#are you finally becoming a success story?
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The Alchemy
AU where Harry is the star quarterback at his college and y/n is an English major.
Based very loosely off The Alchemy by Taylor Swift
CW: Smut
Word Count: 6,871
Leaving my family to go to University was a bittersweet decision. My heart tugged at the thought of being away from them, but my passion for mastering the art of English pulled me towards my dream. My family had always been my biggest supporters and I wanted to make them proud by becoming an English professor. This meant leaving behind my comfortable life in a small suburban town in Florida to study abroad at one of the most prestigious universities. The campus was nestled in the very heart of where literary greats had once roamed and created their masterpieces. It was as if the walls exuded inspiration and creativity, urging me to chase after my dreams with even more fervor. Though I missed my family dearly, I knew that this journey would lead me to become the best version of myself and honor their unwavering support and love.
It was a whirlwind of experiences as I made my way through the unfamiliar streets. The currency conversion was a constant challenge, with every transaction feeling like a game of guesswork. And then there was the driving - on the opposite side of the road no less - which required all of my concentration to avoid any mishaps. But perhaps most daunting of all was the non-stop partying at pubs, a culture shock for someone like me who had grown up in a small town in America.
Thankfully, I was able to find a flat that was within walking distance from the school, and even luckier to have another American girl as my roommate. Mia was a sweet, bubbly girl from the middle of nowhere Kansas, embracing every aspect of British culture including the pub scene and the charming local lads.
Living with Mia meant constantly having people over, and it seemed like every night brought new faces into our home. I didn't mind too much, mostly enjoying the lively atmosphere and meeting new people. However, there were definitely some moments that tested my patience, like when one of Mia's friends named Arthur ended up getting sick and leaving his mark in our kitchen. Despite these occasional hiccups, I was grateful for this experience abroad and all the unique encounters it brought my way.
Though Mia's social butterfly nature could be trying at times, I appreciated her warm companionship in this foreign place. It was on one such night, after we had cleaned up the remnants of Arthur's ill-fated escapades, that we found ourselves cozied up with mugs of tea and watching the rain patter against the windows.
Mia was unusually pensive as she stared out into the drizzly Manchester night. "You know," she began softly, "sometimes I wonder if I'm chasing the wrong dreams. My parents wanted me to become a doctor or lawyer, something stereotypically successful, but I just wanted adventure. Now here I am, living it up in England, but it all feels...empty, like I'm still searching for meaning."
I nodded thoughtfully, sensing the vulnerability in her words. Though Mia put on a bubbly facade, there was more depth to her than met the eye.
"I think the great thing about being here is that we have time to figure it all out," I offered gently. "We're writing our own stories, not just following someone else's script."
Mia smiled, some of the spark returning to her eyes. "You're right. That's exactly why I love being here with you."
As the rain continued to drum against the windows, Mia and I sat in comfortable silence for a moment, each lost in our own thoughts. Finally, Mia turned to me with a curious expression.
"Do you ever have doubts about your dreams, too?" Mia asked, her voice tinged with vulnerability.
I considered her question for a moment before responding, "All the time. Sometimes I wonder if I'm on the right path or if I'm just going through the motions."
Mia nodded understandingly, her eyes reflecting the shimmer of uncertainty. "It's scary, isn't it? The idea that we might wake up one day and realize we've been chasing a dream all along."
I placed a comforting hand on Mia's shoulder. "It is scary, but it's also part of the journey. We're allowed to question and evolve along the way."
She smiled weakly, her gaze drifting back to the rain-splattered window. "I guess that's what makes life interesting, right? The uncertainty of it all."
Our conversation was interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. Mia got up to answer it, revealing a group of our friends who had decided to brave the rainy night for an impromptu gathering.
"Come in, come in!" Mia exclaimed cheerfully, ushering everyone inside. The room quickly filled with laughter and chatter as our friends settled in.
As I looked around the group, my eyes landed on a few familiar faces who have crossed paths with me several times before. Among them was Arthur, a friendly face that always brought a sense of comfort and familiarity. As everyone piled into the room, my gaze wandered to him - Harry Styles, the renowned quarterback of our school's football team. I couldn't help but feel a tinge of excitement at being in the presence of such a well-known athlete. When I first arrived from the United States, I had assumed the term "football" referred to what we call soccer back home. But as I soon discovered, American Football was just as beloved and popular in the UK.
Harry noticed me looking his way and met my gaze. There was an intensity in his green eyes that made me quickly avert my own, focusing instead on my friend Grace who was animatedly sharing a story next to me.
I tried to tune into her words, but my thoughts kept drifting back to the handsome footballer across the room. By all accounts, Harry was cocky, brash, and a bit of a player. And yet, I couldn't deny there was something magnetic about him. He carried himself with a self-assured swagger, his athletic frame filling out his clothes in a way that betrayed his strength.
I scolded myself internally. Just because he's nice to look at doesn't change the fact that he seems like an arrogant jock. Still, when our eyes met again, I felt a flutter in my stomach I couldn't ignore.
Harry said something to his friend that made the group erupt into laughter. He flashed a crooked smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners. I quickly looked away once more, but the image of his smile lingered in my mind.
Get it together, I told myself sternly. Harry is off-limits. With his reputation, getting involved would only lead to trouble. I turned my focus back to Grace, pushing all thoughts of Harry's eyes, smile and broad shoulders out of my head.
For the rest of the night, I avoided looking in Harry's direction, though I could feel his gaze on me periodically as the hours wore on. By the time people started trickling out, I felt certain I had avoided any direct interaction with the dashing footballer.
That is, until I went to lock the door behind the last guest and found him standing there. He flashed that crooked smile again as he leaned against the door frame. "See you around, Y/N," he said, holding my gaze for a moment before disappearing into the night. I stood frozen, my heart racing as I replayed those five simple words in my head.
As I stood there in shock at Harry's unexpected presence, I couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling inside me. His parting words echoed in my mind, leaving me slightly breathless and unsure of what to make of the situation. Gathering my composure, I locked the door behind him and turned to find Mia watching me with a knowing smile.
"Looks like someone caught your eye, Y/N," Mia teased, nudging me playfully. "Harry Styles, huh? Quite the charmer."
I flushed slightly at her comment, trying to brush off any implications. "Oh, come on, Mia. It's not like that," I deflected, hoping to downplay the significance of the moment.
But Mia wasn't convinced. "Sure, sure," she replied with a wink. "Just remember, not all that glitters is gold."
Her words lingered in my mind as I bid her goodnight and retreated to my room. Sitting on my bed, I couldn't shake off the image of Harry's smile or the way he had looked at me in that brief moment by the door. The conflicting thoughts swirled in my head, leaving me restless and contemplative.
The following day at school, as I made my way through the bustling halls, I noticed a familiar figure leaning against the lockers up ahead. It was Harry, his usual confident demeanor on full display as he chatted with his friends. As our eyes met briefly, he flashed a grin in my direction before turning back to his conversation.
Feeling a surge of boldness, I approached him tentatively. "Hey, Harry," I greeted him, trying to keep my tone casual despite the flutter in my stomach.
"Hey there, Y/N," he responded with a smirk, his green eyes twinkling mischievously. "Didn't think you'd show up here again so soon."
I felt my cheeks flush at his words. Clearly he was referring to my abrupt exit last night after our brief encounter at the door. I scrambled to think of a clever response.
"Well, we do go to the same school," I pointed out, trying to keep my voice light despite the nerves I felt.
Harry chuckled, crossing his arms over his broad chest as he regarded me with amusement.
"True enough," he conceded. "But I got the sense you were trying to avoid me last night. Did I make you nervous?"
His bluntness took me aback. I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. Harry's eyes danced with mirth at my flustered state.
"Cat got your tongue?" He teased.
I took a steadying breath, determined not to let him get the best of me. "You wish," I retorted, hoping the bravado in my voice sounded more convincing than I felt.
Harry laughed, a rich warm sound that made my knees weak. Our eyes locked and in that moment, it was like the noisy hallway melted away and there was only the two of us.
"Feisty. I like it," he murmured. Before I could respond, the warning bell rang, snapping us both back to reality.
"See you around, Y/N," Harry said with a wink before disappearing into the swarm of students heading to class.
My body froze in place, heart thudding against my ribs as I gazed at the infamous Harry. He exuded an undeniable air of trouble, and yet, as our charged banter replayed in my mind, I couldn't deny the adrenaline pumping through my veins. With a determined stride, I made my way to class, refusing to let this boy be the cause of my tardiness.
I took a seat in my Studies of Shakespeare class, the one subject I truly loved. The works of William Shakespeare never failed to captivate me, and if you could understand the Elizabethan lingo, his witty humor shone through brilliantly. Unfortunately, this particular teacher seemed to have a talent for draining all the life and humor out of these masterpieces.
I tried to focus as the professor droned on about the themes in Romeo and Juliet, but my mind kept wandering back to my encounter with Harry. Something about our charged banter had awakened feelings in me that I didn't quite understand.
Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a folded piece of paper land on my desk as if taken out of a scene from a movie. I looked around furtively before opening it. In an unfamiliar scrawling handwriting it read:
"What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east, and Juliet is the sun." - H
I felt a thrill run through me and quickly tucked the note into my bag before the professor could notice. So Harry was in this class too? I scanned the room subtly until I spotted him a few rows behind me. He caught my eye and gave me a roguish wink.
I turned back to the front, trying to ignore the simmering exhilaration I felt. Over the next few days, the notes kept coming during Shakespeare class, each with a quote or two from the Bard himself. They were usually cheeky and flirtatious, hinting at some blossoming rapport between us.
I found myself anticipating each one, my heart skipping a beat when I would spot a new folded note on my desk. Our eyes would meet across the room, a hidden smile just between us.
After class one day, as I gathered my things, I sensed Harry approach my desk. "So when's our study session?" he asked nonchalantly, though there was a glint of something more in his eyes. I hesitated, knowing I should keep my distance, yet unable to deny I was intrigued.
I nervously tucked a loose strand of hair behind my ear, trying to appear nonchalant. "Well, I don't know... I've heard you're not the most dedicated studier," I teased, giving him a playful smile.
Harry chuckled, his eyes sparkling mischievously. "Oh, but that's where you're wrong. I may not look like it, but I'm quite the Shakespeare aficionado," he replied with a grin.
I raised an eyebrow in skepticism. "Is that so? Well, I suppose we could arrange a study session... if you can prove your expertise," I challenged, a hint of challenge in my tone.
His grin widened, accepting the challenge. "Consider it done. How about we meet at the library tomorrow after school?" Harry suggested, his gaze unwavering.
I hesitated for a moment, the thrill of anticipation coursing through me. "Alright, it's a date then," I agreed, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of spending more time with him.
As the final bell rang, signaling the end of the school day, Harry flashed me one last grin before disappearing into the bustling hallway. My heart raced with both nervousness and exhilaration as I packed up my belongings, eager for our upcoming study session.
The following day at the library, I found myself anxiously scanning the room for Harry. My pulse quickened when I spotted him sitting at a table in the corner, a stack of Shakespearean plays spread out in front of him.
I made my way over to him, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement swirling inside me. "Ready to impress me with your Shakespeare knowledge?" I asked with a teasing smile as I took a seat across from him.
Harry flashed me a charming grin. "Just watch and learn," he said confidently, picking up a copy of Romeo and Juliet and flipping to a random page.
As he began to recite lines from the play with passion and flair, I couldn't help but be captivated by his enthusiasm. His eyes lit up as he delved into each line, bringing the centuries-old words to life in a way that was both mesmerizing and captivating.
By the time our study session ended, I found myself completely enthralled by Harry's interpretation of Shakespeare's works. As we gathered our things to leave, he turned to me with a twinkle in his eye, he knew a lot more about the works than he let on to.
Harry turned to me, “So now that I’ve shown you i’m smart, I know Shakespeare, when are you coming to one of my games?” he asked confidently.
I was taken aback by his forward invitation. Attending one of his football games felt intimate in a way that made me nervous.
"Oh, um, I don't know..." I fumbled over my words, suddenly feeling shy.
Harry tilted his head, giving me a crooked smile. "Come on, it'll be fun. I'll even give you a personal tour of the field afterwards," he joked.
I bit my lip, considering it. There was no denying I felt drawn to him, despite trying to keep my distance. And the thought of seeing him command the field sent a little thrill through me.
"Alright, I suppose I could stop by," I finally conceded, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear self-consciously.
Harry's face lit up. "Brilliant! Our next game is on Friday. I'll leave a ticket for you at will call," he said eagerly.
I nodded, butterflies taking flight in my stomach. "Okay, yeah. I’ll see you then," I replied softly.
Harry gave me a dazzling smile and I felt my knees go weak.
Friday night arrived and I found myself filled with nervous excitement as I made my way to the football stadium. I couldn't believe I had actually agreed to come watch Harry play. As I approached the ticket booth, I gave my name and they handed me the ticket Harry had left for me.
I found my seat in the packed bleachers and waited anxiously for the game to start. When the players rushed onto the field, I immediately spotted Harry's mop of curly hair. He looked focused and determined as he took his position on the field.
As the game began, I was immediately drawn in by Harry's commanding presence on the field. His movements were fluid and precise, each pass and dodge executed with passion and skill. With each successful play, the crowd erupted into thunderous cheers, mirroring my own excitement. It was impossible not to join in, jumping to my feet and cheering for Harry along with everyone else.
At halftime, Harry made his way over to the sidelines, sweat glistening on his forehead and tattooed arms, his chest heaving from exertion. As he scanned the crowd for familiar faces, his eyes locked onto mine and a wide grin spread across his face. He waved enthusiastically, causing my cheeks to flush as I shyly waved back in return.
In the second half of the game, Harry's presence seemed to radiate even more brightly. With each touchdown he scored, his fists pumped triumphantly in the air. The crowd roared and cheered as he ripped off his helmet and hoisted it victoriously above his head, his teammates swarming around him in celebration.
As the stadium emptied out, I stayed behind with a swarm of butterflies fluttering in my stomach. I couldn't wait to see Harry once again. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he emerged from the locker room, his hair still damp from his post-game shower but his eyes shining with joy.
"So, what did you think?" he asked eagerly as he approached me.
"You were truly spectacular out there," I gushed earnestly. A wide grin stretched across Harry's face.
"Come on, let me give you that promised tour," he said playfully, offering me his arm. Laughing, I happily took it and followed him onto the empty field, my heart racing with excitement and admiration for the amazing athlete by my side.
Harry led me onto the empty stadium field, the night air crisp and cool against our skin. He pointed out spots on the grass where pivotal plays had happened, describing them with a passion that revealed his deep love for the game.
I found myself enthralled, leaning into him as we walked, his arm solid and warm beneath my hand. When we reached the middle of the field, he turned to face me. His eyes were soft, searching my face in the dim glow of the stadium lights.
"You know, I was afraid you wouldn't come tonight," he admitted quietly.
I tilted my head. "Why's that?"
He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "You never seemed to like me much before. I figured I wasn't your type."
Heat rose to my cheeks. He wasn't wrong - I'd unfairly judged him as arrogant and cocky. But tonight had shattered those assumptions.
"I guess I realized there's more to you than meets the eye," I said softly.
Harry's smile widened. He lifted his hand, gently tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. My breath caught at his touch. Slowly, he leaned in. I let my eyes fall shut in anticipation...
But suddenly, the stadium lights flickered off, plunging us into darkness. We jumped apart in surprise.
Harry laughed. "Guess that's our cue to head out."
He took my hand, interlacing our fingers, and led me towards the parking lot. I walked close beside him, hyper-aware of his palm pressed against mine.
As he towered over me, Harry's eyes scanned the street, searching for a car. "Where did you park?" he asked, his voice deep and smooth.
I shifted nervously on my feet, avoiding eye contact. "Oh. Uh. I didn't drive. I just live around the street," I murmured, my cheeks flushing with embarrassment. The thought of navigating English roads was terrifying to me.
A warm chuckle escaped from Harry's lips as he looked back down at me. "I can drive you home, love," he offered, extending a hand towards me. His scent wafted towards me - a mix of cologne and something woodsy - and I couldn't help but feel a flutter in my stomach at his closeness.
As Harry and I walked towards his car, our hands still entwined, I felt a sense of excitement and anticipation build within me. "So, tell me more about this amazing game-winning touchdown," I teased, trying to break the silence that had fallen between us.
Harry laughed softly, his eyes sparkling with amusement as he glanced at me sideways. "Oh, you mean the one where I body-slammed the other team's runner into oblivion?" He pretended to flex his muscles playfully. "That was pretty epic, if I do say so myself."
I shook my head, feigning disbelief. "You're such a show-off," I said with a grin. "I bet you were the star of the school playground too."
Harry snorted. "Hardly. I was more of a loner growing up. Spent most of my time with my nose buried in books."
"Really?" I raised an eyebrow in surprise. "And here I thought all jocks were brain-dead."
He laughed again, his laughter echoing through the empty streets as we walked towards his car. When we finally reached it, Harry unlocked the door and gestured for me to get inside. As I slid into the passenger seat, I couldn't help but notice how perfectly he filled the driver's seat - broad shoulders tapering down to narrow hips and long legs. The image of him all sweaty and wet from a shower flashed through my mind, making my cheeks heat up again.
"So," Harry began as he started the engine and pulled out onto the road, his eyes fixed on the road ahead, "tell me more about yourself."
I felt myself blush even harder at his directness but decided to play along. "Well," I said slowly, thinking quickly. "I'm a huge bookworm too - Harry Potter is probably my favorite series ever."
Harry chuckled softly as he glanced at me briefly before looking back at the road. "I can see why you fit right in here in England then."
We drove through the quiet streets in companionable silence for a while before Harry spoke up again. "You know, you don't have to act all tough around me," he said quietly, his eyes still on the road as he slowed down at a stoplight.
I turned to face him fully now, surprised by his words. "I wasn't trying to be tough," I said defensively. "I just didn't want you to think that... well, never mind what I didn't want you to think," I muttered under my breath.
Harry's face softened into a gentle smile as he reached out to brush a strand of hair behind my ear once again - a gesture that sent shivers down my spine despite the warmth of the car interior. "It's okay," he murmured soothingly as he took my hand in his once more and squeezed gently before letting go when the light turned green again.
The rest of our drive was filled with more easy conversation punctuated by moments of awkward silence broken only by the sounds of our breathing and occasional traffic noises outside. When we finally pulled up outside my house I found myself hesitating before opening the car door knowing that this was goodbye.
Under the dim glow of the street lamp, I tentatively turned to face Harry. "Thanks for...for tonight," I stammered out, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze.
His emerald eyes twinkled mysteriously as he simply nodded and began unbuckling his seatbelt. His eyes never left mine, setting off a simmering warmth between us that was hard to ignore.
"I should probably walk you to your door," he said softly, accentuating each word with an inexplicably seductive lilt. My heart pounded in my chest as we exited the car and made our way towards my apartment.
Once at the front door, we stood facing each other in silence, the air around us thick with unspoken words and desires. I felt his strong fingers gently cradle my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. The intensity of this simple touch sent sparks racing down my spine, pooling heat in places I hadn't even known existed.
"Can I come inside?" His voice was barely a whisper but it echoed loudly in my ears.
My mind screamed caution but my body had other plans. “Yes,” I breathed out, unlocking the door and pulling him inside.
Inside, Harry's lips found mine in a searing kiss that left me breathless. His tongue teased against mine, creating a warm and delicious friction that sent shivers down my legs. As he pressed his hips against me, I could feel the unmistakable hardness growing between us. Our hands roamed freely over each other's bodies, exploring new territory and seeking pleasure through every touch.
Harry's fingers made their way to the waistband of my skirt, pulling it down over my hips and letting it fall to the ground. He lifted me up onto the edge of a nearby table, spreading my legs slightly as he stood between them. The feel of his fingers brushing against my inner thigh caused me to gasp and arch my back in anticipation.
Harry pulled back abruptly,“I’m sorry,” He started, “that was really inappropriate.”
As Harry apologized, his eyes were drawn to the hint of my arousal peeking out from between my legs. His hesitation vanished as his fingers brushed against my wetness once more, this time without pulling away. He groaned in approval and leaned forward, pressing his lips against mine once more. I craved him in the worst ways.
Our tongues tangled as he pushed me back onto the table, spreading my legs further apart. His hands found their way under my shirt, skimming over my stomach before lifting it up, exposing my bra-clad breasts. He took a deep breath, inhaling my scent and trailing his fingers lightly across one tight nipple.
"Harry," I moaned, cavinginto his touch. "Please don't stop."
He smirked wickedly down at me before pulling back slightly. In one swift motion, he yanked my shirt over my head, tossing it aside carelessly. Grabbing hold of both sides of my bra, he pulled it down too with such force that my breasts were freed from their confinement.
I gasped at the sudden rush of air hitting my sensitive nipples but before I could catch my breath, he took one of them into his mouth sucking hard while pinching the other between two fingers, teasing it mercilessly.
"Fuck," I whimpered, clawing at the table underneath me as pleasure coursed through me like lightning. The intense mix of pain and pleasure sent waves of desire crashing over me as I felt myself becoming wetter with every passing second.
Sliding one hand down towards his pants, I slowly undid the button and zipper before slipping my hand inside his boxers to grip him firmly around his growing erection. He groaned into my breast at the contact sending shivers down my spine.
"You want me to fuck you?" he whispered hoarsely against my skin leaving a trail of saliva along my collarbone as he ran his tongue upwards caressingly .
"Yes," I breathed out between parted lips unable to form complete words due to the intensity of emotions running through me.
My heart raced as his erection throbbed in my hand. I could feel the heat radiating off his skin, mixed with the desire that seemed to emanate from him. His other hand slid down my back, over my ass cheeks, and gripped them roughly, pulling me closer against his hardness.
"Do you have any idea how fucking sexy you are? You and your little shy good girl act" he growled into my neck, nipping at the skin there softly. With one swift movement, he lifted me up onto the countertop, pushing my legs apart with his hips. His mouth trailed kisses along my jawline, down my throat, and on my breasts.
I arched my back slightly offering myself to him more fully as he took a hungry mouthful of one of my nipples into his mouth sucking on it hard while pinching the other between his fingers causing a sharp intake of breath from me which made him smile devilishly before moving on to devour the other one.
My body trembled with anticipation as he bit my neck playfully, his rough hands sliding over my hips and ass cheeks before pulling me against him. His cock twitched against my wet core, making me whimper in want. "You like that, don't you?" he growled, his voice low and husky. "You're so fucking beautiful."
"Harry," I moaned, my voice reduced to a desperate whimper as he continued teasing me with his words and touches. "Please..."
The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with our ragged breathing and the occasional moan. I could feel myself getting lost in the sensations, my body responding eagerly to his movements. His hands were everywhere, tracing over my curves and gripping me tightly as he pounded into me.
My own hands were roaming his back, digging into his flesh as I tried to hold on to something amidst the overwhelming pleasure that was coursing through me. Every inch of my body felt on fire, and I couldn't get enough.
"Fuck," he grunted, his face contorting with pleasure. "You feel so good."
I whimpered in response, unable to form any coherent words as he continued to move inside me relentlessly. My whole world had narrowed down to this moment – his body against mine, the sound of our bodies coming together in a perfect rhythm.
My mind was blissfully blank as he increased his pace, his thrusts becoming rougher and more urgent. I could feel my climax building up within me, like a fire threatening to consume me whole.
And then it hit me like a tidal wave – intense and all-consuming. My back arched off the counter as I cried out his name, my body trembling with pleasure as every nerve ending exploded with ecstasy.
He followed soon after, letting out a loud groan as he spilled himself inside me. We stayed still for a moment, trying to catch our breaths and bask in the aftermath of our passion.
But eventually reality came crashing back around us. Panic started creeping up inside me as I tried to gather my thoughts and make sense of what had just happened.
As I lay there, my heart still pounding in my chest, he gently pulled out of me and straightened up. His eyes, dark with desire just moments ago, now softened with a mixture of tenderness and regret.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the sound of our heavy breathing. "I shouldn't have let things go this far."
I sat up slowly, feeling a mix of emotions swirling inside me – confusion, guilt, and a lingering sense of pleasure that refused to dissipate.
"It's not just your fault," I murmured, avoiding his gaze as I tried to gather my clothes around me. "I wanted this too."
He reached out a hand to touch my arm, but hesitated before making contact.
"We should talk about this," he said finally, his tone serious. "About what it means for us."
I nodded slowly, feeling the weight of his words settling between us. What had started as a moment of passion had now morphed into something more complicated, something that demanded attention and discussion.
As we dressed in silence, the air in the room felt charged with unspoken thoughts and emotions. The intensity of our physical connection lingered like a ghost between us, refusing to be ignored.
We began to gather our clothes from around the room, now tainted with the evidence of our reckless choices. Harry buried his face into his shirt before pulling it on, perhaps ruminating on what just occurred, or maybe trying to drown out the reality with the lingering scent of his cologne.
"Y/n," he started after a long silence, pulling his trousers up. His voice sounded strained, an indication that he was struggling with the right choice of words. "I... I didn't mean for this to... I mean, I like spending time with you." He sighed heavily, rubbing his face between his large palms.
I remained silent as I fastened my bra. The finality in his voice was suffocating, making it harder for me to breathe with each passing moment. I felt my heart thumping loudly in my chest – a crude reminder of the complication we had willingly dived into.
"I like you, Y/N," he said finally, his voice a hoarse whisper. The words hung in the air between us, hovering like a dense fog, obscuring any clarity that might lie beyond.
I stopped fumbling with my blouse, my fingers stilled by his confession. "Harry," I began, my voice barely audible. Fear clung to me, making my words tremble.
"I know," he cut me off before I could finish what I started. "I know we're both in different places... Me with football and you with your studies." There was a tingling silence after his statement, as if he was waiting for me to confirm or deny his declaration.
I sighed heavily, tugging at the hem of my blouse, feeling the cool fabric against my still heated skin. "It's not that simple Harry," I admitted, blinking back tears that had started to sting my eyes. "This," I motioned around the room, encompassing our discarded underwear strewn haphazardly around the room - a silent testament to the passion that had just consumed us, "this complicates things."
He ran his hand through his tousled hair and nodded solemnly. "I understand," he replied, a hint of resignation etching lines onto his face. His gaze was heavy with something akin to regret as it met mine.
My breath hitched in my throat at the intensity of his stare. I wanted desperately to reach out and ease the burden that seemed to weigh heavily on him. But reality was an insidious shadow that lurked in our midst, reminding us of the impracticality of our desires.
"I think it's better if we keep our distance for now," Harry broke the silence after what felt like an eternity. His words were like cold water dousing the fire that our bodies had kindled only moments ago.
A feeling of sudden emptiness clawed at me. His words, though probably said in goodwill, felt like a punch to my gut. I swallowed hard, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill over.
I nodded, unable to bring myself to utter a word. He stepped towards me and for a moment I thought he would pull me into his arms one last time. But he merely extended a hand that I shook lightly, the gesture felt impersonal after the intimacy we had just shared.
Without another word, he turned and left the room. I stood still in the silence that followed, the sound of his departing footsteps echoing in my ears long after he was gone.
Mia came home later that night, oblivious to the charged atmosphere that still lingered, suffocating and heavy in the air. Her chatter about an extra credit assignment she’d completed was a stark contrast to the silence that had enveloped the room just hours ago.
“Y/N, are you okay?” she asked suddenly, noticing my distant gaze. I gave her a weak smile in response before excusing myself to bed.
As I lay there in the dark, staring at the ceiling, Harry's words echoed through my mind. "I think it's better if we keep our distance for now." His voice was etched into my memory, roughened by regret and something else I couldn't quite place. His face bore an expression that told me this was as hard for him as it was for me.
The next day was a blur. My classes seemed trivial compared to the turmoil swirling in my mind. My interactions with others were mechanical and flat as if I was watching myself from outside my body.
Football practice was going on when I walked past the field on my way back from the campus library. My eyes instinctively sought out Harry among the sea of players. I found him focused on his game, every muscle in his body straining as he kicked the ball towards the goalpost.
His world seemed unchanged—still revolving around football—while mine felt like it had been knocked off its axis.
The following weeks were no easier. Everywhere I went, I could feel his presence like a phantom pain - a dull ache that refused to fade away. In every conversation, every song playing in the background, every corner of campus - Harry was there.
I knew we had made a rational decision, given our circumstances. But my heart couldn't comprehend what my mind had already accepted.
Months passed and winter set in, blanketing Manchester in white. Serene and beautiful yet so melancholy it mirrored my mood perfectly. The once familiar campus looked different under the soft glow of the snow as if to mirror the change that had occurred in my life.
One evening, as I was walking back from the library, I spotted Harry sitting alone on a bench, bundled up in a thick coat, his breath misting in the frigid air. His eyes were trained on the football field, currently blanketed by snow, and his hands were tucked into his pockets, his usual energy replaced by a pensive quietness.
I hesitated, weighing my options. We hadn't spoken since that night – the night when our worlds collided and then abruptly fell apart. But something drew me towards him – an inexplicable magnetism I had been fighting for so long.
Stepping tentatively closer, I cleared my throat to announce my presence. "Harry," I said softly, trying not to startle him.
He looked up at the sound of my voice, surprise flickering across his features before they settled into guarded neutrality. "Y/N," he responded with a curt nod, but made no move to invite me to sit.
Taking a leap of faith, I lowered myself onto the bench next to him, maintaining some distance while also bracing for the icy cold through my jeans. For several minutes we sat in silence, lost in our own thoughts as we stared out at the snowy field.
"I've missed you." The words slipped out before I could stop them.
He turned toward me then, his emerald eyes soft and searching as they met mine. His lips opened as if to say something but closed again as if reconsidering his words.
"Y/N..." His voice trailed off and there was a long pause before he continued. "I’ve missed you too."
Relief washed over me at his confession but it was quickly replaced with a gnawing sadness as I realized that missing each other wasn’t enough to bridge the gap between us. Our realities were still the same - he was still the star football player with ambitions bigger than Manchester itself and I was still an English major trying to carve out a place for myself in academia.
“Do you ever think about…?” I started, swallowing hard as I tried to voice the question that had been eating at me.
“Us?” He completed my sentence, his voice barely above a whisper. His gaze was heavy but he held it steady, openly showing the vulnerability he usually kept hidden beneath his star athlete facade. “All the time.”
The honesty in his confession hit me harder than I expected. We were both stuck in our respective worlds, looking at each other from afar but never truly reaching out.
I took a deep breath, feeling the biting winter air fill my lungs before exhaling slowly. “We can’t keep doing this, Harry,” I said finally, breaking the silence that had fallen between us.
He looked at me then, his gaze filled with understanding and something else I couldn't quite place. “I know,” he replied softly, his eyes never leaving mine.
The future was uncertain and full of challenges. But if there was one thing I had learnt from this whole ordeal, it was that some chances are worth taking. No matter how daunting they may seem.
#harry styles one direction#harry styles#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles masterlist#harry styles smut#one direction#harry styles x reader#hs live#otra tour#harry styles au#harry styles one shot#harry styles fanfic#harry styles angst#harry styles fic#harry styles fluff#harry styles fan fic#harry styles fanfic rec#harry styles fandom#one shot#harry styles blurb#harrystylesau#harrystylesfanfiction#harry styles fanart#harrystylessmut
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Villain Power Scaling (It's over 9000!)
@sarah-sandwich ask and you shall receive
Quick! We wrote an insanely, unexpectedly successful one-off fantasy series! How do we top the villain?
A bigger, badder giant space laser
The villain’s secret jealous sister
The same power, but purple now
The True Mastermind you’ve never heard of
JK, they’re not actually dead!
When you choose to continue on a series and have already committed to possibly destroying the legacy of the characters who fought and died to save the world once by undoing it for money, you had better have a damn good story to tell.
So if you decide your new threat is any of the above, you have quite the uphill battle ahead of you, my friend.
What is Power Scaling?
Power scaling is the nature of the ability of the heroes and the villains to grow more competent over the course of the story via new skills, new powers, or more training. Protagonist’s first fight (that they win, at least) will generally be against a baby, tier-one mook and not up against the main antagonist (*cough* Force Awakens *cough*)
As the story progresses, the mook that was so scary and so hard to beat oh so very long ago will become unnamed cannon fodder in the climax of the story. Generally speaking, this is a linear event and the hero and the villain are constantly one-upping each other until they come head to head in the unavoidable final fight.
Sometimes, things run askew. Maybe the hero’s super special power that saved them last time was a fluke, possible only in those specific circumstances, or one-time use.
Maybe they have amnesia, or the being that gave them that power revoked it, or using it cost them too much. Maybe they got seriously injured in the last fight using it and can no longer go near it if they want to not get hospitalized. Maybe the super power was another character that won the final fight for them last time, but died in the process.
It doesn’t have to be linear, but if you’re going to regress your character without creating a “why didn’t you do what you did last time” plot hole, you will need an ironclad excuse.
So, feast your eyes while I summon the Supernatural fandom back from the dead.
What not to do, as told by Supernatural
This show was originally written to last five seasons and five seasons only. No matter how die hard a fan you are or were, you cannot escape this fact, and neither could the writers.
Season one villain: A demon and her demonic minions
Season two villain: Psychic demon children and Papa Demon Yellow-Eyes
Season three villain: OG Demon Lilith, and Dean’s ticking demon-deal clock
Season four villain: OG Demon Lilith and preventing the rise of Satan
Season five villain: Satan and some douchebag Angels
Then you have Ten. More. Seasons. trying to do better than Satan and the douchebag angels to… varying levels of success and stupidity.
The problem: Supernatural tried to be linear with their power scaling, focusing on ramping up the threat level to nonsensical ends while undermining the threat level of all who came before.
The other problem: Sam, Dean, and Cas never stayed dead long enough for any of these threats to matter.
What I mean is this: In making the threat of the season so impossibly strong, by threatening the world over and over again no matter how many times they save it, by never committing to killing your three most important characters, by never letting the world go a little unsaved in the end, you’re left with a story that *says* it’s bigger, badder, bolder, but is really just a rinse and repeat that goes blander and blander each time.
Coming off Satan and the Douchebag Angels to… Cas and Crowley conspiring over the souls of Purgatory and the unseen war in Heaven because they didn’t have the budget for that, without any of the thematic weight of *why* it was angels and demons? Talk about a loss of momentum.
I rewatch a grand total of one episode of season six, “The French Mistake”. I have lost all context for the plot surrounding this episode and it’s virtually independent of the rest of the season because Sam and Dean get transported into the Real World as Jensen and Jared and poke fun at each other for 52 minutes. This episode is timeless.
The show wasn’t a complete disappointment for the remaining ten seasons or it wouldn’t have lasted that long. It had good beats, but they shot their load in Season Five. After five whole years of buildup to this main event it never recovered.
Alternatives to Linear Power Scaling
Anyone who has or even hasn’t seen Dragon Ball should know that series is famous for infinite power scaling. There’s always someone stronger, always some new secret powerup to unlock with the power of Screaming, always some new Super Sayan color that we promise is more powerful this time, for realsies.
That show is so dedicated to the bit that it’s gone full circle to being loved, not despite it, but because it’s so ridiculous.
You did not write Dragon Ball. Do not do this.
Instead of the infamous clashing multicolored power beams, what other ways can you up the ante of this new threat after your heroes have conquered all they thought stood in their way?
Give a damn good reason why this villain, who is no different than the last schmuck, is unbeatable by the macguffin this time.
As stated above, there’s no need to make the villain More Powerful* if your heroes have lost the world-saving abilities that helped them last time.
Exploit the hero’s other weaknesses
More Powerful* is never as exciting as you think it is. Often times, especially in superhero sequels, the villain isn’t necessarily stronger, but the niche power that they do have finds the chink in the hero’s armor that they didn’t have to worry about last time.
Make the hero’s niche skillset completely irrelevant
This time, the threat might not be something they can punch or shoot or smack with a hammer. This time, it’s their reputation at stake, or the villain is un-punchable because they’re simply unreachable, causing havoc the hero is helpless to stop.
Make the issue not the villain at all, but the hero or their team
Maybe the villain is just a schmuck that would be beatable on any other day, but team infighting means that they make utter asses of themselves and the villain doesn’t have to lift a finger to win because they’ve taken themselves out.
This can get very dramatic like in Captain America: Civil War or the Teen Titans epside "Divide and Conquer". Or, to comedic effect in the Spongebob Episode "Mermaid Man and Barnacle Boy V" (the one with the International Justice League of Super Acquaintances).
Some would argue that the above options aren’t power scaling at all if it’s not linear, and that’s fair. You’re telling a story though—is your story going to be about the superpowers and how cool they are, or the people who wield them?
3. It’s not actually power scaling, it’s about stakes
Supernatural began to feel so stale because even though we were told the villain this time was bigger, badder, bolder, the stakes were always the same. OSP has talked about this, how threatening to end the world has a foregone conclusion of “never actually gonna happen” because what author is crazy enough to let the world get blown up and all their characters murdered?
Raising the stakes, too, is not linear. Last time it was the world, this time, it’s the life of the love interest, it’s someone’s sanity, it’s a ticking clock on a secret that’s about to go public.
That’s why the first five seasons of Supernatural were so engaging. Were Demons the problem every time? Yes. The Demons were causing the problem, but they were causing five different problems. It was finding and saving their missing dad, then it was uncovering the sinister plan of the psychic demon children, then it was trying to escape Dean’s deal, then it was trying to stop the rise of Satan, then it was trying to stop the apocalypse. It was not five seasons of demons trying to destroy the world.
The more personal the stakes, the more likely your audience will believe the hero could actually lose this time. That’s what will keep them engaged. Dean died at the end of season 3! They lost! There was no escaping that deal. Sure he came back in the pilot of season 4, but the entire 4th and 5th seasons are haunted by Dean’s PTSD and new pessimism about the world given what he’s seen and done in Hell.
4. Threatening the world without destroying a legacy
Covered in this post about timeskips and this post about sequels but it’s too important to not keep repeating.
So. The Star Wars sequels. Rain down your wrath like snow on a hot desert—these movies were a giant mess. The audience sat through six entire movies following the rise, fall, and redemption of one man who died to save his son and the galaxy.
Then, what, twenty years later, absolutely none of it mattered? New space Nazis are out for blood with the same equipment, same weapons, same soldiers, same reach, same motives. Within the theatrical release (because I am not paying money to buy content to do homework to understand a movie made for a layman audience) these movies undermined the legacy of the six that came before it.
It didn’t have to be a new galaxy-ending regime and the same rebels still rebelling for the same reasons—how the heck did they let another empire rise so fast?—it could have started small, inconsequential, and then the actions of the new cast then undermined everything Anakin worked for.
I feel like Mr. Incredible wondering why the world can’t just stay saved for ten minutes.
All of this is salvageable. End the world again if you want. There will always be bad actors out to do bad things, you can’t expect a utopia to last forever. But that bleak reality is for the real world, not fantasy. In fantasy, the sacrifice of beloved characters must matter. Otherwise, what’s the point of their story?
How do you do this?
Make the utopia the old characters died for last up until the new inciting incident, and make sure it’s the new characters’ fault, not just due to the passage of time
Make the villain threaten something other than their legacy
Make that legacy the banner behind which the new cast rallies, determined to make sure it wasn’t in vain
5. Or, burn the world down this time
Some of the best middle beats of a story feature a “did we just lose” moment a la Infinity War. The villain has won, fan favorites are dead, their home is in ashes, and now they’re not only starting from the bottom, they’re doing it with righteous vengeance.
Then the loss of the original character’s legacy *is* the tragedy, instead of a side effect. Then, in a way, they’re still part of the story, a ghost on the sidelines cheering on their successors, and we, the audience, are right beside them.
—
I have a shiny, fresh-off-the-press Insta @chloe_barnes_books now for this blog and my upcoming novel. Go check it out!
#writing advice#writing resources#writing tips#writing tools#writing a book#writing#writeblr#fantasy#sci fi#heroes and villains#power scaling
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What do you think would happen if Mihawk joined the Red Hair pirates or became an ally for them.
tbh this is already one of my theories (hopes?) for the future, that mihawk will eventually ally himself with shanks. like totally ignoring the mishanks aspect of this, i just keep thinking about how hard that would go, the two longtime former rivals suddenly allying themselves would spell such big trouble for the straw hats since shanks is also looking for the one piece… (besides, them teaming up against the straw hats already happened in one of the games which is not reliable obviously but i like that the possibility exists)
if he joined them, i think easily their bounties are jumping up high. marine hunter + emperor can’t be good together, especially while pursuing the one piece. shanks could easily make roger numbers, mihawk could break 4 billion. similar to how the whole world knew about their rivalry, news of their alliance would spread quickly. i imagine to join (or rejoin, if you believe that mihawk used to be on the crew anyway) the red hair pirates, mihawk would leave the cross guild. maybe he ultimately thinks helping shanks find the OP assures him more of the success of its supposed effect of destroying the world government. i can imagine their alliance becoming big news, and mihawk and the red hair pirates suddenly going radio silent as they start getting into their plans. i don’t see a version of their alliance where the world government doesn’t become desperate to catch them, given individually they are already capable of so much damage and together it’ll be doubled or even tripled against them.
them teaming up this late in the story would be such a crazy move like. it’d shake the world just as their duels did. cannot stress enough how much i pray for this to happen. who knows how it’ll really pan out if it does, but that’s what i think may happen. the alliance is a big thing, and then they go quiet for a while because shanks and mihawk are not interested in openly engaging in conflict with others, only seeking their goals. you’d think no news from them is a good thing, because individually it means they’re not up to anything, but their silence while together would be a big cause for panic for the world gov (similar to benn warning shanks that the world gov will freak out if he goes to meet with whitebeard in the skypiea arc).
i don’t think shanks and luffy want to fight each other, but both going after the one piece does make them competitors for the same position anyway. they’ll be put in each other’s path, and having mihawk in the rhp is the perfect opportunity to have a mihawk vs zoro duel. taking inspiration from the game, mihawk and shanks could get a leg up on them but choose to leave the battle, inspiring the straw hats to power up now that they know they have to be able to take on both mihawk and shanks at the same time.
sorry i went on so long lmao, i happened to be thinking about this last night (specifically was thinking about a theory that mihawk’s final goal - other than finding a successor for his title - is to help shanks be pirate king, as a mirror to zoro… i’ll expand on that if someone asks lol i won’t post it in this ask)
anyway hopefully that’s kinda what you asked i’m sorry i rambled
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I sat with my anger long enough...
until it told me its real name was grief.
I'm not a whole person...
and I don't think I ever will be.
Parts of me died in the house I grew up in...
and I visit them in my dreams.
When you aren't fed love on a silver spoon...
you learn to lick it off knives.
#riftdancing - screenshots#character - blink vaniro#ff14#gposers#miqo'te#ffxiv#ffxivsnaps#ffxiv oc#ffxiv gpose#ffxiv screenshots#ffxiv wol#wol#final fantasy 14#final fantasy xiv#Blink you're looking so healthy these days...#man is that because a certain crimson haired asshole walked into your life and helped you get your act together?#are you finally getting therapy?#are you finally becoming a success story?#hmmm#HMMMMMM
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big week for tv shows that make you sick in the brain
#succession finale ted lasso finale idk what else is happening but there must be something#i am holding hands with you all on this funky little website we are all becoming madwoman (gender neutral) locked in an attic together#ted lasso#succession#story time is boring time
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Indie horror filmmaker Eddie Munson, high off his first big (underground but notable) success, knows the movers and shakers of the film world have their eyes on him.
They're just waiting to see if he was a one hit wonder before they open all the doors he's been trying to kick down.
His next upcoming film is his chance, his shot at finally making it. Of being like Rob Zombie and the other creators he looks up to that masterfully blended metal and horror.
This is his golden ticket.
The project starts off smooth. His last success has greased the wheels, and things fall into place faster than ever before.
He's got the best idea for this insane haunted house story, a true "mazes in mazes" type of deal with a queer twist. A real look at how a place can haunt a person just as easily as a ghost can.
Everything's going swimmingly--until one of his leads drops out the day they're due to start shooting.
No call no show's, and later, Eddie will find out the guy got a last second call back to be a contestant on one of those Love Island bullshit romance gigs (and laugh his ass off when the main love interest takes one look at Billy Hargrove and goes on a five minute rant about ugly mullets on national television) but right now?
He's fucked.
He's called in every favor he has for this film. Maxed out every credit card he owns, tapped every contact, got on his hands and knees and begged his rising star journalist best bud to help him market it. (Which Nancy agreed too, for way less cash than she should have.)
Eddie can't get anyone on the phone, much less find a replacement actor and the amazing place they rented, that is so dark and wonderfully eerie, is booked out the rest of the year as an AirBnB.
If he doesn't film now, he loses it all.
Cue the other lead, unknown theater actor Steve Harrington, watching his hair pulling, tire kicking, 'cursing and hopping while holding a toe' mental breakdown and asks why Eddie himself doesn't act in it.
"Just go full Kevin Smith man. Act and direct." He says, with an easy grin.
Jeff, Eddie's tried and true videographer, trades glances with Gareth and Grant (Eddie's long used special effects and makeup team, who double for about twelve other jobs because they're also his best friends and they're all in this together, make or break.)
"We don't really have a lot of other options." Gareth hedges. "You're already using me and Grant as background characters."
Eddie, hands fluttering around his face as though trying to wave away this entire situation, squeezes his eyes shut and lets out a pained hiss.
"Fine, fine!" He announces with the air of a man running towards a fire. "Fuck it, this is our one shot and so help me I will be shooting it!"
Steve politely hides a laugh with a cough.
"Chuckle all you want big boy, I'm going to tragically romance you so hard people will forget both of our characters actually live." Eddie snarls.
Steve, the handsome bastard, just winks. "Looking forward to it."
Eddie blushes, but hides it with a surge of frantic energy, conveyed by lots of yelling and moving and getting the ball rolling.
Two days later, Steve would give the performance of a lifetime down on his knees, covered in a literal pound of fake gore, booty shorts and nothing else as he sobbed about how a lover could become a home. His hands clawed at Eddie's jeans before resting a tear stained face on a slim leg as he bent his body towards Eddie like it hurt to be away from him.
Eddie would later receive equal praise in his own acting during the scene, with the world and every reporter in it asking how he conveyed an otherworldly panic so beautifully throughout Steve's performance. What was he thinking, to evoke those expressions on his face?
The way his own pale hand, unmarred by blood and acting as a metaphor for the plot, would come to stroke Steve's cheeks.
Eventually he'd come up with a smooth polished answer that cheekily pleased his audience, but nothing would ever come close to the truth.
("Eddie I've known you since grade school." Jeff said that night, a scant few hours after they'd wrapped. "You can act man, but not like that."
Eddie made a wild "shut up" gesture, looking frantically over his shoulder before admitting; "You saw how close his face was to the prince of darkness!? I was seconds away from popping a boner next to his lips, in front of the 4K camera!”
Eddie bounced into Jeff’s face so he could hiss: “He fucking had his chin on my thigh, Jeff, and I am only a man. A mere mortal!"
"So we're gonna unpack all of that later." Jeff said finally, when he'd managed to get his mouth working and Eddie back out of his personal space. "But dude, we've talked about you calling your dick the prince of darkness."
Eddie flipped him off.)
One year later and critics named Corroded the best horror film of the year, praising the camera work, practical effects, and how there wasn't a soul alive who was surprised to hear Eddie and Steve were dating after their explosive on screen chemistry.
No one ever quite understood the prince of darkness jokes or why Steve mentioning it made Eddie blush, but that was a secret to find out later.
Today on WIP’s I have no intention of writing, indie horror movie AU!
#at some point this became a warmup for the warmup#and it feels very silly#LOL#steddie#Steve harrington#Eddie munson#horror movie AU#no upside down#eddie would have the STUPIDEST names for his dick#I will die on that hill#that is a man who has put googly eyes on his third leg#and then cried because they wouldn't come off#its why he loves steve bc steve would talk to it like a beloved pet#daddy misssess youuuu#corroded coffin as a unit hates them so much when they do this shit its the bane of their existance
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Dido - Thank You
1998
"Thank You" is a song written and performed by English singer-songwriter Dido. The song made its first appearance in 1998 on the soundtrack of the movie Sliding Doors (as did poll #28). It was later included on Dido's 1999 debut album No Angel, and was released as a single in September 2000. The same year, American rapper Eminem sampled the track for his hit single "Stan", which helped propel "Thank You" and No Angel to mainstream success.
Following the success of "Stan" in Australia and the UK, where it hit number one, No Angel was finally distributed in other markets outside North America in late 2000. No Angel rose to the top of the Australian albums chart on its sixth week, dethroning The Marshall Mathers LP by Eminem. By 2003, No Angel had sold more than 15 million copies worldwide, and was the second best-selling album of the 2000s in the UK. As of 2015, No Angel was the 27th best-selling album in UK chart history. In 2019 it was listed the ninth best-selling album of the 21st century in the UK. It was also among ten albums nominated for the best British album of the previous 30 years by the Brit Awards in 2010, ultimately losing to (What's the Story) Morning Glory? by Oasis.
"Thank You" peaked at number three on the Billboard Hot 100, and held that spot for three weeks, and became Dido's first and only top-10 single in the US. It was one of the biggest sleeper hits of the year, debuting in January and remaining on the chart until the end of September. It spent 40 weeks on the chart, and in November Billboard published that "Thank You" finished as the seventh biggest song of the year. Additionally, the song reached number one on the Billboard Adult Contemporary, Adult Top 40, and Dance Club Play charts. In the UK, "Thank You" reached number three, becoming the singer's third top-five single in the UK.
The song was produced by Dido and her brother Rollo, from the band Faithless (poll #109).
"Thank You" received a total of 85,5% yes votes!
youtube
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Big Emotions (Alessia X Leah X toddler!R)
Request: In the Arsenal game vs Manchester United, R has some big emotions about the crowd booing her Mama (Alessia), while shes sitting with Leah in the stands because shes not back from her ACL yet.
Warnings: None. This is a cute kidfic.
Pt. II
More in this universe- here
You tucked your face tightly into your Mama’s neck with a groan, the Batman blanket draped over your body like a little tent protecting you from the biting wind and camera flashes as the team made its way off the bus and into old Trafford.
It wasn’t that Alessia was hiding you from the world, the fans definitely knew about you and loved to chatter about how adorable you were, but she always did her best to keep your face off of the internet.
Finding where you lived, and where you went to preschool would be far too easy for someone who had Ill intentions for her to risk it.
Arsenal and her teammates had agreed and refrained from putting your face on their official social media. Though there were a few of you in a Batman mask on Ella and Mary’s pages, and a couple with some well-placed stickers on the Arsenal official account, she had been successful in protecting your identity.
And the fans seemed to respect her wishes too.
So your appearance in your Batman blanket tent was one that the fans were used to.
What no one was used to was how grumpy you were.
The bus ride from London to Manchester had been long, and rather difficult if Alessia did say so herself.
It was an extension of the already challenging week without her girlfriend that the two of you were trying to navigate. You didn’t take kindly to breaks in your routine, and since your move to London, your mother’s girlfriend Leah had become a large part of that routine.
You were nearly as attached to her as you were to Alessia, and you hadn’t taken well to her absence. You were unable to understand that she was just away on business and that she hadn’t abandoned you and your mama.
The week had been peppered with sporadic FaceTimes that you had no interest in and a lot of crying when your typical routines were broken.
The only reprieve had been your excitement for the game between Arsenal and Manchester United at your favorite stadium, Old Trafford.
You had been so excited to see Mary and Ella that you had refused to sleep after your bedtime story, even after she pulled you into the big bed she normally shared with Leah since the move to London.
Then you hadn’t been impressed by how early she had to wake you up, and were rather uncooperative as she got you dressed, flat out refusing breakfast because they weren’t the mini pancakes Leah usually made you on travel days.
You were miserable by the time you got to the bus, and then you had been forced to sit still for nearly 4 hours. You hadn’t been interested in any of the snacks she brought, any of the movies on your iPad, or interacting with her Arsenal teammates (even Viv, Beth, and Katie which surprised her). The only reprieve had come when she finally coaxed you into a nap about 30 minutes before the bus pulled into the stadium.
“Easy love,” She hummed, bouncing you lightly as she stepped off the bus, flashing a grin towards the waiting crowd while trying to balance you and her bag.
“Let me take that,” Katie said, grabbing Alessia’s kit bag from her. “You just worry about getting the bug inside,”
She nodded towards the Irish captain in thanks, bringing her now free hand up to cup the hidden back of your head as you shifted anxiously against her again at the cheering of the fans.
She sent them another smile, but forwent going to say hello, and headed down the tunnel instead.
The last thing she needed was a full-blown meltdown, and with how loud the fans were and how cranky you were, she knew that’s exactly what would happen.
“We’ll get to the changing room, and you can finish your nap in your cubby, alright?” She said, keeping her voice soft, her feet tapping as the crowd noise faded, blocked by the walls of the stadium. “And then you get to see Mazza and Ella,”
“Weah,” You mumbled into her neck, your voice muffled by her skin, your blanket tent, and the stuffed animal clutched under your arm.
“I know you want Leah,” She sighed, rounding the corner to the hallway that held the visiting team changing room and showers.
She wanted Leah too.
While she had been single when she had you and she knew how to be a single mom, things were so much harder than they were with Leah.
The defender had been part of your life since you were barely a year old, and Alessia had gotten used to her help throughout their 2-year relationship. Even when she was in Manchester, Leah had been an active participant in helping Alessia raise you.
Things were so much easier when they could tag team things like breakfast and keep you entertained. It was one of the selling points of moving to Arsenal.
More time for the three of you to be a family.
“But I’m sure the equipment staff will get you a nice warm sippy of milk, and we can relax until I play,” She continued, nodding towards Stinia as she held the changing room door open for the two of you.
She thought you would perk up at the mention of warm milk, something they were trying to limit to just before bedtime, but you only sniffled against her neck.
“I think our visitor will help too,” Stinia said as she passed, tilting her head towards the locker that the staff always set up for you with blankets and snacks, and a jersey of your own.
Alessia followed her eyes, her shoulders immediately relaxing at the sight of her blonde girlfriend.
“Oh thank god,” She breathed, crossing the room to stand in front of her locker.
Leah met her halfway, pulling you both into her arms the second she was close enough. “Hey loves,”
“Hey,” Alessia sighed, leaning into the woman and accepting a very tame kiss. “Missed you,”
“I missed you both too, so much,” Leah said, her expression soft.
While she loved her job and the opportunities it afforded her, she had grown rather attached to the little family unit the three of you had created.
She quite missed the way you cuddled up to her in the mornings while she watched cartoons with you, and helped you get ready for bed. It was made even more excruciating by how little interest you showed in interacting with her on FaceTime, going so far as to hide under the couch so you could escape the phone.
The only reprieve had been the photos Alessia sent her of you and your stuffed turtle cuddled up in a nest of her sweatshirts, and your refusal to leave the house unless you were wearing one that smelled like Leah.
Today she knew Alessia had wrapped you in one of her owls England ones.
“Tough morning?” Leah asked when you didn’t pull your head out from your blanket tent to greet her.
“You have no idea,” Alessia sighed, beginning to rock again to help settle you. “We’re in a very grumpy mood today,”
Leah made a low noise, stepping a little closer, tilting her head around to look at the opening to your little blanket cave, and laying a very gentle hand on the center of your back. “Hey snuggle bug,”
You shifted in Alessia’s hold, peeking out from under your blanket, the head of your stuffed turtle just visible under your chin. “Weah?”
“Yeah sweetie,” She smiled gently at your bed head. “Do you wanna come to me so mama can get ready? I’ve got your cubby all nice and cuddly for you,”
“No,” You mumbled, your fist tightening in Alessia’s shirt. “m comfy,”
Both women frowned.
They expected you to cling to Leah the moment you saw her, she tended to be your go-to on game days, and you had been relentless in your desire to see her for the last week.
“Ok,” Leah agreed, rubbing your back to hopefully help you stay settled. “Do you want to continue your nap?”
You shook your head, resting your cheek back on your Mama’s shoulder. The way you blinked heavily at her told her a different story, but she didn’t mention it.
“Alright,” Leah hummed, running her fingers through your wild curls.
Your eyes slid closed, and she shared another look with Alessia.
“Let’s go to your cubby,” Alessia sighed, rocking you as she made her way over to the bench that was all set up for you with blankets and two jerseys hanging.
She gently pulled your head from her neck and settled you into the little nest that had been created for you. You pulled your Batman blanket tightly around you, snuggled deeply into the pile of blankets, and pulled the hood of your England jersey over your head, tucking your nose into the collar that smelled like Leah.
You hugged your stuffed turtle, Squirt close to your chest, and let your eyes slide closed.
Maybe you would finish your nap.
******
“Hey love bug, wake up,”
Gentle hands rubbed your back, and you lazily blinked up at Leah’s voice.
“Warm-ups are about to start,” She continued, squatting in front of your little cubby. “Do you want to wear your jersey?”
You shook your head, your little hands coming up to rub the sleep out of your eyes.
“Alright,” Leah agreed, reaching up to brush your wild curls out of your eyes. “Does Squirt want his jersey?”
You yawned, thinking about it for a very long second before nodding.
Leah smiled widely at you, reaching above you to the two extra jerseys hanging in your cubby, specifically designed for your favorite stuffed friend.
“Does he want to wear mine or Mama’s?” She asked, waiting patiently as your eyes flickered between them.
It often took you a few minutes to make big decisions like whose jersey you would wear.
“Mazza,” You mumbled.
The corners of Leah’s lips pulled downward. She wasn’t sure that Alessia had packed the turtle-sized Earps jersey that was a staple at Lionesses games. “I’m not sure we have that one bug. Can you pick mine or mama’s?”
You pouted, tucking your face into Squirt’s shell and shaking your head.
“Ok love,” Leah sighed, trying to keep the disappointment out of her voice. “I have a sippy for you if you would like to watch warmups?”
Your eyebrows furrowed, and you rubbed your nose into squirt's soft body as you thought it over.
You did love to watch Mama play, and they didn’t let you drink warm milk unless it was bedtime.
“Otay,” You said finally, holding out your arms for Leah to pick you up.
Her smile returned, as she ran her hand through your wild curls, and lifted you, squirt and the Batman blanket still wrapped around you into her arms.
You immediately tucked your face into her neck, squishing your stuffed turtle between you, as she tucked your blanket more tightly around you.
You hated jackets, and the old England sweatshirt you were wearing was not sufficient to keep you warm on its own.
“Mazza and El?” You asked into her skin, practically melting into her as she made her way out of the changing room and down the tunnel, nodding at some of the staff as she passed.
Leah hummed. “They’ll be out there too, but I think we’re closer to the Arsenal bench,”
You yawned, a big dinosaur yawn as she stepped out into the stadium, waving at a few fans as she got settled in the seat just behind the bench that the training staff had set up for the two of you.
“See after?” You asked, turning your head so you had a good view of the pitch.
“Definitely,” Leah agreed, passing you a warm red and blue sippy cup filled with milk.
Your eyes found your mama, running next to Viv near the center of the pitch, and you followed them as you sucked on your favorite beverage, relaxing into the defender's hold.
Leah rubbed your back, bouncing her knees very gently. It was adorable how you waved at the girls on the pitch, no matter what team it was, and how they waved back, nudging whoever was next to them to point you out.
You got particularly excited when Ella noticed you, sending you a very enthusiastic wave and a kiss.
Leah knew the move to Arsenal hadn’t been easy for you. You were rather attached to the Manchester United women, and you missed them even if you had settled in well with the Arsenal girls.
She just hoped that you could handle seeing both teams go at it.
Seeing your Mama go against your decidedly favorite aunts.
“Mama is waving at you,” Leah said, nudging you as Alessia sent you an equally big wave.
Maybe this would pull you out of your grumpiness.
*******
Any hope that Leah had of your mood lifting was dashed as soon as the starting lineups were announced.
You had finished your milk just after warmups were over and dawned your Spider-Man ear defenders as the crowd roared to life. You seemed excited to chant along with them to their rendition of Country Road, and the Glory Glory Man united chant, even waving squirt along to the tunes.
But then everything shifted.
You wilted under the chorus of boos that met your Mama’s name, frowning as they echoed from every inch of the stadium.
“Why they boo Mama?”
Your voice was soft as you turned to Leah, a distinct crinkle between your eyes.
Leah bit her lip at your adorableness, smoothing back your hair again. “Well, you remember how Mama played for United?”
You nodded. “With El and Mazza,”
“That’s right,” She said. “When she moved to Arsenal, that upset a lot of people,”
“Because she so good? And they were sad?”
Your head tilted to the side at the question.
Leah hummed. Recognizing and vocalizing your emotions were things that they were working on with you, so she was proud that you were trying to understand the big emotions of the crowd.
“Some are sad,” She agreed. “Some are angry because they don’t understand why she left them,”
“She no leave. You no leave either,” You said automatically, and Leah was already nodding.
“No, we will never leave you. She just changed teams because it was better for her,” She explained gently.
It was a familiar reassurance, one that she and Alessia had to given you hundreds of times.
You had never met your father, but since you started pre-school, you had been acutely aware that you had a Mama and a Leah instead of a mom and dad. They weren’t sure exactly what started it, but you had become irrationally terrified that one of them would leave you. Terrified to the point of a panic attack.
She knew that her absence hadn’t helped.
“Mark a meanie butt,” You muttered, turning back towards the pitch.
Leah suppressed her snort as the teams lined up for kickoff.
He was a meanie butt, and he hadn’t treated you well, going as far as to say that you were a distraction, and doing his best to make it impossible for Alessia to spend time with you.
“Who do you think is going to score?” Leah asked you, redirecting your attention.
Your nose scrunched as you thought. “Mama score one and El,”
“If Mama scores then Mazza won’t have a clean sheet,” Leah reminded you, resting her chin on your shoulder.
You shrugged, the crinkle between your eyebrows reappearing when the crowd erupted in more boos as the ball neared your mama.
You didn’t like it when they booed.
Leah tightened her hold on you, as you began to squirm, your head whipping back and forth with the pace of the game.
“Go, Mama!” You yelled as Katie dispossessed Galton and sent a ball over the top, right into Alessia’s path.
She easily collected it and sent it careening right past Mary’s outstretched fingers.
You nearly launched yourself out of Leah’s lap as the ball hit the back of the net, cheering so loudly that Leah was afraid you would hurt yourself. She pulled you back to stand on her thighs.
Your little yell of excitement was drowned out by the deafening boo throughout the stadium, impossibly louder than it was before.
You turned in Leah’s lap, glaring up at the crowd around you. “No boo my Mama!”
“Easy love,” She said, using her hands on your hips to balance you as you stood on her lap, hyper-aware of the cameras now pointing in your direction.
“No boo Mama!” You screamed at the audience again, your fists clenched at your side, your little cheeks going red. “Mean!”
“It’s ok bug,” Leah tried again, using hands under your armpits and standing up so she was cradling you against her chest. “You’re ok,”
“No ok,” You yelled, tears finally leaking from your eyes. “No boo mama goal. Bestest goal,”
She shushed you gently, rocking from side to side, as she gestured towards security to let her back to the aisle behind the benches.“I know love,”
No one wanted your looming meltdown to be splashed across social media later, even if Leah agreed with you.
It was a great goal and it didn’t deserve the boos.
Alessia didn’t deserve the boos.
“Sh, you’re ok,” She shushed you gently, stepping down the small staircase and into the tunnel, dampening the boos. “Take some deep breaths for me,”
“Mama,” You sniffled miserably into her neck, wiping your tears on Squirt's back. “Best,”
“Your mama is the best,” Leah hummed, running the hand not holding you through your hair, scratching your scalp.
You sagged against her, just like your mother did when Leah ran her hands through her hair.
“And they all know it too. They just don’t know how to handle her being on a different team,” She continued, rocking from side to side. “You’re ok,”
“Mama best,” You repeated, pulling back to look at her with a pout. “no boo,”
She smiled sadly at you. “We can’t stop them from booing, but you know what we can do?”
You shook your head, your eyes that were so like Alessia’s still watery and rimmed red.
“We can cheer so loud that we drown out the boos,” Leah said, fixing your hoodie.
Your eyes flashed with determination. “I cheer for Mama goals,”
She hummed, kissing your forehead (and Squirt’s when you held him up for her). “Let’s go then,”
You nodded vigorously, wiping your eyes. “But after, I tell Mazza and El that fans were butt heads,”
Leah made a low noise of agreement in the back of her throat, bouncing lightly as she made her way back to the mouth of the tunnel.
Her idea wasn’t a complex fix to your mood, and she was sure that they would have to dodge more frustration tantrums from you, but hopefully, it would satisfy you until after the match.
Yes, Alessia would need to assure you that she was alright, and they would need to scrub social media of your face angrily yelling at fans, but right now she would take the little that you were giving her.
There would be time for big emotions later.
Right now, all she had to do was cheer for her love with you (and Squirt).
#woso x reader#woso imagines#woso imagine#alessia russo x reader#leah williamson x reader#alessia russo x leah williamson x reader
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Hello! Not sure if you’re taking requests but would you consider doing an addition to TSS where young!arsenal reader was starting before Beth and Viv came back and has been benched majority of the time since (Kyra core☹️). Maybe during like the west ham game was one of the subs thrown on halfway through and after the loss made a snarky comment about “being thrown on to unfuck everything” type of thing to another teammate and Viv/beth overhear and think she’s talking about them (maybe they’re already a little insecure about losing such an “easy” game, self doubt post ACL) and things are super frosty and weird at home until one of them snaps and makes a comment about how they still wouldn’t have won even if R started. Hurt/comfort angst but with a happy ending!! Not sure if any of that strikes your fancy but I had the thought and you’re so talented:) no worries if not!!!
TO JUMP THE GUN(NERS)
pairings: arsenal x teen!reader / meadema x teen!reader / kyra cooney-cross x arsenal!reader
warnings: the west-ham match. swearing. angst. awkwardness.
author’s note: OMG LOVE THIS IDEA ! like this was right up my alley I felt like 😭 thank you so much, and I hope you enjoy the story!
masterlist
February 4, 2024 - Essex, England
It had become a routine, seeing her name and number on the bench. She took a glance at Kyra, a knowing look in her eyes.
The young Arsenal homegrown wondered where it all had gotten wrong. Well, she knew the answer, but it wasn't exactly something she could say out loud to anyone.
She was transported back to the 2022/23 season, where she would warm the bench until either Vivianne or Beth were too tired or they needed to be rested for the next match.
Their injuries had changed everything.
Y/N not only became a regular starter, but became a vital part of their game. Her absence would be noticed.
She scored the goals that got them to the semifinals of the Champions League, keeping them level with 2x champions Wolfsburg.
However, Beth and Vivianne were back now. Alessia's arrival also didn't help much, the former Manchester United player having cemented herself into the starting line-up.
It also didn't help that Jonas was not a fan of rotating. Only in specific Conti Cup matches or against what he deemed 'weaker' teams in the league would he make changes to the usual starting XI.
In other words, she was back to step 1.
That's why it was hard to watch her teammates falling 2-1 behind against West Ham, with no one seeming to find an answer or any will to turn the game around. It was a painful spectacle.
In the 63rd minute, Jonas decided to throw herself, Kyra and Cloé in the match, and take out Vivianne, Victoria and Beth. It was a desperate attempt, and the three Gunners found themselves on the pitch, tasked with the challenging mission of trying to fix everything that had gone wrong so far.
Y/N and Cloé quickly created some chances but the West Ham defense or the swift reflexes of Mackenzie Arnold saw them go in vain.
The teenager could see the expressions of her teammates on the bench, visibly frustrated with how the match had unfolded since Alessia's successful header.
Vivianne couldn't hide the discontent in her eyes as she sat with a subtle shake of her head. Her partner, sitting beside her, noticed and Beth patted her thigh, offering silent support as they continued to watch their team scramble for a late equalizer.
As the final whistle blew, the disappointment within the team was high. Y/N did her usual post-match routine, and congratulated all the West Ham players on their win, while giving and receiving solace from her own teammates.
The teen found Kyra again, someone who she had found a friendship in over the months the Australian had joined the Gunners.
''You alright?'' The midfielder asked her, a dejected tone in her voice.
Y/N nodded. ''Yeah, you?''
''Not too great, but there are worse things in life.'' Kyra responded, trying to put the loss in perspective.
''True,'' the striker agreed, ''I can't believe he keeps putting us in these positions.''
Kyra nodded. ''You think he would learn after Tottenham.'' She sighed.
''Apparently, we're not good enough to start, but when he needs us to unfuck everything that happened, then he knows who we are.'' Y/N said, her frustration evident. The unfair treatment of some players during the season lingered in the air, leaving a bitter taste after the defeat.
As the youngsters continued their conversation on their way to the locker room, Vivianne and Beth, unintentionally overhearing their discussion, exchanged puzzled glances.
''Did you hear that? 'Unfuck everything'?'' Beth repeated her housemate's words to her partner.
Vivianne's brow furrowed as she processed what was said. ''Yeah,'' the Dutchwoman breathed out, ''not very nice.'' A hint of sadness lingered in her voice. It stung that their efforts were being discussed in such terms, especially by the young girl they were living with.
They didn't say much else to one another as they strolled through the corridor.
The atmosphere in the locker room was subdued, void of any banter and entertaining chats. Most of the players were already there as the couple walked in.
Beth took a glimpse at Y/N and Kyra who still seemed in a discussion with one another, although they were whispering now.
''Girls, we're a lot better than this.'' Kim broke the ice, a neutral expression on her face.
Everyone nodded at the captain, the collective disappointment from the match was visible. ''Well, it's done, we can't change anything about it. So, everyone just do a reset, try to get some sleep or distract yourselves on the bus, and I expect everyone with fresh minds and legs at training.''
The team nodded and weakly applauded Kim's small speech.
As the team began to disperse, Y/N caught Beth's eye, offering a faint smile in greeting. However, the winger's response was noticeably strained, her usually warm demeanor replaced by a subtle tension.
"Everything okay?" The younger one ventured, her concern evident.
Beth's smile faltered slightly, her gaze flickering away before returning to meet Y/N's. "Yeah, everything's fine." She replied, though her words sounded hollow even to her own ears.
The striker's brow furrowed further, a flicker of uncertainty clouding her features. "Are you sure?" She pressed gently, not used to this awkwardness from her teammate.
"I... yeah, I'm sure." She retorted, her voice tinged with irritation.
"Okay..." Y/N trailed off, unsure of how to proceed. Sensing the dismissiveness between them, she offered a hesitant smile before turning back to where she had been talking with Lia.
As her housemate walked away, Beth's expression hardened, a pang of guilt gnawing at her conscience. She knew she shouldn't act like this towards her, but her words had really struck a nerve for some reason and it was hard to pretend it didn't.
The drive home on the bus wasn't that different, though the atmosphere was more subdued due to the loss. Y/N and Kyra were seated next to each other, Katie and Caitlin sitting on the other side of them.
''You alright, Y/N?'' Caitlin asked, noticing the youngster's quietness.
Y/N looked up, glancing away from her nails to the older Australian player. She hesitated answering, not knowing if it was appropriate to say anything about her interaction with Beth.
She sat up straight and motioned for the three of them to huddle together over the small table. They got her message and did just that.
''Did anything happen on the bench or something? Cause I had this weird exchange with Meado, and it's just stuck in my head.'' She explained, her voice hushed.
They all frowned at her words. ''No, she was just frustrated about the game, but so was everyone else.'' Caitlin responded.
''What happened?'' Katie chimed in, curious to know about this exchange.
''I don't know. She was looking at me in the locker room, and I smiled at her, but she, I don't know, just looked weird at me. I asked her if she was alright, but she was kinda distant with me? She responded a little irritated so I left her alone, but it was weird.'' Y/N gave a small summary of the interaction.
"That is strange." Kyra mused, breaking the silence that had settled over their huddle.
They nodded at her words, agreeing with the young Australian.
''I didn't notice anything.'' Caitlin said with a pout, feeling sorry she couldn't help her younger teammate out. ''Me neither, kiddo.'' Katie added, a similar expression on her face.
Y/N smiled sadly, disappointed she wasn't any wiser on Beth. Katie rubbed her arm once she noticed her dejected expression. ''Hey, I wouldn't worry about it. It's a tough loss.''
The youngster nodded at the Irishwoman's words. ''Yeah, you're right.''
Katie was not right.
As soon as she got in the car with the beloved couple it was clear that something had gone down for them to act in such a sour mood. Vivianne's knuckles were white against the steering wheel, while Beth stared out of the window, her expression unreadable.
Sensing the palpable tension, Y/N shifted uncomfortably in her seat. The youngster wanted to break the silence, but the words wouldn't come out. It felt like they were stuck in her throat.
The drive home felt like forever. Every minute made the atmosphere worse. Y/N tried to catch Vivianne or Beth's eye, hoping for some sign that things would get better, but there was nothing.
Car rides after losses were never filled with much conversation, but it had never been like this.
A wave of relief went through her as the car was parked in front of their apartment complex, longing for the comfort of her room where she could hide from whatever the situation was.
Y/N couldn't even come up with a guess on what had transpired. Did they have a fight? Did she do something? Did someone else do something?
She had absolutely no clue.
However, the tension seemed to follow them into their shared home. The silence had become even more deafening with each step they took.
Beth disappeared into her room without a word, while Vivianne headed straight for the kitchen, her movements stiff and mechanical. Y/N stood in the hallway, feeling like an outsider in her own home.
Their behaviors made her feel anxious, feeling that knot inside her stomach. What had happened during the game? What had caused them to retreat into themselves like this?
Unable to handle any of it longer, Y/N tentatively approached the Dutchwoman in the kitchen. "Um, Viv?" She began, her voice small.
Vivianne glanced up, her expression guarded. "Yeah?” She replied, accent heavy.
The younger girl hesitated, unsure of how to broach the subject. "I, uh, did, uh, something happen at the game?" She stammered, her words stumbling over each other in her haste to get everything out.
The striker's eyebrows furrowed. "What are you talking about?” She asked, her face neutral.
Her response only added to the youngest one's confusion. It seemed as though they were both dancing around a subject neither wanted to address.
"I-I just... noticed things were a bit off between everyone after the match," Y/N explained, her voice barely above a whisper, "and, well, the car ride home was... a bit weird, you know.”
Vivianne's expression softened slightly, though her guard remained up. ''Don't worry about it. Just… frustration from the game.''
But Y/N couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it than just frustration. She wanted to press further, but the fear of causing further conflict held her back.
Instead, she offered a hesitant nod. ''Okay, good.'' She murmured to the floor, retreating back to her room with a heavy heart.
The Arsenal homegrown player pulled her phone out of her pocket, searching up Kyra's contact. It only took a few rings for the Australian to pick up, she was probably already on her phone as she was called.
''Hey.'' Her accent momentarily bringing a smile to Y/N's face.
''Hey, you're home?''
''Yeah, just arrived. What's up?''
There was a brief pause before Y/N continued. ''Things have gotten a bit weirder since, uh, on the bus.''
''Shit. What happened?'' She asked, her voice filled with genuine worry.
''It's just... the tension at home is almost suffocating," she explained, ''it was completely silent the entire time we were driving home, and when we got home, Beth immediately went to her room. I tried to ask Viv about, but she told me it was just frustrations, but it clearly is not just that.''
There was a moment of silence as Kyra processed Y/N's words. "That doesn't sound good," she finally replied, ''you really have no idea what might have happened? Maybe they had a fight or something?''
Y/N shook her head, even though her teammate couldn't see it. "No, that's the thing. I'm completely lost." She admitted, frustration lacing her words.
''Same. I wish I knew what to say to help.'' Kyra said softly.
''It's alright, Ky. Thanks for letting me ramble.'' Y/N chuckled, appreciating the opportunity to unload her worries onto her friend.
''It's fine, honestly. It must not be fun to be in this situation,'' the Matilda replied, feeling for her friend, ''if anything else happens you can always let me know, okay? I'm gonna have some dinner now.''
Y/N smiled gratefully. "Thanks, Ky. I really appreciate it.”
''Anytime. Take care, I'll see you at training.''
''You too. Bye, bye.'' They bid each other goodbye before hanging up the phone.
Y/N prepared to leave her room again, wanting to check if Vivianne had started dinner yet or not.
Just as she stepped into the hallway, she nearly collided with Beth, who was coming out of her room with a tight-lipped expression. The sudden encounter caught them both off guard.
''Shit, sorry.'' The younger one apologized first, giving her housemate an awkward glance.
''It's alright,'' Beth brushed off, ''uh, were you on the phone just now?" She asked, her brow furrowing slightly.
Y/N nodded. ''Uh, yeah, with Kyra.''
Beth's expression shifted, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her features. "Oh, Kyra." She murmured, her voice tight.
The younger girl simply stared at the winger, not knowing what to say to her words. "Is everything okay?" Y/N ventured, her voice hesitant as she searched Beth's face for any sign of what might be bothering her.
Beth's lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, she seemed lost in thought. When she finally spoke, her words were tinged with a hint of irritation. ''Everything's alright.''
Y/N offered a small, uneasy smile and nodded. "Oh, okay." She said, though her words felt hollow even to her own ears.
With a nod of acknowledgment, Beth turned to walk away. As she watched Beth disappear around the corner, she wondered if it had been something she had done. However, she couldn't recall saying or doing anything that day that would have provoked this kind of demeanor from the couple.
The young striker walked into the living room, noticing Vivianne bustling about in the kitchen. But what caught Y/N's attention was the hushed whispers exchanged between the couple, Beth and Vivianne not being subtle about their gossiping.
A sense of discomfort washed over the youngster as she hesitated in the doorway, unsure whether to interrupt or retreat unnoticed. But before she could make a decision, the Dutchwoman glanced up and caught her eye, her expression inscrutable.
''Hey, dinner is almost ready. Just some leftover pasta from yesterday.'' She informed Y/N, her tone somewhat forced as she attempted to maintain a facade of normalcy.
Y/N forced a smile. ''Nice, thanks, Viv.'' She answered, trying to ignore the awkwardness that hung in the air.
She retreated to the couch, feeling as if she wasn't welcome in the small space. Something was off, and she couldn't help but feel like she was on the outside looking in.
She scrolled on her phone for a few minutes before Vivianne called her to the table as the food was ready. As they gathered around the dinner table, the atmosphere remained strained, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.
Vivianne served up the leftover pasta, her movements brisk as she avoided making eye contact with anyone. Beth sat across from Y/N, her expression unreadable as she picked at her food.
Y/N tried to focus on her food, but the uneasy feeling in the pit of her stomach made it difficult to swallow.
For a few moments, the only sound was the clinking of forks against plates, the silence punctuated only by the occasional awkward cough or clearing of throat.
Finally, unable to bear the tension any longer, Y/N opened her mouth. "So, um, what did you guys think about the match?'' She asked the pair, her voice coming out more high than she had intended.
As if on cue, Vivianne and Beth glanced up from their plates at the same time.
''It was tough, but it shouldn't have been tough. We lacked a clear tactic.'' The experienced striker answered, filling up the silence.
Y/N nodded, relieved at least one of them responded to her attempt at conversation. She took a peek at Beth, who did not seem amused in the slightest to talk about the surprising defeat earlier that day.
''It was just another match of us fucking everything up, and you kids having to unfuck it all.'' Beth said, her tone dripping with sarcasm.
The youngest's eyes widened slightly at the cutting remark, not expecting those words to come out of the Brit's mouth.
Vivianne shifted uncomfortably in her seat, casting a quick glance at Y/N before fixing her gaze on her partner. "Beth, that's enough.'' Her voice was stern, warning Beth that this was not the way to go about this.
But Beth ignored her girlfriend, her eyes fixed on Y/N with an intensity that made her squirm. ''No, she needs to learn to not talk about teammates that way, especially the ones that have just gotten back from serious injuries, and need time to reintegrate into the group.''
Y/N felt a flush of embarrassment creeping up her neck, she cast a desperate look at Vivianne, silently pleading for her to intervene and diffuse the situation before it escalated any further.
''Beth, I wasn't-''
''You weren't what? You weren't talking shit to Kyra about us right after the match? You weren't talking shit about us to Kyra on the phone just now?'' The oldest continued in an accusing tone.
Vivianne let out a sigh, her frustration evident as she attempted to defuse the situation. ''Beth.'' She said firmly, her gaze shifting between the two other people at the table.
''I wasn't talking shit about you guys. I would never do that.'' Y/N managed to let out, offended at the mere idea of her not appreciating the two women who'd let her move in with them a 1,5 years ago.
''Y/N, we heard you. On the pitch after the match, with Kyra.'' Beth responded bluntly.
Y/N swallowed hard, slightly ashamed of being caught. ''We were just... we were just frustrated, okay? That comment wasn't directed at any of you guys, it was more at Jonas, to be fair.''
The couple grew silent at the admission, realizing they had greatly misunderstood the two young girls' conversation. ''About Jonas?'' Vivianne repeated, her voice carrying a note of embarrassment.
The young striker nodded. ''Yeah, me and Kyra have just been a bit upset with our game time, that's all. It felt like a repeat of the Tottenham game.''
Beth and Vivianne exchanged a glance, coming to a silent understanding. ''We're sorry for jumping the gun on that one, darling. We really thought we needed to teach you some manners.'' The Brit nervously apologized with a chuckle.
''It's alright, we probably should've been a bit more discreet.'' Y/N brushed her apology off with a hand gesture.
''No, you two are in your full right to complain.'' Vivianne retorted, agreeing on the playing time matter.
The teenager waited a few moments before elaborating. ''I don't mind sitting on the bench, it's great to get rest, you know? But it almost feels like he doesn't trust me to get the game starting or something. I like to think I did great last season, so this kind of sucks.'' She opened up, not having voiced these thoughts to anyone but Kyra.
''You did amazing last season, you stepped up when we needed someone and the team will never forget that.'' Beth smiled, squeezing the youngster' s hand.
''It seems that Jonas forgot.'' Y/N muttered bitterly, looking down at her empty plate.
The couple silenced themselves at her mumbled words, not knowing what the appropriate response would be to cheer her up about the situation. They were indirectly responsible for the young girl to not get as much game time anymore, so whatever they would tell her, she would most likely not feel much better afterwards.
''Just focus on what you're doing right now. Show up to training, recover well, maximize everything in the minutes you do get. Show him that he should trust you to start, and that you deserve to have that spot in the line-up.'' Vivianne chimed in, her voice soft but resolute.
Y/N nodded at the older woman's words, though her demeanor still seemed dejected. ''Yeah, I'll continue to do that.'' It came out somewhat passive aggressive.
''I know it doesn't fix the situation, but you're my personal star girl, regardless whether you play or not.'' Beth softly smiled at her.
The teen managed to crack a small smile back, appreciating the sentiment. ''Thanks, Beth.''
''You're mine too.'' Vivianne added.
''Hey, that's my compliment for her! Find another one if you want to be cute!'' Beth scolded her partner, dramatically feigning annoyance.
The Dutchwoman frowned. ''Everyone calls her ‘star girl'! You're not original either!'' She pouted back.
Y/N couldn't help but let out a chuckle at the banter between the couple, happily accepting the momentary distraction from her frustrations.
Beth playfully rolled her eyes. ''At least I'm complimenting her!''
''Sorry that I was just giving useful advice, Bethany.'' Vivianne retorted.
''Useful.'' The Brit repeated, her voice heavily tinged with sarcasm.
Vivianne's mouth gaped, pretending to be offended. ''It was useful! That's what I would have wanted to hear at 19 year-old.'' She defended herself.
''19 year-old's want to hear praise, Viv. They want to be called star girls, not receive a lecture.'' Beth quickly replied, with a smirk.
''Y/N, it was useful, right?'' The older striker turned towards the teenager.
''Yeah, Y/N, tell Miss Miedema how useful her advice was.'' Beth chorused her words, grinning from ear-to-ear.
The youngster simply glanced between the two of them, before picking up her empty plate and standing up from her seat. ''I'm taking this as my sign to leave.''
She ignored their pleas with a satisfied grin, making her way to the kitchen to dump her plate, and walking back to her room.
The couple watched her depart, sharing a knowing look, a hint of amusement dancing in their eyes. ''She's gonna call Kyra, isn't she?'' Vivianne chuckled.
''She so is.'' Beth agreed with a laugh.
requests are always welcome!
#woso x reader#woso fanfics#arsenal wfc x reader#arsenal x reader#woso imagine#woso fic#beth mead x reader#vivianne miedema x reader#kyra cooney cross x reader#meadema
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Matured Energy of Each Sun Sign
(does not to relate to what age you are.)
A matured Aries is a master communicator and story teller, they can easily pull and hold the attention of the crowd on them, only this time it is to shine light on something beyond them, and it's usually the wisdom they have gathered on their spiritual journey of having the self as the center of their wants and needs.
A matured Taurus is the tamed bull. They become much more calm and understanding of ways of life and mindsets differing from their own, and don't feel the need to make known, how thorough their stances on their beliefs are. They loosen up a bit, like a Cane Corso allowing a rambunctious chihuahua to feign dominance.
A matured Gemini uses the seemingly fractured personality to create genius works and can masterfully connect with any age group or walk of life. They respect they are the embodiment of "I have an idea" but on drugs (lol) and live in that truth. They don't provide tolerance for what they do not like around them.
A matured Cancer stopped being petty and stops wading in the murky waters of emotional manipulation, and starts wielding these energies as gift, for others. You may not find a more generous, selfless, nurturing being. They have the strength to grow other people and bring what's dead back to life.
A matured Leo finally takes more pride in the impact of it's works, more than the ability to do them or be recognized for being the one to do them. They enjoy showing the character traits that truly make them beautiful. The humility they acquire despite having achieved a great deal of refinement, is what becomes what makes them shine at their brightest.
A matured Virgo learned to put themselves, their hearts truly first. Their dutiful and ambitious drives have taught them their accompanying lessons, which are to allow yourself to relax, you are enough, you really are so damn dope, and comparing your output to the logistics was a stressful way to live and that is, the past. It's a death to criticism and a birth to healthy analyzation.
A matured Libra has learned how to be in love with love, in a healthy way. In love with Real Love; with the raw energy and authenticity of it's energy, that way when humans and opportunities come around that claim to be Love, they can be distinguishing and keep their own heart set on what they have learned to be it's truth. They have mastered detachment.
A matured Scorpio has adjusted their perspective, placing the abilities of being extremely passionate and emotionally intense, only in situations that don't create more chaos. Their lifelong journey for true power has moved them into a space where they are more settled and accomplished. They learn the rhythm of life and can finally become selfless, and this is where their energy is truly it's most powerful.
A matured Sagittarius is the ember stage of fire; warm, spreading and long lasting. The knowledge and philosophies acquired over the years are now steeped, grounded in substance and embedded in a person that can finally sit down long enough, and have the patience, to share it's inspirations. Their habit to be generous and spreading have switched out it's impulsive nature for selectivity and self- preservation.
A matured Capricorn drops the shrewdness, and can be an exemplified patriot of what they stood for when they initially started their ambitious climb of hard earned success. They realize just because they are the goats, does not mean anybody and everything are the rocks and steps to ascend upon, and they warm their heart up enough to trust others with their vulnerabilities. They retire their need to be serious for the upholding of the many responsibilities all Capricorns are dealt, and they let that beautiful ability to entertain and bring joy be what they now lead and corale others with.
A matured Aquarius honors the unbeaten path they chose and created by tooth and nail, by sharing with others the lessons learned from it. Their ability to be friendly and connect with anyone, becomes more filled out, & it becomes harder for them to be perceived as disingenuous, because they can now choose the role they'll play in the life of every individual they meet, and share the gems needed like the sages they were born to be. They feel the freedom to become even more obscure.
A matured Pisces is a vessel of universal love. They spend their lives being a collage of all the human personality could offer, from kind to cruel, yielding to stubborn, and they take each lesson from their colorful experiences, and only extract the most optimistic, high frequency wisdom from them. They keep their mystery while their ability to impart love to others unfolds endlessly.
#astrology#astro notes#astro observations#astro community#astrology signs#zodiac#zodiac side of tumblr#zodiac signs#aries#taurus#gemini#cancer#leo#virgo#libra#scorpio#sagittarius#capricorn#aquarius#pisces
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TWTHH Spinoff: Stitched Hearts [1]
Pairing: dressmaker!Hongjoong x noblewoman!reader
AU: historical au (Joseon era)
Word Count: 6.5k
Summary: Throughout his entire career, Hongjoong has received nothing but praise for his work. Never once had anyone suggested his dresses were anything short of perfection. That is, until he met the youngest daughter of the Baek household—the family's black sheep, an enigmatic spinster whom he found utterly confounding.
A/N: As stated in the title, this is a spinoff. If you have yet to check out the main story, it's probably better to read that before starting this.
Main Story | Spinoff Masterlist | Part 2
"Father, mother, we're back!" called out Haeun, your eldest sister who had been married for years now, returning home with her husband and children to celebrate the birth of your middle brother's first child.
"You're home, our dear daughter!" Your parents enthusiastically rose from their seats to greet her, showering her with praise for leading such a successful life, whatever that meant; it was a concept you still struggled to comprehend to this day.
After exchanging pleasantries with your parents, she made a beeline for your brother, completely disregarding your timid presence in the corner of the room, "Hajoon-ah, congratulations, my brother! It's high time you joined the parent club!"
Your brother-in-law, displaying a touch more consideration than his wife, offered you a warm smile before joining 'the adults' in conversation, leaving you to quietly observe your nieces and nephews playing joyfully in the courtyard. At times, you were envious of the simplicity of children's lives—so carefree, with no expectations weighing them down. Unlike them, you felt constantly burdened by the expectations placed upon you.
This had been the pattern for as long as you could recall—living in the shadows of your successful sister and brother, both excelling in nearly every aspect of life. Haeun, intelligent and outgoing, had swiftly found a suitable match upon reaching marriageable age, becoming the epitome of a perfect daughter in your parents' eyes. Hajoon wasn't far behind, securing a position in the local government and dutifully marrying the girl your parents had chosen for him.
And then there was you.
The black sheep of the Baek household, the peculiar one, always kept to yourself, showing little interest in feminine pursuits such as cooking, gardening, embroidering, or any similar activities. Your days were spent predominantly at home, frequenting your father's extensive library and immersing yourself in the countless storybooks it housed, often seeking solace in the realms of fantasy they offered. Your lack of enthusiasm for conventional interests rendered you an enigma even to your parents.
You maintained scant friendships, lacking any love interests or potential marriage prospects. Unlike other young women, you harboured no desire to adorn yourself or enhance your appearance; you appeared strangely content in your plain white hanboks and minimal hair accessories. Your demeanour led most people to forget the existence of a third daughter in the Baek family altogether. Those who did recall you were hesitant to consider you as a potential match for their sons, and the young men themselves showed no interest.
While your parents had initially held onto hope that you would eventually find your own path to settling down, their concerns began to mount as you surpassed the ideal age for marriage. Beyond mere age considerations, most young women your age were already married with children, leaving you perpetually single.
Though you concealed it well, you weren't oblivious to the whispers and rumours circulating about you already being labelled a spinster. The servants of your family estate often used you as a topic for gossip and entertainment, speculating whether you would ever find a spouse and placing bets on your marital prospects.
Finally deciding to acknowledge your presence, Haeun heaved a sigh before addressing you, "And how have you been, maknae? Will I be hearing news of you getting hitched any time soon?"
Glancing at her, you simply shrugged and shook your head, "Same old, unnie. And no, I don't think you will."
Hajoon frowned in resignation at your customary bluntness, "With that attitude, definitely not. Do you even have any intention of settling down? What are your plans for the future, hm? Are you going to keep causing our parents to worry like this?"
Your mother shook her head, silently urging him to be gentler with you, a twinge of sympathy stirring within her. In your younger years, her favouritism was evident in the way she showered attention primarily to your sister and brother, especially since your father was often away for work. While your siblings made efforts to bond with him during his brief returns, you showed little interest. Consequently, your relationship with your parents wasn't as close-knit as theirs.
It wasn't until Haeun had married and left home that your mother attempted to show you some affection, though by then, it seemed too late to truly connect with you. Despite her earnest efforts, she struggled to understand you. The rest of the family faced similar difficulties. You remained a mystery to everyone, always lost in your own world.
For once, instead of reacting with anger or responding passive-aggressively out of frustration, your sister nodded slowly, as if making a concerted effort to remain patient with you. Despite her occasional harshness towards you, she hadn't always been unkind. As your only elder sister, she had tried to foster a bond with you throughout your childhood, but your reserved nature made it difficult, and your straightforwardness often unintentionally wounded her.
Deep down, she harboured a hope that her harshness might somehow elicit some sort of response from you. But by now, she had come to realise its futility, as you consistently maintained an unbothered demeanour, regardless of what others would say or do to you. Ultimately, she grew tired of attempting to decipher your mind and heart. The same goes for your brother.
However, despite their frustrations, you were still their youngest sibling, and they sincerely hoped that you would one day settle down, have someone care for you, and perhaps start a family of your own.
"I think I know what might help," Haeun began, capturing everyone's attention before continuing, "I've heard about a renowned dressmaker in town who has worked wonders for countless women. If I'm not mistaken, his craftsmanship has even garnered recognition from the King and Queen. I was just thinking... maybe all our youngest needs is just a little makeover?"
Your father's eyes widened in astonishment, "His work is recognised even by His and Her Majesty, you say?"
Haeun nodded enthusiastically, "Yes, father! I couldn't believe it myself, but it's true. He's the mastermind behind Lady Park's stunning white and gold wedding hanbok!"
"He must be truly exceptional! Well, then, it seems worth a try. Perhaps this is just what our youngest needs to catch the eye of a potential suitor," your mother chimed in, her gaze hopeful as she turned to you, "Are you on board with the idea, dear?"
All eyes swivelled to you, and you once again felt yourself shrinking under their scrutiny—this familiar sensation of never being enough for them. The truth was evident: they were all tired of you. You had been a disappointment your entire life. If all they desired was for you to marry and depart from the household, perhaps it would be best to acquiesce to their wishes. It wouldn't hurt to entertain their request.
With another indifferent shrug, you replied, "Sure, if that's what everyone wants. After all, I don't have much to lose."
For the first time in forever, your family's faces lit up with smiles because of you, cheered by your response. As you retreated to your quarters that night, your sister eagerly taking charge of contacting the renowned dressmaker they had discussed, you pondered whether their enthusiasm stemmed from a desire to see you gone.
In truth, your parents' neglect and blatant favouritism toward your siblings over you during your childhood had moulded you into someone who wore indifference as armour, a coping mechanism to shield yourself from the constant sadness you felt. The weight of constantly letting everyone down had driven you to suppress your emotions, opting instead to feign apathy. Eventually, this façade became your reality; it felt safer to shut yourself off from feeling anything at all.
As you attempted to drift off to sleep that night, thoughts of the acclaimed dressmaker they had been praising occupied your mind. You couldn't help but entertain the idea that, like everyone else, he too would eventually grow weary of you. Surely, upon seeing you, he would deem you a lost cause.
Heh, at least he'll be paid to deal with me.
"Thanks a bunch, hyung. I promise I'll treat you to the finest meal once this is over!" Wooyoung exclaimed, hugging the disguise crafted by the dressmaker at the eleventh hour for his latest case—more like a mission to play knight in shining armour, one that might finally win him the affections of a girl, unlike the silly crush he harboured for Lady Park, leading absolutely nowhere.
With a shake of his head, Hongjoong gave the younger man's shoulder a reassuring pat, "Yeah, you better. Off you go then, you don't want to keep her waiting a moment longer now, do you?"
"Yes, sir!" The private investigator saluted playfully before setting off in pursuit of his new dream girl.
Once he was out of sight, the dressmaker returned to his shop, settling comfortably back into his seat, ready to resume work on his latest batch of orders. His fingers moved with practised ease, guided by the rough design sketch before him. A faint smile lingered on his lips as he worked, a swell of pride warming his chest at his friend's development. It wasn't just Wooyoung; everyone had left the general's estate weeks ago, returning to their own lives. While part of him missed the chaos of their shared moments, he was content to give the newlyweds their well-deserved privacy.
Still chuckling to himself, he reflected on the fact that the once-intimidating Park Seonghwa was now but a lovesick fool. He had once worried about the general's prospects for finding love, but now he realised it had been a needless concern. Who would have thought that General Park would find love before him, or even before the ever-charming Jung Yunho?
As he put the final touches on one of his dresses, he couldn't help but wonder how the couple was doing. It had been weeks since he last saw them, and he shook his head when he recalled how 'excited' his friend had been, even when he was injured. Now that they had all the time in the world together, he imagined Seonghwa would struggle to keep his hands off his wife. He pondered whether he would soon hear news of a new addition to their family.
Before he could become further engrossed in his thoughts, his sharp senses alerted him to the presence of a man and a woman entering his shop. Without hesitation, he plastered on his best business smile—a façade rarely seen by his friends, perhaps except for Lady Park. It was part of his practised persona, an outwardly amiable demeanour he employed to win over customers and potential clients, doing whatever was necessary to secure their business. This isn't to say he wasn't genuinely pleased, but his true passion lay in designing and dressmaking rather than customer service. Unfortunately, the latter was an essential aspect of his job.
Hongjoong had never been naturally a people person, but as he had previously made it clear to the general, he was reluctant to hire assistance for such a simple task. So here he was, stuck with doing his least favourite part of the job: greeting customers.
"Good day, sir and ma'am! Welcome to Kim's Dress Shop. May I inquire what you are searching for today? A hanbok for a special occasion, perhaps? That happens to be one of my specialities. However, if you're seeking an upgrade in everyday attire, I also offer a selection of simpler yet elegant designs," he recited, sticking to his customary script upon each patron's arrival.
The couple glanced around in amazement before eagerly beaming at him. The woman spoke, "Um, are you the renowned dressmaker Kim who crafted Lady Park's famous wedding gown?"
Grinning proudly, the dressmaker was pleased to once again be acknowledged for his recent accomplishments, "Indeed, that would be me," he confirmed. He couldn't deny that his orders had doubled since news of the iconic hanbok he had designed for his friend's wedding had spread. Perhaps he owed Seonghwa a debt of gratitude for hiring him. Without him, Hongjoong might not have achieved the level of success he enjoys today.
Stepping forward, the woman bowed respectfully, "It's truly an honour to meet you, Mr. Kim! You see, we are interested in engaging your services, but it's not for myself—it's for my younger sister."
"Oh? Will she be coming by soon for me to take her measurements and discuss her design preferences?" he inquired, surprised that the intended recipient of his hanboks was not present.
Shaking her head sheepishly, she clarified, "Unfortunately not. Forgive me for not starting with a self-introduction. Good day, Mr. Kim. I am the eldest daughter of the Baek household, and I'm here on behalf of our youngest."
Upon hearing this, Hongjoong immediately grasped the situation. Having worked extensively with noblewomen, he was well-versed in local gossip about nearby noble families. He had heard of the mysterious third daughter of Official Baek from the local Civilian Office, who rarely ventured outside her home—a well-known wallflower who, if he wasn't mistaken, remained unmarried despite being well past the ideal marriageable age.
With a nod, he smiled warmly, "Ah, Miss Baek! Or should I say, Mrs. Heo," the dressmaker corrected with a grin directed at the man beside her, presumably her husband, "It would be my pleasure to create hanboks for the youngest miss of such a prominent family. I assume that means I will need to visit the Baek estate to meet her."
The couple nodded with a slight grimace, "Yes, I'm sure you're aware of her reputation. Whatever rumours you may have heard are true. She remains single, and our entire family is deeply concerned for her. We've heard of the wonderful work you've done for others, and we were hopeful you could work your magic on her. My sister has always been a unique individual. I apologise for the inconvenience of asking you to leave your shop just for her. However, I assure you we will compensate you for any inconvenience."
As he listened to her plea, the dressmaker's mind raced with excitement. That was because no challenge was too daunting for him; he thrived on the opportunity to showcase his talent. The woman was right in what she said; he had indeed helped numerous single young women find matches after they had worn his designs.
This time would be no different.
What truly fueled his enthusiasm was the knowledge that the youngest Miss Baek was known to repel potential suitors, making her a particularly challenging case. If he could help her in finding a match, it would undoubtedly bolster his reputation, adding another significant achievement to his already impressive portfolio.
Moreover, the Baeks were one of the wealthiest noble families in the area. It would be foolish not to accept this job, even if it meant temporarily closing his shop more frequently to visit their estate. He was certain that the compensation he would receive for his services would more than make up for any inconvenience.
With a feigned understanding expression, he nodded, "Oh, please don't worry about it, Mrs. Heo. Nothing brings me greater joy than helping young women gain confidence and find love. Miss Baek clearly needs my assistance. If it means I can help one more woman escape singledom, any inconvenience will be worth it."
The couple cooed at his kindness, profusely thanking him for his selflessness, while he celebrated internally, eager for the opportunity to make that buck. Reassuringly, he welcomed them into his shop, offering them seats and some tea as they made the necessary arrangements for the special job: determining which days he would need to close his shop and visit the Baek estate as well as negotiating the payment. Fortunately for him, they had even provided a down payment to demonstrate their sincerity.
After a lengthy discussion that may or may not have interfered with his current orders, Hongjoong happily bid the couple goodbye. He couldn't care less about any disruptions; his pockets were full, and he was content. With the success of the business that Seonghwa had brought him, he was sure that this would be his next most satisfying endeavour. As he watched the couple leave, a sense of anticipation washed over him, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.
"Thank you, Miss Baek, for this wonderful opportunity. I'm certain we'll get along just fine, you and I. Gosh, I just love it when rich people are gullible, and money is easy to make," he muttered to himself, brimming with excitement for what lay ahead.
Oh, I'm going to have the time of my life.
Perhaps the dressmaker might have spoken too soon, been a tad overconfident in his abilities, and underestimated the true enigmatic nature of the youngest Miss Baek. He would soon discover this the hard way during his very first visit to the family's estate, which was nearly as large as the general's, albeit slightly smaller.
He remained confident and pleased as he was warmly welcomed, not only by the couple he had met at his shop the other day, but also by Official Baek and his wife, Lady Baek, along with their middle son and his new wife—everyone except for the one he was hired to make clothes for. The youngest Miss Baek was nowhere to be seen.
Nevertheless, he refused to let it dampen his spirits. If anything, it only heightened his curiosity about you. He was eager to finally lay eyes on the girl whom so many noble families and men tried to avoid.
The more your family emphasised how hopeless you were and expressed their concern about you remaining a spinster, the more determined he became. His fingers were itching to work another miracle. No ugly duckling could remain ugly forever, especially not if he could help it.
"We're terribly sorry our youngest is not here to greet you, Mr. Kim! We specifically informed her that you would be arriving by this time. She must still be holed up in her father's library. We'll fetch her immediately!" Lady Baek exclaimed, her urgency and embarrassment evident in her tone.
Hongjoong shook his head, waving his hands to signal that it was fine, despite feeling a slight disbelief at your apparent disregard for his presence. He tried his best to play the role of a considerate man, reminding himself that it was your family who wanted him here, not you. He tried to be understanding of how you might be feeling, "It's quite alright. Perhaps I could go meet her in the library if she doesn't want to come outside."
"Oh, is that really alright? You've come all this way, Mr. Kim. The least she could do now is come to you and make your job easier," Official Baek remarked with a slight wince.
"I assure you, it's perfectly fine. My task today is simply to take Miss Baek's measurements and discuss her design preferences. For that to happen smoothly, it's important she feels comfortable. Conducting it in her own space might be the best approach for all of us," he responded.
Your brother nodded, "If you insist, Mr. Kim. We'll have the maids escort you there. Let us know if there's anything you need."
Hongjoong bowed, "Thank you, sir. I will."
"We entrust her to you, Mr. Kim," said your sister, her hands clasped together to show her gratitude and hopefulness.
"Please do not worry, Mrs. Heo. I have a feeling Miss Baek will find love in no time."
"We're counting on it."
As a few maids escorted him towards the library as instructed, the dressmaker's mind buzzed with speculative thoughts. Considering all the talk about Miss Baek's perpetual singleness, he couldn't help but imagine you to be hideous. If that were indeed the case, he surmised it might stem from low self-esteem.
Throughout his career, he has developed a knack for identifying his customers' underlying issues. Just as he had done with Seonghwa's wife, he could often discern precisely what they needed, whether it be a boost in confidence or a transformation in appearance. He was almost certain he'd be able to figure you out in an instant.
Upon arriving at the destination, one of the maids spoke up, "We're here, Mr. Kim. You should be able to find the young miss somewhere inside. Just call out to any of us if you require anything at all."
Hongjoong nodded, expressing his gratitude, "Of course, thank you," he replied before heading inside. His heart quickened for some reason as he stepped into the room, uncertain of what to expect.
Taking a cautious step after gently closing the door behind him, he called out softly, as if afraid of disturbing the tranquil atmosphere of the silent and peaceful library, "Miss Baek...? Sorry for the intrusion, but this is Kim Hongjoong, the dressmaker your family hired to provide you with a new wardrobe. If you would be so kind as to come out, we could proceed with the initial stages of the dressmaking process for you."
Releasing a small sigh at the continued silence, he called out again, "Miss Baek...? If you won't respond, I'll have to enter."
While he understood your potential shyness, he struggled to contain his displeasure at what felt like disrespect towards him. After all, he had made the effort to come all this way and even prioritised your comfort. Yet here you were, still playing hard to get.
"Very well, don't say I didn't warn you."
With that, he began to make his way down the aisle, scanning the spacious room from left to right in search of you. It was only when he was about to pass by a hunched figure between the rows of tall bookshelves that he halted, doing a double take before fixing his gaze squarely on your form. There you were, seated on the ground, completely absorbed in the book you held in your hands.
Whatever he had anticipated, you were none of that. The girl in front of him was nothing like what he had imagined. Bathed in the sunlight streaming through the open window, your delicate and refined features were illuminated, accentuating your natural beauty. In that moment, you appeared almost ethereal. With such looks, finding a match shouldn't be a challenge at all.
Huh, guess I was wrong about her looks.
Yet, it wasn't your appearance that posed the issue. He had expected as much, considering the attractiveness of your family members. However, he could understand why you were often overlooked. The problem lay not in your physical attributes, but rather in that god-awful attire you chose to wear – a plain, white hanbok devoid of any embellishments. Furthermore, you seemed to lack hair accessories and makeup. He dared say that even some of the maids had put more effort into their appearance than you had.
Goodness gracious, you looked like a prisoner in that outfit. In his opinion, you ought to be arrested for donning such a monstrosity. Perhaps you weren't aware yet, but today you would be encountering the fashion police, and he was not pleased with what he saw. It was evident to him that you were in dire need of his assistance.
Kim Hongjoong was here now, and he intended to effect swift change. By the end of his makeover, he was confident you would be fit to enter even a beauty pageant.
"Hello, Miss Baek," he greeted, finally drawing your attention as you glanced up to see him approaching.
"Oh, you're here. Mr. Kim, right?" you responded, acknowledging him with a nod. Folding the edge of the page as a makeshift bookmark, you carefully slid the book back into its place on the shelf before rising from your spot on the ground.
The dressmaker's grip tightened around his bag of tools, a hint of displeasure flickering behind his façade of a smile, "Yes, that's correct, my lady. It's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard much about you," he attempted to charm you, a tactic that typically worked wonders with his clientele, eliciting blushes and smiles. However, his heart sank as you remained unfazed.
"Did you really? I can't imagine it's anything favourable," you murmured, turning to face him squarely, "And there's no need for pretence. I highly doubt there's anything pleasurable about meeting me. I prefer unvarnished truths to false pleasantries."
What in the world.
Taken aback by your bluntness, he paused briefly to compose himself before clearing his throat, "Ah, I see... If you insist, Miss Baek, I won't sugarcoat my thoughts on your choice of attire. Your family has expressed concerns about your ability to attract suitors, and I can see why. It's pretty clear to me that you struggle with dressing in a way that appeals to others but fear not. I'm here now, and I'll help you enhance your style."
Just when he thought you couldn't possibly surprise him any further, you shrugged in disagreement, "I don't believe I'm struggling at all. I know exactly what I like, and this is it," you gestured to your hanbok, "It's not my fault nobody shares the same opinion."
Baffled by your words, he finally grasped the true extent of your problem. Yes, your fashion style was the main issue, but more crucially, it was your entire character. Throughout his life, the dressmaker had encountered his fair share of eccentric individuals, but you seemed to easily surpass them all in peculiarity.
Your blunt honesty was one thing, but it was your overall lack of emotion or ability to read social cues that truly puzzled him. Perhaps it was simply your indifference. Regardless, one thing became abundantly clear to him: he did not like you. Despite having only just met you, he eagerly anticipated the moment he could leave your presence.
Lord help me, I cannot stand her already.
Blinking rapidly, he struggled to maintain the smile on his face as he responded stiffly, "I... I understand, Miss Baek. Perhaps that's your belief for now. However, I'm confident you'll change your mind once you see my designs. They never disappoint. I've never had a dissatisfied customer, and I fully intend to keep it that way."
Not wanting to dwell on your comments, he quickly clapped his hands together and continued, "Now, without further ado, let's proceed with taking your measurements."
Forget discussing your preferences, you had made your stance clear. But Hongjoong remained determined to impress you with his work. He was eager to unveil his best design, he couldn't wait to see the look on your face when you would realise how stupid you were to prefer prison clothes over his hanboks.
Retrieving his measuring tape and notebook from his bag, he turned to you, making an effort to conceal any hint of displeasure on his face as he approached, "Stay still, my lady. This will only take a moment," he instructed, beginning with your shoulders before proceeding to measure your height, sleeve length, and neck size. His breath caught and his hands trembled as he reached the final step, assessing your waist and chest measurements.
While he typically performed these tasks with ease, it was usually in the familiar surroundings of his shop, with others present. Now, it was just the two of you in the expansive, quiet library. For some reason, the atmosphere felt almost... intimate.
Focus, Kim Hongjoong!
Suppressing the sudden spike of his heartbeat, he maintained a composed expression and directed, "Please raise your arms, my lady. I'll need to measure your chest and waist next."
Flustered, he attributed the fluttering of his heart to the persistent, unabashed curiosity in your gaze throughout the measurement process. That must be it, he reasoned. You didn't possess goddess-like beauty, nor were you sweet as an angel. There was no other reason for him to react that way than sheer embarrassment under your scrutiny.
Little did he know, you experienced similar, if not more intense, emotions than he did. But who could blame you, really? It was the first time a man had ever been in such close proximity to you. The only difference between you was your adeptness at concealing your feelings, contrasting with the subtle shifts in his demeanour and the slight tremor in his hands, which did not evade your perceptive gaze.
He was merely a man, after all. You supposed it was only natural for him to exhibit such reactions in the presence of a woman.
But that didn't mean much.
You could tell he disliked you, a sentiment you had grown used to. Like everyone else you met, it seemed no one genuinely liked you. Your family's acceptance stemmed from obligation, your servants' compliance from their employment, and Hongjoong's engagement from his professional duty. Once that was done, you were certain you would never see him again. Armed with this notion, you maintained your stoic façade.
"Very well, Miss Baek. Thank you for your cooperation. I'll return when the first batch of your hanboks is ready," the dressmaker stated, swiftly gathering his belongings and offering one final bow before hurrying out of the library, pink tinting his cheeks.
"Goodbye, Mr. Kim."
Back at his shop that evening, he struggled to focus on his work. His thoughts kept wandering back to the moment your faces were inches apart, when he had to briefly encircle his arms around your waist to take measurements. Despite the unattractive hanbok you wore, he couldn't deny that you smelled quite pleasant. At the very least, you had good hygiene, he had to give you that.
Get a grip, you fool!
Giving himself a sharp slap on the cheek, he shook off the distraction. He reminded himself of the sheer frustration of being around you. From your perplexing bluntness to your questionable taste in fashion, it was enough to raise his blood pressure. How could someone like you even exist? He realised now that he had vastly underestimated your peculiar nature. Once confident he could see through anyone, he was beginning to have second thoughts.
Nevertheless, one thing remained certain: you would surely admire the designs he had in store for you. His work had always been his stronghold, never failing to impress. If even royalty had been impressed, why wouldn't a mere noblewoman like yourself? You claimed to dislike fashion, but that was only because you hadn't seen his masterpieces, he was sure of it.
No one, no one could ever resist his work.
Determined to swiftly overcome this minor obstacle, he reassured himself that you were just a small hurdle on the path to another remarkable achievement. In the end, when you were basking in the glory of the century's most sensational makeover, all the effort would be worthwhile. He could not wait for you to shed tears of gratitude, thanking him for opening your eyes to the true essence of beauty. With that conviction, he delved into his work, flipping through his sketchbook until he reached the section reserved for his finest designs, carefully curated for an occasion like this.
Pausing at one of his personal favorites, a masterpiece he had been saving for a worthy client, he decided that now was the perfect opportunity to bring it to life.
Oh, you were sure to adore it.
You had to.
But he should have known better than to actually believe that. He was, once again, in for a surprise a few days later when he arrived at the Baek estate with the first hanbok done. Only once he had your green light would he be able to proceed with making more for you. As the maids escorted him to your quarters, they noted his bright demeanour; you had risen late today and were still having breakfast in solitude, "You seem quite cheerful today, Mr. Kim," one remarked, arching an eyebrow.
He smirked confidently, "Indeed, I am. Your young miss will be very impressed with what she is about to see today. With this makeover, she'll surely catch the eye of potential suitors in no time."
The maid hesitated, cautioning, "I'm not sure you should be so certain. The young miss isn't like any other girl you've worked with."
"Ah, I know, but my work speaks for itself," he retorted, "She'd be silly not to like it."
"If you say so, sir," the maid replied, her tone conceding defeat. She knew better than to doubt his skill, but she also understood that you were unlike any other. He would soon discover that firsthand, and she was almost certain he wouldn't leave the estate with the same confidence he arrived with.
"Well, what do you think?" inquired the dressmaker, proudly unveiling his newest masterpiece to his latest customer.
Eyeing the elegantly colourful hanbok, which was a departure from your usual plain white ones, your gaze remained impassive. After what seemed like an eternity, you responded with a slight furrow of your brows, "It uhh... it looks nice, I suppose."
As you watched Hongjoong's reaction falter momentarily, it appeared as though he was experiencing a million emotions per second before settling on a deeply offended expression. With an audible scoff, he clenched his jaw, "Nice, you say? Just... nice? You suppose? Miss Baek, that is utterly outrageous! Throughout my career, I've only ever been praised for delivering perfection."
You stayed silent as he continued to extol his successes, boasting about being the best dressmaker in all of Joseon and citing his most illustrious achievements, such as the wedding dress he crafted for Lady Park, which even impressed Their Majesties. It dawned on you that your simple response had deeply wounded him.
"I-I mean... it's not bad," you interjected, hoping to fix the damage, but your heart sank as he only glared at you, "Not bad...? I'm sorry, was that supposed to console me?" he chuckled incredulously, "You know what? Now I understand why you're still single. At this rate, you'll never find a husband."
Ouch.
The awkward silence that followed was deafening, causing the maids who were waiting in your room to quickly shuffle closer to you, noticing you had finished your meal, "Young miss, we'll just be clearing this up and excusing ourselves."
"Thank you." You nodded curtly, watching emotionlessly as they hastily picked up the table containing the empty plates and bowls and left with a deep bow. Meanwhile, the dressmaker remained in his spot, visibly heaving deep breaths as if trying to calm himself from the outburst, before carefully setting the hanbok down.
After you were left alone, he took a deep breath before apologising, "Gosh, I— I'm so sorry, Miss Baek. That was uncalled for, I—"
Shaking your head, you cut him off, "No, please don't be. You were merely telling the truth. As I've said, I prefer unvarnished truth to false pleasantries. In fact, I believe you are right about that. You are not the first to say that, and you certainly won't be the last."
As he absorbed your words, a wave of discomfort washed over Hongjoong. For some reason, he would have preferred if you had yelled at him or thrown a tantrum rather than accepting his insults like that. Surely, it couldn't feel pleasant to hear such remarks, no matter how unaffected you made yourself appear. It made him feel terrible, and he hated it — hated the guilt that filled him for uttering such words.
Clearing his throat, he sighed, "I... my lady, please don't say that. It's just that... I really need your approval before I make more of these for you. At the end of the day, you are the one who has to wear them." His voice softened, an attempt to make up for his earlier harshness.
You detected the familiar pity in his tone, and you despised it. Raising a brow, you shrugged, "Why does my approval matter? It's my family who's paying you, not me. You owe it to them to make me look perfect, whatever that means. I've made it clear what I like, and if it's not to yours or anyone's taste, so be it. I see no point in consulting me on your designs, Mr. Kim. Just do what you're hired for; it doesn't matter what I like."
It never has.
While that should have brought relief to the dressmaker, knowing he had the freedom to pursue his vision without worrying about your approval, something about your words left him feeling... melancholic. It struck a chord within him, reminding him of his own struggles when he initially embarked on his fashion career. At that time, it was met with disapproval from society, which deemed it an unfitting profession for a man. Despite the opposition, he chose to be himself.
However, seeing you succumb to societal expectations, suppressing your true self to please others, including him, stirred a sense of empathy within him. It mirrored his own past battles with conformity. Unlike him, you were forced to adhere to societal norms, sacrificing your individuality for the sake of others' expectations.
And he didn't like that.
But what he hated even more was how you managed to evoke emotions he hadn't signed up for. Despite his efforts to push thoughts of you aside and concentrate solely on his goal—to craft the finest hanboks in all of Joseon and transform you into a vision of beauty, one you did not desire—the memory of your somewhat disheartening expression, as you dismissed the importance of your preferences, lingered in his mind. It unsettled him, he hated the way it was causing an uncomfortable tightening in his chest.
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"I'm telling you, Yunho, she's infuriating!"
The physician, busy tidying his clinic counter, rolled his eyes, "How could I not know, hyung? You've been talking about her since my lunch break. We're almost at closing time; are you finished?"
Hongjoong crossed his arms, scoffing, "What, do you have somewhere else to be? Don't think I haven't noticed you've been going to that apothecary more often lately."
Yunho stilled, a faint pink dusting across his cheeks as he cleared his throat, "What do you mean? I've always gone there for herbs."
"Yes, but not as frequently as you do now. Ever since you met a certain herbalist," Hongjoong teased, wiggling his brows.
"If you have nothing important to say, please leave," the physician grumbled, tired of the older man's rambling.
Uncrossing his arms, the dressmaker said, "W-wait! Look, you're the most rational one among us. I just... wanted to know your thoughts on the matter."
Sighing, Yunho softened, "You know, she's right. You're hired by her family, your job is simple, and you know what you have to do. The only reason you're so affected by this is probably because you care."
"I do not care about her—"
"Sure, if you say so. Then go on ahead and complete your job. You'll receive your payment and all the benefits that come with it anyway. So, what's really bothering you?"
Oh my gosh, thank you so much for 1.6k followers! Same as Wooyoung's spinoff, the next part will be the second and final part. I've decided to standardise the format, so all the spinoffs will be two-shots.
As always, thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts! <3
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Sometimes, you’re a comedian with a touring show to promote, so you do an interview with a regional newspaper.
I think that’d be the funniest possible time to reveal a big scoop, wouldn’t it?
Stewart Lee is currently touring, and to promote his Yeovil performance, gave an interview to Blackmore Vale Magazine. According to Wikipedia, the Blackmore Vale is an area of north Dorset, south Somerset and southwest Wiltshire. According to the comedian Jake Baker, the magazine would cover his school sports day as he grew up in Dorset. That’s the level of news you’d expect.
The questions are friendly and easy, from a journalist clearly familiar with Lee’s work and history.
The first question is about the show’s angle. Lee describes the nature of the show, and here’s an excerpt:
So it looks like stand-up, and sounds like stand-up, but it’s actually a kind of character piece about a desperate person who’s frightened and trying to organise the world in a way that puts them in control.
And I guess you could argue that’s what a lot of stand-ups are doing anyway.
Ricky Gervais to me looks like a very frightened man. He’s frightened of transgender people coming after him, the act is a defensive wall.
Fun! This is a Ricky Gervais hate blog, so it’s nice to see a sudden, unexpected attack in an unrelated promotional interview.
Lee mentions Gervais again in response to question four.
Sometimes I become bitter and think ‘I get all this good press, why can’t I get 10 million quid for a TV special like Ricky Gervais?’ But on the other hand, I wouldn’t want that audience, it wouldn’t allow me to be better.
And then again to question eight, where Lee explains why he spends six months running new shows in the relatively small Leicester Square Theatre (as opposed to arena comics who might do 10 warmup shows followed by 60 tour dates).
You can still run it like a club gig, you can interact with people in real time. Also, you wouldn’t get better at the show because you wouldn’t have done it as many times.
You can see this with an act like Gervais.
Those shows have not been run in, they’re not fluid, they’re a succession of inflexible statements that would snap like twigs if the pressure of an unforeseen event was applied to them.
The journalist finally addresses this head on. It really is worth reading the entire article - there’s a lot more than I’m quoting, including an interesting story about Sean Lock:
But here are my favourite bits:
[Gervais] still kind of copies me though, which is the weird thing.
There’s still a lot of cadences of what I do but they’re used in the service of evil.
In Star Wars, he’s Darth Vader and he’s taken the force, which is me, and used it for evil purposes.
He was a fanboy, he was actually the booker at University of London and used to book me and Sean Lock all the time.
And when he became famous for the Office, he wrote an hour-long act that was so indebted to us it was awkward.
[...]
If he’d come up through the circuit that would have been rubbed off him because you find your own voice doing club gigs.
It took me two years of gigging five nights a week to come through the mesh of things I liked.
But he didn’t have that experience in the same way.
[...]
Funnily enough, in his first show there were bits I’d never recorded that he’d do almost verbatim. He’d clearly remembered them.
I went to see him at the Bloomsbury – on his invitation actually – with my then girlfriend and she was very concerned for me.
I’d given up at that point due to lack of interest, and she was concerned for what it felt like to see my act being done to hundreds of people, it was quite weird.
On the other hand, that sort of did make me think I don’t want it to be consumed into someone else’s vocabulary.
And also, I think because he had a residual sense of guilt, he would always credit me in interviews as being an influence – that helped me in 2004 to get the audience back.
This is, to my knowledge, the first time Lee’s ever claimed that Gervais stole his material. He’s certainly talked about Gervais clearly taking influence from him (though in the past, he downplayed this compared to the account given in this interview).
It’s a pretty big thing to accuse a comic of stealing material. That’s a big taboo. I reckon this is partly because Lee wants to discourage fans of Gervais from coming to the show.
Anyway, let’s finish by quoting the end of the interview:
It must be strange to have that level of financial remuneration and those audience figures but not really a single good review.
And I expect what that does for you is create a cognitive dissonance where you have to manufacture a worldview by which the whole world is wrong and you’re right.
Which can’t necessarily be very good for your mental health, although I expect the money’s nice.
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THE WIND AND MOON
PROLOGUE ♢ SANEMI SHINAZUGAWA X LUNAR PILLAR!READER
A/N: oh boy! The fic that started it all is back in progress (with a slight title change).
This will be a slightly canon-divergent AU, wherein Lunar Breathing is inherited and there's actually some power involved with the breathing techniques as a whole (as opposed to the styles just being nice sword movements with illustrations lmao).
Reader will be Sanemi's tsuguko for a time, and she will eventually become a Hashira. This is their story.
This will be a multi-part fic. Be warned: the Reader is a very morally gray character (but we love her for it).
@ghost-1-y thank you for reminding me of my love for this fic.
Massive CW: 18+, canon-typical violence, graphic violence, gore, child death, and implied S/A. Smut to come. MDNI.
Sanemi was there that day; the day she became part of the Corps.
The day her world ended.
It was fucking freezing that morning. The sky was a muted gray as snow drifted down from the heavens in wet, fat clumps. It had started sometime the previous night, and by the morning, the village had been covered in its thick blanket.
The carnage, however, was fresh, and so the snow was not white.
Only an hour had passed since the watery gray light of dawn bled into the sky from the east, when Sanemi’s crow swooped low over his head, tugging frantically at his hair. Beside him, the Flame Pillar ducked as his own crow joined the panic.
“Northeast! Northeast! Right at the base of the mountain! A horde of demons attacked the village!” They cried in tandem.
Not just one. A horde. A swarm of demons had descended upon a moderately populated merchant village, tearing it and its people to shreds.
Both the Wind and Flame Pillars furiously made their way northeast, one of the crows bleating that Tengen and Iguro were also en route. As they ran, the birds alternated in snaring what little information they had of the village, and what had prompted the attack.
It was because of her; or rather, her family.
The head of the village was a merchant known for his imports from the West. His success meant the village prospered as a whole, and it was popular for its numerous small shops and tea houses which lined the streets, always crowded with locals and travelers alike.
Demons had no use for money or exotic baubles; but Muzan Kibutsuji had a keen interest in obliterating Lunar Breathing from the world.
So he had.
The very merchant whose business prowess bolstered the local economy with his imports was directly descended from the clan which had created Lunar Breathing, Breath of Sun’s powerful, dark twin. The merchant was the youngest and only living relative of the aging head of the Lunar Clan, a retired Hashira who’d never taken a wife. But unlike the other breathing techniques, Lunar Breathing was an inherited talent, and without an heir, there would be no one to continue the great family’s legacy.
That burden was thus placed on the surviving eldest child of the merchant whose village both Sanemi and his comrade now rushed to.
There had been an elder son, Rengoku’s crow revealed, but he had died a few years prior from illness. And so, the merchant’s middle child was made the new heir, tasked with the mission of becoming a demon slayer so that she could continue on the Lunar Breathing tradition.
Her.
There was no word as to whether she had been present for the attack. Final Selection ended only a few days prior, and it was entirely possible that she either had been killed on the Mountain, or that she was still making her way back to the village, unaware that no one would be there to welcome her home.
There was certainly no greeting for the Pillars when they finally arrived at the mountain’s base. The village was eerily silent as Sanemi and Rengoku crossed over the small bridge abutting its ravine; still. Dawn had given way to a dark gray sky, and visibility was not ideal.
Not that it would’ve taken much effort to see the blood and gore that littered the village’s once lively streets.
“What on earth?” The Sound Pillar’s familiar voice broke the silence, as he and Iguro approached their comrades from the Eastern gate of the village. Behind them, trailed a group of nearly thirty Kakushi.
The Hashira slowly took in the nightmare around them, stunned into horrified silence as they beheld the level of destruction which had befallen the village just hours before.
“Kakushi. Spread out. Look for any survivors. They may be buried or hiding.” Rengoku’s voice was steady but uncharacteristically grave, his face stony and hard. “Shinuzagawa, we should make our way to the Lunar Merchant’s estate. We need to send word to the Clan head right away if-“
“You didn’t hear?” Iguro interjected. “The head of the Lunar House is dead.” Though the lower half of his face was covered, the anguish on the Serpent Pillar’s face was evident. “That’s where Uzui and I just came from. He was ripped to shreds.”
“Fuck,” Sanemi hissed, a toxic mixture of anger, guilt roiling in his gut. An entire clan — and entire village— had been decimated in a matter of hours, and no one had been able to protect them.
They hadn’t been able to protect them.
“Have we any word on the Lunar heir?” Rengoku asked quietly. Iguro and Uzui shook their heads. “Then she likely is lost, too.” The Flame Pillar turned back to Sanemi, his face a mirror of his own. “Let’s go.”
The snow and wind picked up just as the two swordsmen approached the Lunar Merchant’s manor, obscuring part of the wreckage before them. From the corner of his eye, Sanemi swore he spied movement out of the back corner of the estate, but when he turned to examine it, all was still.
Beflre he could inquire further, a sharp gasp to his right snapped his attention back to the Pillar at his side. But Rengoku was not looking at him; rather, he was staring directly ahead, right to the courtyard of the manor.
“Heavens above,” the Flame Hashira whispered.
Sanemi followed his gaze through what had been once-proud iron gates, though only half of it remained hinged. The other had been ripped from its stone setting, twisted by some unfathomable strength and thrown carelessly to the side. Just past the gate, Sanemi beheld a single, bloodied arm.
His heart dropped sickeningly to his stomach at what lay beyond it; for there was not an inch of ground that hadn’t been saturated with blood and bits of gore.
Chunks of flesh and torn limbs bearing harsh jagged teeth marks were strewn across the snowy garden. Broken glass and wood from the manor littered the ground, and the few walls that remained standing had been showered in a thick coat of crimson.
But the carnage did not end with the massacre on the courtyard. Sanemi forced himself to look upon the half-severed bodies of those who’d been stuck to the sloped roofing of the Manor, as though some demon had plucked fleeing humans from the yard to feast on them mid-air, adorning the handsome estate with a shower of bloodied entrails.
He did not notice the small group of Kakushi that had arrived at the Manor until he heard their gasps and cries of horror. Behind him, Sanemi heard one or two begin to retch, unable to stomach the carnage before them.
“Move!” Sanemi barked, his voice scratchy over the lump forming in his throat. “Fucking look for survivors! Anyone!”
A few paces ahead, Rengoku called up to the crows checking above. “Do you have a description of the heir?”
“She is around eighteen, Lord Rengoku!”
Not helpful, given that most of the bodies around them were unrecognizable. But it was something.
Rengoku turned back to Sanemi. “I will check inside the house. You!” Rengoku called to a small group of three Kakushi nearby, “With me!”
Sanemi continued to make his way through the debris and body parts in the courtyard, lifting stone and wood in hope that he might find someone — anyone — who had managed to hide. Yet that hope dimmed with every stone he turned, as he found only the scraps of the people who’d once called the Manor home.
He came across a large chunk of curved, chiseled stone that was half-embedded into the soft ground below. Grunting, Sanemi heaved the rock aside, thinking it was perhaps part of some fountain or statue.
His stomach lurched as the stone toppled heavily over. For there, crushed beneath the weight of the rock, was the small body of a child, severed completely at the torso. Her two halves lay next to one another, a ragged seam torn between the two as though pulled apart by force.
Sanemi felt the bile rise in his throat as his gaze fell upon the child’s face, utterly frozen in fear. Though death had snuffed out the light of life from her eyes, it had done nothing to conceal the terror she’d felt in her last moments, the girl’s mouth stretched wide, fixed in her final scream.
She was no older than ten.
He could not help it. Sanemi turned away from the grisly sight and vomited into the snow, every inch of him trembling. He wretched until his stomach was empty and his throat burned from the acid and strain of his dry-heaving.
With great effort, he managed to straighten, his breath short and choppy. But he forced his legs to carry him forward, though any hope that they would find the Lunar Heir or any survivor grew dimmer by the second.
Even as Hashira, Sanemi knew he’d never seen wreckage quite like this.
He neared the center of the courtyard, and halted before a large, circular stone inset that had been smashed to gravel, leaving only a single, large piece of rounded stone wall standing.
Found the fountain, Sanemi thought bitterly. Another sharp, icy gust of wind whipped its way through the courtyard, disturbing the little bit of snow that wasn’t packed down with the carnage. But the wind also stirred up something else, something dark and wispy.
Had the Wind Pillar’s lilac gaze been focused anywhere but that piece of stone, he would have missed it softly fluttering up before disappearing beneath the lip of the fountain.
Lips mashed into a tight line, Sanemi moved to examine the other side of the broken stone. As he did so, Rengoku reappeared on the outer steps of the engawa surrounding the Manor, a frown etched deeply on his face.
“Shinazugawa, something is off. The demons’ presence is obvious, but the house looks like it was ransacked— jewels, silks, valuables, all strewn about. Some of it seems to be missing —“
“I found her.” Sanemi bit out, gruffly. “The heir.”
It was her hair, Sanemi realized. Her hair was what had been disturbed by the wind, a few strands having drifted up before settling back down upon the bloodied shoulder of the lifeless girl collapsed before the fountain.
Had there not been a thick spread of red-stained snow and earth beneath her, Sanemi almost would have thought she’d been sleeping. Her face was almost devoid of any injury, save for a few fresh scratches along her jaw and temple. Her eyes were closed, long dark lashes tickling a soft, and unblemished cheek, as pale and smooth as the Moon. And there was a serenity to her expression, a calmness that posed a stark contrast to the chaos and horror which surrounded her.
The rest of her had not been left untouched. Sanemi noted that while she appeared to have maintained her limbs, her back was soaked in blood, no doubt the source of the large stain beneath her. Grimly, he noted that her blood still oozed from an unknown wound between her shoulders. Her left arm was stretched out before her, wrist bent at an unnatural angle, its skin mottled from a mixture of the cold and an attempt to bruise before her blood had ceased flowing in her veins.
Beneath the torn and bloodied haori around her shoulders, were a pair of pants and a fitted, long sleeved top which had clearly seen better days. Her clothes hosted various tears and stains, and she was so caked in blood and mud that it was difficult to further discern her body’s condition.
The crows had said the Lunar Heir was around eighteen years of age, but as Sanemi stared at her lifeless form, all he could think about was how small she looked; how young she’d been, when she lost her life to the brutality of demons.
The thought made his blood run cold.
“No doubt this is her,” Rengoku said heavily, nodding at wounds Sanemi had not noticed on her hands. Squinting, the Wind Pillar spied bruises and cuts in various stages of healing dotting her knuckles and fingers.
He suspected more lay beneath her soiled clothing.
“Final selection wounds,” the Flame Pillar confirmed. “She must have just returned from the mountain when the attack began. Perhaps she even stumbled into the middle of it.” Rengoku shook his head. “She didn’t stand a chance.”
It was well known that even if one survived final selection, they would likely descend the mountain with some degree of injury. Seven nights without access to shelter, food, or water was difficult enough, but the added danger of starving demons almost guaranteed that one would not emerge unscathed.
She must have been wounded, and severely enough to slow her return home by a few days. Even if she had the skill to hold her own against the swarm of demons that had attacked her village, whatever injuries she sustained during final selection likely sealed her fate.
Sanemi swore, looking over the last of the Lunar Breathing Clan, the acrid bite of guilt and pity seeping hotly into his veins. The poor girl survived the controlled horrors of final selection only to meet an even more grisly end at her home — where she was supposed to be safe.
Cruelty; utter cruelty, and a damn tragedy.
“She will get a Slayer’s burial, in the Master’s garden.” Rengoku declared firmly, raising his voice so the nearby Kakushi would hear. “She passed Final Selection; she’s one of us.”
“No,” Sanemi said, voice hoarse. “Bury her here with her family.” His eyes returned to the girl’s face, an inexplicable bitterness coating his tongue. “She fought to return to them; let her be with them.”
He lifted his eyes back up to the ochre gaze of the Flame Pillar. Rengoku stared at him for a long moment, before nodding, turning back to the Kakushi. “You heard Shinazugawa. Let’s give them all a proper burial.”
The Kakushi began to move, thorough and efficient even among the horror around them. Sanemi readied himself to assist, moving to stand when his eyes snagged on the girl’s torso, his gaze drawn to the sizeable swath of smooth skin that was exposed to the icy bite of the snow. His frown deepened as he took note of the odd way that her clothes sat around her exposed abdomen. The girl was half laid on her side, but the front of her shirt was bunched and twisted together, like it had been gathered and shoved out of the way.
His eyes lowered a fraction to the front of the girl’s pants. At first glance, all seemend normal, her trousers fitted at her hips, but that was precisely what caught his eye. The waistband on the girl’s pants slotted across her lower hips, not higher up on her waist as it should have been. One side was noticeably lower than the other, almost as though they’d nearly been tugged off.
Almost as if-
Sanemi felt the hairs on his body rise. Looking over the girl once more, he noted the suspicious lack of claw marks and bite marks to her body; the way that she seemed intact, compared to the bodies of her friends and family scattered in pieces around her.
And her blood — her blood appeared more fresh than what was caked in the snow around them, as though she’d been attacked right before the Corps arrived at the manor’s gate.
“Rengoku,” Sanemi said sharply, and the Flame Hashira was back at his side in an instant. Sanemi jutted his chin toward the girl’s body and Rengoku followed his gaze. He could see the gears turning in his comrade’s head, the owlish Slayer steadily taking note of the odd skew of her clothes and her lack of demon-like injuries.
“How many demons do you know that try to-,” Sanemi ground his teeth at the word that came to mind, his blood boiling hot. “Have their way with victims before eating them?”
“Not many,” Rengoku conceded darkly, a similar anger simmering in his eyes. “Though not unheard of. It is… rare. Most can’t resist their hunger.”
He fell silent for a moment, contemplating.
“Didn’t you say the house had looked ransacked?” Sanemi turned his gaze away from the girl and towards the broken doors of the manor.
Rengoku’s eyes widened. “Yes. As if someone came in and grabbed anything they could.”
Sanemi nodded. “Bandits. Probably heard about the attack and got excited to loot. Found a body that wasn’t completely torn apart by demons and tried to take advantage.”
Rather than bile, Sanemi felt anger, hot and lethal, threatening to spill out of him.
If he found them, they would receive no mercy, human or not.
Rengoku exhaled sharply through his nose, a weariness clouding over his features. “Though I don’t suppose we can really know for sure. There isn’t enough left of anyone else to compare.”
Rengoku clasped his hands in front of himself, and he closed his eyes, offering a small prayer for the girl. “Whatever happened to her, she’s gone now. Let us ensure she can rest.”
He turned to head back to where the Kakushi had begun digging graves for the deceased, leaving Sanemi alone once more.
He’d stared the spot where the girl’s body had lain long after a pair of Kakushi gently removed her to ready her for her burial, watching with hollow eyes and a hollow heart as the one of them — a female — tenderly brushed the girl’s hair from her face and straightened her haori. They’d crossed her arms over her middle and gingerly carried her to join the remains of her family.
Hers was the last of the graves to be prepared. The Kakushi were just beginning to pack the mud and snow over her body when one of them collapsed from exhaustion. The group resolved to take a small water break before finishing, and neither Shinazugawa nor Rengoku had the desire to object.
After all, digging nearly twenty graves was no easy task.
Both Hashira assisted with the effort, and their combined strength and stamina had streamlined the task considerably. While the Kakushi rested, Rengoku departed for the front gates to update Uzui and Iguro, who’d been dealing with the wreckage within the village, assisted by reinforcements of both Kakushi and lower rank slayers called in to assist with the clean up and burial.
In total, over two hundred graves were dug, and not a single survivor had been found.
It was a heavy day — perhaps one of the darkest in the Corp’s history, and its crowning poisoned jewel was the eradication of one of the oldest breathing styles.The news that there was one less defense against the demons was not a welcome one.
Sanemi had gone to the other side of the courtyard, away from the voices and graves and rising stink of death. Out of sight from any prying eyes, he found a tree and shoved his fist through it, clear to the other side. Splinters of bark exploded around his arm and bit into the skin around his knuckles and palm, but Sanemi could not find it in himself to care; he sought only to break through the silent numbness threatening to consume him.
Because he’d taken refuge on the other side of the courtyard, away from the new burial site, Sanemi did not see the hand and arm that shoved through the pile of earth resting atop the last grave. He did not see clawed fingers sinking into the mud and snow, desperately seeking purchase as the body attached to the arm hauled itself — herself — from beneath the earth, the remnants of her grave skittering to the side as she heaved her body out.
Sanemi did hear the terrified shriek of the Kakushi, and immediately he drew his sword. In the distance, he could hear Rengoku roaring orders at the terrified attendants, though he could not discern the specifics.
The Wind Pillar came into view of the gravesite right as the girl spilled out from the hole in the ground, using her bare hands to pull herself forward as the rest of her body remained limp.
Sanemi Shinazugawa was not a pious man; in fact, he considered himself rather skeptical of the idea of faith. If there were truly any gods out there, then Sanemi wanted nothing to do with them. They chose to let chaos and devastation run rampant. They chose to let demons exists.
But hell apparently had frozen over, and Sanemi found himself offering a prayer for the girl’s forgiveness as he prepared to behead her demonized form. He hoped she would understand; after all, she’d joined the Corps intending to rid of the world of the very thing she’d now become.
It was what he hoped one his his fellow Hashira would do for him, if he ever found himself in that situation.
As the Swordsman cocked his blade, ready to strike the crawling demon from behind, Rengoku cried out. “Shinazugawa, NO!”
Sanemi stuttered, his arm in mid-swing as he neared the demon’s neck. A flash of violet and white shot towards him, and a piercing shriek of metal tore through the sky as Uzui’s blade parried his, the force of the clash knocking him out of the air. A frustrated grunt echoed from his chest, and with great effort, Sanemi twisted mid-air to avoid falling flat on his ass, just barely managing to land swiftly on the balls of his feet.
“What the fuck,-“ His vicious snarl faltered at the expression on the Flame Hashira’s face, frozen and gaping. In that moment, Sanemi’s ears picked up on the faint thumping of a heart beating rapidly and unevenly below him. His nose suddenly burned with the strong scent of iron. The stench of blood so metallic that it could not have been anything but fresh.
Ears ringing, the Wind Pillar shoved past his stupefied comrades. Only when he was face to face with her did Sanemi finally understand why the Flame Pillar had been so desperate to stop his sword from hitting its mark.
The three Hashira were not looking at a newly turned and bloodthirsty demon. Instead, dragging her way across the bloodstained, muddied snow, was the Lunar Heir, deathly pale and trembling..
The girl whose death they feared doomed the Lunar Breathing House had clawed her way out from her grave with nothing but her hands and sheer will. She’d not been dead, after all.
Slowly, so slowly, her eyes lifted to glare up at the one standing directly before her. Though she strained to raise her head more than half an inch, her silver eyes met Sanemi’s lavender gaze, and a violent chill shot up his spine as he beheld what simmered within them.
Defiance.
Pain.
Rage. So, so much rage, relentless and raw. And so very human.
She reached another quivering hand out before her to further drag herself away from her tomb. A thin sheen of sweat coated her pallid skin, and fresh crimson began to seep into the snow beneath her.
Sanemi’s eyes flit to the stain on her back, where fresh blood oozed from the deep wound.
She was panting, clearly fighting every urge in her body to give in, to let death beckon her back into its sweet embrace.
“I-I’m not dead!” She grit out in between shallow, uneven breaths, her jaw clenched tightly enough to crack her teeth.
The three Hashira remained dumb and silent for half a heartbeat before-
“What are you all standing there for?” Uzui bellowed. “Help her!”
The Kakushi sputtered into action, several of them crouching down around the girl to aid her.
“Don’t touch me!” She screamed, eyes screwed shut and her head bowed defensively over her hands as she clenched her fists into the earth. The Kakushi fell back, looking anxiously to the Pillars to await further orders, but even they were at a loss. After several, harsh breaths through her nose, the Lunar Heir turned her face up, her gaze clashing with Sanemi’s once more.
He recognized the fear in her eyes, visceral and deep. Whatever she’d experienced over the last few hours had overtaken all her senses. She had no logic, no ability to rationalize that she was among other humans, among comrades.
Instead, all that drove her now was the primal instinct to survive.
And to her, they were another threat.
She continued to try and crawl away from them, but her movements grew even shakier, more unstable, as the blood loss combined with her physical exhaustion. Rengoku caught his comrades’ eyes, waiting to confirm their next move.
A quick shared nod sent Sanemi stepping quietly into her blindspot. Swiftly, the Wind Pillar struck the pressure point on the back of the woman’s neck with his hand, and she crumpled against the ground, unconscious and still. Gingerly, Sanemi lifted her over his shoulder, mindful of the open wound on her back.
Once she was secured, the Hashira and their Kakushi began their frantic sprint toward the Butterfly Mansion.
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#demon slayer#kimetsu no yaiba#sanemi shinazugawa#kny#kny x reader#kny fanfic#kny sanemi#sanemi x reader#kn y smut#demon slayer smut#shinazugawa sanemi#demon slayer fic#demon slayer fanfic
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Safe heaven
Pair: Neteyam x Human!reader (sully family, others na'vi)
Warning: Neytiri being a bit(a lot) controlling, forced pairing, cozy moments, comfort moments, All characters are adults.
Note: I had this draft half done, and decided to finish it today. Let's see what you think, I left it open ended. If it's received good feedback I'll continue…it's a short story. But how did you find it so far?
AVATAR MASTERLIST | Ko-fi
Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4[final]
Returning to the Omaticaya clan, where Neytiri was born, grew up and raised her children, was the best thing she could have done. After the confrontation with the RDA, things seemed to calm down. After a year of living in the Metkayina clan, the Sullys returned to their clan in the jungle. They were accepted immediately and things seemed to be running smoothly. But lately something was making neytiri anxious, and it was the future of her children. Tuk and kiri were still very young, they were just starting to live, lo'ak was still in training, he was not far away from becoming a man. But neteyam was already a man, he was at the perfect age to find a mate and make a family of his own. And neytiri was going to handle this. She wanted neteyam to make a good choice, neteyam was next in line to be Olo'eyktan. As the son of toruk makto, that was a position he had to take, and he had to have a good partner by his side. The mate neteyam chose also chose the position he wanted to belong to, and neytiri wanted him to have the best place in this clan.
Neytiri was given the task of introducing them to the best women in the clan, and with the best references. Many girls were after neteyam and she knew it…she had heard how the girls talked about how amazing and handsome her son was, but neytiri had to find the girl she found perfect. But whenever she introduced a new girl to neteyam he would just say hello…talk to her for a few minutes and that was it. He showed no interest in them, it was as if another ordinary clan member was talking to him. But this did not stop neytiri, that was until she met Lekka. She was a majestic na'vi, she was very beautiful. Not to mention how skilled she was at hunting, a true warrior. Neytiri thought that this girl would be the perfect match for her eldest son, besides the girl had told him that she was very attracted to neteyam and that she was interested in him. So neytiri took this sign as a good opportunity to introduce them both to each other.
Today was a hunting party, neteyam with the Na'vi hunting party had a good day. The hunt had been a success, and they were having a small celebration in the clan, just outside the hallelujah caves. A nice hidden place and perfect for carrying on the omaticaya traditions. The whole clan was there, including some humans. Of course, the Omaticaya clan already had to coexist with the good humans, who had helped them fight this battle between species. The laughter, the dancing filled the atmosphere with peacefulness…neteyam was with his group of friends, moving away for a moment to get a drink. It wasn't until he bumped into his mother. -"Neteyam I glad you're here," said neytiri, next to her was this girl, lekka. Neteyam had to admit she was very pretty. But… he wasn't impressed. -"Hi mom…" neteyam speaks nervously, he already knew where his mother was coming from. It wasn't the first time she introduced him to a na'vi girl. Neytiri laughs a little, taking the girl's arm to bring her closer to Neteyam. - "May I introduce you to lekka, she is the daughter of telup" speaks neytiri. Neteyam makes the 'I see you' sign waving to the girl.
Neteyam could see how nervous the woman was, she was shaking a little bit. And she was looking down, he felt a little sorry for these girls. Her mother always put them in this embarrassing situation. -"Nice to meet you… it's a pleasure. My name is neteyam" neteyam speaks. -"Yes… I've heard a lot about you," says Lekka with a trembling voice. Neytiri apologizes to the couple of guys, telling them that she was going to go get more food, but it was a pretend to leave them alone. According to her everything was going as she had planned. Neytiri proudly approaches the group that was waiting for her and watching from afar. Mo'at, Tsu'tey, Jake were looking at her walking towards them, with a big smile on her face. Neytiri approaches and sits down next to Jake. -"And what do you do now?" asks Mo'at, the woman didn't have to look at her daughter to know that she had done something. -"Me? nothing…the essentials," says neytiri, she is proud of her work, she has just introduced an amazing girl to her son.
"You know that's not going to work, right?" says mo'at. Listening as neytiri chokes a little on her drink. "Mother what are you talking about, of course I do" says neytiri, looking to jake for support. But he just shifts his gaze, trying not to be included in the conversation. On the other hand tsu'tey looks curiously at the two women. "You're trying to get neteyam together with that girl…you can tell he doesn't like her. Besides…this trying to get together never works, look at you," says mo'at. Now it was jake's turn to choke, but from laughter. He knew mo'at was referring to how he and neytiri met. Meanwhile tsu'tey made a groan of annoyance and leaned back on the log behind him. - "I witnessed that, and I agree with mo'at" complains tsu'tey watching as jake continues to laugh.
"Hey…but this is different. Neteyam is different, I know what I'm doing" says neytiri, sitting up more in her seat. She was getting upset, no one in her family understood her. But she wanted neteyam to make the right choice and take her rightful place again. "Love…I know why you're doing this, but it's not necessary. Neteyam will eventually find a girl he likes, you should leave him alone" jake says, but he can see how neytiri is looking at him with a pout. Grimacing for him to keep quiet, jake just laughs a little and keeps drinking. he knew neytiri was stubborn and didn't care what anyone else thought, she was going to do it. Jake watches as neteyam is talking to the girl. You could see how uncomfortable he was, fidgeting a little. His tail was curled up at his heels and he glanced at the group of friends from time to time. - "He looks very nervous," says tsu'tey, he was also looking at the boy. - "Why is he…neytiri" speaks mo'at, looking at his daughter. Neytiri rolls her eyes, and now looks at her son. She clearly noticed how uncomfortable the boy was, but she supposed it was normal. He had never talked to that girl before, he might be nervous because of how cute she was. -"They look good together," says Neytiri. - "Yes they look good…but he doesn't look good" jake grimaces, the interaction his oldest son was now having with that girl was horrible.
"Mo'at?" y/n taps the woman's shoulder, getting her attention. - "Oh, what's wrong?" says mo'at, turning to look at you. All the group's attention was now on you. -"I'm going to go rest, I've finished doing the chores you told me to do," you say, laughing a little.
You had been one of the human children born here in Pandora, just like Spider. And it was normal for you to have interacted with the na'vi from an early age… but while spider preferred to be playing with the sully children, you preferred to go look for fun elsewhere. And that's where you met mo'at, the woman noticed how every day you would go to her hut and watch her in awe as she worked. Or when she was doing her daily chores, you always followed her. She never complained about you, you were quiet and calm, so your presence pleased her. One day mo'at invited you to approach her, and that's when you started asking questions. Which surprised mo'at, you were a very intelligent child, for such a young age. Something told mo'at that she had to help you, and accept you. So she dedicated herself to become your guardian…she would teach you, take care of you and make you join the clan. She would never be your mother, but she would care for you like one.
"Oh thanks, I'll look at the results later" says mo'at, stroking your hand a little. -"Hey, why don't you stay a bit to celebrate… kiri is over there," says jake, waiting for you to accept. You had grown up with his children, you were practically a daughter to him. For some reason, neytiri had no problem with you when you were around his children, she thought you were good. But only that. -"mmm no thanks, I want to go rest" you apologize, and say goodbye to everyone. Starting your way to the lab. -" She has helped you a lot, hasn't she?" speaks tsu'tey, looking at mo'at. The woman was still looking at you from afar, with a proud look. - "You know…she has a great future. She's smart and a quick learner," mo'at says. -And not only in the medical field…in technology she is amazing, you have to see how she helps norm, she is very smart" says jake. Everyone is silent for a moment. -"Besides…she's a very sweet girl, she's good" says mo'at while he continues eating. Neytiri doesn't say anything, she just listens curiously and then turns all her attention to her son neteyam. When she looked, she saw that the boy was no longer there. Instead there was a lekka alone, waiting for the boy to return. Neytiri stood up quickly, approaching the girl. "Where is neteyam?" asked Neytiri, looking around to see if she could find her son. -"I don't know…he said he was going to look for something, and he hasn't come back," says Lekka. Neytiri was going crazy, she didn't know what she was going to do with that boy.
After talking to mo'at, you decided to go to your favorite place. You knew you had told mo'at you were going to rest, but you didn't dare tell her where you were really going to go or do. Walking secretly, as you went deeper into the jungle, you thanked Pandora's nature for being so bright. It was a spectacle for your eyes, walking faster to get to your secret place. Not far away, about 20 minutes walk, there was a crashed plane. You were sure that it was from the first war that the RDA had with the clan, because it was very deteriorated, and the first time you had found it you had to clean some skeletons that were still inside. After a while this had become your secret place. You reached the entrance of the plane, opening it carefully… pushing open a door you had made out of metal. Entering and pointing at it as you closed the door. Approaching a machine you had created not long ago, stretching the rope so that it would turn on and start doing its job, oxygenating the area. This machine allowed the air around it to be clean and safe for you to breathe, at least 10 feet away. The plane had some closed areas, so that the good oxygen didn't get out, but still the pandora's air came in. But still, it was safe for you.
This was the best thing you did…invent. As Norm used to say, you were a little box of surprises, always inventing things and improving others. Since you were little you had been like that, your head was full of ideas and this hideout was the representation of that. Although it didn't have the best structure and your goal was to sign it completely, you were still working on it. Taking off your oxygen mask, placing it on the wall. To start getting more comfortable, he had to be here before long. Or so you thought, looking out the broken window a little. Not getting too close, without leaving your safe zone. You see that no one is around. You sit down near a small table you had down at night, starting to work on the new oxygen mask prototype you were making. You were so busy, you didn't hear the first knocking on the front door. Knock, knock, knock… the knocking got louder and you panicked. Keeping silent, and turning off the lights you had on.
Carefully approaching the door, to see who it was. -"Hey…baby it's me" you hear his voice, and smile a little relieved that it was him. You turn on all the lights and open the door quickly, meeting the boy. Neteyam was at the entrance, looking around, making sure no one was watching him. -"Hey get in quick…the air is getting thinner," you say, taking his hand and pushing him into the plane. Neteyam laughs as he enters carefully, lowering his head as he passes through the door. As soon as he enters, he can feel you wrap your arms around his neck, trapping him in a soft kiss. Giggling against your lips, as he holds you around the waist. Sitting carelessly on the floor. - "Y/N…love" neteyam was laughing, as you pull away caressing his face. Arranging his hair, looking at him carefully, studying his mood. He looked somewhat exhausted and overwhelmed…something seemed to be bothering him. -Are you upset?" you ask, watching as Neteyam lays his head on your chest.
He was sitting on the floor and you were standing between his legs. This allowed a perfect height for him to lie on top of you. -"I am… but it's not you," says Neteyam, as you hug his head closer to your chest. - "Well…anytime you want to talk about it, I'm here," you say. He closes his eyes for a moment, then pulls away from you. "hey, take this," neteyam pulls out of his small pouch, a piece of food that he had wrapped in a leaf. -I saw that you left quickly…you haven't eaten anything," says Neteyam, watching as you take the piece of food and walk away from him, sitting down right in front of him. "Mmmm yeah…I was going to eat with you, but…you looked busy" you open the leaf, but neteyam could see your raised eyebrows. -"Oh, that…this is lekka…you know how my mom is about introducing me to girls" says neteyam, taking your foot in his hands to start massaging it. He didn't want you to bother with him, he wasn't to blame.
"mmm she's very beautiful, I've heard how good she is" you speak, taking a bite of the meat. Now looking up to see neteyam, he was looking at you with a soft smile on his lips. His little eyes are sparkling, as if he is looking at the most beautiful thing in this universe. -"But she's not as beautiful as you…you know that," says neteyam, watching you grimace. Trying not to laugh or choke. Neteyam reaches out his hand, to wipe some sauce from your lips. - "I'm serious… you are so beautiful in my eyes" says the boy, leaving you speechless. He always left you speechless.
You two had grown up together, although you preferred to be with mo'at. You also went to play with spider and the sully boys. Even when you were growing up you preferred to be with neteyam, nothing ever happened. You were just good friends, it wasn't until neteyam had to leave the clan that you noticed that your feelings for him were much greater. Just like neteyam, you promised each other that you would see each other again. And so he kept it, when he returned to the clan the first person neteyam went to look for was you. From then on you had not separated, starting this relationship on the quiet. You used to meet here on the plane, and only here you could be together. Outside you were just good friends…but here is your secret hiding place, you were yourselves. This situation was time consuming, and sometimes it could be exhausting for the two of you.
After eating, and making jokes about hunting neteyam. You both decided to lie down and talk for a while. Neteyam was leaning back in a rather large chair in the plane. While you were lying between his legs, with your back against his chest. Netayam was holding your hand, playing with your fingers, looking at how strange and beautiful they were at the same time. - "Hey…did you notice that now the walls of the plane are sitting more" you speak, listening as Netayam answers you with a 'hmm'. - "I won't close all the windows though, so you can still get your air in and be comfortable in here" you speak. - "you're great baby… I don't know how you have all these ideas" says neteyam, kissing your hair. "I don't know, it's just natural" you laugh, feeling Neteyam wrap his arms around your torso. To pull you closer to him, kissing your shoulder. Lately you had been wearing the na'vi outfit that kiri had given you, and neteyam loved it. He could feel you better this way, without the horrible human clothes you used to wear.
"Baby… how about if you stay to sleep with me here…today?" asks neteyam, you can feel how his tail gives you some taps on your feet. He felt nervous about your answer, it wasn't the first time neteyam proposed this to you, but you always denied it. Saying that norm was waiting for you in the lab. It was partly true, but not that much. -"Mmm I'm not sure" you start to speak, but neteyam interrupts you. -"It would only be today… I don't want to leave you" neteyam hugs you more tightly. Norm wasn't necessarily expecting you, but you knew he was going to ask a lot of questions the next day. Just like neteyam, he knew what he was expecting and even more so coming from his mother. But he didn't really care, he wanted to rest with you, to spend more time with you.
You think about it for a moment… it would be fine if you stayed here. This place was perfectly equipped, besides… you also wanted to stay with him like this. - "Well… it's okay. But we have to get up early, ok" you look up, seeing how neteyam was giving you a big smile. In one swift movement neteyam, grabs you by the waist and lifts you up to get on top of you. You were all giggles, feeling him start to kiss your neck, and chest. "I'm at your service sweetheart" neteyam says excitedly, lying on top of you letting his head rest on your breasts. Breathing deeply of your scent, wrapping his arms all over your body. Sometimes he could forget that he was almost twice your size, and that lately he had grown muscularly. -"You're crushing me," you tease, feeling him release you. -"I'm sorry" he laughs, kissing your lips one last time before settling back. You were his safe haven in this world.
In the hut…
"Hey, have you seen neteyam?" neytiri asks jake. They had gone to sleep very late, noticing that they had never seen neteyam return. Neteyam was still with them in the family hut, although he could go and do whatever he wanted. Noticing that all the kids had arrived but him. "No, maybe he went off to do something else, or he's with someone else," said Jake, not really paying attention to what he said, he was too busy sharpening his knives. But this made neytiri even more curious and she started to think. Maybe neteyame saw lekka again, and she told neytiri that she hadn't seen him so she wouldn't be embarrassed. Or was neteyam with another girl? Or he was getting tired. Neytiri didn't want to look like a stalker mother, but she had to know what was going on in her eldest son's head.
P.S What do you think of this story? I would like to know what you think. <3
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