly call them out for doing practically eye-sex from both ends of the room, and when they both roll their eyes at Naruto for dragging them to his favorite ramen place at lunch.

They also talked about their parents and his cat, Colonel Mustard, and the weather and her new potted plant on her windowsill and a ton of other insignificant things. Sasuke felt that she was itching to talk about more important things but he always stray from those topics. He can see her disappointment every time.

Next thing he knew, they were exiting the restaurant and walking towards the parking lot. The air was a lot more colder than it was before they went inside the establishment. Winter was almost there.

Sasuke saw Sakura lick her lips multiple times throughout dinner, and it means she's nervous about something. It didn't help his already frayed nerves. It made him more weary of what this night still entails.

They got inside his car and he drove back to her apartment to drop her off. He can still feel her fidget beside him and he couldn't shake his bad feeling anymore. He asked, "What is it?"

"Huh?", she said, startled. He looked back at her for a few seconds and answered back.

"You're nervous about something. Tell me."

Sakura was silent for like forever. She was never like this. She has always been frank with her thoughts and feelings. So this behavior of hers started to irritate him and Sasuke prepared to berate her when she dropped a news.

"I got into Harvard," she whispered quietly.

His mind went blank for a moment after she said that. All he could process was few words.

Harvard.

America.

Far away.

Without him.

She continued to talk softly, "I was approached by Professor Shizune. You remember her? She's a former apprentice of Tsunade Senju, the one I was telling you about that's kind of a legend herself? Ms. Shizune apparently told Tsunade about me and Tsunade emailed me, saying I should apply for Harvard. She's currently teaching there. Shizune told me I should go."

She looked at him then, "I tried, and then last week I got the acceptance letter. I don't know what to do. I didn't tell you right away because I know you have so much on your plate already. I'm sorry, Sasuke-kun."

'She did it,' he said to himself. 'She's getting her dream. She always talk about that Tsunade and how much she could learn from her. She finally made it.'

He was proud, but the small, ugly and selfish part of him was slowly rearing its head.

'She's leaving you. She's finally leaving you.'

They stopped at a red light, then Sasuke faced her. "Why are you saying sorry? It's okay."

His words are soft and true, but his face and eyes say something else. He forced himself to smile, "Congratulations."

The light turned green and he stepped on the gas. He didn't dare look at her again. He couldn't breathe, and she said something that made even his heartbeat halt.

"I'm not going."

Sasuke whipped his head towards her, "What? Why?"

She looked at him intently and said, "I'm happy here at Tokyo. I'm enjoying my classes and I learn a lot. It's fine for me. It's more than enough."

They both know it's not true. She has always been an ambitious one and she will push her limits to get where she wants. Aside from that, she rarely has friends. Sasuke and Naruto have been with her since high school, and then there was her childhood friend back in Kyoto. Now that Sasuke dropped out of the university, he's sure she's always alone, with only the occassional Naruto when their free time match.

Lastly, they're both aware that if she wants to be the best in the medicine field, she must be in the best curriculum. Harvard is practically knocking at her doorstep right now. All she must do is open the door.

Sasuke knows what she said is true. But he also knows that a big part of her staying here in Japan is sitting just a few inches from her.

Him.

He looked away from her then, suddenly angry and frustrated and hurt at once. He doesn't even know to whom. Maybe with her, maybe with the world.

Definitely with himself.

'All you do is hold her back,' his own self seethes. 'What else are you good at, asshole?'

Sasuke is gripped with so much anger at her words thay he gritted his teeth so hard they can both hear it. All he could say was, "No."

"Sasuke-kun?"

"You will go. You have to."

"I don't want to."

"Yes, you do. I know you."

She flinched at that, "Don't you think it's my decision to make? I decided to stay, and that's that."

Sasuke noted the slightly angry tone in her voice and it only fueled him to go harder, "C'mon, Sak. We both know you have nothing left here."

Her voice was incredulous when she answered back, "What?!"

He scoffed, "Seriously? You have no other friends aside from Naruto and I. You're a shut-in. You don't even have a family with you."

Sakura gasped at that. He's aware of what he said and he wanted to take it back, but he was too busy being angry at everything at the moment.

"Stop the car," she silently asked.

He pretended not to hear a thing until she literally shouted, "I said stop the fucking car!"

Sasuke abruptly swerved towards the side of the road and slammed on the brakes. They were both almost throwned forward if not because of their seatbelts.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?", Sakura asked him, her voice shaking from too much emotion. Disbelief, pain, rage — Sasuke can taste it in his mouth.

He looked at her sideways, "What is wrong with me? No, Sak. What the fuck is wrong with you? You're giving up your dream!"

"I'm not giving up anything!," she screamed at him. Her eyes are wild and her breath comes in heavy.

"Oh, really? We both know Harvard is the best thing for you. Don't deny it to yourself. If you don't go now, you might not get another chance."

"I don't care! I want to stay here!"

"And do what? You're almost bored with your classes. You're always by yourself because you're too absorbed with me that you couldn't even try to talk and befriend anyone else. You're alone even in your own place because you live with too much memories of your dead parents in your old house and you couldn't take it."

"Oh you did not just say that," she sputtered. Sakura's eyes are wide with disbelief with his words. "You did not just tell me I should go because I couldn't live with my dead parents' memories. You should know how it feels to lose a loved one."

Sasuke regretted those last words. She's right, he should know what it feels like to lose a part of yourself. This argument is getting out of hand and he feels so fucking tired.

He sighed then looked at her, "What do you want me to say then? Don't leave me? That you shouldn't go? That I want you to stay? That I need you?"

"Yes," she said, her voice strong and her eyes determined at him. She nodded her head, "Yes. Tell me to stay. Tell me you need me."

Sasuke stared at her face, that face that he grew to love ever since he laid his eyes on her; that face that he first wants to see every morning for the rest of his life; the same face that he wants to stare at every night.

'This is your chance,' his thoughts suddenly said. 'You can end this now. Right here. Don't torture both of you further than you already did.'

He swallowed his real thoughts, most of them saying those things she wanted him to say. He doesn't want her to go. He doesn't want to let her go.

But his inner thoughts are right.. it is time.

Sasuke hardened his resolve and stiffly said, "No. I don't need you, Sakura."

'Yes, I do.'

Sakura shook her head, "Yes, you do."

He looked away to face his front again, "No, I don't. You think I need someone who makes me worried every damn day? Someone who's annoying like you?"

Sasuke looked back at her and added, "It only makes me tired."

Sakura took a pained gasp, his words slowly making their way to her heart. Her voice was cracked when she asked him, "You're tired of me?"

'No. Never.'

"Yes. I'm tired of this. I'm tired of us."

She blinked, her eyes still wide but dry. Green met his black for long moments until she asked him the question that will free them of this monumental fucked-up relationship, "Are you.. are you breaking up with me?"

Sasuke sighed, still looking at her straight in the eyes. He hoped she wouldn't notice how hard he was gripping the steering wheel. He had to do this.

"Yes, Sakura. I'm breaking up with you."

'No. Don't leave me.'

The silence after those words penetrate the small confines of his vehicle. Both Sasuke and Sakura stared at each other — black with cold indifference and green with shocked detachment.

Sasuke couldn't look at her anymore so he went back to facing the front of the car. He feels numb. A few minutes passed and he decided to drive her back home.

"Let's go. Let me take you home," he muttered under his breath.

The moment he pushed the gas pedal was when he heard the unclasping of her seatbelt and the opening of the passenger door.

He immediately slammed on the brake and quickly looked back at Sakura, just in time to see her get out of his car and closed the car door a little too hard.

"Sakura!", he shouted at her. He got out of his car and strode towards Sakura who is still busy walking away from him with brisk steps. His long legs reached her and he turned her around to face him.

"What the fuck was that?! You could've been hurt! What the fuck were you thinking?!", Sasuke literally screamed at her face. He's gripping her arms tightly and he noticed her shaking form.

"Too late," she whispered. Her breaths come in puffs and he noticed that it's visible now. He then realized that it was snowing. Winter is here.

Her eyes looked up and found his. Sasuke fought back a gasp to see her eyes without their usual light. It's all hard and cold.. just like his. And then she added, "I'm already hurt."

He wanted to pull her in his arms and embrace her, to embed himself into her or her to him, and never be apart. He wanted to warm her up with his mouth, his hands, his breath. He wanted to kiss her.

'You broke up with her remember?'

"Get your hands off me," she quietly asked him. "Please."

He flinched, "C'mon, Sak. Let me get you h-"

"And stop calling me that," she coldly asked. She pushed away his hands and turned around to walk away from him.

It was snowing and he couldn't let her walk all the way to her apartment, no matter how close it may be. It's only a 10-minute drive, 20 if by feet.

"Sakura," he called out.

She turned around so suddenly that it almost surprised him, "Don't."

They stood at the side of the road, with the sky crying snow around them, facing each other. Sakura remained calm and her eyes still dry. Meanwhile, Sasuke remained glued to the spot as the love of his life slowly break before his eyes.

"I should've known," she started. Her eyes are focused on him, never wavering. "I knew something wasn't right. Nothing's ever the same since your brother was gone."

Sasuke swallowed when she mentioned Itachi. Does she know? Does she know his awaited fate?

She continued, "And I know I should've confronted you for it. But instead, I fed your appetite. I felt it when you look at me, when you touch me, when you kiss me. You needed me, Sasuke. You need me."

'Of course, I do.'

Her eyes blinked and her voice wavered, "And I'm selfish enough to be happy when I'm needed.. and I'm sorry." Her green orbs watered then, "I'm sorry for using that to feed my own need."

Sasuke choked as he shook his head no, "Sakura, please. You don't.. you don't have to say sorry. I- it's me.. it's my fault. It's not you."

She laughed without humor when she heard that. She's still looking at him as she humorlessly let out chuckles, "What a fucking cliché." Then a teardrop fell from her. And then another. Then another one.

Sasuke felt like dying at that moment. All the crying he saw from her was never like this one. She looks so broken now, her mouth shaking from the cold and from her tears.

"I was tired too, Sasuke. I endured for a year. I swallowed the hurt when you forgot our second anniversary. I swallowed my pride at the restaurant where you stood me up on my birthday. I swallowed the pain when you left on your birthday without telling me."

Sasuke remembers it all. He will never forget their anniversary or her birthday or their tradition when it's his turn. It's just that he's too guilty about being with her and still delaying the impending doom of their relationship to actually be with her. He decided to deprive himself of his own happiness because he doesn't deserve it.. doesn't deserve her. He's just a coward to face it.

Her tears are slowly rolling down her cheeks, like the snow falling down on them. "I endured them all, knowing that you're still in grief, and you probably will be for a long time. I know the feeling." She took a deep breath and exhaled, still crying. "But never, not once, did I ever think about giving you up. Never."

His eyes blurred and he fought the tears that threatened to come. He swallowed hard and breathe deeply to control his emotions. Sasuke wanted to look away, but he couldn't.

"I deserve better. I know that," she nodded to herself. "But I still wanted you despite that.. because I love you." She licked her lips and took a step forward to him.

Sasuke watched as she made her way to him, her hands shaking and her eyes straight up looking at him. When she's in front of him with only a few inches between them, she spoke.

"So you don't get to break up with me, Sasuke," her voice strong and laced with genuine resolve. "I break up with you."

Her eyes are hard but still leaking angry and pained tears, "I break up with you."

Sasuke knows he deserved her hate, but he never thought it would be as painful as this. He didn't say a thing, just continued to stare down at her shaking form, praying to anyone to end this fucking nightmare.

Sakura's green eyes dimmed down and turned soft as she stares up at him. His heart skipped a beat.

"I wish you happiness, Sasuke."

—

Mikoto was drinking water from the kitchen when she suddenly heard a noise coming from the living room. She was startled for a second, but she put her glass down and tightened her robe. It was late at night and Sasuke must have come back. She made her way to their living room, only the moonlight provides little light in their house.

When she peered from the hallway, she saw Sasuke standing in the middle of the room with his back on her. He was deathly still looking out the great window of their living room. She silently and slowly approached him, then put her hand on his back.

"Sasuke?"

Her eyes went wide when her son looked back at her. Sasuke was crying.

"Kaa-san," he muttered, his voice little and broken.

She gasped then, her son calling her that term that he hasn't used since he was 13. She looked up at him and knew immediately what happened. Her heart ached for them.

A tear fell from his eyes as he looked at his mother, "She called me Sasuke." His eyes continued to shed tears as he said, "He never calls me just Sasuke."

Fugaku was at the top of the stairs and saw his wife and son in their living room. He heard the noise earlier and decided to check what it was. He saw and heard his now only living son slowly die in front of his mother. His heart clenched painfully.

Mikoto's eyes gathered moisture and she fought the tears as she watched her son look down at his hand and put it against his chest.

"Kaa-san," Sasuke called her again.

Mikoto swallowed before she answered, "Yes, Sasuke?"

Sasuke clenched his hand on his chest and gripped it tight, "It hurts." His dark eyes, still continuously shedding salty tears, found her own, "It hurts so much. Can you make it stop?"

His mother couldn't fight away her tears any longer. His face contorted in pain as she gathered him in her arms as they fell on the floor, with his head buried against his mother's shoulder.

"Please, kaa-san. Please. Make it stop."

Sasuke's wretched sobs reverberate around the silent Uchiha house, muffled by his own mother's cries. His father slowly made back his way to their room to silently cry alone.

Outside, the first snow of the winter falls, in sync with the tears from their eyes.

--

~fin~

(A/N: As you noticed, I made Karin and Naruto siblings, if you’re a bit confused about that. Hope you liked it and made you feel some things, no matter what those may be. Lol. See you soon!)

part 1 | part 2

[pleasereadmeok]

Interview with Matthew Goode on his role in The Crown - 

Now I am sitting in a London hotel room in front of the actor playing Snowdon in season two of Netflix’s The Crown. And Matthew Goode is wearing a hat, probably the one he has in ITV’s The Wine Show, the programme in which he and his mate Matthew Rhys josh and gush over vintages brought to them in a “hilltop Italian villa” — a for-real version of Brydon and Coogan’s The Trip. The bibulous old rogue Snowdon would have appreciated the wine and the banter, but what would he have said about his future impersonator’s ever-on hat?

“He was a nightmare,” says Goode, who admits to rather liking Snowdon. “I spoke to one of the guys who used to help him when he was a photographer, and he said, ‘I can’t use the expletive, but it describes an area of a woman’s body — that’s who he was.’ It was so annoying. He could be charming and brilliant, then in two seconds’ time behave like the most disgusting person in the entire world.”

Snowdon was 76 when I met him and although he had been divorced from Margaret for nearly 30 years, he still behaved like minor royalty. His servants, I noted, called him m’lud. In the period depicted in The Crown, however, Snowdon was New Britain on the march, storming the palace gates to modernise the monarchy. That early model, the pre-peerage Tony Armstrong-Jones, might even have admired Goode’s hat.

Having once compared Margaret to a Jewish manicurist (he was part Jewish himself), he would certainly have enjoyed Goode’s outspokenness, a trait that has got the actor into trouble in interviews before — which may be why his publicist is sitting behind me. She keeps her counsel, however, probably having already realised that Goode’s chance of appearing in the next honours list is about as likely as The Crown ushering in a republic.

A file of background notes passed on by The Crown’s producers persuaded Goode that Snowdon’s faults were sourced in an unhappy childhood. His mother, Anne Messel, showed him little affection, referring to him as her “ugly son”, doling out her love instead to the two boys from her second, longer-lasting marriage to an earl. He was sent to boarding school at eight and at 16, while at Eton, contracted polio (there is a touching moment in The Crown when he hides his stick when Margaret turns up at his studio). Anne, rather than nurse him at home, packed him off to Liverpool Royal Infirmary, but she never visited him.

“Exactly what that kind of damage does to a child I have no idea, but emotionally and psychologically, quite a lot, I would imagine,” says Goode. “I think it’s why he married Princess Margaret. I think he did it to please his mother rather than himself.”

Demonstrating that he was good enough to marry into royalty? “It’s far more complicated than that, I’m sure, but it’s one of the solutions.”

The Snowdons were soon into an 18-year marriage notable for its private rowing and public putdowns. Yet, says Goode, the royal family loved their new recruit and always blamed Margaret for any trouble. “He was terribly funny as well. So with this incredibly acerbic, nasty, vitriolic, spiteful side comes this flamboyant, wonderfully debonair, extremely funny, witty man.”

The pair, he summarises, were “very charismatic, very smart and vile”, but what we can be sure of was that the sex between them was spectacularly good — although not good enough to dissuade their lusty libidos from straying beyond marriage. Soon both were having affairs. Within weeks of the marriage, another woman, Camilla Fry, had given birth to Snowdon’s illegitimate daughter, sired, the show suggests, during a three-in-a-bed encounter with her and her bisexual husband, Jeremy.

“When I first met Noo,” Goode says, referring to Vanessa Kirby, who plays Margaret, by her nickname, “I was quite terrified because I was a fan of the first series. I was a little star-struck, I suppose, and I thought it might make for uncomfortable love scenes, but we ended up just finding it hilarious. It was a really good giggle. She’s brilliant. She’s really dynamic as an actress and really fun to work with because she’ll bat it back. She listens, really listens, and responds.”

Perhaps it is because of their rapport that they manage to convey how alike the princess and her parvenu husband were. They were control freaks (that cap business) and poisonous to those who would not be controlled. They were rebels, but also lovers of status. As Goode points out, Armstrong-Jones may have been the first commoner in 40 years to marry the daughter of a monarch, but he was also dead posh. In fact, Goode’s dialect coach encouraged him to “dial back” the vowels, lest people found them confusing.

Since his breakthrough role as wealthy Tom in Woody Allen’s Match Point in 2005, and certainly after his Charles Ryder in Brideshead Revisited three years later, Goode has played mainly posh boys. He was brought up in Devon the son of a geologist and his wife, a nurse, but did go to a private day school. Yet Goode is not quite acting aristocracy and since this cannot be because of his talent, or his looks — dark hair, blue eyes, 6ft 2in — this may be something to do with his habit of speaking his mind. In an interview in 2010 he complained about being left with “nowhere to go” by the director of Brideshead. When Tom Ford’s excellent A Single Man came out, he criticised the Weinsteins for featuring Julianne Moore rather than him with Colin Firth in the advertising, thus downplaying the central gay relationship. In 2013 he said he had been working “a lot of scale”, meaning the minimum rate.

Then, on This Morning last year, he said he did not think the modern Bond films were working as well as the old ones. The papers, which had tipped him as Daniel Craig’s successor, declared he had blown his chances.

“I’m way over the hill, darling, what are you talking about?” he responds, although he is 39 and only a few years older than Craig when he started. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way.” What he meant was that there could be two Bond franchises, one contemporary Bond and another set in the Sixties. “It’s just an idea. But apparently you can’t have an opinion.”

Recent years have been kinder to him professionally. In 2014 he joined Downton Abbey as Henry Talbot, the racing diver who sped off with Lady Mary. Around the same time he won a regular gig on The Good Wife in America. The Wine Show is about to return to ITV, with Goode joined by a new drinking buddy, James Purefoy. There are, of course, still disappointments. Cast as a morphine-addicted ex-public schoolboy in Agatha Christie’s Ordeal by Innocence, Goode now finds that the three-parter has been pulled from the BBC’s Christmas schedules after sexual allegations against his co-star Ed Westwick (who robustly denies them).

Goode says there are two ways of looking at it. The first is that the BBC has spared the cast some awkward interview questions. “But some would also say that they should have stood by Ed. Possibly. I mean, I don’t know. I’m not the controller of the BBC.”

So, is he in favour of the postponement? “I’m not really in favour of anything because I don’t have to make that decision. I believe you’re innocent until proven guilty.”

But has the BBC prejudged the matter by pulling the show? “No, not now, because there are three allegations now.”

Goode has lived with the mother of his three children, Sophie Dymoke, for 12 years. When she became pregnant with their first daughter, she gave up her life in the fashion industry in New York. He was thrilled to be able to return with her to film The Good Wife, but by then her heart was no longer in her career. Is he guilty about that?

“Of course I am. Of course I am. She has to put up with living with some f***wit who doesn’t really live in reality occasionally and has some slight psychological problems occasionally through work. She’s retrained as an interior designer and she’s so talented at it.”

What psychological problems? “Well, this [show] is part of it. If you tie all of your hopes to the net product of your work, then you’re going to get depressed because sometimes you feel like you’re working really well and then you watch it and you go, ‘I am terrible.’ I don’t watch my stuff any more.”

I assure him he is excellent in The Crown, but it was a one-off gig. Series three will be recast with older actors (he thinks Paul Bettany would be a good choice). “Peter Morgan [the writer] said, ‘I’ve just written the most fantastic argument for Tony and Margaret in series three.’ I was, like, ‘Oh good. What a thrill for the next guy.’ ”

He got the part days after Lord Snowdon died in January this year, 15 years after Margaret. His death avoids any unpleasant collisions in restaurants and Goode hopes that none of his children will want to spit in his face. He reports that Matt Smith was introduced to Prince William at a function before the first series was shown. The prince said he had heard he was playing his grandfather, Prince Philip. “And Matt was, like, ‘Yeah, yeah, anything to say about that?’ And William just said, ‘LEGEND.’ ”

“I think as we come towards where we are now, it will be slightly uneasy and slightly problematic. I think it could open up a few wounds that people are still a little bit grieving over and feeling complicated about. Poor old Charles is probably going to get it in the neck. Maybe it’s a good thing that I’m out of there already.”

In one way, however, Lord Snowdon did members of the royal family a favour. The show’s slogan is that “the crown always wins”. In the Snowdon case, monarchic tradition was unable to prevent Margaret and her husband from divorcing and pursuing happiness with others. Perhaps without their example, Charles, Anne and Andrew might still be all miserably married. The Snowdons were trailblazers!

“Were they the first? They were. Yes, they were! So, the trailblazers. Trailblazers is a word that suits them extremely well,” Goode says enthusiastically.

And for that, let us all take off our caps to Lord Snowdon.

The Crown series two is available on Netflix from December 8

[storiesofwildfire]

📖 📷 💋 🔪 💌 📫 📨 💬 💀 👪 👊💒 (From Fandral, feel free to mix and match verses)

{ @fandralxthexstabulous } || send me a symbol to see what my muse would say about yours – status; accepting

📖 for what my muse would write about yours in their diary. (from the POV of Loki and Fandral mending their friendship)

     I’m not entirely sure what to make of Fandral anymore. After he chose to openly support Thor, I didn’t think there was anything left between us, but… He was so quick to realize that he’d hurt me and immediately jumped on wanting to make amends for it. He’s been honest with me in ways I didn’t even think he was capable of, but I’m afraid, too. That sounds stupid, doesn’t it? He’s bending over backwards to make things right between us because he cares and yet I’m afraid of getting too attached again? 

     Can I be blamed for that, though? My feelings for Fandral became so intense so quickly that it startled me. Those feelings are still there, really, but should they be? Yes, Fandral’s doing his best to make amends and yes, he’s explained to me why he made the decisions that he made, but… I’m not really sure what to make of what he feels for me, I suppose. There’s enough uncertainty to make me wary because there was a point in time where I thought he might feel the same way about me that I felt about him. Now I’m not so sure. It’s very obvious that he cares about me. He wouldn’t have gone so far out of his way to make me happy again if he didn’t, but is that a result of valuing our friendship and nothing more?

     It’s relatively easy to convince myself that I’m the one with feelings above and beyond that of friendship. Fandral’s able to have literally anyone he wants. Why would he want to be with me? It makes perfect sense as to why how I’m feeling would be one-sided. And yet, every once in a while, I catch Fandral starring at me with a sort of longing in his eyes. Maybe I’m just imagining it, but it’s happened more than once, usually when we’re alone and he doesn’t think that I’m paying any attention to what he’s doing. Hel, a time or two, I even caught him watching me in the bath house after hours of training… 

     Gods, I sound like a lovesick teenager right now. This is actually pathetic… I shouldn’t be sitting in my bed, writing about my feelings for some boy that’s far too pretty to ever climb into my bed. Sometimes it still amazes me that I still harbor such strong feelings for him after everything that happened, but his efforts to make things up to me have only proven to make me want him that much more. I think even Sigyn might approve of him. I’ve been so unwilling to explore romance since she died, but when I’m around Fandral, it almost feels like she’s offering me her blessings, in a way.

     Sooner or later, I guess I’ll have to tell him how I feel. If I ever work up the courage to do so, that is.

📷 for what my muse would say to the paparazzi about yours. (from the POV of Loki being questioned by other court members about his choice in lover once he and Fandral have finally become public, because… does Asgard even have real paparazzi?)

     “Yes, I think Fandral is a perfectly fine suitor. If I one day have to retake the throne hardly matters in my affairs with the person I’ve chosen to spend my life with, does it? So long as we are able to have children–and I can assure you that we can. I’m sure none of you have forgotten that I’m able to carry children. You usually never let me forget about all of the times you believe I’ve stumbled or faltered, after all. Regardless, my point remains the same.

     “With Thor refusing to take the throne and no other suitable heirs, it’s likely that I will probably have to become king once again when Odin decides it’s his time to step down.” Fortunately, Loki was able to hide the shiver that ran down his spine at the prospect of becoming king again. “I realize that puts a heavy load of responsibility upon my shoulders. I was acting king for months after the Dark Elves invasion, after all, but I still fail to see what any of that has to do with Fandral. He’s a strong, loyal warrior who would die for Asgard should he be asked to lay down his life. He’s a member of a respected noble house. He’s extremely intelligent, adaptable, and given a position of power, he’ll do right by his realm and by me. We’ve long since had this discussion. Fandral understands what it means to be with me and how that will impact his life and responsibilities.

     “What I fail to understand is what any of this has to do with the rest of you? Does my decision on who to love offend you so greatly that you feel the need to question me about it? I’m not going to marry for political reasons. Odin didn’t. Thor wouldn’t. I shouldn’t be expected to, either. If your worry stems from how it’ll be viewed by the realm, then it’s about time we stop acting like Midgardians and start showing acceptance, isn’t it?” That last comment seemed to shut everyone up. No Aesir liked to be compared to a human. It was an insult above most things because Asgard thought so highly of itself.

💋 for what my muse would say to the person trying to woo your muse. (from the POV of a jealous Loki who is still keeping his relationship with Fandral a secret)

     “You know… It’s not exactly attractive or desirable to drool over someone you’re lusting after,” Loki murmured as he leaned against the bar next to the redhead who spent most of the night attempting to lure Fandral over to her. In truth, the woman was absolutely beautiful. Her hair was so vibrant, it almost didn’t look real, and she was taller than most women, with curves in places that every man would want them to be. Perhaps that’s why he found so much displeasure in her attempts to woo Fandral because she was absolutely stunning?

     “You look desperate. Don’t throw away your self-respect just for the chance to be with someone for a night or two. No man is really worth that.” And while his words might have sounded a bit harsh, he actually did mean them in a way that didn’t entirely stem from jealousy. He’d been around Fandral long enough to know that plenty of women–and some men–forgot what dignity was when they were around him. Even Loki had fallen victim to that once or twice. “You ought to invest your efforts in someone who will take real, lasting interest in you.”

🔪 for the eulogy my muse would give for yours. (from the POV of Loki watching Fandral die during Thanos’ invasion of Asgard, right before Loki ignited Ragnarök)

     Fandral was one of the few warriors left on Asgard who hadn’t been killed or crippled by Thanos’ invasion. The realm crumbled around them as the Titan made one final push to crush those who stood in his way while obtaining the rest of the Infinity Stones. Sif had fallen. Volstagg and Hogun were gone. Fródi, Inka, Inge, and Alvida were dead. Even Thor had perished in the face of the Mad Titan, but Loki endured and Fandral was always right at his side.

     Until he wasn’t.

     Asmund and Sigurd were a couple of the only friends Loki had left aside from Fandral and when they heard Loki’s screams of anguish, they both came running. A void of darkness opened behind where Loki hit his knees in a pool of his lover’s blood. The dark-haired trickster carefully pulled Fandral into his arms, pleading with him not to leave, but Fandral was already gone. Life left him long before Loki could ever reach him and there was nothing he could do to bring him back.

     “Loki…” Asmund murmured as he stepped free from Sigurd’s shadows. The shadowmancer’s voids seemed to be one of the only safe places that they could go where Thanos could not follow them, but even they were only temporary solutions. The healer placed a hand on Loki’s shoulder as silent tears streaked through the blood and grime on Loki’s cheeks. Even Asmund had a difficult time bearing the sight of the dead warrior in Loki’s arms. “We need to go. Thanos will kill us to if we don’t.”

     “Thanos is going to kill everyone,” Loki murmured, though he didn’t fight his friend. Instead of kneeling in Fandral’s blood, Loki picked himself up and carried Fandral’s lifeless corpse with him to Sigurd’s void. Once Asmund and Loki were inside the darkness, Sigurd shut the open end and sealed them inside of it. Loki sat down and held Fandral against his chest, silent for a long time. So many people were dying so rapidly that there was no time for funerals. Fandral’s death was no different, but his death finally put things into perspective for him.

     “Fandral’s taught me a lot of things over the years,” Loki began. Sigurd and Asmund stood before him, watching as he grieved for his fallen lover. “He taught me that things are not always what they appear to be. He taught me that being a good person didn’t have to be difficult. He taught me the importance of loyalty and passion and he showed me how to love again. He even showed me how to love myself, which was something I never thought I’d ever be able to have. He was the one person I thought would always be by my side. When everyone else was gone, I thought he’d be there, but even he couldn’t endure this. With all of his strength and all of his wit and all of his charm… The world has been dimming since this war broke out, but now it feels truly cold.” He paused for a moment. Miraculously, the tears that fell from his eyes didn’t choke him up. His words were calm and eerily concise for someone who felt like he’d lost everything in the matter of a few moments. 

     “I feel cold.” That was the first time he’d ever uttered those words and truly knew what it felt like to experience the sensation of chill seeping into his bones. 

     “If losing Fandral has shown me anything, it’s that we aren’t going to win this war. He was the strongest person we had left and now he’s gone… But hope didn’t die with him. There is one thing left that we can do, that I can do to make all of this stop. I don’t know what will happen, but I have to try. I can’t let his sacrifice be for nothing. His death has to mean something. It has to count and I’ll make sure that it does.”

💌 for a letter my muse would write to yours. (from the POV of Loki contacting Fandral sometimes after Otherworldly Monsters)

Dearest Fandral,

     It hasn’t been more than a couple of weeks since I left Asgard. At the time of my departure, you were rather busy. I didn’t think it would be fair of me to ask you to come alone when your attention was already so divided amongst your responsibilities. You do take your role much more seriously than I can ever comprehend, but…

     I miss you a great deal. 

     Normally, when I leave Asgard, I don’t think about it at all. Occasionally, I might linger on what my friends are doing or how much I miss them if I’ve been gone for a particularly long period of time, but otherwise, Asgard doesn’t intrude my thought often. But since my last trip to Midgard and having you come in search of me, I feel like something’s missing. Normally, I work better alone and I get so much more accomplished than if I have someone with me, but that wasn’t the case with you. While you were with me, I had a sense that we worked so well together, it would be better if you accompanied me every time I left Asgard.

     Since I left, I’ve been kicking myself in the arse for not asking you to come along. I’m finding that I miss you a great deal more than I could have anticipated and I’d really like you to come and join me if you can spare the time.

                                                                                                             -Loki

📫 for a letter my muse would write about yours to a third party. (from the POV of a message delivered to Snoke sometime after Loki begins training Fandral and Loki’s decided he’d like to keep Fandral safe from his superiors)

     I wish to keep this brief, as I do not trust that this message will be left untampered before it reaches you, Master. I’m sending this to update you on the status of the Force-sensitive boy I made contact with months and months ago. I know your hope for him is high, but I’ve decided that he is no longer worth pursuing. His connection to the Force is weak and he can barely comprehend even the most basic teachings. I’ve made very little improvement with him since the day I first made contact with him and I’m not willing to waste any more of my time with him. I will dispose of him in the most discreet manner and move on. I’m not ready to return yet. I believe there is still potential elsewhere, I just need to locate it. Sadly, my first attempt has failed and I am unwilling to return until I can bring success along with me.

📨 for a text my muse would send to yours. (from the POV of Loki and Fandral meeting Loki’s kids for the first time in Resetting the Odds)

[ text; Fan ]; I’m really nervous about this. I know Eydis thinks it’s a great idea for me to meet my children. I know she thinks it’ll help bring back some memories, but… [ text; Fan ]; I don’t even know why I’m scared? These are my kids, right? I’m their… mother, right? I love them. I know I do. I can feel it even if I can’t really remember them, but I’m still terrified.[ text; Fan ]; Please come home soon. I really don’t want to do this alone. 

💬 for a text my muse would send about yours to a third party. (from the POV of Loki contacting Thor while he and Fandral are on Midgard searching for the Mind Gem)

[ text; Thor ]; All of Asgard–your father included–is angry with you for leaving when they needed you most. My concerns were about letting my idiot brother who ran off know that I was alive. My concerns were with Asgard.[ text; Thor ]; And truth be told, Fandral really doesn’t want to see you. As angry as most of the people of Asgard are, Fandral might be even more upset with you.[ text; Thor ]; Rightfully so, considering you convinced him to commit treason for you and then left him to clean up the aftermath.[ text; Thor ]; What if he’d been imprisoned for what he did? Or executed? Did you even stop to think about how your decisions impacted his life? Or any of your friends, for that matter?[ text; Thor ]; We’re just here for the Mind Gem. If you can’t help us get it, there’s no reason to stay in contact with you.

💀 for what my muse would say upon hearing about your muse’s death. (from the POV of an AU we’ve never roleplayed or even talked about where Fandral goes undercover and all of his friends are left to believe he’s dead)

     He shouldn’t have been upset, really. So many years passed since Loki and Fandral were anything close to friends. After Fandral decided that he would throw his support behind Thor and his future rule, Loki couldn’t bring himself to be happy around Fandral. He tried. Truly, he did try to keep hold of the friendship that they built together, but being around the warrior only made his heart ache with bitterness and that same sense of not being good enough that he felt with just about everyone. 

     And yet, being told that Fandral had been struck down in battle left him feeling… numb. He couldn’t even bring himself to look at Thor after his brother relayed the news to him.

     “Look,” Thor murmured. “I know you and Fandral weren’t the best of friends, but you two seemed to get along rather well. Fandral liked you a great deal, you know. He used to stick up for you all the time. He never really liked when any of us picked on you or assumed you were up to no good. The least you could do is say something.” Thor couldn’t even bring himself to sound demanding. His heart ached for his lost friend.

     “I don’t expect you to understand what went on between Fandral and me, Thor,” Loki finally said as his eyes fell shut. “But don’t mistake my silence for indifference. I care more than I can express with words. I just don’t know what to say…”

     “That’s a first,” Thor said, doing his best to offer his brother jesting smile, but it faltered as Loki finally looked up at him. Even Thor, a man who usually paid very little attention to the feelings of others, could see the agony swimming in Loki’s eyes. “You weren’t kidding when you said you cared more than you could say, were you?”

     “No, Thor, I–” He brought his hands up to his face to wipe his eyes before the tears that stung his eyes had a chance to fall. “–I loved him.”

     Thor didn’t need Loki to elaborate on what he meant. Whether or not Fandral ever had a relationship with his little brother, he didn’t know, but Loki developed deep feelings for him somewhere along the way and hearing that he was dead must have been devastating… The elder prince couldn’t bring himself to speak, so he opted for sitting down beside his brother and pulling his lean frame into his arms, hugging him tightly.

👪 for what my muse would say to your muse’s child about them. (from the POV of sometime in the future when Fan and Loki finally have those twin girls we were talking about)

     Loki took the twins into their room once they were in their pajamas and ready for bed. Because of their young age, Loki and Fandral decided it was best to keep them together. One day, they would want their own rooms and space from one another, but for now, they were attached at the hip. In a way, the beautiful little girls reminded him a lot of how the triplets were with one another when they were young. The only significant difference was that Asgard took such a warm liking to the twins that had honestly shocked Loki after their birth.

     “Is Papa going to come read us a bedtime story?” Marian–the twin to be born first (something she loved to hold over her sister’s head)–asked as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. “He always acts out the different parts. It’s funny.”

     “No, darling,” Loki murmured as he picked her up and set her on her bed. “Papa’s not here, remember? He’ll be gone for a few more weeks.” This produced a pout from both of his girls.

     “Why does he always go away?” the younger girl, Frija, asked. Loki decided to name the second child after his mother, though he’d given her a variant of his mother’s name rather than literally name her ‘Frigga’. “He always seems so happy when he’s here with us, so why does he leave?” She climbed up onto the edge of the bed next to her sister despite the fact that her bed was on the other side of the room.

     “Your father is very happy,” Loki reassured them both. “But as all adults do, he has responsibilities that he needs to attend to for work.” Loki’s responsibilities also pulled him away from his girls from time to time but he’d been extremely insistent that he never be kept away from them for more than a few days at a time. As much as he loved off-realm work, his daughters were far more important. Perhaps once they were older, he’d feel more comfortable leaving them, but for now… Well, he’d lost children already and perhaps he was a bit too overprotective. “Sometimes that means that he has to leave us for a few weeks at a time. Trust me, darlings, I don’t like it any more than you two.”

     “Are you ever going to tell us what he does when he’s away? Aside from the obvious sword work?” Marian asked.

     “One day, when you’re older, your father and I will tell you all about the things we’ve accomplished separately and together. For now, settle for knowing that he’s doing what he’s doing to protect Asgard and, more importantly, to keep his beautiful little girls safe. He loves you two more than anything else in all the Nine Realms. You know that, don’t you?”

     “That’s not true, Mum,” Frija murmured with a yawn large enough to put even Thor to shame. “He loves you more than everything,” she pointed out with a matter-of-fact tone that left little room to argue. “That’s why you guys are so gross whenever Papa does come home from his long trips.”

     Marian wrinkled her nose at the thought. Their parents were rather icky, weren’t they? “She’s right about that.”

     Chuckling softly, Loki placed a kiss on each of their foreheads. “Do you two want a story or not? Continue to insult me and I won’t give you one.”

     “Will you tell us a story about one of your adventures with Papa, then?”

     “You really do miss him, don’t you?” Both girls gave Loki a very signature expression that Loki usually gave most people when he thought they were being dumb. He laughed and stroked their hair. “I miss him too. All right then.” He climbed into bed with them so each girl could snuggle up beside him. “Let me tell you about the time I took your father to Midgard to search for a few Infinity Stones, then. Pretty sure you haven’t heard that one yet.” 

👊 for what my muse would say upon hearing yours has been arrested. (from the POV of Loki ordering anyone who left Asgard in hopes of bringing Thor home to be arrested)

     “Who all attempted to leave?” Loki asked as a guard came into the throne room to inform him that several arrests had been made at the edge of the Bifrost. 

     “Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, your highness,” the guard replied. “Each is outside, awaiting your judgment. If you would prefer me to escort them all to the dungeons instead…”

     Loki sighed and rubbed his temple. “No, I will deal with them individually,” Loki said. “Send Fandral in first.” The guard bowed and excused himself so he could return to the prisoners. Each had been chained appropriately so they would not so easily be able to make an escape, even with their expert skills in combat. The guard too Fandral by the upper arm first and led the warrior into the throne room. The doors closed behind him, ensuring that Sif, Hogun, and Volstagg would be unable to hear what went on inside.

     Loki stood from the throne, leaving the spear that his father usually wielded to rest against the uncomfortable chair. He approached them and looked directly at the guard. “Leave us.”

     “With all due respect, your highness, this man is a criminal. I don’t think it’s wise for you to be alone with him without any sort of protection.” Loki raised a brow at the guard and after a moment of discomfort, he bowed his head and excused himself. Only then did Loki actually look Fandral in the eyes. Disappointment shone brightly in those emerald pits. 

     “After all this time, I truly did hold onto the hope that you were better than this, Fandral,” Loki said. “I’d like to say that I’ve never been so disappointed in you in all my life, but that’s not entirely true. I can think of one instance where I was more disappointed. I gave you and your friends a direct order as your King and you still went behind my back to liberate a man who was banished by the All-father. Do you think I enjoyed seeing Thor cast out any more than you did? No. I didn’t. Thor is my brother, but he was cast out for a reason. A reason that I truly hoped you, of all people, would understand. Or did you so easily forget that it was his temper that almost got you killed back on Jotunheim?” He fell silent for a moment as he clenched his jaw. “Why couldn’t you just listen to me? Why did you have to commit treason, Fandral? Do you respect me so very little that it’s truly come to this? To me having to send you and your friends to the dungeons before you finally get it?”

💒 for the toast my muse would give at your muse’s wedding. (from the POV of Loki and Fandral finally getting their arses in gear and getting married)

     “I know it’s usually friends and family who give the toasts and speeches at events like this,” Loki said as he stood up from his chair and placed a hand on his husband’s shoulder. The wedding happened less than an hour ago and it was still somewhat surreal. All those years of pretending they weren’t together and all of the days spent sneaking around finally gave way to a real and solid future for them and it was just… a lot to take in.

     “But I have something I wanted to say, not just to you, but to everyone.” He squeezed Fandral’s shoulder for a moment. “If it weren’t for you, I don’t know that I would have kept myself together during the time I acted as king after the Dark Elves invaded Asgard. No one knew how close we became back then, but you were an entire support system for me and, therefore, a support system for Asgard. You still play those roles very well, Fandral, and I think it’s important for everyone to know that. I don’t know exactly what the future holds, but so long as we’re together, we’ll do what we can for one another and for Asgard. You made me believe in second chances and I think you’ve helped most of Asgard believe in them too.”

     People cheered at that last comment. Fandral had a much larger impact on Asgard than even the warrior could probably comprehend.

     “So while people should be toasting us, I’d just like to take a moment to propose a toast to you, my love.” He handed Fandral a goblet of wine and then held his up. “There isn’t a single person I could think of that would be more deserving of it.” The guests all put their glasses up in the air, cheering for Fandral and shouting encouragements as well as congratulations.

[ataraxetta]

What is your opinion of Gladio during chapter ten? I can't ship gladnoct after playing it.

All right, let’s talk about chapter ten.

To answer your question, I think Gladio was a dick during this chapter, but I think his world was falling apart around him and lashing out in some dickishness is a totally understandable and pretty standard human reaction to that level of upset. He was angry and grieving and feeling powerless and helpless in an intensely high-stress situation and he was handling it badly, in direct contention with Noctis, who was also handling it badly but in an opposing direction. 

I think that chapter 9 was an abrupt and brutal awakening for all four of the bros. Up until Altissia, I don’t think any of them had really been hit with the reality stick yet, not the full extent, because they didn’t have absolute confirmation of anything but that Insomnia had been taken, which is too broad to narrow down to personal grief. They knew a lot of people died there, but nothing more concrete than that, and they knew that they couldn’t trust what the papers were reporting which was enough to spark hope that maybe, somehow, their loved ones had survived. Maybe, somehow, things weren’t as bad as they sounded. If the reports of Noctis and Luna’s deaths were false, then maybe the others were too. Maybe, once they got to Altissia, it would be to find that King Regis and Clarus and Ignis and Prompto’s families had survived. Once they got to Altissia, everything would be solved.

So for awhile, in the safe space of the road trip and hunts and meeting people and helping people and exploring a new world they kind of got lost in the storybook romance of it all, all four of them. Fated lovers the Chosen Prince and the Oracle journeying toward one another after so long, making pacts with the Gods in order to take back their home from Empire and save the world from evil with their friends by their side. That would be heady as hell, being at the center of that. And then Altissia happened, city destroyed, Luna murdered, Ignis horrifically injured, complete devastation, lives ruined, and it suddenly wasn’t romantic at all anymore.  

I don’t think any of them really had accepted the full reality until they personally witnessed the fallout. Clearly none of them had actually stopped and even considered that Ardyn Izunia was actually a bad person. He couldn’t have been more obvious if he had TRIED that he was Sekritly All Kinds of Evol BadGuy, and they even talked about how creepy and untrustworthy and probably bad news bears he was! Repeatedly! And still none of them actually believed that it was a possibility that that sort of evil actually existed. Altissia made everything real. Regis, Clarus and countless others really were dead. Their home really had been destroyed. People who helped them really were being slaughtered because of the association. Those losses were real, the danger to the entire world was real, the responsibility to fix it was real, and the destiny Noctis had been dreading his whole life was the only option they had left. Chapter 10 is the guys dealing with not only what happened in Altissia but also drowning under the grief they hadn’t let themselves feel yet of everything that had happened before.

Enter chapter 10 Gladio and Noctis - character foils with personality types at different ends of the spectrum who were raised under similar circumstances and came out with very different world views and personal strengths that tend to highlight each other’s flaws - and the clashing of coping mechanisms.

Gladio’s instinct is to fall back on the precepts and moral code he was raised with (loyalty, strength, honor, pride in his calling, along with the kind of mental conditioning that would come with having been military trained from a young age) and hold his head up and carry on, no matter what. He has a goal and a duty to the world/himself/his family to do what needs to be done for the greater good despite the fact that he’s coming apart at the seams. He’ll do whatever it takes to keep moving forward. He has a job to do. They all have a job to do, and nothing can stand in the way of it.

Noctis withdraws. imo, Noctis has been suffering a staggering case of PTSD for most of his life that has never really been acknowledged or dealt with. In the prologue script thing Ignis confirms that Noctis had a drastic personality change after he was injured by the daemon that almost killed him, which happened after he lost his mother at a young age and years spent wanting nothing more than to spend time with his dad and rarely being able to, and before he witnessed the massacre at Tenebrae, and was followed by a long recovery and growing up watching his father slowly die from the power and responsibility that Noctis was going to inherit, as well as having the title Chosen One and all the expectation therein like a boulder on his shoulders since he was 8.  

I think this is why he’s grown up so isolated even surrounded by his friends, because he’s cultivated this distance as a means to protect himself, it’s the only way he knows how to keep functioning. He bottles everything he feels because he doesn’t know how to express it and he deals with disappointment by acting passive and/or aloof, and he deals with trauma by disassociating and retreating into himself. 

To Gladio’s point, I maintain that being the friend on the other side of those particular coping mechanisms would be difficult/frustrating for anyone, especially someone like Gladio who has always been blunt and expressive and brazenly and unapologetically himself and just can’t fathom the way Noctis’s mind works.

There are several weeks that we don’t get to see between chapter 9 and chapter 10, but it’s pretty heavily implied that Noctis has kept his distance from the rest of them, including Ignis, which is what seems to have been the main motivation for Gladio’s blow up on the train. To him it looks like Noctis doesn’t care, and worse that he’s so tangled up in his own head that he hasn’t even noticed that one of his best friends is suffering. What Gladio sees is Ignis, who has been through just as much as Noctis has since they left Insomnia and who has now also been permanently and debilitatingly injured in the line of his duty (both personal and professional) to Noctis, and who has despite all that powered through the pain and anguish and uncertainty and stepped up without hesitation and is trying, while Noctis has spent the last few weeks wallowing without even acknowledging the sacrifices that have been made in his name, just sulking around with the power of the Lucii in his pocket instead of on his finger like a blatant refusal to take up the mantle and be king and do his damn job.

Of course we have much more Noctis canon than Gladio canon to work with. We know that Noctis has been thinking of nothing else, and has kept his distance from Ignis because he blames himself, and because every part of his history is proof precedent that those close to him will die protecting him, and he’s so afraid of losing them. Just carrying the ring and all its creepy otherworldly whispering around in his pocket is physically painful and he knows the moment he puts it on he becomes a dying man. He feels guilty for wanting to avoid his duty, and the constant fear and insecurity that’s always plagued him has been proven valid and he doesn’t know how to come back from that: he’s failed everyone, including Luna, the one person in the world he swore to protect and the only promise he’s ever allowed himself to make.

But Noctis is incapable of expressing any of this, communication has never been his strong suit (see Prompto never really being able to trust that Noctis cares for him as much as we know Noctis does), and Gladio can’t be blamed for jumping to wrong conclusions when Noctis doesn’t share any of the right ones. There’s no evidence of splintering that’s happening inside. On the outside Noctis is going through the motions but has completely secluded himself and from what it looks like to me, barely spoken to any of them for weeks while he gazes moodily into the distance. That would be hard to swallow.

I’m sorry, this got long and probably mostly incoherent I’m terrible at explaining things. Basically my feelings are that I can and will defend both Gladio and Noctis on all points for their behavior after chapter 9 because I think they both fucked up and handled things badly and that it’s very realistic for them to be human and flawed (for all of them to be human and flawed, which they magnificently are I love these characters so much). 

I’m only upset because this really could have been such an interesting plot point and character development and so good if it had just been done well, but narratively the ball was dropped to the point where it just felt unfinished. Noctis and Gladio’s relationship was so strained throughout chapter ten and they were so harsh with each other that we as the audience needed to see them actually reconcile and apologize to each other and at least start working toward trusting each other again. We deserved to see this one loose end tied up for the impact it would have later on, y’know? I feel like their relationship was done a disservice by lazy writing.

[cupcakesquid]

I thought 3 ( Jason Todd x Reader )

Summary: It’s over.

Pairings: Jason Todd x Reader

Warnings: angst, suicide, death, and i’m sorry @the-singing-canary

a/n: shite I almost cried but I was debating for a long time whether sad or happy so I just did that.. Thing.. Heh… Thank you guys for putting up with me and lots of part two’s are coming this week.. Also ty to @maruthor for helping meh decide because I am an undecided piece of crepe.. Also guys please take care of yourself. 

(Part 1) (Part 2)

“It’s so empty.” He whispered accidentally. He gazed around the grey apartment. It was quite a solitary . It was as if it had been abandoned for years. He could not cease his regret for a second and genuinely vowed to be better. You let out a small chuckle and took another bite from your pancake.

“I don’t get out much.” You responded meeting his eyes.

A long tranquil silence filled the air, instead of an intense one. You both were not extremely joyful or anything like that at all, but you were both witnessing each other’s safety. Even through all the heartbreak and conflicts you caused each other, encountering one another is the start of a new day. You both had the chances to make up lost time and do so much more than ever imagined. Even if it started with eating pancakes. Such a simple action can release so much agitation.

It was at that moment Jason understood. He has to stop regretting the past. You did it, so why can’t he. You already know how much he hates himself over the fact that he left you hanging. You already noticed the amount of blame Jason placed on himself. All these things just compelled you to forgive him even more instead of joining him and ganging up on his past doings. All these problems he’s caused you and you still have the heart understand him. You weren’t giving him a chance you were letting him take his time completely that was how much you cared about him. He could fail as many times as possible, but you would still be there as long as he did the same. He was not going to fail you this time though. Not at all.

“Well, now you’re going to.” He perked up doing his absolute best in sounding positive. Your eyes widened at this revelation. He was all gloomy and remorseful a second ago. You hoped he realized it was time to halt dwelling in the past which was fortunately correct. He stood up confidently.

“I was wondering if we could go out?” He asked, his eyes lit up like a child on Christmas day. You laughed at his statement. His eyebrows furrowed slightly wondering if he had said it too early. The reason you were laughing though was because it was a silly question you both have been friends for the longest period.

“Of course, Jay. We can always hangout anytime.” You smiled back, but your answer was a fitting reply on the level of silliness. You were oblivious to the fact the was asking you out. Jason laughed almost the same manner you had earlier causing you to now furrow your brow in confusion.

“Not hangout, I mean a date.” He said feeling a little less confident than he started. You froze up for two reasons. One for realizing how until aware you were and two Jason just asked you the question you had been dreaming for ever since the day he left you. You stood up and hugged him tightly. He was taken back for a moment before accepting the hug and hugging back.

“Jason Peter Todd, I have been waiting for that question since the dawn of time.” You let go and paced around excitedly “I mean. I feel. Ugh I’m just so happy.” You continued flailing your arms in the air. Jason just watched your happiness take place smiling.

“I could kiss you!” the words busted out your mouth which you quickly placed a hand over.

“I didn’t mean that, but like I would love to kiss you, but I mean like, you know as like a hyperbole but if.” You stopped yourself and stepped closer to him.

“This is usually the part where the other love interest stops his or her lover from rambling and just kisses the isn’t it.” You quietly spoke. Jay nodded his softly.

“but I know you hate clichés.” You continued. He nodded once again.

“Let’s just save it for the date.” You both laughed at his conclusion.

Now please look away if you want a happy ending. The story ends here for all of you who need it. You and Jason eventually built a relationship and may have even got married, but that was what he was hoping for.

Nothing ever truly did happen.

Jason was grieving over your death. He was not there in time. He was too late. He was the first person to see your bloody lifeless corpse on the cold concrete ground. He did not even speak to you before you ended your life. Nothing was able to pain him more than the feelings that were flung at him when he saw you from afar take the one step that would change his life. He remembers every millisecond of that event. He was told by Bruce that they lost every single connection with you. You shut yourself out fully. He didn’t believe one bit of it. Every night on patrol he would take a few more hours to search for you and one fateful night he did. It just wasn’t the way anyone expected it.

He was about three buildings away when he saw a figure stand at the edge of said building. He could tell what was about to occur and made his way to the building as fast as he could. Once he saw the figure jump he felt something in himself drop. He felt his heart sink to the deepest ocean. He wasn’t sure at first and shrugged it off thinking whoever it was is probably happier now, but upon closer inspection he was horrified. He continued to makes his way to the building and down the alley the person walked off.

There his heart was shattered, pounded, crushed, broken and drowned. All his fears came to life. He recognized the (h/c) hair, (e/c) and bright smile. Even in the darkest of times you would smile and that you did till your last breath. That night he took you to the cave panicking to the fullest extent while reassuring a clearly deceased corpse that it was going to be okay. Once he arrived all hell broke lose. Everyone was miserable. He protested that there had to be a way, but Bruce told him there was no pulse and nothing to be done anymore.

He went on a fit of rage. He threw and kicked things around. He was frustrated with himself. How the fuck did he let this happened to you? He was careless. He should’ve found your earlier, he could’ve done so much more and talk you out of it, but that’s just what would’ve happened.

You were actually did it.

You died.

It was his responsibility to be there for you. He blames himself every fucking day for what he’s done to you. He still cries about it to himself, because if it wasn’t for him you would have been alive and well and living a happy life.

He was going to do his best to be a part of it. He needed you. It was you who was supposed to be kissing him late at night when he would return from patrol. It was you was going to keep him sane and under control at the stressful of situations. It was you who would tell him everything was going to be alright.

But it wasn’t.

You were gone now.

and it was all just something that he thought.

He placed a bouquet of (f/c) flowers on your gravestone. Something he’d thought you’d be seeing instead of vice versa.

“I’m sorry (y/n). I love you. I just thought..”

EXTRA: GUYS PLEASE TAKE CARE OF YOURSELF AND STAY STRONG. I CAN’T IMAGINE WHAT SOME OF YOU MAY OR MAY NOT BEING GOING THROUGH BUT KNOW THAT YOU’RE NOT ALONE. I LOVE YOU GUYS AND STAY SAFE :)

[findingmylostbirb]

[Lingering Anxiety] Entry #3

Today I revealed a bit of information I held back from that special someone during our time together.

You see, when I'm invited to events and gatherings to support my special someone's cause and celebration.. I tend to get suddenly uncomfortable. It tends to turn ugly because sometimes I somehow cause a scene or upset her in some way, ruining the night or event for her.

I take full action for it and I can't help but blame myself for it. I made it clear that there wasn't a moment where I was considerate and yearned to repent for it. For the longest time I've wondered why I always acted that way, why is the sudden voices ringing in my mind? Why is jealousy and insecurity suddenly heightening up when it's just a simple hang out? All of it was so wrong, I can't emphasis how much I want her to enjoy herself and that I'm grateful for all the adventures.

But then it made me realize that this problem stemmed from my past. A past relationship that really had broken me.

Generally, my ex was an extreme extrovert. A person who would enjoy social gatherings by doing community services, being flirty with guys, and just find methods of emotionally harming me in some way whether it was intentional or not.

There's so much toxicity in the relationship but I'll keep some examples brief. When we started dating, I've noticed she was overly friendly with a lot of people, particularly guys. At first I kept an open mind since I wasn't really a jealous type, but over time it slowly got me emotionally stressed. I guess introverts just can't deal with extroverts. She was intentionally trying to emotionally grieve me out by feeding into the insecurities and dawned on the fact that I'm too much of a faithful person. It made me start questioning my value as a person. She also had the tendency to leave me in the dark with a lot of the hang outs, so I was always in the unknown with dark thoughts on my mind.

Phase 1 happened and we went on a 'break' for a week, she gave me a lot of reasons for it. Mostly 'school' this, and 'parent' that. Well, during that 'break', she had the wise idea to date some guy she met during all this. Apparently, it didn't work out for her as it only lasting 2 days. 3 years later I found out by connection that she slept with that guy. Can you see why I'm feeling insecure? But that's just the tip.

Phase 2 the final breakup before prom. Despite it, we originally had intended to attend together but.. At this point I was already feeling broken. And this isn't including all the guy flirting during our relationship. This started a chain of events. For starters, she had the audacity to go out with a guy who 'apparently is more beta', rubbing off the fact that anyone is better than me and easily replaced. Yet since we have a small group of friends, she acts like this is all ok and normal. Ignoring the fact we all managed to gather funds for a limo ride, snazzy tuxedos and dinner reservations.. so you know what? I've still decided to go to prom without a prom date, because I told myself to at least go once during my high school life. So then prom night came, and you know what? She had the nerve to request me to be replaced during the limo ride for HER date. I'm glad my good friend backed me up, as he told me later he would've not allowed me to swap cause that was just all kinds of messed up. So her and the date rode with a following vehicle to both dinner and prom. During dinner, she was giving me and my friend death glares, personally I didn't know what to feel, but this was one of many self respect recovery moments I had to get through. During prom, everyone was dancing with their partners. Me? I've decided to be the camera man and just filmed everyone having a good time. Other than that, I just sat outside to enjoy the view.. just didn't want to show the others how much pain I was in and kept it cool. The aftermath of prom was just a disaster as well. My mother eventually found out after viewing my recordings.. and got interrogated because I wasn't with my original date. Mother started pressuring me because I still hanged out with her, but she always gave her the death glare every time she visited. During that time, it was stressful knowing hang outs couldn't be in peace. For the first time, a curfew was placed on me and limited my hang outs with friends even though it's nothing more than just playing tennis and community services.

Phase 3, though we were friends and doing community services together, I still had feelings for her. But that's not gonna last long. After prom, the next following day we talked it out, and doing a slow dance that was supposed to be for us. She was sending mixed feelings, giving me both hope and grief. As days passed, she starts to meet new people eventually telling me she was crushing on a guy. Of course keeping it to myself, I just let it bled on the inside once more and started questioning.. Why am I still around her? Why bother keeping me around? Then eventually she confesses to a guy but ultimately turned down, reaching me for comfort. But that same night on the beach, she clicked with another guy and started dating immediately. I kept quiet on the way home to her place to pick up my stuff. As I grabbed my stuff, I didn't say a word even as the echoes of her voice asked if 'i was ok.' I biked home in the late hours, not knowing what or how to feel.

That evening I received a lot of pressure from the staff members of our club (because she became club leader) by a lot of questions and scolding on leaving her like that was 'wrong'. So much was running through my mind, not knowing if I should quit the club.. But alas, I eventually caved in and told them I'd talk to her the next following day.

I was greeted with a slap to the face because I was 'inconsiderate'. Yeah.. right.. that convo eventually made me feel guilty. I tolerated it a little more longer until eventually I became hollow to care. I refused her assistant proposal because I was tired of being her henchman. Its just so interesting how I watched her grow into doing incredible things, only to be tossed aside. It was truly unconditional love.

Phase 4, she eventually got with a friend who eventually backstabbed me years later. At this point I stopped caring about her emotionally and accepted that no one would love me because of how much of an imprint she had left on me. So I became a middle man between her and friend, who did nothing but talk about their sex life and woes. It was funny how they tried to lecture me about 'nice guys finish last' and told both of them to shove it. Funny enough is that I witnessed their break up.. when I was hanging out with them as a 3rd wheel. Just know that both of them left me stranded in a parking lot when I was miles away from home. She bails into her house, he bails emotionally broken without them realizing they left me behind. I eventually got home late evening.

Phase 5, at this point.. I was just sick of her and people in general. But I do recall a faint convo of us talking about life, then eventually gets to the topic of 'fantasizing' and theorizing on what it would be like if we got together again. I no longer had a response for it. There were other events like me visiting UCI constantly to hang out with her, or my place.. But it felt hollow to me. I remember even one time she straight up told me I wasn't even remotely attractive both naturally or never considered sexually. Honestly I didn't care since my self esteem was so low already that my stats can't get any lower.

These are one of many events..

But anyways, the events with her had given me so much PTSD and anxiety that sadly it occassionally haunts me without me knowing. I just hope you'll forgive me for all the screw ups. When I'm in these moments, these flashbacks come back to me with a lot of voices in my head such as 'you will be ignored. You're nothing special. No she wouldn't do that. Stop saying that. You watched her be successful like your previous relationship, you're getting discarded.. She will get tired of you.' And it's truly frustrating. But I don't want that to stop me and I don't want that to stop us, I want to be apart of everything and still see your smile.

I vowed to myself from then on that I would never treat my future lover that way and to give them the most upmost appreciation to them. If I could turn the cogs of time to show that special someone the levels of abuse I went through, I'm sure everything would make a 100% sense on certain actions I take.

From here on, I don't want to make her feel accused or guilty, because that's the least I want.

[squireren-blog]

Cognitive Struggle Experienced, Simultaneously, by the “The Force Awakens” Audience and the Film’s Villain

A Sith Scholar work-in-progress (Draft of the first section of my current academic research)

I'm addicted to and obsessed with Kylo Ren. There is this conflict amongst the Star Wars audience about this character, a conflict that parallels the conflict he feels between the light and the dark side (Writers usually have intent behind every aspect, every word (or at least they should) in everything they put on a page, and I think they are cognizant of this conflict, implicit in it). Ren/Ben is the son of one of my favorite couples, and I can't remove him from my head, and I find myself trying to understand his point of view, empathize with him attempting to research the cognitive and emotional processing he may have experienced when hearing the stories about Vader. I have to admit there is the lust factor, too. I had never seen this actor before The Force Awakens, and my attraction to him increases my desire to take Kylo Ren's side in this whole matter, and I'm finding those reasons to take his side, which frightens and fascinates me.

I wrote that expanded response on Facebook to this question: “Who is your favorite Star Wars villain?” Darth Vader and Princess Leia were my favorite character of Star Wars: A New Hope. Boba Fett tied Leia and Vader as my favorite characters after Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back. So two of my favorite characters, not just of the villains, but of the entire cast of characters, represented the dark side.

When I saw The Force Awakens (TFA), I felt how my love for Star Wars consumed many of my moments – wake or asleep – that I have no control over its powerful pull. Han Solo’s death really impacted me. I became fascinated by the strong emotions in that scene, why fictional characters could be such a part of my psyche that when one was killed and the other was being lost to a life of dark choices, that I grieved intensely. That level of grief surprised me, and I felt ashamed for having such strong emotion for a fictional character. But that got me thinking how is it even possible to feel such a real reaction from fictional characters? How does a text achieve that?

My intent is to examine the cognitive connection to emotion in TFA, particularly those felt by Kylo Ren and about Kylo Ren by the other characters and the audience.   “Links between cognition and emotion have been acknowledged within neuroscience and psychology (e.g.,Damasio,1994).This paves the way for psychological and philosophical theories of emotions and affect in cinema (Grodal,1997; Plantinga & Smith,1999; Tan,1996; Vorderer et al.,1996), providing a complement to psychoanalytical and sexual approaches to emotion” (Persson 38). Because neuroscience “acknowledged” these “links between cognition and emotion,” there needs to be an examination of the TFA using “psychological and philosophical theories of emotions and affect in cinema.”

Degree of Innate Sadism in a Human Being   

In The Force Awakens, the neurology of a terrible act is manifested in Kylo Ren’s face after he kills Han Solo. We see the endorphins released as a result of an act of patricide.

It takes a moment for Ren to process the action, which is described by  Holland:

“perceptions going to and from the amygdala immediately arouse feelings of fear. The amygdala has two kinds of output. One process creates a rapid response. It projects directly to the hypothalamus…and then on to the brainstem and spinal cord to move the body.” The “second…process is more cognitive. The signal has gone more slowly from the amygdala to the frontal lobe which evaluate the stimulus and reaction” (91).

In The Force Awakens, the audience sees it took Ren a moment to process what he had just done to his father. He had admitted during that scene that he is conflicted, so he did feel love for his father, and the loss of his father could cause pain. There is a moment of disbelief in his face, then he gasps, perhaps with grief, some pain, and then his pupils dilate; his eyes widen as if a drug has just been injected into his body, calming him, then making him relieved, anticipating euphoria. The reward center of his brain is activated.

In “Cruelty’s Rewards: The gratifications of perpetrators and spectators” it explains, “It is incomprehensible that the infliction of pain on the self is both pleasurable and also sexually arousing. This unlikely conjunction has long puzzled moral philosophers and psychologists.

This is Ren. Finally choosing a side may have brought Ren comfort to a life where he felt a lot of pain, abandonment, resentment. He may have felt a moment of pleasure, but there is debate whether he feels the relief this resolution was to bring. Then my reaction was, despite him just murdering a beloved character and sending from me a cry of grief, in the theatre, I still found him arousing, but, initially kept those pangs of lust to myself. I took pleasure in him, before, during and after this horrific act, and, although evidence says humans do that, it doesn’t mean that humans aren’t ashamed of feeling that way. Ren serves to show us a side of humanity that we may not like but is biologically a fact. Humanity’s sadism is innate.

Yet, using functional magnetic resonance imaging (fMRI), Becerra et al. (2001) report that a pain stimulus (a probe heated to 468C applied to the skin) activated the brain’s reward circuitry, following a pathway similar to that of the pleasure response: protein from the cfos gene shows “that many neurons in the amygdala that are aroused by aggressive encounters are also aroused by sexual activity” (Panksepp 1998, p. 199): the underlying motivation may be the seeking of safety (“Cruelty’s Rewards”)

Kylo Ren reveals the biology of being sadistic.  However, the film does not keep us as mere observer of a sadistic person. The audience becomes implicated. Lisa Zunshine explains that in films, when a character is in pain that the camera turns away, that people turn away when another person is experiencing a strong emotion.  People don’t want to look at a character’s face when they are feeling a strong emotion. Zunshine describes:

The same effect is achieved when other characters refuse to watch an individual who is experiencing strong emotions and the camera moves away from him or her at a crucial moment. The assumption behind this strategy is that sometimes people’s faces expose their feelings to such a degree that they become painful to watch, unless a person who watches has a sadistic streak. It is transparency by omission: we can’t see the actual face, but our imagination magnifies its emotional nakedness. (93)

The camera focuses on Kylo Ren and his father’s (Han Solo’s) face during his act of patricide.  The audience is forced to have a sadistic streak because the filmmakers show us the face of a character in pain and the scene of Ren crying then killing his father. The audience is the characters in the film that did not turn away--the Stormtroopers, Finn, Rey, and Chewbacca--and the theatre audience. It is not too painful for them to watch. If Zunshine concludes that only a sadistic person would watch, then all of these witnesses are sadistic in not turning away from the strong emotions being shown on Han Solo’s and Kylo Ren’s faces. The humanoids and wookiee have a certain degree of innate sadism. Kylo Ren’s actions make us question if our sadism any worse than Kylo Ren’s patricide?

Kylo Ren takes pleasure in the pain of killing his own father just as the audience takes pleasure in the pain and these strong emotions because they do not turn away. It shows us a side of humanity that is sadistic, biologically. Human beings have a degree of innate sadism. Do we feel it as a flaw and does that reality then cause us pain? And if pain stimulates the reward center of our brain, do we experience a smidgen of euphoria, perhaps a small delight in this dark side of ourselves that we’ve found?

Our strong emotional response to the murder of Han Solo is the result of the feelings we bring with us to our viewing of TFA. Kylo Ren is the son of our favorite scoundrel and we get to “see” some of Han in him in scenes where he has humorous lines [need to include link to video of this]. And some of us felt pangs of shock amongst sympathy when he finds out that the droid he’s seeking is with his father; his voices cracks when he eeks out “He means nothing to me.” and he asks for Snokes help “By the grace of your training, I will not be seduced.” He is at the end of this scene alone, small on the screen in this dark room. His parents sent him away, Snoke questions his ability to resist the light and he is alone –it’s hard for me not to feel sympathy for him. Holland explains that we care for those in a fictional text because in “Creating or responding to literature, we bring such emotional markings and memories to bear, and, like direct emotional stimulation, they operate outside of conscious intellection, Darwin’s ‘reason’” (92). The emotions we bring to Kylo Ren are that he is the child of our favorite couple. He is the son of Han Solo, our favorite scoundrel, smuggler turned hero, lover of our favorite princess, who we also love and hope for, and we bring those emotional markings to our acquaintance to his son. We want their son to be good, for them, for us so that we don’t have to deal with the pain the fall of their son would bring us. 

I find it difficult to accept Kylo Ren as lost to the dark side, someone to label as evil. I am desperate to “solve” why he chose the dark side, that there were forces within his biology that made him susceptible to the dark side. I am even willing to question that which we label as evil, to look at the intentions of people who commit terrible acts to find something that will relieve him from some of the blame. As an audience member, it is hard for me to accept that the son of Han and Leia is responsible, to blame for what has happened to him.

But as a text, that pain of that tragedy brings us pleasure. I am compelled to watch TFA repeatedly. Does the audience take pleasure in the pain of the Skywalker family saga? “We enjoy ugly or threatening things in art because we are seeking---and finding. Both the act of seeking and the act of removing the threat and incorporating painful things into our normal mental functioning yield pleasure (Holland 247). We watch emotionally wrenching films because it affects the reward center of our brains.  

“Evolutional psychology provides, I think, an explanation. Dead bodies, “low” animals, rotting food—these all represent potential threats to our survival and reproduction. Our brain insists that we pay attention to them because we may need to do something about them. To trigger those actions, we look at the ugly and painful more intensely than we look at blander sights” (Holland 248).

We are so compelled to watch this emotionally wrenching scene of Kylo Ren killing Han Solo not despite the emotional pain it causes because we need to experience that emotional pain - it sharpens our senses. Witnessing pain is biologically beneficial.

Kylo Ren tries hard to seem like an unsympathetic character. When he murders Lor San Tekka and the villagers at the beginning of the film, interrogates Poe Dameron, threatens Hux, he is a cold, menacing figure. However, when he learns that the droid has escaped the squadron’s attempts to capture it, a bit of his father’s sarcasm comes out. The lieutenant reports to him that the droid “escaped on a stolen freighter.” Kylo Ren replies, “The droid stole a freighter?” It is a similar sarcastic reaction of disbelief comparable to Han Solo’s sarcastic reactions. We begin to see another dimension of this villain.

And soon after when he finds out that the droid was helped by the Finn, the Stormtrooper who freed Poe, he ignites his lightsaber and violently smashes the equipment in front of him.  Another dimension revealed through this emotional outburst. We find humor in his tantrum because it is such unstable, childish behavior. These tantrums resulted in a laugh from the audience, and seems to be a pattern of behavior that those who work for the First Order have come to expect (when the Stormtroopers turn around when they see Kylo throwing a tantrum after Rey escapes). Humorous as these tantrums were, it demonstrates his disregard and willingness to destroy anything to express his emotions.  He is dangerous because having a temper, albeit mostly something he can control, may also be caused by chemical imbalance over which he may have no control “These findings suggest that greater acute and chronic pain responsiveness associated with trait anger-out may be due in part to impaired ability to elicit endogenous opioid analgesia.” (Breuhl  224) That is a frightening person to be around. Does he have tantrums also because of acute psychological pain? His dimensions are growing.

But when we learn that his father is Han Solo, we can no longer see him as a two dimensional villain. He is the son of our beloved scoundrel. We get our first pangs of sympathy. This is created by the aforementioned scene of him alone in the large room where he communicates with Snoke. When Snoke tells him that his father, Han Solo, has the droid the First Order has been pursing, he replies that Han “means nothing to me.”  His voice almost cracks as he can barely get himself to utter these words. Sympathy builds.

Snoke doubts him, “Not even you, Master of the Knights of Ren has ever faced such a test.”

“By the grace of your training, I will not be seduced.” Kylo Ren replies.

“We shall see. We shall see.” Snoke says as his hologram fades away. When the master Kylo Ren is trying so hard to impress doesn’t think he has the strength to face this test of hunting down his father, he feels alone. The only being he feels he can get approval from is doubting him. It could be approval he had failed to get from his father and now seeks it from Snoke. And he is alone. So he stands in that room, the one stream of light a spotlight on him. The camera is watching him from across the room to his right.

The height of the room is 10 times taller than he. The entrance and back wall of the room cannot be seen within the limits of the screen. His figure is dwarfed by the room and its dark cavernous emptiness. He stands in a room for a moment after Snoke disappears in silence. The expression of our reaction might be to dislike him more for knowing he chose the dark side, but then we feel pity because we feel he is misguided. And we want the son of Han and Leia back.

Now we have developed sympathy for a character who has made us aware of our innate sadism.  We are reminded of the pleasure he derives from the pain of others, reminding us of our same innate sadism. He enjoys causing Rey’s transparency and enjoying the spectacle of it. He finds pleasure in the power to expose her deepest feelings against her will. Zunshine suggested “if you are a writer and you want your character to remain sympathetic, you don’t put her in a situation in which she begins to enjoy the spectacle of someone else’s transparency, thus coming across as sadistic. (97) Ren enjoys the spectacle of Rey’s transparency as he reads her mind.  It’s a transparency he imposes upon her, a result of a violation. We begin to feel sympathy wane because of his sadistic cause and enjoyment of her transparency. The reward centers of his brain must be activated because he knows that if he gets the map it will increase his odds of survival – in the sense that he seems so dependent on approval for life to mean something and in the sense that if Snoke doesn’t feel Ren’s strong enough, he could destroy Ren.

We feel sympathy for Rey as she is made vulnerable. However, Rey reciprocates and through his violation of her, she is able to violate him and see his deepest fear and enjoy the spectacle of his transparency. She risks becoming unsympathetic by taking advantage of his transparency, definitely having the reward center of her brain activated because her violation of his mind is helping her survive. Both are finding involuntary pleasure violating each other in order to survive their respective threats. In addition, the audience is privy to their moments of transparency and find it pleasing in that it’s activating our reward center so much that we are fixated on it and cannot turn away.  

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