#i will tag it later with the show tag just for my own blog
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one warm day is all i really need | arthur morgan
When you find yourself taken in by a gang of outlaws, the last thing you expect is to grow sweet on one of them- and have the feelings reciprocated. Arthur Morgan doesn't have time for romantic nonsense, but a few memebers of the gang want to make sure that he gets to indulge in his obvious affection toward you. Tags: 3.9k words, an unlikely romance, meddling gang members (with the purest of intentions, one might suppose); female reader, alcohol use, smoking, emotional smut. A repost from a (regretfully) deactivated blog.
Arthur first notices your eyes on him one evening around the campfire at Shady Belle. He won’t accuse you of staring– Lord knows he’s been known to look at you with the same foolish grin you’re wearing now– but he tips his hat to acknowledge you. The heat in your cheeks is suddenly warmer than what the fire has already provided; your grin only grows until your teeth are showing, and you duck your head into your shoulder to hide. Arthur takes a long swig from his whiskey bottle and grimaces as it goes down. He hasn't had a drop of anything in days, and the burn takes a little while to grow numb to now.
“Think she's sweet on you, Morgan,” Sean says in his Irish lilt, giving Arthur an elbow in the ribs.
“Naw, she's lookin’ at you,” Arthur deflects, though he hopes he's wrong. He thinks he knows.
“She told me last week to keep my eyes on my own work,” Sean continues. “I really don't think it's me she wants, Arthur.”
You turn to whisper something to Sadie, who laughs out loud with her face tilted toward the stars. You dare a glance back at Arthur, who is, in fact, looking at you.
Maybe there's some truth to what Mary Beth told you yesterday.
“Arthur's been awful quiet lately.”
The sun shines through the trees and dapples the table where you're seated with bright spots of pale yellow. It's your third round of dominoes with Mary-Beth, and she's whooping your ass, as usual. You don't know how she does it, but each game you play, you're a little more privy to her prowess.
“You think so? I don't know him as well as you.” You hope it isn't obvious that your heart started beating a little faster at the mention of his name. It leaves you breathless.
“Oh yeah,” Mary-Beth continues. “He's been scratchin’ away in that journal of his a lot more, too.” She leans closer, conspiratorial, her eyes twinkling with the gossip she's about to share. “Karen said he went to town twice last week to have a hot bath. If you knew Arthur like I know Arthur, why…you'd know that's highly out of character for him.”
“But you said he'd been quiet. Is that unusual for him, too?”
She hums and purses her lips. “Well you see, Arthur isn't usually a man of many words on a good day. But it's been real bad lately. He don't even give John a hard time like usual.”
You ponder the dominoes for a moment and then make your move. It doesn't earn you any points, but at least you didn't have to draw. “What do you think the problem is?” you ask, nonchalant as possible.
Mary-Beth smiles. Big and bright and sparkling. “Oh, it's not a problem at all.” She lowers her voice and cups her hand to her mouth. “Arthur's in love.”
You gasp, then giggle behind your hand, and Mary-Beth follows suit. Hosea looks on and shakes his head, so you quiet down, reaching across to grab Mary-Beth's hands. “Who do you think it is?”
Her cheeks are tinted pink, and she looks around to make sure there aren't any ears to hear. Word travels fast around camp if one isn't prudent. “I think it's you.”
A thunderstorm rips through Shady Belle a little over a week later. Your little tent that you share with Sadie is ripped straight off its supports in a terrible gust of wind, and you and the others hightail it inside the house to take cover just as it begins to hail. There's quite a ruckus as everyone huddles inside, windblown and rain-soaked. A few of the men hold up lanterns to illuminate the darkness while you watch the lightning and feel the thunder shake the old bones of the house.
“Everyone just calm down,” Dutch calls, descending the stairs, wearing some ridiculous robe with his arms spread wide. “Are we really gonna let a little old thunderstorm keep us from getting a good night's sleep?”
“Says the man with a bed inside the house,” Arthur bites, rounding the corner from what used to be the kitchen, holding a lantern up high in front of him. “Dutch, you better allow these ladies to take cover in here for tonight, or I'll–”
“Or you'll what, Mister Morgan? Pray tell, what kind of man do you take me for?” Dutch's eyes are fiery as he stares Arthur down; a display of dominance. A veritable cockfight.
Arthur's jaw twitches, but he doesn't back down. “The kind of man I should hope would have some goddamn respect for his family.”
There's a tense moment or two where everyone is quiet, then Dutch relents. “Fine, fine! But I expect everyone out there pitching in to clean up in the morning.” He points at Arthur and raises his voice again. “That includes the other man with a bed inside the house,” he sneers.
Arthur shakes his head, then looks away only to catch sight of you, shivering in your wet undergarments, huddled close to Mary-Beth for what little warmth the two of you can share. For a minute, he forgets to breathe, then composes himself enough to cross the room.
“Come on in here. Get yourself warm and dry by the fire.” His hand on your elbow is rough but warm as he leads you toward the fireplace. You nod and look back at Mary-Beth, who shoos you away with a flick of her wrist and a wink; you notice that her teeth are chattering. Despite the humidity that hangs heavy in the air, the temperature has turned chilly with the storm.
Arms crossed over your bosom to preserve any shred of modesty you might have left, you allow yourself to be led away by Arthur. Dutch and some of the others head upstairs while Charles and Javier keep watch from the front porch.
“You alright?” Arthur asks. He covers your shoulders with one of his heavy winter coats, and you pull it around you, grateful for the weight and warmth of it. Another clap of thunder shakes the house and you jump. Arthur chuckles.
“You laughin’ at me?” you quip, placing your palms flat in the direction of the fireplace. You don't even bother to hide the grin you feel curling on your lips.
“No madam, I am not,” Arthur says earnestly, taking a seat beside you on the old wooden crate he's set up as a makeshift bench.
“Then just what do you find so funny, Mister Morgan?”
He scratches the back of his neck, looking into the flames. “Aw, I dunno. I'm sorry. It's just that you're…”
You bump him with your hip, unable to stop the giggles that bubble up from your chest. “I'm what?” you pry.
There's a clatter of something falling on the front porch, and Arthur uses it as a good excuse to get out of this hole he's dug for himself. “I better go see what's going on out there. Charles might need my help.”
“I'm what, Arthur?!” you call, to no avail. He's gone before he can see the proverbial hearts in your eyes.
The saloon in Rhodes is a little nicer than the ones you visited in Valentine, though it's a far cry from the ones you used to frequent in Saint Denis. Still, when Sadie and the other girls decide that it's high time you have a little fun in town, you throw on your best dress and let Karen curl your hair and even apply a little of the makeup you snagged from a homestead up north. For the first time in months, you feel like a proper woman. There isn't time to be melancholy about the past, though, when the boys start whistling and cat-calling upon the sight of you and the other girls.
“Aw, knock it off!” Sadie hollers. She's decided to dress up a little tonight, too, much to everyone's surprise. But she hikes up her skirts to hop into the wagon, calling for the rest of you all to hurry it up. “I've got a bottle of rum with my name on it that's waiting for me to come drink her all down!”
You catch the sunset on the way to town. It's dazzling over the meadows, all golden light and warm, blazing oranges and reds that settle into a brilliant pink by the time your reach the main road into Rhodes. You wish you could see Arthur's eyes, but he's got a handle on the reins next to Charles in the front of the wagon. You've seen him watching the sunset before; he always looks so peaceful those evenings at camp, and you often wonder what he thinks about in those few minutes before the horizon is painted in pastel hues.
Karen starts singing a song that everyone eventually joins, and before you know it, you're pulling up in front of the Rhodes Parlour House. You can already hear the piano and a few voices from outside; the sound of it stirs something in your soul that makes you long for the familiarity of home, but you quickly shove it aside in favor of the company of your new family.
“Madam.” Arthur's voice brings you out of your thoughts and back into the present, where he waits at the back of the wagon with his hand extended to you. You beam at him, and he feels dizzy. And when your soft hand fits into his, he straightens his knees so they don't buckle and betray him.
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” you say, lifting the hem of your skirts to step out onto the dirt road.
Arthur leans in, dangerously close to your ear. You can smell the whisky and cigarettes on his breath, along with the faint tang of gunpowder and hair pomade. “You sure do look nice in that dress.”
You demure and fan yourself with your hand. “Just how much have you had to drink already tonight?” you giggle.
“Ahh, just a little nip to take the edge off.”
“Mm-hm. Sure, Arthur. Whatever you say.”
The night starts off relatively calm, as most nights do. You and the other girls find an empty table to sit and pick up on the town gossip, and the men start a hand of poker. It grows loud and crowded sometime around midnight, and it's hard to have a conversation without shouting over the din of voices, the clink of glass bottles, and the slow drag ragtime music from the piano. The ambiance is charming and lighthearted, and there are even a few couples drunkenly dancing on the porch.
You push back in your chair and find that when you stand, you're a little more wobbly than you thought you would be. The alcohol has loosened you more than you realize, and you grip the table for support until you feel a firm arm around your waist. “Whoa there.”
It's Arthur, who has won the last round of poker and has come to check in on you and the other ladies. You're pulled tight against his chest for one fleeting moment, and you look up into his eyes. He, too, seems drunk, with his eyes gleaming and drooping at the corners, his smile easy and his cheeks flushed.
“My knight in shining armor,” you slur, pretending to faint in his embrace. He only pulls you tighter against him, both of his broad hands splayed across your back. You laugh, and he smiles.
“You weren't getting another drink, were ya?” he questions with a raise of his brow.
“‘m thirsty,” you whine, lifting your empty glass entirely too close to his face. It knocks against his nose, which sends you into another fit of laughter.
Arthur takes your wrist– gentle but firm– and lowers the glass away. “Think you need to drink something that's not whiskey,” he drawls. You can't help but watch the way his lips form around the words; the slip of his tongue between his teeth, the way his mouth turns up into the hint of a smile when you pout. Before you can think too long and hard about it, you lunge forward and kiss him. Hard and clumsy and impulsive. You don't give him time to react. You're far too involved in the kiss to notice, but the girls at the table behind you have all gone silent. Arthur slides his hand along the side of your face and presses his fingers upon the nape of your neck, kissing you back like he really means it. (He really does.)
You pull back suddenly, breathless and reeling, swiping the back of your hand over your mouth. You're still held firm in his embrace, but the playfulness in his gaze has been replaced with an intensity that makes your knees weak all over again.
“What'd ya do that for?” he asks.
“Could ask you the same thing.”
“Well, you started it.”
“And you finished it.”
“Oh, I ain't finished with you, yet.”
“That a promise or a threat?” Your pulse is thumping wildly in your ears.
“Ya know, they got rooms upstairs for that!” Sadie shouts. There's a ripple of laughter across the table. Arthur's hand on your cheek feels like a brand, his arm about your waist an anchor. The rest of the room comes back to you in a woozy blur, and you look around, a little lovestruck and a whole lot drunk. Arthur's lips at your temple make your eyes flutter shut, and the room fades to black as tIt'weight of you slumps against him. He staggers only slightly, but holds you firm, chuckling softly.
“It's a promise,” he whispers.
You come to some hours later. Your mouth is dry as the desert, your head feels like lead, your skin broken out in a cold, uncomfortable sweat. At some point, it seems you were covered with a downy soft blanket, and the pillow at your head is much more fluffy than the makeshift one you made out of a bedroll at camp. At first, you think you're dreaming. Then, you wonder very briefly if you're back at your childhood home in Saint Denis. You almost call out to your mother when you hear a soft snore from the other side of your bed.
The room spins when you turn your head, and you rub your eyes until Arthur comes into focus. He's sprawled in an armchair a few feet away. His arms are crossed over his chest while his chin is tucked into his chest. Off to the side, you spy his boots; his big toe pokes through a hole in his sock and you smile at how vulnerable he looks.
“Arthur,” you whisper, shifting slightly as you pull the blanket up around your chin.
He grunts and lifts his head slowly. He frowns a little at first, but when he focuses on you lying there, so close he could reach out and kiss you again like he did last night, there's a slow, easy smile that spreads across his face.
“Hey there, party girl. You feeling alright?”
You could kick yourself for all the giggling you've done around him lately, but you can't help it. He brings out something giddy and downright foolish inside you, so you toss a pillow at him and bury your face in the sheets.
“Aw, come on now. I'm just messin’ with ya.” He leans forward and rubs your head affectionately. “I'd say you were feeling pretty good last night.”
It's in that moment a white-hot jolt of sheer panic shoots down your spine. Quickly, you check to make sure you're still wearing clothes. Aside from your breasts being a little lopsided in the confines of your bodice, you're relieved to find that your dress is still intact and– more importantly– on your body. You dare another peek at Arthur and notice that his shirt is unbuttoned down to the middle of his chest and he's discarded his vest somewhere, but he, too, is fully clothed. Thank the good Lord above.
You must've said that last part aloud, because Arthur laughs. “Don't worry, nothing happened. Though it weren't for lack of tryin’ on your part,” he says, scratching the back of his neck. “Thought I was gonna have to lock you in here like some feral cat till you settled down.”
Oh. Oh Lord. You try to recall what happened that led you to this room, but all that comes to mind is a lot of loud conversation, some dancing, a spilled drink across Sadie's lap, and Arthur's hand on the side of your cheek. “Oh…”
Now you remember it in vivid detail.
“Didn't know you cared for me like that,” he says. It's earnest and tender, a few shades less intense than the kiss you now recall, the one where it felt like he wanted to eat you alive right there in the middle of the saloon. Now, he thumbs your cheek and looks at you so fondly you swear your heart jumps right up in your throat. “I mean, I'd been hoping. Wasn't sure you was looking for a romance.” He huffs a short sigh, frustrated with himself. “Aw, hell, what am I saying? ‘Course you weren't. You're just looking to survive, just like the rest of us, and here I–”
“Shut up,” you say, taking hold of his hand and tugging him closer. He resists until you pull even harder, watching the fire in your eyes blaze to life. “You talk too much, Yankee.”
“I ain't no damn–”
“Kiss me.”
He's over you in an instant; you're pressed flat against the bed, completely and totally at his mercy. This kiss feels different than the drunken one last night. It's sober and honest, if not a little hesitant, as if he's holding himself back from devouring you wholly. The warmth of his body against yours takes your breath away. Or maybe it's the way his tongue laves heavy into your mouth, unashamed of how badly he craves the taste of you. You grip his hair at the roots and tug him down to kiss him harder, lifting your upper body to meet him until he presses down, his chest flush with yours.
Things get heated quickly.
His mouth moves across your cheek, down your neck, and he groans against your skin, rutting his cock against your thigh. You fleetingly wish that he had managed to get you out of that dress before he presumably tucked you into bed and passed out in that chair, because there’s a whole lot of fabric between you and him that really pisses you off right now. Arthur must feel much the same, because he’s bunching your skirts up past your knees while you’re fumbling with his belt buckle, desperate to feel him against you, inside you. It’s clumsy and crazed, rushed and rough, but you manage somehow to shuck off every last bit of your clothes and his until you’re breathless and so, so eager beneath him.
“Need you now,” you whine. You feel insane. Dizzy and dehydrated, impossibly turned on, every nerve ending on fire when his callused hands grip the fat of your thighs and open you to him.
“Greedy little thing, ain’t ya?” One of his hands slips between your legs to find you wet and swollen. He presses the pad of his thumb against your clit and pushes a finger inside you; the sound you make nearly has him finishing there on the sheets, so he wastes no time in getting himself as close to you as humanly possible.
“Never wanted something so bad,” he murmurs into the dip of your shoulder. He wants all of you– all at once– wants to fuse his hands against your skin and sink himself into you so deep that it would be impossible to tell where he ends and you begin. The heat from his body takes away what little breath you have left, his mouth on each part of your body building the buzz in your chest until you feel like you might just burst open. You grabbed at each other like it was the first and last time you might have this opportunity, as if you wanted more than what the other of you was able to give.
Considering the kind of life you’ve both led so far, it’s a good possibility that you might never get to do this again.
��Give it to me,” you plead, opening yourself further to him, fingers wrapped firm around the base of his cock. “Please.”
Arthur Morgan is a man of incredible strength and self restraint, except when it comes to a woman like you.
There’s nothing gentle about the way he takes you. It’s primal, sweaty, filthy, rough. Arthur pushes as far inside you as he can go, then pushes further when you beg for more. He cups your knees with slick palms and presses you open as far as you can bend; you tug roughly at his hair and bite down on his shoulder when the pleasure builds to a blinding ferocity. The wooden bedframe knocks angrily against the wall with each thrust, but you can’t bring yourself to care if anyone hears. You can’t focus on anything beyond the feeling of him filling you with every stroke of his cock, of the taut, corded muscle in his back and shoulders as you grapple to hang on as tight as you can. Your orgasm hits your hard and fast, and he encourages you through it, taking his time to give you long, controlled strokes. It’s as pleasurable for him as it is for you. “‘Atta girl,” he rasps, lips moving against your ear. Your hand flies to your mouth to muffle your cries, but he pulls it away and threads his fingers with yours, pressing it onto the pillow. “I wanna hear it.”
Your moans are what drive him over the edge.
He buries his face against the side of your neck, panting heavily as he comes, driving into you so hard that you can almost feel the mattress beneath you begin to sag under the weight. You cradle his head in your hands and link your legs around his waist, boneless and languid in the aftermath of your own pleasure. When he moves, you move with him, riding out the waves together until you’re both too tired to move another muscle.
Neither of you speak for a while. He lies on his back with an arm around your shoulders while you curl against him, tuned into his heartbeat and swirling little patterns into the hair on his chest. It’s comforting to feel him next to you, to watch his chest rise and fall as he steadies his breathing, to soak up the warmth of his skin against yours.
You’re the first to break the silence. “Did everyone else go back to camp last night?”
Arthur nods slowly. “Something tells me they planned all this.”
“Planned it? You mean…” You lift your arm slowly and flick your wrist to acknowledge the room you’re laying in. “This?” You lift your chin and grin at him. “Or getting us together?”
“Room was paid for before I even had a chance to ask if they had one,” he explains. “Think it was Mrs. Adler.”
You vaguely recall her shouting something about a room after you kissed Arthur last night, and you shake your head. “You complaining?”
He turns to his side, draping an arm across your hip. “Me? Never.” You’re suddenly pressed beneath him once again; from the looks of it, you won’t be getting out of this bed anytime soon. “Specially when I’ve got you here to help me keep warm.”
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Hi there. First off, I’m sorry my DNI was not posted on this blog but outside of this discussion, do not interact with me. Feel free to respond though. Other endos, go away.
I am having this discussion in good faith, but I have a poor opinion of the endogenic community and I am not trying to be polite about it. The way i say things might sting some, but I have too much to say to take the direct autism out of my tone. I apologize in advance and thank you for your understanding.
Also, i will be putting “non-disordered plurality” in quotes because… i still don’t believe in it, but there’s an explanation for everything and I’m not trying to deny the experience you do have, but I would like to highlight that it may not be what you think it is.
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First: you can say all you want that all of the above is true, and honestly I do not really care because endos do not keep me up at night. But even through your entire rebuttal you call endogenics with disabled terms, all while claiming that you’re different things.
System is a disabled term, for disabled people, not for “endogenic plurals” or anyone non-disordered.
Using it as a “non-disordered plural” is ableism. You are taking words away from people with real and serious disorders when you use them to spread information about “non-disordered plurality”. Those words are not for you. Please respect that. Use your own words.
On a similar line, endos also use tags containing “system”, “alter”, “split”, etc. Anecdotally, you haven’t seen it, because maybe you stay out of our way, but others don’t.
[Edit: Checked your profile: you *personally* use system! Please stop doing that. And please don’t say you don’t, it is all over your profile!]
Also, A LOT of you guys love to use “traumascum” when (disordered) systems don’t want to interact with you! That is top tier ableism, bordering on entire slur usage at this rate. You guys as a community *invented a slur* to be ableist to systems. Just be aware of that.
To sum up this section: Endos are generally an ableist group, either stealing our words or using a slur they made for us. They should not be doing that regardless of the truth of “non-disordered plurality”.
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Next: The ICD recognizes spiritual practices an example of multiple *personality states*. It does not recognize the “plurality” most endos claim to have, which are either real symptoms of a CDD, or mimicking a CDD.
Also, I hate to be this guy, but when something is normal for someone, it can’t always initially be reported as “distressing”; It doesn’t become distressing until you realize what happened to you, and sometimes it becomes undistressing after you accept it. I know clinicians wont diagnose unless you show distress, but I firmly still believe that if you have all the symptoms of a CDD and yet don’t feel distressed, you’re still disordered. CDDs are traumagenic neurodevelopmental disorders, that doesn’t go away because you become okay with it.
Another thing about this: The cut off date is a theory, and only works for otherwise-NT kids. If you have a neurodevelopmental disorder (like autism for example), your “cut off” date is a lot later. Also, your small-T traumas count too; You don’t have to have been seriously abused or anything to need to cope with life by developing a CDD. Kids brains are the ones in charge; ‘serious trauma’ is whatever your kid-brain fet it was. Just think about that.
(The “im trauma-endo because my trauma happened when i was 10” crowd are the ones i worry about the most, because you aren’t endo just because the trauma happened ‘late’, I’m sorry to be the one to tell you.)
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Sidebar, i do not have time to vet all those doc sources you sent me in addition to all this, but i will eventually rb with my findings. Thanks for understanding. I will concede that part to you as you did present something, and I can’t debunk you right now in good faith.
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You said something interesting here:
You cannot be ableist about something that *you claim* is not a disorder. Ableism is discrimination or prejudice based on disability status. This is the point we keep having to hammer home for you.
And I’m sorry that it hurts your feelings when people point it out, but it’s necessary: If you’re talking about the pointing out of delusions, I have delusional episodes and I can personally assure you, I say it with concern for some of you. I genuinely think a good amount of you are covering up whatever trauma you endured, or are possibly suffering from a delusional disorder. It is not ableist to say so.
[Edit 2: If your claim is true (your heart symptoms get worse and you experience physical pain when told these things), that is **POTENTIALLY** indicative of a larger issue! If available, please see a doctor, and if not, watch your health and stay out of syscourse.]
We ((disordered) systems) get to decide what “real systems” are because, and say it with me: SYSTEM IS A DISABILITY TERM. We get to decide how it’s used, just like nonverbal autistics get to tell selective-mute autistics to get *their* own words. Words mean things. Get your own.
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Bottom line, be “plural” all you want, but I’m sorry to tell you that what 99% “endogenics” claim is non-disordered plurality, just isn’t, and it’s dangerous to spread the misinformation I just had to debunk in this post.
For all these reasons, i firmly believe that Endos and their community full of what OP described, and predatory people who want to keep it that way.
I don’t usually interact with people who claim to be endo, because I feel this way, but I know y’all have a right to your beliefs. You need to think about them though. And you need to not steal words from the disabled to express them. Thanks.
I hope you understand and take the time to read the whole post.
-Juniper
what actually are endogenic systems?
• Endogenic is an umbrella term that refers to all systems that are not completely traumagenic in origin.
Why are some people claiming to be endo?
• people claiming to be endogenic systems may:
• be misdiagnosed, they may not have DID/OSDD and may have a different disorder.
• may not have researched. Which is not a excuse. You cannot claim to have any disorder without any level of research.
• they may be a traumatic system in denial of there trauma.
• singlets with fractitious disorders [Factitious disorders are conditions in which a person deliberately and consciously acts as if they have a physical or mental illness when they are not really sick.]
•singlets misidentifying normal experiences
• singlets who enjoy "being a system" finding it fun etc
Why can't endos exist?
• as previously stated. DID/OSDD is a TRAUMA RESPONSE DISORDER. you cannot have it without trauma literally.
• OSDD/DID occurs because of childhood trauma between the ages 4-9 (commonly). Because extreme trauma happens when the majority of your "personality" is formed by then. the trauma interferes with your personality development, causing the formation of other alters to help cope with that trauma / deal with the brunt of the trauma and survive day to day life.
• OCDD/DIDs can only be formed through trauma.
Why are endos so harmful?
• they spread very harmful misinformation. (Even the idea of being endogenic, forming without trauma)
they spread dangerous misinformation and stigma (demonising roles (persecutors for example)) impossible beliefs (alter death, sys hopping etc)There growing presence in general on many platforms
• endos trying to say that they have any experience to anything close to the serious trauma that causes DID/ OSDD is so so harmful to actual DID/ OSDD have had to live through and survive.
• WE ARE ALREADY STIGMATISED AND DEMONSIED IN ALL SORTS OF MEDIA AS IS.
• IT IS SO HARMFUL AND HURTFUL TO SYSTEMS WHO HAVE ACTUALLY SURVIVED AND BEEN THROUGH THE HORRORS AND TRAUMA THAT CAUSES DID/OSDD - OUR TRAUMAS ARE NOT BADGES FOR YOU TO WEAR.
- blurred asf
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btw, I get that idea of Rubes mom being an ordinary woman is awesome, like anyone can be important for the world and all, but after everything that was shown to us, I waited for something... more
don't get me wrong, not everything should be 'big' event, but she was important just because Ruby wanted to know who she is, we as an audience have only that, we don't know her, but there are many kids out there who wanna know who their parents are, why only Rubes mom was that important that god of death wanted to know her name as well? what about father though
The woman herself did nothing but exist, the way everything around the mystery of her identity indicated that she was something big, the revelation did not match the mystery. That's what makes me like ??? ohkay... so that's it? don't get me wrong, in any other situation I would be more than happy to see ordinary people saving the day, Rose Tyler was an ordinary girl, but look at her. She became so important, important to the universe itself and us, an audience, and that's amazing, Jackie Tyler was an ordinary mom, but she could beat Sutekh's ass in a fight, not saying Ruby's mom had to do the same, the mom is not important herself at all as far as I am getting it, it was the fact that Ruby wanted to know who her mother is. Ordinary people were always there in doctor who, saving everyone, but this one feels off cos we do not have connection with the character.
I get the message, kinda? I am glad for some people it meant something, what about others though, who wants to watch a silly tv show where mysteries have some kind of answers, like me. or at least some hints indicating in what direction I should go to find the answer on my own.
Ruby's mom is just a tool. her being ordinary is not the problem, but the way it is presented for me as a viewer is a problem. You built up so much and then give us... poof. Ruby is just a girl, an ordinary girl that was important herself, I would be happy if she saved the day, and in some ways I can pretend she did, but honestly, the entire plan against Sutekh was planned offscreen and then Doctor kills Sutekh, so the only answer given to us is that the universe was saved because Sutekh waited to get the answer, cos Ruby wanted to know the answer, as if none other child on the planet Earth ever wanted to find their parents. She wanted to know the answer so much that god of death wanted it as well. And I did not even mention everything else surrounding Rubes yet. also making Ruby wanting to know identity of her mother is something I can relate to, but she also had a mother who cared for her, who loved her, who we have seen and I liked that character, but the idea of Ruby wanting to know identity of her biological mom saves the universe instead... not the mother herself. Bill saved the world with the love for her mother once, and I cared for everyone involved in that moment, because I have seen how important Bill's mom was for her, we hardly knew her, but we did have some connection with her through Bill, so the finale where she saves the world makes you feel something. That does not mean we had to know who Ruby's mom was, but whatever the show tried to show us was establishing something different from who the mother actually was. But you know what? RTD could show us a random woman who does something somewhere, a picture in the background, on tv, something, idk how it would fit the stories, but hints thrown about the woman here and there would be enough, I mean, if we saw Ruby;s mom at least once in some situation, would not you be more excited to get the answer and be like 'omg we have seen her in ep number n, that's her???' she is still an ordinary person, a no name, but we know her in some way already. but here it's like nobody out of nowhere, that's not how you make it work for the audience... A person hidden and pointing at Doctor did not make me connected with the character to care about them, but I was curious about who was that character, how they are connected to the Doctor, and why her existence is hidden for the god of death. And in the end, it was a random woman who had nothing to do with the Doctor, and her existence was important because a child she left wanted to find her, again, there are many children who want that as well, what makes this one stand out?
The way the mystery of Ruby's mom was presented felt like it has connection with the Doctor, and by the end you expect Doctor having to do something with it. The other fact is that there is god of death, who was always with the Tardis, which is fun, there are so many things happening in the past we find out only now, how fun is that we praise only some of the retcons here :)
So, we have god of death, what I get is that pup can kill all the living things in the universe, which means he can't kill what is already dead. So, I presume that he knows everything he killed, since he only wants to know one woman, which bugs me with Rube's mom here, because if the earth is dead then she is dead as well, which means Sutekh killed her and knows of her, maybe he can't indicate which dust was which person before and since Ruby is not dead and did not became dust he can't connect her mother to Ruby to know the answer lmao. I don't get why the answer was so important to the pup, though. But we will not pay attention to that, otherwise the show would not exist, and when it was that doctor who made much sense, it was always about feelings for me and emotions I experience watching the show.
Now, since we established some things above, the problem pup had was the mystery, not the person, so the answer to the mystery must be something as big to save a life in the entire universe, because the creature like Sutekh who can wipe out all the life was interested enough to get the answer. but also, the mystery must have connection to the doctor, cos the answer that Ruby's mom is important because Ruby wanted to know who she is has nothing to do with the main character of the show.
So, I wrote all of it because there is a character who actually fits the role of Ruby's mom the best in my opinion, maybe it's not as great as the answer we got is, maybe you will say there's a nostalgia whore speaking in me and I only need the old characters back and all
This character is important for the Doctor, can actually travel through time and space, the character was a mystery as well, this character is not alive, they exist between one heartbeat and another... and yes, that's Clara Oswald. hear me out
Clara was there as well as Sutekh in Doc's life for so long, she transcends through time and space, she has time travel machine as well, she can't be seen by Sutekh cos she is already dead, she is not part of his dead empire, she exists out of life and death rules, she is the mystery for Sutekh as well, you cannot kill her, she is not alive, you cannot find her, she also existed in every time Sutekh created Susans. That connection could explain obsession of Sutekh with getting an answer, that he risked everything he worked for - just to get that answer.
Also, while being a tiny blond - Ruby Sunday resembles Clara Oswald a lot, I won't start how and all, but in my opinion having a living child while being not dead/not alive fully (?) herself would be an amazing mystery to defeat death itself. And it would be so much better if Sutekh was defeated by Ruby not the Doctor, Ruby, the proof that life can exist in death, but also being connected to the Doctor. Being in his life all along and knowing that something's coming up and slowly giving hints through time and space so Doctor finds Ruby, but not actually telling him to not change the timeline and all, showing him that he should go and help her, that Ruby Sunday exists to save the life and Doctor is the one who should protect that life, that would be awesome. not the Doctor being life itself against god of death, but the protector of life.
But alas, we get what we get, thanks for coming to my ted talk
#text#the rant#i will tag it later with the show tag just for my own blog#removed what might be taken wrong from here about rtd :')#cos i sounded like a hater - i am not#also removed mentions of chibnall cos it never ends well when you compare things here lately#anyway#im gonna continue watching salvation now bye#watching adventures#don't throw stones at me i wrote there who i wanted rube's mom to be :')#but actually it would be better to have some connection to the mother in some ways even if it is not a super important character and all#by the end of the show she was looking at the tardis disappearing like what the fuck is happening here???#same way i was looking at the screen when the identity revealed lmao#doctor who
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a discussion i'm really fascinated by is viewing DID formed in infancy or around there through a similar lens as neurodivergency, but i always hesitate to talk about it because i feel like even other people who are neurodivergent or have DID could easily take things the wrong way or aren't educated enough on their own conditions to properly discuss it with the nuance it deserves. but it really does interest me
#kiki was here#kiki.txt#did posting#note to self to go back and change my did tag to that later on old posts#i don't want all of this stuff to show up in the tags people actually browse#i just like being able to find things on my own blog
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being a huge fan of tlou but also like. thinking that certain stories are built for certain mediums. like the entire theme of tlou2 is grounded and fresh because it’s a railroad/story video game that still affords you mechanical choices in how you navigate the world. i just don’t have a lot of confidence that presenting that story in a tv show with the minimal adjustments that they did in s1 will be fulfilling or compelling in any comparable way. because with tlou1 some of the like. beauty of that story was simply that it was such an emotive story contained in the medium of video games. and some of that was retained just by hitting similar or expanded emotional beats in the show, like the episodes that expanded on the life of the characters and the realities of that world. but truly so much of tlou2 emotional depth and ‘why does this story matter’ rests in the fact that’s it’s your hands on the controller, continually choosing to go forward in the story and have hope that it will work out in your-as-ellie-or-abby-or-somehow-booth’s favour. and you simply cannot get that in a non-interactive medium like television. like i do think tlou2 is a good story but it’s a good story because of the investment required by the player to keep pressing buttons and keep returning and to feel the adrenaline like responses of high intensity moments and be jarringly shifted into backstories that only increase the frustration. in general i’ve been thinking a lot about cross-medium adaptation and on the one hand i am glad that season 1 makes the story of the last of us more accessible to people who wouldn’t pick up a video game but it’s also like. maybe instead we can destigmatize video games as this inaccessible and dangerous medium a bit more instead of just . implicitly agreeing . like no maybe your mom won’t pick up a video game controller and play the last of us . but maybe you can play the game in the living room. sometimes the mediums that stories are told in aren’t just important but are actually foundational parts of how the information of a story is conveyed and that’s not only okay but is fucking fantastic. we should be happy actually that there are so many ways to collect a bunch of themes and ideas and put them together and hold them out to someone else and say “won’t you consider this with me. won’t you feel these emotions and care about these characters with me.”
#i’ve been thinking about this both for academic and personal reasons#where like. my thesis literally includes discussion of tlou2 and it’s profundity because of the players position as in control but without#real decision making power in the story#and it’s like. you’re the person animating these two ptsd ridden women who subject themselves to be puppets to their#own grief . and there’s something particularly resonant about the fact that you can’t change the Story. you can only play it.#and like . i’ve talked with my mom a lot about the last of us#since i played it the first time and it really just rocked my shit. and i remember walking out my bedroom after i’d finished tlou2#feeling that odd mixture of empty and completely fulfilled by a good story with tears in my eyes#and a few years later when i visited home and had happened to bring my ps4 along with me and i was having a rough time#my mom asked if i’d want to show her tlou. because she knew i loved it and because i’ve told her it has tropes she’d enjoy#but the only games she’ll ever play are point and click because she’s stubborn and some physicality stuff#but like i remember sitting on the couch just. playing this game and it wasn’t the exact same as her playing it herself . but sometimes her#commentary was like it was.#i just. idk man. tlou lover wants to be hyped but seeing the exact same visuals from the game just in tv show format is like#. what’s the point. why are you distilling the themes by removing the active (non)agency of the player and#replacing it with the passive role of ‘watcher’ in a story so emphatically about having an active role in the action#anyway#tagging this#tlou#for blog organization but this isn’t discourse or whatever just me thinkin my thoughts on my blog
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Aaaaaaahhhhhhhh today I've been constantly experiencing the urge to un-private today-in-the-devildom & start writing for it again
#i'm gonna ramble in the tags but#i've been talking with starr (if you're reading this--hi starr!! <3) about the blog today and sharing some of the entries#and it just made me miss it so much#+ the conversation actually made me realize some other reasons why i didn't enjoy the blog in general anymore#like i genuinely love the blog and i genuinely loved writing for it & that conversation reminded me of that#but also there were so many reasons that ultimately pushed me to more or less abandon the blog & then later private it too#so i'm kind of at a loss here#tbh i think i'm mostly just scared to pick the blog up again only for it to end exactly like last time i picked it back up#i've actually always wanted for the blog to be a source of inspiration y'know?#like the things mentioned in the entries are kinda just small ideas right#i was hoping that people would read these & feel inspired to write or draw something of their own based on my entries#that was actually what made me start the blog in the first place. the hope that i could inspire others that way#aaahhhhhh.... maybe it's on me since i could have more openly communicated that idea......#i did get to meet one wonderful person who wrote a few fics based on my entries tho!! (hi ali <3)#but yeah..there's that#also the way engagement just dropped significantly after a while#like i know i was gone for a good while & that a lot of people left the fandom and all that#but still getting maybe one reblog if i'm lucky really feels like a punch to the gut#ESPECIALLY considering that i was close to 900 followers on there#do you guys know that feeling when you proudly show someone you care about something you did only to get a disinterested answer?#yeah...#that's essentially how it feels like to me#and well as you might know the feeling of “why should i keep writing if apparently no one cares” eventually won... haha.....#but aaaahhhhh i'm still clinging onto the hope & what ifs here#that conversation with starr really just made me forget about everything that frustrated me about the blog & left me with this#longing feeling to start again lol#hey if you've made it this far into the tags let me just ask--would you care if i picked the blog back up?#would you also *show* that you care?#i'm actually quite curious (you could almost call me george lol)#anyway maybe we'll see each other on today-in-the-devildom again in the future.. who knows
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hi everyone ! !
it's been a while since i've really posted anything on this blog. sorry about that, however i've been a lot happier! i got back into things that make me so, so incredibly happy and excited!
that's more vital to me, my happiness over my interests mean a lot to me so of course i'm sticking to the things that make *me* happy.
with that though: i'm still in the selfshipping community but i don't know if i'll post anything on this blog about it, or my selfships anymore. i don't know. that's still something i need to think about.
i wanted to post something on here considering the fact i haven't posted in a while; i haven't forgotten about y'all, promise. i rather enjoy the things i like and selfship privately because then i don't feel horrible for shipping myself with a character that means a lot to me.
however! there are a lot of nice people in this community! i just like to do my own thing.
i might reblog things on here but at the moment, i'm enjoying my time away from this side blog and enjoying prioritizing my main blog a lot more.
also happy pride! i hope this month has been kind and gentle to you all!
#ashley talks#is that the tag for this blog i havent been on here in so long i forgot my own tags lol#oh it is ok lol#this community has probably stunted my mental health more than id like to admit actually now that i think about it#that could be why i dont like being public with my ships#i was gonna add something about discord on here although idk if any of yall wanna talk to me on discord#if you do uh send an ask? please dont dm me thatll be rad#<- just dont trust dms really#ok goodbye now. im going back to enjoying silly things and crying about my favourite tv show again#later
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Ch. 2 of And the Sea became Blood will probably take it's time, I mean, more scenes than not are still pretty much skeletons.
But, we must appreciate a supportive brother. ❤ Especially after she called him Dr. Phil.
Also, I'm seriously thinking about Charlize Theron as Lucifer's faceclaim.
They'd look great together, no?
#warrior nun#warrior nun fanfiction#ava silva#sister lilith#lilith villaumbrosia#diary pages#writing journal#warrior nun fic#warrior nun fandom#wn fandom#warrior nun thoughts#warrior nun biblical au#and the sea became blood#lilith x lucifer#when I said I wouldn't tolerate the lucifer and lilith dynamic being torn apart I didn't mean I mind them both being women#seriously charlize just has that vibe#adriel always ends up having a supermodel for a mother#tbh here he has two mothers though lilith is his stepmom#i have no idea who titus or raphael's faceclaims would be or many of the others'#i always end up putting on so many tags because idk filing system also half of them get eaten for some reason#how am I supposed to navigate my own hoard of a blog when I need to find some obscure rant#writers on tumblr#writer problems#seriously this chapter isn't short i already crossed to 11 pages and only two scenes are fully fleshed out#i struggled with that interview for a while then also decided adriel and his followers have to discuss it#tbh showing his cardinals more is important because of what's planned next#most of this chapter is just... Ava and Adriel crossing paths randomly because what else am I supposed to do for buildup#they aren't going to meet in some diplomatic dinner#unless... tbh some serious event scene would be insanely great BUT later in the story when there's more estabilished tension between them#right now a moment of being civil over a drink will do ( why not Ava's just avoiding Heaven time and they're both stalking one another)
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maybe i will like him in the later eps he appears in more but at least based on thee first ep abt him i. do not like jet atm 😭😭 like im sorry but he is infact. giving gale !!
#guy who just reread the hunger games consuming any other media: getting a lot of hunger games vibes from this#but actuallyy he is ! and at least its ambiguos wether or not gale made the bomb that killed prim jets just like okay yeah im gonna kill al#the innocent people in this village bc the fire nation took over it like. dude !!!#again maybe i will like him more in the other eps hes in later. i dont actually remember if i did on my first watch#also this is kinda worded like its my first time watching its not. im just rewatching for my first time in over a year#and having not personally engaged in the fandom for a while. also my first watch while. making sure to develop my own opinions on the show#instead of just having the opinions of everyone around me by default. hence me not liking jet atm. sorry but i must speak my truth#also love tht im kinda taking the fact tht u all know i dont like gale for granted. this blog is HASHTAG TEAM PEETA !!!#(from a which character i prefer angle. but also ofc everlark 5ever etc. but thts also not rly the point. anyway)#flappy rambles#atla#<- in that tag just for me sorry if it ends up in the main tag too#i might have rambles in the tags enough that it didnt tho idk
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જ⁀➴ this is why we can't have nice things || matt sturniolo
sturniolo masterlist taglist
the kitchen smelled of ginger and cinnamon as matt stood at the counter, sleeves rolled up, carefully squeezing icing onto a gingerbread wall. she was beside him, painstakingly placing little candy decorations in a neat line.
“alright, what’s the plan here?” matt asked, glancing at the pile of candy she insisted on using. “we’re making a cute little house,” she said, voice laced with determination. “it’s a gingerbread mansion with the amount of candy you bought, darling.” he teased, smirking as he popped a gumdrop into his mouth.
before she could respond, chris barged into the kitchen, a can of pepsi in hand. “yo, what are you guys doing? trying to win a baking competition or something?”
“trying to build a house,” matt replied, emphasizing trying as the roof he’d just placed slid off.
chris laughed, leaning against the counter. “you need my expert advice?” “not unless you want icing in your hair,” matt shot back playfully, though there was a serious glint in his eyes.
nick appeared next, his curiosity piqued by the commotion. “what’s going on? oh, this is gonna collapse in like two seconds.”
“it’s not collapsing,” she protested, glaring at him as she added a little green wreath to the front door. “it’s going to be perfect.”
nick raised an eyebrow. “define perfect.”
“nick, go away,” matt muttered, though he was grinning now, caught between annoyance and amusement.
nick didn’t leave, of course. instead, he grabbed a piece of gingerbread from the “extra” pile and started munching. “i’m just saying, this isn’t very structurally sound.”
chris grabbed the icing bag from matt. “i’ll show you how it’s done.”
ten minutes later, the kitchen was a disaster zone. icing was everywhere—on the counter, on the floor, and somehow even in nick’s hair. candy was scattered like confetti, and the gingerbread house was leaning precariously to one side.
chris stood back, proudly admiring his handiwork. “i think it adds character.”
“you mean chaos,” nick muttered, wiping icing off his sleeve on chris’ shirt to which the later yelled about.
matt sighed, looking at the mess with his hands on his hips. then he turned to his girlfriend, a smirk tugging at his lips. “at least it’s better than the one they’d make on their own.”
“definitely,” she agreed, laughing as she swiped some icing onto matt’s cheek. “hey!” he grabbed a handful of flour and dusted it over her head in retaliation, making her squeal. nick and chris watched the madness unfold, both shaking their heads.
“this is why we can’t have nice things.” chris said, grinning.
an; heh the title doesn't match at all but it's okay :3 it's 24 dec for me so enjoy this little christmas gift from meeeee i have more ideas and i might just post them :)
tags; @eirianna @thebasicbiatch @katamcauley @wxnyzie @lilmear-blog @vrlixlia @star-fuck-off @embonbon @idkversace @annawilk @r0nnsblog @weluvwbb @c1ydessturniolo @vintagebishx @maddie-bell @timmdmdm @happydiplomatshepherdspy-blog @crispycitrus @faith-f1 @escapentropy @florscons @carlossainzwho @luckylampzonkland @lewisroscoelove @mudryklover @rageshots @dontworryaboutit007 @chair-things @myangelbaby555 @sheesh1311 @f1lovely @silia1raf @blahbel668 @my-dinos-life-is-good @ssturniolo92 @lilly6110 @lou-larcher5 @arminluvrr @mxryxmfooty @gabri3la-sturns @bellsboops @f1-and-shiz @emely9274 @starstrucktyrantinfluencer @kayla-hearts4sturniolo @unx100to @strnlslut
@mattslovergirlie @sarakpalsd @sweetobservationface @shadowthesim @mattslolita @cupiidk1lls @urloveanaa @t1llysblog @meatball10 @fiowerbeds
#cherrynflowergarden🦢🌹🍒#matt sturniolo#nick sturniolo#chris sturniolo#sturniolo triplets#christopher sturniolo#nicolas sturniolo#sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo x reader#matt sturniolo x you#mattew sturniolo#matt sturniolo smut#matt sturniolo fic#matt sturniolo fanfic#matt sturniolo fluff#matthew sturniolo#matt sturniolo angst#matt sturniolo imagine#chris sturniolo x reader#chris sturniolo x you#nick sturniolo x you#nick sturniolo x reader
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MIDNIGHT CINDERELLA MEMORIAL POST
The Midnight Cinderella app will be closed on Monday August 26th, 2024 (5 PM JST). The English version was actively updated from 2014 to 2021 when Cybird announced the ceasing of operations for MidCin, but the app remained accessible until today. I'm sure I'm not the only one who mourns the loss of it even after all these years of discontinuation, so I wanted to put together a post to properly say goodbye to it. Trying my best not to make it all too sappy - I'd rather look at it as a show that reached its final episode. Some things might be left unresolved but in the end, you remember the cast and the emotions they made you feel more than the actual plot. Nowadays there arguably may be better titles by Cybird out there, but for me, the simplicity of MidCin was what made the details so memorable.
1. VIDEO - POV: You're playing Midnight Cinderella (for 10 minutes)
The 10-minute version (without sound) is accessible via the link above (opens in Google Docs) This one I was really excited about recording! It's just your normal day playing midcin, I'm sure many will find it nostalgic and comforting. You log in, claim your daily bonus (I used the chance to do a present box reveal, 90+ items, many of which you might recognize from route grace checks), play the garden gacha (in my case, I used up all the points I had accumulated, 7800 which equals 39 solos), do your princess lessons, change your avatar, greet your friends, read 1/5 of today's free story parts, check the ranking and your stats, look at your memories directory. The video has no sound, as the game wouldn't let me turn it on (you will see me try to do so throughout the video...) but later on I got it to work so I recorded a one-minute video (the one imported above) of me replenishing stamina just for those iconic sound effects that you either loved or absolutely couldn't stand the volume of, haha.
2. A Midnight Cinderella playlist (spotify link)
While I wasn't there for the early days of midcin, the songs I associated with the game almost always captured this very specifically nostalgic 90s-10s period, you'll see what I mean. Many of those are taken from 8track playlists dedicated to Midnight Cinderella, and if I'm not mistaken you can still look at what is left of them if you search them up. Others are just my very random interpretations of the route stories and the characters.
3. Fic recommendations
We have a lovely community of creatives and there are still so many works left behind which you can check out on the tags! But especially for fics I wanted to list some that truly touched me during the years (all links open in ao3) -
i'm on fire and its NSFW bonus scene bloodstream by a deleted user - words are not enough for this one. It's like it meant more than Nico's whole route for me at one point, and the songs are forever in my heart as Nico songs...
MidCin Works by DBMidCin (SoftSen) - ALL of these. This is my go-to collection of writings for midcin when I start to miss the game, it has a little bit of everything. The headcanon of Giles teaching his girls French for instance is one of the things I still remember reading like it was yesterday!
Bedroom Etiquette (NSFW) by RubyLeeRay - Because this is the dream. Doing something forbidden with your tutor Giles is the ultimate fantasy, I swear. I just love it.
And of course, many, many more. There are currently 166 works on the midcin tag in Ao3, and I'm sure there are a lot of hidden gems here on tumblr as well! Reminder that writers LOVE it when you interact with their old works, it's not weird, you shouldn't hesitate doing so if you find yourself enjoying any of them! <3
4. My own humble collection of MidCin writings on my writing blog @xxsycamore!
Maid, Butler, Chamberlain (NSFW) - Nico x MC with Giles joining them
Grabbles: 💋 Demand for a kiss, right here, right now (GILES); 👔 Stealing their clothes to cuddle when you miss them (BYRON); more coming soon as there are still some in my askbox and I plan on including midcin in future short writings request openings too.
Shared Moments (NSFW) - Nico x Reader - Secret relationship
Ice-cold heat (NSFW) - Byron x Reader - Temperature play
Double the Surprise - Alyn and Leo birthday fic
Leo Crawford having a misadventure with a cat (ao3 link) - crack fic featuring most of the suitors
5. Out of context Midnight Cinderella screenshots
This is a sideblog of mine dedicated to posting out-of-context funny screenshots that I took while playing the routes - @oocmidcin . If you have some of your own that are not on there, you're free to submit them and add to the archive!
6. The perfect MidCin song - The Moon Will Sing by The Crane Wives
When I first discovered this song back in 2020 I dreamed of making it into a midcin music video with simplistic art and animations... It ended up being just something you daydream in detail about while in the car, but that's alright. I could at least share my vision with you! Disclaimer, this is just an interpretation and obviously it can't fit all characters ideally - In the brackets, I explain how the lyric is related to them and usually it reveals their backstories. Some of the details I've already forgotten, sorry if it's inaccurate.)
Tell me once again
I could have been anyone, anyone else
Before you made the choice for me
(Giles - his family making the choice for him since birth and later disowning him once he failed to become a knight due to his illness)
My feet knew the path
We walked in the dark, in the dark
I never gave a single thought to where it might lead
(Nico - wandering the streets with his mother once they were thrown out of Stein castle because she was a commoner having an affair with Byron's father, the King)
All those empty rooms
We could have been anywhere, anywhere else
Instead I made a bed with apathy
(Robert - the empty rooms of the once flourishing palace of the country that Robert ruled and led to demise, nowadays becoming a mere court painter)
My heart knew the weight
Ten years' worth of dust and neglect
We made our peace with weariness and let it be
(Leo - the years in which Alyn didn't speak to him, after the death of their parents)
The moon will sing a song for me
I loved you like the sun
Bore the shadows that you made
With no light of my own
(Albert - loyally standing in king Byron's shadow)
Name your courage now
We could have had anything, anything else
Instead you hoarded all that's left of me
(Sid - his relationship with his fiance that he agreed upon just to find out more about his parents by getting close to her father)
Swallowing your doubt
Like swords to the pit of my belly
I want to feel the fire that you kept from me
(Alyn - searching for answers about the murder of his family and the fire that burnt down their home)
I shine only with the light you gave me
(I could have been anyone, anyone)
(Louis - being a nobody and MC being his sun)
7. It goes on
I went to read what I could of chapter 4 of Rayvis' route, using my last two chapter tickets as well, thinking it won't make me cry. And then I'm hit with those familiar things.
So let's close this with a word about the things that never change in the universe of Midnight Cinderella.
Stumbling down the grand staircase and right into the arms of somebody. Escaping the palace at midnight with Nico's help. Sitting at breakfast with Giles giving you your schedule for the day. Nico's teasing little smile as he accompanies you everywhere and listens to your relationship troubles. The way he's just a little suspicious at times. Finding Robert painting in the garden of Wysteria palace. Going to the room of your chosen suitor for the first time and meeting a pet there. Leo teaching you history and politics in his office. Dance lessons with Louis. Needing those dance lessons because King Byron is coming to Wysteria and a ball is going to take place. The bureaucrats being unhappy with you as a princess elect, no matter what. Galloping on a horse with Alyn who just protected you from an enemy attack. Getting information from a certain flirty merchant at a bar. Albert bickering with Nico, Sid teasing Louis. Being introduced to Archduke Herneit at Stein castle. King Byron appreciating the night sky. The sight of your yellow and orange princess elect room where on the large bed with its blue bedframe and tall see-through canopy you lie awake and think about the events of the day and how would a wise future Queen of Wysteria deal with the current situation. But ultimately you fall asleep, hearing the melancholically beautiful sounds of a violin coming from somewhere deep within your dream, and leave it all to the following day.
Thank you for everything, Midnight Cinderella!
08/26/2024
#midnight cinderella#midcin#midnight cinderella giles#midnight cinderella byron#midnight cinderella sid#cybird#otome#otome games#midnight cinderella nico#midnight cinderella alyn#midnight cinderella leo#midnight cinderella albert#midnight cinderella robert#midnight cinderella rayvis#Spotify
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⋆✮⋆ You can just call me Krys.
⋆✮⋆ I’m a woman, and I go by she/her pronouns, although I don’t mind she/they!
⋆✮⋆ I’m old enough to legally buy alcohol.
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⋆✮⋆ I love The Walking Dead, Stranger Things, Marvel, and a lot of other things.
⋆✮⋆ Daryl Dixon’s sunshine (confirmed).
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𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐖𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐝:
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𝐀𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥 𝐍𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬:
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⋆✮⋆ I always try my absolute best to keep appearances regarding the reader neutral so that everyone can enjoy my stories. However, if I slip up, I apologize!
⋆✮⋆ I’ll write any tropes/kinks I’m comfortable with, and I’ll let you know if I’m not! Some tropes/kinks I’m not comfortable with writing, though, is non-con, dub-con, incest, stepcest, pedophilia, pervert!(character), piss kinks, mommy/daddy kinks, huge age gaps where the reader is barely pushing 18 and daryl is in his late 40’s, hardcore degradation, cheating (if it’s Daryl cheating on the reader in a Daryl x reader story, for example), explicit, in detail sexual abuse scenes, and foot fetishes.
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⋆✮⋆ I don’t feel comfortable writing for Male!Reader. I can’t place myself in that situation, meaning there’s no fun in it for me and the story will most likely suck. However, I do know of blogs who’d happily write that, and I’d be more than happy to show you to their blogs. Just ask me and I’ll do it!
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The Dragon's Right (2)
- Summary: It was by grace of the gods that firstborn child of Viserys I and Aemma was born a boy and he lived. And all of the rest, scholars will later say, is by power of something more malevolent in kind.
- Pairing: male!reader/Rhaenyra Targaryen
- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top.
- Rating: Mature 16+
- Word count: 6 000+
- Previous part: 1
- Next part: 3
- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff
The noise of the crowd was a constant, thunderous hum that filled the air as you prepared yourself for the joust. The tourney grounds were alive with color and movement, the banners of noble houses snapping in the wind, the smell of churned earth mixing with the scents of roasted meats and sweet wines. It was a spectacle that King’s Landing had not seen in years, and today, it was all in your honor.
Your squire, a young Tyrell boy with a mop of curly brown hair and a nervous energy about him, was busy readying your horse. The beast was a magnificent stallion, bred from the finest stock in the Reach. His coat was a deep chestnut, almost black, with a mane that shimmered like polished mahogany. Muscles rippled beneath his glossy coat as he pawed at the ground, eager for the upcoming challenge. His eyes, intelligent and bright, reflected the excitement of the day, mirroring your own anticipation.
"Steady, Stormwind," you murmured, running a hand down the stallion’s neck. The horse snorted, tossing its head as if in agreement, and you couldn’t help but smile. Stormwind was not only powerful but also fiercely loyal—a trait you valued deeply in your mount.
The young Tyrell squire handed you your helmet, his hands trembling slightly as he did so. "Good luck, my prince," he stammered, eyes wide with awe as he looked up at you.
You gave him an encouraging nod, slipping the helmet under your arm for the moment. "Thank you, Ser Trystan," you said, using the title you knew the boy aspired to one day earn. "You’ve done well. Stormwind looks ready for anything."
The boy beamed at the praise, the nervousness in his eyes giving way to a spark of pride. "I’m glad to be of service, my prince."
Before you could respond, a familiar voice called out from behind you. "Nephew!"
You turned to see your uncle, Daemon Targaryen, striding towards you. He was already clad in his own armor, the dark, polished metal reflecting the sun, the Targaryen dragon emblazoned boldly on his chest. His presence, as always, commanded attention—his confident gait, the slight smirk playing on his lips, the gleam in his eyes that spoke of both mischief and a thirst for glory.
"Uncle Daemon," you greeted him with a respectful nod, a smile tugging at your lips. "It’s good to see you."
Daemon clapped you on the shoulder, his grip firm. "Happy nameday, Y/N. The years have treated you well, it seems. I hear you’ve become quite the capable dragonrider in your time away. Even the Dornish trembled at the sight of Silverwing."
You chuckled, shaking your head modestly. "Silverwing did most of the work. I just held on."
Daemon laughed, a rich, genuine sound. "Don’t be so humble, nephew. I’ve heard the stories. You’ve made quite a name for yourself. Today, the court will see for themselves what you’re made of." He paused, his gaze sweeping over you, assessing. "I expect you’ll give them a show they won’t soon forget."
You met his gaze, the challenge in his eyes clear. "I’ll do my best, Uncle. But I’m sure you’ll make your own impression out there."
Daemon’s smirk widened. "That, I can promise. But remember, it’s your nameday. I’m content to let you have the glory today." He gave you a final pat on the shoulder before turning to leave. "Good luck, Y/N. I’ll see you on the field."
With that, Daemon strode off towards his own preparations, leaving you to focus on the task ahead. You turned back to Stormwind, feeling the familiar rush of adrenaline as you mounted the stallion. The weight of your armor settled comfortably on your shoulders, the reins firm in your grasp as you guided the horse towards the starting line.
The cheers of the crowd grew louder as you approached, the anticipation in the air palpable. You could see the royal box from where you sat, your father standing at the forefront, his face lit with pride. Beside him, Rhaenyra and Alicent were already in their seats, their gazes fixed on you. Rhaenyra’s smile was bright, filled with a mixture of pride and affection, while Alicent’s expression held a softer, almost admiring quality.
You raised your lance in salute, first to your father, then to the rest of the crowd. King Viserys waved back enthusiastically, his voice booming over the cheers. "Ride well, my son! Show them the strength of House Targaryen!"
Your heart swelled with determination at his words. This was your moment, a chance to show the realm that the Targaryens were as strong as ever, and that their future king was more than ready to lead.
As you took your position at the end of the lists, your opponent appeared on the other side—a knight clad in the colors of House Bracken. The red horse gleamed on his shield, his visor down, obscuring his face. He was a formidable opponent, well-known for his strength and skill, but today, you were confident in your abilities.
The horn sounded, sharp and clear, signaling the start of the tilt. You spurred Stormwind forward, the stallion leaping into action with powerful strides that ate up the ground beneath you. The world seemed to narrow, focusing only on the target ahead—the oncoming knight, his lance lowered, his intent clear.
You felt the familiar rush of the joust, the thunder of hooves, the wind whipping past your ears. Time seemed to slow as you lined up your lance, your aim precise, your focus unwavering. The distance closed rapidly, and just as the two of you met in the center of the field, you leaned into the strike.
Your lance struck true, slamming into your opponent’s shield with a resounding crack. The impact jolted through your arm, but you held firm, watching as the Barcken knight wavered. For a moment, it seemed he might recover, but the force of your blow was too strong. He was thrown from his horse, landing heavily in the dirt, his lance shattering into splinters beside him.
The crowd erupted into cheers, the roar of approval washing over you as you circled back to the starting line, victorious in your first tilt. Stormwind pranced beneath you, his energy undimmed, as if reveling in the glory alongside you.
In the royal box, King Viserys cheered loudly, his face beaming with pride. "That’s my boy!" he shouted, his voice carrying above the din. "Well done, Y/N! Well done!"
Beside him, Rhaenyra’s smile was radiant, her hands clapping enthusiastically as she shared in your triumph. Alicent, too, was applauding, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her eyes shining as she watched you.
Further down the box, Lord Otto Hightower nodded approvingly, his expression calm but his eyes reflecting satisfaction. He leaned slightly towards Viserys, speaking just loud enough to be heard. "The prince has truly grown into his own, Your Grace. He will make a fine king one day."
Viserys nodded, his smile not fading for a moment. "Indeed, Otto. He’s everything I hoped he would be and more."
In another section of the stands, Rhaenys Targaryen and Corlys Velaryon exchanged a glance, their expressions more reserved. Rhaenys, known as the Queen Who Never Was, watched you with a mixture of pride and something more complex—a recognition of the weight of the crown that would one day rest on your head.
"He’s impressive," Corlys commented, his voice low, but with an edge of admiration. "The boy has the makings of a true Targaryen king."
Rhaenys nodded, though her eyes remained thoughtful. "Yes, he does. But I wonder if he truly understands what it means to carry the weight of that legacy."
Corlys glanced at her, his brow furrowing slightly. "He’ll have to, in time. But for now, let’s hope he enjoys his moment. The realm is watching."
As you completed your victory lap, acknowledging the cheers of the crowd, you felt a surge of exhilaration and pride. The first tilt was yours, a testament to the skill and strength you had honed over the years. But more than that, it was a reminder to everyone watching that House Targaryen was still the mightiest in the realm.
You returned to the starting line, your gaze lifting once more to the royal box, where your father stood, his eyes full of love and pride. The next round awaited, but in that moment, you felt invincible. Today was your day, and nothing could diminish the glory of the Targaryen name.
As the next knight prepared to face you, you readied yourself for the challenge, determination burning bright within you. This was only the beginning, and you intended to make it a day to remember—for yourself, for your family, and for the realm.
The tourney grounds were abuzz with excitement as the next round of jousts was set to begin. The energy in the air crackled with anticipation, and the stands were filled with spectators eagerly watching every move of the knights and their steeds.
The knight who had just won, a Baratheon, called out to the stands, his voice strong and carrying easily over the crowd. "Lady Rhaenys Targaryen, Queen Who Never Was, I ask for your favor!"
A murmur spread through the audience as all eyes turned to the royal box where Rhaenys sat beside her husband, Corlys Velaryon. The Baratheon knight’s choice was a deliberate one—by choosing Rhaenys, he paid homage to her strength and legacy, but the title he used carried a certain sting, a reminder of the Iron Throne she had been denied.
Rhaenys, ever composed, allowed a small, knowing smile to grace her lips as she rose, acknowledging the knight with a nod. She lifted her hand and let a favor, a ribbon of deep blue, flutter down to him. The crowd erupted into applause, though there were those who caught the subtle tension in the exchange.
Beside her, Corlys shifted in his seat, a frown darkening his features. He leaned closer to his wife, his voice low but edged with irritation. "You shouldn’t allow him to call you that, Rhaenys. It’s a slight, a reminder of what was unjustly taken from you."
Rhaenys glanced at her husband, her expression calm, almost dismissive. "It’s just a title, Corlys," she replied, her tone measured. "Let them call me what they will. It doesn’t change who I am or what we’ve built together."
Corlys huffed quietly, clearly displeased but respecting his wife’s decision. "Still, I don’t like it. You deserve more than to be reminded of old wounds."
Rhaenys placed a hand over his, her gaze softening. "You’re a good husband, Corlys, but you mustn’t let such things bother you. We know our worth, and that’s what truly matters."
Before Corlys could respond, the attention of the crowd shifted as Daemon Targaryen prepared for his next tilt. He had chosen his opponent carefully, with a calculated intent that Rhaenyra recognized immediately. As she watched her uncle raise his lance and point it at Ser Gwayne Hightower, her brow furrowed in disapproval. This was not a random choice; it was a deliberate act of provocation aimed directly at the Hand of the King, Otto Hightower.
Rhaenyra leaned closer to Alicent, who sat beside her, nervously picking at the skin around her fingers, her anxiety apparent. "He’s doing this to spite your father," Rhaenyra murmured, her tone edged with concern. "He knows exactly what he’s doing."
Alicent’s lips pressed into a thin line, her eyes flickering with worry as she watched her brother, Ser Gwayne, prepare for the tilt. "I know," she whispered back, her voice barely audible. "I wish he wouldn’t."
The signal was given, and Daemon and Gwayne charged at each other, their horses thundering down the lists. The crowd leaned forward in their seats, the tension palpable. In a flash, Daemon’s lance struck Gwayne with such force that it shattered upon impact, the blow violently dismounting Gwayne and sending him crashing to the ground in a cloud of dust.
A collective gasp rippled through the audience, followed by a murmur of mixed reactions. Some cheered for Daemon’s prowess, while others whispered in concern for the fallen knight. Otto Hightower’s face drained of color, horror etched in his features as he watched his son struggle to rise, dazed and bruised.
Daemon, ever the showman, circled his horse back around with a triumphant air. But instead of immediately acknowledging his victory or his opponent, he rode directly toward the royal box where Alicent sat. The tension in the air thickened as Daemon approached, his eyes gleaming with mischief.
"Lady Alicent," Daemon called out, his voice loud enough for all to hear, "would you grant me your favor?"
Alicent froze, her breath catching in her throat. This was not what she had expected. She had hoped, in the quiet recesses of her heart, that if anyone were to ask for her favor today, it would be you. But now, with all eyes on her, she felt trapped.
Rhaenyra watched the scene unfold with a frown, understanding Daemon’s intent all too well. He was not only rubbing salt in the wound by asking for Alicent’s favor but was also making a pointed statement to Otto and the entire court.
Alicent hesitated, her fingers trembling slightly as she reached for the favor she had prepared. With a deep breath, she dropped the ribbon—a delicate piece of green silk—down to Daemon, who caught it with a flourish. The crowd erupted into applause, though the undercurrent of tension was undeniable.
Rhaenyra leaned toward her uncle as he passed by their box on his way back to the field. "Congratulations, Uncle," she said, her voice carrying both genuine admiration and a hint of reproach.
Daemon smirked, inclining his head slightly. "Thank you, dear niece. Let’s see if your brother can match me," he teased, his eyes gleaming with that familiar, dangerous light.
Rhaenyra forced a smile, but her eyes followed Daemon warily as he returned to the field. She knew her uncle well enough to recognize that his actions today were more than just about winning a tourney—they were about making a statement, and that statement had clearly unsettled more than a few members of the court.
As Daemon moved off, the focus of the tourney returned to you. The crowd, still buzzing from the previous tilt, quieted with anticipation as you prepared for your next round. You could feel the weight of their expectations, but you were undaunted. The lance in your hand felt like an extension of your own body, and Stormwind beneath you was eager for the challenge ahead.
The signal was given, and with a powerful kick, you spurred Stormwind forward. The earth trembled beneath his hooves as he charged down the lists, your focus narrowing on your opponent. You felt the wind whip past your face, the cheers of the crowd fading into the background as the world narrowed to this single, decisive moment.
As you and your opponent closed the distance, your lance lowered and your aim true. The impact, when it came, was a bone-jarring collision of wood and steel, but you held firm. Your lance struck your opponent’s shield squarely, and with a mighty effort, you felt the resistance give way.
Your opponent was sent flying from his horse, landing hard on the ground with a thud. The crowd erupted into wild cheers, the sound of your victory echoing through the tourney grounds. Your father, King Viserys, stood from his seat, clapping enthusiastically, his face a mixture of pride and joy.
Rhaenyra and Alicent joined the applause, though each had different emotions swirling within them. Rhaenyra was filled with pride, but also a renewed sense of possessiveness. Alicent, on the other hand, clapped politely, though her earlier anxiety had not entirely dissipated.
In the stands, Rhaenys watched you with a measured gaze, while Corlys, clearly impressed, leaned toward his wife. "The boy is exceptional," he murmured. "There’s no doubt about it. He’s everything a Targaryen prince should be."
Rhaenys nodded, though her expression remained contemplative. "Yes, but let’s hope he navigates the politics as deftly as he does the tourney field. Strength is one thing—wisdom is another."
As you circled back to the starting line, the crowd continued to cheer, and you raised your lance in acknowledgment. The day was far from over, and more challenges awaited, but for now, the Targaryen name had been upheld with honor and glory.
You prepared for the next tilt, your heart steady, your focus unwavering. The cheers of the crowd, the pride in your father’s eyes, and the knowledge that Rhaenyra and Alicent were watching—all of it spurred you on. This was your day, and you intended to make it one that would be remembered for years to come.
The opponent before you now was one of the Florent brothers, a knight known for his skill and speed on the field. His armor, decorated with the sun and fox emblem of House Florent, gleamed in the sunlight, and his stance on his horse was confident, almost cocky.
But you were not to be underestimated. The adrenaline of the previous tilts still coursed through your veins, and the roar of the crowd only fueled your determination. You glanced briefly towards the royal box, catching the eager gazes of Rhaenyra and Alicent, their eyes fixed on you. The sight of them watching spurred you on, a reminder of why you fought today—not just for glory, but for the pride of your house and the love of your family.
The horn sounded, sharp and clear, and with a powerful kick, you urged Stormwind into action. The stallion surged forward, his powerful hooves pounding the earth as you charged down the lists. Your lance was steady in your grip, your eyes locked on the Florent knight, who mirrored your movements on the opposite side.
The gap between you closed rapidly, the wind rushing past your ears as time seemed to slow. You could see the dare in your opponent’s eyes, but you did not waver. With a precise flick of your wrist, you adjusted your aim, your lance striking the Florent knight’s shield with a thunderous crack.
The impact was immediate and decisive. The force of your blow shattered your opponent’s defenses, and before he could recover, he was sent flying from his horse, crashing heavily to the ground. The crowd erupted into cheers, the victory swift and clear.
You circled back to the starting line, but instead of preparing for another tilt, you guided Stormwind towards the royal box. The cheers of the crowd grew louder as they realized where you were heading, the anticipation palpable in the air. Ladies in the stands leaned forward, their breaths held, hoping that you might stop before them, hoping that today they might catch the eye of the prince.
As you approached, the excitement among the ladies was almost tangible. You could see the hope in their eyes, the way they straightened their backs and smoothed their dresses as you passed. But your gaze was fixed ahead, your mind made up.
Instead of stopping before any of the noble ladies vying for your attention, you brought Stormwind to a halt directly below the royal box, where your sister Rhaenyra sat. The crowd’s murmurs grew louder, surprised and intrigued by your choice, while Rhaenyra’s heart skipped a beat as she realized what you intended.
You looked up at her, a soft smile playing on your lips as you raised your lance in salute. "Princess Rhaenyra," you called out, your voice clear and strong, "would you do me the honor of granting your favor?"
Rhaenyra’s eyes sparkled with delight, a brilliant smile lighting up her face. This was more than just a simple gesture—it was a public declaration of the bond you shared, a victory that she relished deeply. The attention of all the other ladies in the court paled in comparison to this moment, a reminder that she still held a special place in your heart.
With a graceful movement, Rhaenyra untied a ribbon from her sleeve, a delicate piece of Targaryen red silk, and leaned over the edge of the box to drop it into your waiting hand. "With all my heart, dear brother," she said, her voice filled with affection and pride.
You caught the ribbon with ease, tying it carefully around the tip of your lance before raising it high for all to see. The crowd erupted into applause, the gesture admired by all. It was not just a victory in the joust, but a victory in the hearts of the people—a symbol of the unity and strength of House Targaryen.
Rhaenyra’s eyes followed you as you rode back to the field, her heart swelling with pride and a sense of triumph. This was her victory, too—a small but meaningful reminder that, despite the attention you garnered from others, the bond between brother and sister was unbreakable.
Beside her, Alicent watched the exchange with a soft smile, though a flicker of something unreadable passed through her eyes. It was clear that your relationship was something special, and Alicent was content to see her friend so happy.
As you returned to the field, ready to face your next opponent, the favor of Rhaenyra tied proudly to your lance, you felt a renewed sense of purpose. Today was a day to be remembered—not just for the victories won on the field, but for the connections reaffirmed in the heart of your family.
The cheers of the crowd filled your ears as you took your position, the anticipation of the next tilt mounting. With the ribbon of your sister’s favor fluttering in the wind, you felt invincible, ready to face whatever challenge came at you.
The next knight approached, the crowd’s excitement building once more. As you prepared to charge, the weight of the day’s events settled comfortably on your shoulders. This was your day, your moment, and you intended to seize it with all the fire and fury of your house.
With a final glance at the royal box, where Rhaenyra’s smile still shone brightly, you lowered your lance and spurred Stormwind forward.
The sun hung high in the sky, casting its light over the tourney grounds as the final tilt of the day approached. The crowd was loud with excitement, their voices blending into a chorus of eager anticipation. This was the moment they had all been waiting for—the final showdown between the two most formidable competitors: Prince Daemon Targaryen and Prince Y/N Targaryen.
You sat atop Stormwind, the powerful stallion beneath you steady and poised, sensing the importance of the moment. Your heart pounded with a mix of adrenaline and resolve. The previous tilts had been challenging, but this was different. This was Daemon, your uncle, a man known for his skill, cunning, and unpredictability. The tension in the air was palpable as you both prepared for what would undoubtedly be a clash to remember.
Across the field, Daemon adjusted his helmet, his expression hidden but his demeanor unmistakably confident. His dark armor gleamed in the sunlight, the three-headed dragon of House Targaryen emblazoned boldly on his chest. He was already mounted on his dragon-black stallion, Caraxes, named after his own fearsome dragon. The horse, like its rider, was a creature of raw power and grace, snorting and pawing at the ground in anticipation.
The horn sounded, signaling the start of the final tilt, and the crowd fell into a hushed silence, their eyes glued to the two dragon princes facing off in the lists.
You took a deep breath, your focus narrowing to the task at hand. With a firm grip on your lance, you spurred Stormwind into a gallop. The stallion surged forward with powerful strides, his hooves pounding the earth in a rhythmic thunder. Across the field, Daemon did the same, his own mount racing towards you, the two of you closing the distance with alarming speed.
Time seemed to slow as you lined up your lance, aiming for the center of Daemon’s shield. The world around you faded, leaving only the blur of your uncle’s form charging towards you, the glint of his armor catching the sun, and the rush of wind in your ears. You tightened your grip, bracing for impact.
The collision, when it came, was fierce. Your lance struck Daemon’s shield with a resounding crack, but he met your blow with equal force. The impact jarred through your arm, but you held firm, refusing to yield. For a moment, it seemed like the strike had been a draw, both of you remaining in your saddles, but then Daemon leaned into his strike, his skill and experience showing as he directed the force of his lance just right.
Before you could fully adjust, you felt the world tilt beneath you. The force of Daemon’s strike, combined with the precise angle, knocked you off balance. Time seemed to stretch as you felt yourself falling, the ground rushing up to meet you. The impact was hard, the breath knocked from your lungs as you hit the dirt.
The crowd gasped collectively, the sound of your fall echoing in the stunned silence that followed. From the royal box, Viserys had already risen to his feet, his heart leaping into his throat as he saw you go down. "Gods, no!" he breathed, his voice tight with fear. But as you quickly pushed yourself up, shaking off the disorientation from the fall, he let out a long sigh of relief, his body sagging back into his seat.
Rhaenyra, who had been on the edge of her seat, her knuckles white from gripping the railing, exhaled the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. Her eyes were wide with worry, but as she saw you stand, a rush of relief and pride filled her. She could see you were unharmed, but the sight of you on the ground had shaken her deeply.
You rose to your feet, brushing the dirt from your armor, your pride bruised but your spirit unbroken. You could feel the sting of defeat, but it was tempered by the knowledge that you had given everything in that tilt. Stormwind stood nearby, having stopped shortly after your fall, the loyal stallion snorting anxiously as if to say he was ready to try again.
Before you could fully gather your bearings, Daemon was there, dismounting with the fluid grace that came naturally to him. He approached you with a look that was half smirk, half respect. "Not bad, nephew," he said, his tone carrying both praise and a hint of playful mockery. "You almost had me there."
He extended a hand, offering to help you up. There was no malice in his gaze, just the familiar gleam of challenge that always seemed to light his eyes.
You took his hand, accepting the gesture, and he pulled you to your feet with a firm grip. "Almost," you replied, your voice steady, though there was a spark of competitiveness in your tone. "But you got me in the end."
Daemon patted you on the back, his smirk widening into a grin. "Today, perhaps. But don’t let it weigh too heavily on you. We’re both dragons, after all, and you fought well. The court will remember this day, not just for my victory, but for your strength and skill."
You nodded, appreciating the words, though the sting of defeat still lingered. "Thank you, Uncle. But next time, I won’t be so easy to dismount."
Daemon chuckled, clearly pleased by your response. "I wouldn’t expect anything less." He gave you a final nod of approval before turning to face the roaring crowd, raising his lance in acknowledgment of his victory. The people cheered loudly, celebrating the spectacle they had witnessed.
From the royal box, Viserys beamed with pride, his worry from moments before forgotten. "That was a fine match!" he declared, his voice booming over the noise of the crowd. "Both of you did House Targaryen proud today!"
Rhaenyra, still shaken by the sight of you on the ground, managed a smile, though her concern for you was evident in her eyes. She watched as you walked off the field with Daemon, your head held high despite the outcome. Alicent, sitting beside her, glanced at Rhaenyra and saw the worry that lingered beneath her composed exterior.
"Are you all right?" Alicent asked softly, her voice filled with genuine concern.
Rhaenyra nodded, though her eyes didn’t leave you. "I’m fine. It’s just… seeing him fall like that…"
Alicent placed a reassuring hand on Rhaenyra’s arm. "He’s strong, Rhaenyra. He’s always been strong. And you saw how he got back up. That’s what matters."
Rhaenyra finally tore her gaze away from the field to look at Alicent, offering her a grateful smile. "You’re right. He’s strong." But even as she said it, the image of you lying in the dirt lingered in her mind, a reminder of how much she cared for you, and how much she feared losing you.
As you and Daemon made your way off the field, the crowd continued to cheer, the happenings of the day’s events leaving everyone in high spirits. You may not have won the final tilt, but the respect you had earned was clear in the cheers and the admiring glances from the crowd.
Daemon, ever the warrior, clapped you on the back once more as you both approached the edge of the field. "Come, let’s find a drink and enjoy the rest of the day. You’ve earned it, and so have I."
You nodded, the tension of the tilt finally starting to ease as the prospect of celebrating with your uncle and the rest of your family took hold. "Lead the way, Uncle."
As the two of you walked off the field, the weight of the day’s events still fresh in your mind, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. Though the final victory had eluded you, you had proven yourself today, not just to the court, but to your family. And in the end, that was worth more than any trophy or title.
Jugglers, dancers, and bards filled the air with music and laughter, while the smell of roasted meats and sweet treats wafted through the air. The day had been filled with adrenaline, and now, as evening approached, the court gathered for the grand feast that would conclude the festivities.
Inside the Great Hall of the Red Keep, long tables were laden with platters of food, and goblets of wine flowed freely. The room was alive with chatter and the clinking of silverware, the high vaulted ceilings amplifying the sounds of celebration. The lords and ladies of the realm, dressed in their finest, mingled and conversed, their faces flushed with the warmth of the firelight and the effects of the wine.
You found yourself seated at a table near the head of the hall, surrounded by some of the most powerful figures in the realm. To your right was Lord Tayland Lannister, his golden hair and fine clothes a clear testament to the wealth and influence of his house. Across from you sat Lord Corlys Velaryon, the Sea Snake, his eyes sharp and calculating as he sipped from his goblet, his mind clearly at work even amidst the festivities.
"Your accomplishments in Dorne have become the talk of the realm, my prince," Tayland said, his tone filled with admiration. "It's no small feat to have secured our borders against the Dornish. Your leadership has brought peace to lands that have known only strife for too long."
You inclined your head in thanks, though you remained humble in your response. "The credit belongs to the men who fought beside me, and to Silverwing. She was the true force that kept the Dornish at bay."
Lord Corlys leaned forward slightly, his gaze intent. "Don't sell yourself short, my prince. It takes more than just a dragon to win a war; it takes a leader who can command respect and inspire loyalty. You've shown that you have the makings of a true king."
You nodded, acknowledging his words. "I appreciate the compliment, Lord Corlys. But the work is never done. The realm is vast, and there are always new challenges to face."
A flicker of something passed through Corlys's eyes—perhaps ambition or a calculated desire. He chose his next words carefully. "Speaking of challenges, the situation in the Stepstones remains unresolved. The Triarchy grows bolder with each passing day, and their presence in those waters threatens the safety of our trade routes. The realm cannot afford to ignore this any longer."
Tayland Lannister nodded in agreement, his expression thoughtful. "The Sea Snake is right. The Stepstones are a vital passage for trade, and the Triarchy's control over them is a serious threat. The crown would do well to consider taking decisive action."
Corlys seized the moment, his tone subtle but insistent. "A leader of your experience and skill, my prince, could make all the difference in securing those waters for the realm. With your influence, perhaps the crown might be persuaded to take a more active role in the conflict."
It was clear what Corlys was suggesting—he wanted you to influence your father, King Viserys, to commit to a campaign in the Stepstones. The thought lingered in your mind, but you were well aware of the delicate nature of such matters. Viserys had been reluctant to engage in another conflict, especially after the long campaign in Dorne. He was a man who valued peace, and while he respected the needs of the realm, he was not easily swayed into war.
Before you could respond, the conversation was interrupted by a different sort of commotion. A group of lords, eager to ingratiate themselves with the crown, approached your father, each of them accompanied by their daughters, who were of marriageable age. They vied for Viserys's attention, each one eager to present their daughter as a potential bride for you.
"My daughter, Lady Elinor, is as wise as she is beautiful, Your Grace," one lord said, his voice oozing with pride. "She would make a fine match for the prince."
"Lady Alisanne is skilled in all the noble arts, Your Grace. She is well-versed in history, languages, and music," another lord chimed in, his daughter standing demurely beside him.
Viserys smiled politely, listening to their propositions, but it was clear that his mind was elsewhere. He had waited years for this moment, to have his son by his side once more, and he was determined to enjoy the evening without being burdened by matters of marriage and alliances. He responded with a noncommittal nod, offering a few kind words but making no promises.
As the lords continued their attempts to press the matter, Otto Hightower, ever the strategist, nudged his daughter Alicent, who was seated beside him. He leaned in close, his voice low but firm. "Alicent, you should seize this moment. The prince is listening to all these offers, and if you wish to catch his attention, now is the time."
Alicent hesitated, her gaze flickering to where you were seated, engaged in conversation with Tayland and Corlys. She knew what her father was suggesting—she had seen the way the other ladies had looked at you during the tourney, the way they whispered among themselves, hoping to catch your eye. But before she could muster the courage to act, someone else stepped forward.
Rhaenyra, who had been watching the proceedings from a distance, sensed the moment and made her move. She approached you with a confident stride, her presence commanding immediate attention. The lords and ladies around you parted, making way for the princess as she reached your side.
"Brother," Rhaenyra said, her voice warm and filled with affection, "I've been looking for you. Surely you don't intend to spend the entire evening in conversation with the lords?"
You turned to her, a smile spreading across your face at the sight of your sister. "Of course not, Rhaenyra. I wouldn't miss the chance to spend time with you on a day like this."
Rhaenyra's eyes sparkled with mischief as she glanced at the lords who had been vying for your attention. "I thought you might be in need of rescue," she teased, her voice carrying just enough playful humor to defuse the tension.
The lords who had been pressing their daughters as potential brides exchanged glances, recognizing that the moment had passed. With polite bows and murmured excuses, they withdrew, leaving you and Rhaenyra standing together. Viserys watched the exchange with a smile, pleased to see his children together, the connection between them as strong as ever.
Alicent, who had been about to rise from her seat, hesitated and then sat back down, her expression unreadable. Otto frowned slightly, but said nothing, his mind already working on another approach.
#house of the dragon#hotd x male reader#hotd x y/n#hotd x reader#hotd x you#rhaenyra x y/n#rhaenyra x reader#rhaenyra targaryen#rhaenyra x you#viserys targaryen#alicent hightower#otto hightower#daemon targaryen#house targaryen
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Just wanna say for those of y’all who came into this fandom late: just a few years ago, speaking on Jiang Cheng with anything less than glowing praise used to bring so much harassment that “angry grape”-related tags had to be created to circumvent jc stans finding and subsequently dogpiling your posts. I’ve since seen this tagging convention appropriated by his stans to be an “affectionate” petname for his character. If you wrote a wangxian fic in which Jiang Cheng did not appear, your fics would get bombarded with stans flooding your comments with their own headcanons on why Jiang Cheng isn’t around but “this is how he’d react if he was” and “everyone loves him, they’re definitely thinking about him, rn” and “when is he supposed to show up, op???” If you read a wangxian fic and Jiang Cheng did appear, there was a 95% chance that you would have to slog through thousands of words of abuse apologia paired with every character (except maybe Lan Wangji, maybe) claiming that Wei Wuxian deserved to be abused and should just learn to handle it better because abuse is really love. It took me a year of reading purely (only, exclusively) wangxian fics to find a single fic that had both 1) canon Jiang Cheng and 2) did not twist the other characters into fanon iterations to justify canon Jiang Cheng’s abusive behavior. When more canon writers started appearing, their fics got flooded with negativity, claims that the fic wasn’t realistic because “jc isn’t like that,” and demands to change things. They started moderating their comment sections. Eventually, jc stan writers even stopped tagging Jiang Cheng in their fics despite writing him as a major character because people began to avoid reading fics if they knew from the tags that his character appeared.
The “canon jc” tag was created on tumblr because jc stans said that if we didn’t like being attacked for canon opinions we should “create our own tag.” It was not a tag that always existed. Nobody used it until my friends created it. And every few months after that, we’d get a new “flood the tag” campaign by jc stans pissed at the name until it died down… until twitter refugees arrived, bringing with them a new faction of jc stans. That jc appreciate week or whatever they call it that starts on Halloween? Created by jc stans in an attempt to flood out Wei Wuxian appreciation posts on his birthday by making sure that new Jiang Cheng content would dominate all the major tags on that day. I watched the creators brag about that.
One BIG fandom upset happened when a jc stan wrote a horribly mistagged rape and murder wangxian fic and had their friends promote it so that wangxian lovers would read the fic and be traumatized. They gloated about having "successfully baited people," then tried to delete their tweets admitting it when they got them in trouble. I was there for that, too, and I only dodged being triggered because I saved the fic to read for later instead of cracking it open immediately.
Some of y’all may see me around now, but I’ve been watching this fandom for much longer than I’ve been making posts, before even the friends and mutuals I know now even knew I existed (yes I was a lurker lol). I’ve seen the development of all this play out across tumblr, ao3, and twitter (despite my best efforts to avoid the twitter side, that’s how ubiquitous it was). That’s how inescapable it was. I saw so much shit go down that I already had a mile-wide blocklist before I made my first post, and even then, I still got hate commentary on some of my posts the moment I dipped my littlest toe into metas. I had anon off for like a year because I didn’t want to deal with any harassment, and the moment I turned it off, I started getting bait anons (though not as bad as the others I’ve seen, holy shit). When I started this blog, all I did was liveblog and reblog other people’s art and metas. I was so stressed entering this fandom because the shit I had seen off rip was absolutely disgusting. That’s why I have very intentional rules of engagement that I try to hold to for myself. I may never be the first to start the fight, but I damn sure will defend myself and my friends. I also will never run away from admitting my mistakes, but I will also never be bullied into treating someone’s personal fantasies as equal to the actual factual text.
This isn’t to say that fanon enjoyers don’t get harassment. Another big fandom scandal was that a popular fanfic writer obsessed with canon had been harassing other writers through a series of bot accounts into leaving the fandom. What a lot of people don’t bring up in their bid to paint canon enjoyers as particularly prone to “fandom bullying,” however, was that the “canon” they were obsessed with was tied almost exclusively to the canon wangxian’s top/bottom sexual dynamic. I’d read that person’s works before—enjoyed them, even, before the scandal happened. They wrote fanon into their fics in other ways. The fanon/canon divide isn’t the problem; entitlement to unanimous fandom praise and recognition is.
There’s nothing wrong with enjoying canon or fanon, nothing right or wrong or morally superior for either camp. But do me a favor: go into the main jiang cheng character tag right now, and count how often you see a post about Jiang Cheng that portrays him in a negative light. Not one that portrays him as an snarky asshole or a teacher’s pet or a helicopter parent or a crybaby who only wants to be loved, but one which shows him in all of his uncensored glory as a piece of shit antagonist. How often do you see fanart of Jiang Cheng that isn’t “best jiujiu” or “sad didi” or “badass sect leader”? How often do you see metas that don’t include some iteration of “everyone is just so mean about poor little jc who just didn’t have a choice in anything he ever did 😢”? Go to the main novel tag and do the same. Hell, go to the wangxian tag and see what you find while you’re at it. How many of those posts are viral compared to “look at jc with his dogs!” or “look, I made lxc and jc kiss!” Then tell me whether or not you believe that jc stans are being specifically targeted for some unique and undeserved persecution by the fandom at large.
#the north remembers a little too well#haven’t even touched on the wiki drama the suika twitter drama the apologies#this is a VERY rough clip of what has happened over so many years#if I’m wrong I’m wrong#but i know I’m not#canon jiang cheng
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KINKTOBER DAY 1
Title: Same coin, different faces
PAIRING: Bang Chan x Reader
WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won’t be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work and page whatsoever.
SUMMARY: Despite not being together with Chan anymore, you somehow end up in the back of his car...fogging up the windows.
TAGS: pre-established breakup trope, swearing, a dash of angst but also a hint of resolve, mentions of alcohol (neither the reader nor Chan is drunk), a bit of manhandling by both parties, oral sex (reader receiving), car sex, unprotected, sort of hate/rough sex.
MASTERLIST - KINKTOBER LIST
(This is currently unedited but I will be proofing it later on)
It wasn’t as fun as you had hoped it to be, a party that is. Given it was the end of the semester, people usually prefer to go all out - which they did, but you weren’t feeling it. There were far too many people off of their faces, including your entire friend group that you showed up with.
Two of them were playing drinking games in the kitchen, one of them - Minho, who had completely disappeared for the past few hours, and another one who had found himself someone to hook up with.
In the end, you were on your own for the remainder of the party. After having found a way into the lounge through the masses of people attending and remained on the couch, watching those around you for a while, you decided to get back up and grab a drink. There wasn’t an entire selection to choose from; either warm beer or cheap wine, which you grab from the latter and pour some in a plastic cup to try and fit in with everyone else.
The briny taste of the wine was enough to make you think that maybe it was time to go home. It wasn’t fun, interesting, nor a good way to spend your time on a Friday night. Before being able to make the decision to leave, you find yourself planted on the ground when your eyes catch onto a familiar figure amongst the people.
Chan. Your ex-boyfriend - your ex-best friend at that too.
It was a surprise to see him given that he isn’t really a party goer, but also a surprise to see him in general after the pair of you went through such a tumultuous breakup a month ago. Things just didn’t work out the way they were supposed to which was unfortunate because Chan is one of a kind.
There isn’t anybody like him that exists in this world. He’s gentle, caring, and has a bottomless well of love to give. Now that you’re not together anymore, you know that whoever he ends up with in the future is well taken care of.
“Hi,” Chan says, walking up to you.
“Hey,” you respond back, unsure of how to actually talk to him now. “What are you doing here?”
Chan sighs, looking at the screen of his phone momentarily then turning his attention back to you, “trying to find Minho. I’m here to pick him up, but I can’t find him. Is he here?”
“I haven’t seen him for the past couple of hours,” you answer. “I highly doubt he’s actually here still.”
He sighs and rolls his eyes, “course he’s not.”
“He probably went to Jisung’s at some point,” you add.
“Yeah, that makes sense,” he replies before his eyes peer down at the plastic cup. “Drinking? That’s not like you.”
“It’s the end of the semester,” you say in your own defence. “I was trying to finish off strong.”
“Right. Have you got a ride home then?”
Your eyes dart beyond Chan to ‘your ride home’ who has probably now consumed half of his body weight in alcohol. Chan catches your gaze, turns around and sees Seungmin throwing back another shot with a couple of strangers, presumably his classmates.
Chan sighs once more and faces you again, “don’t tell me he was supposed to sober drive.”
“He won’t be now,” you respond.
“Okay well, I can drop you off. Minho’s not replying and he’s probably not here, plus I’m getting tired,” he offers.
You ponder for a moment. Since Chan had come up to you, you hadn’t felt that sting of pain that a breakup usually induces. Not since the day you both called it quits on the relationship. But that’s only because things were never awkward with him. It’s only until now that you realise how depleting life has been without him. It’s not colourful anymore.
It’s an issue because you don’t want to be reminded of what you don’t have anymore. Sometimes, the best things can be the worst for us.
“It’s okay, thank you though,” you decline respectfully. “I might tell the others to get ready to head off.”
“And who’s going to drive them? You?” He asks with a brow raised then shakes his head with disapproval. “You’ve been drinking.”
“Not that much,” you retort. “I’m not even tipsy, plus I don’t want to leave them behind.”
“Seems like they left you behind,” Chan points out a very good point which you find hard to not be in denial about.
He takes the plastic cup out of your hand and places it on the nearest surface cluttered with other discarded items. He then returns back to you to gently take hold of your wrist and leads you out of the lounge full of people.
“Wait-”
“I’m not letting you drive under the influence, end of story,” he decides.
With that matter in hand, you’re quickly reminded that Chan has always had a strong head on his shoulders and his morals are very clear cut. He held reasonably strong opinions on doing unnecessarily dangerous things, particularly when it comes to you. It happened to be one of the poisonous factors that pierced the final dagger into the relationship.
The cold air then hits you when you both make it out into the front yard.
“I can walk thank you,” you say to Chan who forgets that he’s still holding your wrist. He looks down at his hand and releases.
“Sorry,” he apologises. “Car’s this way.”
He leads you once more just across the street to the vehicle while you think about the fact that you never actually agreed you were going to accept his offer to take you home. In saying that, there was no other alternative other than walking which Chan wouldn’t have put up with anyway.
The pair of you hop in his car, finally able to catch a break from the blaring music that was blasting throughout the house. After both of your seatbelts are on, Chan starts the car and drives away down the street.
It’s not long until silence falls quickly. Things had never been this terribly awkward between you both, but there had been pockets of quietness which used to be comfortable to sit in. Now you can see that it’s not as nice.
“So what have you been up to these days?” Chan asks out of the blue, breaking that silence.
“Nothing interesting I guess,” you answer blandly. “Just studies and that’s it.”
He nods, “how’s that going so far?”
“Fine, I suppose.”
Chan lets out a small huff, “you know, it’s still okay for us to talk right? We don’t need to be so hostile.”
The glow of your phone from your lap catches your attention away from his comment. You blink down at the screen and read a text from Felix.
Lix: ‘Saw you leave with Chan. Please tell me you’re both back on.’
You roll your eyes. You love Felix, but sometimes he can be too optimistic. There wasn’t any way you and Chan were going to find your way back to each other. If anything, it wouldn’t be the same anymore.
“I wasn’t being hostile, plus there’s not much to my answer anyway unless you want me to lie?” You respond back.
“No, I don’t want you to lie,” Chan adjusts his tight grip on the steering wheel. “But you speaking just proves my point on why we shouldn’t act like that.”
You turn your head, shooting him a well-deserved glare. This isn’t usually how Chan acts. He never says backhanded things as such even though he can be relatively blunt. Whatever subtle malice was behind his words obviously came from the same place that helped the relationship tear apart.
“This is why we never worked out because you always had to have some degree of control,” you scoff, ignoring the fact that you’ve now doused the flicker of the argument with petrol.
“I was only doing what I though was safest for you,” Chan argues back strongly. “It was never about having any type of control, it was because you couldn’t see what the consequences were.”
“Then why couldn’t you have let me figure it out for myself? How else am I supposed to learn, when you’re not here anymore?”
“You, driving drunk isn’t something that you just learn not to do. You don’t do it, full stop. Anyone with common sense knows that,” Chan bites back.
“I’m not even talking about that! When have I ever driven drunk? Now you’re just fucking reaching for things! All I’m saying is that it didn’t matter how much time I spent with you, I never got to be my own person. It was like I was turning into another ‘you’.”
Chan shrugs, “in comparison to what you can be like sometimes, I honestly don’t think that’s so much of a bad thing.”
The last nerve inside you, had been struck.
“Stop the car, I’m getting out.”
“No, we’re nearly at your h-”
“I don’t care Chris, I seriously don’t want to be anywhere near you right now,” you cut him off sharply, not wanting to hear another word come out of his mouth.
Chan looks over at you, absorbing how painfully angry you look right now and the fact that your hand is on the door handle, ready to bolt as soon as he pulls over. It was fairly obvious because once he did, you were out of the vehicle before he could say anything more. But as fast as you are out the door, Chan is already on the other side to meet you.
“Don’t go home angry,” he says urgently.
You shoot him a dirty look, thinking who the hell is he to tell you what to do, “or what?”
“Well can we at least talk then?” He questions, trying to grasp onto some common ground here.
With as much force as you can muster, your arms come up to shove Chan by the chest, “fuck you.”
He stumbles back a few steps and is not as nearly as surprised as you are by your own behaviour. Never has anyone elicited as much of a reaction from you until now. The shock has you to the point where you can barely assemble an apology to Chan. Even so when he comes back forward, grabbing you by the sides of your arms, and shoving you right back against his own car.
Before either of you say another word, his mouth crashes straight against yours. His swift hands are quickly groping and roaming in every place around your body that he can reach while you submit to his moves. You’ve forgotten how electrifying Chan can be at times when it comes to intimacy, that you really start to feel it when he slides his knee in between your thighs.
You gasp against his lips, yelping almost when his hands reach behind you to squeeze your ass and to try to bring your body as impossibly close to his as he can. For a split second, you break away to consolidate what is happening. Chan remains latched onto you, his mouth now working its way to your jaw and down to your throat, sucking and biting into your skin.
Neither of you care about whether or not he’s going to mark you up. All you care about at this point in time, is the hope that he’s going to fuck you.
“The door…open the door,” you mumble to him, even though you’re trying to find the handle yourself.
Even with the unshakeable frame of mind that he’s in right now, Chan listens to you. He pulls you forward with him so that he can yank the backdoor open. You hop onto the seat, pushing yourself backwards to the other side of the car to create room for him to join you. But Chan had his own idea planted already.
He grabs you by the ankles and pulls you right back to the edge of the seat closest to him. His hands take pride in reaching underneath your skirt and tearing your underwear down your legs.
He doesn’t even get the opportunity to fully take them off as they dangle on one leg. In saying that, it doesn’t take you very long to click onto what he wants to do. So you help him by doing your best to hike your skirt further up your thighs. Chan decides to take a few seconds to appreciate being able to relive this moment once more by using his thumb to swipe over your wet slit, collecting your juices only to bring it up to his mouth and suck it right off.
“Fucking missed this,” he speaks for the first time in about five minutes before lifting both of your legs and separating them for his head to slot in perfectly between.
The fan of his hot breath washes over your skin, already making your squirm forward towards his mouth. It’s been a long time since someone had touched you and Chan could tell. He knows how needy you can be, but not when you’re like this. Not when you’re straining to reach for the back of his head to pull him closer to your pussy. Not when you’re already moaning when he’s barely touched you.
Not when you’re wetter than what he usually thinks you are.
“Y-Yes…right there,” you sigh out and lie back down, waiting eagerly.
One of your hands threads through his dark hair and tugs every time he sucks on your clit. Shivers of pleasure reverberate throughout your body, already making your legs tremble on his shoulders. If anyone were to drive past, you know you and Chan would get done for public indecency. Except that devious consequence became an elicit far away thought drowned out by your own moans the more Chan continued to eat you out.
The best thing about it is that he’s not going easy on you. He’s being deceptively rough by digging his nails into your thighs and showing zero remorse when he relentlessly licks over that same sweet spot. The more work he puts into trying to make you cum, the harder he gets in his pants, straining at this point.
“P-Please Chan, hurry,” you cry out, trying to sit up and slide down further into his mouth. “Need to cum, please.”
When your begging and moaning become increasingly louder and more frequent, Chan knows you’re on the cusp of an orgasm. However, as much as he used to enjoy you cumming on his face, the idea of you cumming on his cock is just as good, if not better. So just as you’re about to tip over the edge, Chan pulls back.
You blink in amongst the haziness of what was about to be a mind shattering orgasm to see Chan who’s head had lifted up from in between your legs. His mouth and chin were covered in your juices, and is completely unashamed about it.
“You can just fucking wait,” he snaps and begins to adjust your legs so that he makes sure they cage his body at his sides, that way he can grab onto your thighs and fuck you hard and steady.
Although you can barely see, you hear the zipper to his pants open before he takes out his cock, hard and ready to put it to use on you. You bite down on your bottom lip when Chan uses his tip to tease your entrance. He pushes his hips forward, enough to make his cock slide up and in between your pussy.
Chan’s shaky hand manages to get a proper hold around his dick, aligning it with your wet hole, and slowly pushes in as the heat begins to encapsulate around his length. The top half of his body nearly falters forward if it weren’t for his hips that thrust forward first.
“Chris…” you mutter in an aspirated voice, feeling the fullness of his cock stretch you out.
There is no forewarning for the strength he has behind each buck of his hips. It takes you back to times before during your relationship and how deliciously memorable the sex always was. Chan’s main priority was to always make you cum first and regardless of his own needs and pleasure. Whether you misbehaved or were being an outright undeserving brat in bed, even then he would still let you cum. That’s how much he loved you.
“Nobody can ever fuck you the way I do,” Chan grits his teeth, his eyes watching his cock disappear inside of you each time he rams forward, hard and fast.
Every second that goes by, you’re grappling more and more onto your last threads of sanity. It’s hard to keep up and absorb Chris’s stamina and pace - a relentless and unapologetic pace that hits the same spot inside you over and over again until that build up of pleasure starts spreading around your lower abdomen.
“Make me feel…so good,” you mumble incoherently. “Gonna make me cum.”
It’s been a long time since Chan has heard you say those words - hell, even heard you moan at the very least. It’s enough to keep his pace steady but he’s very wary of the fact that he himself is already near the edge of an orgasm too. Nonetheless, he’s determined to get you there first once more.
So Chan lets go of one of your legs at his side so that he can use his thumb to now rub fast circles over your clit. Your hands grip at the hem of your skirt, back arching as you start submitting to the crest of intense pleasure Chan has built up for you. Then within seconds, Chan has you cumming hard around his cock, shuddering, and straining his name out of your mouth as it rings throughout his car.
“Fuck, baby…” he groans as his head tips back before he starts spilling white inside of you.
His hips stutter finally, gently slowing down to a leisurely pace while he drowns in the afterglow from one of the most transcendent orgasms he’s ever had. He gives you both time to come down before he carefully slides out of you. It takes you a while to fully fathom what just happened, but you allow yourself to think about it. Whatever it is, it’s not regret. There’s a longing feeling there, a borderline sense of relief.
Once Chan is decent, he helps you slide your underwear back on even though you’re both fully aware of the fact that he just came inside you. It’s not like either of you were prepared for this to happen. In saying that, Chan gently takes hold of both your hands and gets you to sit up.
“You okay?” he questions, using his finger to hook some of your messed hair out of your face.
You nod, “yes. You?”
“I’ve been worse,” he answers, making you smile. “I’m really sorry for what I said earlier.”
You shake your head, “I’m sorry as well for being so stubborn. I figured that the more hostile I am towards you, the more I push myself away so that I don’t have to deal with any feelings from before.”
Chan completely gets it, “I know. I thought I could do the same, but it seems that I’m too nice.”
You roll your eyes, “you’ve had your moments.”
“I definitely have,” he replies. “Anyway, we should go in case anybody just saw that.”
A bashful sense of embarrassment washes over you. It’s been minutes before you realised that you just fucked your ex. But even so, it doesn’t really feel that way. It’s just Chan, someone who you still have a lot of love for.
“You can stay at mine, it’s late,” you suggest to him.
Chan smiles softly, “as if I’m going to say no.”
-
A/N: Yes, I am a day late already to Kinktober - I just realised bc my dumb ass was trying to figure out time zones and when would be the best time to upload for people bc I’m quite some hours ahead from other countries. So I’ll just stick to my time zone, that way you’ll get my works a few hours earlier x
KINKTOBER TAGLIST: @mal-lunar-28 @fairy-lixie @dreamingaboutjisung @lizzetmv @luneskies 🩷🩷
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maybe something sweet and fluffy with woozi. trying to stay late to surprise him with dinner or something but he finds you asleep on the couch. he's been stressed and working more than usual (insane behavior) and you just wanna help him relax and take the weight off his shoulders
pairing: jihoon x gn!reader genre: est. relationship | fluff, maybe the tiniest bit suggestive rating: e for everyone (but this blog is still 18+) word count: 1440 warnings: mentions of food but nothing else
author's note: thank you for sending this! i am painfully late with this (and wanted to wait to finish all the requests before posting). this is for my baby @effortandmore for her birthday drabbles. ily lauren 💕 divider by @cafekitsune
taglist: @crepecakeu, @tinyelfperson, @dokyeomkyeom, @miriamxsworld, @hongrizoon, @klecksstorys, @gyuminusone, @aaniag, @naajaeminsgf, @straykidswhoo789, @kimseokgen, @beomesbabe, @haolistic, @harry-the-pottypus, @pyeonghongrie-main, @nuttywastelandmentality (strikethrough means can’t tag, check your settings!), join my taglist here
You’ve loved Jihoon for a long time. As a friend first and then slowly as something much more. When you first met him, you thought he was hard to read. Difficult to ever really know. As you spent more time around him, that idea morphed into something else as well. He’s not the kind of person to be vocal about what he’s thinking or feeling. If you’re waiting for him to tell you how he feels, then you’re going to be waiting for a while. Unless you know where to look.
That’s probably why it took you time to realize all the ways he was telling you that you were more than a friend to him. Over time, he started inviting you just to be around him when he was working on projects at home. Or inviting you over to do your own work at his place while he did chores around the house. Slowly, you realized that he always had your favorite snacks in the cupboards and favorite drinks in the fridge. Occasionally you would even mention needing something in passing and it would show up delivered to your house a day or two later. Never with a note, but always with the understanding that it was Jihoon taking care of it. Taking care of you. You realized that your heart shifted to caring about him as more than a friend before your brain even caught up. It was like he had been showing you all along that you could depend on him.
Jihoon isn’t always one to say what he’s feeling, but he likes to hear it from you. It’s cute to watch his face light up when you tell him how much he means to you or why you think about him throughout the day. He’s easy, though, because he’s just as happy to have you around. Sometimes you don’t say anything at all, just curl up on the couch to watch a favorite show. Those are some of your favorites because you know how much space he’s made for you in his home. You know how important that space is to him so that he can recharge. But, he accepts you like you always belonged there with him.
Lately, work has been a little overwhelming for him. Maybe not overwhelming as much as busy. You know how much he likes to be busy and would prefer that to work being too slow. It’s also clear how much he likes to solve a problem and be the one to find that elusive solution. So, this project has been challenging, often resulting in him staying late, and you know he wouldn’t change it. Even on the nights where he doesn’t get home until it’s nearly time for bed.
Tonight, you’re trying to do something a little bit nice for him. It’s been days on end, even some weekends, of him busting his ass on this project. And you don’t understand the words he’s using. Haven’t ever really been tech savvy enough to get programming. What you do know, though, is that he’s been surviving on too much caffeine and food delivery. Sometimes he does listen and order from healthier places. Sometimes it’s all he can do to remember to eat at all, so it’s whatever can get to him fastest. But, he seemed pretty confident that he would be out of work at a decent time tonight. You decide to use your key to his place and let yourself in to surprise him with a great home-cooked meal.
For someone that doesn’t really like cooking that much, Jihoon has a pretty well-stocked kitchen. Although, knowing how considerate he is, that’s probably mostly because you liked to cook at his place and complained about all the things he didn’t have. All you need to do is show up with your ingredients. You decide on a menu of comforting foods that also can either keep warm on the stove or be easily warmed up without losing flavor.
You figure that you should let him know that you’re going to be there when he gets home so it doesn’t surprise him. The food can be the surprise even if he knows you’re there waiting for him. He seems excited to see you when you text him. When the food is all ready, you figure that you can have a glass of wine while you wait.
Jihoon: i’m so sorry, this is taking longer than i thought to wrap up
You: that’s fine, take your time
It’s not uncommon for Jihoon to send a text like that when he’s in the middle of a project. He hates it and you know he does. But, you also assure him that it’s fine. You didn’t have any actual plans and he doesn’t need to rush through work on your account.
While you’re waiting, you decide on a little taste test of the food you made, careful not to make it too obvious that you’ve had some. Not that he would care, you just want the presentation to be nice for Jihoon. With some good food and a glass of wine down, you’re a little sleepy. Cooking can do that to you. There’s no harm, you figure, in getting comfortable on the couch while you wait and putting on some background noise.
You don’t even realize that you drift off until you feel someone’s arms sliding underneath you. Your eyes flitter open and land on Jihoon. He’s got his shaggy hair pulled back into an elastic with strands falling out from the length of the day. His face is soft with nothing more than complete love and adoration. It’s so clear that he doesn’t want to disturb you and that makes your heart constrict further. This man has been working for who knows how many hours and he’s still taking care of you.
“I’m awake, babe,” you say through a slightly groggy voice.
“Sorry, was trying not to wake you up,” he says and pulls his arms back.
You catch one of his hands to pull him back in for a quick kiss. “I’m glad I woke up.”
“The place smells really good,” he comments.
“Yeah, I made dinner,” you say.
His face brightens for a moment and it makes you nearly melt. “I would’ve left sooner if I’d known.”
“It’s a surprise, you goober,” you say with a smile. You pull yourself into a sitting position.
“Hey, it’s fine, I can get a plate,” he says.
“No, no. You go have a nice shower and by the time you’re out, I’ll have it all ready,” you say and get to your feet.
“You don’t have to…” he starts and you press another kiss to his lips before turning him in the direction of the bathroom.
“Go,” you say.
It takes a minute to shake off the cobwebs from your unexpected nap. By the time you’re in the kitchen and warming everything back up, you can hear the water running in the bathroom and the music audible even over the sound of the shower. It sounds like one of his more upbeat playlists, which is a good thing. Even if he doesn’t say much, you can always tell his mood by what playlist he puts on. Tonight, it seems like he’s in a good mood despite the long day at work. Part of you hopes that you surprising him adds to the good mood.
The water shuts off, leaving only the playlist as your background and you know you still have a little bit of time before he emerges. So, it’ll be perfect timing as nearly everything is ready again. You’re putting a plate together when he emerges from his bedroom in gym shorts and a t-shirt, wet hair still falling around his face. The smile on your face is instant.
“What?” he asks.
“You’re just beautiful,” you say, smile still bright.
“I must look exhausted,” he brushes off.
“Still beautiful,” you insist and delight in the way blush creeps up his neck. To save him from saying anything, you hand over a plate.
“Can’t believe you did this,” he mumbles softly.
“I thought you deserved a treat,” you say as you grab your own plate.
“Just having you here is a treat,” he says, unusually sappy with you.
“So you don’t want the rest of the post-dinner treats I planned?” you ask innocently.
“Didn’t say that,” he says, locking eyes with you.
“How early do you have to be in tomorrow?” you ask.
“I have the day off,” he says.
“Don’t get too full, then. I’ve got plenty of surprises for you,” you say.
hope you enjoyed it! let me know 💕
#woozi fluff#jihoon fluff#seventeen fluff#woozi x you#woozi x reader#jihoon x you#jihoon x reader#woozi imagines#woozi drabble#woozi scenarios#jihoon imagines#jihoon scenarios#seventeen imagines#seventeen scenarios#seventeen drabbles#seventeen x reader#seventeen x you#svt x reader#svt imagines#svt fluff#svt fanfic#seventeen fanfic#svthub#kvanity
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