#if you wish for it (sincerely and generally not just in a moment of anger) i do not trust you or believe we can ever see eye to eye

[ante--meridiem]

poll results to make you (by which I mean me) despair about the people around you.

Man I'd really hoped the plurality of preferences of people on tumblr would be a little less vindictive than your average fundamentalist Christian!

[fatcatlittlebox]

I had an ask about my analysis of Galadriel’s mindset during the season finale and I’ve been avoiding it because I f*cking hated the dialogue they gave her. The more I thought about it though, the more it made sense to me. Galadriel doesn’t want to believe that any of what she shared with Halbrand was real. She doesn’t want to allow that possibility. As others have said, she didn’t just want what he offered. She wanted him. If “he” doesn’t exist, it makes it easier to “shut the door.” She may go her whole life convincing herself that it was a farce to him. Even if that’s how she comes to terms with it, is that really being healed?

From the beginning of their reunion, you could see Galadriel avoids facing Sauron. She doesn’t turn around when he approaches her from behind. She’s frozen. It’s because she doesn’t trust how she will react when she sees his face. Especially if he has the form of Halbrand. She’s terrified of him and she’s terrified of herself. Her mistrust is well placed as we see later. Then, it is only when Sauron faces away from her that she tries to strike him down. Because in confronting him this way, she won’t actually have to face him.

But of course, it doesn’t work. They both knew it wouldn’t. She won’t get off that easily. It’s also an attempt on her part to keep him at a distance. It’s her way of telling him, she’s not here to talk. Sauron flips it on her though. Because Galadriel isn’t a talker anyways. She’s a fighter and violence is a language he is fluent in. He turns their duel into a physical and symbolic conversation. And Galadriel hates it. She hates that he can singularly access her this way and the way no one else can. So she keeps pushing him back and shutting him down. The rest of their confrontation Galadriel volleys a series of sarcastic replies whenever Sauron tries to be sincere with her. She sneeringly asks if he wants to heal her. He says he wants “to heal…” and pauses.

The truth is in that silence. He wishes to heal. Sadly, now it’s established that they’re both going to be lying to themselves so why be honest and open with each other going forward? I think that’s for a multitude of reasons. One, if she deflects his entreaties with sarcasm, she’s not letting his words hit their mark. He can’t worm his way into her mind again. And after having heard Adar describe his own relationship and feelings with Sauron, then watching him get brutally murdured, she feels entirely justified in cosigning that Sauron is an insidious manipulator. That she is no different and would end up exactly as the fallen elf.

Sauron, she tells herself, is the embodiment of evil. She’s not wrong. However, evil can love. It can be twisted and fucked up but no less real. However, that kind of gray area would spell the collapse of her defenses. So she makes him to be this generic evil and responds to him with generic platitudes. It’s impersonal, detached. Business as usual. It’s survival. She has declared in her mind that Sauron is not Halbrand. Ignoring the fact that her mind is not where he slithered his way in. He found his way through her heart.

And Sauron, for his part does a shitty job of convincing her otherwise. There are moments of earnest vulnerability sprinkled in there but in the heat of her anger and outrage, she cannot see it. Their fight tells a story in itself and he toys with her. She knows it too. What’s more, the fight becomes a microcosm of their relationship. She pursues him and he bats her away. He nicks her in precise places on her body - her shoulder, where he saw Valandil pierce her with his sword and then her left flank, where Halbrand was injured - like he means to recall their shared history. But instead of a caress, it’s a cut.

Then he morphs into Halbrand, then Galadriel, then Celebrimbor. He’s telling her that he sees and remembers everything. What she feels is ridiculed and used like a puppet. Finally, the last place he cuts her is over her heart. An unhealing scar will be left. Still he sees and remembers everything. That wound is for the both of them.

By the end of their fight, Sauron has unintentionally reinforced what Galadriel had set out to prove in her mind, if not in her heart. Halbrand never existed. She feels triumphant over Sauron and over the darkness that haunts her. She believes she is “healed.” It’s a parallel of her leap from the ship bound for the Undying Lands. Instead of turning it away, she’s embracing her death and her closure. At the same time, Sauron reaches an epiphany that is similar to her own but fundamentally different: Halbrand is no more. As I had stated before, Sauron likely associates Halbrand as the most vulnerable version of himself even if it is the closest to the truth. It is the version of himself he saw ruling with Galadriel. But he sees this as a failed effort, so it wouldn’t serve a practical purpose to be Halbrand anymore. It was a risk he would rather avoid and he probably wants him gone as badly as she does.

However both of those premises are faulty. Because we, the viewers know what they deny: Halbrand is Sauron. He always will be. They are both lying to themselves. Which begs the question: Was Galadriel healed and reborn in light? Or was she rejected by death because her sacrifice was built on a half-truth? Had she been sent back because she had not completed her mission? She had said her task was to remove the stain of his evil from Middle Earth. Halbrand is Sauron. Even though the door to her mind is shut, the door to her heart is a different story. And his stain is still there.

[slaymitchabernathy]

Cold & Calculated

Coriolanus POV

There’s a strange silence that sits between them during the ride home. Coriolanus almost feels uncomfortable sitting next to his wife. She doesn’t say anything, not a single word but that’s nothing new, Soarynn’s always been quiet.

But something is different.

He glances down at his wife who’s looking out the car window at the passing Capitol streets, she looks nice tonight, she looks pretty. His heart had skipped a beat when she showed up at the office earlier this evening. Due to some scheduling issues, Coriolanus had Soarynn come to meet him at the office so they wouldn’t be late for the company dinner.

Festus whisked her away for a brief tour but it was rather adorable how quickly she returned to him. Coriolanus assumes she finds some semblance of safety in him, or at least his presence. Coriolanus is a man of authority and respect, no one would dare mess with him or his wife for that matter.

“Quite a fruitful night,” he finally says, breaking the tension.

Soarynn simply hums without sparing him a glance, “Quite.”

His eyes travel across her collarbones and slender shoulders. They didn’t have sex last night, not after Sejanus mentally drained him for the entire day but tonight is the perfect night. The perfect way to end a long day at work.

“Perhaps it’ll have a fruitful ending,” he suggests, always trying to give Soarynn a bit of a heads-up before partaking in such sexual encounters. Soarynn brushes her hair behind her ears, “If that is what you wish.”

Now he’s upset. He’s upset because it almost sounds as if he’s forcing her, which is something he’d never do. If Soarynn decided that tomorrow she never wanted to have sex with him again then that would be the end of it but he sincerely hopes it’ll never come to that. Not when it’s the only time he can truly hold her, touch her, feel her.

But she’s acting like this all is one-sided. And he refuses to be on the losing side. The desperate side.

He clears his throat, “It is.”

He’s the man of the house, he doesn’t need to be doubting himself or his authority.

Neither of them says another word as the car pulls up to their apartment building. Soarynn takes his hand as she exits the car but immediately drops it once they're in the elevator. Coriolanus refrains from crying out like a wounded animal at the loss of contact because it's not the end of the world. But it feels like it.

Maybe she's mad at him, although Coriolanus doesn't think that he's ever seen Soarynn be mad a day in her life. She's gotten upset of course, but over little things like her favorite bakery being closed or a boutique not having a dress in her size. But Soarynn is not someone who's quick to anger. He, on the other hand, can get quite angry when pushed too far.

When the elevator doors open and Soarynn goes to step out, his hand grabs her wrist, pulling her back inside. Soarynn looks up at him with wide eyes, with a hint of fear behind them. Coriolanus doesn't like that. He wants her to respect him, yes, to be attentive and well mannered but he never wants her to fear him.

Is this what it's come to? Is this what his cold and calculated attitude towards her has gotten him?

"Are you alright?" He asks, feeling somewhat stupid for asking such a vague and general question, "I mean, have I done something to upset you? Or has someone hurt you?" Coriolanus can feel his entire body tensing at the idea of someone laying a hand on Soarynn, forcing themselves onto her, scaring her.

He'd become the Capitol's first murderer, that's for certain.

Soarynn bites her lip for a moment before answering him, "No, no one's hurt me, and you haven't done anything to upset me. I'm just tired." Coriolanus sees right through that lie because as much as she tries to deny it, Soarynn is a terrible liar. At least to him, she is. Her father probably agrees with him that it's quite easy to see through any of Soarynn's small, insignificant lies. She rarely ever lies but she's done it enough for him to notice the slight tells that give her away.

How she always bites her lip, fiddles with the rings on her fingers, sways side to side, and avoids eye contact if possible. She's lied about small things in the past, whether or not she picked up his clothes from the tailor, if she remembered to attend some event, things like that.

She's lying right now.

His grip on her wrist slightly tightens as he leans down until he's at eye level with his wife, "Do you remember what I asked of you the day we got married?" Their wedding had been a wonderful blur but he remembers clear as day what he'd asked her to do once they made it down the aisle and were out of earshot from all of their guests.

"Don't ever lie to me, things will be much easier between us as long as we're honest with one another."

Soarynn swallows and nods her head, "You asked me to never lie to you." He tilts his head and looks her up and down, his pretty little wife who's done such a good job at pleasing him so far. "Trust is...important," he tells her slowly.

"Trust is everything to me," Soarynn whispers, "but I don't think you trust me Coriolanus."

Soarynn POV

Not a sound can be heard in the penthouse.

Coriolanus is at work and Soarynn is at home, overthinking.

There are a million other things she could be doing right now. Cleaning her makeup brushes, clearing out her wardrobe, running errands, and painting. But her conversation with Coriolanus from a few days ago keeps repeating in her mind. It had been a rather tense conversation between them, a conversation that ended in Coriolanus suggesting that they both just go to bed since the drinks from dinner had clearly gotten to them.

Funny how he was able to lie to himself about that when moments before he was reminding her to be truthful with him. And she was! She is! Soarynn doesn't really see any point in lying to her husband, not when he's been nothing but good to her. Should he be controlling or abusive then she could see a reason to lie but he's not. Coriolanus is a good husband. But he's not a very good companion.

Soarynn has seen her friends with their own husbands, seen how they share little inside jokes and knowing glances. She and Coriolanus don't share any of those. They only share polite table talk with a side of expected sex.

So when the phone rings, Soarynn nearly jumps off the sofa. Maybe it's the people calling from the gallery, she thinks to herself as she pushes herself from the sofa, making her way down the hall to where the phone is sitting on a small table.

"Snow residence, to whom am I speaking with?"

"Soarynn?" It's Coriolanus.

"Coriolanus, is everything alright?"

For a moment she worries something might have happened to his parents but he's quick to soothe her thoughts, "Perfectly fine. Well, not entirely fine. I need you to go into my study and open the top drawer in my desk, it has several files inside of it. I need you to bring me the red file, labeled, 'Quarterly Sales Meeting.' I forgot to grab it this morning and just remembered it."

Soarynn finds herself nodding along to her husband's instructions, especially since she knows how important the quarterly meetings are to him and his colleagues. He's been working nonstop the past month and the dinner they recently attended was a way of thanking everyone for their hard work.

"I'll bring it to you right away," she assures him and she hears him let out a small sigh of relief. "Thank you, darling, I'll see you soon." After a swift goodbye, Soarynn hangs up the phone and ventures into her husband's study. She's never been in here alone, and she's never seen the entire study since she usually lingers in its doorway.

She easily finds the file he was describing in the top drawer of his desk and quickly glances over his desktop for a moment when her eyes land on a framed photograph. She blinks once, twice before coming to the realization that it's her in the photograph.

She looks much younger than she is now, about eighteen when she first started seeing Coriolanus. It's a candid shot of her smiling down at Petunia in her arms, standing in the backyard of her childhood home. She remembers that day, how Coriolanus had come over and she proudly showed him her new kitten. Coriolanus had brought his camera with him but she never saw him taking that photo of her.

But he did, and here it is. Does he look at it often? How long has he had this photo framed? Does he have other photos of her?

Coriolanus is a masculine man through and through and before she moved in, his penthouse lacked a feminine touch. Or a sentimental touch in general.

But Soarynn can't linger long, not with Coriolanus waiting on her so she shuts the drawer and leaves the study. Thankfully their car is waiting outside for her and she's greeted by their driver, "Where to Mrs. Snow?" Soarynn gives him a polite smile, "My husband's office please."

The drive is short and yet Soarynn still finds time to worry about her current relationship with Coriolanus. It feels strained and if they can't trust one another, then what's the point? The point was to marry for convenience, to act as if this marriage was a business agreement, and yet Soarynn finds herself wishing it was more than that so maybe that's her issue.

Either way, whether Coriolanus loves her or not, it won't hinder her from being a good wife.

Coriolanus POV

Coriolanus drums his fingers against his wooden desk as he waits for Soarynn to arrive. He'd left an important file at home and instead of having his secretary fetch it, he had asked Soarynn to bring it to him.

He was feeling rather impatient although he didn't know if he was impatiently awaiting the arrival of the file or his wife.

He likes to think he’s waiting for the file but he knows that’s a lie. He’s eager to see Soarynn, to be in her gentle, feminine presence for a few moments before she goes back home to make sure dinner is being properly prepared for them.

Then he’ll go home, and hang up his coat in the hall closet before she greets him with a kiss on the lips and her dainty fingers wrap around the handle of his briefcase. He’ll let her take it and set it down so that he can freshen up in their bathroom before joining her at the dining table.

Without children or guests, their dinners can be very quiet, neither of them speaking of much except surface-level topics. She’ll ask him how his day at work went and he’ll ask her how her friends are doing and if she did any shopping.

They might have sex. But it all depends on how he’s feeling.

They had sex the other night, after the company dinner. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t great. Despite her lack of experience, Soarynn can be quite the pleasant and sensual creature in bed. The sounds she makes, the way her body moves, and the way her eyes roll back are what Coriolanus craves on a somewhat daily basis.

And the conversations they have afterward always seem to let him catch a better glimpse of who Soarynn truly is. When she’s too tired and overstimulated, she lets her walls down and he does the same.

Rare moments like that should be appreciated more than they are, but he's never been too good at opening up. During the months of the two of them dating, Coriolanus rarely went beneath the surface of his persona. He knew what Soarynn needed, a good husband who took care of her and her needs. How could he be a good husband if he was constantly vulnerable in front of her?

So after their fifth date, he vowed to himself that he'd never let her see that hidden side of him if he could help it. The side that longed to hold her for longer periods of time, and bathe with her while playing with her hair. It's better this way, at least that's what he tells himself. Letting her catch glimpses of the real him after sex is much better than being seen as weak.

It's best to be cold and calculated.

Soarynn POV

꧁ 6 Months Ago ꧂

It's a strange feeling to move into a room that is not your own. Soarynn feels like she's invading her husband's privacy as she unpacks her bags. Her husband, a new term that she is still not familiar with. She got married today, she's no longer a Nightingale.

Soarynn Snow.

Her hands are shaking while she puts her clothes into the dresser drawers and she does her best to still them, to calm her nerves. But she can't, not when she knows what will take place in a few minutes. She and Coriolanus have shared a few heated kisses, but they've never gone farther than that to honor tradition.

But Soarynn is terribly nervous, even dressed in expensive white lingerie. Her friends said it would make her feel more confident and more secure in herself, and yet she feels the exact opposite. What if he's not impressed with her? Coriolanus certainly isn't a virgin and Soarynn worries that he might be put off by her inexperience.

It's too late to turn back now.

She sighs and brushes her hair behind her ears, she'd rather just go to bed considering what a long day it's been for the both of them. Their wedding was lovely but tiring as she was expected to talk to all their guests. Soarynn doesn't mind the social chatter for the most part, so long as she can relax in her bedroom afterward. But this is her bedroom now, a room that she will share with a man.

Soarynn's curiosity gets the best of her and she pulls open the top drawer of the dresser and finds several pairs of socks that belong to her now husband, all the same color and style. Coriolanus from what she's seen, is a man who values routine and order, rarely ever straying from what he knows and trusts.

She just hopes that he'll come to know and trust her as time passes.

Soarynn hears the sound of heavy footsteps making their way towards their bedroom and she closes her trunk of belongings. She can put those away later. She glances at the large bed and her fingers graze over the white sheets. They might be stained sooner rather than later. Soarynn doesn't know why she's so nervous about the bleeding part of losing her virginity. She knows that it's supposedly a sign of one's virginity being taken but what if it doesn't happen to her? Then what would Coriolanus think?

Soarynn sits on the edge of the bed, her feet dangling off the edge and she grabs a handful of the lacy dress she's wearing over her lingerie. The dress itself is also lingerie, with intricate lace patterns sewn along the silk fabric. Hopefully, she meets his expectations.

The doors open revealing Coriolanus and her heart skips a beat. He looks so handsome, so regal and important even in the late, late hours of the night. It's past midnight but that's never stopped a man from taking what's his.

He offers her a small smile before closing the doors behind him and Soarynn manages to return his smile with one of her own. "You look pretty," he tells her as he walks towards her. Soarynn lets go of her dress and swallows, "Thank you."

She expects him to pounce on her but instead, he turns to the dresser where a small variety of alcohol sits on top of it along with several small glasses. She watches Coriolanus grab a bottle of something before twisting the cap off and pouring himself two glasses. It's a practiced ease she witnesses from him as if he's done this a thousand times, pouring himself a drink before bed to wind down.

"Quite the day," he muses to which Soarynn nods, "Yes, today was quite eventful." Coriolanus takes a sip of his drink and lets out a content sigh, "The alcohol selection was perfect, much better than the one at Festus and Persephone's wedding." Soarynn chuckles and shakes her head at her husband's words, "That's because you think you know what's best when it comes to alcohol."

Coriolanus shoots her a mischievous smile and nods, "I do know what's best when it comes to alcohol. If I weren't a businessman, I'd be a bartender." It's a funny thing to picture, Coriolanus working such a lower-class job but Soarynn strangely enough thinks that he'd be quite happy with it, money aside.

"You'd certainly be a crowd favorite," Soarynn agrees. Coriolanus grabs the other glass and offers it to her and Soarynn is unable to hide her surprised expression. She prefers wine over whatever he's drinking but he insists on her taking the glass, "To take the edge off," he explains, "you look like you'll need it."

Well, she can't argue with that.

Soarynn gives him a grateful smile before taking the glass and sipping whatever the glass contains. Whatever it is is disgusting and Soarynn pulls a disturbed look which causes Coriolanus to laugh, "Not a fan of whiskey hmm?" Soarynn shakes her head and offers it back to him, "I'm not really a fan of alcohol period, let alone whiskey."

Coriolanus hums and takes the glass back from her, throwing it back in one sip. It amazes Soarynn how much he can eat and drink, but she's learned that men are never truly satisfied. Speaking of satisfied....they still have to have sex, which means kissing, touching, and getting naked. Oh, why does she have to be so innocent?

Soarynn watches her husband drink from the other glass he poured, noticing the way his throat bobs when he swallows and how chiseled his jawline really is. Coriolanus Snow is devilishly handsome in Soarynn's opinion, it truly amazes her that she's his wife now, that she bears his last name for the world to see.

When he's finally finished he sets the glass down and finally takes a good look at her. To say she's been preparing for this moment would be an understatement. Over the past week, Soarynn has been waxed, primped, and primed for her wedding night. This morning she took a long bath and made sure her body was smooth and flawless.

Coriolanus tears his gaze away and begins unbuttoning his shirt. He took off his shoes and suit jacket the moment they got home, seemingly sick of wearing the clothes after a good twelve hours. Soarynn nervously fidgets as he bears his chest to her, showing off his toned physique. Soarynn's only seen him shirtless a handful of times before their marriage, but she has a feeling that she'll be seeing a lot of this in the near future.

He notices her staring and smirks, "Like what you see?" Soarynn blushes but she nods, remembering what he said to her earlier today, telling her to always be honest with him.

"Yes," she whispers, pressing her legs together. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't scared, mostly of the pain but the act of sex itself is terrifying to Soarynn who's still so young, especially compared to Coriolanus who's six years older than she is.

Coriolanus finally takes a step towards her and his hand comes out to cup her face, he does it so gently, as if he truly cares for her and Soarynn hopes he does, that her cares about her and how she feels. She's heard many tales about women marrying men who only care for their own pleasure. And Coriolanus has been so attentive so far, but that all could change right now, he could reveal his true colors.

But Coriolanus Snow seems like a good man.

Soarynn looks up at him, into his piercing blue eyes and she's overwhelmed with emotions to the point where she feels a single tear escaping her grasp and rolling down her cheek. The expression on his face changes from one of confidence to one of concern. Soarynn wipes the tear away and sniffles, "I'm sorry. I...I don't mean to be emotional, not on a night like this."

His thumb gently brushes over her cheek and Soarynn finds herself leaning into his touch, "I won't fault you for being nervous," Coriolanus gently tells her, "especially since it's your first time. Is it me that you're scared of?" Soarynn's eyes widen at his question because she really can't see herself ever being scared of Coriolanus. Not when she's seen glimmers of how kind he can be, how he laughs when playing with Petunia, or carries his mother's shopping bags for her.

No, Soarynn could never be scared of Coriolanus.

"No," she quickly assures him, "I'm just scared of the pain," she whispers the last part. His face contorts to a rather unsure expression and Soarynn highly doubts that Coriolanus has ever been tasked with such a needy partner like her before, one that requires constant reassurance. He sighs as he looks down at her with a fond look in his eyes, "I can't promise that it won't hurt, I'd be surprised if it didn't hurt. But it won't last long, and we'll go slow," he tells her and Soarynn slightly relaxes after hearing those words.

The smirk returns to his face as he adds, "Besides, I think you'll find sex to be rather enjoyable after getting over the first time." Soarynn doesn't even want to think about the second time, not when they've yet to get the first time over with but she nods all the same, "Alright, I trust you."

That seems to be the green light for Coriolanus who's quick to lean down and finally capture her lips in a passionate, heated kiss to which Soarynn eagerly responds. Coriolanus is an excellent kisser and Soarynn's kissed him enough to feel confident in herself. Their first kiss had been rather adorable but she was a flustered mess afterward and Coriolanus teased her endlessly about it until she finally gathered up the courage to be the one to initiate the kisses they shared.

Still, Coriolanus is a man who thrives with control and is a dominant man so he's been the one to initiate their kisses for the most part. Soarynn doesn't mind it in the slightest, not when she's always been so pliant and submissive all things considered.

Her hands come to rest on his biceps and she finally feels how toned and strong Coriolanus is. He's mentioned his fitness regimen before but Soarynn's never been able to bear witness to his strength before. He feels as if he could rip her in half if he wanted to.

His hands travel down to her waist, squeezing it while he deepens the kiss and his tongue explores her mouth. Soarynn whimpers when he tugs on her bottom lip with his teeth and then lets out a squeal when he picks her up by her waist and tosses her further back onto the bed. Coriolanus is quick to follow her, sitting on his knees while he kisses her again, and this time Soarynn pops up on her knees as well.

He's still taller than her, but the height difference is less significant than if they were to both be standing. Coriolanus grabs the back of her head with one hand, his fingers tussling with her blonde hair, the hair that was so carefully styled for their wedding. It'll be a rat's nest by the end of the night.

Soarynn gathers up a bit of courage and rests her hands on his bare chest, feeling how warm his skin feels against her palms. Coriolanus groans into the kiss, clearly enjoying the physical contact. Over the past year, Soarynn has learned how much Coriolanus values physical touch. Just because it's frowned upon for high society couples to sleep with one another before their wedding doesn't mean Coriolanus has kept his hands to himself.

He's constantly attached to her one way or another, holding her hand, resting his hand on her lower back, and having her hold his arm, he's even held pinkies once which was rather adorable.

Coriolanus wedges his knee in between Soarynn's legs and she lets out a breathy moan when his knee brushes against her barely covered cunt. Coriolanus smirks into the kiss and takes a firm hold of her hair before pushing her down onto the bed. Soarynn is breathless as she stares up at the ceiling, utterly and entirely vexed at how quickly things are moving.

But Coriolanus is on top of her again, this time on his hands and knees as he presses kisses to her neck and chest. Soarynn lets out soft, breathy moans at each little kiss he presses to her soft skin. One of his hands pushes down the straps of her white, silky dress, exposing the bralette she's chosen to wear tonight. It's made entirely of intricate lace and has a white rose in the middle of her breasts.

Coriolanus fixes his stare on the rose for a moment before swallowing, and Soarynn feels quite proud of herself for choosing something her husband seems to be so fond of. He presses a kiss to her breast and Soarynn grows restless under him which he quickly fixes by pressing his knee up against her cunt once again, drawing out a desperate moan from Soarynn's lips.

Coriolanus sucks hard against her soft skin and Soarynn gasps at the foreign feeling. She's seen her friends littered with lovebites after their own wedding nights but she never knew if Coriolanus was the type of man to claim what's his. It appears that he is.

Her chest is littered in love bites in a matter of minutes and Coriolanus sits up on his knees to admire his work. Soarynn stares up at him, growing more and more desperate for his touch. Coriolanus reaches down and grabs her dress before tearing it right down the middle. Soarynn gasps as the cold air hits her bare skin, revealing the matching set of lingerie she wore under the dress.

Coriolanus throws whatever remains of her dress in some dark corner of the room before finally seeing Soarynn's body for the first time. She feels nervous about what he might think, that he might wish she were fuller in other places and more spare somewhere else but he seems quite taken with her. "You're a vision," he tells her, and Soarynn blushes, "Thank you."

He nods and withdraws his knee, grinning when Soarynn lets out a displeased sound from the loss of contact, "Eager are we?" He teases to which Soarynn rolls her eyes, "You're very sure of yourself." Coriolanus shrugs all while wearing that boyish grin on his face before he grabs a hold of both of her knees, "I'm very sure of myself because I'm an excellent lover in the bedroom," he corrects her as he pushes her legs apart, revealing her to him. Well, almost all of her.

Soarynn's breath hitches in her throat when he brings a finger to the panties she's elected to wear tonight and swipes over her covered cunt, the feeling sending shocks throughout her body. Coriolanus leans down and kisses her knee, then her thigh, slowly working his way down, all while maintaining eye contact with Soarynn who's beginning to wonder what she's gotten herself into.

But Coriolanus doesn't give her much time to think about it before he finally reaches the waistline of her lace panties. "These simply have to go, darling," he says almost in a disappointed way. Soarynn immediately hikes up her hips and he lets out a deep, throaty chuckle that goes straight to her core.

Coriolanus peels her panties off, unhooking them from her legs before throwing them somewhere in the room. Soarynn feels her legs shaking because there's nothing keeping her from his view anymore. Coriolanus blows air onto her cunt and Soarynn twitches from sensitivity, "You just might have the most perfect cunt I've ever seen," he groans, his fingers ghosting her folds.

Soarynn moans at his words and ruts her hips up, "Please," she says, not really knowing what she's asking him for. "You're soaked," Coriolanus says, his breath so close to her cunt, "can't wait for my cock to be inside of you hmm?" It's amazing to hear such vulgar words come from her husband's mouth, a man who's normally known for speaking so eloquently.

Soarynn ruts her hips again but this time Coriolanus wraps his arm around her waist, pressing her against the mattress, "Be patient darling," he chides, "a good girl waits to be given what she deserves." Those words strike a nerve within Soarynn because she so desperately wants to be good for him, to be a good wife and partner.

When the tongue of Coriolanus Snow finally licks a strip over her cunt, Soarynn nearly screams. The feeling is so overwhelming and he's a talented man with an even more talented mouth. Soarynn is inconsolable as he laps at her cunt, his tongue slightly delving into her entrance before pinpointing her clit.

Soarynn moans at the feeling, attempting to grind against his mouth but still being pinned down by his arm. Her hands grasp at the bedsheets and she feels herself growing closer and closer to what must be her peak. "Oh, oh, oh please," she moans, her right hand reaching down to grab her husband's blonde curls. Coriolanus groans when she tugs on them but it sounds like he enjoys her hands on him and she's in no position to stop unless he does.

Just as she's about to hit her peak, he pulls away. Soarynn lets out a frustrated groan and her legs immediately shut when Coriolanus sits back up. She feels sensitive all over and wonders how women do this on a daily basis. When she looks up at Coriolanus she can see him wearing a cocky expression, clearly proud of himself. She can also see the evident bulge growing through his pants and her throat dries at the sight.

"I'll show you how to return the favor another time," he says, his hands undoing his belt buckle. All Soarynn can do is nod because she doesn't quite trust herself to speak right now. It's an ungodly sight to see Coriolanus only in his underwear, a clear imprint of his cock now visible and he looks like he's on the bigger side.

The nerves kick back in as Soarynn is reminded of what is about to take place in a few minutes. Coriolanus pulls his boxers down and Soarynn visibly pales at the girth and length of his cock, the tip red and a bit of precum already visible.

He's going to tear her apart.

Any reassurances he gave her have flown out the window now because how on earth is that going to fit without being the most painful thing she's ever experienced?

Coriolanus takes notice of her distressed state and takes her hand in his, giving it a squeeze, "Don't be scared, I promise I'll go slowly, you'll get used to it after a few minutes."

It's made quite clear to her at that moment that he has every intention of still going through with the deed, even if it's at her own expense. The marriage must be consummated, no arguments there. And children are expected to come from the two of them sooner than later and Soarynn has a feeling that Coriolanus wants them as soon as possible.

But despite her underlying fears, Soarynn nods, "Okay."

Coriolanus positions himself over her, his arms caging her in as he lines himself up at her entrance. At least she's somewhat prepared, Soarynn can't imagine having sex while being dry as a bone down there. She didn't even try to get wet, it just happened. Coriolanus seems to have that effect on her.

There had been a handful of times when Soarynn attempted to make herself feel good by using her own fingers but she found it to be unsatisfying and after a while, boring. But Coriolanus is so different and now he's about to take her virginity, something she's guarded for so long, unbeknownst to her, for him.

"Try to hold still," he mumbles while slowly pushing into her. Soarynn grits her teeth at the uncomfortably stretch she feels. Coriolanus is big in girth but he keeps to his word and goes slowly, watching her reactions. There's a slight burn that Soarynn is sure she'll experience every single time they have sex. At one point she closes her eyes, unable to look into her husband's piercing gaze. She hopes she's not being too demanding or needy, she wants to be good for him.

Soarynn gasps when she feels him finally bottom out, the tip of his cock presses against a very sensitive spot inside of her, and her legs spasm. Coriolanus leans his forehead against her own and lets out a deep, strained breath, "Fuck you feel so good Soarynn." Soarynn nods but doesn't say anything, she wouldn't even know what to say.

Coriolanus stays there for a moment, letting her get used to the feeling before he slowly withdraws his hips from hers before thrusting back in. Soarynn moans at the new feeling, of her walls wrapping around him and how good it feels when he thrusts back into her.

She finally opens her eyes when he picks up the pace and is faced with a very attractive-looking Coriolanus Snow who seems to be focused on keeping his thrusts steady yet powerful. She can feel the pain ebbing away slowly but surely, the pleasure finally taking over.

Soarynn has been subjected to several detailed recollections of her friends losing their virginities since being married so you’d think that she would have an idea of what to expect and yet it’s entirely new and overwhelming to her.

Once the pleasure finally kicks in Soarynn finally understands why people obsess over sex the way they do. It feels amazing. He feels amazing.

“Oh,” she means, arching her back. Coriolanus looks down at her and flashes her a smile, “Feeling better now are we?” He continues to thrust deep inside of her and Soarynn curls her toes in response, “Yes,” she pants. She brings her hands up to his bare, broad shoulders so that she has something to hold onto and Coriolanus seems to take that as a challenge to take her harder than before.

One thing she’s learned about Coriolanus is that he can be very competitive when he wants to be. And apparently, that bleeds into their sex life as well.

Soarynn can feel herself reaching her peak once again but this time it’s stronger and better as if his mouth is truly no competition for his cock. “Fuck,” he grunts, placing one hand on her lower abdomen. It scrambles Soarynn’s brain when he does that and she lets out a whine, “Please, please,” she begs, her eyes becoming glassy.

Coriolanus goes harder and faster once she starts begging and it’s all too much for Soarynn who finally reaches her first orgasm. Her eyes roll back and she sees stars as her entire body nearly convulses from pleasure. Her perfectly manicured nails dig into his porcelain skin and her mouth is left wide open in a silent scream.

Coriolanus follows right behind her with his own orgasm, swearing under his breath as he finishes inside of her for the first time. Soarynn whimpers at the feeling, at his cum coating her walls, truly claiming her as his now.

Coriolanus takes a moment to calm down, resting on his forearms as he catches his breath. There’s sweat on his brow but he still looks handsome. “Are you alright?” He finally asks, brushing a stray hair from Soarynn’s face. She gives him a tired smile and nods, “Quite. That was…that was much better than what I could have ever imagined.”

Coriolanus laughs and presses a soft kiss to her forehead, a sweet gesture that Soarynn is rarely given but she cherishes all the same. “I’m sure with time, you’ll discover things you like and things you don’t like,” he tells her, his hand traveling down her abdomen, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

Soarynn simply hums and lets him slowly pull out. It almost feels strange to be empty once again but Coriolanus looks mighty proud of himself as he looks down at the mess he’s made between her legs. Soarynn gasps when he swipes a finger up her cunt and it comes away sticky with a red-looking substance. She sits up on her elbows to see a small red stain on the once-white sheets as well.

Her blood. Well, looks like she’s not a virgin anymore.

Coriolanus gives her a rather sultry look, “Looks like you’re truly mine now darling.”

꧁ ꧂

꧁ Present Time ꧂

“Here we are, Mrs. Snow. Would you like me to wait?”

The driver’s words pull Soarynn away from her reminiscent moment and she nods, giving the driver a kind smile, “Yes, please. I won’t be long.”

If Coriolanus is as busy as she thinks he is, she’ll be in and out. Even though she wishes she could stay longer, be around him longer. It’s rather hard to get to know your husband if you only see him when he gets home from work.

But Soarynn pushes those negative thoughts away and opens the car door, stepping out onto the Capitol street in front of the large office building her husband works inside. A slight wave of dizziness hits her and she steadies herself against the car.

She’s been feeling a bit lightheaded for the past few days but she’s shrugged it off for the most part. She probably just needs to get some more sleep. But as she walks into the prominent office building and spots a front desk worker sporting a rather large pregnant stomach, it dawns on her that she might be pregnant.

Certainly, it couldn’t be. But maybe it could be. They certainly haven’t been having unprotected sex for the lack of trying to get pregnant and Soarynn knows that Coriolanus longs for children someday.

Pregnancy aside, Soarynn is here for one thing and one thing only. Her husband. She prepares herself for his closed-off demeanor while riding up in the elevator. She knows it’s nothing personal, that he’s not doing it to hurt her. That's simply how Coriolanus is.

Cold and calculated.

| Part 3. |

| tumblr oneshot/drabble |

[fishhawish]

Hi, I came across your account when it, for some reason, popped up on my dashboard and I noticed that you write angst but there's no Gorou posts.

So, I give you a Gorou angst piece. When Kokomi's parents come to his parents with a marriage contract in hand, Gorou is torn between bowing to his parents' wishes to marry Kokomi or remain faithful to you. He eventually gives into the pressure and breaks off his relationship with you to marry Kokomi. On the day before his wedding, you leave Inazuma for Sumeru, where you take up the post as the Matra's medical examiner; a position Cyno has specifically reserved for you.

I'm so sorry I had many casualties being hospitalized again but I'm discharged now and I can hopefully work on some more requests. I am once again sincerely apologizing.

Fading affections

₊✩‧₊˚౨ৎ˚₊✩‧₊

Gorou x reader

(some x Cyno, can be platonic or Romantic you choose)

Angst w comfort!

Warnings: cheating, detailed mentions of war, eloping?? Abandonment of children aka Gorou being a horrible father

Context: Kokomi's parents offer Gorou a contract, little did you know Gorou and Kokomi had an affair this whole time since the start of the war leaving the other side of your bed cold even more often.

★

!Not proof read!

Reposts and likes appreciated

Reqs open but very slow atm

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟𓆝

Did it really matter? Did your whole relationship even matter? Three years of trust, love, communication, saftey was all pouring down the drain the moment the general told you that he wanted to separate ways. But You knew everything. You knew that since this horrible war started that he didn't love just You anymore. You did not know who his mistress was, or what you and your family would do. How would the child that You protected with your life. Said child watching their world shatter around them as they listened to their fathers voice.

"Listen, I'll keep this short. We must part ways, I wish to be with Her Excellency, Kokomi. Her parents came to me with their blessings and a mirrage contract."

"Or was it just your affair? Did you ever really want to be with me? Gorou we have a family why do you do this now." You lashed out at him angrily as he looked away, submissive expression on his face. His beautiful bright teal eyes looking anywhere else with visible pain. He didn't love only you, but deep down you both knew you still loved each other. He just didn't want you anymore. All he muttered is small apologies with the heaviest guilt and pressure ever seen on him.

"Get out of my sight please." Is all you can say, signing off the divorce papers and pushing them onto him before walking to your now dull and empty what was once shared room. The room you had so many memories in, joy, sadness, anger, pleasure. And you all overcame them with him. But he was no longer there to share with any longer. No warmth was left in your home with just you and your child. Your family was not whole, would not be whole like it was.

Replaced. You and your child. Gorou used to visit, he was a good dad.. for a short while. Not long after their wedding kokomi fell pregnant. Your kid was already traumatized of the divorce. And now your kid refuses to even go near it's father. What a shame. And yet Gorou can't even see what's wrong. When he's friendly with You, when he tries to bond with his kid. It's so obvious, how much Gorou favors his and kokomi's kid. Good riddance.

It was that moment he realized that you're gone only did he regret everything. Even after watching countless of his friends fall, watching the explosions, the blood, his team mates getting stabbed, the screams, the weapons, the innocent civilians dying at his hands for the war. The people around him begging and fighting for their life and families. Every drink he took, every new wound he endured and yet this wound was permanent. Maybe he didn't love just you, but he loved you. He knew he loved you.

His life dull, his heart begging for you to come back. He tried so hard to find you and yet he couldn't. The last he heard was from one of the Kaedehara clan who said that he has traveled with You and Your child to sumeru. His heart shattered at the words. His last hope of ever speaking to you again falling into a void. He visibly regretted everything. Not wanting to take care of his new family. Violently disgusted in every passionate heated moment with her.

But it truly did not matter any longer. Now that you and your kid where elsewhere, you both would be okay. Your new life travelling as the care taker of the Matra, you eventually became close with him. Your child and Cynos mutual adoration for eachother being so sweet that even you can't help but smile. Them treating each other like family. Not in the way Gorou 'cared' but in their own special way.

You didn't need Gorou, no matter what as long as you had your kid and Cyno you'd be okay. All three of You knew that without anything being said, the care us truly mutual. You can only thank Cyno for ever offering the job to you as his medical examiner. Because of him your kid and you will always be happy and strong now, no matter what all three of you would have eachother and every night, sleeping with that comfort was easy.

"Hey do you want to hear another joke?"

"NO."

Ta-da! .𖥔 ݁ ˖ִ ࣪⚝₊ ⊹˚

[imagitory]

So my mum and I were revisiting one of our all-time favorite Christmas movies, The Muppet Christmas Carol, and I think maybe -- just maybe -- there's some really fun symbolism we've all been missing out on. And it all has to do with our main character Scrooge and the color red.

Okay, so at the beginning of the film, Scrooge is in all black, from head to toe. It makes him this wonderful dark shadow over the rest of the cast, and also makes him immediately stand out when he's in public, since everyone else is much more colorfully dressed.

Contrast this especially to the people who are closest to him, Bob Crachit and his nephew Fred.

Well, well, isn't this interesting...both of them have red in their costumes. Even later on, at Fred's Christmas party, we see his wife also wearing red.

The Ghost of Christmas Present -- the ghost who in this film arguably influences Scrooge the most out of all of them -- has a bright red beard...

Oh yes, and we mustn't forget that our favorite narrator "Charles Dickens" is also wearing a bright red coat. (Even his friend Rizzo has some red in his scarf.)

Red as a color can mean lots of different things symbolically -- violence, passion, anger, courage, danger...but I think the one most relevant to this reading is love and warmth. Why? Because even when we see Scrooge as a young man prior to the "all black" treatment, his definitive color is a dark blue.

Notice how much cooler young Scrooge's overall color palette is compared to the much flashier, rosier Fozziwig. (And yes, I think that rosy palette is on purpose -- in the film, Scrooge even describes Fozziwig as being "as hard and as ruthless as a rose petal.") It also makes it so that when Scrooge meets Belle (at this point dressed in pale green with pink rose details), their palettes compliment each other a little bit more, even if Belle's look is still softer, lighter, and warmer in tone to Scrooge's cool, serious ensemble.

But when Belle and Scrooge part ways, we see them wearing colors that contrast much more. Scrooge is still in cool, detached blue, but Belle is in...

Red. Specifically, like Bob and Fred, she has red right around her neck, in the form of her bonnet's ribbon. And it's presumed that over time, after losing Belle and withdrawing more into himself and his own greedy self interest, that Scrooge lost the remaining color of his life and became the cold, black-hearted moneylender we see in the film.

Then of course Scrooge goes through this radical transformation thanks to the Ghosts of Christmas, as we all know...and the very first Christmas present he receives, as a thank you for his charity, is from one of the charity workers, played by Beaker. What is it?

A red scarf.

It's a gift given in the spur of the moment, and yet from Scrooge's reaction, we can tell it's something foreign to him. It's likely it's been ages since he's received such a modest, and yet heartfelt gift from anyone. Scrooge feels the warmth of the gesture, not just because a scarf keeps one's neck warm, but because it was given out of such sincere gratitude and kindness. And as startled as he is by it, he responds with such sincere joy, and wears it happily for the rest of the day. He wears that warmth as easily as Fred and Bob wore it earlier in the film -- as if it's become a part of him. And in a strange way, it has.

For the first time, arguably in his whole life, Scrooge has a true understanding of selfless, loving warmth. The warmth that he should and does feel for the people most central to his life and identity -- his nephew and niece-in-law, his loyal subordinate, his first employer, his first love...even the Spirits who taught him the true "meaning of the season." A kind, generous warmth that permeates the entire story of A Christmas Carol because it's what Charles Dickens loved so much about the holiday season and so wished to spark in his audience.

[todayisafridaynight]

edging to the top 100 list wont be able to finish until you make it to number one </3

yeah i got you bro DONT YOU WORRY o7

100. the little ridge on his nose

99. his moles from y3 <3

98. his moles from y7 <3

97. how round his head is during the ps3 era

96. how spikier his hair was in the original y2

95. that fuckin puffer From Y2

94. his weird grunting and moaning after he gets tied up in y2

93. how his immediate concern after gettin tied up is to get maccas

92. baby daigo's dumbass lil bow tie

91. baby daigo's dumbass lil bowlcut

90. how crusty he looks in y5

89. his lucky gun

88. how he didnt want to bring his lucky gun to the brawl with ryuji. and got arrested for firearms possession anyway

87. his reptile dress shoes as chairman <3

86. the fine lines on his chairman suit

85. his tie that sometimes looks like a brassy green but its actually supposed to be silver but the green looks better on him anyway

84. how malnourished he looks in comparison to shinada when they brawl on the roof

83. the sad lost-dog reaction he gets to kiryu in gaiden

82. his sassy I Told You So moment in gaiden

81. his goofy lil fisherman outfit

80. his leather jacket //miku_emote//

79. his stray hairs for when his slicked-back hair gets messy :))

78. his voice. enough said.

77. not enough said tho how he never raises his voice above two decibels <3

76. his dedication to the tojo even if they bully him every three seconds

75. how he chose to not open the bottle mine left for him because it wouldnt be the same without him there to share it

74. his laugh that can only be heard in cut content <3<3<3<3

73. the complicated feelings he has about his worthiness as a leader and wanting to live up to kiryus standards

72. how he managed to Not Die in the thirteensome years he was as chairman

71. his thuggish fighting style <3<3<3<3

70. the progression of his character from being whiny brat to realizing His Whining is a result of parental neglect and how he sincerely wants friends in y0 to how he grows into a man so tired of everyone around him after his dad is killed and now he wants to be shut off and left alone because he's lost hope in people as a whole in y2 to becoming a man that cares so much about the people he was forced to care for by his only real father figure who he idolizes so much and how he struggled to accept that role not just as a mantle he was competent to carry but how his anger from his previous misanthropy nearly jeopardized his succession and how he had to learn to overcome it

69. his huge penis

68. he's good with kids

67. how he's so proud to refer to kiryu as his father and respects kiryu's wishes to not go to war over him (even if kiryu self admittedly has been cringe at being a father figure to him)

66. how there's a pocket circuit trophy with his name on it

65. how he says banzai <3<3<3<3

64. how he used to be belligerent during y2 but now it takes more to get a rise out of him

63. his stubble <3<3<3

62. the little frown line in the center of his nose ridge and his eyebrows

61. his berry-banger shade lips <3

60. his grumpy little frown and perpetually stern expression

59. how his sideburns have a sort of feather-out look to them

58. the way his cheeks are round like his mom's (and how he look like his momma in general)

57. the shape of his eyebrows and how they end in a point Like That

56. the little buckle on his shoes in y2

55. overall his berries-and-cream-looking-ass outfit from y0

54. how he knows it's kiryu driving his taxi even if he's wearing sunglasses and a mask and doesnt say a word to him

53. his terrible tendency to prioritize kiryus needs over the tojo's

52. how he sent mine to okinawa to look after kiryu (bonus points for summer mine :miku_emote:)

51. how he invited mine to a date drink at the bar, laughed at his joke, asked him if he was single, and then snuck out through a bathroom window all because he thought kiryu was in danger

50. his ability to take criticism and even valuing it and not wanting people to mindlessly follow him

49. his glower in that One Frame in the rain from that pre-fight cutscene with him in y2 you know the one

48. how he got mad at ryuji after he was asked out on a takoyaki date

47. how he's touched by the fact that mine bought a share in every taxi company in kamurocho just to find him

46. how even with his hair slicked back as chairman it still looks so soft

45. daigo's goofy ass smile he gives kiryu in y3

44. god help me the small smile he gives mine moments before mine decides to kill himself

43. how daigo was more concerned about mine's safety than why exactly he was on the rooftop in the first place

42. how even though daigo was upset with mine and kanda's scheming that didn't stop daigo from not only giving away billions of yen but also taking a bullet for mine even when mine was green to the clan at the time

41. the lil 'text' updates you get from him in rggo thanking you and saying you're helping the clan be better <3

40. how daigo not only helped the schoolkids with their raffle event and deal with gangsters but also personally attended and made sure everyone was havin a good time

39. to add on to him barely yelling (sins the time when mine jumped off the roof </3</3 and when he shouts banzai <3) when he interrupts people he still doesnt yell and sounds so calm while doing it

38. his decision to '''''''disband''''''''' the tojo clan despite how hard he fought for it in kiryus name

37. how he considered the lives of the yakuza and what would happen to them, making sure they had a safety net in the security company before going through with the plan

36. how he was able to play the long game and use his decision to disband the tojo to his advantage in the first place and fuck over aoki's own plans even if it meant hiding out for twosome years

35. how he canonically gives 'i'm not mad i'm just disappointed' lectures

34. how daigo sits legs spread while kiryu sits Respectfully in the seiza position during their visit to the omi and he looks like a grumpy teenager being dragged to a parent/teacher conference

33. how daigo acknowledges his reckless behavior by the end of y2 and now wants to do better for kamurocho

32. daigo's very blink-and-you-miss-it moments where he's a snarky little shit

31. the shade of brown his eyes are and how they arent totally pitch black

30. his sassy little hand-on-hip pose he does for his poundmate summon

29. the necromancy

28. how he just looks miserable during his introduction scene at the cabaret when he's supposed to Allegedly be a party animal

27. the cute lil outfit he wore for the dead souls substory <3

26. that render of him with the shotgun and he's not even holding the handle

25. his goofy ass 'wauUUGGH' he makes when you hit him because He Never Raises His Voice so him getting hit sounds like the most unnatural thing possible

24. him having such a dramatic intro in y5 (and genuinely being one of my fave intros to a game in the franchise) only for us to find out he just wanted to help a homie out with some cash

23. him willing to go to juvie For Said Homie and the team so him and their baseball team could achieve their dreams

22. the disappointed mother energy in him having to tell shinada not to announce to the entirety of japan he's the tojo clan chairman

21. his impeccable accuracy

20. how he has no qualms with shooting or killing people

19. how he unloaded a whole clip into shindo after dude macks on his mom and only stopped shooting when kiryu told him to stop

18. daigo having the energy of an angry dog whenever ryuji's on screen and kept getting his shit rocked (bonus points for ryuji not remembering tits about him)

17. his silly little fists-on-hips pose he does when you take a selfie with him in yk2

16. how he was concerned about mine's relationship with money and wanted to get closer with him without feeling like he was only interested in mine because of his money or other material possessions

15. the fact that Apparently he still puts his puffer on from time to time as chairman

14. his awful posture in dead souls, especially in comparison to how straight he stands later on

13. how he's so upfront with kiryu about how strong of an influence he was on him

12. the goofy as hell disguise he wears in y5

11. the lil blue hospital outfit he wears in y6 <3

10. his ability to draw people together

9. how you can bash him with noodles in a NG+ file on YK2. the way he flops over.. </3

8. him and haruka being cemented as kiryus kids by both of them being kidnapped in the same game

7. how even while daigo has a calm and empathetic demeanor he doesn't object to things such as yubitsume and he doesn't strictly follow the whole honor system going on in rgg

6. how his comment on being slaves under the government in y7 can be gleaned from the fact he was practically a slave to the police in y4 and following their whim. if not that just being a hilarious progression of circumstances

5. just how cool his tattoo is and the depth of the meaning to it.... (really such big bonus points for the fact a dragon there in addition to. Everything Else about it)

4. how he just gonna stand next to majima smiling and happy at the end of y4 as if he didnt throw him to the wolves (or the pigs ig GOTTEM)

3. how five seconds after he gets out of prison in 2017 for a fire he didnt commit he has to deal with tokyos new bitch ass governor cracking down on yakuza laws and As Aforementioned navigated that situation swimmingly

2. despite him being driven places for the most part he can still drive

1. his gargantuan balls (both metaphorically and physically)

[ominous-feychild]

OC Facts Tag

Thank you for the tag, @honeybewrites!

Rules: Make a list of fun facts about your OCs. Like a headcanon list, if you will! Except it's actually canon lol.

Characters from Sun and Shadow: Freya, Crow, Daleira, Faer

Freya:

Knows a lot about sailing, but has mostly worked on ships by herself. Is she self-taught? Well, kinda--it's because of her dad basically being a god of the ocean. It's literally in her blood, and she's blessed to have good luck on the ocean. Not that it helps her if "luck" doesn't come into play...

Has mostly figured out how to translate three different forgotten languages by using only her own intelligence and libraries

Has anger issues but thinks of herself as a very calm person

Has a lot of nightmares, but remembers very few of them. Doesn't have very many good night's rests

For some reason, half of what she thinks and knows of her past contradict each other...

Sleeps curled up in a ball; likes cuddling with stuffed animals but left it at home when going to Lynsmouth because she thought her fiancé would judge her for it. Joke's on her, it's a fiancée, and she has way more than just one!

Would forgive her dad for his neglect if he just gave a sincere apology, a hug, and spent at least a few months with her every year

Hates standing out

Was previously in a toxic relationship with a man who groomed her. It caused a lot of her modern-day issues. Her dad is not aware of this, and she hopes to keep it that way.

Crow:

Both hates and loves the smell of blood

Forgot how to cry years ago

Is a fantastic actor and liar; thinks their lies are terrible and obvious, but is able to fool even some of the people best at reading body-language

Knows how to fight with two different types of weapons. Also knows hand-to-hand combat--that, and using a simple dagger, are what they're best at

Always has a knife/dagger within reach, but it's usually hidden behind one of their wings or their tail feathers

Their humor is, in reality, an act they put on to make people underestimate them. They are hyper-alert and constantly on guard

Is most comfortable sleeping on top of something spherical; likes wrapping their arms--and so their wings with them--around it, resting their cheek over their shoulder/wing, and splaying their legs out

However, is used to sleeping in terrible conditions. Just always needs to sleep on their stomach; it's painful to lay on their wings

Daleira:

Is almost certainly ADHD and is probably on the spectrum; I'd have to write more of her before I say the last part for sure, though

Doesn't have very many friends and is aware of it; most of the people in her life are either humoring her because they're afraid of her or because they want political power

Her obsession with magic originated from her trying to figure out if she could change what she is--aka, stop being a faerie and turn human

She's terrified of her own magic and refuses to use it. Most of the magic she uses in-story is during moments of panic (ie, used on reflex) or through a conduit

If she ever managed to "turn human", would cry for weeks about no longer being able to shapeshift. Her ability to shapeshift is one of the few things she likes about being a faerie

Has never been in a relationship before

Doesn't like to sleep because she's afraid of what her magic will do while she's unconscious. Lucky(?) her, she can literally make it so she doesn't have to sleep

Wishes she had a sibling or other people to relate to

Loves sweet food; lucky her, she won't ever gain weight unless she wants to

Faer:

Figured out engineering over time from reverse-engineering half-destroyed machinery

Likes cooking and sees it as very similar to engineering

He loves his hair and would cry if he had to cut it. Has not cut it once in over 5 years, not even to trim it.

Loves soft textures and wears an oversized cloak to hide his constant fidgeting, to generally keep his actions hidden, and to be able to pet it

The more I write about him, the more certain I am that I accidentally made ANOTHER goddamn autistic character istg--

Although he claims the cyborg bobcat that follows him everywhere is his familiar, it is not. It is an actual bobcat. They bonded over a series of incidents of saving each other's lives and refuse to part from each other

Refuses to set foot in a forest until his life depends on it. Thankfully, now lives in a city.

The giant scar over his face is far from the only one he has.

Has PTSD and is constantly aware of his surroundings

Met Daleira when she saved him, but actually likes her as a friend and person

Is suspicious of Valyarus, but doesn't know how to tell Daleira that her dad gives him major creep vibes

"Faer" (pronounced "fair") is not actually his name

Tagging (with no pressure): @the-letterbox-archives @the-golden-comet @yourpenpaldee @darkandstormydolls @themboty + anyone else who wants to join!

Divider by @cafekitsune

[blackjackkent]

We return to Elhan, who has been patiently waiting for us at the exit from the Underdark for us to bring back the Lanthorn. The battle has waned, and all that remains is the devastation left behind from the elves' clash with the drow from below.

"You return." Elhan's deep voice rumbles with the distracted tone of a general whose mind is consumed by strategy. Caden's safety is an afterthought - the Lanthorn is what matters. And "All has been relatively quiet here. I believe the drow were mostly satisfied with the destruction of our temple. They have made no further serious advancement. Yet."

Wordlessly Caden lifts the heavy black relic in one hand, and Elhan's eyes light up in answer. "You have the Lanthorn! It is in the hands of the murderous vampire Bodhi no longer! I feel the tide of this crisis is certainly changing!"

At Caden's side, Rasaad shifts suddenly, his weight settling back on his heels in a motion that Caden knows from long experience means wariness, readiness for battle. Jaheira mutters something inaudible behind him. Caden frowns, draws his hand back a little, not handing the lantern over.

It was almost lost to his attention in the ensuing fear for Aerie, but when Bodhi died, her last words carried accusations at the elves who had sent Caden there. She said that Elhan knew perfectly well who she and Irenicus were - that he was among those who originally punished and exiled them and left them desperate for new souls to extend their lives. And now that Aerie is back at his side, he has time to consider the implications.

"Yes," he says, his voice flat, empty, weary. "And she talked a lot before I killed her. You have been withholding information."

Elhan's head snaps back, and his eyes flash with sudden irritation. "Anything said by her or the Exile, Irenicus, must be treated as suspect! You would do well not to repeat their tales to those that do not need to know them!"

Yet another powerful force trying to use him as a pawn. He is so tired of it.

Something of the blankness drops from Caden's eyes for a moment, and anger flares him into something like life. "Damn it, Elhan," he snaps. "I'm not lifting a finger until I know what is going on!"

Elhan scowls - but Caden's anger has cowed something in him, and he looks away, not meeting the younger man's eyes. "No, this is... this is not for you to know," he mutters. A pause, and when he speaks again, his voice is soft, and Caden hears something of his own weariness reflected in it. "I can't tell you, Caden. It is not my place to do so. The Exiles, this Irenicus and Bodhi, are criminals. Their crime was great, their punishment greater."

He sounds sincere. And yet, if that were true, why is he so reticent to speak of it. "And so he has returned for some sort of revenge. I fail to see the great shame in this," Caden says slowly.

Elhan hesitates, then shakes his head. "You do not understand," he mutters hoarsely. "And I am not prepared to make you. If you wish to know more, you'll have to talk to one of those involved." He sideways at the other soldiers next to him, then back at Caden. "Demin, the high priestess. She will tell you. We will have to breach the city to find her. Fortunately, my sages have instructed me in the use of the Lanthorn."

He holds out his hand, gesturing at the lantern in Caden's grip. "We must go, but most of my elves must remain to hold the drow. We must not be struggling on two fronts when we face what is in the city." His eyes search Caden's blank, exhausted expression. There is a hint of sympathy, just for a moment, in the glance.

Were his city not on the line, perhaps he might be able to spare more thought for the fear and struggle that his new ally is going through. But his first concern, clearly, is for that lost city and what havoc Irenicus might be wreaking within it. "Follow, Caden. We must let the Lanthorn lead us to Suldanessellar. I can only hope that the Exile will have left us a city to find."

[anthonybialy]

Boomer and Bust

Couldn’t they find a more sincere phony?  Aging dolts rally behind Donald Trump as revenge on whippersnappers for the crime of starting life later.  And they don’t even realize they’re inflicting retribution.  Boomers remain on track to be the most likely generation to believe anything.  Meanwhile, nobody believes them for good reason.  Someone tell them they’re wrong about everything so they believe it.

One age group stubbornly never learned suspicion.  It’s the one that’s sure they know everything.  A rather useful life skill remains elusive to era representatives who need it most.  Their children picked it up despite not having the best example, which is a testament to the power of overcoming a dreadful upbringing.

Fans of the most dissonant music couldn’t learn to seek harmony.  I thought hippies distrusted everyone and everything.  But they sold out without being suspicious of anyone but comb users.  Putting faith in whatever authorities claim is how to feel free.

All-time Boomer Trump is the savior for worshipers of everything false.  The perfect candidate for self-indulgent dupes expresses their aimless anger in a way they can’t always articulate.  Subscribers to physical newspapers and empty Trumpian blather simply know they’re ticked about something.  They don’t know what it is or how to fix it, but their rage prevents them from conducting an audit.

Being bolder about lying works in one sense.  Trump is the worst sort of politician, which is just another irony for the list.  A network game show host doesn’t even try and certainly doesn’t learn anything about the subject; it’s like he’s running his real estate empire.  Government shouldn’t be run like a business in this particular fraud’s case.

But why craft mendaciousness with care when blurting obnoxiously is easier?  His target audience fell for it as if they were being told his secret to making them think he’s worth 11 figures.  Claims doesn’t equal worthwhile results, of course.  The most deflating path to nomination yet is brought to you by the same dopes who bought the Trump board game to entertain themselves on weekend evenings by role-playing as their golden savior.  An example of losing by winning is too complex for those who think sufficient electoral votes are all it takes to succeed.

Their flak is not merely unaccomplished in theory.  Trump has spent about half a miserable century dragging down everyone into his classy pit for success, including a rather repulsive presidency that fittingly ended with a legendary tantrum.  The subject in question could do nothing but pout after seducing enough voters once like they’re Eastern European models who need green cards and still have them beg to save the republic.

There couldn’t be anyone else who’d be better at president than Joe Biden.  We don’t have 10 billion options like the sole alternative’s totally real fortune.  You couldn’t choose a third thing.  We must adhere to binary thinking that’s inherent to the Hannity generation.  Remaining convinced he’s a fighter after he ran from every single conflict won’t deter zealots who don’t want to make a second choice.

Truth is anything that sounds comforting.  That’s untrue, of course.  But a stubborn faction still believes only what they wish.  The professionally oblivious taught today’s 

telling them exactly what they wanted to hear like a brave honesty purveyor.

Nobody deserves less faith than the putzing entity that demands it most.  A perfect record of incompetence won’t stop Boomers from seeking their needs met at every moment.  Anyone slightly connected to conservatism can tell you how insecure antisocial Social Security is as lousy as it is involuntary.  The person who calls everyone else RINOs is half afraid to scare Boomers and half dedicated to government providing a pittance.  It’s all Trump.

People equipped with free will refuse to snap out of conditioning.  Singularly hard-headed 1950s kids still inhabit a world of three channels.  Viewers could go mad thinking of missing what the other two are showing.  Lack of choice is comforting.  Having life programmed for you was apparently what they liked best.  Nostalgia means refusing to search for preferred entertainment or truthful updates.  It’s much easier to have facts dictated to them even if they’re technically lies.

Ceaseless Trump lickspittles claim they want a fearless defender of authenticity in a display of how funny they are.  On top of that, they want one person to dictate it to them.  Even more appallingly, the person they chose thinks putting his name in gold is all thriving takes.  The question of whether the embodiment of the self-absorbed age bloc truly believes his ceaseless falsehoods would be fascinating were he an interesting individual.

People are the same in every era.  It’s not a compliment.  Terrible idiots are the one constant through history.  Grouping individuals because they happened to be born in nearly adjacent years disregards consistent patterns since the first generation decided the second were a bunch of ungrateful bums.  I typically hate generational separation as if humanity alters radically depending on the decade.  But this slot has earned their spankings.

Competing by age is a loss for every participant from whippersnapper to geezer.  There’s nothing worse than aggrandizing Greatest Generation blather.  But it’s certain who the worst generation is.  As a hint, they are full of themselves and not suspicion.  Used book sale patrons thankfully won’t have searches plagued for years by empty Tom Brokaw volumes about how those born after World War II kept the universe from collapsing on itself.

The forwarded email generation believes every single word they read.  Their last infliction will cause even more harm to the point where it’s irreparable.  Leaving a legacy isn’t always soothing.  It’s tough to feel comfortable when so many aging bores seek revenge without having done anything to provoke it.

Their final gift looks to be a slightly older loser on track to win because they can’t detach themselves from manipulative salesmanship.  A carnival barker surely has your wallet’s best interests in mind.  Forget about carrying less cash thanks to online banking: that’s the only thing doddering Boomers don’t trust.

[honorhearted]

"Not long ago...he's been so distant -- so angry lately...but it all began to make sense when I discovered the correspondence between him and a Major John Andre."

Brows furrowing, Benjamin appraised Peggy more carefully, his heart leaping into his throat at the familiar name. "And his anger...why should Arnold be so upset about this correspondence? If they are truly aiding one another, does his turmoil stem from potential regret?"

Benjamin didn't know why he wished so badly for this to be a fluke -- that Benedict was more of a pawn in need of aid than some sort of mastermind -- but he foolishly held fast in his hope that the man could be saved. He would be punished, absolutely, but what if they could turn him into a double agent?

Peggy seemed to soften at the contrition in his face, and then her hand was on his shoulder, gently stroking. "You have my deepest, most sincerest condolences, Benjamin. Truly."

With a lump in his throat, he reached up and caught her hand in his, offering her a threadbare smile. "I'm not the only one to endure loss in this war," Benjamin softly said, "but I thank you...most humbly."

All at once, the color seemed to drain from Peggy's face and she straightened, her hold on him tightening in alarm. "I...I didn't know what to do," she said. "I've been so afraid of speaking about it, with my family being known to lean toward the favor of the crown and now this..."

Attempting to soothe, Benjamin stroked his thumb over her knuckles. "Even with a loving family, you can never guarantee a warm reception," he agreed. "It's brother against brother in today's cruel, unfeeling world, and I don't doubt that in the wrong hands, your fate could've been turned over to the Crown...you were right to wait. And I thank you for trusting me."

Seemingly overwhelmed, Peggy spun away from him and gripped at her stomacher, her breasts heaving as she struggled for breath. "I thought I was to marry a Patriot soldier, but with the truth so evident before me, how could I allow such a betrayal to continue?"

Pity stung within his heart, and following after, Benjamin placed his hands upon her shoulders and gently drew her back against his chest, his chin nudging into her upswept hair as he closed his eyes. "I know what it's like to give your heart to another, only to suddenly learn they're not at all who you initially believed," he murmured. "It hurts...it stings, but there is always a new dawn. You don't have to face this alone, Margaret. Not even for a moment."

With a whimper, Peggy turned in his arms and gripped at his lapels, her eyes bright and shining, and weakening his knees with just how lost she appeared.

"Just tell me what I must do, Benjamin. I'm at the mercy of your good General, but my fate ultimately rests in your capable hands."

Cupping her face with said capable hands, Benjamin grimaced and nudged their foreheads together. "I will do everything in my power -- everything -- to help you, but I fear it won't be enough... It helps that I have Washington's ear, but he is often stubborn and volatile, and may not be persuaded by your charms." Drawing away again, he added, "But mercifully, he is also a fair man -- a good man -- and I sincerely doubt he would brand you with Arnold's same crimes."

Peggy's featured softened, and then she held his face and tugged his mouth down over hers, sweet and warm and alive before she parted their lips. "Thank you," she whispered. "I don't believe I'd have had the courage to go through with this were it not for you..."

A needle of guilt stabbed through him, stark and white-hot, before Benjamin gently squeezed her hand on his face. Was he truly doing enough? And most especially since this night had started based on lust rather than true sentiment.

Rolling his lips inward, Benjamin's eyes lit up as an idea finally came to mind. "Perhaps we can forge some letters," he said. "You mentioned earlier that you believed you were marrying a patriot, so perhaps I can falsify letters from your sister?" Growing all the more animated, he said, "We can claim that during your marriage, you wrote to her bemoaning Arnold's change of heart and asking for advice...that you were terrified of confronting him, and felt unsafe to do so, for fear of both his wrath and him potentially turning you over as a traitor in his stead."

Squeezing her hands, Benjamin asked, "Can you show me any examples of your sister's writing? Although it doesn't have to be an exact match, I would feel far better, should the differences not be discernible to the naked eye."

"When did this come to your attention?"

"Not long ago...he's been so distant -- so angry lately...but it all began to make sense when I discovered the correspondence between him and a Major John Andre."

Her former lover's name left her lips without a trace of familiarity or bitterness, though inside Peggy was screaming scornfully.

"Your fiancé, he…he spoke so kindly of my brother. He was the only one to commend him, in fact, so I just…"

Remorse caused her heart to twinge as she saw the pain flicker behind the major's eyes. The way he spoke of his brother told her all she needed to know about the unfortunate situation.

"You have my deepest, most sincerest condolences, Benjamin," she replied as she placed a hand on his shoulder, "Truly."

As Benjamin's face fell, Peggy's gut twisted and her heart ached. In condemning her fiance, she never wanted to hurt Benjamin -- especially after all they'd shared tonight. He didn't deserve the betrayal, a betrayal that had largely been brought about by her own persuasion.

"You do realize that once this comes to light, Washington may look to you, as well?"

"I...I didn't know what to do," she found herself saying, "I've been so afraid of speaking about it, with my family being known to lean toward the favor of the crown and now this..."

If she was going to protect herself, she needed to remain convincingly innocent. Peggy turned away a moment and took a few steps, clasping at her stomach and chest as she feigned difficulty breathing.

"I thought I was to marry a Patriot soldier, but with the truth so evident before me, how could I allow such a betrayal to continue?"

"I do not believe you complicit -- not at all --"

Good...good.

"But couples tend to share everything with one another: fervent affections, plans, secrets, and we need to make sure Washington won't ever suspect that. Not even for a moment."

Spinning on the heel of her boot, she grasped softly at his forearm and presented her best expression of distress, the one that made her eyes sparkle with naivety like that of a doe and had been known to bring even the strongest of men to their knees.

"Just tell me what I must do, Benjamin. I'm at the mercy of your good General, but my fate ultimately rests in your capable hands."

"We need to prove to him you are innocent in this and have no prior knowledge of Arnold's accounts. Perhaps if you seem unwell..."

"Would that be enough?" she asked, sincerely doubting it.

"Washington is a hard sell. Since I, myself, initially questioned how you came to know of his letters, so will he. I could always say I found them, but then the question would arise as to why I was snooping through a superior's home office to begin with."

"We've found ourselves in a rather muddled conundrum indeed."

Ben took her hand and her chest fluttered the way it had when he'd first taken her by the waist, "You and I...we need to work together."

How cruelly ironic that she'd heard similar from a man she thought she could trust only months before.

"Together," she echoed, fearing that she may very well be alone no matter what she did.

Wanting to chase away the feeling of dread, Peggy cradled Benjamin's face and kissed him fervently, wishing they were still back in her chambers beneath the safety of the sheets and pretending the rest of the world did not exist.

"Thank you," she breathed, "I don't believe I'd have had the courage to go through with this were it not for you..."

[ferrumumbra]

@sinefinemors // Continued

"No." His eyes shine, electric green against his pallid skin, and he glares up at the one he would call friend.

"Not now..." Mors remarked.

"There are those who are... interested in making my life difficult. I thought they would not be so interested in me, but I suppose I have Thordan to blame for that."

Mors was laying upon the ground, blood rushing from his wounds. He looks down at himself, that thin fluid blood... he curses himself. The anemia never made this easy. He knew this body didn't have much life left in it, and he did not wish to die in front of Auri -- but he did not have a choice.

"Just... leave me be, please... I can't..." Mors doesn't understand it. Why? Why does panic rush him? Does he care? He has lost so many friends to this before... does it still matter to have friends when he is like this? Nobody among him would wish to associate.

He did not come to Ishgard intent on making friends. He wanted the truth, and all the ugliness that came with it, and yet...

And yet...

Mors breathes one last harsh breath, and his chest stills, his body melts, limp against Auri's hands, his eyes roll back, his jaw slack, his tongue limp, he feels his body give up the ghost once again, and so very bluntly too.

Should have been careful...

His mind races still, even in death, as it frays together, bone chips, splatters of brain and other organs, they rush to Mors, the blood on his skin suddenly congealing, tightening, and then pushing into Mors's skin, returning to him. The blood on the floor remains, but Mors's injuries tighten, collapse, bones knit, blood fills his wounds before closing, a faintly yellow tinge touches Mors's mouth, like an exhale of golden dust. His eyes carefully race between glazed over, and suddenly wet and vibrant.

The whole process takes less than a few minutes.

Mors awakens, and he stares up at the ceiling. He blinks. Once. Twice.

"..." He finally turns to look at Auri.

"... I did not want you to see that." Mors murmured. "It's very unsightly."

Death; a feat Auri has experienced since his youth, a vicious happening he has witnessed be it within engulfing flames accompanied with cries for help or with blood upon his own hands. Beyond his first experience within the hellish fires of the Orphanage, the wretch has found that he cares very little for loss, able to stare down towards a corpse with no emotional rise within his chest, no tears within his eyes.

Never, be it personally or generally, has he particularly feared death, either- the possibility is constant when battling the immense cold of Ishgard's weather at all hours of the day or night, or starvation, or the dangers of those that offer threat over comfort.

Until now.

Each swallow of saliva feels thick within his throat, every word uttered by Mors that sank within the vastness of elongated ears only seeming to stoke the fires of anger that burned beneath his skin with sincerity and recklessness.

Blood upon his hands had never felt so wrong and, as he knelt there holding his company - supporting his head more comfortably off of the ground, did the full force of all before him strike his consciousness hard. It seemed that no matter where he placed his hand in the hopes of stinting bleeding found, there was endlessly more to find elsewhere; and words murmured to him bought very little comfort.

To not seek revenge felt wrong, for there was not a single onze of the wretch that didn't want to hunt down whomever had done this unto Mors and have them screaming for mercy all hours of the day and night - but he would not go back on what was asked of him. If he said no, he wouldn't.

"I ain' goin' nowhere-!" That it would even be suggested bought a different pang of discomfort to his chest, one in which Auri struggled to identify in the moment and likely would struggle to name at all.

A distant sense of helplessness wedged itself within his ribcage, as if a knife twisted it offered only pain and overwhelming vulnerability. And he didn't like it.

"...Mors...?" He feels like a child with how small his voice was, trembled, the whisper of a name laced with more emotion than Auri had ever shown in his short life; the limp figure within his grasp feeling akin to a devastating loss and he can scarce even begin to process that ere something else begins anew.

Auri's eyes of vivid green are glazed with what can be presumed as tears, their sights turning from Mors' pale and entirely still expression to the haunting movement of blood and viscera alike. His stomach churns, his heart lurches, and for the moments in which all happened before his eyes did the wretch remain entirely silent, sights witnessed burned into retina's to never be forgotten.

When Mors looks at him anew, eyes no longer dulled by death, Auri scarce knew what to do with himself. Hands instinctively held on to his person a smite tighter, dark brows deeply furrowed; confusion, fear and uncertainty written easily across his marred features.

"No shit-" Finally does he manage to utter after the length of a few heartbeats, uncertain whether to feel relieved or otherwise. Mors had perished within his arms- of that he had been certain and of that he was still rather upset if one was to judge the tear-glazed nature of his usually dangerous gaze. But there he was, talking once more as if naught had occurred.

"How abou'--" Auri pauses, still feeling utterly emotionally winded and not able to process aught of it at all; "--we ge' y' somewhere more comfy n' y' can explain t' me wha' the ever lovin' fuck I jus' saw, in th' most dulled down terms y' can manage..." Not that Auri desperately wanted to know- it was more of a fact to keep Mors talking so that he could be comforted, once more, that he was still there.

The wretch wasn't strong by any means, not while naught more than skin and bone - nigh emaciated - but he slips an arm beneath Mors' knees regardless and puts absolutely all of his effort into lifting the other up and beginning to move.

[spaceyflowerswriting]

I'm back with more requests💃🏾💃🏾

This is for the loml Seongjun and the second one - Taehun.

The request: their s/o being mad at them & them apologizing to her. They make their s/o really mad, which leads to their fem( I'm not really sure if you do fem reader but I'm ok with gn) s/o ignoring them and showing little signs that they are really mad at them. So the boys have to find a way to apologize to them and get her to forgive them. Basically angst to fluff.

Sorry if this isn't explained well... You can make this a fic or whatever you are comfy with.

How are you doing today?

I'll go by JunTae anon.

forgiveness (taehun/seongjun x reader)

details: angsty oneshots, gender neutral reader written in 2nd pov, general canon au, reader has been dating character for a while

summary: he tries to find a way to apologize after an argument.

a/n: wb juntae anon, i've been well but going thru a writing block </3 + thanks for another request! + i only write gn reader, but if you want more clarification on that you can see it here (request rules) !

×

taehun

"Are you still mad?"

Your lack of a response and the fact that you didn't even bother to look his way said enough.

Taehun sighed. Maybe it was cruel of him, but he was beginning to grow annoyed. He had tried to give you time and space already. Why were you still acting so bitterly towards him? Wasn't it time you moved on?

"Seriously..." He shook his head as he muttered the word and moved to take a seat next to you. Immediately, you scooted away on your chair and he stared at you in disbelief. After gritting his teeth in silence for a bit, he eventually asked, "How are you still upset?"

When the words left his mouth, the silence hanging in the air felt even heavier than before. He tensed up when you slowly turned to look at him, your expression a mixture of hurt and frustration.

"Are you serious?" Taehun swallowed down his initial reaction to retaliate as you continued, "We talked about this already. You know what you did hurt me. Even if it was just a small thing to you, it was a big thing to me."

"I know, and I don't think you overreacted, but..." His eyes darted to the side. Guilt filled him up the longer he looked at you. "C'mon... I already said sorry. Yet you keep trying to ignore me. It's pissing me off."

You gave him another silent treatment.

At this point, Taehun wished he had just kept his mouth shut, but maybe facing this head on would be better than having the two of you sizzle in anger over misunderstandings. He was not the type to regret the things he said anyway since he usually spoke with brutal honesty that he felt was necessary to say. All he did was prepare himself for when you finally spoke again.

"You know what. This is a thing I hate about you." Your words were sharp and calm. Despite your clear storm of emotions at the moment, they were sincere words and not being said out of pure anger. "You're so self centered and insensitive sometimes. I know it's a part of you, and I know I signed up for it when I chose to date you, but I'm honestly amazed at how you're not afraid to show it in situations where it wouldn't be appropriate."

Hearing your words, Taehun tried to take them to heart but he still found it hard to understand. "Well... I'm not the kind of person to sugarcoat my words. Do you want me to say sorry about it?"

You groaned a little. "Look, I'm not asking you to do a whole 180 with your personality or to change just for me. I'm asking you to try a little harder to be considerate." Your voice quieted, beginning to grow strained. "Would it really kill you to be somewhat nicer to your partner? To think about their feelings before you speak?"

No reply in the world could ever refute that, and it would be awful to even try. This wasn't even a fight to win. Taehun didn't know why he bothered trying to argue. He guessed it was because your words seemed like an attack on the kind of lifestyle he was proud of to live, but he probably should have more shame about it if it hurt you.

You dealt with all his other bullshit, the least he could do was give you bare minimum kindness--no, you deserved WAY more. But often kindness came with being gentle, and Taehun had no clue on where to begin with that. Actually, just with emotions in general. At least when it came to being genuinely honest, which was a lot harder than being brutally honest. To him, anyway.

His lips twisted into a scowl. After thinking about all this, he realized he really messed up again, but hopefully not in a devastating way. He had to find a way to fix this.

"Sorry," he started, which did nothing to affect the glare you were giving him. He didn't blame you. "I know I'm a huge asshole, but I promise I never mean to hurt you intentionally. And, uh." He rubbed at his nape, struggling to find the right words to say. "What I said was really fucked up. I know I can't take back anything I said, 'cause it won't erase the hurt you got from my words, but I'm sorry."

"Damn it, I'm just repeating myself."

Taehun looked back up at you and cleared his throat. He held up a hand, putting fingers up as he listed off, "I'm not expecting forgiveness. I'm not making excuses. I'm just shitty at being emotional. And... I'll be more patient. I won't make this mistake next time." He blinked down at his now open palm and then turned his hand so his palm would face you. "Got it?"

You continued to glare at him and he stared right back. When it seemed like the eye contact was turning into a staring contest, he grumbled and stood up.

"I said everything I wanted to say. If I don't sound sincere, I'm sorry. Again. I'm not good with words, you know that." He clenched a fist in frustration towards himself for not being able to soften his words. "I'm trying my best for you, though." He stepped away, semi-awkwardly. "Here, I'll just give you space and time again. I won't rush you. When you feel like talking to me, come get me. I'll be waiting."

Before he could turn to walk away, he felt your hand grab his wrist. He looked over his shoulder at you.

"Screw you, Taehun."

"...Huh?" He squinted an eye.

You sighed, keeping your gaze low. "I'm still mad at you, but I can't stay that mad when you're pouring your heart out like that." You gently tugged at his wrist so he cautiously sat back down. "And I'd like to say I'm sorry for pissing you off by ignoring you, but I hope you learned something from it. As in, becoming more emotionally intelligent."

Taehun smiled a little even as he scoffed. "I don't appreciate you calling me stupid, but I'm not going to say you're wrong." He slipped his wrist out of your grasp into your hand, giving it a small squeeze. "I still have a lot to learn when it comes to being a boyfriend, huh?" He smiled some more in amusement at your rather stern nod. "I'll keep getting better as long as you continue being patient with me, then."

"As long as I see your effort, I'll keep being patient," you replied, lightly giving his hand a squeeze back.

Seeing your smile that followed after was enough to soothe Taehun's heart.

~

seongjun

Seongjun knew he was in the wrong after the argument he had with you, but he hadn't figured out why he got so mad at you in the first place. Now that he had though, he was determined to explain himself. Unfortunately, you were avoiding him like crazy and not being afraid to express your irritation with him so he tried to respect that by keeping a distance.

However, the longer he waited, the more he feared the two of you would never heal from this. Perhaps it could eventually be put in the past, but anxious thoughts of it scarring the relationship between the two of you scared him. Even worse if it became the downfall of your relationship with him.

Too many important people had already been ripped out of his hands, and one he even did by himself (unintentionally, but still). The last thing he'd want to do is make that mistake again. He could not afford to lose you.

And yet he continued to wait patiently for you, until he knew you would have a clear mind and be... somewhat more likely to hear him out.

Much to his relief, the day came sooner than he expected. He wasn't exactly prepared by any means, but he knew what he wanted to get across.

He called your name as you walked by, and you stop to glance at him. At least this time you didn't walk away.

"About our argument." He trailed off. His chest was already feeling heavy. "I'm sorry."

"I know." Your tone was sounding an awful lot like, "I'm not mad, just disappointed," and it hurt Seongjun a lot more than when you were yelling at him.

More and more anxious thoughts filled his head, but he was able to brush them aside for the time being. "Alright. I just wanted to let you know I've done some thinking and I know I'm wrong for what I said." You stayed quiet so he went on to say, "I'm not trying to make excuses, but I want you to understand everything that happened that night was a lot of bad timing."

"That sounds a lot like an excuse to me."

"Please." Seongjun sighed. "Just listen." He looked away from your back to stare off to the side. "I already wasn't feeling good at the time. Then after you came home late, I felt even worse because while waiting, I was worried something happened to you. I expressed my worries to you, but your... nonchalance about it just..." He cringed at the memory. "Angered me, I suppose."

He couldn't help but look back to see if you made any reaction. All he could see was that your arms were crossed now and your shoulders were tense.

Slowly, you responded, "And then I got mad at you for beginning to shout at me, which escalated the situation."

"Right." Seongjun quickly added, "It's fine that you got angry, though. I was being irrational."

You sighed heavily. "Would you mind telling me why you got so mad in the first place? When I questioned you about it, you kept dodging the question."

There it is, the prompt Seongjun was waiting for--what he wanted to explain most.

He didn't hesitate, but he took a deep breath before answering with, "Like I said, it was bad timing because I was already in a miserable mood. Stress was piling up and I lost it. I should have better control of my emotions as an adult, and I'm ashamed I don't, but I promise I'm putting in the effort to."

Finally, you turned to look back at him, although you weren't entirely facing him yet. It caused Seongjun to stumble over his words momentarily due to the sudden eye contact. Being unable to read your expression made him uneasy.

Tense seconds of silence passed until he was able to finish up what he wanted to say. "Especially for you. I only want you to see the good side of me. I'm sorry for slipping up."

A frown formed on your face as he said his apology. "You don't have to be sorry for being human. I'm not mad at you for losing it under stress, that happens to everyone every once in a while."

Just those few simple words felt like a weight off Seongjun's shoulders, but now it gave him a new concern. If it was as easy as that, what exactly made you continue to avoid him?

He tilted his head at you, silently asking for you to go on.

"What I'm mad about was how possessive you sounded. I thought you were being ridiculous." You began to look frustrated recalling the argument while Seongjun grimaced as you went on. "I mean seriously, you threatened you'd never let me go out on my own again for my safety."

"I... understand completely why that would make you mad at me."

"You should." You huffed, still appearing angry. But your following words were filled with sympathy, and your knitted brows turned into a look of concern. "Now that I know you had a shitty day, I kind of get why you exploded at me, but I feel like there's something more. That speech you were going on about keeping me safe didn't sound like it came from nowhere."

Seongjun froze up. How could he even begin to explain? He never went into detail when telling you about his past to you for various reasons, so he didn't know what to say. Not to mention, the last thing he wanted was a pity party over himself. This situation was supposed to be about you and reconciling.

Carefully, he stepped towards you, saying, "I'll tell you some other day, I swear. For now, I think all you should know is that I've been unfortunate with loved ones. They don't stay around very long in my life, and I was worried that might happen to you." You looked up at him, your expression still holding sympathy. It made his heart ache and he ended up just pulling you into a hug. "I always have this worry, but I guess my stress that night amplified it. That's all."

"Alright..." You sighed again, but this one was soft. Comforting, even. Slowly, you hugged Seongjun back and he began to feel the wounds the argument caused healing. "I think I understand better. I'm sorry if I blew things out of proportion."

"No, no, you didn't do anything wrong. I take all the blame. Next time, I'll try to be more aware of my emotions or let you know. Let's always work together to figure something out, okay?"

"Of course, Seongjun." He smiled gently at the feeling of you adjusting in his arms, fitting against his hug better.

[youryanderedaddy]

The First Shot Is A Warning

Tw: Authoritarian Regime AU, female reader, Activist!reader, non - con, dub - con, violence, blood, minor character death, possessive behavior, controlling behavior, imprisonment, objectification, political dystopia setting, mention of drugs, unrealistic potrayal of left - wing totalitarianism

chapter i, chapter ii, chapter iii, chapter iv, chapter vi, chapter vii, chapter viii, chapter ix, chapter x, chapter xi

chapter v

A little more than half an hour had passed since your escape attempt had failed miserably, so now you were back in your room, sitting on the bed. Oscar was kneeling by it, trying to put a pair of plain white socks on your cold shivering feet. Everything about it made you feel sick – the pure whiteness, the sterile smell of new fabric, the way the authoritarian kept caressing your ankles, touching you carefully as if you were fragile, made of glass, just waiting to break into million tiny pieces. If the statist wanted to fix something broken so badly, your heart was a much better place to start. Ypu wanted to scream your pent up frustration out in his stupid handsome face, maybe tell him to fuck off and give you some personal space, but after the little stunt you had pulled not long ago, it was safer to shut up and sulk in silence.

“Do you still have a headache, princess?” Your captor looked up for a moment, and straight into your eyes. There was something pitiful in his gaze, a flashing sense of guilt in a forest of selfish accusations. You shook your head no, wincing at the nickname you once used to love on his lips, adore even. Only now did it come to you the implication of it – that in the general’s eyes you were just a spoiled child with stupid idealistic beliefs and in need of authority to push them back on the right path. Screw him, screw him, screw him and his stupid government. “You…” The soldier started off, reaching to take your hand into his own. You looked away, stiff fingers curling into a fist to escape the warm touch on your cold skin. You actually liked the cold, the sense of freedom that the rain, the snow and even the biting wind provided in the middle of the night. Something that felt forever lost in that big warm room. Too warm and never big enough to separate the two of you.

“Please don’t try to run away again. You will end up injured. The senate is full of people who wish for your death.” The man picked up once again, finally overcoming the distraction of attempting to read your thoughts on your stone motionless face, devoid of any type of hint. You gritted your teeth, an ugly bitter grin lifting the corners of your rosy lips up. “Death, huh? Really, Oscar?” You mocked, eyes once soft and sincere now full of nothing but spite. “I never thought you capable of genocide, but I guess I was wrong.” You spat out, jaw tightening as the hot anger you had drowned to the bottom of your mind bubbled yet again and finally spilled all over the place.

“That’s what you said in your little speech, didn’t you? It's what you promised. A brighter future with no bloodshed. A better future for everyone.” You whispered, suddenly reaching out to shake his shoulders, hoping that would bring his senses back in. “A new beginning.” You had been there on that rainy day, in Kah square in the center with you black hoodie on so you would mix in with the crowd. Back then you had let yourself be hopeful, and perhaps naïve too, because you had desperately wanted each honeyed word, falling so easily from Oscar’s lying lips to be true.

“Y/N, I swear I don’t want it to be this way either.” The authoritarian spoke out, voice tired and defeated. Like he had already had this conversation thousand times in the past, and he probably had. “I don’t want to kill everyone who opposes us, but I can’t…” The brunette gulped dry, trying to find the perfect words for the way he felt, all for nothing. No matter what he said he knew deep down that you would only see it as an excuse, as a justification for something horrible, something inhumane. A case of history repeating itself in the worst way possible. “I can’t really do anything.” He uttered at last, cheeks turning red with shame. It was one thing to do it, and entirely another to confess it out loud.

“The partisans think that this is the best way to go about it, and I can’t just disobey their orders. I aslo can’t stay out of the picture.” The general sighed – he could see you sneering, he was losing you already. “It’s my duty. My destiny in life is to fight for a better world, it has always been.” He said, his black orbs dilated, almost sparkling, overflowing with aspiration at the only thought that had kept him going in the first place when everyone else had turned their back on him. He could only hope you would see it the same way and finally understand why he did what he did. He had to.

“You chose this.” You asserted, voice cold and emotionless, low as hiss, collected. Not even trying to pretend or make – believe a feeling you couldn’t bother to create or fathom. “It was your decision to join them.” You observed, mercilessly pinning the full blame onto the authoritarian just like he had expected, which didn’t ease the sting in his heart. He wished he could taste the blood of your cherry lips on his tongue, instead of this awful sour aftertaste of chagrin. Hell, he should have bit the soft flesh himself. “But I didn’t choose to be here, just like the people you forced under your rule.” You glared at the man you had once called your friend (your lover?), boring a wide gaping hole into his soul. “You made it happen, Oscar. You led your army against thousands of innocent citizens to please your superiors.” You inhaled deeply, your whole body was shaking furiously.

“And the rebels too. You killed them, didn’t you? You promised me you wouldn’t, and it was a lie. That woman, Sophia, she must have wanted them dead, and you wouldn’t disobey a direct order even if it would eat at your conscience until the end of your little miserable life. I know you.” You blabbered on and on, curse after curse, having forgotten about the many dangers of provoking your captor. The only person who stood between you and those who wouldn’t hesitate before putting a bullet through your skull.

“I…” The soldier uttered, sweat forming under his brows. “It’s true that I did it, but I had to.” He rationalized, raising his voice to stop you from interrupting before he was done. He couldn’t really make up coherent sentences while you were still speaking, too entranced and hypnotized by the swing of your hips and the sincere emotion in your pupils. “There was no other way for me to put the fabric of our utopi –”.

“And was all this bloodshed worth it, S? Did your utopia make you happy?” You cut him off anyways, the silver arrow hitting the bull’s-eye right in the middle. You looked almost condoling now, pitying the sad pathetic man with your narrowed eyelids and that cruel, scornful, sad little smile on your lips you knew he couldn't stand. Oscar couldn’t take it anymore.

He grabbed you by the waist, pulling you so close you could hear his wild uneven heartbeat. The authoritarian claimed your lips in a sloppy wet kiss, all teeth, aggression and tongue, bruising and heavy, and so, so sweet after all those months of nothing, but black bitterness. Still you fought back, pushing at his chest with all the strength in your weakened body, but eventually gave up and melted into it, the nostalgia and the pain turning you light – headed, clouding your proper judgment. The lieutenant’s arms felt secure, familiar, it was your lover’s face, your lover’s mouth, but the words that spilled out of it belonged to someone else. Someone you could never love back.

“That’s why you’re here.” The monster snarled against your neck, just as animalistic in his love as he was in his hatred, and he wasn’t sure which feeling prevailed just yet. All he knew was that he wanted to devour you right here, right now. His prisoner, his love, his trophy. To prove you wrong, to prove you right, to do anything, everything to shut you up, just to show you that it wasn’t a smart move to drive a predator into a corner when your only weapon was your still bleeding, barely thumping heart. “To make me happy. To satisfy me the way no one else can.” The general purred as he painted your neck in painful love bites, marks of ownership, pathetic mockeries of kisses, all in blue, purple and red.

You choked on your sobs, and Oscar licked your wet cheeks, not even giving you the simple comfort of feeling the tears run down your skin, tickling it softly. You didn’t know what you were doing, what you were saying, sobbing out loud – you had driven the beast to the point of no return, to madness. There wasn’t coming back after that.

“Be mine, beloved.” The man demanded of you, his pretty little prey. Stuck on the bed with no way out, his right hand reached to undo the your bra and groping at the soft vulnerable flesh of your full breasts, toying with the rosy buds, exposed to his hungry eyes like a feast. All thoughts of revolution, war and injustice had evaporated into nothing, replaced by deep yearning to touch, feel and devour. “Love me, fear me, judge me with those big pretty eyes of yours, I don’t care.” The general muttered, tone usually strict now full of both endless tenderness and immense ferocity. “Just don’t leave my side.” Barely a breath.

His free hand tugged at the waistband of your plain white panties, scarlet blush adorning your sides at the sudden contact. “Don’t leave me to the nightmares again.” The sounds were getting quieter, needier. His long, slender fingers were slipping down, down, down until they were met with even more open flesh for them to explore. He bit at your collarbone, sucking on the sensitive sweet spot of your jugular and only letting go after a hideous bloody mark had formed. It felt like a dream, you had left your body long ago, you were simply watching it happen, and really participating in the transgression. You wanted to be numb again, or high, or too hot to feel any of his hot desperate touches. It made you feel dirty, dirtier, the dirtiest you’ve ever been. And then you felt the digits move inside of you – in and out, in and out in an almost robotic fashion.

The pain was bearable, but it was unending, burning, stinging. Your entrance was tight, and it clenched around the fingers (you weren’t sure how many there were anymore) that stretched it beyond the limits of comfort. And uncomfortable it was, because you genuinely wanted it to be. You wanted to be disgusted by Oscar's forceful affection, his oppressive love, his oppressive touch. You didn’t like the tingling pleasure underneath the repulsion and the fear. And you couldn’t even begin to process the reason why your heart tightened and fluttered each time the authoritarian stopped his act of violation to kiss you softly or to whisper words of reassurance, of adoration. All the slaps, followed by a flower apology.

“I love you, sunshine.” The general had moaned when he came, painting your plush naked thighs in sticky white, and you could vaguely remember wondering whether it was the truth or the blissful ramblings of a man living in the moment, fully possessed by lust. The soldier was insatiable, stealing even more than you thought you could give – he claimed your lips, your ankles, your stomach, your breasts. Had you in every position, in every corner of the room, until it smelt like nothing, but sex, sweat and violence. Until your tears left a permanent stain on his neck, and he could swear, although behind a curtain of shame, that it could become his favorite perfume as long as it was his alone, to put on and extract whenever he needed.

It was early into the night when the general finally felt like he had quenched his thirst, having drowned in the your soft, pliant,malleable body, having lost himself completely in your soft inviting flesh. You were both naked, laying down on the bed and breathing heavily, your eyes wet and puffy – just like two wounded animals. You were staring at the ceiling, static noises buzzing in your mind on full volume. Too bad you didn’t have the remove in hand or the will to stand up and turn it down. Oscar was silent, enjoying the quiet before the storm unfolded.

“Why did you leave me after the war?” You mumbled out of the blue, so close to falling asleep, yet clinging to the painful dread of staying awake. Your voice was monotone, but it was hardly a surprise. You could have laughed at the predictability of every event so far and your own reactions if your throat didn’t hurt so much. Or your lungs. It was a big, sad, miserable cliche.

You would have laughed if your body had allowed you to. You would have laughed if there was anything to laugh about at all.

“I wasn’t deserving of you back then.” The man replied in a static synchrony, closing his eyes shut tight shortly after. He didn’t want to hear the inevitable answer he already knew you'd spit out with poison, but he could already picture you saying it, screaming it. “How ironic, S”.

But much to his surprise you didn’t say anything.

[minimoll7]

Oh I try to be sincere, I could do better but I'm working on it lol and yeah I've heard people say sometimes a simple prayer is better than an essay, which is a little tough for me since I naturally say a lot (even to the point that I'm just repeating myself over and over but using different words). And aah yeah the praise thing makes sense, after all just being asked for something over and over without any gratitude is selfish. I've been trying to praise more so that's good to know!

My family's been going to this church since I was a young child. I've been to it a lot myself, as my parents took me there when I was a kid. Even when I began struggling to go due to sleep issues, I still went a decent amount, so I know a lot of the people there. Its always been a very kind church and I feel blessed that we've got a good one here! Everyone's so kind and welcoming, it feels so full of life! Like bro, I wish you could drop by the place!

Yeah my memory isn't always great, tho sometimes it's amazing the amount of detail I can recall. But I think with me its like.. People argue with me a lot, like in general I mean. I've dealt with that since I was a kid, where I'm trying to open up about something and whoops now its become an argument. I definitely get very nervous talking about certain topics with people, as I fear it'll instantly become an argument. And since the Bible and faith is such an important topic, I feel more pressured to make sure I'm not making any big mistakes. The last thing I want to do is argue about God's word of all things. Add my dad to the mix, who often responds to things with anger, and oof! A recipe for a lot of fear! I've honestly been considering on talking to my pastor about this, he is very aware of my dad's issues as well, so I'm thinking he'll be able to help (tho I definitely want to give myself some time first, like actually go to church a little more before I do that)

Huh! Well that is good to know! I always wondered if I was just being selfish in wanting my dad to get better, like more for my own sake instead of his. But it is easy to get so caught up in how I feel about something, that I don't even see the obvious lol

;w; You are to kind!! Honestly, I can't really pinpoint what it is exactly but there's just something about you that makes you feel very approachable to me. From the moment I started following you, I felt a desire to reach out. Maybe you're the answer to my prayer to, since I've been praying for Christian friends as well, Lord knows I need them! I've been losing friends left and right because I'm Christian (which I did see coming but it still hurts) and after the one I recently lost, one that I didn't really think was that bothered by my faith, it pushed me just enough to finally reach out. And get me going back to church to actually lol

Hello!! It's me again!! I have another question!! I saw a post the other day, I think I saw it on twitter, but it brought up a Bible verse that I've always been confused on. The one that talks about honoring your parents. What exactly does it mean to honor your parents? Like what does one do to honor their parents?

I ask this because my relationship with my dad is not good. I don't want to get into to much detail here (as tempting as it is lol) so the most I'll say is that he isn't a great dad. He has a lot of anger issues, he's insensitive and at times judgmental. He knows the Bible like the back of his hand but he feels very dead in it. He hides behind it a lot instead of actually tackling his issues in any shape or form. Always says that God is working on him but nothing ever changes, he's still the same miserable man he's always been

Because of all of this, I do not love him. I try to, but I just can't. I don't want him around me, I try to avoid him as much as I can, his presence alone can greatly sour my mood. And yet, God talks about honoring one's parents. There's clearly importance to that, I just don't fully get it. I don't understand what it truly means to honor my parents. As much as my dad needs to change, does this include change in me as well? In how I view and interact with him? I hope this isn't to much of an ask from me (and I hope I didn't overstep any boundaries with everything I've said here lol)

Oh, beloved, how I related to your predicament...

Well, for starters, a good and basic way to honor your parents is through obedience to them. Under their roof as a child to being an adult and visiting them, doing as you are asked or told by your parents is honoring them. There is also how you speak of them to others and truly in your heart; are they respected? Do you obey your mother at home but when you're with friends is she spoken of bitterly? I feel like I could go on, but overall the principle of honoring your parents has its roots in the supreme commandment of honoring God - for what are earthly parents if not a picture of God's character?

But as is often the case, parents are not perfect, and some of us are born to difficult fathers. I want to say right off the bat that despite of how sour, even miserable our relationship with our fathers may be, we are still called to honor them as well (though not above the authority and commandments of God, and not to where we don't reach out for help when we can as his sins are not justified by any obedience towards him).

Myself and all of my siblings can attest to the less than stellar relationships we had with our father; he too had anger issues - he'd walk into the room and everything would go silent, every now and then he'd explode about something or make a mountain out of an anthill - and right to the T with your father is how I'd continue to describe mine.

With this, we can look at your lack of love for him. The beautiful thing about love is that it's not a feeling, but it's actions. Love is deciding to repay anger with gentleness, bitterness with kindness, a rude comment with an "I love you", and praying for him - the more often, the better - for God commands us to love even our enemies and to pray for those who persecute us (Matthew 5:44), and unfortunately sometimes our fathers are our enemies.

My father was also a man who was very close with bible verses, and I personally look back upon his life and see an honest effort from a man with more pain than I think I ever got to know. My pop felt like a better father when he tried being my friend, if I'm being honest, but I know he cared in his own way (he made sure everyone was at church if you were under his roof, and I'm glad he did) and I'd very much like to give your father the benefit of the doubt; many of us don't like who or where we are, even as Christians, so it could be that is something he's dealing with, or he very well could be dealing with the sin of pride. Regardless, and in fact because of how unlovable he is to you, he needs you all the more, and that right there is one great way to honor you father: love him even when he is unlovable.

And, to be blunt, I would get to loving him ASAP, because tomorrow is not guaranteed.

------------------------------------------------------

I am once again blessed that you would consider me for advice, and I thank you for I am coming from some personal evaluation of whether or not there are any works within or from me to justify my faith. By the good grace of God, here you are to demand my reliance upon Him with what couldn't have been a more tailor-suited question.

I'll be praying for you both, I sincerely hope you two will be reunited and get to reconcile and grow.

[wolfstarhaven]

WOLFSTAR ANGST #2

You can find the first part here.

NB: READ THE TAGS BEFORE READING ANY OF THESE FICS! This list contains some pretty dark themes, so PLEASE be careful. Always think of your mental health first.  

Fall, the Season of Love, by IngeniumNoctuam (14k)

Fall is a surprising season and also, apparently, the season of love. Remus finds himself caught up in this seasonal parasite, despite his best efforts. An argument and a jumble of, mostly drunken, memories ensue. Or, an ode to fall.

General themes/feeling: mwpp-era; self-doubt; self-hatred; happy ending.

This isn’t super dark, thematically, but still angsty, I’d say. Or, at least it was still quite painful for me to read this - but totally worth it. This is truly a beautiful fic, in which Remus deals with a lot of self-hatred, and Sirius isn’t always kind to the people he loves.

of witness testimony, by @aeridi0nis (17k)

As a thirteen-year-old boy, you don’t tend to fling the word love around an awful lot, not with any degree of sincerity. But maybe you know it when you see it or something, because Peter’s sitting there watching the two of them and he’s not sure what else to call it, honestly. Oh, right, he thinks, and suddenly the way Sirius has always looked at Remus floods to mind, settles quietly, unravels itself, and it makes sense. Oh, right. That’s what it’s all about. or: Peter learns to notice things. To watch people. He notices, for example, Sirius falling in love with Remus for four years. And then maybe - maybe a little part of him has always been waiting for the day he'd have to watch Sirius throw it all away again, all this time.

General themes/feeling: mwpp-era; The Prank; unhappy ending.

Ok, so I haven’t actually read this. Or, I tried to, but quickly had to stop when I got a bit too sad. But it has to be included, as I LOVE ridi’s writing, and they are a master when it comes to writing angst. So even if I haven’t finished this, I know it is incredible. Thus, it has a place on this list.

standing, by the wall, by aeridi0nis (8k)

“There are lots of ways to love people,” Remus points out. It’s even more horrific, hearing the word repeated back to him. “You love James, don’t you? And Peter?”“Well, yeah. But you’re different.” or: Sirius is sixteen when he tells Remus he loves him.(He's twenty-one when Remus leaves.)

General themes/feeling: First war; friends to lovers; unhappy ending.

Same goes with this one. I really wish I could finish it, but I’m a little bit afraid it would make it too hard for me to get out of bed. But if you want to read some angst, I still really recommend this!

Exposed, by edgewareroad (3k)

At eleven, Remus boarded the Hogwarts Express ready to keep secrets. In the end, there are none he can keep from Sirius.

General themes/feeling: mwpp-era; implied child abuse; hurt/comfort; scars; happy ending.

This is perhaps more hurt/comfort than plain angst. But still, this ain’t exactly a happy fic, as it centres around Remus’ scars and his feelings about them. I absolutely adore this fic – it melts my heart every singe time.

take me as I am, by Judeyjude (48k)

Sirius is a sleep demon who gives nightmares to humans. Remus is an insomniac with hallucinations. Unstoppable force, meet Immovable object.

General themes/feeling: muggle!au; fantasy; slow burn; bipolar disorder; depression; hallucinations; happy ending.

This might be one of the oddest fics I’ve read – but I don’t mean it as something negative! It’s just a very unique au. And it might not be the angstiest fic ever, as it also has its moments of fluff. There are definitely some darker themes though! 

Dress up in You, by MsKingBean89 (88k)

Sirius attends a charity rock gig organised by his best friend's girlfriend, and the tall, quiet bassist catches his eye...

General themes/feeling: muggle!au; band!au; unhealthy relationships; pent-up anger; break-up; happy ending.

Well-known and well-loved, this fic might not be the clearest choice for this list. There are no specific super dark themes or triggers in this fic, yet for me it was definitely a heavy read. There’s just something about Sirius’ pent-up anger, spitefulness, and selfishness that made this fic incredibly difficult for me to get through. I really love it though, and definitely recommend it if you haven’t already read it!

On Edge, by wannnabesuper (7k)

Every time they meet, Remus gives Sirius a new ridiculous reason for having been on the cliff where they met.

General themes/feeling: muggle!au; strangers to lovers; reference to suicide; homophobia; bittersweet ending.

This fic starts out sweet and funny, with just an undertone of angst. Then, it turns sad. It’s a beautiful read, with an important theme.

One more angsty list is coming, you just wait!

Lots of love (and PLEASE be careful), Elliot🌸

[robininthelabyrinth]

"The Untamed", but Jiggy has a white cat whom he tells everything.- May or may not be sentient or 'spiritual' like Fairy in the book. (From an idea I've thrown around with my friend @yraelviii)

ao3

He found the cat in Qinghe.

“What are you doing here?” Meng Yao said, crouching down to try to scoop out the little handful of white fluff underneath his cabinet only for it to bare its infantile fangs and him and hiss, moving its butt around as if it thought his fingers ought to be running in fear from its fearsome pounce. “How did you even get in here?”

The cat – a kitten, really, small and scrawny, dirty and covered in ashes as if it had just run out of a forge, but no less passionate for it – squirmed in his hand as he picked it up.

“Who owns you?” Meng Yao asked, and the cat hissed viciously as if to shout no one owns me!

Something about that echoed in Meng Yao’s heart – no one owns me, he thought – and so he fished up some extra meat from his plate, filled a small platter with water, and used the sleeve of an old outfit that needed to be taken to be laundered anyway to wipe the grey ash off of the cat’s white fur while it was distracted by sniffing suspiciously at the food and water that it ultimately declined to consume.

“Just this once,” he told it.

-

Doing good work will often only bring you more work, Meng Yao reflected, and so it was with the cat as much as with anything else. He still didn’t know how the cat managed to get into his rooms, and he sometimes dwelled on paranoid suspicions that there were hiding-holes in his chambers designed to allow others to spy on him, just as there had been in certain rooms in the brothel – though even at his worst moment of uncertainty and doubt he didn’t really think so. He knew that it wasn’t Nie Mingjue’s style even if Meng Yao had been someone important enough to care about, and anyway he didn’t question his own ability to discovery such a thing if it had really existed. He’d checked.

At any rate, however it kept getting into his rooms, the cat was now a regular presence there, lurking around.

It didn’t want to be petted and greeted all attempts to feed it with utter disdain, but despite its general standoffishness it seemed to like being in the same vicinity as Meng Yao, enjoying nothing more than to settle haughtily by the window in his room and watch over Meng Yao as if it thought he might get lost without its supervision.

Meng Yao thought it was probably someone’s pet gotten lost, or maybe even just a feral cat from outside (Qinghe had a fair number of them) that had figured out that it could access the good life by going inside, but it was very hard to sincerely worry over the ill-intentions of a cat, and he was already very busy.

If he didn’t need to care for it, then it wasn’t adding to his troubles. Let the cat sit where it liked!

Meng Yao had found that life in Qinghe was both different and similar to life in Yunping, the only life he had to compare it to, and it amused him to think of the great and righteous Nie sect as an overly large brothel, with the main difference being that they sold their strength where women sold their bodies. In both places there needed to be order, someone to sort things out and tell people where to put things and what to do; in both places Meng Yao, with his quick mind and excellent memory, his sense of understanding people and anticipating their needs, was utterly invaluable in arranging such things.

He had, admittedly, expected it to take a little more time to climb up to the top – the only person he couldn’t understand in this place was Nie Mingjue, who was far too easy to deceive and smiled at him like he really thought they were friends instead of just being master and servant, who appreciated his talents and told him so, who shrugged off his mistakes and had faith that he would do better, who ignored his status instead of lording it over him the way Meng Yao had expected him to. Even when he was angry, when he shouted and slammed his hands against things, Nie Mingjue never once mentioned Meng Yao’s background, and the only things he seemed to hold against him were his own mistakes.

Meng Yao still didn’t know why Nie Mingjue would act so rashly as to promote someone he had just met to a position as high as viceroy, much less actually trust him, but it didn’t really matter. However quixotic his method of reaching a place of power, he was here and his next task was to keep his place until he’d made a reputation for himself.

Part of that he did through his work, good critical work that people needed and which had always won him gratitude even if not respect, but the other part of it was in cultivation. That was the way in which the Nie sect was not like a brothel: you couldn’t just be clever, you couldn’t even just be beautiful - to be respected, you had to cultivate.

Not that wanting to cultivate was a problem for Meng Yao.

He’d always had a memory like a sponge and a body that obeyed his every wish, his childhood of mimicking the beautiful dances of his mother and her ‘sisters’ serving him well in transitioning to learning the sword even if he was years behind everyone else; his mother had bought a thousand fake cultivation manuals for him and he’d learned them all, each one of them more useless than the next, and now that he was here in the cultivation world at long last, he was finally, finally, finally able to cultivate for real.

Using Nie sect methods, of course, even if that wasn’t what he really wanted.  

He’d started as soon as he could when he arrived, endlessly grateful that the Nie sect provided training sabers without cost, and he’d snuck one away back to his room so that he could practice on his own time, knowing it would take a long time to form his golden core. He’d debated with himself for a long time as to whether or not it was worth it to invest in a real one – if the training sabers were free, then real proper Nie sabers were somehow three times as expensive as the swords you could buy in the marketplace, and you could only put in a deposit without any notion of when you’d actually get the saber, apparently subject to the contrary dispositions of the spiritual weaponsmiths that made them.

In the end he decided to go for it more or less on a whim, emptying out his hard-built savings to place the order, even though he knew he would one day need to discard whatever they made for him in favor of a sword.

The Jin sect would accept him one day. He would make them.

(If the Nie sect cultivation style was good for one thing, he thought as he went through endless drills of slashing and thrusting, it was that you could work out your anger while you were doing it. There was nothing quite like imagining the face of someone you hated and then bringing down the practice saber in a vicious slash, and oh, but Meng Yao hated so very many people.)

The cat liked watching him train most of all, although Meng Yao suspected it was because seeing him jump around panting was funnier than watching him sit at his desk and gracefully write out letters. It would occasionally start purring, a sound a little like a crackling fire, and eventually Meng Yao got into the habit of going to run his fingers through its fur as a reward for himself when he successfully completed a training sequence.

After a while, he started talking to it, too.

“That commander,” Meng Yao said as he brought the training saber down. His real saber was still on the order, probably stalled purposefully; the smith assigned the task was probably one of the people that thought they were too good to deal with him because of who his mother was, and it’d all been a waste of money in the end. Completely a waste, even if Nie Mingjue had smiled so happily at him when he’d heard about Meng Yao placing the order, his eyes warm and soft and how had that man survived so long in this wretched world of politics and pain, didn’t he know he would always be deceived and betrayed?

Why should he be the exception to the rule, when everyone else had to suffer?

Meng Yao threw away the unhelpful thoughts and thrust the saber forward, as if piercing his invisible opponent straight through the chest.

“That commander.” He minutely corrected his form and stabbed again, this time as if piercing through the belly: a gut wound, a slow and awful way to die. “He’ll regret what he said to me.”

The cat’s purring intensified.

Meng Yao briefly had the wild thought that it approved.

“I just –” Another thrust. “– need to figure out –” An overhead slash. “– how.”

-

Meng Yao ended up taking the cat with him when he left Qinghe.

It probably was someone’s pet and he was opening himself up to a charge of stealing, a charge he wouldn’t be able to defend himself against now that he no longer had Nie Mingjue’s protection –

(Nie Mingjue who had wept tears and blood at what Meng Yao had done, betrayed at last after having finally encountered a deception he could not swallow, who had banished him from the Unclean Realm even after everything Meng Yao had done for him – who had, despite it all, still hidden an entire bag of gold and Meng Yao’s favorite Qinghe snacks in Meng Yao’s things with a short note claiming that it was for unpaid wages. As if Meng Yao had ever let a single pay period go by without claiming exactly what he was due. As if Nie Mingjue still cared despite throwing him out, as if he worried about how Meng Yao might live, as if he hadn’t given up the privilege of caring about things like that – )

He didn’t really care.

He wanted the cat, so he took it. It was the least Qinghe could do for him.

The cat spent all its time in his new rooms in the hotels he stayed out as he traveled: in his bedroom and study, the little gardens that, when available, he liked to use to train in the mornings and evenings. It would even follow him when he took a bath (although that was with great reluctance on the part of the cat, and only if Meng Yao were taking an especially long time in the bath and the cat was worried he’d drowned, yowling angrily as if it could revive him through the power of its voice). If it had once belonged to someone else, it now belonged to Meng Yao, and Meng Yao didn’t give away anything that was his.

“I’ve made worse mistakes,” he said defiantly to the cat, which blinked at him from its side of the carriage he’d used some of the gold to rent. “It’s only that I don’t want to review them in order to think of which ones those might be.”

The cat got up, stretched its back, and walked over to butt its head against Meng Yao’s hand before turning and going back to its spot by the window.

Meng Yao wasn’t sure if that was a sign of agreement or if the cat just thought there was a treat in his hand. Not that the cat had ever accepted treats from his hand.

He still wasn’t sure what the cat ate, actually, but he was sure the cat would make its feelings known now that they weren’t somewhere with a dependable kitchen, though he supposed there was always the possibility that it would start picking up hunting.

“Wen Chao said that they’d aimed at the Cloud Recesses,” Meng Yao said, deciding not to dwell on the things of the past. There was nothing he could do about it. Nothing he could do about Nie Mingjue’s betrayed eyes or the snacks he hadn’t even known Nie Mingjue had known he’d liked, about the hand-me-down guans and trinkets that Nie Huaisang had insisted were part of his wardrobe when he’d helped him pack even though he knew Nie Huaisang still wore them sometimes, about the fact that he should have been ordered to take the Nie sect’s braids out of his hair when he passed by the gates for the final time since he didn’t deserve them anymore but the two disciples there had just nodded at him and let him pass without a word – nothing to do about the saber he’d ordered, still on the list to be made, and maybe if he made something of himself out in the world alone he would one day come back to claim it at last. “That’s where we’re going now. Lan Xichen might be in danger. I have to help him.”

The cat made a sound like it was considering hacking up a hairball.

“He was kind to me,” Meng Yao said, feeling defensive. “The only one who never judged me –”

Since he’d decided to forget about Nie Mingjue and Nie Huaisang, wiping it out of his mind as if it had never been, that was even true.

“– and he’s a proper gentleman, a good man. I’ll help him.”

That Lan Xichen was also a powerful man was something he wished he didn’t think of, but he couldn’t help the way he was.

“After I help him, I’ll figure out what to do next,” Meng Yao said, like a liar, and the cat looked at him like he was stupid – which he was being, because of course he’d already planned out what to do next, figured out his next move, and there was no point in lying to a cat about it. Meng Yao had skills that were only useful in management, not labor, and the only thing he left to sell was information about the sect from which he’d just been ejected. “No one owns me, right? Let it be the Wen sect.”

The cat did not purr, but it didn’t condemn him, either.

That would have to do.

-

It was a good thing that Meng Yao’s cat was self-sufficient, he thought, because he had neither the time nor the stomach to feed it during his time at the Wen sect.

If he had thought he had worked hard at the Nie sect, he now knew differently: at least there the worst he had faced from his colleagues had been disdain and not outright murder attempts, back-stabbing and undercutting to try to show off to Wen Ruohan, and all the while the man himself demanded more and more from him without the slightest care for his own well-being. He was grist to the mill for Wen Ruohan, no matter how much the Chief Cultivator enjoyed having another man’s prized deputy as his own – Wen Ruohan might had been very nearly driven insane by the Yin Metal, but he still remembered old grudges – and it was night and day away from Nie Mingjue’s reliance on him that was based on trust, rather than reluctantly satisfied suspicion and paranoia.

Meng Yao had hidden the cat as best as he could from the start, thinking rightfully that people would try to use it against him, and to his relief it seemed that no one else had yet laid eyes on it and identified it as his own, despite its white fur standing out like a beacon to his sight. Unfortunately there were some people that had managed to figure out that he had a cat, even if they didn’t lay eyes on it themselves, and he’d had more than a few incidents in which someone had left poisoned meat out on the floor by his room in order to catch it.

The cat seemed as unimpressed with that as anything else.

Instead, the cat seemed to have taken up hunting as its pastime. It brought back the corpses of small birds, the Yin Metal-infused little spies, full of resentful energy, that Wen Ruohan had developed for his sons to use. At first Meng Yao worried about the cat getting somehow poisoned by them, but time went on and it seemed to be fine, even thriving. It had grown into a proper cat now, no longer a kitten, and it enjoyed licking its white and shining fur until it was gleaming.

It didn’t like Meng Yao’s training sessions as much – he trained with a sword now, two-faced just like him, and in a dozen different styles, Wen and Jiang and Jin, always Jin – so sometimes Meng Yao would go back to doing the old Nie sect style again, knowing the cat would recognize the familiar movements, and it was a surefire way to get the cat to purr.

The Nie sect style was also still the best for getting out anger, all aggression and sharp movements, and Meng Yao still had a lot of anger inside of him. He was starting to think he always would.

At least here in the Nightless City he could kill the people he hated, as long as he did so in low and dirty ways that didn’t trouble Wen Ruohan or interfere with his plans, and yet every time he did it, he felt no relief, only a vile and wretched stickiness that came, perhaps, from that awful Yin Metal that he had schemed over yet couldn’t seem to escape.

The cat didn’t like the Yin Metal one bit. It hissed and scratched, and in one notable incident seemed like it was going to pounce on it directly if Meng Yao hadn’t caught it mid-leap and shoved it into his sleeve before anyone had noticed it.

“You’re going to get me into trouble,” Meng Yao told the cat next time he trained, using the soft sword he’d hidden away for a time of need to hack and slash in the Nie way, which didn’t work with a soft sword at all but which made him feel strangely better. He was currently imagining Wen Ruohan’s head underneath a saber, his head and the heads of all those corpse puppets he’d created. “I will cut you loose if you do that.”

The cat rolled onto its back and showed its soft and fluffy belly, which only the truly unwise would seek to lay a hand on – Meng Yao still had scars – and Meng Yao rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, I know,” he said. “No one owns you, not even me. But do me a favor and don’t screw this up for me. Not when I’m so close.”

Lan Xichen had been accepting his letters and feeding them to Nie Mingjue, who trusted as blindly as he ever did. Meng Yao wished sometimes that he didn’t, that he would learn, that he would put some defenses up on that stupid reckless heart of his, but on the other hand it suited his plans very well that he didn’t.

Soon, he thought. Soon.

Soon he’d know what he needed to do.

-

“Now he chooses not to trust people,” Meng Yao complained to his cat. “Now. Now!”

The cat purred.

It wasn’t that Meng Yao (damnit, Jin Guangyao, he had a new name, he was Jin Guangyao now) couldn’t understand Nie Mingjue’s reluctance to trust him – fool me once, fool me twice, but three times seemed to be the other man’s breaking point – and in some ways he understood it more than ever now that he had been accepted back by the Jin sect, clothed in the gold he’d always deserved to wear.

Jin Guangshan hadn’t lost much in the war, not like the other sects, and the second it was over he was already scheming. Meng Yao – Jin Guangyao – was pulled right into the thick of it at once, less for his spying capability than for his sheer disposability, the fact that Jin Guangshan wasn’t willing to burden his pure and righteous heir with black matters that he was more than happy to taint the son of his whore with. With Nie Mingjue, general and hero of the Sunshot Campaign, representing the only real threat to the Jin sect’s domination, even if he didn’t want to be, Jin Guangyao was bound to be in opposition to him.

It made sense for Nie Mingjue not to trust him.

It irritated him regardless.

Still, lack of trust or no, Nie Mingjue had succumbed to Lan Xichen’s impassioned arguments and had agreed to swear brotherhood with him, even if Jin Guangyao suspected that Nie Mingjue’s primary motivation was to keep a better eye on him and scold him the way he did Nie Huaisang. It would be politically beneficial to Jin Guangyao to be tied in such a way to Nie Mingjue – it would suit his own desires as well, though that was less important – and so he had of course agreed as well, and he was planning on going to their oath ceremony in the outfit he had chosen for himself, gold from neck to foot, a sword he’d taken from the treasury since no one would order him one of his own, and a hat on his head like the ones his mother so admired to make up for his lack of height and to hide the Nie sect braids he still habitually wore underneath.

An old habit, and one he really ought to break, really. Ideally before Nie Mingjue figured it out and told him to cut it out.

There was a knock on the door, a familiar pounding, and the cat looked up, intrigued, even as Jin Guangyao sighed voicelessly to himself. Perhaps he had waited too long.

Perhaps it would be better to make a clean cut in this way, too.

He opened the door.

“Sect Leader Nie,” he greeted, thinking to himself that it would only be a few more hours before he was entitled to call the man da-ge as if they were nearly equals and how strange that would be. “Can this humble one help you?”

“Can I come in?” Nie Mingjue asked gruffly, his eyes lingering on Jin Guangyao’s uncovered and Nie-braided hair, just as he might have expected. Had expected.

Jin Guangyao nodded and stepped back, allowing him in, and closed the door behind him. “Could I get the sect leader some refreshments?” he asked politely, but Nie Mingjue seemed to have come to a stop right in the entranceway, surprise written all over his features. “Sect Leader Nie?”

Nie Mingjue was staring at Jin Guangyao’s cat.

“…Sect Leader Nie?”

Did Nie Mingjue not like cats? There were an endless number of feral cats in Qinghe, so it seemed implausible, and yet, here Nie Mingjue was, looking at the cat like he’d never seen such a thing before in its life.

Of course, at that exact moment, Jin Guangyao’s cat, the traitor, hopped off its pillow and went straight to rub itself against Nie Mingjue’s leg, purring like a little maniac.

Jin Guangyao stared at it, feeling thoroughly betrayed by what he would have previously said was his thoroughly unsociable cat, who had taken years to warm up to him enough to give him half the attention it was now bestowing freely on Nie Mingjue. Was this the heavens deciding to mock him for his earlier betrayals?

Alternatively, Nie Mingjue might just be very good with cats, which Jin Guangyao could believe. Perhaps he even carried in his pockets some of the Qinghe vine that cats were said to be so enamored of, although certainly Meng Yao’s cat had never once before shown an interest in such things before.

“…what’s its name?” Nie Mingjue croaked, voice hoarse. He was still staring fixedly at the cat, looking as though his entire world had shattered around him. He hadn’t even looked so unsettled when Jin Guangyao had so viciously mocked him at the Nightless City, and at the time he’d thought he was going to die and be turned into a corpse puppet to murder all his loved ones.

Jin Guangyao was tempted to say something rude or facetious, something like ‘I just call it Cat, why, do you name random cats?’, but the cat had been a good companion of his for a long time now and he couldn’t do that to it, even if he was currently planning on taking an extra long bath to force the cat to miserably linger by the door to the bathing room, screeching in unhappiness at the wet, but bravely (if grumpily) supervising him to make sure he didn’t drown.

“Hensheng,” he said, because that was in fact what he’d named it – it meant hatred for life, which was not exactly an auspicious name but which had stuck from the very moment he had thought it up – and waited to hear Nie Mingjue’s judgment. “It’s not normally quite so sticky,” he added in an attempt to save some face. “With most people.”

“Well, it’s me, that’s different,” Nie Mingjue said, and maybe the man really was just the human incarnation of the plant cats liked so much. Meng Yao really wouldn’t put it past him. “You...you cultivate in the Nie sect style? Still?”

Jin Guangyao blinked, surprised by the change in subject.

“Yes,” he said, a little hesitantly. He cultivated many styles now, although it was always the Jin sect style when he was in public. But he still had all the anger in his belly to vent – even more so now than before, anger at his father, anger at Madame Jin, anger at his brother born to a blessed life, anger at all those disciples that sneered at him even after he’d been legitimized, anger, anger, anger – and the Nie sect style had always been the best for that.

And anyway, it made the cat purr.

“Is that a problem, Sect Leader Nie?” he asked.

“Not at all,” Nie Mingjue said, and when he turned to look at him his eyes were warm and soft the way they’d been all the way before the fiasco with Xue Yang, shimmering with tears of joy and a smile that seemed to come straight from his heart, the foolish easily deceived man. It was so unexpected that Jin Guangyao actually took a full two steps back, his jaw dropping a little. “I’m happy for you. Very happy.”

He actually wiped at his eyes with his sleeve, dashing away the tears.

“You should come back to the Unclean Realm to pick it up when the brotherhood ceremony is done,” he added nonsensically. “I can’t imagine how long it’s been waiting for you.”

“…what?” Jin Guangyao said. “Pick up what?”

“Hensheng,” Nie Mingjue said, which – what? “Your saber. Hensheng.”

His saber?

The saber he’d never gotten, having been banished from the Unclean Realm before the order was finished, the one he’d spent all his savings on just in putting in the deposit, the one he’d never actually finished paying off? He remembered it, of course, and sometimes it still itched under his skin that he’d never gotten what he was owed because everything that was owed to him he deserved to get in the end. But…

“Hensheng is my cat,” he said.

Nie Mingjue blinked at him. “That’s not a cat,” he said. “That’s a saber spirit.”

Jin Guangyao’s gaze dropped down to the cat.

The cat that never seemed to eat anything or drink anything, that never once fell for the poisoned meat or accepted his offers of treats, that no one in the Nightless City had ever seen with their own eyes; the cat that could consistently get into his rooms despite there being no holes for it to enter, as if it had simply passed through the walls like a ghost.

Like a spirit.

The cat, which purred whenever Jin Guangyao practiced the Nie sect forms, swinging a saber with rage in his heart.

The cat to which he had confessed all his anger, all his frustration, all his rage, all the feelings he never gave to any human being around him – the sabers of the Nie sect thrived on such emotions, those feelings that encouraged them and strengthened them, developing the saber spirits that made each one of them a spiritual weapon unlike any other, with power and rage infused into the very blade.

Saber spirits, which only those born into the Nie sect or adopted early, raised in their ways, one of them, could form.

“A saber spirit?” Jin Guangyao said weakly, and his knees suddenly didn’t seem strong enough to hold him; he swayed and Nie Mingjue stepped forward quickly, catching him by the shoulders to steady him. “I cultivated a saber spirit?”

“The saber is back in the Unclean Realm,” Nie Mingjue said, not without kindness. “It was only ever waiting for you to pick it up once you developed the spirit, so that you could introduce the two.”

“It hasn’t been – I would have thought it would have been thrown away, or repurposed –”

“It’s a Nie saber, Meng Yao. It won’t obey anyone else ever again, not in this life; it is yours, yours alone. When one day you die, it will be buried with honor in our saber halls, just like all the others.”

The cat looked up at him and purred.

No one owns me, Jin Guangyao thought – the first thing the cat had said to him, and he’d always had a good understanding of what the cat wanted from the very first. No one had owned that wild spirit then, but it had stayed by his side, at first from curiosity and later from habit, and it was his now.

His, and no one else’s.

“Will you come pick it up?” Nie Mingjue asked, hope in his eyes. “Will you come home, if only for a little while?”

“Yes,” Jin Guangyao said. “Yes, I will.”

-

Later, Jin Guangshan told his son to kill Nie Mingjue, that fool who trusted too much and didn’t know when he was being deceived, finding him in his rigidity and righteousness too much of a burden on the power he planned to wield.

Jin Guangyao bowed as deep as he could, a smile on his lips, saying nothing, and the next day, when Jin Guangshan went to the brothel as he always did, drinking tea served by his son the way he always did, he never did figure out why his heart had stopped.

(The saber Jin Guangyao began to wear openly after the funeral – a gift from his sworn brother, he said with a smile, in remembrance of his time at the Nie sect – purred in pure satisfaction.)