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minhosbitterriver · 28 days

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─── ⋆⋅☆ STEADY LOVE ( xdinary heroes )

❛ A collection of heartfelt stories where love finds its strength in gentle understanding, as partners navigate the world together with unwavering support and care for each other's unique needs.

𝐱𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐨𝐞𝐬 + gender neutral reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 7.4k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 29 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This was so self-indulgent to write, so a very big thank you to my lovely 🍀 Anon for this request! Reblogs and feedbacks are always appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Y/N has AuDHD in each member's piece, mentions of bees as a special interest, descriptions of being burned out and struggling with change, some very slight ableism mentioned (not from any of the members), descriptions of overstimulation, mentions of stimming, terrible flirting, overall this is very much hurt + comfort, let me know if I missed anything!

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ) ( 𝐭𝐢𝐩 𝐣𝐚𝐫 )

구건일 ── GOO GUNIL.

The day felt like it had conspired against Gunil, stretching itself out into an agonizing eternity, as if determined to sap every last bit of energy from him. Each second dragged on, the clock's hands moving at a snail's pace, mirroring the heaviness in his limbs. Finally, after what seemed like an endless rehearsal, an exhausted sigh escaped his lips, the sound barely noticeable amidst the hum of tired voices from his bandmates. With a practiced, almost mechanical motion, Gunil returned his well-worn drumsticks to their designated holder, a small nook on the wall that had become as familiar to him as his own reflection. The drumsticks settled into place with a soft click, the only sound in the practice room that had served as their second home.

As his bandmates began to shuffle out, their movements sluggish, weighed down by the day’s efforts, Gunil barely registered the chorus of goodbyes. Jungsu’s voice cut through the haze, a final “see you tomorrow” accompanied by a wave before disappearing into the hallway. Gunil mustered a lazy half-smile, lifting his hand in a farewell that felt more like a reflex than a conscious action. The room, once alive with the pulse of their music, now felt eerily quiet, the silence amplifying the fatigue settling deep into his bones. He reached for his backpack, its weight pulling down on his tired shoulders, just as the sharp ring of his phone shattered the stillness.

The sudden sound jolted him, but when he saw your name on the screen, a genuine smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, chasing away the exhaustion, even if just a little. “I’m done rehearsing, love, I’ll be—” Gunil’s greeting was cut short by the unmistakable sound of your excited squeal. He couldn’t help but chuckle, his heart swelling with affection at the image of you practically vibrating with energy on the other end of the line.

“Goo, you have to come home as soon as you can!” Your voice was bright, almost bursting with excitement, and Gunil could easily imagine you doing your little wiggles of joy, the ones that always made his heart melt.

“Yes, baby,” he replied, his tone gentle, hiding the weariness in his bones so as not to dampen your spirits. “I’ll be home in no time. What’s got you so excited?”

As he turned off the lights in the now-quiet practice room, the faint clicking of your keyboard reached his ears. He pictured you perched at your desk, your laptop open before you, eyes wide with curiosity. The image made him smile.

“I found this new video, and Goo, it is so cool! It's a swarm of Japanese honeybees defending their nest by slapping ants with their wings, but this one is honestly so fascinating because apparently, this colony got infected by the Varroa Destructor Mite — but they were still so aggressive against the ants and they won! Isn't that so cool? Oh, Goo, please hurry, you have to watch it!”

Your words tumbled out in a rush, barely pausing for breath, your excitement making the details spill over each other in a joyous cascade. Gunil found himself chuckling softly, warmth blooming in his chest as he listened to your passionate rambling. There was something so endearing about the way you got lost in your own world, especially when it came to bees. He could listen to you talk for hours, your voice animated and full of life, a stark contrast to the weariness that had settled over him.

He thought back to the early days of your relationship, when you had nervously explained your autism to him, worried that it might be too much, too different. But to Gunil, it was simply another beautiful facet of who you were, something that made him love you even more deeply. “That does sound very interesting, my love,” he said, trying to match your energy despite the exhaustion tugging at him. “I really can’t wait to watch it!”

The promise of coming home to you, to your bright, infectious enthusiasm, gave him the strength to push through the final stretch of his journey. “I’ll be home in about ten minutes, so hang tight,” he added, a smile in his voice as he ended the call. As he neared the apartment you shared, the sight of a family-owned flower shop caught his eye.

Even through the fatigue, his gaze lingered on the blooms in the window, your favorite flowers standing out like a beacon. The thought of surprising you with them, especially when you were already so happy, sent a thrill through him. Without hesitation, he ducked into the shop, the sweet scent of fresh flowers wrapping around him like a comforting blanket. He selected a bouquet with care, imagining the way your eyes would light up when he walked through the door with them in hand.

The weight of the day began to lift as he paid for the flowers, the simple act of thinking about you bringing a renewed sense of energy. The thrill of coming home to you, your voice still echoing in his mind, made each step lighter. As he walked out of the shop, the bouquet cradled carefully in his arms, he felt the anticipation build, knowing that soon, he would be by your side, sharing in the simple, beautiful joy of being together.

김정수 ── KIM JUNGSU.

The corners of Jungsu’s lips tightened into a worried frown as he gently rapped on the door of your shared bedroom. Not waiting for an invitation, he nudged the door open just enough to peer inside. The sight that greeted him was one of persistent discomfort. There you were, lying on your side of the bed, your expression etched with visible distress. Your laptop, casting a soft glow in the dim room, played the familiar episodes of your favorite show—one you had practically memorized through countless viewings meant to soothe your troubled emotions.

Jungsu let out a soft sigh, his concern growing with each passing moment. He stepped into the room, the plush carpet muffling his footsteps as he moved towards your side of the bed. Perching himself on the edge, he settled into the space beside you, his presence both reassuring and tender. You kept your gaze fixed on the screen, as though it were the only refuge from the turmoil roiling within.

The silence stretched between you, thick with unspoken words and unshared burdens. After a few moments, you finally turned your head to meet his gaze, a weary sigh escaping your lips. Jungsu’s heart ached at the sight of your frustration and weariness. “I ordered takeout,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper as if afraid to shatter the fragile calm. “It’s your favorite.”

He noticed the fleeting flicker of interest in your eyes, a brief spark that was quickly extinguished as you turned back to the screen with a frown. “I don’t want to eat right now,” you murmured, your tone resolute and final, leaving no room for negotiation. The firmness of your refusal stung, and Jungsu could only nod in resignation. He sighed once more, his shoulders slumping slightly as he retreated from the room, leaving you to your solitude.

For nearly a week now, this had been your reality—an ongoing struggle that Jungsu could only partially grasp. Despite the year you had been together, he had never seen you like this before. He understood that adapting to sudden changes was particularly challenging for you, especially when they disrupted the routines that provided a semblance of stability. The day you had called him from work, sobbing uncontrollably while locked in the bathroom, was seared into his memory. You had told him about your old manager’s abrupt departure and the arrival of a new, unfamiliar face. The sudden shift was more than you could handle, especially when your new manager refused to accommodate the adjustments necessary to make your work environment bearable.

As the days went on, the pressure became insurmountable. Each day, you returned home to face the aftermath of panic attacks you had kept at bay and to collapse into bed, seeking solace in the comfort of a show that could no longer ease the heaviness you carried. The joy and relief it once brought you were now overshadowed by a pervasive numbness, a stark reminder of the emotional toll that had become all too familiar.

Jungsu’s heart ached with the weight of your struggle, and though he sympathized deeply with your plight, it did little to quell his worry. He remained steadfast in his resolve to support you through this storm, even as he grappled with the helplessness of seeing you so diminished. Each day, he hoped for a glimmer of recovery, a sign that the storm within you might begin to abate. But for now, he could only offer his silent presence and unwavering support, waiting for the day when you would once again find your way back to the light.

Jungsu was grappling with uncertainty about how to pull you from the depths of your distress, but a sudden spark of inspiration ignited within him as his gaze fell upon the television in the living room. Resolute to offer you a sliver of comfort, he began a frenzied quest to transform your shared space into a sanctuary of solace. For the next half hour, he darted around the apartment, arms laden with an assortment of blankets, comforters, and pillows—each one a small testament to his unwavering determination.

With every trip in and out of the bedroom, his expression was a mixture of earnest concentration and quiet determination. You watched with a blend of curiosity and amusement as he repeatedly entered the room, his movements a flurry of purposeful activity. At one point, he even attempted to gather your collection of stuffed animals, struggling under the weight of their collective softness as he staggered out, his focus unbroken by your gaze.

The sounds of his labor—the shuffling of furniture, the occasional grunt of exertion—filled the space, drawing your attention away from the show you had paused. You listened intently, your curiosity piqued by the rhythmic clamor of activity. Finally, after what felt like an eternity of bustling, Jungsu reappeared in the doorway of your bedroom, his face illuminated with a blend of triumph and excitement. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead, catching the soft light of the nightstand lamp as he panted, his chest rising and falling with each breath.

“Baby,” he called out, his voice breathless but laced with an infectious enthusiasm. His hands rested on his hips, a gesture of pride and anticipation. “Can you please come out? I made something for you, and I think you’re really going to like it!”

Despite the storm of emotions swirling within you, the sight of Jungsu’s eager, childlike gleam in his eyes tugged at your heartstrings. Intrigued and touched by his effort, you pushed yourself up from the bed, the pull of his unwavering support more compelling than the urge to remain cocooned in your sanctuary. He extended a hand towards you, which you accepted with a grateful smile, allowing him to guide you toward the living room.

The transformation that greeted your eyes as you entered the living room took your breath away. The coffee table, once a fixture in the center of the room, had been pushed to the far wall. In its place stood a grand fortress, a whimsical creation of mismatched blankets and comforters meticulously draped and layered into a cozy haven. Strings of Christmas lights peeked through the folds, their gentle glow casting a warm, ethereal light that danced across the room. The television, positioned just in front of the fortress’s entrance, was primed to play your favorite show, a comforting familiarity in its soft glow.

As you inhaled deeply, the fragrant aroma of your favorite meal wafted towards you, a final touch to the heartwarming scene. Overwhelmed by a wave of gratitude, tears threatened to spill as you turned to embrace Jungsu. Your arms wrapped around him tightly, your body shaking slightly with the emotion you struggled to contain.

Jungsu chuckled softly, his arms enveloping you in a hug that was both firm and reassuring—just the way you liked it. “Is this okay?” he asked gently, his voice barely above a whisper as you pulled back to look at him. The tears in your eyes glistened with a profound appreciation as you nodded vigorously, your voice wavering with emotion. “This is perfect, Jun,” you managed to say, your voice cracking slightly. “It looks exactly like how my grandmother used to do it when I was upset as a child.”

Jungsu’s smile widened, his satisfaction evident in the warmth that radiated from him. As you turned and practically bounded towards the fortress, a trail of contented giggles followed in your wake, each sound a balm to his worried heart. The sight of your joy, so vividly reflected in your laughter, made his heart flutter with a tender affection that seemed to encompass the entire room.

곽지석 ── KWAK JISEOK.

The outdoor market was a vibrant tapestry of colors and sounds, alive with the energy of families and couples weaving through stalls brimming with fresh produce and handcrafted jewelry. The air was thick with the mingling scents of spices, flowers, and street food, a cacophony of sensory delights that usually set your heart racing with excitement. But today, the thrumming pulse of the market felt more like a storm brewing on the horizon.

You had been standing in front of a stall, fingers lightly tracing the delicate patterns of handmade trinkets when a sudden influx of noisy tourists swarmed around you. The once-open space now felt suffocating as their loud voices clashed against one another, creating a wall of sound that made it impossible to think clearly. The proximity of strangers pressed too close, stealing the breath from your lungs and sending your heart into a frantic rhythm. You glanced around, searching desperately for Jiseok, who had been right beside you only moments ago, but the crowd swallowed him up, leaving you feeling isolated and vulnerable.

As your anxiety began to claw its way to the surface, your body responded in familiar, desperate ways. Your fingers found their way to your hair, twisting and pulling at the strands as if they might tether you to something solid. Your leg bounced uncontrollably, tapping out an erratic rhythm on the cobblestones beneath you. The sharp sting of your nails digging into your palms became the only thing anchoring you, yet it also edged you closer to a breaking point that felt terrifyingly near.

It felt like an eternity, but finally, Jiseok emerged from the crowd, his eyes immediately locking onto you with a mix of relief and concern. He didn’t need to ask what was wrong—he could see it in the way your body had tensed, in the rapid, shallow breaths you struggled to control. Without a word, he reached out, gently but firmly taking your hands in his, halting the destructive cycle of pulling at your hair and digging into your skin. He interlaced your fingers with his, grounding you with the warmth of his touch.

"Hey, let's get out of here for a bit," Jiseok's voice broke through the chaos, a soothing melody that cut through the overwhelming noise around you. He didn’t wait for a response; instead, he drew you close, wrapping his arms around you and pressing your head against his chest. The steady thump of his heartbeat against your ear was a familiar comfort, a lifeline in the middle of the storm.

Guiding you through the press of bodies, Jiseok kept you close, his arms a protective barrier against the world that had become too much to bear. His grip tightened slightly, applying the firm pressure that always seemed to calm your racing thoughts. "Look, we can go there for a little bit," he murmured, nodding towards a small park that sat like a hidden gem amidst the market’s frenzy. The greenery promised a respite, a quiet place to breathe again.

But it wasn’t the park that brought you solace—it was Jiseok himself. The vibration of his voice against your back as he spoke, the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat, and the warmth of his embrace all worked together to gently pull you out of the whirlpool of anxiety that threatened to drag you under. As he continued to speak, his words becoming a soft, mindless ramble meant only to distract, you could feel the storm inside you begin to subside. Your heartbeat, once wild and erratic, slowly began to sync with his, finding a steadier, calmer pace.

As Jiseok gently guided you through the bustling market, his hand remained a steady presence on your shoulder. Every so often, he would give a gentle squeeze, three soft pulses of reassurance—a silent code you both had established for moments like these, where words seemed to dissolve into the fog of your anxiety. It was his quiet way of asking, "Are you okay?" The simple gesture, familiar and comforting, anchored you amidst the swirling chaos.

In response, you reached up to grasp his forearm, fingers curling around his warmth as you squeezed twice, signaling back, "I'm better." The exchange was small, but it spoke volumes—a tender conversation held in silence, where no words were necessary, just the understanding between two souls who had learned to navigate these storms together.

The noise of the market gradually faded into the background as Jiseok led you to the park. Here, the world softened, with the gentle rustling of leaves in the breeze and the distant murmur of others who had also sought sanctuary from the market's overwhelming energy. The park felt like a refuge, a place where the intensity of the outside world couldn't quite reach you. Jiseok spotted a secluded bench beneath the shade of a large, ancient tree, its branches stretching out like a protective canopy. The dappled sunlight danced through the leaves, casting a soothing pattern on the ground, and the bench offered a quiet place to rest, away from prying eyes and the relentless pace of the market.

Once seated, Jiseok remained close, his presence a calming force beside you. Your breath, which had been shallow and quick, began to slow as you settled into the quiet of the park. Jiseok's fingers found their way to your hair, gently playing with the strands in a tender contrast to the earlier harsh tugging you had subjected them to. The soft rhythm of his touch was a balm, easing the lingering tension in your body. His other hand rested on your thigh, grounding you with its comforting weight.

He spoke in a low, soothing tone, his words a gentle caress to your frayed nerves. "We can leave whenever you're ready," he suggested, his gaze drifting out to the serene view of the park, "Maybe we can grab some food and cuddle at the dorm. I'm sure the members won’t mind. I’ll kick Seungmin out of our room if I have to; he’ll just have to suck it up."

As the tension within you began to melt away, you found yourself repeating the last few words of his sentence—a familiar and comforting habit, a happy stim that signaled your return to a place of calm. "...have to suck it up," you echoed, your voice lighter now, carrying the trace of a smile that tugged at the corners of your lips.

Jiseok chuckled softly, the sound rich and warm, wrapping around you like a blanket of comfort. He squeezed your hand gently, checking to ensure your nails were no longer digging into your palm. "That's my favorite sound," he teased, his eyes crinkling with amusement as he grinned at you, his love evident in the gentle curve of his smile.

This shared moment of lightness, of humor, further dispelled the remnants of your anxiety. In his presence, you were reminded that you didn’t have to face these moments alone—that even in your most vulnerable states, Jiseok was there, offering his unwavering support and love. The park, with its serene beauty and the quiet strength of your bond, became a haven where you could breathe again, surrounded by the safety of his embrace.

오승민 ── OH SEUNGMIN.

JYP Entertainment hosted an exclusive and lavish party at a luxury hotel, where the atmosphere blended the grandeur of celebration with the intimacy of a private gathering. Unlike the typical public events, this one was strictly by invitation, creating a sanctuary for idols to bring their partners, friends, and families without the constant pressure of cameras. The setting was resplendent, with elegant decor that reflected the significance of the occasion.

The entertainment options catered to a variety of tastes. In one corner, a live band played soft jazz, filling the room with soothing melodies. Nearby, a DJ spun upbeat tracks, enticing those who wanted to dance. For the more playful guests, a karaoke setup allowed for uninhibited fun, and a photobooth adorned with glittering lights stood ready to capture the night’s memories. A gourmet buffet stretched along one side of the room, offering an array of international cuisines, the rich aromas mingling with the laughter and chatter that filled the air.

Despite the festive atmosphere, the constant flashing of lights and the relentless pulse of the music began to overwhelm you. This was your first time attending an event of this magnitude, and though you had agreed to come because of the way Seungmin’s eyes sparkled with excitement at the thought of sharing this moment with you, the environment soon proved too much. Even as you admired him, his figure so striking in the finely tailored suit that accentuated his lean, muscular build, you couldn’t shake the feeling that the grand room was closing in on you. Your hands trembled despite your best efforts to maintain composure, and a cold sweat began to form along your hairline.

You stole a glance at Seungmin, who stood a short distance away, his face illuminated with genuine joy as he engaged in animated conversation with his bandmates and senior idols from the company. They were discussing the future direction of their music, reminiscing about their journey since debuting, and Seungmin’s laughter rang out, a clear sign that he was fully immersed in the moment. For a brief second, you hoped that his distraction would allow you to slip away unnoticed, just for a moment, to calm the rising tide of anxiety within you.

The party, though well-intentioned, was far beyond your comfort zone, and the sensory overload was beginning to take its toll. You needed to escape, to find a quiet space where you could breathe without the weight of the world pressing down on you. But as you discreetly made your way to the bathroom, seeking refuge from the overwhelming stimuli, Seungmin caught sight of your retreating figure.

Unbeknownst to you, Seungmin had anticipated the possibility of you feeling overwhelmed in such a busy atmosphere. Understanding how easily you could be overstimulated, he had made sure to pack your well-loved noise-canceling headphones in the expensive messenger bag his stylist had provided. As soon as he saw you slipping away, his concern for you took precedence over the conversation, and he politely excused himself, following you to the bathroom.

Upon entering the lavish bathroom, Seungmin offered a polite bow and murmured apologies to the few occupants before your shallow breathing caught his attention. He quickly moved to stand outside the stall where you had taken refuge.

"Love? It's me," he called softly, his voice gentle and soothing, careful not to startle you in your vulnerable state. Inside the stall, your hands clenched in a futile attempt to stop their violent trembling as you struggled to steady your breathing.

Seungmin reached over the door, his hand holding the familiar headphones — a lifeline in the storm of your frenzied thoughts. "I thought you might need this," he murmured.

You reached up and snatched the headphones, the urgency in your movements reflecting the desperation you felt. As you placed them over your ears, the chaotic world outside was mercifully muted. The overwhelming cacophony faded, replaced by the comforting silence you had so desperately needed. Finally, you could breathe again, the noise-canceling barrier providing a sanctuary where you could begin to reclaim your peace.

You were immensely grateful for Seungmin’s patience, relishing the brief respite as you took a few moments to catch your breath. The bustling noise of the party seemed to fade into the background, creating a cocoon of calm around you. Just as you began to steady yourself, your phone vibrated in your hand — a text from Seungmin, despite him standing right outside the bathroom stall. His name illuminated the screen, and a calming wave of relief washed over you, your erratic heartbeat finding a more measured rhythm.

Seungmin understood that in moments like these, communication through text would be the most comforting method. The message on your screen read, Feeling any better?

Your fingers, still slightly trembling, moved to reply. A lot better, thanks to you. Everything just became a little too much for me.

The reply came almost instantaneously, and you noticed how the tight, claustrophobic feeling had dissipated. I’m glad I thought of bringing the headphones. Why didn’t you tell me though? The words on the screen seemed to convey a trace of concern, as though you could almost see the frown forming on his lips as he awaited your response.

A pang of guilt pierced your heart. You knew Seungmin would have dropped everything to help you if only you had spoken up. But you didn’t want him to worry or to spoil such a significant night. I didn’t want to ruin such a big night. I thought I would be able to handle it...until I couldn’t anymore. You sent the message with a sigh, already anticipating the comforting words that would follow.

Baby, these parties mean nothing compared to your well-being. You didn’t ruin anything, I promise. A warm smile tugged at your lips as you read his soothing words.

Moments later, another text from him appeared. Do you want to stay here for a bit, or would you like me to take you somewhere quieter?

Relief flooded over you as you replied, Can we stay here for now? I don’t want to go back out yet.

Of course. Do you want to let me in? The offer was genuine and well-intentioned, but it made you feel uneasy.

You texted back, No. I’m sorry, but I don’t think I can handle being touched or having anyone at close proximity right now...sorry.

Hey, I get it. I’ll just stay here until you’re ready to come out.

Seungmin settled in by the door of your stall, his presence a reassuring anchor in your storm of anxiety. Leaning against the door, he continued to text you intermittently, checking in without overwhelming you. Despite the guilt that gnawed at you for keeping him away from the main event, you found solace in the sight of his polished shoes peeking out from beneath the stall door. His calm and patient demeanor provided a sense of security, a reminder that he was there for you while respecting your need for space.

To lift your spirits, Seungmin sent small jokes and snippets of gossip from the party, aiming to lighten the mood without pushing you too far. His thoughtful gestures made the wait more bearable. When you finally felt ready to emerge, you texted him, signaling that you were prepared to leave the bathroom. Seungmin maintained a respectful distance as he guided you out, his focus on ensuring your comfort. He stood by your side, a steady presence as you stood by the bathroom sinks, allowing you to regain your composure.

As you began to feel more at ease, your heart soared when Seungmin gently pulled you closer, swaying with you to the rhythm of a slow song that was apparently playing at the main party. The music and his embrace melded together in a soothing harmony, offering a sense of peace and connection that made the night’s earlier chaos feel like a distant memory.

한형준 ── HAN HYEONGJUN.

You and Hyeongjun had been together long enough to know that your bond was more than just a fleeting connection—it was a deeply rooted love, a steadfast commitment that had withstood the test of time. The idea of moving in together had always felt like the natural progression of your relationship, a step that would solidify the foundation you had built together. The thought of creating a home, a sanctuary where your love could continue to blossom, was a dream you both held close to your hearts.

After months of searching, of walking through countless doorways in hopes of finding the one that felt right, you finally discovered a small, charming apartment nestled in a quiet neighborhood. It was perfect in its simplicity, a place that felt like it could become your own little haven away from the world. The moment you stepped inside, hand in hand with Hyeongjun, you could almost see the future unfolding before your eyes—a future filled with love, laughter, and the simple joy of being together.

However, as thrilling as this new chapter was, the journey to get there was anything but easy. The excitement that buzzed in your chest was often tempered by the looming dread of packing up your lives and making the transition into this new space. Despite the weeks you had spent mentally preparing, gathering boxes, and organizing your belongings, the reality of the task ahead felt overwhelming once the packing began in earnest. The room that had once been your sanctuary, a place of comfort and familiarity, now looked as though it had been ravaged by a chaotic whirlwind. The bed, once a cozy nest of warmth, was buried beneath a patchwork of clothes—some folded neatly, others discarded haphazardly in the frenzy of sorting. Your once-tidy shelves had succumbed to disorder, with books that had been carefully arranged now lying in disarray, their pages splayed open as if they, too, were crying out for the order that had been lost.

Boxes were strewn across the floor, some half-packed, others overflowing with belongings that seemed to resist categorization. Trinkets and mementos from your relationship and childhood, tokens of memories that had shaped you, were scattered across every available surface. The room had become a chaotic testament to your inability to start a task and see it through to completion, the once-organized process now devolved into a mess that mirrored the storm of emotions brewing within you.

As you stood in the center of the chaos, trying to take it all in, the room seemed to close in on you. The sheer magnitude of the task at hand made your head spin, and the weight of the change—of leaving behind the familiar to step into the unknown—pressed down on you like a heavy blanket, smothering you with a growing sense of panic. Your breaths came in shallow gasps, your chest tightening as the reality of what lay ahead threatened to overwhelm you entirely. You felt frozen, trapped between the urge to curl up on the floor and the fear of succumbing to the full-blown panic attack that you could feel building inside you.

In that moment, the dream of a shared home, of a future filled with love and laughter, felt impossibly distant, overshadowed by the immediate reality of the overwhelming chaos that surrounded you.

Hyeongjun had been meticulously packing utensils in the kitchen, each clang and clatter a small, careful note in the symphony of your impending move. The rhythm was comforting in its predictability, a soundscape of progress amidst the chaos. But it was the sudden, uneven hitch in your breathing that cut through his focus like a knife. The familiar, faint tremor in your breath sent his instincts into overdrive. He abandoned the half-filled box without a second thought, his concern drawing him swiftly to the doorway where he paused, eyes immediately searching for you. The room’s disarray only served to heighten his worry, but it was the look on your face—pale, strained, eyes wide with the first signs of panic—that sent him rushing to your side.

His presence was immediate, solid, a tether in the storm of your thoughts. His hands hovered just above your trembling frame, a question in the tension of his fingers, as if even the act of touching needed your permission in this fragile moment. His voice, calm and steady despite the urgency he felt, broke the silence, "Touch or no touch?" It was the question he always asked, a gentle reminder that he was there, ready to offer exactly what you needed.

Your throat tightened, the pressure of unspoken fears constricting your ability to breathe freely. It took a moment, but you managed to force the words past the lump of anxiety, your voice barely above a whisper yet laced with raw desperation. "Touch, please. Hard." The plea was met with immediate action. Hyeongjun closed the distance between you in an instant, his arms wrapping around you with a firm, reassuring pressure that felt like a lifeline. He pulled you close, your face pressed into the warm, solid comfort of his chest, as if he could shield you from the overwhelming chaos that threatened to consume you.

His embrace was everything you needed—strong, grounding, enveloping you in a cocoon of safety. His hands moved over your back, each squeeze purposeful, designed to remind you that you weren’t alone in this moment. The weight of his arms anchored you, offering a physical connection that countered the spinning in your mind. As you struggled to sync your breathing with his, he guided you gently, his chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm, coaxing your frantic gasps to slow. The familiar scent of him—warm, comforting, like home—began to permeate your senses, grounding you further with each breath.

Hyeongjun understood you in a way no one else did. He knew how deeply change unsettled you, how even the most exciting transitions could unearth old anxieties that clung like shadows. This move, this beautiful step into a shared future, was something you had both yearned for, yet the enormity of it was daunting, and he recognized that.

Still holding you close, he gently guided you to the edge of the bed, never loosening his protective grip. His voice, soft and steady, filled the space between your breaths. He began to speak, his words a soothing balm, painting a picture of the memories he hoped to create with you in your new home.

He spoke softly of lazy Saturday mornings, where the two of you would linger in bed, wrapped in each other’s warmth as the world outside moved on without you. He painted a picture of sunlight streaming through the windows, casting golden hues across the room as the smell of fresh coffee filled the air, mingling with the comforting scent of your shared space. He imagined those moments when you would shuffle into the kitchen, still half-asleep, to find him waiting with a mug in hand and a soft smile on his lips. The day would stretch out before you, unhurried and serene, a canvas for whatever simple joys you decided to indulge in.

He envisioned quiet evenings in the living room, where the two of you would sit side by side, your legs tangled together as you watched movies, your laughter or quiet conversations filling the room. Or perhaps, he mused, there would be nights where no words were needed—where you’d simply sway to the rhythm of music only the two of you could hear, dancing slowly in the dim light of your cozy space. Those were the moments he looked forward to, where nothing else mattered but the gentle pulse of your love, a steady, comforting presence that would fill the apartment with a sense of belonging.

He spoke of the laughter that would echo through the kitchen as you experimented with new recipes, each attempt a delightful adventure, whether it ended in culinary success or a flour-covered mess. The thought of you animatedly talking about bees, your special interest, brought a tender smile to his face. He was excited to hear you ramble on about your latest findings, to listen to your voice light up with passion as you shared the intricacies of something you loved so dearly. For him, the simple joy of coming home to you after a long day, of seeing your face light up when you saw him, was a treasure beyond words. It was in these everyday moments, he believed, that the true beauty of life together would unfold.

Each word he spoke was a delicate thread, weaving a tapestry of the life you would build together—a life rich in love, comfort, and endless moments of shared happiness. As he continued to paint this picture with his words, you felt the tightness in your chest begin to ease, the panic that had gripped you slowly loosening its hold. The overwhelming mess that surrounded you, while still daunting, no longer felt like an insurmountable mountain.

When he offered to help you pack your bedroom, it wasn’t just the task at hand he was addressing—it was the unspoken promise that you wouldn’t have to face any of it alone. With Hyeongjun by your side, you knew that no matter how overwhelming the process might seem, you would get through it together. The future you were moving toward, though filled with uncertainties, was also brimming with the promise of love, and that was more than enough to keep you going.

이주연 ── LEE JOOYEON.

Since childhood, Saturdays had been your sacred ritual, a cherished time when you sought refuge in the comforting embrace of your favorite internet cafe. Nestled on a tranquil street near your home, this digital sanctuary had become your second haven. The space was a dimly lit enclave, bathed in warm amber hues that softly illuminated rows of screens and keyboards. The gentle hum of cooling fans and the rhythmic clatter of keys created a soothing symphony of focused activity. The walls were adorned with neon posters of popular games and vibrant advertisements for energy drinks, their colors shimmering and pulsing with the memories of countless gaming sessions. Each desk bore the marks of countless hours spent in virtual worlds, with personal touches and signs of frequent use that told stories of dedicated gamers. The chairs, worn and comfortable, had molded to fit their occupants perfectly.

The employees, who had long grown accustomed to your weekly visits, had come to appreciate your presence. They reserved a specific PC for you, tucked away in a semi-secluded corner you had claimed as your own years ago. This desk, bathed in the soft, reassuring glow of your screen, was where you felt most at ease, completely immersed in the digital adventures you embarked upon. The ritual of arriving, settling in, and losing yourself in your chosen game was a comforting certainty, a bubble of predictability in a world that often felt overwhelming.

However, recently, this cherished routine had been disrupted by a new and vibrant presence. Jooyeon, as you would eventually learn, was the boy whose frequent visits began to unsettle the calm monotony of your Saturdays. His arrival was like a burst of vivid color and exuberant energy crashing into your serene haven. The air would come alive with his boisterous laughter and animated conversations with friends, his presence a dynamic contrast to the quiet you had grown accustomed to.

Despite this disruption, you found yourself surprisingly receptive to the change. Jooyeon, with his strikingly handsome features, was impossible to overlook. His mischievous grin, ever-present and wide, seemed to illuminate the room as if he were the very essence of playful charm. Dressed in soft, well-worn hoodies paired with relaxed jeans, and with his shoulder-length hair cascading like a dark, flowing waterfall, he exuded an effortlessly cool demeanor. His interactions with friends and his choice of games created a vivid contrast against the backdrop of your reserved routine, adding an unexpected layer of excitement to your once predictable Saturdays.

There were moments when, despite your best efforts to stay focused on your own game, you would catch fleeting glimpses of him from the corner of your eye. You tried to remain unobtrusive, but Jooyeon's unabashed enjoyment of the popular games he was engrossed in was impossible to ignore. The occasional flicker of movement or the burst of his distinctive laughter would effortlessly draw your gaze, breaking through the veil of your concentration.

On one particular Saturday, Jooyeon’s frustration had reached its zenith. After what felt like the hundredth defeat in his solo game, he dramatically slumped back in his chair, his hands clasped behind his head in a gesture of surrender. His eyes, alight with a mixture of defiance and amusement, wandered towards your screen, where you were deeply immersed in a particularly demanding quest. As you navigated through the game with meticulous keystrokes, Jooyeon’s gaze lingered on you, an unspoken challenge mingling with curiosity that sent a flutter through your heart.

Despite the distraction of his intense scrutiny, you managed to achieve a hard-fought victory, leveling up with a triumphant flourish on your screen. The soft hum of intrigue that escaped Jooyeon’s lips prompted you to finally look up, your heart racing as you became acutely aware of the flush warming your cheeks. Jooyeon’s grin remained undiminished, his eyes sparkling with an affectionate, teasing light. After a moment of shy silence, his laughter bubbled forth, a soft, infectious sound that seemed to fill the space between you. His amusement wrapped around you like a playful embrace, acknowledging the unspoken connection that had quietly woven itself into the fabric of your Saturday rituals.

When he finally spoke, his voice was a low murmur, meant only for you to hear. “I heard that game is pretty good. Do you mind if I join?” The simple invitation opened the door to a new, intimate connection. From that moment on, Saturdays transformed into a shared adventure, where you and Jooyeon would indulge in games together, swapping playful jabs and cracking jokes. The hours spent with him became the highlight of your week, and the growing affection you felt for him added a layer of significance to each interaction. You found yourself seeking ways to show him how much he meant to you.

Noticing his habit of picking at his skin whenever he was stressed or anxious, you returned the following week with a thoughtful gift: a textured, silicone stress ball from your own collection, designed to help him redirect his nervous energy without damaging his skin. On another occasion, as you patiently waited for him to clear a level in a game you were both playing, you couldn’t help but be charmed by the expression of concentration on his face. Without fully thinking through your words, you blurted out, “You have this cute habit of pouting when you’re really focused. It’s kind of distracting, but in a way that makes me want to keep watching.” The sudden boldness of your words left you both blushing, but Jooyeon’s shy attempt to hide his wide smile made the moment feel worth the slight embarrassment.

When Jooyeon revealed that he was an idol, the bassist for the rock band Xdinary Heroes, you found yourself spending the entire week immersed in his music and learning everything you could about him. By the time Saturday rolled around again, you were eager to confess your newfound knowledge. As he settled into his usual seat beside you, you said with a grin, “I was thinking about you so much that I ended up reading every article, watching every video, and listening to every song from your band. I have so many questions about you guys!” The sight of Jooyeon’s typically casual demeanor giving way to shyness, while his grin widened, was heartwarming. He eagerly entertained each of your questions, his enthusiasm is infectious as ever.

Finally, on one late evening, as the employees of the internet cafe gently nudged you both towards the exit, you lingered outside, a smile playing on your lips. Turning to Jooyeon, you said softly, “I really like spending time with you. You make my brain feel all fizzy, like I’ve had too much caffeine, but in a really good way.”

To your surprise, he chuckled lightly and replied, “Okay, so, I don’t usually say stuff like this, but...whenever I’m with you, it’s like my brain gets all tangled up in butterflies and excitement. I really like spending time with you, too.”

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ My permanent taglist is open! @joosbasschick (Click on the link to join! All you have to do is answer a few questions to help me stay organized!)

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS!

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whimsiquix · 2 months

Text

But but QUIX. This is from Ashwatthama’s POV. Well. Eh. Not exactly.

For one. The parts displayed in the flashbacks are directly from the Kurukshetra and no such hilarious chariot pushing incident ever happened in the Mahabarata.

And Two. Ashwatthama thoroughly can’t stand the man as he quite famously displays in his rant below:

“In which duel in battle have you vanquished Dhananjaya, Nakula or Sahadeva? Whose riches have you robbed? Has Yudhishthira, or Bhima, supreme among strong ones, ever been defeated by you? And in which battle did you win over Krishna? O performer of evil deeds! She was dragged into the assembly hall in a single garment, when she was in season. In search of gain, you have severed the great root of a sandalwood tree. O brave one! You made them perform tasks and what did Vidura have to say then? We have seen that men exhibit conciliation, to the best of their ability. So do other beings, even insects and ants. The Pandavas are incapable of pardoning Droupadi’s molestation. Dhananjaya has appeared for the destruction of the sons of Dhritarashtra. Appearing as a learned one, you speak your words repeatedly. But will Jishnu not end this enmity, leaving no vestiges left? Kunti’s son Dhananjaya is not frightened of fighting the gods, the gandharvas, the asuras or the rakshasas. When he is enraged and descends on anyone in battle, he destroys him, like a tree is brought down through Garuda’s force. He is superior to you in valour. He is equal to the king of the gods in archery. He is Vasudeva’s equal in battle. Who will not show homage to Partha? He will fight and destroy divine with divine, human with human, weapons with other weapons. What man is Arjuna’s equal? Those who know about dharma know that a student comes only after a son. That is the reason why Drona loves Pandava. Will you fight with Pandava the way you gambled and won Indraprastha and the way you dragged Krishna to the assembly hall? This wise uncle of yours, Shakuni of Gandhara, is a deceitful gambler and is learned about the dharma of kshatriyas. Let him fight here now. Gandiva does not cast dice, not krita, nor dvapara. Gandiva releases flaming, sharp and pointed arrows. When released from Gandiva, dreadful, extremely energetic and tufted with vulture feathers, they can even pierce the interiors of mountains. Antaka, Shamana, death and the fire with the mare’s head leave something behind, but not an enraged Dhananjaya. Let the preceptor fight with Dhananjaya if he wishes. I will not fight with him.”

- BORI CE.

Now does any of this make Kalki a bad movie? No. Merely an annoying one.

You are now going to be subject to my essays on how, if we had to be forcefully be subjected to Prabhas being a Mahabarat character (in this context) why it would make more sense for him to play Abhimanyu instead of Karna.

#mahabarat #kalki2898ad #kalki movie #Arjuna #Arjun #Mahabharat #Mahabharata #Krishna #Karna #Hindu mythology #desiblr #ashwatthama

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roosterforme · 2 years

Text

Two to Tango Part 4 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley is ready to up the ante on your wager, and he finds he doesn't mind the idea of you winning.

Warnings: Adult banter, swearing, smut, fluff

Length: 1900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun.

Part 3

Bradley was unsurprised when you took the lead in points by a small margin at the end of Thursday. He had tried his best to rattle your nerves by whispering to you that you looked like a pretty princess during the lecture, but it backfired on him terribly.

You had started laughing, trying your best to hold it together, but Killer turned around and glared daggers at Bradley from his spot right in front of you.

When the lecture ended, and everyone made their way out onto the tarmac, Killer came up behind you and asked, "He's giving you a hard time, Tango?"

Bradley watched as the enormous man glared at him again, and then he watched you rub your chin like you weren't quite sure how to answer.

"Do you want me to get my ass kicked?" Bradley whispered, pleading with you.

You laughed again. "Nah, he's alright, Killer."

The only response was the sound of Killer snorting like a bull before he strolled over to Phoenix. His expression changed from pissed off alligator to lovesick puppy in an instant when Nat looked up at him.

Bradley would have to interrogate his friend about her taste in men later, because right now he had something to ask you before he climbed up into his aircraft.

"Tango," he called to you as you were walking away. "How about we up the ante on our wager?"

Your smile was instantaneous. "What did you have in mind, Rooster?"

"Loser takes the winner out for drinks. Back in California." He knew he was making a bold assumption that you would be interested in going out with him after this week, but he couldn't help himself.

"Let me get this straight, sweetheart.... when I win, I get two hundred bucks, you have to say something nice about me, and I get free drinks? Sounds great."

You stuck your hand out for him to shake, and then Bradley pulled you a little bit closer to him. "You're beautiful."

You smiled and looked at your boots, and Bradley loved how flustered this made you. "Just make sure you come to my room later and not Killer's, okay?"

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

Bradley couldn't believe himself. He honestly didn't care if he won the bet or lost. It didn't matter to him if you were better than he was. And when he arrived at your room on Thursday night, and you started listing off your favorite cocktails, he just laughed.

"I want you to know what I like. For when you take me out for drinks," you informed him as you wrapped your arms around his waist.

Bradley really thought you and he would just get down to business and start undressing right away, so he was a little surprised to find you snuggling up to him. He folded you up in his arms and kissed the top of your head.

"I'll buy you as many drinks as you want. Maybe we can even go out more than once," he whispered as you started slowly working on the buttons of his shirt.

You looked up at him, and Bradley braced himself for rejection, but instead you told him, "For some reason beyond my comprehension, I really like you. And your mustache."

"I really like you. And your smart mouth."

You smiled at him as he scooped you up into his arms.

"Tomorrow's our last day here. Are you gonna miss me?" you asked as Bradley dropped you down on your bed and climbed on top.

"Why do you think I tricked you into agreeing to meet up with me for a date?"

You laughed as he kissed your neck and hiked his hands up under your shirt. "I guess I fell for it."

"I'm so charming, you didn't stand a chance," Bradley told you, digging his fingertips gently into your sides.

"Yeah, yeah, age and experience and all that shit. Come on, old man, I want you to earn your walk of shame."

Bradley took his time and made you cum on his tongue, your thighs squeezing his face as you whined. He stretched out on the narrow bed and pulled you on top of him. His dick was rock hard as you started to ride him, your movements languid, a hazy look in your eyes. You already looked a little fucked out, and now you were enjoying his body slowly, rubbing your tits against his chest and rolling your hips.

"Nice and slow, Tango. Make it last," he whispered, and you stilled your motions with him fully seated inside you.

"So slow," you murmured, moving just ever so slightly. "God, you feel good."

Bradley basked in your words as you praised him. "Tango," he moaned as you moved your body up and down his length a little faster. Bradley gripped your hips and enjoyed the way you were looking at him, the way you were working him closer to the edge.

He watched you cum for him, all of your little gasps growing louder as you ran your hands along your breasts, teasing yourself as your eyes drifted closed.

"Fuck," you moaned, and when you squeezed around him, Bradley thrust up into you until you got loud. Then he came too, and held you as you smiled at him.

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

When your alarm went off on Friday morning, Bradley reached for your phone and silenced it.

"Tango," he whispered, playing with your hair. "Let's get up, baby." You barely stirred, so he added, "So I can kick your ass and win this thing."

You rolled out of your bed, alert and ready to go. "Like hell, sweetheart. Come on."

Bradley laughed as you started to get your flight suit on, still determined to win. You narrowed your eyes at him as you tied your boots.

"Maybe I'll just stay here and skip the competition," he said with a yawn, pulling the blanket up higher. "Let you have it."

You shook your head and stomped back across the small room. "Get up, Rooster! I'm winning this thing fair and square! I can't wait to hear the nice things you have to say about me. And I can't wait to hear you say them in front of everyone."

But all of the nighttime activities had started to catch up with Bradley, and the day was not working out in his favor. You destroyed him and everyone else in the ten mile run. You took the lead early, and you were unrelenting. But this time when Bradley and Jake came huffing across the finish line together, you handed him some water and let your fingers linger on his hand.

"Thanks," Bradley mumbled before downing all of it in one go. "Damn, you're fast, Tango."

Then Bradley thought he was going to faint during the obstacle course; the temperature was nearing ninety five, and he barely managed to beat you.

He was exhausted, laying on the ground, looking up at you as you blocked the sun for him. "Comes down to the five mile run," you told him, placing your hands on your hips.

You were sweaty and muddy, and Bradley wanted to take you into the locker room with him. He could feel his body humming as he looked up at you and thought about his hands all over your body.

He thought about asking you to come spend a weekend with him in San Diego; he had an enormous walk-in shower at his place. But he thought better of it. He would give it more time.

"Five mile run. Fuck. Just take your two hundred bucks now. You win, Tango," Bradley groaned, still on the ground when the rest of his team crossed the finish line. You reached out and helped him to his feet. He staggered around rubbing the stitch in his side, and you grinned at him.

"I'll see you at the finish," you told him, leaning in to kiss his sweaty cheek, right in front of everyone. Bradley watched you walk away as Killer glared at him, but Bradley couldn't stop smiling. Maybe you wouldn't say no to a weekend with him after this.

He smiled as you immediately passed him and stayed well ahead of him during the five mile run. And he was still smiling when he finished in second place for total points on the week.

"Congratulations," he told you, sticking his hand out and shaking yours.

"You are so slow, old man. I can't believe your only claim to fame is landing on a freaking boat. How embarrassing." You kissed his lips softly before you added, "Now, I want my compliment as soon as everyone else finishes."

"Nah, I'm going to start now. You're beautiful. You're funny. You're smart and charming and competitive. You make me want to get to know you better."

You were trying to hide your face behind your hands as the final stragglers finished the five mile race, and Bradley loudly announced, "Tango is more talented than I am. All I have is experience from being so old."

You started cracking up, and you wrapped your arms around him. "I tried to tell you that on Sunday."

"Yeah, well, you were right and I was wrong."

You kissed his sweaty cheek and told him, "I'll see you in Cali, sweetheart."

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

Bradley picked the spot, a cute restaurant halfway between Edwards Air Force Base and Top Gun on North Island. He'd dressed up a little bit, anxious to see you again. It had been a week since you beat him at his own game, and Bradley had talked to you every day since.

You had refused his two hundred dollars, but Bradley would insist on paying for everything tonight. And he was hoping to score a second dinner with you in the process.

"Old man."

Bradley spun around from his spot at the bar to face you. You were wearing a dress and some makeup, and he was at a loss for words.

"You okay, sweetheart?" you asked softly, eyeing him up and down. "You look nice."

Bradley leaned down and kissed you, pulling you against him. When you took his face in your hands, Bradley used his lips to separate yours, and he briefly tasted your tongue.

"I missed you," he whispered against your mouth.

"I missed you too, Rooster. I hope you remembered the list of drinks I like."

Bradley chuckled. "I remember everything, Tango. Now let's eat and drink so we can spend more time catching up and making plans."

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

Thanks for reading this one! I hope you enjoyed this final part!

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#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster fanfic #rooster x female reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #rooster bradshaw x female reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction

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wosowrites · 2 years

Text

Her Clumsy Girl (Katie McCabe x Reader)

Warnings: none

A/n: this is so cute. also what do you guys think of the instagram pic thing i did.

Prompt: in which you’re a machine on the field but when you’re off the field you’re the clumsiest person ever

Arsenal had started a new video collection for their youtube channel. Every month, they gave a go pro camera to one player to film little snippets of their life on and off field to then be turned into a youtube video. Fans were obsessed with it. The first month, Beth Mead and Vivianne Miedema had it, the second, Kim Little, and this month, fans were begging for you and Katie to have it. So, you agreed. Jonas gave you the camera on monday after training, and you immediately started filming on your way home.

You and Katie had been together for a year, and despite Katie’s fierce and slightly argumentative personality on the pitch, you had never had a fight. Off the pitch, she was a real sweetheart. For you, however, on the pitch, you were tactical, strong, and you would weave through players as though they were pilons. And off the field, you were so clumsy you could have tripped over an ant.

"Hey guys!" You said, fumbling with the camera and trying your best to place it on the dashboard. "Damn it!" You giggled as the camera fell again. You finally managed to set it up where it stayed still and where you and Katie were both in frame. "You’re hopeless." Katie said, keeping her eyes on the rainy road. "Am not!" You poured, turning your attention back to the camera. "Anyways. Training just ended so that’s why we’re looking sweaty and disgusting. So, we’re going home to shower and change and then we’re going out shopping for the afternoon. I need new-" You started saying. "Want. You want new shoes." Katie cut you off. "Shut up, Katie." You said to her.

You cut the camera, knowing you shouldn’t film too much because the videos were only ten minutes long.

"This vlog is going to be chaotic, babe." Katie said, smiling at you before turning her eyes back to the road. "It will not. I guarantee you I can spend the month without you getting a single clumsy moment from me on camera." You told her. "Oh you are so on. What do we win?" Katie asked. "Hmm, the winner gets to take the looser on a date. The winner plans everything, and the looser pays for everything." You pitched. "Sounds good to me."

You lost the bet three hours later.

You had gone home, showered and changed. The rain had stopped and it was now sunny and warm in London, and you wore a black cropped tank top with black trousers and beige loafers. Accessories were always the way to go with you, so you wore rings and bracelets as well as two necklaces. You loved showing off your tattoos, and Katie loved seeing them.

You got back into your car to go to the shopping outlet, deciding to stop for coffee. You set up the camera when you were parked in front of the coffee shop.

"Okay so we’re getting coffee now, and we’re gonna see who has to go in and get the coffee." You said to the camera before turning to Katie. "Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!" You said at the same time. Katie won and you groaned as she celebrated.

"I dont like you." You told Katie as you opened the car door and walked into the shop. Katie filmed you walking into the shop. "She’s so hot. And she loves me very much don’t be fooled." Katie told the camera, flipping it back to show her face.

You ordered two coffees, a shaken oat milk espresso for you and a matcha for Katie. You started walking towards the door, seeing Katie filming you through the clear doors of the car. You walked towards the door and pushed it with your hip.

It was a pull door.

You spilled your coffee all over yourself, and you look up to see Katie barking with laughter as she films you. You groan loudly and walk out of the shop, your outfit soaked with coffee. Katie sits in the car, laughing her head off at you. You open the door of the car and sit in the seat. "I’m-im suprised you didn’t try to push the car door!" She giggled.

You tried to look at her sternly, but you ended up laughing too. Katie turned off the camera and you handed her her coffee. She leaned in to kiss you, wiping the coffee off your neck. "I love you." She told you as she pulled away.

You groaned as a response.

"What do I do? Im soaked." You said, looking down at your wet shirt and pants. "Well, lucky for you, after having dated you for a year, I know how to prepare for all your little quirks." Katie said, reaching into the backseat. "What does that even mean?" You asked her, watching her suspiciously. "It means…" Katie started, finally grabbing what she was looking for. She pulled out a bag of clothes from the back. "I change it for every season. Right now. We’ve got… a mid length white tee shirt, a brown crewneck and jean shorts. I know this is a boring outfit and not to your standard so I threw in these random sunglasses." Katie said, pulling out your favorite Y2K sunglasses with silver stars on the side. "Katie! I love you and thank you for this but… i’ve been looking for those shades for like three months." You giggled, taking them from her and putting them on you. You fixed your hair and looked at her. "How do I look?" You asked. "Amazing. Let me take a picture." Katie said, pulling out her phone. "Lovely." She said as she took the pic.

"Okay now let’s take the countryside road so we can park on the side and let you change you clumsy girl." Katie said, pulling out of the parking space. "Oh and by the way, when should we do our date? I already have ideas." Katie said.

You just groaned again.

You were now in the backseat of the car, changing quickly when Katie pulled out her phone, taking a picture of you as you buttoned your jean shorts. You flipped her off, and she snapped another picture. Katie filmed you with the go pro as you got out of the backseat and walked back to the front. She had been kind enough to share her matcha with you.

You sat criss cross in the seat as she filmed you. "Time to explain what happened, y/n," the irish woman said in a sing songy voice. "I spilt my coffee and I had to change clothes. Now give me that." You took the camera from your girlfriend and started filming her. "Look how cute she is!" You squeezed her cheeks making her roll her eyes and laugh. You placed the camera on the dashboard. "It’s all a lie! She’s secretly a-" You couldn’t finish your sentence as when you were adjusting your position, you hit your head on the roof of the car. "Fuck!" You groaned, holding your head with one hand and Katie’s matcha with the other. "Okay." Katie said. You looked over at her and gave her a ‘really?' look.

katie_mccabe11

had a little accident and needed to change, eh y/n?

@y/n.y/l/n: katie people are going to think i peed myself.

katie_mccabe11: @y/n.y/l/n: you did.

@y/n.y/l/n: @katie_mccabe11: KATIE I DID NOT

A month later

The video was out, and the amount of clumsiness on your part had the gunners, players and fans alike going crazy.

"It’s okay baby, as long as you don’t fall on your face on the field, you’re okay." Katie said.

Your next game was against Man United, the field was wet and as you ran by yourself, you slipped and fell on your face. You hit the ground in frustration as you heard laughs from the field. Ona Batlle helped you up. "Don’t worry about it. I know a thing or… twenty about falling on my face on the field." Ona said kindly. You smiled at her and kept playing, knowing your team would give you shit for it later, but not wanting it any other way.

#woso fic #woso imagine #woso x reader #woso #arsenal fcw #katie mccabe #ona battle #woso couples #this is woso #woso fanfics

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inbetweenhours · 2 years

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Because I am obsessed with this one line from Battle Cries by The Amazing Devil and will continue to reuse it in artwork I of course had this though for using it in comparison to the twins of Rivendell, Scott and Xornoth. As I though more about the piece it evolved into a study of the cycle of corruption and hate between brothers within Rivendell’s leadership. This fight that was born in Rivendells foundation and which died only with the kingdom itself.

Doing this I managed to put a lot more thought into my actual ideas about how the majorly slumbering pantheon that the Stag Gods herald from operates its history especially. I revisited my concepts of Alinar and Cohnel, and I made sure to keep in mind the key differences in all the brothers relationships, as well as how the corruption and championship affected them.

Below the cut im gonna ramble about the lore both canon and MOSTLY my won fanon that provides background to this piece and how it came together in my head :]

I am going to go through each set of brothers and describe their history. From their conception, to their finality, in the context of being a pair.

The Stag Gods are unique in their conception. For the sake of ages they are affectively twins. The pantheon they hail from was born in the time after the titans fell. As Pixlriffs describes in his opening to season 2, mighty titans once roamed the earn and when they fell their bodies became the lands that empires now rise and fall on today. The era of gods that Exor and Aeor were conceptualized in were some of the first creatures to evolve to inhabit the lands that these titans bodies became. The first stags, the first serpents, the first flora. The first seasons, of winter, to spring, and summer. Wilderness was born and from it rose divinity in its first era. That of the Stag gods.

When Aeor and Exor were young fawns they were nothing more than animal. Young and reckless, exploratory as they took on their responsibilities. Bringing order and chaos, winter and summer. A cycle ever chasing one another. They were so different, but they were brothers. They could not be without the other, as is their cyclical nature.

They are affectively the same age. And they grew up in a time where they and the other gods were the only sentient life around. They are neither benevolent nor malevolent gods. No deity is, because those are mortal terms. Their understanding of mortality is comparable to human understanding of ants. They work, and they have built great things have systems. But everything looks so simple from the gods view.

The gods take care of mortality in the same way a man may take care of his dog. The dog is loyal and loved and cared for, but it is still only a dog. When the corruption first rose it ugly red shades across the land the gods grew weary. It threatened their precious pets, destroying mortalities hard work and making them ill and crazed. So the pantheon banded together and supposedly defeated The Corruption. It took the full strength of most, and so most of the pantheon fell into slumber. The Stag Gods among the few who continued to stand.

The brother stags founded Rivendell high in the mountains, a place to protect and watch over the mortals they personally had found preference in, the elven civilization. For a long time the elves worshiped both stags, but as time went on a preference for Aeor and his orderly ways grew. Exor grew jealous, and emboldened by the last remnant of The Corruption which has laid in wait for it time to rise again, he acted out. And as more and more conflict grew between the brother stags, the corruption took its hold in Exor, turning him cruel and greedy, and in turn twisting up all the gods followers as well.

We all know how this story ends. Aeor and his brother fight, divided finally, futile, by The Corruption, and Exor alongside his followers are banished to the mountain peaks to waste away in the caves.

Alinar and Cohnel are the next of the brothers. They are third generation Rivendells citizens. Alinar is older than Cohnel, by some years. They come from a comfortable family, nothing so noble, as the country flourishes around them. They play together in the streets, Alinar leaning Cohnel by the hand too keep him from running off. The play in the snow and as thy grow older dare to hike further and further into snowy peaks. Till one day they would discover the ruins of where Exors fanatics were one sealed away.

Alinar would urge them to leave, taking Cohnel home. Enough warning in old tales told as bedtime stories enough to ward him away. But not Cohnel. Ever cursed with youthful curiosity he would return alone. And he would not be seem for many months. Declared missing Alinar would mourn, grow, and push himself to help others where he could not his brother. He would join the council leading Rivendell, where he would be in a position to see the rampant increase of missing persons. The unease and fear it drew throughout their kingdom.

And under oath to protect the people Alinar would set out, meet his brother again on the battlefield. Now corrupted from his once boyish youth Cohnel is nothing of the baby brother Alinar once guided. Still, the boy has their mothers nose, and the same eyes. Alinar is weak in one moment and decides he cannot kill his baby brother. But he is a member of the council and a hero of the people. Aeor gives him help, guides him as his champion and brings him to the conclusion of a banishment spell. So he does just that, never to see his brother again, and goes on to become the champion of Rivendell. Heralded as its first king.

The final set of brothers are best known I presume. Scott and Xornoth, twins of Rivendells monarchy. Xornoth is older, and that is important to me as I often debate giving them a real age gap but I will stick with the twins lore for now. Descendants of Alinar. As members of the monarchy these brothers lives are different to the others. They found more solace in one another as refuge from responsibility and ridicule from their parents.

Both princes grew well educated, and with that they knew even more of their history than perhaps the general public were privy. Their ancestry, and that of the gods more available. Both were devout in their academics and their religion, as they were brought up to be. However a key difference was Xornoths ability to push boundaries, push questions. Always a thirst for more, more more- especially in the way of knowledge. They drudged up arguments with mere curiosity and while Scott entertained his brothers thoughts, he was much more well behaved. Not risking mentors or parents good temperament for answers when he could easily keep his mouth shut.

Still, he encouraged Xornoth’s curiosity, even as it grew more fascinated with more forbidden insight. More curious to Exors scorned history. With so much historical documentation of devotion to Exor destroyed out of fear a long, long time ago Xornoth only grew more despertaly curious. And when they found note of old banished groups of ollowers in the mountains he pleaded with Scott for a coverup.

Scott allowed it, the two sneaking away and Xornoth returning with an ancient tomb. Obsessive was what Xornoth was turning into, red glint in their sharp eyes growing more by the day till finally something gave. Where there was once passive irritation and distain Xornoth grew quick to anger and violence. Till finally the ysnapped, and in a late, fitful arguement with their parents they killed them both.

Scott had not an idea what happened. Not until he awoke the next morning to maids screams. His parents dead, and his brother gone- nothing more than a banishment sigil burned into their bedroom floor as indication to where they had went. Scott would be coronated, and with his kingship he only became more devout to Aeor.

Scott believed his brother dead, and moved on for over a decade till the events of season one as we know it. Xornoths return, the understanding of what had happened to them. Being championed, and capturing his brother. Hoping dearly to find a way to undo Exors influence. Till finally out of time the two battle on Rivendell peaks, overrun with corruption.

Scott decides to be selfless, killing himself on the rune blade. and As he bleeds out Aeors presence withdrawals from him. As Aeor withdrawals, so does Exor. Until it is only Scott, delirious with bloodloss and pain. Until it is only Xornoth, finally in their right mind after decades of corruption and divinity puppeteering them. And they see their little brother, and know they had failed to protect him from themselves when they ran away. There is nothing left to be done as Xornoth moves to hold Scott in their last moments. Offering the smallest comfort as death takes them both by virtue of their connection.

The cycle of brother, loved and corrupted, which started in the seeds of their kingdoms foundation and that has withered with its end. It is all finally over.

#smajor #dangthatsalongname #xornoth #esmp alinar #esmp cohnel #esmp aeor #esmp exor #esmp #empires smp #empires smp 1 #empires season 1 #esmp rivendell #hourspost #hoursart

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heliads · 9 months

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I’d like to request a platonic Finnick x female reader one-shot. The reader is Finnick’s twin sister (younger by 10 minutes) and won the games the year after he won the games. Katniss and Peeta meet the reader and Finnick on the victory tour that takes place after the 74th games. The reader isn’t part of the 75th games, but she is part of the rebellion that takes place after the 75th games. Before Finnick dies, he tells the reader he loves her and asks her to look after Annie.

hello thornyrose

'supposed to be us' - finnick odair

masterlist

Your nightmare is dark and dangerous. It clings to your mind like bathing in an oil slick. You can hear ghosts shouting and screaming. A boy from your district begs you for mercy, but you don’t give it to him because you saw him trying to poison your food supplies mere hours earlier. There is no justice in the Hunger Games. The one who lives is not always the one who deserves it.

Even after your eyes open, you can only stare upwards into nameless dark, petrified that a single movement will set the other tributes upon you in an instant. For a moment, you don’t know where you are, and then the dream lifts and you’re only certain that you aren’t stuck in the place you just were. This is not the Arena. The Arena was never quiet. Even when the Gamemakers cut the sound of chirping insects and rustling leaves so they could hear your heartbeat and the shallow beating of your lungs as you waited for death to come your way.

District Thirteen is quiet, and that is where you are. Your Hunger Games ended nine or ten years ago. You have not been in the Arena again, even if your brother has.

Your brother.

Finnick Odair is a household name. To you, though, he was never the golden Victor of District Four, the pretty boy with the trident, the peacock. Finnick is your twin brother, older by ten minutes. He’ll never let you forget that. When you watched him in the Arena for the first time, all you could do was hope that you’d hear him remind you of it even one more time.

As it turns out, you got your wish. Finnick won the sixty-fifth Hunger Games at the young age of fourteen. He came home shell-shocked but doing a quite good job of pretending otherwise. He talked to you and your parents and made sure none of you saw him break down whenever the Capitol came to claim him again. He never told you what happened whenever the Peacekeepers spirited him away from you, but you found out anyway when your name was read in the Reaping one year later.

They saw it was Finnick’s fault that you ended up in the Games. It’s easy enough to fudge the name chosen in the Reaping Ceremony, even if the Capitol always pretends it’s a total twist of fate. Finnick was acting up. He didn’t want to be a body in warm sheets that didn’t belong to him. He protested Snow sending him to strangers’ beds one too many times, and as a warning, you ended up in the Games one year after Finnick won his. Finnick never fought the orders again.

You cannot tell who blames each other more for their troubles, you or him. It is not either of your faults that you ended up with the blood of twenty-three tributes on your hands, nor that Finnick hasn’t been wholly Finnick in a very long time. He is your brother. Things happen in Panem that no one will speak on. Not even family.

You were supposed to die in the sixty-sixth Hunger Games, of that you are almost certain. The Gamemakers certainly threw more than the typical amount of twists your way. It felt as if every mutt in the Arena was designed to hunt you first before any other tribute. Rain snuffed each fire you made. Ants spoiled your food. Other tributes were directed towards your camp. Still, you managed to pull through. As a District Four Career, you had been receiving training in preparation for the Games since you were young, but Finnick had made sure to help you in advance just in case something like this happened.

As it turned out, he was right to worry. Your Games were close, but when the final cannon sounded, you were the one standing bloodsoaked and exhausted on an empty battlefield. After that, even President Snow couldn’t kill you off. You and Finnick, beloved twin Victors of the Capitol, were as untouchable as District gets.

Look where that got you, though, dragged back to the Capitol each and every year to remark on the Games and mentor a new couple of kids to their death. District Four tributes have a good chance at winning, so you were able to help a good few along. Annie Cresta, to be specific. You watched as they fell for each other. It is supposed to be a simple thing, watching your siblings fall in love. For Finnick, it was a victory akin to winning the Games.

You can still remember one dark evening, the first time you and Finnick were home after you’d won the Games and were finally alone without one of Caesar Flickerman’s cameras shoved in your face. He’d sworn to you then and there that he’d never fall in love. Finnick didn’t want anyone else to be used as a sacrifice to get him to play along with the Capitol’s rules. He’d been forced to watch you compete in the Hunger Games as a punishment for disobedience. Never again would he allow himself another weakness.

Annie grew on him, though. She has a way of melting down people’s barriers. Annie reminds you of salt water on a rusty latch; give it enough time, and even the hardiest locks will be worn down to ash and dust eventually. Finnick needed her more than he needed his walls to stay strong. After some time, he allowed himself to indulge in the sheer joy of needing someone and being needed by them, and after that, he was better.

There had been a brief time of relative peace in District Four. There is no peace in Panem, not really, not even when the weapons have been laid down and the Peacekeepers are posted at every door to stop the fighting. We send our children to die. We save some of them, but not all. Never all. You and Finnick and Annie and Mags do your best. It is never enough.

In between the Games, though, in between the Victory Tours and scheduled press appearances, you make your own kind of peace. You talk with your brother late into the night. You learn more about Annie, and she learns to trust you like she trusts Finnick. There are people who understand your life after the Games, and there are those who don’t. As it turns out, you don’t need the world as a Victor, just two people. You give them their space so they can imagine what it is like to live a life without fear or terror, and when you need them, they reach out to you. You are not alone, you are never alone. Except for when you want it.

And, when several years have passed, you watch the seventy-fourth Hunger Games and learn about a girl they call the Mockingjay. You haven’t seen someone like Katniss Everdeen in a very long time, if ever. You observe her closely on her Victory Tour with Peeta Mellark and make sure to speak when you run into each other during her stop in District Four. There’s an earnestness to the two of them that you can’t help but appreciate. You consider their strength for a while, and then you contact someone in the Capitol you’ve grown to know during your many mentorship runs and tell him that it’s time to act.

Plutarch Heavensbee has been involved in the rebellion for a very long time. He won’t tell you how long, not exactly, but you can guess that his start date was far before your name was even pulled from the Reaping, before Finnick’s. He confessed that he’s been eyeing you and your brother for a while now, but he’s been waiting for the proper impetus. Watching the District response to Katniss, you tell him that it’s now.

Plutarch agrees, and begins to give you specific tasks to further the goals of the rebellion. It’s small at first. You deliver secret messages to a certain Beetee Latier when you’re near District Three. You also speak to Haymitch Abernathy at the opening ceremony of the seventy-fifth Hunger Games under the guise of exchanging mentorship tactics. Slowly, carefully, plans are laid.

This is also due in part to the fact that you are not Reaped for the third Quarter Quell, although your brother is. There are many surviving Victors in District Four, and you immediately complained to Plutarch that Finnick and Annie were both Reaped even if Mags stepped in, but there was nothing the Head Gamemaker could do. He told you that it would have been more suspicious if the rebellion had meddled with the Reaping and likely given them away too early.

Still, that doesn’t settle any apprehension in your gut as you have to prepare your twin for yet another round in the Arena. Although he was careful to disguise his expression the moment his name was called for the Quarter Quell, you saw the brief flicker of desolation in his eyes. Finnick doesn’t want to go back there any more than you would. All you can do to save him is ensure that the rebellion’s plan works and you can pull him out before too many Victors are killed.

If you were going to confess something, it would be that you value your brother above all else. Yes, the rebellion’s plan is important, but at the end of the day, you are there to save your twin. Finnick made you promise that you’d watch out for Mags and Annie both outside and inside of the Arena, but you disregarded both of those oaths in favor of focusing on him. You get Finnick supplies and sponsors when he needs them, you make sure to talk the Gamemakers out of siccing any truly terrible mutts on him. More than the usual, of course.

And, when the Arena is breached by the rebellion and it comes time to get the Victors out, you tell them to go for Finnick first. This means that they don’t have time to get Annie. You don’t think you’ll ever forget the look on Finnick’s face when he realized that Annie was still in the Capitol after he was rescued and brought back to the underground colony of District Thirteen. He’s glad to see you alive, of course, and he was about to stage a fit before he knew you were safe, but you don’t know if he’ll ever forgive you for not getting Annie as well. It’s not as if you had any choice, the Peacekeepers came for you immediately, but the fact remains that Annie is as good as blood to you and you left her behind.

You make up for it eventually, of course. While you join an attack party to break into the Capitol and bring back Annie, Peeta, Johanna, and the other captive Victors, Finnick stays behind to act as a distraction. You heard later the sorts of terrible secrets he had to offer from his time in the Capitol. Finnick had done his best to shelter you from all of it, and you can only hope to return the favor someday, and more than just pulling him from the Arena.

You never get the chance. Yes, seeing him reunite with Annie after your mission was a success felt better than winning your own Games, but the happiness didn’t last forever. Soon enough, you and Finnick fought your way back into the Capitol along with Katniss, Peeta, and other highly trained soldiers in an effort to end the war once and for all.

Only one Odair made it back.

It wasn’t Finnick.

Should it have been? You’ll never know for sure. The memory of his final moments will stay with you forever. Your group had been running through the underneath of the Capitol, pursued relentlessly by bloodthirsty lizard mutts. The fight had ended with a dead end, a ladder up to the surface. Finnick had insisted on being the last one up because he had always been the hero, the good one, the savior. Right before he was able to make it, the mutts charged and pulled him back down. You had heard his screams and known there was no way you could save him, not this time. Katniss had detonated the tunnel to bring him a quick end. It was merciful. You wish you had died instead of him.

It is a terrible thing, losing a brother. Since Finnick was older, he has been around quite literally your entire life. You are now older than he ever was. It is far more devastating than it sounds. Living that kind of agony is like nothing anyone can ever describe to you. There is only pain in endless waves. As time goes on, you have more space between each rush of hurt, but then you remember the way District Four sun shone on his hair and turned it to gold, or how the two of you learned to swim together, or the smile on his face when he married Annie and everything goes to pieces again.

Before Finnick died, he had told you that he loved you and asked you to look after Annie. You do so to the best of your ability. Neither you nor Annie want to spend time with others all that much after the war. You retreat back to a small house in District Four where nobody comes looking for you, asking you to kill again. Annie has a baby boy. You see Finnick in his face every day. At first, this is agonizing, but then you realize that it would be worse to forget the precise shade of Finnick’s eyes than to be piercingly reminded of it every time you see your nephew.

It becomes a sort of game you play, looking at the little boy and remembering each bit of Finnick that you can. There was a certain way he would run, all efficiency, and a precise method of articulating each syllable in your name. The first time Annie’s son says it, you have to excuse yourself to another room to cry. After that, it’s easier. The game becomes more one of happiness than sadness.

It destroys you sometimes, the life Finnick should have led. The memories make it bittersweet. But, as a friend of yours once said, there are worse games to play.

hunger games tag list: @w1shes43, @ilovexavierthrope

all tags list: @wordsarelife

#finnick odair #finnick odair oneshot #finnick odair imagines #hunger games #hunger games imagines #hunger games oneshot #platonic finnick odair #sibling finnick odair #the hunger games #the hunger games imagines #the hunger games oneshot #hunger games finnick #hunger games finnick imagines #hunger games finnick oneshot #finnick odair x sister reader #finnick #finnick imagines #finnick oneshot

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oddlyzephyrous · 9 months

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Powerlessness, Control, and Community on the QSMP

Been in a sort of literary analysis mood lately, so here's a mess of some of my thoughts on the themes of the QSMP main story (and why, regardless of how frustrating we can find some events, i think they ultimately make sense in regards to the story currently being told)

Since the very beginning of the server, the central ideas of the story have been present. First of all, these people are TRAPPED here, by an organization that they know nearly nothing about and that seems to have near-godlike power over their lives and the island. The central conceit of the story of this server is that these people LACK CONTROL over their environment, over where they go, over what they do. ANOTHER ENTITY controls the very fabric of their environment. People are killed, punished, kidnapped, teleported around against their will. They're experimented on. Tortured. Drugged. Their day-to-day lives are their own- but they CAN'T LEAVE. Many of them didn't even choose to be here.

Quesadilla Island is a place of peace at first glance. But look deeper and it's a battlefield, and the participants of this battle are metaphorical giants. They're powerful to a reality-shaping degree. Their motives are obscure, lofty, mysterious. Their plans play with lives like pieces on a chessboard.

The Federation. The Resistance. The Codes. The Watcher and his Workers. Evil Cucurucho. All main-plot powers, with terrifying powers, mysterious origins, obscure plans, warped morality. Even in individual characters' lore, we have entities like this: Madagio, Rose, the Ender King, Bad's "old friends," et c.

Our characters and their children are ants on a battlefield of gods.

There is so much that is out of their control. They're pawns and playthings, there's powers far beyond them, things that they cannot understand. Of course they try and try and fail anyway. If you really want to kill an ant, there's little it can do about it.

But like ants, their greatest strength is community. It's each other. They make each other strong. They stand up to these massive threats as a community. When they gain another small victory, they share the joy. When, inevitably, they suffer another loss, they bear that loss TOGETHER. They all do what they can. They infiltrate, prepare, scheme. They do everything small people can against massive threats. They cannot win with brute strength, they HAVE to use other tactics.

Yes, the victories are small. They're few and far between. But against the insurmountable odds they face? They're miraculous. They're hard fought and won with blood and tears and LOVE.

The losses are massive. People die. They're traumatized. People are irreversibly changed. Of course it is this way. With these odds, in this situation, it's inevitable. But the losses are handled. The burdens are borne with blood and tears and love.

In the end, I think the QSMP is a story of people in a world of impossible odds, trapped and played with by entities that use them like pieces in a game. They're outmatched in every way. The only thing they have is community. They have each other. I think this is meant to be a slow, painful clawing forward for them. Pushing themselves as hard as they can to gain any inch of traction, any crumb of power. Fighting tooth and nail for knowledge, for peace for themselves and their children.

And in the end, I think they'll win. It think they'll make it. Because in the end, it's all about love. And the greatest power our islanders have is love. It'll be a long and bloody fight. There will be loss. But I think they'll make it.

#qsmp #qsmp analysis #oddly posting #qsmp writing #Let me know what you think! I love feedback and discussion.

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misanocircuit · 3 months

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remember his name: a Guido Pini appreciation post.

Firstly, I want to say that I don't mean to put any sort of pression on the kid (who already has it) and also that I am aware of how unpredictable and ruthless Motorsport can be: even if he won't ever reach great achievements, my appreciation for him will still remain as it will his evident talent. But I genuinely believe he will make it.

If you follow Moto3 you may have heard of the likes of Filippo Farioli (born 2005) & Luca Lunetta (b. 2006), two very promising young Italian riders who are already showing glimps of talent and giving us Italians hopes of having a bright future ahead in MotoGP.

But have you heard of rising star Guido Pini, who could as well be the Kimi Antonelli of two-wheels? Well – if you haven't – let me present him to you, beginning with a fun fact: his name literally means "I drive pines", which is also his nickname! He is a Scarperia native – basically where Mugello circuit is – and he was born on the 10th of January 2008, making him only 16 y.o. (in 2024); he has an older brother (Diego), a little sister (Mia) and two younger brothers (Lapo & Livio) and his favourite subjects are Maths, Technology and Science.

When he was about 2 and a half he started dreaming of riding a minibike, like his father, but he couldn't even ride his bycicle without little wheels! So, he asked his parents to remove them, allowing him to learn how to properly ride and earn his minibike: his parents didn't have time to teach him so, curiously, he taught himself! And, just like that, his career had started, hopping on a minibike at only 2 years and 8 months old (!), following his family's passion, seeing how also his grandfather and uncles all rode bikes.

In these pics (and in the initial one) you may have noticed how he's using number 93 (currently he's using 94 & 96) and also wearing a Marc Márquez helmet replica with the Ant or Cervera on it, and that's because his racing hero and greatest inspiration is Marc, alongside Casey Stoner: here's a video of MM93 congratulating Guido in 2022 :)

The parallelisms with his idol, Marc, don't end here: in 2023 he announced that he would be represented by SeventyTwo Motorsports, Emilio Alzamora's brand new management agency, also entering in his JuniorGP team, the SeventyTwo Artbox Racing Team, along with Spanish rider Carlos Cano. For the ones who don't know, Emilio has been Marc Márquez manager until 2022, and he had been knowing Marc since he was a child, becoming a fundamental figure in his career and his success.

Having said this, at the moment he's competing in the JuniorGP and Red Bull Rookies Cup (2nd season, finished 11th in 2023), but before talking about the unlucky but amazing beginning of his 2024 season, let's take a quick step back in his career: he started doing serious competitions in 2016, and already in 2017 he finished 2nd at the European Mini Bike Road Racing Junior B Championship; the year after he managed to win the very same Championship in the Junior C category, repeating himself also in the identical Italian Championship. Then, in 2019, he arrived 4th in the Italian MiniGP 50cc Championship, while in 2020 he got 2nd place in the CIV PreMoto3 Championship. In 2021, he was 9th in the same Championship and got a 18th place in his first European Talent Cup season.

Finally, his most important achievement has arrived in 2022, when he won the Hawkers European Talent Cup and then becoming vice-champion of the same series in 2023, while also taking part in the Red Bull Rookies Cup, as already mentioned.

Therefore, 2024 seemed to be a year which would have seen him among the main characters of the Red Bull Rookies Cup, not being a rookie anymore, and also a new challenger in the competitive JuniorGP: sadly, every dream of glory was crashed at the very beginning of the year, with a double injury in two distinct moments and body parts (first the right hand, then the left elbow, both during winter testings), forcing him to not only jump some important tests, but also the first 3 rounds of the Red Bull Rookies Cup and 5 ones of the JuniorGP.

Eventually, he managed to recover as fast as he could, coming back just in time to take part at the JuniorGP Portimão round: he immediately amazed everyone by taking Pole Position for both races, which he finished in an incredible 2nd & 1st place! After just one round, he already finds himself 9th in the Championship standings, despite having missed a consistent portion of it, determined to show how great he really is and aiming to finish the season at least in a dreamy top 3, with only three rounds to go.

This weekend (28-30 July 2024), he will make his comeback in the Red Bull Rookies Cup at Assen, where also MotoGP will race: who knows what the future holds for this fast and hard working rider, who's already showing the antics of a true Champion, considering also his politeness and calmness which stand out in a very hectic environment.

In conclusion, he may be or not be the next Marc Márquez or the Andrea Kimi Antonelli of the two-wheels' world, but what's for sure is that he is called Guido Pini and you may want to remember his name.

If you are interested, go follow and support him on Instagram :) 🌲

#motogp #guido pini #juniorgp #red bull rookies cup #emilio alzamora #marc marquez #mm93 #i drive pines #pecco bagnaia #motorsports #andrea kimi antonelli #just yapping #nobody will care ik #doing it for me

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wishcamper · 6 days

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Nessian Week Day 5 - Behind Closed Doors

I meant to write a sexy, Casino Royale-esque poker scene but it somehow ended up as Cassian fangirling over his wife for 3k words so uh. Here you go.

Read here or on ao3!

High Stakes

A/N: This prompt really made me want to play with the idea of layers of intimacy in long-term relationships because a) I don’t think we have enough representations of healthy, fulfilling, functional monogamy and b) I‘ve always thought there was beautiful potential for Nessian to know and understand each other to the point where they can see all the layers of the other person, and be able to hold space for the other’s complexity. I’d just really like to believe that’s possible. So I hope that comes across.

I’m exploring some of these same ideas in ACOVAV, my ongoing ACOSF fix-it. Questions around the character’s experiences and my own, like: what does it look like to build tension in a story and depth in a relationship without miscommunication or people treating each other badly? What if it’s two people trying their best to get close while also wrestling with their own individual shit in very real, understandable ways? What exists at that intersection between me and us? Something interesting, I think.

If that interests you too, you can read that fic on ao3 :)

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“Mr. Archeron.”

“Marlowe. How’s she looking tonight?”

Two males stood before the door of a long-vacant tavern, sweating slightly in the night air thick and lush as it only was in summer, Velaris bursting with vitality after dark. The cobblestone streets were full of revelers who passed by without a second glance, ignorant that beyond the hidden entrance lay a world where fortunes were won and lost, where the honor of courts rose and fell at the discretion of a female known only in whispers as the Queen of Cards.

A female who just happened to be Cassian’s wife.

“A strong start,” Marlowe said as he ushered Cassian into the candlelit basement, flickering shadows belying the bustling street above. “The High Lord from Autumn has cheek, though.”

“Yeah, Eris gets like that when he’s losing.”

They shook hands and Cassian made his way down the dim hallway, the sounds of chatter and shuffling and clinking coins drifting toward him. He could hear Eris braying high above the others, Rhys’ smooth voice giving back just as good. When he reached the arched entrance to the playing room, everyone had their backs to him except Nesta, who glanced up from her three-card hand and smiled.

She always faced the door during games, ready to protect her players’ privacy in case someone got past Marlowe, though it had the unintended effect of giving him a moment to take her in uninterrupted. Her gown was midnight blue tonight, long sleeves in tiers of iridescent silk like a dragonfly’s wings, hair cascading over one shoulder studded with opals that turned fiery in the faelights.

A glittering queen holding court. And damn if Cassian didn’t want to go to his knees before her, still, after all this time.

“Can we get on with it or do I need to send you two to time out?” she asked the still-squabbling High Lords without missing a beat, tossing her cards in and signaling to the silver clad dealer to begin the next round before. She threw in her ante next, silver bracelets chiming at her wrist with the movement.

With some grumblings the players turned to their hands, and Cassian edged along the wall to where Emerie sat at a high table on her own, grazing on the arrayed refreshments and accounting her winnings in a worn ledger.

“I was up and didn’t want to push my luck,” the female whispered when he nodded in greeting, giving him a sly smile. Cassian smiled back - Emerie always came out on top. He suspected Nesta was subtly losing to her friend on purpose after the female refused to let her fund an expansion of her shop. And he suspected Emerie knew it, too, but both were too proud to say it aloud. She licked the tip of her pencil and made another note. “Plus, it’s fun to watch your mate knock a few High Lords down a peg.”

“Sometimes I wonder if that’s the real game,” he confessed, and Emerie grinned smugly, wings ruffling with delight.

They observed the game in silence for a moment, allowing Cassian time to survey the other players in attendance tonight. There was an endless rotating cast of characters at Nesta’s now-famous monthly games, the invitation so coveted they’d had all manner of bribes delivered to the House of Wind by very confused messengers. Thankfully all gifts were now rerouted to a third-party location, after a lesser lord of Summer sent a dozen peacocks they’d chased about the House for hours.

There were seven of them tonight as usual, including Emerie, all faces he recognized buried in their cards around the half-moon table. Granted, it helped that nearly half the players were his wife, her best friend, and Rhys, whose pile of coin looked so pitifully low Cassian couldn’t help but smirk when he caught his brother’s eye.

“We should raise the blind,” Rhys interjected. “What's the point of playing if you’re eschewing risk?”

It still surprised Cassian sometimes that Rhys kept coming back despite showing no taste for gambling in the past. But he supposed Rhys had always been weirdly competitive with Nesta, and even though they’d buried the hatchet long ago Nesta still loved winning her brother-in-law’s money fair and square. Which she did without fail, hand over fist, with a silent pact between them not to tell Feyre.

Neither of her sisters knew, by design he suspected, and Mor was off in Montesere ‘finding herself’ again, whatever that meant. Azriel had a brief, brilliant run before his competitiveness got the best of him and he was banned for brawling at the table, one of the only standing rules. Emerie and Eris were regulars, and he’d seen the others in attendance before: broad-shouldered Megrin Stonecutter of the Velaris maester’s guild and Nuan of Dawn, who perched cross-legged in her chair, a pair of elaborate spectacles whirring on her round face

Opposite Nesta tonight sat the High Lord of Day, still radiant despite having foregone his usual golden adornments. Helion looked nonplussed by his own losing streak as Cassian watched him toss his cards face down in front of him, leaving only Rhys, Eris, and Nesta still alive in the hand.

“I fold. You all are vicious. Are you not joining us, Cass?”

“And add one more body to the slaughter? No thanks.” He’d never had much interest, content to watch Nesta splatter egos against the wall.

Megrin grunted in agreement and slid her cards to the dealer past the large pile of gold in the center. “I’m out, too. Clearly someone knows something I don’t.”

“It’s yours to call, Eris,” Rhys said breezily. “Unless you’re waiting to ask your father’s ghost for permission.”

Cassian snorted, making eye contact with Rhys again, who shot him a shit-eating grin as Eris covered his mouth with a stiff hand, brow furrowed.

To everyone’s surprise, Beron Vanserra had been felled two years prior by an ordinary fever. No one in Autumn nor elsewhere could make sense of it - it was as if one day the hands of hel simply reached up and snatched him back into the earth. So a court that had once been destined for a bloody coup passed the crown peacefully, which was a good thing all around, though Rhys loved painting Eris as a cowardly dawdler whose target put himself in an early grave just to end the waiting.

The Autumn lord sneered at the insult, still waffling. “Some of us prefer to think about our actions, Rhysand, instead of barrelling forward with whatever scheme will inflate our self-importance the most. Stealing things from other courts, for example, books, brides -“

Nesta glanced over at Cassian then, crossing and uncrossing her fingers where they lay against her cheek, and he had to stifle the laugh that bubbled forth at the private joke, just for him. It was her signal that sexual tension was present in the room, sometimes to indicate she wanted to leave whatever function they were at, sometimes so they could share a roll of their eyes. In this case he knew she meant the squabbling lords, as many a late night they’d mused that Eris and Rhys could get past their rivalry if they just had sex about it.

“As much as I enjoy seeing Rhysand’s self-importance punctured,” Nesta drawled when the latter opened his mouth to retort. “You can’t delay your bet with old, petty scores. We’re all rather bored with it. If you’re going to cheat, at least use some imagination.”

She sipped at her glass of pomegranate juice, a frequent gift of affection from Helion and a nod to the other rule: no alcohol.

Rhys’ expression flashed briefly with betrayal, but he schooled it quickly, knowing better than to give himself away. But Cassian knew Nesta’s smoky eyes clocked it before they turned to Eris.

“I remember you once tempting me with an invitation to Autumn, to see how a High Lord plays. Is this what you had in mind?” She gestured to the modest pile of gold in front of him. “I rather think I made the right decision, don’t you?”

Emerie chuckled beside him, and Cassian felt a thrill low in his stomach to see Nesta so self-possessed, lit from within. After everything they’d been through with the Trove, with their families, a part of him wondered if he’d ever see her ferocity again, if the sharp point of that viper’s tongue would smooth over for good.

She’d become very soft for about a decade after the Blood Rite, and they’d taken long walks through the Illyrian Steppes and the Myrmidons, swam in streams and lakes and the oceans of Summer, watched the bees drift lazily from flower to flower in Elain’s gardens in Day. It was as if she’d needed to come completely to rest before deciding what to do next. And the solitude seemed to give her a sense of clarity, but he’d been glad as fuck to be an exception to that rule, to witness the private puzzlings and support her in finding purpose in her life.

They’d only just returned to Velaris the previous spring, when the threads of family and duty pulled them home at last. Their time away was intimate and lovely, some of the best years of his life, yet Cassian enjoyed seeing Nesta confident out in the world again. The poker game had been the first of many things to draw her out, and he couldn’t wait to see what she’d surprise him with next, his strong, clever, deadly little wife.

Eris grumbled and tossed a few coins in the middle. “Happy now? Or would you prefer to seduce it out of me?”

Cassian watched her swallow the barb, which would’ve sent her into survival mode in the past and now rolled off her with barely a ripple. Leashed his own instincts to leap across the room and tackle Eris to the ground, because Nesta wouldn’t hesitate to kick him out for breaking the rules too, mate or no, and he’d miss his favorite show.

“Your luck doesn’t extend that far tonight,” she said demurely, and Cassian knew the smug prick was too stupid to see her coiling up to strike when the time was right. Nesta won the hand a moment later to groans all around, her Winter flush beating Rhys’ three pixies and Eris’ two pair, nymphs and kelpies.

“I propose a wager," Nesta declared as the next hand was dealt, her voice velvety and inviting. "The victor of the evening wins one favor of their choosing...” Eyes lit up around the table, anticipation deepening. “...from my husband.”

They all turned toward Cassian where he was leaning against the wall with an amused grin now, and he raised an eyebrow at his mate. Her eyes flashed silver where she stared back at him, and he felt her send a soothing wave down the bond, assuring him of her intent. Inviting him into the ruse. Cassian made a show of looking chagrined, shuffling his feet as he looked down.

Rhys was the first to respond, smirking. “I’ll take that bet.”

Cassian knew he was incensed at the idea of losing, wrongly fancying himself more clever than his sister-in-law. Nesta knew it, too, and that arrogance made him play more recklessly.

“Count me out,” said Helion, winking. “You’re pretty, Cass, but my minister of finance will have my head if I lose any more.”

“Ah, why not?” Nuan flushed, uncomfortable with the attention now drawn her way, and chuckled nervously. “Not sure what use I’d have for you, dear, but who knows what worth it may hold!”

Megrin pursed her lips, sizing him up. “He has a strong enough back I suppose. I’ve been meaning to rearrange my forge.”

“Any favor of my choosing?” Eris mused, and Cassian felt the Autumn lord’s gaze roving over his body and then Nesta’s, possessive and hungry. The years hadn’t changed everything. Nesta answered with nothing but a feline smile.

The next few rounds passed in a blur of bluffs and bold plays. Nesta remained composed even on the hands she lost, an almost bored air to the way she watched the males bluster and crow. Eris' anger grew while Rhys shot daggers with his glare at her every win, turning each hand into an unnecessary battle of wills that made him play sloppy. Nuan ducked out when it became clear the prize wasn’t hers, and Megrin hung on for a while longer, bluffing her way through until her luck ran dry, to Cassian’s relief.

One by one, Nesta outplayed them, her composure never faltering as she watched her opponents fume, each loss reigniting their fervor to win.

At last the players were down to the final hand, and the air in the hidden basement crackled with anticipation. The dealer laid down the community cards as bets went around: a wyvern, a lord, a lady, and a cave troll. Each still in signaled for new cards, Nesta tapping once against the table, her face revealing nothing. Cassian could feel his chest tighten as they sized each other up before Rhys pushed all his chips into the pot with a confident smirk.

"All in."

Unfazed, Nesta called his bet, gesturing idly at her pile for the dealer to sweep into the center with his crook. That left only Eris to decide his own fate, as well as Cassian’s.

He puzzled for a long while with his head in his hands before he finally spoke, low and deliberate. "I’ll call."

Coins cascaded into the center, a shower of gold. Then the final card was revealed—another lady. All coins in the center, it felt like everyone held their breath as the three remaining players revealed their hands.

Rhys set down two lords, the grin spreading across his face triumphant and sure, the poor bastard. Eris only clucked his tongue and revealed his full house, ladies full of wyverns, smug despite achieving it on the last draw.

But Cassian knew it wasn’t over yet. He turned to where his wife was toying with the edge of her hand, and he’d seen that pose too many times not to recognize it at once: You Have Just Royally Fucked Yourself. Silver rolled over Nesta’s eyes, and with prim efficiency she laid down the three remaining trolls in the deck, one after another.

The room erupted, Eris upending his chair as he leapt to his feet, Rhys shouting about cheating and Helion tipping his head back to let loose a peal of laughter soon joined by Emerie and Nuan’s, by Megrin’s groan. Cassian couldn’t help the dopey grin that spread across his face, how at home Nesta looked in the sea of chaos when she winked at him, calmly piling her coins into neat stacks.

Once everyone had regained their heads they all passed a lovely hour in conversation, the air hazy from the cigarettes Nesta usually smoked with Lucien at their gossip sessions disguised as afternoon tea. Rhys departed first, claiming a return to his fatherly duties, though they all knew he was off to beg Feyre’s sympathies while he licked his wounds for reasons he’d never confess. Emerie left with a tight hug and a promise to have them up to Windhaven soon to see her new expansion, and Eris gave Nesta a begrudging bow before Helion swooped in and kissed her on the cheek. He did the same to Cassian, and they heard his warm voice echoing down the corridor, giving Eris shit all the way up the stairs.

Alone now, Cassian came up behind where Nesta was tucking a handful of coins in a pouch for Marlowe, looped his arms around her and buried his face in her neck. She batted at him but he felt her lean backwards all the same, cracking the door to that soft place within, that only her loved ones were allowed to enter. He knew she liked the affection, even if part of her still hated to admit it, if she only wanted it when it was just them.

“Wicked woman,” he teased, and he felt her smile against his cheek, the press of her nails into his forearm. “Were you seriously going to let Eris have his way with me?”

Nesta turned in his arms and he took her in close up for the first time all day, having left her snoring softly that morning when he departed for Windhaven. He warmed to see her face still relaxed and open, the ease in her posture.

“If he won, sure.”

Cassian snorted. “I don’t know if that’s a testament to your confidence or your willingness to torture me.”

The candlelight flickered silver around them for a moment and he drew her close once more, breathing deep the vanilla and jasmine scent of her hair, the lingering smokiness. Nesta linked her hands behind his back and squeezed him hard, impatient.

“Can’t it be both? Now take me home, Lady Death is tired.”

“Is that your favor for winning, sweetheart?”

“No,” she said, eyes dancing and devious when he pulled back. “I’ve much bigger plans for you.”

And oh, she did.

They ended the night in Cassian’s favorite way, with him sprawled atop her, head pillowed on her chest, her long fingers working through the snarls in his hair he’d earned in their pleasure. The House dimmed the lights in the bedchamber that was once his, the door now warded to both their hands. Hands that bore twin golden rings and tattoos of an eight-pointed star, tokens of their promises, both his and hers.

“Goodnight, I love you.”

Nesta’s voice was thick and fuzzy, and he felt a quiet contentment on her end of the bond. It was rare for her to inhabit it in public as much as she had tonight, and Cassian remembered when her end of the bridge between them had been locked tight, impenetrable. He’d made a fool of himself trying to break through early in their love, using brute force to smash past her defenses, leaving her exposed.

But now he knew the secret that should’ve been obvious, that he only had to knock.

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

She smiled with her eyes closed and pursed her lips, kissing the air before sleep dragged her under.

#nessianweek2024 #nessian #nesta x cassian #day 5: behind closed doors

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