#you should proceed to the library for punishment

[edenesth]

The Way to His Heart [20]

Pairing: general!Seonghwa x wife!reader

AU: arranged marriage au (Joseon era)

Word Count: 5k

Summary: Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

Part 19 | Fic Masterlist | Spinoff Masterlist

San bowed his head as he absorbed the Queen's narration of the fourth prince's attempt to steal the general's wife during his absence at war, fearing the wrath of His Majesty and reeling from his own shock. Had he been aware of Prince Yeosang's plans beforehand, the royal secretary might have prevented you from attending the supposed birthday banquet in the first place.

The entire palace staff in the grand hall was startled as the King slammed his hand against the armrest of his throne, "The fourth prince did what?! This is outrageous! I've warned you countless times about spoiling him too much, my Queen."

Rubbing his temples, His Majesty shook his head and let out a heavy sigh, "We'll deal with him later. For now, confine him to his private chambers. He's only allowed in the royal library for his studies. The last thing we need is for him to unexpectedly show up at General Park's wedding and cause chaos."

Lowering her head, Her Majesty conceded, "Yes, Your Majesty. It's my responsibility. I know I should have been firmer with him."

"We're fortunate Lady Park handled the situation gracefully. I can see why Seonghwa is so enamoured with her," The King remarked with a slight smile before addressing San, "Secretary Choi, ensure that all funding for Prince Yeosang is withheld until further notice. Given his rebellious nature, he would likely find a way to disobey orders. Without financial resources, let's see what he can attempt."

As the Queen's lips parted to plead for leniency, His Majesty silenced her with a stern glare, leaving no room for argument. The weight of guilt settled heavily in her chest, a stark reminder of her own role in enabling the prince's behaviour. She couldn't deny that she simply wanted her fourth son to find happiness, but she knew deep down that her indulgence had contributed to his disobedient nature.

With a heavy heart, she reminded herself that this was not even the prince's harshest punishment yet. She could only imagine what further consequences awaited him at the hands of his father.

The royal secretary bowed in acknowledgement, "Yes, Your Majesty. Is there anything else you would like to add?"

The King straightened up, his demeanour shifting as he moved on from the matter concerning his son, "It would be great if you could visit the general's estate and inquire about his well-being on my behalf. Once he's feeling all better, arrange a meeting promptly so we can proceed with his wedding ceremony without delay."

With a final bow, San prepared to take his leave, but before he could depart, the ageing monarch extended a hand to stop him, "Wait, Secretary Choi! There is one last matter," His Majesty interjected, "Please extend my sincere apologies to General Park for my son's behaviour and express gratitude for his dedicated service to the nation. See to it that we cover all his medical expenses."

"Of course, my King."

The royal secretary stood before the entrance of his friend's estate the next day, feeling a slight hesitation before announcing himself. While His and Her Majesty bore some responsibility for the fourth prince's actions, San couldn't shake the feeling of personal responsibility. After all, he had been the one to prepare you for the supposed royal event, unknowingly sending you into the lion's den. He couldn't help but feel like a bad friend to Seonghwa, questioning whether he had done enough to protect the general's wife in his absence.

"I'm sorry to intrude on your moment of reflection, but how much longer do you plan to linger by the entrance, sir?" The private investigator's voice snapped San out of his trance, prompting him to blink rapidly as he recognised the familiar figure leaning against the main gate, eyeing him with curiosity.

Clearing his throat, San composed himself, "O-oh, hello! I, uh... I was just about to enter. It's nice to properly meet you, Investigator Jung. My name is—"

"Royal Secretary Choi San, I know. We're all aware, don't worry! It's an honour to be recognised by you, sir. Come on, you must be here to see General Park. Let me show you to him; Jongho's occupied at the moment," Wooyoung led the way, the secretary noting his talkative nature, "You won't believe what he's up to right now; he's such a peculiar kid. Takes dedication to a whole new level, I'll tell you that..."

At a certain point, San tuned out the rambling, focusing instead on mentally preparing himself to face you and your husband again. Would Seonghwa be displeased with him for not coming to his wife's rescue when she needed it the most? He wouldn't be surprised at all if the general were to be truly upset with him.

Before he could further overthink it, they arrived at the living hall where the couple was seated and engaged in conversation with the famous dressmaker Kim and skilled Physician Jung. Your husband looked up as if sensing his presence, beaming, "Ah, you're here, San! Come join us. We knew you'd be showing up sometime this week. I assume His Majesty has received my letter, yes?"

The secretary was taken aback, to say the least. First of all, he didn't think he deserved the warm welcome, and secondly, he had believed Seonghwa's injury to be severe, so seeing him looking almost back to his usual self shocked him. Though the older man appeared a bit paler than usual, San was primarily relieved to see his friend alive and well. Memories of the panic he had felt upon first receiving news of the general's poisoning flooded back to him.

Oh, thank god he's okay.

Greeting everyone in the hall with a polite bow, he cleared his throat, "You have no idea how relieved I am to see you alright, General Park. But before I deliver His Majesty's message, I feel compelled to offer my apologies to you and Lady Park."

Confusion creased your brow as you asked, "Whatever for, San?"

With a sigh, he admitted, "You're both too kind for your own good. I should have been more vigilant and prevented Lady Park from attending Prince Yeosang's birthday banquet in the first place. If only I had intervened, she wouldn't have gone through—"

You interjected with a gentle chuckle, "Please, don't blame yourself. You couldn't have known. If you had, I'm certain you would have acted to prevent it."

Seonghwa nodded in agreement, adding, "San, you're far too hard on yourself. You have nothing to be sorry for; you've been nothing but a great help to my wife. Now, please, take a seat and join us."

Amidst the comforting smiles around him, the secretary finally eased into his seat. Eunsook promptly served him tea and refreshments, signalling the start of their discussions. San's revelation caught everyone off guard since they had yet to receive word from Mingi: the war had ended, and Ruhon had surrendered. As they exchanged incredulous glances, a wave of relief washed over them, followed by cheers of joy. The general and his wife shared a meaningful gaze, hands clasped together as you exchanged soft smiles. San understood the significance of that moment—the two could finally proceed with the long-awaited wedding ceremony.

The worst is finally over.

Unable to contain his curiosity, San finally inquired about how the general had sustained his injury. Your husband recounted the harrowing experience, his friends visibly wincing as they imagined the scenario. Your heart ached as you listened. Sensing the tension, Yunho jumped in, reassuring everyone that the injury wasn't severe and that with proper rest, Seonghwa would be back to full health in a matter of weeks.

"That's a relief. Once you're feeling better, we'll arrange a meeting with Their Majesties to plan your wedding. That's the main reason His Majesty sent me here today, aside from checking on you," The hall buzzed with excitement, but the general sensed that the secretary had more to say, "Is there something else, San?"

Taking a deep breath, San continued, "The King also wants to extend his sincerest apologies for the fourth prince's actions. As part of his punishment, Prince Yeosang has been confined to his private chambers, and his funds have been frozen. His Majesty is concerned about him causing any disruptions at your wedding."

"Oh, good riddance!" While Hongjoong and Wooyoung clapped with Yunho silently judging them from his corner, you appeared unsettled by the news. Feeling your unease, your husband tightened his grip on your hand and asked, "What's wrong, my love?"

The news of the prince's fate left you with mixed emotions. You felt a twinge of guilt at the thought of him being barred from your wedding. Despite his actions, you couldn't deny that he was still a friend to you and a part of you felt sorry for the struggles he faced all his life due to his birthmark. Understanding the complexities of his situation, you empathised with his confusion and desperation that stemmed from his severe lack of experience with love.

With a small gulp, you turned to your husband, voicing, "Hwa, I... I think I'd still want His Highness at our wedding, if he wished to attend," Surprised looks crossed the faces of everyone in the hall. As you explained your reasoning, they began to understand your perspective. After a moment of contemplation, Seonghwa lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss onto the back of your palm with a reassuring smile, "Fair enough. If that's truly what you want, we'll discuss it with the King."

In keeping with his promise, you found yourself seated beside your husband as you faced His and Her Majesty for the first time a few weeks later, now that he was fully recovered. Sensing your nervousness about the meeting, the royal couple greeted you warmly, swiftly putting you at ease. After exchanging pleasantries, the general wasted no time in making his request.

"My King, we've heard about the punishment for the fourth prince," He began, "But my wife and I would like to request that you at least allow His Highness to attend our wedding if he wishes."

Confusion flickered across His Majesty's face, "You do? But why?" He inquired. The Seonghwa he once knew would have been furious and unforgiving. It seemed Lady Park had a positive influence on him.

Feeling it was only right for you to respond since it was your personal request, you gathered your thoughts before speaking.

"Your Majesty, I understand that Prince Yeosang's actions may seem outrageous from an outsider's perspective. However, I believe His Highness has endured a painful life, facing discrimination due to his birthmark. It's clear he mistook kindness for love, given his limited experiences. Despite his mistakes, he remains a dear friend to me. It would be meaningful to have him at our celebration, if he chooses to attend. I hope you can understand, Your Majesties. I apologise if I've spoken too much and am overstepping boundaries."

As your words sank in, a wave of introspection washed over the King. For the first time, he found himself reflecting on his relationship with Yeosang. Had he been too harsh on his son? Had he failed to understand the pain his son bore due to his birthmark? The King couldn't shake the feeling of guilt as he realised that he may have viewed his son more as a burden than a beloved child. Perhaps there were times when he had even considered the prince's refusal to marry as a personal affront.

The sudden realisation left the King feeling conflicted and remorseful. He wondered if he had been a horrible father, too absorbed in his duties as a monarch to truly understand his son's struggles. It was a sobering moment for him, realising that he may have overlooked his son's pain and loneliness. Was this why the Queen had been so persistent in advocating leniency towards Yeosang? Was she trying to make up for his shortcomings as a father? These questions weighed heavily on his mind as he grappled with his newfound awareness of his own failings.

His and Her Majesty exchanged a meaningful glance. Suddenly, they understood why the fourth prince would mistake his gratitude towards you for love. After all, you had shown him a kindness and compassion he had rarely experienced, even from his own family.

Beginning to feel anxious at the royal couple's silence, you awaited their response with bated breath, with Seonghwa ready to support you if needed. To your relief, they smiled warmly at you.

"Please don't apologise for that, Lady Park," They reassured you, "You're right; perhaps we've been too harsh on him all this while. If having him at your wedding is what you wish, we shall allow it."

"Thank you, Your Majesties."

The Queen sighed softly before adding, "But whether or not he wishes to attend is ultimately his decision. Let's hope he chooses to join us for your sake."

You nodded in understanding, "Of course, I completely understand."

As the preparations for your wedding ceremony unfolded, time seemed to pass in a blur. Traditionally, weddings entail two parts: the first at the bride's home, where the couple honours her ancestors and family, and the second at the groom's home for the same purpose. However, due to your circumstances, with no family home for you and Seonghwa having little connection to his parents or ancestors, your wedding would be simplified, taking place solely within the palace grounds, where the royal family would also be able to attend, given that most of them are not allowed to leave the place.

In no time, you found yourself comfortably seated in one of the palace chambers, which had been graciously lent to you for the day. Hongjoong immediately began working on perfecting your look, with Eunsook and a team of palace maids assisting him.

You couldn't help but marvel at the exquisite hanbok now adorning your figure. Unlike the traditional red hanbok worn by most brides, this one was a stunning combination of white and gold. It was a testament to the dressmaker's dedication to his friend's request to make you the most beautiful woman in all of Joseon.

Instead of the usual red flower, Hongjoong meticulously painted a gold flower on your forehead to complement your exquisite hanbok. You admired how perfectly it matched your outfit and the gold accessories adorning your hair. While part of you wondered if it was appropriate to outshine the royals, as the dressmaker had emphasised countless times, another part of you chose to revel in the admiration you would receive. You couldn't believe how far you'd come from being the scared girl who once endured disdainful glances and disrespect before marrying Seonghwa.

Reflecting on your journey, you felt grateful for the twists and turns that had brought you to this moment. Perhaps Jinjoo was right; you were quite thankful to your family for orchestrating your union with the general. Without them, you wouldn't be here, basking in the happiness you had finally found.

I guess we're even now, father.

Noticing your silence and distant gaze in the mirror's reflection, the dressmaker lightly nudged you on the shoulder, "Well? How do you like this look, my lady? Please don't tell me you're having second thoughts about standing out now. I've spent the past month working tirelessly on this hanbok—"

You giggled and offered a soft smile to your friend, "Don't worry, Hongjoong. It's perfection. For once, I think it's okay for me to outshine even the princesses. After all, it's my wedding ceremony, and I'll only be getting married once."

His grin widened proudly as he saw you slowly shedding your old self, no longer the timid girl he first met, "Damn right, it's perfection. I create only that and nothing less," He joked before turning serious, "Listen, I just want you to know how proud I am of you. Seonghwa's a dear friend to me, and I honestly would've thrown a bigger tantrum than he did if he had been arranged to marry some spoiled brat. You don't know how happy I am that you've found each other. But if that idiot does anything to upset you again, you better tell me."

You chuckled through your tears, your throat tightening at his heartfelt words, "You bet I will. Thank you, Hongjoong."

He panicked when he noticed your wet eyes, "Hey, hey, hey. Don't you dare start crying, woman. If you cry, I'll cry too. And trust me, that's not a good look for either of us. Plus, you can't ruin your makeup!"

His jest seemed to do the trick, eliciting another round of laughter from you. Fussing over you one last time, he noticed the palace staff at the entrance signalling it was time for you to be on standby. Gently grasping your shoulders, he beamed at you like a proud father, "Are you ready, Lady Park?"

"As ready as I'll ever be."

With the nervous beat of your heart echoing in your ears, you were guided to the main hall, where the rituals would soon unfold, with Eunsook at your side. Hongjoong had departed after ensuring you looked flawless, joining the other wedding guests. As you reached the waiting area, where final checks would be made before your grand entrance and your first meeting with your husband today, your steps faltered.

While the head maid busied herself tidying your hair and smoothing the creases in your hanbok, you gulped, "Eunsook, t-tell me... this isn't a dream, is it?"

The elderly woman giggled, gently taking hold of your hands, "Are you still asking me that, mistress? Do you remember the first time you asked me that question?"

You nodded, reminiscing about the first time you had allowed the maids to bathe you after Seonghwa had discovered your scars. So much has changed since then. Though you weren't the same person you once were, a small part of you still harboured a fear that this all might be too good to be true. It felt like a long dream, and you couldn't shake the worry that you would one day wake up back in the hellhole you once called home.

Giving your hand a comforting squeeze, she smiled, "Well, I'm here to reassure you once more that this is all very real. Perhaps you fear losing the happiness you've found and you're not alone in that. Master feels the same way, so do all of us at the estate. We all fear losing the happiness that you've brought into our lives. I hope you haven't forgotten what I've said to you: you are our light and our hope. You're incredibly important to all of us. You still are, and always will be."

"She's right, you know?"

A familiar deep voice interrupted, startling both you and Eunsook as an unexpected figure appeared behind you. Surprised, you turned to find Prince Yeosang standing there, arms casually intertwined behind his back, a smirk playing on his lips as he observed your reaction.

"Y-Your Highness?" You stammered, half-expecting his absence.

He continued, "You should've seen General Park earlier as they got him dressed. All he cared about was how you were doing. I guess that's what you meant by true love, huh? I wish it were just a dream for me, but it's not. So, don't you worry, Lady Park, this is all very real. I didn't give up on you for you to doubt this reality. Please make my choice worth it and be happy, okay?"

Relief flooded through you, reassured by his acceptance of your new chapter, "I promise I will make it worth it. Thank you, my prince, for choosing to be here today and for your kind words." You replied, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders.

He grinned in response, "Of course, wouldn't miss my first and only friend's wedding for the world," With a playful wink, he gestured towards the palace staff entering to usher you out, "Now hurry and get out there, don't make him wait any longer."

At last, all is right in the world.

Returning his smile with gratitude, you took a deep breath before stepping forward. As you walked out, you felt a newfound readiness wash over you. You were prepared now; ready to formally be wedded to Park Seonghwa, not out of obligation, but out of pure love for him. You were ready to be the wife he needed, the shoulder he could lean on when the weight of his responsibilities grew heavy. You were ready to be his home, his refuge, ready to be everything to him, just as he was everything to you.

As Seonghwa stepped out from his side of the waiting area, his breath caught in his throat at the sight of you approaching from the opposite end. Each time he laid eyes on you, he thought you couldn't possibly become more beautiful, yet you continued to prove him wrong. Hongjoong had outdone himself once again; you looked more majestic than any royalty he had ever seen.

You stood out among the crowd, exuding grace and elegance in your one-of-a-kind hanbok. As you glided toward him, he felt overwhelmed by your beauty. But it wasn't just the general who was stunned; every guest at the ceremony had their jaws drop in awe at your ethereal appearance. Those seeing you for the first time now realised the whispers and rumours about your beauty were true. Truly, you looked like an angel descended from the heavens.

As the rituals unfolded, requiring you and Seonghwa to stand across from each other and perform a series of bows as instructed by the wedding officiator, each gesture symbolising a different aspect of your commitment to each other, you both remained focused on each other. Despite the lengthy and tedious proceedings, all you could see was one another as you patiently waited for it all to be over.

The guests cooed in anticipation as it was time for you and your husband to exchange a cup of wine, the act symbolising longevity and fertility. You blushed lightly as you heard Wooyoung among the crowd squealing, only to be smacked silent by Jongho and Yunho who stood by his side.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the seemingly endless rituals were concluded. You and the general bowed together a few more times: once to His and Her Majesty, once to the gods, and once to the guests. With that, the ceremony was complete, and you could finally bask in the joy of being officially united as husband and wife.

After the two of you expressed gratitude to the King and Queen for their assistance in making the wedding possible, the feast began. As neither you nor Seonghwa had any family present, you were naturally surrounded by your closest companions, the guys. Your husband took the opportunity to introduce you to the only friend of his whom you had yet to meet.

Grateful for his presence, you smiled warmly at the strategist, "Thank you for always looking out for my husband, Officer Song."

Mingi grinned bashfully, his cheeks tinged with a slight blush. He still seemed taken aback by your beauty, "Not at all, my lady. It's General Park who has been looking out for me all this while."

Seonghwa smirked knowingly, giving the taller man a playful nudge, "Thanks again for coming, man. A little birdie told me you've reunited with a special someone. Can we expect a wedding invite soon?"

The guys around the table teased with mischievous oohs as Mingi rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, "I don't know, hyung-nim. I'm working on it. But let's not talk about me, it's your big day!"

Hongjoong, however, wasn't having it, "Oh, come on, don't you dare change the subject! We need details about this mysterious lady!" He insisted, eager for gossip. The other guys excitedly chimed in, urging the officer to spill the beans about the royal physician who had captured his attention for years.

Amidst their playful interrogation of Mingi, you glanced around the room, curious to see if the fourth prince was still present. Catching sight of him, you noticed he was discreetly making his way toward the exit. Sensing your gaze, he turned, meeting your eyes. He offered you a genuine smile and a final nod before vanishing from view.

May happiness find you, Your Highness.

The remainder of the ceremony proceeded seamlessly, thanks to the meticulous arrangements made by the palace staff. As night fell, you returned to Seonghwa's private chambers, where the two of you would share a meal and some drinks before... going to bed. Your heart pounded with nervousness, fully aware of the significance of the evening; you would both be expected to consummate your marriage tonight.

"My love, are you feeling alright?" You blinked rapidly, coming back to reality as your husband waved his hand in front of your face to grab your attention. You nodded quickly and resumed eating, trying to appear casual, "Y-yes, I'm fine, Hwa. Don't worry about me."

But the general was more perceptive than you realised. He could sense your unease, especially as the meal was drawing to a close. With a soft smile, he set down his wine glass and reached to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "Why do you bother lying to me, you silly girl? Did you think I would be disappointed in you?"

He knew he had guessed correctly when your chewing momentarily paused. Shifting his hand to cup your cheek, he gently guided you to meet his warm gaze, "What do you take me for, hm? We don't have to do anything tonight if you're not ready. I can wait, I'll wait for as long as you need," With a tender kiss on your forehead, he rose from his seat, "I'll get the maids to prepare the House of Lotus for you."

Feeling deeply touched by his understanding, you realised how foolish you had been to once fear the possibility of him hurting you. Truthfully, it wasn't that you didn't want to deepen your intimacy with him; rather, you were scared. He would be the first man to see all of you, every scar on your body, and you feared what he might think, feared letting him down. But his love for you reminded you of his kindness and brought you a newfound confidence.

Before he could leave, you panicked and reached for his wrist, stopping him in his tracks, "No, Hwa, please don't. I want to... I-I want to stay with you tonight."

Kneeling before you, he gently took your hands in his, "Are you sure, my love? You don't have to force yourself—"

You cut him off by pressing your lips firmly against his. He responded almost immediately, and you smiled at the small whine he let out as he chased after your lips when you pulled away. Whispering, you said, "I've never been more sure of anything in my life. I want to stay with you, Park Seonghwa. You're not getting rid of me tonight, or ever."

Unable to restrain himself any longer, he immediately captured your lips in a deep kiss, one passionate enough to leave you dizzy. With his guidance, you rose from your seat, your lips still connected, and he lifted you into his arms, carrying you bridal style towards his bed. Both your hearts raced as you broke the kiss to catch your breath, panting as he gently set you down.

Your breath caught as you leaned against the pillows behind you, trapped between his arms as before, reminiscent of the interrupted moment with Hongjoong. However, this time, it wasn't you who halted the moment. The general's gaze turned serious as he locked eyes with you, his voice low, "Last chance. We can still stop if you want to change your mind. Because if we go any further from here, I'm afraid I won't be able to hold myself back."

Cupping his face, you leaned in to kiss him softly, murmuring, "I love you, Hwa." If that wasn't enough to convey your feelings, you guided his hands to the ribbon securing the outer layer of your hanbok, silently granting him permission to undress you.

The first time he had aggressively torn your clothing was a mistake he regretted deeply. Now, he approached it with care, delicately untying the ribbon and holding his breath as he removed the garment, exposing your shoulders once more. The faint traces of your old scars were visible, but they didn't faze him. Tilting your chin up, he rested his forehead against yours and whispered, "You're so beautiful, my wife. I love you too."

Wrapping your arms around his neck, your eyes fluttered close as he kissed you again, banishing all previous worries from your mind. When he pulled away, his lips trailed down your neck until they reached your scars. Gently pushing some hair away from his face, you stroked his head affectionately, watching as he showered each mark with kisses. As his hand hovered over the ribbon securing the inner layer of your hanbok, he looked up at you one last time, knowing there would be no turning back from this moment onward.

"I'll be gentle, my love, I promise."

"I know, Hwa, I trust you."

That night, you and Seonghwa became lost in each other, the boundaries between you fading away as you become one for the first time. In each other's arms, you discovered a love deeper than you ever thought possible. You found yourself no longer able to picture your life without him at this point.

Reflecting on your journey together, you marvelled at how much he had changed since you first met. Back then, you could never have imagined that he would come to love you so deeply, nor could you have anticipated the depth of your own feelings for him. Now, as you lay intertwined with him in the quiet of the night, you knew that you had arrived at your destination. It had been a long journey, filled with obstacles and challenges, but in the end, you found it.

You had finally found the way to his heart.

Y'all, I hope this one didn't disappoint! The pressure of knowing this was the final part was so SO REAL. Maybe it's my insecurities kicking in, but I genuinely hope this meets expectations!😭

Also, I know the story is completed but I have good news! I've decided to do some fluff-filled bonus chapters because I'm well aware this is barely enough to make up for all the angst I've put y'all through HAHA if you're not on the tag list and would like to be tagged for any future bonus content, just leave a comment to let me know!

Whoo, it's been quite the roller coaster ride now, hasn't it? If you've made it this far, I sincerely hope you enjoyed the story! From the bottom of my heart, thank you all so much for reading and as always, please let me know your thoughts! <3

Tag list (1/3): @huachengsbestie01 @evidive @weedforthoughtz @ssrnghwa @yunnieo @sunnyhokyu @lynnsqueendom @frobin4ever @chwesuh-imnida @thunderous-wolf @itstheghostofmypast @professormingisglasses @deltamoon666 @avantalem @famishalll @yungilia @soobiverse @joongified @scuzmunkie @http-gyu @mentoslol @atinyreads @angel-hyuckie @anxiousskylar @onedumbho3 @narashii @ddaeing @sansaurora9904 @sohnfile @scarfac3 @dreamingofyeo @puppyminnnie @tinyteezer @vantediary @satsuri3su @mismatchfluffysocks @aliona124754 @bts-army380 @lilactangerine @atinyniki @pay13 @1117promises @xoxkii @st4rhwa @hikarii02 @nescaffei @xdolls-crownx @ashrocker123 @skzline @minkiflwr @starssongs98 @baeksofty @skz1-4-3 @kawaiikels @madnpan @en-happiness @cheolliehugs @persnyako @startinystay @chngbnwf @fatspecimen @christinerose380 @stfu-rina @kyukyustar @taytayy178 @appleschre @brielle-in-the-galaxy @laurenwidjaja @yangwonielvrs @n1k1mura @idkwgoh @loveateez @linosllvr

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[warrioreowynofrohan]

Finished The Name of the Wind!

Loved the framing device! I found the central story a good read (as shown by me reading it in like two days…!) though fairly typical in terms of plot elements.

Kvothe (I can’t believe Rothfuss named his narrator (phonetically) ‘quoth’ - a bit on the nose!) is a compellingly flawed character - fantastically intelligent and skilled, but reckless and lacking in wisdom; strongly principled in certain ways while unprincipled and ungrateful in others.

While another protagonist might follow the trajectory of being initially opposed by powerful figures at the university only to win them over with determination and skill, Kvothe starts out in a fairly good position and progressively alienates people, often in avoidable ways. I think the leaders of the university - even or especially those on his side! - are dealing with him in precisely the wrong ways. When he displays his proficiency and intelligence in ways that are reckless, thoughtless, or dangerous, he - at least twice, in his first year! - gets an immediate corporal punishment and a promotion to a position of greater power and license. This feels like entirely the wrong reaction to him having great power and talent but not the curcumspection, humility, or responsibility to wield it well. (Which is understandable! He’s 15! Which is exactly why he needs to be made to go slow so his wisdom can catch up to his intellect.)

Lorren, I think, has the best idea of how Kvothe should be dealt with - don’t give me a spectacular display of power or skill or even heroism, show me, consistently and over an extended period, that you can display sense and good judgement and thoughtfulness. Of course, Kvothe, being Kvothe, defies this attempt.

All in all - strong Anakin Skywalker vibes, or at least strong vibes of how Anakin Skywalker should have been written. Also strong Alexander-Hamilton-from-the-Musical vibes (including the sense of economic and social precarity driving a lot of his attitude) - this person looks like a star, this person is a meteorite.

For one example: he (partly through cheating, partly through intelligence) talks the university into not only accepting him at a strikingly young age and with a very unconventional education, but into paying him to attend for his first term rather than charging him admission, which in this world and at this institution is unprecedented. He then, in his first week, proceeds to:

humiliate and physically injure a teacher who doesn’t like him (he did not need to do this, he could have displaced his magical proficiency in ways that weren’t targeted at a person). He is, on the whole, rewarded for this by being admitted to the magic school.

bring open flame into a library filled with the world’s most valuable books. Yes, he is tricked into doing so, but he could easily have walked away and come back to the library on a day when his personal nemesis wasn’t on duty.

jump off a roof and break ribs. He thought it was a test. It was, but not that kind of test. 😂

He’s the kind of person who thinks he can bullshit, bravado, and improvise his way through anything because he’s so talented, and 95% of the time he’s at least partly right. The problem is that this makes the other 5% very dangerous.

#patrick rothfuss #the name of the wind #kvothe

[farfromstrange]

Chaos Theory | Michael Kinsella x Reader

Chapter 18: Maybe I Don’t Quite Know What To Say

Masterlist ° Chapter List

Pairing: Michael Kinsella x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Michael and you finally talk.

Warnings: ANGST, mentions of child death, description of child abuse, mentions of murder, cursing, PTSD, panic attack, crying

Word Count: 7.5k

A/n: I apologize for how long this is. I go a little too into detail about the child abuse, so proceed with caution! It's angst, but at least they're together now. And of course, they can’t talk about everything in one night so I made a little cut at the end. Also, I gave you some protective Mikey again. You’re welcome.

As a child, there came a time when you realized that if you did everything right, followed rules and instructions, and took care of the people around you, you would receive at least a sliver of love. It made you worthy.

By shouldering everything, you seemed to prove yourself, and by not fighting back and being the obedient good girl, you could forego the punishment and get the attention you craved. You had to be good, so you tried to be good.

There was no space for your own problems. You got into a habit of pretending the bruises were a part of you. You believed that the punishment you received was what you deserved.

You accepted your fate. 

You never cared much about yourself. The first time you had to actively talk about yourself in front of someone else, you panicked and you didn’t know what to say.

There was not much time for you as a child to figure out who you are, so you turned to fiction. You weren’t allowed to keep many books, so you often went to the library to get your fix. You saw yourself in fictional characters, related to them, and tried to be like them so you would feel less alone. 

You picked traits you thought suited you best and ran with them. You picked up behaviorisms from book characters to make friends, but you often failed. 

At home, you pretended to be the girl your father wanted you to be, and you took his punishment wordlessly when you did something wrong; back then, you truly believed that even coming home five minutes late from school was something you should get punished for. It became your normal. 

It’s needless to say that boys never looked at you. You were considered a freak. You didn’t have friends or hobbies, you just existed to function and take care of your mother, please your father, and occasionally do the homework for others because kids at school soon realized you could easily be toyed with. They walked all over you, but you ran with it because no one taught you that you deserve better. So you did what you had to do to survive in the hopes you could get out someday. 

And then Maya was born. 

As a teenager, you made a lot of mistakes, and the punishment got worse, but you couldn’t help it. You ran with the wrong crowds because you wanted to belong, and your father wasn’t happy about that. You used sex, drugs, and alcohol as a coping mechanism. For a short while, it worked.

When your sister was born though and she became the star of the family, the child everyone loved, even your father, you found yourself in an odd position. 

Part of you resented her for getting the love you never got, but the other part, the bigger part of you felt responsible. You started feeling like she was a part of you. You couldn’t shake that. 

You soon had no other choice but to take over parental duties because your parents sucked at it. You were expected to play the part of a mother even though yours was right there, and you put your life on hold for this child that you never wanted to join the family in the first place. 

Your childhood wasn’t happy, but you did what you had to survive. You took care of everyone but yourself, and you accepted that your feelings just didn’t matter as much as those of the people around you. 

You figure that’s why you try to do right by everyone now; you grew up thinking you had to please everyone to be worth something, and even then you were never worth enough. Your broken heart ruined relationships and made you choose men that didn’t deserve your kindness, but they reminded you of your father, of the treatment he told you that you deserved, and you fell down the rabbit hole. 

Even in therapy, you never talked about how you truly felt or what happened in the past. To be fair, a lot of memories were blacked out by you a long time ago, but some things will never fade, and those are the ones that left the biggest scars. You never talked about them, not even in therapy, and that’s where you suspect the problem lies. 

You never got the help you needed because you always believed you didn’t deserve to be taken care of, and it made you even more miserable. It made you delusional. 

You feared the day someone would come around and wake you up. 

Then, Michael stepped into your life. The one thing you didn’t want to happen happened. He didn’t know what he was getting himself into. But to be fair, when it comes to him, neither did you. 

He woke you up from your daydream, forced you to face reality and so much more. Meeting him led to a chain reaction of events. The wounds you tried to hide from the world never had a chance to heal, and he tore the bandaid off.  

It’s the butterfly effect all over again. Chaos theory. As a child, you were obsessed with it–everything that somehow managed to explain natural phenomenon fascinated you–but you never thought it would personally affect you one day.

To be fair, you never thought much about a lot of things before that happened to you lately, and it drove you straight into a wall. You crashed and burned. Your life is in shambles, and that is precisely why you didn’t want to confide in Michael before. 

You were scared because you were never taught how to be yourself with someone who cares as much as he does. You never learned how to be yourself, period. You thought he would get hurt or you would get hurt, or maybe you were simply scared of falling in love because you never considered yourself worthy of a happy ending, it doesn’t really matter in the end.

You hurt him because you were insecure. That’s not something a good person does. A damaged person, maybe, but even then it’s no excuse for being ignorant and hurtful for no other reason than because you felt backed into a corner. It wasn’t fair on him. Part of it was trauma, the other part cowardice.

As you’re sitting on the couch with Michael now, a steaming mug of tea between your legs, you find yourself cornered again. You want nothing more than to run, but you’re an adult now and things are getting serious. That’s what happens when you’re an adult and push all your problems away until they have no choice but to come back twice as hard to haunt you.

Truth is, you’re just a barista. You’re nothing special or no one exceptionally physically strong. You didn’t grow up in a crime family or grew up boxing. And you hate confrontation. Your father could wipe you out in one hit if he wanted, and he asserted his strength many times before.

Out of all people in this world, he is probably the best equipped when it comes to helping you. And if you end up getting yourself in danger, he’s the only one you trust with saving your life in time.

You were too stubborn to see it before, but Michael cares about you deeply and he would do anything to assure your safety. You needed someone like him when you were a child, and you need him now. 

You may not be able to make the scars of your childhood go away, but you can fight for justice and seek revenge, and that’s where you should have asked for help a long time ago. 

You brush a strand of hair behind your ear. Your fingers linger over the small scar on your temple; it’s not very obvious, but you know it’s there. Where do you even begin to explain?

Michael sits across from you, his legs crossed, and his brown eyes focused on your quivering frame. He reaches out, his hand hovering over your thigh. “May I?” he asks. 

You nod, allowing him to touch you. His palm lands on the soft skin of your thigh, and he instantly squeezes the flesh. He rests his hand there, making sure you know he’s not going anywhere. 

You watch the steam rise from your mug. The silence threatens to suffocate you. 

“Ask,” he breaks the silence. 

With a frown, you meet his eyes. “What?” you ask. 

“If there’s anythin’ you wanna know about me, I’ll tell ya. I wanna let you in,” he adds your name in the gentlest tone, and you realize he is taking a step toward you. 

At the beginning of your relationship, you were the one who put in most of the effort. You took the lead. You shouldered every last responsibility. You wanted his attention, and you worked hard for it.

You wouldn’t call it love at first sight or obsession–it was something else that drew you to him. Maybe this is it. His unwavering support attracted you because deep down, you were craving someone like him to finally pick up the pieces your family broke, and now you’re here.

Perhaps there is a God after all, and he sent Michael your way to save you from drowning–because even when you aren’t with your head underwater, dry drowning is a phenomenon that exists, and there has been enough water in your lungs over the years to slowly kill you from the inside. 

Michael takes a deep breath to steady himself. “I called ya ‘cause I knew you’d understand and you’re one of the few people who would never judge or expect anythin’ more than I can give,” he says. “It’s why…why I started fallin’ for ya in the first place.”

This is the first time he has phrased his feelings that way, and it makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, but not in the way the heat of your pain is burning you alive. It’s a gentle heat, almost. It gives you hope.

He’s falling for you. That’s something good to hold on to.

“I know it’s hard, but I need ya to trust me. So ask whatever you wanna know, and I’ll answer. My heart is yours,” he says.

You feel small and vulnerable under his gaze, but his hand on your thigh remains steady. He reminds you that you’re no longer alone.

It’s hard to be vulnerable when you’re not used to it. You don’t like wearing your heart on your sleeve, but he trusts you and you should give him the same level of trust back. You have to get over yourself and face the truth. Better now than when it’s too late. 

It’s not just about you, it’s about your sister and anyone else that might suffer if you don’t get your shit together.

Speak now or forever hold your peace, isn’t that what they say? But holding your peace might as well cause a lot of casualties along the way when it comes to your father’s wrath. He’s a ticking time bomb and you’ve been living on the edge for far too long; the consequences are going to chase you down some day, and it seems like the day may come sooner than you originally thought.

Now that you’ve got your nose buried in the same kind of business he threatened to kill you over, there’s not many ways this could go. You have to realize that.

Michael takes a deep breath. “Hey–” Lifting your chin, he urges you to meet his eyes. “I know ya probably have so many questions. Not tha I can blame you for bein’ curious,” he says. “You researched me and my family, but I’m sure there’s more ya don’t understand. We’ve spent a lot of time together, but not enough t’ know all the truths ‘cause…I kept a lot hidden. Not because I don’t trust ya. I think I was protectin’ myself and you, in a way. I don’t know. It’s confusin’. I haven’t felt this way in a very long time, but I wanna try. I wanna try with you.”

You shudder. He wants to try with you.

“I know ya have questions. I can see it. Just tell me if I’m wrong.”

You blush slightly. His eye contact is intense. It doesn’t waiver once, but his thumb brushes your chin in a way to reassure you that he’s not trying to hurt you, and you manage a small nod as an answer.

He wasn’t wrong; you have questions. A lot of them, but not many make sense right now.

“I never meant for ya to get involved. It’s dangerous. People die, but–” He shudders, Jamie’s face flashing before his eyes. “But you’ve been there for me more than anyone ever has. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for ya, and you deserve t’know the truth. So whatever it is that’s on yer mind ‘bout me, I’ll tell ya.”

You bite your lip. The breath in your lungs rattles and your shoulders quiver when you exhale. Hesitantly, you reach out to take his hand, the one that is holding your chin. You don’t look away this time.

“The holes in the wall,” you prompt, your voice barely above a whisper. 

You glance at the fireplace. Michael follows. His hand tightens around yours. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “What about ‘em?”

You hesitate, but you decide to ask anyway. “What exactly happened to your wife?” you ask. “You told me you didn’t shoot her, but…there’s more to it, isn’t there?”

He looks away.

Your grip tightens. “There has to be more, Michael,” you say. “I understand why you didn’t tell me your entire life story back then, but I guess I’ve always been curious about what happened to her. And being here now, seeing that it’s real, it’s…it’s unsettling. But not in a way that makes me scared of you,” – you have to make sure he understands – “It’s more like human curiosity and a need to understand what you went through. You lost so much, I…I just can’t imagine what it feels like to stay here.”

His body stiffens, but he doesn’t pull away from you. His eyes remain glued on the bulletholes, and you can see the unshed tears welling up again. You feel bad for asking, but he told you to and you want to know. 

You have been more than curious from the beginning, and no Google search in the world could have satisfied you. It’s a painful topic and you didn’t want to push him for it. Some people don’t like to talk, including yourself, and you could have lived with it. But now you know about Jamie and you met Amanda and you have started piecing the timeline together. What’s missing is his wife’s death, and the picture you painted before doesn’t make much sense to you. Not that it would change anything, but knowing would still feel better than not-knowing. 

Michael takes another deep breath, taking a sip from his tea before he turns back to you. “I was high,” he admits.

You scoot a little closer, your hand finding his shoulder. “High?” you question. 

“That night. I’ve had some…some cocaine–” He chuckles sourly. “I was high, and when I got home I…I was confused. I would’ve never purposely hurt her. I loved her. But that night…I don’t remember everythin’. Some shrink in prison said tha it’s ‘cause I’m traumatized or some shit, but I was so high…I blacked out. But I confessed. I confessed ‘cause I could feel her blood on my hands. It was the only right thing to do. I fucked up. I thought no one else should go down for tha but me, so I plead guilty in hopes it’d make me a better man, but I realized it doesn’t. Nothin’ can make me a better man ‘cause I’m not. I killed her. It was my fault.”

You should run. Your common sense screams for you to leave, but we all make mistakes, and you’re no saint either. You know him. He isn’t cruel. And you physically can’t be mad at him.

You seem unable to wish him anything bad. You love him so much, it transcends what’s right and wrong in your mind. You’re conscious. He isn’t manipulating you. You simply don’t see it as something you would want to lose him over.

“My prints were on the gun,” he states before you can ask. His teary eyes meet yours. “I tried ta remember, but nothin’ worked. I was out of it. My prints were on the gun, I was confused and…and it was an accident. I don’t…I thought I was doin’ the right thing and Allison suffered the ultimate price, and that’s wha makes me hate myself every second of every day ‘cause I know I could’ve prevented it if I had been just a little more lucid. I don’t have all the answers and I hate it. The official story is tha I shot her while I was under the influence ‘cause I thought she was an intruder, but…but I can’t tell ya more than I know–”

“You don’t have to,” you cut him off. 

He meets your eyes. “I never wanted her t’get hurt,” he whispers, his lip trembling as he speaks, and you cradle his cheek softly. 

“I know,” you say. “And I’m a strong believer in the good, so I don’t think you did. Maybe someone else did and you just don’t remember. Or you did, but as you said, you had no idea what you were doing. Either way, speculating is of no use. It doesn’t make me hate you.”

“But I killed a lot of people. It wasn’t just Allison…there’s more.”

Before, you would have thought he might be trying to make you hate him, but looking into his eyes, you can tell he’s tired and he just wants to tell you. 

You swallow, but you knew what you were signing yourself up for when you found out what it means to be a Kinsella–what it means to be a part of this family. 

A heavy silence settles between you, the weight of his words hanging in the air. It takes all your strength to maintain eye contact, to let him know that you're still there, still listening and that you won't turn away. You've seen the darkness that has consumed him, but you've also witnessed the flicker of light that resides within. And you really don't care. You should, but you don't.

With a shrug, you answer, “We’re all a little damaged.”

“It’s more than just a little. My family…We deal drugs for a livin’. There are guns. People get killed. On purpose and on accident. I’ve torn families apart. You need ta understand tha.”

“I don’t care,” you blurt out. “I only care about you.”

Michael huffs. “That’s so foolish,” he says. He meant to sound stern, but his voice is rather breathless. 

You were the innocent barista that liked to wear butterfly clips and fantasize about a better life from fiction, and that version of you would have minded and tried to change him, but you don’t seem to have a care in the world left for the injustice his family is caught up in. 

Your past must have hurt you badly, and the memories tore you out of whatever world you were living in. Now all that counts is him and whatever your agenda is. But with what happened tonight–the shooting, and Jamie’s death–there seems to be an even bigger storm coming, and Michael doesn’t want to be alone. You have been in danger from the second you chose to pursue your relationship, and it seems as if you have come to terms with that now. 

You really don’t care, he can even see it in your eyes. 

“You should be repulsed,” he tries again. 

You wave him off. “I love you,” you say. “I love you, Michael. That won’t change. You did what you had to do. There’s a reason, and when there’s a reason, I believe it. All I care about is that you’re safe. That you come back home to me. I don’t need anything or anyone but you.”

He meets your eyes, and the words die on his tongue. You brush your thumb over his cheekbone. He sighs. Your touch is tender, more than he believes he deserves, but you soon enough lean your head against his and your heartbeats align without a question. 

You’re so attuned to each other, nothing could break you apart. It’s something that doesn’t come around often, and not everyone gets to enjoy love like that. It’s deep and vulnerable and it makes you question everything in life, but it’s real, and that’s what matters most because if it’s real, you can overcome just about anything. 

You found each other when you needed it most and now you can use that to heal each other. 

“You know, I’ve been with bad men before,” you confess. “And they treated me in a way I know I shouldn’t have let them. That’s how I knew they were awful–by the way they treated me. But you…you don’t treat me like that. You treat me like I’m deserving of love, like I’m the most important thing in the world to you, and that’s how I know you’re not a bad person.”

“Why?” he asks into the silence.

You look at him. “Why what?”

“Why’d you choose men that didn’t treat ya right?” he asks. “You deserve so much better. The men you’ve been with should’ve made ya feel like you were the most important person in this world to them. It’s the bare minimum. You shouldn’t have settled for less.”

“I know,” you say.

“Then why did ya?”

You knew the conversation would switch and the focus would return to what you bared to him before. The truth. He gave you what you wanted and now it’s your turn. But how do you talk about something so painful without breaking apart? 

The lid on the glass was closed for a reason. You’re not sure you can survive, but you have to try. For him. For yourself. And if you want this relationship to survive, you need to fight for it, too. You have to be honest so he can catch you the same way you caught him when he needed it. It’s about time someone did the same for you. 

You sit up, placing your mug on the coffee table. Michael follows you with his eyes. Your head and gaze are turned away from him as you glare holes into the air. Tears well up in your eyes. You close them, not wanting to cry, but of course, your body betrays you. 

You wipe your cheeks. “Um, it’s…My father. Or I guess it’s his fault. He’s a bad man,” you begin to explain. Your voice is fragile. “And he made me believe that this is how men are allowed to treat me. I always had to please everyone around me, be good, follow the rules, and be obedient. It’s how I grew up. Can’t shake that so easily.”

He reaches out slowly, brushing the hair from your face and revealing the scar you thought he never caught. He traces it with his thumb. “What happened?” he asks. 

“Glass,” you answer. 

“Glass?”

“He threw it at me one night after he caught a stain on the dishes I was supposed to wash. I got lucky it crashed against the wall and missed my eye instead of breaking directly against my face. That…that would have sucked.”

“Fuck. Jesus–”

“And then he made me clean the entire cupboard with a tiny toothbrush.” Your eyes are vacant as they continue to stare at the wall next to the tv. “All night. I wasn’t allowed to sleep,” you say.

His cheeks have paled completely. There are a lot of parallels Michael could draw between your pathetic excuse of a father and his own, except that his father couldn’t keep his wandering hands to himself when it came to little girls either, and Michael had someone to fall back on as a kid when his father went away; you were all alone in an abusive household and no one cared. 

You continue, “After I failed the exam I had the next day, he…he, um, made sure that this scratch–” You point to the scar, “Would turn into an actual problem. And then it scarred. I was bleeding a lot, but I hid it because I never cut my hair when I was a child–he didn’t allow that either,” you say. “When people asked, I just told them I took a tumble down the stairs. But after failing that exam, he left me with a concussion and locked me in my room to study for a few days, so it was already healed enough for the lie to work when I got back out. You know, apparently, it was the best thing for me and I owe everything to him, even my education.”

His thumb continues to trace the scar on your temple, his touch a gentle reminder of his presence. It's as if he's silently promising to be there for you, to help heal the wounds of your past in any way he can.

“He abused me. He abused my mother. He still does. That’s why she developed this condition that comes with her PTSD, the one that gives her seizures. He sometimes takes her meds away, so they get worse, and she has to get new ones. It was the same back then, only that now I’m not there to fix it anymore. I don’t know what her condition is called, but I wasn’t lying when I said I know what it’s like to take care of someone who gets seizures–” You take another sip of your tea to stop your tears.

“And that’s why medication is so important,” you add. “You could get seriously hurt. I saw the damage an uncontrolled seizure can do and it’s no fun. Then again, it was always my fault, so what the hell do I know, right?”

He curses under his breath, his fingers beginnings to paint patterns on your lower back. He might be in shock for all you know, but if that’s all it takes to shock him, he has a big storm coming. 

You shake your head. You can’t deflect, no matter how badly you want to. “I always had to take care of her. I had to be good, and when I failed, I would get punished. Sometimes, he’d just hit me, but he also liked to use his belt or find other ways to make me suffer like locking me inside for days, or locking me outside, starving me, degrading me, I…there’s too much,” you whisper and your voice breaks when you finally look at him again. “It hurts.”

Michael pulls you closer wordlessly, still facing you, but his hands are cradling your face now. “I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice equally as quiet and broken as yours. “He had no right to touch ya…”

“I don’t remember a lot,” you tell him, “but I remember the days that left scars, and I remember the days I had nothing to eat. He made sure not to leave obvious scars, but I still know where they are even when others don’t, especially the ones inside, and I’ve felt guilty for so long, I started believing it was my fault.”

The tears are spewing freely now. You gave up on stopping them. You’re tired, you’re weak and the glass is more than full. Your body ejects what isn’t supposed to be there, including all the pain and the unshed tears, and you crumble in the arms of the man you love.

He tries to catch your tears, but there are too many of them. All Michael can do is offer an open ear and prove himself worthy of your trust. He doesn’t push you, he lets you go at your own pace. 

But he doesn’t even need to ask before the next wave crashes in and you sob as the words tumble from your lips. “It’s why I always put others first. It’s why I’m a people pleaser,” you say. It’s a self-analysis, but it’s not wrong. “And when I fail, I hate myself so badly and try to fix it until the bitter end, but it never feels like it’s enough, so I find ways to punish myself the way my father taught me I deserve. I know it’s fucked up and I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner so you could have picked someone who isn’t as disturbed as me, but I never had anyone to talk to, and there is so much more that I don’t even know how to put into words. I–”

You’re cut off by your own sobs, and you lean forward to press your forehead against his. You need to feel his breath to calm down. While he doesn’t guide you through it this time, he’s right there if you need him. His heartbeat is a steady rhythm against where you curl your fingers around his shirt, and you focus on that. He knows you can do it; all you need is a presence you know you can trust, and it seems like you do.

You take deep breaths until you’re not on the edge of insanity anymore. Michael offers you a smile in return. “I’m so sorry,” you whisper. 

“Don’t apologize,” he says.

“I didn’t mean to get so emotional.”

“You were abused by yer own father. You have every right to feel like this. If ya haven’t noticed, I want ya to let it out. Don’t hold back. I can take it.”

“I just wish I wasn’t so fucked up. It would be so much easier if I weren’t such a mess. I ruin everything–”

He stops you. “You’re not fucked up. And you’re not a burden t’me,” he says. “You were hurt by the one man every child should be able ta count on to protect ‘em. You had no one to save ya, and tha’s not somethin’ you have t’apologize for.”

“He hurt me,” you whisper. It sounds like a realization. “And I just pretended it was okay. I believed that I deserved it. I…I let it happen because I was so scared. I’m still so scared and I don’t know why. But I can’t keep thinking–a part of me, at least–that I deserved it.”

“But you didn’t,” he finishes.

You exhale. “I didn’t?” 

“No,” Michael wipes your tears once more with a gentle smile that is only meant for you because it is full of a love you’ve never experienced before, “You didn’t.”

“Then why does it always feel that way?” Your eyes are begging for an answer only a psychiatrist could give to you, but Michael is trying his best at calming you down enough to pull you away from the edge.

“You didn’t deserve what this man did to ya,” he says. “It’s not yer fault. You had no control over it. He abused you. It’s never the victim’s fault, I’ll tell ya that. You are not to blame for the actions of your father. He made tha choice and it’s his fault, not yours.”

His words seep into the cracks of your wounded soul. You listen intently, yearning to believe in the truth he presents to you.

“You were just a child,” he continues. “You had no control over the situation, and ya did what ya needed to survive. The fact tha ya carried the weight of his abuse for so long shows how strong you are. You were there for everyone but yerself, and that’s remarkable, but it wasn’t your job. You didn’t deserve any o’ it. And if I ever get my hands on him, so help me God, I’ll–” 

He stops himself. He stops the anger coursing through his veins. Not because it’s misplaced; your father deserves all his wrath and more, but his anger is not what you need. 

His thumb caresses your cheek, wiping away the remnants of your tears. “I want ya to know tha you don’t have t’pretend anymore. You’re not fucked up. You’re a survivor. Yer so much stronger than ya give yerself credit for, my love. Believe me.”

You take in his words. Michael’s unwavering support and love are starting to chip away at the walls of self-blame and guilt you’ve built around yourself.

You sniffle, nodding along. Your defenses are down. He can see all of you now. You’re naked and vulnerable and the need to hide grows stronger with each passing second, but Michael holds you right where you are so you can both face the reality of the situation. You’re forced to stare the truth into the eyes after ignoring it for so long, and while it hurts, you also feel less alone now that you have him, which is the whole point. He told you that you’re not alone anymore, so you really aren’t. 

You lean into his touch. He sees you for who you truly are and he loves you unconditionally. The burden of your past feels a little lighter in his arms. It counts for something, at least, and it gives you a little bit of hope. 

“The file you found,” you begin, “It’s what little information I have on…on my sister’s death. Not…not Maya. She’s the one I was talking to on the phone. She’s sixteen, that wasn’t a lie, and she’s in London. But–“ You swallow.

“Livin’ with your father?” Michael questions.

You nod. “Yeah. She’s…she’s stuck there.”

“So, ya had another one?”

“Yeah.”

“Eleanor?”

“Eleanor,” you repeat her name back to him almost bitterly. It hurts even more, the truth. “She would have turned nine this year. She died when she was three. Car accident,” you say. “And…and I kept the file because…my father was the one driving that night. They got into a collision with a truck. She was brain dead.”

His eyes soften. He wants to touch you, but he’s not sure if he should go further than he already is. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

You shake your head. It doesn’t make sense, you tell yourself. It’s not him, it’s the recollection of what happened, and even now it doesn’t make sense.

“The M25 wasn’t on the way to her dance studio,” you tell him. You’re sure of that. “He never took that route before, even though he claimed he did. He was lying. I drove her to rehearsals so many times and no one would take the M25 there because it makes no sense,” you say, “and that’s why I could never believe his story of not seeing the truck coming because the timeline doesn’t add up. It doesn’t…something isn’t right. I know it isn’t.”

He tilts his head, trying to come to a conclusion on his own, but he’s confused. “Take a deep breath,” he instructs.

You do so, but you’re still shaking. “He killed her,” your voice is barely above a whisper. “My father killed my little sister by waiting in the middle of that godforsaken road where the truck wouldn’t have seen them.”

You’d vouch for that any day.

“Oh,” he realizes. He connects your previous words with what you told him, and it makes sense. “He caused the accident on purpose?” Michael asks. “Tha’s what ya think?”

You nod weakly. “He was overwhelmed with having another child running around, I think, and my mom…she was of no use. I basically raised Ellie. I did the same with Maya when I was younger. I mean, my father liked her, so he didn’t touch her. He likes to control her, but he never…he did with me, but never with her, and never with Ellie. Until that day–” You sob.

His hand cradles your cheek a little tighter and he runs the other through your hair, pulling you close enough to hear his heartbeat once again.

“I was already in college when Ellie was born, but I raised that kid. I came home and I made sure the kids were taken care of and that my mom wasn’t so alone, and I avoided my father for as long as I could, but…Three years later, I get the call that they got into an accident and that…they declared her brain dead. And he was such a coward,” you say, your voice dropping an octave as the bitter poison of your pain takes over, “because he couldn’t even finish it himself.”

“Breathe,” he has to tell you once again. “Deep breaths, love. There you go.”

You inhale through your nose and exhale through your mouth, the dizziness dissipating for a second, but as soon as you talk again, the oxygen fails and you get dizzy again.

“He made me sign the papers and make the decision to turn the machines off,” you say. “It was me all over again. It’s always been me. I had to do everything. And then they forced me to move back home because everyone was grieving and he just needed a punching bag to get rid of all his guilt, and that’s when…when it got really bad. Oh, God!”

He catches you when you crumble, wrapping his arms around your body and pulling you into his chest. Your sobs echo in the room. You feel pathetic, you want to pull away, but he won’t let you.

“Shh,” he shushes you as he starts swaying you like a baby in his arms, a treacherously soothing motion. “It’s okay,” he coos. “I’ve got ya.”

You whimper, gasping for oxygen once more. “I just wanted to be there for my sister and my mother,” your voice breaks, “to protect them from suffering even more, from Maya turning into me, and he used me so he could have someone to blame. I didn’t do anything and yet he made sure I suffered. I never got a chance to grieve–” And that’s probably the part that hurts the most. 

You got used to the abuse, but not being able to grieve is a feeling you won’t ever forget because it haunts you, still, up until this day. 

He holds you close. His fingers paint soothing patterns over your skin, and you lean further into him. You sob until your voice is sore, your body overcome by shivers and hiccups, but you’re starting to calm down a bit. Your mind is a confusing mess. Your body reacts on its own, and the tears are out of your control.

You wipe your cheeks, Michael’s arms still keeping you caged, but once you’ve calmed down a little, he allows you to pull away enough to look at him again. 

“I wasn’t lying when I told you about me hearing that book reading in the library,” you say, your voice steadier now. “I did hear the author read from her book and it was her that made me realize that I couldn’t stay trapped any longer. I love Maya, I do, but I was suffering and I just had to save myself.”

“So you left?” he asks. 

“Yeah,” you nod. “I packed my things. I fought with my father, but I stood my ground. I even threatened to call the police. I don’t know where that confidence came from, but it was about time.”

It was a rare moment of confidence, but you couldn’t fight back when he raised his hand again. He left his mark before you left, but you fought back. It was the middle of the day, everyone was crying and if it hadn’t been for Maya’s screams to leave you alone, he would have chained you down. But you knew you would have witnesses next door if she kept her screaming up, and that was your way out. 

You tell him the whole story about that day and a little more. He listens without trying to fix anything. You tell him about Maya, and you go into detail about the kind of person she is and how well she’s holding up even though her childhood has never really been great, even without physical abuse. He nods, but he doesn’t interrupt you; this is your time to talk and his time to listen. 

You tell him about the calls and the texts, and how her field trip was the reason you needed money. It dawns on him. He makes sense of it with the newfound information, and he seems almost glad that he can sort your behavior now. 

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself. “When I packed my things that day though, my father... he threatened me,” you tell him. Your voice is only loud enough for him to hear. “He told me that if I ever came near Maya again, he would find me and kill me.”

Michael's eyes widen, his grip on you tightening instinctively. “He said wha?” he asks.

A switch flicks inside of him. His demeanor changes completely, and it shows in the tone of his voice.

“He meant it,” you whisper.

He calls your name, but he’s so far away. The spiral has dragged you too far down already.

“He's capable of anything,” you say. “Anything, I…That’s why I tried to get custody of Maya. I tried to get custody of them both when Ellie was still alive, but there was no chance for me to get custody of any child in the financial situation I was in. I was too young and…and I gave up. And Ellie died. She was just a baby. I was a coward and she died.”

What kind of sister does that? You think. The guilt is a strong enough current to drag you under.

“Just…Okay–” Michael takes a deep breath. If he freaks out, you will freak out. “Let’s not go there,” he tells you. “It’s not your fault. You were tryin’ to survive. You couldn’t have known yer father would do somethin’ like tha. But…why do ya even have the file on her death?” he asks, trying to keep his anger contained for your sake, but inside, he’s boiling. “Why torture yourself with the details?”

His fists are already clenched, but he can’t change anything from here anyway. He would have to take a plane.

But he would do it in a heartbeat for you, he has no doubt in his mind about that. You didn’t deserve any of the things that happened to you.

“Research,” you admit.

“Research?” he frowns.

“Yeah. I–I kept it with me in case I ever found the needle in the haystack so I could end him for good. I investigated, that’s why I have the file, not just to hurt myself or–or find answer for myself. That’s not the only reason. I've been trying to gather evidence against my father for six years, to prove that he's responsible for Ellie’s death, and the evidence just kept piling up,” you say. “But I've struggled to find solid proof anyway. Maya told me not to, but I didn't listen, and now...now I'm afraid that it might all blow up in my face. And hers, too.”

His sigh sounds almost exasperated. “Jesus–” He curses your name, or maybe it’s meant condescendingly, you’re not so sure. After dropping his face in his hands momentarily, he lifts his head to look into your eyes. “Yer not safe, are ya?” he asks. But the question is self-explanatory.

You shake your head. “I never was,” you answer. 

“And Maya?”

“Right now, she’s physically fine, but my father…he’s a ticking time bomb, and I need to put him behind bars so I can get her out of there. She’s…she feels like my child, and I know that’s not how this works, but I raised her. And yet I still gave up on her for months. I was so stupid–”

Michael’s eyes soften. “I get it. Don’t even…I get it. But you can’t do this alone,” he interrupts you.

“What d’you mean?”

Michael's eyes meet yours. “I mean I won't let you face this alone. We'll do it together,” he says. “I'll help ya gather the evidence you need, and we'll make sure your father pays for wha he's done. I...I get how yer feelin’ and I want ya to have a chance at gettin' closure. After tonight…There’s a lot that’s gonna crash into us, but that’s why I can’t let ya endanger yerself without havin’ someone to fall back on. So, you’re not doin' this alone.”

You never expected to find someone who would be willing to go to such lengths for you and your sister. 

“But we have to be careful,” his voice is tinged with caution. “We need a strategy, plan our steps carefully, everythin’ to assure yer safety. I have resources and connections that can help us. My family is not perfect, but we take family matters seriously, and wha we do best is gettin’ rid of what’s in the way. So I’ll find a way. I promise.”

“Michael–”

“No. I don't want anythin’ ta happen to ya. I love you more than anythin’, and I can't stand the thought of you suffering. If keepin' ya safe means helping you gather evidence and bring your father to justice, then I'm in. I don’t have ta like it, but yer gonna do it anyway, so I’d rather have you safe while doin’ it rather than let ya destroy yourself. You’re not alone.”

“What about Jamie though?” you ask softly. “Your son just died...Shouldn’t you focus on that instead of me? It matters too, you know. Maybe more than my father.”

He grabs your wrist when you cradle his cheek. His forehead drops to yours. “I’ll grieve,” he tells you. “In time. And I’ll be there when they bury him. But…but I can’t do more than tha. I won’t go back.”

“You don’t want to seek revenge?”

“I dunno what I wanna do. It’s a lot right now. I can’t think straight.”

“Okay, that’s fair.”

“I have Anna. I have the meetin’ with my solicitor to think about, and I have my job…” Michael nuzzles closer to you. “And I have you. Without ya, I would’ve gone crazy by now. Yer keepin’ me alive and sane. That’s all I need. It’s enough. It has t’be.”

You nod, wiping the stray tear from the corner of his eye. “But you have to let it hurt,” you remind him. “You can let it hurt tonight and tomorrow and for as long as you want, as long as you don’t bottle it up. I’m here for you as long as you need me to.”

Another tear joins the one he already shed, and he sniffles. “It hurts, but I don't understand it. I don’t understand why it hurts so much,” he whispers. “I’m so confused. That’s why I can’t let it get to me.”

It’s a kind of pain he can't describe. It runs deeper than a broken bone or losing someone close to you; it runs deeper because Jamie wasn’t just anyone, he was his son, and that’s a different kind of pain. 

You tangle your fingers in his hair. “You don’t have to get it,” you assure him. “You just have to let it happen.”

“Says the one who kept her feelings bottled up for decades,” he tries to joke, but his voice doesn’t really come across as if he means it. 

You give a weak chuckle. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips and you pull him a little closer to feel his pulse beneath your fingers.

As the tears continue to flow, resting in each other’s arms, you find strength in the fact that you're not alone.

“We'll be there for each other,” you say. “No matter what happens, we'll lean on each other and find the strength to keep going. Okay?”

He sniffles, and his answer is clear, “Okay.”

You help each other to bed when it’s already the early hours of the morning. Your limbs tangle beneath the sheets, your bodies pressed closely together. There is not a piece of paper in the world that could fit between you. 

The room grows quiet, and the rhythmic sound of your breathing lulls you both toward much-needed sleep. 

Michael doesn’t waste time sleepily whispering, “I love ya.”

You snuggle closer to him, your head resting just underneath his chin on his chest and you tell him back, “I love you too.”

“We’ll talk more in the mornin’, alright?”

“Yeah, okay.”

“G’night,” says Michael.

“Good night,” you say.

In each other’s arms, you finally find a moment of peace, and you allow yourselves to rest as you succumb to the claws of restless sleep. 

Tagging: (let me know if you want to be tagged, too!) @bellaxgiornata @mattmurdocksscars @ms-murdockswift @your-not-invisible-to-me @shouldbestudying41 @acharliecoxedfan @glowstick-lesbian @roseallisonparker @norestfortheshelbywicked @1988-fiend @loveroftoomanyfandoms @mattkinsella @schneeflocky @harperdoodle

#michael kinsella x reader #michael kinsella x you #michael kinsella angst #michael kinsella #kin amc #reader insert #charlie cox #chaos theory #tw: child abuse

[blackbat05]

Imperfect

College! Adam Warlock x Reader

Plot: You have a much needed heart-to-heart conversation with Adam on the woes of life.

Genre: PG-13

A/N: Totally did not write this at the service desk (lmao). Yet again, based on experience. Thought about who might be the best current character that I have written to write this and a college Adam came to mind? Anyways, hope you enjoy!

“Hey!” Adam waves at me from afar. He certainly looks the part of a college student. I close the latest book that I’m currently engrossed with, smiling at his enthusiasm despite going through back-to-back three hour classes.

“Classes went well?”

“Oh yes,” he responds excitedly and proceeds to share about his classes on Introduction to History and Ancient Civilization. “Humans are most interesting. Imagine getting by with the lack of technology back then!”

“You are probably the only one whose so excited about classes.” I tease. “I’m glad you’re enjoying yourself on Earth.”

We lounge under the big tree that provided us with a cool breeze. Other students seemed to have the same idea as you as they lazily chomped on food while enjoying the serenity of the lake on a weekday afternoon. You retrieved two boxes of pepperoni pizza from your bag and pass one to Adam who does not hesitate to sink into the pepperoni with relish. “Mmmh…” Adam swallows a bite of the pizza, earning a giggle from me. “This is delicious.”

“You mean you’ve never had it before?”

Adam shakes his head. “Nope. Mother wanted me to be perfect. I was strictly monitored over everything the moment I was born.” He says it with such nonchalance that I almost miss a hint of bitterness in his tone. “But that’s okay,” Adam sees my expression. “I met Quill, Rocket and everyone else. They showed me what I was missing and I’ve caught up. Mostly.” He adds proudly.

I nod, mulling over his words. “How did you feel though? The need to be perfect and meet everyone’s expectations.”

Adam frowns, giving a thoughtful sigh. “I’ve never really thought about it actually. I thought it was… normal. Working and striving to be the best. But I felt that it wasn’t what I wanted.” He tears another chunk of pizza. “I wanted to do what I truly wanted, to be happy. I remember when I was younger, I tagged along with Mother to visit one of the Alien colonies. I ran off to explore the city on my own even though Mother told me not to. But I knew I could and I wanted too. Although I was punished rather harshly, I felt a sense of joy and elation. Do humans feel this way too?”

“They do. I do.” I bring my knees to my chest, watching a pair of students jog past us. Adam looks at me inquisitively. “I never really elaborated to you why I’m working at the student library, right?”

Adam nods, waiting for me patiently.

“I was working at a Community Resource Centre. I was so excited because it was basically what I was working towards for almost a decade. To your people, it may feel like a second but to me, it was everything. I started work and needless to say, I was in for a very rude shock.” I laugh at the memories that was enough to create my own horror film. “It got so bad that I had to take a step back and reevaluate everything that I’ve done. It came to a point where I even questioned myself that I was doing things simply because I felt the need to conform and to live up to the expectations.”

I notice that Adam hasn’t said a single word as I share my story. “I’m sorry, I know I must be such a downer. I try not to repeat myself even with my family or friends. They’ve a lot on their plates and this is simply just a minor setback in my life.”

“Don’t say that.” Adam admonishes. “You’ve experienced something bad and you shouldn’t make it any less. I’m sorry that you went through this and you should have gotten better.”

It wasn’t sympathy but Adam’s words felt like a much needed warm embrace. “Thanks. It’s hard to share my experiences when people would just tell you to ‘suck it up’ or ‘that’s life’. I don’t want to make this sound like a pity party but sharing does make me accept that this happened to me.”

“I agree. It was how I got by with the loss of Mother and the rest of my community. Everything I knew, blown into bits. I was the last one remaining and that pressure to carry the name of my people got even stronger, until Rocket told me to let it all go because at the end of the day, we’re just living for ourselves.”

“Living for ourselves…” I let it roll off my tongue. “I like it.”

As we finish the rest of our lunch, the azure skies gave the campus a homely feeling.

“Thanks. For the conversation. I needed that.” I say as we walked back to the campus.

“Happy to be a good listening ear.” Adam grins. “To being imperfect!”

I laugh at his sudden exclamation that results in stares from a couple of students and faculty alike.

“To being imperfect.”

#adam warlock #adam warlock x reader #guardians of the galaxy #gotg vol 3 #college au

[klausenmcneil]

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#Nanomax #Music #loudspeaker #karaoke

[hviidlunding]

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#Nanomax #Music #loudspeaker #karaoke

[lanwangjihouse]

#the untamed #theuntameddaily #wangxian #you should proceed to the library for punishment #and rewrite the gusu-rules 1000 times #lan wangji #wei wuxian #wang yibo #xiao zhan #cdrama #mdzs #cql #chen qing ling

[hobidreams]

january 1870.

what can you do? what power do you have?

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: angst, drama words: 1.3k warning: this drabble contains a form of disordered eating.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 28. start from the beginning?

“…uinyeo-nim…! …ease wake up…!”

“Can…hear us?”

The world comes back to you somehow piece by piece and all at once.

Words, hurried ones, pierce the haze of darkness that is thick in your mind, tugging you insistently to the surface. You think there are hands on you, taking your temperature from your forehead, checking your pulse, placing a pillow beneath your head. Part of you would like to keep your eyes shut for a little while longer, wanting to rest, but you cannot bear the worry in the familiar voices that call your name over and over and over. Wake up, you think, wake up.

Open your eyes.

In the dim light, the first thing you see is Scholar Park. His face has gone utterly pale, sweat beading down his brow as he frets, biting at a fingernail. But when he realizes you’ve surfaced, his eyes blow wide. He breathes an enormous sigh of relief that turns quickly into a half-delirious smile. “You’re awake!”

“S-Scholar Park…” You try to sit up and it’s a mistake. You feel aches all over; your limbs are slow as if they’re pinned down, made impossibly weighty with fatigue.

A warm hand lands on your shoulder, and you turn to see one of the younger uinyeo, Min-ji, by your side. “Please, stay on the bed, su-uinyeo-nim.”

You nod, settling back as you slowly blink, blink, blink. You don’t remember how you got here. You don’t remember what has happened to make you feel like this, like you’re hollowed out, weak. “But Min-ji, what—”

The door to your room bursts open. Wood scrapes harsh against wood, slamming into its frame.

Your incredulous eyes fall upon the king: the only man who could make such an entrance and demand every ounce of your attention.

“Jeonha!”

Immediately the other two in the room drop into deep bows.

“What the hell is going on here?” He stalks into the room, Eunuch Kim not far behind with concern etched on his features. “What happened?”

Scholar Park is slightly shriveling under the fury of the king’s glare but he manages to say, “we were walking to the library when uinyeo-nim suddenly collapsed. I immediately brought her here with the eunuchs, and called for another uinyeo to treat her. She awoke just a few minutes ago.”

“What?” He whips his head to the side. “You. Why did she collapse?”

Min-ji’s voice is so small as she replies, “I… believe it is fatigue b-brought on by m-malnutrition, jeonha.”

Then Min-ji is shrinking back too, for the king’s scowl grows infinitely at her words. He gives their meaning but a moment to settle in before he bristles. Bares his teeth.

“Let us be alone.”

“Jeonha…” Eunuch Kim starts. You can’t tell if he’s more worried for his charge or for you by the way he casts worried looks between you both.

“Alone.”

It is only after the door shuts behind the others that the king turns on you.

He walks to your bedside until he is close, but he doesn’t touch.

You stare at each other, your labored breaths the only sound in the space until he asks with a low tone, “you have not been eating?” Though he might sound angry, thoroughly annoyed in fact, you think there might be confusion there too. You are silent, so he continues. “Yet, when I ask, the cooks inform me that they have delivered your meals to you as I have instructed. So.” The syllable dips low, dangerous. “Who exactly is the liar here? Who shall get the punishment?”

You… did not realize he kept such a careful eye on you. How much should you reveal? What excuse could you come up with that could spare everyone?

“Not going to answer me? Then I shall have to call someone else. Jin-young. What would she tell me, hm?”

Pressing your lips together, you recognize his subtle look of triumph as you both know you could not drag the beloved cook into this. Your only option left is the truth.

“She… would say that I have... been asking for my meals to be uncooked. That I— I told her I wanted the ingredients to attempt to better my skills in the craft. But instead…” you scrunch the fabric of your skirt tight within your fingers. You take a deep breath, and then confess, “I have been distributing most of the grain, vegetables, and meats to those in town who are in need of it more than I.”

His scowl is so, so deep. “You... have been starving yourself instead?”

“I-I am eating as much as necessary, jeonha.” You don’t tell him that means two small bowls of rice porridge a day.

“Yet you collapsed.”

“I merely overworked myself today, that is all.”

“No. No, I do not accept that excuse. You collapsed. You fell unconscious, due to malnutrition.”

“But jeonha, the famine.” You push yourself onto your elbows. You need him to take you seriously, even as you wince from the action. “The people. The people have so much less than I. Often less than a single grain of rice to pass an entire day and much less any real sustenance to keep them alive. They— they are the truly malnourished here!”

“That is absolutely none of your concern.” Though he never raises his volume to a shout, his tone is no less intense, no less furious as he carefully articulates every word. Biting every damn truth at you. “You are not part of the royal family. You are not responsible for the people like this.”

Rare anger trickles into your veins as you fist your hands. You’ve backed down to him one too many times and this will not be one of them. “I need to do something! Am I meant to just watch them die, jeonha? To pretend that my life is perfect and lavish while I watch them suffer and struggle for want of nothing more than a hot meal?”

“Then would you rather die in exchange?!”

Your breath catches in shock. Your fury tampers down, simmering but not extinguished when faced with his overwhelming intensity, snapped at you as he wraps a firm hand around your arm.

Like a predator, he brings his face mere inches from yours. “I won’t hear of this anymore. You are not to do such things. Do not overstep your position.”

He squeezes you once before he pulls away and proceeds to leave completely, abandoning you to the absolute silence of your room.

You wait three pensive seconds before the door shuts before you let yourself collapse back onto the bed. What little strength you regained feels completely drained from you again. You didn’t mean for him to find out. You had no idea how he’d react but you never thought, never ever thought, that he would actually threaten your life like this. That harsh question repeats in your mind, the implications behind it more exhausting than any fatigue could ever be.

Silly you, to think there’d been a change in all these months. That things between you were progressing and getting back to a point where you could be comfortable with each other again. In the end, you were just deluding yourself. Letting yourself get caught up in the play-pretend that you could be the one to stand by the king’s side instead of the whore at his feet. (“What power do you have?” he asked you all those months ago, his voice abrupt, too coarse as he claimed you. You have none, as he has proved to you yet again. Not even enough to save yourself.)

#ficswithluv #btsghostie #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #yoongi angst #bts angst #bts imagines #bts scenarios #historical au #rain writes #moonlit throne #remember: there are two sides to every coin

[dmsden]

Natural One, Naturally - Finding Fun in Failure

Hullo, Gentle Readers. This week’s Question from a Denizen came to us from an Anonymous source. That source said, “I'm trying to find a post where the DM talked about not losing momentum even if the player rolls a one. They fail in a way that doesn't grind the quest to a halt. They essentially help the player in an unexpected way like rolling a one while picking a lock still picks the lock, but also sounds a hidden alarm. Anyone know what I'm talking about??”

While I know I’ve written such an article, why not take a fresh look at the subject of failure?

Failure can be frustrating, sure. When you’re trying to move things forward, for example in combat, it can be frustrating for players and DMs alike to have that 1 spin to the top on your D20. While I’ve never been one for Critical Failure charts (I mean how plausible is it that you actually cut your own head off while missing an enemy...and isn’t missing in combat punishment enough, really?), I think failure can be its own source of story.

You never want to completely stymie your players. If they need a clue to move forward, or to get through a locked and trapped door to continue with no other alternatives, then that’s bad adventure design. Instead, you can choose for failure to become “success with consequences”.

If the PCs absolutely must get through a door in order to continue the adventure, and you’ve decided that door is locked and trapped, because you’re trying to give the party’s rogue a moment to shine, then be prepared for how things can move forward if the rogue fails all their rolls. Maybe an alarm triggers as the door unlocks, allowing the group to move forward, but instigating a tough fight. Or maybe a guard comes to investigate the noises, forcing the party to try and subdue him through a portcullis, in order to get the keys on his belt. If the PCs are on a timer, perhaps trying to stop the sacrifice of the king by a group of devotees of the Elder Elemental Eye, then failure, necessitating the spending of more time to try to pick the look again, can become its own consequence, as time slowly ticks down.

The Call of Cthulhu game is a game that stresses exploration and research in order to find out what’s going on, and often to stop it. In earlier games, crucial information was often hidden behind skill rolls like Library Use and Spot Hidden. In the current edition of the game, however, more emphasis is placed on making sure the PCs can find what they need without skill rolls. If they need to know a specific piece of information in order for the scenario to proceed, then it’s best to make sure they get that info, rather than letting things stall out because no one in the party has the Archeology skill.

I used a “Success with Consequences” sequence recently in my home game. The PCs needed a magic-item that was held by a tentative ally. Said ally asked them to undertake a dangerous diplomatic mission to speak with a recently emerged self-proclaimed medusa queen on his southwestern borders. I set the situation up as a skill challenge, but, if they had made enough failures, it would’ve triggered a very tough combat instead. The PCs managed to make some pretty cosmic skill rolls, so diplomacy won the day, but I was prepared for the failure.

Another scenario I used recently involved a trio of riddles and a trio of sphinxes. For each riddle the PCs solved, one sphinx stepped out of the fight. Solving all three riddles meant no need to waste valuable resources fighting the sphinxes to gain access to the chamber beyond. But either way, there was a way to move forward.

In general, I recommend avoiding situations where something like picking a lock, finding a secret door, solving a puzzle, or engaging in a social encounter is completely a pass/fail situation that stops things from moving forward. Failure to pick the lock might mean that the PCs have to take the long way around in the dungeon, having more random encounters and wasting more resources on their path to fighting the main villain. If they don’t find the secret door, they won’t fight a magic-item. Failing to solve the puzzle might put a curse on the PCs, making the rest of the dungeon harder. If they fail the social encounter, maybe the captured nobleman thinks he’d rather take his chances with the brainwashing cultists and calls for help. All of these make the PCs lives harder, but they don’t stop things in their tracks.

If possible, the DM should create some good narrative around failure, trying to make it as entertaining as success. In combat, the DM could just say that the PC misses, or he could say something like, “You swing your sword in a deadly arc, but the hobgoblin raises his shield, letting it skitter along the domed surface, sparks flying. He leers at you, then launches a counterattack...” It helps a little to improve the overall feel of the game.

Sometimes narrative of failure makes a story just as memorable as a resounding success. I still chuckle about the time a character in a game I was in blew a stealth check and ended up with a decorative pumpkin stuck on his foot.

Anonymous, I hope this article helps. Failure can be as entertaining and rewarding as part of the story as success. It’s all in the consequences and the narrative.

[ramen-rambles]

Study Session

Pairing: Bakugou Katsuki x Reader x Kirishima Eijirou

Warnings: 18+, threesome, pillow humping, double penetration

Word Count: 4.0K

Summary: You need help studying and Bakugou and Kirishima were having a study session in their dorms. However, upon entering, you see that they’re up to something else. 

A/N: First real post on here! Just pure filth. I did this instead of working on my essay. Also, I have no idea why this turned out to be so fucking long. Anyways, enjoy? 

♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。. ♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。. ♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。.

Finals season was fast approaching UA. Given that you were in your third year of university, you couldn’t really afford to fuck up. That being said, you had been studying all day in the library with Bakugou and Kirishima. Most of the time, you were off doing your own thing but Bakugou kept on getting frustrated at Kirishima’s incompetence and lack of understanding. Their constant bickering made it impossible to focus so you started gathering your things, wanting nothing more than the peace and quiet of your dorm. 

“H-hey! Where are you going? I thought we were supposed to be studying together…” Kirishima said with a pout on his face. 

“Well, I tried. But with you and Anger Issues over there never shutting up, I can’t fucking focus on anything else.” 

Your tone sounded harsher than normal and Kirishima couldn’t help but notice. Bakugou’s words didn’t make the situation any better either. 

“If you fucking fail the final next week, don’t come crying to me, you fucking dumbass.” 

You were going to come up with some snarky response to counter him but Kirishima ended up easing the tension instead. 

“Um, okay then, but just make sure you actually study! But if you still don’t get it, Bakugou and I are going to probably pull an all nighter tonight or something in my dorm. I still seriously don’t get anything and I don’t think I have any other option except to cram.” He said, nervously scratching the back of his neck.

“Whatever. You better not fucking fail either, Shitty Hair.” huffed Bakugou with a light smack to Kirishima’s head. 

“Alright, well you two have fun. I actually think I get it a little so I’ll just do some practice tests or something. But thanks for inviting me anyways! Good luck.” 

While you weren’t particularly worried, you couldn’t deny the fact that math had always been your weakest subject. The night had dragged on and it’s been hours since you made it up to your room. You were breezing through the notes and you felt confident enough to do a practice quiz. 

However, with the problems set in front of you, you realized that you, in fact, knew nothing. 

“Man, what the fuck? This shit doesn’t make any fucking sense! This literally can’t even be the same fucking thing.” You cursed to yourself. You started losing hope, but then, you suddenly remembered what Kirishima had said to you earlier that day. Glancing at the clock, “Fuck, it’s like 3am already. Goddamn. I mean… They did say they’re pulling an all nighter, right?” You muttered in defeat.

Feeling frustrated and without many options left, you decided to take up the redhead’s offer and started making your way up to the fourth floor.

“It is kind of late, I hope they’re still awake...“ You thought to yourself.

Walking down the hallway, you stopped dead in your tracks as you heard a particularly loud moan come through Kirishima’s door. 

Did you hear that right? Did your ears deceive you? What was going on in there? 

Confused, you pressed your ear against his door and sure enough, there was that sinful moan again. 

Your thoughts started to wander and you leaned in closer, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together at the lewd noises coming from the other side of the door. 

“F-fuck Eiji. Just get on with it already!” Bakugou cried, voice dripping with need.

“You like that, baby? Tell me all the naughty things you want me to do to you, Katsuki.” Kirishima breathed out through teasing pants. 

Initially, like any sane person, your first thought was, “What the actual fuck. Weren’t they supposed to be studying? Why does it sound like a fucking porn video in there?” You felt dirty, to say the least. But you couldn’t deny that you started getting hot and bothered. “No, this is wrong. I shouldn’t be listening to whatever the fuck they’re doing.” You shook your head and snapped yourself back to reality and just as you were about to make a break towards the elevator, you heard that sweet moan again.

Now, you definitely knew you weren’t dreaming. 

Face blushing profusely, you felt a familiar heat begin to pool in your stomach as you continued to listen to the sinful sounds coming from the two boys on the other side of the wall. “Oh, fuck it.” You mumbled.

You couldn’t resist yourself from dipping your hands underneath the hem of your shorts as you began rubbing soft circles on your clit, a wet patch slowly forming in the middle of your underwear. Careful not to make a sound, you turned around and slowly slid down to the floor, pressing your knees against your chest, allowing easier access to your soaking wet sex. 

“I want you to fuck me, Eiji. Make me feel good. I want you to fucking pound me until I can’t fucking walk anymore. I need you to make me cum.” God, Bakugou sounded so sexy. You could only imagine what he looked like.

What was Kirishima doing to him? Was he sucking his dick? Was he eating his ass? What could Kirishima possibly be doing; that made Bakugou fucking Katsuki moan like a such a horny little bitch?

His submissiveness lit a fire within Kirishima, who merely responded by obviously pleasuring the needy boy, desperate to hear more of his moans “Get on all fours, babe.” 

You brought two of your fingers into your mouth and allowed your spit to collect around it before you swiftly moved your panties the side and teased your pussy, dragging your finger along your slit, wincing a bit as you slowly pushed them inside yourself, desperate for some sort of relief. You closed your eyes shut as soft pants escaped your mouth and you bit down on your bottom lip, trying to control your sounds of pleasure. Anyone could have seen you touching yourself to your friends’ moans but you didn’t really care at this point. 

You were becoming more and more flustered as you imagined what those two were doing to each other. You trailed your cold hand under your shirt, reaching up to rub your nipple, the difference in temperature only adding more pleasure as you continued pumping your fingers in and out of your needy cunt. 

So engrossed with your own dirty thoughts, you failed to realize that the boys could also hear you from the other side of the door. Your fingers curled and brushed against your g-spot, accidentally letting out a loud moan. 

Fuck. 

Before you could react, the door swung open and you fell onto your back. You looked up and saw a naked Bakugou and a half-naked Kirishima staring down at your body, fingers still knuckle deep in your cunt. After you register what had happened, you immediately pulled out and shoved your shirt down, looking away from the two boys. How embarrassing. 

“I-it’s not what you think! I was having a hard time understanding the formulas and I remembered what you said and I just wanted help but then I heard you guys moaning and I couldn’t help but listen in--” Your sorry excuse of an explanation was cut short as Bakugou slammed the door shut behind you while Kirishima crouched down to grab you by the waist and throw you onto the bed, legs spread apart for them to see all your shame. 

“You’re such a dirty slut, you know that? Touching yourself while we were about to fuck,” Bakugou looked down at the very visible wet spot on your shorts and scoffed  “just look at how fucking wet you are.” He said as his fingers teased around your cunt, collecting your slick between them. The sudden contact causing a jolt of pleasure to run down your spine. 

“Damn baby, you’re fucking dripping.” Kirishima groaned at the sight laid before him, palming his erection through his boxers. 

Bakugou brought his fingers up to Kirishima’s mouth, who licked them clean. “You taste so fucking good, princess.” He said teasingly. 

“Y-you’re one to talk, Bakugou! You sounded so fucking needy!” You weakly retorted, an attempt to salvage the remains of your pride.

Bakugou roughly grabbed Kirishima by the back of his neck and pulled him into a deep kiss, wanting to have a taste of your sweetness. You couldn’t deny how hot they looked and your hips bucked up at the sight, to create some much needed friction as you continued to watch them swap spit with each other. 

“Says the bitch who was touching herself in the fucking hallway.” Bakugou snapped back. “I bet you wanted us to catch you, didn’t you? Fucking slut. You should be punished, you know.”

“C’mon, Katsuki, no need to be so harsh with her.” Kirishima coaxed. “Look at how desperate she is. She practically came just by hearing how good I made you feel.” Playfully running his hands over Bakugou’s back and down to his ass, giving it a loud slap. He looked down at your flustered state, almost taking pity on how sexually frustrated you were. Keyword; almost.

“But you know what? I think you’re right. Naughty girls have to be disciplined after all.” 

And with that, he stripped himself of his boxers, you quickly following suit. Kirishima then grabbed his uniform belt off the floor. “Don’t worry, baby girl. We’ll make you feel good. Just listen to us first, okay? Now, put your hands behind your back.” You sat up on the bed and did as you were told, anticipation clouding your thoughts. He tightened the belt around your wrists, the leather biting into your soft skin. You tugged at the makeshift restraint, trying to loosen it a bit, but the pain you felt quickly morphed into pleasure as you realized how dirty this was all playing out to be, your pussy clenching around nothing. 

“Now, where were we, Katsuki?” Kirishima taunted with a devilish grin on his face. He roughly pushed Bakugou onto his knees with his ass up in the air, hands spreading his cheeks apart and proceeded to teasingly swipe his tongue over his puckered hole. Bakugou shuddered as Kirishima continued his assault, drool gathering in his mouth and letting it drip down Bakugou’s ass. Kirishima circled his tongue around the rim and slowly pressed in, barely licking inside the tight hole. His hands snaked around Bakugou’s ass and in between his thighs and began stroking Bakugou’s cock, the tip seeping with precum. Bakugou’s hands were fisted in the sheets and his head was buried into the mattress. “F-fuck Eiji! Oh my god, don’t fucking stop.” Bakugou bucked his ass back into Kirishima’s face and that sight alone was to die for. 

Unashamedly, you started rubbing your thighs together and lucky for you, you were able to slip one of the pillows in between your legs and began rocking back and forth against it to get some much needed relief. You slowly began grinding on the pillow and continued to hump it as you watched the two boys in front of you get down and dirty. The rough fabric of the pillow was rubbing deliciously against your clit and you only bounced on it with more vigor. 

“Look Katsuki-” Bakugou turned his head towards your flustered body and marveled at the fact that you began to resort to such desperate measures in an attempt to get yourself off. 

“Fuck! Please touch me… or take the belt off so I can do it myself… just do something already…” The neediness in your voice compelled the two boys to help you out. Kirishima undid the belt and you immediately pulled him into a passionate kiss, quickly thanking him in between breathy moans. Feeling left out, Bakugou made his way up to your lips and tore you away from the redhead, sucking on your tongue and roughly biting anywhere he could reach, leaving dark purple hickeys in his wake. Kirishima began trailing his lips down your shoulder blades, your chest, and stopped at your tits, taking your hard bud into his mouth while his free hand made its way down to your throbbing cunt, burying his digits into your hole while rubbing messy circles into your sensitive clit. “Ah, fuck! Kiri don’t stop, go faster” You pulled away from your heated makeout session to focus on the pleasure that the redhead was giving you, bringing you closer and closer to the orgasm you craved so much. 

“Your pussy is so fucking tight” He stuffed a third finger into your cunt, pushing them deeper into your hole, nails digging into your slick walls, bending down to replace his thumb with his tongue, loudly sucking on your clit. “I am so, so close” Determined to bring you to an orgasm, Bakugou soon started sucking on your nipples while Kirishima only pumped his fingers in and out of you with more vigor. “Cum for us, baby” The oversensitivity paired with the dirty talk and the attention you were receiving from your top and bottom half caused your cunt to clench around Kirishima’s fingers and send you over the edge. Helping you ride out your orgasm, Kirishima kept grinding his finger against your pussy before slowly pulling out, making you feel empty. 

“I want you both in my mouth, please” Wanting to return the favor, you motioned for the two boys to stand up while you sank down to your knees, taking both of their fat cocks in your hands. Spitting on your palms, you quickly pumped their lengths before taking Bakugou into your mouth and sucking down on his cock. “Fuck, you’re so good at sucking cock. You must do this a lot, don’t you? Filthy slut” His words caused your cunt to clench while he fisted your hair and pushed you back on his cock and setting a fast pace, making you gag, only fueling his already inflated ego. All the while, your hand never left Kirishima’s length, who seemed to be growing more impatient as he so desperately wanted to be in the position Bakugou was in. “C’mon princess, it’s my turn now. I want to see those pretty lips of yours around my dick too” He pulled you off the blonde’s length and put his own cock in your mouth. Kirishima’s pace was more gentle but the sheer size of him in your mouth made it difficult to keep up. With you giving Bakugou a handjob and Kirishima face fucking you, it seemed like they were also reaching their end. Giving the same attention to both men, you looked up to see them exchange a knowing glance to one another. 

“As much as I want to cum inside that pretty mouth, I’d rather fill up that tight little asshole of yours, sweetheart” Before you could say anything, Kirishima pulled out of your mouth and sank down to pull apart your plush cheeks, making you arch your back in surprise at the suddenness. He began to lick long stripes up and down your pert hole, slowly dipping his nimble fingers inside your tightness, stretching you out in preparation for his cock. On the other hand, Bakugou shoved himself back inside your mouth and continued to maintain his rough pace, not that you were complaining. To try and take some control, you grabbed onto his pale thighs to give yourself a chance to catch your breath. You licked up and down the prominent vein on his cock, paying special attention to his balls, cupping and groping them as his precum and your saliva painted the bottom of your chin. Feeling his hips stutter, you knew he was close. “I’m going to cum all over your pretty fucking face, princess” He held a tighter grip into your hair and just as you were preparing to swallow his hot load, he pulled out and threw a smirk your way. “Fuck this, I’d rather cum inside your tight pussy. We’re going to pound you so hard you won’t be able to breathe without thinking about our cocks inside you” His words sent chills down your spine as you thought about the two boys deliciously hitting all the right spots and filling you to the brim with their cum, branding you as their own personal cocksleeve. 

Kirishima moved to stand behind you while Bakugou laid down on the bed and adjusted himself to move towards the edge of the mattress. “Fuck yourself on my cock, you slut, and Eiji’s gonna fuck that fat ass of yours” The redhead went to the bedside drawer to grab a bottle of lube as your fingers went down to fist Bakugou’s erection, positioning your tight hole against the tip of his cock. You were so wet that your cunt was literally drooling, your juices dripping down your plush thighs and onto the base of Bakugou’s pelvis. “Holy fuck, you got that wet just from sucking dick and having your ass ate? You are so fucking filthy” Noticing this, Kirishima decided to ditch the lube and instead, he wrapped his hand around to dip two fingers into your cunt and scoop out your wetness, string it in between his fingers, and spread it all over your asshole. Bakugou let out a breathy laugh and proceeded to grab the sides of your hips to slam you down on his thick fucking cock. You let out a loud moan as you began a sensual pace against his length, grinding down on him and allowing yourself to adjust to his size. 

Kirishima’s hands went up to fondle your tits, tugging at your nipples, and placing sloppy kisses against your neck, only adding to the pleasure you felt as Bakugou bottomed inside of you. 

“Holy fuuuck. That feels so fucking good. Kiri, please, I want you inside me too-” 

He didn’t have to be told twice. He eased you down towards Bakugou’s chest to give himself easier access, and gathering saliva in his mouth, he spit and let it drip down your tight hole allowing the tip of his cock to press against your backside. “You okay, baby? Just relax for me, I promise it’ll feel good in a second” Guiding his tip inside, your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you felt him stretch you out in a way you’ve never been before. Bakugou’s hands went down to where you two were connected and rubbed gentle circles on your clit, a feeble attempt to distract you from the pain of being stretched; a feeling he seemed to have been familiar with.  

The three of you let out a collective whine as Kirishima fully sheathed himself inside you, the two boys feeling their cocks brush against each other between the thin wall of flesh that was separating them. After allowing yourself time to adjust to their lengths, you announced that you were ready for the fucking of a lifetime. 

Encouraging them to move, you ground your hips against the two, to which Bakugou responded by quickly thrusting up into you while Kirishima smacked your ass and snapped his hips forward, the pain only elevating your pleasure. It took them a moment to find their rhythm, starting steady at first, then quickly becoming more and more animalistic.

“God fuck, go faster hnnngh” You whined, so close to your release. You pulled Bakugou into a sloppy kiss while your hands found purchase in his blonde locks. Kirishima then gripped the base of your chin to move your head to the side, as he took Bakugou’s lips into a spit swapping makeout session, your mouth moving onto Bakugou’s neck, happily biting and returning the same dark bruises he so generously gave you earlier.

“Look at you- getting off to having your ass and pussy filled by two different cocks. You really are a filthy fucking whore” spat the man underneath you, four fingers dipping back down to rub fast circles into your sensitive clit. Their rough pace caused your tits to bounce with each thrust and Kirishima took this as an opportunity to tweak and tug at your hardened nipples while placing small kisses on the nape of your neck. “God, you’re so tight, sweetheart. I’m gonna gape this fucking asshole of yours” 

The filthy name calling and constant praising only adding more bliss as you continued to get pounded into mercilessly. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum” You cried, eyes screwed shut and mouth wide open as you came with a loud cry. Body convulsing, the two men never stopped their thrusting, quickly trying to chase their own release. 

“Please, please I want you both to cum inside me, make me your dirty fucking cumslut, fill me up already please, I need it so badly” you panted, leaning back down towards Bakugou’s chest, your hands coming up behind to spread your cheeks apart, yet another mindblowing orgasm so dangerously close. Your holes clenched tightly around their cocks, squeezing them in between your tight walls, furthering chastising their release. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum again” you whined.

“C’mon baby, cum for us, I know you’ve got another one in there for us, don’t you?” Kirishima cooed, grabbing the sides of your hips to pound into you even harder than before. “Do it again bitch, cum for us like the fucking slut you really are” snapped Bakugou. You couldn’t hold it in much longer and you came again with a loud moan, juices squirting out of your glistening pussy. The way you clamped down on their lengths caused Bakugou to cum first, his rough thrusting coming to a stop as his cum shot deep into you in hot spurts, a little bit dripping out of your sopping wet cunt as you milked his cock for all it was worth. Seeing you and Bakugou reach your orgasms meant that Kirishima was not that far behind. “Fuck, you are so perfect, I’m gonna fill you up to the brim, baby.” He landed a harsh slap to your ass cheek as you continued squeezing around his cock, roughly thrusting a few more times before he came inside you with a low groan. 

You were so spent that you practically passed out on top of Bakugou’s chest. Panting heavily, you tried to catch your breath as you were so utterly fucked out that it was hard to not just collapse with their dicks still inside you. After coming down from your highs, they both pulled out of your abused holes, cum seeping out of you, making you feel incredibly empty. 

Bakugou pulled you off of him as Kirishima gingerly placed gentle kisses across your back and shoulders, grabbing a nearby cloth to wipe away the mess the three of you made together. After you were all cleaned up, Kirishima wrapped his arms around your torso while you let your head lay on Bakugou’s chest, fitting perfectly in between the two of them. Kirishima pulled the covers over yourselves so you all could finally get some much needed rest, and then it hit you. The whole reason you came up to their room in the first place. 

“You know, I still need help with the math. Can we actually study, please?” you complained.

“Oh yeah, I forgot about that too…” Kirishima said nervously. 

“Whatever, I’ll help you two idiots study later, just shut up and go the fuck to sleep already.” Bakugou grumbled before the three of you began dozing off. 

♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。. ♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。. ♡ ⌒*ﾟ.❉・゜・。.

#bnha #boku no hero academia #mha #my hero academia #bnha smut #bnha x reader #mha bakugou #mha kirishima #bakugou x reader #kirishima x reader #bnha fanfiction #bakugou x reader x kirishima #bakugou katsuki #kirishima eijirou

[i-like-plan-m]

Lán Zhan has a fatal case of Hanahaki desease. He hides it from everyone while resigning himself to dying, and tries to get his affairs in order by the time he dies. Plot twist: Lwj’s father died by that same illness and Lan Qiren immediately recognizes the symptoms. He tries to do his best to help his nephew by matchmaking lwj and wwx together into confessing their love for each other.

this prompt made me laugh, thank you anon

Ao3: break the silence with these beating hearts

His brother had been a man of many virtues. The problem was that he had just as many faults, and improving most of them went ignored in favor of attending to those virtues. 

Which left Lan Qiren to watch his brother destroy himself, and then to deal with the consequences of his actions. Alone. He took on Qingheng-Jun’s responsibilities. His duties. Even his sons.

Resentment would have been an easy path to take. He might have even learned to hate his brother, had it not been for his nephews. They were a joy he had never expected, one he hadn’t earned, and yet his all the same. 

He raised them. Taught many of their lessons himself, occasionally even shirking his own duties when they were younger just to spend more time watching their little faces light up every time they accomplished something, every time they received a word of praise. 

The point was, Lan Qiren knew his nephews better than anyone else in the universe. 

So he took one look at A-Zhan and knew something was wrong. His nephew was utterly unreadable to the rest of the world, expressionless and emotionless to anyone who didn’t know better. Who didn’t know what to look for. 

Lan Qiren did. He paused in the doorway of the library, frozen in place as he took in his nephew’s unsteady hand, the tight lines around his eyes. The way he held himself like one wrong move would shatter him apart.

He watched in silent horror as a cough wracked Lan Zhan’s body. As his nephew coughed something up into his hand, closing it too fast for Lan Qiren to see what it was, and then carefully dab any drops of blood with a red-stained handkerchief. 

Lan Qiren didn’t need to see any more to know this curse— the Hanahaki Disease was a vicious, low-minded curse that killed with horrific slowness, drawing out the person’s pain and anguish. His own brother had died from it; there was no one more capable of recognizing the signs than Lan Qiren.

He backed away, heart pounding, throat tight, and went to find A-Huan. 

Lan Huan took the news as expected; an ink pot splashed over when he shot to his feet, spilling a pool of darkness over the scattered white papers on his desk. His face was pale, mouth drawn tight, and he looked at Lan Qiren with eyes that begged for answers. 

He had none to give. But he would not let his nephew succumb to such a fate, so he gestured for Lan Huan to follow him and returned to the library. 

Lan Zhan had not moved. He looked up when they entered and greeted them appropriately, setting aside this brush to blink at them both expectantly. 

“A-Zhan,” Lan Huan said, dismayed. He knelt beside his brother with tears in his eyes. Lan Qiren watched Lan Zhan stiffen in realization. “Why didn’t you say something?” 

“I am fine.” Lan Zhan would not meet either of their eyes. His breathing was shallow, his mouth stained red. 

“You are not,” Lan Qiren said harshly. Lan Zhan stared intently at the desk and did not respond. “You are dying, and I will not allow it.” As though he had any say in it.

One should not speak with arrogance. One should not speak harshly to others. Lan Qiren cared little for the rules he was breaking-- and those he was sure to break in the future, it it meant saving his nephew. 

“Who is it, Lan Zhan?” Lan Huan asked, carefully holding one of Lan Zhan’s hands between his own. 

“Irrelevant,” Lan Zhan bit out. “He does not feel the same.” 

He would damn well change his mind, or he’d find himself at the business end of Lan Qiren’s sword, he thought furiously. 

“Have you asked him?” Lan Huan asked gently. “How do you know for sure?” 

Lan Zhan was silent. It gave Lan Qiren an ember of hope, that his nephew hadn’t received any confirmation that he would die painfully from the curse of unrequited love. 

“Who is it?” Lan Qiren asked. 

Lan Zhan refused to answer, but Lan Huan gave his brother a knowing look. 

“Lan Huan? Do you know who it is?” Lan Qiren stared intently at his nephews.

“Lan Zhan,” Lan Huan said softly. Prompting. 

Lan Zhan did not answer… but his eyes flicked to the open window when raucous laughter burst through it as Lan Qiren’s resident headache sprinted past with the furious Jiang boy hot on his heels. Lan Zhan lowered his eyes quickly, but they’d both noticed his diverted attention. 

Oh no. Oh no. 

Lan Qiren sat down before he fell over from sheer horrified despair. Lan Huan bit the inside of his cheeks in a clear attempt to stave off a laugh; Lan Qiren was so thoroughly gripped by dread he didn’t even bother scolding him. 

Lan Qiren dropped his head into his hands. “It’s Wei Wuxian, isn’t it?” He asked in a defeated tone. Lan Zhan set his jaw, looking especially mulish, but his silence was answer enough. 

“I believe you are correct, Uncle,” Lan Huan said. He patted his brother’s hand, cheerfully unbothered when Lan Zhan snatched his hand back and ducked his head to hide his cherry-red ears. 

“Lan Zhan, I raised you better than this,” Lan Qiren said, dismayed. “How did this happen? How could you have fallen in love with that utterly untamed boy?” 

Lan Zhan frowned. “Wei Ying is an honorable, smart, and strong cultivator. He would be a worthy match for anyone.” 

There was an ominous crash somewhere outside, followed by a loud whoop and more running feet. Lan Qiren stared at Lan Zhan incredulously. Lan Zhan stared unblinking back at him like he hadn’t heard a thing. 

“Don’t forget lively,” Lan Huan added helpfully after a long moment of silence inside the library. Outside the library there were more sounds of imminent chaos, undoubtedly caused by the reprobate his nephew was apparently in love with. 

Well. He was already having a bad day. 

“Fine. If accepting Wei Wuxian into our sect means saving your life, I will… welcome him as family,” he choked out. Lan Huan looked between them with a wide smile like he was proud of them. Lan Qiren didn’t even have the energy to frown disapprovingly at him. 

“Wei Ying does not feel the same,” Lan Zhan insisted. “I will go into seclusion—“ 

Lan Qiren slammed a hand on the table, cutting him short. “Absolutely not.” This argument he would not lose; his nephew would not walk the same dark path as his father. 

“Lan Zhan,” Lan Huan said. “Why don’t you try talking to him?” 

Lan Zhan looked mortified at the very thought. Heavens above, it was looking more and more as though Lan Qiren would have to do all the work here. What heinous act had he committed in a past life to deserve this? 

Any doubts or misgivings he had evaporated the moment Lan Zhan began coughing again, struggling to breathe past the petals forcing their way out of his lungs. Lan Huan rested a hand on his back and fed him spiritual energy, visibly concerned as blood splattered over the desk with a few shredded flower petals. 

His nephew only looked frustrated at the ruined papers now decorated with splashes of red. He crumpled the petals in his hand and shoved them out of sight before turning his focus back to his work, ignoring them both when they stood and moved to the door to discuss the situation. 

“How should we proceed?” Lan Huan asked, casting a worried glance back at Lan Zhan. “We can’t force anyone to love against their will.” 

“He is already infatuated with Lan Zhan,” Lan Qiren griped. “Hardly a giant step to love, though we might have to shove the realization down his throat before he gets a clue.” 

“What do you suggest? Finding a way for them to spend time together?” 

“That should be easy enough,” Lan Qiren said dryly, reaching abruptly out the door and snatching Wei Wuxian by the collar as he dashed by, yanking him to a stop. Wei Wuxian looked between them with wide, guilty eyes. 

“Ah ha,” he laughed nervously. “Hi, Master Lan, Zewu-Jun. I didn’t realize you were…” 

“Close enough to hear you crashing through Cloud Recesses like a herd of elephants?” Lan Qiren scowled at him. “Go sit with Wangji. You can copy the rules on decorum and respect ten times over.” 

Lan Zhan looked up sharply and stared at him, looking deeply betrayed. 

“Ten times?!” Wei Wuxian squawked. “But that will take me weeks!” 

Exactly, Lan Qiren thought with reluctant satisfaction. “You should have thought about that before being such a nuisance. Now go.” 

He and Lan Huan watched as Wei Wuxian stumbled across the room, throwing himself down across from Lan Zhan to complain about unfair punishments. 

“There. That should do it..” Lan Qiren watched Lan Zhan bat Wei Ying’s hands away from his meticulous work and hiss, “Behave.” 

“I will start investigating who might have cursed Lan Zhan in the first place,” Lan Huan suggested, smiling indulgently as a playful Wei Ying and incensed Lan Zhan had a brief tug-of-war over Lan Zhan’s papers. 

Lan Qiren pressed two fingers to his forehead in a vain attempt to stave off a migraine. “And I will find more reasons for those two to spend time together,” he said, resigned. “Heavens help us both.” 

“Heavens help the person who cursed Lan Zhan,” Lan Huan corrected, a hard light in his eyes as he left the library. Lan Qiren watched him go, proud of the man he’d become. 

He was proud of the other one, too, just appalled at his taste in significant others. 

There was nothing he could do now but accept it, he thought grimly, and set off to plan a matchmaking scheme to save his nephew. 

#prompts #asks #anon #wangxian #the untamed #mdzs #lan qiren #lan wangji #lan xichen #wei wuxian #hanahaki disease #my fics #my writing #good uncle lan qiren

[lizacstuff]

Hi Liza! It’s not really an ask but I just would like to know your thoughts on all the people that feel Eda should move on from Serkan. It truly makes me sad that people feel that way when he is lost, confused, broken and he needs her the most. Yes, last episode was hard to watch and the emotional turmoil she is going through but I feel Serkan is so misunderstood as a person and he has such deep wounds. Eda and Serkan are both victims here. Eda’s pain is not greater than Serkan’s and Serkan’s pain is not greater than Eda’s. They need each other to fix what is broken. I just don’t understand how people feel like she should abandon him when he is suffering a trauma and it is going to be her light that guides him back to her.

Hi! So I’d rather not give my thoughts on the people. Fans can think and feel what they want and it doesn’t affect us. (But be wary of assigning too much significance to what some fans say when something big and horrible and heartbreaking like this happens, some fans just need to lash out in anger. If it bothers you, best just to back away and let them metaphorically smash stuff on their twitter or facebook feed. Doesn’t bother me unless they try and smash it in my inbox.) 

As for what I think of the idea that Eda should move on from Serkan..... yeah, no. I’m never about pitting my ship against each other. It’s pointless, bizarre, and sucks the fun out of shipping. 

Serkan was in a plane crash. He has a brain injury. He has other injuries. He has amnesia. He has been the victim of someone he though he could trust manipulating him and brainwashing him. The guy has been through hell and he’s only been back 2 days. 

He is freaked out, he’s panicking, and he’s in crisis. I’m okay to give him a little time to get his head screwed on straight. 

As for Eda I could not be more sympathetic towards her. She has also been through absolute hell, but the Serkan who loves her is not currently in the building. Eda loves him, and she’s tough, so I expect her to keep fighting, if only to save him from his abuser. 

Serkan proposing like that was a cruel moment, but he’s always had a bit of that in him. Remember him firing Leyla right there out on the street in the first episode?  Or losing his mind at Eda in front of the office in episode 6? Not to this extent, but everything is at next level for him right now due to the trauma and brainwashing.  Now remember how scared the entire office was of him? I think one of the reasons that none of his friends really pushed him in the last episode is because no one has ever stood up to him. Piril and Engin don’t stand up to him. They may be partners, but Serkan is the boss. He’s an autocrat who does not allow opposition or criticism and that’s the way things are. 

Or that’s how they were until he met someone who would stand up to him. Who would go toe to toe with him. Who didn’t take his word as law. Who was not afraid of him. Go figure he fell in love with that person. He needs that person in his life to even him out. 

So maybe that robotic, shut-down version of Serkan doesn’t deserve Eda, but the guy he grew and evolved into as he fell in love, definitely does. Think back to the guy who found and rescued her on that mountain, and then despite trying to distance himself from her, took her home and stayed up all night watching vigil over her. Think back to the guy who chased her down in the library just so he could gain her forgiveness, and who wanted to punish whomever had put Eda in peril with the paps, and who donated all the proceeds from the lawsuit to the orphanage and saved Ayfer’s business. Think back to the guy who unconsciously tore off her crusts and who did everything in his power to be there for her and get her back episodes 20-26. And think of the guy who mentored her and believed in her and fostered her talent. 

That guy is in there. And he will come back. The ability to be that unfeeling is a side to him, but it’s not the only one. Eda has accepted it. Just like he had accepted her vase-smashing, face-slapping, volatility.  Neither is perfect.

Just imagine how he’s going to feel once he either falls for her or remembers. Yowza, he’s going to be heartbroken at what he put her through. And that ought to be something to watch. 

#Sen Çal Kapımı #sen cal kapimi #edser #sckask #sck episode discussion #sck 1x29 #asklizac #Anonymous

[twoidiotwriters1]

Written In The Stars CXII (Harry Potter xF!Oc)

A/N: I know you guys hate it but I love making Mel and Harry fight, huge ‘I’m-yelling-bc-I-love-you’ energy -Danny

Words: 4,093 

Series’ Masterlist

Previous Chapter // Next Chapter

Listen to: ‘Worst In Me’ -by Julia Michaels.

Chapter Ten: Growing.

Turns out Umbridge was inspecting Trelawney's class, and if Mel could've graded the experience, she would've used a massive 'D'.

The girl paired up with Neville because she would often find herself chatting over Trelawney's orders whenever she and Ron shared a table. She didn't want that this time, and so she tried her best to focus on what she was doing with Neville. She was fearing that being in a different table, she wasn't going to be able to stop Harry if he tried to do something silly, the class went by with no accidents besides the fact that Trelawney could not do a prediction for Umbridge, which clearly made her fall a few points down.

Mel walked to her D.A.D.A. class with Neville, they talked about his new discoveries in herbology, she desperately needed to speak about some common silly nothings to remain sane, so when they entered the classroom, she hesitated a moment before finally deciding to sit next to the boy. They were a few tables behind Harry, Ron and Hermione. Mel felt a bit guilty about not making any real efforts to stay close to Harry, but she was feeling in a better mood now that she was having a normal day with a normal classmate.

"Wands away," Umbridge instructed. "As we finished chapter one last lesson, I would like you all to turn to page nineteen today and commence chapter two, 'Common Defensive Theories and Their Derivation.' There will be no need to talk."

Hermione raised her hand a few seats ahead, Umbridge got up from her place and walked up to hers, her usual terrifying smile plastered on her face.

"What is it this time, Miss Granger?"

"I've already read chapter two."

"Well then, proceed to chapter three."

"I've read that too. I've read the whole book."

"Well," Umbridge giggled. "Then, you should be able to tell me what Slinkhard says about counterjinxes in chapter fifteen."

"He says that counterjinxes are improperly named. He says 'counterjinx' is just a name people give their jinxes when they want to make them sound more acceptable. But I disagree."

"You disagree?"

"Yes, I do. Mr Slinkhard doesn't like jinxes, does he? But I think they can be very useful when they're used defensively."

"Oh, you do, do you? Well, I'm afraid it is Mr Slinkhard's opinion, and not yours, that matters within this classroom, Miss Granger."

"But —"

"That is enough. Miss Granger, I am going to take five points from Gryffindor House."

"What for?" Harry asked angrily. Mel could see Hermione whisper something to him.

"For disrupting my class with pointless interruptions. I am here to teach you using a Ministry-approved method that does not include inviting students to give their opinions on matters about which they understand very little. Your previous teachers in this subject may have allowed you more license, but as none of them — with the possible exception of Professor Quirrell, who did at least appear to have restricted himself to age-appropriate subjects — would have passed a Ministry inspection —"

"Why aren't we allowed to give our opinion? The teachers always encourage us to ask questions and be curious!" Mel blurted out, emboldened by the memory of her jobless uncle. "Was it really their way of working, or just your racist rubbish?"

"And Quirrell was a great teacher all right," said Harry right after her, "there was just that minor drawback of him having Lord Voldemort sticking out of the back of his head."

There was a thick silence afterwards, Umbridge smiled a both, a triumphant glint in her eyes.

"I think another week's detentions would do you some good, Mr Potter," said Umbridge sweetly. "Miss Dumbledore, you may only speak when spoken to, or when you're granted the word. Otherwise, I'd recommend you to remain quiet. Sixty points from Gryffindor."

Mel entered the Great Hall fuming, she walked up to her table and saw Angelina, Professor McGonagall and Harry all arguing about something.

"I'm already being punished by her, why do you have to take points as well?" Harry asked in outrage. "Mel already lost sixty!"

"Shut up!" She hissed.

"Because detentions do not appear to have any effect on you whatsoever!" Professor McGonagall looked at her in the same way. "Dumbledore told you to stay out of it, Miss Dumbledore, I see myself in the obligation to talk with the Headmaster about this! And as for you, Miss Johnson, you will confine your shouting matches to the Quidditch pitch in future or risk losing the team Captaincy!"

Angelina stormed out of the Hall, not without giving Harry one last nasty look.

"She's taken points off Gryffindor because I'm having my hand sliced open every night! How is that fair, how?"

"I know, mate, she's bang out of order," Ron put extra bacon on Harry's plate.

"You disloyal twat!" Mel aggressively put down a jar of murtlap essence in front of Harry. "Now Dumbledore will lecture me again because you decided to rat me out!"

"Well it's true, isn't it?" He pointed to the jar. "What's that rubbish?"

"That rubbish is for your hand," She retorted in an awful mood, "put it on your bloody hand and it should heal right away."

The girl left without waiting for a reply, wanting to hex everyone. The fact that she'd spent twenty minutes of her breakfast hour doing the stupid essence now felt like a really dumb thing to do. She wondered why was she still trying to be nice when Harry didn't care, he knew that she could feel his pain and still decided to get another detention. Maybe they were better on their own, trying to remain as a team was starting to break them further apart.

Mel clenched her fists and continued until her feet took her to the only safe haven they could remember. The library was empty, no one had urgent schoolwork to finish being the second week of the trimester. She sat down at the very end, rubbing her temples and pondering on whether she should cry a bit to release some tension or go back to the Hall and have breakfast with Ginny when she heard the soft sound of footsteps.

"Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?" asked a voice in amusement.

Erick stepped closer with a teasing glint in his eyes.

"You stood me up last Saturday. What now, you get a boyfriend and suddenly decide you no longer need friends? That's a bit–"

Mel didn't let him finish, she stood up and hugged him as tightly as she could.

"You have no idea how much I've missed you."

Erick froze, his arms hovering above her awkwardly. "I... I missed you too?"

Mel stepped back, quickly cleaning her face.

"Merlin's sake, you don't have to say it if you don't want to..."

"Sorry– it's just... That's the first time someone says that to me..." The last part came out barely above a whisper, Erick avoided her eyes.

"Well, it's true. This summer was a nightmare..."

"I know what you mean... at least a little. My grandad's been... not great," Erick glanced at the table and then her. "Every time I catch a glimpse of you, you're always grumpy..."

"It's the O.W.L.S, you know?"

"Sure, not like I've seen you argue with Potter," Erick smirked. "Want advice? Kiss him whenever he acts up, that'll shut him."

"That's out of the question," She sat down again. "We're not dating."

"What?"  He exclaimed.

"Shh!" Mel looked around and then glared at him. "Sit down."

"I don't understand," Erick's frown deepened. "You two were so sickeningly happy and–"

"It was a mistake."

"What?" He asked again, this time laughing a little. "I'm sorry, but since when is dating your crush a mistake?"

"We didn't date," She retorted. "We... it blew up in our faces– Sit down, will you?"

"But what happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it!"

"Okay!" He huffed. "What do you want to talk about, then?"

"Why don't you tell me how's your Grandad?"

Erick's face did not tense at the mention, but it certainly grew worried.

"He's well enough... stayed with him the whole summer so I didn't write to Anne, in case you were wondering."

"Don't ask about Harry and I won't ask about Anne," Mel shrugged. "Seems fair."

Erick only looked more alarmed. "Seriously, what happened?"

"Erick," She said, "leave it."

"Are you at least going to tell me why'd you stood me up the other day?"

"I invited Hermione by mistake. I wanted to talk to you in private."

"Why?"

"Because Harry– well now I don't want to," She added when she saw the way he rolled his eyes. "I don't want to do anything. I don't even want to go to my next class..."

"Let me guess, because you'll have to see him and talk to him," He finally sat down, pondering for a moment. "All right, then get rid of him. Stop being his friend."

"I can't do that. Dumbledore's orders."

"He asked you to babysit?"

Mel nodded gloomily.

"Do you really have to be near him?"

"Well," She tilted her head. "I guess not... just when Umbridge's around."

"So just during her class?"

"Probably..."

"Okay, make sure he keeps his mouth shut for an hour or two and then you have the rest of the day free."

Mel thought about it for a second, then groaned in frustration.

"Knowing Harry, he'll find a way to run into her more times a day..."

"Potter's old enough to know better, don't you think?" Erick raised a brow. "Especially after what he went through..."

Annoyance flooded over her at the way Erick so casually mentioned Harry's close call. She clenched her jaw and shrugged. She didn't want to keep talking to him, being honest, she simply didn't want to talk to anyone at all.

"I'm tired," She muttered.

"I can't help with that, go take a nap," He sighed. "I'm sorry you didn't get the prefect badge, by the way..."

Mel laughed humorlessly.

"I don't care. Guess a part of me always knew Hermione would beat me."

"I really thought you'd be it," He replied. "Not that I don't think 'Mione's not smart or anything,  it made sense, you and Harry..."

"Maybe Dumbledore thinks we have too much in our hands," She started to peel the corner of the table. "Or that we're out of control..."

"He certainly has reasons to believe it..."

"Did Parkinson and Malfoy report me?" She blurted out.

Erick frowned.

"What did you do now?"

Mel quickly told him about the incident, Erick found it extremely amusing.

"Had it coming, those idiots..." He admitted. "But you really shouldn't do that. Umbridge will take any opportunity to take you to her office and see if she can force you into confessing about the Order."

"Talking about that..." She moved so she was now facing him. "Are you part of it, then?"

"Not until I'm seventeen and out of school... I'm a very active intern for now."

"But do you want to be part of it?"

Erick didn't hesitate this time.

"I do. I won't be hiding behind my mother's skirt, once I'm out, I'll be out forever. My plan hasn't changed, I'll live with my Grandad and I'll help as much as I can."

"I'm proud of you, you know?" Mel smiled, her mood lifting with the passion he was letting out in every word.

"Shut up," He muttered.

"I mean it! You've come a long way. Remember my first year? You found me crying and told me to just give up on Hermione. Look at you now..."

"I'm still trying to convince you to give up on people," He moved on his chair awkwardly. "I told you this was my plan since the beginning, I'm just finally doing something about it."

"Yeah," Mel agreed, thinking that her own plan had been obliterated and now she was stuck in place. "I'm happy for you..."

"You know what? Take my advice. Keep Potter's mouth shut during class and we'll trust that he can find his way without you for the rest of the day. You need a break," Erick stood up, grabbing her bag and picking it up for her.

"Trust me," She sighed. "I know."

Mel stayed away from her friends for the rest of the day, and Harry found a way to get an extra day of detention during their Care of Magical creatures class -Umbridge had been there– but the girl persisted, she had lunch and dinner with Ginny and her friends, and she spent her free period with the twins and their friends.

When she entered the common room, she discovered that Harry wasn't there with Ron and Hermione, which explained why her right hand was starting to feel sore. She sat with a small smile playing on her lips, her day had improved after a whole afternoon without useless bickering.

"Is there any point on asking?" Hermione sighed.

"No," Mel said calmly, tunning out the pain on her hand.

Harry arrived close to midnight with his hand bleeding profusely, Mel made sure to write in a way that the darkness could hide her own bruised hand. Hermione handed him the murtlap jar Mel had left for him during breakfast.

"I still reckon you should complain about this," said Ron.

"No," said Harry.

"McGonagall would go nuts if she knew —"

"Yeah, she probably would. And how long d'you reckon it'd take Umbridge to pass another Decree saying anyone who complains about the High Inquisitor gets sacked immediately?"

"She's an awful woman. Awful. You know, I was just saying to Ron when you came in... we've got to do something about her."

"I suggested poison."

"No... I mean, something about what a dreadful teacher she is, and how we're not going to learn any defence from her at all," said Hermione.

"Well, what can we do about that? 'S too late, isn't it? She got the job, she's here to stay, Fudge'll make sure of that."

"Well... You know, I was thinking today... I was thinking that — maybe the time's come when we should just — just do it ourselves."

"Do what ourselves?" said Harry.

Mel's hand stopped writing but she didn't look up.

"Well — learn Defense Against the Dark Arts ourselves," said Hermione.

"Come off it! You want us to do extra work? D'you realize Harry and I are behind on homework again and it's only the second week? And Mel's all right but I'm sure not even her can get past the stress!"

"But this is much more important than homework!"

"I didn't think there was anything in the universe more important than homework," Ron teased.

"Don't be silly, of course there is! It's about preparing ourselves, like Harry said in Umbridge's first lesson, for what's waiting out there. It's about making sure we really can defend ourselves. If we don't learn anything for a whole year —"

"We can't do much by ourselves, I mean, all right, we can go and look jinxes up in the library and try and practice them, I suppose —"

"If you're planning on reading just like you read in Umbridge class, then it won't change much," Mel said.

"No, I agree, we've gone past the stage where we can just learn things out of books. We need a teacher, a proper one, who can show us how to use the spells and correct us if we're going wrong."

"If you're talking about Lupin..."

"No, no, I'm not talking about Lupin," said Hermione. "He's to busy with the Order and anyway, the most we could see him is during Hogsmeade weekends and that's not nearly often enough."

"Who, then?"

"Isn't it obvious? I'm talking about you and Mel, Harry."

"About me what?"

"What?" Mel laughed.

"I'm talking about you teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"That's an idea," Ron said calmly. "Mel could teach us, with her extra lessons and everything..."

"But... But I'm not a teacher, I can't —"

"You and Mel are the best in the year at Defense Against the Dark Arts," said Hermione.

"Me?" said Harry, this time grinning. "No, I'm not, you and Mel have beaten me in every test —"

"Actually, I haven't. You beat me in our third year — the only year we both sat the test and had a teacher who actually knew the subject. But I'm not talking about test results, Harry. Look what you've done! Look at what Mel can do!"

"How d'you mean?"

"You know what, I'm not sure I want someone this stupid teaching me," Ron said to Hermione with a smirk, then pretended to concentrate fully. "Let's think, uh... first year — you saved the Stone from You-Know-Who–"

"But that was luck, that wasn't skill —"

"Yeah, and Quirrell smashed my skull afterwards!"

"Second year," Ron insisted, "you killed the basilisk and destroyed Riddle, Harry."

"Yeah, but if Fawkes hadn't turned up I —"

"Third year," Ron raised his voice, "Mel starts her private lessons with Dumbledore and she learns to do non-verbal spells as if they were as simple as a nap. Then you two fought off about a hundred dementors at once —"

"You know that was a fluke, if the Time-Turner hadn't —"

"Last year," Ron was practically yelling now. "Mel learned to fight off the Imperio curse in her first try and saw right through Moody before anyone else. You fought off You-Know-Who again—"

"Listen to me!" Ron and Hermione were both smirking now. "Just listen to me, all right? It sounds great when you say it like that, but all that stuff was luck — I didn't know what I was doing half the time, I didn't plan any of it, I just did whatever I could think of, and I nearly always had help —"

"I had tons of help!" Mel exclaimed, finally finding her voice. "I read until I couldn't keep my eyes open– most of the things I know are all theory and no practice– don't smile at us like that! You know we're as close to being teachers as a bowtruckle!"

"Don't sit there like you know better than we do," Harry said heatedly. "I was there, wasn't I? I know what went on, all right? And I didn't get through any of that because I was brilliant at Defense Against the Dark Arts, I got through it all because — because help came at the right time, or because I guessed right— or Mel lost control and it just happened to work out in our favour, but we just blundered through it all, I didn't have a clue what I was doing and Mel— STOP LAUGHING!"

Harry stood up menacingly, the jar falling off his hand and breaking into a bunch of sharp pieces. Hermione and Ron quickly lost their smiles.

"You don't know what it's like! You— neither of you— you've never had to face him, have you? You think it's just memorizing a bunch of spells and throwing them at him, like you're in class or something? The whole time you know there's nothing between you and dying except your own — your own brain or guts or whatever — like you can think straight when you know you're about a second from being murdered, or tortured, or watching your friends die — they've never taught us that in their classes, what it's like to deal with things like that, having to suck the life out of a someone in order to survive!" Mel's breath hitched, none of them had told the others what had happened last June. "And you two sit there acting like we're two clever little kids standing here, alive, like Diggory was stupid, like he messed up — you just don't get it, that could just as easily have been me if it weren't for Mel– it would have been if Voldemort hadn't needed me and I hadn't used Mel's—"

"Shut up!" She yelled, pulling him back because he'd gotten too close to their friends.

"We weren't saying anything like that," Ron said fearfully. "We weren't having a go at Diggory, we didn't — you've got the wrong end of the —" He stammered the rest under his breath, unable to end his sentence out of shock.

"You didn't sound understanding," Mel stated, dropping Harry's arm when he snatched it away. "It's never over, not like we lived through it and then just continued with our day... there's... we would always have..."

"Nightmares," Harry ended weakly.

"Guys," Hermione said quietly, "don't you see? This... this is exactly why we need you... We need to know what it's r-really like... facing him... facing V-Voldemort."

Mel would've been proud of Hermione, but she was still too agitated. However, Harry did react, he sat down again, though still breathing as he'd run for hours. A cramp ran down her hand in full force and she hissed. Harry frowned, noticing right away.

"I'm an idiot."

"I'm not going to argue you that," Mel scowled, holding her hand tightly. "I thought you'd be smarter, knowing what it does to me..."

"I don't mind being punished for telling the truth... but I don't want to drag you with me– I never wanted that," Harry sentenced.

Ron and Hermione stared at the both of them without really understanding what they meant.

"Well... think about it," said Hermione, glancing between the two. "Please?"

Harry nodded quietly, Mel hid her hand in her pocket and shrugged.

"Well, I'm off to bed," Their friend continued, still shaking. "Erm... 'night."

Ron got up too, he turned to look at Harry. "Coming?"

"Yeah," He said, looking down at the shattered glass. "In... in a minute. I'll just clear this up."

"I'll help..." Mel murmured.

When it was just the two of them, Mel crossed her arms and stared pointedly at him.

"Well?" She raised a brow. "I'm tired of being the one cleaning up your messes."

"I never asked–" He looked up at her and sighed, tired of fighting. "Doesn't matter... Reparo!"

The essence was gone, and she groaned thinking of how it was up to her to get more. She also knew that Harry needed to tend his hand now if she wanted to have a good sleep, so before he could leave she added:

"Sit," Mel grabbed her wand. "I'm going to mend you."

"I don't need–"

"I'm doing this for me," She showed him the purple bruise of thin letters that were forming on her skin. "You're still trying to cut out the lifeline? It's not working."

"Like you're doing any better," He hissed when she 'accidentally' pressed his wound.

"I'm not the problematic one, am I?"

Harry remained silent.

"That's what I thought," She healed the open cuts gradually. "Unlike you, I know how to stay out of trouble and I don't get as injured..."

"Well, it's not you the one people's been attacking–"

"It's not you either," She replied sharply. "People talk about you, but you're the one picking fights. The only person being attacked here is Dumbledore and I don't see him yelling at the rest of the staff."

"I don't see him talking to anyone but you, so that must be why," He said hastily.

"That's not my fault," Mel let go of his hand, it wasn't bleeding or inflamed, which was impressive considering it was her first time healing someone.

There was something bitter about the fact that holding his hand wasn't bringing her any kind of sweet emotion like it used to. She would still feel waves of affection, but those were dying quicker as time went by, something inside her was successfully pushing him out of her system, and she was starting to get used to it.

"If you're so desperate to talk to him then why don't you visit his office?"

Harry gave her a sour look, and she let out a dry laugh.

"You do want him to ask, don't you? See if he cares?"

"I think I'll go to bed now," He stood up.

"Suit yourself," Mel shrugged. "You're welcome, by the way."

"I thought you had done it for yourself," He replied sarcastically.

"I still made you a favour by doing so," She said. "You know, if you'd show a bit of gratitude instead of ignoring everyone that offers you help, people would–"

"THANK YOU!" He said rudely, his back turned to her as he left the common room.

Next Chapter —>

Taglist.

@dee123ksha @vampiregirl1797 @siriuslysirius1107 @stardusthigh @mikariell95 @vernon-dursley @thesuitelifeofafangirl @tomshollandz @kylosleftbuttcheek @reverse-hxlland @bloodorangemoonlight @omiwashere @t-rexs-world​ @sarcasticallywitty15

#twoidiots writing #hp fanfic #Harry Potter #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter xoc #WITT fic

[shra-vasti]

Pairing : Lee Chan x reader

Title : Boyfriend

Genre : fluff, non idol au, college!au

Warnings : none, word count : 2k approx

Synopsis : The cliche of you being in a bit problem and Chan is there to rescue you.

▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️▫️

“This is the exact reason why I hate playing such stupid games with you.”

You threw your hands in the air in frustration, glaring at your friends who were laughing their ass off already imagining and irritating you while suggesting different outcomes of the dare you had been given.

You were seated on one corner of the college auditorium along with few of your friends as it was a free class and were just fooling around when they decided to play the ever so classic game of truth and dare.

You hated that game from the core of your heart, firstly because you never liked doing those rediculous things everyone suggested to dare and second of all you didn’t like the questions they asked you, all in all you hate the game altogether.

“It’s not that hard to do.”

“But it’s the lamest and most mainstream dare ever given.”

“Just say that you lose and pay for the cafeteria for one week.”

You glared at your friends, reluctantly agreeing with their stupid shenanigans. You were a broke college student and you weren’t going to pay for their cafeteria for a whole week.

“Then that’s the deal, we’ll be keeping an eye on you to see if you really do it.”

With that you packed your belongings and left towards your next class with your friends trailing behind you.

The next classes were interesting till the time you were paying attention to what the professor were saying but then your mind drifted off somewhere in your dreamland and the rest is history.

You bolt up from your seat as soon as the bell rang indicating the class was over and hurriedly made your way towards your friends.

“Lets go to cafeteria.”

Your friends exchanged a look before some stupid grin plastered on each of their faces, were they talking in telepathy and didn’t include you in their telepathy group? Because you didn’t understand what they talked with their eyes.

“It’s a break time for the whole college, it means there will be many people present in the hallways, it’s the perfect time otherwise if you delay it more we’ll extend the punishment.”

Your shoulder slumped as you started to sulk and make sad faces in front of them. They have you a big thumbs down before shaking their head no and you stomped your feat.

“Okay, you go ahead I’ll do it now.”

With that your friends hugged you and wished you luck, ruffling your hairs and some even kissing your cheeks and made their way out of the class.

It was always fun when you were on the opposite side making one of them do something ridiculous but this time luck wasn’t on your side.

You silently thanked heaven for your friends not being as creative as you were while giving dares and proceed to go out of your class.

You kept your head up but your eyes were roaming all over the hallway you were passing to search for a potential person who would be the target of your dare.

You passed quite a few of them but all of them were looking too formal or too busy to approach so you thought of just doing it after you eat your meal.

Someone suddenly bumped into you making two books which you were holding to fall down on the floor, you turn around in astonishment when the person you bumped you just mumbled a quick ‘sorry’ and ran off without giving you a second glance.

You took towards their retreating figure, an annoyed expression visible on your face. Maybe the stranger was in hurry, you never know so you just forgave them internally.

“Excuse me?”

A hand tapped your shoulders making you turn around, a boy around your age was holding the books which fell off your hand, his hands extending the books in your direction.

You looked at him from head to toe, making the tip of his ears turn red as he saw you checking him out.

You smiled, so innocent and naive. You haven’t seen him around so you guess he must have joined the college this semester or that he was a nerd who didn’t like to come out of library or his classroom much.

“Thank you, Chan.”

You saw his eyes widened momentarily at the mention of his name.

“How do you know my name?”

“I stalked you.”

You laughed loudly after watching him get startled at the little lie you just told, so to avoid making him even more flustered than he already was you pointed your fingers at the Keychain hanging from his shoulder bag where his name was written in bold.

“Aah…”

He scratched the back of his head when you finally took your books from his hands.

“No worries.”

You raised your right hand up as you said so, he looked at you confused but then raised his own right hand thinking you wanted to hi-five but as soon as your hands touched his you intertwined both of your hands and brought them at the level of your face, taking two steps close to him.

At this point he was a blushing mess.

“Lee Chan, from now on we are a couple. See you later, boyfriend.”

You winked in his direction, pulling back your intertwined hands and ruffled his hair and left him in the hallway without looking back, you made your way towards the cafeteria.

Chan turned around watching you happily skipping in the opposite direction of where he was going.

Lots of whispers started around him, mainly people being jealous that you just proposed him right in the middle of the hallway but his mind was a complete mess.

You reached at your usual seat where your friends were seated. You brought your food with you and slapped them when they tried to take some of it.

“You are the talk of college now, lol.”

One of your friend snickered and others nodded their heads repeatedly. You sighed shaking your head.

“The dare was to say I like you to a random person not to become couple with a random stranger.”

“I don’t know what went into my mind. I was supposed to say I like you to him but I was so into teasing him and watching him blush that I kind of messed everything up.”

You replied feeling really shy all of a sudden.

“Are you blushing?”

“Oh my god yes she is.”

“SHUT UP!”

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You were walking down the stairs of your college, the last few weeks being hectic since the finals were around the corners.

You had spend extra time after college ended to revise the portion and now since it was almost evening you packed your belongings to head home.

You were about to exit the main door of your building near the auditorium when you felt someone grasp your hand forcefully turning you around.

“Dujoon? What are you doing here this late?”

He was your college senior, someone who was trying to court you from at least a year. You never liked him since he was very egoistic and didn’t have a personality you wanted to associate yourself into.

“Why? I can’t be here at this time or something?”

He smirked tightening his grip on your wrist when you tried to pull away your hand.

“Don’t even try to do that.” he said through gritted teeth, eyes narrowing in a threatening manner.

“What do you want?”

He irritated you because he didn’t know how to handle a rejection. You had been telling him you’re not interested since ages but all he does in follow you places.

“It’s been a while since I last found you alone.”

You looked at him disgusted, you really hated this guy. He couldn’t take no for an answer.

“I am busy I need to go.”

“No. I want you to say yes to me otherwise I’ll make your life living hell.”

You screamed when he tightened his grip more, your other hand holding his as you tried to pry his hands off you.

Dujoon was so obsessed with you to the point everyone knew about his failed attempts at courting you.

Honestly you were among those peers who would pass on as chill people neither nerdy nor popular but he had to ruin it by constantly courting you and getting rejected.

He was among the popular boys and at first you were his just another pry but since you rejected him, you became his obsession and claiming you as his was his way of building up his pride which you broke by rejecting him.

He wasn’t seen with any other girl after that and many people do believe he’s in love with you for real but you knew better.

“Leave her alone.”

A stern voice called behind you but before you could turn around to see a hand gently circled around your shoulder and the other held Dujoon’s tightly making the later hiss in pain and leave your hand.

You immediately started rubbing your wrist trying to subsidize the pain and you were sure it was going to pain a lot and leave a mark for sometime.

“Who do you think you are, interfering yourself into another people’s business.”

Dujoon came forward aiming to throw a punch when the said person dodged his punch as smack his face.

Dujoon stumbled backward, nit being used to someone fighting back with him.

“Me? I’m her boyfriend you can ask anyone in college.”

You finally out your head up as you recognized the voice, Lee Chan. You were so focused on your bruised wrist that you didn’t notice it was him.

“Her boyfriend?” Dujoon scoffed.

“Yes.” Chan smiled as he put his hand on your shoulder in a protective manner and started inspecting your wounded hand with another.

Your eyes were trained on the boy who was caressing the wound delicately, observing if it isn’t too bad. You didn’t even realize you were staring untill he snapped his fingers in front of your face.

“I asked if you are okay?”

You nodded your head unable to utter a single word, you look around for Dujoon and Chan informed that he left warning him that he’ll be back.

“Let me drop you home, it’s not safe for you to walk alone since he just cornered you like that.”

“Okay” you said as you felt yourself getting flustered again. He behaved so timid that day that you didn’t even think he would be capable of defending you in front of Dujoon, it never crossed your mind.

But guess you should judge people so soon.

“Thankyou.” you replied, you were walking on the sidewalk.

“No problem. I’m your boyfriend I am obliged to take care of you.”

He coughed as soon as he said that making you blush at that. You stopped in your tracks and he turned around.

“I was just joking, I’m sorry if I offended you.”

You wanted to laugh at how confused and puppy like he looked when he thought you were angry at him.

You shook your head as you laughed a little before pointing your hand across the street.

“That’s my house.”

“Aah is that so.”

“Yes I’ll take my leave.” you waved in his direction as you turn towards your house.

“Wait.” he exclaimed making you turn towards him in curiosity. “Since I saved you, I do deserve a coffee date, don’t I?”

You nodded your head, taking few steps towards him and getting on your tiptoe to kiss his cheeks lightly.

“Of course, boyfriend.” you winked in his direction as you pulled yourself away from him and turning to see if the signal is red or green and crossed the streets.

You stood in front of your house gate, turning around to see him still standing at the same spot with a hand on his cheek like a status.

“Chan!” you yelled getting his attention as you showed him your 7 fingers telling him that you’ll meet him at 7 in the evening tomorrow in front of your house and he nodded his head.

You went inside your house, a big smile plastered on your face. You sure had many things to tell to your friends and you were excited for that.

#Lee Chan #Dino #Seventeen dino #Seventeen #Dino imagines #Lee chan imagines #Lee Chan au #Dino au #Dino one shot #Lee Chan one shot #seventeen scenario #seventeen series #seventeen fic #seventeen blog #seventeen blurb #seventeen drabble #seventeen imagines fluff #seventeen x reader #seventeen x reader au

[myfuzzymilky]

Envision Your Cat Employing A Toilet - Effective Cat Toilet Training Procedures

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#Cat Toilet Training #cat toilet training kit