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wearebarca · 7 months ago

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1. Captured // Alexia Putellas x Original character

Part 1 part 2 part 3

synopsis: Rosalie has never stayed too long at the same place. When the opportunity of a lifetime presents itself critical moment in her life, the photographer decides to once again leave behind what she knows and joins the staff of Europe's best football team.

word count: 3,5K

18 + (eventually)

A/N: Hello, Spanish is from google translate so please be nice. French is my first language so all should be good on that part. Enjoy.

Her fingers were hovering over the multitudes of cameras lined up in the bookcase of her small living room. The balcony doors were opened and the cool night air filtered in the little apartment, along with the chants and cheers of the sea of supporters passing in the streets below. Nights like these had quickly become her favourite since moving to the heart of Barcelona. She would usually sit on the balcony and watch as the supporters would celebrate their club's win, filling the night air with happiness and excitement but tonight was slightly different though. An important match was currently being disputed at the Johan Cruyff Estadi, one that all the Barcelona Femini fans were looking forward to all year. El Classico was always an electric night and Rosalie had decided to experience this night out in the streets, instead of the comfort of her balcony chair.

Once out in the streets, She was immediately hit by a wave of excitement. She was instantly swept in a sea of chanting people, all wearing jerseys and scarves with their team's logo. The crowd was so dense that all you could see were flashes of red and blue making the task of focusing on one subject a difficult one. She finally managed to exit the crowd and find a bench near a bus stop, high enough to have a clear view of the scene unfolding in front of her. This new vantage point allowed you to take numerous portraits of fans, capturing groups of friends in the middle of drunken laughs and barça chants. She instantly knew when the final whistle was blown and Barcelona had won the match. Excited screams could be heard all around and the ground was slightly shaking from the people jumping around in an ecstatic frenzy. Rosalie lowered her camera and took a moment to soak it all in. These were the moments that reminded her of why she had chosen sports photography as her career. This feeling of unity between fans, the shared excitement and hope as well as the solidarity displayed among the supporters even during darker times. Sports was something that brought people together, made them temporarily forget about their lives. She considered herself lucky to have a job that allowed her to capture such moments.

Once back in the safety of her apartment, she plugged her camera to her computer and while the shots she took were transferring into her laptop. She pulled out the wine bottle that was already opened and sat on her couch. Next to her was a pile of clothes that consisted of her vintage oversized brown leather jacket, a tight black t-shirt and dark brown pleated pants. She had specifically picked out this outfit for her first day in her new job. Her camera bag sat next to the pile, only her laptop missing. Everything was ready, perfectly organized, almost obsessively. The stress of this new beginning was keeping her up which led the young woman to work on the shots she had taken during the night until she fell asleep in her living room.

The drive to the training stadium wasn’t too long. She had left incredibly early to avoid traffic and ended up parking her car at the stadium and walking around the block. It wasn’t long until she stumbled upon a small cafe, not too far from the training center. The place looked cosy and inviting with all the plants and the picture frames. Upon a closer look, she noticed that they were all pictures of what she guest was regulars enjoying their coffees. The thought of so much history hanging on these walls made the French-Canadian smile as she went to stand in line to order.

Her Spanish was rather shaky which made the barista and the woman behind her chuckle lightly. But nonetheless she managed to order and pay without going completely red from embarrassment.

“Americano para Rosalie” The french name sounds so foreign when spoken in the language and Rosalie almost felt bad for the barista and made a note to herself to use her spanish nickname when ordering in the future.

She picked up her coffee and as she was turning around to exit the small shop, her body collided with a solid one, making her spill half of her own coffee on herself.

“oh Déu, ho sento, estàs bé?”

A tattooed had grabbed her elbow in an attempt to stabilize her, but the damage was done. The cup that was previously secured in her hand had spilled more than half of its content on her shirt and bag. the tattooed woman turn to her partner “ Ingrid can you grab napkins please”

She immediately took the napkins that were handed to her and started to dab at her bag in an attempt to prevent the liquid from seeping in and mess with her equipment. Busy trying to dry the coffee that had fallen on her work bag, Rosalie had failed to notice who exactly had bumped into her, but the names mentioned during her short encounter were oddly familiar. “ Are you ok? Did any get in your bag?” A tall dark haired woman was standing right in front of you with a worried smile and Rosalie could not believe her luck. She simply shook her head and smiled at the Norwegian while throwing the napkins away.

“ I’m Ingrid, we’re very sorry about this, Maria’s a little clumsy.” She laughed at her own statement, knowing very well that “ a little” was a bit of an understatement.

“ It’s ok, I can’t say that I was really looking where I was going” Rosalie said as she followed Ingrid outside the cafe to a small table near the entrance. The Spanish woman exited the shop shortly after them with a tray with four cups of coffee.

“ Asked the barista for your order, here you go.” The Spanish woman said with an apologetic smile on her lips.

“ Thank you, you didn’t have to do that”

“ It was only fair since this one can’t be bothered to be aware of the world around her” she said, giving a playful glare to her partner.

“ I’m Mapi, .” .

“Oh I know who you are,” she said with a smile on her face. She wasn’t new to the football world, having played all the way to her college years. After graduation, she had gotten herself a job as an assistant photographer in the NWSL in America. She had travelled all around the United-States and became one of the best known sports photographers. Three years into the job, Rosalie received a call that would change her career forever.

Arsenal W.F.C was desperately looking to revamp its image and put the club on the map. Management had come across some of Rosalie’s dynamic shots and had contacted her to offer her a spot in the new media team that would follow the girls around during the season. Seeing this as the opportunity of a lifetime, she moved across the ocean. This was the opportunity of a lifetime and she absolutely loved it. She had built her strongest friendships over there, had fallen even more in love with job and football, but also experienced her most gut wrenching heartbreak. After her breakup, she had stayed with the team to finish her contract and then packed her flat without knowing what she would do next. She knew that going back toArsenal would not be a good idea since she would have to see the face of the woman that had broken her trust everyday, so she gave her notice and left a month to go hiking in Andalucia. It would be during this trip that she would get the call from FC Barcelona Femini. She would accept on the spot and after a quick apartment search she would have all her belongings shipped to her new address and fly straight to Barcelona, without anyone knowing about her new beginning.

“ Sorry that came out a little strong, I’m Rosalie Marineau, Barça’s new photographer.” She shook both their hands and started the few blocks walk towards the training facility.

“ Oh it is a pleasure to meet you, we were wondering when the new photographer would start. We were all excited after seeing some of your work with Arsenal, very impressive.”

“Thank you so much but I should be the one who’s excited, it truly is an honour to work with such a strong and dedicated team Like Barça, I really can’t wait to start.” the woman said with a beaming smile. The walk back to the stadium was filled with conversation about the upcoming season, Rosalie's career and even strayed to her college football career. As the group reached the entrance of the training grounds, a voice made itself heard in the hallway.

“ustedes chicas llegan tarde” A tall blond was leaning against the wall right next to the locker room door. She was wearing the gray half zip training shirt with matching shorts and her hair loose, fanning over her shoulders. Her arms were crossed, her boots in one hand and a stern expression was plastered on her face. In her mind, there was no way that this woman was not the captain of this team and indeed, a few moments later, Rosalie was standing face to face with Alexia Putellas.

“ Quince minutos antes no significa tarde, Ale” The sigh that left the Catalonian’s lips was long and the look that came with the sound would make anyone shrink right on the spot. She propped herself up and with even sparing a glance in the direction of the photographer, she turned around and entered the locker room.

“Maria, you might want to follow her, you don’t want her getting worse.” Ingrid said, pushing her girlfriend towards the same door the blond had previously disappeared in. The Spanish woman let out a sigh of her own before also disappearing into the room. “ Come with me, I’ll show you to the management's office.”

As Rosalie had predicted, her morning was all about paperwork officializing her new position as the head of the photography department. Ingrid ended up staying the whole time and even offered to show her to her new office. The office was located on the second floor of the building, which seemed a lot calmer than the lower level. Upon entering the office, Rosalie was surprised by how spacious the place was. The space was divided into two sections. The first had all the proper equipment at her disposal to hold photoshoots. Everything was brand new and of the highest quality, with some of the equipment still wrapped in their boxes. The second was closest to the windows, which gave a perfect view of the pitch, and was half hidden behind screens to give the feeling of being in a completely different room. A desk with two large screens and a laptop launchpad, a comfortable looking chair and a small sofa occupied the space.

A big smile was playing on Rosalie’s lips as she took in the space she would now work in. “ I hope you will feel right at home here.” Jonatan Giràldez said as he came to stand beside the photographer. “ You can set up if you’d like, I’ll send someone to collect you so you can meet the team before lunch.” He said, once again extending his hand for her to shake. “ Welcome to the family, Senorita Marineau.”

After a quick hug from Ingrid and a promise to talk more later, Rosalie pulled out her laptop and took a seat at her new desk. Looking out at the pitch she found the two women she was hoping to see. During her contract with Arsenal, she was asked to follow some of the players to the Lionesses camp to capture their journey. That’s where she had met her closest friends. When she met Keira Walsh, it was like something in the universe clicked. The rest of the England squad used to joke that the two of them were the same person but in different fonts, and they might as well have been right. The two women had the same awkward sense of humour and were able to guest what the other needed or wanted with having to express anything.

Upon meeting the younger French-Canadian woman, Lucy Bronze had immediately felt a strong feeling of protectiveness. This feeling grew even more when one night the Canadian woman had shared with their small friend group that she wasn’t close to her family. Maybe it was because she knew that the girl had nobody to count on, in England or even in her home country, but the woman started to treat the younger brunette like she was part of her family. She was like a big sister to Rosalie and loved the girl fiercely. The couple had become Rosalie’s family during her years in London, but the distance made it hard for them to see each other outside of camps. Still the girls kept in touch regularly and had facetime movie nights on a weekly basis. They were in fact the first ones Rosalie had told about her move, and she would be lying if one of the big reasons why she accepted so fast was because she knew her two best friends were playing for this team.

Setting up her stuff wasn’t long. She had brought a few picture frames, mainly pictures of her, Lucy and Keira, of her, Beth, Viv, Leah and Lia, her closest Arsenal friends, that she put on her desk and plugged her camera and laptop to the screens. She still had about an hour and a half before lunch so she decided to finish editing the pictures from the night before.

She knew someone was making their way towards her office just by the sound of football boots on the hard floors. Still, too engrossed in her work, Rosalie did not lift her head until a very familiar voice spoke.

“You know, if you missed us this much, you could’ve called instead of stalking us all the way here.” She could recognize that strong northern accent anywhere. Leaning against her door frame, in the same training kit that Alexia was wearing, Lucy was smiling brightly at her friend. The smile on Rosalie’s face lit up the whole room and warmed up the English woman’s heart. It had been a while since she had seen her friend with a genuine smile on her face. She almost tumbled over trying to catch the smaller woman who had jumped in her arms.

“Shouldn’t you be training?” A quick look behind her showed the pitch empty.

“Everyone is in the gym, we figured we’d come get you to meet everyone now.” She said dragging the girl out of her office.

“Wait a minute,” she made a beeline to her office to grab the usb key containing the picture she wanted to give the media team and followed the woman out in the corridor.

“How are you settling here? You know, we feel bad about not helping you move.” Rosalie understood perfectly well why Keira and Lucy weren’t able to come give her a hand. With the away games, training and media duty, the women were swarmed and didn’t get a minute to themselves. Still, the lack of extra pairs of arms and someone to push her meant that a lot of boxes remained untouched.

“Don’t worry, I’m good.” She said with a small smile. By the look the older woman was giving her, Rosalie knew that her little lie didn’t go through. But Lucy chose to drop the subject knowing that pestering her friend was not the way to go in this situation.

“I'll show you around the training center but first, everyone is in the gym so we can start there.” She said walking ahead of the brunette. “ The trainers wanted you to know that you have access to it whenever you want and if you'd like they can help you with your training.”

“ What do you mean?” The French-Canadian was confused as she caught up with the taller woman.

“ Well… when the news of your arrival came out, people started to ask questions. They found out who you were through management and they apparently told the girls to talk to us because we knew you.” Lucy said in an apologetic tone. She knew that even though her friend was well known in her field, she liked to keep her life private. “ We didn’t say much, don't worry, but we have some grade A stalkers in this team.”

“ Oh mon dieu ,what did they find?” The brunette said, hiding her face behind her hands. She didn’t have anything crazy on her social media, but she did have a couple pictures from her college football career that looked a little weird along with some pictures of her races, triathlons and marathons that were surely not her best angles.

“ Everything darling,” Lucy said laughing, “ They especially loved the beach pictures and the triathlon ones, you made quite the impression, Frenchy.”

The girl could not be more mortified. Those pictures were not bad. In fact, she was quite proud of them, but it was the fact that the whole team had seen her in her bikini or dying during a race before actually meeting her. She simply wasn’t a fan of the fact that they knew so much already. But then, it was only fair, she thought, since their whole lives were plastered in tabloïds and discussed in social media all the time. The difference was that the photographer had never been in their position.

Lucy chose this exact moment to open the door leading to the gym and Rosalie’s ears were instantly flooded with rapid spanish banter and that freshly cut grass smell that she loved. The room was extremely bright due to the fact that it had direct access to the pitch, which meant that a slight breeze from the outside kept the gym cool and fresh. Almost every station was occupied by players, sometimes alone, but mostly in pairs. The first one to notice their arrival was none other than Mapi, who was helping a certain captain keeping her balance on a platform. She waved excitedly which caused the blond to lose balance and almost fall to her face. The look she sent the Zaragozian would have scared anyone in their right mind. When she realized that her look didn’t get the reaction it deserved she turned her gaze to the source of her training partner’s distraction, only to lock eyes with the photographer.

The contact didn’t not last long since the commotion had caught everyone’s attention. They quickly formed a half circle around the girl, seemingly waiting for her to say a few words.

“ hola,” Rosalie wasn’t a shy person but she was definitely intimidated by the women in front of her. A smile from the couple that she had met in the morning was the little push she needed to continue. “ My name is Rosalie Marineau and I am Barça’s new head photographer. I am very excited to work with all of you. " she said smiling "Don’t worry, I’ll always get your best angle.”

Smiles filled the room and everyone stepped forward to introduce themselves. The first to reach the woman was Mariona who shook her hand and welcomed her. Next were Patri and Pina who both looked like over excited children. They both gave the girl hugs and started to ask different questions only to be pulled away by Irene and Aitana. The taller woman had a warm smile and a very calm demeanor that instantly made Rosalie feel at ease with her. The smaller woman pulled her in a hug and asked her about her move and how she was settling in this new city.

A voice she knew all too well interrupted the conversation and arms wrapped around the photographer from behind. As soon as she smelled the familiar perfume, the Canadian spun around and wrapped her arms around her best friend. “ Hello Frenchy''

Keira didn’t let go of the woman and gave an apologetic smile to the two Spanish players who smiled and left, understanding that this was a private reunion. “ I had to fight Lucy to go get you but the old hag still has some spunk in her.”

The comment made Rosalie laugh and pull away without letting go completely of her friend. At this moment, Lucy arrived next to the blond and gave her a small shove. “ I heard that.”

A few other players came to introduce themselves but Keira and Lucy stayed by the brunette’s side. When the last of the girls left, the photographer turned to her friends only to see them looking over her shoulders.

“ Hola, I don’t think we have been introduced”

The photographer turned around swiftly only to freeze on the spot at the woman before her. Words seemed to escape her as her lips parted but no words came out. Alexia Putellas was a woman with a commanding presence and piercing eyes. She towered over the photographer by a few inches and even with a polite smile on her face, she held herself with a confidence that would make anyone shrink beside her. A sharp elbow in her ribs shook up the girl and prompted her to finally speak.

“ Oui, Bonjour mademoiselle,”

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thekims4 · 1 year ago

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Acc

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minhosbitterriver · 3 months ago

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──── *ੈ♡⸝⸝ THROUGH MY EYES ( newjeans )

❛ In a quiet moment beneath the shade of an oak tree, you and Hyein discover the depth of your love for each other through a heartfelt drawing that captures the beauty you see in Hyein’s soul, leading to your first tender confessions.

𝐥𝐞𝐞 𝐡𝐲𝐞𝐢𝐧 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭 )

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 2.9k 𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐢𝐦𝐞: 11 mins

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ Here's another wonderful request made by @dgybbvrcsacgswtcbkyv! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! Requests are currently open! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Non-Idol AU, High School AU, insecurities and self-esteem issues, mild anger, brief crying, two school girls in love, let me know if I missed anything!

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

The late afternoon sun lingers low in the sky, casting a warm, honeyed glow over the park. Its golden light filters through the thick canopy of leaves above, creating a dappled pattern that dances gently on the ground beneath the sprawling oak tree where you and Hyein have settled. A soft breeze stirs the branches, carrying with it the fresh scent of grass mingled with the faint sweetness of wildflowers blooming nearby. The air feels alive with the gentle promise of twilight, a perfect blend of warmth and coolness that makes everything seem to slow down, inviting a quiet moment of reflection.

You and Hyein, still in your school uniforms, occupy a well-worn wooden bench that has become your chosen spot for the afternoon. Your bags are carelessly tossed on the ground beside you, forgotten for now. Hyein sits with one leg tucked beneath her, her back resting against the bench’s armrest, giving her posture a laid-back elegance. Her school blouse is slightly untucked, a small rebellion against the neatness expected within classroom walls. The sleeves of her crisp, white shirt are rolled up to her elbows, revealing slender arms that are now comfortably exposed to the cooling air. Her tie hangs loosely around her neck, a simple gesture that hints at the relief of finally being free from the day’s structured demands. Her plaid skirt is carefully smoothed over her legs, creating soft pleats that fall in tidy lines. On her lap, her sketchpad rests, her pencil hovering uncertainly above the paper as she contemplates the self-portrait assigned by your art teacher, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Beside her, you sit close, your own school blazer draped over the back of the bench, as if marking your shared territory. Your sketchbook leans against your knee, pages already filled with faint outlines and shadows as you work on your own portrait. Your tie remains knotted around your neck, though it has shifted slightly askew from the day's wear, giving you a slightly disheveled look. Every so often, your eyes drift from your drawing to Hyein's face, watching the way the sun caresses her features. The light catches the delicate curve of her cheekbones, casting soft shadows that emphasize the natural beauty in her expression. Strands of her hair, gently tousled by the breeze, frame her face in a way that makes her seem almost ethereal, like a subject from an old painting.

Between the two of you rests a small pocket mirror, perched precariously on the bench. It's a shared tool, held between the brief pauses as you both glance into its reflective surface, examining your own faces with analytical intent before returning to the delicate lines of your portraits. The mirror catches the sun at certain angles, sending tiny flecks of light dancing around you, adding to the atmosphere of quiet intimacy.

Around you, the park is alive with the gentle sounds of a late afternoon drifting toward evening. The leaves rustle softly above, their movement creating a soothing, whispering melody. In the distance, the high-pitched laughter of children playing reaches your ears, mingling with the occasional chirp of birds hidden among the branches. Nearby, a small stream gurgles over smooth stones, its waters sparkling under the sun’s fading rays, creating a soft, calming background melody that weaves through the other sounds like a thread of tranquility. Occasionally, a few families or students from your school pass by on the gravel path, but their presence is like a distant hum—momentary and insignificant compared to the bubble of serenity you and Hyein have created around yourselves.

In this golden hour, time seems to stretch and bend, and you find yourselves lost in this quiet corner of the world, where every small detail becomes a story, every breath a shared moment of peace.

Hyein's usual bright expression seems dimmed today, like a cloud passing over the sun. As you sit side by side, sketching in the warm afternoon light, you notice her growing quieter, her brows knitting together in a frown of concentration—or perhaps something deeper. Her pencil hovers uncertainly over the page, and she has been staring at her sketch for what feels like too long. You can't help but watch her from the corner of your eye, a sense of concern tightening in your chest as you pick up on the faint tension in her posture, the way her movements have lost their usual fluidity. It's as if a storm is brewing beneath her surface, and you're close enough to feel its subtle tremors.

Moments pass, and you see the frustration begin to well up within her. Her lips press into a thin line, her grip on the pencil tightening as if she's trying to hold back a wave of emotion. Then, almost without warning, the dam breaks. Her hand moves with a sudden, furious energy, and the once-delicate lines of her sketch are obliterated by harsh, jagged strokes. The pencil becomes a weapon, each slash cutting across the page in a frenzy. The soft contours of what was supposed to be her self-portrait are lost beneath a chaotic lattice of dark, aggressive lines—an explosion of raw emotion laid bare in graphite.

The sound of the pencil's sharp edge scraping against the paper is grating, almost violent. You flinch, startled by the intensity of her actions, the suddenness of her discontent erupting into a crescendo that seems to scar the very essence of her drawing. The erratic marks dig deep into the paper, a physical manifestation of her inner turmoil, each stroke bolder and darker than the last. It's as if she's not just covering the image of her face but trying to erase something deeper—something that words alone cannot touch. Finally, with a sigh that trembles at the edges, she drops the pencil, her shoulders slumping as her eyes lower to the mangled sketch in her lap.

You’ve been watching her with furrowed brows and eyes full of concern, unable to ignore the heaviness settling between you. "Hey, what's wrong? It was looking pretty good!" you offer gently, trying to coax a smile from her, but your words seem to fall flat.

Hyein turns away slightly, her profile guarded, as if shielding herself from your gaze. "I don't know..." she murmurs, so quietly that you have to lean in closer to catch her words. "Sometimes I just feel...I feel like I don't measure up."

Hearing this, you feel a pang in your chest. Setting the pocket mirror that had been resting between you on top of your sketchbook, you shift it all aside to scoot closer to her. Gently, you drape an arm around her shoulders and use your free hand to softly guide her face back toward yours. When you see her eyes brimming with unshed tears, your heart aches, confusion swirling within you as you try to piece together what could be making her feel this way. "Babe," you begin softly, your voice a tender whisper, "What do you mean you feel like you 'don't measure up'? I mean, look at me—I’m no Frida Kahlo. I’m kind of a mess, really. So, there’s no way your self-portrait could be worse than mine."

Your attempt to lighten the mood is met with a small, huffed-out chuckle from her, but her gaze drops again, her fingers fidgeting with her skirt in her lap. "It's not about my obviously superior art skills," she mumbles, a weak smile tugging at her lips. You let out a soft giggle at her attempt at humor, but your face quickly returns to its earlier expression of concern.

Hyein sighs again, the sound almost embarrassed, and her voice becomes quieter, as if she's confessing something she finds foolish. "I just...it’s so stupid, but I feel like I don’t look good...like, at all." She glances away, her words lingering in the space between you, heavy with vulnerability.

You pause, leaning in slightly, trying to catch her eyes and understand the meaning behind her words. "What do you mean?" you ask softly, a hint of confusion threading through your voice. You don’t bother hiding the bewilderment anymore; instead, you gently cup her cheek with your hand, thumb tracing delicate circles over her soft skin, hoping to offer some comfort. Yet, there’s a lingering frustration in the air—your failure to grasp her feelings only seems to add to it.

With a sudden surge of emotion, Hyein pushes your hands away, her touch firm but not harsh, and scoots further down the bench, putting distance between you. She crosses her arms tightly over her chest, her posture defensive. Even in her irritation, you can't help but notice the blush rising to her cheeks, a deep, rosy hue of embarrassment spreading like fire. For a moment, she hesitates, her eyes downcast, her fingers fiddling with the edge of her skirt in a nervous dance. Then, almost as if the words had been yanked out of her, she snaps, "I feel ugly, okay?"

Her voice is sharper than you expected, cutting through the afternoon air like a blade, and it takes you by surprise. You blink, momentarily stunned by the harshness of her tone and the weight of her confession. It’s such a rare thing for her to admit; she’s always been the effortlessly confident girl who caught your eye with her carefree spirit and bright energy—the very things that had drawn you to her and made you fall for her.

But as the initial shock fades, a wave of tenderness washes over you. Your heart swells with affection, and a soft smile tugs at your lips. Without thinking, you scoot closer again, your knee brushing against hers. You reach out with both hands, a light giggle escaping your lips as you gently grasp her face, guiding her closer. You press a firm kiss to her forehead, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath your lips. Then, without pause, you move to her nose, planting another gentle kiss there, before finally capturing her lips in a brief, tender kiss that speaks volumes in its simplicity.

When you pull back, your eyes fluttering open, you’re met with her adorable pout. She glares at you weakly, her irritation still lingering, though softened by the corners of her lips threatening to curve upward. There's a mixture of annoyance and reluctant amusement in her eyes, and you can't help but chuckle softly at the sight, finding an undeniable charm in her reaction.

"Love," you begin, your voice a soft murmur, steady yet filled with a raw earnestness. You pause, searching for the right words, though your gaze never wavers from hers—deep, unwavering, and filled with affection. "I wish you could see what I see...I wish you could feel the way my heart squeezes every single time I look at you."

Without giving her time to respond, you let your hands slide from her cheeks to her shoulders, fingers pressing gently but firmly into her skin as if anchoring her to this moment. Your voice, like a gentle breeze weaving through the leaves overhead, carries the weight of every unsaid thought, every unspoken feeling. "Hyein," you continue, each word a carefully placed step forward, "I don’t think you’d be able to handle what you do to my heart whenever your eyes light up while you talk about the things you love. You wouldn't last a day if your knees buckled the way mine do when I hear your laughter. It’s like a melody that always finds a way to brighten my dullest days, so contagious it lingers in the air long after you stop. If only you could see the way your kindness radiates, the way it makes you shine. Sometimes, it almost convinces me that you must be some kind of angel, not just a girl."

As you speak, you watch her closely, noting the way her eyes begin to shimmer with unshed tears. But this time, they aren't tears of frustration or insecurity—there's a smile blooming there, soft and wide, spreading across her face like the first light of dawn. Your words seem to float between you, almost tangible, as if they could reach out and wrap around her, pulling her into your heart.

Even so, a shadow of doubt lingers on her face, her gaze dropping down, her lips trembling between a smile and something more unsure. You can see she's still caught in that place between believing your words and believing her own inner critic. Without another thought, you decide to show her exactly what you mean.

Reaching for your sketchbook, the pages whisper as they turn, the rustle a soft accompaniment to the tender atmosphere. You flip to a blank page and take a deep breath, feeling a rare determination settle within you. You’ve never been one to put much effort into drawing before, but now, you silently plead with whatever gods might be listening, praying to any divine force in this endless universe for a miracle. Just this once, you beg, let me draw something that captures even a fraction of her beauty.

Without another word, you begin. The pencil moves across the page with a certainty you’ve never felt before, your hand guided by something deeper than skill or practice. As you draw, you start to speak again, narrating each careful stroke, each delicate line. "See here," you say softly, "the way your smile curves—it’s not just about the shape, but the warmth it carries. It’s like a quiet promise, like the sun breaking through the clouds after a storm." You glance at her, catching the way her eyes follow each movement of your hand, her curiosity breaking through the last of her hesitation.

"And the way your eyes crinkle at the corners," you continue, your voice a soft, steady rhythm, "like they’re holding some secret joy. It’s more than just a detail; it’s a glimpse into your soul, into all the light you carry inside you." You shade in a section of the drawing, gesturing gently to the lines. "And the light in your hair here, it catches like it’s framing you, like you’re glowing from within."

As you bring her likeness to life, the world around you seems to hold its breath. The rustling of the leaves in the trees above, the distant laughter of children playing nearby—all of it fades into a soft, distant hum, creating a cocoon of quiet intimacy around the two of you. Hyein’s eyes remain fixed on the sketch, her expression softening, her lips parting slightly as she takes it all in, as if she’s finally beginning to see herself through your eyes.

When you finish, you pause, staring down at the drawing in your hands—a surprisingly good sketch that, despite your usual lack of artistic prowess, manages to capture not just her features but the light within her. It reveals the subtle expressions that make her so uniquely beautiful, the quiet moments that often go unnoticed by anyone but you. It’s more than a likeness; it’s a glimpse of her soul, the way you see her through the lens of your own affection.

Turning the sketchbook around, you hold it out to her like a precious offering, your heart pounding in your chest. Her eyes widen, the uncertainty in them shifting to something softer, something almost vulnerable. She studies the drawing intently, her gaze flicking back and forth between the lines and shades that capture the curve of her smile, the light in her eyes. Then, slowly, her eyes lift to meet yours, searching, as if seeking the truth behind your words.

"This is what Lee Hyein looks like through my eyes," you murmur, your voice barely above a whisper, suddenly shy in the face of your own revelation. You hadn’t realized just how deeply your feelings for her ran until this moment, how much of your heart you’d poured into this drawing. It feels like you’ve handed her a piece of yourself, raw and unfiltered.

For a moment, there is only the soft rustling of leaves above and the distant murmur of the world around you. Then, a small, genuine smile begins to bloom on her lips, delicate and fragile, like the first flower breaking through the snow after a long, cold winter. She leans in closer, her shoulder brushing against yours, warm and familiar. She hesitates, just for a heartbeat, before pressing a tender, electrifying kiss against your cheek.

"I love you," she whispers, her voice trembling with emotion, gratitude, and sincerity, each word weighted with a depth that sends a shiver through you. Your eyes widen slightly, your breath catching in your throat as you realize the significance of her words. This is the first time either of you has said those three sacred words. But Hyein’s expression is steady, unwavering, filled with a quiet certainty.

In that golden hour, under the shade of the old oak tree, time seems to stretch and slow. The world around you softens into a hazy blur of colors and distant sounds, fading away to grant you both this stolen moment of pure, unadulterated connection. It’s as if the universe itself pauses, holding its breath, to witness the spark that ignites between you.

With a surge of bravery, your heart swelling with a newfound courage, you lean in closer, your voice steady and clear despite the wild fluttering in your chest. "I love you, too," you reply, the words falling from your lips like a promise, firm and sure.

And there you sit, side by side, the world reduced to just the two of you. Her head gently comes to rest against your shoulder, and your heartbeats fall into a quiet, rhythmic sync, as if they were always meant to beat in time with each other. In that moment, you both feel like the only two people in the world, wrapped in a warmth that nothing could ever touch.

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

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

#newjeans #newjeans hyein #lee hyein #hyein x reader #hyein #hyein nwjns #newjeans fanfic #newjeans fluff #newjeans x reader #new jeans #nwjns fanfic #nwjns x reader #nwjns #nwjns hyein #📹: newjeans #📹: lee hyein

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traumxrei-archive · 6 months ago

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【 vii. beholder of beauty 】

summary: the aristocracy valued knowledge on fashion and make up trends, and yuu was at a bit of a loss… they were pleasantly surprised when jamil had volunteered to help them decide on a look for the debutante.

word count: 1.1k

author’s note: time for jamil to become a make up artist for you,,,,i feel like the act of doing someone’s make up is so intimate, so i hope you enjoy ^^

[ the perfect debutante series | or read on ao3 (coming soon) ]

Makeup wasn't something that Yuu particularly indulged in. They knew it was important in aristocratic society. One's knowledge on fashion and makeup trends was an indicator to how much they paid attention to new developments across the country.

Except...Yuu was only vaguely aware of the changes and fluxes in style. And they weren't confident in deciding their makeup all by themself. It was an occupational hazard when you were a Duke's heir that just graduated from college. That was why they called on backup.

Yuu entered the room, sunlight filtering through the window softly. And waiting for them was...Jamil. Usually, they would've called on a makeup artist to help with the process, but curiously enough Jamil had offered himself for the role.

The maid looked pristine as usual, his braids and hair pulled back into an elegant long ponytail. His legs were crossed under his long pleated skirts, his apron tied perfectly to accentuate his waist.

"Master," Jamil greeted with a bow of his head. Yuu wrinkled their nose. Jamil, like Azul and Riddle, was a stickler for formalities. And despite the countless times they had asked him not to bow, he always did. It was out of respect more than anything else, but still...they were all former classmates after all.

"Is that all yours?" Yuu asked, nodding to the bag beside Jamil.

"No, some is mine, and some are Floyd's. The rest was ordered for you, Master," Jamil took off his lace gloves. "May I?" They ungloved their hand, offering it to him. Jamil then went to work testing out a few products against their skin.

"What kind of makeup would you prefer, Master?" Jamil asked, and they glanced up to see the maid completely absorbed in picking through the products and testing them.

Yuu looked away. Jamil was handsome when he was focusing. But that wasn't the point. "Isn't it best to follow the trends?"

Jamil seemed to pause before lightly shaking his head, "Sometimes trends don't match with everyone. They're overgeneralized, and might not suit your features."

"Is that so?" Yuu picked up one of the tubes of make up. "What kind of makeup do you think would be best for the event?"

"If I were to say my opinion, since it is a debutante," Jamil gently took the tube in their hand, revealing a wand with a glittering substance. "Something regal, a bit on the serious side."

"So what kind of make up do you think would suit me?" Jamil's hands lagged for a second, and they caught the slightest trace of nervousness on his face before it disappeared.

"Would it be okay to show you, Master?" Grey eyes flitted to theirs, his voice low. Yuu blinked, feeling slightly captivated by Jamil’s offer.

"I...by all means," Yuu sat up straighter as Jamil stood up, and they weren't sure where to look.

"Close your eyes, Master," Jamil said as he lifted up a tube of makeup. They oblidged and they could feel Jamil's fingers firmly brushing against their face. Jamil would give instructions every once in a while ("Tilt your head down, Master." "Could you open your eyes?") Yuu couldn’t stomach the silence, each touch of Jamil’s fingers making them warm. And so they asked whatever questions came to their mind.

"I didn't knew you knew how to do makeup," Jamil had reached for a brush, the bristles tickling as it glided against their skin.

"It was my sister," And they stared at him, silently begging for a little more explanation. And it seemed that Jamil had noticed, "She always insisted on getting makeup done when she was younger. So..."

Yuu couldn't help their curiosity, "So...?"

Jamil glanced down at them briefly, a resigned expression on his face, "She would always insist I do it too."

"Really?"

"Really. I learned how to do it so that my mother wouldn't scold her too," Jamil smoothed back their hair for a moment before pausing. "Master. You find that amusing, don't you?"

Yuu wondered if the smile on their face was a bit too obvious, "It's a cute story. You really dote on your sister...you must've been a good brother to her."

Jamil didn't reply to them, instead giving them a once over before taking a step back, "It is done."

Yuu was handed a mirror, and they found that they were looking at...themself. They blinked, and the face in the mirror blinked too. Their eyes looked more pronounced, a silvery sheen on their eyelids. And they couldn't see their eyebags at all. Their lips were a shade more red. Or was it pink? It looked...pretty. Natural.

So this was what Jamil thought suited them. They could see the care that was put into the makeup, and something warm bloomed in their chest.

Without thinking too deeply about it, they turned to Jamil, "Let's do this for the debutante."

Jamil's shoulders jumped, "E...Excuse me?"

"This makeup. I like it," They beamed, gently brushing back their hair. "I'd like you to do it for the debutante too."

Jamil had abandoned his usual composed expression for disbelief, "Master, this...it isn't makeup for events. It's more suited as daily makeup. And I didn't really—"

"Change my appearance?" Yuu completed. "You made me look like...me. That's what I like about it. I don't think I need to change how I look just to be respected." Jamil seemed to contemplate their words, his disposition shifting to one of solemn acceptance.

Finally, the maid lowered his head, "I'm sorry Master, for insinuating that you need to change yourself."

Now it was Yuu's turn to feel awkward, "Ah. That's not what I meant to imply. I meant to say that I liked your makeup as it is. It’s a ‘never mind about the trends, we'll do our own thing!’ kind of statement. So you can stop bowing already."

Jamil lifted his head, as Yuu picked up a tube of what looked like rouge, "Besides, you've roused my interest in makeup now. Maybe I should learn how to do it for my maids so people don't take you lightly at the ball."

"Master, wouldn't it be better to leave such matters to me?" Jamil mumbled, though he didn't say no.

"Well...I'll leave it to you for the debutante, but," They knew that it wouldn't take much more pushing for him to agree. "Could I try out doing makeup on you?"

Jamil huffed, though he sat back down, "I'm expecting great things from you, Master."

Yuu beamed before scanning the makeup items, "Do forgive me if you end up looking like a two-year-old's drawing." Jamil simply closed his eyes and Yuu felt like they were back at NRC again.

They often nagged at Jamil to teach them things when they were younger and less knowledgable about formalities. And Jamil always said no at least one time before giving in, so it felt a bit nostalgic to live through the same pattern, despite the fact that their roles have changed vastly throughout the years. Ah, it was a nostalgic thing indeed.

thank you for reading ^^ if you’d like to read more, check out my masterlist ! like the art ? look at more of dumple's works on insta !

[ prev chapter | series post | next chapter ]

#/trau writes #jamil viper…sob...#he’s so soft #i love him your honor #jamil viper #twisted wonderland #twst #disney twst #jamil viper x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland imagines

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kibasniper · 29 days ago

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Trick or treat! 🎃 (and Happy Halloween)

and a happy halloween to you! let's cap off the party house with a little slowdown of crystal and mikhail chilling on the roof.

In the clear, cloudless sky, the moon shines as a full, white circle. It burns unlike the sun, providing silver streams of light upon the neighborhood. Everywhere Crystal looks from her spot on the roof, sitting on the even slabs of cold, metal shingles, Halloween persists. While the families are dwindling, the trick or treaters her age are plentiful, dressed in form-fitting princess dresses, or contrasting their positive peers with witchy visages. They cheer and shout, still going from door to door reaping chocolate bars, such as the Grim Reaper quite literally using a scythe to scoop candy from a bowl on a stoop into his bag.

Crystal grins, folding her knees to her chest. She can’t tell the time, but no one seems to care. The hours melt together in darkness punctuated by moonlight accentuated with pops of orange and red colors. Nearly every home takes part in the festivities, her interest catching on a yard littered with open graves and rising, animatronic zombies. Their moans and groans echo, mingling with the howling of werewolves and filtering through fog seeping from nearby machines on separate lawns.

Extending her legs and shaking her polished, buckled shoes, Crystal examines her outfit. It’s far poofier than anything she would usually wear. The pleated dress is baby blue, the cotton fabric matching her wide apron and frilly stockings. She applied the paint herself, rosy red dots on her cheeks and nose to match the little bows sewn onto her apron. With her scarlet wig brushed and blow-dried to full perfection, she makes quite the lifelike Raggedy Ann.

She’s matching with Clem, and her friendly Andy is still slinking through the party. She had last seen him with Quentin and Phoebe before she made her way upstairs. She had split seconds to press herself into the handrail when Bobby dashed passed her, the feathered Raz hot on his heels, like they were teenagers all over again. She had to hope that the awfully realistic chainsaw the former waved was fake.

A window clicks. She looks over her shoulder, watching as a furry, brown arm pushes it out. With a little struggling, the figure wriggles their way through the rather cramped window. On their knees, their oversized helmet rolls off their head, their identity immediately bringing a smile to Crystal’s painted face.

“Ah, is Ann,” Mikhail says, wearing, quite possibly, the most surprising attire out of the entire entourage. The bear costume covers Mikhail from head to toe in overgrown, deep brown fur. The grizzly’s paws and claws are a tad bulbous, giving an overall exaggerated feeling to the costume. Compared to Dogen’s bunny onesie, Crystal had been able to see his face, as this headpiece completely concealed Mikhail’s face and replicated a hulking grizzly bear to a level of stark realism.

Crystal offers a quick wave. “Oh, hey, Misha! What’s up? Partying treating you good?”

He approaches, carrying his headwear under his arm. “Yes. By yourself?”

The underlying concern would have been dismissed with a sharp laugh or brisk wave of her hand. But now, she arches her back and clutches the shingles, making herself more comfortable as she stretches. “Yeah, just needed a breather. No biggie.”

“Then, care for company?” “Always!” She pats the spot next to her, beaming as he sits. “Super cool bear costume, by the way, but isn’t it hot in there?” “Not at all. Provides nice, thick warmth in face of the elements.” Mikhail rubs his thin cheek with a paw that smothers his face. “In fact, wind doesn’t feel as nice as I hoped without bear head. Crisp and refreshing, yes, but carries bothersome humidity. Will probably rain soon.”

She snickers, catching a duo leaving the party. As they pull themselves up the paved, stony path, she quietly gasps, and her humor fades. “Hey, is that Lili down there with Dogen? It’s still pretty early to go home.”

He leans into her, setting his headpiece behind them. “Ah, he suffered from a bad headache. I felt his psychic energy leaking. Came up here to avoid any messy consequences, but seems to now be under control.”

“Aw, I hope the noise wasn’t too much.” Crystal tugs on her earlobes, frowning. “Then again, my ears are still ringing, so I get where Dogen’s coming from. I shouldn’t have stood so close to Quentin’s speakers.” She takes off her wig, her hair net slightly tugging on her sweaty tresses. Suppressing a yawn, she leans back. The moonlight blankets her, and Mikhail follows suit. He lies down, as well, and the silence is comfortable. Without nagging gnats or mosquitoes, the chill in the air enough to put them to rest, Crystal is soundless, at peace, content to listen to muffled music and musing thudding through the roof.

She doesn’t know how long it lasts. It could be minutes. It could be a full hour. With Mikhail’s calming presence, the dull buzzing gradually disperses. Her mind is as tranquil as the breeze.

And when a particularly amused voice intervenes, Crystal’s smile widens.

“So, am I the only one who thinks Kitty looks pretty ridiculous in that top hat?”

Clem makes himself known as he climbs through the open window. Dressed in baggy dungaree overalls and a striped, plaid shirt, Clem looks the part of Raggedy Andy with his matching wig and polished shoes. He joins them with a red Solo cup, the punch smelling too fruity for Crystal’s liking, or it might be liquor. She never cared for the either.

“As ridiculous as former Leatherface bully swinging around fake chainsaw,” Mikhail says as he rolls up. “More of a nuisance than a killer.” She lets loose a dramatic sigh. “Oh, good, it is fake. I almost got clipped with that thing.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t put it past Bobby to lug around the real deal,” Clem admits, sitting next to her, and as soon he makes himself comfortable, a new clamor arises, primarily consisting of particular revving. “Oh, well, speak of the devil, and the devil will answer.”

Mikhail cracks his knuckles. As the apparent chase changes venue to the outside yard, and Raz and Bobby shout at each other, he sets his headpiece on straight. He flexes his arms, bounces in place, and states, “Well, will be seeing to the matter. Might be good challenge with an acrobatic dove and chainsaw-wielding lunatic. See you in a while.”

As he approaches the edge of the roof, Crystal chirps, “Bye bye, crocodile!”

He slowly looks over his shoulder. “Is Misha.”

With those parting words, Mikhail casually levitates down. As he enters the fray to the startled sound of Bobby and Raz’s shrieks, Crystal snickers and shakes her head. Clem knocks back his drink.

“That guy-” He wipes his mouth with his sleeve. “-is still a total enigma.”

“His bear costume is really great, though, right?” “Oh, totally. I’m just dumbfounded about how he’s not sweltering in that furry mass.”

“It’s like you said, Clem. Misha is an enigma, just a totally cool enigma.”

#i have fifty minutes left of halloween woohoo! i sneaked this in right on time!#crystal flowers snagrash #mikhail bulgakov #clem foote #rose writes something

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intechbulks · 10 months ago

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The Vital Role of Dust Collector Manufacturers in Keeping Our Air Clean

Dust may seem like an insignificant nuisance, but it's anything but. Microscopic particles can wreak havoc on our health, environment, and industrial processes. Fortunately, unsung heroes stand sentinel against this silent threat: dust collector manufacturers. These companies play a crucial role in safeguarding our air quality, and Intech Bulk Handling Systems Pvt. Ltd., a leading chain conveyor manufacturers in India, stands out as a prime example.

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aerovexsystems · 9 months ago

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The Ultimate Guide to Dust Collector Filters: Choosing the Best Filter for Your Needs

In industrial settings, maintaining air quality is paramount for both worker health and equipment longevity. Dust collector filters play a crucial role in this process by capturing airborne particles and ensuring cleaner air. However, with a plethora of options available, selecting the right dust collector filter can be a daunting task. In this comprehensive guide, we'll delve into the intricacies of dust collector filters, their types, factors to consider when choosing one, and how to optimize their performance.

Understanding Dust Collector Filters:

Dust collector filters are integral components of dust collection systems. They function by trapping airborne particles, preventing them from being released back into the environment. These filters come in various forms, including bag filters, cartridge filters, and pleated filters, each with unique characteristics and applications.

Types of Dust Collector Filters:

Bag Filters: Bag filters are commonly used in larger industrial applications due to their high filtration efficiency and capacity. They consist of fabric bags that capture dust particles as air passes through them. Bag filters are ideal for capturing larger particles but may require frequent maintenance to prevent clogging.

Cartridge Filters: Cartridge filters feature a cylindrical design with pleated filter media, providing a larger surface area for filtration. They are more compact than bag filters and offer excellent filtration efficiency for fine dust particles. Cartridge filters are popular for smaller-scale operations and where space is limited.

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Material Compatibility: Select a filter constructed from materials compatible with the dust type and operating conditions to maximize longevity and performance.

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Optimizing Dust Collector Filter Performance:

Regular Inspection and Cleaning: Schedule routine inspections and cleaning of dust collector filters to prevent clogging and maintain optimal airflow.

Proper Installation: Follow manufacturer guidelines for installing dust collector filters to ensure proper sealing and performance.

Monitor Pressure Drop: Keep an eye on the pressure drop across the filter and replace it when the pressure exceeds recommended levels to prevent system inefficiencies.

Conclusion:

Dust collector filters are essential components of dust collection systems, playing a vital role in maintaining air quality and equipment performance. By understanding the different types of filters available and considering key factors such as filtration efficiency and airflow capacity, you can select the most suitable filter for your application. Remember to prioritize regular maintenance and optimization practices to prolong the life of your dust collector filter and ensure efficient dust collection operations.

FAQ's

What is a dust collector filter?

A dust collector filter is a component used in dust collection systems to capture airborne particles and prevent them from being released back into the environment. These filters come in various types, including bag filters, cartridge filters, and pleated filters.

Why are dust collector filters important?

Dust collector filters are crucial for maintaining air quality in industrial settings by trapping harmful dust particles. They help protect workers' health, prevent equipment damage, and ensure regulatory compliance.

What are the different types of dust collector filters?

The main types of dust collector filters include bag filters, cartridge filters, and pleated filters. Bag filters consist of fabric bags, cartridge filters feature pleated filter media, and pleated filters combine pleated media with a sturdy frame.

How do I choose the right dust collector filter?

When selecting a dust collector filter, consider factors such as filtration efficiency, airflow capacity, material compatibility, and maintenance requirements. Assess your application's needs and consult with experts if necessary to make an informed decision.

How often should dust collector filters be cleaned or replaced?

The frequency of cleaning or replacing dust collector filters depends on factors such as the type of dust being collected, the operating environment, and the manufacturer's recommendations. Regular inspection and monitoring of pressure drop across the filter can help determine when maintenance is needed.

What are the maintenance requirements for dust collector filters?

Maintenance requirements for dust collector filters typically include regular inspections, cleaning, and replacement as needed. It's essential to follow manufacturer guidelines for proper installation and maintenance to ensure optimal performance and longevity of the filters.

Can I reuse or recycle dust collector filters?

Depending on the type of filter and the contaminants it captures, some dust collector filters may be suitable for reuse or recycling. However, it's essential to follow proper procedures for cleaning and disposal to avoid environmental contamination and ensure worker safety.

How do I optimize the performance of dust collector filters?

Optimizing the performance of dust collector filters involves regular inspection, cleaning, and monitoring of pressure drop. Additionally, ensuring proper installation, selecting the right filter for your application, and following maintenance best practices are key to maximizing performance and efficiency.

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